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06 June 2014 @ 08:11 pm

So I've found a list of prompts online, and I figure, the only way to try to jumpstart myself back into writing, is with a prompt or more a day, until I catch myself. I'm not working for the holidays (even if I could do with the darn money) since I want to work on myself and figure out what I want in life and well, exercising.

The Original List

1. Introduction
2. Complicated
3. Making History (TBW)
4. Rivalry
5. Unbreakable
6. Obsession
7. Eternity
8. Gateway
9. Death
10. Opportunities
11. 33%
12. Dead Wrong
13. Running Away
14. Judgment

15. Seeking Solace (TBW)
16. Excuses
17. Vengeance
18. Love
19. Tears
20. My Inspiration
21. Never Again
22. Online
23. Failure
24. Rebirth
25. Breaking Away
26. Forever and a day
27. Lost and Found
28. Light
29. Dark
30. Faith
31. Colors
32. Exploration
33. Seeing Red
34. Shades of Grey
35. Forgotten
36. Dreamer
37. Mist
38. Burning
39. Out of Time
40. Knowing How
41. Fork in the road
42. Start
43. Nature’s Fury
44. At Peace
45. Heart Song
46. Reflection
47. Perfection
48. Everyday Magic
49. Umbrella
50. Party
51. Troubling Thoughts
52. Stirring of the Wind
53. Future
54. Health and Healing
55. Separation
56. Everything For You
57. Slow Down
58. Heartfelt Apology
59. Challenged
60. Exhaustion
61. Accuracy
62. Irregular Orbit
63. Cold Embrace
64. Frost
65. A Moment in Time
66. Dangerous Territory
67. Boundaries
68. Unsettling Revelations
69. Shattered
70. Bitter Silence
71. The True You
72. Pretense
73. Patience
74. Midnight
75. Shadows
76. Summer Haze
77. Memories
78. Change in the Weather
79. Illogical
80. Only Human
81. A Place to Belong
82. Advantage
83. Breakfast
84. Echoes
85. Falling
86. Picking up the Pieces (TBW)
87. Gunshot
88. Possession
89. Twilight
90. Nowhere and Nothing
91. Answers
92. Innocence
93. Simplicity
94. Reality
95. Acceptance
96. Lesson
97. Enthusiasm
98. Game
99. Friendship
100. Endings

Find your key emotion; this may be all you need to know to find your short story. ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Emotions List
1. Birth
2. Enthusiasm
3. Love
4. Hate
5. Triumph
6. Feel
7. Wrecked
8. Soft
9. Cold
10. Without
11. Inspiration
12. You
13. Confused
14. Affection
15. Joy
16. Horror
17. Acceptance
18. Sympathy
19. Holding (TBW)
20. Defeated
21. Pride
22. Knife
23. Overwhelmed
24. Depressed
25. Adoration
26. Worship
27. Zeal
28. Light
29. Exhaustion
30. Obsession
31. Rage
32. Empty
33. Anger
34. Fury
35. Delight
36. Submission
37. Infatuation
38. Anticipation
39. Pessimistic
40. Jolly
41. Grasping
42. Agitation
43. Calm
44. Astonished
45. Loneliness
46. Lust
47. Longing
48. Tender
49. Hard
50. Rebirth
51. Amused
52. Broken
53. Abused
54. Tranquil
55. Composed
56. Glad
57. Stress
58. Serenity
59. Colorful
60. Coping
61. Boisterous
62. Placid
63. Tired
64. Bliss
65. Neglect
66. Fine
67. Question
68. Energetic
69. Noble
70. Disgust
71. Lively
72. Power
73. Pity
74. Humiliation
75. Satisfied
76. Thankful
77. Hyper
78. Goosebumps
79. Worthless
80. Remorse
81. Degraded
82. Revenge
83. Fulfilled
84. Shame
85. Graceful
86. Shining
87. Content
88. Feelings
89. Pleased
90. Relief
91. I
92. Zest
93. Tears
94. Building
95. Optimistic
96. Thrilled
97. Dealing
98. Reflect
99. Embarrassment
100. Death

29 November 2030 @ 12:06 am

Name: Kimmy-chan
Age: 26
Nationality: Trinidadian


Loves coffee and chicken.

I spend too much time doing nothing, playing games and reading manga.
And trying very hard to be a writer.
Current Read List: 19 Days | Solo Leveling | Lookism | Legendary Moonlight Sculptor | Raven Cycle | Private Scandal | A Paramour |

  ~   ) \\\\\ o ///// (  ~

28 March 2019 @ 06:41 pm
Title: The Others
Pairing: Jungkook/Taehyung, Yunho/Jaejoong (later)
Summary: Taehyung is on a one year contract working in a hospital in Trinidad. It’s far away from the life he had in South Korea, and he’s happy to be away from everything that is his home.
The work is good and no one knows him there.
And then they come. The monsters. Everything was normal until they showed up. All around the world they came, in the major cities, the ocean, the rainforests. No one knows why, or how, or where they come from. All Taehyung knows is that he’s trapped in one such demon filled centre, once a hospital, and he’s on his own. Until the Specialized Task Force arrives, and he meets a man called the Leader. And the Leader, he’s South Korean too, a man known as Jeon Jungkook, the athlete idol who disappeared ten years ago.



   The tournament lasted for six hours. In the last ten minutes of the Seoul Master Fighters Tournament – Junior Division – Jungkook had to fight. He had won all his matches up to this point, cheered on by his parents and school mates and teachers, the crowd who had followed him over the year as he participated in other tournaments, both local and international. He was a prodigy. A South Korean prodigy who participated in the International Tournament last year and took home the trophy. He was the fighting prodigy who had been scouted by idol companies, and currently training in one, undisclosed and chosen carefully by him and his parents.

   The last ten minutes were hard to get through. Because Jungkook was fed up and ready to leave. Because the day had been long and he wanted to see something other than fighters and people he didn’t know or cared about. And he was hungry. He wanted the ‘crap’ store ramen his mother hated him eating, and he wanted two containers of it.

   His opponent was a boy one year older than him, thirteen and naturally brown haired, a few pounds heavier. His parents loved that he fought and won, made popular by his apparent looks and talent. His country was good for that, televising and social posts on kids and people with good looks and some skill. Jungkook just loved fighting. And he also loved how winning felt like.

   He drove his knee into the soft-hard belly of the thirteen year old, enjoying the look of pain. He stepped back, and brought his leg in and towards the other boy, top part of his foot aimed between his chest and abdomen. When it connected, his opponent went stumbling back, choking on air and hurt.

   Jungkook knew he had already won.

   His father was shouting from where he stood, his mother smiling so wide he saw her white, white teeth. The crowd was too loud, and if he looked up he would see the screen hanging high up, showing his face and the stage and the highlights of the match.

   He had to wait for the cheer to die down. When it did, he was on the podium, receiving his trophy for first place, and the noise and loudness started all over again.

   Jungkook had a headache by the time they left the tournament compound, out into the cold night of the city, starving. He had scrubbed off the lipstick from his face in the changing room, from his mother, his teachers, his aunts, women he didn’t know but his parents did. He took the sweater his mother handed to him with a nod of thanks, stuffing his long fingers into the side pockets and sighed in relief.

   “Can we go get food now?” he asked.

   His father glanced up from his phone, and then looked at his mother. “There’s a restaurant in the hotel. We can go there to celebrate your–”

   “I said I wanted ramen.”


   “You promised.”

   His father shrugged, ignoring his mother’s eagerness to complain again. “The kid wants ramen. He deserves whatever the hell he wants.”

   “I can get myself some ramen while you guys go for dinner. The shop is right next to the hotel. I can just let myself back into the room.”

   Jungkook pulled out his cardkey to wave it.

   “Come on mom, let’s at least cross the street. I’m super hungry.”

   His mother gave in, like she always did, pressing her warm fingers to his cheeks.

   “Okay. You know I hate you eating all that processed crap but…you do deserve it. I’ve been hard on you lately. It’s because you’re never anxious and I feel like I’m channeling my own son’s non-existing anxiety.”

   She held his hand tightly as they crossed the road.

   The hotel was just a block away from the tournament compound. The walk was short, with his mother never letting go of his fingers, crushed inside her own hand. His father remained on his phone, only looking up at brief moments to avoid walking into stationary and nonstationary objects.

   Jungkook was grateful when they came to the front steps of the hotel, his mother releasing her grip and his father pocketing his phone.

   “Just ramen and back to the hotel room,” warned his mother. “Call us when you get back in.”

   “I will,” he said.

   His father smiled at him, briefly resting his hand on top of his head. His father’s hand was warm, just like his mother’s.

   “We’re proud of you, Jungkook. So proud.”

   His parents made sure to walk him into the shop before they left. He dug his hands back into his jacket pockets for the cold, nodding to the young woman by the counter. His wallet lay heavy in his pants, filled up with tournament winnings that were all his. His parents trusted him with things differently than other parents. The money he won was never taken from him, except the amount they took to add to his university fund. Maybe it was because he didn’t buy outrageous things, or maybe it was because the things he did buy were too strange for them to understand.

   But he was different from the other kids his age. He went to school when he could. Topped his class because the work was too easy. Fought and trained because it felt right. Joined an idol company as a trainee because it had made his mother smile and it didn’t hurt to try dancing.

   Jungkook found the ramen aisle. It was gloriously well stocked, and he loved his country for this, spicy processed noodles he could have on a cold night. He picked out four – two to carry back to the hotel room – and carried them to the cashier along with a bottle of green tea.

   “Here by yourself?” asked the girl.

   “I have cash,” he told her. She laughed, ringing up his purchase.

   “Just making sure you aren’t running away or anything.”

   “That would be stupid. Not in this economy.”

   “Of course. I totally agree.”

   With his plastic bag of extra ramen set on the thin stretch of counter, jammed by the tall glass, he collected his two containers of heated ramen, cooking in hot water and still covered by the layer of wrapping. He set one pair of chopsticks on top of the spicy pork, and used his hand to seal the kimchi beef.

   The heat and smell was beginning to calm him.

   He ate his two containers of ramen together, listening to the music stored in his phone with his newest pair of headphones. He was beginning to become a headphone hoarder; it was already his sixth, unnecessary pair.

   When he was finished he waved to the girl at the counter, slumped over her reading material, idly tapping her pencil against the cashier machine. She waved back as he left. Jungkook cracked open his bottle of chilled green tea as he stepped outside.

   There were the front doors of the hotel just a few short strides way from where he stood. He glanced there, and then to the other side, where there was pavement and possibility and less boredom. When his parents had dinners without him they drank and kissed and did other things, things he didn’t like to think about. And he wasn’t tired. He just wanted to be away from them and that big, suffocating hotel room.

   He went away from the hotel, bag handle hooked around his wrist, drinking from his chilled bottle. It was a nice night, despite the cold. He made it to the small park area, black looking without sunlight, blades of grass rustling as he walked. The plastic bag crinkled with every step he took, soft crunchy grass and plastic, keeping him company in the never-ending night.

   The events from earlier in the day slipped away. There was no tournament or parents, or nameless faces who liked watching fighting as he much as he liked the art of it. There was just him, and the quiet, grass and trees and the night air, smelling of wet and green and cool. Jungkook closed his eyes, shivering as the wind came, brushing his face and skin with a sharp chill.

   As he opened his eyes, a light sparked. A streak of light not unlike lightning, except it wasn’t. It was there, right there in front of him, stagnant and crawling, a line of blue thick light pulsing midair.

   And Jungkook, he did the dumbest thing he could think of.

   He reached out and touched it.
27 March 2019 @ 01:15 am

Title: Heart Song
Series: The Syndicate Chronicles
Book: Two (Sequel to Burner)
Pairing: Yunho/Jaejoong, Jungkook/Taehyung, others to come
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Jaejoong is on the search for the Head of the American Syndicate, to protect himself and his men from a war already in the making. But there’s also Dark Phoenix, led by a man with a mask, and a new VP who’s an old friend. With him and Yunho now in a solidified relationship, and the new kid stirring up trouble by just existing, things are going to be very different from how they used to be.

