#this building/sector is at the mouth of the entire park — I think it’s spot that manufactures/cans/pumps compressed natural gas?? not 100% | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aitarose · 3 years

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FROZEN MEMORIES (T. OIKAWA) pairing: oikawa tooru x fem!reader

synopsis: tooru always spoke a million words a minute, a million words describing his everlasting love for y/n—but in reality, vows can’t always be kept, and photographs are all that stand forever.

word count: 7.0k

genre: fluff, angst, getting together, established relationship, time skip

warnings: major character death, slight ghost au

notes: lina and i were talking about planes one time on facetime and now this exists. :) writing about weddings is fun and i hope that this makes people sad—but like the good kind of sad <3

↳ DIRECTORY

It was a simple thing, the diamond that rested on her finger.

Small, delicate, and nothing like the extravagant stigma of Oikawa Tooru. Nothing like his vibrance and charisma or the tenacity racing through his veins while on the court. There were no sprinkles of the unnecessary, no remnants of borrowed money.

Just simplicity and minimalism. A bare show of his love for her, a showcase that would be blind to the wandering eye, it was so small. The ring was all of the things that had little, if any, relation to his personality.

Throughout the timeline of them knowing one another, Y/N always knew he’d propose. Whether that was when they were in their mid thirties, twenties, or even while in high school—their love was that strong.

And she knew him best. She knew that he wouldn’t present a jewel the size of a bumblebee, or one with gems surrounding the entirety of the band. In her mind, the only option would be the bare band with a single jewel laying atop its center.

The same band that had belonged to his grandmother, mother, and now her.

It wasn’t a statement piece or trophy, but rather a reminder that their relationship didn’t have to be complicated or flashy. That the ring had surpassed generations of instability and trouble, and at the end of the day, all that mattered was their love—their love that was truly unbreakable.

Which was why it was all the more special to Y/N, why she cherished it more than any other belonging. It reminded her of him.

When he’d gotten down on one knee, professed his dreams of sharing the rest of his life by her side, the enjoyment of announcing that she would be the wife of a professional athlete never crossed her mind.

Y/N didn’t view Oikawa as a celebrity or idol. She didn’t consider him to be on another level or above her status for any reason. In no world was he too good for her, as they were perfect for each other.

There was just something about him, a force that pulled her towards him no matter how hard she tried to resist. He was undoubtedly the other half of her spirit, the person she was always meant to connect with.

Her heart swelled whenever he was around, just knowing that he was in the same building, waiting for her at the end of the flower-filled aisle had tears dripping down her rose-colored cheeks.

She could imagine the smile on his face, the one she’d been waiting to see for over a year now. The smile that she saw when she closed her eyes, looked into her reflection, passed a shining pond.

Ambition was her most dominant personality trait, always feeling the need to reach for the sky and set new goals—but once she’d kissed his lips, she knew that he was the only goal that mattered.

And the two of them had been preparing for this day for what felt like forever, waiting in anticipation for the moment they’d be pronounced as one. However, their wishes had been interrupted by his newly honored position on the Argentinian team.

They had a month, barely thirty days to pack up his life, everything he could possibly need for an unknown amount of time, and find peace with the fact that they wouldn’t be together for every second like they’d become accustomed to.

Driving him to the airport had to be one of the most tear-filled days of Y/N’s life, other than today of course—but today’s tears were much different in every sense and form.

She could remember the exact look on his face as they’d left the car, carried his luggage to the terminal, and said their goodbyes. Goodbyes that were, of course, temporary as no distance could ever break the bond they had.

The photo laying between Y/N’s fingers had captured that moment perfectly.

Somber looks on both of their faces, yearning for the other even though they were a mere distance away, a distance that was growing with every second the clock counted down.

Laughing lightly, maneuvering her position so her reminiscent tears wouldn’t stain the slightly marred photograph—she pushed the memory aside, instead choosing to recall an earlier one. A happier one.

A memory that was encased within the maple box that Oikawa had gifted her at the terminal. A present that he’d been putting together for nearly a decade, throughout the entirety of their early relationship.

So, while the airplane had taken him thousands of miles away, over an entire ocean and away from her—Y/N had a way to see his face. His beautiful and loving face for the times where he couldn’t answer the phone or pick up a call.

A photo box. One filled with polaroids and snapshots of moments, cherished memories of their lives that had led up to today’s date. It was her most prized possession, the story of her and Oikawa.

The story of their love.

“Are you alright?” Y/N giggled, pushing the loose strands of hair away from Oikawa’s face. The wind was rapid, carrying them throughout the nearly empty park, and to their destination.

It was a small picnic blanket, one that he’d set up an hour earlier, laying in the center of the field, underneath one of the blossoming cherry trees. Albeit, with the roaring currents, their date spot had flown a few feet into the air.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, ‘Kawa.” She repeated, amused at the sight of his mortified face. There was never a time where Oikawa Tooru didn’t strive for perfection, and in the moment where he felt it mattered most, everything had gone wrong.

He’d been preparing to ask Y/N out for weeks. Always admiring her from afar, searching for her in the stands, smiling at her cheers and words of encouragement. Calling her a crush was beyond his feelings, she was simply his.

So he felt that their first date had to be perfect. It had to leave her hooked, left at the corner of a page, addicted and invested to turn the next—to turn every page in the chapters of their story.

Their story, that was just beginning.

“I’m fantastic, Y/N-chan!” A large, teeth baring smile grew on his lips, eyes wide with anxiety radiating out of them. He didn’t think he’d ever felt his heart beat so fast, the artery on the verge of jumping out of his chest.

“Really?” She asked with her brows raised, noticing how the blood had rushed out of his face, leaving behind a stone-cold canvas of skin. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost—no. You look like you are a ghost.”

“It’s okay. I’m nervous, too.” Y/N confessed, taking his hands in hers, her warmth overshadowing the clamminess of his palms—her touch being his salvation. “This is my first time being asked out, you know. I mean, we are only first years.”

Which was entirely true. They’d each moved from their respective middle schools to Aoba Johsai, not knowing of the other’s existence until Oikawa had accidentally tripped over her school bag while on the run from his fangirls.

From that moment on, he’d been completely and utterly enamored by her.

Enamored in the way that his cheeks would flush bright red at any moment of embarrassment if Y/N was around. Bright red, just as they were now, with her heart in his grasp, begging to be loved.

As he opened his mouth to speak, scripting his genuine apology for the chaos that was today, something flew right by his right eye. Something small, yellow and black—something that truly pushed him over the edge.

Oikawa ran in a dead sprint, circling the blanket, darting between trees as the innocent bumblebee chased him with glee. His shrieks were ear-piercing, inducing hysterical laughing fits from Y/N, tears brimming the corners of her eyes.

The sternness of his posture had finally relaxed, his placid expression long gone and replaced with one of the over-dramatics and the unnecessary. She felt as though the blood rushing through her veins had settled, content with the familiarity of the Oikawa in front of her.

“Protect me, Y/N-chan!” He cried out, his hands holding her shoulders with a death-grip, using her body as a shield from the barely visible bee. It buzzed around their heads in circles, causing him to duck and cover each time it got too close to his ears.

Y/N was practically out of breath, her voice hoarse from the amount of laughter leaving her throat. “Oikawa! Are you even allergic to bees?” She wondered out loud, trying to find any acceptable reason other than insanity to his reaction.

“I don’t know!” He exclaimed, taking Y/N’s hand and pulling her away from their stray picnic blanket, and towards the more dense sector of trees. “Three percent of people have a reaction, and there’s no way I’m not in the top percentage—I mean look at me!”

His skin was stained red, nearing the color of blood from how much adrenaline he’d been using. The brown in his pupils dark, almost black, large, and staring straight into Y/N’s.

Heavy breathing came from the both of them, energy on the rocks, exhausted after their marathon throughout the park. It was a strange moment, one with no words yet their feelings were communicative. She didn’t need to hear what he was thinking, as she felt the exact same.

Oikawa began to lean in, his gaze focused on Y/N—his focus staying on her and only her, just as it would always be. Closing her eyes, preparing herself for her very first kiss with the boy that seemed unreachable, Y/N was left with no love on her lips.

Nothing but the sound of a shot snapping from a polaroid camera, and the feeling of a smile pressed against her cheek.

As her vision opened, Y/N’s jaw dropped, smacking his arm with the picnic bag that had been thrown over her shoulder. Sure, she’d noticed him packing the camera earlier, but hadn’t expected him to actually use it.

“Are you serious?” She scoffed, amusement laced in her tone. Of course he’d pull something like that. He’d do anything to make the moment more memorable. “I can’t believe you, Oikawa.”

