#mafia men owning entertainment agencies

[bitacrytic]

my omegas for yours [2]

Read Previous Chapter Here

♧♧♧

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“This,” he said, waving at Pete. “The way you move. The way you talk. Everything is so smooth and graceful and-”

“Omega-like?” Pete scoffed. “It took me years and years to learn this expression.”

-----

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CHAPTER TWO

-----“No, that’s too sharp.”

“Bend a little more.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Slant backwards.”

“Use your hips.”

Porsche inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as everyone around him went quiet. When he exhaled, he turned to the director as he rolled up his script, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it as a weapon against the foolish man.

“I’m sorry,” Porsche said. “Do you have a problem with everything I do?”

Sitting on a stool, backing the mirror, with everyone else while Porsche and Pete stood at the center of the rehearsal room, the director frowned at Porsche.

“You’re not playing one of your regular alpha roles, Porsche.”

“I know that-”

“As an omega, there are certain beats you have to hit.”

““As an omega”?” Porsche quoted back to him, livid. “Is there supposed to be a way that omegas act, Sir?”

“Yes,” the director said, shamelessly. 

Porsche could not believe what he was hearing.

“You’re telling me that even in a play as progressive as this one, you want to fit omegas into a box?”

“It’s the way Beon was written.”

“The play doesn’t specify,” Porsche argued. “Kittisak wrote the play that way so that omegas could be portrayed diversely.”

“And this is the way I want you to portray Beon.”

“If that’s so, and you saw my interpretation at the auditions, why did you pick me for the role?”

The director crossed his leg as he stared up at Porsche. The question hung in the air as Porsche looked around, realizing that they all knew the answer to the question. No one would say it. No one would admit it. But Porsche hadn’t been picked because he was perfect for the role. He’d been picked because he was Porsche Kittisawasd. A popular name that would bring a lot of noise to the play.

Biting his lip to keep from screaming, Porsche exited the rehearsal room, walked down the hall to the bathroom, shut himself in one of the stalls and screamed into his script. Because, what the actual fuck? Decades, Porsche had poured into his career; years, he’d dedicated to putting omega voices in people’s ears and this was where he ended up? Parroting stereotypes on stage like a puppet.

The bathroom door opened.

“Porsche?” 

“Go away, Vegas.”

Like a gnat, Vegas disobeyed, locking the bathroom door as he walked down to the front of Porsche’s stall and gently pushed the door open. He held out a face towel to Porsche.

Sniffing, Porsche took it to wipe his eyes.

“He’s a regressive fucker.”

“I know.”

“I do not want to put money in his pocket.”

“You signed a contract.”

“Fuck the contract.”

“Porsche.”

“Vegas,” Porsche said, looking up at Vegas with tears in his eyes. “I do not want to be here.”

“You need to stop crying and buck up,” Vegas said. “People are already talking.”

In the middle of wiping his nose, Porsche stopped.

“I really want to punch you right now.”

“You’re behaving like a child.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“There are already rumors about you. You’ve been gone for two years. If this gets out that you’re acting up during rehearsal, holding up the work time because of your feelings, people are going to start digging. Again.”

“Fuck them.”

“Put all this angst into your role and stop being so emotional about everything else.”

“Get out.”

“It’s illegal for omegas to have jobs, Porsche. Think carefully. You walk away from this and it’s not just this job you’re risking.”

“People will think what they want to think."

“Well your hyper-alpha schtick, coupled with your habit of holding out when your way isn't followed, screams omega-in-the-closet.”

Porsche ran his hands through his hair.

“Do you see the irony?” he laughed. “He wants me to be a stereotypical omega and yet, if I actually turn out to be an omega, I lose the job.”

Vegas leaned on the stall.

“No one cares about the truth. They just want to see other people burn.” He grabbed the towel and lifted Porsche’s face with his chin. As he walked closer, he wiped the tears from Porsche’s eyes. “He’s the director, Porsche.”

“I know that but-”

“But nothing. You’re an actor. If he says “jump” you say “how high”.”

“I want to kick him.”

“Don’t worry,” Vegas said. “He has one more chance to make you cry.”

Porsche laughed. But then the laughter quickly died in his throat, because you never knew when Vegas was joking or serious about stuff like this. Pulling away from Vegas, Porsche looked him in the eye.

“Don’t kill the play’s director, Vegas.”

“Mind your business. Your job is to act. Mine is to make sure you’re as spoilt and entitled as you want to be.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He moved away from Porsche, heading for the door. “Toss will bring your knapsack. Take the day off. Tomorrow, you resume work like none of this ever happened.

“Don’t do anything to him.”

Unlocking the door, Vegas smiled.

“If I told you I wouldn’t, would you believe me?”

Honestly, no. As Porsche had learned when they were younger, Vegas would do whatever the fuck Vegas wanted to do.

***

Porsche was lying across his bed, with his head hanging off the side when the room door clicked and opened. Up-side-down, he watched Pete enter the room. It was way past dinner. He could only imagine how much they’d talked about him, all through the day. He wondered how much of it had been said in the presence of Pete. How much of it had Pete contributed?

“You’re still awake,” Pete said, dropping his bag on his own bed and taking off his shoes as he climbed the bed and sat, looking down at Porsche. “Are you okay?”

“How do you do it?” 

“Do what?”

“This,” he said, waving at Pete. “The way you move. The way you talk. Everything is so smooth and graceful and-”

“Omega-like?” Pete scoffed. “It took years and years to learn this expression.”

“I know. You’ve had what? Like a million omega roles?”

“Twenty one, but who's counting?"

Porsche sat up, turning on his bed so he could face Pete.

"But it's not just when you're acting, though."

"I've based my entire career on being this," he gestured at himself. "I could never be anything else."

Porsche narrowed his eyes on Pete. Because that wasn't entirely true. Pete had his moments. Periods when he wasn't giggling or smiling. Moments when he wasn't moving like he was trying to seduce every alpha within a ten-mile radius. Porsche had seen it before. Underneath that omega canvas, was an actual human being.

"Show me." Porsche moved closer, his legs falling off the side of his bed. 

"You don't want to be my kind of omega."

"It's what the director wants."

"You don't even like the director," Pete said, leaning back on his hands. "The way I see it, he needs you more than you need him. Half the country cares because it's a controversial play. The other half cares because Porsche is playing Beon."

"I signed a contract."

Pete scoffed and fell back on his bed.

"If you wanted to, you could get out of it." Then he lifted his head sharply, as if he just realized what he'd said. "But don't. I need this play to work."

"Then help me." Porsche pulled Pete's hands till Pete was sitting up again. "I have a lot of mannerisms to un… learn and I hate the director, but you? I can listen to you."

Pete watched him, quiet and contemplating, as if not sure how to approach this. 

“Self-expression is a mentality,” Pete said. “He’s not just asking you to act. He’s asking you to change the way you think. I imagine you’ve learned to be what you are, the way I’ve learned to be what I am.” He got up and stood before Porsche. “Move back.” Porsche pushed up from the bed and moved back as Pete knelt over him. “If I were to say that I don’t think omegas should be in the workplace…”

The bile that rose up in Porsche’s throat at Pete’s words was immediate. But before he could react to it, he realized that Pete hadn’t finished his sentence. He’d stopped speaking, looking down on Porsche with a knowing expression.

“Are you trying to make a point?”

“Your first instinct was to fight me.”

“Because it’s bullshit.”

“Do you think I’d fight you if I believed differently?”

“No,” he replied. He’d seen Pete in disagreeable situations, but he’d never seen him in a fight. 

“Would you call me a pushover?”

“No.”

Porsche could see where Pete was going with this. But the mere thought of swallowing his anger in the name of some long game was so alien to Porsche. If he had a thought, Porsche wanted it out of his head. If he had a grudge, he didn’t hold back. He could not imagine living life, going through the motions, curbing his tongue just because he didn’t want to step on other people’s toes.

“That thought?” Pete asked. “That’s what you need to get rid of.”

“You want to change what’s fundamental about me.”

“I’m asking you to step into a role. As an actor.” He put his other knee on the other side of Porsche’s body, boxing him in. “It’s literally your job.” Pete picked Porsche’s hands and put them on his waist.

“Is there a reason we’re doing this?”

“We all bow to something. To someone,” Pete ran his hands through Porsche’s hair. “I’m sure there’s someone you don’t dare argue with.”

“No one.”

Pete’s lips dipped in a disbelieving smile, as he waited for Porsche.

“My mom,” Porsche admitted. 

“I’m sure there are moments when she’s caved to you, in return.” His hands dropped to Porsche's neck, caressing gently, and okay, maybe it wasn’t weird to have his co-star in his lap, feeling him up. 

“Yes, but that’s just when I tell her what she needs to hear.”

As the words left his mouth, Pete nodded at him.

“Ah,” Porsche said in realization. “Omega equals manipulation.”

“Now, you get it.”

“How does that translate to physical movements then? How do I act… manipulatively?”

Pete adjusted himself, fitting himself into Porsche’s lap as Porsche winced because this was beginning to feel much better than it should.

“Just imagine what the person in front of you wants to see, what they want to hear. Imagine what they want you to be. And be it.”

“It’s that simple,” Porsche said, his hands rising under Pete’s cropped top.

“It is. Lucky for you, the director has told you what he wants to see.”

“Soft movements, hips out, chest up?”

“Don’t forget the lean,” he whispered in Porsche’s ear. “Every alpha or beta goes crazy for the omega lean.”

His breath on Porsche’s skin felt like a lover’s caress. Too intimate for their working relationship.

“I don't know about you theater kids,” Porsche said, gulping as Pete shifted to look at him. “But us film industry folk tend not to fuck our co-stars.”

“No?” Pete asked, eyes dipping to Porsche’s lips.

Porsche laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re trouble.”

“You listened to me.”

“Not because you were in my lap.”

“It definitely helped.” Pete leaned closer, his lips mere inches from Porsche’s. “You’d do well to remember that as an omega, sex is always on the table. No matter the conversation.”

“It is not!”

“That’s what the director was trying to tell you.”

“No, he was-”

“As long as you speak and move like you want to fuck me, he won’t complain about a single thing you do.”

A wave of comprehension washed over Porsche like bright headlights from an oncoming vehicle. Because that was it, wasn’t it? He felt disgusted to realize it, but Pete was right. They didn’t want a sensible omega. They wanted a horny man who sold sex. After all “Overheat” was steeped in sex and cycles and everything between. Alphas had the privilege to look like they had other things on their minds. Omegas did not. At least, not the omegas that the director was interested in portraying.

“Do you get it?” Pete asked, putting a little distance between them.

Porsche nodded, breathing hard. He wasn’t sure if it was from the realization or from the tantalizing treat that was Pete.

“My work here is done.”

And just like that, he shifted back and got off of Porsche’s lap, like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just revved Porsche’s engines and left him hanging. It wasn’t like he was expecting to fuck his roommate but fuck if Pete wasn’t a special kind of evil.

“I’ll shower first,” he said, pulling off his tank top as he started to undress.

Porsche looked away.

Pete hadn’t been headed anywhere with his advances. He really was just teaching Porsche a lesson. Now the lesson was done, he was just going to dust off and walk away. Yeah , Porsche thought, getting up and slipping into his shoes and grabbing his phone as he headed for the door.

Because there was no way he was spending the night in the same room as all that.

[luxerps]

ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴀʀᴅꜱ, Discord 18+ K-Pop Mafia Roleplay!

The murder of powerful mafia leader, Min Hyunshik of North Kings, in late January caused an uproar on Seoul’s city streets. His son, Min Yoongi, groomed to take over for his father since puberty, is next in line for leadership. Not everyone in North Kings is ready to follow Yoongi’s lead since he has yet to prove himself. Some members are out for their own personal gains, questioning and defying the new leadership while also making a play for the new leader’s spot. Other members want to leave the gang life all together but loyalty and the fear of consequences for leaving is making them stay. Despite all that’s stacked against him, Yoongi is set on proving himself and getting his men in check by any means necessary, while also looking into the unsolved murder of his father.

Enter South Aces, a mafia led by experienced leader, Kim Seokjin, who controls the streets of Daegu and Busan and is looking to expand his territory up north. Once the death of Min Hyunshik reaches his ears, he makes plans to infiltrate and take over the territory. A gang is only as good as their leadership and with Yoongi’s lack of experience, North Kings is as good as his. Little does Seokjin know, his days are numbered and he is moving on shaky ground as those closest to him aren’t as loyal as he believes.

As North Kings and South Aces collide in an all-out gang war, it’s up to the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency to keep the streets of Seoul safe and secure. It’s a task that is easier said than done, but the newly appointed Chief General is determined to put an end to organized crime. By taking a new approach and putting officers in positions of power, giving them undercover assignments, and putting them in the forefront of temptation, he thinks he can take down both gangs and relish in the glory. He’s soon about to find out that there’s a reason these two groups are notorious and have been thriving for years and not all cops are good cops.

Join House of Cards and enter the world of mafia as a member of North Kings, South Aces, law enforcement, or as a civilian just trying to navigate through these dangerous times.

- 18+ server with age verification upon entry. - Any Korean entertainment faceclaim is welcomed (it’s a lot more diverse than just bts) - Plot driven with plenty of room for character development. - Various writing styles welcomed. - 2 post per week req. - Click to join.

[sword-dad-fukuzawa]

I support Kunikida for next leader of the ADA, pt 1

(Lemme preface this by saying @scalpel-mom-mori​ and I wrote a wholeass AU and outline for the next generation of the ADA, with the headcanon that Kunikida was president for a while after Fukuzawa, and the original members lowkey scattered to the winds. And the entire agency is staffed by OCs based on mangakas. I never had the motivation to write it after outlining, but if anyone wants to see it and have a laugh, here. I’m particularly proud of Tite Kubo’s.)

Warning for mild manga spoilers.

Anyway, onto Kunikida. He’s one of my favorites, so I may be a bit biased. But I have so many feelings about Kunikida being the leader of the ADA in Fukuzawa’s absence and the idea that, if Fukuzawa couldn’t stay President, the position would go to Kunikida. 

First- let’s talk the Cannibalism arc. Specifically, the hospital scene. The Port Mafia is outside, the president is indisposed, and the ADA is ill-equipped to go up against the Mafia without Dazai. They’re effectively down two members and the Port Mafia’s vanguard, their literal city-killer in human form, and endless array of gunmen have them surrounded. 

“As expected of experts at surprise attacks and murders,” says Yosano. “What shall we do?”

She’s facing Kunikida. 

He’s already rushing into considering plans, weighing his options, and discarding them. His first instinct was to plan, to strategize about the enemy’s strength against their own.

And then Ranpo’s voice cuts through the noise. “Don’t rush, Kunikida,” he says, and ignores Yosano’s concern to ask him, rhetorically, if he’s still the “pupil of the director”. And then he tells Kunikida that he heard the man say, still unconscious, “Get a hold of yourself.” He points at Kunikida and orders him to give them directions, naming him interim director. 

(God, this scene is so fucking powerful.)

Anyway. Yosano and Ranpo both turned to Kunikida first for directions, and they’re the oldest members of the Agency in that they have the most seniority. They’ve been there for longer than Kunikida, but neither of them take charge--instead, they defer explicitly to him, and there is meaning in that, there’s responsibility, and there’s the implicit message that they have faith in him.

Kunikida doesn’t shy away from it, either. No, because he’s already strategizing, trying to hammer out a plan on the fly when everyone knows Kunikida hates doing things on the fly. He likes to meticulously portion out his time and consider all the angles of a situation before rushing in, but there is no time, and Kunikida recognizes this when he thinks “but such a last minute plan now...” 

He knows his limits. He knows his weaknesses. But everything is down to the wire and he has a responsibility. 

So he rises to the occasion. 

What does it take to be a leader?

The respect of one’s men. The only others who may have more authority are Yosano and Ranpo, with their seniority and Ranpo’s position as the lynchpin of the Agency. But they defer to him, and the others follow. 

Strength, and the knowledge of one’s weaknesses. Kunikida has a detailed knowledge of the ADA’s strengths and his own, which he factors into his strategizing, and he’s aware of his own faults--enough that he can depend on his team to compensate for them. He’s not amazing at last minute planning, for example. Ranpo knows this and tells him to give him the situation, and he’d try to plan something out too. 

The backing of the previous leader. It may seem like Ranpo would be Fukuzawa’s protege. But Ranpo has never been interested in organization, or in leadership, or in directing the movements of the Agency. No, that’s always been Kunikida, and Ranpo says it himself in this scene. Kunikida canonically learned hand-to-hand from Fukuzawa--he’s probably learned other aspects of managing the ADA from him as well. 

Conviction. And perhaps this is where Kunikida is the weakest--his faith not in his team, because he is realistic about their skills, but in himself. He lives by his ideals but he questions them daily. “Is this where my ideals fail?” he asks himself. But he makes up for it with the knowledge that he can’t fail, he has people depending on him, and to betray their trust is a possibility he isn’t willing to entertain. It’s how he finds the strength to jump out of the helicopter in order to stop the Hunting Dogs, for example. More on that later. 

[nomanwalksalone]

STYLE AND THE DAMME

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

Late in his new series Jean-Claude Van Johnson, Jean-Claude Van Damme, in tailored suit and open-collared white shirt, gestures up from his Aston Martin to his secret hideout with the instantly classic setup line, “No one has looked for me here for 20 years.” It’s a Blockbuster Video. As always, Van Damme is “on the run from the law, military or mafia,” but just this once, perfectly on the nose with this quip. And with it, three wildly different cultural icons, Van Damme, the tailored suit and Aston Martin, come into a strange but telling momentary alignment from the vastly different places they were in those 20 years ago.

20 years ago Van Damme was just over the peak of his fame, a coked-up Belgian kickboxing force who was fresh off The Quest, a big-budget, less satisfying remake of Van Damme’s best film, Bloodsport. He was about to star in a film about exploding jeans with the SNL copier guy Rob Schneider. Even better than it sounds, Knock Off knocked Van Damme off his pedestal and into the direct-to-video purgatory in which he’s labored since then. And labor he has, dedicated to actually becoming an actor of range and depth despite none of his audience actually caring. Direct-to-video films generally get ignored. Popularly, we expect them mainly to be watched by fans of fading stars expecting the predictable. It’s poignant, then, that Van Damme turned in a convincing performance in a pastiche of Bad Lieutenant and showed he could telegraph real pathos in John Hyams’ unfathomably good DTV Universal Soldier sequels Universal Soldier: Regeneration and Universal Soldier: Day of Reckoning.  