~ Part One ~

Sixteen years ago

The mission was simple. A house tucked away in a people barren piece of land, well built, modern, glass walls. His target was a man, forty-two year old Kim Minhyun, originally from Busan, struck big money from opening up a casino cum high end strip club in Incheon. He had been a partner of the Syndicate for five years, loaned money to keep the casino going, and never paid back the loan plus interest since then. Nor did he have intention to.

His hired men had killed the money collectors his uncle had sent, tossed out into the streets as some sort of message for the Syndicate.

The Syndicate didn’t like messages.

It was Jaejoong’s first mission. His stomach was all wonky weird, churning underneath his skin as he crouched in the bushes a few metres away from Kim Minhyun’s property. This was his golden ticket, to a higher position, to Japan, to something.

He had spent days looking through the blueprints to the house. The time limit his uncle had given him was two weeks. Two weeks in which he had to plan, learn about his target, his habits, his likes and dislikes, his security and how he was going to go through with the kill.

There were three more days till the deadline. But Jaejoong chose today. Tonight.

Kim Minhyun was away at a house party, not due back till sometime in the early morning. He liked alcohol and women just as much as he loved money. His complex was ungated, guarded by cameras, and two security guards with hand guns and short range rifles. There was also, an easier in than actually breaking in.

Minhyun liked both men and women. Young, men and women. His investors sent gifts for him, in the form of pretty little things, they liked to call them. Even through the course of the week, Jaejoong saw men and women dropped off in front of his apartment, left as gifts to sit in his house or tend to the chores before he came home. He either kept them for a day or two, or sent back the same day, depending on what they came for.

The house party Minhyun went to was hosted by a good friend, Lin Kai. Lin Kai, was one of the greatest distributors of prostitutes in Incheon, to rich business men and women, for business, or personal pleasure. Jaejoong had gone through all the files in disgust, because he needed to know, had to know. This was common practice. Even the Syndicate dealt in prostitution and whore houses.

But he could hate it.

Jaejoong had went out and bought a thin, barely there vest, cut low on his chest. He swaddled a sweater-scarf made of satin around his shoulders and arms, and wore a tight, too tight pants that stuck and hugged. He went down the driveway into the lights, spotting the two security guards by the front door.

He bit his lip again. The lipstick was only patted on, after he’d bitten his lips to swell.

He stopped, and smiled, watching quietly at the two guards, feigning surprise and shyness, and just the right amount of fear.

“Hello,” he greeted them softly, bowing. Jaejoong never did anything softly. “My master Lin sent me here to wait for Mr. Kim.” He shifted, smiling.

One of the guards was bearded, bald. He scratched his grey speckled beard, glancing at his face and clothes.

“What’s your name, Kid?”

“Jade,” he said immediately.

The other guard grinned.

“Okay Jade, in you go. You must be cold in those clothes.”

“I am sir, but it’s okay.”

“This one’s polite,” he grinned to the bearded guard. He stepped aside to open the combination lock on the door, and waited for Jaejoong to enter.

“Listen kid, we have to check you for weapons or other shit. Come here.”

“With that face? Oh come on.”

The bearded guard only stared, and the other guard’s eagerness deflated. Jaejoong nodded, moving slowly and standing shivering in front of him. Bearded guard patted him down, fingers lifting up the too thin vest, checking his neck, underneath the velvet collar. When he deemed him safe, he was shoved inside.

“We’ll notify Mr. Kim that you’re here when he arrives home.”

Jaejoong nodded. “Yes sir.”

When the door closed, Jaejoong was alone. He knew there were cameras throughout, cameras the guards outside had access to. There were only three rooms without cameras – the main bathroom, Kim Minhyun’s room, and his office. Jaejoong walked around the living room in awe, pretending to look, too afraid to touch. He wore gloves, for the cold, for his fingerprints. Yunho had bought them for him, high gloves that fit so perfectly, easy to manouevre his fingers.

He had told Yunho about his mission, about the promised trip to Japan. Yunho had said nothing, only offering to buy him the things he needed, to help source the blueprints for Kim Minhyun’s home. Soo Ji Sub was quite aware of his connection with the Jung heir. Kim Youngwha was not.

Jaejoong took a bottle of sparkling water from the refrigerator, and made his way upstairs to the master bedroom, where the daily habits of Kim Minhyun was pervaded. His sheets were silk, large king bed with a small counter and mini fridge next to it. The large glass panes showed night. Jaejoong was momentarily entranced, staring out at the sky and endless nothingness, grass and trees and dark. When he grew up, he wanted something like this. To be able to look out at the world from his house.

He went into the bathroom, found the cordless electric shaver. It was tempting. Jaejoong picked it up for good measure. There was chilled champagne inside the mini refrigerator. He took that out too, inspecting it.

There had been a choice, to shoot the body guards and then wait for Kim Minhyun to come home. Or wait for him to come home and then snipe all three of them. Jaejoong had enough practice to attempt that. But Kim Minhyun didn’t get out of the car outside his house. He drove into the garage after the okay from his body guards, and got out when the doors were closed. He did the opposite to leave.

He was a paranoid man.

He had every right to be.

Jaejoong busied himself with playing a game on his phone. He lay down on the bed, spreading his arms, dragging his leg up. He had tossed away the sweater-scarf, left on the skimpy material on his chest. The body guards could see him. He was sure they were watching. They only stopped watching when Minhyun was there.

Three hours later, Jaejoong heard the door open. He had been comfortable, curled up with silk on his bare skin, loving how it felt. He was so excited, cold, the heat of his task warming him from inside. He smiled from the bed, heavy lidded as he watched Kim Minhyun step on cool tiles and carpet.

He could smell alcohol and cigarettes, made thicker as the older man shoved off his jacket, dropping to the floor. It fell on top of the blood red pattern of the cotton wool rug. His hair was black, rich black retouched every three weeks. He had a winner’s smile, one he directed at the sight of Jaejoong, smiling wider and louder, eyes following as Jaejoong dropped his leg.

A thrill went along his skin, ice and fire born from his excitement, his hatred. He sucked on his lower lip, dragging himself off the bed to stand in front of Minhyun, ducking his head out of shyness.

“My name is Jade, sir. My Master Lin sent me in thanks of your patronage.”

“Ah, the fucker never breathed a word of this,” he laughed in delight. “Look at you.” He tipped Jaejoong’s chin with his finger, swallowing his face with greedy eyes. “That mouth on you,” he said, rubbing his thumb and dragging it along the pout of his mouth. “And your skin…Kai’s outdone himself. I’m going to take my time fucking you.”

“Sir…” Jaejoong glanced at the champagne bottle he had left in the bucket of ice. “May we have a toast first? I…I thought we might enjoy some champagne. I know you drank at the party but I…I didn’t want to open it until you came back.”

Minhyun reached for it. Jaejoong let his fingers wrap around his wrist, stopping him, dragging his thumb across the bared skin there.

“Let me, sir. It’s my duty to serve you tonight.”

Minhyun’s stare was heavy. “Oh,” he murmured, “Where the hell was Lin keeping you before?”

“Around, sir,” said Jaejoong, letting his fingers trail before he released his soft grip. He took the champagne bottle out of the bucket, clinking against sloshing ice water and metal. It was so cold against his hands, and Minhyun’s stare never left him, watching as he touched the outside of the bottle before moving up.

Jaejoong gripped the neck of the bottle, and looked Minhyun in his eyes. The older man’s head snapped up to meet his gaze.

That was when Jaejoong smashed the champagne bottle against his temple, watching him stagger and fall. The force of the blow, the anger, the hatred, broke the bottle, shattered pieces scattering across the carpet. Jaejoong gripped the neck, the jagged broken edges where the body had been, stepped with boots protecting his under feet. He looked down at the shocked face of Kim Minhyun, and smiled.

“Who sent you?” he rasped. The rage was ugly on him. “Who the fuck–”

Jaejoong didn’t like unnecessary conversations or words. He jammed the bottle edge into his neck, slicing through skin and flesh until his words gurgled. He didn’t like aiming for anything below the neck. Neck and head wounds were more likely to kill. Jaejoong wanted his first mission to be over. God, he wanted nothing more than to win.

There was blood on his gloves, on the carpet, on the sharp edges of the broken glass. He was too accustomed now, to the smell of it. It mixed in with the freshly spilt champagne, some having spilled on his vest, feeling the sticky wet of cold and liquid stuck to his skin and nipples.

He took his time tossing away the champagne bottle – both halves – leaving the splinters on the floor. Kim Minhyun kept a gun under his pillow. A girl had told him, barely eighteen herself, having been to his house no less than six times. Jaejoong believed that it was partly vengeance. He had wanted this kill. Even without the prospect of climbing the ladder.

He took the gun with him, tucking it into the waist of his tight pants. The camera room was to the left of the office. It was open. Kim Minhyun was too trusting.

Inside was a mass of picture screens, showing the hallway, the guest bedroom, the kitchen, another hallway, the outside perimeter. Jaejoong had been coached by a tech guy from Jung Enterprises on how to delete camera feed. The Syndicate had people to do things like that. But Jaejoong needed to do everything himself. He needed to prove to his uncle.

Jaejoong glanced at the camera feed for the front door too late. There was only the pleasant guard, the one too eager to look and smile. Bearded guard was nowhere in sight.

He ducked to the side when he heard the door knob, the door pushing open. He sprinted to lean against the wall, sucking in air as the door stood a few centimeters in front of him.

“I knew something was off when I saw you. I know blood lust when I see it.”

Bearded guard stepped in. “You’re here. I know you are.”

Jaejoong slunk against the wall until he was part of it. He needed him to walk into his line of sight.

The footsteps stopped. Jaejoong could only hear his own soft breathing. He saw the flash of skin and grey before he even saw the guard. He jumped out, throwing himself as the gun went off, throwing himself as he pulled his own trigger, once, twice, three times. He fell against the mobile chair, stumbling, aiming his gun. His left arm hurt. It hurt to move. Was he shot? Did he get shot?

Jaejoong fired two more times. His bullets had gone through the chest. Only two had taken aim. The guard dropped, tumbling sideways, grasping. And Jaejoong saw the grey of the gun again. He fired shakily, into the face of a man he didn’t really know. He made sure to watch, the bullet wound, the sound of the body hitting the ground, the blood. This was the mess he made. Even his own wound, blood seeping out from his left arm, running down to his elbow and forearm and dripping.

He used his right hand to shift his pocket knife through the material of his vest, tying around the bullet wound to tourniquet. His fingers were less shaky now, glancing over at the dead guard, at his gun.

Jaejoong erased the video evidence before he left. He cleaned up his own blood too, before heading back outside, shooting the second guard when the doors opened up. His arm was numb. He was numb.

He didn’t feel pleasure. Or pain. Or guilt. It was a job to be done and he’d done it. He’d never done anything premeditated before. It was always fight or flight, kill or be killed and it was how all his kills had been. He’d never killed a man because he was asked to. But he had done just that. Killed three. Not one.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Somehow, Youngwha always knew when to call.

Jaejoong looked around the area, the grass, the trees up on the hill. He answered the phone with his good hand.

“I see you’ve done it. Good job. I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I believe you.”

He could hear his uncle’s smile. “You’ve done well. When you get back home we’ll prepare for your trip to Japan. You’re going to change the Syndicate, Jaejoong. I’m sure of it.”

Jaejoong was trembling again. He should seek medical attention, for the blood loss, for his arm. He didn’t know if the bullet was still there, or if it had gone through, or if he had lost a lot of blood. He didn’t know any of these things. As he became more experienced, maybe he’d learn.