He grinned a shit-eating grin, forehead touching hers. If Y/N hadn’t known better, she would’ve walked out, left him behind after such a sporadic and awful first date—but she actually enjoyed the chaos. She enjoyed being with the real him.

“Well, you better believe it, Y/N-chan.” His lips were so close, a mere centimeter away. Only a centimeter between them and, still, the distance seemed too far. “And when I do kiss you, I expect to be called by my real name.”

Oikawa pulled away, saying a final wish before stalking off towards the remnants of their picnic, leaving Y/N with nothing but withdrawal and their single photograph. She rolled her eyes at him, his words racing through her head as she fell in love with the frozen memory.

Call me Tooru.

Y/N’s heart swelled as her senses picked up on the harsh sound of sneakers squeaking against the gym floor. It was a noise that would likely drive a normal person away, so wretched and foul, absolute agony for the ears—but she loved it.

She loved it since along with that sound, came him—came Oikawa.

“You two really can’t stay away from each other, can you?” Mattsun groaned, his attention brought to the entrance, bemused by the sight of Y/N and used to her inability to be without his friend for longer than two hours.

Despite the roll of his eyes, there was a light smile on Mattsun’s face. A smile that had been replicated throughout the entirety of the team, grins awaiting their captain to notice the company of his favorite cheerleader.

In the beginning of their relationship, it’d taken the boys a few weeks turned months to warm up to Y/N. It was no secret that Oikawa was a bit of a player, never settling on one girl, always getting distracted with the next best thing—but even they could see that this time, it was different.

After all, they’d lasted for a little over two years now—and in those two years of total bliss, the whole team had picked up on the new positives to the setter’s daily attitude.

Makki noticed the way Oikawa’s eyes lit up around her, how his laugh was ten times louder whenever she was by his side. Mattsun never failed to comment on the stupid beams he’d wear, and how much effort he’d put into his appearance when he was only getting ready for a five minute video call.

And Iwaizumi was the one who’d seen it all. He’d endured the tireless hours in which his best friend would talk about how nervous he was to see her in the hallways or how fast his heart would beat whenever she’d hand him a pen or compliment his gameplay.

He’d been the first person to know exactly what had happened after Oikawa asked her on their first date, in which he’d been trampled by fangirls and forced to steal Y/N away into an empty janitor’s closet to get just a minute of privacy. His friend later bouncing with joy on their walk back home, babbling on and on about her accepting his confession.

The very second the setter had said his goodbye, dropped Y/N off at her home, and had one last laugh about the bee incident; Iwaizumi’s phone had blown up with text messages and voicemails—all filled with the lovestruck adoration that Oikawa held for his new flame. The flame that he hoped would burn forever.

It was safe to say that his friends loved her, that they loved them together and the safety net that was their relationship. Y/N brought the dreamer down to earth, while Oikawa taught her how to reach the sky—showed her the importance of keeping her eyes on the clouds.

Iwaizumi shook his head, letting out a low laugh as his best friend caught sight of his girlfriend and took off running in her direction, tackling her to the ground, and completely forgetting about the abandoned volleyball that he’d been juggling altogether.

PDA was not an issue for Oikawa, never even crossing his mind as he peppered light kisses in circles around Y/N’s face. The girl was bright red beneath him, loudly giggling, and essentially forgetting where she was for a moment—distracted by him, the only person that could ever maintain her attention.

“Pack it up, Loser-kawa.” Makki called out, hands cupping his lips in an attempt to shout out over the sounds of Y/N’s squeals. Her head snapped over to the team at the sound of his calls, cheeks flushing a further scarlet in embarrassment amidst their eye contact.

Oikawa, on the other hand, showed no signs of stopping—completely ignoring the complaints of his teammates, throwing Y/N over his shoulder, and carrying her with ease towards their peers.

“Oh, come on guys.” He smirked as he set his girlfriend down and proceeded to sling an arm around her frame, snuggling her closer to his chest. “There’s no need to be jealous, I’m sure she’ll cheer for you, too—albeit, it won’t ever be as loud as she cheers for me.”

Countless volleyballs came flying in their direction, all aimed for the so-called Great King—narrowly missing Y/N’s body and hitting their target that was Oikawa’s face.

“Quit wasting our time, Shitty-kawa!” Mattsun shot another ball, smacking his captain straight in the forehead. “You two have been in each other’s business all day, save some time for us!”

“Just take a picture, it’ll last longer!”

Y/N laughed, finding the suggestion hilarious—not noticing how her boyfriend’s face lit up with delight. How he reached for the duffel bag beside the door containing their beloved polaroid camera.

“You suggested it, Mattsun!” He tossed the device, landing it perfectly in his friend’s open hands. The brown hair boy stared at the offering, not exactly sure what he’d been expecting from Oikawa of all people. “Now you’ve got to follow through!”

The setter led Y/N towards the net, placing her in front of him with a large smile on his face. His palms ghosted her’s, so close to touching with no intentions of doing so.

As the camera was about to click, he moved, a large groan escaping his throat. “Hold on!” Oikawa shouted, waving his hands in the air manically, sprinting to his practice bag. “Almost forgot something!”

The white material of his Seijoh jacket reflected underneath the fluorescent lights. He held it up with glee, returning to Y/N’s side and placing it over her shoulders with care.

Nearly prepared for the photoshoot, he felt that one thing was missing. One thing that would truly commemorate the oh-so-momentous event that was photo-worthy.

“Oi, Iwa-chan!” The ace glared at his best friend, knowing exactly what he was asking for. With a roll of his eyes, Iwaizumi found himself between the couple, a frown on his face as they held up bunny ears above his head.

Sticking his tongue out, Oikawa was blinded by the piercing flash of the camera. “Say cheese!” He called out, pinching Iwaizumi’s cheek with his free hand and cowering as he shot him a murderous glance in return.

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle, her expression being light and carefree in the frozen moment—lost amidst her love for her boyfriend and the adoration she held for their best friend.

Iwaizumi was always there for them—and there’d never be a time in which he wasn’t. Through hardships and breathless arguments, he was there. One phone call away to listen to any tangent or complaint from either of the two.

She knew that he was reliable, and she hoped that he’d stick by their side. She hoped that he’d be the one to walk her down that flower-filled aisle in the future. That he’d be the person to give her off to the man of her dreams.

And, little did she know, her wish would come true.

Soft hums and silent promises wafted throughout Oikawa Tooru’s bedroom. The gentle snores of his girlfriend rising and falling against his chest, pressed atop his heartbeat, filling his love for her as if his heart was a pitcher.

It’d been a long day, one full of the tiresome stress of tournaments. Although he hated to admit it, he’d spent a majority of the past hours crying—his tears staining Y/N’s sweater, dampening the cotton fabric.

Losing to Karasuno had never even crossed his mind. Seijoh was the best of the best, he was the best of the best, that was what he’d told himself. That was what’d motivated him to continue to pursue his dreams of beating Ushiwaka for so many years.

But they’d lost. His unstoppable team had lost to complete amateurs, infants in all senses of strategy and gameplay when compared to that of his own team’s. It was truly unbelievable—so unbelievable that Oikawa had only come to terms with it minutes ago.

He’d unknowingly played his last high school game. His final game as captain, the leader of his teammates, the face that every admirer associated with the name “Aoba Johsai”—and that was heartbreaking.

Mindlessly, his fingers graced Y/N’s back, tracing positions and numbers on repeat. It was as if his brain was still stuck on the court, glued to the placement he’d fallen in after that last whistle had blown.

“I love you.” He whispered, admiring her peaceful expression. There’d never be a time in which Oikawa wouldn’t think she was the most beautiful sight in the world. Nothing compared to her, not even the thrill of feeling the ball in his hands.

“You’re perfect, amazing, gorgeous.” An ongoing stream of compliments poured from his lips, all of them always sitting at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be released. His brown eyes bored into her closed lids, waiting for them to flutter open, knowing that she was eavesdropping on his one-sided conversation.

“I can’t wait to marry you one day.”

Her eye popped open, her iris meeting his as she fought off a smirk. Oikawa laughed at her audacity, her listening in on his professions of love whilst pretending to be asleep—a very Y/N thing to do.

“Was that a proposal I heard, Tooru?” She teased, a cheshire smile growing on her face. Though she was joking, there was a part of her that felt ecstatic. Excited for the future, their future. “Aren’t we a little young for that?”

Oikawa ignored her humorous tone, choosing to take her words seriously. Sincerity overtook his features, determination shining in his eyes. “No, that wasn’t a proposal. Not yet at least.”