Van Damme didn’t have to expend that effort. Witness the trajectory of his erstwhile rival Steven Seagal, a trajectory of almost cosmological increasing expansion behind yellow-tinted shooting glasses and spray-on-hair, accommodated in dozens of unwatchable movies by screenplays and direction that allow Seagal literally not to move. Seagal’s kept his many-chinned profile up in recent years courting tinpot authoritarians in the United States and Eastern Europe. Unlike Seagal, in recent years Van Damme has gained attention and respect by embracing his own ridiculousness. He played up this self-awareness with surprising comedic and dramatic talent in 2009’s JCVD, a scathing satire of his own dead-end career and broken life. He brings this willingness to both mock and explore himself to Jean-Claude Van Johnson, where he plays a retired actor who is actually a retired spy. Shoots for cheesy movies in Eastern Europe, such as a chop-socky reboot of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (“It’s time to get Hucked”), are just covers to investigate and infiltrate drug gangs, diabolical masterminds, and eventually the rotten entertainment industry itself.

The key to that last mission, taking down the corrupt talent and espionage agency that had used him, is looking the part, 2017 edition. Looking a part means meeting all the clichés, the easy expectations of a role. For that of Erstwhile Movie Star, today it means pulling up to the agency in an Aston Martin in a tailored suit, no tie. It certainly didn’t always. 20 years ago, Aston Martin had nowhere to go but up, or into oblivion. Since then, oblivion has claimed most of the other romantically exotic British car brands like TVR and Bristol. Aston used to mean just Bond films, Bond satires, and bad Bond copies. By the early 1990s, its annual sales had slumped to fewer than 200 cars worldwide and its main model, the Virage, cost $250,000. I’ve only seen one of those ever, late at night in my college town decades ago, looking like something from another world.

Today, thanks to prudent investment and positioning by Ford and Tata, Astons are a shorthand for the showbizzy glitterati of our world, occasionally favoring us with an appearance in our grocery store parking lot or, with motor gunning, running the red light we’d prudently braked for. Hugh Grant bought one after filming About A Boy because his tween co-star thought it would be cool; Isla Fisher drove one playing Ron Howard’s vapid daughter in Arrested Development. Van Damme’s Aston is the same sort of shorthand: predictable, expensive flamboyance to be expected from a has-been with money.

What does this mean for the suit? 20 years ago it was in the wilderness, a wilderness grown out of the backlash to 1980s corporatism, a wilderness so wild that for a few seasons designers were trying to put men in waistcoats, frock coats or Nehru jackets instead of sport coats or suits. Those didn’t take, but for the rest of us casualwear replaced the suit with identikit billowing blue shirts and baggy khakis in business settings, and with jeans, sweats or anything else, really, in other settings. 20 years ago the suit had just barely begun to creep back in certain circles in the United Kingdom as a so-called smart formal outfit for social outings, with a nice shirt but never a tie. It was too soon for that reminder of 1980s correctness. Since that time, Hedi Slimane goosed the “tailored look” with his tight suits, while fashion seized on the financial crises of 2001 and 2008 to push a return to supposedly more serious dressing. In the fashion idiom, the opposite of frivolity is expensive conservatism, ergo the suit. The tie, too, fought its way back up for a couple of years of air, but not in the world of cliché and shorthand, where smart actor of a certain age means nice suit, white shirt (anything else would be too busy) and no tie – no ties to the normal working world.

Today, Van Damme, Aston Martin and the smart suit are in alignment, all in fashion again… for the moment. Whether Aston Martin stays in fashion will depend on its owners and backers keeping technologically modern cars in production and promoting them. As to Van Damme and the suit? It’s just as ironically sad as Van Damme becoming a good actor that the suit, formerly the inescapable classic clothing item, returned only as a fashion item. This means that it can and will be replaced by something else in fashion, like yoga pants for men. Maybe Van Damme, too, is only having a moment as a whimsical nostalgia item like the suit.

But Jean-Claude Van Johnson has a real lesson for us beyond this sentimentality. Although it is about an actor who is actually an international spy, its reality is an actor playing his persona and pretending to find himself. His choices are to hide from the world behind cabinets of Pop Tarts and made-up memories, or to engage with the uncanny and unfair demands of an unfamiliar age. He chooses to engage, despite his heyday being long behind him and the things that he had fought for illusory. Remember that in fact there was no more genteel age of yore, only pasts of different levels of exploitation and oligarchy. The classy actors we now associate with elegance were actors playing parts, both on screen and in public life. No halcyon days await our return. However we adapt to changing times and changing understandings of what is right, ultimately we can best face down challenging times by being ourselves in the moment. Or as Van Damme-from-the-future reminds us, “TimeCops don’t exist.” We cannot change the timestream to fit our illusions. We can only do with what we have: our personality, not our persona, and from time to time, still, a nice suit as both armor and disguise.

Quality content, like quality clothing, ages well. This article first appeared on the No Man blog in 2018.

[jjkfire]

Obey

Reader x Taehyung // mafia!AU // 8k words

Summary: You’re the agency’s worst escort and yet the local mafia’s head of security still chooses you

Genre: Smut, Fluff (?)

A/N: how long has this been sitting in my drafts? too long. anyway, smut? who is she? i forgot.

Having to pay off loan sharks and save up for graduate school isn’t exactly easy. Your day job pays you good money but the interest on the illegal loan your estranged father left you with, compounds with each growing day. You knew coming back to your hometown had been a mistake but with your mother’s recent death, you didn’t know where else to go. Who knew that when you returned, you’d be slapped with a debt so big that you couldn’t even dream of paying it off? You haven’t seen your father since you were 4 but that didn’t stop the loan sharks. They needed their money back and you were his only available next of kin. You needed more money and you needed it quick. That’s why when your co-worker, Seokjin tells you of an opening at the local escort agency, you jump at the chance.

Seokjin is an angel, that much you’re convinced. He’s pulled so many strings just for you and you don’t think there’s any way you can ever repay his kindness. He pretty much runs the HR side of things for the escort agency and is the only reason why you’ve been allowed to get away with most of the nonsense that you do. In summary, you’re a horrible escort and Jin covers for you every time.

The local escort agency is a rather interesting organization. It serviced mainly the local mafia boys, providing the men with entertainment every time they stopped by the lounge. Whatever it was they were interested in doing for the night, be that gambling, karaoke or even just plain old drinking, the lounge was the place for that. All the newbies to the escort agency were often made to work most nights, servicing these men. 

The job was simple. You were basically glorified arm candy. You would bring the boys their drinks, let them touch your butt a little or let them kiss your neck if they wanted to and then go home with a few extra hundred-dollar bills. Now just as all the other girls, clients could choose to call you up and rent you for a night. Yet, you’ve made it a whole year without that happening. Any other one of the escorts would be upset about that because everyone knows you get more money if you actually spent the night with someone. It’s a bit of a talent of yours, turning clients away from you without putting yourself in jeopardy but this time around, you seem to have run out of luck.

Tonight, you find yourself standing in line with 4 other girls, facing a double-sided mirror. It’s common practice for when someone high up in the mafia hierarchy was looking for a new plaything… or so you’ve been told. This is your first time ever being in this room. To put off the client, you chose an ill-fitting dress for the night. You hadn’t even bothered to put on make-up either. Your agency has long stopped trying to tell you what to do. Lord knows Jin has given up months ago. Anyway, you’re not sure why you’re even here. You rarely— or more accurately, never got selected from the binder because you had made it a mission to make yourself sound rather boring, unappealing even and you even made sure to be extremely honest about your lack of sexual prowess.

Yet, despite all of that, you were selected… and by Kim Taehyung no less. See, this time you were actually nervous. No one had seen you in this state before, actually trembling.

Last week

“Why was my profile even in the binder? Don’t you usually offer some sort of premium binder with only the best girls to clients as important as him?” You ask Jin as you pace up and down his office.

“We did but then he asked for the general binder. Said that he didn’t quite trust our taste.”

“Honestly, my profile shouldn’t even be in the binder anymore,” You groan.

Truth is, you shouldn’t even be an employee anymore but they needed pretty faces to entertain the boys. See, you wanted the money from being an escort but you weren’t quite sure about the sex part. The last boyfriend you had, had made sure you were painfully aware at how bad you were at pleasing men. So, you and Jin came up with the master plan to help you become an escort without really being one. Together you curated your profile, making sure that the men would skip right past your page when going through the binder of girls they could select from. It’s worked so far. You’ve fooled every single man that’s gone through the binder… except Taehyung of course.

Seokjin and every living, breathing soul had told you to keep your distance from him. See, Taehyung was the Head of Security for the local mafia. That meant he was the fixer. If there was a problem in any form, that being a situation or even a person, he would make the problem disappear. Easy, fast, quick. Taehyung embodied efficiency. They said he worked like a robot, pulling the trigger with absolutely no remorse. So, the word on the street was if you just so much as breathe wrongly in his presence, he could end you right there, right then. Around him, mistakes weren’t allowed and thus, you were told that if you ever got selected to be his regular, your life expectancy would sink like a rock.

You should’ve listened, you really should’ve. You should’ve found other ways to keep yourself busy but it’s not your fault that the girls didn’t give you a good enough description of him the first night you met him. They said tall and dangerous but to you, Taehyung seemed anything but dangerous.

There were girls aplenty that night you were working the lounge. You slipped away into the other room, knowing full well that you wouldn’t be missed. You arranged and rearranged the strawberries and assorted snacks on the many different plates. You twisted and turned all the alcohol bottles laid out and read their labels over and over just to pass time. You munched on the snacks, humming a tune as you looked out the window to see the town you call home. It’s not until you saw Taehyung in the reflection that you jumped in your spot, quickly swallowing what you had in your mouth before dusting your dress off any crumbs.

“C-can I get anything for you? Whiskey, maybe?” You asked with a smile despite the fact that you had been caught red-handed slacking on the job.

“A double shot gin and tonic would be nice,” He smiled and you got to work immediately. You were stirring the tall glass soon after, ready to lead him into the main room but he made himself comfortable on one of the couches behind you instead.

“It’s getting a little rowdy out there,” He laughed. “You know how Jimin gets when he’s having a good game of blackjack.”

You only nodded, laughing before you set down his drink in front of him. You stood awkwardly before him, unsure if you were meant to join him or return to the main room. As if sensing your unease, he called for you to take a seat.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” He hummed, stirring his drink. “Are you new?”

“Me? Oh, I’ve been here a few months already so not exactly new… but I’m Y/N,” You smiled, introducing yourself.

“Taehyung,” He grinned in return and he watched your eyes go wide, like you had a moment of realization. “Judging by your expression, you’ve heard of me?”

“Y-yeah… You’re the Head of Security. A very important man,” You laughed but he could sense the fear behind your laughter.

Though you were awkward at first, you quickly became comfortable. Taehyung was easy to be around, interesting to talk to and with every night you saw him, the two of you only grew closer. He would often find you in the back room, the same way he found you the first time, munching away on snacks meant for him and the boys. The two of you would be lost in your own world, talking about anything from conspiracy theories to sports to world politics and even local gossip. That’s not to say all the two of you ever did was talk. Sometimes he had his hand halfway up your skirt, your lips melding against his, moving at a set rhythm until you pull away, breathless, but aching for more. You guess you didn’t actually mind it. Taehyung was easy on the eyes, and that was an understatement. If anything it was sure as hell better than being fondled by some 50 year old guy. Maybe it also had to do with the fact that you were inexperienced, that this was the most action you’ve gotten since you broke up with your boyfriend more than 3 years ago. If anything, it was an ego boost. Who would say no to making out with someone like him? The answer is well… almost everybody, but contrary to what everyone said, Taehyung seemed harmless. In fact, he was rather sweet. Always taking his time with you, always respectful.

You believed it, you really did. You understood that Taehyung might be a ruffian at work but when it was just you and him, he was anything but. Jin had to sit you down and really knock some sense into you, detailing his crimes, reiterating stories he had heard. He was ruthless, a maniac. Someone who would slit your throat without hesitation. Jin said you and the other girls had to understand that if Taehyung picked any one of you, there was no room for anything but perfection. You knew among the 5 girls that he had chosen, you were the weakest link and for your sake, everyone prayed he wouldn’t choose you because if he did, it was game over. It wasn’t just your life at risk you see, it was everyone’s. If Taehyung was unhappy with the service, after dealing with you, the next to go would be Jin and given Taehyung’s reputation, everyone would follow suit. It won’t be you, you mumbled. He wasn’t stupid. The boys talk about the escorts among themselves. He must know that any of the other girls would be a much better choice. You were worrying for nothing, you smiled. It wasn’t going to be you, you were confident it wasn’t.

“Y/N,” Jin hears Taehyung say through his earpiece. With unsteady fingers, he points at you and Taehyung gives an affirmation.

When Jin grabs you by the hand, attempting to lead you out of the room, you hesitate. You were so sure you weren’t going to be chosen, not when you were standing next to what were the top stars of the agency. Panic rises within you because you’re not ready for this responsibility. You couldn’t have the fate of the agency resting in your hands.

“I have herpes!” You shout, lying, eyes roaming around the double-sided mirror, not knowing where exactly he was standing. “Tell him I have herpes,” You tell Jin who winces when you tug his arm with urgency.

“He says he doesn’t care,” Jin mumbles, tapping at his earpiece.

“W-wait— Taehy—”

You don’t get to finish your sentence because Jin is already dragging you out of the room. He wears an expression you’ve never seen before. It’s anger and fear, all mixed into one and when he pins you with his stare, you choose to look at your feet.

The elevator ride is silent, the doors opening with a ding when it reaches the top floor, the suite reserved for only the best clients. The last time you were in here was for a training session. You were taught how to work the room. Where to sit, what to do, how to entice the men. You struggle to remember most of it now, not when you’re thinking of how you were going to even survive tonight.

“Jin, please, you need to do something,” You whine, almost thrashing in your spot when you stop in front of the door. “Tell him something, tell him—”

“Stop making a scene! There’s nothing I can do now, do you understand?” Jin grumbles, shaking you. “Listen once you go into that room, I can’t really protect you anymore. You know what he’s capable of so, keep that pretty trap of yours shut.”

You simply nod, suddenly rendered mute by the warning. Before shutting the door on you, Jin flashes you a thumbs up, trying to look optimistic but you know more than anyone that he’s scared. In some way, he feels responsible for all of this and god, if anything happens to you, he’s not sure he can forgive himself. With shaky legs, you step further into the room, scanning the suite for a place to sit. Your eyes snap to the bed and you assume that’s where he would want you to be. It’s where you’ve been taught to sit anyway.

It isn’t long before you hear the door creak, Taehyung stepping into the room with a soft smile on his lips. He greets you and all you do is wave dumbly. God, you’re absolutely adorable. While unbuttoning his blazer, he realizes you look different tonight. The expression you wear mimics the one you had on the first time he met you. Fear. He could see it on every inch of your face.

“I uhh— I have herpes,” You mumble, again, as a last-ditch effort.

“I know you don’t,” Taehyung sighs, holding up a piece of paper that you know holds the results from the STD test that the agency made you go for just a few days ago.

“How are you so sure? The test results could be fabricated.”

“Oh your agency wouldn’t dare,” He laughs, placing his blazer on the back of a chair.

“Maybe I slept with someone last night,” You mumble, shuffling your feet. You mean to sound confident but it comes out sounding as anything but that.

“Yeah? And how was it then?” He asks as he removes his gun from his waistband, setting it down on the table. The sight makes Jin’s numerous warnings sound in your head again. This was no time to lie, no time to joke.

“Mustn’t have been that great if it’s taking you so long to answer,” He chuckles, noting your silence.

“I-I didn’t sleep with anyone last night,” You sigh, hands folding nervously in your lap.

Taehyung simply laughs before striding over to take a seat next to you. You’re nervous that much he can tell. You can’t even look him in the eye.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” He murmurs, and you gulp, forcing yourself to look at him just so you can nod.

At that, he smiles. He stands up and makes his way over to the ice bucket tucked in the corner of the room.

“Champagne?”

“Yes, please.”

That’s the only sentence you’ve said so far with absolute certainty.

He walks over, glass of champagne in one hand and plate of strawberries in another. You accept them both meekly. Twirling the glass of champagne in your hand while you munch on a strawberry.

You’re a nervous eater and drinker. You knocked back glasses of champagne and almost cleared the whole plate of strawberries on your own.

“I have a feeling you don’t do this very often,” Taehyung smiles, refilling your glass for what must’ve been the 5th time now.

“H-huh? Oh, um, sorry,” You mumble as you snap into action. You tug your dress a little lower by the cleavage before you move up on the bed. You move slow, Taehyung watching as you kick off your shoes. Taking your time, you lay on your side, shoulders rolled back so your chest was on display. Your other hand slides to rest on your hip, before it slides down lower, drawing his attention to what he wanted the most. With your champagne still in hand, you put on a sultry expression, one you’ve been coached to make. Your free hand reaches for a strawberry, stopping to lick your lips just after a bite.

Taehyung takes a seat on the bed, laughing as he shook his head. When he turns to look at you, he sees a frown on your face. You didn’t understand. You did everything they told you to do. He was supposed to be smirking, not laughing. Taehyung pats the spot next to him, beckoning you over to take a seat.

“It doesn’t suit you,” He hums, when you’re finally at his side. “The whole sexy act they teach you girls to put on.”

“But, I-I’m plenty sexy,” You pout. You knew you weren’t a bombshell like some of the other girls were but you had your… well, charm.

“You are, you are,” He grins, pulling you onto his lap with ease as he’s done many times before. “I never said you weren’t. I just think you’re sexier when you’re doing your own thing, not whatever they teach you,” He hums as he pulls you in closer, his chest now flush against your back.

“But the act is what you boys like,” You mumble, as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “You know, we flash some skin, sway our hips, wink a little and by then you’ll all be drooling already.”

Taehyung lets out a breathy laugh, one hand wrapped around your centre while the other reaches for his champagne glass. He simply clinks his glass against yours with a smile.

“I can’t deny that,” He sighs after setting aside both his glass and yours. “But you see I much prefer you like this. Disobedient and sassy.”

You can’t see his face but you can almost imagine the smirk he’s wearing right now. It’s the one he always flashes you when he’s busy ogling you. His fingers toy with the sleeves of your dress that sit awkwardly on your shoulder, slipping them off with practised ease, as if he does this all the time and you sit there in his lap, too afraid to move.

“T-Taehy—"

There’s a hum of approval that leaves his lips, when your dress pools at your waist, his fingers brushing the underside of your bra. He peppers your shoulder with kisses, moving along until he reached your neck, his lips moving slow, leaving marks that you are sure will show tomorrow. Your breath stutters, quiet moans leaving your lips as his hand moves up to wrap around your throat. It’s right and it’s wrong. You want to but you can’t and you mean to stay silent but you can’t help but say what’s been on your mind since he stepped into the room.