Maybe he’d not do stupid things like walk to meet Yunho in the park, close to the Jung mansion, close to the rich people who didn’t like lowly gang members and bleeding kids. But there was this burning need to see Yunho. He didn’t want to go to the Syndicate doctor, or to his uncle, or back home where he’d be all alone. He wanted to see Yunho, his face, hear his voice as he spoke. Touch him.

He felt hot. His face, his cheeks, his chest. He thought he’d feel cold with the thin clothes and the obvious stares as he went past, a thin boy out, barely decent with a blood stained arm.

Yunho was waiting for him, in the park, car still running as he leaned against the front door. Yunho glanced at him, his gait, the unmoving arm, and went to open the passenger seat in front.

“No, not yet,” Jaejoong whispered, stopping, smiling up. Yunho was getting taller. He liked looking up at him. It made kissing him better. His kissed Yunho with the heat inside of him, opening up his mouth, pushing his body weight into his chest and against the car. He wanted Yunho’s fingers on his skin, burning with him, cooling the burn that would not end.

“Let’s see about your arm first,” said Yunho, “My doctor’s already waiting at home.”

Jaejoong nodded, breathing into his chest.

“Let’s have sex, Yunho.” He dragged his fingers up underneath Yunho’s t-shirt, scraping at the hard belly there. Yunho’s body was filling out so nicely.

He shivered.

Yunho rested his hand in his hair, cupping the back of his head. His fingers rubbed in, gently, briefly. Jaejoong closed his eyes.

“Your arm,” he said, kissing him. “And then we’ll fuck.”


I toyed with whether or not to post this, to make this part one. But I didn’t really want to start the book with a full sex scene, and nor did it feel right to switch back to present time in this same chapter. So this part will remain short. And it’s just an insight on Jaejoong’s first mission, his first true kill, and his path on becoming a crime lord.

But welcome to Heart Song! I hope you guys will enjoy this as much as Burner.
Hi guys~ !
Book Two, of the Syndicate Series, Heart Song, will be starting soon! It's the sequel to Burner and will pick up right where Burner left off.

I'm also taking a try at a Taekook fic which you can check out on Ao3. Shamefully I'm going to have to include Yunjae in it because I cannot write fics without them in it.

But until I'm finished with Chapter One of Heart Song, here's a cutie pie Yunho poster for Book Two.


Title: Burner
Series: The Syndicate
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Yunho/Jaejoong, Jungkook/Taehyung
Summary: Jaejoong is the head of the underground Korean Crime Syndicate. Yunho is his right hand man with an obsession for blood. Threatened by the American Company invading South Korea, and a new group, that has a personal vendetta against Jaejoong, this is their story.

Part Twenty-Four

Sixteen years ago

Jaejoong could not remember much of what was said. He remembered meeting the head of the Syndicate, drinking cup by cup of sake and then eating freshly sliced fish. He remembered leaving, his uncle, mentioning words and things of a mission that would decide his future and destiny.

He would remember the correct words and in the correct order eventually. Now, he was trying to breathe.

Jaejoong was good at that – walking. He walked and walked and ran, trying to gather his thoughts together, trying to calm a too quick heartbeat. He was drunk and he was scared, and he hadn’t realized that he was until the sake settled in and he realized he was seeing Ji Sub but not really seeinghim.

He didn’t know what brought this on. The last time he’d felt like this, he had killed a man. His first victim. Now his panic was brought on by his uncle again, by the leader of a crime organization so extensive that Jaejoong could not dream of its entirety. He was scared, because a man he did not know wanted him to inherit such a thing. And there was little he knew of that man, or his empire.

His legs took him to the large, large home of the Jungs. He was chattering cold, and the haze of panic and alcohol had worn off, leaving him staring up at the large steel gates guarding Yunho’s mansion. There was a camera high up on the steel poles barring the gates. In his mid-sobriety, Jaejoong knew that security would recognize him and let him in.

He wanted to ask himself why he bothered coming to Yunho. But he knew the answer. Yunho was all he had. He didn’t have friends. He didn’t really have family. He just had an uncle who didn’t understand what love of any kind was, and acquaintances who would kill him if a mere order was given.

He dug his fingers into his armpits as the gate opened up for him, walking the paved road up to the mansion, well-lit in the dooming dark. The night was extra cold, darker than usual, ready to gobble him up if he strayed too far from the warm lights in and surrounding the palace-like mansion.

It was Yunho’s mother that opened the door, thick black hair undone and covering most of her bare shoulders. Her smile was warm too, and somehow, she knew, taking his cold hands in her gentle ones, pulling him into a hug after she closed the door. He was shaking from the cold and pent up emotions, but Soo min didn’t seem to mind. He fell into the embrace and stayed there, until he heard Yunho’s voice murmuring to his mother. Jaejoong rose his head from Soo min’s chest, meeting Yunho’s assessing gaze and letting him take his hand to guide him up the long, long stairs.

Yunho wrapped him in a blanket when he was on the bed, staring down at his only pair of cheap dress shoes. Yunho left and came back, and Jaejoong finally looked up, half-breathing half-smiling as he took in the genuine confusion on his expression. He stretched out his arms, beckoning to Yunho.

“Hold me,” he told him quietly. “Please.”

He didn’t think he had ever said the word ‘please’ to Yunho before. It was never needed with someone like him. But he felt weird. A little broken and scared and he wouldn’t manage if Yunho denied him.

He pulled him up from the bed, blanket still swaddled around his back and shoulders, pressing into the warmth of Yunho’s chest as he held him. Yunho smelt like soap and coffee and nothing, and he brought his chattering mouth and cold nose into the thick sweat shirt to ease it all away.

Here, in this moment, he felt safe. He wanted Yunho’s warmth and smell to permeate into his skin and blood and take away his fears, his worries. But he could settle for a long, long hug, calming him enough to break away and sit after a few minutes.

Jaejoong squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the last of the sake induced haze. He heard the door open and close, and Yunho was resting a tray of three mugs with hovering steam above them. He shifted on the bed to make space for it.

“It’s warm water and coffee. Have the warm water first.”

Jaejoong slid his fingers around the cup and through the handle, sighing at the contact heat against his palms. It felt lovely, making him smile and suddenly he felt the embarrassment of his little breakdown.

“Thank you. For the water, and coffee. And for letting me in without asking me why.”

Yunho shrugged, and it made Jaejoong feel better, that he could count on Yunho to never change regardless of anything.

“You smell like alcohol.”

“I had alcohol. Sake.” He took a deep drink of the warm water, warm enough to ease the chill from his skin and not hot enough to burn his throat. “I met with the leader of the Syndicate.”

“How was he?”

“His name is Soo Ji Sub,” he said slowly.

“Ah.” Yunho lay back, grabbing a mug of coffee as he did so. “Interesting.”

“He wants me to be the next leader of the Syndicate. His heir, some shit like that.” Jaejoong switched cups to smell the pungent coffee, spiked with just a little touch of good cocoa powder. God Yunho was the best thing in his sorry fucking life. “I was fine when he told me. I was thinking then that it’s exactly what you told me last night, about how I should aim for the top. How fucking annoying you are. And then…I don’t know what happened. I panicked. Because I’m just a kid, the nephew of the man that’s trying to kill him.”

“Younghwa wants the throne,” Yunho commented, and Jaejoong nodded, scratching the glossy painted ceramic.

“And Ji Sub knows this. He doesn’t have the evidence to kill him or dethrone him. Youngwha is his right hand man and most of the Syndicate follows him and believes in him. It’s a shitty situation to be in.”

“What about Ji Sub? What do you think about him?”

Jaejoong thought long on it, taking a few sips of the spiked coffee before answering. “He appears to be friendly, and it’s easy to talk to him, but I…I can’t trust him.”

“I don’t like him,” said Yunho, staring at him from where he was lying. “Don’t trust him.”

“I literally just said I can’t.”

“Things change, Jaejoong. And a man that can lead a group that’s known throughout Asia, not just South Korea, is a man that can get what he wants because he wants it. He’s charismatic.”

Jaejoong tried to understand before arguing. Yunho had a point. Soo Ji Sub was very, very likeable. If it wasn’t for that part of himself that he used to survive, instinct, a feeling, whatever it really was, he would have never hesitated. But he had. And it had spiraled a panic attack because again he didn’t have a choice and choices were being made for him.

“Both Youngwha and Soo Ji Sub wants me to do a job. My first official job as an official member of the Syndicate. If I pass, Youngwha’s going to take me to Japan to train and meet the head of yakuza and his son.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

“The mission?”

“He said he’ll talk to me in the morning. I’ll find out then.”

“Are you spending the night?”

“Can I?” asked Jaejoong, resting his cup on the tray before leaning back on the mattress. He was exhausted. His conflict and anxiety had all ebbed away, and all he felt was a heaviness in his limbs and a different type of exhaustion.

“Do you want to soak in the hot tub?”

Jaejoong smiled because Yunho was the best and worst person he knew. “Yeah. Can you…” He turned his head, to look directly at Yunho. “Can you come in with me? I don’t want to do anything. I just want you to hold me.”

“Okay,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Present Time
~ Power ~

Changmin and Junsu had arrived around the same time, and with Junsu there, they went into Jaejoong’s office and settled in to begin the meeting. Changmin had remained outside to talk to Jungkook and steal the rest of the food Jaejoong had brought back from the restaurant.

Jaejoong took a seat in his chair, Yunho on his favourite spot on the table, and Yoochun and Junsu sprawled on the couch already passing around Yunho’s second joint. Jaejoong looked at his laptop screen for a while, open to a spreadsheet of co-owned projects and investments with the Corporation, their lists of incoming shipments that were readily encrypted.

“As you know I met with Dark Phoenix today, with the new VP.” Jaejoong accepted the joint as Yunho handed it to him, taking one long pull before passing it back. “The new VP’s name is Yu Shirota. He offered a partnership between the Syndicate and Dark Phoenix. It was his decision and all decisions that he makes will be automatically supported by the Leader of Dark Phoenix. The partnership will be one based on a need to need basis. If we need their help regardless of the matter, they will give aid, only with the knowledge that we do the same to them.”

“Why now?” asked Yunho.

“Because they’ve never entered a partnership before, when they were becoming bigger. But now they are more known. They’re part of the Big Five. It’s a peace treaty and mutual partnership. The decision, is also because the new VP knows me personally.”

“You know this guy?” asked Junsu, waving away as the joint was handed to him.

“Yu Shirota was Yama-dono’s childhood friend, and also my friend back when I was in Japan with Youngwha after my first mission. He had his own group, that he gave to Yama-dono when he became the head of the yakuza. He disappeared sometime after. I didn’t even know that he was in Korea until today.”

“How close were you two?”

“As close as I was and am to Yamashita,” he said.

“Do you trust him?” asked Yunho.

“I do. Yu was always one of those guys you could count on. It’s why I’m considering it. Dark Phoenix usually stays away from all gang related wars and feuds. Offering an alliance now especially when there is too much tension between AmCo and the Syndicate makes sense, and with good reason. Den is already in a partnership with AmCo, and the Corporation has always been with us. Yu trusts me and came towards the Syndicate. I don’t want him as an enemy if he sides with AmCo. And he will if we deny a partnership.”

“He was part of the reason why Yamashita won the war?” asked Junsu.

“He was.”

“How long do we have to make a decision?” questioned Yunho.

“A week,” said Yoochun. “A whole week.”

“We’ll combine a list of pros and cons if we form an alliance. And I’ll speak to both Yamashita to find out what Yu’s been up to these days and with Corporation to inform them of the prospect of an alliance.”

“I am so full,” said Jungkook, stuffed with food and drinking the glass of orange juice that Changmin had poured for them both.

“I’m all up for actual lunch-dinner,” shrugged Changmin, “Wanna get something to eat?”

“Can’t. I’m in a tournament,” he told him, “For the Syndicate.”

“Like a fighting tournament?”


