Chapter 1: Decisions
Chapter Text
Taehyung and Jimin sat quietly in their living room. A few hours had passed since the meeting with the syndicate, and Taehyung was left with a decision to make. The big boss, Kim Namjoon-ssi, had offered him a job in the cybersecurity branch and as they were walking out Jungkook had mentioned that he was going to be working alongside the young beta who had tracked him down in the first place.
Taehyung couldn’t deny his curiosity. About the beta, about the Boss, about the Kim pack as a whole. The paycheck wasn’t a bad incentive, either. He knew Jimin didn’t want him getting involved with the syndicate, but he also knew his mate wouldn’t stop him if it was something he truly wanted.
“Tae,” Jimin said, picking at his nail beds—a nervous habit.
“Yeah?”
“Before you decide, I should come clean about something.”
Taehyung’s heart kicked up a notch, his palms turning clammy at just those few words.
“Okay,” he replied cautiously. “What is it?”
“Hoseok-ssi and I… used to have a thing.”
“A thing?” Taehyung echoed, trying to make sense of where this was going.
“Yeah,” Jimin said, locking eyes with him. “We were both at the top of the contract game—you know, killers for hire. This was before we met. Before either of us were mated or even courting.”
Taehyung didn’t know how to feel. Insecurity started creeping in like a slow fog. From what he remembered, Hoseok-ssi was the epitome of an alpha: tall, broad, strong, with a deep voice and a musky scent that screamed dominance.
Taehyung liked to think he looked the part of an alpha. Broad shoulders, a sharp jawline, defined cheekbones—and not to sound arrogant, but he was well-endowed. But he lacked certain alpha traits. He didn’t rut, though his knot worked just fine. His voice was deep, but his alpha commands were weak. His scent was more vanilla than whiskey—too sweet for an alpha, some said. Despite his physique, his hormones were off-balance. And he had a tendency to submit—not to all alphas, but enough that he’d had more than one sexuality crisis.
So maybe it made sense. Jimin, the textbook omega, had once been with someone like Hoseok. Someone who checked every box.
But alongside the insecurity, there was also… relief. If Jimin had been close to Hoseok and they were still on good terms—well, the man couldn’t be all bad. Maybe his pack was the same. Jungkook, for one, had seemed kind—he’d even invited Taehyung to lunch next week. And Namjoon, while cold, hadn’t put a bullet in his head. Instead, he’d offered him a job. That had to count for something.
“Why did you two stop?” Taehyung asked softly.
Jimin leaned back against the burgundy couch cushions with a sigh. Tae scooted closer and patted his shoulder in silent invitation. Jimin chuckled quietly and leaned in.
“The short version? We were too focused on work to make it last. It was dangerous—still is. We were always in and out of contracts. Sometimes even on opposite ends of the same job. Neither of us was willing to walk away from that life at the time.”
Taehyung wrapped his arm around Jimin’s waist and hummed in understanding.
“That’s all?”
“That’s it.”
“Alright.”
“Alright?” Jimin repeated, sitting up to study him. “I thought you’d have more questions.”
Taehyung shrugged. “I mean, we can’t change the past. And if I’m going to take this job, I’ll probably be seeing a lot more of Hoseok-ssi anyway.”
“So… you’re taking it?”
Taehyung pulled Jimin into his lap, resting their foreheads together.
“Minnie, I love you. I appreciate everything you do—for me, for us. But I want to contribute too. This job could be a real opportunity.”
“But it’s dange—”
“Don’t do that,” Taehyung cut in gently. “Your job is way more—”
Jimin slipped off his lap and stood in front of him, hands on his hips.
“No, you don’t do that. I was trained for my work. Being an assassin, it’s in my blood. Generational.”
“And I’ve trained myself for exactly what Namjoon-nim is offering.”
Jimin sighed, his posture softening. “I’m not saying you’re not capable, Tae. I’m just… worried. You’re not trained for the syndicate part of it. That's the part that gets you killed.”
Taehyung’s resolve dimmed at those words. Jimin was right. He wasn’t trained in killing—or surviving people who were. He wasn’t trained in handling torture, or extortion. Still, he reached for Jimin’s hands and gave them a squeeze.
“I’ll be okay. I really think I can do this.”
Jimin took a deep breath, then climbed back into his alpha’s lap.
“If this is what you want, then I’ll support you. But on one condition.”
“Which is?”
“You let me train you. Basics at least—hand-to-hand, knife work, firearms, the essentials.”
“Guns?” Taehyung blinked in surprise.
“Yes, Tae. Guns are non-negotiable in gang life.”
“Fine… but I don’t want to carry one.”
“You just need to know how to use it. Worst-case scenario.”
“That’s… fair.”
“I know,” Jimin said, smiling as he kissed the tip of Taehyung’s nose then pecked at his lips.
Jimin smiled against Taehyung’s lips as he kissed him, slow and deep, like they had all the time in the world. His fingers curled into the hair at the back of Tae’s neck, pulling him in close. They’d already fucked that morning—sweet and sleepy—but this? This felt different. More urgent. He could feel it in the tension in Tae’s jaw, in the way his hands gripped his waist like he was already trying not to lose control.
Jimin rolled his hips a little, grinding down onto the hard length pressing against him. The sharp inhale Tae let out was answer enough.
Sliding his hands down, Jimin unzipped his slacks and reached in, pulling Tae’s cock out, already hot and thick in his hand. He gave it a few slow, teasing strokes, smirking at the way Tae’s eyes fluttered.
Taehyung watched him like he was starving.
Jimin dropped to his knees.
He wrapped his hand around the base and leaned in, licking a stripe up the length, letting the taste coat his tongue. He took his time—kissing, licking, teasing—before finally taking him into his mouth, slow and steady until the head hit the back of his throat.
Taehyung’s breath stuttered. His hands found Jimin’s hair, gripping just enough to keep him there.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, head tipping back.
Jimin moaned around him, bobbing his head in a rhythm that had Tae’s thighs twitching. He looked up through his lashes, messy and eager, and something about the sight made Tae’s stomach flip. He loved how greedy Jimin got—loved how good he looked with his mouth full.
After a few more deep, sloppy strokes, Jimin pulled off with a gasp, spit clinging to his lips.
He stood without a word, shoved his pants down, and climbed back into Tae’s lap. The panties—pink, little white butterflies on the front—made Taehyung groan out loud.
“You wear these on purpose?” he asked, breathless.
“Maybe,” Jimin said, biting his lip as he pushed them to the side.
He grabbed Tae’s cock and lined it up, sinking down in one smooth motion. The stretch hit hard, and they both groaned at the same time.
“Shit,” Taehyung muttered, hands grabbing at Jimin’s hips. “Always so fucking tight.”
Jimin just rocked his hips in response, dragging his pussy up and down his length with slow, delicious pressure. It felt so good, thick and hot and just deep enough to make him dizzy.
Taehyung watched the way Jimin moved—hips rolling, head tilted back, mouth falling open. He slid one hand up his mate’s back, the other slipping under the edge of the panties to cup the soft skin of his ass.
“You feel amazing,” he murmured, voice low and fucked-out. “Made for me.”
Jimin whimpered, then leaned forward to kiss him again—messy and open-mouthed, their tongues sliding together as they fucked slow and deep. Each time Jimin dropped down, Tae met him with a thrust, pushing just a little harder, a little deeper.
It didn’t take long before Jimin’s rhythm started to stutter.
Taehyung pulled out, grabbed him tighter, stood, and turned—laying Jimin down across the couch with his legs spread, pulling the pink panties down and letting them cling to one thigh. He knelt between them, cock slipping back in with a wet thrust that made Jimin cry out.
His hands gripped Jimin’s hips tight as he fucked into him, thrusts getting rougher and deeper. Jimin was all slick heat and breathless sounds beneath him, and Tae couldn’t stop watching—couldn’t stop feeling. God, he looked so fucking good like this. His.
“God, look at you,” he groaned. “Dripping for me.”
Jimin could only moan, back arching off the couch. Tae leaned down, mouth on his neck, sucking a mark just below his jaw. Jimin’s legs wrapped around his waist and dug into his back as Taheyung held him close as when hips stuttered.
His grip on Jimin’s hips tightened.
“You ever let him fuck you like this?” he asked suddenly, voice low and biting.
Jimin froze for half a second. “What?”
“Hoseok.” The name tasted bitter on his tongue. “Back then. You let him knot you?”
Jimin gasped, voice breathy. “No—fuck—never.”
Taehyung groaned, thrusting in deeper, chasing the image out of his head—or maybe chasing it because it was there now, burned into his mind.
“Did he want to?”
Jimin moaned. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Tae’s breath hitched. God, he hated that. Hated that he was jealous—and hated even more that part of him wondered what it would’ve felt like to watch.
Jealousy, yeah. But also… something darker. Hotter.
He leaned down, pressed his mouth against Jimin’s ear.
“Bet he fucking dreamed about it,” he growled. “Bet he thought about you laid out like this, stuffed full of his knot.”
Jimin whimpered, body clenching around him.
Taehyung laughed, breathless. “But he didn’t get it. I did.”
He snapped his hips forward again, harder. “You’re mine now.”
“Yours,” Jimin gasped, voice wrecked. “Only yours.”
Tae slammed in one last time and his knot popped inside, locking them together. Jimin came with a strangled cry, his whole body shaking under him, clenching tight around his cock.
“Fuck,” Tae groaned, forehead resting against Jimin’s as he came too, hips jerking as he spilled inside.
They stayed there for a while, panting, skin slick with sweat, bodies tangled and stuck together.
“You okay?” Taehyung asked quietly, brushing damp hair from Jimin’s forehead.
Jimin nodded, dazed and glowing. “Perfect.”
He sighed and let his eyes fall shut, body going soft beneath him. Tae shifted slowly to have Jimin lay on top of him instead, careful not to pull too hard on the knot. He could feel his omega’s breathing slow, warm and steady on his chest.
Chapter 2: Meetings
Notes:
So I know I said update every week but I couldn't wait and edited this chapter as well as the next so I will be uploading both. Hope you like it :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Yoongi woke slowly, nestled between the warmth of Hoseok and Seokjin’s bodies. Hoseok was behind him, poking him with morning wood, and Jin was in front of him, lips parted in sleep and looking as pretty as ever.
He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake either of them, and headed into the bathroom. About half an hour later, he emerged from the closet fully dressed. He wore the blue Louis Vuitton suit Hoseok had gifted him—just because—and a shiny silver Rolex glittered on his wrist, Seokjin’s final court gift. His hair was slicked back, his expression calm.
He stepped closer to the bed and smiled at the sight of his mates still tangled together in sleep. Seokjin’s head rested on Hoseok’s chest, the alpha’s nose buried in the beta’s hair. It was a beautiful sight, one he would have stood there admiring for hours. But Jin had a hospital shift in an hour, and Hoseok had a meeting in two.
“Seokie,” Yoongi murmured, gently shaking the sleeping alpha. “ Alphaaaa .”
At the sound of his rank name, Hoseok’s eyes fluttered open slowly. A dim ring of gold circled his dark irises—Jay was present too.
“Omega,” Hoseok rasped, his voice thick with disuse and the weight of his secondary. The vibration alone stirred Jin.
Yoongi leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Hoseok’s lips.
“Good morning, Alpha,” he said sweetly. Jay let out a low croon in response. The sound made Seokjin’s eyes blink open slowly. He sat up and stretched, the oversized shirt he’d borrowed from Namjoon slipping off his shoulder and exposing the marks on his clavicles from a few nights ago—courtesy of said alpha.
“Fuck,” Seokjin groaned, flopping back onto the mattress. “I’m sore.”
Hoseok—whether it was still Jay or not—chuckled, a deep, amused sound. He’d fucked Seokjin to sleep the night before and gave Yoongi one of the best orgasms of his life.
“I’m glad you appreciate my hard work, hyung.”
“Yah!” Jin swatted at him. “I have a twelve-hour shift at the hospital.”
Yoongi chuckled and leaned in to press a soft kiss to the beta’s pout. He straightened quickly to avoid wrinkling his suit, then opened the nightstand drawer, retrieving his gun and tucking it into his holster.
“I have a few meetings today—first one in thirty minutes. Then I’m seeing that Taehyung kid and Kai around noon.”
Seokjin perked up. “Watch Kai, okay? You know how shy he gets around strangers.”
Yoongi rolled his eyes, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, hyung. I know. But Kai can handle himself. Being with Yeonjunnie and Beomgyu helped him come out of his shell a little.”
That made Hoseok laugh. Yeonjun worked under him training new recruits; Beomgyu was a nurse who worked with Jin. The two most extroverted people they knew had somehow ended up courting the shiest beta they knew.
“Where are Joon and Kookie?” Seokjin asked, finally looking around.
“They stayed at one of the hotels in the Black District,” Yoongi replied, his work expression settling into place. “Dongmin and Jinseok have started moving again after months of radio silence. It’s still mostly whispers, but Joon wants to shut shit down before anything starts up.”
Hoseok sat up slowly as Yoongi spoke, eyes glinting in the sunlight. Once he finished, Hoseok rose and wrapped his arms around him in a firm embrace, subtly scenting him.
“Good luck with your meetings today, hyung,” he murmured.
Yoongi heard a rustle of sheets before he felt another warmth press to his back and a nose nuzzle into his hair.
“We’ll see you later, baby,” Jin said softly.
Yoongi got to the office about twenty minutes later. As he crossed the threshold of the elevator, Chaewon stepped in beside him, tablet in hand.
“Good morning,” she said briskly. “I have emailed you some files for today’s meetings. You’ve got three scheduled—back-to-back—so you’ll be done by around 2ish in the afternoon. First is with Marketing about the new pain management med releasing next year. Then Finance at eleven—there’s some discrepancy in the distribution branch they want to discuss with you. And finally, an interview with the new hire, Kim Taehyung-ssi, and Kai about expectations and goals for the cybersecurity team.”
Yoongi nodded along, filing it all away in his brain. By the time he sat down at his desk, a hot coffee had materialized in his hand, and the day’s workload was stacked neatly in front of him.
By noon, he was drained. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.
He rested his head on the cool wood of his desk and closed his eyes. Thirty minutes until the interview—just enough time to breathe.
A soft knock at the door pulled him from the edge of dozing.
Then a familiar voice.
“Hyungie,” Jungkook chirped.
Yoongi lifted his head and immediately smiled. “Hi, baby.”
The younger omega leaned against the doorframe, eyes bright.
“Missed my pack omega,” he said with a playful grin.
“Oh, did you now?” Yoongi asked, already relaxing in his chair.
Jungkook didn’t answer—he simply crossed the room, pushed Yoongi’s hair back gently, and climbed into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Which, for them, it was.
