#Contract Killer

[human-psyche]

A DEADLY ATTRACTION.

" everybody has light around them. he has shadows... "

characters: yeonjun x reader

genre: dark, romance, angst, gangs, hitman!yeonjun, yandere!yeonjun, violence, mature content

about: choi yeonjun is txt's sniper. he's cold, emotionless and wicked, but most importantly, he's known to never miss. y/n, an unlucky witness, becomes his first ever mistake on his latest mission so he resorts to keeping her hostage and hiding this secret. y/n is soon caught in a toxic dance of attraction with the male who stands between her and freedom...

No matter how much Y/n pleaded, Yeonjun simply would not be moved at all. He'd watch her struggle with a curiousity that's both cruel and somehow distant, though underneath, he also has a strange fascination for the way she refuses to give up on her freedom, nevermind that she's now far away from even going out to a store to shop for her own clothes: reduced to wearing those he'd bought of his own liking, or lack of it, and thrown at her to change. Heck, she can't even pull the curtains without it having a negative effect on her existence with him.

During one of those times when she's gathering up all her hatred to confront him again directly, eventhough she knows deep down that it's nowhere near efficient, the male enters the bedroom, quickly subduing her before she can scream out loud. He holds her wrists so tightly that she winces in pain.

"Let me go!" she yells at him, injecting every ounce of power and courage she has into her demand which is a whole lot daring given her position as a victim.

Seeing her energy, something stirs inside Yeonjun; he has never taken a liking to a target before, sure, they're interesting, but none of them has ever made him feel...this. He needs to push it away to focus on his job. He may have thought he's immune to feeling anything, but the truth is he doesn't want to admit.

"You should be less vocal." he says.

Y/n narrows her eyes at him in defiance, provoked by the fact that he doesn't even take her argument seriously.

"And you should have the decency to be more human." she retorts back like an acrid insult, making her honest opinion of him known despite the fear that lingers in every interaction she has with him.

Yeonjun growls in irritation. He steps closer to her still form, towering over her smaller frame. "You don't know a thing about me," he hisses.

"I know more than you think. You make me sick."

The two lock eyes, a dialogue of anger and hate driving the exchange between them like a chain reaction, her attitude to his ill treatment adding fuel to the fire.

Yeonjun is the first to move: he lunges forward. The girl attempts to fight back but her strength's no match for him, she tries to keep herself unaffected though she fails, sobbing through her teeth at the sting produced because he pulls her closer. She can feel his breath on her face…her anger bleeding through her response to him which is to scream again at the hitman, this time akin to a defense mechanism to try and restore some space.

He can feel the sadness emanating off of her. He wishes he can turn off his feelings but for once, he can't. His cold demeanor is the only thing he allows himself to feel but despite all this, he finds her captivating.

"Would you shut up already?" he sneers. "You're wasting your breath."

"No!" Y/n shouts back. "I won't shut up! You can't do this to me! Let me go!"

The hitman cocks an eyebrow, intrigued by the passionate manner in which she's fighting against him. That numbing emotion that he's not sure how to interpret quickly leaves him as he remembers his mission and her screams return to the forefront of his mind. "It won't make a difference." he brings her back to reality. "You don't have a choice. You're my hostage now and you'll stay here with me untill I can find a way to use you."

As he tilts her chin up with one finger and looks at her with a cruel smirk on his lips, Y/n wants to rip away from his grasp and run for her life, but her body is paralyzed by fear. Instead, she just stares at him, unable to comprehend the situation she currently finds herself in, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Your defiance is attractive, but you're not going anywhere, Y/n."

His matter-of-factly voice is as cold as ice, sending shivers down the her spine.

Without warning, he leans in to plant a single kiss on her.

It feels like a brand, Y/n recoils in shock.

"Now you're quiet."

Avoiding his gaze, she swallows her protest, her gaze filled with stubborn tears that she refuses to shed in front of him.

The corners of his lips quirk up. "You look like you have something to say."

She scrambles for words, calming her ragged breaths before speaking. "I will never forgive you for treating me like this." she grits out, the venom evident in her verbalized disapproval of what their criminal - hostage relationship seems to have turned to, as if it wasn't enough how he dealt with her before, right from the beginning.