“Shit. That’s cool. I would probably die.”

“You would,” Jungkook agreed.

The other men came out not too long after they went into Jaejoong’s office. Jaejoong remained inside, with Junsu. Yoochun waved goodbye and headed into the elevator. Yunho came out to head into the kitchen to grab a container of the dairy free coconut based yogurt Jaejoong had stocked in the fridge. He was holding the salted caramel flavour.

“We’ll leave in an hour,” said Yunho. “Changmin, Yoochun’s asked Nana to help train you. You’ll be starting today and will join Jungkook when the tournament’s ended.”


“My gun trainer,” said Jungkook.

“Is she cute?” he grinned.

“She’s an asshole,” he replied.

“Why am I not surprised,” Changmin mumbled. “When am I starting?”




Min Yoongi was bored. Unlike his close friend, Shim Changmin, he was never bored, nor did he like being bored. It was why he drove cars and street raced and drank, played video games and never really slept more than a few hours – four – because the world was a vast and wide and never-ending place, and time was too little to devour it all.

It was why he did drugs every now and then, tried out what was new, what his supplier had. The gaming console was still running, game paused on the television. He was still getting accustomed to his new apartment, bought by Syndicate money, using a phone that was not his own. At least he had his car, and it was the one thing the pretty man boss hadn’t asked him to give up.

It was his to keep. He just couldn’t street race with it anymore.

He left his house an hour after Changmin had left, lazed on his bed for a few then grabbed a coke from the fridge after shoving on his sneakers. He preferred the cool night when he raced, still feeling the adrenaline rush from last night when they raced through empty streets and backgrounds rarely traveled.

His supplier was a university student named Kit. He was American born in Korea, a pretty boy, pretty enough to be one of those idols that he watched frequently on television. He was smart, Kit. Studying computer engineering in uni with dreams of going into Robotics after. Selling street drugs and party favours were a side gig, his hustle to make some change to do whatever he needed to do.

And Yoongi got his drugs cheap because they were friends and they drank together every month when there was quiet.

He met Kit at a cheap noodle stall on the edge of a commercial street, passing the smells and steams of different affordable food shops, tiny business stores that did tailoring and forging and illegal forging and sold knockoffs of just about anything. Kit was waiting for him when he arrived, sitting with a man their age that he didn’t know. Both had already ordered a bowl of noodles.

“Another one,” he said to the man cooking noodles, pulling out his pack of smokes as he sat. “I wasn’t aware we were having additional company.”

“Come Shuges, I wouldn’t just introduce you to anybody. This guy here is hot on the market right now.”

“What’s your name?”

The dark haired man, narrow face that probably had baby fat just a few years back, handsome in the princely way that would make other men hate him, smiled, flashing teeth that were naturally fucking white.

“Silver,” he said.

“I’m pretty sure that ain’t your name.”

“I’m pretty sure that I don’t give a fuck. I sell you drugs and you pay.”

Yoongi shrugged, shifting his phone out the way for the bowl of hot noodles.

“What do you have?”

“Have you ever heard of New York?”

“The city? Yeah. That’s a drug now?”

“Fresh in the market. Gives a high that you wouldn’t believe,” grinned Kit. “Tried it myself. I can’t supply you with it, but he can.” He jammed his thumb towards Silver. “He’s one of the sole suppliers, the bastard. Wouldn’t even sell it to me.”

“How expensive is it?”

“For you, the right price. Silver here is a fan of street racing. It’s why I brought him. He likes guys like you, and you like trying the fresh shit. Win-win situation my man.”

“Show it to me.”

Silver dug into his pocket, pulling out a velvet sachet. His nails were well taken care of. Not regularly manicured, but he could tell that he’d gone for a few. He unclasped the black velvet sachet, and a numerous, little fat tablets came tumbling out.

They were different from any other drug he’d seen and taken. They were a deep, varying purple, speckled with blue. It looked like a bath bomb but in the pill form. And Yoongi was very, very interested.

“New York comes in two choices,” said Silver. “There’s never a wrong choice.” He dipped his finger into the velvet and tipped out more tablets, purple and peculiar and this time speckled with crimson. “Take your pick.”

Yoongi was hungry but he couldn’t stop staring at the pills. They were both particularly tempting, the way they looked, the man offering them to him. He brought his fingers to run along the triangular cut edge, softened by material and thickness. He tapped his finger against the blue specked purple.

Kit smile was so wide Yoongi wanted to punch him.

“He told me you’d choose the blue one. Fucking amazing, Silver. You’re always fucking right.”

“I told you,” said Silver, “There are no wrong choices.”

Taehyung was helping serve orders, finished with baking, and left the other two in the back to plate the orders as they came. He would have stayed upstairs to rest but he never could do that, not when the shop was still running, and Jin was a constant, annoying reminder that he wanted to rid himself of.

Jin had called to remind him of their goal. He, like Seo Joon, had found out about Jungkook, the kid that the Syndicate had taken in under special circumstances. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to hide it; it was that Taehyung didn’t want to have to hide something like that.

Officially Taehyung was the leader and president of Calamity. They were rich now, wealthy in a way that they could retire on investments and he and Seo Joon could run away and never look back and be happy. He also had money from Low Hearts, money from the jobs he did for the Syndicate. That money he put into a separate account, personal accounts that were not tied to Calamity or Jin. It was Seo Joon that had recommended it, handling all their personal money and investments because Seo Joon for some reason didn’t like Jin after so many years.

Jin was just a difficult man to understand. He had saved them, when the Calming Waters Orphanage had been destroyed, taught them how to survive on the streets when he was an orphan himself. It was Jin that fueled their revenge, and it was revenge that had forced him not to give up, having no one to rely on but the other orphans and Seo Joon and Jin. When Jin had found out about his like for guns and a knife, he made deals to buy small time weapons for him to practice with, sent him on practice missions to shoot known street thugs from a distance to hone his aim. They had both came up with the idea to form Calamity, and they had both had ideas about infiltrating the Syndicate.

It was Jin that had put all their ideas into actual plans and turned their laid out plans into solidified reality.

It was why he was here, smiling with the men and women at the large table, taking a mental note of their orders and bringing back an extra plate for them to use. And it was the reason that Jin was the right hand man to the official leader and not Seo Joon, even though Seo Joon had been nonchalant about not being offered the position.

The aim had turned from personal destruction to mutual benefit. Calamity wasn’t strong enough to destroy the Syndicate on its own. So Jin had come up with the outlandish design that they should attack both Syndicate men and the American Corporation men. Stir up the already stirred pot.

It would have been fine except White had fucked it all up. White, had been the nephew of Sir and Miss, the owners of the Calming Waters Orphanage and the only family the kid named Jackson had ever known. He knew he took a chance leaving him on surveillance watch with Blue and Silver, but he didn’t think he’d do something as stupid as try to take a shot at Jaejoong on his own. Not when the Demon of the Syndicate was there. Not when he specifically told them all “Do not fucking engage unless I give the order for you to”.

It added to the list of reasons why Kim Taehyung barely slept anymore, and didn’t know what to do with his life or life decisions and where it would take him. He was perpetually tired, and too often he would ask himself if it was all worth it. If he could go to Jaejoong and tell him everything, that he both liked and hated him for being the leader of the Syndicate, for killing the people that raised him when his own family threw him away like dog shit.

He leaned against the counter, and watched out at everything he had worked for. Low Hearts was just as much his own property as the Syndicate’s. There would be no one to replace him. Taehyung couldn’t fucking stomach someone else taking his place. Low Hearts was his. It was his fucking shop.

He closed his eyes briefly to well away the anger. He was in public. And Hoseok and Jen were watching him, like they always did when the owner decided to do something as menial as wait tables out of decency and comradery.

He opened his eyes, looking at the tables, his customers, how he had changed the layout and the colour scheme and the menu, the large glass walls that looked out into the streets and city. Taehyung turned his head, and swore he saw Jin pass by.

He walked to the door, and looked outside. There was no Jin, only people he didn’t know and cars, both stationary and moving.

It was probably his imagina–

Taehyung flinched at the sudden explosion. It happened so quickly, the sound, loud enough for them to all hear it, but not so loud that it had taken the whole shop with it. There were gasps and screams and Taehyung saw blood but he didn’t actually realize where it was coming from until Jen starting shouting out Hoseok’s name.

There was his worker, his friend, staring at his arm that was no longer fully there, blown away by the wrist and dripping blood all over the well mopped floor. There was nothing to say or think and Taehyung moved, grabbing a towel to wrap around the exposed limb, to stop the bleeding to call the ambulance, to get Jen to call the ambulance and–

Hoseok began to tremble. It was a tremble that swept his whole body, like he was forgetting that they were there and his wrist and hand hadn’t been blown away. Like he wasn’t really Hoseok anymore and all he knew was to grip his chest and choke on his pain. His pain was so visible that Taehyung broke a little, because this was Hoseok and he didn’t deserve this. He was a civilian and he was kind, not the pretend kind that Taehyung had to be, had to become. He was really and truly–

Jen barely caught his body as he fell, Taehyung reaching in time to grip his back and head and ease him down. Hoseok’s clenched fist softened, and the life left him, his eyes, his skin, his muscles. Taehyung knew death, and this was it.

“Call the ambulance,” he said to Jen.

She didn’t move, and Taehyung knew she didn’t hear him. He touched her arm, and she flinched, pulling herself away, sobbing out an apology.

“Call the ambulance,” he said in a low voice, mindful that there was people around, both gang and civilian. It would be prevented from hitting social media, but Jaejoong would know. The Syndicate would know.

Taehyung just didn’t know what, and why.

He touched Hoseok’s cheek, not realizing that his fingers were coated in his blood, shakily sighing at the sight of it.

He didn’t understand. An explosion wouldn’t cause him to die like that. It was too acute for blood loss to take him. The blood wasn’t even that…

Why was there even an explosion? Why was it only Hoseok? Why was it Hoseok?

Taehyung stared down at the man he had hired, one of the first workers he had talked to and hung out with after work hours. He knew he had a brother in the hospital and a mother who didn’t make enough to cover the bills. He knew that Hoseok wanted more out of life than a job at Low Hearts, but he stayed because it paid well and he really liked Taehyung, even if this Taehyung was fake.

Taehyung was suddenly cold with fear and lasting trepidation, that maybe the reason Hoseok died, was linked to him.

Yunho dropped Jungkook off at the hotel, making him aware that he wouldn’t stay but he would be back at a much later time before the first night had ended. He went back to the Syndicate building to pick up Jaejoong, waiting for him in the underground parking lot, kept the car running as he went through his business emails.

There wasn’t a like or dislike that came with running Jung Industries. His mother was well versed to handle matters he didn’t care to handle, and Yunho headed the council meetings and official meet ups, went to dinner parties because he had to, charmed and forced men and women into doing things his way and for the betterment of their enterprise.

It was a part of his routine and he accepted it. He enjoyed his daily routine as much as he enjoyed everything else he did, took his breakfast at Low Hearts, trained, smoked, kissed and fucked Jaejoong and murdered. There was something extremely gratifying and exhilarating about accepting one’s life as what it was, and even more exhilarating to have the knowledge that life was infinite with mindless, interesting choices.

Jaejoong was draped in his thick brown coat, one he wore to functions and important meetings. It was expensive and he looked regal in it, blonde hair neatly pressed, turtle neck covering his pale neck and splotchy, dark pink marks.

It was a simple matter of telling when Jaejoong was nervous. He didn’t have tells anymore, like he did when he was younger. It was more subtle, and Yunho just knew. There was no one else he had ever studied like he did with Jaejoong, knew everything, and anything pertaining to him and his person.

He held his cold fingers before he drove off, put the heat on in the car for the trip to the Jung compound that Jaejoong had stopped visiting after he came back from Japan and thrust into the upper parts of the Syndicate ladder. He remembered when Jaejoong left. How he remembered his body and his face. How much he fought and killed out of boredom and thrill and to fill that empty void that could nr be filled.

