Hi! Can you pls write about when Jake was in jail with a reader who went to visit him all the time and was always by his side through those tough days?
took a minute for the ideas to marinate but i actually had an easier-ish time writing this even though i usually don't write stuff this long🤯 thank you for the sweet idea, anon, and for waiting a bit! <3
summary: jake's favorite person decides to wait for him.
--
"Inmate 0706. You have a visitor."
Jake walks into the tiny visitation room and plops himself down onto the chair, thinking to himself that it's probably Jerry again. His breath hitches when he sees that it's you entering and sitting down in front of him before the glass partition.
"What are you doing here? You shouldn't be in a place like this," he says with a half-hearted smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes.
You glare at him before springing up from your chair, brimming with fury. "Is that all you have to say to me? How could you hide a whole illegal gambling business from me?"
You had been holding down the fort at one of the shops on Big Deal street as usual, unsuspecting while exchanging quick goodbye kisses with Jake before he would leave the street to take care of some unknown business the past few months. To think he had been hiding something this wrong and to this degree from you, when you thought he believed the two of you were equals.
He closes his eyes, "it was for your own good-"
"Don't. Save it with the whole protecting me bullshit."
He opens his mouth to defend himself, but stops. Maybe you're right. Maybe he should just sit here and instead savor what could be the last time you argue with him. He waits for the other shoe to drop. This is it, he thinks. Inevitable, even. He did choose this life after all.
You sit back down after having gotten that bout of rage out of your system. "I just...wish you would let me in sometimes," you admit quietly.
Jake finally looks up at you, caught off guard by the shift in your tone and words. "Y/N..."
"Ugh, whatever. I'm leaving." You grab your jacket and stand. You pause at the door without turning your head. "See you next week," you mutter.
Before he can utter another word, he watches the door swing shut behind you.
-
"Visitor for Inmate 0706."
Jake begins making his way to the visitation room.
Jason and Brad had exchanged glances with each other throughout the week as Jake looked even more lost in thought than usual in the yard, the cafeteria, his cell - thinking about you. He heard you wrong last time, right? Were you actually coming back to visit him not just once but a second time? Yeah, no, it's gotta be Jerry this time.
To his disbelief, you're already sitting there behind the glass partition with your arms crossed.
You open this visit with another glare, albeit a less icy one. Despite still being here, you want to keep holding onto your rightful grudge and hurt so badly. But your eyes finally take in his short hair, the new scar on his mouth, the way the weight he's been carrying manifests in his eyes and body. And you find yourself unable to prevent the soft concern filling your eyes.
You let out a deep sigh.
"How's the food in there?" you finally break the silence.
Jake can't help but crack a smile at your concerned, trivial inquiry.
"It's...edible." The both of you laugh.
...
"Wait, what the hell is prison spicy chicken?"
After last being together in the outside world only a few weeks ago, the two of you begin to slip back into your usual rapport.
-
While the two of you still manage to chat it up and laugh together, there are still visits where you find yourself waiting to leave the room before you finally let your tears fall. Days where the ache of only getting weekly glimpses of him behind a layer of glass gets to you, peeks at the world of turmoil swirling in and around him that you find yourself helpless to truly solve.
The seasons pass, and it's getting these weekly looks of you that mark the passage of time for Jake. He looks forward to seeing what new change he can spot every visit - the haircut you usually get around the summertime, whether you had time to change out of your part-time job uniform before coming to visit.
And the weekly visits go like this. Although being separated from you does give him an extra reason to want to kill Gun - it's during these brief moments in time with you that he's reminded maybe there can be more to his life than revenge. The incessant physical training, the brutal fights every day in the prison all blur together in a black and white cut, but seeing you brings a little bit of color back into his life.
-
You stand outside of the detention center gates with the other heads of Big Deal, all of you anxiously trying to peer through the doors in the distance for any sign of Jake. He finally walks through the gates with Jason and Brad following behind. "Welcome back, Boss," mingled with big smiles and back pats amongst you. Jake finally stops in front of you, almost in a daze. He's seen your face every weekend for the past 11 months, but something about seeing your entire person standing before him feels like a pair of hands shaking him by the shoulders.