Despite being broad-shouldered, inked, and intimidating to everyone else, Jungkook was a clingy, affectionate omega. And Yoongi—while not the most dominant omega himself—always had a certain effect on him.
“I missed your lips too,” Jungkook murmured, brushing a kiss to Yoongi’s mouth.
It was sweet at first. Pliable. Warm. He tasted like chocolate and cigarettes.
Yoongi’s hands slid down, palming the soft roundness of Jungkook’s ass. Jungkook moaned into the kiss, then turned his head, baring the graceful column of his neck.
His skin was a patchwork of hickeys and bite marks. A fresh mating mark glowed at his scent gland—clearly Namjoon’s, judging by the sheer size of it.
Yoongi kissed down his throat, slowly unbuttoning the top of his shirt until he could reach the ridge of his collarbone.
“Please,” Jungkook whispered, voice trembling.
Yoongi nibbled at his ear, low and teasing. “Please what, sweet baby?”
“I really, really want your mouth, hyungie.”
Yoongi grinned, his voice soft with fondness. “Let me clear my desk, then.”
Jungkook slipped off his lap with a triumphant smile as Yoongi turned to swipe his desk clear. He pulled out his phone and shot Chaewon a text:
‘JK here. Stall next meeting.’
She replied instantly: ‘ew.’
When he turned around, his baby omega was already naked.
God.
Jungkook’s body was a breathtaking contrast—scars and tattoos across smooth, warm skin, thick muscle shaped by years of training. And yet under Yoongi’s gaze, he melted. All soft, submissive and wanting.
“Come here, baby,” Yoongi murmured, voice going low. “Lay back and spread those pretty legs for me.”
Jungkook obeyed with a quiet smile, reclining on the dark oak desk and opening himself without hesitation. His cunt was already wet, slick dripping. The slight swell of his clit made Yoongi’s own slick start to pool in response.
Stepping between Jungkook’s legs, Yoongi leaned down and licked a slow stripe from his fluttering hole to his clit.
The moan that spilled from Jungkook’s lips—shaky, overwhelmed—made Yoongi press his thighs open wider and dive in.
Yoongi sucked softly at his clit, letting his tongue circle the sensitive nub in slow, teasing motions before dragging it down to his dripping entrance. He lapped at him with long, deliberate strokes, savoring the taste of slick and arousal. Jungkook writhed under the attention, hands gripping the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white.
“Hyung,” he whimpered, hips rolling up into Yoongi’s mouth.
Yoongi hummed against him in response, sending a tremor through Jungkook’s core. He gripped his thighs, holding him open, tongue fucking into him slowly—then deeper. Each movement was measured, intentional, until Jungkook’s breath started to come out in soft, desperate little gasps.
“You’re so wet, baby,” Yoongi murmured, lips brushing against the soaked skin. “So fucking sweet.”
Jungkook’s eyes fluttered shut as his back arched and he moaned.
Yoongi kissed his inner thigh, nipped at the skin just above his knee, then ducked back down and sucked gently at his clit again—this time a little harder, a little rougher. Jungkook cried out, legs trembling around Yoongi’s shoulders.
“Please,” he panted. “Please don’t stop.”
Yoongi didn’t. He kept his rhythm steady, tongue stroking firm and sure against his omega’s soaked cunt. The room filled with the sound of wet, messy kisses, the creak of the desk beneath them, and Jungkook’s sweet little whines.
Yoongi reached up with one hand and pressed gently against the swell of Jungkook’s lower belly—right where he could feel the tension gathering.
“There?” he asked, breath warm against slick skin.
“Fuck, yes—there,” Jungkook moaned.
Yoongi doubled down, tongue flicking and pressing, until Jungkook’s legs began to shake in earnest. He was close—so close his whole body was wound tight, sweat beading at his collarbones, lips parted in a silent cry.
“Cum for me, baby,” Yoongi coaxed. “Let me taste you.”
Jungkook’s release hit with a full-body shudder. His heels dug into the desk as he came with a sob, slick pouring out against Yoongi’s tongue. His body trembled, breath stuttering in broken gasps, hands reaching blindly for something—someone.
Yoongi kissed him through it, licking up every drop like it was his only purpose.
Only once Jungkook started to come down did Yoongi pull back, pressing soft kisses to the inside of his thighs, then his hips, then the faint marks above his belly button.
Jungkook blinked down at him, dazed, flushed, and utterly undone.
Yoongi wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood, taking a second to admire his handiwork.
“That was…” Jungkook said, voice trailing off.
“Yes, it was,” Yoongi replied, amused.
Jungkook giggled. He sat up slowly and stretched, completely unbothered by his nudity.
“You’re so good with your tongue,” he teased. “Did you want me to do you, hyungie?”
Yoongi smiled and shook his head gently. “I’m alright, sweetheart.”
He glanced down at his watch and sighed. “I actually have a meeting with the new hire in, like, ten minutes.”
“Oh! Taehyung-ssi?”
“Yes. Him and Kai.”
Jungkook stood on wobbly legs and leaned in to kiss him.
“I’ll take a quick shower and get out of your hair, then.”
“Why don’t you stay, love?”
“Can’t, hyung,” he said, already gathering his clothes from the floor. “I’ve got to meet with Hoseokie-hyung and Joonie-hyung in forty-five for rounds in the Blue District. I’m probably gonna be late though… because someone ate me out so good my knees don’t work.”
Yoongi laughed and gave his ass a playful smack as he headed for the bathroom.
“I’ll have someone bring the car around in ten.”
“Can I take your car, Yoongi-hyung? It’s faster. Pretty please?”
Yoongi’s heart clenched at the sight of those round, pleading eyes.
“Of course. I’ll have Chaewon hold Kai and Taehyung-ssi in the lobby until you’re done.”
After Yoongi tidied his desk and scent-neutralized the room as well as the damp patch on his slacks—Jungkook reemerged looking freshly showered and put together. Still radiant. A new dark blue button down and pressed black slacks. All of his packmates kept clothes in the bathroom closet of his and Namjoon’s offices for situations like these. Yoongi would go change but, he didn’t cum and the spray was enough to get rid of the evidence.
Jungkook pecked his lips, then scrunched his nose.
“What?” Yoongi asked.
“You taste like me.”
“Mmm,” Yoongi said, licking his lips. “My favorite.”
Jungkook flushed, and Yoongi chuckled softly.
“The car’s out front. Be safe. I love you.”
“I love you more, hyung. See you at home later.”
Five minutes—and a quick brush of his teeth—later, there was a firm knock at the office door.
Chaewon stepped in, perfectly composed. “Sir, Kai-ah and Taehyung-ssi are still waiting. Should I let them in?”
He nodded and motioned for her to shut the door.
“How’s the smell? Neutral?” He asked. “Smells fine to me, but…”
Chaewon rolled her eyes and gave a dramatic sniff. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this, Oppa. This is nasty . I deserve a raise.”
Yoongi leaned back in his chair, smirking. “You do, Wonnie. I’ll talk to Namjoon.”
“You better,” she warned. She sniffed again and gave a reluctant nod. “It smells like nothing. You’re clear.”
She left the room and returned a minute later with two tall silhouettes at her heels.
“Please, take a seat,” Yoongi said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk.
As the two men stepped inside, Chaewon offered him a small smile and a conspiratorial wink before closing the door behind them.
Notes:
Let me know what you think! I'll be back soon :)
Chapter Text
The first thing Taehyung noticed when he arrived at the BH building was how ridiculously big it was.
Sure, he knew the BH Group was a billion-won empire—it had made headlines last year for snatching up a multimillion-dollar tower to use as its new headquarters. But knowing something and standing beneath nineteen floors of steel, glass, and “fuck you” wealth were two very different things.
The last time he met with the Kim pack, it had been in a shadowy back office of one of their satellite compounds. That had been intimidating enough. This, though? This felt like walking into a luxury bank that also happened to have a private armory.
He adjusted the strap of the leather satchel across his chest and glanced at his reflection in the mirrored glass. The suit helped. Rich brown, tailored but not flashy, with a cream button-up underneath and the Ferragamo loafers Jimin had given him last anniversary. He looked like someone important.
He just didn’t feel like it.
It wasn’t the first time he felt like a fraud, and probably wouldn’t be the last. Growing up hacking into private databases from coffee shops and basements didn’t exactly prepare someone for job interviews in billion-dollar buildings. Even if said job was technically with a crime syndicate.
“Here goes nothing,” he muttered under his breath, squaring his shoulders before stepping inside.
The lobby hit like a punch of luxury. Black stone, pale wood, brushed steel. High ceilings. Quiet elegance. Subtle power.
He walked up to the front desk where a young woman with warm eyes and a glossy nameplate smiled up at him.
“Good morning! I’m Eunchae. How can I help you today?”
Taehyung offered her his most charming smile. “Good morning. I’m Kim Taehyung—I’m here for an interview with Min Yoongi-nim?”
Her eyes lit up in recognition. “Ah, yes! Kim Taehyung-ssi. He’s currently finishing up a meeting, but he’ll be with you shortly.” She handed him a plastic card labeled VISITOR with his own face printed on it in HD clarity. He blinked at it.
“I... didn’t give anyone a photo.”
She just smiled. “The system’s linked to public and security databases. We’re thorough here.”
Well. That was mildly terrifying.
“Please have a seat, and I’ll have someone escort you when Yoongi-nim is ready.”
Taehyung did as told, settling into one of the sleek leather chairs with a view of the elevators. He tried not to fidget. Watching people file in and out of the building was oddly calming. It was clear BH wasn’t just a front—whatever the syndicate did in the shadows, the daylight side of it was very real.
Just as he started mentally calculating how many cameras were in the lobby, the elevator dinged—and a familiar face emerged.
“Taehyung-ssi!” Jungkook called out brightly.
Heads turned. Conversations hushed.
The youngest member of the Kim pack walked toward him with a wave and a wide grin, dressed in a crisp blue shirt tucked into tailored slacks. His dark hair was styled just enough to look effortless. Bite marks littered the edge of his collar—fresh, unhidden, proud.
“Jungkook-ssi,” Taehyung said, standing to bow politely. This was their turf, after all. Respect was currency here.
But Jungkook waved it off quickly, the tips of his ears going pink. “Please don’t bow. You’re older, if anything, I should be bowing to you .”
Taehyung blinked. “Please. You basically own the building. I should be calling you daepyonim.”
Jungkook laughed, head tipping back, the sound bright and real. “The only daepyonim here is Namjoon-hyung. Just call me Jungkook, okay? I’ll call you hyung.”
Taehyung flushed. A pretty omega like him should not be saying hyung that casually. His internal balance wobbled.
“Okay, Jungkook-ah,” he said eventually.
“Perfect, hyung,” Jungkook replied with a cheeky grin before glancing at his watch—and freezing. “Oh shit, I’m late. I’ll text you about lunch, okay? Bye!”
He was halfway across the lobby before the final word left his mouth. As the doors opened and swallowed him up, Taehyung was left blinking in the silence.
All eyes were on him now.
The Kim pack’s crown omega had just called him hyung and invited him to lunch . Taehyung could feel the shift in the room like a drop in barometric pressure. The jealousy was palpable —especially from the alphas nearby.
Before he could dwell on it too long, a new voice cut through the quiet.
“Excuse me.”
Taehyung turned to see a tall, pale-skinned young man standing beside him. Light brown hair, light eyes, soft features. His voice was gentle, but not uncertain. No trace of an accent—clearly local.
“My name is Kai,” the man said, offering a small bow. A beta, judging by his soft, subtle scent. “I’m here to escort you to our meeting with Yoongi-nim.”
Taehyung stood slowly, eyeing him with caution. “ Our meeting?”
“Yes. I’ll be working in the same department…I was the one who tracked you.”
Oh. So this was the kid who’d found his digital breadcrumbs.
Taehyung’s pride stung for a moment—but he swallowed it. No point holding a grudge when the kid had done his job well .
“Nice to meet you,” he said carefully. “I’m Taehyung. How did you find me?”
Kai flushed a little. “I’ve, uh... actually been following your work for years. You’re kind of one of my favorite hackers.”
Taehyung’s brows lifted.
A fan?
Well. If someone had to catch him, at least it was someone who respected the art.
“Is that how you recognized my signature?” he asked.
Kai nodded eagerly. “Pretty hard to miss. My code name’s Hyuka.”
Taehyung’s smile froze for a second.
Hyuka.
He’d been chatting with someone under that handle for months . Tips, tricks, script swaps. Then the guy had vanished from their secure server without a word.
Taehyung’s face darkened.
Kai caught the change instantly. He bowed deeply— very deeply, nearly smacking his forehead on his knee.
“I’m sorry, V-ssi! I didn’t mean for hyungnim to threaten you. I was just... I was excited. Seeing your code in the system, I didn’t think—”
“It’s fine,” Taehyung cut in, his heart softening at the nervous ramble. “If it got me this job, I can’t really complain. Call me hyung.”
Kai straightened, blinking in surprise. Then he smiled—shy, but bright.
“Yes, hyung.”
“Now,” Taehyung said, gesturing toward the elevators, “let’s not be late to meet the guy who probably thinks I’m still a threat to company security.”
After Kai scanned his visitor pass, he gave Taehyung what he proudly called an “elevator tour,” which really just meant listing off departments as the numbers ticked upward.
“The eighteenth floor is Yoongi-hyungnim’s,” Kai explained. “Other board members—and Sajangnim—also have offices there. Nineteenth is the boardroom, the library, and a small gym. But anything above the fifteenth needs a special clearance pass.” He held up his own badge, flashing the blue stripe at the top.
“If you get hired, you’ll get one too,” he added with a smile. “Sorry if that was too fast—did you catch everything?”
Taehyung nodded, mentally filing the important ones: cafeteria on thirteen, cybersecurity on sixteen, executive floor on eighteen. Everything else? He could wing it later.
When the elevator dinged at eighteen, the doors opened to reveal a sharply dressed omega with a razor-cut bob and an air of no-nonsense efficiency. Not one hair was out of place. Her makeup was minimal, precise.
Taehyung followed Kai’s lead and dipped his head in greeting. Her expression didn’t soften at him—but it did when she saw Kai. So they probably knew each other.
“Hello, my name is Chaewon,” she said briskly. “Please follow me.”
They trailed behind her down a sleek hallway lined with wood paneling and dark glass doors. The floor was silent but somehow not peaceful—it was the quiet you got in the eye of a hurricane. Expensive. Tense.
“She’s Hyungnim's assistant,” Kai whispered behind his hand.
“Does daepyonim have one too?” Taehyung whispered back.
“Yeah, Soobin. But Namjoon-nim isn’t here today.”
They stopped in front of a large door made of thick, polished wood and framed in steel. Chaewon opened it just enough to slip inside, closing it softly behind her. Taehyung raised a brow—private conversation, maybe?