Jaejoong sat in the car as he pulled up in front of the tall doors that governed the Jung mansion, the estate closed off by gates that soundlessly creaked behind them. He nestled the bottle of champagne in his lap, and grabbed Yunho’s hand.

“Back when I was in Japan, I used to have sex with Yu. Both Yu, and Yamashita. I did love them both in a way, not like I loved you, like I love you. Now, when I think about it, even if you never decided to try, or pretend to try, I could never love another person. Yu was always someone I thought that maybe if there was no Yunho, he would be that person. But things aren’t like that, and I…thought that you deserved to know, even if it is in the past.”

Yunho got out of the car and Jaejoong followed, swept up in his coat and gingerly holding the pricey bottle. His mother loved champagne. It was the only alcohol she drank, even when her husband was fucking his way through the house and business.

Minho answered the door. He was the recent change in butler, young, enchanted by his mother. His mother was in her mid-fifties, looked younger than she was thanks to good food and skin care products and exercise. She had soft hips and was never the skinny type of business wife, fuller face and lips and abhorred Botox and tried everything else.

Soo Min was in the dining room, fixing the dishes on the table, beaming at them as they came in. She pressed a kiss to Yunho’s cheek, and stepped back to look at Jaejoong, who smiled charmingly and went into the arms she held out for a hug.

“I feel like you’re a kid all over again,” she laughed, patting his cheek. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Neither have you,” said Jaejoong, grinning.

“Ah, flattery. It will get you everywhere. Why haven’t you visited me before?” she chided. “You know you were always a son to me too, much like Yunho.”

“Work, Soo Min. Work has always been too much and terrible.”

“Make sure Yunho shoulders more then. You look tired, Jae. Is that champagne?”

Jaejoong held out the bottle for her to take. She swooped it up, giving it to Minho to pour.

“It’s been too long. Minho, open it for us and pour. It’s been a while since I’ve seen this one.”

“I am sorry about that,” he told her genuinely. She patted his cheek again.

“It’s alright. You were always shy underneath all that murder and title. Ever since you were a boy.”

Jaejoong couldn’t deny it, so he said nothing and raised his glass in a toast.

“To my boys,” she said happily, and looking at Jaejoong, “And the Syndicate. Long live its leader.”

His match was close to midnight, and Yunho had told him before leaving that he would be back some time in the early morning. Jungkook had learnt from watching the first match on the screen in his hotel room that the matches were not of any preset time, and went on until the other person couldn’t fight anymore, or died.

He watched the next match in the fighting stadium, looking down from the balcony area. The fights were amazing to watch. There were men who were actual trained fighters, students of a chosen martial art and fighting style. It was a different world from the fighting rings Yunho had carried him too.

None of the Big Five had fought as yet. Jungkook left to get another cup of coffee, glancing at the screens set along the corridor purveying the match in livestream. He saw the man he had met with in the elevator, the VP of the Corporation, tall and young and unreadable. He was smiling when he saw Jungkook, skipping to a stop and forcing Jungkook to stop walking too.

“Jeon Jungkook. I did learn your name. You fought well last night.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sure Yunho told you who I am.”

“He didn’t tell me your name.”

“It’s Lee Jong Suk. But my name is less important than a title, I suppose. I’ll be rooting for you. I’m eager to see more from the little boy representing the Syndicate. Just remember you fight for the alliances of the Syndicate too, just as we fight for the Syndicate. I’ve heard how fresh you are. Don’t disrupt things. We don’t like disruptions.”

“It wasn’t intentional,” spoke Jungkook, stepping to the side and continued walking. “Thanks for the support.”

Lee Jong Suk laughed behind him. “I like you kid!”

The VP was as old as Seo Joon. He hadn’t seen Seo Joon for the night. He was told by Jaejoong to do nothing about his connection to the attempted attack, or Calamity. Jungkook didn’t think there was need for concern when it came to Seo Joon. He was calm. An infinite calm he felt from him, a bit like Jaejoong at times when he spoke to Jungkook like one would from parent to child.

With Seo Joon it was different. But a similar type of calm.

He detoured to the bathrooms, pushing open the bathroom door and heading into one of the stalls to piss. He washed his hands with hot water, the kind of hot water that felt really fucking good and burned. He glanced in the mirror, at his gradually changing skin, the healthy colour, the tiny scar on his face he’d gotten from his father. The bathroom door he’d come out of creaked a little, and there was a closed door in the stall next to it.

Jungkook dipped his head to look at his hands, letting the hot water run. It had only been a few seconds, really. Just a few. He looked back up into the mirror, eyes widened from the sight of a man behind him, hood covering his face and too close for him to move. Jungkook couldn’t move away from the knife he couldn’t see.

He didn’t really feel the stab. It was more that he knew it was going into him and then pulled out, and before he could stab him again Jungkook raised his arm and elbowed the man in the throat. He punched him again and then another, didn’t see the knife in his hand and punched him again. There was a cloud of surprise in the face of a man he didn’t know. He hated that look. He had just been stabbed.

Jungkook grabbed his throat and pushed him against the bathroom stalls, slamming him against the concrete part between doors, squeezing his throat until he couldn’t squeeze any harder. He saw the man’s leg move to kick him and brought his knee up, right up into his groin and squeezing away the dying groan of pain.

Jungkook didn’t think he deserved to be stabbed.

The bathroom door opened. Before Jungkook could turn there was a bullet piercing through the temporal bone of his attacker, and he released his fingers from the now limp form and let him drop to the bathroom floor.

Seo Joon was tucking his gun back into the holster by his waist. He sighed as he looked at Jungkook.

“You’re going to be very problematic, Jeon Jungkook. And I can’t tell if it’s going to be in the good way, or a bad one.”



It took a long, long time, but we’re here. I didn’t even think years ago I would make it to the end of this fic and the story would become what it did, but it did, and I have all of you to thank so very much.

Thank you for reading and supporting and enjoying, thank you for your kind words and encouragement. I really love you guys and I couldn’t have continued writing or even finished this without you.

So I’m really fucking happy.

Thank you so much!

Book Two of the Syndicate Series will come eventually. I have to edit Burner and fix a lot of minor things besides grammatical errors. Once I’ve sorted out most of it I’ll start book two. I do need a little time to work on my other, actual book that needs to be edited properly also.

Again, thank you for reading~!!!! I hope you’ll join me again for Book 2!!!
(I have many secrets still to release.)
02 February 2019 @ 11:45 pm

Title: Burner
Series: The Syndicate
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Yunho/Jaejoong, Jungkook/Taehyung
Summary: Jaejoong is the head of the underground Korean Crime Syndicate. Yunho is his right hand man with an obsession for blood. Threatened by the American Company invading South Korea, and a new group, that has a personal vendetta against Jaejoong, this is their story.


Jungkook was warming his hands on the plastic cup, heat from the hot mocha Yunho had picked up from Low Hearts. Yunho had stopped there before picking up Jungkook from the hotel, the kid having slept through most of the morning and looking more rested than he’d ever been since he came to the Syndicate headquarters.

Yunho didn’t usually stay with the competitors for orientation matches. And Jaejoong didn’t need to personally request it when Yunho knew that it was what he had wanted. It was a good decision, to let Jungkook represent them. It would make the kid feel that he was paying his dues, making the Syndicate and Jaejoong proud if he won and kept on winning. It was why he had slept so long, wide awake when Yunho saw him outside the hotel, bundled in his hoodie and headphones in.

The orientation match had been a four against four set up. The four man team with the most amount of members standing won. Jungkook’s team had won, filled up with representatives of small time gangs, and Yunho had collected the prize money before he left for the night.

Jungkook had also managed to make an acquaintance, one whose face Yunho distinctly remembered as he watched them talk after the orientation matches had ended.

“Where are we going?” Jungkook asked, when he accepted the coffee with a murmur of thanks.

“Home,” Yunho said, Jungkook nodding and settling himself for the drive. The stay in the hotel was nice enough. There was the rented room and pool and jacuzzi. But Jungkook needed normalcy, and to be around Syndicate members. Their leader.

Jaejoong had called him after the meeting with the VP of Dark Phoenix for an emergency counsel. When Yunho headed back, they were to wait on Junsu, and the unnatural decision making would commence.

“I didn’t really get a program on the times. When is the tournament starting back?”

“The drawing starts at half five and the first match starts at six. You gave them your phone number last night.”

“Yes,” he said.

“At 5:58 they send you and me a message stating the time of your match and your opponent. You just need to make it back in time for your match.”

“What about the person who’s match starts at six?”

“They are notified as soon as the first drawing is done. The competitors aren’t allowed to be more than a half hour from the hotel.”

“Do we usually follow that rule?”


He pulled into the underground parking, getting out with the paper carry box with the specialty orders for Jaejoong and Yoochun. They took the elevator up to the third floor, meeting both Yoochun and Jaejoong on the couch in the living room, the business news whispering from the 4K television.

“Jungkook!” said Jaejoong. “How was the orientation match? Did we win?”

“We did,” he said, smiling nervously, even more embarrassed because he did so. Yoochun laughed, slipping off the edge of the couch to slap his hand on his back.

“Good job. We brought back food from a fancy ass restaurant. I assume you have space to eat it.”

“You assume correctly,” Jungkook replied, heading into the kitchen area.

“Your coffee,” said Yunho. The paper carry box was grabbed by Yoochun, already guzzling into his caramel coffee draped in whipping cream and caramel clusters. Jaejoong reached for his own, watching the business news with an uninterested stare.

“It’s hot chocolate spiked with an espresso. And dairy free caramel.”

“Taehyung’s outdone himself,” said Jaejoong absentmindedly.

Yunho glanced at Yoochun, too engrossed in opening up his plastic cup. He went to sit by Jaejoong, pulling out his box of marijuana wraps.

“Any particular reason why you’re being so strange?” he asked.

Jaejoong sighed, resting down his cup, squinting his eyes as he dropped his head back. “I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to explain something I’ve never explained to any of you before. And how the hell it ties into our decision making.”

“I have something that may tie into your decision making.”

“Really?” asked Yoochun, on the edge of the couch again, dress shoes only a few milimetres away from Yunho’s knee.

“Remember the men who had been staying in the apartment complex across the street?.”

“I do,” spoke Jaejoong.

“The one drawn smiling, I found him. His name is Park Seo Joon. And he works for a small time group called Calamity.”

“I’ve heard of them,” said Yoochun. “Good things. They’re polite, keep their money legal, stay out of turf wars and, under the radar, buy properties to expand their portfolio. What would Calamity have against Jaejoong?”

“I’ve heard the name in passing, but they’re too small to have anything to do with the Syndicate. Do we know who their leader is?”

“I’ll have to ask around.” Yoochun licked whipping cream from inner corner of his cup. “This solidifies that it’s personal. It can’t be Park Seo Joon, can it?”

“It could be, and it could not,” said Jaejoong.

“He said this isn’t the first time he took part in the Tournament,” said Jungkook from the kitchen counter. He had been standing there, picking from the boxes of food. “What kind of weird food is this?”


“I’ll look into Jae,” he said. Jaejoong nodded, and stopped playing with his carry cup to drink. He had the tiniest bit of foam caught on his upper lip. Yunho leaned in, Jaejoong pressing himself further into the couch in confusion and sudden shyness. He brought his face close, tongue swiping out to erase the sliver of foam, grinning at the captured breath and annoyed expression.

Yunho kissed the annoyed expression away, the pursed mouth and soft-chapped lips. It was because he hadn’t seen Jaejoong since he dropped him off last night to pick up Jungkook, and because Jaejoong looked like he needed kissing. He grabbed behind his neck, and instead of pulling him closer, rubbed his fingers into the soft skin, reaching up to rub into the scalp just above the thin, scratchy hairs.

Jaejoong had an unfailing habit of closing his eyes when he kissed.