“But it was a promise.” He rolled over, arms stretched out onto the mattress as he held his weight above his flushed girlfriend. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. Whenever you need me, I’ll be here.”

“I promise.”

Y/N reached upwards, caressing his cheek with care, pulling him down towards her frame. As she connected their lips, love flooded from their hearts. Pure love that they were so lucky to have found in each other.

Their kiss was passionate, fluid and desperate as they clung to one another in an attempt to get even closer than they already were. Oikawa’s hair brushed against her forehead, tickling her nerves amidst the act.

He cupped her cheeks in his hands, pressing further as her swollen lips were chapped and yearning for more. It was as if he was the water to her drought, the sun to her flowers, the missing half of her soul—he was everything she ever needed, everything she could ever want.

“I love you, Tooru.” Y/N was breathless, heaving gusts of air as she composed herself between his arms. Her skin was shaded pink, hair a mess, and eyes wide in adoration for her boyfriend. “I’ll love you forever.”

A scoff fell from his lips whilst he relaxed his muscles, laying down on her body, his head against her chest as he felt her short breaths rise and fall. “Don’t get your head too high in the clouds, beautiful.”

“We can focus on forever later.” With his heartbeat slowing, sleep on his mind, Oikawa wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist. “Let’s just think about now—right now, and how amazing I just made you feel.”

“They don’t call me the Great King for nothing!”

With a groan, Y/N pushed her boyfriend off of her, choosing to sleep on her side instead of listening to his boasting. It was a common occurrence, one that she was used to and knew how to handle—feigned disinterest was always her favorite route to take.

Oikawa pouted at the emptiness he now faced without being in her arms. He wanted attention, and the only way to get her attention was to distract her from his terrible humor in the only way he knew how.

Various pokes and prods scattered across Y/N’s backside, the relentless actions being from the needy narcissist she was sharing a blanket with. Pulling the covers over her head, she peeked out from underneath, coming face-to-face with the bright flash of his camera.

“Smile for the camera, beautiful.”

The terminal was bustling with people, luggage rolling across the stone floors and towards their rightful places. Color was void on the walls, simple tones of grey and blue plastered opposite to the towering window panes.

Reunions between young children and their mothers, spouses who’d just arrived home from business trips, and pilots seeing their coworkers for the first time in days occurred in spurts—smiles of joy expressed on their faces.

And in contrast to that joy, was Y/N and her smile of sadness.

Though she’d been expecting for this day for weeks, she knew that all the preparation in the world would never be enough to suffice the need that she had for him. The need that she had for Oikawa.

He’d been offered a position on San Juan’s professional team, his dream position as a setter for the big leagues, which meant that the move was inevitable. It meant that he’d be thousands of miles away from the love of his life for an unprecedented period of time.

The conversation hadn’t been easy, having to determine if they should carry on with their wedding plans or say their uncertain goodbyes. Countless tears had been shed, tears that had ultimately decided to part—tears that were still dripping down Y/N’s chin.

Her lip quivered, watching as Oikawa stopped dead in his tracks, staring up at the screen that flashed his flight number. He let go of the handle he’d been holding, the suitcase nearly falling over before Iwaizumi had a chance to balance it.

Turning to face his fiancée, waterworks flooded his vision, blurring her features into a beautiful mess. A beautiful mess of rosy cheeks and teary eyes, an oil painting of agony that only he could decipher.

“I’ll be thinking of you every day.” He said, holding her gaze as she found herself sobbing in his arms. “From the minute I step through those gates to the time I score my first point—I’ll be thinking of you. You’re all that my mind’s ever thought about, anyways.”

Oikawa cradled her head in his hands, peppering butterfly kisses against her nose, memorizing how naturally gorgeous she looked even when she was at her absolute worst. Nothing could change his view on her, the view that she was flawed perfection—his perfectly flawed perfection.

“I love you so much, Tooru.” Y/N cried, noting the little details of his face. How his irises shone gold in reflection to the setting sun. How unseen freckles kissed his skin in all the right places. How his heart was so big, so full of adoration for their relationship. “I know I say it every day, but you were my first love—”

“Well, you were my only love—and you’re always going to be my only love.”

A pained laugh escaped her mouth as his confession deemed true. It felt like they were going their separate ways, breaking their bond although the both of them knew that this was temporary. That they’d be saying their vows on the very day he’d return.

Her hands cupped his cheeks, wiping away the stray drops that had fallen from his tear ducts. Oikawa grimaced with a tight lipped smile, bringing his own palms up and resting them over hers, feeling the cool metal of her engagement ring.

“This rock had better stay on your finger.” He commanded with a chuckle, trying his best to cement the softness of her skin against his callouses to memory. “Anyone who even thinks to hit on my girl is going to feel the wrath of Oikawa Tooru!”

“It doesn’t matter how many miles are between us,” he continued, surging forward as he captured her lips in his, saying his next few words between shows of love. “You’re my heart, and mine only.”

His kisses were gentle, soft and scarce, in great contrast to the usual tenacity and passion that he held. All the things he’d ever needed to say had been spoken, the only ones left being the promises he’d commit to at the altar.

With the bright flash of a camera, Oikawa found himself frozen. He stared in awe at Y/N, into her devilish eyes that had finally managed to surprise him in his own game. The power of the moment was in her court, the mementos created by the push of her finger.

“Just in case I forget.” She whispered, her forehead resting against his. Her nose scrunched in distaste for their soon-to-be goodbye, their soon to be separation. “Even though I’d never forget you, Tooru.”

“I’ll be here—loving you until the second you’re back.”

Oikawa nodded, pressing one last kiss to the top of her head, before pulling away. He took his luggage from Iwaizumi, on the verge of bursting into tears again at the sight of his sorrow gaze.

The two boys hugged for as long as they possibly could, Oikawa’s hands gripping Iwa’s jacket, to which he responded with a slap on this back with some good natured insults. They had no shame, no concerns about their masculinity or manliness as they held each other in sadness.

Y/N had never seen them so low, always picturing their game faces mixed with determination—a stark difference to the helplessness they expressed amidst the sunsetting rays of the window panes.

“Keep her safe for me, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa requested, gesturing to the lonely girl to his left. “Don’t let her get too down on herself, okay? If I’m not there to answer a text or a phone call—you make sure you’re there for her. You make sure she’ll be alright.”

“I know she can handle herself, but she shouldn’t have to all of the time.” He grasped Iwaizumi’s shoulder, shaking it roughly with his wishes. His best friend was nodding beneath his grip, listening to each one of the setter’s asks. “Our little trio’s going to be two for a bit, not forever, but for a while.”

And with one last kiss and an offering, he was gone—lost to the sea of strangers and luggage, ripped away from his favorite people on a flight to a new country with new opportunities. Oikawa Tooru’s head was always lost in the clouds, flying high with the success of volleyball on his mind.

But in his heart was Y/N.

The girl that he’d wanted to marry since the minute he’d seen her laughing in the hallways. Since she’d offered to pass him some balls and cheered for him in the front section of the audience at all of his games. Ever since she’d kissed him for the first time in the back of his parents minivan.

He lived for her, his heart beat for her—and he was itching to be back in her arms, knowing full well that it’d be months until he’d get to see her in person again. All he could hope for was that his gift would suffice her loneliness in his absence.

That the photo box he’d been putting together for years would be enough to keep the memory of their love alive in the times when he’d be too distracted by his ambition to pay her any attention. That it’d remind her that he loved her and would climb mountains to prove it.

And he was right. The polaroids did help Y/N reminisce on all of their frozen moments, lost kisses, and happy memories that she’d be unable to maintain while he was thousands of miles away.

Thousands of miles that would disappear on the day he’d return—on the day of their wedding.

“You alright?”

Y/N jumped, dropping the box of photos in her lap at the unexpected sound of Iwaizumi’s deep voice. The polaroids fluttered to the ground, flying like kites in the wind on a sunny day, falling onto the hardwood on their final departure.

Frantically, she bent over to gather the memories, quickly snatching them up as her friend ran over to help her. The vinyl backings felt smooth in her hand, eyes glancing upwards to Iwa, who’d become stuck on a single frame.

It was one of her favorite moments of the three of them, the photo from their high school gym. The look on her and Oikawa’s faces was hysterical, them choosing to poke fun at their best friend with bunny ears and stuck out tongues.

“I still can’t believe he put all this together.” Iwaizumi wondered aloud, shaking his head in disbelief at the craftiness of his former setter. “Who knew Shitty-kawa had it in him?”