"Welcome back, you big idiot." You give him a light punch in the arm.
He pulls you into a warm embrace while cradling the back of your head, "I missed you, too."
"Hey Boss, the rest of Big Deal are looking forward to-" Lineman's cheerful words immediately get cut off by consecutive smacks from Jason, Brad, and Luah alike.
"Read the room," Luah shout-whispers at Lineman while giving him a second smack in the head for good measure.
"We'll see you later at HQ, Boss. Take your time." Jason waves in Jake's direction before scampering down the road with Jerry and the rest of the crew. Jake chuckles and waves back.
You smile and grab Jake's hand, "let's go get you a proper meal."
-
You and Jake sit outside your go-to pojangmacha waiting for your orders. His head is swimming with thoughts of how he could possibly begin to thank you for waiting for him this whole time when he least deserved it, how he can articulate this gratitude and affection that's bigger than anything he can offer you in this moment.
Fresh hot plates of vegetable tempura, fish cake, and kimbap emerge before you. He indulges in the first delicious fried food he's had in months with you. The two of you feed each other skewers of tteokbokki while easing back into the groove of your usual banter sprinkled with laughs in between.
"Oh, and this is for you."
You pull out a paper box from the bakery with a slice of red velvet cake enclosed inside.
"Ta-da! It's not much, but I hope this is a slight upgrade to the cigarette-choco pie birthday cake you had in there," you grin. You scoop out a chunk of cake with the fork and hold it in front of his mouth.
"Hey, I told you you didn't need to get me anything." He's already been madly in love with everything about you, but something about this little gesture feels like it's about to tip something over in his chest.
"Hush and take a bite already!"
Jake complies with a smile. He then moves to close the distance between you two with his hand cupping your cheek, his eyes still fixed on you. He gazes at your face with an overflowing amount of affection and presses his forehead to yours, as if to pause and wonder if he still deserves to lock his lips with yours after all this time.
As if to reply with a resounding 'yes,' you pull his face to yours and kiss him deeply, tasting the sugary sweet mild cocoa flavor still lingering on his lips.
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Alright hear me out.. Jonggun x a big deal member reader.. 🫣 like, both of us hating each other to guts, but somehow an odd feeling causes us to desire to spend time with each other etc while not even knowing the reason, and once gun feels close enough to us to inform us about his Yakuza clan and his whole shiro oni side, it turns out we were actually gun's childhood friend back then 🤭
Anon. You'll be the death of me. Apologies for the delayed response as usual! I started this today with a small idea. Came back to it tonight and 2k words later, it's now nearly 2am. I... I think I really like this. Let's sleep on it anyway. Hope it hits the spot and thanks for requesting!
Gun Park x Big Deal!Reader: Yamazaki Yuzuru
G/N. Enemies to lovers. (...Childhood friends turned enemies to lovers).
Cynics would say you sold your body in a different way, although you hate to think about it like that. You suppose that it may seem so for someone on the outside looking in.
Big Deal is famous for its passion, its romance. You never thought it applied to you. Not like it did to others.
.
.
The first time you meet on Big Deal street, Gun studies you. Gaze hidden under his sunglasses, curiosity piqued as he wonders who you are.
A sea of gangsters but your face sticks out like a sore thumb. Familiar. Like a distant memory just out of reach, like trying to recall a dream.
Notices your scar-littered knuckles faded silver with time. Hardly unusual for gang members yet Gun still peers down at his own hands.
They're similar. Almost matching. A pair.
Ever watchful eyes burn into the side of your head.
When you turn in his direction, you know for certain he is only looking at you.
Age old scars start to itch. Absentmindedly, you scratch at your hands.
.
.
Gun asks for your name during your second meeting.
"Who are you?"
Jake Kim frowns, searches your face for a reason why he would be asking you. Why he would be taking an interest.
You give your boss an imperceptible shrug.
"None of your business," is all you offer. Clipped. Brusque. Not wanting to cause any more trouble for Big Deal by outright ignoring him.
What you mean to spit is fuck you.
What you mean to scream is I want to kill you with my bare hands.
