#like hes not loud or overly flashy he's very much in the background but i guess thats why i love him

[todayisafridaynight]

which character in Yakuza do you think has the best development?

everyone gonna say im biased but genuinely daigo has my favorite character development throughout the series

[monochromemedic]

Celebrity Run in

Everyone knows about Johnny Cage. Even people that hate him know about him. One of the biggest actors in the world, a real A-lister that disappeared from time to time only to come back long enough to release a new movie. Cocky, arrogant but presumably more mellow now a days, he was the stereotypical egotistical celebrity.   I had to admit, some of his movies were ok. Fight Dirty, Cage Fight, Time Smashers. And of course I’m not immune to how he looked. He was a good looking man! Buff as hell, usually sweaty and covered in blood in movies...  a questionable chest tattoo of your own name. Yeah that one was weird.... but in every other way he was Hollywood sexy. There was rumors he was back on the street after one of his ‘hiatuses’, always said he was off on ‘important heroic duties’ when he came back. Weirdly enough there was rumors he was back in my town for some role about a farmer who learns karate, undercover and observing the locals to better suit the role. Needless to say people were more out and about to get their sights on the famous actor, hands hovering over their phones to take a quick snapshot. I’d probably do the same if I had a phone that wasn’t an old brick, and if I actually thought that I’d have a chance to meet him. Although it was a rural state the town we were in was bigger, just surrounded by fields and fields of nothing. It was just another needle in a haystack case, just a slightly smaller pile of hay but one none the less. There was no need to go out and find someone who might be a dick and want nothing to do with you.  No I was out here at the local coffee shop to people draw. Mask on my face, cheap coffee beside my sketchbook with only my thoughts with me. It was good practice, and even when I couldn’t draw anymore the quiet atmosphere calmed my mind. The soft bustle of people coming and going, the bubbling of the coffee machine in the background. All was calm. And then he came in. Waltzing in with a gait that screamed confidence, baggy sweats, sneakers that were probably worth more then my life despite how plain they looked and a plain black face mask and snapback cap. I had to look do a double take as I watched him approach the counter, taking his phone out to quickly text someone. His disguise was obvious, to the point that if it wasn’t for the hat and mask, it’d probably just be his lounge wear. My fingers nervously grazed the pencil, quickly jotting down lines of the actor’s body as his voice rang out clear. “Large Mocha, ooh and uh one of whatever that is.” He said, poking the display case for pastries.  The woman behind the counter seemed just as surprised that Johnny was here at her café, eyes wide as she started to babble while making his drink. “Y-yes sir. Y-you know I was always a big fan of Ninja Mime despite what the critics say.” “Really? We’ll it’s good to see a true fan among all the bull shitters. Some people just don’t know quality entertainment when they see it!” You didn’t speak the entire time and wore grease paint that made you break out for months, you told tabloids that... And you did 4 of them. I doubt that the critics were lying about how bad it was. She was just kissing up. “Can I get a picture Mr. Cage?”  “Of course, just maybe keep it from the feeds until I leave. Wouldn’t want the paparazzi to hound the place while I’m trying method act. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want those leeches to bother this place would you?” “ Of course not!” Cage flexed in his sleeveless shirt, turning and leaning backwards on the counter for the selfie. Now that I could see his front, I noticed how ripped he was. I mean it made sense, the man was an action star. One that focused on martial arts in every film that he was in. He was probably on some tight work schedule and food restrictions. Bet that little cake he bought wasn’t approved of by his personal trainer. I began to sketch his new pose, trying to take down every little detail before he moved. As my eyes darted back up to get a last look I noticed his eyes do the same, locking with mine from behind his sunglasses. He gave a loud click of his tongue as he flexed harder and winked at me before returning to the barista, acting if nothing had ever happened. I, however, nearly jolted from my seat, knee banging on the underside of the table and jostling the drink that I quickly grabbed from falling. Did he just do that to me? Johnny Cage?! Well I knew he was cocky but god. Was I just so easy to impress or was his confidence so overwhelming that a quick gesture made me nearly bust my kneecap? From my silent anguish of my table I could tell he was finishing up with the woman, paying for his drink and beginning to make his way to the door. I tried to play off my pain like it was nothing as he passed, only to have my heart stop as he backed up a few steps to turn towards me. “How’s it going? Don’t think I caught on to you either. I know when someone’s staring at me. Paparazzi senses are going ballistic.” He huffed, his smile somehow coming through even the in the tone of his voice. At least he wasn’t pissed. If he was he could easily beat the shit out of me, that much was true. I tried to open my mouth to speak when he cut me off, pulling his mask down to take a sip of his coffee. “You want a picture too? On the house.” Oh god my phone. My brick of a phone that couldn’t take pictures... I somehow had the best luck and the worst luck all rolled into one day. I nervously held up my phone, showing him the black chunk of plastic. “Oh wow! The 2000′s called, they want their doorstop back!” He laughed, leaning in a bit more. “I haven’t seen one of these in years. Uh no offense.”  “No it’s... I know how it is.”  I assured him, placing the phone back in my pocket.  “Ok then all the offense.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, taking a bite of the flaky pastry with delight. “Diego’s gonna kill me for this... Mm- hey is that me?” His finger pointed to the sketches I made of him since he walked in. Quick, light, and probably inaccurate in about a hundred ways. Although I guess I should be proud that he even registered is himself... then again I did draw those sunglasses on every pose. “Uh... yeah. Sorry if that’s weird I-I people draw, art... practice-” “No, that’s rad. Look at that I must have stood like that for a few seconds! And the muscles, well... you’re very accurate with those. Say how bout this. We do an old fashion trade. I get the sketches and I’ll give you my John Hancock?” I had to pause before I realized what he said. Hancock not...  Jesus get your head out of the gutter, Jenna. He wanted my drawing? To keep? Well he could have it, I didn’t care much for it. I began to gently tear the page from the book, handing the page outwards him. “Ah, this is gonna be sweet. Here you... sign your name on this and I’ll sign the book. We’ll do a real trade.” I nodded my head, printing and signing my name on the page with my mechanical pencil as he took a sharpie from his pocket, signing large letters onto the blank page left behind, a small doodle of a person beside it. “Never one for the artsy fartsy stuff, more of the on screen stuff but, hopefully that’ll suffice uh...” He paused, looking at the page before smiling. “Jenna.”   I felt a shiver run down my spine as my name left his lips, his fingers pulling the mask back over his nose as he left the store, my page of drawings still in his hand, held gently inside of his scarred up hands. I stared at the signature in my book, cheap marker fumes and overly glittery gold ink staining the sheet. Flashy, but then again, it fit. Johnny Cage’s signature... I gave Johnny Cage my art of him, and he said MY name. He complimented me, talked to me! Maybe I should... watch more of his movies... give Ninja Mime another shot. Leave a good review.