"Oh? And why's that?"

She lets out a scream of pure frustration. While backing away from him and getting off the ironically king sized, very comfortable, very spacious bed that his luxury apartment can afford, she has no intention to give in to his game. "You can't win, Choi Yeonjun. I'll never stop fighting." she swears, her determined voice betrayed only by how it shakes with the will to get over this.

He's silent as he watches her, curiousity resurfacing. She's a challenge for him, someone he finds interesting.

Her movements are steady as she curls down next to the big balcony windows and stares him down, her fingers clenching in the fabric of her shirt. Distance, that's what she needs from him right now, especially after how close they were earlier. It messes with her…she can't, she shouldn't even think about it. "I'm going to escape one day. You can't keep me here forever." Y/n whispers, trying to convince him一 or rather convince herself.

"It looks like you have a lot to learn, Y/n."

Yeonjun simply shrugs. A clear response.

He has no plans to let her go.

. . .

a/n: part one will be posted soon. share / reblog if you like and do follow me for more similar content!

[grim-has-issues]

“Crow is so babygirl.”

my brother in christ, he is a mercenary

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Nobody

CW: Choking/strangulation, whumper as whumpee, guns, brief dubcon and gore mentions, brief gendered slur towards the end

For @amonthofwhump day 11: Strangulation

You can find more Nanda on Jameson’s masterlist

-

He was stupid, really. Just fucking full-on stupid. No excuse for it, no reason, no understandable explanation for what he'd overlooked. Forgetting to check one single room in the enormous house. Losing track of one person for just a few seconds. Not even his assigned target. 

Just one single man in one single room that Nathaniel Benson hadn't accounted for.

One stupid mistake, and now he's on his back with heavy hands closed tight around his neck, gasping for a thin thread of air he can just barely pull into his lungs. 

This asshole, with a face like a thumb that got delusions of grandeur, is going to kill him and dump his body and Nanda's brand new house will go to some chump who doesn't even deserve it. 

"Let… go-" He hisses, but honestly, he doesn't even know if this guy speaks any English. There's no reason for Thumb Face to know it, they're deep inside the borders of another nation across the breadth of the world. But he says it anyway.

It's pure instinct, and just as stupid as forgetting to check that room. Like the guy will just decide to pull back, whoopsie-doodle, guess I'll stop trying to kill you since you clearly don't actually want me to… 

As it is, the guy only sneers down at him, and leans forward. His weight on Nanda's stomach keeps him pressed into the floor, just a few feet away from his gun. 

He could fix this, if he could only reach that gun. Just a few inches too far away. Just a little too far. 

Just far enough. 

Bright white bursts like fireworks flash in his vision, his body pleading with him for oxygen he can't provide. Between those sparking lights, he can see the snarling expression of the man who will soon murder him, his teeth far too white to seem real, sweat beading up on his forehead over a pulsing vein. 

I am going to die at the hands of a man who looks like a child drew him while blindfolded. 

His fingernails scrape and scrabble along the man's thick forearms, gaining purchase but no strength to pull him away. He's already torn long red gashes, but none of it moves the man at all. 

If only he could reach his fucking gun-

His vision grows dark at the edges, heart pounding, desperate to force what oxygen he has left to his brain to keep it working for as long as it can. 

The darkness is growing… 

Who will even miss him? After he's pitched into some dark river and found by police who see no identification on an anonymous corpse? Who would notice when Nathaniel Benson never comes home?

No one. No-fucking-body.

He has a brand-new, entirely empty six-bedroom house with a cleaning lady paid by automatic draft who has never seen his face. It would take a year for the drafts to stop. He has a series of one-night stands with cute boys who come their brains out under his whip and his dick but never want to fuck him twice to show for every time he's tried to find someone with tastes like his own who won't tell a safeword as soon as things really get fun. Phone numbers that won't pick up if he calls. Pretty men who leave when he enters the bar. 

He has a sister who would mourn him, but he only speaks with Sammie once a month or so… oh, and nieces and nephews who might remember him for a couple of years. He has parents who pretend he never existed until he's right in front of them…

Who would miss him? 

Christ, who would even pay for the tombstone? Or even be notified if anyone did identify his body? One stupid mistake and his life stops like it never began. 