Resting her head over his shoulder, Y/N smiled, her face warming at the sight of his bright and glossy smile. She reached forward, closing his hands around the photograph. “You can have it, the picture.”

His head snapped towards her, profusely rejecting her offer, knowing full well that that gift was meant to be hers and hers alone. “I couldn’t, really. He made this for you, I wouldn’t want to make it any less special.”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes whilst straightening her posture. She stood, towering over the man still kneeling on the ground and offered him a hand. “It’s okay, Hajime. I have plenty—and that memory isn’t only mine to keep.”

Taking her extension of help, he rose up, wrapping his arms around her in a large hug. The comfort that he surrounded her with was enough to bring her to tears, knowing that he’d only come in the room to tell her that it was time. That it was time for him to walk her down that flower-filled aisle.

“You look amazing, Y/N. You really do.” Iwaizumi whispered, complimenting the dress she and her mother had selected for the momentous occasion. He raised his arm in the air, spinning her in a circle, admiring how the stunning fabric twirled around her.

She smiled, genuine gratitude filling her beam as she reflected on the comment her beloved fiancé had made about the outfit she’d been meaning to share with him. How he’d boasted about his own appearance, joking that he’d steal the show.

“Yeah, you’ll look beautiful.” He’d told her over the phone during a late night video call while she’d been rambling about choosing a dress, slowly falling asleep to the sound of his voice. “But let’s be honest, I’m impossible to outshine. Sorry, love.”

Over the past year, it’d been impossible to get his voice out of her head. Soft confessions of love, good mornings and goodnights, even arguments played on a loop, on a broken record.

She’d missed him more than words could tell—and she knew, with how much her heart loved him, that she’d miss him every day. She’d miss him no matter how much distance was between them, whether that was thousands of miles or mere inches.

Taking notice of how her body began to shake, how Y/N’s bones were quivering with nerves and anxiety, Iwaizumi looped her arm around his. “You’ve got this.” He encouraged, knowing that she felt unprepared to present herself in front of all of their friends and family in such a way.

The look in his eyes was confident, secure with closure and acceptance for what the day was about to bring. For what the rest of their lives were about to bring to their little trio. He was ready to take the next step—and he was waiting for Y/N to do the same.

As she took a deep breath, calming her nerves into submission, she nodded gesturing to Iwaizumi to carry on, the two of them walking together out of the room and towards the crowd that awaited them.

The thick scent of camellias lay stagnant in the air, the deep red flowers surrounding the venue, strategically placed on vines and potted plants. All done by professional florists and media that had insisted that the day be perfect for a celebrity such as Oikawa.

Handing her off on her own, Iwaizumi pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her hands, wishing her luck and reassuring her that everything would turn out okay. Reassuring her that there was no need to be afraid of the future.

Her future, the new reality that was beginning at this very second. The reality that had begun at the first sighting of tears in the audience, the view of Takeru crying into his mother’s shoulder, of Makki and Mattsun silently encouraging her to go on.

“Thank you, all of you, for coming today.” Y/N began, making eye contact with each and every personality, proud of the amount of people that had shown up. Proud of the amount of people that cared enough to be there. “I know you’d all been planning on sitting in those seats since we’d announced our engagement—but really, thank you for saving the date.”

Reaching her hands out to her side, waiting to come into contact with the warmth of his palms, the loving grip that he always seemed to hold—she felt nothing but the smooth mahogany of an empty casket.

“I’m only sorry that our wedding had to become a funeral.”

She sighed, neck craned down to smooth the sparse wrinkles of her dark dress, only to look up and be welcomed by a sea of black—a sea of sorrow. An ocean that would never let her ride her final wave.

“Tooru was so excited to see all of you. He told me that every night, whether it was through a quick text message or one of our phone calls—he always talked about this day, and how lucky he was to have loved ones that cared so much.”

“He was so excited that he just couldn’t wait, he couldn’t wait the extra week and took that early flight. Took his own private jet with his crew so that he could surprise all of us, see the looks on our faces as he pulled another one of his stunts.”

A sob began to form at the tip of her tongue, a void of agony building in her stomach. Waiting to be let out in a massive scream or breakdown—but Y/N continued, fighting back her own sadness to be strong for the others. To be their rock, just as Oikawa had always been hers.

“But,” her eyes were watering, voice cracking through her next choice of words. The memory of the moment being overpowering amidst her perseverance. “There was something wrong with the engine. There was something wrong, so wrong, that—well we all know what happened.”

“His head was too lost in the clouds.”

Giving up on her composure, Y/N wrapped her arms around her shaking body, rubbing her shoulders just as he used to whenever she’d feel alone or completely broken. However, she was truly and utterly broken this time—never to be fixed by his loving grasp.

“When Hajime called me, told me what’d happened. When he told me about the phone call, and how’d he’d tried to reach me but for some stupid reason I hadn’t picked up,” Y/N gulped, breathing heavily with sorrow, “I’d never hated myself more.”

“‘Tell her I’m sorry, that I’m sorry that I kept my promise.’ That’s what Tooru had told him while the plane had been spiraling. ‘I’m sorry that I kept the promise that I’d love her ‘till the day I’d die.’”

There wasn’t a single dry face in the audience, everyone dripping with sadness, faces blue with contagious crying as Y/N made her final statement. Her final public farewell to the love of her life. The love of her life that was no more.

“But I’m going to keep my promise and live every day for him. Keep him in our lives as best I can, as often as I can until I’ve lived life long enough to be with him myself.”

A breath of relief overcame her as the audience dispersed, satisfied with her eulogy, slowly walking around the room to admire the makeshift photo boards and flowers that Oikawa’s fans and former classmates had sent.

All alone, Y/N spun to face his casket, the casket that held nothing but a single photograph of him—there being no physical remnants to bury. It was a perfect burial for a king, her perfect king of the court.

The burial was one that Mattsun had blessed them with, already having been in the funeral home career. There was no one else that she would’ve trusted with Oikawa, no one else that she would’ve let come near his memorial.

As her palms ran over the varnished surface of the coffin, eyes closed in an attempt to shut out the pain. She whispered her actual promise, the one she’d told him so many times through the screens of their phones.

“You’re my heart, Tooru—and I’d never forget my heart, no matter how far away you may be.”

And unbeknownst to her, he wasn’t far. He wasn’t far at all—as he was right beside her, his spirit always being by her side through the times she’d try to shut his memory out and pretend that he hadn’t ever existed. There wasn’t a world in which Oikawa would let her be alone to her sadness.

Watching as she cried, wishing that he could wipe away her tears, tell her how much he loves her, give her a longing kiss on the lips—all he could do was stand there and dream of the life they could’ve had.

The life in which she’d be able to see how handsome he looked in the wedding suit he and Iwaizumi had picked out together. The life where she’d laugh and flush red at his snarky comments and cocky attitude. The life where he wasn’t buried under a trillion tons of ocean water.

But that life would never become a reality. It would never come true as he couldn’t stay with her, not even as a spirit. He needed to find his peace, come to terms with how her life would be from that day on—void of their love.

“Don’t cry, beautiful.” Oikawa cried, biting his lip to choke back his own sobs—wanting, more than anything, to brush away her tears. He took one last look at her, one last look to cement the memory of her face.

It was as if she were a photograph, his own keepsake to reminisce and recall wherever he would end up. A final gift, one being given to himself, while he accepted his inevitable fate.

“I’d hate to miss your smile.”

140 notes · View notes

sugarcookiesandsins · 4 years

Text

Charmed [Episode 1]

➰ ot7 x reader, poly!bts x reader, mafia!bts ➰ they wouldn't notice her until she was standing above them, a smoking gun in her hand a bullet in their heart 🌡 M 🛑 heavy violence 🕛 6.1k+

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Tags: Since this is a revamping of the series, I am using a new tag list. If you were on it before, please message me so I can add you back. To those on the list, thank you for taking the time to read this.

@omgsuperstarg @missseoulite

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Reflected in your eyes were the lights of the boat as you stood next to the railing, air fogging as you breathed out courtesy of the temperature difference between you and your surroundings. The ripples had long disappeared beneath you as the body sank farther into the depths of international waters. Twenty miles or so from the nearest land, surrounded by the inky depths of the sea, you felt oddly at peace with yourself than most would be. Before you, the sea extended with multitudes of opportunities, yet you held on to the metal pole, refusing to let go and fling yourself into its cold embrace. Overhead, past the tips of the sails with their heavy canvas, the sky extended in the same way; punctuated with lighthouses that never ceased to guide traveler to the shore.