“I haven’t had sex in years,” You blurt out, your eyes shut tight as you feel his lips pull away, the grip around your neck now loose as his hand drops back to your waist.

“I don’t know if they lied on my profile but I genuinely haven’t done it in years,” You sigh, hands toying with the material of your dress. They must’ve lied on your profile. Otherwise, Taehyung would’ve never picked you. “And I know they give us ratings, in terms of how good we are in bed and—”

“They rated you a 1/10.”

“Really? Wh—wha— T-That’s mean. I think I’m at least a solid three,” You huff. Three was the arbitrary number you and Jin had decided on because you were bad, but you weren’t that bad. “Anyway, that’s not my point.”

“What is your point then, love?” He asks and you twist in his lap to look at him. His hold on you is still tender, hands softly sitting on your hips.

“There’s a girl we have, Mirae. She’s a 10/10. Everyone that’s been with her, loves her.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with her. She was in the final line-up,” Taehyung mumbles, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What did she have to do with anything the two of you were doing right now?

“Exactly! You can just call them up, say you’re dissatisfied with me and ask for Mirae,” You smile. “They’ll send her right up.”

“But I’m not dissatisfied with you,” He frowns, utterly at a loss at why you would think so.

“O-okay, but she’s a guarantee 10/10 will blow your mind type of girl,” You mumble.

Your gaze is fixed somewhere else, as if you were too afraid to look him in the eye. It’s odd. You seemed to have had no problems being in his presence all the weeks prior to this. Maybe he was just so caught up in his own emotions to realize that you wanted none of this. Though, he’s sure that’s not the case. Most of the times he had you in his lap in the lounge, you’d be moaning into his mouth as you kissed him back as fervently as he did. You’d drive him crazy, grinding down on him as if you wanted more, moaning sinful things into his ears.

“Do I make you feel uncomfortable?”

“No… no, not at all.”

“So then do I scare you?”

“Not exactly,” You murmur, fingers pinching at your dress. “It’s just… you’re an important guy a-and we strive to impress. I also can’t afford to lose this job,” You mumble, eyes downcast.

“So you think you’re going to lose this job if I’m not impressed?”

“It’s a possibility, yes.”

“I’ll tell them you were a 10/10 mind blowing experience even if you were atrocious if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, as if hope was gleaming in them and at that he could only smile. My god, you had him wrapped around your finger and you didn’t even know it.

“A-and you can’t take it out on anyone at the agency,” You mumble.

“You have my word, love,” He grins, nodding. “And I am always a man of my word.”

See, he’s anything but dangerous. You didn’t understand why everyone sees him as some type of monster.

“So,” He hums, twisting you back into your original spot, his chest pressed against your back once more. “Now back to business. You said you haven’t had sex in years? Is that why you’re always dripping even when all we’ve been doing is kissing?”

“I-I do not know what you’re talking about.”

Taehyung laughs, lips tucked between his teeth when you attempt to shrink away.

“There’s no need to be shy about it,” He smiles, hands moving down towards your thigh. His fingers massage your inner thighs, slowly making its way up. They creep higher and higher and you whimper, especially so when he lets out a breathy laugh. “So, you decided to skip the panties today,” He notes when he finds nothing but your smooth skin. His fingers move through your folds, making you squirm in his hold. “And here I was, thinking you didn’t want any of this.”

“I… I ran out of time,” You mumble. “Couldn’t find a clean pair.”

Taehyung snorts, shaking his head. You surely are an interesting character.

“I’m not complaining,” He smirks. “It just makes my job easier.”

Taehyung surely takes his time, his fingers moving at a glacial pace as his lips continue their work on your neck. You want to tell him to speed it up, to do something because you needed your 3-year drought to come to an end.

“You have something to say?” He questions as you continue to whine and fidget.

“I want more,” You murmur.

“More? More what, love?”

You know he’s just teasing. He knows what you want. How could he possibly not.

“Tell me, what do you want? Is it my fingers in your pussy?” He smirks, plunging two of them into you without any warning whatsoever and you moan, your eyebrows knit together at the sensation. “Or do you want me to touch you here? Work this until you’re sore and begging me to stop?” He queries, his thumb beginning to rub your clit in tight circles. You screw your eyes shut at the feeling, your hand fisting the sheets by your side as you spread your legs wider. God, it’s been too long, you think to yourself. This could hardly compare to your nightly routine of rubbing one out yourself under the blanket. The way his fingers stretch you when he curls them upwards makes you feel delirious and all you can do is mumble his name over and over. His thumb rubs tighter, faster circles against your bundle of nerves and you bite down on your lip to muffle the choked noises that threaten to spill out of your mouth.

“Look at you, you’re making such a mess,” He murmurs into your ear. The way his lips ghosts the shell of your ear makes a shiver run through you. His lips slowly moves down to leave marks on your neck, his tongue laving across the spots he’s decorated your skin with. “You’re dripping all over. Is it because you haven’t been touched in a while or because you’ve never been touched like this at all?”

You can’t answer, not when he’s doing all of that. Your mouth hangs open, almost as if you’re trying to answer him but all that leaves your throat are soft moans. Taehyung only laughs, his free hand moving to unbuckle your bra, fingers pinching your nipples when you finally help him rid yourself of the bra.

“Answer me, love,” He grins, teasing your nipple again, the act eliciting yet another moan out of you. “Has anyone else made you feel like this?”

“N-no,” You manage to say. “M-my ex wasn’t into anything other than doing it in the doggy position.”

“That’s a shame,” He sighs. “He never got to see you like this, moaning and whimpering, all desperate for more,” He hums, his hand abandoning your chest to move up to your throat, squeezing it lightly.

“I’m gonna cum,” You choke out as you begin to see white behind your eyelids, your legs trembling as he picks up the pace, his fingers pumping in and out of you with fervour.

“Not yet, love. You only cum when I say so.”

“I c-cant—”

“Ah, but you will,” He mumbles, adding a third finger, making you let out a choked sob. He wears an evil smirk as he teases your breast with his hand, his fingers moving to pinch your nipple harshly. You let out a whimper, your head lolling back as you try to ignore the tension in the pit of your stomach that threatens to snap.

“Please, please Taehyung, I—" Your sentence is cut short by a moan because he presses against your clit harder, rubbing figure eights at a pace that almost makes you go limp. You can feel your control begin to slip, your legs trembling as the pressure building in your abdomen finally snaps and you see nothing but hot white behind your eyelids. You’re panting, grinding down onto Taehyung’s lap as a slew of cuss words escape you. The man is relentless, his digits curling into your walls, his thumb still continuing on at its furious pace as you climb down from your high.

“I guess you’re not very good at following orders,” Taehyung sighs, clicking his tongue as he finally stops, pulling his hand away from your sopping pussy. He brings his hand up to your mouth, forcing you to lick clean your juices off his fingers and you do, tongue moving across them as you suck. “Dirty girl,” He smirks, pulling his digits out of your mouth before he grabs you by the waist, twisting you in his lap so you were facing him again.

“So what shall we do with you, hmm?” He prompts, his hold tender but his gaze otherwise. “I don’t take too kindly to disobedient sluts,” He huffs, removing his hold on you to loosen the tie he’s been wearing. You gulp, almost trembling because you couldn’t quite tell what he was going to do next. With the tie still in his hands, he reaches over to lift you up off his lap, urging to make yourself at home higher up the bed. He smirks, eyeing you in all your glory and with a single finger he points at your dress still pooled at your waist. You nod in understanding, discarding it without him having to say a single word. There was no more room for mistakes.

“This time when I say you only cum when I say so, I hope you listen,” He exhales as he stands up to unbuckle his pants. “Unless of course, you wish to be punished,” He smiles, devilishly so, as he unbuttons his shirt, tossing the tie onto the bed.

“N-no, I don’t,” You mumble, stuttering, unsure exactly what kind of punishment he meant. Did he mean punishment as in he would put a bullet in your skull or punishment as in a light spank on the ass? Though the latter sounds tempting, you’re not willing to find out just what he has in store for you in case of your disobedience. “I’ll be good,” You murmur, hypnotized when he rids himself of his pants and boxers, his cock slapping against his stomach.

“Will you?” He hums, hands wrapped around his member, groaning as he pumps himself a few times, precum leaking out of the tip. You watch, mesmerized, almost drooling as he pads over closer to you. “But you know, I can’t help but think I’m being too easy on you.”

You freeze in your spot, unsure of what to do next. Luckily for you, Taehyung does all the work. With his back sinking into the pillows, he pulls you onto his lap again but this time you’re facing him.

“See, this isn’t the first time. You’re always defiant, sassy, and I can’t count the number of times I’ve wanted to fuck you stupid when we were in the lounge just so you could understand who you were dealing with,” He hums, rubbing the head of his cock against your folds. You shiver, biting your lip as you could feel it just mere centimetres away from where you wanted it to be.

“Then do it,” You tease, hand slipping down to guide his length to your entrance because if he was going to leave you waiting for so long, he obviously needed help. Taehyung only laughs at that, slapping your hand away. He guides you onto your back, pinning your hands above your head as he leaves kisses down the valley of your breasts, only stopping because he can hear you release a shaky exhale.

“Oh, I will,” He smirks, pulling away to line up his cock to your pussy. He starts slow, teasing you as he rubs his cock against your core, groaning as your juices coated his length. You whine, about to demand him to do something but before you can say anything, he plunges into you, thrusting upwards in one swift motion, giving you no time to adjust to his size. You gasp, mouth hanging open as you let out a choked sob. “Baby, I’ll fuck you so good, so hard but only if you promise to listen.”

“I-I will,” You whimper, soft moans filling up the room as he rocks against you slowly.

“Good,” He mumbles before his tongue envelops one of your nipples. “Now keep your hands there. No touching until I say so.”

You only nod in response, barely able to hear him as your mind goes blank, his cock brushing against the spot that made your toes curl. Your body felt like it was on fire, his touch making you keen against him, his lips making your mind grow hazy.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” He groans, eyes screwed shut as he delivers on his promise, thrusting into you so hard that you could almost feel him in your throat. He lifts your legs up over his shoulder and god, you didn’t think he could make you feel any better but as he buries his cock into you to the hilt, you can only moan in return. Taehyung whines, meeting your tongue in a sloppy kiss, lips moving against yours with fervour. It takes everything in you to not reach out to tug at his hair, to pull him closer. You needed him, wanted him.

“Tae, I-I want—” You manage to choke out between kisses but he silences you with his lips.

“More?” He asks, laughing breathily as he pulls out halfway before he slams back into you. Your eyes roll back as he does it a few more times, rendering you silent apart from the long moans that leave you without your consent. “You’re a greedy little slut, aren’t you?”

“Tae,” You murmur, your walls clenching around him as he thrusts deeper, harder.

“Don’t do that, baby. Not yet,” He warns, slipping a thumb into your mouth. You nod, tongue wrapping around it as you suck. Fuck, you were driving him insane. His other hand holds onto your waist with a grip so tight you’re sure it’ll bruise tomorrow. You could care less, especially when he was making you feel this good. You could already feel it, the coil in your stomach being held together solely by your will threatening to release, your muscles tightening and Taehyung warns you once more when you clench around him yet another time.

“Be good,” He grumbles, his grip on your waist tightening and you wail, nodding as you focus on keeping yourself together. You lace your hands through his hair, finding purchase on whatever you can, as if doing any of that could help you from falling apart.

“What did I say about touching?” Taehyung growls, as he pulls away from you, your pussy clenching at the sudden emptiness. Your eyes snap open, eyebrows tucked together in worry as Taehyung sighs, reaching for his tie at the end of the bed.

“S-sorry, I was just trying to—”

Taehyung isn’t interested in your excuses. He flips you over, almost as if you weighed nothing, quickly pinning your hands behind your back.

“Since you have trouble listening, let me help you,” He mumbles, using his necktie to tie your hands together, the soft silk digging into your wrists as he double knots it. He huffs, lifting you by the waist so you were now on your knees, the side of your face still pressed to the mattress. “I knew I was being too easy on you,” He mumbles, hand splayed over your ass that was now on show for him. Without warning, he brings his hand down harshly onto the flesh of your ass, making you tuck your lips between your teeth, partially muffling your moan.

“So, are you going to behave now?”

“Yes!” You cry, nodding into the sheets.

“No more chances,” Taehyung mumbles. “Next time you disobey me, I’m going to leave you high and dry, begging me to make you cum.”

You don’t even have the chance to say anything because Taehyung wastes no time, hand around your neck as his cock pushes past your folds, filling you up once again.

“Fuuuck,” You moan as he thrusts into you, his fat cock stretching you out deliciously. You clench your fists, wrists struggling against his necktie because all you wanted right now was to tug at his hair or dig your nails into his skin. God, he was driving you insane.

His hand around your neck isn’t there to choke you but more so he could find leverage to slam into you harder. You whimper and whine, legs threatening to give way with every time he thrusts into you.

“You don’t know how long I’ve thought about you like this,” He groans. “All pretty and obedient for me, moaning my name. So fucking good for me.”

The latter part of his sentence is punctuated by his thrusts, his arm wrapped around your centre helps hold you up as your thighs turn to jelly. His rhythm is sloppy now and you can tell he’s close just by the way he’s whining in your ear.

“Just for you,” You cry, as his hand slips down towards your clit, rubbing the nub with just the right pressure, making your head spin. Your sentence seems to spark something in Taehyung because he grips your neck tighter, quickening his pace.

“Fuck, baby you’re driving me crazy,” He grunts as you begin to lose control, your pussy clenching against his length, making the man lose his composure. “God, your pussy feels so good, so fucking wet and tight just for me.”

“L-let me cum, please,” You beg, almost sobbing as your toes curl up in pleasure. “Please, Tae, I c-can’t anymore.”

Taehyung grunts, pulling out all the way before he plunges back in, his following thrusts short and shallow as he struggles to keep a grip on you. He bucks his hip forward, hand grabbing your shoulder as your name comes out in the form of moans. From your spot, you can see his eyebrows tucked together, his face looking absolutely fucked out and god, you’d do anything to see him look like that again. He chases his high desperately, groaning long and hard before he jerks forward, his cock stuttering as his seed spills into you, your walls clenching around him. You whine, cussing as he brings you to your high, his fingers circling your clit, making your vision go white. As he comes down from his high, he thrusts into you, hitting the bundle of nerves inside you, hitting the spot that made you hold your breath. 

“Pl-please, please, please, Taehyung, I need to cum,” You cry, wail almost as you feel the coil in your stomach grow even tighter.

“You want to cum?” He asks, grunting. You nod, whining as he picks up the pace. “Then be a good girl and cum all over my cock, baby.”

You swear you almost black out, your orgasm so intense that you can no longer hold yourself up, your limbs betraying you as you sink into the mattress, pussy pulsing as it clenches uncontrollably. Taehyung pulls out, flipping you over before his lips finds yours between your pants. His kisses are languid and soft, almost as if it’s an apology. His touch is gentle, cradling your cheeks as he kisses you senseless, sucking at your lips so you would part them for him. His free hand moves down to your pussy his fingers slowly gathering his cum that was spilling out just to push it back into you and you squirm under his hold, whimpering. He continues for a while, his fingers brushing over your clit every so often so he could hear you whine, asking him to stop as your pussy throbbed, feeling a tad bit sensitive.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He asks as he undoes the necktie that holds your hands together. He frowns, hands smoothing over your wrists that have been rubbed raw. The question catches you off guard, his entire demeanour does. You’re pretty sure most guys do not treat their escorts this way.

“It’s fine, Taehyung. I-I liked it,” You mumble, eyes downcast. At that he smiles, grabbing the soft towel from the nearby table along with his blazer with him. He’s mostly quiet as he cleans you up. Of course he kind of sits there mesmerized as he watches his cum leak out of your pussy. Damn, you seriously don’t understand what you do to him.

Taehyung offers you his shirt before he puts on his boxers and you sit there, awkwardly buttoning his shirt because isn’t he supposed to leave now? Isn’t that how these things usually go? The men would come here, have their fun and leave immediately after. Why was he still here, lingering?

He soon returns to the bed, his hand reaching into the pockets of his blazer to pull out something. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as he produces two packets, a giant foot printed on each one. You stare it for a little longer before a dawn of realization hits you and you smile, immediately unwrapping the packet when he hands it to you.

“Oh my god, I love these. I almost forgot they existed,” You smile, pulling out the lollipop that was shaped in a foot before carefully dipping it back into the bottom of the packet that held the fizzy powder. “It’s so hard to find them nowadays.”

“Yeah, you can only get them at those really old family owned sundry shops now,” He smiles, unwrapping his own one.

“Seriously, I love this candy so much,” You laugh. “It brings me back to my childhood.”

Taehyung only grins as he makes himself comfortable among the pillows. He beckons you over by patting the spot next to him.

“You know, this sort of feels like it’s meant to console me. Like a hey, you were bad in bed but here, have a lollipop! It’ll make you feel better,” You laugh and Taehyung blushes.

“Th-That’s not what I meant by giving you this lollipop. If anything you’re leagues better than the 3/10 that you think you are.”

“Well, what was your intention then?”

“Nothing really,” He hums. “It’s just that I’m a man of my word is all.”

18 years ago

��It’s not that bad really,” You assure the boy that’s crying in front of you. “It doesn’t hurt one bit,” You smile, wiping the blood away from your lips.

You’re lying. It hurts… a lot and you kind of regret standing up to the bullies but you weren’t just going to sit back and watch those older boys beat up that same little kid again.

“I’m so sorry,” He mumbles, sobbing. “Next time you shouldn’t try to help.”

“I can’t leave you alone like that,” You frown. “They’re just being big meanies. You didn’t even do anything wrong.”

The boy sighs. You’re as stubborn as an ox. How could you not see that this was a losing battle? They were going to bully him forever. He was an easy target, the poor boy with tattered clothes and no money for food. He just came to the playground to escape from the constant fights his parents would have. He just wanted one moment of peace, and if not the playground, he had nowhere else to go. It was better than home anyway. Even if he got beat up here, at least he would get his moment of peace whenever he laid in the sand box alone, sobbing. At least there was no shouting here once the sun begins to set.

“Oh, my mum’s here,” You hum, breaking the boy out of the trance he was in. “Come on!” You smile, grabbing him by the hand, leading him to your mother.

“What the— Y/N, what happened?” Your mother questions, panicked.

“Well, we—,” You point to yourself and then to the boy next to you. “—stood up to the bullies!”

Your mother sighs, crouching down to inspect your split lip. She can only shake her head as you give her a grin, wincing in pain when you smile too wide.

“And you, oh sweetheart,” She mumbles, softly turning to see his face littered with bruises. “Where are your parents?”

