i find it hard to make take me back! sunoo edition simply because i cannot fathom a world where i would willingly break Up with him no matter the malicious cause nor the economic crisis
your entire mission plan is distilled to threats, warnings and a gifted colt. 45 resting on the folder's edge.
"sunoo's broke, i see." you huff, passing the note heeseung had slipped into your folder while you shaked your brief case into the chopper. 'safe'. jungwon's word stay grounded in his letter to you. you trace his initials with your thumb, the stroke of the W angrier than usual. the castello family has been a huge pain in the ass, a huge nerve in the industry- and, a huge wallet in the world. greedy in the notorious laundering vein, yet turn a blind eye when accused of gluttony, the one biggest sin they so insincerely repent for.
finally, the east dominion has decided to put a bullet through one of the gates. an heir to their decaying family, marcello loved playing boyfriend in shanghai than he did paying invoices.
the rotor wash kicks gravel into your teeth as you drop from the skid- knees flexing on impact. the silent helicopter blades carve the pink night like a saw. "sim. try not to sell time." you huff into the air, laying flat on the roof as you prop your body downwards to the party's silhouette. you find yourself hidden between shrubs and expensive fauna on the border of the penthouse. brutalist chandeliers cascade the inside as the night life embraces the leaves. hidden and snug between concrete platforms, you check your grid- the perfect position to be close and eye level with the administraton.
your ear piece rattles with jake's response: "copy that, sweetheart. try not to start the fireworks, i'm two minutes from the handshake."
you eye jake as he walks into the casino's VIP foyer, fluent mandarin leaking out his lips to help gain trust of the surrounding security. his glossy grin transitions to a smirk when he finally meets castello's son.
you ghost past the shrubs, .45 on your hilt. you chambered one tranquiliser round, slow, humiliating- your don's preferred calling card.
"evening."
the slither of that voice makes you squat, toppling the armed body's throat with your cocked gun. to your known surprise- his split lip smiles. and you huff, disarming his pistol while you straddle his thigh. sunoo doesn't flinch.
"how is a consigliere still doing a don's dirty work?" his eyes pierce into yours under the dead of night. cars, girls and music drowning out the buzz in your ear. you mute comms before you bite back, "how much rent you pay nowadays?"
sunoo groans, pushing you off with a huff. "if you're thinking of killing him, you might have to tell jake goodbye." you stammer, pistol in your hilt. you know he won't. he wouldn't.
"tell him yourself." you spit. shoving him aside as you graze your knees towards the perimetre. he stops you, yanking your hair until you face him. you double down, threatening a hole in his body if he gets closer.
"tell won i charge double to cancel." sunoo smiles, leaning into the gun you fold into his gut. "tell him yourself. standing down or bleeding."
a beat. comms of heeseung demanding time stamps and callouts.
sunoo eased his grip, hands raised. "shit. fine, fine. i'll watch." he glances over his shoulder, watching you grab a ziptie to cuff his wrist to a pipe. "is this how you're gonna treat me on the pew when you and won get married-"
"jake. prepare." you huff, unmuting your comms to a furious heeseung and a breaking jake.
marcello lets go of jake's sticky hand, your cue to draw a slow breath. you squeeze the trigger a metre from the balcony glass, modified loud classic pistol ringing the bullet through the compound. the unsurpressed crack ricocheted across steel and water. marcello jerked, clawing at the dart embedded near his eye until his knees buckled. hostess women scattered like mice, men barked orders while jake helped confuse them.
you jump right back up into the nib you placed sunoo, his smirk so evident under his flat lip. "no free ride?" he coughs. you shake your head, untying him.
"come home when you're no longer hunted by the castello's." sunoo spits at the word. "home?" he grimaces. he hesitates to say something, deciding to keep silent, padding his pockets to a motorbike key. "stay in the office next time, y/n." he waves a limping goodbye. your dry eyes watching him flee for another time.
why can't you come back?
jake's slippery hand snagged marcello's phone and the black-book ledge from his jacket. as his body lay painted, he slips the calling card. the yang's blood-red insignia branded on sticker paper, slapped right onto marcello's forehead. humiliation delivered in it's crimson mess.
the flight back to the villa had you and him discussing sunoo's appearance. "you're telling me he was watching me speak broken mandarin?"