[goat--ish]

Probs not a proper one-shot

I’m not really part of the fandom so come and take this nonsense from my clammy hands, please.

It was funny to write this even tho it probs makes no sense and has like 0 consistency but I tried (and laughed all the way to the end). Main two ideas come from @kkrazy256  (Kaito taking photos from himself) and @ninthfeather (Kaito knowing about the “Shinichi is Kid” theory) (+ an anon)

It’s kinda long so Imma put it after a read more or whatever. Also, sorry if it cant be read, english is hard

Kaito loved having so much attention. He craved it every time he went on a heist and people -his audience- would be there, waiting for him and his magic.

He loved the idea of having fans and having people wonder about his tricks with every heist. There was something so addictive about it and he wasn't even going to reflect on why he needed someone's attention so much, on why he desired it with almost every fiber of his body.

He was a thief, or that was how the police call him. He wasn't even sure himself since everything he had taken had been returned a few days later, maybe he didn't have to keep something and the act of taking it by force was what made a thief, well, a thief. Still, there was the fact that he didn't keep any of the jewels and, even when her mother was sending him money pretty often, he was a teenager living alone that made the occasional and normal bad choice to buy something expensive leaving him without money to pay for electricity or water, and also a famous thief that needed lot's of materials to actually do some acceptable magic tricks to entertain HIS people.

Maybe he had Aoko helping him with the food and the old man did most of the planning for the heists -and got most of the things Kaito needed-, but he needed money and didn't have the courage to ask for more to his mom. He did say he was going to be Kid with so much confidence, he felt like asking for more help would be cheating.

So yeah, he needed money.

The idea had occurred to him a few times but it wasn't until he checked the news of his last heist that struck him that it might be a good one. Kaito knew the heist hadn't been his best one and was nervous to see what his critics and audience was saying about it. Had it been as bad as he thought? Hadn't he been as astonish as he wanted to be?

Of course, the police was bragging his good work to the world, how the police were so awesome that they stopped Kid from getting the diamond he was after. What caught his attention was the comments section at the very end of the article, where some of his fans were complaining that Kid deserved that diamond even if his game wasn't as good as other occasions.

That was a bullet to the heart and if it wasn't for that one comment he would have gone to sleep for the next three day, feeling depressed and guilty. Between the madness that was the comment section, there was one comment of how someone not just wanted, but was ready to pay and kill for a good photo of his favorite phantom thief.

Kaito had seen the insane amount of photos people had taken of Kid during the last years, most of them being just blurry figures or a stain of white between too much light. There was the occasional photo taken by a professional but even those were images of Kid being too far away to have a proper look to his suit.

The idea was too good to let it slide and never do something about it. Of course, he wasn't so sure about it but his ego wouldn't shut up about how people would love a proper photo of Kid, of him. That's why the next heist he made sure to not only prepare everything he needed to steal the jewel but also prepared a few cameras on strategic spots that he was sure would take his best angle.