“Busy fighting, throwing things at each other,” The boy answers honestly.

Your mother hums, gulping nervously.

“What’s your name?”

“Kim,” He answers easily with his last name that he shares with thousands of people. His father had told him not to give out his full name. Especially since there’s an order out to kidnap a Kim Taehyung. The mafia needed some leverage so that his father would actually pay back his debt.

“O-okay, Kim,” Your mother smiles. “Would you like to join us for dinner?”

“Can I?” He asks, absolutely beaming at the thought of finally being able to eat a hot meal.

“Sure, what would you like to have? Y/N here likes— Where’d she go? Y/N—”

Your mother only grumbles to herself as she watches you run back towards her, two little packets in your hand.

“I told you to stop running off like that,” Your mother frowns.

“But he was going to leave,” You mumble, pointing to the ice-cream man who’s packing up his cart, putting away the assorted candies he sold along with his ice-cream. “Here,” You smile, handing a packet to the boy. He inspects it with furrowed eyebrows, twisting the packet with a large foot printed on it.

Your obsession with the weirdly shaped lollipop honestly drives your mother crazy. It certainly didn’t help that it was not the easiest candy to find.

“It tastes funny,” The boy mumbles, noting that the candy fizzes in his mouth. “And it’s sour,” He murmurs, face scrunching up at the taste. “But I like it.”

“Exactly! It’s the best!” You smile, dipping the lollipop back into the packet to pick up some more powder.

Your mother takes the both of you by the hand, leading you two to a nearby restaurant. She picks the place because she’s had a long day and she really just wants a good plate of fried rice to heal her soul. She notes the Kim boy is rather quiet, but in your presence, he seems to light up. Shame, she sighs. It’s nice that you were getting along so well with this kid, but you and your mother are moving away to another town in just a few days. Moreover, it didn’t quite sit well with her that the boy had said some rather disturbing things about his home life… and the fact that he was being bullied daily at the playground, that hurt her heart too. But, it was hard taking care of you alone. She didn’t really need more to worry about, in fact she couldn’t afford it.

“You sure you’ll be okay walking home?” Your mother asks, as the three of you stand outside the restaurant.

“Yes.”

“We can walk you home if you would just let us know where it is.”

“My parents really don’t like me giving out our address to strangers,” He mumbles, staring at his feet.

“Okay,” Your mother hums. “You be safe, alright?”

Taehyung nods, ready to walk away when you stop him, making him stand there as you tug at your mother’s sleeve, making her crouch down so you could whisper in her ear.

“Please,” You beg, hands clasped together as your mother gives you a pointed look after having heard your request. She sighs before she nods and digs into her purse for her wallet. The grin you have on when she hands you the money is truly precious.

“Here, take this,” You smile, handing the boy the $20 your mother had just given you. “Don’t let those stupid boys hurt you anymore a-and get yourself something nice to eat tomorrow.”

“Y/N,” He says, dumbfounded, staring at the bill in his hand.

“Oh and here,” You grin, putting the lollipop packet in his hand. “I was saving this for later but I think you should have it.”

“Y/N,” He repeats in the same tone, still in shock. He knows he should say something along the lines of no, I can’t take any of this but the truth is… he wanted both of those things in his hands badly.

“I’ll see you around Kim,” You mumble as you wave at him, walking backwards to your mum who’s waiting further ahead.

“I… I promise I’ll get you this when I have money next time!” He shouts, holding up the packet. “I’ll pay you back 100 times the amount,” He says, pointing at the $20.

“You promise?”

“I promise!”

Taehyung is a man of his word, always has been and always will be. It’s why when you go to drop off your monthly installment for the debt your father owes, they inform you that with the amount you had just paid, you had completely cleared the debt. They tell you that they were surprised to receive the money you mailed in last week and the truth is, so are you but you only nod nonchalantly. You make sure to get the proper documentation from them, to confirm that they were absolutely certain that your account has been cleared. You walk out of there with a nice little slip with their insignia and a gang member’s signature that verifies that the debt has been paid in full. You laugh to yourself, absolutely grateful for their miscalculation or rather, mismanagement. You actually had hundreds and thousands left to pay but hey, you’re not going to tell them that. God, you can’t wait to tell Taehyung what dumbasses his rivals are.

*bonus*

check out this ask for extras like how tae knew it was oc and if he ever tells her that he’s the little boy she helped out!

A/N: as always, thanks for reading and feedback is always welcome!!! (: also this was meant to be a drabble… i swear… but u kno meeeee

[morethanonepage]

i’m angery

i know i’m mostly a star wars killjoy on tumblr dot com lately but allow me to SCREAM about my latest nemesis, a book called “American Dirt”:

Lydia Quixano Pérez lives in the Mexican city of Acapulco. She runs a bookstore. She has a son, Luca, the love of her life, and a wonderful husband who is a journalist. And while there are cracks beginning to show in Acapulco because of the drug cartels, her life is, by and large, fairly comfortable.

Even though she knows they’ll never sell, Lydia stocks some of her all-time favorite books in her store. And then one day a man enters the shop to browse and comes up to the register with a few books he would like to buy―two of them her favorites. Javier is erudite. He is charming. And, unbeknownst to Lydia, he is the jefe of the newest drug cartel that has gruesomely taken over the city. When Lydia’s husband’s tell-all profile of Javier is published, none of their lives will ever be the same.

Forced to flee, Lydia and eight-year-old Luca soon find themselves miles and worlds away from their comfortable middle-class existence. Instantly transformed into migrants, Lydia and Luca ride la bestia―trains that make their way north toward the United States, which is the only place Javier’s reach doesn’t extend. As they join the countless people trying to reach el norte, Lydia soon sees that everyone is running from something. But what exactly are they running to?

Written by one Jeanine Cummins, who has Puerto Rican ancestry but grew up in the MD suburbs (as I did, tbf) and in 2015 considered herself white (”I am white...in every practical way, my family is mostly white.”  [cw for sexual assault and murder at the link]), everything I read about this book has begun to drive me to madness.

Recommended by the Mary Sue book club (the source of the above summary), it has since been retracted bc a) its sucks and b) THEY DIDN’T READ IT BEFORE PUTTING IT ON THE BOOK CLUB LIST (”I try to read most, if not all, of the books I recommend for the Book Club because I truly do love reading, and I want to make sure that if I suggest someone grab something, it’s something I can say I liked. When I was looking up two books to fill out the list, one of them was American Dirt. I saw that it had received a lot of positive press from Stephen King, Rumaan Alam, Don Winslow, Sandra Cisneros, and other literary news outlets including Oprah’s Book Club. It seemed like the type of literary fiction that’s always good for a book club read. I was mistaken.“)

Myriam Gurba, at Tropics of Meta, describes being asked to review it for a feminist magazine, and then being told her review was too negative to publish. It included gems such as:

Cummins bombards with clichés from the get-go. Chapter One starts with assassins opening fire on a quinceañera, a fifteenth birthday party, a scene one can easily imagine President Donald Trump breathlessly conjuring at a Midwestern rally, and while Cummins’ executioners are certainly animated, their humanity remains shallow. By categorizing these characters as “the modern bogeymen of urban Mexico,” she flattens them. By invoking monsters with English names and European lineages, Cummins reveals the color of her intended audience: white. Mexicans don’t fear the bogeyman. We fear his very distant cousin, el cucuy.

[...]

With their family annihilated by narcotraffickers, mother and son embark on a refugees’ journey. They head north, or, as Cummins’ often writes, to “el norte,” and italicized Spanish words like carajo, mijo, and amigo litter the prose, yielding the same effect as store-bought taco seasoning.

[...] Lydia’s husband, a journalist, describes her as one of the “smartest” women he’s ever known. Nonetheless, she behaves in gallingly naïve and stupid ways. Despite being an intellectually engaged woman, and the wife of a reporter whose beat is narcotrafficking, Lydia experiences shock after shock when confronted with the realities of México, realities that would not shock a Mexican.

It shocks Lydia to learn that the mysterious and wealthy patron who frequents her bookstore flanked by “[thuggish]” bodyguards is the capo of the local drug cartel! It shocks Lydia to learn that some central Americans migrate to the United States by foot! It shocks Lydia to learn that men rape female migrants en route to the United States! It shocks Lydia to learn that Mexico City has an ice-skating rink! (This “surprise” gave me a good chuckle: I learned to ice skate in México.) That Lydia is so shocked by her own country’s day-to-day realities, realities that I’m intimate with as a Chicana living en el norte, gives the impression that Lydia might not be…a credible Mexican. In fact, she perceives her own country through the eyes of a pearl-clutching American tourist.

Parul Sehgal, at the NYT, digs into the fact that while the motives of this book may be unimpeachable (tho: are they??), the writing itself is...perhaps less so:

I found myself flinching as I read, not from the perils the characters face, but from the mauling the English language receives. Lydia’s expression “is one Luca has never seen before, and he fears it might be permanent. It’s as if seven fishermen have cast their hooks into her from different directions and they’re all pulling at once. One from the eyebrow, one from the lip, another at the nose, one from the cheek.” Yes, of course. That expression.

Sehgal also highlights my favorite line I’ve heard about in this book: “when Lydia finds she is unable to pray, ‘she believes it’s a divine kindness. Like a government furlough, God has deferred her nonessential agencies.’” The Raised in the DMV Suburbs just JUMPED OUT, didn’t it, Jeanine? But like legit, why on earth would a Mexican bookstore lady’s frame of reference ever be A GOVERNMENT FURLOUGH and NONESSENTIAL AGENCIES. followers, i just about died. 

David J. Schmidt, at The Blue Nib, calls out other inaccuracies and stereotypes:

It is worth dwelling on the character of Javier for a moment. A “drinking game” could be created based on all the Latin American stereotypes he personifies. Javier is dapper, yet dangerous. He is charming, yet mysterious. He wears a white guayabera, a shirt the author describes as “more suitable for Sunday Mass than a regular workday.” (Untrue—this is a casual garment, more suitable for a love affair in a Fabio-bedecked romance novel.)

This quintessential “Latin lover” shows up at Lydia’s bookstore and speaks to her in a tone significantly different from the other characters of American Dirt. I  must emphasise, Javier’s dialogue does not reflect the normal speech patterns of Mexico, but perfectly reflects U.S. stereotypes. The only way to properly read Javier’s lines is through the most gross of caricatures.

One should imagine the husky voice of Antonio Banderas, speaking at his most sensual and Spanishy. Any character he has played in English will do, although it is clear that Javier was ideally written for the voice of Puss in Boots. When Lydia asks if Javier reads English, the dapper narco responds:

“I try, yes […] My English isn’t fluent, but it’s close. And this story is so delicate.”

[...]

The cultural inaccuracies of American Dirt run deep, right down to the language. Throughout her book, Cummins shows confusion regarding the grammatical genders in Spanish. Most notably, she baptises the drug kingpin Javier with the nickname La Lechuza. It is difficult to imagine a macho, womanizing capo using a feminine-gendered noun as his moniker. Would a hardened mafia boss call himself “The Princess of Compton” or “The Belle of Belfast”?

Cummins got a seven figure advance for this. A SEVEN FIGURE ADVANCE. She “wished someone slightly browner than me would write it,” but she did it,  and her team is throwing around the fact that her husband’s previously undocumented status as some sort of justification without mentioning that he’s white & Irish. 

Also, there’s this news:

Imperative Entertainment, the production banner behind the Clint Eastwood hit The Mule, has acquired the rights to American Dirt, the Mexican migrant drama novel by Jeanine Cummins.

Charles Leavitt, the scribe who penned the Leonardo DiCaprio drama Blood Diamond, has been tapped to write the adaptation, which will be produced by Imperative’s Dan Friedkin and Bradley Thomas.

Charles Leavitt is a white guy who, most recently, wrote the Warcraft movie. So, that’s going to end well. 

I’ll leave you with this other gem from Gurba (from her essay about it, “Pendeja, You Ain’t Steinbeck “):

Susan Sontag wrote that “[a] sensibility (as distinct from an idea) is one of the hardest things to talk about” and with this challenge in mind, I assert that American Dirt fails to convey any Mexican sensibility. It aspires to be Día de los Muertos but it, instead, embodies Halloween. The proof rests in the novel’s painful humorlessness. Mexicans have over a hundred nicknames for death, most of them are playful because death is our favorite playmate, and Octavio Paz explained our unique relationship with la muerte when he wrote, “The Mexican…is familiar with death. [He] jokes about it, caresses it, sleeps with it, celebrates it. It is one of his favorite toys and his most steadfast love.” Cummins’ failure to approach death with appropriate curiosity, and humility, is what makes American Dirt a perfect read for your local self-righteous gringa book club.

so idk, The Mary Sue, maybe it should stay on your Book Club list after all. (Oh wait: as of this writing, it still is.) 

[hnnnfdfds]

Prompt: 63 Indigo skies just before dawn with Mafia Dazai x Atsushi. :)

Here, Anon... I’m sorry for the ending of this. But thank you for the prompt! I loved to try my hand at Mafia!Dazai... somewhat. Anyway, a quick warning due to Dazai being a mafia member, I had to tweak Atsushi’s character a bit... I hope you all are ok this Atsu.

Here are the prompts!

—

63. Indigo skies just before dawn

—

Atsushi knows fear.

He has learned from a young age how to taste, feel and see it. How to sense and polish it until it can be either used as a shield to protect himself or as a weapon to fight. He isn’t natural or comfortable hurting other people but growing up in an orphanage full of people who hate you, teaches two or three things about ignoring that uncomfortableness. 

Which is why he senes the fear building in Ranpo before it shows.

“Behind me, Atsushi,” he says, voice somewhat urgent. 

Ranpo doesn’t show that amount of care towards him usually. Whilst it’s clear that Ranpo doesn’t hate him—by the sweets on his desk whenever he finishes a job or a pat on his arm whenever he comes back safe—it’s unusual for Ranpo to voice it. Words come hard for someone who doesn’t know what to do with them.

He nods and steps back for the moment. Both of them know though he’d leap at the enemy the moment he smells danger towards Ranpo. Atsushi knows he’ll do it because he’s the combat type. Ranpo knows Atsushi’ll do it because his subordinate is a fool that cares way too much. 

Both also know that Ranpo will try to stop him.

“Oh, my,” a voice echoes around the beach, “I haven’t seen anyone of you for a while now.”

Atsushi looks up at the new arrival and… stares.

He can’t deny the man’s beauty. No matter how much a part of him wants to, there’s no denying that those sepia-brown colored eyes are probably the most calming ones he’s ever seen or that he’s rather fluffy hair fits around the shape of his head well. Or that the face maybe has been structured by a god.

That said though, Atsushi’s also someone who doesn’t really care that much about looks. His hair is still that unevenly cut created by someone who wanted to see him suffer after all.

So it’s not hard to notice the steel-cold look in those pretty eyes or that cunning smirk resting behind that nonchalant attitude. This man breathes danger and Atsushi has to take a few seconds to shove down the fear he develops and turn it into a resolve to not panic. 

He has to make sure Ranpo stays safe at all costs. 

“Hmm, a new one?”

He can feel the other’s gaze on him, burning deeply into his skin. In front of him, Ranpo draws a sharp breath. 

It’s not good that he’s getting noticed for Ranpo.

For Atsushi though, this is an opportunity to make sure Ranpo stays safe. 

He glares at the other but keeps his face impassive. The fear in him is boiling and he’ll use that to his own advantage.

Apparently, that catches the man’s curiosity.

“Well, should I introduce myself? My name is…”

Ranpo turns to stare at him as he mouths, ‘Atsushi, run!’

He shakes his head gently in response, ignoring fear filling into the other’s emerald eyes. 

“... Dazai Osamu.”

He knows that name. Months ago when he joined, Kunikida called him aside and explained to him what was essential knowledge about the agency. That knowledge included the Port Mafia.

Especially it’s member Dazai Osamu, the very man standing before him.

“If you see this man… run Atsushi.”

He remembers the tone Kunikida used, remembers realizing that running was just a fickle hope because most likely he’d end up dead. 

And now he stands before this man that contradicts anything Atsushi used to stand for. 

But Atsushi knows how to wield fear as a weapon, knows how to look at men with more blood on their hands than color in eyes and persist. Atsushi cannot run. Not with Ranpo there, not with the shattered windows of the orphanage in the back of his mind. So he walks in front of Ranpo and continues to glare at the mafia member.

“Ranpo-san,” he speaks up for the first time of this encounter, “leave.”

“Idiot, what th—”

“I told you to leave, didn’t I? Get help, preferably Yosano-san or Kunikida-san.”

It’s silent for a few minutes and Dazai raises an eyebrow in amusement. Then Ranpo runs, curse words leaving his mouth. 

“He left you to die all alone, huh?”

Atsushi shakes his head. “You are not here to kill me.”

“And why are you so sure of that?”

“I wouldn’t be standing and breathing if you wanted me death… You probably only see this as a quick, fun past-time activity.”

By the quirk of the other’s lips, Atsushi knows he’s playing his cards properly.

“Hmm, but what if I get bored?”

And Atsushi smiles back at him, knowing fully well how much that smile conflicts with his empty eyes.

“Then I’ll try my best to entertain you.”

Fear has shaped Atsushi and made a place for something way worse.

“Oh, but my games are not for those of faint heart, kid.”

“Dazai-san,” he starts, crouching down with one knee as he puts his gloved hands on the ground, “I wouldn’t mind feasting on your blood.”

It has made a place for a creature so luminous beneath the moonlight.

He shifts his whole weight into that one leg and waits.

And then he charges at the other, leaving behind any form of humanity he wears.

He’s the beast beneath the moonlight and he’s used to wearing cloaks made of a crimson color. 

“Dazai Osamu posses a nullification ability which can be activated by touch.” 

Avoid contact and dodge. Easy, he’s been doing that all his childhood.

He twists out of the way of the other’s attacks and dances around him, ready to strike whenever he finds an opening. 

“There’s no hesitancy in your movements,” Dazai notes, smirk fully visible. “Not like your co-workers who hold back from killing me out of all people.”

Atsushi still wears his smile.

“I don’t see the point in leaving someone so troublesome alive,” he admits. 

The killing has never been easy but the corpses rotting in the orphanage didn’t happen out of anywhere. 

“With that attitude to taking lives, you’d fit perfectly into the mafia.”

Atsushi sees the words for what they are—a taunt. Dazai hopes to use his morals to provoke him into being careless. The thing is, if those two share something then it’s probably the lack of their morals. 

“Probably,” he responds shamelessly, jumping out of the way of a kick.

Dazai blinks at that reply. 

“Then why aren’t you?”

Atsushi shrugs. 