"'was probably enjoying it too."
"fucking hell. okay, alright, my language efficiencies aren't that bad."
"speak french, then." you mutter, flicking through your tablet, unamused by jake's sigh. "o-okay that was ONE time."
the top floor rumbles underneath the wings of the chopper. you and jake make it safely to the whispers of the gated compound just before 0300. jake throws his fingers in the air to leave you be as you trud your boots to the west corridor, aiming to be uninterrupted as you walk upstairs to your office. the lights were low at this time, no other guard but your own kelvar, and the smoke that hissed from jay's corridor as you passed it.
at the foot of the stairs, you felt his presence before even seeing the figure before you. jungwon, a step above you, duffle of weapons at his feet- black tee, grey sweatpants, barefoot and- sleepless.
you lock eyes. unspoken, frozen. yesterday's argument about protocol still hung in the air. "injuries?", his voice is rough as velvet.
you toss your tablet into his hands. "go figure." before passing by his cologne. he swallows. cocking a brow up to look at you slowly climb up. "sunoo was there?"
you pause. "we owe him, don."
he bites the insides of his cheek at the name. "and what are you doing now?" you stop in your tracks. "work," you reply. "don's orders." your petty self brings up the protocol he reinstates after every mission.
petty, he mutters. you watch as he drops the duffel at the base of the floor, slowly working his way up to face you eye to lips. his tired eyes still dart bullets down into yours under the moon, brows knitting as his lips slip into your ear.
"sleep. don's orders." he pushes a loose strand of hair behind it before turning his back.
his touch still remains the same as it did 15 years ago. holding things like he had no tomorrow. your pride breaks under his stupid words. and you huff- unbraiding your hair before heading into your quarters.
your entire mission plan is distilled to threats, warnings and a gifted colt. 45 resting on the folder's edge.
"sunoo's broke, i see." you huff, passing the note heeseung had slipped into your folder while you shaked your brief case into the chopper. 'safe'. jungwon's word stay grounded in his letter to you. you trace his initials with your thumb, the stroke of the W angrier than usual. the castello family has been a huge pain in the ass, a huge nerve in the industry- and, a huge wallet in the world. greedy in the notorious laundering vein, yet turn a blind eye when accused of gluttony, the one biggest sin they so insincerely repent for.
finally, the east dominion has decided to put a bullet through one of the gates. an heir to their decaying family, marcello loved playing boyfriend in shanghai than he did paying invoices.
the rotor wash kicks gravel into your teeth as you drop from the skid- knees flexing on impact. the silent helicopter blades carve the pink night like a saw. "sim. try not to sell time." you huff into the air, laying flat on the roof as you prop your body downwards to the party's silhouette. you find yourself hidden between shrubs and expensive fauna on the border of the penthouse. brutalist chandeliers cascade the inside as the night life embraces the leaves. hidden and snug between concrete platforms, you check your grid- the perfect position to be close and eye level with the administraton.
your ear piece rattles with jake's response: "copy that, sweetheart. try not to start the fireworks, i'm two minutes from the handshake."
you eye jake as he walks into the casino's VIP foyer, fluent mandarin leaking out his lips to help gain trust of the surrounding security. his glossy grin transitions to a smirk when he finally meets castello's son.
you ghost past the shrubs, .45 on your hilt. you chambered one tranquiliser round, slow, humiliating- your don's preferred calling card.
"evening."
the slither of that voice makes you squat, toppling the armed body's throat with your cocked gun. to your known surprise- his split lip smiles. and you huff, disarming his pistol while you straddle his thigh. sunoo doesn't flinch.
"how is a consigliere still doing a don's dirty work?" his eyes pierce into yours under the dead of night. cars, girls and music drowning out the buzz in your ear. you mute comms before you bite back, "how much rent you pay nowadays?"
sunoo groans, pushing you off with a huff. "if you're thinking of killing him, you might have to tell jake goodbye." you stammer, pistol in your hilt. you know he won't. he wouldn't.
