Water Lilies

Water Lilies

— Claude Monet, 1910

•The famous art collection•

This was on my list of works I wanted to do and there was a lot of interest in seeing something from Monet. 🩵🌸

cgv

Help me choose my next series...

I have two outlines that work for an ongoing event, and I thought to write both (I want to write both) but I might not have the time, so help me choose where to start!

The first one is Survival Tactics - Jungkook was banned from coming home for years, but he's asked to come back to lead the Jeon family after his brother dies in an accident, only to find out that his widow is the one that got away, and that he can't trust her.

The second is Stellar Behavior - Yoongi is an officer who can't let Jimin be put away for a crime he didn't commit. There's only one person who has the evidence to save him - and you're not going to make it easy.

(Both have angst and smut 👀🔥)

Thank you for your help! 💜

The ride that this is.

The frustration of not getting the oc only to then hate life for having worked like that for her. For betraying her commitment. For making her believe that love is destruction, and that life is only a game of survival.

I like how this is almost an assay on losing one's self to be able to find them again. I love how Namjoon is not perfect, but doesn't give up. I'm not sure I would have half his good will, but we love to see it because life is about kindness as well. And unconditional love.

Good stuff 💜

PS. Hobi is great 🥰😚

A Fine Line [Masterlist]

Pairing: Namjoon x f!reader (ft. Hoseok)

Genre: roommates/enemies-to-lovers, non-idol!au, smut, some angst

Total word count: 67.5k (95k including epilogues and bonuses)

Summary: It's time to rebuild your life. You've got a new job, a new apartment, and a future that might be bright. The only problem? Your new roommate.

Content: consumption of alcohol, protected sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f. and m. receiving, inc. throat fucking), masturbation (f. and mention of m.), spanking, biting, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, some seriously Big Dicks.

Enormous thanks to M, 💗@here2bbtstrash💗, for beta-ing this series for me.

Chapter One - Desperate Times

Chapter Two - A Distraction

Chapter Three - It's Not Complicated

Chapter Four - A Warning

Chapter Five - Fun and Games

Chapter Six - Fury and the First Time

Chapter Seven - Lacunae

Chapter Eight - Confessions

Chapter Nine - Watershed

Chapter Ten - Grasping the Nettle

Chapter Eleven - Luxury

Epilogue One - Hope

Epilogue Two - 'Tis the Season

Epilogue Three - Final Order

Epilogue Four - Yes

Bonus Chapter - Fear and the First Date

Bonus Chapter - Check

Bonus Chapter - Deer Tracks

Swoon | KTH

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: fluff, enemies to lovers, non-Idol!AU

Rating: T

Warnings: swearing, kissing, Tae's wearing his red leather jacket from his Paris trip, we've also got Disco Jungkook and Harley Quinn Jimin in here

Word Count: 3.6k

Disclaimers: None other than obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” 

A/N: This one's for the amazing @parkdatjimin! Mindy, you picked a great prompt that immediately screamed "TAEHYUNG" and "ENEMIES TO LOVERS" to me. I hope you enjoy!

Also, I don't think this really needs a warning, just a note - Jimin is non-binary and uses they/them pronouns in this fic.

Unbeta’d as usual! Please let me know what you think, I’d love to hear from you! 💕

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜 

“Jimin, come on! Let’s go!” Tapping your foot impatiently, you fidget slightly in your costume. “We’re gonna miss the first panel! What are we waiting for?” 

Your roommate shoots you a “calm down” look that frankly would be a lot more effective if they weren’t currently dressed as Harley Quinn. They look phenomenal in their “Daddy’s Little Monster” crop top, blue and red satin booty shorts, and fishnets, tips of their blond hair dyed in shades to match the ensemble. But their serious expression does not jibe with the wild outfit as they sigh. 

“Not everyone’s here yet. And they won’t let us hold seats in the hall, so… we wait.” 

You frown, glancing at your friends, counting in your head. “Who is missing?”

“Um, well…”

“Oh, please no.” Not him. Not today.

Jimin twirls their baseball bat, not making eye contact, knowing if they look at you, they will instantly disintegrate beneath your fiery expression. “I’m sorry! Kookie invited him, okay?” 

Kookie, aka Jungkook, aka Jimin’s boyfriend, aka the sweetest guy you know, glances up from where he’s propped against the wall, eyes going wide behind his oversized blue sunglasses at the mention of his name. You sigh, bubbling anger instantly bursting at his doe-eyed expression. 

“Sorry, Noona. He asked if I was going to the convention and I said yes without thinking! I was just excited to talk about my costume.” He yanks on the giant lapels of his brightly colored shirt, other hand unconsciously scratching at the fake goatee that adorns his pretty face. Disco Tony Stark is definitely a choice, but damned if he’s not pulling it off. 

“It’s okay, Kookie,” you grumble. Ugh, you’re too soft on him, and he knows it as he flashes you a happy grin. “I just hope he gets here soon, before the hall fills up.” Your favorite film franchise is kicking off the big comic convention today with a sneak peek at the latest sequel, and if you miss a single second, there will be hell to pay. “Or maybe he’ll flake out on this like he flakes out on our game nights.” 

“Who flakes out?” 

Your eyes automatically close in exasperation as you turn slowly to face the devil you’d just accidentally summoned.

Kim Taehyung. Aka Jungkook’s friend. Aka the massive thorn in your side.

The two of you have been at odds since the day you met. He came into your life when Jungkook and Jimin started dating, and from the jump, the two of you have totally clashed. Where you’re easily excitable, he’s subdued, even deadpan. Where you’re constantly raving about the amazing things you love, he’s always complaining, finding fault with those same things. It wouldn’t be so terrible if he didn’t insist on sharing his every thought with you. It’s like he lives to needle you.

Right now, he wears his standard bored expression, gorgeous face completely blank as he gazes at you, waiting for an answer. You don’t give him one, taking a moment to examine his costume. Tight black jeans, tight white t-shirt, bright red leather jacket. An eyebrow cocks beneath his fluffy dark curls. 

“Well? Who flakes out?” 

“Who are you supposed to be? James Dean?” you ask, ignoring his question again. 

“I’m a rebel,” he informs you. 

“Obviously,” you roll your eyes. “Like I said. James Dean.”

“No.” He pulls out a toy lightsaber from behind his back, flipping it on. The blue light illuminates his annoying smirk. “I’m a Rebel.”

“That’s not - you’re not - “ 

“Taehyung-ah!” In their harlequin makeup, Jimin’s normally cherubic smile looks absolutely demented. “Perfect timing, the first panel’s about to kick off.” They reach down and grab Jungkook’s hands, helping him to his feet. “C’mon, Puddin’, let’s go grab our seats.” 

The rest of your friends fall in line as Jimin and Jungkook lead the way. Taehyung unfortunately ends up in lockstep with you. Because of course he does. 

“Nice costume,” he intones quietly, and you smooth several of the verdant leaves trailing from your hips, waiting for him to drop the snarky comment that’s likely hanging on the tip of his tongue. Maybe something about how homemade your costume looks… which it is. You’ve been working for weeks on your Poison Ivy cosplay. Finding a corset in just the right shade of green took the longest amount of time. 

The second longest came this morning, when Jimin had to painstakingly lace you into said corset. You squirm a little, wishing they hadn’t tied you in so damn tight. But as long as you can breathe, you’ll survive.

It’s definitely the most amount of skin you’ve ever shown at a convention, with your curves overflowing both above and below the constricting bodice. At the last minute, you nearly balked, thinking you’d be too much, until Jimin gave you a pep talk that essentially boiled down to “Own your power.” Somehow, it worked. Overall, you’re very pleased with your costume, which is why you’re expecting Taehyung to burst your bubble about it any second now.

But he merely holds the door to the hall open for you with a hint of a smile. Narrowing your eyes, you waltz past him, taking a seat next to Jimin. 

“I have been waiting all year for this day, and I swear to God if he ruins it, I’m taking you out, Minnie,” you declare to your roommate with a deadly serious expression. They don't ask you to clarify who you meant by ‘he.’ They already know.

“Me? But Kookie invited him!” 

“Yes, but Kookie’s a muscle pig! I know my limits!” Jimin just tuts as you glare. “God, he’s the worst. He can’t even mash up a costume properly.”

“I think it’s kinda clever, actually. And you have to admit, he looks fantastic in that outfit.” Jimin tips their head in admiration as Taehyung takes a seat, jeans straining to contain his muscular thighs. Not that you noticed. “I wanna thank his mother for a butt like that.” 

“No, it’s not, and no, I do not,” you hiss back before falling silent as the moderator takes the stage. “And don’t you dare quote ‘Shoop’ when you speak of that man!”

Whatever brief burst of madness prompted Taehyung to actually compliment you before the first panel doesn’t last. As soon as your group filters out to head to the next session, he’s back on his bullshit. You make the mistake of mentioning how you liked the book better than the first movie, and he pounces, dragging you into a debate. He does the same thing after the next panel, saying just the right (obnoxious) thing to pull you into another quarrel, and again after that. By the time your friends scatter for lunch, between the snug corset digging into your skin, and the irritating man trying to get under your skin, you’ve had enough. 

Out of your group, only you, Jimin, and Taehyung want fish skewers, so you queue up in the long line at the kiosk. You’re doing your best to tune Taehyung out as he and Jimin discuss the last event, a Q&A session with one of your favorite authors in which she’d dropped major hints about the identity of the mysterious supervillain from her latest series, to your absolute delight.

Taehyung, naturally, was not impressed. 

“I can’t believe she just said that!” Jimin shakes their head as the line slowly shuffles forward. “She basically confirmed it’s been Dr. Choi all along.” 

“Nope. There’s no way it’s going to be Dr. Choi!” 

Gritting your teeth, you try to focus on the colorful costumes around you. Breathe in, breathe out, ignore the asshole.

“But everything she said lines up with his character! Why else would she say that stuff?”

Taehyung huffs a quick laugh through his nose. You know that sound. It’s his ‘Oh, you sweet summer child’ laugh. So patronizing. Your fingers curl into fists. Forget thorn, he's a giant prick.

“That was clearly just a publicity stunt. In a day, she’ll be all over social media, claiming her comments were taken out of context. Mark my words.” He sniffs. “Her little ploy is as obvious as her plots.” 

“Oh my god, will you just shut up already?”

Jimin and Taehyung both blink in surprise as you round on them. 

“What did I say?” Jimin asks, looking wounded. 

“Not you, Minnie! Him!” You shove your pointer finger directly into Taehyung’s chest. “Just. Shut. Up!”

For once, Taehyung’s impassive expression drops, just as his mouth does as he gapes at you. But you’re too frustrated to bask in the fact that you’ve finally wiped that blasé look off his face, and now that you’ve blown your gasket, you’re going to vent it all.

“I am sick and tired of you always picking on everything! Anything and everything that I like, you just have to come in with your horrible takes and rude comments and just pick, pick, pick! Like some fucking vulture that feeds on joy - you just gotta rip it apart!” 

“I don’t - “ 

“Just let people enjoy things, okay?? You don’t have to like them! Just let them have their fun!” 

You’re vaguely aware of your roommate backing away as you growl at Taehyung, jabbing him again and again with your finger. Jimin’s never seen this side of you. You’ve never seen it either. It’s just the effect Taehyung has on you, making your face warm and your chest heave as you continue to lay into him. 

“Babe, don’t you think - “

“No! Stay out of this, Jimin.” People are giving you a wide berth now, the line for the kiosk having zigzagged around the three of you long ago, but you don’t care. There’s no stopping the head of steam you’ve built up. “God, why are you even here? Nothing makes you happy! You don’t like anything!”

“That’s not true!” Taehyung finally snaps out of his stupor as you break off, panting for breath. “I like plenty of things! I came here because - “ 

“Because you wanted to ruin my day! You can’t let me have one day of fun without fighting with me about something, can you? Well, fine! Let’s fight!” There’s a sheen of sweat breaking out on your forehead. Is it the heat from the food stands that’s making you feel this hot? And why can’t you catch your damn breath??

“Whoa, okay, let’s just put a pin in that, uh, invitation and go outside. Maybe we should get some fresh air,” Jimin suggests in a soothing tone, gesturing to the entrance to the main atrium, “because I think - hey, babe, are you okay?” 

Those fucking laces.

The world goes black. 

When you reopen your eyes, Taehyung is staring at you. So is Jimin. 

And so is an entire crowd of strangers standing in a ring around the three of you. 

“What the fuhh…” you trail off, looking around. You’re out in the main atrium, but you don’t remember walking out here. The marble tiles are cold under your bare shoulders and barely covered ass. “Why am I on the floor?”

“It’s okay. You just passed out a little,” Jimin says, a gentle hand holding yours. 

“I did?” Your head spins slightly as you sit up. The gawkers begin to start to disperse. 

“The event EMTs checked you out. Said you were probably having trouble breathing.” Jimin looks a little abashed. “Guess I tied your laces too tight. Sorry. I loosened them a little before he laid you down.”

“He? He who? One of the EMTs?” 

Jimin continues to look chagrined.

Taehyung smirks. “‘He’ as in me.” He straightens up, tossing his dark curls out of his eyes. “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” 

Heat scorches your neck. “Trust me, you are the last person whose attention I want!” Jimin pulls you to your feet, but you wave them off when they try to help you walk. “I’m okay, Minnie, I can walk on my own!” 