This far out, much like the senses, even the jurisdiction became convoluted. It was the age-old argument of territory and even the final frontier, be it space that extend pat your reach or the depths that you could feel splashing against with every wave that the barge broke, could be subject to a baseless human need that no one seemed to be able to justify past material greed.

The body would not pop back out of the water for a at least 2 weeks and add on the time lags that always happen when multiple governments tried to make an important decision, you had more than enough time to hole up somewhere else on the planet as the buzz died down.

Without tearing your eyes away from the blurred horizon, your silently raised a hand towards the bow. The muffled yelling and the vibrations of the engine under your feet gave you the only answer you needed as the barge turned, headed in the direction of the nearest port. And yet you faced forward, watching the waters as they tried to fight against the metallic interruption only to succumb to the power of modern technology. Your figure remained still, clothed in black like a specter charged with guarding the ship. The waters closer to the coast were calmer, only breaking on the wooden stakes of the ports as they teased onlookers with millions of secrets buried under the cloak of time.

Your face remained impassive, even if no one could see it. The crew members had simply been instructed to ferry you out and ferry you back, a clean operation that would get them access to a very lucrative fishing spot. Environmental concerns had forced the government into restricting the fishing, but as a major export, it could not stop it all together with the amount of people employed in the business. So, they started dealing permits for who can fish where and for how much; it’s amazing to think that the government had indirectly created a new black-market sector when they were supposed to be the paragons of peace and leadership.

Your face was a mystery to these workers, and not one person there would be able to swear that they weren’t curious as to who you were. They had simply been told by their boss that they were scheduled for a late-night trip out into the ocean. There would be only one person boarding and only one person leaving. They were not to disturb their guest for any reason, nor were they supposed to inquire about the guest and his actions.

You trusted them to not risk their job for mere curiosity, but what you didn’t trust were the people with enough money to make their curiosity worth the risk. People are fickle like that and everyone can be influenced, if promised the right thing.

The mistake that most amateurs make is that they believe that if money is not strong enough to break a man, then their moral fortress is impregnable. Only the select few, which included you, realize that there is more to offer in life than just financial backing. To some, success is only thing worth anything in life, and that may be something not controlled by the number in your checkbook. It’s surprising how much support you receive when a political candidate finds themselves short one particularly threatening opponent.

Letting out a wry smile, you think about the past that brought you here to this moment. Not the millions of coincidental events of the universe - though that certainly plays a part in it all. It was a single night that became the catalyst for everything you are today. It was the night that BigHit targeted your family, all because of some idiot who didn’t have the balls to face the consequences of his mistake. Surprising how a member of the biggest sect of organized crime in all of South Korea still is chicken enough to pin the blame on someone who was considerably lower on the food chain than they were.

BigHit had been in part of your life since the start, having always employed your father as the legal head for the group. The front was a real estate firm, but it was one of those elephant-in-the-room types of situations; common knowledge, but ignored to maintain some semblance of normality. Heck, you were sure the entire city knew the truth that hid behind the white, blocky letters, but it was an unspoken rule that no one said anything. BigHit was untouchable, until 7 years ago and the paranoia that spread through the company cost your family greatly.

It had all started when some lower-level lackey noticed an inconsistency in the finances. There were conflicting spending reports between company-sponsored business trips and the withdrawal amounts. On multiple instances, one exceeded the other and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was happening. This was coincidence number one. The man wasn’t even supposed to be checking the finances, he was just filing something away for his boss when he knocked over the files. It was impossible to stop his roaming eyes as they scanned the information while cleaning it all up.

Immediately he made a beeline for the higher ups, who, after looking over it to make sure the worker’s suspicions were correct, passed it along the chain of command. Then the investigation began. Almost immediately, your father’s team came under suspicion. They had been involved in a financial report for a case, which had required multiple trips to the prosecutor’s office - an overseas prosecutor accusing BigHit of international grand theft. The case was more trouble than it was worth; everyone knew that BigHit wasn’t the type to commit petty theft. They had too much leverage to work as snakes under the cloak of darkness.

A full search tore the building off its foundation, until the money was found in your father’s private office. They didn’t bother to look for evidence any longer.

1. The doorknob was scratched.

2. There was dust on the surface.

3. There was coffee on the table.

4. The money was in plain sight.

5. They came in the night.

6. There was a girl in the closet.

7. She survived.

8. They didn’t.

Ticking off each point after the next, you calmed your racing heart. It was the same feeling that accompanied the flashbacks of blood. From within the closet, you watched from under the door, mouth clenched around the soft baby fat of your arm, the only thing that kept you from screaming into the open air. Using your calloused palm, you rubbed at the scars, now slightly faded with treatment from time.

You would pay them back for every injustice. You felt closer than ever to feeling their blood running down your blade, swimming in the dents of your skin, and molding with it as you showed them the same mercy they showed your parents. You could still hear their voices, sloppy words mixed with tears as they begged for mercy. Still they tried, with their last breath they still held onto the belief that the guns would be put away.

The last thing you heard before the gun shots were two words. They were filled with such malice, as you had never heard in a voice before.

You knew who said them too. After all, it was hard not to recognize BTS; BigHit’s personal dirty-work squad.

And with that, their fate was sealed. You were closer than ever to feeling their blood running down the blade of your dagger, swimming in the dents of your bones, and molding with your skin as you showed them the same mercy that they showed your parents.

Waiting until the boat was tied to the docks, and all crew members had left - another insurance policy for your identity - you alighted from the boat. Running the pad of your finger along your right wrist you stopped, feeling a gap in the silver chain that enclosed the joint. The last gap of the last bracelet - on it would go a small replica of the flag of Burma. With it, all the spaces were filled.

As it reflected the yellow light of the streetlamp, each charm shimmered with beauty. Looking at each on in turn you remembered. You saw the tears in the eyes of the woman as she choked on the same poison she had used on her sister. You heard the screams of the rich man who had abused his family as karma came back for him tenfold. You smelled the pungent stench of sex as the rapist lived through the pain he had given little girls. You tasted the salt in the air as an avid sailor met his end at the hands of sharks, forever a corrupt official. Under the lamplight, you reminisced. With the completion of another set came the inevitable question.

What now?

If it was in your hands, you would be headed to Seoul on the next flight out, far too ready to leave this life behind, but unwilling to do so until your goal was fulfilled. Sadly, it wasn’t up to you.

It was in the hands of your boss, your self-appointed instructor and ringleader. It was he who had found you in the park living off of stolen pastries and money. It was he who had developed your natural affinity for crime and theft and who controlled who you would find at the end of your gun on any given day.

A cool breeze blew in from over the ocean, sending chills down your spine like someone was playing a sonata on your nerve strings. Far too ready to leave the country, you move out from under the lamplight, letting the black of your jacket hide you from the ignorant world around you.

Within the surrounding houses there were people, innocent people, unaware of what goes on beyond their sphere of influence, unaware that you had them all in yours. It was a macabre thing to be thinking about, but even the most painful truths cannot be denied. There was nothing stopping you from scaling into their bedroom like a phantom, a conjuring of their worst dreams. Just as there was nothing stopping you from following the body into the ocean’s cold embrace. With nothing holding you back, you wondered why you never took the plunge before.

Walking for the better part of the hour brought you to the last place any respectable wanted to be seen. Having long since been abandoned by the previous owners, the building seemed ready to collapse at any moment. Deep cracks in the cement foundation would scare even the most confident from stepping inside.

Still, you ignored all that and strolled in, much more concerned with getting into the comfort of your bed. Crawling through the small window - the door had been blocked by a pile of rubble -, the sight of your things brought some relief to you. Nothing had been disturbed; everything you were was still a secret to the rest of the world.

Up the steps, ignoring the soft dust that flowed up around your boots, you made a beeline for your bed. Barely, just barely, noticing the dark-haired man who was making himself quite at home on the tattered grey couch.

Sending a small nod his way, you took off the face mask and prosthetics that helped protect your identity. It was an extra lesson that you had taught yourself and perfected with time. Within 15 minutes, it was possible for you to look like a completely different person with a fabricated personality

The greatest of your tricks were the ones when you introduced targets to your masks independently of each other and played them for the better part of the month. They would treat each differently, a good tell as to a target’s preferences. Then the prank would collapse because as much as you loved the amusement, there was the proverbial counting down until it came time for you to finish the job.

After cleaning your face of the prosthetic glue, you walked towards your teacher, delicately wiping down you face and neck of any stray water droplets. He remained impassive throughout the entire process, having grown used to your one-sided mindset. Letting your legs collapse, you maneuvered your body into a half-sitting and half-lounging position on the couch. Grunting, you told him to speak, feeling you brain already beginning to shut down from exhaustion. The work and the walk home had tired you out, especially considering it was in the early hours of the morning.