Nanda finds just enough air to grunt, but when he tries once more to breathe in, the bastard's thumbs on his windpipe and his fingers closed tight leave no room. 

The air stops in his mouth, over his tongue, sits there like a weight or the name of a lover he doesn't have. 

The guy's wearing a V-neck sweater and when he leans over so far his stomach is pressing to Nanda's chest, he sees a flash of light on dull metal through the growing darkness taking over his vision. 

He doesn't think about it. Thinking is getting harder, it would take too long to think it through. Instead, he pulls his right hand back, jams it up under the guy's shirt, and pulls the gun awkwardly out of the underarm holster he's wearing. 

He's nearly gone, he can't see anymore. His heart pounds in his temples and ears and he hears absolutely nothing when his finger pulls the trigger, once twice three times, the gun kicking back into his own stomach, over and over. 

He's not even sure if he really fired it - or just hallucinated it - until the hands on his throat go slack and then fall away, as the man slumps to the side, half-on and half-off of Nanda.

He coughs as his throat whistles with new breath, head spinning from the lack of and sudden overwhelm of oxygen, laying limp on the cold hard floor. 

The man with his thumb-shaped head coughs, too, but it doesn't do him any good. He'd coughing in a thick, wet way that tells Nanda he shot through his lungs, or at least through one. 

Nanda manages to shove him off the rest of the way, and with agony starting to throb behind his eyes, he rolls onto his side and then onto his hands and knees to crawl to the place his own gun had fallen. The thumb man's gun in one hand, his own in the other, he turns around to face the dying asshole whose hands he can still feel like ghosts clinging to his throat. 

"Fuck you," He says in a rasping, whistling thin reedy voice. "I wasn't even h-here to kill you."

He raises his own gun, a wonderful familiar weight, and fires. 

The man's head abruptly loses half its bulk and now it isn't shaped like anything at all. But the wall behind him is painted a beautiful bright red streaked with grayish-white. 

Nathaniel Benson slowly drags himself to his feet, holstering his own gun, stumbling down the hallway. He checks his watch, closing his eyes as the world lurches around him when he tries to focus on the numbers. 

The target will be home soon. 

He has two hours to clean this mess up if he wants the kill to be according to his original plan. Or, he supposes, he could brew some tea, clean up his fingerprints, and kill the bitch when she walks in the front door after the opera. Or just after.

Let her see her thumb-lover's body, first. Let her mourn him. If she even does. He’s not sure how anyone could mourn someone who smelled so much like beer cheese dip without pretzels.

Still, give the target a couple of hours to discover him.

Then kill her. 

Nanda leans back against the wall, his own sweat trickling down the back of his neck to disappear into his shirt. 

Get the job done. Get home.

And then go find someone who will do anything he wants and still miss him when he's gone. 

-

@finder-of-rings  @endless-whump  @arlinthesnep  @thefancydoughnut  @newandfiguringitout  @doveotions  @pretty-face-breaker  @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow  @boxboysandotherwhump  @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump  @whump-tr0pes  @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump  @whumpiary  @orchidscript  @nonsensical-whump  @outofangband  @eatyourdamnpears  @hackles-up  @grizzlie70  @mylifeisonthebookshelf  @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp

[thefalloutwiki]

"Most excellent. And you have exemplified yourself in the eyes of Littlehorn and Associates. One with a heart as black as yours deserves to be rewarded for it. We shall include a bonus in your pay this time."

-Daniel Littlehorn, Fallout 3

You can read more about him here.

[a-wild-wingdings-uwu]

Ahahaha a friend made me wanna join this- i could do more beans too but I'm lazy jfndm

[deafening-enthusiastic-dreamer]

Kill Boksoon

pictures taken from Pinterest.

This movie, though I am a bit late to watch it. I am glad I did.

this actress- knew her from Crash Course In Romance, This role takes the cake. She was a bad ass, mind you. A mother and an assassin.

Too Good.

I also noticed the colour grading of the film, It showed the cool tones of blue when the situation was serious and grim. You could feel the emotions being intense in those moments. Also The colour changing to warmer tones when she feels safe or happy, like when she is at home with her daughter.

