Hi! Can I have a jungkook Drabble or one shot about like a mobster au where he has to kill you because your a witness to a crime but noone knows that you were his first love and he can't do it
Sure! Here we are!
You knew him from somewhere, you knew you had seen him once before. At the moment, however, your brain couldn’t be bothered to place the face of the man who was holding a gun to the back of your head. The unnamed man had been sitting in the shadowy corner of your apartment silently when you’d come home and as of yet still hadn’t spoken a work. It screamed efficiency. “I don’t have any money,” you whispered, voice somehow coming across steady. He didn’t answer.
Wearing the same pin as those men who were dumping their trash illegally in your garbage bin last week–oh. You laughed bitterly, “Sons of Devils, right? I’m a hit.” He still didn’t answer, and you could swear that you could hear him breathing, labored. Was he scared? Somehow this odd swing in your assassin’s demeanor made you feel more in control. “If you’re going to kill me,” you growled, “you can do me the favor of facing me.”
He swallowed and his lack of response gave you the courage to begin to take a few steps to turn. “Don’t.” You were sure his voice was trembling.
The moment you faced him, the mobster ducked his head, turning away. Though you couldn’t see his entire face, most of it hidden by dark hair that fell over his forehead, you could just make out his twisted expression. His large shoulders were stiff, turned inwards in a position of defense, despite the obvious physical inequality between you two. Leaning first on way, then the other, you did your best to catch his eye, but he avoided it every time. “Why won’t you look at me?” you snapped, “what’s wrong with you?” Again, no answer.
Stepping back, you allowed yourself to scrutinize him once again, not bothering to hide your judgment. Whispers of tattoos were visible in the space between his glove and jacket, the gun was not new, but well polished, his grip firm and sure. “You’re clearly not new at this, what’s the problem?” You were going to die anyway, might as well go out establishing some damage, and it seemed emotional was easier.
When he still didn’t answer, you scoffed and lifted your chin, “What? You want to rape me first, but aren’t allowed? Pesky DNA.” “Stop,” his whispered, face distorted in sincere disgust. You did. The silence filled up the room, pressing in on all sides until it seemed to replace the very air. Chest rising and falling, you slowly shook your head, “you don’t want to kill me.” There was no question in your statement, that much was clear now. Your brain scrambled for that scrap of memory, the reason why his shadow and profile was so familiar. I know him, I do!
The realization yanked you into a tailspin, suddenly feeling panic crawl up your throat, “if you don’t want to kill me, then don’t! Let me go, I won’t say anything.” Desperately, you lunged forward, grabbing his jacket and forcing yourself into his space, “look at me, please, look at me.” He still refuse, but now you could see the tears in his eyes. In another attempt to save yourself, you gripped his face with both hands and forced it toward you. At last, round brown eyes met yours. As if burned you released him. Your heart stopped. “Kookie?”
Slowly, he lowered the gun and lifted his head, “(Y/n),” he pleaded, voice cracking with the strain. “I’m so sorry.” It was as if all of the air in the rooms had been sucked into a large vacuum, leaving you gasping. Hesitantly, your eyes lowered, seeking out a familiar flash of silver, the same as your own. “You’re still wearing it,” you breathed. A small silver coin sitting on a chain, the one from high school. “So this is where you went,” a slow tear trickled down your cheek, “I don’t understand–” “My dad owed them a lot of money, I have to work until we’re straight.” You blinked up at Jungkook, “are you going to kill me?” The question disturbed him, it frightened him seeing your vulnerability. With a loud clatter, Jungkook dropped the firearm, his large hands gently cupping your cheeks. Somehow, you were more terrified than you had been previously. Tear filled eyes wide, you let him caress your face, unable to plead or protest. Though gritted teeth, jaw clenched, Jungkook pulled you closer, squeezing his eyes shut, “I didn’t know… I didn’t,” he was trying to swallow down the urge to cry, “I didn’t know it was you.” You could feel his lips brush against your temple, “did you look for me?” “Of course,” you answered, voice barely audible.
Suddenly, Jungkook was pulling away, retracting to the opposite side of the room. Left on your own, arms remaining stupidly outstretched, you watched. “You need to leave,” he sniffed, pushing a hand through his thick hair. He looked around your apartment, “right now, I-I’ll help you pack.” “They’ll kill you,” you answered flatly. He let out a bark of a laugh, “it was going to happen eventually. I’ll never really pay up, there will always be something else to do and at some point… at some point, I won’t want to do it anymore.” “Then come with me,” you crossed the room, taking his hand, “we can start over, go anywhere!” He hesitated. You pressed on, “iceland, do you remember how you used to say you wanted to go.” Suddenly, you were crying, clinging to him as if he had never left; as if six years had been a mere day.
Now he was crying too, “you don’t know me, (y/n), I-I’ve done bad things–awful things.” “I don’t care, I love you! I still love you, I never stopped. Please, don’t leave me again,” as you spiraled, you buried your face into his chest. You inhaled his scent, that soapy pine that had marked your teenage years. Though at first unsure, Jungkook pulled you impossibly tighter to him, tilting his head so that your hair tickled the tip of his nose. “I’m not a good person,” he whispered. “I forgive you. Whatever you’ve done, let’s just go. Kookie, let’s go, please.”