A moment later, she stepped back out and opened the door fully.
Yoongi was ready for them.
As the door shut behind them with a soft click, Taehyung noticed something unsettling— there was no sound . Like the door had vacuum-sealed the room. Probably soundproofed. Of course it was.
But that wasn’t the weirdest part.
The weirdest part was the lack of scent. Most enclosed rooms smelled like something : cleaning supplies, recycled air, the person who used the room the most. But this office?
Nothing. Not a trace of anything. Not Yoongi. Not the building. Not even dust.
Which meant the room had been neutralized recently . Like… just-got-laid recently. Taehyung’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
Jungkook had just left this floor.
He put the pieces together with quiet horror. That faint glow in Jungkook’s face. The scent blockers. The bite marks .
Right. Okay. That explained the scent thing. This was not his business. He refused to make it his business.
He forced his brain to stop spiraling just in time to look up—
—and nearly forgot how to breathe.
Yoongi sat behind a massive desk, dressed in a tailored navy suit and silver watch, every inch of him sharp and composed. His skin was smooth and pale, mouth soft and pink, eyes cool and unreadable.
And then there was the scar—thin and vertical, starting just above his right brow and cutting straight down to the top of his cheekbone. It should have made him look rough. Instead, it made him look untouchable.
Taehyung had seen a lot of beautiful people in his life. He was mated to one, after all.
Yoongi wasn’t the most beautiful person Taehyung had ever seen—but he was damn close. Ethereal, dangerous, magnetic.
And somehow, despite his softness, the man radiated power .
Taehyung had to fight the nervous energy crawling up his spine. Even Kai, who had clearly met Yoongi before, was standing just a bit too straight. His fingers twitched. His breath was too careful.
Then Yoongi spoke.
“Please, sit.”
His voice was lower than expected. Smooth, level. Not as deep as Taehyung’s, but close enough to give him pause. Not what he was used to hearing from an omega.
Taehyung sat quickly, doing his best impression of someone cool and collected.
“Taehyung-ssi,” Yoongi said, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “I’m Min Yoongi. Or Kim Yoongi, now that I’m mated. It’s nice to formally meet you. I’ve heard a great deal about you from my mates.”
Taehyung tried to smile without looking like a deer in headlights. “Nice to meet you too.”
Yoongi turned toward Kai. “Kai.”
“Hyungnim,” the beta said, bowing slightly, voice soft.
There was something gentle in Yoongi’s expression when he looked at Kai—barely there, but enough to notice. Approval? Familiarity?
Then it was gone.
“I assume you know Kai’s the one who traced you?” Yoongi asked, turning back to Taehyung.
“I do,” Taehyung replied. No sense in pretending otherwise.
Yoongi nodded once. “Our previous head of cybersecurity relocated to Busan a few months ago. Without him, things… fell apart faster than expected. HR and I have been working on rebuilding ever since.”
He laced his fingers together on the desk. Long fingers. Pale. Knuckles dusted with a faint pink—like they’d been flushed recently. Taehyung’s brain offered him an image he immediately deleted.
Yoongi was soft in color but cold in posture. He didn’t lean forward. He didn’t rush. He simply existed , and the room responded to him.
“That being said,” Yoongi continued, “Sajangnim and I are prepared to offer you both an opportunity.”
Taehyung blinked. “Both of us?”
Yoongi gave a small smile. “Head of Cybersecurity. After a trial period, of course.”
Next to him, Kai gasped softly.
Yoongi’s eyes flicked to him, softening again for half a second. “If you accept the challenge and sign the contracts I provide, you’ll start together. Regardless of who takes the leadership role long-term, your place in the company will be secure. The contract is for your safety—and ours.”
Taehyung leaned forward, something sparking in his chest.
This was it. His chance to contribute. To be more than just Jimin’s hacker boyfriend. To build something.
He grinned. “When do we sign?”
Kim Taehyung was different from the many alphas Yoongi had met before. He was eager to please, slightly submissive, and just mischievous enough to make things interesting.
The determination in his eyes as he asked his question— “When do we sign?” —was sharp and focused, but not rehearsed. Honest. Yoongi filed that detail away, just in case.
Hiring him would either be one of the best decisions he ever made… or the absolute worst.
He pulled two manila folders from the top drawer of his desk and set them neatly in front of each man.
“You’ll need to sign before I can discuss your assignments,” he said, tone even. “Take your time reading through the contract.”
Both men opened their folders, flipping through the thick sheaves of paper. Kai barely hesitated—his pen moved quickly, initialing and signing in the right spots. That was expected. He’d been working with the Kim pack for over a year now and was currently being courted by two of Namjoon’s closest hoobaes. He already knew most of the business— both sides of it.
Taehyung, however, surprised him.
Yoongi had assumed the alpha would hesitate. He hadn’t even known who BH Group was a week ago, let alone what it meant to work under a syndicate’s umbrella. Yet here he was, signing each line with measured calm. No questions. No doubts. A little reckless, maybe—but focused.
Once both contracts were signed, Yoongi flipped through them quickly to double-check. Everything was in order. He slid the folders back into his drawer to be scanned and logged later.
“Now that that’s out of the way,” he said, looking up again, “we can continue.”
Both men sat straighter.
“You’ll be reporting to different people. They, in turn, will report directly to me. After three months, I’ll decide who’s best suited to lead the department long-term.”
His gaze flicked to Taehyung for a moment—more curious than critical.
“Taehyung-ssi,” he said, tone unchanged, “you’ll be rotating between Jungkook and Hoseok—one week with each, alternating.”
Taehyung nodded once, no visible reaction. Good.
Yoongi turned to Kai, who looked composed on the surface but was hiding a slight tremble in his fingers. There was a faint sheen of sweat along his brow.
“Kai, you’ll be working under Soobin and Taehyun. Same rotation—one week each.”
He gave both men a final once-over, then leaned back slightly in his chair.
“They’ll assign your tasks. Please arrive by 8 a.m. Monday morning.”
The two stood when dismissed, offering brief bows before Chaewon reappeared to escort them out.
Yoongi waited until the door clicked shut behind them.
Only then did he exhale.
His gaze lingered on the door for a moment, on the ghost of Taehyung’s scent—subtle but memorable. It was already fading, scrubbed clean by the neutralizer he'd sprayed earlier. Still, it clung faintly in the back of his mind, warm and golden, like sunlight through amber.
The alpha was undeniably handsome. Broad shoulders. Sharp jaw. Perfectly proportioned. His voice was low, almost smoky, the kind of register that set off instincts Yoongi didn’t like acknowledging.
And his scent…
Rich. Warm. Something like whiskey-soaked vanilla. The kind of scent that made his glands twinge and his brain wander.
Yoongi shut the thought down but Taehyung was… tempting. That was the truth of it.
His voice had depth and drag to it, like smoke curling through velvet. His scent was the kind that made omega instincts whisper in the back of Yoongi’s skull— warmth, weight, press down, take.
And Yoongi wasn’t monogamous. He had three mates, and his pack wasn’t exactly built on tradition. If things had been different—if this were another time, another version of himself—he might’ve considered it. Let himself wonder.
But the fantasy dissolved just as fast as it formed.
Because this version of him had responsibilities . A syndicate to help run. A department in shambles. Political pressure building behind closed doors. A city watching his every move. He had an image to maintain. Cold. Controlled. Above it. He wasn’t about to go presenting to every alpha who smelled like sex and confidence.
He didn’t have the time—or the energy—to chase pretty alphas with boxy smiles and savior complexes.
Not now. Maybe not ever.
He shut the thought down, clean and clinical.
Then he turned back to his desk, flicked his monitor on, and opened the encrypted file marked BLACK DISTRICT – INTERNALS .
Back to work.
Notes:
Taegi ft Kai and Chaewon, they're cute, don't you think?
I love including other hybe idols as you've all noticed haha.
Chapter 4: History
Chapter Text
Jimin was pacing.
He’d returned from a contract earlier than expected. The target—a mid-tier money launderer with a habit of running his mouth—had been a terrible hider. Sloppy and predictable. It took him ten hours to track and finish the job, instead of the projected thirty-six. He still got paid in full.
He just wanted to be home in time for when Taehyung got back from the interview.
He knew his alpha wasn’t in any danger —not really. But rejection could be just as brutal. And Jimin hated not being able to control the outcome.
His phone buzzed against the couch cushion, drawing his eyes to the screen.
Jung H. / Jay
He answered.
“Jiminie!” Hoseok’s voice came through, bright and lazy.
“Hyung,” Jimin replied, tension slipping just a notch at the familiarity.
“Are you free right now?”
“That depends,” Jimin said, wary. “What do you want?”
A low chuckle rolled through the line— not Hoseok’s.
“Jimin-ssi,” came a deep voice. Cold, composed, immediately recognizable.
Kim Namjoon.
Jimin’s back straightened on instinct. “Namjoon-ssi. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“We’d like to meet for lunch,” Namjoon said. “Jungkook is here too. I have an offer for you.”
An offer.
Jimin’s fingers tapped a rhythm on his thigh. “Where?”
“Serendipity. Private floor. One of the best restaurants in Seoul.”
“In your Black District, right?” he asked, already calculating.
“Yes.”
Jimin considered it for another beat. “Fine. I’ll be there in an hour.”
“I’ll send a car. Please send Hoseok your location.”
There was a shuffle on the line, then Hoseok’s voice returned, smug.
“You heard the boss.”
“You also need to tell them about us,” Jimin said firmly. “Before I get there. Taehyung knows already, and it’s only fair that they do too.”
“Fine. Dress up.”
“I always dress up,” Jimin scoffed, rolling his eyes.
“Right,” Hoseok said, laughing. “See you soon.”
Jimin stood on the curb with a lollipop in his mouth when the black Rolls Royce pulled up.
It wasn’t about looking cute. He was trying to quit smoking again, and sucking on something sweet helped with the oral fixation. He had a whole drawer full of lollipops in every flavor. Today was peach.
The driver opened the door for him without a word, and Jimin stepped inside, legs crossing elegantly as the door shut behind him.
He’d dressed up, of course. Properly.
His blonde hair was styled into a messy look that took way too much effort to look effortless. His earrings glinted white gold in every piercing, and his fingers were stacked with silver rings that shimmered like armor. The cream-colored two-piece hugged his frame just right: a cropped blazer with a plunging neckline and single-button closure that showed off his waist; a high-waisted skirt that hugged his hips and ended just below the curve of his ass.
Sleek. Clean. Elegant—with a hint of slutty. Just how he liked it.
He paired it with glossy black Louboutin stilettos and a black leather handbag. Masculine, feminine—who cared? Jimin wore what made him feel powerful. That often meant slacks and reinforced boots on the job. But today ? Today he could indulge.
The restaurant was nestled behind heavy doors in the heart of the Black District. As the car rolled to a stop, Jimin stepped out, straightened his skirt, and walked with practiced confidence to the front entrance.
The doorman opened the door without hesitation.
Inside, luxury greeted him like an old friend. Velvet-lined hallways. Gold accents. Cool marble floors. No scent out of place.
He approached the host stand, offering a polite but restrained smile.
“Hello. Park Jimin. Here to see Kim Namjoon-nim.”
The host looked him up and down, slowly. Then scoffed.
“Sure,” they said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And I’m the president.”
Jimin blinked. Then smiled wider—tight, sharp.
He could kill someone with that smile. Had, actually.
He clenched his jaw, slowly exhaled through his nose. Killing is for contracts, not personal disputes. That was the rule. His rule.
“And what,” he said, voice syrupy, “makes you think otherwise?”
The host didn’t back down. Just sneered.
“This is a high-class establishment. We take dress code very seriously. We don’t let loose omegas like you in here to hustle our clients into a ‘once-in-a-lifetime night.’”
For a long, silent moment, Jimin said nothing.
Just smiled.
Jimin could kill this bitch with the pen in their hand or the knife in his purse. It would be quick and easy.
His head snapped to the side as a hand touched the small of his back, gentle but unmistakable.
“Jiminie,” the alpha said. His eyes flashed gold for a moment before retreating.
Jay.
The memory hit hard.
He’d met Jay the second time he ever fucked Hoseok. Post-contract, bodies cooling, blood drying—standard ritual. They’d picked the nearest clean surface, which happened to be a cold metal table.
Jimin was being pounded into it, front plastered to the steel, legs spread wide, mind half-gone. So far gone, he didn’t hear one of the men— a man who was supposed to be dead —get back up. Not until the shot rang out and a body thudded to the floor.
Jimin turned, shocked, still breathless—and met a pair of glowing golden eyes.
At first, he thought it was just alpha space. A possession thing. Territory, maybe.
But it wasn’t that.
It was the way he stood. The stillness. The shape of his mouth. The bruising grip on his hips.
Everything was different.
Jimin didn’t know why he asked—he just did.
“Who are you?”
“Alpha,” the man answered. His voice wasn’t Hoseok’s—it was deeper, growlier. Hungrier. “Jay.”
The alpha pulled back slightly.
Jimin whined, his cunt clenching involuntarily. Jay raised an eyebrow, questioning.
“Breed?”
“Please,” Jimin had breathed, wrecked.
That was the first of many nights with Jay. And with Hoseok. Both of them had worked their way under his skin, one way or another.
Jimin snapped back to the present as Hoseok gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear.
“Hyung,” Jimin said sweetly, playing it soft. “Sorry I’m late.”
“No worries, Minnie,” Hoseok replied, smooth as ever. “I heard what I needed to hear.”
His smile sharpened, just enough to make the host blanch.
“S-sir,” the host stammered. “I—I apologize, sir. Right this way—”
“We’ll find it ourselves,” Hoseok cut in, turning on his heel. “Thanks.”
He guided Jimin down the hallway, hand still resting at the small of his back. Not possessive. Just there. Steady.
They walked a few paces in silence.
“You were gonna kill him,” Hoseok said casually.
Jimin didn’t deny it.
“I was really fucking close.”
Hoseok chuckled. “Yeah. I figured.”
Another beat.
“Your smile was too sharp. That’s your ‘I’m about to kill something’ smile.”
Jimin shrugged.
“He called me loose,” he muttered after a pause.
Hoseok stopped walking. His eyes flashed gold again. He inhaled, slow and deep, then shut his eyes. When he opened them, the gold was gone—but not the heat.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
Simple. Honest.
Jimin felt a blush rise to his cheeks. Stupid and rather embarrassing. He wasn’t a bashful person—but the way Hoseok had said it made his heart flutter.
Only two people had ever done that to him.
Hoseok. And Taehyung.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, gaze soft.
The private room was at the end of the corridor. Hoseok knocked twice before opening the door.
Jimin nearly snorted at the sight waiting inside.
