This is pure fictional. Not real!
Mafia!M!reader x Kim Namjoon (from BTS)
M!reader name is Yn.Jeong
You're from mafia so you work gets lil bloody after that when you came back home at BTS's dorm for your leader boyfriend, you take a shower at night, Namjoon wakes up and sees you and your tattoos and admire it.
The room was bathed in the soft glow of the city outside. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Seoul’s skyline stretched like a scattered necklace of gold and silver, glittering against the night. The faint hum of traffic below was muffled by the thick glass, leaving the air inside your penthouse hushed, intimate.
You stood by the open wardrobe, still buttoning your shirt after a late shower. The black dress shirt you’d picked clung slightly to damp skin, its sleeves rolled to the elbows. Your wet hair dripped the occasional bead of water onto your collarbone, leaving cold trails down your warm skin.
The plan for the night was simple — go downstairs, pour yourself a drink, maybe check the security reports before bed. Another evening in the life of the city's most notorious mafia boss.
Except, tonight wasn’t going to be so simple.
“Hey,” a deep voice drifted into the room, calm and warm in a way that could melt the sharp edges of your day. Namjoon appeared in the doorway, dressed in an oversized white tee and sweatpants, hair still slightly messy from when he’d been sprawled on your couch reading.
You glanced over your shoulder at him, lips curling faintly. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Namjoon shook his head, walking in with slow, unhurried steps. “I heard the water running. Thought I’d wait for you.” His eyes were soft but curious, sliding over you in that quiet, thoughtful way of his.
You turned back to the mirror, smoothing the collar of your shirt — and that’s when it happened.
As you shifted, the fabric pulled slightly, revealing a stretch of skin over your left shoulder blade where the shirt hadn’t been buttoned yet. The tattoo there, usually hidden beneath layers of tailored suits and the occasional bulletproof vest, caught the light.
It wasn’t a small design. The ink sprawled in intricate lines — a serpent curled around a dagger, the blade entwined with roses and thorns. The mark of your family. The mark that meant power, danger, and loyalty written in blood. Few people outside your circle had ever seen it.
You noticed the moment Namjoon’s gaze landed on it. His steps slowed. His expression shifted, not to fear, but to something deeper — curiosity tinged with quiet awe.
“That’s… not just some random tattoo,” he murmured, voice low, almost reverent.
You gave a small chuckle, buttoning the next clasp with deliberate slowness. “No, it’s not.”
Before you could reach for the last button, you felt him behind you. His warmth pressed into your back, his hands sliding gently to your shoulders.
“Don’t cover it yet,” Namjoon whispered.
You stilled. His fingers, warm and steady, brushed the edge of your shirt aside until the design was fully exposed. The calloused tips of his fingers traced along the ink with featherlight care, following the curve of the serpent’s body, the sharp point of the dagger, the delicate rose petals tangled in thorns.
The touch was slow, deliberate, as if he were reading the story carved into your skin.
“It’s beautiful,” he said quietly.
You almost laughed — beautiful wasn’t a word people used for that tattoo. Intimidating, yes. Deadly, sure. But beautiful? Only Namjoon could look at the symbol of your power and see something worth admiring like art.
“You’re the first person outside the family to say that,” you admitted, voice softer now.
Namjoon leaned closer, his breath ghosting against your ear. “That’s because they don’t know you like I do.”
Your lips parted slightly at the weight of his words. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The city lights painted his reflection in the mirror, a tall figure standing behind you, head tilted as he traced you like you were something worth memorizing.
“You know…” he started, his tone taking on that slow, thoughtful rhythm you’d come to love, “most people would be scared to even ask about this.”
“They should be,” you replied, a smirk tugging at your mouth.
He hummed. “And yet here I am, touching it like it’s made of gold.”
You turned your head slightly, catching his eyes in the mirror. “Aren’t you scared?”
Namjoon’s mouth curled into the faintest smile — not cocky, not mocking, just soft. “I’ve seen you get shot at and walk away like it’s nothing. I’ve seen you negotiate peace with people who wanted you dead. I’ve seen you sleep on the couch with a book over your chest because you forgot to go to bed. You think a tattoo’s gonna scare me?”
Your chest warmed in a way you didn’t expect. You’d been called a lot of things in your life — ruthless, dangerous, untouchable — but Namjoon never treated you like an untouchable figure. He treated you like… you.
His fingers moved again, tracing the roses now. “What does it mean? All of it.”
You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to tell him, but because you’d never told anyone who wasn’t bound to you by blood or oath. But with Namjoon, there was no question in your mind.