But just as you finish your angry declaration, your knees buckle slightly. Before you can blink, Taehyung’s arm is around you, propping you up. He guides you towards a cluster of chairs by the windows.

“Come on,” he murmurs warmly, voice so unlike his usual aloof tone of superiority. “Why don’t you sit here for a minute? Let me get you a soda. Maybe some sugar would help.” 

“Uh. Sure. Thanks.” You glance at Jimin, who shrugs at your confusion, then nods. 

“Good idea, Tae. Thank you.” 

As soon as Taehyung’s out of earshot, Jimin pinches you. 

“Ow! Why?”

“He likes you!”

“What? No, he doesn’t!” You rub your arm where their fingers tweaked you, flabbergasted by their sudden proclamation. 

“Yes, he does! How did I miss it?” They run their fingers through their hair, letting the shiny locks flop back into place. “It makes sense now! All that bickering was just sexual tension!”

“Uh, nothing makes sense, especially you right now! And why the pinching??”

“Sorry, I just got excited.” Jimin grins, and you roll your eyes. 

“But what the hell makes you think he’s into me? Because he’s buying me a Coke after I told him off?” 

Jimin leans back in their seat, still smiling smugly. “‘Told him off’ is putting it mildly. I know I told you to own your power, but damn! No, I’m referring to the way he reacted when you passed out. I’ve never seen someone look so panicked. If I hadn’t been freaking out myself, I would’ve found it cute.”

You clutch Jimin’s hand, giving them a little squeeze. “Sorry I gave you a scare. I really do feel okay right now. But you’re wrong.” 

“Mmm, I don’t know. You didn’t see his face when the EMTs were checking you over.” Jimin shakes their head. “He was so worried. I’m telling you, he’s got it bad."

Taehyung strolls back out of the food court, effectively ending the conversation. He holds out a can and you take it with a barely audible thank you. 

As if they were waiting for a cue, Jimin jumps up. “If you think you’ll be okay here, I’m gonna go find the others and let them know what they missed,” they announce, barely waiting for your nod before they spin on their heel and skip off towards the main ballroom, baseball bat swinging merrily.

Leaving you and Taehyung sitting in awkward silence. 

You tap the top of the soda can before cracking it open. Taehyung notes the action, eyebrow lifting again. “You afraid I shook that up first?” 

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” you scowl reflexively before noting the soft smile on his face. “What?” 

“Nothing.” Your glare informs him that you don’t believe him. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

“Hmm,” you hum, taking a sip. 

“You don’t believe me?” he drawls, looking slightly offended. 

“Taehyung. I never believe anything that comes out of your mouth. What makes you think I’m going to start now?” Setting the can on an empty chair next to you, you try to cross your arms, but the corset’s too stiff, so you let your hands rest on your thighs.

He blinks slowly. “Well, I suppose I could show you instead. Seeing is believing, right?” And one of his hands comes to rest on yours. 

“Uh…” The feel of his fingers tapping lightly on the back of your hand freezes you completely. For once, you’re at a loss for words. However, Taehyung is not. 

“I know we have our… disagreements… but I do enjoy your company,” he states matter-of-factly, as if he’s telling you something mundane like what time it is instead of confessing his true feelings. If you closed your eyes, you’d recognize that tone as his usual detached languor. Except now, staring at his expression, you realize - he’s nervous. And overcompensating by trying to sound as calm and collected as possible. 

But his eyes give him away. 

“I will also admit that I have perhaps fallen into a habit of goading you. A little.”

“A little!”

He frowns, fingers stilling. His hand is so warm, heat leaching into you where his skin touches yours. “Fine. A lot. I can’t help myself. It’s just… you’re so cute when you’re angry.” 

“I’m - what?” 

Taehyung leans forward, seeming rather pleased with himself for shocking you with his statement. There’s that self-satisfied smirk of his again. But that glimmer in his eyes… he looks… fond? 

Oh god, Minnie’s right, aren’t they?

“Do you remember the first time we met? At Kook-ah’s party?” Speechless, you just nod at his question. “I thought you were so pretty that I got a little tongue-tied. You tried to talk to me and asked me what I thought about some movie that you’d just seen, and I kind of shrugged, because I couldn’t speak. You took that to mean I didn’t like it, and immediately launched into a monologue about how misunderstood the film was and so on,” he waves his hand in the air.

Thanks to an intense flip-cup tournament, that night is mostly a blur, but you do somewhat remember getting into an argument with Taehyung as soon as you’d met him. But you definitely don’t remember him being tongue-tied, not that night or any other since you’ve known him. 

“But you’ve never had any problems talking around me! I’d even say you talk too much!” 

He laughs, and suddenly he’s smiling at you, this ridiculously sweet, kinda boxy smile, and your heart leaps in your chest. 

“That’s because I learned that night how you’re even more beautiful when you’re fired up about something. When you speak with passion…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I actually agree with a lot of your opinions, you know. But I can’t resist pretending to disagree, just to watch you light up. It’s addictive.” 

You’ve not noticed until this moment how thick his eyelashes are, as he leans even closer. Or how long and graceful his fingers are as he grasps your hand off the table, cradling it in his lap. 

“I’m sorry. I guess I took it too far. I know how excited you are to be here today, so I’m sorry if I ruined it.”

If you weren’t already stunned, that statement would’ve done it. Kim Taehyung apologizing? The two of you are sitting thigh to thigh now, your hand still between his. 

“Um. Well. Thank you?” 

“You said earlier that you don’t know why I’m here today. Do you really not know?” 

Tearing your gaze away from where you were staring at his hands, you glance at his face. You know, all in all, it’s really not a bad face. 

You must have a funny expression on your own, because he laughs, this low chuckle that makes your chest hum, like he’s hit a frequency that resonates only there. 

“Why are you laughing?” you ask, eyes dropping to his lips.

“Because you make me happy.” He’s so close, you can feel his warm breath on your face. “That’s why I’m here. To be near you.”

“Noona!” 

As if pulled sharply by invisible strings, you and Taehyung snap apart, his hands dropping yours. Your head swivels in the direction of Jungkook’s voice to see him bounding towards the cluster of chairs, your other friends in tow. 

He drops to his knees in front of you, cupping your cheek as his worried eyes sweep over your face. “Are you okay?? Minnie told us what happened.” 

Okay, maybe you’re right to be so soft for this kid. “I’m okay, Kookie. I appreciate the concern, though.”

“She’s fine, Kook-ah,” Taehyung mutters, suddenly standing. “Here. Have a seat.”

Dazed once again, you watch as Taehyung ambles off. Jungkook and the rest are asking you questions, but you’re not listening. There’s annoyance roiling in your belly again, but it’s not from anything Taehyung said this time. 

It’s for the interruption. 

In five steps you’ve caught up to Taehyung, who merely raises his eyebrows when you tug on his arm. He doesn’t say a word as you grab him by the nape of his neck. Doesn’t even breathe as you guide his face towards yours.

But as soon as your lips touch his, he comes alive. His arms lock around you, drawing you in. He tilts his head to bring you closer, pressing more of his mouth against yours. There’s an entire room full of strangers around you, but you couldn’t care less. Eyes fluttering shut, you lean into him, fingers lacing through his thick hair. He lets out a little moan as you accidentally tug on the silky strands and the sound, and immediately you repeat the action, drawing another gentle groan. 

He pulls away then, cheeks flushed as he gazes at you. “Probably shouldn’t do too much of that here,” he murmurs in a deep timbre.

“Eh, it’s comic con. I’m sure they’ve seen stranger than a Jedi and a supervillain making out,” you grin as you take his hand, leading him to a quiet corner of the atrium. A glance at your friends finds them all mid-gawk. Jimin in particular looks like they’re having an out-of-body experience.

You know the feeling.

“I thought you were pretty, too,” you admit shyly. 

Taehyung blinks. “What?” 

“When we met. I - I thought you were the prettiest guy I’d ever seen. And I live with Jimin and Kookie.” 

Taehyung’s boxy smile returns. He brushes gentle fingertips over your knuckles. “So, are we okay?”

“We will be. Once you’re made up for all that time wasted arguing.”

The warmth in his gaze overwhelms you. Makes you want to wrap yourself up in it and never leave. “That’s a lot to make up for.”

“Yep. Better get to work,” you whisper before he captures your mouth with his. 

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

Taglist: @babycoffeefire; @/parkdatjimin; @reliablemitten; @yuugehn; @ut-dixisti; @hesperantha; @seokjinger-ale; @bangtanintotheroom; ​​@taeshuworld; @nch327; @hannahbee12719ficrecs; @7minsuga96; @dvalitaes; @wonieclub; @thatlongspringnight; @miscelunaaa; @acquiescence804; @itsirisz; @velvetskize; @starbtslove; @ajw05; @bruisedscrewedandtattooed; @minesuga; @greezenini; @aznstoner; @jkkkkkay; @xuxibelle; @soeur-de-ame; @boraborabts; @signmybook; @bbl32; @codeinebelle; @here4btsfics; @itbtoblikethatsometimes; @kookprada; @addictedtohobi; @shatzkrinslinzki; @jaiuneamesolitaiire; @joonjulyagust-d; @highly-functioning-mitochondria; @btsgotjams27; @allamericanuniverse

If your URL is italicized, tumblr won’t let me tag you! 😤 Check your settings!

I love how both stories made me laugh, worry, and excited! Such teasing done right, Joonie had a wonderful adventure 😏 And the story of the Egyptian gods was interesting, i could imagine the mummy movie as I went along, like this is a sequel 😁 Good, fun read of a mummy adventure sprinkled with romance 💜

Don't Read Dead Languages | knj (m)

☾ Pairing: professor!namjoon x tomb raider! female reader

☾ Summary: Namjoon is determined to visit the Living City of the Dead. Amtenemhat is the Egyptian ruins that the locals fear. Archaeologists have gone missing and strange things lurk in the night. But Namjoon’s work as a historian isn’t perfect if he doesn’t go to the source of the legend, and hiring a weaponized tomb raider seems his best bet at surviving.

☾ Word Count: 17,449

☾ Genre: enemies/ partners to lovers, supernatural, mythology

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings:Joon and OC bicker a lot, large theories and a lot of mythology, historical accounts and objects I made up, mentions of diseases and plagues, explicit language, mentions of murder and death, depictions of blood and dead creatures/ people, weapons and brief action sequences, sexual tension and arguing, graphic depiction of mummies coming back to life and looking gross, sexually explicit content including: oral (f. and m. receiving - m. is brief) dirty talk, fingering, nipple play, unprotected sex, big dick Joon (obvi),

☾ Published: May 29, 2022

☾ A/N: I am so sorry this is so late! But HAPPY HALFWAY TO HALLOWEEN. This is the second and final installment of my halfway to Halloween duology. This is way longer than I expected because I went way too much into the world building and myth-building. This is only half-edited because i'm like two days and three hours late and honestly I should not have been so crazy about the deadline because my back is cramping and I'm tired. I completely make several myths and stories my own. This is not at all historically accurate, as I am not a historian and uses Egyptian myths and lore and made them work for me.

☾ A/N 2: There are elements of this story inspired by the 1999 film The Mummy directed by Steven Sommers and Indiana Jones directed by Steven Speilberg.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Read the sister story: Bite Me, Jeon 

Kim Namjoon stared at the head of his department, brows raised. Though he was surprised they had accepted his petition to travel to Egypt for his research, Namjoon was even more surprised that the school was willing to dole out money for Namjoon to hire help.

Though the school did incredibly well for itself with donations from alumni, they didn’t care much for the history and arts departments. Namjoon had remembered arguing for a new projector in his Ancient Civilizations class for four semesters straight before they gave him a hand-me-down from the STEM department.

So being told that they had no problem with him using the winter break to travel to a distant country and archaeological site was shocking. He had been prepared to argue his position much more.

“We have long had interest in the ruins at Amtenemhat. Yale has been sniffing around sending an expedition as of late, and well…”

“You’d like to get there first,” Namjoon finishes, leveling a stare at Dean Tarik. “When you say that you’re willing to provide a financial stipend for assistance, are we talking about taking other members of the department?”

“No. You’ve done extensive research on the famed City of the Dead. People go missing, people get hurt. We’d like to hire you an escort who is not only well-versed in historical artifacts, but one who is from the private sector and is available to play by their own rules.”

Namjoon frowns. The dean isn’t telling him something.

Though there is a lot of myth and rumor surrounding Amtenemhat, Namjoon didn’t expect to have to take… security. He believed that most of the people who were injured or vanished were unprepared for the dangerous of an ancient city. It was sure to be fill with pitfalls and dangerous walkways and unsupported ceilings. Namjoon imagines it is dangerous to explore if you weren’t careful.

Namjoon had been studying the city for almost three years. It was one of the world’s favorite ghost stories. The city near the ruins refused to house anyone who was going to visit the city. The citizens refused to even talk about it to the press.

After years of failed attempts at recovering anything from the city and after the presumed death of a prominent National Geographic reporter, the local government had outlawed most travel there. And if one did manage to get a permit to travel there, the local police and hospital wouldn’t help in a time of need.

Cursed, they call the city.