Namjoon and Jungkook were mid-scramble, trying to look decent. Namjoon’s collar was bent. Jungkook’s blouse was half-buttoned, his lips red and kiss-slicked. Both of them looked like they’d been caught doing exactly what they had been doing.
Subtle , Jimin thought, amused.
Namjoon-ssi sat at one side of the table with Jungkook. Across from them were two open chairs—side-by-side. More intimate than Jimin had expected. Definitely a choice.
“Jimin-ssi,” Namjoon said, clearing his throat.
“Hyung,” Jungkook chimed in happily, cutting his alpha off. “You look amazing.”
Jimin blushed. Again.
What is up with me today?
“Please,” the head alpha said, gesturing smoothly, “take a seat.”
As he approached the table, Jimin caught the way Namjoon’s gaze slid up his legs—and then got stuck at the crown of his hair. He smirked internally.
Yeah. Thought so.
Hoseok pulled his chair out first like the perfect gentleman, waiting for Jimin to sit before taking the seat beside him.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Jungkook clapped his hands together, drawing every eye back to him.
“I’m starving,” he said, tilting his head with the kind of wide-eyed innocence only he could pull off. “How about we eat first and then talk business?”
He hit Namjoon with full-force puppy eyes. It was lethal.
As expected, Namjoon softened immediately.
“Alright,” he said, reaching for the menu. “We’ll eat first.”
He glanced across the table. “Jimin-ssi, please—order whatever you like.”
Who could say no to that?
The food was incredible.
Jimin had heard plenty about Serendipity —Seoul’s most exclusive restaurant, notoriously hard to reserve a table at with some kind of connection. Now, sitting at this table, tasting each bite, he understood. The hype wasn’t just justified. It was understated.
Every dish melted in his mouth, seasoned to perfection.
Hoseok kept reaching over, placing little bites from his plate onto Jimin’s without asking. It was an alpha thing. A territorial gesture. A subtle offering.
Jimin didn’t stop him.
But he didn’t lean into it either.
Because Hoseok wasn’t his and he wasn’t Hoseok’s.
Still, the warmth that bloomed in his chest at the gesture was hard to ignore.
He glanced up just in time to catch Namjoon watching—observing the way Hoseok hovered, the quiet attention, the faint ring of gold that hadn’t fully left his eyes since Jimin sat down.
Once their plates were cleared, and the waiter silently slipped away after topping their water, the air shifted.
Namjoon leaned forward, folding his hands on the table, and his face changed. Gone was the casual, half-distracted host. This was the syndicate boss.
“As I mentioned on the phone,” he began, voice smooth, “I’d like to give you an offer.”
Jimin took a sip of water, calm and practiced, then set the glass down on the pretty coaster with a perfectly steady hand.
“Go ahead, Namjoon-ssi,” he said. “I’m willing to hear you out.”
Namjoon didn’t miss a beat.
“I’d like to offer you a position in the syndicate.”
Jimin’s gaze dropped—just briefly—to the condensation sliding down his glass. Then he looked back up and met Namjoon’s eyes head-on.
“And what makes you think I’d want the position?”
“Well,” Hoseok said from beside him, voice lighter, almost coaxing, “now that Taehyung works for us, we thought you might be interested in something more stable.”
Jimin let out a short, humorless scoff.
“Why?” he asked. “Because I’m an omega? Or because you think I want to drop out of the game like you?”
Hoseok turned toward him, something flickering in his eyes—hurt, maybe but mostly, surprise.
“What’s wrong with that?”
Jimin didn’t hesitate.
“What’s wrong is that this,” he gestured vaguely, “is not a side gig for me. Contracts aren’t freedom. They’re not just something I’m good at. They are my life. I was raised for this.”
The tension at the table thickened. Electric.
Jimin could feel Hoseok processing that—how personal it sounded. Maybe because it was.
Then Jungkook cut in, voice quiet but firm.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said gently, “but… what’s the difference between you and Hoseok-hyung? He was raised for it too.”
Jimin sighed, the sharp edge of his posture softening just slightly.
“I wasn’t just raised to kill,” he said. “I was raised to take over. To lead. My parents ran a firm. When they retired, I inherited it. I don’t work alone—I have a team. I don’t just take contracts—I build networks. Maintain alliances. I run my business.”
He looked back at Hoseok. “I’m sorry for snapping. But this isn’t something I can just walk away from. It’s not something I want to walk away from. This life is something I chose, not something I was forced into . ”
Namjoon leaned forward again, gaze unreadable.
“Then let’s not talk about a desk job,” he said. “Let’s talk about you helping the syndicate. Training. Logistics. Contracts—exclusive to me.”
Jimin arched his brow. “So I’d belong to you, then.”
Namjoon didn’t blink. “Only as much as Taehyung does.”
Jimin laughed under his breath.
He wasn’t wrong. Taehyung did sign. And that signature was a chain, whether he saw it yet or not. It came with secrets, access, protection—and ownership. That was how family syndicates worked. You didn’t just work for them. You belonged to them.
“Fine,” Jimin said. “Then I have one condition.”
That got Jungkook’s attention. The younger omega leaned forward slightly, eyes darting to Namjoon’s—curious. Watching to see if the alpha would bend.
He probably would. Jimin had the upper hand here, and everyone at the table knew it.
Namjoon had Hoseok.
What he didn’t have—was Jimin.
Jimin stood slowly, smoothing his skirt as he rose. He didn’t miss the way both alphas’ eyes drifted downward. Didn’t miss Jungkook’s pointed glare either.
I’ll apologize later
“I’ll let you think about it before—”
“What’s the condition?” Hoseok asked, cutting him off.
Jimin’s hand tightened around the strap of his purse.
“I have seven kids who work for me,” he said, voice cool. “They’re mine. Trained by me. Chosen by me. If you want me, they come too.”
Namjoon leaned back, expression curious now. Calculating.
“Will they follow my orders?”
Jimin smirked. “Only if I say so.”
Namjoon chuckled—low, rich. Dangerous. It slid down Jimin’s spine like cold whiskey.
“Hoseok will contact you soon, Jimin-ssi,” he said, still smiling. “It was a pleasure seeing you today.”
Jungkook caught him just before the exit.
He moved quickly—too quick for a post-lunch shuffle—and wrapped his arms around Jimin’s waist like it was second nature. Jimin blinked in surprise, but didn’t pull away. His lips quirked.
“Well, someone’s getting bold,” he said, amused.
Jungkook just buried his face in Jimin’s neck for a second, inhaling. “You smell dangerous,” he mumbled.
“I am dangerous.”
“That’s probably why I like texting you so much,” Jungkook said, voice lower now, teasing. “Your little knife emojis have been the highlight of my week.”
Jimin chuckled. “And here I thought you were just pretending to be cute.”
Jungkook pulled back enough to meet his eyes—still smiling, still soft, but there was something else under it today. Something warmer. Needier. Not in a desperate way. Just… curious. Restless.
“I am cute,” he said. Then added, “But you’re trouble.”
His hands slid slightly lower on Jimin’s waist, thumbs brushing the hem of his cropped blazer. It wasn’t enough to be inappropriate—but it was definitely enough to be noticed.
“You’re being handsy,” Jimin warned, but he was smiling now.
“I’m being jealous,” Jungkook replied honestly. “Namjoon-hyung looked like he wanted to bend you over the damn table, and Hoseok-hyung didn’t even try to hide it.”
Jimin arched his brow. “Are you saying you want to bend me over too?”
Jungkook flushed instantly, ears turning pink. “Not without permission.”
“From me?”
“Yes but especially from him ,” Jungkook said, nodding toward the dining room. “Namjoon-hyung wouldn’t like me touching things that aren’t mine.”
Jimin tilted his head. “Is that how you see me? Someone else’s?”
Jungkook didn’t answer right away. Just smiled—slow, sweet, a little sad.
“You are,” he said.
It was Jimin’s turn to be quiet.
Jungkook stepped back, smoothing his shirt. The flirt dropped a notch, replaced by something gentler. More boyish.
“Text me later?” he asked, softer now. “When you’re home?”
Jimin reached up and patted his cheek. “I will.”
And he meant it.
Jungkook grinned, then turned and disappeared back down the hallway—shoulders a little straighter than before.
Hoseok was waiting at the door by the time Jimin turned around, leaning against the wall like he’d been there all along. Watching.
“Didn’t peg him for the possessive type,” Hoseok said, amused.
“You’re one to talk,” Jimin replied, falling into step beside him.
Hoseok let out a quiet chuckle. “Touché.”
They walked together down the hallway, the silence stretching just long enough to feel familiar. It was comfortable and a little dangerous.
“You look good,” Hoseok said eventually.
“You said that already.”
“I’ll say it again.”
Jimin smirked. “Still a flirt.”
Hoseok gave him a sidelong glance. “Still gorgeous.”
“You trying to get me in trouble?”
“You trying to let me?”
Their steps slowed as they reached the front. The words hung in the air between them like a lit match. Neither of them moved to blow it out.
Then Jimin asked, casually—too casually, “They didn’t say anything. About us.”
“No,” Hoseok said quietly. “Namjoon wants to talk to the pack first. Make sure everyone’s… aligned.”
“Aligned,” Jimin repeated, a little bitter. “Right.”
“He knows already,” Hoseok added. “Everything. I told him the truth.”
Jimin nodded once, looking away.
The black car pulled up outside.
Hoseok stepped forward and opened the door.
“Thanks,” Jimin murmured, sliding in.
They looked at each other one last time without words or smiles, just something unspoken hanging in the space between them.
The car door shut, and as the engine hummed to life, Hoseok’s figure began to fade—first into the restaurant’s shadows, then into the blur of city lights, until he was gone.
The restaurant’s warmth still clung to Jimin’s skin, the echo of their banter still curled low in his chest but it wasn’t enough to stop the cold from seeping in.
Because maybe the flirting had never been real.
Maybe it was just kindness or just the first pull of a rope meant to drag him into the syndicate.
And he couldn’t decide if the thought left him disappointed—or relieved.
Notes:
Can you guess who the seven would be?
I know I'm uploading faster than i said but I have a lot written and I'm excited to share. I hope you all enjoyed, leave a comment and a kudo if you can :))
Chapter Text
Seokjin didn’t know what to think about Park Jimin.
He was beautiful, sure—stupidly beautiful. Lethal, even more so. A sharp tongue hidden behind soft lips. A masterclass in contradiction. Seokjin had seen his fair share of dangerous men, but something about Jimin was different. He didn’t wear his ruthlessness like a blade—he wore it like perfume. Subtle. Seductive. Impossible to ignore.
That thought lingered as Seokjin sank into the couch, fresh from the shower, his still-damp hair curling slightly at the ends. Yoongi had pulled him aside minutes earlier with a quiet murmur.
“Joon wants to talk. Said it was important.”
“Do you know why?”
“No,” Yoongi replied, jaw tight. “But it feels off.”
So now they were all gathered in the living room. Yoongi beside Jin, arms folded. Jungkook curled into the corner of the sectional. Hoseok stood beside Namjoon, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
The silence was uncomfortable and heavy until Seokjin broke it.
“Is there a reason why we’re all convened here,” he asked, voice dry, “or can I go to bed?”
Hoseok cleared his throat and shifted before rubbing a palm down the front of his slacks.
“Well…” he started. Then paused.
“I guess I should start by admitting that I have… history with Park Jimin.”
Yoongi blinked. Slowly.
Seokjin turned to him, feeling the shift in the omega’s energy like a static charge in the air.
“What kind of history?” Yoongi asked. His tone wasn’t sharp—but it was deadly precise.
Hoseok didn’t look at anyone when he said it.
“Sexual history.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
Seokjin’s gaze slid to Yoongi—whose jaw had locked tight, eyes darkening, lips thin with fury. The omega wasn’t loud. He didn’t need to be. Rage lived quieter in people like him.
“And it didn’t occur to you to mention it before now?” Yoongi asked, voice dangerously calm.
“Not until recently, no,” Hoseok replied, still avoiding everyone’s eyes.
Yoongi nodded once. Not in understanding—just acknowledgment. He turned his head slowly toward Namjoon.
“And you? Are you standing there because you also have some convenient revelation to share?”
Namjoon swallowed visibly. His posture—usually sharp, grounded—was now rigid in a different way. Like he was bracing for impact.
“I, uh… I offered Jimin-ssi a position in the syndi—”
Yoongi stood abruptly, the movement sudden enough to make Jungkook flinch.
His footsteps echoed down the hallway, sharp and deliberate, until a door slammed shut. The sound of the lock clicking was like a gunshot in the silence that followed.
Hoseok deflated, dragging a hand down his face as he sank into the couch—right between Jungkook’s parted thighs. The younger omega, ever soft in moments like these, threaded his fingers through Hoseok’s hair and leaned forward to press a kiss to his crown.
Namjoon hovered awkwardly until Jungkook patted the cushion beside them. He sat down heavily, one arm draped across Hoseok’s shoulders. The three of them formed a loose huddle, but it didn’t feel whole. Not without Yoongi.
“I don’t know how else you thought this would go,” Seokjin said, exhaling sharply. “You withheld information. Then you made decisions without even thinking to consult him.”
Namjoon opened his mouth, but Seokjin lifted a hand.
“No. I know you’re the head alpha. And the boss. But Yoongi is your right hand and our pack omega. You don't need his permission—but he deserves your respect. You should’ve told him. You should’ve asked.”
Seokjin was too tired to deal with either of them so he rose to his feet, brushing off his sweatpants. His bones ached from the twelve-hour shift he’d just pulled, but there was no world in which he could sleep while Yoongi was hurting.
So he walked—quiet and barefoot—to the locked door at the end of the hall.
He knocked once. Gentle.
“Yoongi-ah,” he called softly.
A pause. Then—
“What?”
“Can hyung come in, please?”
There was another beat of silence. Then the soft click of the lock.
Seokjin pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Yoongi was sitting on the edge of the bed, curled in on himself. His arms wrapped around his own waist, like he was trying to hold his feelings in with sheer pressure.
Seokjin crossed the room and pulled him in without a word. Yoongi melted into him, face pressed to his chest.
“They all knew,” Yoongi mumbled, voice muffled. “Did you?”
“No,” Seokjin said softly. He ran a soothing hand up and down Yoongi’s spine. “I didn’t.”
He lifted the omega into his arms and carried him to the bed. They curled under the duvet together, Seokjin spooning him, arms wrapped protectively around his waist.
“I think sometimes,” Seokjin murmured, “we all get so tangled up in our own worlds that we forget to look sideways. To check in.”
Yoongi didn’t respond right away. Just curled tighter into his arms.
A long breath passed between them.
“Hyung?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
Seokjin pressed his nose to Yoongi’s hair. The familiar scent of orange blossom and cream calmed something restless in him. Sleep started to creep in at the edges.
Then—
“Hyung?” Yoongi whispered, just a touch louder.