“If I don’t care either way it’s just better to do the thing that makes people happier—saving lives and all, you know?” He doesn’t mention that that way of thinking is inspired by people being more intractable when he kills others. 

But apparently, he doesn’t have to because the mafia member is staring at him with wide eyes now and suddenly Atsushi has the feeling that the situation is about to change.

Minutes pass.

And then—

A smile so blinding settles on the other’s face, as indigo colored light shines on him.

“Say… you won’t join the mafia at all, will you?”

Atsushi thinks about it for a moment but then realizes that Kunikida would definitely kill him for joining and Ranpo would never talk to him again. Plus Yosano can be quite scary when she’s mad…

“No, not really. Why?”

“Hmm, then I’ll join the agency instead!”

“What the fuck?”

Both turn around to stare at Kunikida who is gaping like a fish at Dazai and Ranpo who just shakes his head with a sigh.

Atsushi turns to look back at Dazai before his gaze wanders up to the indigo sky. It feels almost like the sky wishes him good luck for somewhat reason but when Dazai steps closer, smiling at him he thinks he needs luck.

“Don’t dream of indigo skies,” he mumbles.

“Is something?”

He looks at the mafia member—apparently former mafia member now—and smiles.

“Just something I read in a book years ago.”

It’s quite sad. He’s pretty sure the book’s covered in blood now.

[antoine-roquentin]

A scandal that began with allegations that some of South Korea’s biggest male K-pop stars had drugged and raped women (The K-Pop sex and drugs scandal sweeping South Korea) and shared video of the acts has reignited perceived injustices in two older cases, highlighting abuses of power among the country’s elite.

The Burning Sun scandal, named for the club in Gangnam associated with Seungri, of boy group Big Bang, comes a year after women began rallying in the streets in a wave of protests against systemic sexual abuse and the pervasive use of spycams (The women taking on spycams in South Korea). Shocking revelations in the Burning Sun case have rocked South Korea daily in recent months – seven chart-topping K-pop stars have been arrested on a range of charges from drug possession to group sexual assault, although not all have been indicted.

But accusations of police bribery, obstruction of justice or cases being completely dismissed highlight corruption at the highest levels in South Korea go back to the Park Geun-hye administration, and had been the spark for the massive candlelight protests that drew millions to the streets in 2016–17.

Yang Sung-tae, a chief justice who headed the supreme court from 2011 to 2017 is now facing 47 charges, including allegedly instructing officials at the National Court Administration to interfere in trials in order to win favours from the then president. A further 10 judges have been referred to a disciplinary committee after a two-month review of 66 judges.

Now two decade-old cases resurfaced, one involving ex-vice justice minister Kim Hak-eui, and another centering on the death of actress Jang Ja-yeon. President Moon Jae-in has weighed in, saying:

The common factor is that [the cases concern] developments that took place among the privileged, and there is circumstantial evidence suggesting that the prosecutors and police purposely conducted incomplete investigations, and actively prevented the truth from being revealed.

Moon ordered investigations not just into Burning Sun, but into the police force, due to accusations of cover-ups at the club and others in the Gangnam and Hongdae districts, and also into alleged crimes committed by Kim Hak-eui in 2009 and Jang Ja-yeon’s death the same year.

Kim Hak-eui resigned from his role of vice justice minister in 2013 after video emerged of him allegedly raping a woman at a sex party at the home of businessman Yoon Jung-cheon five years earlier. The case was investigated twice in 2013 and 2014 but was thrown out despite the video, with prosecutors arguing that Kim could not be identified. An independent panel under the Ministry of Justice has concluded the original investigations were flawed and Kim has now been indicted on charges of receiving 170 million won ($143,700) and sexual favors in bribes from a construction contractor. The investigation did not confirm the rape allegation.

The tragic case of actress Jang Ja-yeon, who said she had been forced into sex by her agency, has also been reviewed. Jang, who starred in the K-drama TV hit Boys over Flowers, killed herself in 2009, leaving a seven-page note identifying 20 of the men allegedly involved, including influential figures in the entertainment and media industry. The review found that the police and prosecution failed to properly investigate her death, but as the list could not be found, there was not enough evidence to re-open the case.

The South Korean government’s Ministry of Culture, Sport and Tourism supports K-pop and other industries such as its lucrative K-dramas, which are exported as far as Cuba. It has seen K-pop become a multi-billion dollar business in its own right, as well as drawing consumers to Korean products and tourists to its shores.

The promise of such vast sums of money can act as a magnet for some who would do anything to make still more. Financial journalist Ha Hyun-Ock believes we are seeing the rise of a Korean mafia. “The ‘Burning Sun incident’, while involving drug dealing, prostitution, violence, tax evasion and collusion with police, overlaps with mafia activities,” he wrote for Korea JoongAng Daily.

When the University of Rome opened a class on the mafia, people said you need to understand the organisation to better understand Italy. Likewise, you need to understand the triangular mafia in Korea of celebrities, businessmen and public authorities to fully understand Korea.

As can be seen from the Kim Hak-eui case, such collusion is not confined to K-pop or entertainment, but there is a common thread: in all these cases where the powerful have abused their privilege, women are the primary victims. It’s symbolic of a patriarchal society that appears progressive, but has a long way to go in terms of equality.

South Korean women are well aware of this disparity and increasingly disinclined to accept the status quo. In recent weeks, they have protested outside the Blue House, the president’s official residence, at what they see as a failure of a justice system dominated by men at every level: police, prosecution and judiciary. Some wielded signs saying “Rape cartel”.

The police have reportedly made thousands of arrests in the course of the Burning Sun investigation (most are drug-related), but many of their own were accused of wrongdoing and few are sharing cells with the denizens of the Korean underworld and now disgraced stars.

The Ministry of Justice panel has recommended the creation of an independent body to investigate corruption among high-ranking government officials but the protesters are not the only ones who believe more must be done before a break with the past can truly be achieved.

“Few members of the public have a memory span or patience enough to watch days of police corruption [reporting],” wrote Oh Young-jin in the Korea Times. “In the public’s collective consciousness, the people whose supposed mission is to protect and serve are tainted beyond being salvaged. By offering up the celebrities, the police have satisfied the public and taken the spotlight off the police.”

[missromantic-x]

Dazai x Happiness Week Day 5: Dancing

(Part 5 of the Masquerade Birthday series) plus slight mostly platonic Kunikidazai, “Come on, Dazai! You’re going to make us late,” growled Kunikida, tapping his notebook against his thigh. Dazai moaned, smashing his head into into the couch cushion. “I don’t want tooooo,” “Well, too bad.” With that Kunikida promptly grabbed Dazai’s arm firmly and forced him off the couch. He began to drag him to the exit, until the brunette finally walked without having to be moved against his will. “So what’s this case about?” Dazai asked. Kunikida walked even more briskly. “Shoot, we’re off by a whole two minutes and thirteen seconds. By the time we get there, we might have to take some less than desirable actions in order to camouflage ourselves.” “You still haven’t answered my question.” “Catch up and I’ll tell you.” Ever since their gratitude list experience, a new respect for each other had formed. That in itself had actually made one of Dazai’s lists, in fact. So, instead of whining like he would have in the past, he jogged a bit to catch up with his newfound friend. “Now will you tell me?” “As long as you can match my pace.” Kunikida glanced backward with a look of approval on his face. “Alright. If you’d taken the time to read the paperwork instead of taking a nap, you would know that we’ve been called by a wealthy European business owner to clear the release party for his company’s newest cutting edge technology of less than friendly figures.” Dazai could see where this was going to a mile away. “A specific request was that we make sure not to arise suspicions while doing so. As a result, we’ve been asked to act like…” Kunikida sighed. “…a couple.” Dazai snorted. “You and me, together? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in a long time.” “And that’s what makes it a proper disguise,” grumbled Kunikida, finishing the previous thought. “They’ve supplied us with clothes and false identities, anyhow, and the job offer pays for much more than it’s worth,” he added with a defeated look. As odd as it was, though, Dazai felt mildly interested in the plan, minus the Kunikida-date part. He hadn’t been to a fancy launch party since, well, ever. Sure, some other mafiosos might have gone to some to steal whatever prized possession was on show, but those sorts of people were far lower in ranking than he had been. So he couldn’t help but want to entertain the idea. “Due to quickening our pace, we arrived with thirty-one seconds to spare,” Kunikida announced triumphantly. The building was at least five stories tall, and it was made of neatly polished light grey marble. The madly embellished doorway itself had to be twice the height of Chuuya just by itself. He couldn’t see any windows that hadn’t been disguised with thick navy blue curtains. Kunikida knocked four times and twisted the door handle once, shattering Dazai’s moment of amazement. The large door swung open and a nattily-dressed silver haired man greeted the two. He produced a golden pocketwatch from his tailcoat and nodded approvingly. “Ah yes, you’ve arrived just in time. I’ll show you the way to your dressing room.” He motioned for them to follow and moved through the wide hall on the left side. It had clean off-white walls, and well-aged wallpaper donned the bottom halves of them. “Excuse us for the venue,” the man chuckled. “It’s a tad old-fashioned.” “No, I think it’s very beautiful. It’s got a classy feel to it,” Dazai disagreed with a grin. Honestly, what person didn’t respect a nicely built historical building? The hall ended with several basic brown doors. The man opened his watch, revealing a hidden key, and inserted said key into the third doorknob. “Here is where you’ll get dressed. Just go back through this hall and you’ll see an arch that leads to a wide open room filled with people. That is where your work will begin.” The younger men thanked him, and entered the room. It was rather small. Likely, it’d previously served as a storage closet. On two clothing hangers were two black tuxedos, which made Dazai laugh. It was just like an American spy film. In a way, he guessed they were spies of sorts. They dressed in silence, facing opposite directions for modesty. “Have you finished yet?” asked Kunikida. “Yep,” Dazai responded. “I’ve just got to finish tying the bow tie. I swear, these things are impossible.” The blonde partner spun around. “The party starts in a few minutes. We don’t have much time to spare.” With that he tied Dazai’s tie for him with exceptional ease. His golden eyes squinted through the thin lenses of his glasses. “Let’s get going.” They traveled back to the front, as they’d been instructed and reached the arch. With an awkward air, Kunikida cleared his throat. “Um. Should I hold your hand?” “Oh. Uh, probably.” For a few seconds he marveled over the feeling of his partner’s long fingers against his own, but his fascination was quickly pulled in a different direction. The marble opened up to a widely expansive ballroom. The floor consisted of checkered pastel coral and white, and it had been shined so well you could see your reflection in it. Tables of gourmet hors-d’oeuvres coated the silver platters among the tall white walls. In the center of the inverted-dome-shaped ceiling glittered a candlelit chandelier with jewels on every magnificent spiral. The expensively dressed people bustling around every corner of the dance floor buzzed with excitement. Busboys not much older than Tanizaki rushed around the area with plated in both hands. At the end of the room lay a live band of what had to be nearly every kind of string, woodwind, and brass instrumentalist, along with a pianist and a harpist atop a stage. Tantalizingly sweet melodies began to pour from the brilliant orchestra. Many couples among the floor came together and started to waltz. The detectives looked at each other. Now, the only way to weed out the disguised criminals would be to make their through the masses of dancers. To do that, they’d have to join the group in their festivities. “Let’s do this.” Kunikida placed his right hand on Dazai’s left shoulder and his left on Dazai’s waist. Nervously, Dazai wrapped his arms around Kunikida’s neck. He wanted to get this right, after all, it was his first ball experience, and so far, he’d enjoyed it. Hopefully things wouldn’t turn too awkward and ruin his fun. Despite it being a job, he could still have fun. That was what his work at the Agency had taught him. Other than of course the touching part, the air between the two wasn’t too strange. They’d dealt with far stranger occasions. Also, their focus on each other was minute since they had to look out for potential thieves. “Have you seen the unwelcome guests yet?” Kunikida whispered. “No, not yet. But I’ve got to give it to the guy that threw this party. They sure know how to hype up a piece of technology, don’t they?” Dazai commented. “Yes, it is,” was all Kunikida answered. And then everything came to a halt. “The Port Mafia are the criminals we’re after?” I didn’t quite spend enough time on the actual prompt word as I’d wanted to, but at least I made some good build up for the next part.

[luxerps]

ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴀʀᴅꜱ, Discord 18+ K-Pop Mafia Roleplay!

The murder of powerful mafia leader, Min Hyunshik of North Kings, in late January caused an uproar on Seoul’s city streets. His son, Min Yoongi, groomed to take over for his father since puberty, is next in line for leadership. Not everyone in North Kings is ready to follow Yoongi’s lead since he has yet to prove himself. Some members are out for their own personal gains, questioning and defying the new leadership while also making a play for the new leader’s spot. Other members want to leave the gang life all together but loyalty and the fear of consequences for leaving is making them stay. Despite all that’s stacked against him, Yoongi is set on proving himself and getting his men in check by any means necessary, while also looking into the unsolved murder of his father.

Enter South Aces, a mafia led by experienced leader, Kim Seokjin, who controls the streets of Daegu and Busan and is looking to expand his territory up north. Once the death of Min Hyunshik reaches his ears, he makes plans to infiltrate and take over the territory. A gang is only as good as their leadership and with Yoongi’s lack of experience, North Kings is as good as his. Little does Seokjin know, his days are numbered and he is moving on shaky ground as those closest to him aren’t as loyal as he believes.

As North Kings and South Aces collide in an all-out gang war, it’s up to the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency to keep the streets of Seoul safe and secure. It’s a task that is easier said than done, but the newly appointed Chief General is determined to put an end to organized crime. By taking a new approach and putting officers in positions of power, giving them undercover assignments, and putting them in the forefront of temptation, he thinks he can take down both gangs and relish in the glory. He’s soon about to find out that there’s a reason these two groups are notorious and have been thriving for years and not all cops are good cops.

Join House of Cards and enter the world of mafia as a member of North Kings, South Aces, law enforcement, or as a civilian just trying to navigate through these dangerous times.

- 18+ server with age verification upon entry. - Any Korean entertainment faceclaim is welcomed. - Plot driven with plenty of room for character development. - Various writing styles welcomed. - 2 post per week req. - Click to join. 

[kiaraspeaks]

Bryden Campbell:

It haunts Bryden that the man who is responsible for not only razing Mound Bayou to the ground is the same man's words who lead her to odd corners of the world. She doesn't know how to envision her own life without the agency. Would her parents still have met? What would the world have looked like? She looked at his scrawly handwriting and snapped the book shut and placed it back inside her bag with the rest of his dusty artifacts. As much as she hated this monster, he had never put terrible things like this into play. It was odd to be reading these words, exposing old secrets and trying to make amends, not for him, but to free herself and her family and give as many people a better life. She still knew this would never be enough.

Bryden stared out at the road ahead of her, she was surrounded by the night sky, the sound of bikes racing up and down the street, the lights of the gas station above flickered on and off, casting sickly green glow over them, and high grass on the other side of the station. She was exhausted looking for the clues this fucked up old man left behind, but it was the lot in life that she had chosen. Bryden pulled her hoodie over her head and parked the car, she placed the keys on the dashboard and leaned back in her seat, she hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep but she could sleep when Richard Pennyson was dead.

For now her face was plastered on every website, hung on posters across the United States and abroad, even here in Pakistan. Some rallied behind her and others called for her head on a pike. When word got out that the Soldier-Killing-gun-toting-supposedly-well-trained-child soldier was wanted all those megalomaniacs obsessed with some invisible war hung on every corner peering into the face of every young black girls face. It’s not what Bryden wanted, she was alright with a target on her back but nobody else’s, not innocent women and kids with too much of the world's problems on their shoulders already.

Bryden left Diaz back at the hotel while she struggled to find the man that Meriwether only described as 'the Good Doctor', she knew it had to be a pun of some sort. Good people didn't work for the agency, you couldn't retain your goodness and common decency and still be an agent of the state. Her father's words still weighed on her, for her to be able to trust him or her mother she needed to know the truth, starting with all those kids that disappeared on the island. She didn't fully expect her connect to pick up everything they were doing and fly to see them, but they did.

Someone tapped on the passenger side window before opening the door. They pulled their hood back and Bryden was surprised to see him, she didn’t expect him to answer her so soon. He had a file tucked under his arm, a bag slung across his chest and tilted his head to the side, the last time she saw him she left him back at a hotel in the Philippines. He had his own problems and knew meeting up with her was a favor, one she would have to pay back sooner than later.

“Look at you sweet thing, thought you didn’t get down with treason.” Gato said and laughed softly, hadn't he joked about treason with her before? She had had Ashanti on her mind back then, not this, nothing as complicated as taking on one of the most Dangeorus men in the United States.

“I don’t.”

“So they just fucking with your good name?” Gato asked.

“No, not exactly, I did something, something I probably shouldn't have.” Bryden said,

"Tell me more, tell me more." He said and propped his chin up on his elbow like they were at a sleepover, not like she was at the top of the United States shit list. He didn't look the slightest bit worried and it put her at ease a bit, but just a bit.

“But I’m not going to take that shit laying down.”

“You don’t seem like the type.”

“So do you have what I asked for?" Bryden asked, she hadn't called him for a roll in the hay, she needed the information, somewhere deep inside she wanted to trust her father. Years ago he had saved her, she felt like a damned fool for wanting his help after all this time. He was an agent and one of the damned best ones, he was trained to disarm others with first his words and eventually his weapons. This would put any worries to rest or so she told herself, Gato didn't give a shit about her parents, he could remain objective, wouldn't skew result in anybody's favor.

“Yeah, I had to call my ex-fiance  but I got it.”Gato said.

“Ex-fiance?” Bryden questioned.

“It was a long time ago sweet thing,  don't worry, you didn’t break up a happy home or anything.” He

“Happy home my ass, you propositioned me.”

“Didn’t expect you to be down for it.” He said and held the file out to her and she reached for it and he snatched it back, he cupped her chin with one free hand, holding her close to him as he whispered. She could kill him right now for doing such a thing, but she figured she'd entertain him, see just what his full plan was for her. “Tell me one thing.”

“Sure, it’s not like my life is in danger or anything.” Bryden said.

“You did that for you, right? None of this was about Ashanti. You didn’t kill for him, right?” He said with a touch of irritation and disappointment in his voice.

“It benefitted us both.” Bryden lied, killing the soldiers meant Ashanti had the men who hurt his family put to death, but Bryden hadn't exactly had that benefit. She could have gotten what she needed by grabbing one of them and cutting off their finger tips until they gave her the information she needed. So why had she done it? Why had she been so damn foolish? She knew whoever was out there, taunting her, pulling her into their twisted sordid game,

“Sweet thing,” He said in that charming and irritating chiding way of his, “What did I tell you about Ashanti?”