“What kind of rules do they need to play by?” Namjoon asks, frowning. “Surely the school can get a permit for a professional exploration- “

“The city no longer gives permits as of last year. There was an incident with a group of researchers from Oxford that made it officially illegal to travel there.”

“And you’re still willing to send me?”

“We’re invested in your research of the city and determining what worth the archeological site has. So, we need someone who is willing to help you for a lump sum who is private, discreet and doesn’t care about legal ramifications.”

Namjoon’s frown intensifies. Adjusting the glasses on the brim of his nose, Namjoon sighs. While he isn’t opposed to bending the rules for the sake of research, something about the offer seems slicked with oil.

He chews on his lip. “What kind of company offers a service like that?”

“It’s private acquisition company that focuses on recovering ancient artifacts and documents for sale and preservation.”

Namjoon scoffs. “A tomb raider?” He demands. “You’re talking about a company who is willing to illegally acquire ancient artifacts and sell them for private profits to the highest bidder or to individuals who hired them outright.”

“Tomb raider is a barbaric term.”

“This is a barbaric idea.”

Namjoon runs a hand through his silver hair. The office is stifling hot, and he feels like the sleeves of his button up are constricting him more than they did earlier. He shuffles in the seat, eyes drifting to the wall where photos of past professor's hand.

It is a wall of fame, in a way. There are famous historians on the walls of this office. Men and women who uncovered ancient histories or shed light on new stories all over the world. His school was a fine one- and though it didn’t fund the history department the way it did its STEM programs, they were happy to ride the coattails of those who were now gilded members of society.

It’s a lie for Namjoon to say he doesn’t want to be a part of that. Ever since he was a child reading stories of world mythologies, he wanted to delve into that. He idolized Indiana Jones, watching the movies over and over again. To be that kind of professor, running around the world and uncovering amazing things- getting the girl.

Namjoon hates to admit how much he loved the idea of it. Even if it wasn’t realistic.

But the idea of using a Tomb Raider is distasteful. Namjoon knew that they existed far more than the public did. Trained professionals who robbed ancient sites of worship and historical worth. They made millions of dollars off of selling cultural objects and historical items that belonged in museums. Somewhere they would be safe. Somewhere they would be preserved.

Knowing that the school wants to hire one is the second warning that Namjoon has that something is amiss. The first was how easily they approved his expedition.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Namjoon leans forward. “Is this a requirement for my trip? We have to hire someone?”

“They’ve already been hired, to be quite honest with you.”

“What?”

“Your request for the trip came right after we negotiated with a local acquisition company. We figured- who better than to assure our assets are protected?” Dean Tarik adjusts his belt. He’s a portly man whose cheeks are red with the heat of the room and sweaty jewels. Namjoon doesn’t like him much, but it’s above his pay grade. “Here is the information on the contact you should meet with. She comes highly recommended.”

Sighing, Namjoon takes the slip of paper. “You’re sure this is the best course of action?”

“Of course we are,” the dean smiles. It reminds Namjoon of the Cheshire Cat. “We believe in your research, Professor Kim.”

-

A dark, velvet sky stretches overhead. Namjoon yawns as he checks the GPS, ensuring that he’s going the right direction. He’s unfamiliar with the northern suburb just outside the city. Evergreens stretch on either side of him as the world stretches up. He’s driving toward the hills. Every once in a while he catches the glowing lights between trees of houses far bigger than he’s ever lived in, hidden behind wrought iron gates and long, gravel driveways.

Anticipation grows as he turned down an unmarked road. It’s past his bedtime. Namjoon prefers to be in bed by 9 PM with a hot cup of tea and his latest book. His life is simple, filled with routine. He likes that about himself, that he can usually predict how his day is going to go. It’s an organization he didn’t have as a kid. A structure that he so badly craved.

His structure is being interrupted by the woman he’s to meet for the evening. Though he didn’t talk to her himself- she apparently has an assistant with a soft, nervous voice- the assistant made it clear the Miss L/N took evening appointments only, and that he may have the first available.

It was 11 PM.

Namjoon scoffs at the thought. 11 PM certainly isn’t evening – it’s well into the night and her home is nowhere near his small apartment tucked away in the arts district downtown.

The nameless road ends at a massive, wrought iron gate with a single guard house. He raises his brow as he slows the car, rolling down the window as a security guard dressed in all black steps out of the small building.

“Kim Namjoon,” he says. “I have an appointment at 11 PM with Miss L/N.”

“ID please,” the security guard asks, holding his hand out. Namjoon is surprised- he digs in his pocket and pulls out his license, handing it over. The man takes it and walks back to the guard house, touching a piece in his ear.”

Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Namjoon turns to look beyond the gate. He can’t see the house- the road curves to the west, the line of trees blocking it out. What he does see are cameras on the wall and a guard walking the circumference of the wall.

“What kind of place is this?” Namjoon mutters to himself, turning when the guard returns with his ID.

“You’ve been granted permission to enter. Follow the drive and park behind the Mercedes.”

“Thanks.”

Gold lights in the ground line the driveway. Namjoon drives slowly, swinging his head from side to side as he looks down the rows and rows of trees. He follows the curve before it straightens out, dark eyes dragging upwards to see the home in question.

“Holy shit,” Namjoon breathes.

He isn’t driving up to a house. He is driving up to an estate. The home is four stories tall in the middle, the main wing a soft white. There are wings on either side of the main building, creating a u-shape. The driveway is circular, built around a massive fountain depicting the fight between the Titans and Olympians.

Lights buzz golden in the windows, giving the illusion of fireflies from a distance. Namjoon is hypnotized by the fountain, narrowing his eyes as he drives past it. The marble work is exquisite, parts of the fountain chipped and softened with time. Almost as if…

Namjoon almost crashes into the Mercedes, distracted by the fact that he’s almost positive even from a glance that the fountain is made from genuine marble in the style of Ancient Greece. He needs to touch it to make sure, but something in his gut tells Namjoon than the tomb raider whose house shadows his car has a genuine work of ancient history in her drive.

Sliding from the car, Namjoon glances at the row of vehicles parked in the drive. He doesn’t know much about cars, but his brows stretch upwards as he sees the G-class Merceds parked behind a vintage Aston Martin.

The wealth in the driveway alone is enough to upset Namjoon. He’s never been fond of the wealthy in general, but to see it in such heavy amounts before he’s even walked up the polished steps to the heavy wooden door. The knocker is peculiar- an eye within a triangle. It’s heavy in his hand when he uses it.

A man answers the door, bowing his head politely. “Mr. Kim, good evening, please come in.”

If the driveway was a precursor to the entry way, Namjoon was still unprepared. The grand foyer is exquisite, with high ceilings and a beautiful chandelier. But what commands his attention is-

“Is that a terracotta warrior?” Namjoon asks the man who answered the door. Namjoon doesn’t want to think the man is a butler- he’s dressed in black slacks and a button up and he looks like Alfred from Bat Man. “Like from Qin Shi Huang’s army?”

“The mistress has many artifacts in the estate. Please follow me, Mr. Kim. The mistress’ last appointment has run late.” Alfred look-alike leads Namjoon to an ornate sitting room. “Would you like tea, sir?”

“What kind do you have?”

The man smiles. “Whatever the kind Mr. Kim would prefer.”

“Give him the Da Hong Pao,” a female voice calls. Namjoon turns as he sits to you stick your head in the doorway. His breath catches at the brief smile. “The professor can appreciate ancient tea from the Ming Dynasty.”

“That sounds nice,”Namjoon manages, hating how his voice almost cracks.

You’re stunning- even though he can only see you from neck up for a moment. You flash him a smile and he’s struck. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” you tell him. “If there’s anything else you need while you wait, please let Alfred know.”

You disappear and Namjoon fight’s the urge to throw his fist in the air. So, the butler’s name is Alfred. How cliché and entirely hysterical.

As definitely Alfred busies himself elsewhere in the home, Namjoon takes a moment to look around. Rich, Persian rugs decorate the wooden floor. A wall is taken up by a bookshelf, though Namjoon bets it’s not the proper library. He can recognize a few first editions.

There are paints and scrolls on the walls. He recognizes Nihonga in the traditional Japanese style. He rubs his sweating palms on his pants, entirely torn between being impressed at the collection the beautiful woman displays and grossly disturbed at the millions of dollars' worth of artifacts and art.

Alfred appears and sets down the China cup on the table next to Namjoon. Namjoon bows his head as he accepts the tea. He brings the cup to eye level, inspecting it. He knows very little about ancient ceramics, but he’s sure that it’s made in some ancient style or material.

“It’s from IKEA,” you tell him, standing in the doorway. Namjoon flinches and the hot tea spills over the rum of the cup. You don’t move from the doorway as he scalds himself, hissing as he places the cup on the table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“So, you have a cup from IKEA but genuine Nihonga, Ancient Greek statues as your fountain pieces, and first volume editions? That seems ridiculous.”

“Keen eye.” You smirk sideways as you nod your head. “Grab your tea. Let’s head to my office- the sitting room is for sitting. The office is for negotiating.”

You’re gone before he can grab his tea. He fumbles as he gets up, carful with the cup to scramble after you. Thankfully you’re in heels, the sound of your confident pace echoing in the ornate halls of your home.

Namjoon doesn’t know where to look. He walks past the stairway that curves upward through the fourth floor of the home, the sight dizzying with the glittering chandelier above head. He passes rugs that have colors so vivid they make his head spin and paintings that give him pause as he follows you.

He likes to think he has a good eye for art, and Namjoon swears he sees genuine Monets as he scurries after you, mindful of the tea.

Casting open two heavy, wooden doors, you enter your dim office. Namjoon steps through the door and feels as though he’s been transported to a museum. He says nothing as he sets down the cup of tea on its saucer, ignoring the fine wooden desk in favor of walking to the wall of swords to the left.

Firelight dances in the fireplace as you sit down, crossing one leg over the other to watch Namjoon. He’s fixated, craning his neck to look at the different broad swords, rapiers, katanas, scimitars… there’s so much on the wall and he doesn’t know where to look first.

Namjoon starts at eyelevel, tilting his head to the side and reading the inscription next to a beautiful long sword set with a gold handle, two lions roaring making up the cross guard. He recognizes the crest on the pommel, slowly turning to glance at you over his shoulder.

“Durandal?” he whispers, fingers hovering above the legendary sword of Roland. “This can’t be.”

“It is. Gifted to me by the previous Prime Minister of France for recovering the true scepter of Napoleon Bonaparte from an auction house in Moscow.”

“So, you are a tomb raider.”

“Hardly. I think acquisitions expert is more fitting.”

“Did you come by that sceptor by legal means?”

He hears the smile in your voice when you say, “Why don’t you take a break from the moral high ground and take a seat with me?”

Namjoon hates the glib way that you address him. He turns to glare at you through the tortoise shell rim of his glasses. With an annoyed air, he takes a seat. He’s usually able to rein in his irritations, but something about you pushes him over the edge already and the wealth around him… he can’t help but glare, despite the hospitality you’ve offered thus far.

As if to guilt him about it, you mention, “Have I offended you, professor? If my hosting skills have dampened your sprits in any way….”

He sighs and straightens. “No. I’ve had a long day, I apologize. I should be more polite in your home.”

“Perhaps you should,” you grin.

It’s self-satisfied. You knew he was annoyed with you, and you poked him anyway. He tries to tamper down his mounting frustration, opting to lift the cup and take a sip. The tea is bitter, but there’s something heady about the flavor, making Namjoon surprised.

“You said we needed to negotiate,” Namjoon mentions. “Negotiate what, exactly? I was under the impression you were already under contract.”

“Oh I am, but I want to know why I should bother to take you with me.”

Namjoon opens and closes his mouth. You lean back in your chair, watching him with a glint. Your lips are quirked to the side in a soft smirk, supple skin glowing in the firelight. Namjoon is glad his anger is mounting. Otherwise, he’d be entirely captivated by the way you watch him. You’re alluring in a way he can’t put his finger on.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I can go by myself,” you assure him. “The contract was drafted without you in mind. I’m sure they’re just sending you along to ensure I act as promised.”

“Do you even know what Amtenemhat is? Or how to read hieroglyphics and hieratic? Do you even speak Arabic?”

“I speak over ten languages,” you respond in perfectly accented Korean. Namjoon blinks in surprise at the switch to his native language. Worse, you sound like a local, the vowels falling perfectly into a Satoori familiar with him. “And I read more than that. So, tell me- why bring you?”

“Because I’ve been researching Amtenemhat for years. I’m one of the most well-versed Egyptologists in the world and I’ve contributed pieces and research to the Egyptian Museum in Cairo and I had an entire exhibit dedicated to my work on Nefertiti at the Metropolitan.”

You examine your nails. “I know plenty about Amtenemhat.”

“Sure,” Namjoon offers. “Please tell me in a brief summary when it was created.”

“The temple at Amtenemhat was created during the Old Kingdom as a place of worship and penance to the Goddess Sekhmet as an attempt to placate her. She was sent by the God Ra to punish the Old Kingdom as they began to deviate from- “

“I have a theory that it was built as far back as The Early Dynastic period and that it was not a place of worship for Sekhmet, but a place for her to live.”

You raise a brow at him. He sees that he has your interest, and he smirks a bit, dimples appearing. “I have a substantial amount of research that suggests the temple was created as her own foothold in this world and as a living place against Ra’s wishes.”

“Interesting theory.”