Jin cracked one eye open. “What?”
“You’re not gonna brush?”
He snorted, half-asleep.
“Did it after my shower. Have you, little omega?”
Yoongi shook his head.
“Well, you go do that and then come cuddle me again.”
A smile broke across Yoongi’s face—small and soft.
“Okay,” he said, already climbing out of bed. “But don’t fall asleep without me, okay?”
“I’ll try.”
He failed.
Seokjin woke up to warm sunlight slicing through the curtains. There was a smaller body curled in front of him, firm and warm. His morning wood pressed up against the dip of Yoongi’s lower back, thick and aching.
He kissed the back of his omega’s head, then slipped out of bed. He tapped the screen of Yoongi’s phone. Half past eight.
Not bad for a day off.
He padded into the en-suite bathroom, stripping off his pajamas as he went. His cock hung heavy between his thighs, already leaking at the tip.
The water came on hot, sluicing down his back as he stepped in. He palmed his length, stroking slowly, each motion measured and indulgent.
His soft groans were swallowed by the steam—until the glass door slid open and Yoongi stepped in.
Hair damp, body flushed pink from sleep and warmth, skin dewy under the spray. His eyes were still half-lidded, but he looked up at Jin with a smile.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Didn’t want to bother you.”
“You’re not a bother, hyung.”
He stepped forward, chest brushing against Seokjin’s. Their height difference made Yoongi’s head tilt upward as he reached for a kiss.
And then they were kissing.
Wet, messy and wanting.
Seokjin cupped the back of Yoongi’s neck and pulled him in deeper, tilting his head just enough to let their tongues slide together. His other hand found the curve of Yoongi’s hip, then drifted lower.
Yoongi reached between them and wrapped his fingers around Seokjin’s cock, pumping lazily.
“Fuck,” Jin groaned against his mouth.
The teasing was unbearable. Yoongi stroked him slowly, just enough to make him throb, then let go.
Before Jin could even protest, Yoongi turned around, braced his hands against the tile, and arched his back—offering himself like a goddamn gift.
His cunt glistened in the the low light of the bathroom, dripping and perfect.
“Holy fuck,” Jin breathed.
He lined up and pushed in slowly, watching as Yoongi took him inch by inch. The omega gasped, fingers flexing against the tile, body relaxing as the thick beta cock filled him.
Jin reached around to rub slow circles over his clit, his thrusts building in rhythm. Wet sounds filled the air, mixing with Yoongi’s high, breathy moans and the slap of skin on skin.
Every time Jin bottomed out, Yoongi clenched down around him, squeezing just right. His body knew Jin—had memorized him.
It didn’t take long.
Yoongi’s orgasm hit hard. He clenched, thighs trembling, walls fluttering around Jin’s cock as he cried out.
The pulsing heat of it dragged Jin over the edge with him.
He came deep, hips jerking, groaning as he spilled inside.
They stayed like that for a long moment, pressed together, breathing hard.
No knot to worry about. A beta’s gift—and curse.
Yoongi turned around and leaned up for a kiss, cum slipping down his thigh.
Jin cupped his cheek, kissed him soft.
“Breakfast?” Yoongi asked, batting his lashes coyly.
Seokjin laughed, breathless and warm.
“Of course, my love,” he said, reaching for the shampoo. “But let’s get you cleaned up first.”
After breakfast—warm rice, reheated kimchi jjigae, and too many soft glances—Yoongi sat alone on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in one of Seokjin’s oversized shirts. The apartment was quiet. Jin had gone back to the hospital to help with an emergency consult, and Jungkook was napping in his room after staying up too late binging a drama he swore he wasn’t invested in.
Which meant it was just Yoongi. And the silence.
He exhaled.
The morning had been warm, comforting even. The kind of gentle intimacy that only Jin could offer. But now, without it, the heaviness crept back in.
He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling.
They’d kept it from him. Both of them.
Hoseok and Namjoon.
The two people he trusted most in this world had looked him in the face every day, laughed with him, touched him, made love to him—and hadn’t said a word.
Not when Hoseok saw Jimin again. Not when Namjoon was thinking of offering him a job.
Yoongi wasn’t angry because they made those decisions.
He was angry because they made them without him.
Jungkook had known too, of course. But Jungkook wasn’t the one Yoongi turned to when it came to decisions that shaped the pack’s future. Jungkook was his comfort, his joy, his soft place to land—not the one responsible for steering the ship. He didn’t expect strategic honesty from Jungkook the way he did from Namjoon and Hoseok. And that was the difference.
He stood slowly, stretching his limbs, the shirt falling just past his thighs. He padded barefoot into the living room. The space was empty now, but lived-in. The blanket on the couch half-folded. Someone’s coffee mug still on the table. A pair of Jungkook’s fuzzy socks abandoned by the armrest.
Yoongi’s eyes landed on the hallway to Namjoon’s office. The door was shut. Namjoon was probably at the office today.
A moment passed.
Then he turned and walked the other way, toward the kitchen. He needed tea. Something calming. Something to occupy his hands so his mind wouldn’t spiral into what-if’s and would-you-have-told-me’s.
They found him an hour later.
Yoongi was curled up in the corner of the big armchair, knees to his chest, tea cradled in both hands as he watched some trending drama. His hair was still a little puffy from the earlier shower, his skin clean and bare of product. He looked soft.
But the sharpness in his eyes when they approached reminded them both just how dangerous softness could be.
“Yoongi,” Namjoon started, standing awkwardly just inside the threshold of the living room.
Hoseok was beside him, unusually quiet.
Yoongi didn’t speak. He didn’t move.
So Hoseok stepped forward.
“I fucked up,” he said.
Yoongi arched his brow slowly in response. “Did you?”
“Yes,” Hoseok said, voice low. “I should’ve told you the second I saw him again. I thought it wouldn’t matter. I thought it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. Not to you.”
Yoongi took a sip of tea. Said nothing.
Namjoon cleared his throat and followed. “And I should’ve asked before offering him a place in the syndicate. I knew you’d want to weigh in. I just—” He hesitated. “I got caught up in the opportunity. And I assumed you’d understand.”
Yoongi set his cup down. Finally.
“I do understand,” he said. “I understand you both better than anyone else in this entire city. Which is why I usually know when you’re keeping something from me. And why it hurts ten times more when you do.”
Hoseok winced.
“You were going to let me sit in meetings with him,” Yoongi continued, voice low and sharp. “Smile across a table from someone you used to fuck, while you pretended like it didn’t matter. You weren’t even going to give me the dignity of knowing.”
“It wasn’t about that,” Hoseok said quickly. “He’s not—Yoongi, it wasn’t like what we have.”
“But it was something,” Yoongi snapped, "It could still be something."
The silence that followed was short but suffocating.
Then Namjoon stepped forward.
“You’re right,” Namjoon said. “We didn’t trust you to handle it. That’s what it comes down to. We assumed we could protect you from it—or just smooth it over before you noticed. And that was wrong.”
Yoongi’s head snapped up, disbelief flashing across his face.
“Protect me?” His voice was low, sharp. “I help run a fucking drug kingdom with you, Namjoon. I’ve made calls that have gotten people killed. You think I can’t handle knowing Hoseok's ex is in town? How did this withholding information for my protection thing work last time? Because if I recall correct, we ended up separated with me thinking that you stopped loving me.”
Namjoon opened his mouth, but Yoongi cut him off with a bitter laugh. “What, you think I’m some hot-headed liability? That I’ll fly off the handle the second my feelings get hurt?” He shook his head, jaw tight. “You didn’t protect me. You just decided I didn’t get a say.”
“I’m sorry,” Namjoon said quietly. “Really. I’m not asking you to be okay with it. Just asking you to believe that we’ll do better.”
Hoseok stepped closer, dropping to one knee beside the armchair. His hand hovered on the cushion’s edge—not touching, just waiting.
“We don’t want to lose your trust, Yoongi. Not over something this stupid.”
For a long moment, Yoongi stared at him, the heat still simmering in his chest. Then his gaze dropped to the hand. Slowly, deliberately, he laced his fingers through Hoseok’s as a sigh left his lips.
He didn’t say I forgive you.
But he didn’t pull away either.
His eyes lifted to Namjoon, sharp again. The softness gone.
“Why?”
Namjoon blinked. “What?”
“The job offer,” Yoongi said, voice cool, professional now. “To Jimin. Why?”
Namjoon straightened instinctively, sensing the shift. “Because he’s one of the best, nearly equal to Hoseok in contract work. Tactically, logistically—he has resources we don’t. He operates with clean lines. Minimal collateral. He already has a team of his own, trained from the ground up. That kind of structure could integrate seamlessly. We might need him and his team if worse comes to worse with Dongmin and Jinseok uniting forces.”
Yoongi nodded once, slow and measured.
“And the timing?”
Namjoon hesitated, then answered honestly. “I won’t lie. Part of it was about Taehyung. Offering Jimin a place gives us leverage—stability. Insurance, if you want to call it that. Having Taehyung already integrated within the syndicate made it easier for us to convince him to say yes.”
Yoongi didn’t look away.
“And the other part?”
Namjoon exhaled. “Because I want him. On our side.”
Yoongi didn’t blink. “You mean in our bed .”
Namjoon’s jaw tensed—but he didn’t deny it.
Yoongi hummed low in his throat and turned to Hoseok. “And you?”
Hoseok met his gaze. Steady. “What do you want to know?”
“Is your infatuation going to interfere with syndicate business?” Yoongi asked bluntly.
Hoseok didn’t flinch.
“Do you really think Namjoon would’ve let it happen if it would?”
Yoongi studied him for a moment. Thought about that. The way Namjoon obsessed over control. Over order. Over clean lines.
He sighed and leaned back into the chair.
“Right,” he said finally.
He didn’t say he approved.
Didn’t say he trusted Jimin.
But it was an acknowledgment.
A warning, too.
Hoseok squeezed his hand once before letting go, and Namjoon stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on the back of Yoongi’s chair.
“We’ll play it smart,” Namjoon said quietly. “I promise.”
Yoongi didn’t look at either of them. Just reached for his tea again and took a long sip.
“Next time you keep something from me,” he said softly, “don’t bother apologizing.”
Both alphas stilled.
“You’ll just be proving I was never part of the decision in the first place.”
And with that, Yoongi stood—graceful, composed, already moving on.
“I’m going to change. I have a meeting with our pharmaceutical manufacturer in the evening,” he added over his shoulder. “If Jimin’s going to be part of this, I want to meet the team myself. Set up a meeting as soon as possible.”
No arguments followed.
Because they knew better.
Notes:
Trouble in Paradise? Is Yoongi jealous, protective, or both ?
Any guesses about Jimin's team? How do you think it'll go down?Hope you enjoyed the smut and the angst haha. See you all soooon.
Chapter Text
Jimin had picked him up from the company building at 5 o’clock sharp. By the time they got home, the sun had dipped below the skyline, washing the city in hazy gold.
Taehyung unlocked the door, kicked it open with his foot, and stepped aside so Jimin could enter first—because manners, mostly. Also because if there were an ambush waiting, Jimin was better equipped to handle it.
Not that he’d ever say that out loud.
Jimin dropped his bag by the door and toed off his boots, moving through the apartment with that same lethal elegance he always had—even when exhausted.
Taehyung watched him for a second. Noticed the subtle tension in his shoulders. The way his earrings were off—he’d taken them out in the car, which was rare. And how his hair was slightly mussed, like he’d run his hands through it more than once.
Rough day, then.
“You okay?” Taehyung asked, hanging up his jacket.
Jimin flopped onto the couch face-first and groaned into a cushion. “Define okay.”
Taehyung wandered over and sat beside him, nudging his thigh. “You wanna talk about it?”
“Mmm,” Jimin said into the fabric. “Had lunch with the three biggest headaches in my life and somehow didn’t stab anyone. And no, I’m not talking about the kids — they’re at least predictably difficult.”
“That’s my boy,” Taehyung said, grinning.
Jimin rolled onto his back, lips twitching. “They made an offer.”
“I figured,” Taehyung said. “Are you gonna take it?”
“I already did.”
Taehyung blinked. “Oh.”
Jimin sat up slowly and looked at him, one leg tucked under the other. “What? You’re allowed to join the mob, but I’m not?”
Taehyung scratched the back of his neck. “No, it’s not that. I just… I didn’t know you were gonna say yes so fast.”
“I didn’t say yes fast,” Jimin said. “I said yes after threatening a host, getting flirted with by Jungkook, and being borderline ogled by Namjoon. So really, I took my time.”
Taehyung snorted. “Charming.”
A beat of quiet settled between them, and then—
“Does the rest of the pack know?” Taehyung asked.
“I told Hoseok to tell them,” Jimin said with a shrug. “So if they didn’t know before, they definitely do now.”
“You didn’t want to, like… have a conversation about it?”
Jimin blinked. “Why?”
Taehyung stared at him. “Because you have history with Hoseok. And now you’re technically in the same chain of command.”
“So?”
“So… that’s kind of a big deal?”
Jimin tilted his head. “Only if you think it is.”
Taehyung rubbed his face. “God, you’re exhausting sometimes.”
Jimin smirked. “You love it.”
Unfortunately, he did.
They both leaned back on the couch, the soft hum of the city outside their windows. For a while, they sat in silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled.
Then Taehyung asked, voice quieter this time: “Do you think this is a mistake?”
“Probably,” Jimin said. “But it’s ours.”
Taehyung turned to him. “I mean… you basically belong to them now. Like, once you sign that contract, you’re not just doing side work. You’re in . Syndicate-level in.”
Jimin didn’t flinch. Just met his gaze steadily.
“Then why did you say yes?” he asked.
Taehyung hesitated. “Because I wanted to contribute. Be useful. Not feel like dead weight. Because it felt like a way forward.”
Jimin rolled his eyes. “God, you’re such an idiot.”
“Thanks?”
“I said yes because you said yes,” Jimin said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Because if you're going to get swallowed whole by this machine, I’m going to be right beside you when it happens.”
Taehyung froze.
“Oh,” he said softly.
Jimin nudged his foot against Taehyung’s.
“I’m not scared of the syndicate,” Jimin added. “I’ve been working in the shadows since I was twelve. But I am scared of watching you go under without anyone to pull you out.”
Taehyung looked at him for a long moment.
“You really think I’d drown?”
“No,” Jimin said. “I think you’d swim so hard trying to prove yourself, you’d forget how far from shore you got.”
Taehyung reached over and pulled Jimin into his arms. Jimin went willingly, curling into his lap, head tucked under his chin.
They stayed like that for a while, just holding each other.
Later that night, they lay in bed facing each other, legs tangled beneath the sheets. The lights were off, but the city bled through the blinds in thin stripes.
“You think they’ll hate me?” Jimin whispered.