You don't look at him today.
"Oh, this one is feisty," Goo Kim steps forward, duffle bag of cash in hand and eyes roving over you with approval.
Trouble still finds you.
Jaw clenching, hands scrunching into fists; Jake ready to defend his crew-
Gun beats him to the punch.
"Let's go. The money is all there."
His blonde associate throws him an odd look. Nevertheless, they still leave. You're not sure if you've ever seen anything better than their retreating backs.
Big Deal survives for another day.
.
.
Your luck runs out on your third meeting.
Gun finds you when you're miles from Big Deal and alone. When the rain drenches the earth and the air suffocates. When instead of water bringing life, it brings an omen.
This time you have no choice but to look at him, glaring into his pitch-black eyes. Fear eclipsed by loathing as he holds his umbrella over you, downpour providing a shroud and shielding the two of you from the world.
A strange game of silence starts, neither of you wanting to speak first.
Minutes tick by. The feeling of hatred is tiring to keep up. Holding onto the anger at the surface drains you. Infinitesimally your gaze starts to soften until Gun's curiosity is mirrored in yours.
To your surprise, he cracks first.
He tells you he recognises the vitriol in your voice from last time, no matter how much you thought you had successfully veiled it.
(A tiny smirk, almost fond, graces his features as he is reminded of your animosity.)
Offers you a chance, an escape line, a tantalising small glimmer of hope for Big Deal to leave the four crews.
Taking a drag on his cigarette, he proposes, "You can have your freedom if you can kill me."
Oh?
The odds are not in your favour. You agree anyway.
.
.
You manage to land a hit on his left arm, even as he turns and deflects most of the damage with a roll of his shoulder.
Had it been successful, it would have left it limp and hanging. Unfortunately, Gun only seem inconvenienced at best.
Your next attack manages to break the skin on his cheek. You miss your mark, wanting to gouge out his eyes instead.
Still, seeing the trickle of blood pleases you.
Gun Park takes no prisoners. Aims to incapacitate at the best of times, if not to maim or kill.
The thrill and adrenaline surges once he notices the cut. Feels the blood rushing to the surface and it already swelling.
He lunges after you, launching an open hand strike straight for your chest.
Throwing up both arms just in time, you manage to negate most of the intensity of his hit. Even still, you are flung to the other side of the street and hard into the ground.
Death would have been on the cards if not for your quick thinking.
When Gun sees the crimson falling from your lips, you spluttering and winded, choking on your own blood and body barely able to move-
All he can think about is how intriguing it is that you are still breathing. How peculiar that you managed to defend yourself, like you had foreseen his move. How mesmerising that particular shade of red.
Gun doesn't kill you today.
He tells you you have failed and leaves you to wallow in your own humiliation. You watch his figure growing smaller into the distance and find no joy in this retreat.
Blood and sweat mingles with the rain, cold seeps into your bones. When you think all hope is lost-
You catch a glimpse of maroon beneath your nails. Even as your body lies broken and beaten, you think of how you have managed to spill droplets of Gun Park's own blood.
It's a pleasant thought.
.
.
The fourth time he asks again for your name.
You wonder how he manages to find you once more during heavy showers.
As if he is only able to venture out during storms, like a worm awakened with the pitter patter of raindrops and slithering out of wet soil.
Fitting.
Amused both at this and the audacity of his question, you chuckle at his tenacity. The action causes you to wince. Body still recovering, a result of your fight from last time.
Gun takes a step forward and you flinch away immediately. Worsening your injury, grimacing and groaning as black spots appear in your vision.
"Stop," he orders and you are tempted to do it again just to defy him. "I'm not in the habit of repeating myself. I'll ask you for the final time, what is your name?"
In no fit state to fight, loss inevitable even if you were, you finally give it up.
You tell him through gritted teeth and a seed is planted in his mind.
"And you know mine."
"Gun Park."
He loves the fury in your voice. He wants to hear you say it again.
.
.
Gun slams you into a wall during the fifth time. Pins your arms above your head as you thrash against his hold.
Desperately trying to regain your footing, regain your strength as he has once again bested you.