“It’s more than a theory. It’s a substantial hypothesis backed by three years' worth of research that there was a shift during the Early Dynastic period from Ra to Sekhmet before Ra’s worship picked up in the Old Kingdom again.”

“And what do you plan on finding there?”

“I believe the temple was built as the highest point of a city. I think there’s an entire city underground there that was dedicated in worship to Sekhmet. It would change everything we know about the mythology and worship in Ancient Egypt, and it may point to the collapse of the central government in the Old Kingdom.”

You smirk. Namjoon sips his tea as you contemplate his musings. He takes it as a chance to observe you. You’re dressed in loose trousers belted at the waist and a pillowing blazer. Your hair is pulled back, showing off the exquisite features of your face- specifically your eyes, which pin him to where he sits.

Namjoon doesn’t know what he expected when he drove up your drive, but he is both surprised at how attractive you are and unimpressed at the cliche. Smartly dressed. Witty. Flashy.

It’s all too perfect.

“Cute,” you muse. “And you have no qualms about how dangerous it is? Ceilings falling in on archaeologist, booby traps killing tourists, strange haunting making the city refuse service to those who enter its radius.”

“I think people love blaming the supernatural.”

“And you believe in the supernatural?”

“I believe there are things in history that cannot be explained. Every day someone sees something neither reason, history nor science can give a backing to.”

You hum. Leaning forward, you flip open a file on your desk, finger tracing whatever you’re reading before tapping the page. “You led a club on your campus in your final year of your graduate program that dedicated itself to the supernatural.”

He feels himself flush and scratch the back of his neck. He was very proud of History of the Supernatural club. It was a complete joke before he joined, a bunch of college kids dedicated to decoding the show Supernatural. Namjoon had made it more.

Now it at least had legitimate members who were interested in applying academics to the wonders of the world. Namjoon wasn’t sure if all supernatural beings were real. But he had seen substantial evidence for some, and his research paper on lycanthropy in Ancient Greece had won him his first award- even if it was because it had led him to uncovering an occult tomb with never-before-seen items from the Bronze Age.

You study him, long fingernail tapping the desk. “What if I told you that the supernatural were real? Maybe not in the way that media portrays them.”

“I’d ask you to provide substantial evidence. I can be persuaded with facts.”

“Even if they weren’t obtained by your standards?” Namjoon can’t help the grimace on his face, which makes you laugh. He knows you’re laughing at him, which makes him grind his teeth. “You don’t like me.”

“I think your methods are crude,” he agrees. “And you’re sitting in a home filled with things that belong in museums or places of preservations.”

“On the contrary, I am preserving them. Plus,” you add, standing. “Everything in my home was a gift for my preservation efforts.”

“I don’t buy that.”

“You couldn’t afford it anyway.”

The insult is so abrupt that Namjoon blinks in shock before realizing you’re standing at your office door, holding it open. “I’ll see you Thursday morning, Mr. Kim.”

-

Grey light filters through the edges of the dark curtains. You glance at your watch, realizing that its nearly time to head to the airport. The files on your desk are plentiful and bursting with information. You hate to admit that Namjoon’s historical work was well-thought and of value. The pieces he had on history and the supernatural were not as popular among his awarded-works and internationally recognized contributions.

But they were what piqued your interest the most.

On the corner of your desk was a black, leather folder with a cord tying it shut. Your eyes fell on it, staring at it. Inside was the contract that the school had given you. The contents were weighing heavier on you after meeting the self-righteous candor of Kim Namjoon.

You smile softly to yourself. He was smart, you’d give him that. But with that intelligence, there seems to be a naiveite about the world. It was going to get him in trouble or killed... so why are you taking him along with you?

Namjoon is cute. It would go against your honest nature to deny that- even to yourself. Dyed-silver hair, beautiful eyes that remind you of a terribly wise dragon, and dimples that you want to bite. Just a bit.

He is beautiful. You’re pretty sure he is unaware of that fact, with the way he carries himself with unsure steps, bumping into things because he seems to be unaware of how much space his broad shoulders take up. And his thighs in his dress pants...

Getting up from your desk, you grab your files and dump them into a carry on.

Grey skies promise rain overhead as you slide into the cool interior of the Mercedes. Alfred closes the door behind you and gets in, classical music playing softly as you peel away from the estate. Out of habit, you turn around and look back at the window to your office. It’s been years, but you still expect your father to be there, waving.

But he isn’t. So you turn around and swallow past the lump in your throat.

Rain mists the air as you step out onto the tarmac. A flight attendant waits for you at the foot of the private jet, bowing his head politely as you pull the Burberry trench closer to head up the narrow steps.

Namjoon is sitting stiffly in one of the reclining seats. He's poised at the edge, head craning around to look at the crème interior of the plane. There's a cup of steaming tea sitting in front of him- mint from the smell coming from near the hostess area at the cockpit- and he’s dressed in tan slacks, a white sweater, and his messenger bag at his feet.

“Good morning, professor.” You startle him. You grin as you sit in the seat adjacent to him, kicking one leg over the other. He rubs his hands on his knees, looking you up and down.

“You could have told me we were flying private. I purchased a ticket.”

“I hadn’t decided if I was going to let you on my plane or not.”

“So you own a private jet?” He ignores your jab. Good on him. “That seems cliché.”

“It’s the family jet.”

“So you have a rich family? It’s not just you?”

Instead of answering him, you pull folders out of your bag, tossing them onto the small table in front of him. The flight attendant appears with a vodka soda. You thank him and take a sip- it was perfectly made.

“Your thesis on Amtenemhat being the place where Sekhmet’s coin of power is good.” You cross your hands over your knees, linking your fingers as the workers prepare the cabin for takeoff. “When did you first get that idea?”

“You read my research?”

“For hours. I wanted to know if you were an idiot.”

“And what was the answer?”

You smirk. “Jury’s still out.” You gesture with your chin to the stack of papers. “Where did you get the idea?”

The plan taxies down the runway and you both pause as you’re cleared for takeoff. Namjoon clutches the armrest as the craft gains speed. You raise your brows as he squeezes his eyes shut behind his glasses, white knuckling the leather.

As the plane lifts, he winces, tucking his ear to his shoulder and rubbing slightly. You grab a piece of gum out of your pocket and stretch across the aisle, tapping him lightly. He cracks an eye open to see the peace offering. Tentatively, Namjoon accepts the gum, popping it in his mouth.

You wait for the ascent to level out and you’re at cruising speed. You turn so that your chair is facing Namjoon, kicking up the recliner to lean in comfort as you sip the vodka soda. Namjoon still looks uncomfortable, eyes dancing around the jet.

It is a bit much. But you grew up on this jet, flying around the world with your father. Even after he passed away, you couldn’t part with it. Plus, it comes in handy- you try to limit work’s resources as little as possible. It keeps them out of your business for the most part. Not to mention your father’s legacy among the Illuminati keeps some of the lurkers away.

Not forever though.

You try not to think about it. If you start thinking about all of the way you’re keeping secrets and back deal trades from the very organization that built most of the black market and governments around the world… an inky feeling slides down your spine.

“Tell me more,” you mention, tilting your head at Namjoon. “I want to know more. Your thesis appears to be a draft.”

“It was – it was rejected as my grad school assignment because it relied too heavily on mythology and magic. Where did you even find it?”

“Hacked into your email.”

“You what?”

You shrug, grinning. “Had to make sure you weren’t in this for the wrong reasons.”

“Like stealing artifacts and selling them on the black market.”

Your smile lessons. You try not to show how much the comment bothers you. Because even though this is just a random professor- someone who is a means to an end and who has little value to you- what he thinks of you holds weight.

On paper, Kim Namjoon is a good man. He’s highly rated among his students and his research is thought provoking. He also has dedicated a lot of his time outside of his classes and his own studies teaching classes for free to the under privileged.

Namjoon is the perfect picture person. He keeps house plants alive. He has a beautiful bookshelf- not with first volumes and special editions but with books creased with love and devotion.

He is the type of person you usually hate. At least, in your experience, people who appear nice on paper are not nice in real life. You get the feeling it may not be true for Namjoon, but you can never be sure.

“Yeah,” you agree because it’s easier to agree with him. “Like that.”

“Every other tomb dedicated to her has been overturned- no coin of power. And according to ancient documents, there is evidence of mass disease north of Cairo where the tomb is supposed to be.”

“And Sekhmet equals disease.”

“Among other things- she was a warrior too. We know. From the bloodshed at Alexandria that the violence of Egypt can be traced back to that area- and it made me wonder if that was her final resting place- she’d want to be buried with the coin.”

“What made you interested?”

“Honestly? I really liked The Mummy as a kid so when I came across the story, I fixated on it.

“I like that movie to. My methods are just more… O’Connell than Evie.”

“O’Connell didn’t sell items on the black market.”

Namjoon flinches at his own words. His eyes go wide behind his glasses and he bites his lip. But he doesn’t take the words back. You’ll give him that. He lets them hang in the air. His thoughts of you, painted neatly in his mind.

“You should combine the thesis with your current research.” You turn the seat away from him, settling in to take a nap. “I’d like to read it.”

-

It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve been to Egypt, it steals your breath away every time. The dessert palms dance in the breeze. The heat is omnipresent and the biting sand blowing through the edge of the city makes you wrap the scarf closer.

Egypt is not all desert and tombs, as Western media portrays. The city is booming with shining buildings and busy streets. Your quick to duck into the cool interior of the car, sliding in the driver’s seat while flicking through the GPS pulled up on your phone.

The trunk rattles as Namjoon loads the last of his bags into the SUV, walking around the car and slowing as the attendant bows to you just beyond the hood, leaving the rented car in your care. Namjoon opens the passenger door, hesitating as he stares at you over the rim of his sunglasses.

“You’re driving?”

“Been here before,” you muse. “It’s nothing like driving on the freeway in Athens, I can assure you.”

“Do you even know how to navigate?”

“I can follow a GPS and read Arabic-“ You glance up at him. “Problem, professor?”

Namjoon slides in and closes the door firmly. You don’t miss the way that he clicks his seat belt and pulls it as tightly to his chest as he can- which is a feat, given how large his chest is.

You blink, hating the way your thoughts wander. You have no idea how his students manage to absorb an ounce of information with him standing in front of the room. you have a sneaking suspicion it’s part of the reason his ratings are so high.

And well- he is intelligent.

“I thought you might hire a driver.”

“And risk the life of another person? No.”

He frowns as you shift gears, pulling into the lane to leave the airport. “Risk a life? What do you think this is? Indiana Jones?”

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Professor: I was hired to protect you and help you navigate the city. You think I’m a tomb raider? I can assure you that if we ran into real thieves, you’ll think quite differently.” He makes no comment, the silence stretching between you. “Plus,” you mumble. “I don’t know what’s in there, you know?”

“Mummies?”

You glare from the corner of your eye and you’re surprised when you get a smile, that dimple of his appearing. You twist your hands on the steering wheel, fighting a matching smile that threatens to break across your face. “Obviously. But I’ve seen a lot of shit.”

“Like what?”

“Classified.”

He scoffs. “Please.”

“What is it that you think my company is, Professor?”

“Please stop calling me that. I have a name.” You raise your brows as you exit the airport and turn onto the highway, joining the other cars in the traffic of trying to get away from the planes taking off and touching down. “Honestly? It just seemed like an insurance company for archaeology. I thought you’d be like… an adjustor.”

“That is… almost accurate.”

“Almost?”

“I protect assets. In this case- it would be your research and your findings.”

“Not going to take anything while we’re there?”

“I told you.” Your hands grip the wheel tighter. “Everything in that house was gifted to my family and I. You have an interesting narrative of me, professor. While I do resort to illegal means of obtaining items, I don’t traffic them. And before you protest- illegal is a relative term in my field.”

“And your field is…”

You pause. “The supernatural.”

For a while, it’s just the hum of the car as you switch gears. You briefly think of the time your father taught you stick shift. The memory makes your lip twitch as you switch lanes. You lost count of how many times you stalled out, but your father was always persistent, always patient.

He was always patient.

“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of the subject matter of most of my works.”

“I’m not.”

He turns toward you in the seat. Being under his inquisitive gaze makes you want to squirm, but you hold still. How a gentle professor from a private university makes you feel like you’re in the hot seat is beyond you. Men with much larger titles and much more power don’t make you feel on the spot nearly as much as the professor sitting next to you does.

“What do you mean your field is in the supernatural?”

“My division of Ilum focuses on acquisitions that have potential supernatural elements.” You glance to see that he’s just staring at you. His eyes are creased and his brows are pinched. He doesn’t believe you, so you push forward. “You led a supernatural club and you’re looking at me as though creatures don’t exist.”

“I already told you- show me proof and I’ll believe you.”

“Alright then,” you sigh. “Let’s go find you proof.”

-

Night sky stretches over a sea of sand. Namjoon’s head is pressed against the window as he dozes, lightly snoring. You’re fixed on the road as sand brushes delicate strokes across the pavement. There’s nothing of note on either side of you as you drive through small towns on the outskirts of the cities.

Above, thousands of stars glitter in the night. You wish that they looked that way back home. the light pollution of the city hides the stories of the gods for you, forcing you to find solace in the books and the maps in your library.