Taehyung reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, fingers lingering just long enough to make Jimin still.
“Well… you’ve already got Jungkook and Hoseok wrapped around your finger.”
Jimin gave a soft laugh. “True. And Namjoon definitely thinks I’m hot—” he tipped his head, eyes gleaming “—but Yoongi most definitely hates me.”
Taehyung’s brow creased. His thumb brushed along the curve of Jimin’s jaw before dropping away. “Why would he?”
“Hoseok didn’t tell him about us.” Jimin’s smile curled, but his gaze slid to the side. “I’d be pissed too.”
Taehyung shifted a little closer, his knee brushing Jimin’s. “Or maybe he’s just figuring you out. You’re not exactly easy to ignore.”
Jimin blinked, caught off guard, before looking down at where their knees touched. “And Seokjin?”
“Same,” Taehyung said, voice low. “They just don’t know you yet.”
Jimin hummed, half-smile returning, though softer this time.
“Maybe. Alright, your turn. How about you?”
Taehyung chuckled, leaning back slightly as if to consider it.
“Jungkook seems to like me well enough. Yoongi too, surprisingly. I haven’t seen Namjoon or Seokjin enough to know. And Hoseok—” his lips quirked “—no idea if he likes me or if he’s secretly annoyed I keep showing up.”
That pulled a real laugh out of Jimin, the kind that made his shoulders relax. “You’d know if Hoseok was annoyed.”
“True,” Taehyung said, a smile playing at his mouth. “Though I’m pretty sure your kids like me more than Hoseok does.”
Jimin snorted. “They like anyone who doesn’t make them run laps. Don’t let it go to your head.”
Taehyung chuckled before settling back into the couch cushions.
“Guess we’re both still figuring them out.”
Jimin hummed in agreement, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Guess we are.”
The conversation slipped into a comfortable lull. Taehyung didn’t move his knee from where it pressed against Jimin’s, and Jimin didn’t ask him to. The air between them was warm, steady… until it wasn’t.
“Sleep,” Taehyung murmured, voice low enough to feel more like a suggestion than an order.
Jimin shot him a sidelong glance. “You’re bossy.”
Taehyung smiled, slow and knowing. “And you’re tired.”
“I’m fine,” Jimin said, eyes half-lidded, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Besides… what if I want to see if I’ve really got you wrapped around my finger?”
Taehyung’s answering laugh was quiet, but the look in his eyes was anything but gentle. “You already do.” He leaned in, his breath brushing Jimin’s ear. “But I don’t mind reminding you.”
Jimin’s pulse skipped, the space between them evaporating as Taehyung’s hand slid to the back of his neck. Whatever answer Jimin had was lost against Taehyung’s mouth, and neither of them mentioned sleep again.
The front of Park Jimin’s private firm was a luxury boutique.
Velvet drapes in the windows. Custom furniture. Curated lighting. The racks held carefully selected pieces—seasonal collections, one-of-a-kind accessories, fabrics imported from places no one dared to name. The average customer thought it was just another high-end concept store. The kind of place you wandered into with a glass of champagne and wandered out of with five less zeroes in your bank account.
The truth sat underneath.
Technically above, too.
Jimin’s firm operated from the reinforced floors above and below the boutique—one level of living space above, one level of business below. Two clean worlds, kept separate with precision.
But not today.
Today, the boutique was closed in the morning for “private clientele hours,” which really just meant Jimin needed to be alone—with his kids.
He stood behind the glass counter with a tablet in one hand and an espresso in the other, watching the youngest three flit around the boutique floor. Sunoo had a pearl choker wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet, modeling it in front of a mirror with exaggerated poses. Ni-ki was in the corner, disassembling a boutique security scanner just because he could. And Jungwon? Jungwon was on a step stool reorganizing the scarf display by gradient, tongue sticking out the side of his mouth in concentration.
“You break that scanner,” Jimin called without looking up, “and you’re fixing the air vents next.”
Ni-ki didn’t even glance up from the half-gutted device.
“Already did that last week.” His tone was flat, but the corner of his mouth twitched — just enough to show he was enjoying himself.
“I’ll find another one,” Jimin replied sweetly. “Maybe I’ll have you reprogram the store’s playlist again. Remember when you swapped the jazz for heavy metal during that bridal party consult?”
That got him — Ni-ki’s ears went a little pink as Sunoo snickered.
“That was years ago,” he muttered, but didn’t deny it.
Sunoo flopped dramatically across the loveseat near the register. “Hyung, I need more pearls.”
“You need a job,” Jimin muttered.
“I have a job,” Sunoo said, rolling over to wink. “You’re my boss.”
Jimin rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.
It hadn’t always been like this.
Sunoo had been the first—spotted at seventeen, half-frozen and decked in bruises, trying to pickpocket a mark Jimin was tailing. Ni-ki, fourteen, had been next—rage in a tiny body and an entire country away from home after his sister passed away. Jungwon, sixteen, had stumbled in after a street job gone wrong, bleeding from the ribs and too proud to cry. They were the youngest of the group, but not the weakest.
Jimin raised them sharp. Soft, but sharp. Now, half a decade later, they were exactly that. Gentle when they could be, ruthless when they had to be.
They weren’t his blood.
But they were his.
The boutique’s phone rang, screen lighting up with a name that made his eyebrow twitch.
Jimin sighed and picked it up, already bracing.
“Hoseok-ssi,” he said, tone smooth. “To what do I owe the interruption?”
“You love when I interrupt you,” came the reply, lazy and amused. “Don’t lie.”
“Mm,” Jimin hummed. “You calling to flirt or is this syndicate business?”
A pause.
Then Hoseok’s tone shifted—still casual, but lined with something firmer.
“Namjoon agrees to your terms. All of them. Full integration of your seven, autonomy over missions, financial protection, and asset classification under private contractor.”
Jimin blinked. “That fast?”
“He trusts me,” Hoseok said simply. “Aside from that—Yoongi wants to meet your team.”
The espresso paused halfway to Jimin’s lips.
“…Why?”
“Protocol,” Hoseok said. “Standard for anyone tied to a syndicate’s inner circle. He needs to know who’s working under our umbrella. Skills, training, loyalty.”
Jimin didn’t respond right away.
Hoseok sighed. “It’s not really a test. He’s not trying to pull them from you or poach. It's more of an assessment. That’s all.”
Jimin swirled his espresso, staring at the ripples.
“They’re kids.”
“They’re your kids,” Hoseok corrected. “Which means they’re not just kids. And you know it.”
Another pause.
“Fine,” Jimin said. “When?”
“Next Thursday. 8 p.m. It's a warehouse, near the Han. We use it for syndicate training. I'll text you an address in the morning.”
“Understood,” Jimin said, and ended the call before he could second-guess himself.
He stood there for a moment longer, gaze distant before clearing his throat.
“Kids,” he called out.
All three froze.
Jimin looked at them, arms crossed.
“Meeting next week. With the Kim Syndicate.”
Sunoo perked up. “Oh! Like, mafia mafia?”
Jimin raised a brow. “Yes, Sunoo. Mafia mafia. ”
Jungwon stepped off the stool, frowning slightly. “What kind of meeting?”
“Evaluation,” Jimin said. “Yoongi-nim wants to meet everyone. All seven of you. Go over your files. Hoseok-ssi called it an 'assessment'.”
Ni-ki’s eyebrow raised. “Is this where we show off?”
“God, no ,” Jimin muttered. “It’s not a talent show. Don’t go in there trying to out-intimidate Hoseok. Just… be professional. You’re not kids to them. You’re assets. They’ll treat you like the adults you are. That’s a compliment and a threat.”
The three nodded. Even Sunoo looked serious now.
Jimin stared at them—his youngest. Still soft around the edges. Still healing, in ways they didn’t always talk about.
The boutique quieted as dusk rolled in, painting long shadows through the front windows. The storefront was still set in luxury—glass, marble, curated scent diffusers, and a sound system that played slow jazz—but the illusion of retail had started to fade.
The real operation was winding up.
Jimin was behind the register, tallying up nothing in particular, when the front door’s sensor chimed.
“You track in dirt on my rug, I’m gutting your wardrobe and sending you back out in linen.”
Jake strolled in like he owned the place.
“Hyung,” he said with a sunny smile, “you wound me. I only wear linen in summer. ”
He set a slim silver case on the counter, tucking a water bottle under one arm. “Got the intel drop from Songdo. Encryption key’s logged. Easy in.”
Jimin just nodded. “Go upstairs. Eat something before your blood sugar crashes. No collapsing in the meeting room.”
Jake grinned and gave a mock salute before disappearing into the elevator.
The rest arrived in a staggered line.
Jay walked in next—hands in his pockets, chin tilted, expression unreadable. Weapons and recon, sharp as glass and twice as cutting. He paused by the counter long enough to glance over Jimin’s coffee.
“You’ve barely touched that,” he murmured, soft in a way that didn’t fit his edges, before heading for the back. Honestly, he could’ve run the whole operation if Jimin dropped dead tomorrow. He had the instincts. Jimin just had the style.
Heeseung came in behind him, posture loose but eyes sharp, the faint smell of gun oil still clinging to him. It wasn’t laziness — it was the bone-deep fatigue that came after holding your breath for hours, tracking a target through a scope. He was their sniper. Their ghost. He didn’t even blink when he dropped into the boutique’s armchair, head tipping back like he might fall asleep right there.
“You tracking blood on my upholstery?” Jimin asked, barely glancing up.
“It’s not mine,” Heeseung mumbled.
“I don’t care. Clean it.”
Sunghoon was the last of the older four—quiet, cold, unreadable. He didn’t say a word as he entered, just locked the door behind him, flipped the boutique sign to closed , and nodded once at Jimin. The nod was enough. It always was. Of all the boys, he was the one Jimin trusted most to vanish and reappear with answers. Or bodies. Or both.
A short while later, the youngest three filtered in from their tasks—hair wet from showers, voices raised in overlapping banter.
“Security drone down,” Ni-ki announced before he could speak.
“You broke it,” Jungwon said flatly.
“I dismantled it for scientific study,” Ni-ki argued.
Jungwon’s lips quirked, but he didn’t let the smile fully form.
“Uh-huh. Try not to ‘study’ anything the night before a mission, alright?” He tossed the words over his shoulder like an older brother half-scolding, half-teasing.
They regrouped in the firm’s private floor—no longer the boutique, but something sleeker. Sharper. Reinforced glass, soundproofed walls, smart displays. The kind of space that didn’t look like it should be below a designer shop. But then again, neither did Jimin.
He changed out of his retail uniform and into tactical chic: tailored black slacks, a white silk shirt half-unbuttoned, shoulder holster clipped under his left arm. Beautiful. Lethal.
The team gathered without needing to be told. Seven chairs around the long, clear-glass table. Seven faces. Seven lives that used to be half-broken until Jimin found them and stitched them into something terrifying and whole.
Jimin stood at the head.
“Meeting with the Kim Syndicate is locked in,” he said. “A week from today on Thursday, 8 p.m. Yoongi-nim wants to meet you.”
A beat of silence passed.
Jake was the first to lean back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers with a grin that was just shy of cocky. “Guess that means we’re moving up in the world, huh?”
Jungwon, sitting to his left, shot him a look that was half amusement, half warning. The unofficial leader in him didn’t need to say a word — the glance alone meant focus.
“You’re not here because I made space for you,” he said calmly. “You’re here because you earned it. And now the syndicate is going to see why.”
He let that settle.
“We present clean, efficient, and unified. You are not children anymore, you are operatives under contract. If anyone in that room doubts your place, prove them wrong by staying silent and doing your job.”
Ni-ki, slouched in his chair with his arms crossed, gave the smallest nod — a restrained version of his old spark. Jimin caught the flicker in his eyes, though: mischief tempered by self-control.
A short pause.
Then Jimin’s voice dropped just slightly.
“They’re not testing you. They’re testing me. So make it impossible for them to find a crack.”
No one argued.
Even Jake, for all his easy charm, straightened in his seat. Jungwon folded his arms, settling into that quiet readiness that made the others unconsciously match his energy. Jay’s hand drummed once on the table before going still. Ni-ki’s gaze sharpened. Sunoo tilted his chin in a way that said, let them try.
Heeseung, no longer slouched, leaned forward with his forearms on the table. The tiredness from earlier had burned off, replaced by the stillness of a man already running firing solutions in his head. When he was like this, Jimin knew he wasn’t just present — he was tracking angles, exits, and every single hand within reach.
Sunghoon didn’t move at all.
Just nods. Tension drawn tight and focused. Seven weapons, loaded and waiting.
Notes:
Did you figure out the seven? I tried my best to characterize ENHYPEN as best as I could. I just recently got into them, I even went to their Walk the Line concert recently, it was amazing! Let me know what you think :) see you soon.
Chapter 7: Trials and Tribulations
Notes:
I sort of noticed that I have a bad habit of leaving out key parts of a/b/o dynamics like scents and stuff so I am trying my best to incorporate that going forward. Forgive me! Feel free to leave comments, compliment and/or critics and as always I hope you enjoy!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Itaewon was alive the way cities get after nightfall—louder, hungrier, more honest. From the back booth of a cramped, neon-washed café, Taehyung adjusted his collar against the draft from the open door and tried not to look like he was waiting for approval.
Technically, this wasn’t an op. Just “monitoring activity,” Hoseok had called it. But the unspoken weight behind every keystroke told Taehyung the truth: He was being assessed. Not just for skill—but for fit. For potential. For leadership.
Yoongi had made that perfectly clear back in the meeting: three months. Two candidates. One department lead. He and Kai were placeholders until one of them proved they deserved more.
Across the table, Hoseok sat with his back to the wall, a laptop open in front of him. The screen’s glow lit his face in sharp lines, but Taehyung knew most of that display was wasted on him. Hoseok could move like a ghost through a kill zone, could put a bullet exactly where it needed to go without thinking twice—but his “network security” skills stopped somewhere between password managers and reading the occasional threat report.
Which was fine. This wasn’t Hoseok’s area. Tonight, he was here to watch.
And that was the part Taehyung hated—because while Hoseok’s hands barely moved on the keyboard, his eyes never stopped tracking him .
Taehyung’s fingers danced across his own laptop, the screen split between a live trace map of darknet comms and a steady stream of intercepted chat logs. He ghosted through three separate servers, tunneling deep into one of Dongmin’s distribution channels, patching in an undetectable backdoor before anyone on the other side even twitched.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Hoseok murmured without looking up from his own screen.
Taehyung didn’t pause. “What thing?”
“Trying too hard to look natural.”
He bit back a sigh. “I’m literally working.”
“And still performing,” Hoseok said, finally glancing over. “You know what your real problem is?”
Taehyung’s jaw tightened. “Enlighten me.”