“Done?” It was a simple question, but it carried heavy weight behind it. ‘Done’ was not just the referring to the firing gun, it included everything from prep to disposal and aftercare for your supplies, all of which you had painstakingly accomplished before you set out to the docks with the black garbage bag, weighed down with both a human body and stones.

“What does it look like?” Your temper was running short at 2 in the morning and there was no force strong enough that could make you behave when you were this sleep deprived.

“Hmm.” See, the thing about your boss was that holding a conversation with him was mostly about reading between the lines. He was never blunt with his words, instead foregoing lengthy exposition for psychic communication - messages delivered between tone and tongue.

Unclasping the hook, you tossed the silver bracelet towards him as proof. “How many more do I have to do before I’m ready?” He had said nearly 6 month ago when you got this chain that this would be the last one, but there was no knowing if he was telling the truth. After all, you were close to beheading him if he had told you something you didn’t want to hear.

Your master may have once been young and able, but time had taken its payment from his life as it would do to many others; he was now well into the older years and lacked his former ability. There was no doubting that fact that if the both of you went head to head, that you would win, yet you never did try to challenge him. Mostly out of respect, but also out of the knowledge that losing him would be like losing your parents again.

“If I said you’re not ready, what would you do?”

You glared at him. You were tired of hearing those words. It seemed that throughout your life you were never ready. You weren't ready when those men came and took away your family. You weren’t ready when you found yourself in the cold, only getting by with scraps and pity for random passersby. You were never ready it would seem.

But at this point you were too tired to argue, and much too accepting of the supernatural ability your teacher had for telling the future; if he said you weren’t ready then you weren’t. Even then, there was something about the question that seemed more examinatory than before. Perhaps it was the level-headed stare he pinned you with, eyebrow bent with curiosity at your answer that clued you in to his intentions.

“I would accept the next assignment.”

“Hmm.” You swore you saw through his eyes and witnessed the cogs turning in his brain. “And if I said that you were ready?”

“I would start preparing. There is a lot to be trained for and many details to sift through.”

“Hmm.” That ‘hmm’ was the most infuriating thing of all.

“Well,” I asked.

“You’re ready.”

The following morning went by in a blur of motion. You were still tired from the lack of sleep you had suffered, but you didn’t need to really pay attention to this part anymore. The packing sequence so deeply engraved in your nerves that you never paused to doubt yourself when you stepped out the door 2 hours later.

In way, it was a morbid testament to how much this life has become part of who you are. It was difficult to imagine what your life would have been like had BigHit not betrayed your father’s trust that night. If they had just stopped being impulsive and took the time to think; say what you want about organized crime, it was built on the laws of the jungle and a seed of doubt grows and festers. Your father never stood a chance; he was dead the moment the man from his team decided to earn a little extra on the side.

You know this now. You know a lot of things now that you didn’t before.

And what you did know came from the one man who rarely spoke. After your master had approved the target at BigHit, he disappeared with the morning fog; never really knowing where he had been or where he went to with the sun peeking over the horizon. Still, you deduced that he must still be nearby, having discovered the manila packet filled with your travel details. First and foremost, was the passport declaring you to be of Korean nationality. It was easy enough to play off if you claimed you were born in said country. It also had inside the telltale colors of a Burmese visa. Running a finger over the perforated stamp, you wondered at the craftsmanship.

Forgery was a skill that you defined in very broad terms. It was an art form at its core; the most perverse kind, but still qualified enough to fit under the same category as the greats. The ability to mimic someone else, especially with the professed claim of the uniqueness of each person is a great feat; even if that ability was used for less than ideal means.

Your cover was simple enough. According to the information, you were a freelance photographer returning from an assignment in Burma. There were some pages depicting your ‘travel itinerary’, conveniently including the same port that last night’s ship had departed from. It also included some printed photographs of historic sites and monuments that you had supposedly visited and photographed.

After the passports and identification details, he had clipped together your golden key; plane tickets. They were for a flight at noon out of the nearest airport and one-way to Seoul. Averting your eyes from the rest of the content, you noted the time on the wall. Thankfully he had allowed you a little grace period before you had to leave for the airport.

Then finally at the end, were the documents that you were most interested in. Printed on crisp white paper were the profiles of the top team in BigHit. BTS was a paradox in many ways. Many people knew them, yet at the same time they were clueless. They seemed to be a small group but did the work of dozens. They were young but played games with the mind of a seasoned professional. They were like you.

The profiles were limited in how much they could provide in terms of personal biographies and most of what was contained in the test was collected from local sources and eyewitnesses that saw the youth before they were dragged behind closed doors to be trained by their fathers. The strength of this group lay in hereditary lineage. For multiple generations, the task had passed from father to son. This ensured that secrets of the trade remained just that - secrets.

You were sorely tempted to forget the flight and experimentally began thumbing the files, relishing the feeling of the way your revenge seemed closer than ever. But you needed to get to the airport and make your way through security. Thankfully most of your stuff would be checked in, and your backpack only contained the few necessities you carried from mission to mission. Steeling yourself for the weeks to come, you let out a silent wish to the heavens. You would see this through to the end; whether it ended with your corpse or theirs.

Casting a last glance around the room, you closed the door on the remaining supplies in the room. There was nothing much left, mostly wrappings from packagings but the biggest blow to your heart was the makeup you had to leave on the counters. The master always had professionals come and clean after you left. They were in charge of removing all your DNA from the place, this also included the makeup that you used for that mission.

Thankfully, he always arranged for new materials to be on site in the next place that you lived, but it pained you to have to recreate you three most iconic personalities from scratch each time.

Since dabbling in FX makeup for missions, you had probably portrayed no less than 50 personas, but there were a select three that you found yourself coming back to. The beauty was that they were so different, yet so generic that they became obsolete after a while in the memories of anyone who had come into contact with them.

The first, and your personal favorite, was Eli. He was a roughed up street rat with a penchant for making trouble and the aptitude to flirt with anyone he met, be it a man or a woman. He always got along well with the older women with his youthful, boyish charm. There was an art to his Casanova speech and his laid-back demeanor that seemed to draw eyes away from wallets and purses.

The second was an older woman of around the age of 28. Levi was a successful business woman with the kind of gait that made it seem as it she was on a mission. With her tight mini-skirts and heal the length of a dagger, everyone noticed when she walked in and when she walked out. Never a hair out of place, she was the weapon against older men or young aspiring businessmen attracted to a powerful woman. It also helped that she walked in and when she walked out. It also helped that she knew exactly how to move to gain an advantage.

The last, and simplest of them all, was a timid kitten. Adding a little fat to all areas of your body, you transformed into a girl who jumped at the sound of a book hitting the floor. Never looking men in the eye, Eve shuffled forward with the kind of steps that made you think she was 5 seconds from bolting in the other direction. She was the easiest to play - after all, she rarely spoke and was mostly there as the kind of character that would pass by unnoticed in a crowd.

With these three personas, as well as your own, you were set to take on whatever, or whoever came in your way. The decision of who to use at BigHit first was still up in the air, but you were pretty sure the decision would end up being Eli. Levi would get you too much unwanted attention and Eva just didn't match the image that BigHit wanted. Further still, Eli would be able to run through the underground circles with relative ease considering his aesthetic. Even without the arguments, you would still have chosen Eli. He was the favorite after all.

Continuing to make your way towards your gate, you only paused for a moment to buy a simple meal to tide you over until you landed in Korea. It was already too late in the day for breakfast, so you settled on some noodles at a corner shop in the airport. The stall was small and well hidden from prying eyes in the far corner of the terminal. Casting a small glance around, it also seemed to be in the blind spot of the small cameras dotting the ceiling of the building. Still, you had learned to never risk anything.

Thus you sat for the next half hour, slowly making your way through a bowl of noodle soup, payed for in cash, with your hood pulled as low as it could go. All in all, it wasn’t the best you’d ever had – Levi had been treated to many expensive restaurants – but it was enough for what was required of it. Resting your body at the table, your eyes couldn’t keep themselves from wandering to the other people in the airport. Each with the different façade. There were serious businessmen on phones, arguing about something or another as they raced towards sole destination – as there were in any airport. Yet, conversely there were also families on vacations, children leashed in one hand and bags held in the other, getting side-traced by the smallest trinket in the shops lining the walkways.