At the end of the film, when she was worried about the fact that her daughter had seen everything , you could see the background being blue while her face showed the tint of orange showing signs of hope for things going well.

Also, I absolutely loved the way they showed her going through possible scenarios in her head. Like it was a montage of fighting consequences which looked quite amazing on screen.

This director took shots from different angles and through different mediums where we could see various styles that seem of fit the movie.

It was about chaos, violence, and vulnerability along with the need to survive .

Loved few fights scenes.

Also got an appearance from him....

Shocked me for a second there, but it was great to see him on screen like that.

[ranbybran]

You look good with my balls on your face ❤️

[faintingviolet]

Leather & Lark (CBR16 #32)

The second book in the Ruinous Love Trilogy, Leather & Lark, hinges on a marriage of convenience trope, but that kind of undersells the stakes, this is a marriage of safety and sacrifice. Sure, it’s convenient to keep Lachlan and Rowan alive… but there’s more happening here. This book is way more character driven than its predecessor, but not because the characters are necessarily super strongly…

[weepingdreamersandwich]

My mom is a high school teacher, and for one of her classes, she has her students take care of an egg baby. One student ended up killing his egg and tried to pass off another one as his own. A girl snitched on him, so the guy hires an assassin for $5 to murk that poor girl's egg. When my mom came in the classroom, the egg was smashed in pieces on the floor and the assassin had fled. Poor humpty dumpty.

[webcrawler3000]

Any and everyone that was booked into NNCJ 11/12/21-12/01/2021 and has a warrant NOW, it’s invalid.

We had a deal, Satan!

We are certified DOA.

We died in police custody and it was a contract kill. The contract is FOX NEWS 11/11/21 AND THEIR PAYCHECKS.

REST IN PEACE, to all my day 1’s.

Shambhala, goodnight.

The priesthood from Atlantis (Bellwood 2014) is back on the job. Thank you so very much, gentlemen. God bless.

[wisegirl502]

[human-psyche]

BLACK.

CHAPTER 1

Heavy rain pelts the landscape of Seoul in a slow, torrential drizzle, rivulets of water pouring like glass beads from the night skies that envelop everything in a blanket of sombreness. The continuous sound of the rain covers the rest of the noise coming from the city, farther and farther away as Yoongi runs. 

A firing gunshot dissipates the monochrome silence, then another, each aimed in his direction; both miss their target but his pursuers don't stop, rounds of bullets hitting the wall of the train station he ducks behind to catch his breath.

Min Yoongi is his birth name. 09 is his number. August D is a code.

He was and is known by many names of which the combination above describes who he is shortly. In the world he lives in, one's value is measured in kill counts: the greater the amount, the higher and richer one becomes. But becoming top of the game is the suicidal glory of entering an arena where other fighters have free reign to strike, money are just a currency of exchange to a reputation like his一 a quality deathdealer. There is a system this hierarcy is built upon, its signature being that of coins with each individual's symbol engraved on it, a metaphor derived from greek mythology where a person requires coins to be granted passage over the river of Hades's underworld or risk wandering the shores for one hundred years untill they are allowed to cross. 

Those without a coin of their own are low ranked members of the organization, they are easy to replace and disposable. Those who acquire a silver coin represent the ones who are diplomatic and agile, they may have ranked fast but lack solid force. Those who obtain a gold coin are the ones branded as superior specimens of their occupation, suitable for any job, any contract, in any circumstances, and most sought after and expensive above their versatility. Then, there are the ones who possess a black coin, the rarest kind. They are the ones who make the rules and enforce them, the ones who lead.

EX-DEUS is an organization that does not exist to the public for all intents and purposes. Named after the latin phrase "ex deus mortis" which means "from the god of death", its profit results from a simple yet obscure program: contract killing. Founded by Kim Manseok and his second wife, Natasha, the company has an extended base in the USA, South Korea, China and Russia, although its web of operation has spread throughout several countries on the globe. Orphan children are picked off the streets whether willingly or forcibly, while some perhaps even kidnapped from their families without recollection of it, and subjected to a training regiment that steps past the boundaries of human ethics, shaped into the perfect weapons. Emotions are suppressed and nullified, pain becomes numbness and desirable results are reached around the ages sixteen - eighteen on average, a time at which one is permitted to start taking on jobs. Few can form attachments...