“Not to trust him.” Bryden said.

“And what did you do?” He asked, he had been leaning in closer and closer, if she just tilted her head forward they'd be kissing. She thought about the Royal Mandaya, it felt like a million years ago, and she felt wound even tighter now than she had back then with her parents and the Russian Mafia breathing down her neck. Now that felt like a cake walk compared to taking on a literal global army willing to do whatever to kill her.

“I fucked him.” She said but she hadn't looked away from him yet, he released his firm grip on her chin.

“They always do.” He said but his face remained passive, then he held the file out to her, “He call back yet?”

“We didn’t come here for a heart to heart, Gato.” She said.

“So that’s a no.” He said and snickered.

"Now I've got a question for you." She said as she began to go over the file. Richard Pennyson had approved the attcks, he had a list of children and they were all on there, even her name, a few had been checked off but the Santos family had passed on the job. If Gato was as honest as he was flirty, then Jodiah struck the fear of God into the family which should have been very hard to do, she knew what the Santos family was capable of. She took his silence as time to ask her question, out of the corner of her eye she saw he was sitting rigidly, "Would you take a hit out against me?"

"I think my feelings might actually be hurt, Bryden." He said, his playful tone and demeanor had changed, he looked actually hurt by her question.

"That's not a yes or a no."

"Of course I wouldn't." Gato said and reached over again, this time reaching out and stroking the side of her face gently, lovingly, as if they were still trapped in a world where she was trying to run away from her problems. Sometimes she wished she never would have left that hotel. "We may not have known each other long, but I like you."

"You kill for a living, you could just be saying that."

"Bryden, I don't know what world you live in that you think your murders somehow carry less weight than mine do. I've never killed agents, I've never killed any of Amir Malik's men, you're making a name for yourself worldwide, in your world and mine. I'm not sure what's going on with you but some men have codes."

"I'm covering every alley and avenue." Bryden said as she snapped the file shut and looked back over to him.

“It’s going to be ok.” Gato said and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“What makes you say that?”

“You just saw red, I know you just saw red because I read that file and I saw red.” Gato said, “I’d kill him and his kids, I’d wipe him from the face of the planet for free if I wasn’t tied up in some shit.”

“He… those kids…” Bryden said, if she was going to take down Richard Pennyson she needed to close up her own loose ends, including the people who tried to kill her, the people who put a smoking gun to her head when she was only ten years old. Why did he want her dead? Why did he let all those kids die, not just in her classroom, but on the island. Why was her father right about such an awful thing? Those kids who died or were snatched from the island during training were all ordered to die directly from Pennyson. What a sick bastard. But as her father had said, men that evil don't die so easily and she knew there had to be more than two men involved in this, she'd press her old man more about this later.

“They were your friends.”

“Yeah and he had us killed… he targeted us like we were nothing, we didn’t do anything to him. What the hell is his problem?”

“Maybe he wasn’t hugged enough as a child.”

“Well he can hug his casket.” Bryden said and reached under her seat and handed him an envelope full of cash. He had his gun drawn on her and she smirked, “Relax, it’s your money” He peered into the envelope and then shoved it in his hoodie pocket.

“We are still killers and I always have to be careful,” Gato said and put his gun down, “If you need anything else, sweet thing, just ask.”

“See you say that but I feel like there’s a catch.”

“That kid I’m raising--"

“Yeah, what about them?” Bryden asked.

“Some dangerous people want her dead, really dead, dead as in dead last year.”

“And you want them to go away, I’m guessing.”

“The ones I can’t touch myself, yes.” Gato said, “My world has rules, doesn’t fucking seem like it but there are rules and lines we can’t cross.”

“You mean there are lines you can't cross, well good thing you got me. Consider them buried in Utah.” Bryden said and slid the file under her seat and grabbed her keys and turned on the car, “If shit does go left…”

“Don’t talk like that, sweet thing. I’m just getting to know you and I like what I see.” He said.

“And I think I really need to stop fucking around with hardened criminals.”

“You gonna let Ashanti ruin the rest of us good bad guys for you?” Gato asked.

“Be that as it may, if things do go left there will be some money left for you to handle the rest.”

“By that you mean?”

“His kid, his house, the dog, I want that shit gone, I want him on his knees begging for somebody to end it.”

“Shit won’t go left, but I would like to be there to see that. My sweet thing bringing one of the world’s most powerful asshole to his knees.”

“Your sweet thing?” Bryden questioned while cocking one eyebrow.

“We work good together, you can't deny that."

“No truer words have been spoken, now get out of my car and go take care of your kid.” Bryden said and he sat there for a moment staring at her with that stupid look on his face before he leaned forward and kissed her, it was a deep kiss, it reminded her of their night in the Philippines. When his warm hands began to slip up her shirt she stopped him, there was no time for that, for now she needed to focus on finding the Good Doctor.  “Get out before you make me regret this.”

“Of course, sweet thing, I’ll see you soon.”

“You really think so?” She asked.

“You’ll need me again and you still owe me.” He said and she watched him cut across the gas station lot, yelling to some kids and they quickly scattered from his dirt bike, he peeled off disappearing into the darkness, Bryden thought about the file, about her father and about what the future held. As she turned towards the old dirt road she dialed his phone number.

"Your sources check out?" Her father asked, she could hear him walking around, something glass clinking against another surface before he settled in an old chair or a new bed.

"Yeah, they did." Bryden said.

"Why can't you just date normal young men?" Her father asked, she got the feeling he had eyes everywhere and better eyes than Pennyson. She peered out the window looking around.

"We're not dating, and where would be the fun in that?"

[thebritishblabbermouth]

Jungkook Fanfiction- BTS Mafia AU

Heyya :))

@atricksterwithwings requested a beautiful BTS mafia au, and I loved writing this for her. I’ve split it into three parts. Scroll down for the first and for the link to the latter. 

A/N: I’ve mentioned Zhang Yixing in this fanfiction aside from the other BTS members. Its totally okay if you dont know who he is...although you probably do, he’s like such a popular sheep ;) Find information about him here . 

Tell me your thoughts on this fanfic, Id love to receive any sort of feedback on my work and I totally think that likes and reblogs are recognition too :) Have fun reading, I know I really enjoyed writing this :) Its like 12 pages long on a word doc...idek anymore xP Jungkook is gorgeous. :) 

Also...there is cursing in this, mention of the mafia from different nationalities and part two and three are rated M (its smutty xP) Reader discretion is advised if any of these things bother you. 

Lots of love :) <3 - Enjoy :)  

PART 2

PART 3 (final)

1.

Jeon Jungkook stood at the 77th floor of Euphoria, the headquarters to the largest crime syndicate east of the Pacific Ocean. The height was dizzying for most, but not for him.

Jungkook had no fears; or so was assumed.

The man himself, was built at an impressive 6 feet and constituted of raw muscle, protein and a rather cynical approach towards life. Outwardly, the leader of the most legal crime syndicate was cold, intimidating and the type to burn you to ashes with a glare from his heated eyes.

Inwardly, he was exactly the same.

He was well aware of the effect he had on his employees, men and women who knew exactly of his affiliation with the Japanese Yazuka and the Italian Camorra yet pined to work under Jeon, the sheer power of his company bringing everyone to their knees with respect.

Euphoria was a giant.

It had dealings with government run telemarketing firms, banks, real estate agencies, alongside finance and technology markets. An easy way to convert money earned through extortion, gambling and trafficking to its pure and pristine form. The corrupt politicians whose elections he had funded didn’t complain. No one cared where the money came from and no one dared to ask otherwise. The cause of the founder’s formidable aura wasn’t a secret. Everyone knew how he had been tortured by his father, abandoned on the streets by a mother who seemed to love Heroin more than her own son. The story had been plastered all over the internet, and Jungkook would never deny reading through its many exaggerated versions. They were entertaining and did well to remind himself about how important money and power were, without those weapons, he too would be sitting in a room, writing about a life that belonged to someone else.

Materialism was reality and wealth- it’s currency.

~~~~~~~~~~~

‘’Sir, your coffee…’’ you said, walking through the office doors, a skip in your stride. There was no knock. No hint of awkwardness, no aspect of fear in the way she spoke. If anything there was the undertone of coercion, almost coaxing the man to leave his billion dollar thoughts in the gutter and focus solely on the warm drink.

Your playful extortion had worked, he was focused. Just not on the coffee.

Three months ago, Euphoria had issued an internal opportunity- PA to Jeon Jungkook. The post received 3 applications from his 20,000 employees. Min Yoongi, his chief of finance and operations took to appointing the least qualified of the bunch, a woman- aged a mere 22 years. The pitch to his ever frightening boss had been simple. ‘’You’ve let down 30 men in the last 6 months. I am done handling my job as well your shit. Those Harvard lunatics are too busy tending to their stupid resumes and I don’t have time for the garbage they throw at me when you fire their sorry arses. You’re settling with the woman, she’s got sick parents to feed- she won’t give a damn for ego as long as you pay her on time.’’

Jungkook could only snarl at the curses, the audacity of the man to speak in the way he did. Anyone else and they’d be lying in a pool of their own blood within seconds of the first word spoken against him. But Min Yoongi couldn’t be touched and this was a fact.

Jeon Jungkook was putty in the hands of his elder brother.

Today, he sent thanks to his sibling, for his aggressive outburst and daunting approach. You were priceless and the best decision ever- professionally of course.

He gave no reply to your request, not even a glance spared in your direction as your placed the drink onto his desk. There were just a series of footsteps, the man walking over to his maple work table, ready to do as he was told.

You had no idea of the prerogatives you held, and at that point, neither did him. The slight tease in your voice had mellowed down completely- replaced with the air of innocence and obeisance. Jungkook groaned at the sight. 

‘’So I was thinking…it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow…and well…’’ you said... Shuffling your buckled black heels.

‘’You aren’t leaving early.’’

His abrupt command had no thought behind it. Other than the fact he couldn’t let you out of his sight for more than a few hours, often paging you unnecessarily just to make you think of him.

He doubted you ever would if he didn’t.

‘’I am not…my parents are flying in tomorrow…it’s a small get together at my place with a few colleagues. I figured since you didn’t have anything planned…you could join us?’’  

Your apprehensive feet clicked across the hardwood with anticipation, the weightlessness behind your request holding the air in a trance.

‘’You’re my personal assistant, not event manager. You do not handle my private affairs so don’t think for a second that I care about your stupid Christmas dinner or the family I saved from crumbling.’’

It wasn’t what he had intended to say. Rather, his mind had flourished a thought he needed to keep locked away. He wanted to tell you that he’d love to join your family, share potato salad and amusing anecdotes across the table... All the while pressing his hand into your thigh- a subtle promise of sinful satisfaction later that night. But he wouldn’t dare to voice his feelings. You didn’t need to get involved with his shit, the scars that graced his back or the life full of gluttony and gambles he had chosen to lead. It was compulsion, to remind you every second of every day that the apartment which he bestowed upon you just 3 floors below his office- was a gracious boon, a gift given to improve your petty life. You had to be reminded of your father and how had been released from Jail after almost overdosing on the crack he had envisioned to peddle. Jeon Jungkook had to remind you of how ugly your tear stained face looked as you begged on your knees- begged for him to save your family.

There was simply no other way.

If you weren’t reminded, you’d crawl your way into his heart and sit there- encasing it completely.

He was just a damned moth to your flame.

‘’I know…and I am trying…I am trying to repay you. Please. Come over. I won’t waste your time.’’ You said. The words articulated with a purpose, were laced with meaningful sorrow but you couldn’t help the small smile that graced your lips.

He hadn’t declined.

Jungkook noticed how your full lips turned upwards, noticed how you had bent your head downwards, trying to hide your amusement. He knew he hadn’t said no, he knew inside the pits of his soul that was going to attend. Your reaction publicised his private notions completely.

It wasn’t hard to hate you.

Rather, it was the easiest thing in the world. His life had been built upon layers of lies, fear, judgement and mistrust. You tore everything apart with one look. He despised the hold you had over him, envied your purity and tried his best to tarnish it with his own two hands. Even if it meant burning your entire persona to ashes. He was well aware of the impact his audacious remarks on your large heart, knew just how much you wished to throw your small fists at his chest in rebuttal- he could see it in your eyes. But he knew you’d never break.

‘’Get out. I don’t have time for you.’’

Fuck.

Why couldn’t he just say no?

Probably because the thought of abjuration had never once crossed his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~

11 pm saw him standing at your door, a bouquet of Lilly’s in his hand. The flowers had almost wilted away. What the hell was he doing? Why was he even here? There was no noise from behind the oakwood and why would there be?

Your offer had been for dinner, not a midnight snack.

He wasn’t going to come, prove you wrong and act smug about the ordeal. However he had shown up, at 7 pm, flowers fresh and suit prim. Ready to tap onto the door and shimmy himself into you…your apartment. But his confidence dropped as he heard your laughter, it was beautiful, natural and something he had never experienced before.

Jeon Jungkook had never made you laugh, but had every thought of hearing you scream.

It wouldn’t have mattered to him if you were any other woman, but the lack of knowledge frightened him, made him think there would be another man who would have the pleasure of witnessing both sounds.

Every. Single. Day.

His heart beat erratically, edging him into a state of worry and insanity. What the fuck was wrong with him? It would be a complete lie if he said he hadn’t just stood in front of your door for 3 hours, praying he didn’t hear sounds of men. The silence at 11 pm provided comfort and he walked away, only after dropping the Lilly’s inside the vase at your desk.

You had been pleasantly surprised the next day, and you knew exactly who they were from. The flowers- drained from their pretty colour -were beautiful nonetheless and you couldn’t help but run your hands over their soft petals.

They were perfect- just like him.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

2.

‘’See that guy over there…he’s checking you out hon.’’ Lisa, the American-Chinese intern, stirred her tea at an exceedingly sluggish pace. Her eyes were glued onto the 27 year old accountant who stood in the corner of the room, photocopying his work and humming to himself. She’d been a temporary employee at Euphoria Inc. for a bare 3 weeks but had done well to pair 4 couples with her self-praised matchmaking skills.

3 of said relationships had broken up within 24 hours. And thus, It was only natural that her impeccable track record attracted many an employee to her small cubicle, ready for her to set them up with dates and one night stands.

It seemed that you were her next target.

You sighed and turned to look at Jamie. He was tall, considerably well-built and had this collegiate boyish charm to his appeal, his long-slightly raven locks sat faultlessly over his glasses.

The image was so immaculate it made you uncomfortable.

I

However in your opinion, the man on the 77th floor was nothing short of perfection. His ruffled hair didn’t need to be waxed and placed as it were; it fell naturally and it made you want to run your hands through it. His rugged and damaged personality sheltered his otherwise kind heart and you saw right through the vile facade. You didn’t hope for him to change. Didn’t hope for him to suddenly become a goofy cheeky soul; the kind who would sit and chat with his workers.

You loved the man as he was. A little broken but a hell of a lot confident.

‘’Lisa…I don’t really want to date him…’’ You mumbled, eagerly emptying coffee beans into the machine.

She laughed at your reply and peeled her eyes away from the man. ‘’Who said anything about dating love? I just said he was checking you out.’’

It was hard not to grimace at her words but as crude as they were you had to smile politely. Offices were run on brutal honesty and cut throat depositions. There was no room for pleasantries or hospitality and any that appeared were a courteous formality. You hurried in your steps and brewed the concoction with ease. It was 8 am and he required his morning fix, even though he never actually asked you to prepare it. You had just finished placing his black on the tray and had turned around to deliver it when a firm body crashed into yours, spilling the brew all over your clothes and the floor. The heat burned through your blouse and scorched your skin, it had been hard to not curse at the pain but you dealt through it, eyes shut tight in response.

‘’Oh my gosh! I am so sorry!’’ said the voice. It was a man, sharply handsome, his cheekbones were protruding and you were sure his skin glowed. It didn’t take long to recognise him.

Kim Taehyung.

He had been a prospective fiancé, from a year ago.

From a time when you had no viable job, no future and the money the Kim Family offered in exchange for your hand in matrimony, had been a welcome surprise to your household. They were staunchly against same sex marriages and Park Jimin had been banned from their home with immediate effect. The marijuana had inflected your otherwise gentle father and he had agreed in seconds to the proposal, not once considering your opinion. You had declined Taehyung in private, and he had hugged you in thanks. The man was humble and docile in more ways than one, and his heart had been taken years ago- by none other, than his childhood piano teacher. There was no way Taehyung would’ve agreed.  

‘’Tae!’’ You screamed, surprised yet elated at the discovery.

‘’Hey there fiancé. Glad to know you remember me…but really, why do we always meet in the worst of situations.’’ He walked over to the counter as he spoke, grabbing up as many napkins as he could find. His gentle hands took to patting at your chest, handing you the tissues while doing so and it didn’t take long for to dry up your blouse.

‘’I thought you’d be more respectful than that. Letting your fiancé walk into my building and displaying yourself open for the man. Tch Tch…I guess a lowlife is always a low life no matter what her circumstance.’’ Jeon Jungkook stood against the door, leaning onto it with a posture that screamed indifference. But in all reality, Jungkook was seething.

The small Glock tucked into his suit was ready to fire and destroy Kim Taehyung and maybe even leave a flesh wound inside Jamie the accountant.

However in that minute, his primal desire had been to destroy you. How dare you hide the news of your engagement? How dare you wear that damned pastel pink blouse to work, and let another man touch you so unabashedly? How dare you smile when you saw your betrothed? He hated you for everything.

And he hated himself for falling for you.

‘’And who the hell is this Joker?’’ Taehyung turned around to look at Jeon, the tissues in his hand soiled from the spillage. He had been invited to the corporation by Min Yoongi, a dear friend who had promised him help with TaeMin Designs, an upcoming entrepreneurial, founded by his beautiful husband. It didn’t occur to him that he’d meet you, but he was pleased that he had.

You were wonderful.

If it hadn’t been for your confidence, he would have never proposed to Jimin, never left his awful family and never been as happy as he was now. He owed you his life and his prosperity.

‘’Tae…he’s my boss. I’ll talk to you later. Please. I’ll call you hmm?’’ you tried your best to nip the fight in the bud. Taehyung was cool headed but an agitated version of the man could lead to the emergence of fists and blood. You were lucky he understood your pleas, and he grunted towards Jungkook while exiting the room, the daggers leaving his eyes were filled with venom and anger.

‘’I’d like you to pay attention to your job. Not to every single man out there. Why don’t you just do as you’re told? I don’t care what you do and who you do it with when you’re out of here.’’ Jungkook straightened himself against the wall and pocketed his hands. He told himself he enjoyed watching your eyes brim, told himself that his anger was justified. But god knows how much he wanted to cradle you and whisper apologies until you were forced to believe them.

‘’Let’s keep your sluttish acts away from the office hmm?’’

It was a harsh blow, enough to cause the first tear to slip from their confines. Why did he have to behave like that?

Why did you have to love him regardless of the way he did? 