From between the murmurs around you, you could almost see a little girl running through legs towards the candy store. The naivety in her eyes shining bright as she continued on ceaselessly chattering about something in the way that only other children were able to understand. It was hurried and pitched, the prospect of a sweet more exciting than grammar. Following behind her came a man and woman, the women had your face while the man shared your eye and hair color. Hand linked, they laughed together at the little girl in the cotton dress, and you know that they would give into their daughter like they always did.

Yet before you could continue to watch them, they disappeared behind another stranger. Pushing the empty plate away, you held your head in your hands. The cool metal of the bracelet let refreshing wherever it contacted your warm skin. The need to catch up on sleep was real – the 5 hours you got after your master left not really working to fill the deficit your mission had caused – it was moment like this when you hated him for drilling a 7 am wake-up call into your circadian rhythm.

With a sharp ding, the screen announced that your flight had started boarding. Deciding that there was no putting it off, you made your way towards the glowing sign of your gate and followed the crowd of people until you made it to your seat. As always, it was an economy, nothing surprising about that.

Since entering the vicinity, you had mostly kept to yourself, which people tended to notice. You cut an imposing figure among the rest of the people scaring away those that might have initiated a conversation with you. Some took small glances at your figure, but non screamed that they were coming for your life, so you tended towards ignoring them. Even your row mates decided to keep to themselves, immediately losing themselves in the inflight entertainment that the airline provided. The only downside to your seat was that it would be even more difficult to read the files that your master had presented you with. Wandering eyes were common enough on airplanes and you were always in fear that it would be the wrong person catching a word or two of what you were reading.

Sinking back into the cushioned seats, you debated whether taking a short nap would prove beneficial in comparison to reading the profiles. In the end, your training kicked in and procrastination became a foreign word. Submitting to your conscience, you ordered a cup of black coffee and pulled out the files.

There really wasn’t anything new that you hadn’t already discovered in your independent investigation of the bangtan members. Since the moment that you could, you had been keeping tabs on the boys. After all, killing them would be the only way to take revenge. The BTS lineage would end with them, just as yours would end with you. The only thing of interest to you were their positions and newfound specialties. Eli was a very moldable character. There of course was a base aloofness that manages to charm even the most hardheaded folk, but specifics were the variables that you played with. In order to take down Bangtan, you would have to create the perfect character.

Mostly, he would remain the same as always, pickpocketing anything worth filching and maintaining that cherubic smile that one couldn’t tell if he really was absent-minded or he truly was too adept at acting. Skimming the profiles of the younger members, you noticed that one of them had a similar talent. Kim Taehyung, you had heard of him. He was one of the more public members and from what you had heard of him, he was very good with his hands. That’s not a problem. Eli would just have to be better than he was. It would be worth it to test Eli out on the streets for a couple days before starting the mission. The other holes would be carved out after an initial interaction; there should always be some room left for mistakes.

Last known sightings included a mall. That seemed odd, but then again, you supposed that even mafia needed new wardrobes occasionally. You wondered if your luck would be good enough to collide with them at the mall, but that would be secondary. First, you had to establish Eli in the underground society.

There were two way to go about it. The first option was just to commit one big heist and make a scene. Or you could just rise slowly, committing small pickpocketing jobs and become famous from the sheer number that you were able to accomplish.

Details would be hashed out later, but you were only two hours into the flight and the caffeine was wearing off. Deciding that your mental health mattered more now, you packed up the files and locked your backpack. Pulling out the provided blankets, you curled up to get some well-deserved shut eye.

Your dreams were mostly empty promises. Nothing but the vast darkness stretching before you, once filled with fantastical ideas but now painted in muted colors like even you subconscious was restricting you from true happiness. You knew what that happiness was; the end of the Bangtan lineage. Yet, it still sat poorly in your stomach. With soft mumbles, you fell deeper into the void, unable to fully comprehend exactly where you were going.

A couple hours of blissful sleep passed before the flight attendant with her manicured nails gently woke you up in order to inform you of your arrival in Seoul. In accordance with their regulation, you put away the provided sleeping materials and put your seat back into that position that was somehow perfect yet irritating for your spine.

Popping the piece of gum in your mouth, you closed your eyes in an attempt to withstand the pressure change as the airplane landed. You may be a trained operative, but your body never really cooperated with planes. Personally, you preferred the steady oscillation of a train or car, both of which were equally dangerous considering your tendency to fall asleep in them. Still, personal partially aside, planes were faster so the only thing you could do was grit your teeth and live through it. You chanted your mantra in your head, it was a constant reaffirmation of your goal and served to calm down with the familiar weight of the words in your mind.

1. The doorknob was scratched.

2. There was dust on the surface.

3. There was coffee on the table.

4. The money was in plain sight.

5. They came in the night.

6. There was a girl in the closet.

7. She survived.

8. They didn’t.

By the time you finished, the plane had touched down as was slowly making its way to a gate and you were a step closer to your final goal.

The feeling of being in Seoul was electric. The very air seemed to caress your hair, teasing and taunting you to speed up the timeline of your plan. It was a sore temptation to just throw your carefully constructed plan to the wind and waltz through the front door with machine guns and just extinguish the magazines, but that would be letting them off too easy. They deserved nothing less than the ultimate suffering, watching on as you pulled apart BigHit from under them, bit by bit, limb from limb.

Waving over a taxi, you climbed into the back and rattled off the address of the apartment that your master had bought for you. It was nothing crazy expensive, simplistic enough for a person receiving the pay that a college student would have. Small and compact with a single bedroom sectioned off from the main space, it rent was pretty low and it suited your need. Basic furnishings were missing, but that was expected for a person who had just moved into the area.

Deciding that it would be smarter to explore the area, you threw on more casual clothes after washing the stink of the airport off your body. Making your way into the sunlight you took a moment to absorb the feel of warmth the sun on your skin. This was your favorite moment - the post-mission bliss where the stress of the past was only a distant memory, at least for a while. Shoving your hands into your pockets you randomly choose a direction and began walking. Neither path seemed to hold anything special, so it really didn’t matter.

Your stroll was relaxing to say the least, the only tangent being when you stopped in a cafe to grab a snack and a cooling drink. Juice in hand, you continued to walk. The sky was just starting to show hints of the approaching night when you found yourself staring at the catalyst of your mission, Coex Mall. The building itself far surpassed any malls you had visited before and it seemed as if nothing was lacking as you entered and walk past clothing and cigarette stores.

As you walked, you wondered what BTS would come here for. They were known for being a secretive group so why they ever would step in such a crowded place in the middle of broad daylight was a mystery to all. They were a dangerous group, so it could not have been anything good, yet that still didn’t seem to stop stories circulating among women about their so-called ‘talents’.

Well, your feet had brought you here, so might as well get a headstart on making a mental layout of the mall. Sure, online maps worked to a degree, but there was no better cartographer than the one who walked every inch of the territory. Besides, it would also give you a chance to look at furniture shops. Your apartment was barren of even a mattress.

Stopping every so often, you finally made you way to the area of the store reserved for those lucky bastards who had more money than they knew what to do with. Many name brands showcased their wares proudly in diamond-proofed glass cases and behind burly security guards who glared openly at shoppers who looked as if they belonged anywhere but here.

You were one of the unfortunate victims with worn blue jeans and a comfortable sweater. Nothing about you screamed rich, but that didn’t matter to you. You knew what your bank account held, stocked with payments from jobs taken over the span of 4 years. Passing the first couple was easy, but the more guards that watched you with wary eyes, to more annoyed you became, but those thoughts all disappeared when you heard the whispers. They were hushed at first, singular words slipping past lips to make their way into your ears.

They were here.

No wait, not all of them. Only two.

But that was enough for you. Yes, you had previously discarded the thought of speeding up your plans, but since you were already scoping out the mall, why not scope out the targets while you were at it. Besides, you were never going to meet them with this face after today. The only person they would see would be the devilish smile of Eli, corners turned upwards with the knowledge that he knew more than anyone else in that room.

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yminie · 6 years

Text

bts | the spotter | park jimin

I FUCKING LOVE THIS LOOK ON HIM IM SCREAMINF

characters: Jimin, OC, mentions of Yoongi and Taehyung. genre/warnings: mentions of weaponry, oc is up close a personal with a gun, mentions of killing(mild), gang au, mafia au, one shot only. words: 1976 summary: as a young detective, you’re committed to tracking and investigating one of the most lethal gangs in the country, but little do you know they have their most trained eyes on you.

a/n: this is a one shot, using Jimin as his character from this masterpost here. stay tuned for the next instalment tomorrow night(AEST)!

You’re staring at the door to the private club hard enough for your eyes to sting and water, but you refuse to look away, determined to catch any and all moments possible, because you never know when you’re gonna find the right clue to solve the case.