“You haven’t figured out if you’re here to lead,” Hoseok said, “or to impress.”
“Maybe I’m trying to do both.”
“You’ll end up doing neither.”
The words stung more than Taehyung wanted to admit. His fingers stilled over the keys, the hum of servers in his earpiece filling the silence.
“You’re not under threat here,” Hoseok added, voice lower now. “We’re not waiting for you to fail.”
“Doesn’t feel like that,” Taehyung muttered before he could stop himself.
Hoseok didn’t take offense. He just studied him, eyes narrowed in quiet calculation.
“That’s because you’re still trying to be what you think this job wants,” he said. “It’s like watching someone wear a suit tailored for someone else.”
Taehyung stayed silent, gaze fixed on his screen. He’d just finished installing a silent scraper on Dongmin’s ledger node—something Hoseok wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t even understand the depth of if he did.
“You’re not weak,” Hoseok said finally. “But you’re not decisive yet. And that’s what Yoongi’s watching for.”
“Decisiveness?”
“No. Identity.”
That word hit deep, sinking past the noise of incoming alerts and packet counts.
He thought of Jimin then—how sharply he moved through the world. How every decision felt like it had already been made. How his loyalty wasn’t questioned, because his presence said everything first.
Taehyung didn’t move like that yet. He didn’t have the same stillness. The same bite. But he wanted to and not just for himself.
“What happens if Kai’s better?” Taehyung asked quietly.
“Then Kai gets the role,” Hoseok said without hesitation. “But that doesn’t mean you failed. It means we find another place where you don’t have to force yourself to fit.”
“But I want this one,” Taehyung said.
“I know,” Hoseok replied. “Then make it yours.”
Taehyung didn’t answer. He just turned back to his screen, fingers moving in a smooth, practiced rhythm.
A few seconds later, a new notification blinked into the corner of his monitor—confirmation that the scraper had finished pulling Dongmin’s encrypted ledgers and mirroring them to a secure, private server. No alerts triggered. No trace left.
Hoseok didn’t ask what he’d just done. He wouldn’t understand the code, not in this lifetime. But for the first time that night, Taehyung wasn’t performing.
Hoseok had worked with enough alphas to read them in seconds — the posturing, the dominance in their stance, the way their scent pushed into a room before they did.
Taehyung wasn't like that.
Even with scent blockers muting it, Hoseok caught the low, warm pull of vanilla and whiskey. Not sharp. Not demanding. Just… coaxing. The kind of scent that didn’t push but still stayed in the mind after. That was the dangerous kind — the quiet alphas who could unsettle a room without lifting their voice.
The fact that Taehyung was mated to Jimin should’ve been enough to put his instincts in check. But it didn’t stop the small flashes — a turn of the head, a half-smile, the way his hands punctuated his focus — that carried Jimin’s imprint. Not obvious, but to Hoseok, unmistakable.
His chest tightened before he could stop it. Lingering instinct. He’d buried those feelings for Jimin years ago, locked them under the weight of his bonds to Yoongi, Seokjin, Jungkook, and Namjoon. But instincts had their own sense of time, and sometimes they woke without permission.
And now here was Taehyung — carrying Jimin’s touch in his movements, and something wholly his own beneath it.
Hoseok told himself he was only watching for assessment’s sake. That was the job. But then Taehyung shifted — shoulders loose, chin lifted, satisfaction soft at the corner of his mouth. His scent settled too, deepening in a way that brushed against Hoseok’s senses, warm and unguarded.
It wasn’t a show of dominance or a challenge, it was basically just an alpha comfortable in his own space and it caught Hoseok off-guard. Not just because it was rare to see in someone so young, but because it pulled at him. In the same way Jimin used to — not with force, but with a quiet gravity that made you want to lean closer.
He looked away before Taehyung could notice, but the weight of the moment stayed with him.
Yoongi had been right: identity mattered more than skill. And maybe, Hoseok thought, identity was what made people dangerous.
He shut his laptop and slid it into his bag. “That’s enough for tonight,” he said, voice even.
Taehyung didn’t look away from his screen. “You’re heading out?”
“Yeah.” Hoseok hesitated, then added, “You did good work.”
It wasn’t the kind of thing he said lightly, and Taehyung seemed to know it. His eyes flicked up for just a second, the corner of his mouth twitching — not quite a smile, but close. His scent shifted too, warmer, like the note of a drink just poured.
Hoseok felt the pull in his chest and ignored it.
“See you at the meeting,” he said, pushing back from the table.
When he stepped out into the neon-lit street, the noise of Itaewon swallowed him whole — but the quiet certainty he’d seen in Taehyung’s eyes stayed with him
The kids were dressed and ready a full hour before the meeting. Nerves and excitement tangled in the air—from Jake bouncing his leg to Sunghoon repeatedly assembling and disassembling his handgun.
They’d gone for a polished all-black look, casual at first glance, but on closer inspection, each outfit carried a subtle flash of designer pieces that they had either bought themselves or received as gifts from Jimin. Jimin himself was in something closer to business casual, a blend of boutique elegance and office formality: loose black slacks paired with a soft, baby-blue blouse that complemented the glint of his jewelry.
All heads turned at the cheerful chime of the door. Taehyung stepped in, smiling warmly. He wore his work clothes—navy button-down, black pants, and sleek leather loafers—and looked downright edible.
“Hyung!” Jake said, springing up to hug him. The young beta’s excitement was all bright energy, but his eyes still flicked over Taehyung’s shoulder, instinctively checking the street outside. Jungwon, the other beta, followed close behind—quiet, composed, the type to hang back just far enough to watch everyone’s blind spots.
“Hey, guys,” Taehyung replied, returning each hug and ruffling the remaining four heads. “Ready to go?”
“We’ve been ready for an hour,” Jay said, rising from his chair. The beta strategist’s voice was calm, but he was already angling his body toward the door, subtly guiding the group’s formation without a word.
“You’d think Jimin-hyung was trying to impress the Kims, with how many opinions he had about our outfits,” Sunghoon said dryly. The alpha didn’t glance up from his weapon, hands steady as he slid the slide back and forth, checking the action more from habit than necessity.
A flush crept into Jimin’s cheeks. He did want to impress the Kims. He wanted them to see him as flawless, self-sufficient—but part of him also wanted them to recognize the strong, capable omega he was.
“Hyung made me change like three times,” Sunoo scoffed. The omega leaned lazily against the counter, gaze drifting toward the café window where a couple walked by. He was smiling faintly, but Jimin knew he was reading them—cataloging posture, tone, body language—just as easily as others read a menu.
“Well, I must be perfect,” Heeseung said with a grin. The alpha looked relaxed, but Jimin caught the tension in his frame, the way his stance was balanced for a forward strike. In close combat, Heeseung’s charm was just as much a weapon as his fists.
At the far end of the table, Ni-ki was idly tossing a small knife in one hand, catching it without looking. The baby alpha’s reflexes were uncanny, his movements sharp and restless, like a predator waiting for the signal to move.
Jungwon rolled his eyes and flicked Heeseung’s hand, the smallest of checks to keep the mood light.
“We should get going, Hyung. Where are we headed?” the beta asked.
“One of their warehouses near the Han River,” Jimin answered. “Training facility by day, conference room on the side. Hoseok-nim sent me the address.”
He tapped out a quick text to let Hoseok know they were leaving. “Okay, let’s go.”
As they filed into the family car, Jimin began to think. They were young adults Jimin had seen grow up—they used to be kids he’d held during panic episodes, kids who’d crawled into his bed after nightmares, kids who had trusted him with their demons, kids who’d let him help polish their school presentations.
He knew their scents by heart. He knew them . And he was grateful Taehyung had accepted them as his own from the moment Jimin had brought them home.
Jimin took a deep breath and glanced out the window as Taehyung drove.
Yoongi got to the warehouse after his meeting with a distributor, head pounding as he pushed open the conference room door and was immediately greeted by the strong scents of cinnamon and pine. No matter how irritated he was, those scents grounded him — the steady presence of his alphas. Beneath them, lighter threads drifted through the air: Jungkook’s sweet mix of strawberries and sugar, and the clean, comforting scent of freshly dried laundry — Seokjin.
The training warehouse’s conference room was large, meant for both negotiations and… less pleasant things. All four of his mates were there. Jungkook seated with Seokjin beside him, Namjoon at the head of the table, and Hoseok standing nearby.
“Jimin should be here soon. Jungkook got some food for everyone — finger foods, mostly,” Hoseok said. Jungkook nodded as he popped a chip in his mouth.
Yoongi sighed and crossed the room, climbing into Namjoon’s lap without hesitation. The head alpha tensed under his weight, but relaxed as soon as Yoongi’s nose pressed to the warm skin just above his scent gland. Long fingers threaded through Yoongi’s hair, massaging until some of the tension bled from his shoulders.
“Hard day?” Namjoon murmured, his voice a low rumble in his chest.
“Yeah,” Yoongi answered softly. His eyes flicked to Hoseok. “Come here.”
The alpha approached, leaning down to catch the kiss Yoongi offered. The faint taste of strawberry chapstick lingered on his lips.
“Hyungie,” Jungkook whined. “I want a kiss too.”
“Then get over here, brat.”
Seokjin was next, stepping forward for his own kiss. By the time the security alarm chimed — motion detected — the air in the room was thick with happy hormones.
Yoongi slid off Namjoon’s lap, taking the empty chair at his alpha’s right. Jungkook dropped into the seat beside him, Seokjin settling on Namjoon’s other side, leaving the seat directly next to Namjoon’s left empty for Hoseok. Yoongi gave Hoseok a small nod toward the door.
Hoseok had moved to the warehouse entrance just as the footsteps approached. Jimin appeared first, hand laced with Taehyung’s, the two moving in quiet synchronicity. They looked… well, beautiful, if Hoseok was being honest.
Behind them came seven tall silhouettes. They carried themselves like operatives, and their scents confirmed it: sharp, dangerous edges wrapped in a single, unmistakable layer of omega possessiveness. They smelled like Jimin.
Notes:
Just a refresher on their secondary genders
Alphas: Namjoon, Hoseok, Taheyung
Betas: Seokjin
Omegas: Yoongi, Jimin, Jungkookjust want to say that this pack has a crazy amount of omegas which is intentional. male omegas are rare in my AU and I wanted to make them special.
ENHYPEN:
Alphas: Heeseung, Sunghoon, Niki
Betas: Jay, Jake, Jungwon
Omegas: Sunoopls forgive any like time stamp and/or location mistakes, i tried my hardest to make everything align but like move forward in the timeline as well. see you next week :)
Chapter 8: Alliance
Notes:
One of the activities here is inspired by Sakamoto Days, a new anime I'm watching. Very cool, if you like John Wick, this anime is very much for you!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jimin’s assassins were nothing like what Namjoon had imagined. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting—but it wasn’t this.
They came down the stairs behind Jimin and Taehyung in quiet formation, eyes sweeping the room as they moved. Scents unfurled with them, low but unmistakable. Every glance was purposeful whether it was to note where the exits were or who was in the room.
The Kim pack rose to greet them while Namjoon stayed seated. Jimin and Taehyung inclined their heads, the seven mirroring the motion in perfect unison. Pine and petrichor spread heavier from Namjoon, grounding the space—a quiet reminder of whose territory this was.
“Please, sit,” Namjoon said, motioning toward the empty chairs. Hoseok returned to his place, cinnamon warmth curling lazily around him, and the others followed. Jimin settled directly across from Namjoon, Taehyung at his side. The assassins sat without fuss, but their spacing wasn’t random—every angle, every line of sight deliberate.
“Jimin-ssi, Taehyung-ssi, thank you for coming,” Namjoon began, before shifting his attention to the others. “I’m Kim Namjoon. Nice to meet you.”
The group’s eyes flicked toward a sharp-eyed boy with a deceptively soft face. A beta. He straightened, posture confident but respectful, linen-clean scent brushing faintly across the table.
“Pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is Jungwon,” he said, then gestured to the older one beside him.
“I’m Heeseung,” the alpha offered, cedarwood and amber steady and grounding.
The others introduced themselves until the youngest—bleached hair, pale brows—spoke.
“I’m Ni-ki.”
The faint lilt in his Korean was almost hidden, but Namjoon caught it. Along with the prickle of ozone and iron in his scent, restless and young, sharp as lightning before a storm. He’d only skimmed Jimin’s files on the group, preferring his own impressions. Already, Jungwon’s quiet authority and Heeseung’s grounded steadiness drew his attention.
Seokjin cleared his throat, voice smooth as he gestured to their side of the table. “I’m Seokjin. This is Jungkook, Yoongi, and Hoseok. A pleasure to meet you all,” he said with a pleasant smile.
Namjoon leaned back slightly, hands loose on the table.
“So,” he said, “what brings you here tonight?
An alpha leaned back, voice edged enough to test the air. Cedar and amber pressed sharper for a beat.
“Shouldn’t you know? You’re the ones who invited us here.”
A couple of the others eyes flicked between him and the head of the table.
Jimin sighed, peach and honey smoothing across the table like balm.
“Heeseung,” he said, the single name carrying enough weight to still the moment. There was no anger in it, just a kind of weary patience. “Let’s not start like that.”
The alpha shrugged as he lowered his gaze, cedarwood easing back though a smug smile lingered.
Jimin turned to Namjoon, voice softening into something almost conciliatory.
“We’re here because Yoongi asked for this meeting,” he said. His gaze shifted, finally landing on the omega at Namjoon’s right. “Isn’t that right?”
Yoongi hadn’t said a word until now. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, his eyes taking their time as they passed over each of the seven. Then he smiled—slow, deliberate.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice low. A chill went down Namjoon’s spine. His omega’s voice was like honey, sweet and thick. Heat built up in his belly which he ignored in order to pay attention to the conversation and control his scent. Sometimes having strong, sexy omegas was hard. “I want to know exactly what you’re bringing into my territory.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was measured, heavy enough to press against the ribs. Yoongi used it well, letting it stretch just long enough to see who would hold his gaze and who would look away.
It was Heeseung who finally spoke. “If Jimin-hyung trusts us enough to bring us here, that should tell you what you need to know.” His tone was steady and confident instead of defensive, without the arrogance of someone trying to win points.
Yoongi studied him for a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching as though he might smile. The boy wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t the answer he was after.
From across the table, Jimin stayed quiet, his expression smooth. He neither cut in nor encouraged the exchange, letting it hang in the air—a silent show of trust in the one who’d spoken.
Yoongi leaned back, fingers drumming once against the arm of his chair. “Maybe,” he said. “But I prefer to hear it from more than one mouth.” His eyes shifted, pinning the youngest at the far end of the table. “What about you?”
The boy didn’t move at first, just met Yoongi’s stare with the kind of unhurried calm most people didn’t have at his age.