~~~~~~~

3.  

‘’How long is it going to take you leave? It’s pretty simple. Take the bag to KM Constructions, drop it there and leave. What’s so hard? '' Jungkook’s anger had sky rocketed ever since the incidence in the cafeteria and he didn’t even understand why he was asking you to be a bag drop. Never once in a career spanning 6 years had he ever made a woman a part of a deal. But it seemed that you were an exception with everything.

‘’I am just leaving Sir.’’ You said, buttoning up the grey pea coat.

He noticed how inappropriately dressed you were, how feminine and vulnerable. He knew how lecherous men could be, knew it wasn’t safe. But annoyance clouded his senses and he threw the thoughts away. It was simple enough, no interactions. You’d be fine.

If only he knew.

Part 2

Part 3 

[blackjacketmuses]

hc; ango 1

Ango’s family is fairly well off, upper-middle class. A very traditional family with very traditional values, his mother does not work and his father is a businessman at a successful company. He has an older brother, who is a lawyer. From a young age, Ango was taught that the best he could ever achieve is a comfortable job in business or at an office, marry a quiet, obedient traditional girl, have children, and live a normal, unassuming life. Be traditional, be one of the crowd, don’t stand out, just live and go on with a normal, average existence.

That was foiled summarily when he was fourteen and his ability manifested. This coupled with Ango slowly beginning to realize he wasn’t interested in women started to put strain on his familial relationships, and when he graduated high school with top marks, he applied and was accepted to a college far away from home --- he fled from Tokyo to Yokohama, to go to college there.

A scant few months after he entered college (majoring in history and anthropology), he was scouted by the government due to his ability, and pulled into the Special Abilities Department for both his keen intellect, his sense of perfectionism, and...okay, mostly his ability. He was put through training quickly and immediately stationed in an accounting firm that worked for the mafia, working there until given the go-ahead to act. A situation was half-caused and half-fabricated in which Ango and some others (government plants and patsies both) were stealing mafia funds, and after staged chaos (the plants killing the patsies and fleeing separately), Ango fled alone, staying out of the mafia’s grasp for six months before he was ‘caught’ (really, allowed himself to be caught on orders) and recruited by Mori, as intended. He was nineteen.

A year after this, he was sent overseas for two months to Europe for a mafia deal, and while there was contacted by the government (and the mafia itself) to get in touch with and infiltrate a terrorist group named Mimic. After this, he was spying on Mimic for both the mafia and the government as well as spying on the mafia for the government.

Not long after he returned, the Dragon’s Head incident began, and despite Ango’s protests, the government hired Tatsuhiko Shibusawa, a strange criminal with an ability, to staunch the conflict. In the end he only created a lot more deaths, and the government covered it up.

After this, Ango met Oda and Dazai during the cleanup, and they became friends. As this was just around the time Dazai became executive, a few casual conversations were had about Dazai’s partner that led Ango to do research on the situation himself and learn of Chuuya’s circumstances and the Rimbaud incident via his ability. Because of this, he was relatively prepared for Chuuya approaching him to help him find Verlaine, Rimbaud’s partner. Verlaine was working for the government, and after getting permission from his superiors, Ango aided Chuuya in finding and confronting the man.

During the incident, Ango made a point to collect all the belongings of each dead mafia agent and use his ability to make a proper record of their lives, memorializing them as he felt guilty for such a huge loss of life that the government was complicit in. even if they were mafia members, they were still human beings that deserved remembrance and respect, and a loss is a loss. At first his thorough records went unappreciated, but eventually he was allowed to continue.

Ango came to treasure the time at the bar with his two friends, caring about Oda and Dazai deeply and, though he could never lay himself bare to them --- too wrapped up in secrets and mixed loyalties --- the time he spent talking about inane and superficial things, just casually, able to be a normal person laughing with companions, was the most important thing in the world to him, something he would treasure beyond anything else. A glimpse of the life he could have had, laughing and joking with friends after a long day at work, like any other normal businessman.

Eventually, the mafia and the government’s chess game came to a head with Mimic being lured to Yokohama, and Ango’s cover within the terrorist organization was blown. Because of this, he got in trouble, and Oda was lured to meet Gide, which would lead to Oda’s death. During the incident he was captured/tortured by Mimic and rescued by Oda, but just before the government came to collect him and his cover was blown on all sides.

After this, he went back to the government and was witness to the deal in which Mori sold Oda’s life in exchange for an operation permit, and after that continued in his desk job at the government. Out of heartbreak and guilt for what happened, when Dazai confronted him after having left the mafia, he directed him to his boss, chief Taneda, and arranged for Dazai’s past to be erased via the 7th Agency branch of the government, so that he could start over and keep his promise to their dead friend. He also helped Dazai arrange a grave for Oda at a quite seaside graveyard.

Ango logically knows he was just a pawn in the Mimic incident, but he can’t help but feel deeply guilty for being involved at all, as it led to Oda’s death and the shattering of the friendship he’d valued so highly. While he and Dazai are on better terms than they were immediately after, and still know they can rely on one another, he knows they can never have what they once did, and it’s painful. He has subordinates, but he has no friends, and he knows it’s in part his own fault. He’s very lonely.

He only barely knew Chief Taneda when the Mimic incident occurred, given how quickly he was funneled into the undercover operation. At the time of the incident, Mori was more his boss than Taneda; he knew Mori better, after all --- he'd spent basically three years with the mafia at this point despite technically working for the government the whole time. While the meeting the day of his capture was a warning about what would happen, he was still captured, and though he knew he would be rescued those armed men was the first time he'd ever really seen the special ops team: for a moment he thought they were going to kill him before he remembered they were picking him up. And when they came, he didn't want to leave Oda -- he entertained the idea of defecting to the mafia on the spot, for Oda, but he knew he'd die if he did, so he went along quietly.

Despite the risk to his own safety, he did everything he could to help the two of them deal with Gide, even knowing that it was a trap and regretting that he couldn’t do more, hoping that Oda wouldn’t take the bait and knowing Mimic did need to be stopped. Even so, it hurt to know that he could never go back, being in that bar one last time and knowing everything had changed and broken forever. Knowing this might be the last time he saw Oda. Knowing that he’d never be able to see them again, not with the lines now drawn, knowing that Dazai would likely never forgive him. He contemplated suicide for a time (including by showing up at Lupin in the first place, half hoping Dazai would kill him), before deciding against it, because he had to stay and help Dazai make it out and then make sure he could fulfill Oda’s last wishes.

Ango had a huge, huge crush on Oda, and it broke his heart even more when his cover was blown and whatever could have been was made into something that could never be. And even worse when Oda died, because he knew of his own complicity in it. He misses him so much, and tries to do his best to carry on in his memory. To take over the department to keep his final wish of drinking with Dazai again, and to take care of Dazai for both their sakes.

[dazaran]

Days worth celebrating

relationship: Edogawa Ranpo & Izumi Kyouka rating: G genre: fluff / family fluff AO3 link: here!

summary:  Kyouka hears Lucy talking about Mother's day and is reminded of her own, while Ranpo finds her drifting amidst her thoughts.

“Today’s the day, the sweet curry day, the sweet curry day for meee,” Ranpo’s obnoxious, made up song echoes down the empty staircase as he makes his way down by himself. Everyone else in the agency is busy or off doing a case, and while Ranpo isn’t the type to enjoy doing anything alone, he at least can humor himself with the company of those on the first floor cafe. They’re always more than eager to talk to him about his day, his work, or whatever is happening in the city at the moment. The gossip of older people is something he finds very entertaining, really - old people have a knack for hearing anything and everything from one another.

His singing continues as he hops out onto the sidewalk, but he soon freezes outside the window when he notices a familiar small head of black hair sitting alone at a booth. That was... Kyouka-chan, wasn’t it?

Ranpo glances around the inside of the cafe through the window. Atsushi isn’t around for once, which is surprising in itself. His eyes narrow with a hum, and he moves to enter the cafe with a cheerful wave of his hand. “Miss waitress, two slices of strawberry cake for me and Kyouka-chan, and one coffee for me!”

Sweet curry doesn’t fit the mood for addressing Kyouka alone, he thinks.

The waitress - a middle aged woman, curvy, but not overweight - laughs gently at his exuberant greeting. “Energetic as always, hm, Ranpo-san? Your coffee is 6 sugars and three creams as usual, right?”

“You got it! Thank you!”

Though, really, it’s just an excuse to get her across the room so she doesn’t hear anything Ranpo says as he takes a seat in the booth directly across from Kyouka. There’s a cold cup of tea in front of her given the lack of steam, and her eyes are looking down into the reflection the drink creates.

“No Atsushi-kun today, Kyouka-chan?” Ranpo asks, folding his hands on the table with a smile.

Kyouka shakes her head. “He said he had to go find Dazai-san.”

The detective rolls his eyes. Well, that’s clearly a lost cause. Dazai could be anywhere because of his eccentric way of thinking, and Atsushi wasn’t the best at narrowing down ideal spots for him to be hiding. No wonder she’s by herself.

That doesn’t explain why she has such a distant look on her face, though.

“Something bothering you?” His words are both a question and a statement. No one can hide anything from him, especially not Kyouka. A former assassin she may be, she was still a child - a blunt and honest one at that. (She reminds Ranpo of himself quite a bit.)

Kyouka starts to shake her head, but seems to realize lying is a lost cause before she even starts. She looks up through her bangs to meet Ranpo’s gaze - his green eyes look back at her calmly, reassuring even. She lifts a hand to grip at the cellphone hanging around her neck, then glances towards the counter where Lucy is walking out of the storeroom with a box of supplies.

“... Earlier, she was on the phone with someone.” Kyouka starts softly, and Ranpo turns to glance at Lucy himself. “It was about Mother's Day.”

It only takes a second for Ranpo to put the pieces together, and he gives a small ‘ah’. “So you’re thinking about your mother.”

Kyouka nods slightly in affirmation.

The head waitress walks over with a tray in hand and a smile on her face. Ranpo looks up with a sudden, beaming smile, giving a happy ‘thank you~’ as she sets down the slices of cake and his coffee. There’s some sort of relief to be felt when Kyouka’s eyes light up a bit at the cake presented before her, and Ranpo smiles over the rim of his coffee.

“Thank you, Ranpo-san...” Kyouka mumbles quietly, lifting her fork to dig into the soft cake. She seems more intent on stabbing at it than eating it at the moment.

Ranpo studies her face for a moment, then sets down his coffee. “Are you feeling down because you can’t see her for Mother’s Day?”

“... A little.”

“Hmmm, I see. That’s understandable.” Ranpo jabs his fork into the strawberry sitting atop his slice, taking it into his mouth and chewing it energetically. When he swallows, he sets his fork down. “Well, luckily for you, today isn't Mother's Day. It's not till this Sunday."

Kyouka tilts her head. “... Luckily?”

Ranpo hums, remaining cryptic. He’s not always the easiest to understand, and everyone in the agency admits to this. The only ones who can say that they truly understand him completely... Kyouka would assume those people were Fukuzawa, Yosano, and Dazai. Fukuzawa was like a father to Ranpo, Yosano was his best friend, and Dazai - he and Ranpo were always spending their free time together, being the two geniuses of the agency they were. Atsushi had made a curious comment that maybe they were dating, but the two men were too affectionate with everyone to say for sure.

“Mind if I share a little secret with you?”

“With me?” Kyouka’s brows raise. She’s surprised, and with good reason. Though Ranpo is all smiles and full of energy, she felt that it was something similar to Dazai - a mask hiding something more serious, something he had shown only briefly in the past. She figured there was a reason, but knew it wasn’t her place to ask.

“Kyouka-chan is like a sister to me. Honestly, you remind me of myself,” Ranpo answers, smiling wryly. “Like you, my parents died when I was 14.”

This was Kyouka’s first time hearing anything about it, anything about Ranpo’s past. Curious as it was, no one seemed to know a thing - not even Dazai. As she recalls from Tanizaki, the brunet even asked to look into the founding of the agency at one point.

The former assassin takes a small bite of her cake, staring at Ranpo with curiosity and concern. “I didn’t know...”

“I know. Not many do. I’m more secretive than I look.” Ranpo admits, lifting his coffee to take another slow sip. “Anyway... My mother and father, they died in an accident when I was 14. I had no other relatives or family, they were all I had - so when they died... I was all alone in this world.” There’s a solemness in his gaze, and his tone is lower than his more high-pitched cheer. “I went to the police academy here in Yokohama because that’s where I was told to go if anything happened but, well, they kicked me out after half a year. I lived on the streets after being fired from one job after the next.”

“And... The director found you after that?”

“Right. Well, not that I took to him right away.” Cue a laugh as the detective rubs at his head. “Hard to believe, right~?”

“It is.” Kyouka agrees, then nods earnestly. To think that once upon a time Ranpo, who fawned over and would do anything for the director’s attention, would have disliked him once upon a time... It’s hard to imagine. The love, attachment, and sheer respect he held for the man was too great to ignore.

“Well, in any case... My mother was a great person. Stubborn and headstrong, capable of putting father in his place no matter what he tried. She could flip you on your ass if you tried to pick a fight with her too.” The man leans back in his seat, looking up at the ceiling. “If she were still alive... I’m sure she and Yosano would have been good friends. The last Mother’s Day present I ever got her - it was a bouquet of flowers I bought with my own saved up allowance, all in a pretty vase and card attached. She looked so happy, y’know...”

Kyouka doesn’t know how to respond. She’s never been the best at comforting, nor has she really received it during her time spent in the Mafia. She reaches out to hold his hand, but he seems to pull himself out of his thoughts and sits up right. He notices her hand, closing the distance to take it in his with a smile.

“That’s why I’m happy things are different in the agency now when you were brought in! Me, I only had Fukuzawa-san growing up... Mother’s Day is kind of an odd one out for me now. But, it doesn’t have to be the same for you. The agency is big, we’re our own family now... Is there someone you view as the motherly type towards you? She might not be your mother but - I’m sure yours would want you not to have such a sad expression when you think about her.”

Blue eyes blink incredulously, staring into those green eyes that study her so earnestly. Kyouka lowers her head to study how his hand holds hers, and she moves to squeeze it tightly.

Someone she views as the motherly type...?

Kunikida immediately comes to mind, but she doesn’t feel it’s the same thing as the mothering a mother would give. She loves and respects him, but decides to count him out of this one.

Naomi... She’s more like a big sister. Lucy, too, even if they butt heads.

That leaves two, and as she sifts through her memories and instances she’s had between them, the answer is clear. If she could... She’d like to thank that person. Lifting her head, Kyouka nods to Ranpo. “I think so... Can you help me get something for her?”

Ranpo smiles eagerly. “It’d be my pleasure!”

The next Sunday rolls around, and while it’s a day off, Haruno always volunteers to come in anyway to get ahead on paperwork for herself and her peers. Haruno is sorting papers by what needs to be read and signed by the director, what are requests for the agency, what are thank you letters, and so and so forth. She’s humming a tune as she goes, and is halfway finished with the stack of letters in her grasp when she feels a small tug on her sleeve that makes her stop.

“Hm?” Haruno pauses, twisting her body to locate the perpetrator. Kyouka is standing behind her and looking up at her with wide blue eyes, as if waiting to be acknowledged. The older woman does so with a smile, setting down her letters and turning to the girl. “Kyouka-chan, good morning! Is there something you need from me?”

Kyouka shakes her head, revealing the hand she’s hiding behind her back that’s holding a small, pastel pink gift bag. “There’s something I wanted to give you.”

Brown eyes blink in surprise, mouth opening slightly in surprise as she graciously accepts the gift bag by the handle and stares at it. “Give me? Where is this coming from?”

“Today is Mother’s Day...” Kyouka explains timidly, cheeks flushing pink in embarrassment. “Ranpo-san... said that, if I couldn’t celebrate with my mother... then I should honor her by thanking the person who’s been most mother-like to me. So I thought I’d give you something.”

Haruno pulls out a small lacquer jewelry box from the bag. The design on top is elegant, with cherry blossom flowers hanging from a branch and petals flying into the wind. Kyouka’s words, along with the emotions behind the gift bring the woman to the brink of happy tears, and she hugs Kyouka close to her chest. “That you would want to honor your mother with little me of all people... I can’t describe how happy that makes me feel. Your mother is surely just as proud of you as I am.” she says, kissing the top of the young girl’s head with a teary laugh. “I never thought of myself as the motherly type, but for you, I wouldn’t mind that.”

Kyouka returns the hug timidly, but squeezes with a firmness that expresses her true feelings. “Thank you, Haruno-san...”

“I’m a bit surprised, though - I’d imagine you’d view Yosano-san that way first.”

The former assassin shakes her head. “Yosano-sensei is like a big sister... or aunt. Ranpo-san says she’s like a sister, and he’s a big brother to me.”

Haruno giggles, tucking some hair behind Kyouka’s ear. “I see. That makes sense. Thank you, Kyouka-chan... I’ll cherish this forever.”

Kyouka nods, stepping back to keep her gaze with Haruno’s for a few moments longer before she runs off across the room where Ranpo is watching from the doorway with a smile. He’s almost knocked off balance when Kyouka runs up and headbutts into his chest, hugging him tightly. It brings out a small cough, but it sounds more like a laugh as he pets her head gently.

“See? I told you she’d be happy about it. Are you happy, Kyouka-chan?”

The girl nods. “I’m happy... Thank you, Ranpo-san.”

“Well, anything for my cute sister, you know~”

She hums quietly in response, nuzzling into the fabric of his shirt. There is a few moment of silence, and soon she lets her chin rest against his chest to study his face. “Is there such thing as a sibling day?”

Ranpo blinks. “Huh? Uh... Yeah, but it was in April I think, so it’s already passed... Some other countries celebrate it on the last day of May, too.”

Kyouka steps back, clenching her fists together with a determined expression. “Then I have to plan for next year.” she says, then dashes past him and down the stairs.

“Eh?” Ranpo whirls to watch her run off. “Eh?! Kyouka-chan...!!”

His confusion quickly melts into a smile as he rests his hand on a hip. How can he possibly complain when she looks so excited? He can’t and won’t stop her from wanting to indulge in holidays to celebrate the new family she’s gained, the new life she’s decided to lead.

Ranpo understands that all too well, and wants to protect her as well as this family they both cherish.