Night rain is an irony and an illusion to Yoongi, it reminds him of days he can't erase or unseen. 

It reminds him who he truely is, what he does, and what he might've lost before even having it. 

He inhales sharply and moves, shooting one of his assailants. When he finally leaves his hiding spot and runs for cover again, bullets fly and hit the roof of the station too, sparks from a short-circuit raining like a second gale of fire drops: the male turns at the last moment as a man shoots. Yoongi's faster, only getting a scrape to his arm while the other guy collapses to the floor, a second attacker's gun proving to be out of bullets. He tosses it away and chases after him madly, just as the train barells through the station at blinding speed. The younger has no choice but to engage him in a fight, a knife cutting the air close enough to slash his throat except Yoongi's reflexes aid him in overpowering the man and stabbing his own knife into the side of his neck. Not without a lesser injury though, because he's tired, bleeding and on the run for days. 

He pants out puffs of congealed air, the roar of the trepidation that shakes the train tracks drowning out his fatigue. 

There is only one person left that he can count on.

. . .

THREE YEARS AGO ... 

The corridor of the tightly secured company is one he'd gone through a hundred times. A hundred times it was always like this: grey walls and an ominous weight of guilt that they thought they could ignore forever. But that wasn't his priority right now. 

Yoongi feels it as he halts at the end of the hallway, the male seated on the armchair at the entrance for waiting bearing dissimilar levels of emotion written over his countenance.

He's Jimin, a silver coin owner he'd seen around Y/n quite often, who's mostly unreadable, would it not be for a trace of something akin to anger. 

His fingers tighten on the velvet box inside the pocket of his coat. 

A person who's usually with them when waiting for details on a new contract is missing. 

"Where's Y/n?" 

"She's gone."

Jimin's blunt reply sends a surge of frightening dread through his gut, a foreign feeling. For a second there he forgets that sentence could have one other meaning, his mind going blank. Their occupation's not to be trifled with, death is a perpetual friend but also their fiercest foe.

"What the fuck do you mean she's gone?" 

"Her room's empty, she's gone." the younger continues, clarifying the misunderstanding. 

It's only then that he directs his attention to Kim Manseok's office, where Taehyung has a screaming match with his father. 

"...something was wrong with her the night she came back from her last contract! She would never leave like this!" 

"It isn't your business to demand of me to disclose confidential information!" 

"It is, she isn't just some random member of the organization! I consider her more of a sister than my step-sister is! You should have told me! Where is she?!" 

"Like I said, I can't tell you, Taehyung."

"If you have anything to do with this, or your wife does, I'm done with you. Did you get rid of her to teach me a lesson, huh? Are you going to do the same with Yoongi? Why? Because I'm not like Namjoon? Because I'm not the obedient, responsible son you want? Did you?! Answer me, father!"

"Kim Taehyung, do not talk to me like that! This is not about you!" 

"Then tell me why she's not here!" 

"Y/n requested that I help her disappear. She retired and wishes for none of you to find her."

The EX-DEUS's chairman's verdict stuns all of them, having not expected that. 

Slamming the door on his way out, Taehyung joins them on the hallway, a frown crinkling at his features. He sees Yoongi and since he and Y/n work together as partners, he vows, "I'll find her. I'll find her even if I have to search the entire country. I'll tell you once I get a lead."

Jimin sits up, that undeciphered anger in his orbs more evident. He passes by Yoongi without even sparing him a glance. He knows what is going on with Y/n, why she left, but he keeps it to himself. 

Yoongi's hand tightens around the box in his pocket, nearly crushing it.

. . .

An ordinary, plain life in the Gwangjin district. A small apartment. An elementary P.E teacher's job. A new identity, a fake name. A new look. Y/n tries to go to sleep every night and not remember who she really is, where she comes from. It isn't difficult to pretend, living peacefully day to day and not linger and get stuck in the past, dreaming of people she used to share pain with, or the ones who caused her pain. The ones whom saw her as death's angel before taking their dying breath, the ones that still haunt her nightmares sometimes. Faces, faces she associates with familiarity, and faces that have little to no shape. 