It’s been a quite car ride. Namjoon didn’t seem ready for the supernatural talk, so you let him lean his head on the window and fall in and out of sleep. Once he seemed to trust that you could navigate your way around, he fell asleep in earnest, body sagging into the door.

Tapping a nail on the steering wheel, you glance at Namjoon again. His features are soft and smooth. He looks younger without that stoic expression on his face. His breath fogs the window lightly, glasses slightly askew from the angle of his head.

It’s become entirely obvious that Namjoon wants to believe in his research, but has to see things with his own eyes. You have a suspicion that if he truly knew the dangers of unexplored tombs and ruins, he might not be so eager to research.

The cut on your thigh that burns whenever Min Yoongi walks into your house is enough proof that the world is a dangerous place for you. Lucky for you and Yoongi, you had aligned goals back then. Still do, on occasion, which is the only reason you helped a Greater Demon gain access to the Illuminati.

The Illuminati.

You hate calling the organization you work for by it’s true name. A virtual boogey man in American culture, the Illuminati has implications that you’re some sort of all-powerful society pulling strings and planning assassinations.

National Treasure didn’t exactly help.

The scope of the Illuminati is more than that. It is to illuminate themselves on the world that humans didn’t understand: the supernatural, magic, aliens, multi-dimensions. The branches and the reach of the Illuminati are far reaching and incredibly powerful. You are a tiny cog in a massive monster of a machine.

And you are breaking over a hundred of their rules and requirements every single time you manage to convince them a fake artifact was a real artifact, and gave the real one to the people it belonged to. To the native cultures that worshiped it not for its price and material, but for the peace and faith that it brought them.

Of course, Seokjin is a part of that success. No one in the world creates magical replicas the way Seokjin does. And while it is becoming increasingly painful to keep him in your payroll, you do it anyway. And you call yourself a tomb raider all the while, letting the façade protect your real work.

Tomb raider.

It was a title that you accepted because it’s safe. Because it mostly keeps the people writing your paycheck away from you. But not everyone trusts you. Many have suspected that your father had long since been using resources of the Illuminati to deceive them and protect ancient peoples, creatures and artifacts.

Your hands tighten on the wheel.

Now your father is dead. His good will didn’t get him far. You suspect it won’t get you far either.

You wonder if Namjoon knows that his survival in the event of a supernatural enemy is encounter wasn’t considered paramount by his school. You wonder if he has any idea that many of the patrons you work for graduated from his school. That his dean knows that you have killed people to defend yourself. Killed people to get what you needed.

Namjoon’s assessment of you is not exactly wrong, but his guesses on your motives are off.

You let him think the worst. It’s easier for him to do so, and it’s easier for you to do your job without having to convince him that you’re a good person.

Because you need him. Because the way his mind works is different from his, and you need his research. You know the languages, you know the stories. But Namjoon has three years worth of knowledge stored in his head.

Somewhere in that head of Namjoon’s is a theory or an idea. And you have no doubt in your mind that it will lead you directly to the tomb of Sehkmet and the coin Dean Tarik so badly needs.

-

Before the temple is a small town. The lights in the windows are all out as you step out of the car. The gas station has a sign that marks it as closed inside, but available for gas. Namjoon rouses when you shut the door, startled as you round the vehicle to pump gas.

Dust coats the SUV. It's quiet outside save for the wind and the swinging sign around the side of the building for a fruit stand that has long since shut up shop for the day. Namjoon gets out of the car and stretches, his sweat revealing a small sliver of tan, firm muscle.

You direct your gaze to the thumb pad as you jam in the digits to your credit card.

“Nice nap?”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Seemed like you needed it.” Your card clears and you remove the dust-caked handle, popping the nozzle into the car. The gas starts pumping slowly, a metal sounds thumping as it pulls the liquid from underneath. “Plus, we’re at the unexciting part.”

“Why is this temple so far from Cairo?” Namjoon muses, turning to the north. “Aren’t we close to Alexandria?”

“Sort of. And my guess? Sekhmet is a goddess who can cause mass destruction and chaos when she was in a rage. Wouldn’t you build a home for such far away from people?”

“I suppose.”

A cool wind makes you shiver. No one comes out of their homes as you look around. The moon is full, shining a grey light over the town. Everything looks like a painting, frozen in time. The hair stands up on the back of your neck as you glance over your shoulder and see a man at the edge of the light casted by the gas pumps.

You duck underneath the pump line and stand in front of Namjoon, never taking your eyes off of him as he stands, watching. Namjoon is confused at what you’re doing when you step in front of him. You feel him go rigid behind you as the man watches.

He’s beautiful- dark ebony hair that falls in tight coils. Walnut brown skin that nearly glows under the moonlight and sharp, grey eyes that watch the pair of you. He’s in all black garb, gold stitching at his sleeves. There is a gold collar around his neck, and two bracelets on either wrist.

Carefully, you palm a knife, watching him as your spine shivers.

“Why do you have a knife?” Namjoon demands. “What if he needs help- excuse me, sir?”

Namjoon pushes past you to go to the man. You grab him by the wrist, yanking him backwards and using his momentum to slam him against the SUV and step around him. Namjoon makes a strangled noise of pain and surprise, but you ignore him, eyes on the stranger.

His eyes glitter in the night as he watches you.

“You should not wake her,” the man says. His voice is deep, ancient. You recognize an outdated form of Arabic- so old that it’s not really Arabic at all. “Her disciples wait.”

“Who?” You ask as the man turns and walks deeper into the shadows of the night. You realize you’ve asked in standard Arabic and search for the ancient word, “Who?”

“Should you find nothing but death, you may summon me. I cannot physically enter the City of the Living Dead, but a Chosen may.” He glances at you over his shoulders and it root you in the spot.

You swear you hear the crying and chatter of jackals in the distance. You whip your head, looking for the source. A terrible feeling seizes you as the cacophony raises into a frenzy and the jackals are screaming.

Then they stop. The man bows his head and murmurs, “You may be accepted as Chosen. When you are ready, say the words: I am the humble vessel of Anubis. I am his sword, his jackal, his servant.”  

You blink and the man vanishes. The hand on your knife grips it tighter, trying to stop the shaking that ripples up your arm. The gas pump beeps, making you flinch and whirl around as it tells you the car is full. Namjoon is leaning against the car, staring at where the man vanished before his eyes drag back to you, mouth open slightly.

Carefully, you return to him. He’s staring beyond you, dark eyes fixed. It’s only when you nudge him after returning the gas nozzle to the pump that he looks at you.

“Was he a ghost?” his words are soft.

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly, looking back to the darkness pressing around the town.

“I think… I think we should talk about the supernatural now. Who do you think that was?”

“If I had to guess?” You open the driver’s side and slide back into the car. “I think it may have been Anubis.”

“Are you telling me that was a god that just appeared out of thin air?”

You start the car. “Did you hear jackals?”

“What? No. I didn’t hear anything, I couldn’t even hear what he was saying to you. What was he saying to you?”

-

Namjoon can’t fall back asleep. He doesn’t try. Instead, he quizzes you in the car about what it is you do. When you told him you’re focus in archaeology was in the supernatural, he thought you were making fun of him. He felt himself shut down, his irritation with you growing more.

But after seeing that man- who you believe to be Anubis- Namjoon realizes you’re not joking at all.

It feels as though he has stepped into a fever dream. Silver light paints the world as you decide not to stay in the town. No one comes out and there’s no sign of life. It feels eerie. You have tents for sleeping outside the site, so you drive on.

Namjoon notices that the lines near your mouth are tighter now. You grip the wheel harder and though you don’t mention the goddess again, your eyes dart into the rearview often.

He’s glad the moon is full, painting the world in light where the headlights do not reach. You turn off of the road and begin driving in the open sand, careful to follow the GPS. He notices signs in multiple languages that tell you to turn back. That you’re now trespassing. You drive past them easily, uncaring.

The site is not protected by military or police. No one wants to waste the resources after the past units have gone missing or have come running back with their minds cracked open like yolks.

It occurs to Namjoon after seeing the man- the god- vanish, that perhaps this is the worst idea he’s ever had. And yet, a huge part of him wants to see it through.

“So what supernatural creatures are real?” Namjoon ventures, needing to break the silence. “I’m willing to listen.”

“Vampires for starters,” you answer. You seem unfocused as you drive, the words coming out on auto-pilot. “Not many of them left. There is a sector of the Illuminati that kills the ones who won’t behave and tests on the ones they catch. Nasty business that I have no interest in and no part of. The vampires I’ve met are quite polite- except Kim Tae-“

“I’m sorry- did you just say the Illuminati?”

You pop your mouth shut. It’s obvious you hadn’t meant to tell him, but Namjoon suspects seeing Anubis has you focused on something else. You’ve been distracted since you got back in the car, but Namjoon isn’t sure why.

When you say nothing, he tries again, “You work for the Illuminati?”

“I would keep that bit to yourself. They’re fond of murdering people who know they exist.”

“Then perhaps they should get a better name than Illum Corporations United.”

Your mouth flickers in a smile, the first one he has seen in hours. It warms him, a bit. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Did you guys really plan the assassination of JFK? Is Elvis still alive? Did you invent-“

“I have no idea,” you cut him off, giving him a look. He can tell you’re not actually irritated. You do this thing where you smirk sideways when you’re trying to fight a smile. Despite himself, Namjoon thinks it’s cute. “Supernatural sector, remember?”

“So you take artifacts and knowledge and sell it on behalf of the Illuminati?”

“Technically.”

Namjoon tries to swallow past the distaste. He’s seen the tablet that you carry around with you. If he can swipe it or destroy it on the trip home, there’s no research for you to sell. And he certainly has no intention of letting you walk out with prized artifacts.

“Vampires, huh?”

“Demons as well, though not in the context of Western religions. Demons of all religious are a thing. There are… multiple dimensions and things we have no idea exist.”

“Like Marvel.”

You snort. “Yeah, like Marvel.”

“What’s the coolest creature you’ve ever seen?”

Namjoon can’t help the excitement in his voice. You don’t tease him for it, which is nice. He remembers being teased by pretty girls who thought he was a nerd growing up and despite your moral differences, it’s nice to talk to someone who likes the same things he does. Who can keep up with where his mind is going.

And you do.

You tell him about a clan of kitsunes who had been dealing with a void spirit corrupting their countryside down in Japan. You show him the knife they gifted you and though he can’t see anything particularly special about it, the blade is so black it seems to swallow light.

You tell him about helping a pack of werewolves in Romania hunt down a stolen moon stone that kept them from turning every full moon. Your face darkens when you mention the black market owned and operated by the Illuminati. He stops himself from asking the question: if you don’t like it, why do you contribute?

He isn’t sure you would answer.

It’s a nice car ride. He slowly forgets the terrifying image of the maybe goddess melting into the night. Your voice is soothing as you reflect on your adventures and he… well fuck, he believes you.

Early morning touches the distant horizon. Namjoon watches as the gold spills over the edge like a cup too full. It’s breathtaking watching the sands turn from grey to gold. And the ruins in front of him appear, as though obscured by the dark of the morning.

“Holy shit,” he breaths, leaning forward in his seat to look out of the dash.

Though they theorized there was an underground city, Namjoon doesn’t expected the massive temple with broken and collapsed columns. Two lions- not sphinxes, he notes- sit guard before the temple. Their faces have deteriorated with time, but he can still mostly see the detail.

When the car comes to a stop, he slides out, looking up at the two stone lines. His heart is pounding as he makes a beeline for them. There’s shrubbery at their feet and parts of the temple. There are a few palms sprouted near the temple, but there’s nothing else.

“Woah, slow down!” you call after him. “We need to set up. You can’t just charge in there after we’ve driven most of the night.”

“I’m well rested,” he protests. He is a little tired, but he’s more than awake now that it’s in front of him.

How many times had he imagined being here? He shields his eyes from the rising sun and smiles. The temple doors have long since fallen. A single column has collapsed in front of it, but it’s more than passable.

As he nears the two towering lions, the air changes. Namjoon drops his hand from his face and looks up. He can’t see a disturbance, but the air feels cooler near the lions. They stretch up up and up, several meters tall.

A soft buzz bothers him. He can’t pin point if it’s a sound or a feeling. Something brushes up against him, making him flinch and stumble back. You don’t notice, pulling bags out of the trunk of the car parked several meters away. Slowly, Namjoon backs aware from the lions, glancing between them.

Maybe he is more tired than he thought he was.

Turning back to the car, he helps you unpack and begin setting up canvas tents. He doesn’t tell you the strange feeling that he had at the lions, not wanting you to make fun of him for being more fatigued than he realizes.

The tent is massive and you move with efficiency, making him realize how many times you must have done something similar before. You move with a tactfulness than he can’t help but stand and watch.

You catch him stair, brushing the hair that escapes your braid out of your face. “What?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles, bending over to pick up his bag of tools and walk toward the open flap of the tent. “You’re really fast at this stuff.”

“Yeah, my dad and I used to have contests of who could build our tent the fastest. It was his way of making sure I helped instead of dicking around camp.”

“You explored a lot with your dad?” Namjoon enters the tent. It’s a little taller than him- but barely. He feels the static scraping the top of his head as he goes over to a plastic folding table you used for supplies, placing his pack on it. “That must have been cool.”

“It was,” you agree. You don’t elaborate as you drag a rolled duffle bag to the foot of your very uncomfortable looking cot. Gone is the luxury from the jet.