At the end of the night, Kaito had the jewels and a dozen of photos that didn't quite looked like he wanted. They were dynamic and definitely made Kid look as awesome and handsome as he felt but there was something bothering him and didn't know what.

It was until he got to his house that it clicked.

The photos were great but the quality of the camera made them look fake, or almost fake as if it was someone cosplaying and not the real phantom thief.

Perhaps it was better that way, wouldn't it be too much of a joke if The Kid was taking photos of himself to sell them? It was a silly thought now that he considered all the things that could go wrong with that, so this was perfect.

So he logged in with a temporary account in a definitely trashy webpage and put a price tag to the photos, still unsure if this would be a good idea. The first hour he got an incredible number of five comments, five people telling him that the photos were fantastic but that they were too broke to purchase any of them.

Three hours after, Kaito was still in front of his computer feeling dumb because no one else had shown any interest. He was ready to delete the post when he got his first client.

It was his first sell so he wasn't as cautious as he normally was. The person was happy to give him money and he was as happy to receive it, so the process was pretty normal but at the end of it, Kaito felt his ego go up a few hundred times. Someone had purchased one of his photos and gave him a tip. This was a good idea, he could feel it.

And that's how he started entering the same webpage over and over again, selling his photos and slowly gaining fame between the usual users and even others that came into de webpage just to buy a photo from him. Of course, he took more precautions so he couldn't be found and still get the money.

Every time there was a heist, people would go directly to the page, knowing that the mysterious photographer would put at least a bunch of photos and would delete them after three hours, going into hiding until the next time Kid appeared. Until he didn't.

After months of doing the same, Kaito thought of something that was so painfully obvious and was surprised that he didn't think of it before. People thought he was a specially good cosplayer and others thought of him as a really sneaky photographer, and even when there were a few people that considered him suspicious there was nothing they could use to prove he was the real thief. So what was stopping him from going to a dark alley and take photos of himself dressed in Kid's suit and sell those? Just his lack of brain cells, he thought.

So he did that. Kaito took a camera, went to the highest place he could find so the city and the moon could be seen on the background and took as many photos as he could of himself doing magic tricks, possing and being overly flashy for the camera, thinking of how much his fans would love to see these.

A lot of his usual clients, the ones that always made sure to buy him at least one photo every time he appeared, lost it when he announced that he would open a permanent account so he could sell those pictures.

It was entertaining, to say the least. He was getting a little more money and was able to get out more with Aoko to show how grateful he was for always been there for him (not that he would tell her that).

Still, Kaito didn't come into real contact with his fans until the day one of his usual clients told him they used the photo as a cover for a fanfic which, to his surprise, was getting famous inside the fandom. Curious as he was and wanting to bust his ego a little more, Kaito made the conscious decision to read the whole thing at 2 a.m. which was a monster of 45,000 words, two side fics of 20,000 each one, and a one shot with the alternative ending for the main fic.

He didn't sleep for four days.

Yeah, the story had many mistakes of what really happened during the preparation stage of a heist and Kaito was sure he wasn't a middle age man with a mansion and copious amounts of money, but he was, in fact, as awesome, handsome, and cool as the author wrote him and was willing to read more.

He felt silly sitting in front of his computer in search of stories about him from the point of view of complete strangers. Kaito could feel his cheeks heat up while reading the titles of some of the stories he found on a new webpage.

Was he being too narcissistic? When was too much? And why were there so many stories of him with Shinichi Kudo as secondary protagonist?

Kaito felt irritated at the sight of that name. Why was the detective on so many fanfics that were supposed to be about Kid? He scrolled down, finding more and more about the detective and himself on so many fictional worlds. Somehow he felt betrayed by his fans.

It took him five more web pages and three hours to understand why his fans had betrayed him that way, and it was a hilarious reason, to be honest. Most people knew how often the phantom thief had dressed up as the detective so a lot had come up with the theory that he, Kaito Kid was, in fact, the young detective Shinichi Kudo.

Wasn't that fucked up or what?

There was a fair amount of people that wrote about them because they had confronted each other several times, but most of them believed with all their might that Kid was the detective and, even when he laughed out loud on the privacy of his room at 1 a.m., Kaito also felt as if he was being robbed of something. He wasn't sure of what yet, but he made a mental note to torture a little bit more the detective the next time he saw him for stealing... something?

Yeah, no. Scratch that. He wasn't going to do anything stupid on a heist just because of a bunch of people that couldn't see that Kaito Kid was way too cool to be that detective. What he did do was to enter the thread and create mayhem between the users on the chat for a few hours.

