Fanfiction Drunk Drabbles (1 Viewer)


perpetually sleeping through important events
3 January 2020
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lesbian cottagecore mushroom house
So me and this group of people have this thing once a month where we get drunk and then write drabbles, here's the first two i did

Red Lotus, Red Herring - BamBam

The velvet is heavy on your shoulders and the cocktail light in your hands. The glass is full. You’ve not taken a sip. After all, you don’t drink on the job.

It’s hot in the room, you’re pulling at your collar. Anxiety is spiking as you make your way past the crowds. Your target is moving just as fast; maybe he knows.

That can’t be right. You’ve made sure every single possible lead about you had been nipped in the bud. But you prepare for the worst. You always must expect the worst. And if the best happens, you take it when it comes.

Currently, there’s this one man who’s setting you on edge. He’s been standing in the corner all evening. It may not seem bad to someone else, but this is a party. A party where talking to others is in your best interest. This man, though, is following your every move. Masquerade party or not, you know his eyes are following you.

It’s unnerving, but you have a mission to fulfil. Once you finish this, you’ll be set for life. Your employer paid good money for this. And if you don’t complete this well, your life will cost just as much.

You can see your target at the banquet table. Completely unaware of what will happen, the man is talking to a young woman who seems to only be interested in the fact that he had an extremely expensive watch on. You and me both, girl, you think to yourself, mildly amused. Gotta get dough somehow, and maybe you’re not quite cut out for that assassin life.

However, as much as you find this entertaining, you have things to do and places to be. Walking up, you brush your fingertips along your target’s sleeve, throwing him a slightly sultry gaze. “You don’t mind if I borrow Mr Lee for a little, do you?” you ask apologetically to the young lady, but your tone leaves no room for argument.

She leaves after only a moment’s hesitation, and the aforementioned Mr Lee is led away like a lamb to the slaughter. He didn’t know what was coming to him; you had led him into the hallway where all the young businessmen romance their young lovers. So when you pushed him against the wall, he was not expecting the cold metal pressing to his stomach. “Wha- who are you?” he chokes out, and the glint of your teeth is all that you respond with.

However, before you can pull the trigger, a knife flew past your face. Before you could fire the gun, Mr Lee books it back into the party. Frustrated, you swing your gun to aim at the young man who had ruined your chances of living in comfort for the next however many years.

You don’t pull the trigger, however, curious as to his motives. The stranger who threw the knife comes forward, backing you into the men’s bathroom. He’s tall, skinny, and someone who doesn’t look like a threat. But in your line of work, everyone is a threat.

“Who the hell are you?” you hiss at him in the largest bathroom stall.

“Ah ah ah, don’t pretend you don’t know the rules of the game,” the man tuts. “Never tell your name to strangers, love. You surely remember me, BamBam.”

“All right, BamBam,” the confident tone of your voice hides your apprehension at him. A well-known assassin and your competitor. You’ve never seen him in the face, and now you’re not sure you ever want to. “What is your intent?”

BamBam laughs. “Don’t be stupid. Isn’t it clear?” You sneer.

“Well, I appreciate the thought, but next time don’t get in the way of my kills. Do you know the bounty on my head now that you’d done it?” BamBam just laughs, and your eye twitches.

“Don’t worry. It’s not my fault that I want money.” Well, you can’t fault him for that. But you can fault him from taking your biggest job away from you. You know for a fact that the contract he gives to possible employers protects him from their wrath. And he’s good enough that it doesn’t affect the number of customers he gets.

“Why are you protecting Mr Lee anyway? He isn’t the type you’d agree to save.” BamBam laughs, the sound unnerving you.

“(Y/N), I thought you were smarter than this,” he tuts. “I’m not trying to save Mr Lee, though that did earn me a little extra coin.”

He chuckles sinisterly, pulling off his mask. Behind it is a young man with big, innocent eyes and full lips stretched into a smile. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he was nothing but a young, overconfident man. “I’m here to kill you.”

Death in the Afternoon - Youngjae

The TV was background noise as you lounged on the couch. You weren’t really paying attention, only catching snippets of a live broadcast of some ball of some such going on. It had been on since a few hours ago, and you were invested in the first thirty minutes, but it’s late, and you’re bored. You had been waiting for your husband, Youngjae, to come home since ages ago, but he didn’t.

While waiting, you ended up falling asleep on the couch. Waking up, you had a bit of a headache. You suppose it was your own fault for having one or two cocktails while you waited, but you shook it off, standing up to get some water. When you glanced at the coat rack, you noticed Youngjae was still out.

Frowning, you shot him a text. It’s not like him to be out so late. You didn’t want to police him, per se, but you would like to know what has gotten him out this late. Hopefully, he’d reply soon. You pursed your lips, heading upstairs to get some aspirin for your headache.

You didn’t normally drink, but you wanted the thrill of the ball Youngjae went to. You weren’t able to go, unable to find a last-minute babysitter for your son, Seungmin, so you had your own little way to celebrate. God, when he woke up, you didn’t want to deal with a headache. You loved your son with all your heart, but he could be such a brat.

The doorbell rang. Youngjae is back. You don’t recall him forgetting his keys, but he had been getting more and more forgetful these days. You make your way back downstairs, opening the door and squinting through the bright sunlight at the man who was not your husband.

“Hello, ma’am,” the policeman’s hat is tucked under his arm and his hair is messy like he ran his hand through it a few times before ringing the doorbell. “I’m Officer Yugyeom. We have some news about your husband, Choi Youngjae. Would you like to come with us to the hospital?”

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