"tell him yourself." you spit. shoving him aside as you graze your knees towards the perimetre. he stops you, yanking your hair until you face him. you double down, threatening a hole in his body if he gets closer.
"tell won i charge double to cancel." sunoo smiles, leaning into the gun you fold into his gut. "tell him yourself. standing down or bleeding."
a beat. comms of heeseung demanding time stamps and callouts.
sunoo eased his grip, hands raised. "shit. fine, fine. i'll watch." he glances over his shoulder, watching you grab a ziptie to cuff his wrist to a pipe. "is this how you're gonna treat me on the pew when you and won get married-"
"jake. prepare." you huff, unmuting your comms to a furious heeseung and a breaking jake.
marcello lets go of jake's sticky hand, your cue to draw a slow breath. you squeeze the trigger a metre from the balcony glass, modified loud classic pistol ringing the bullet through the compound. the unsurpressed crack ricocheted across steel and water. marcello jerked, clawing at the dart embedded near his eye until his knees buckled. hostess women scattered like mice, men barked orders while jake helped confuse them.
you jump right back up into the nib you placed sunoo, his smirk so evident under his flat lip. "no free ride?" he coughs. you shake your head, untying him.
"come home when you're no longer hunted by the castello's." sunoo spits at the word. "home?" he grimaces. he hesitates to say something, deciding to keep silent, padding his pockets to a motorbike key. "stay in the office next time, y/n." he waves a limping goodbye. your dry eyes watching him flee for another time.
why can't you come back?
jake's slippery hand snagged marcello's phone and the black-book ledge from his jacket. as his body lay painted, he slips the calling card. the yang's blood-red insignia branded on sticker paper, slapped right onto marcello's forehead. humiliation delivered in it's crimson mess.
the flight back to the villa had you and him discussing sunoo's appearance. "you're telling me he was watching me speak broken mandarin?"
"'was probably enjoying it too."
"fucking hell. okay, alright, my language efficiencies aren't that bad."
"speak french, then." you mutter, flicking through your tablet, unamused by jake's sigh. "o-okay that was ONE time."
the top floor rumbles underneath the wings of the chopper. you and jake make it safely to the whispers of the gated compound just before 0300. jake throws his fingers in the air to leave you be as you trud your boots to the west corridor, aiming to be uninterrupted as you walk upstairs to your office. the lights were low at this time, no other guard but your own kelvar, and the smoke that hissed from jay's corridor as you passed it.
at the foot of the stairs, you felt his presence before even seeing the figure before you. jungwon, a step above you, duffle of weapons at his feet- black tee, grey sweatpants, barefoot and- sleepless.
you lock eyes. unspoken, frozen. yesterday's argument about protocol still hung in the air. "injuries?", his voice is rough as velvet.
you toss your tablet into his hands. "go figure." before passing by his cologne. he swallows. cocking a brow up to look at you slowly climb up. "sunoo was there?"
you pause. "we owe him, don."
he bites the insides of his cheek at the name. "and what are you doing now?" you stop in your tracks. "work," you reply. "don's orders." your petty self brings up the protocol he reinstates after every mission.
petty, he mutters. you watch as he drops the duffel at the base of the floor, slowly working his way up to face you eye to lips. his tired eyes still dart bullets down into yours under the moon, brows knitting as his lips slip into your ear.
"sleep. don's orders." he pushes a loose strand of hair behind it before turning his back.
his touch still remains the same as it did 15 years ago. holding things like he had no tomorrow. your pride breaks under his stupid words. and you huff- unbraiding your hair before heading into your quarters.
omg why are you ignoring my ask did i offend you with the hybrid question or anything im sorry if i did but since i couldn't find a link to your rules or "about me", i thought i'd just asked. sorry if you didnt like it
nah its g , you Did Not offend me gang I am perfectly okay i just dont answer often unless im shitting
to answer ur question im not partocularly knowledhgable in the hybrid stuff but i dont mind it