And it became a daily thing, which didn't make things easier for Kaito because now he wasn't only a teenager that was trying to not fail school because he forgot to do homework or a famous phantom thief in search of a miraculous diamond, now he was a famous (well, maybe not famous but recognized inside the fandom) photographer, an avid reader of his fans' stories (he wasn't even going to deny how narcissistic that was, but the kids could be really good at their fantasies and he wanted to see more of it) and a troll that couldn't keep one damn user name because the wars he started were that intense, and yeah, he needed a break or something.

However, he would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying himself. Yeah, maybe Aoko kept telling him to stop going to sleep to untold hours of the night because he was starting to look like a real-life zombie, but it was so worth it to see people trying to take his "Do you think Kid uses women underwear?" and "I have proof that Shinichi Kudo is a loser" threads seriously and ending up on wars that lasted at least a week.

To be fair, while a fair amount of people just wanted Shinichi to be the phantom thief for the drama and the angst, there were a few users that actually had good arguments while discussing the theory. They weren't as good as some of the arguments that Kaito could think of but were reasonable enough to shut up the chat for a few minutes before anyone saying something else.

Weeks of being on those types of forums made him develop a weird respect and admiration for those users that came into the madness willingly and tried to put order in hell. It was something he crushed almost daily but it was something impressive to see.

That's why the day he was trolling an especially cocky one, he felt... weird.

The kid was being way too smart, they didn't have the confidence of a hardcore fan or a know-it-all gal, they talked as if they knew of what they were talking and that made Kaito feel vulnerable for the first time in his new happy place. Most of the time the users would have an excellent logic but lots of errors in their final answers; this person didn't give long answers like the others but everything they had said on the last twenty minutes was right and that made him paranoid.

It wasn't the first time he ended a conversation with the old and trusty "Bold of you to assume I can read", but it was the first time he did when he still had time to kill.

That kid... It wasn't only that everything had been right but some of those things were things that no normal person could know, they had to been there to know those types of things, so now Kaito was locked in his room wondering with a nervous smile who in the police force was wasting their afternoons rambling against little kids on the internet?

Kaito laughed a little with the thought. No, he didn't count, he was there to follow his fans and his fans only, he could stop whenever he wanted, he didn't ramble against twelve-year-old kids like a loser... Ok, he did, but he did it to get a laugh out of it and never in a serious way, so who was the clown that was doing it and why hasn't he saw them before?

He turned off his computer and got out of his bedroom, determined to let the topic slide for this time and go to Aoko's house to see if he could annoy her a little more before dinner, not knowing that he left Shinichi looking at the screen of his phone with irritation at the stupid answer the troll gave him. The detective decided he had had enough internet for a day and returned to the book in his lap, at least that was better than the nonsense he had seen for the last twenty minutes.

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Never Con a Conman

Summary: Even con artists can be conned – a lesson you thought you were teaching; instead, it turned out that you were the one being taught.

Word Count: 3,235

            There was a method to your madness. One day you would work out what it was. Until then, you lived crazily. There was nothing more exhilarating than getting away with something you shouldn’t be doing.

            Right now, you were in Times Square with a satchel at your waist, beating against your hip with every step you took, pounding to the rhythm of your gait as you matched the tempo of the city. New York was one of your favorite cities. No matter how far you ventured, you always came back here. You used your contacts as an excuse, but the truth was that you were a Yankee in spirit. You passed by hundreds and hundreds of unknown strangers, innocent and oblivious to what you had hidden in your bag – gorgeous natural red rubies, an entire set of them, each plated into a solid golden chain. They were treasures you weren’t supposed to have, but Africa wasn’t nearly as hard to steal from as America, and you had done far more complicated jobs with far fewer resources.

            You imagined showing off your wealth just by donning the necklace and strolling about your day, being part of the flashy one percent in appearance, but you were smarter than that. Showing off for the sake of showing off was dangerous. Pretty much everyone who tried ended up caught, either by enemies or by cops.

            Speaking of being smarter, you needed to get a new fence. Your dumb contact had been passed to you by a friend, but despite your so-called friend’s competence, the fence was slipping. He was an older man, well-respected, very skilled, but his age was letting his mind go. He’d sold your looted necklace to two different buyers. Two different, very influential, very intimidating buyers – buyers that would kill you and your fence if you didn’t give them what they expected to have.

            Thus, you came to New York not just because it was where you might’ve lived, had you been a civilian with a nine-to-five job, but because it was home to the best forger you knew of, and you were prepared to make his acquaintance. You had a plan. You’d have him forge two identical necklaces just like the ones in your bag, give those to the buyers, and melt down the real gold and the rubies through a proxy, then reshape them into something else entirely. In a different fashion, they’d sell under the radar on the black market, and you could use the cuts from the unexpected second and third sales to bolster not only your own account, but to afford the services and the discretion of your forger and your better fence.

            You chose to think of it as an opportunity – an opportunity to make a contact and a lot more money than you otherwise would have. You regretted that you’d have to destroy such a beautiful piece of jewelry, but you couldn’t leave the real thing floating around. There was too much risk if you kept it on your person, but if it got back to either of your buyers and they compared the real stuff to the synthetics they would be given, you’d be screwed.