“Can I ask you something?”

“If I say no, would you ask anyway, Professor?”

He smirks a bit. “Probably.”

You sit on the cot to catch your breath. You’re flushed in your face and neck, and your hair catches you on the temples where you sweat. You still look painfully beautiful, even dressed in dark pants and a dark t-shirt. “You have all these resources- so why are we here alone?”

“I don’t like partners. I also don’t like people in my business.”

“Sorry.”

You wave him off. “I don’t mean you. People associated with the Illuminati are all academics who think they’re better than everyone and that they know the secrets of the world. I don’t get along with them. My family name is the only thing that keeps them off my back- mostly.”

“How did your father die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

You shrug. “Don’t know. Get some rest. We should do some light survey work this afternoon before the sun sets and then we can explore in earnest tomorrow. I’m going to set up some security points.”

Namjoon tries not to let it bother him that you change the subject every time he wants to ask you about yourself. Getting to know you… well it won’t make betraying you later any better, but it makes it easier to work with you.

“Security points?”

“Land mines,” you announce as you walk out the tent.

Namjoon throws himself on his cot and laughs. It only occurs to him right as he’s about to fall asleep that you may not have been kidding.

-

It’s night. The moon is in the sky and you’re standing in front of the two lions at the entrance to the tomb. It’s never been confirmed, but you know there is a tomb deep under the surface of the earth. The temple is empty and bleached, nothing but bone in the night.

A presence weighs on you. You turn your head to look behind you. Far in the distance on the dunes is a black figure. You see the robes flapping in the wind and you feel cold. You don’t know who it is out there, but the figure sends a buzzing sensation over your skin.

You turn back to the temple and stare at it. There is something like a voice on the wind, but you can’t quite understand.

You take a step closer. Something about the lions on either side of you feel like they hum with life. The wind dies down and the soft whispers of many voices brush up against you.

We know where your father is. We know we know we know. We know where your father is.

The voices are getting louder. You try to convince yourself to move, but you can’t, staring as the whispers crescendo.

We know where your father is we know where your father is we know where your father is we know where your father is we know where your father is we know where your father is

The temperature drops and a cloud goes over the moon. The world goes dark and still. You hold your breath, a terror like never before begins to stir inside of you. You can’t remember ever being this afraid as something appears in the doorway of the tomb, a figure whose shape is undetectable with two, glowing eyes.

The sound of jackals catches the wind, sailing over the dunes to where you stand, staring and shaking at the gates of the City of the Living Dead. The jackals rise in volume as a single hand- dead and crumbling- appears from the doorway. The jackals begin to drown out the sound of the hundreds of voice, high pitched and barking.

You’re frozen. Your heart is pounding as you stare and stare-

The sound of jackals reaches a frenzy and a deep voice hums, Should you find nothing but death, you may summon me.

You gasp as you launch forward, clawing at the sheets suffocating you. Your heart is panicking as you scream, throwing the sheets off you and falling to your knees off the cot. You can barely see in the dark, panting as you stumble to your feet.

Strong hands grab you. You scream, reaching for your knife under your pillow but the hands are firm.

“Hey! Y/n it’s just me! It’s Namjoon!”

His voice breaks through the panic and you blink a few times. Namjoon is standing in front of you in the dark shadow of the night. A single candle burns near the map he’s been trying to draw of what he thinks the layout of the temple is based on traditional architecture of Egyptian tombs.

Namjoon’s hair is disheveled. His glasses are gone, his warm brown eyes piercing right through you as you try to catch your breath. You can feel the panic subsiding as his hands hold you by the forearms. He’s in a t-shirt and sweat pants and you catch the smell coming from him- lemon essential oils.

Your head is spinning. You pull away from him, mumbling and apology and clumsily leaving the tent. You gulp down cool night air and hurry away from the tent, trying to put distance between you and the nightmare.

Sitting, you put your head between your knees, breathing in and out slowly. The dream still lingers, the sound of the voice and the jackals not far off. You wipe at your eyes as tears free fall.

It takes a few minutes, but Namjoon’s footsteps approach firmly. You say nothing as he sits next to you. For a while, you’re both quiet, save for the sniffling you’re trying to hide from him.

“Do you want me to ask you to talk about it? Or are you mercenary-types too tough to do those things?”

You laugh, despite the knife in your throat. “First, I was a tomb raider, now I’m am mercenary?”

“I upgraded your title when you joked about planting mines.”

“Who said I was joking?”

You look up at Namjoon and he’s smiling down at the sand, elbows resting on his knees. His dimples appear again, shadowed in the moonlight. “See,” he jibes, knocking your knee with his. “Mercenary.”

“I had a nightmare.”

“Really? I thought it was rather pleasant from the sound of it. Though perhaps you were lounging among luxurious Persian rugs and looking at all your fancy swords of death.”

“Professor, is that sarcasm I detect? So you can be funny.” He rolls his eyes and glances at you side-long. You give him a small smile. “Swords of death is a bit repetitive, Professor.”

“Wanted to emphasize it, you know- for the mercenary bit.”

You hum. You pick up a handful of sand, letting it run through your fingers. The wind is gentle, picking it up and carrying it until your palm is empty. “It was a nightmare about my dad,” you murmur. “I get them sometimes. My dad was um- he was murdered. He had this position before me. Made a lot of enemies.”

“I’m incredibly sorry to hear that.”

You shrug. “Like I said – there are a lot of people in this organization who think they know everything. He had as many supporters as he did enemies.”

“And you?”

“A lot of enemies, but I’ve learned from his mistakes.”

“Did you ever find out who did it?”

You nod and the mark on your leg burns at the thought, remembering the way Yoongi’s blade cut into your flesh, burning and burning. “Someone who wasn’t his enemy at all, but had no choice in the matter. I’ve come to terms with the man who wielded the blade, but not the one who ordered the kill.”

“Is he- alive?” you glance at him and see him struggle to get the words out. “Either of them?”

“Yeah, Yoongi sort of works with me. Kane – the man who ordered my father dead – no, he is not alive.”

“And that Is what you’ve not come to terms with?” You nod. Namjoon has practically heard you confess murder. And yet he sighs and says, “I hope you find that peace, one day. You should get some rest if you can. We explore in full tomorrow.”

-

“At least take a knife,” You snap, holding out a knife that is… well it’s of the larger variety. Namjoon stares at it. He’s dressed in cargo pants, a forest green long-sleeve that hugs his chest far too well, and a backpack full of research items, books and snacks. “What happens if you get stuck on something or if you need to repel and can’t get off?”

“I don’t need a knife!”

“So our working theory is that the God of the Dead, Anubis, randomly showed his face last night and you don’t want to take a knife. Do I have that right?”

“What is a knife going to do against the God of the Dead? Tickle him, probably.”

You make a sound and stomp your foot. “It’s not just a knife,” you answer, mimicking his voice. “It’s a demon blade. It’ll send anything that shouldn’t be topside, downside.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

You grab his wrist against his will shoveling the sheathed blade into his hand. “Use that university brain of yours to figure it out.”

Storming out of the tent, you head for the two lions who had haunted you the night before. During your survey with Namjoon, the temple seemed pretty basic. You had only stuck your head in, but the main building was mostly intact, narrow stone walls leading in a maze to different chambers.

You don’t mean to be annoyed with Namjoon. After him comforting you the night before and admitting that he’s not as terribly annoying as you originally perceived, you think you could almost be friends with him.

Almost.

Refusing to take basic protection was not the first time he got on your nerves that morning. The first mistake was having an absolute fit when you rolled open the duffle bag to reveal weapons. He was so angry he was red in the face, deciding that you were in fact the terrible mercenary he thought you were.

It had been fifteen minutes of arguing before he gave up trying to convince you to leave the weapons behind.

The second irritation came when you disagreed on where to go first. Namjoon wanted to look for the burial chamber, where most of the hieroglyphics would list who was buried – if someone was – and be the largest source of information.

The burial chamber was the last place you wanted to be. You argued to look for paths leading further into the earth that would indicate a world underneath the Egypt above, or at the least- a throne room which would also have helpful information.

Then Namjoon claimed you wanted to look for treasure in the throne room- which you didn’t. But you did want to know where you could look for Sehkmet’s coin. The object that Dean Tarik wanted. That the Illuminate also wanted.

If their reports were correct, flipping the coin gave the person holding it her power.

Namjoon joins you, adjusting his back pack. There’s a scowl on his face as he walks past you. “I’ll take your stupid knife, if only to show you I won’t need it.”

“Better fucking hope not,” you mutter. “And on the topic of things we shouldn’t do: don’t read from anything in there.”

“What do you mean? The entire reason we’re here involves reading.”

“Out loud,” you clarify. “My father used to say it to me all the time: don’t read dead languages. Not here. Not out loud.”

“Whatever.”

 You both approach the temple. The darkness of the door haunts you and you slow your steps as you approach. Namjoon slows behind you, both of you craning to look upward. The building is huge, a feat of ancient technology. Or aliens, the Illuminati believes.

Wordlessly, you climb up and over the fallen column. Dirt clouds at your feet when you land with a solid thud. Slowly standing, you hesitate just beyond the shadow of the temple. The whispers from the night before come back to you and though you don’t see anything, a sense of dread weighs on you as you look into the darkness.

The antechamber is square, crumbling ceilings with exposed sky and walls covered in dust and dirt. The floors are scuffed and smooth, like there’s been feet wearing them down. You catch a dark patch near one of the darker hallways and you grimace. It looks like blood.

Taking a breath, you step into the temple. A shiver curls through you as you stand in the dark room. Namjoon stands before you, looking up and around the inside of the temple. “Let’s look for any writing,” he suggests, head still tilted up. “I don’t trust that our configuration will work as a true map.”

“Deal.” You turn to the dark patch near the darker hallway. “I’ll go this way,” you mutter, removing a large glow stick and cracking it. Orange light grows as you shake it, pausing by the stain in the dirt. Definitely blood. “Call if you need me.”

The air isn’t as stale as you thought it would be as you slowly enter the hall. It’s long and narrow, with cobwebs and dust coating the sides. You hold the glow stick up near the walls as you walk, looking for any sign of instructions, stories or artwork.

Another hall branches to the left and down. The stairs are mostly intact, but you’re careful as you descend them anyway.

It’s dry as you descend. Turning over your shoulder, you see you’ve only made it a couple of yards. Down you go, holding the light so that you can see. Just when you think maybe the stairs won’t end, you meet rubble. The ceiling has caved in, blocking your path.

Signing, you go back up to the main level and continue your search. It’s almost half an hour later when Namjoon calls your name. You rush through the maze of halls and to the other side of the temple, palming a knife as you enter the hall. You can see the glow of his light as he holds it high on the wall, revealing a crumbled sconce.

“Look,” he says, gesturing to the wall under the sconce. He brushes his hand over the dust, clearing it to reveal a groove in the wall. “Burial chamber.”

You look at the dead end. Approaching slowly, you crouch and look at the bottom of the wall carefully. There’s dust and rocks. Gently, you nudge the rocks toward a seam in the wall. They fall between and disappear.

“The floor drops down,” you note, backing away from it. “Pull the sconce.”

Namjoon does. There’s a loud creaking and crash as the floor slants downwards, turning into a ramp. Dust and dirt explode upwards, making you cough and wave your hand to clear the air. Namjoon removes a cloth from his pocket and hands it to you. You both proceed slowly with the cloth pressed over your face.

Orange light leads the way as you go down down.

Dirt and gravel crack under your feet as you go. Namjoon takes he lead, keeping his light higher than you to look for any more symbols on the wall. The floor shifts beneath your right foot and you stumble, grabbing the wall. A grinding sound makes you both turn, watching as the ramp you came up retracts and closes, leaving you in the pitch black of the hall with two glow sticks.

You turn to look at Namjoon, who visibly gulps. “Surely there’s another way out or another lever.”

Turning around, you both look for exactly that. After almost another hour of looking, there’s nothing. Sweating and nervous, you both push forward. Ancient ruins are famous for their halls and doors, never having one way out or one way in. Especially in the event that earth quakes or floods plagued the ruins, multiple exits were necessary.

Time seems not to pass. You know from the analog watch on your wrist that the day is moving. The hall seems to go forever, sloping downward.

As you adjust your foot placement as the slope increases, something catches your eye. You barely get Namjoon’s name out before his foot breaks a thin because of rope. You dive for him, slamming into him and knocking you two further down the hall as spears with sharpened iron heads explode from the wall where Namjoon was just standing.

You both scramble backwards. “Are you okay?” Namjoon shouts, pulling you toward him. You’re mutely aware that he has you against his chest, heart pounding against your back and arms around your shoulders, holding you to him. “You just saved my life.”

“Yeah. Thanks for checking- are you trying to flirt?”

“Yeah right.”

You both struggle to your feet, wiping yourself off. “You should do it more often, girls are into that.”

“The girls I’ve gone after aren’t into men who had shelves dedicated to Egyptology.”

Your lips twitch. “I have a pretty cool collection.”

“Yeah, we’ll you’re not the girls I go after.”

“Wow.”

Namjoon looks at you as you shove past him. “That’s not what I meant-“

“I get it. Tomb Raider, Mercenary. Look let’s just make the priority finding a way out of here. My job might be to protect you, but I might also kill you if I’m stuck down here for all eternity.”