He leans into your ear, voice taunting and infuriating. "Y/N." Relishes the way your name sounds, "You've failed again."
You whip your head around, ready to do something, anything. Bile in your throat and venom on the tip of your tongue-
His face is centimetres away from yours, breath hot and your skin prickles.
Own breath hitching as he drops his eyes to your lips. Desire and hunger plain on his face.
He doesn't lean forward and you wish he did.
He lets you go and you wish he didn't.
You hate yourself for it.
.
.
Sleep becomes difficult. You lie awake at night and think about him. Replay the scene in your head.
Your self hatred builds.
.
.
Thoughts of what-ifs tiptoe through your mind during the day. Conjures up scenarios of what if Gun Park actually did brush his lips against yours.
You hate yourself more than you hate him.
.
.
Like a self fulfilling prophecy, it happens during the sixth meeting.
All fight dissipates from you as your traitorous mind wanders and strays.
Gun Park catches your fist. He doesn't shove you away. Sees your pupils blown huge with lust and slams your body into his instead.
Your lips crash together, all teeth and snarls. It is both everything and nothing like you had imagined.
The umbrella lies forgotten on the ground as he rams you up against a wall in a forgotten alleyway.
Your legs wrap around his hips as he pushes into you.
.
.
Meetings end in a stalemate.
.
.
Meetings end in more sordid alleyways. A quick and dirty sprint to the finish line.
.
.
In backseats, cramped and rushed and hot. Leather sticking to sweat slick skin, windows fogging up with steam.
.
.
In hotel rooms and tangled sheets.
.
.
In walks of shame at 3am.
.
.
In showers, exploring each other's bodies.
.
.
In baths with your back against his chest.
.
.
In his bed and waking up together in the morning.
.
.
You don't act differently when Gun Park and Goo Kim come to collect their dues.
But the bruises left by his fingers under your Big Deal uniform pulses and throbs.
You still hate yourself but you hate Gun less.
Seeing him reminds you of the way he moans your name. The additional scars you've scratched into his back. The way his hips rock against yours.
(When it's just you two, you can't bring yourself to hate him at all.)
You stay still and silent as Goo counts the bills.
Under his sunglasses, Gun always observes you.
.
.
"Where did you get these scars?"
Gun traces over your knuckles. Touch gentle and tentative. A far cry from your first contact.
Truthfully you can hardly even remember. It was another life. In the land of the rising sun, when you saw the world through childhood innocence.
You piece together what you can.
"I used to spar when I was younger. With another boy that was on my street..."
Eyes affecting a far off look, reliving what you can of your memory.
Snapshots of a small stature, below average for his age but lightning fast reflexes and a terrifying strength.
You were never a match for him. Not really. But he still insisted on seeing you everyday.
Training together. Developing a language of your own through punches and kicks.
Above all, you fought. But that small quiet boy, who talked infrequently, whose bite was just as bad as his bark gave you the first taste of something real.
"You lost more than you won." Gun's voice cuts through. You thought they were teasing words but- "Cried when he beat you and he would bribe you to shut up. Spent three summers together getting stronger until he had to leave."
Gun holds his own scarred hand up.
You remember the scar the boy got when you kicked him into the ground, how you bandaged it afterwards. Unravelling as soon as you wrapped it, handiwork sloppy and inexperienced.
The scars when you both would practice your punches, strengthening tendons wherever you could. On whatever surfaces available.
And one scar in particular: when you bit down hard on his hand after a particularly gruelling fight and refused to give him the victory.
How have you missed this? How has the string of fate managed to stretch across land and oceans and borders and years?
The fog lifts and the name slams into your mind.
"Yuzuru."
Gun kisses you, hand cupping the back of your head and other curling around your waist. Whispers your own name against your lips. The one you were born with. The one he used to call you.
A name you haven't heard in years, but he never forgot.
"Say my name again." His voice is rough, choked.
"Yamazaki Yuzuru."
He kisses you more fiercely than ever before.
The first meeting wasn’t on Big Deal street. It wasn't even in South Korea.
.
.
You didn't sell your body.
The Big Deal passion and romance flares within you. It just always belonged to someone else.
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