             You left Times Square with a smirk on your face and decided to cut through Central Park and get a crepe from a vendor on your way. The address you’d gotten had been a little trickier to come by and cost a few grand for the cooperation of various players, but you were certain that with your score in mind, it would be worth it. Maybe you could even take a vacation.

            Neal Caffrey spent four years in a federal super-max prison, but the people he still talked to said he was just as smooth as ever and hadn’t even come close to losing his touch. You doubted he’d talk to them much more once he knew they’d given his location to someone who wanted to find him, but that was okay. You’d have built a bridge by that point, and his contacts weren’t of any particular use to you, now that they’d set up a meeting.

            You were a little wary of entering the church of a known Italian mobster, but the pews contained scattered amounts of civilians. You weren’t entirely alone, but you weren’t exactly standing up at the front of the room and discussing your potential partnership through a microphone, either. You appreciated that it was a territory where neither of you were the alphas, and so, since you really didn’t know where you could find a more renowned forger at such short notice, you slipped into the church, kept your head down docilely when the Father observed you, and slid into the pew at the back beside a suit-clad man with a jauntily-tipped fedora.

            “I expected slightly less Freddy Krueger and a little more Jason Bourne.” You commented quietly, already recognizing his face from his Wanted posters. “You know, a little more sneaky, a little more scary.”

            “A little more CIA,” he countered, lifting his head and raising an eyebrow at you. “For shame. This isn’t Krueger, this is Sinatra.”

            You smirked at him and studied the hat again. You supposed you could see it. He was hot, and one of the few men in the twenty-first century who you’d seen successfully pull it off without giving you Wes Craven flashbacks. His striking blue eyes complimented the dark blue silk around the brim and almost matched his tie.

            “Alright, I relent. You’re sophisticated, classy, and old-fashioned.” Your lips quirked as you teased. Neal chuckled.

            Internally, you felt a thrill. This was going better than you had hoped. Neal was calm and engaging; not flighty in the least. His confidence inspired some of your own, but that was an old trick of the trade, and you knew better than to fall for it too hard.

            “Is it really a two-person job?” You cynically asked, looking Neal’s friend up and down.

            He was a short bald guy in glasses, skittish and fidgety, and he’d had more glasses of wine since you all sat down than the number of burner phones you owned. You could tell just by his demeanor that he was an anxious little fella, and you tried to avoid partnering with the overly-nervous. Too many nerves made it hard to effectively pull off a job.

            “Haversham has all the equipment we need.” Neal told you, topping off your glass like any hospitable host would’ve. “No one’s as good as me. But he comes pretty close.”

            “What’s the job for?” Haversham, as he was apparently called, asked you. Unlike Neal, he struck you as incredibly flighty. His voice was a little loud and confrontational. Neal shot him a look, practically screaming at him with his eyes to calm down.

            You liked Neal, but you liked a lot of people. You weren’t a con woman because you disliked people. And besides, trusting and liking a person were entirely different ball games. Your life was at risk because of this stupid necklace; no way in hell were you going to tell them the truth about what they were working on, lest they backstab you or use the threat to your health as a means of exploiting more money out of you. They didn’t strike you as the type, but anyone could be a good actor.

            You just needed to pull a con on the conmen you wanted to help you with yours. It was a simple process, really; you just needed a lie with as much background information as you wanted to share. You’d already thought of one, anticipating that the question would come up sooner or later.

            “There’s a hefty buyer looking to pass off a piece of jewelry as the real thing for a very large sum.” You put your wine glass on the table delicately and crossed your legs at the ankles. “Unfortunately, the real thing was looted in the seventeenth century and reportedly melted down. Discovering part of the horde would be… financially beneficial… but my client is far more interested in putting it on display.” You grimaced as if the idea sickened you. “He’s offering me too much to pass on, no matter how little I approve.”

            Neal and Haversham looked at each other.

            “If the real piece was melted down four hundred some years ago, how do you expect us to recreate it?” Haversham challenged you, narrowing his eyes while his fingers tapped bouncily on his knee.

            You smiled politely. “My client is convinced he can have this authenticated based on the records kept by the original owners. He’s created approximations and send photographs with the dimensional specifications. It’s not perfect, but he can’t very well put plastic and colored glass on display with a price tag as large as we’re talking. So he needs real rubies and real gold.”

            Neal winced. “To each his own. A score’s a score.” He raised his glass towards you. “I think we can do this project. Shall we discuss rates?”

            You tapped your glass against the side of his gingerly and then took a sip, feigning consideration. It was your life on the line; you would happily pay more than you’d normally like for their cooperation, but you had to behave as though it were any other con. If Neal knew that he was as much of a mark as anyone else in your scheme, you doubted he’d still be singing the same tune.