Sitting in your undercover car, you squirm in the hard leather seat, your backside having gone numb over time and the uncomfortable itch starting to set in through the denim of your jeans. Of course your preference for this evening would have been to stay home, break out some pizza and a nice bottle of wine, but instead you were posted and alert, the last dregs of coffee from your thermal disappearing on your tongue as you lifted the binoculars to your eyes once more. The magnification made it so much easier to differentiate BTS members from bystanders, but that really only worked when they were, you know, where you could see them.

BTS was short for Bangtan Songyeondan, one of the leading top gangs in this sector, and you’d been on their case for four months. Dead end after dead end had left you desperate in this investigation, because you knew they were guilty, and you knew they were the ones behind the string of bombings on the north side of the city, not to mention the huge drug ring they were feeding into, but you just couldn’t get the proof to stick.

So here you were, just past 2am on a work night and your stomach grumbling in protest of your lack of eating, but you could feel it, that if you left for even thirty seconds to grab something to eat, they’d be gone, and you couldn’t afford to risk it when you were this close.

The boss wasn’t here, you knew that much; if he was you knew the entourage would be much larger, but you had good reason to believe that the next best thing was – second in commands come in just as handy.

A slight movement in the doorway had you clicking record on the digital recorder sitting in your lap, reading for you to list off any details worth remembering for later, and you jerked the binoculars back to your face, eyes unblinking.

A black cap came into view, the wearers face turned away from you to begin with, and you could faintly see white blonde strands peeking from beneath the rim, but when he turned his head, you instantly identified him.

“Time is approximately 2:36am Tuesday the 16th, Min Yoongi alone spotted on the outside of the establishment, please note for description a change in hair colour, hard to differentiate from colored light interference, but believed to be a light bleached blonde.” You pause in your rattling, arching your neck as you followed his walking frame with the binoculars firmly against your face. “He has left the establishment, walking towards a large black car, interference from other cars and objects, unable to clearly see model or number plate, please note to check surveillance in this area for cross checking.”

You continued to list as you watched him make his departure, the large black vehicle disappearing down the end of the street. He’d gone in with two more members but left alone, and that had you curious.

Having just clicked the recorder off, lowering the binoculars as you blinked your stinging eyes, you jumped slightly in shock at a light tapping noise at the rear of your car. Eyes flicking between the clubs’ doorway down the street and the rear vision mirror, you squinted in an attempt to catch sight of anything that could have caused the noise, but you found none and quickly eased back into the seat, eyes aching once more as you focused your stare.

“Oh!” You gasped this time, flinching as the sound is repeated on the rear window, slightly harder, and you’re instantly on edge, momentarily abandoning your observation for the sake of your own safety, and you use every means of view to check your surroundings, mirrors, windows and nearby reflective surfaces the like. But still you find nothing, the night stagnant around you in the depths of the morning, and you take a deep breath to calm your slightly racing heart.

Not a minute later, and you’ve reached your limit, the tap on your back window not entirely unexpected but enough to have you ready to engage. Whatever it was, it was distracting you, and you needed to sort it out immediately to get back on track.

Your radio is clipped to the back of your jeans, badge shoved into your left back pocket and handgun tucked close to your thigh as you quietly and quickly climb from your vehicle, glancing back towards the club and ensuring you’re not exposing yourself in the process.

You carefully but speedily study your surroundings once more, focusing your gaze the hardest in the dark shadowy areas, but you come up short, back straightening and body relaxing as you look around once more, preparing to climb back into your car and resume, and then you hear it once last time, the ting of metal on metal as it lands just short of the window and bounces off the boot of your car to tinkle against the ground, and you rush forward to see what it was.

You register the colour first, a coppery gold that stands out against the dark black asphalt, and when you finally realize the shape, your hand is flying back to grab your radio. But your wrist is gripped and pinned far faster than you can tug it away, and you’re driven forward roughly until your cheek meets the glass window inside a doorway alcove and your arm is pinned back behind you.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” An airy voice warns you, fingers tightening around your wrist before abruptly releasing you, and you roll your shoulder to ease the sharp pain he’d left behind. Your attacker was still pressed close, the heat of his chest radiating warming your back, but he takes a small step back wards, quickly letting you realize your gun was no longer in your hand, and you turn slowly with your hands up.

The young man in front of you was, while his face was swallowed in shadows, effortlessly handsome and you recognized the dark head of hair in seconds. “Park Jimin.” one of his brows rose, the hand not holding your gun lifting to brush the dark strands back from his eyes. He studies you for a moment before stepping closer once more, forcing you to press yourself back against the cold glass’ bite in order to keep your skin from touching yours.

“You know my name?” he smirks, eyes curving like crescent moons, and the relaxed vibe his casual lean against the building gives you has you on edge. This man has delivered more headshots than some of the best soldiers in your country’s army, and you know he’s not to be taken lightly, no matter how sweet his smile appears.

“I know a bit more than just your name.” His smirk spreads into a fully fledged grin and he chuckles, head tilting back as his arms come uncrossed, and that’s when you spot the glint off metal on his back, the distinctive barrel of a Barrett M82 Sniper Rifle shining in the dim light from the street. You’re almost what you would call impressed by the relaxed way he stands so calmly out in the open with the huge gun strapped to his back, but then again, it takes just as much balls to so freely wear the logo patch on his leather jacket.

“Hmm, interesting…” His head tilts curiously to the side, and he reaches toward you, the hand holding your gun moving forward confidently and pushing against the side of your hip and you flinch away from him, eyes wide with shock, but he just laughs again as he shuffles closer, free hand sliding behind you and over the curve of your ass.

“Excuse me!” Your hands press against his chest to push him back before you can filter through your brain whether or it’s a good idea, but he ignores you with a smile, your badge wallet now grasped between his fingers. Flicking it open he smile wistfully at the shiny badge inside, eyes dropping to read over your ID card.

“_____ _____…. A detective? Impressive.” The wallet falls closed in his hand and he surprisingly hands it back to you, dropping it in your open palm when you manage to hesitantly hold it out. “You seem a bit young to be a detective, _____.”

Gritting your teeth you push the leather square back into your pocket, shoulder stiff as you maintain eye contact with the man. “Can’t say it’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

“I can imagine.” He continues to grin at you. “Nice to finally know your name though.” Your eyes bulge slightly as you stare at him, mouth opening and closing as you search for a reply.

“What do you mean by ‘finally’?” You blurt, blood running cold, and he leans closer to you with another chuckle.

“You can’t really follow us around for four months and think we aren’t going to catch on? Can you?” He questions you with another raised brow. “We knew you were here before we even pulled up, sweetheart. I think you’re in a little over your head here.”

“Is that so?” Your blood is boiling beneath your skin for multiple reasons. You’d like to say that adrenaline and the gun pressing against your thigh were the only things to blame, but you couldn’t ignore the way his proximity was making your face flush.

“Drop the case.” He warns with a sweet smile, hand coming up to pinch your chin between thumb and forefinger. “Drop it, and I wont have to come after you.” You lift your chin from his grip, chin tilting almost arrogantly and it pulls a breathy laugh from his throat, hand dropping back to his side.

“I’ll drop the case when you and your team are locked up for the destruction you’ve caused.” You bite back, the heat in your tone making his jaw clench.

“Sweetheart, when my boss makes the decision that your time is up, your time will be up.” The gun is lifted from where it rests pressed against your leg and he uses it to push back a lock of your hair, holding it against your temple for a mere second. “And I don’t miss.” The metal clinks slightly when he taps it against your skull, and for a short tense moment, part of you thinks he’s just going to shoot you now.

Instead, he leans in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear and making your eyes squeeze closed. “Be a good girl and do as you’re told. Don’t get yourself killed just for your pride.”

And then he’s gone, your eyes opening to watch him as he strolls towards your car, and you almost jump again when you notice the second man now in your vicinity, leant against your car as he stares up at you. “Ready to go?”

“Yep.” Jimin nods before reaching over to put your handgun down on the boot of your car, and both of the men cross towards the motorbike you now notice parked two spaces down, climbing on and revving the engine to life.

You’re still stood frozen as the two of them disappear down the street, and you finally sink to the ground once you can no longer see them, hands shaking and breathing labored as you reached down to click on the recorder, stating the details of his number plate.

You were going to catch them, and you were going to catch Park Jimin first.

#mafia jimin can pin me to the wall with a gun all he likes #amirtie lads #jimin #bts #jimin scenarios #jimin one shot #jimin imagine #bts mafia au #bts gang au #bts scenario #bts one shot #bts imagine

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