Here, she isn't L/n Y/n. She's just Y/n with a false surname.

The only fault in her existence is the silver coin she still has tucked somewhere into the drawer of her nightstand. 

Rain outside the windows disrupts her thoughts, her bare feet tapping the floors as she walks to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of juice. It's a friday night, she can relax from another day at the school she teaches at, and enjoy the free time of weekend. In the modest, rented apartment, loneliness feels like the luxurious comfort she was not able to afford prior to being this fake person she is. 

However, as if the universe is plotting against her, a sudden knock on the front door causes the girl to put her glass down and wonder who might be so late at night. She surely had no visitors to look forward to. 

Brows knit, Y/n goes to unlatch the door一 and nearly screams when she sees him, his arm leaning on the doorframe, dark eyes piercing through her own. 

"...Yoongi?" she breathes out, both in shock and frustration. 

The reason her heart drops to her stomach has a double edged root. One, he's soaked to the bone, his cheeks are bruised and exhaustion hangs to his hazed lids. Two, he's right here, in front of her, whilst she worked so hard to block him out of her mind. 

"You're in love with him." Jimin declares one fine night as he puts his elbows on the railing, glimpsing the city below with her. 

Y/n laughs, hysterically. It doesn't sound genuine though. "Who? Yoongi?" 

"Don't lie." 

"What do you want me to tell you? That I'm flawed?" 

"You're different, you don't need to be fixed. You managed to feel this even if it's not in our nature. Love."

"What's the point? It's Yoongi. The day he feels something for someone, the world will fall apart. He's among the best EX-DEUS has ever had. Unlike me, there's no error in his code. He fucks, he doesn't love."

"Taehyung said you guys never had sex."

"That's because to him, I'm a friend, a sidekick, a partner, whatever. Even the girls Taehyung brings in so you guys can have fun with get more attention from him."

"Unrequited love." he leans his head back, glancing to her afterwards. "How are you coping with that?" 

"I undressed in front of him one time when we were at a hotel during an assignment and he didn't even blink. He was that unfazed." 

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing."

They stay silent following her answer, the wind blowing through their hair over the sounds of city traffic. Then Y/n speaks again. 

"Do you know what else I started feeling lately?" 

Jimin grunts, urging her to go on. 

"Guilt."

"What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?" she scowls as she regains her composure, refusing to let herself crumble at the sight of him. 

Yoongi's lips twist, the ghost of a smirk gracing his rugged appearance. "Hello to you too, Y/n. You haven't changed, you're as pretty as I remember you and twice as bitchy."

She glares, attempting to hit the door shut but failing due to him sliding his foot between it and the wall. 

He pries it open and gets inside, pushing past her without permission. 

"If you bleed on my floor I'll shoot you myself. Get out. I don't want to see your face." the female trails behind him, in the livingroom. 

"Easy." he taunts, unknotting his tie and throwing his soaked suit jacket on the back of the couch; he removes one leather glove using his teeth, and the other with his free hand. His dress shirt is stained red underneath. "You owe me a favour, Y/n. I'm here to get even."

"Fuck you, fuck your favour. I'm not doing this anymore, I have a life here, get out of it, you son of a一" 

Her words cease when he unbuttons and peels his shirt off, his wet torso from the rain exposing the ugly knife cut on his side and the scratch of a bullet to his left arm. Traitorous worry clenches her chest. 

"I saved your pretty little ass, you have to help me. I know you never go back on your word."

"Stop calling me pretty, or anything that concerns me." she fumes, walking over to him and shoving him down to sit on the couch. "Don't touch my things." she warns as she goes to the bathroom, retrieving the first aid kit. 

Returning to the livingroom, Yoongi has one of her framed pictures of Jungkook in his grasp, likely having picked it from the decorative table next to the couch. 

"Your boyfriend?" 

"It's none of your business." Y/n presses a little purposefully on his wound with the cloth she's using to clean it. 

If he wants to hiss at the sting, he doesn't nor shows it. "You changed your style. It looks good on you."

She would say he looks unfairly handsome too but ofcourse she can't. Resorting to not giving him a reaction, she busies herself with his injuries, disinfecting and treating them.