“The serpent,” you began, your voice steady, “is for protection. It’s the one who guards the family — watches from the shadows, ready to strike.”
His eyes stayed on you, listening.
“The dagger is for justice. Not law, not rules. Our kind of justice. The roses… they’re for loyalty. Beauty and pain, side by side.”
Namjoon’s thumb brushed over the rose petals like he understood every word.
“And the thorns?” he asked.
You let out a breath. “They’re for the price we pay. For what it costs to keep everything safe.”
For a moment, the room was silent again. His hands stayed on you, grounding you. Then, in a move so gentle it made your throat tighten, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the tattoo. A kiss, soft and warm, right over the ink.
When he pulled back, his voice was a whisper. “Every part of you — even the parts that scare everyone else — is worth loving.”
You closed your eyes briefly, letting the words sink in. You’d been touched before, kissed before, but this was different. This wasn’t possession. It wasn’t conquest. It was understanding.
You turned fully to face him now, the last button of your shirt still undone. Namjoon stood there, looking at you like you weren’t a man feared by half the city — like you were someone he wanted to keep safe, no matter the cost.
“You’re dangerous, Kim Namjoon,” you murmured.
His smile deepened just a little. “Good. Means we’re even.”
You laughed softly, the sound low and warm, before pulling him into a slow, steady embrace. His arms wrapped around you instantly, his forehead resting against your shoulder, right where the tattoo was. You stayed like that, breathing each other in, the hum of the city below your only witness.
And for once, you didn’t feel like a mafia boss. You felt like a man in love.
You didn’t know how long you stayed like that — arms around Namjoon, your heartbeat syncing with his. It could have been minutes or hours. Time didn’t matter in the quiet cocoon you’d found together.
Eventually, he gave a small hum, shifting slightly so he could look up at you without letting go. “Come to bed with me,” he said softly, but it wasn’t a question.
The security reports could wait. The drink could wait. The entire world could wait.
He tugged you toward the bed, his fingers slipping between yours as if he was afraid you’d disappear on the way there. The sheets were cool when you first slid under them, the air faintly scented with Namjoon’s cologne and fresh laundry.
Namjoon climbed in after you, immediately finding his place against your side like it was instinct. His head rested on your shoulder, one arm draped over your torso, fingers curling into the fabric of your half-buttoned shirt.
“You’re warm,” he mumbled.
“You’re clingy,” you teased.
“Yeah,” he admitted without shame, tightening his hold slightly. “I like it here. You make me feel… safe.”
The words hit you harder than you expected. You tilted your head to press a kiss to his hair. “Then stay. I’m not going anywhere.”
The city lights spilled through the window, painting the room in silver-blue shadows. Outside, the world was still turning, but in this moment, none of it touched you.
“Tomorrow,” he whispered, “I’m making you breakfast. And you’re not allowed to run off before you eat it.”
You smirked faintly. “Boss’s orders?”
That earned him another kiss — this time to his forehead — before you pulled him closer, tucking him under your chin. The world could wait until morning.
You woke first, the weight of Namjoon’s arm still draped over your waist. The early sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, spilling across the bed in warm, golden stripes. The city beyond was quieter at this hour, as if it, too, hadn’t quite woken up.
Namjoon was still pressed to your side, hair a little messy, lips parted slightly as he breathed slow and deep. His cheek was warm against your chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing matching the faint thump of your heartbeat.
You didn’t move — partly because you didn’t want to wake him, partly because you didn’t want to break the spell of this perfect stillness.
Then, just as you were starting to drift again, you felt it. His fingers.
Light, wandering touches against your shoulder blade. Slow, unhurried, almost absent-minded — tracing the same lines he’d memorized last night. The serpent. The dagger. The roses.
“You’re awake,” you murmured, your voice still rough with sleep.
“Mhm,” he hummed. “Just… looking again.”
You turned slightly so you could see him. His eyes were open now, hazy from sleep but still warm.
“I’m going to get used to seeing it,” he said softly, fingers still following the ink. “It’s part of you. I want to know it like I know your voice.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, though your lips twitched into a small smile.
“For you,” he said without hesitation.
You leaned down and kissed him — slow, unhurried. His hand slid from your tattoo to the back of your neck, holding you there like he wanted to keep the morning from slipping away.
When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “Stay in bed today,” he whispered.
The mafia meetings could wait. The whole world could wait.
“Alright,” you said. “But only if you make that breakfast you promised.”
He chuckled, the sound warm against your skin. “Deal.”
And just like that, you both sank back into the sheets, the sun climbing higher outside while the two of you stayed tangled in a morning that felt like it belonged only to you.
