#🎫 // terushima yūji

[fabricated-misslieness]

pairing: terushima yūji x gn reader

req: no | wc: 454 | con men au (?) | tw: guns, mafia cw: swearing, lots of screaming/capital letters, very unrealistic

a/n: (?): i don’t know what to call it. this time, italics is the present, normal is the past, as the majority of the fic is in the past. i wouldn't be so opposed to writing more of this au

"That was a reckless move back there, you know." You remark, shrugging off your uncomfortable servant’s suit.

"TAKE MY HAND!"

"It was cool though, you can't deny that." Terushima replies with a snicker, throwing a wad of cash up in the air and catching it with vigor.

You’re too busy panicking to really process his words. "WHAT?"

"JUST TAKE MY HAND!" He repeats, his hand out for you to grab.

Those mafioso’s are shooting up their own damn home behind you. Their bullets rebounding against unpierceable objects and shooting straight through fragile ones burn a loud irritation in your ears. The good thing is they couldn’t hear your shouting, the bad thing is that they’re shooting at everything and anything. Luckily they hadn’t reached the sofa you were hiding behind yet, though it wouldn’t be long.

Your only hope was whatever Teru had in his maniacal mind. You take his hand with a little hesitation, to which he smirks. “HOLD ON TIGHT!”

He snatches the doggy couch cover –the one for those big, terrifying big danes of the suite– and begins to run towards the… window, dragging you with him.

You shouldn’t have trusted him. “FUCK YOU YŪJI!”

He pulls you onto his back, grabs each corner of the cover in hand, and jumps straight through the window.

For a moment, time seems to slow down. Shards of sharp glass whizz past your body, your clutch on his body tightens, and you begin to fall.

Now, sometimes, scratch that; usually, Teru was stupid. Right now, you suppose he’s smart. Either that, or it’s dumb luck.

The cover, with the miracle of some kind of movie magic, works against the force of the air and allows you to fall slower than you would if… well, if you didn’t have it.

“We’re fineee, love. We’re safe now.” You can almost hear his grin.

“Say that once we’re actually safe, Yūji.” You’re sure your voice cracks somewhere in that sentence. Now, you’re not afraid of heights or anything, but anybody would be scared while falling through the air for their first time.

Soon, you make it to the ground, where one of your loyal getaway drivers, Bobata, is waiting; you’ve secured two bags full of cash and your wellbeing.

"Besides, we're here now, aren't we?!" He practically skips towards you, wrapping his arms around you in a sorta hug.

“Suppose we are.” You reply.

“Oh and, one thing, darling,” He pecks you on the lips, then pouts. “Don’t swear at me, please. I know I put your life on the line, but it hurts me a little.”

“Okay, okay,” You roll your eyes, which he’s about to protest about but you say something first, “unfuck you then.”