[embracetheshipping]

Hired Part Three - Conflict of Interest

@erikalyafter requested the following prompt: Trained as a sexual weapon Steve hunts the world’s best detective

Chapters (1) (2) (3)

In Steve’s line of work, referrals were the key to finding clients.  One couldn’t very well put out a flyer advertising mercenary-type services wherein sex (or at least the promise of sex) might be used to extort information or carry out an assassination.  More importantly, however, referrals gave him a minor measure of security, in that there was a six-degrees-of-separation element to the identity of his customers.  He had begun his career by working for people he knew and trusted, and they in turn recommended him to others.  And because the initial sources of the recommendations were reliable, he could feel more or less at ease in taking on new jobs.

It was for that reason, along with a general bad feeling in his gut, that he was currently preoccupied with mapping out an exit strategy rather than engaging in formal pleasantries with the group of well-dressed men seated around the table.

“I’m sorry – but how did you hear of me again?” Steve asked.

The group’s apparent leader, a tall, fit man in his fifties who identified himself as Ian Markova, waved away the question.  “I should think that would hardly matter, considering what we’re offering you.”

Steve begrudgingly agreed.  Under most circumstances, he wouldn’t have consented to a meeting with guys like these – mafia types, by the look of it – but he could easily retire on the compensation they were proposing.

“Fair enough.  What’s the job?”

Markova nodded to the younger man sitting on his right.  Steve was handed a manila folder, which he opened to discover the photo and dossier of an Interpol agent.

“Daniel Williams,” Markova introduced.  “Graduated with a major in Criminal Justice at Seton Hall, top of his class at the police academy, and generally acknowledged as a rising star in the law enforcement community.  Over the years, he’s worked for a variety of government agencies as a top notch investigator.  Two years ago, he was recruited by Interpol, where – presumably – he is still currently employed.”

“Presumably?”

“The nature of his job requires him to be constantly on the move and on guard.  Much of his personal history has been expunged in order to protect anyone who might be affected by his work, and very few can confirm his current status.”  Markova fixed Steve with a haughty grin, and his dark eyes shone with malicious humor.  “I, of course, am one of those few.

Steve frowned and closed the file.  “And what exactly would you like me to do?”

Markova folded his hands on the table.  “From what little information we’ve been able to gather, Agent Williams’s propensity for switching jobs so often may have also been due to prejudice, aside from his obvious talent for solving difficult crimes.  He has been openly bisexual since his college days.  And you,” he gave Steve an admiring once-over, “have both the looks and the skills necessary to get close to him.”

“And you know all this – how?”

“Never you mind.  The situation is this: Agent Williams has been, shall we say, interfering in my business affairs.  I could have him eliminated, naturally, but I think he could prove very useful, given the right incentive.  What I would like from you, is to find me some leverage.  Seduce him into giving up something I can use to secure his cooperation.  Complete this small task for me, and I will pay you the sum we spoke of - half up front, and the rest after you deliver.

Markova extended his hand.  “Do we have a deal, Mister McGarrett?”

“McGarrett.  McGarrett!”

“Hmm, what?”  

Daniel Williams – Danny, as he preferred to be called – shook his head in exasperation.  “I said – what do you want in your coffee?”

“Oh.”  Steve glanced at the self-serving refreshment station in the hotel lobby, wondering if they had any organic butter on hand.  He doubted it.  “Surprise me.”

“Black it is, then.”  Danny handed Steve a plain coffee in a disposable cup and sat down on the opposite end of the couch, facing him.  He turned his attention to the papers he’d left laying between them, all of them written in various eastern European languages.

“So, what are we up to today?” Steve asked.

Danny shot him a half-hearted glare, and Steve fought a grin.

Over the past several weeks, Steve had arranged enough chance encounters with Williams, subtly experimenting with different personas and hitting on him, that Danny eventually gave up trying to ignore  him and instead began to invite him along whenever he went out to run errands or complete other daily activities associated with life.  But every so often, Danny would disappear for several days, or he’d receive a call during one of their “dates” and would instruct Steve to drive his rented Camaro to some out-of-the-way location for a covert meeting.  Steve would then be forced to wait in the car while Danny spoke with someone on a disposable cell phone (a new one every time) or talk to a thin figure who consistently kept his or her back to Steve at all times.

While Danny’s clandestine operations, not to mention Markova’s frequent and increasingly impatient demands for a status update, kept him on edge, Steve had to admit that he was actually enjoying himself for the first time since – he couldn’t even remember.

Danny had this strange way about him that made him equally infuriating and endearing.  He had strong opinions about everything under the sun, from what was an acceptable topping on pizza to music to the ocean, and he had no qualms about sharing them in a remarkable and highly entertaining fashion.  He had a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind, quick with a joke, but just as quick with his fists (a fact Steve discovered when he’d pushed Danny too far and was rewarded with a right cross to the jaw).  

But more than that, Danny was kind and compassionate.  Steve witnessed it first hand when he “accidently” stumbled upon the agent in the aftermath of a raid.  He had been in the crowd gathered around a police barricade, watching in horror as Williams and the local police breached an abandoned building, only to exit moments later with malnourished, dirty and obviously abused children (victims of human trafficking) in tow.  He’d watched as Danny brushed the frightened tears off a little boy’s cheek, and draped his jacket around the shoulders of a nearly-naked girl.  

And once the smoke had cleared and all of the kids had been taken to several area hospitals, he had tailed Williams to a gym and watched him wail on a punching bag until his knuckles bled.

“Well, for starters,” Danny answered, setting aside his files, “Maybe you’d finally like to tell me something about yourself, something other than just your name and a bullshit backstory.”

Steve put a hand to his chest.  “You wound me, Danny.  I’ve told you TONS of stuff about me.  Why do you keep calling it bullshit?”

Though they’d achieved something resembling a real friendship, neither of them had been forthcoming with anything significant.  Steve continued to repeat the cover story he’d designed to attract Danny, who in turn talked and ranted in circles while never actually revealing anything beyond superficial details.

“Because it is,” Danny said.  He made himself comfortable against the cushions and laid his arm across the back of the couch.  “I’ve learned a lot about you over the last few weeks, and none of it meshes with the crap you’ve been spouting.”  Strangely, he almost sounded hurt.

“Yeah?  Let me guess – you’re one of those cops who run background checks on all of his dates, am I right?  Pray, enlighten me, officer.  Did you find something to contradict everything I’ve told you so far?”  Naturally, Steve assumed that Agent Williams would do his homework, but he had plenty of useful connections, including a hacker capable of revising Steve’s history to match whatever narrative he required.

Danny shook his head.  “Okay; first of all – no.  I did not run a background check on you, though in my line of work, that’s well within my right.  And second, I am a detective – agent – whatever, and a damn good one.  It’s my job to read between the lines and sort out the truth.”

“Okay, detective.  You think you’re so smart?”  Steve scooted closer and stared him down, his lips curved in a challenging smirk.  “What have you learned about me?”

“Well, let’s see.”  Danny placed the tips of his fingers to his temples, mimicking a psychic about to perform a reading.  He took an over-exaggerated breath.  “You either grew up in, or spent a significant amount of time in Hawaii.”

Steve’s smirk faltered.

“Swimming is your preferred method for staying in shape.”

Steve willed himself not to fidget.

“You have a dog, even though you’re more of a cat person.”

The smirk vanished altogether.  “How…?”

“You’re ex-military, probably U.S. Navy; your father is no longer alive, and you have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which I’m guessing you haven’t sought any sort of help in addressing.”  Danny lowered his hands.  “How am I doing so far?”

To say that Steve was dumbfounded would be an understatement, so much so that he didn’t bother to contradict anything.  “I – how could you possibly know all that?”

Danny sighed and met his glare.  “I also know that you’re incredibly thoughtful and gentle.  Those who are lucky enough to call you ‘friend’ would describe you as deeply caring and loyal to a fault.  And, in spite of this playboy act, you’re a hopeless romantic who desperately wants a family of his own – one that will never forsake him.”

Steve crossed his arms and scowled.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Danny inclined his head slightly and lifted a shoulder.  “You can deny it all you want, but we both know I’m right.”

“You keep accusing me of being dishonest and cagey, but you haven’t exactly been forthcoming yourself.”

“Fair enough.”  Danny studied him in silence for a moment.  Then he nodded to himself, as though he’d made some sort of decision.  

He leaned to one side and reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a glossy piece of paper folded into a square.  He offered it to Steve.

“What’s this?”  Steve straightened the paper.  

It was a photograph of two children, a teenage girl with long, brown hair, and a young, blond-haired boy with a wide-toothy grin.

“My kids,” Danny said.  “Grace and Charlie.  They’re the only good thing to have come out of my failed marriage.”

“They’re beautiful,” Steve answered sincerely.  He returned the picture.

Danny gazed at it, a sad smile on his place.  “My ex got custody of them in the divorce.  Then she got remarried to this real estate developer who’s been constantly moving them around the United States.  The only way I could keep up was to study and work my ass off to become a good investigator so that I could qualify for a job with the FBI, and later Interpol, which gave me the freedom to relocate with them.”

He carefully placed the photo back in his pocket.  “What sucks is that my current case poses a significant risk.  I can only video chat with them over secured lines at random intervals.  I haven’t gotten to hold them in over six months.  And even before this whole debacle, my ex-wife has been fighting tooth and nail to bar me from visitation.  She thinks that if she distances them from me, it’ll hurt them less in the long run if I get killed in the line of duty.”

“That’s – I don’t even know what to say.  Sorry, I guess.”

Danny smiled a little in thanks.  “That’s why this will be my last case.  Once I wrap this up, I’m going to quit and find some place stable where I can put down roots.  I’ll retire from law enforcement; maybe open a restaurant or something.  And once I’m settled, I’m going to sue for shared custody.”

Steve could hardly believe what he was hearing.  On the one hand, he’d just been handed the exact type of leverage he’d been paid to uncover.  Clearly, Danny would do absolutely anything for his children; probably even cooperate with some less-than-savory characters to keep them safe.  All Steve had to do was excuse himself, call Markova, tell him about Grace and Charlie, and he could sail off into the sunset with a full bank account.  

On the other hand, Steve wasn’t the type of guy to put kids in danger under any circumstance.  More importantly, how could Steve betray Danny after such a massive display of trust?  If he was being perfectly honest with himself, he had grown to like Danny very much.  In spite of the lies, they had real chemistry, if not enough for a relationship, then at least they might form a good friendship.

Then again, that point was moot.  One way or another, Danny would learn the truth about Steve.  And when he did…

One of Danny’s phones rang, disturbing Steve’s introspection and Danny’s quiet observation.

“Yes?  Okay.  I’m on my way.”  Danny hung up and gathered his files.  “I need to go.  Duty calls.”

Steve stood up.  “And I suppose I’m not allowed to come along?”

“Sorry babe.”  Danny got to his feet and took a few steps closer to Steve.  “You busy on Friday?”

He mulled it over.  “I’m not sure yet.  I have some – uh – stuff to take care of.”

“Okay.  Well, I’ll check in with you later.”  Danny hesitated.  Then he leaned up and gave Steve a peck on the lips.

Steve blinked.  “What was that for?”

Danny grinned.  “Meh.  Just felt like it.”  He left without another world.

Steve raised a hand to touch his lips.  It was a hardly a real kiss, certainly nothing to blush about, and yet Steve could feel his neck growing warm.

Oh god; he was so screwed.

[agoodmanisdead]

Chapter 2: We have a synopsis! (really?)

Anything new you want to start in your life, demands even more energy. And, believe me, it’ll to demands even more. The difference later is that you know a little bit more where and when you need to put your energy harder.

The moment I started writing the project, we had just the intention of keeping us busy and artistic creative during a catastrophic moment in the humankind. Artists, definitely and specially the performative/dramatic ones, suffered a lot from all the social restrictions. Actors were incredibly impacted by all this prison. Actors need a stage, no exceptions.

Without this possibility, we had to move ourselves to a “new” stage. The online stage. But our idea, at first, wasn’t to create a play to be performed on camera. We thought that we could create a series of videos where everyone in the group might perform. As I was studying cinematographic genres, I was really interested in the film diversity.

So, these were the three first drafts of plots that we might perform:

COMEDY- 8 actors who want to make a desktop movie and have no idea of how to do it. They wrote their own scripts – monologues – with one premiss: they have to be based on each other impressions. When they start the rehearsals, they feel themselves exposed through their scripts and conflicts installs.

DRAMA– A jury has to decide the destiny of two children in the middle of a couple divorce. One group supports the father and the other one the mother. As the discussions gets warmer and warmer, they lost the civility and start arguing not more about the case, but about each other’spolitical and social judgements.

THRILLER\MYSTERY - An indoor online funeral in the middle of the pandemia. 8 people, between parents and friends, share their stories about the person who is just dead. Throughout the relates, they start suspect that the person can be not the same. Can it be a strange?

I can’t remember exactly why did we like more of the third one. The third one looked like easier to share the roles between everyone. The moment they choose this one, I started working deeper on a plot. So, one more time, the moment I’m writing this diary (tired, lack of sleep, like many adults between 25 and 60), I can’t remember how I ended up on this project, that follows (update: 23/07):

A good man is dead

START: A COFFIN… 8 PEOPLE RELATED TO THE DEAD… AN ONLINE FUNERAL… A STRANGE ULTIMATE STREAMING SERVICE OFFERED BY A VIDEO PRODUCTIONS COMPANY.

Synopsis

WinstonLumiére (George Orwels’ 1984)is gone. Nobody knows the reason, but most people think is related to the coronavirus outbreak. He was only 36 and afamous Englishphotographer who travelled around the world taking pictures of normal and famous people.

He was in love by the human nature and its variety, unpredictability and idiosyncrasies. With only 31, he won his first photography award, and this became a sequence of other ones in a row, year after year.

Besides, Winston was a journalist devoted to talk to strangers, create unusual friendships and trip into different and contrasting social levels. He went into the poorest one to the high stakes of society, in a charming, lovely and charismatic way. This exciting and free way of living allowed him to meet loads of people.

On the other side, it had its price. On this funeral, 8 people were invited to pay a tribute to him on a live recording. However, they have no idea who is behind of this invitation and which company is this.

The background story of each character is a story itself, in a particular way. I wanted to explore and use different personal, cultural and intellectual references in each one’s development and personality. Thereafter, as the project has been growing, obviously, I had to change some points on each one’s biographies, but, essentially, they remain the same so far.

The reason from most characters are Irish is that most of the cast met themselves in Dublin and are currently living there, though, afterwards, this territoriality was an unnecessary point.

Plotline:

Eight people are invited to pay a tribute in an online funeral to Winston, a young famous photographer, when they suspect this is a plan to get their personal informations.

Hiswife just discovered she istwo month pregnant. Simone Capitu (de Beauvoir, French, Capitu, the Brazilian Machado de Assis’ most famous character)met Winston when he was travelling to France.

They met during a contest in the middle of the Paris streets. He took pictures of her and then they started to date. He felt in love for her strong support to the feminist ideas, her passion for a cause, for human rights and against poverty.

She loved his adventure and wild way of living, his sensibility and always empathetic perception. She had no time to say about the pregnancy,regarding is unsure who the child father actually is.

She wonder if the father is Dorian (Gray), an Irish bohemian buskering singer that she met during a terrible performance of him at the Dublin’s Grafton Street. Dorian’sdream is to be a professional singer and make a living onthis. To get some money, he works calling people to eat in the restaurant where he works.

Dorian wants to be the father of Simone’s baby as a strategy to get public notoriety, but he is confused about the ethical problematic about that. At the end, he will regret of his pursuit and start studying on an arts school in order to improve his artistic skills, when finally he’ll figure out his path to the fame. (this subtext is still being developed – update: 23/07)

One of this mates was Jane(Baby Jane), a frustrated musical actress who feels miserable to be forced to have a meal in a popular restaurant. She was portrayed by Winston and feel sorry about his dead, evenshe complains about his preference for other famous actress that avoids to mention hername.

Jane is in love for Oscar (Wilde), who was portrayed by Winston as well. He is a young transgender bisexual male model, who is just starting his career at the fashion business. He uses his personal charm and sex appeal with the objective to go further into this industry, and has no reserve in talking openly about what he got used to refer as his “flexible” ethics.

Oscar is divided between the love of Jane and the love of Wendy (Torrance), a weirdo hotel director who promised him to get in touch with the most celebrated models agency in the world. Wendy uses a strange technology that allows him to watch inside all his guests room, in order to satisfy his voyeur desires and get personal details to theultra-secret company where he works to.

This corporation sells algorithms to other companies in order to manipulate populations consume and emotional trends and was Wendy who offered this “online funeral service” looking to get private informations.

One of Jack’s guest was Laura (Mulvey), a provocative Brazilian ex-politician, that moved to Europe after a disastrous career and started to get evolved withexcused business. She is hidden on the hotel, as she met him before his death, running from a dangerous mafia that was using her to get favours from its targets with lobby, extortions and similar crimes.

She is tired of having to "use her body" to manipulate men and reach what the mafia wants, but wants to use public notoriety to her self benefit. As the hotel is a phantasmagoric place, she got possessed by a spirit that is trying to dissuade Wendy from her connection to Winston’s businesses, but actually desires her sexually. Wendy will be murdered on the last episode and crime will be expose 225Flix and Cookies and Donuts into an ending crisis.

In the middle of those impossible connections, there is Benjamin (Private Benjamin), simply the sister of Wiston, who has no idea what all those people are doing on this online funeral and why she accepted the strange invitation to do it, despite she knows her brother’s notoriety.

She is a school secretary and an auspicious scriptwriter with two children that dream to be Youtubers and live the adventures as his dead uncle used to live. She uses her epic imagination to distract them with adventures while complains about her husband absence and incapacity to be a father.

And last, but not least, we have HIM, a negationist, who clams to have dangerous informations about Winston. Slasher films addicted, he is a reactionary fanatic that wants to prove that Earth is flat, the History is wrong, and everyone is just manipulated by external and fantastic forces. He lives with his parents, is addicted to the Powerpuff Girls and uses this nickname because of the homonymous villain.

Is there and end to this “story”? The correct answer is: we don’t know. There are short stories directly or indirectly related to the same guy. We have an ending with all the characters singing together and showing the process of making a film this way. (about this, we changed, as the story, as any other, needs an end; so, even the end might not be the “final” end, is an end “for a while”_update: 23/07)

As you can see, the plot is mixed with different influences that don’t have a clear or logical connection. As I mentioned, I wanted to use the academic knowledge in a practical way. I wanted to “transform” the discussions and classes in an entertainment product. And that’s the result so far. References keep growing and changing and I'll explain better each one in the next chapters.

With this plot, at least, we had a story. Not “perfect”, but we had a starting point. Amateur or not, we could, again, TO ACT.

TO BE CONTINUED