A palpable tension resides between the two of them, with him watching her and the young woman avoiding his gaze. She makes quick work of her task, soon after bandaging his arm. Stitching the one on his waist is trickier, because she has to concentrate despite the feel of Yoongi's lithe, toned muscles under her fingertips, his persistent orbs tracing every slope and curve of her face. 

"Why did you leave?" 

The predictable question earns a pause from her, in which she finishes dressing his second wound, adding medical tape onto the gauze. "I couldn't handle the guilt anymore."

He doesn't quite believe her, someone as competitive as Y/n wouldn't just disappear like that. 

Yoongi has lived with the impression that she's not fond of him because they grew up fighting for the best rank and he ultimately outmatched her. 

The truth is, she left for three particular reasons. The first, yes she did end up feeling the oppressing guilt of their profession. The second, she was in love with him and she wanted to get away from the man who wouldn't reciprocate her feelings一 an affliction she never expected would plague and chase someone like her, specially trained to eliminate and demolish such sentiments. Nobody knew about the third reason other than herself and Jimin, and she certainly wouldn't confess it to him. That was the night her harmless, ambitious annoyance torwards Yoongi turned to hate. 

Catching her by surprise, he grabs her arms as she's about to pull back, dragging her closer instead. The only distance left to separate them is a mere centimeter, forcing her to look him in the eyes. 

"Is there more, isn't it?" 

She forgot how compelling his presence can be, a sliver of nervousness inflicting her otherwise confident traits. She has to swallow, stabilizing her emotions in order to lie effectively. "No. And even if there was, I wouldn't tell you."

She pushes herself off him and snatches the framed photo he dropped on the couch, putting it to its rightful place. 

"Take off the rest of your clothes."

Yoongi regards her blankly. He cocks an eyebrow, as if her demand has another implication.

They're back to their old teasing, bantering, arguing routine. 

"You're freezing cold and all wet from the rain. Just do it." she rolls her eyes. "I'll get you a towel to dry up and clothes to change."

"From your boyfriend?" 

"Yes, from my boyfriend. Do you have a problem with that?" 

"This Jungkook guy, does he know you don't love him?" 

"And how do you know I don't?" she yells back.

"Because you're a heartless bitch who used to kill people."

Y/n comes from the bedroom holding the promised towel, a shirt, a pair of jeans and underwear, throwing them at his face with a vengeance. "Here's the clothes, asshole."

Later, after she treats the bruises on his cheekbones and lip too, they eat at the table of her kitchen, her mind running through her choices; she questions herself why she gave in and helped him. She swore to herself she didn't want to see him again, but her heart wouldn't allow her to just turn her back on him, and besides, she owed him that favour. She isn't the kind of person to break promises or not repay something good done to her. 

"I asked you how you found me."

"Taehyung sent people to search for you, he's been trying to track you down for 2 years. He got your location last year but decided to respect your wishes and not contact you. He said he's fine with atleast knowing you're okay."

"Who else knows about this place?" 

"Jimin."

She nods, addressing their current issue: "So what's going on? What do you need?" 

"Let me stay here a couple days."

"You're not telling me what happened." 

Yoongi tosses his chopsticks on the table, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. He sighs, his situation none too common. 

"Someone paid multiple contracts to get me killed."

"What?" Y/n frowns. "You mean members of EX-DEUS are going after you? But you're one of their own...how did chairman Kim even approve those contracts?" 

"You're behind with updates, Y/n. Taehyung's father is no longer chairman. He had an accident in january, he passed away."

"Then who is it?" 

"Natasha."

"That snake? Taehyung should've become chairman, or atleast Namjoon."

"Apparently, Kim Manseok signed a document which automatically made his wife chairwoman when he died."

"She's crazy, she's going to ruin the company for money."

"She already did. By order of her authority, members of EX-DEUS are now aloud to target and kill each other if a contract is sent from a client. She's turning the organization in a fucking bloodbath."

. . .

a/n: thanks a lot for all the likes this story got, and all the reblogs, truely!

[xulips]

assassin x idol (who's also an assassin)

[moonkhao]

The Heart Killers - “He hired me to flirt with a killer.”

[ranbybran]

Ya boy out here built like a truck 🛻