“I don’t plan on asking you to trust me,” Ni-ki said finally. His tone was deep and even, almost casual, as though they were discussing the weather. “You’ll either see it for yourself… or you won’t.”
A flicker—barely there—passed through the group at his words, some of the older ones glancing at him out of the corner of their eyes.
Yoongi let the silence stretch again, studying him like he might a weapon left on the table—not drawn yet, but dangerous all the same.
From beside him, Namjoon’s gaze slid to Jimin, as if waiting to see if he’d rein the kid in. But Jimin only exhaled softly, one corner of his mouth curving. “He’s not wrong,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Yoongi’s gaze slid down the row until it landed on one of the younger omegas, if he had to guess. The omega had soft features, warm eyes, and the kind of face that looked like it belonged behind a café counter rather than in a room full of predators. Vanilla cream and dew clung to him, deceptively sweet.
“And you?” Yoongi asked.
Sunoo’s lips curved in a pretty smile, the kind that would have sold trust to anyone who wasn’t paying attention. “I think you should trust us because we’re here to make things easier for you,” he said lightly. “We’re good at that.”
Yoongi hummed in amusement. “Mm. You’re good at lying, is what you’re good at.”
The boy’s grin widened, unbothered. “Maybe. But if I am, wouldn’t that be useful?”
That earned a short, sharp laugh from Yoongi—not mockery, but appreciation. “I like this one,” he said to no one in particular. “He’s dangerous.”
Sunoo only laughed, bright and unshaken, as if the label were a compliment.
Across the table, Jungkook grinned outright, eyes flicking to Hoseok, who was fighting a smirk of his own. Seokjin didn’t so much as twitch, though Yoongi caught the way his gaze sharpened on Sunoo—always cautious, even when the room was relaxed. Namjoon allowed himself a small smile, more in acknowledgment than amusement. The rest of the kids shifted, some smirking, others letting their smiles curve just enough to show they’d enjoyed the exchange.
Yoongi leaned back, sweeping the seven with a slow glance. “Alright, then,” he said. “Let’s see what you can do.” His tone made it unclear whether it was a challenge or an invitation. “We can go up to the training part of the facility and have some fun… or I can read your files aloud and you can tell me where they’re wrong—or what’s been left out.”
His smile was lazy, but his eyes weren’t. “Your choice.”
A low murmur passed between the seven, quick and wordless—the kind of communication that came from long practice. A couple of them glanced at Jimin, who gave the smallest nod, permission without a single word.
It was the sharp-eyed beta with the deceptively soft face who finally spoke, his voice even and polite. “Training facility,” Jungwon said. No hesitation, no looking to anyone for reassurance. “We’d rather show you than tell you.”
A few of the others smiled faintly at that, and Yoongi caught the edge of pride in Jimin’s expression before it smoothed back into neutrality.
“Good,” Yoongi said, pushing his chair back with a quiet scrape against the floor. “Let’s see if you’re as impressive as your files make you sound.”
Taehyung fell into step beside Jimin as they followed Yoongi and Namjoon toward the training facility, the steady rhythm of footsteps filling the hall. Behind them, the kids moved in loose formation—not rigid, but instinctively keeping pace with one another, every shift in spacing subtle and deliberate.
He knew exactly how good they were. He’d watched them spar until their knuckles split, seen them strip and reassemble weapons blindfolded, listened to them plan an operation in whispers that still managed to sound like casual chatter. They were the product of Jimin’s training—and there was no one better.
And yet, the coil of unease in his stomach refused to loosen.
The double doors swung open, and the sharp scent of metal and something faintly chemical hit Taehyung’s nose. The room was huge, all hard lines and gleaming surfaces, the kind of space built for training, probably. He wasn’t entirely sure what half the equipment was for, but the air felt heavy with a sense of purpose.
He followed Jimin in, the kids spilling behind them in a loose line. They spread out instinctively, not quite fanning out, not quite standing together — just finding places that seemed right, like they’d done this before. Taehyung didn’t know if it meant anything, but it looked… confident. Natural.
His eyes lingered on each of them in turn—Jake’s easy smile, Sunghoon’s unreadable expression, Sunoo’s warmth that felt like a trick only he could pull off. Jungwon looked back once, a quick flicker of eye contact, and Taehyung offered him the smallest smile in return.
The door behind them opened again, and the rest of the Kim pack stepped in. They didn’t clump together. In the same way that Namjoon and Yoongi had moved toward the center of the room, claiming it without trying. Hoseok wandered to one side, hands tucked in his pockets, eyes moving in a slow sweep. Seokjin drifted toward the far end near the mats, posture calm but somehow… expectant. Jungkook stayed close to the wall, his gaze skipping over each of the kids like he was silently weighing something.
Taehyung wasn’t trained like they were, but he could feel the shift in the air—the subtle tightening of focus, the way the room seemed to shrink just a little with all of them in it.
Jimin stepped further in, the soft sound of his jewelry somehow carrying in the quiet. He didn’t speak, but when he stopped, the kids stopped too, like he was the anchor holding them in place.
Pride swelled in Taehyung’s chest, so strong it almost chased away the hum of nerves under his skin. They were ready—or at least, he hoped they were.
Yoongi stepped forward, hands clasped loosely behind his back. His voice cut clean through the quiet.
“We’re going to play a game,” he said, eyes moving steadily over the seven. “It’s called Tails. Rules are simple: this room is your arena. No talking. No calling out. Your job is to take as many tails as possible before yours is taken. Once it’s gone, you’re done. Last one standing wins.”
A couple of them blinked—not confused, just calculating.
“Your only weapons are your hands,” Yoongi continued. “You have the whole space. Use it.”
Beside him, Taehyung’s brows rose. “They’re… going against each other?” he murmured to Jimin.
“Mm.” Jimin didn’t look away from the group, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Fastest way to see how they think when they’re on their own.”
Yoongi crossed to a table by the wall and lifted a bundle of long strips of fabric. He handed one to each of the seven, then returned to his place.
“Attach your tail at your back and wait until I say begin.”
They obeyed, movements quick, unhesitating. A heartbeat of stillness passed as they exchanged wordless glances. Then, without prompting, they spread out—steps soundless as they melted between mats and equipment racks.
Yoongi watched them vanish into the corners of the facility. The faintest curve of a smile touched his mouth.
“Begin.”
Hoseok stayed where he was, leaning casually against the wall, but his eyes tracked everything.
The room held its breath for the first few seconds. No one rushed in — they were too smart for that. Ni-ki moved first, his tall frame gliding between the equipment racks without so much as a creak of the floor. He didn’t head straight for anyone; he was circling, patient.
Across the way, the cat-eyed beta — Jungwon — crouched low, using a weight bench for cover. Hoseok caught the way his gaze darted upward, reading the space before committing. Then he was gone, slipping along the wall.
Jake struck first—light on his feet, grin flashing as he snatched Jay’s tail in one smooth swipe. Before retaliation came, he was gone again, sea-breeze warmth trailing faint.
Sunoo’s turn came next. The sweet-faced omega seemed to drift aimlessly through the center, but Hoseok noticed the sharp way his eyes tracked Ni-ki. At the last second, Sunoo spun, hooking a hand against Ni-ki’s ribs as a distraction before reaching to snatch the hanging fabric at his back.
Four left.
Heeseung appeared like he’d been there the whole time, taking advantage of Sunoo’s follow-through to take the omega’s tail with barely a shift in his stride.
Jungwon waited for his moment and got it when Heeseung went for Jake. In the split second their attention crossed, Jungwon slipped in and pulled Heeseung’s tail without breaking stride.
Three left: Jungwon, Jake, Sunghoon.
Jake tried to close the distance on Jungwon, but Sunghoon was already moving. Frost-sharp mint slid into the air as he appeared at Jake’s side, catching his wrist and tugging the fabric free in one smooth, almost lazy motion.
Two left.
Jungwon didn’t hesitate, circling Sunghoon with quick, measured steps. He feinted left, then lunged right — but Sunghoon was already there, catching his wrist and taking the beta’s tail in one fluid movement.
Yoongi stepped forward as Sunghoon and Jungwon broke apart.
“Not bad,” he said, though his eyes gave away nothing about who’d impressed him and who hadn’t.
His gaze cut to Sunghoon. “Winner, step forward.”
Sunghoon did, calm as ever, no hint of pride or smugness in his expression.
“And the first one tagged out,” Yoongi continued, his voice sliding toward something almost amused. “Step forward.”
Jay moved without hesitation, posture straight. The faint freshness of green tea clung to him, leather grounding it—steady, clean. If being called out bothered him, it didn’t show.
“You two,” Yoongi said, “are up for the next round.”
From the edge of the mats, Hoseok pushed off the wall, rolling his shoulders like he’d been waiting all day for this. “Rules?” he asked.
Yoongi’s mouth curved. “You’ll fight Hoseok until I call it. At random points, I’ll toss in a weapon. Doesn’t matter what it is — training knife, baton, maybe even a gun. Whoever gets it uses it. If your opponent gets it, you deal with it. You don’t get to stop and think.”
Jay’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. Sunghoon didn’t react at all.
“Don’t hold back,” Yoongi added, stepping aside. “Hoseok won’t.”
Hoseok stepped onto the mat, bare hands loose at his sides, expression unreadable. Sunghoon and Jay mirrored him, spacing themselves so they weren’t shoulder to shoulder—smart enough to know Hoseok could drop them both in the same motion if they made it easy.
“Go,” Yoongi said.
Hoseok moved first, cutting straight toward Sunghoon in a blur. Sunghoon slid back, deflecting a probing jab with minimal motion, only to feel Jay coming in from the side. They pressed him together, trying to box him in but Hoseok twisted free, cinnamon heat flaring as he used Jay’s forward drive to spin him off balance.
No wasted beats—Hoseok pivoted, heel sweeping for Sunghoon’s legs. Sunghoon leapt, landing clean and sharp with a palm strike that Hoseok blocked without flinching.
“Weapon!” Yoongi called.
A black training baton skidded across the mat. Jay dove, fingers closing around the handle just as Sunghoon’s hand brushed his shoulder in reminder. Jay swung low at Hoseok’s legs, but Hoseok caught the strike on his forearm, twisted inside, and wrenched the baton free in one smooth motion.
The next thirty seconds blurred—baton passing from Hoseok to Sunghoon to Jay and back again, none of them holding it for long before a clean disarm stripped it away.
“Weapon!” Yoongi barked again.
This time, a matte-black BB pistol slid across the floor. Sunghoon scooped it up one-handed without breaking stride. Hoseok closed the distance instantly, forcing a choice: shoot or defend.
Sunghoon shot—compressed air snapping sharp—but Hoseok’s shoulder turn made it graze wide. Jay lunged in on the opening, shoving Hoseok’s arm aside, fingers hooking the gun. The struggle was brief; Hoseok released it, stepped inside, and tapped Jay’s sternum hard enough to send him stumbling back.
“Time.”
The three froze, breathing hard.
Sunghoon still held the pistol, BBs rattling faintly inside. Jay straightened his shirt, calm as ever, the faint green-tea freshness of him steady even in the aftermath. Hoseok rolled his shoulders loose, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
Yoongi’s gaze flicked between them. “Good,” he said simply.
Hoseok stepped back, wiping the sheen of sweat from his temple with the back of his wrist. It had been a while since anyone outside the pack made him work for it.
He’d expected raw talent—Jimin’s reputation made that a given—but these two had control. Sunghoon moved like a blade in a sheath, every strike deliberate. Jay, even when caught off guard, didn’t unravel; he reset instantly, like the setback was just another beat in the rhythm.
Yeah. Jimin had trained them well.
Yoongi dismissed the match with a tilt of his chin, and Hoseok headed for the edge of the mats, pulse still a touch higher than he’d admit. If nothing else, he had to give the omega this—he knew how to raise assassins.
From the sidelines, Taehyung leaned toward Jimin. “They made him sweat,” he said, half in awe.
Jimin’s lips curved faintly, eyes still on the mat. “He’s not going full out.”
Taehyung frowned. “How do you know?”
Jimin’s gaze softened at the edges. “His eyes aren’t gold.”
Before Taehyung could reply, Yoongi’s voice carried across the room. “That’ll do.”
The seven regrouped without needing to be told—not in formation, but close. Always close. A shoulder brushing another’s arm, a glance exchanged without words, subtle shifts so no one was left at the edge. Hoseok had made them work for every point, but the moment it was over, they moved as one again.
Yoongi saw it. Not just the skill. The unity. The way their presence knitted together into something whole, unshakable. The kind of instinct you couldn’t fake, and couldn’t buy.
He didn’t smile, but the approval was there in the weight of his gaze. “You move like one body. One mind. That’s what matters.”
For a moment, the air in the room seemed to settle.
Yoongi stepped back. “That’s all for today.”
Notes:
I tried my best with the fight scenes, they're honestly difficult to articulate into words for me but I tried. As always I hope you enjoyed!!
Here is a scent guide for the more essential characters of this fic:Namjoon → pine & petrichor
Hoseok → wood & cinnamon
Taehyung → vanilla & whiskey
Heeseung → cedarwood & warm amber
Sunghoon → cool mint & snowfall
Niki → storm ozone & ironYoongi → tangerine/orange blossom & cream
Jimin → peaches & honey
Jungkook → strawberries & marshmallows
Sunoo → vanilla cream & morning dewSeokjin → freshly dried laundry w/ lavender
Jay → leather & green tea
Jake → sea breeze
Jungwon → crisp linen
Littleleelalovesme on Chapter 1 Mon 08 Sep 2025 10:27PM UTC
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Littleleelalovesme on Chapter 2 Mon 08 Sep 2025 10:34PM UTC
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don_pear on Chapter 3 Wed 03 Sep 2025 10:26PM UTC
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Littleleelalovesme on Chapter 3 Mon 08 Sep 2025 10:44PM UTC
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don_pear on Chapter 4 Wed 03 Sep 2025 10:42PM UTC
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Littleleelalovesme on Chapter 4 Mon 08 Sep 2025 10:54PM UTC
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Littleleelalovesme on Chapter 5 Mon 08 Sep 2025 11:02PM UTC
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Littleleelalovesme on Chapter 6 Mon 08 Sep 2025 11:07PM UTC
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don_pear on Chapter 6 Tue 09 Sep 2025 02:50PM UTC
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MKScorpio89 on Chapter 7 Wed 27 Aug 2025 12:05AM UTC
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MKScorpio89 on Chapter 8 Sun 07 Sep 2025 03:23PM UTC
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Littleleelalovesme on Chapter 8 Tue 09 Sep 2025 04:47AM UTC
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Littleleelalovesme on Chapter 8 Tue 09 Sep 2025 04:48AM UTC
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don_pear on Chapter 8 Tue 09 Sep 2025 03:28PM UTC
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