Namjoon says thing. You lead the way, walking down the hall with your light. You continue downwards for a while until a soft gust of air hits you in the face. You walk faster. The hallway ends abruptly and levels out into a massive room with high ceilings.

The breath leaves you. A round chamber with a raised dais stands in front of you. A stone table sits on it. Organ jars surround the base of the table, gauze and tools on top of it. Rows of closed, plain sarcophagi’s line the walls of the room. They’re undecorated and plain.

“Preparation chamber,” Namjoon murmurs. He charges into the room, looking around and laughing. You watch him, rooted in place. He’s running his hands through his hair as he runs up to the dais. “There are mummification tools here!”

It’s like watching a kid in a candy store and you can’t help but smile as he runs around the room, camera out and snapping pictures. You step into the room fully, wandering around. It looks like other burial preparation chambers you’ve been in, but untouched and untainted.

Namjoon is laughing to himself and smiling as he explores the room. You smile, letting him have his fun as he wanders up the dais. “There’s writing on here-“

“Don’t read it out loud.”

He laughs. “Got it.”

You join him on the dais, looking at the table. You tilt your head. “To the underworld.”

“I mean… this room does send them to the underworld.”

“But they didn’t call it that. Duat wasn’t really an underworld to them.”

Namjoon pauses before bending down, moving around all of the ceramic jars. You hate to think they’re filled with the organs of the dead. He finds one that’s fixed to the ground and pulls it. The floor beneath you shakes and the dais begins to descend, making you clutch the funeral rites table. Namjoon straightens, holding the table with you as the grinding sound of stone on stone rattles your teeth.

Skirting toward you, Namjoon holds up his light. The walls have tracks in them where the dais slides downward. The ground vibrates, rattling up through your bones. “Under the world.”

“Smart boy.”

Namjoon blushes but says nothing as you go down down down.

Your ears pop at some point as you descend into a dark, low ceiling room.

Dark hallways line the circular room. In the middle is a gilded sarcophagus with the face of a lion and crossed paws. You step into the room tentatively. The hallways are black as pitch, more like tunnels into the earth than anything.

“That’s…”

Namjoon trails off as the two of you approach. There are jewels and golden objects that surround the sarcophagus. It’s beautiful, but your lights are the only thing in the room. carefully, the two of you work together to crack and toss the orange lights on the ground.

Sweat beads down your neck. When you finish lighting the room. Namjoon’s shirt sticks to him, sweat dripping down his tan neck when. You offer him a water from your pack and he takes it with a nod. You eye him as you chug water.

How did he think women didn’t find him attractive? He was either crazy or naïve.

Or both.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” he murmurs. “That’s Sekhmet- or an ancient pharoh.”

You smirk. “Wouldn’t have found our way without you noticing those symbols.”

He blushes. Or maybe he’s flushed from the excitement and heat.

You finish your water and begin exploring the room. Namjoon takes picture of the wall and tomb as you get to work translating the writing and symbols on the wall. The clock is ticking to find the coin- you suspect it might be buried with Sekhmet, but you can’t just open her sarcophagus while Namjoon is around.

So you work in silence.

A wall at the far south of the room has an entire section dedicated to a story. You hold your light upwards and slowly begin piecing the story together. There’s not a lot of hieroglyphics, but there’s pictures.

Sekhmet comes down from the heavens and bows to Ra. She creates plague and carnage in Cairo and Memphis, purging the lands of those who spite him. She carries her sword across the lands, slicing as she goes.

People begin to pray to Sekhmet. They ask her for her mercy and pledge themselves to her. The kneel before the goddess and ask for forgiveness. She judges them and declares them her disciples, worthy of carrying her justice and word of Ra.

Your heart begins picking up spread as the images grow darker and more grotesque.

Sekhmet’s followers drink the blood of the evil. They grow stronger and spread throughout Egypt, taking her justice and carnage with them. They only move at night, becoming her warriors of the moon.

Bloodshed. There is so much bloodshed and all the while, her followers bathe themselves in blood.

Anubis rises to oppose Sekhmet. She has upset the balance of the world and Anubis and his Jackals created chase Sekhmet to her temple. She binds her remaining followers to her, and does not allow Anubis and his jackals to enter.

They live eternal.

You recognize the work for eternal written over and over again.

Eternal. Undead. Eternal. Children of the moon.

A sense of terror begins to seep in. You look toward a tunnel and see how dark it is. Slowly, you walk toward it. Holding your light up, you look into the hall. Rows and rows of open sarcophagi line the walls. The people in them are tan and unharmed by time, hands crossed over their chests.

Your breath quickens as you step in the hall. Namjoon is talking to you but you can’t hear him well over the roaring in your ears.

Eternal. Drinking the blood of the evil.

“Namjoon,” you call faintly, voice shaking. You unholster the gun from your hip. You have no bullets that will help this- you don’t even know what breed this is. “Remember what I said about vampires?”

Namjoon’s voice carries over the room. You back out of the tunnel and turn to him to see him looking at an inscription at the foot of Sekhmet. His voice is questioning as he finishes sounding out a sentence.

“Namjoon!” you screech. Namjoon stops reading.

There is a loud thump that echoes from in front of Namjoon. He backs away from the sarcophagus, dropping his tools as the boom sounds again. Whispers echo from down the hall and you hear shuffling as you enter the room, going right for Namjoon.

You grab him by the shoulders and shove him behind you as the lid begins to move. “What did I tell you?”

“I forgot.”

“You forgot?” you demand as the lid shakes again. It rattles until it’s knocked off entirely.

Namjoon grabs your waist as you take a wide stance, aiming your gun. You don’t have bullets that can kill vampires- if that’s what Sekhmet is. You don’t even know what breed or variation was in the hall.

A mummified hand grabs the edge of the sarcophagus and you don’t even think. You fire the weapon. Namjoon flinches wildly behind you as you shoot the hand off the mummy. It screeches and you hear shuffling as it sits up.

“It’s your time to shine, Brenden Fraser!”

You fire the gun again and the bullets rip through the struggling mummy, but they do nothing. “I have a plan,” you assure him. “Magical objects are the way out, I think. Not guns.”

You reach for your knife.

“Is this your plan?” Namjoon screeches at you as you pull a knife from your tactical vest, spinning it dangerously and taking a defensive stance. “You’re going to knife the mummy?”

“This is Plan A, yes. The knife in question was a very expensive one and holds the cursed spirit of a Nogitsune,” you explain easily. The mummy looks at Namjoon with glowing eyes and you don’t know how you know, but it wants the professor. It begins to struggle out of its tomb. “When the knife pierces its intended target, it releases a void spirit that destroys the host immediately. Feel free to be awed- I am way cooler than Brendan Fraser.”

Palming the knife, you step in front of Namjoon, staring as the creature nearly falls out of the sarcophagus. It recovers quickly, righting itself and turning it’s burning, white eyes on the man behind you. You bare your teeth, despite being absolutely terrified at the thing- the mummy- in front of you.

You’re just doing your job. That’s what you tell yourself when Namjoon clutches your waist behind you, steading you as you watch the creature figure out its mobility level. You try not to become distracted with Namjoon’s panicked breathing behind you, or the fact that you can smell the light lemon scent of his essential oils on his skin.

You shake the thoughts from your head, gripping the dagger tighter.

Its flesh is dried and stuck to the bones, parts of it eaten away by time and gods know what else. The mummy steps forward, the crackling sound and stink of dried, aged skin making you want to vomit. They don’t tell you how disgusting the smell in the movies, and you’re fighting back a retch as you firmly hold you ground.

“Holy fuck,” Namjoon swears. It’s the first time he’s done so much as cuss, and you smile, despite the fact that there is a mummy gaining traction in its crooked walking toward you. “Why is it staring at me?”

“What did I tell you about reading dead languages?” you snap. Placing your finger in the circle at the pommel of the knife, you spin it expertly and launch it at the creature, hitting it directly between the eyes. “Take that, fucker!”

The mummy blinks, stopping its movement. Slowly, it reaches for the knife, arm movement disjointed and unfamiliar. Wrapping old, broken fingers around the handle, it yanks the knife out before breathing on it. The knife disintegrates.

Oh god. You are not cooler than Branden Fraser.

“Plan C,” you squeak, watching as it destroys a very powerful, very expensive cursed object like nothing. You grip Namjoon’s wrist and yank him toward the closest tunnel to your left- one you have yet to explore. “Run like hell!”

“What was Plan B?” Namjoon hollers, taking off at your side.

“Leaving your ass to be eaten by the fucking mummy!”

Namjoon veers towards the hall where hissing is echoing out of- the same one you saw the frozen faces. You yank him and stumble the other direction, pumping your arms by your side as you scream, “Not that hall! It’s full of vampires!”

“What?” he demands. The mummy is moving slowly, but you hear a snarl. You look over your shoulder to see a woman dressed in traditional robes crouched, silver eyes gleaming. Namjoon looks over his shoulder and screams. “FUCK! DIDN’T YOU SAY YOU KNOW HOW TO KILL THEM?”

You enter a dark hall, thankful there’s no creatures. You run as the snarls increase. You can hear them pursuing now as you run. “I have no idea what kind these are! Not all of them require wooden stakes!”

“What the fuck do we do?”

“Hide!”

Fear sets in as you turn a corner, shoving Namjoon into a room before you. A massive shelf with items is on the wall next to the door. You throw it into the door way, crashing into the first creature that breaches the door. Namjoon arms himself with the knife you gave him- thankfully- and backs up toward a wall dedicated to the story of Ra.

There’s nowhere to go as the creatures slither into the room.

“Shit,” you whisper, backing up. You grab at a flare and rip the tag, igniting it and tossing it at one of them. The fire hits it and it begins to scream, thrashing and setting another one on fire as they collapse into one another.

“Do you have any more of those?”

“Nope,” you squeak. The vampires are more careful as they filter into the room. There’s eight of them. The mummy enters the room, stumbling. “She’s fucking ugly.”

“My children are hungry,” she whispers. “Won’t you let them drink? Let us drink from the one who brought me to life, for his life force is mine to bathe in. There is only death for you. Only death in this place.”

You pause. Only death in this place.

You turn to look at Namjoon. “Get ready to fight.”

“Those things?”

The vampires chitter among themselves as you step forward and slice your hand open. They grow excited, teeth gnashing as you say, “I am the humble vessel of Anubis. I am his sword, his jackal, his servant.”

The world goes black in an instant.

-

Namjoon watches in horror as you slice your hand open. A scream gets suck in his throat as you speak in guttural, dead Arabic. He doesn’t recognize the words but he knows it’s the language of the first Egyptians. He doesn’t know where you learned the words, but he almost drops the knife as the vampires take a few steps back.

Sekhmet – the mummy – screams at you. Namjoon hears the barking of dogs. They howl and cackle, the noise building until he’s covering his ears. You begin to glow for a moment before two gold cuffs flash into existence on your wrists, an Egyptian glaive appearing in each hand. The blades are sharp and a little over a foot long, handles golden.

There’s a glow about you – Namjoon has no idea what is happening, but he gasps when you turn to look at him. He decided a while ago that he liked your eyes- they were kind and playful- but now they are burning silver like the main from the night before.

Like Anubis.

“Y/N?”

“I am the servant of Anubis,” you announce, turning to face the vampires. “I am Chosen. And I will finish what he started.”

It’s nearly impossible to catch which vampire launches themselves at you first. One does, and Namjoon screams but you move faster than he can follow. Your glaive slices through the vampires head, instantly turning it to ash.

Chaos explodes into the room. The vampires go after you as you spin, slicing with your swords. Sekhmet turns, burning eyes on Namjoon as she stumbles forward, pointing a hand toward him. He skirts the room as another vampire gets turned to dust.

It’s hard to keep his eyes on you and Sekhmet at the same time. You’re moving with a force he’s never seen, wielding the dual blades with a fury of- a god. The shadow behind you on the wall is tall and dark, with pointed ears.

The shadow of Anubis.

Namjoon turns his eyes to Sekhmet. She approaches him, arm outstretched. Namjoon slices at her, cutting off her hand. She looks at the severed limb and back at him. It’s disgusting. He starts to feel proud- and the hand begins growing back.

The mummy charges him faster than she moved before. Namjoon ducks under her reach, spinning around. She charges him over and over and he plays a game of evading. He bumps into a vampire and is startled as it claws at him, taking it down.

Pushing against its gnashing face, Namjoon screams. The vampire is strong and its teeth are getting closer and- the point of a blade appears through its chest, turning it to ash. Namjoon scrambles backwards.

“The coin is on her neck!” you yell at him.

Namjoon realizes the glow sticks are glinting in the gold coin around her dead throat.

Pushing himself to his feet, Namjoon dives at the mummy. It catches her off guard as he slams into her, clawing at her neck. She bites at him, teeth fanged and dangerous. She almost sinks her teeth in him as he wraps his hand around the coin and rips, rolling off of her.

Electricity shoots up his arm. Namjoon can barely breath as power trembles up his arms. He’s panting as he struggles, feeling as though his bones are turning to iron. Something swells inside of him and for a moment, Namjoon can only hear ringing in his ears.

You appear next to his side, spinning a sword. He doesn’t know where the other one is, and you’re bleeding. “You have the power of Sekhmet,” you pant, eyes only for the mummy who gets to her feet. You look at him with the power of a god in your eyes. “End her.”