He saw when Yoochun turned to talk to Jungkook about the weird looking food he was supposed to eat, saw when Jaejoong reopened his eyes and nipped at Yunho’s mouth with fondness. He let him, because Jaejoong looked like he needed coffee and sex and a few more days of a faraway vacation.

He both hated and loved this feeling, of addiction and want. It was more addiction than anything, wanting to touch and kiss and mark and bury himself so deep into Jaejoong’s skin he could never leave. He kissed him again because he needed to, for himself. Jaejoong laughed halfway into the kiss, giving into his childish wants, and biting his mouth again as he laughed.

“Come eat before Jungkook eats it all.”

Yunho looked up to where Jungkook stood, unabashed in his nonguilt of shoveling food and chewing just as quickly.

“It’s really good,” he offered in excuse, pretending that he hadn’t been watching them on the couch.

The afternoon was bright without harsh sunlight, chilly enough that Junsu had worn a turtleneck sweater and a long coat over it. He bought cheap coffee from the university café to wash down the dim sum he munched on as he made his way to his next class. He liked this part of the university. It was paved in the way of well-maintained lawn, trees wide and thick that the students were wont to lie underneath and relax in heavy shade. It stretched out far enough that it was a little world within a larger one, and Junsu came here sometimes when he didn’t want to be in his parents’ house or he didn’t want to be in his room back at the Syndicate headquarters.

The shumai was still hot as he bit into it, settling himself onto the manicured grass and stretching out his legs. He waited exactly three minutes and four shumai later for Namjoon to join him, dropping his heavy leather bag next to him as he sat.

“Junsu,” he said gracefully, sipping from a cup that had the end of a tea bag hanging down against the plastic. He looked like the kind of man to like proper tea.

“Namjoon,” he responded, rubbing his greasy lips together. “Shumai?” he offered, “Sticky rice?”

“I’ll take a sticky rice, since you’re offering,” he said smiling. Kim Namjoon had a genuine smile, extremely white teeth from a good dentist and money, the sort of smile that was both natural and practiced in front of many people many times.

While Namjoon was unwrapping the lotus leaf, comfortable enough to eat with his fingers, Junsu observed him, and wondered where to start.

“Who was the friend that recommended me?”

Namjoon chewed on pieces of mushroom and pork and chicken, sipping hot tea at intervals and breathing out his enjoyment of his given meal.

“Ah, it was rude of me to not mention his name before, right? You must remember Michael Lima. He’s a Portuguese business man known in the Eastern side of the world. You found him his daughter, the one that they took from him back in Brazil. He followed her tracks to South Korea and you found her.”

Junsu hadn’t forgotten about Lima. He never could. He didn’t usually search for missing people unless the pay was well and with cause, and the man had come to him, desperate, prosperous but broken inside for a child that was his by blood but no longer there for him to hold. He didn’t think it would be Lima that recommended him to Namjoon. It had to be the truth. Because no one but Michael Lima knew that he had found his daughter for him.

Junsu nodded. “I understand.”

Namjoon face scrunched, reaching up to scratch his head, half eaten sticky rice falling onto his lap. The rice grains mostly remained clumped together, but a few tiny ones went onto his dress pants.

“Shit. Yeah, as I was saying, I should have mentioned it before. Honestly, I really only wanted you to find Kim Jisoo. The other job was just a bonus job because I didn’t want to ask for just that. And it’s…I don’t really know what to expect if you find her.”

“There are many, many Kim Jisoos in South Korea. Who is Kim Jisoo to you?”

Namjoon started picking the rice grains off his pants.

“So, this may sound very poor of me, but I don’t really know.” He was embarrassed as he saw Junsu’s stare, nibbling the stray rice pieces before picking back up his half eaten portion. “I…think it’s my mother. You must understand. I grew up without a mother. I only knew the women my father brought home for a few nights and days, sometimes for a night or longer. If I asked him about my mother, he would change the topic and pretend that I hadn’t spoken of her. So when he was dying, on his damn death bed after the massive heart attack, and I was there holding his hand and wishing that I didn’t have to see my own father pass away, he kept mentioning that name, Kim Jisoo. He wouldn’t stop mentioning it until he died. I thought that maybe it was his one regret, maybe it was the name of a woman he could never forget. I don’t know if it was my mother or an outside woman or someone who had died. But I think it has to do with me. And I don’t think my mother is dead, Junsu. My aunts and uncles all told me that he came home with me someday after his time going around with a woman he kept from the family. The only ones who knew who she was were my grandparents, and they’re dead too.”

Junsu had finished off the shumai and was nibbling on spicy squid, giving up on drinking out his coffee for the while. He slipped his hand into his bag to bring out the bottle of water he had there, brushing against his phone that lay there waiting.

There was still a possibility that Namjoon was lying. And there was still a possibility that the Kim Jisoo that he was looking for was also the same Kim Jisoo that brought his cousin into the world.

“Do any of the people that used to work for your grandparents still work for you?”

“Some, actually,” he answered. “You think they may have remembered her?”

“Will you give me permission to snoop around?”

“Of course. My grandparents had their own estate that my aunt and uncle now use. I find it too big for me to move around in, so I prefer my more modern town house. I’ll pass your name around so just go ahead and snoop. If any problems you can call me.” Namjoon tossed the lotus leaf into his empty cup, standing. “I know that the search my come up futile, but please, do anything you can to find her. I get the feeling that she…that she may be my blood mother. I just want to know. I’ll be leaving now. I have a few calls to make before class. I’ll see you.”


Junsu uncapped his bottle of water, took a few big gulps, and then recapped it. He shoved it back into his bag, and ended the recording that had been ongoing before Namjoon came. He zipped up his bag, and continued eating his spicy squid.

Was it only a coincidence? If it were the same Kim Jisoo, then Jaejoong and Namjoon would be half-brothers, of the same blood, of the same kind. Namjoon gave him the same presence as most leaders would, sureness, authority, a darkness to do what needed to be done in times of dire situations.

He hated operating without facts. So he ate. He ate out the spicy squid and single portion of har gow, and then picked up his cold shitty coffee and headed to class.

The half hour walk from Yoongi’s apartment complex to where his new home was, was madness. Normally it would be madness. With the outdoors less sunny and the afternoon cool rushing in, Changmin ignored Yoongi’s offer to drop him back and instead, walked. He had spent the night there, playing games and drinking soju, and then went joy riding with Yoongi in his sports car that he raced in and refused to give up. They had eaten ramen in the twenty-four hour shop near the Syndicate owned apartments, and then went to bed sometime before the world was bright again.

As he walked, he went past his old work building, stopped by a co-worker who he nearly went by without recognizing.

He raised his hand to wave, and was greeted with a smile and an awkward wave in return. The co-worker was coming up to him. Black hair and a neck tattoo he couldn’t hide, smoked with him out on the roof and the second floor balcony, Jae wook was probably the only one he had liked at his work place.

“You’ve come back to us?” he asked, stuffing his hands into his pocket. Jae wook didn’t like unnecessary greetings. “Imagine how fucking surprised we were when some guy we didn’t know walked in with your resignation letter, effective immediately. It said personal circumstances. Hell, you found a better job?”

“A resignation letter?” Of course they would. They were the Syndicate. And they did things properly. Like write him a resignation letter so it didn’t seem like he was kidnapped off the face of the earth. Just like the message from Yoochun that woke him this morning, half off Yoongi’s bed.

‘You can video call your parents today.’

His parents. He hadn’t stopped thinking about his parents since he got that message. Truthfully, he didn’t think that his parents missed him. They weren’t parents like that. And he wasn’t the kind of son that made them proud academically, job wise, even socially. If given the choice, he’d do everything differently. Become a pro-gamer. Say fuck you to pleasing his parents. Not have a desk job.

Changmin laughed to himself. But then he’d be poor. That desk job of his gave him a salary and stability. Had given him a salary and stability. He had never been happy, but he had had food, and an apartment, and clothes. In the grander and greater scheme of all things, he had been lucky.

Maybe he was the most insecure person he knew. And he knew of his own faults. He did. But he had been lucky. His desk job was what allowed him to move out of his parents’ house and into that small apartment in the heart of the city. No matter how boring it had been.

“Ah yeah, that feels so long ago. No, I’m not coming back. I just…the office life wasn’t for me, you know?”

Jae wook nodded, accepting his answer. “True. You always looked like you hated all of us.”

“Well, if we’re being honest…”

Jae wook chuckled, handing him a smoke. “One last time, since I might not ever see you again.” With his cigarette lit, he propped against the stone hedge, and Jae wook jumped up to sit. ”So what you’re up to these days? I remember you told me you liked to play games.”

“Well, not playing games. I go over by my friend to play on his Playstation, but well, I haven’t been getting the time. I’m uh…driving for someone these days.”

“A chauffeur?”

“Yeah, for like a super-rich guy.”

Jae wook scoffed. “I bet it pays more than this shit.”

“Oh, it does,” grinned Changmin. “Plus perks.”

“Does he need a secretary? I’m pretty good at being annoying.”

“Hell no,” he laughed. “You’re the least annoying guy I know.”

“I’m very versatile,” said Jae wook dryly.

“Of course,” he ceded. “I believe you.”

When his cigarette burned out, Jae wook stretched, leaning back with his arms out and almost falling off the stone hedge. “Hey Shim, I hope you find happiness, yeah? We’re all out here trying our best. I hope shit works out for you.”

Changmin smiled, reaching out to shake his hand. “Thanks. Same for you. Keep up with your tattooing hustle. I remember what you told me, you know.”

Jae wook lifted his hand to send him away.

Low Hearts felt somewhat empty without the presence of the quiet young man. Taehyung realized his absence almost immediately, glancing at Hoseok and Jen, failing to find the figure of Jungkook amidst tables and customers.

It made him work harder, doing what he was accustomed to, throwing himself into baking and decorating, giving orders in the kitchen when he needed to. Five years ago, if someone told him he’d be decorating pretty little cakes and selling them to customers, he would have laughed. But now, it was exactly what he did and it was exactly what he enjoyed.

Taehyung wiped his hand on the mauve towel left by the edge of the stainless steel counter, looking out the too narrow glass window. It was raining out. It was his favourite weather, even back in the orphanage. They would all clamber inside by the windows with hot water and lemon and the bit of hot chocolate they stole from the pantry the Miss kept under lock, and watch the rain as it passed over the cracking window that remained sturdy.

Both Miss and Sir were quite aware of their stolen funded adventures, from hot chocolate to cookies, to making cup noodles in the night with no light on and without a whisper to rouse them from sleep. They had been good people to him, to them, before they had left the orphanage and the world.

Taehyung peeked out in the café section and saw that it was dwindling. He took the time to go up the stairs, untying his apron and toeing off his shoes to drop himself on his bed as soon as he made it to his bedroom. He could allow himself a twenty minutes to breathe. And pretend that he wasn’t running a business downstairs.

With his face buried in his sheet and blankets, he could still smell Jungkook. He’d never believed the words of other persons and books that a person could smell their lover for days after they left. Or that another human could smell so good that it was unfair, almost rude that he had no control over it.

But it was true. His bed smelled like Jungkook. His skin tingled every time he thought about him. He wasn’t supposed to become enamoured with someone. It wasn’t good for him. His life. It wasn’t supposed to be good.

Taehyung closed his eyes, swallowing hard with his dry throat and ignored how heavy his eyes were beginning to feel. When was the last time he did something for himself? His whole life had been a blur of unfortunate memories, strung together with dirty broken shards of accidents and occurrences and held together by a gradually weakening string. And as the days went by, as minutes turned to hours and hours became jumbled in the passing of time, Taehyung had forgotten his purpose for doing any of what he was doing.

He had always just wanted to be happy. To be like those kids he saw walking with their parents and going on dates and eating ice cream.

He sort of had ice cream with Jungkook. And he had also never went on a date before.

