#out of pure arrogance and selfishness and complete uncaring for anyone outside himself

[cringefaecompilation]

actually, the fandom is right. anyone that works with ludinus da'leth should be gruesomely punished and face consequences for aiding such a loathsome bastard. which is why i think we should shoot essek point blank in the head

[kpopkrappykraftbin]

It Wasn’t the First Time

Chapter 4

Junhui x Reader

Mild Language

Word Count: 1515

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Same old, same old. hopefully it’s not complete crap

    It had been at least an hour since The8 had spoken and you had spent it stiff shouldered, looking out the window at the passing scenery. You had given up on trying to figure out where you were going after passing the city limits. You could have asked the weasel but even he seemed to be in his own head. Quickly glancing his way you saw him the most relaxed he had been all day. He had his head back again, face tilted towards the cab’s beige ceiling. He wasn’t sleeping, unless he slept with his eyes open. A possibility you supposed but not likely. He was eccentric, cliched even, but not that weird. You didn’t think.

    Though with the amount of time he’d been silent, you would have assumed he had drifted off. It was for that reason you left him alone. Despite you not particularly liking him, he’d obviously been through a lot of stress for at least the past couple of days and it seemed like he could use some semblance of peace. You were still pissed at the idea that he was the reason you were also on the run, but then again it’s not like you weren’t at least partially to blame. What did you expect to happen in your line of work? Easy old retirement? No, more likely caught and thrown in jail, or fired and evicted-- if you weren’t caught and killed.

    The third option had always seemed like the least likely in your mind. But now you were living it. You were on the run from someone who wasn’t afraid to shoot a gun through a door at an unknown inhabitant. They sure wouldn’t be afraid to shoot at a small time thief. You might have been stupid for accepting a job from the grease weasel in the beginning, but you were almost sure following him away from the danger was the smart decision this time. Maybe. You were never really sure when it came to any decision involving him. Except the one dictating your general distrust for the man.

    You may have come from a small town but you knew when you were being taken advantage of-- gimmicked. This man, from the beginning, you knew was in it for himself. You were a tad naive in expecting fair play, but you had always been weary of his intentions. Though was there anyone who worked in conjunction with the mafias that had innocent motives? No, and if there was, your employer was not one of them. Selfish: he always had been. So why did he bring you along. Why make the stop at your house?

    You eyed your duffel bag stuffed at the bottom of the cab encroaching on your foot space. Shifting your gaze over slightly you noticed the informants sneaker clad feet. They were white, or had been. They were more grey now than anything. How often had he ran in them? What for? The only shoes you’d ever seen him in were brown loafers. He’d always pretended to be too upscale for anything else.

    You also noticed his lack of any type of luggage. Had he already sent his things to where you were heading now? What, he didn’t want to ruin his nice leather handbag? No, that was taking it a bit far even for his level of arrogance. If he knew he was going to be pursued, he would have skipped town earlier, not sent his bag before him. So he must not have had that much time to plan. Did he actually leave in such a hurry he didn’t pack himself a bag? It should have only taken him a few minutes to pack a few clothes. He would have been hard pressed for time to neglect something so essential. But not so much as to give you a ten minute warning?

    ‘Hell, I’m gonna give myself a headache with all this back and forth. Who knows what’s up the grease weasel’s sleeve?’

    “I can practically hear the gears in your brain grinding, y/n. Take a break. Take a nap. We’ll be there in maybe another two hours or so.”

    Your employer continued to face the ceiling only looking at you out of the corner of his eye. He held a small half smile aimed at you trying to convince you to follow his suggestion.

    “Well since you’ve apparently decided I was important enough to tell to go to sleep, how about being important enough to tell what the Hell is going on?”

    You angled your body towards the left to confront him.

    “Good luck with that.” The8 spoke up from the front seat, “Informant is a bit of a misleading title for him. Pulling any kind of info from him is like pulling teeth.” he gave a huff of a chuckle, “You’re own teeth that is.”

    The aforementioned title holder looked smug at the description, leaning forward to rest his arm on the back of the driver’s seat.

    “I take my job very seriously. Job title: informant; job description; intel gathering--”

    “And being absurdly annoying.” you cheekily interrupted, sitting up a little straighter. The8 gave a small chuckle more to antagonize the subject of your bullying than for humor’s sake itself. Your victim looked absolutely affronted by your mostly serious claim, mouth dropped in an o shape with wide offended eyes. He leaned back heavily, bouncing slightly against the seat, throwing his forearm across his forehead in what could be called the most dramatic act of the century.

    “And this is how I’m treated by my good friends with whom I choose to spend every spare second with? Who I would risk someone else’s life for?”

    You and The8 shared a look in the rearview mirror.

    “At least the last part isn’t wrong perse. Factually I mean. It is however, completely unethical.” The8 teased the man beside you.

    He glared at the back of the headrest, cheeks bubbled in a toddler styled angry pout. You had to laugh. Even if only at the pure ridiculousness of the man’s expression. The small snort you let out turned his playful glare at you.

    “Hey! You can’t laugh at me, I’m still your employer, you can’t do that!” he mock scolded you, finger wagging and all.

     Your continued chuckles eventually subsided to you smiling behind your hand staring at the smiling face of your boss.His smile was so wide it created little crinkles around his eyes. You’d never seen him this thoroughly happy before. The expression was endearing if you were being honest with yourself. But you checked it off as his general good looks and ignored the small flutter of genuine fondness for the man by distracting yourself with the landscape passing by your window.

    Your sudden loss in interest of the conversation took both males by surprise. The8’s more mild and uncaring than the other passenger. The informant’s smile slowly melted as his eyes lost their playful spark. You stayed oblivious in favor to the blur of green that passed so quickly outside. The silence that had been interrupted by the small banter resumed, though this time with less tension. You leaned your head against the rattling window. While it wasn’t the most comfortable place to rest your head, it was the most convenient. You imagined for a split second resting your head against the shoulder of the man beside you.

    “You know, sleeping on your boss’s shoulder is completely unprofessional, y/n. But. I think I can make an exception for you” you looked at him through narrowed eyes scrutinizing his words. The tone sounded familiar. “If you give me a kiss.” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

    Yep. That’s why it sounded so familiar.

    ‘Guess the grease weasel is back.’ you thought rolling your eyes before turning to face your back to him. He chuckled; at himself or you, you weren’t sure.

    You curled yourself into a loose ball as you tried to drift off to sleep for the remainder of the ride. It was just when you had barely dozed off that you felt something soft brush lightly against your face. You opened one eye at the disturbance to see a light brown sweatshirt being held in front of you.

    “If you won’t lean on me, at least use a pillow. I don’t need my thief to have a concussion before I can put her back to work.” You looked slightly over your shoulder to see him in a plain black t shirt with a single brow raised, waiting for you to take the ‘pillow’.

    “I think we need to work on your vocabulary, Weasel, that’s a sweatshirt.” you mumbled out sleepily.

    He deadpanned, “Just take it, you brat.” he said without any malice.

    You hummed an unworded protest to his name-calling as you grabbed the soft material from his hands. As you wadded it up you heard him tsk at your lack of careful handling of his clothing item. It was as you were falling asleep against the worn cotton that you heard him whisper in slight incredulity,

    “Weasel?”