            “We can work something out.” You decided. “Five percent?”

            Neal tilted his head at you, scoffing slightly. “Your entire plan is contingent on the products of our labor.”

            “Fine.” You huffed. “Ten percent each. You wouldn’t be getting this job if I wasn’t facilitating it.”

            Haversham scoffed. “Twenty-five combined!”

            “Twenty-two,” you deadpanned. He seemed easily spooked, so you locked your eyes on him in a mean, cool stare.

            He sat back. “That’s fair,” he said compliantly, avoiding looking at you. You smiled slightly at Neal, who was giving you a vaguely scolding expression for scaring his friend.

            After five days, you had developed a routine of sorts. Neal and his odd friend would be in your secured warehouse by the portside, working on developing the synthetic rubies with tools you didn’t even recognize. You kept the real necklace far from the pickpocket, but brought photographs with you to compare the gems, and recorded the specs for their use.

            Haversham had on thick, flame-retardant gloves up to his elbows when you entered with your electronic key. Neal was set up at a table several yards away from the superhot industrial oven. Haversham was wearing a welding mask and thick clothes. The temperature made you start sweating even after you’d been inside for a few seconds, so you imagined he was sweltering. His dedication to protecting himself from boiling gold was laudable. When it splashed, it left burn scars. You’d heard of more than one person convicted for their carelessness.

            Neal wore long pants and a tight wife-beater shirt and thick-soled, metal-toed boots to protect his feet, but aside from protective goggles on the table near where he stood over the fake rubies, he wore nothing else. You could see his abs through his clothes, and sweat glistened on his arms. You liked how he was strong and built, but not obnoxiously so, and you gave yourself a second to pretend that you were allowed to be enjoying the view as much as you were.

            “Hey, boys,” you called, raising an arm to wave lazily at Haversham, who didn’t respond. You walked to the side of the table and pushed yourself up to sit on the edge. Neal looked up at you, a curl of hair falling over his face and a satisfied, self-indulgent smile on his mouth. “How’re things coming?”

            “We finished making the rubies this morning.” He placed his fingers in the group of gems and divided them into two groups, each corresponding to one of the false necklaces. “We should be able to leave them in the gold plating by tomorrow and have them finished days before your deadline.”

            “Uh-huh.” You admired the rubies. They looked gorgeous; picture-perfect. Unrealistically beautiful, in fact. “Now, how are you going to make them look like they weren’t manufactured?”

            Neal’s lips quirked appreciatively at your catch. “Imperfections on the jewels, forced oxidation on the gold. We have the photographs to go off of.” He cocked his head and stalked to you slowly. You hoped it wasn’t just your imagination that you had his complete, rapt attention. You spread your legs so he could stand between your knees, and he put his hands down on the table on either side of your thighs, leaning over you. “Of course,” he whispered, leaning down. You could see the flecks of shades in his irises. “It would be much easier if we could model off the physical approximation.”

            It was hard to act like you didn’t care. You flirted a lot yourself, and you knew it was a ploy. Still, Neal attracted you like few people managed to. He was smart, he was gorgeous, and he had a sense of humor – and, unlike most decent guys you met, he was in the lifestyle. No normal man would understand not to ask questions if you had to take off to Bohemia or be absent for months at a time. You wished you could return the flirtations, maybe even invite him out for drinks, but mixing work and pleasure wasn’t a great idea, especially when failure to deliver the goods would get a target on your back. Self-preservation was always your first concern.

            “I love your enthusiasm,” you whispered back playfully, “But I haven’t forgotten that you’re a thief as well as a forger.”

            “Touché.” He smiled at you more sincerely then. “I had to ask.”

            “Sure,” you compliantly agreed.

            “In that case, I should tell you what else I am.” His smile faded. Your expression darkened and you tensed, prepared to shove him away. Sudden mood swings were never reassuring. “Y/N, I might have misled you slightly. I am criminally active – however, those crimes have been more often than not sanctioned by the FBI as of late.”

            You swallowed and stared up at him darkly. “If you don’t move, I’m going to punch you in the nose and walk out of here.”

            “I just had to see if you would give up the necklace, but Agent Burke will get a warrant to search your hotel room.” Still, he stepped back and gave you room. You hopped off of the table swiftly, backing away while keeping your eyes locked on him.

            Your heart raced. Is he lying? You couldn’t find any tells. His tone was even, his expression was wry and bittersweet, and as you listened for anything else in the room, you realized you couldn’t hear the bubbling gold anymore. You held out a hand to stop Neal from advancing and spun quickly to see over your shoulder. Mozzie had moved away from the oven, turned it down, and was taking off his mask to fix his fogged and dripping glasses.

            “Please don’t make a scene,” Neal requested, pulling on his lower lip with his teeth. “I like you. I’d rather not watch this get messier than it has to be.” He pulled on the strap of his shirt over his shoulder and turned it inside out so you could see a small microphone on the inside. “Clear, guys. Come on in.”