His phone rang in his pocket, and he groaned at the sound and the crack into his solace, routinely digging for it and answering.


“Don’t sound so excited to talk to me, really Tae.”

“I’m solacing. Me time. My twenty damn minutes of me time I almost never get,” Taehyung grumbled, grinning when he heard Seo Joon laugh. “Are you still at the hotel?”

“Now left. I stayed back later last night making the rounds to talk to who I could after the orientation matches. I met the kid you’re infatuated with, Jungkook. He’s cute. I approve.”

“Seo Joon…”

“Except the fact that he’s from the Syndicate, and if Jin finds out he’ll fucking force you to end it.”

Taehyung closed his eyes tight, wishing that when he did, all his problems would go away, and he didn’t have to deal with revenge and repercussions and the fucking world.

“But really, I approve. I say go for it.”

“Except the fact that Jin will find out.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re the leader of Calamity, and you can do whatever the fuck you please.”

“They’re the e–”


Taehyung stopped, because it was true, and it wasn’t. It was harder to separate the two. What was right and what was wrong. When he had started all this, set out as orphans who were re-orphaned all over again, revenge was the only thing he could taste and see and smell and it was their whole world.

The Syndicate was the enemy. The Syndicate was bad. And with the group of three, joined by the other orphans and then Jin who came into the fold and helped further them into a solidified, legitimate gang, it made so much sense then, to go after the thing that ripped their only happiness away.

But time was a strange thing. Taehyung became a Syndicate member to infiltrate their chain of command and was then a pseudo-baker, put in charge of a gang run pastry and coffee shop. And the most laughable part of it all was that he liked it. He came to like waking up early and standing on his feet whole day, whipping up cakes and decorating. Because it was hard work. And he had liked seeing himself improve day after day, after watching videos on Youtube and attending pastry classes and sub-courses when he wasn’t busy with Calamity and meeting Seo Joon-hyung and sniper missions for the Syndicate.

It was physical manifestation of improvement, and the customers that loved him and praised him, and he felt so warm every time.

And then, there was the leader of the Syndicate. There was Jaejoong. He was nothing like the murderer he was, short with Taehyung but also pleasant, and he treated him right, words of encouragement for his food and cakes and commended his abilities. It was easier to hate him if he were cruel. If Yunho the demon were cruel.

But Yunho was only quiet and absolutely loved his creations. And Taehyung wanted to hate them all because this was what he came to the Syndicate to do, to hate and kill and destroy them for destroying his life. Even if it wasn’t a direct hit he could still cause enough trouble that it would hurt.

“Jin’s ambitions doesn’t have to be your ambitions, Tae,” said Seo Joon gently.

“I know that, hyung.”

“I care about you more than I care about revenge.”

“They took our only family away from us, Joon. He did.”

“I’m your family,” he said. Taehyung couldn’t speak anymore. He laid on his bed, curled into himself and pressing his eyes into the thin sheets to soak his tears. It had been so long since he saw Seo Joon. He would give anything to just see him and go back to a time when their only worries were chores and being kicked out into the streets that became their home.

“Cheer me on,” said Seo Joon. “So your hyung can win.”

“Never,” said Taehyung, smiling. “I miss you,” he added softly. “Really miss you.”

“I know. Be strong, my little Leader. You’ll have a decision to make soon that only you can make.”

Taehyung found himself standing by the bridge between the kitchen and living room, unseeing, phone still in hand because he hadn’t known what to do with it. He had wanted to pretend that his life wasn’t filled with hard decisions. That maybe he could be like everyone else and have a lover, a job, a family.

There was Hoseok who was his employee but so damn friendly that Taehyung really and truly liked him. And Jen who was sweet and sarcastic and took too long breaks but she worked hard when it was her shift. And Jungkook, Taehyung had never been attracted to someone before, not this intensity, these feelings that he couldn’t understand and made him so jittery and unsure.

He was afraid. Anxious.

And he didn't want to leave this well crafted, pretend life.

His arm trembled, and he realized it was both from his anxiety and from his phone ringing once more.

He glanced at the screen.


Jin was calling.

He let it ring for a while, before he answered.


So…the Taehyung part was always planned. I admit some parts were very messily written. But I needed to tie up some loose end parts before the last chapter. Burner is a very slow drawn fic and it’s more like the beginning even if it’s the first book. But the last chapter will have some excitement, and also a flashback. It will be a continuation of the same day, with the dinner with Yunho’s mother, the talk about Dark Phoenix and Yu Shirota, some other stuff, you know.

Sooo one more chapter left. I want to thank everyone who stuck with this fic over the past..hell three-four years? When I was still stuck in medical school with exams and life and being unable to write properly or update. Thank you for reading and enjoying!

For me Burner is the plot and story I always wanted to write, and I love it so much. I've been happy to share it with everyone. I do have plans to try to publish Burner, well this series. As much as it is a fanfiction, it's always been characters and personalities I created, spending a shitload of time plotting and world building and fixing, so I'm really going to try to get it published.

Once I'm finished with the last chapter, I'll try to work on Book 2 as soon as possible.

17 January 2019 @ 01:08 am

Title: Burner
Series: The Syndicate
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Yunho/Jaejoong, Jungkook/Taehyung
Summary: Jaejoong is the head of the underground Korean Crime Syndicate. Yunho is his right hand man with an obsession for blood. Threatened by the American Company invading South Korea, and a new group, that has a personal vendetta against Jaejoong, this is their story.


Some years ago
(Approx. sixteen years ago)

The warehouse was old and smelled like rotten meat. Jaejoong couldn’t get the scent out of his nose, glad for the cigarette he had bummed off one of the men before they went inside. He was on lookout duty. There was a meeting amongst the business heads, illegal and legal according to his uncle.

After nearly four years within the Syndicate, Jaejoong understood just how important Youngwha was. His uncle was the Syndicate leader’s right hand man. He was right up there, high, high up where nearly no one could touch him.

And Jaejoong, he was a still a near lackey. He could fight well now, practicing every day, using the exercise equipment he had bought with his salary at the café, and the money he got when he sometimes helped out with money collecting. At eighteen, he could now do more. And he wanted to do more. He had long accepted his life, accepted how important it was to shoot a gun, and learn the ways of a knife and sword.

Shooting was a hobby to him. He liked using guns, and it was his routine now to head to the gun range at night, practicing his aim and speed. He was good at that, shooting.

There wasn’t much he could do to practice with a knife. Youngwha promised him that when he took him to Japan, he would find him a teacher there, to pass on the ways of a swordsman. So Jaejoong didn’t bother much about it, and put his all into the gun range and fighting.

His phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. He took it out, cigarette perched between his fingers, smoke in his mouth as he checked the message.

Sender: Yunho
Message: Don’t forget tonight.

Jung was the weirdest part about his new life. There was this thing between them that they never spoke of. They kissed and smoked together, Jaejoong went to his fighting matches and watched him beat people, sucked Yunho’s dick and Yunho sucked his. And Yunho, Yunho was a strange boy that Jaejoong liked, his quietness and sarcasm, the way he took what he wanted and didn’t care about anything and anyone. Yunho had become the friend he had never asked for, and Jaejoong supposed he was Yunho’s friend too.

It was around five in the afternoon when the men and women started pouring out from the creaky doors of the warehouse, letting out that putrid smell that Jaejoong couldn’t tolerate. It was fresher now, worse than when they had entered.

He jumped off the pile of crates he had been perched upon, landing with his knees bent and kicking up dust and gravel. He glimpsed in as they filtered out.

Jaejoong could see Younghwa’s back. He could recognize his uncle anywhere, his trademark ponytail, his customized pin stripe suits. Next to Youngwha and his assistant were two bodies. He didn’t need to go inside to know that they were dead.

He was leaning against the crates when Youngwha came out, black gloves on his hands, lighting himself a smoke as he was finally outdoors again. Youngwha didn’t even glance in his direction, expecting him to follow.

“I’m carrying you to meet the head of the Syndicate tomorrow.”

Jaejoong fanned the puff of smoke ballooning in front of him. They had stopped to wait on the car. Just a few metres ahead, there was sea. Endless, dark blue sea.

“You’ve done well these past few months. I expect you’ll make it as an official member.”

“I’ll go on missions if I do, right?” Jaejoong asked him. Youngwha didn’t answer until they were driving off, Jaejoong watching the sea stream past them.

“Yes, you will.”

Jaejoong tried not to sound too eager. He was saving up little by little. But it was never enough. Youngwha only provided house and food for him. Jaejoong bought himself everything else. Clothes, shoes, weapons. He bought his own textbooks and study material. Youngwha at least paid for wifi.

He needed more income. He needed his own place. Far away from Youngwha. He and his uncle never had familial love between them. But since he had joined the Syndicate, Jaejoong realized how much of a hateful man he was. There was nothing redeeming or respectful about him, and Youngwha, the bastard that he was, enjoyed that common knowledge about himself.

“I’ll be gone tonight,” said Youngwha. “I’ll be back tomorrow evening to pick you up after your shift at the café.”

Jaejoong nodded, and glanced at the time on his phone. He messaged back Yunho.

Be there in 30.

Yunho was listening to his English lessons when Fowler knocked on his door, announcing that Jaejoong had arrived. He took off his headphones, pushing back his chair to head downstairs. His mother was painting in the living room, and she saw Jaejoong first, his too skinny frame and sweater jacket.

His mother had glimpsed Jaejoong a few times. They both met outside of his house, usually to coffee shops or the ice cream parlour, Yunho taking Jaejoong to restaurants and burger houses to buy him food and listen to him complain about buying him food. His mother never got the chance to speak to Jaejoong, much less observe him as closely as she did now.

Jaejoong had become shy, ducking a little and giving a slight wave to his mother.

“Um, hey. I’m Jaejoong.”

His mother was enamoured. She stopped painting, putting down her brush and palette.

“Hello. This about the first time I’m meeting you. Yunho’s been hiding you away.”

“I wasn’t hiding him, mother.”

Yunho came off the last step, grinning as he watched Jaejoong squirm under his mother’s cooing.

“You can call me Soo min.”

“She doesn’t like formalities,” Yunho explained briefly, at Jaejoong’s panic.

“I can’t just call her Soo min,” stuttered Jaejoong, leather bag nearly falling off his shoulder.

“You just did,” she smiled. “Oh how did you get such a cute friend Yunho.” Soo min went closer, resting her hand on his shoulder. “I’m surprised you’ve stuck around for so long. My son is…a special one.”

“A weird one,” Jaejoong corrected.

She laughed. “That he is. Are you coming to the dinner party with us?”

“Well according to your son, I am.”

His mother turned to look at him, happier than he’d seen her over the past few years. It was a quiet thing, in their manor, that the head of the household had a pretty thing that wasn’t his wife. It was probably why Yunho felt obligated to make her happy. She didn’t deserve sadness, or pain. She was one of those people that lived in a cruel world, but never became cruel herself. Not as yet.

“You are so adorable,” his mother stressed, patting Jaejoong’s cheek before letting him go. “Go ahead and get ready. Yunho told me you’d be coming straight from work.”

“I did,” he said, before following Yunho upstairs. Fowler had already went to bring them some light snacks. Yunho could smell cigarette smoke on Jaejoong, but not food. If he was to socialize he would need something in his stomach to tolerate it.

“You said you had clothes for me,” Jaejoong said, as he jumped on Yunho’s bed. The impact crinkled the sheets, and Yunho liked how complete his bed looked, with Jaejoong sprawled out in contentment.

“I do. You need a suit to go to the dinner party.”

“I’ve never worn a suit before.” Jaejoong’s voice dipped, whenever he went shy. He sat back up, legs swinging in thumps against the edge of the mattress. “You have another bruise on your cheek. Your mother didn’t say anything?”

“She knows I fight.”

“And she’s okay with that?”