Namjoon thinks of the phrase on the foot of her tomb. Be risen again. Be vengeance. Be rage. Be power. Come forth come forth come forth, and be sealed with my life.

It was a spell to wake her- and Namjoon has a suspicion that his blood would root her into life for good.

So he changes it.

Gripping the coin so hard his hand begins to bleed, Namjoon holds it up. “Be bound again. Be vengeance. Be rage. Be power. Go forth go forth go forth, and be sealed in my life.”

“In?” You screech. “IN YOUR LIFE?”

Namjoon doesn’t listen. The mummy screams, head tilted toward the ceiling. Light pours out of her as she begins to shake. The light pulls from her chest, spinning up like a shimmering mist. It slams into Namjoon’s chest, knocking him backward.

The last thing he remembers is his head smacking against the floor.

-

You wipe your eyes and sniff as you finish wrapping your arms. Namjoon is still on the cot. He has been for a while, even though his head healed over. The cuffs are still on your wrists, thrumming with power. You can feel Anubis with you- his voice is not in your head, but something like a thought brushes up against you every once in a while.

Dragging Namjoon out of the temple was easy. Suddenly, it felt like you knew the way. He no longer weighed anything as you carried him, both of you bleeding and still shaking with adrenaline. You’re sure that Anubis led the way, the sound of his jackals guiding you.

Something moves outside the tent. Grabbing a glaive, you step outside.

Anubis is standing facing the temple. Up close, he is magnificent. He smells of sandalwood and cedar, and like incense and smoke. He doesn’t look at you as you keep the sword in your hand, taking a step forward.

“The man carries Sekhmet in him.”

“Will he live?” Anubis pauses before he nods once. “He is like you.”

“And what am I?”

“A servant.”

“To do what?”

“Keep the balance of the dead.”

“What will happen to him?”

Anubis hums. “Sekhmet is not inherently evil. But she lived in rage for too long- it is the fault of Ra. The man seems to have a good heart- I bet he would pass the Scales. He is not a fighter?” You shake your head. “Good. Perhaps a calm mind will give the goddess the peace she needs.”

“Does he- have to serve her will?”

“Not if he does not wish. He bound her to him.” Anubis’ eyes are silver as he looks at you. “You are bound to me.”

“What now?”

Anubis shrugs. “You answer when I call.” He turns to where your hand is going for your belt. “The knife of that demon do not work on me, child.” You drop your hand, chastised though he smiles. “Your father would be proud.”

“My father?”

He nods. “There are many after lives in the universe. He is at peace in his. And he is very proud of you.” Anubis nods his head. “I will call on you.”

“Please don’t.”

“Be well,” he murmurs in ancient Arabic.

“Be well,” you reply.

Back in the tent, Namjoon is sitting up. You dart over to him, grabbing his face and tilting it so that you can see his eyes. There’s no glow like there was in the temple, no other person or god. He blinks as though he’s having a hard time see.

“You fucking idiot,” you laugh, sniffing. “You almost got us killed.”

He laughs. The sound is dry. You grab a water and hand it to him, scooting closer on the bed. He finishes the water in a few gulps. You catch him up to speed briefly on your situation. He listens to you, nodding softly.

“I dreamt of her.”

You frown. “What did she say?”

“She… thanked me. She says it is nice inside me.” He smiles and you join him. “She says she is at peace, but that she will serve me when needed.”

“Good.”

Awkward silence passes between you. “You didn’t take anything from the temple?”

You shake your head. “Never want to go in there again.”

Namjoon chews his lip. “You don’t steal anything at all, do you?” Slowly you shake your head. “Tell me the truth- what are you doing for the Illuminati? Why did you want that coin- don’t look surprised, of course you wanted the coin.”

“I wanted it to replicate it and give the fake to the Illuminati. It’s… mostly what I do. I help pass them off as real so that no one can have the real objects. I have a contact in Cairo I trust very strongly that would have taken care of it.”

“You… return things to their rightful place.”

You laugh. “Yeah.”

“Why let me believe otherwise?”

“Because I never intended on letting you take it. So it was easier for you to think that of me when I betrayed you. You already had the idea that I was-“

“I was wrong.” Namjoon reaches for your hand, turning it over in his. He sees dried blood and he doesn’t know if it’s his or yours. “I like the idea of you being terrible because you surprised- you were charming in your weird way and smart and… nice.”

“Still think so now that I’m a giant scary Anubis host?”

His smile is genuine. His caresses your palm with his fingers and it’s sending tingles up your arm. You sway lightly, liking the way that it feels. “I like you even more, I think.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You saved my life.”

“You saved mine back.”

“Shut up,” Namjoon mumbles, gripping your hand in his and pulling you toward him. “Take the compliment like the arrogant, brilliant person I know you are.”

Namjoon crashes his lips into yours and you’ve never been happier. You pull him toward you, forgetting your new strength. He topples over you but you don’t care. You smell the lemon on him as he molds his mouth to yours, tongue swiping the seam of your lips.

You grant him entrance and he hums into the kiss as your hands trail up his chest and around his shoulders, wrapping in the collar of his shirt. Everything is consumed by the kiss, his mouth hot and perfect and him.

You moan against him and he echoes it, pulling away from your lips to pepper your face with kisses. “Finally you shut up,” he mumbles as he presses kisses on your jaw. He leans down to your ear, nipping. “Can I shut you up even more?”

“Probably,” you mumble, chest heaving.

He chuckles. “Let’s see.”

Namjoon moves his mouth to your neck. He begins mouthing at the column of your neck, biting softly into the flesh. He pulls your skin between his teeth, sucking on the surface. Continuing his way down, he pulls at your shirt “Off.”

You lift up so that he peels your shirt off, tossing as he works on your pants, fingers dancing. You pull at his shirt and he rips it off, revealing a toned chest and thick arms. “Oh my god, you’ve been hiding your body under there? Fuck, professor.”

Namjoon groans. “You’re gorgeous,” he mumbles as he strips you of your bra and underwear. Cold air hits your chest and you shiver. Namjoon’s heated gaze takes in the newly exposed flesh, a deep sound in his throat as his lips find your skin. “A pain in the ass, but fucking beautiful.

You crest into him, back coming off the cot as his teeth find a nipple, pulling it playfully before his tongue wrapped around it, pulling it into his hot mouth. You can’t stop the loud whine that leaves your mouth, surprising yourself with the volume. Namjoon’s hooded eyes flick up to yours, pausing his movements before swirling his tongue around the bud again, eliciting the same response. 

Namjoon’s laugh was guttural. “Fuck baby, if you sound like that when my tongue is here… I wonder.”

You don’t have time to consider the implications of his words. He licks a bold trail down the valley of your breasts to your navel, stopping to nip at the soft flesh of your stomach. He continues his descent, dropping to his knees between your thighs.

You’re shivering, thighs shutting slightly. He pries them open with his hands, pressing your thighs open firmly. You lifted herself on you elbows, looking down at Namjoon as he slowly kisses your thighs. You moan in tandem. You can feel yourself dripping for him, needing him to do something.

“Look how fucking soaked you are,” he mumbles. “That for me baby?”

“You’re very confident now, Professor.”

He grins. “Near death experiences have reminded me to take what I want.”

“So do it.”

Namjoon doesn’t hesitate. He leans forward in a swift motion, flattening his tongue and licking you from core to clit. Namjoon hums, delighted as he continues to lick your folds up and down lazily. He slithers his tongue to your clit, circling it before he attaches his mouth and sucks gently.

“Oh fuck Namjoon.”

            “Mm, say my name more,” Namjoon murmurs as he shuffles so that he’s holding you against his mouth. “I want to hear you. You taste so fucking, Y/N.”

You whimper, dropping your hand to the bed where you fist the sheets. Namjoon’s mouth is overwhelming, wanton sounds leaving your lips as you cuss and hiss his name.

A gasp stutters from your lips as Namjoon pushed a finger into your heat, the sensation sending you into white hot pleasure. Namjoon moans where his mouth works you, slowly sliding his finger in rhythm with his tongue. 

“Fuck,” he pants. "Gripping me like a vice. You’re fucking greedy. You’re so fucking hot, baby. Gonna cum on my finger and tongue?”

You nod. You have no idea where the demon between your legs has come from, but he’s making you hurdle toward an orgasm with blinding ferocity.

 “I’m gonna- fuck, Joon right there!”

“Cum for my baby,” he grows before fastening his mouth to you. 

Your orgasm hits you and you cum with a scream, seizing into him. Namjoon holds you down, licking you softly through it, eyes watching you hungrily the entire time you shake under him.

Namjoon detaches when you start to whimper from over stimulation, hovering over you, mouth slick with your cum. You don’t care, grabbing at him and smashing his mouth to yours. He tases like you and you him, biting his bottom lip.

“Look at you,” he whispers as he looks down at you. “All fucked out from just my tongue and fingers.” Your body is pliant underneath his hands, melting into the cot. “Gonna cum again on my cock?”

“Yes,” you gasp, pressing your chest against his. “Make me cum again, please.”

Namjoon is a work of art. You drop your eyes to his cock and nearly moan again. How does he not carry himself around like he has a huge cock? Because he does, dick proud, thick length looking delicious as you reach out to wrap your hands around his velvety shaft. 

Namjoon’s eyes flutter shut for a moment as your small hands work him, wrist moving expertly. Your mouth waters at the signs of precum on the head of his dick, luring you to lean forward and kitten lick the tip, the salty flavor heaven on your tongue. Namjoon bucks in surprise, a deep moan falling from his lips as you look up at him with innocent eyes.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He pulls your hands away from him and grabs you, throwing you further up on the cot. He looks like a predator, blown eyes looking at you like a man starving. He kisses you firmly. “I’ll let you suck my cock another time. I really want to be deep in you.”

The absolute filth that leaves his mouth turns you on.

Goosebumps skitter up your arms as you wrap your arms around Namjoon’s neck. He rubs the head of his dick against your slick, coating himself before he pushes in, stealing your breath away. He slides in slow and smooth stretching you to your maximum as he bottoms out. His breath fans your neck, face buried against you skin.

Namjoon pauses for a moment, his back rising and falling under your fingertips as he held himself there, fully sheathed inside you. “You feel fucking divine,” he whispers. “So fucking sweet and tight for me.”

“You feel so good,” you moan loudly as he begins to move his hips, pulling all the way out before slamming back in. “Namjoon.”

“Say it again,” he demands on a particularly hard thrust. He repeats the motion, hitting so deep that you gasp. “Say my name again.”

“Fuck it feels so good, Namjoon.”

Namjoon sets a steady, firm pace, fucking you into the cot hard- you’re worried it’ll break. You can feel his length drag deliciously along your walls. He doesn’t go gentle, pain laced on the edge of your bliss as your mouths met, tongues tangling as he bears down on you, hips shoving you into the cot. Your hips lift to meet his efforts, thighs straining with effort, weak from your previous orgasms. 

You’re passed the point of coherency. A string of nonsense falls from your lips. The pleasure crashes into you out of nowhere and you twitch forward, tightening your grip on Namjoon as you cum loudly, orgasm taking full control. You almost cry into his chest as he fucks you through your high.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, panting in your ear. Your hands press against his hot skin, sliding against the sweat. Namjoon catches your lips briefly as your orgasm subsides. “Such a sweet girl for me.”

Namjoon curses loudly, the force of your orgasm sending him over the edge. His thrusts became disorganized whimpering against your neck, pressing kisses against your salty skin between jerky twitches of pleasure. 

Namjoon is shaking. Holding himself above you is taking visible effort. You turn your face, pressing kisses on his forearms gently, hands ghosting over his sweaty skin. He was warm all over, muscles jumping under your feather light touch. With a sigh, he rolls over and falls next to you, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you to him.

“Honesty time?” he pants. You nod your head, turning to look at him. You brush his silver strands back fondly, smiling a bit. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you in your sitting room.”

“Honesty time?”

He nods, pressing a kiss to your brow. “I’ve wanted to do that since I looked you up when you set the meeting.”

“Of course you did. I had to make sure you weren’t crazy, professor.”

“Says the mercenary.”

You smile. It’s not mean, this time. It’s not an accusation. His voice is teasing and deep and soft. The wind outside cools you. “Come work for me. Your dean is involved in the Illuminati and quite frankly, I don’t think he cares about your safety.”

He tucks his chin on your shoulder. You can feel his breath on your face. “I kind of figured something was going on there.”

“You’re too smart for them. Come work for me. Seriously – I help people. I do have to play a part, but it’s just that. A part.”

“You sure I won’t drive you crazy?”

You kiss him. “I think you discovered a way to shut me up.”

Namjoon hums, pressing the softest kiss to your lips. You smile into it, letting him lead the kiss. “Fine. My job as a professor was short lived, but there’s work to do.”

“Exactly. Oh, and one rule,” you add. “Don’t read dead languages.”

Namjoon’s laugh is as bright as the sun outside and you smile, watching him tilt his face up, face golden and beautiful. “Advice of the century.”

-

"Wait," Namjoon asks as he unpacks the last box in his office. "Would you have actually left me for the mummy that day?"

You smirk as you walk by him, kissing your boyfriend briefly. "No, but your reaction was priceless."