            The door to the warehouse clanged open. “FBI!” A man shouted, his gun out.

            Self-preservation.

            You put your hands up harmlessly, but glowered at Neal for a moment before lowering your eyes. Maybe this was your karma for your madness. Everything caught up to everyone eventually. It wasn’t really his fault if you were the one morally in the wrong (you were big enough to admit that you were the antihero, even from your own perspective). Besides, working with the FBI was probably the best for his self-preservation.

            “Y/N Y/L/N,” the first man called to you, lowering his weapon. The other agent, a beautiful woman, kept hers out and she approached behind him, keeping an eye on you. The man stuck his hand out as he came closer, smiling genially. “Special Agent Peter Burke.”

            “No,” Neal sighed, crossing his arms. “Peter, don’t say it.”

            Peter’s grin widened. “It’s a pleasure to catch you.”

            Neal sighed again, looking away. You ground your teeth and stared at his outstretched hand skeptically.

            Self-preservation.

            “I should probably mention that the real reason I want fake necklaces is so that I don’t get killed by people rich enough to hire hitmen,” you blandly stated to the federal agent. It felt like you were in shock. You knew you’d rail against it once you had time to process and understand what had happened, but at the moment, you were working to make the most out of it for yourself.

            Peter nodded sympathetically and realized you weren’t going to shake his hand. He dropped it to his side. “We can take care of that.” He took up handcuffs from his belt. “Behind your back, please.”

            You sent another look at Neal. He shrugged at you, his eyes compassionate. He didn’t seem at all surprised that you’d lied about your motivations. You wondered if he’d gone running to the feds as soon as you approached him. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, thinking, before you turned to Peter and asked, “Can I have a moment?”

            Though confused, Peter agreed. “Yeah…?” He said it like a question and turned to look at the woman with him.

            “No funny business,” she warned you. “I have excellent aim and I’m looking right at your knees.”

            You stepped up to Neal. He leaned back on the table warily. “Nice one, Caffrey.” You defeatedly admitted. “I didn’t see it coming.” You paused. If your work wasn’t going to be finished, there was nothing to mix the pleasure with. You’d be damned if you went to all this trouble to partner up with Neal and didn’t get anything out of it.

            You reached for his waist and tugged on the belt loops in his pants, pulling him closer to you. Neal moved his hands to your hips impulsively and you reached for his shoulder, sliding your hand easily across his slippery skin, dragging him down to meet you halfway, pressing your lips to his. Neal kissed you softly, gently; his lips were soft and full and his mouth tasted rich with an aftertaste of coffee.

            Peter coughed when you pulled back, your hands still on his hips. Neal looked down at you, blinking in surprise, but with a charmed, happy grin on his face. You hoped it didn’t last too long – you still wanted him to feel at least a little bit guilty about getting you arrested.

            After a few more seconds of feeling the warmth of his body, you dropped your arms and took a step back. “Alright,” you said exasperatedly, turning around so your back was to Peter. You held your hands behind your back. “I’m cooperating, lady. Leave my knees alone.”

            “Thanks for your help, Mozzie,” Peter said to someone.

            “Suit!” Haversham hissed, stripping off his gloves. “Why would you say my name?! I don’t want her to know who I am!”

            “It’s a bit late for that,” you grumbled.

Requested by @white-magician

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[yccnsikk]

( YOU and ME, we made a vow; for better or for worse. I can't believe you LET ME DOWN, but the proof's in the way it HURTS. )   ———  task 001. character questionnaire sheet

general info

full name: yeo yoonsik nickname(s): n/a! gender & pronouns: he/him/they/them sexual & romantic orientation: demiromantic/demisexual age & dob: october 1st, 1992; 24 y/o birthplace/hometown: seoul, south korea parents/siblings: older sister, unnamed, mother & father astrological sign: libra dominant hand: right handwriting style: choppy, lazy language(s) known/spoken: korean religion: none current living arrangements: one bedroom apartment occupation/major: receptionist at the clinic

appearances

picture reference: 1 2 3 blood type: A+ nationality: korean skin tone/color: light tanned birthmarks & scars: ( everyone has a birthmark? ) but n/a! height: 182 cm build: 65 kg; pretty slimmed down hair color: blonde hair length: down to ears eye color: brown eye shape: downset parallel (i looked up a chart ok) diet: mediocre; he doesnt eat healthy but he doesnt eat unhealthy, he’s very much a neutral eater exercise & level of fitness: he doesnt work out much, tbh how’s their posture ( or lack thereof )? he slouches sometimes, but not enough to do any damage typical style of dress: casual(ish?), usually, nothing too dressy unless he is going to work; but he likes to look flashy if he’s going out to the bar or somewhere he needs to look expensive for ( 1 2 3 ) body modifications: besides a few tattoos and some piercings, nothing really

body language and mannerisms

how does your muse walk? usually with his hands in his pockets, his eyes shifty and his body a little slouched. if he is wearing a hat, he likes to keep his head down. how does your muse talk? it depends; usually he talks with a very dull-ish tone, but if he’s comfortable around you, he exaggerates his words, sighs a lot, let’s his hands help him talk what accent/dialect does your muse talk with? ( i googled this one? ), gyeonggie dialect how high (or low) is the tone of their voice? are they loud or quiet? low tone, quiet spoken what is their laugh like? shit, yoonsik’s laugh is probably like? short, sweet, and he usually doesnt laugh so hearing it would be like waking up on christmas morning. how does your muse typically smell? usually like cigarette smoke, but when he doesnt smell like that he probably smells like that first whiff you get when you walk into the doctor’s office what kind of air do they carry? are they intimidating? a broadening kind of air, he gives off that leave me alone vibe that often allows him to remain in the background. as for intimidating? probably to some people.

psychology

what makes your muse happiest? poetry, the nurses at the clinic, smoking, wine what upsets them the most? his parents, cocky folks, deep conversations does your muse have any quirks? uh, i dont think he does tbh… what are their hobbies? how frequent do/can they do them? he likes to write poetry mostly, and draw a little, but he mostly enjoys smoking (not a hobby ig but), reading magazines, shopping, taking walks through the city, and he does them often, to be honest, because he has nothing better to do with his life do they have any guilty pleasures? fruit flavored wines/vape, also clothes/shoes that make him look like a million bucks is your muse an extrovert? an introvert? neither? introvert for sure do they have high or low self-esteem? what about confidence? low self-esteem & confidence are they easily stressed? how do they respond to stress? he’s not, actually, because he doesn’t really give a fuck about a lot of things in life. very few things make his stomach turn. what is your muses worst fear? forever being that mistake what is your muses biggest dream? probably to just live a happy life he’s proud of. is your muse an early riser? a night owl? early riser; he likes the sunrise.. how intelligent is your muse? do they acknowledge it? he’s dumb as fuck y’all ... and he knows it what is their sense of humour like? he’s okay, not really funny but i feel like everyone has their humorous moments

relationship tendencies

what’s their sexual orientation? what about romantic? he is demiromantic/demisexual, and for those who dont know what it means, it basically means he has to be REALLY attached to you in order to fall for you/want to have sex with you. it’s because of his apathetic behavior. are they currently in any sexual or romantic relationships? uh, no, he isn’t! what is their experience with relationships? he’s only ever had one relationship, which was with wonjae who he dated for a long time before the two of them called it quits on a bunch of misunderstandings. he has had a few crushes in the past, although it’s not sure if even liked those girls for more than what was between their legs ( it sounds so horrible but it’s true ) how does your muse view the idea of friends with benefits? have they ever had one, or would they ever? honestly, yoonsik wouldn’t care as much as other people might… he would be up for it, but again, he has to be really into the person before he does anything with them anyway sex, is it important to your muse? very much so, tbh what are their biggest turn on and turn offs? oh ok uh… yoonsik probably would be into slut shaming, pain in almost any form, but also very vanilla sex and body worshipping, while he wouldn’t be into bondage, gagging, and any other type of shaming/bringing someone down during sex .. idk this one is hard to think about does your muse find it easy to make friends? not at all, actually how important is friendship to them? not that important tbh quantity or quality of friends? quality! how important is family? he couldn’t give a flying fuck about his family oops are they close to their family? why or why not ? he isn’t, because he caught his mom admitting that he was only a mistake and was never supposed to be born, and his parents worshipped his sister while putting yoonsik on the back burner. basically, his bio summary was that he got into fights because he was neglected at home and now he carries the weight of not being good enough around with him everywhere he goes.

headcanons

001. yoonsik is not religious because he just feels like there’s no point to a religion, he was never raised on one 002. relationships are not something yoonsik is very into after his last one ended, mainly because he isn’t over his ex boyfriend and he doesn’t feel good enough anyway 003. he is also very rarely overly attracted to someone anyway, which is why he is unaffected by the way the nurses at the clinic talk to him 004. he has smoked almost anything he could get his hands on, but he is doing well not to get addicted to anything besides cigarettes 005. despite what people may think, he does still keep in contact with his parents, but with nothing more than them sending him money every now and then on special occasions 006. but he does not keep in contact with his sister at all 007. yoonsik doesn’t have his driver's license, permit, or anything like that. he gets around town via the bus or walking 008. holidays that people would normally spend with family, yoonsik spends alone, or with his employees from the clinic through holiday parties at the office 009. he has no social media besides snapchat 010. he listens to a lot of music in general, but he prefers indie and acoustic music 011. he wears reading glasses, although the only time you will see him with them on is either at work or when he is writing