Yunho shrugged. “She knows she can’t stop me. So she rather know, than not know. And I always text her my location before I go.”

“That’s very reasonable.”

Yunho was taking out a towel for Jaejoong to use when Fowler knocked, coming in to drop the tray of sandwiches and pineapple juice and a pot of tea. Fowler bowed before leaving.

“You know, sometimes I kinda wish I had a mom. I don’t know what it’s like to have a mother. A real mother. My step mom was always a cunt. She cared about my father, and money, and her friends. I didn’t really exist to her.”

“What about your dad?” Yunho asked because Jaejoong avoided the topic of his father almost always.

“He died. I don’t know how, or where, because my uncle wouldn’t tell me. But he died, and left me with Youngwha. Didn’t even say goodbye.”

Yunho grabbed the tray from the table, pushing it onto the bed next to Jaejoong.

“Eat something instead of crying,” he said.

“I wasn’t going to cry!”

Yunho poured himself a cup of tea, staring at Jaejoong until he picked up a sandwich and began to eat.

“I hate you sometimes,” he mumbled in between chewing.

Jaejoong didn’t really know what the dinner party was for. All he knew was that Yunho had wanted him there, given him a free suit, and there was free food and drink. All were perfectly good reasons as to why he had agreed.

He and Yunho were driven in a separate car from Yunho’s parents. Jaejoong hadn’t met Yunho’s father yet. And he wasn’t particularly keen on amending that. Yunho’s stories of his father since they met were always less than spectacular. And Jaejoong had a strong feeling that Yunho cared for his father as much as Jaejoong cared for his uncle.

They were at someone’s mansion. A house that was suited for dinner parties and the sort, overly large and well lit, a driveway so long that it took a few minutes to reach the front porch and door. It was pretty though, and Jaejoong admired everything, the way the path was lit on both sides with little lights that glistened like gems, and the air smelt like many different flowers and trees and night.

There were cars in front of them and behind them, waiting to drop off important people, driving off around the exuberant mermaid fountain. It was stone of some sort, and Jaejoong had watched it for far too long, because Yunho pinched his lower back and he was forced into walking.

“I’m hungry,” he told Yunho, before they were stopped by the entrance. There was a man with a check list, and a security guy covering the length of him.

“Jung Yunho.”

Jaejoong tried not to unconsciously reach for his gun. He hadn’t wanted to bring it. But it was becoming second nature now. He didn’t feel safe without his gun and two knives. Even if being around Yunho made him feel less cautious. There was something about Yunho, that he was too fucking weird and crazy to die. It made sense, in his head.

They were allowed inside. He didn’t know where Yunho’s parents were, and Yunho didn’t seem to bother. Yunho’s hand hadn’t left the small of his back, guiding him past men dressed in suits like the ones they wore, soft, different colours, women so well dressed that Jaejoong was tempted to touch the material. There was a waiter walking around with a tray of champagne, and he snagged two flutes, handing one to Yunho.

“Since I’m your date tonight and all,” he said, grinning.

“You are,” Yunho agreed shamelessly.

Jaejoong raised his glass, clinking against Yunho’s before taking a sip. They were standing somewhere in the middle of the large ballroom. It was magnificent really, being in a room made of such luxury. There were faces of people he saw sometimes on television and the internet, celebrities, unknown faces.

It was a nice change, from Youngwha and school and the café. The Syndicate was death and fighting and drugs, and even though business men and politicians had their fair share of deceit and filth, at least it was pleasant filth for him to enjoy.

“You want another glass?” asked Yunho, fingers leaving his back, and he suddenly felt cold even with the dress shirt and jacket on. Jaejoong nodded, handing Yunho the empty glass. “Wait me for by the buffet table.”

Jaejoong watched Yunho leave to talk to a tall man that had the same stubborn mouth and eyes. He found the buffet table, past a throng of conversations, and continued observing Yunho as he talked to his father. It was different, from the face he showed with his mother. The brief gentleness that he took with his mother was untraceable.

Jaejoong purposefully turned away to give them privacy. He made it to the buffet table, careful not to bounce into anyone, returning smiles from men and women he didn’t know. There was a spread of food that he couldn’t dream up, already grabbing a plate and piling on meat and dumplings, thick salmon slices that looked buttery. He grabbed a tiny gold plated fork, and began to eat.

There was music playing, somewhere in the midst of all the conversation. He couldn’t see Yunho anymore, or anyone he particularly knew, but it gave him the chance to observe. People were swapping business cards and phone numbers, loudly laughing at jokes that probably weren’t even funny. But Jaejoong could see the charm behind the pretentiousness. Of similar company and fancy clothes, good food and drink and just being in a place where the outside world didn’t matter as much as it did in here. If he wasn’t friends with Yunho he would never experience such a thing.

Especially something as good as the sashimi he was eating.

After a few minutes, when his plate was empty, and Yunho still hadn’t come, he piled on some more sashimi, endlessly being replaced by the starch pressed servers that were more ghost than human, flitting in and out to refill the buffet table.

Everyone was doing something, drinking, laughing, talking to someone. Jaejoong ate and watched, idly going from person to person, and settled on one man, who was by himself, neither eating nor drinking, or talking. He was stalking through the crowd, hand dipped inside his pants pocket as he walked. He was near Jaejoong, going past him. Jaejoong saw the flat part of the plunger of a syringe, peeking out through his grip and from his pocket. He saw him grip it tight, fingers on the needle cap.

Jaejoong swallowed the buttery piece of sashimi. This wasn’t going to happen. Not here, not now. He wasn’t here for this kind of shit.

But the man kept walking. And Jaejoong could still see the syringe. He could see the target, a tall, tall man, surrounded, but not flanked, by men and women. The target was black haired, broad shoulders and hard back, but none of that mattered when Jaejoong didn’t know what was in the syringe. Drugs triumphed over everything else, even guns and a well-developed body.

Jaejoong cursed himself and the world before he put down his plate. He heard – not saw – Yunho call out his name, and he ran, slipping past people without causing much of a scene, glad that he was too skinny, running faster until he nearly knocked into the man. He dropped onto the floor with his palms slapping the cool marble, sweeping his leg until his foot caught the other man’s ankle, sending him toppling onto the ground.

Someone screamed. Jaejoong was on the other man before he could get up, grabbing his throat and straddling his chest, forcing him to stay down. He hadn’t let go of the syringe. Before Jaejoong could reach for it himself, Yunho was there, dress shoes pressing down on the man’s wrist, hard enough that he choked in pain against Jaejoong’s fingers. Yunho stooped down and plucked the syringe from his open palm, staring at the liquid kept inside.

“I thought you were supposed to wait for me at the buffet table,” he said, throwing up the syringe. It was taken before he could catch it, by the tall man who had been the target of the attempted drugging. He was amused rather than scared, staring at the syringe quite like what Yunho had done, and then looking down at Jaejoong and the struggling man.

“I saw him,” Jaejoong scoffed. “What was I supposed to do? I had to leave my sashimi for this.”

“Well I’m glad you did.” The tall man was speaking to him, handing the syringe to one of the men standing next to him. “You may release him. Take him away.”

Jaejoong got off the man’s chest, standing up. Yunho delicately lifted his leg from his wrist, watching down at the bruise that was already forming.

“Not many people would do what you did,” said the man. “Thank you. What’s your name?”

“Kim Jaejoong,” he said, because his name meant nothing. “What’s yours?”

The tall man laughed. The men and women next to him stiffened, like it was taboo to ask it of him. Jaejoong didn’t really care, and Yunho was becoming bored again, stepping aside as they took the man away.

“Soo Ji Sub,” he said. “Have you heard of it?”

“No?” he answered truthfully. “Can’t say I have.”

“I’ll remember this,” said Ji Sub. “It was a selfless gesture.”

“Well, now that I realize that your men would have saved you, or you might have saved yourself, it seems like an unnecessary gesture.”

Ji Sub laughed again, reaching out to rest his hand on Jaejoong’s head. “I like this one,” he told his men. “I’ll remember you, Kim Jaejoong.” He glanced at Yunho, at his hand that was already on the small of his back to steer him away. “You and your friend.”

“Well that was weird,” said Jaejoong, brightening when he saw that there was sashimi still on the table.

“Not really,” said Yunho, having had to retake two glasses of champagne, and handing it to Jaejoong. “Anyone important in South Korea is probably here tonight.”

“Oh? Including us?” grinned Jaejoong.

“We could be,” said Yunho, giving him that wicked grin that Jaejoong liked. The adrenaline that was pumping in Jaejoong was visible in his eyes, even as he ate his sashimi and drank expensive champagne. Jaejoong suited this life, or rather, this life suited Jaejoong. And Yunho wanted to draw him into it, things and experiences that Jaejoong deserved to have.

“Let’s go outside,” he said.

He took them down a corridor, leaving Jaejoong outside the wine room to snag a bottle of chilled champagne. They took the side door to head outside, out into the garden, well-trimmed, hedged bushes that ran in columns. Yunho dropped onto the lounging chair, waiting for Jaejoong to join him before he opened the bottle.

When the bottle was half gone, shared between gulps and watching out at the never-ending garden of green and fragrant flowers, Jaejoong pressed closer to Yunho, resting his shoulder against his.

“We’re finishing school in a couple months. It’s just exams left and that’s it.” Jaejoong grabbed the bottle, chugging. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t know.” Yunho really didn’t know. He would think about it after graduation. A while after that. He hated rushing things. Pre-thinking things.

“I…I wish I had that choice,” Jaejoong admitted. Yunho heard the break in his voice, and took the bottle away.

“You’re going to cry again, aren’t you?”

“Fuck you Yunho,” he spat, still pressed against his shoulder, pressing his eyes and face there.

“You have no choice but to be in the Syndicate,” said Yunho, grimacing as the champagne had gone lukewarm, but he drank it anyway. “So make it into your own choice.”

“My own choice?” Jaejoong quickly wiped his eyes, reaching with both hands for the rest of the champagne.

“You can either stay a lackey, or climb to the top. Your choice.”

Jaejoong rested his head on Yunho’s shoulder, bottle somewhere on the grass, the quiet softened by music and inside words and laughter. He could feel the slight buzz of alcohol. Jaejoong’s cheeks and nose were reddened, both from the cold, and from the champagne. Jaejoong never had to mention that he was part of the Syndicate. Yunho had figured it out when he had started working at the gang run café, familiar with all the men there, his knuckles that had become bruised as time went by.

He discerned also, that Jaejoong was forced into it. Jaejoong wasn’t the type of person to want a life like that, to be walked over by lesser men in higher positions. No. Yunho didn’t see Jaejoong like that. He was meant for much more.

Yunho bent his head and kissed him. His lips were cold and dry, the little parting damp only from champagne and spit. Jaejoong opened his mouth, sucking, kissing back with his fingers digging into the back of Yunho’s head. Jaejoong pulled, and they were falling, flat onto the chair, kiss breaking as Jaejoong yelped and then began to laugh as they tumbled onto the grass.

They stayed there, breathing in the cold. Yunho’s foot knocked into the empty champagne bottle, sending it rolling further away. Jaejoong’s icy fingers crept into his palm, lacing their fingers together shyly, and then squeezing tightly when his touch was met with no resistance. His icy fingers brought both cold and warmth.

Yunho kept their hands together as he rolled on top of Jaejoong, looking down at him, his lips, his nose, his eyes. He kissed him again. Jaejoong closed his eyes, hand reaching down to grab at his swelling groin.

Youngwha came exactly at six in the evening when Jaejoong was just coming off his shift. He’d been on his foot all day, ringing up purchases and serving customers, harmlessly flirting with the girls that thought him attractive. He’d been in a daze most of the day, feeling the lingering touches of Yunho, his kisses, the marks he left on his throat and neck and hips. He hadn’t cared enough to hide his neck, taking the ribbing from his coworkers with a shrug and nonchalance.

He bundled into his jacket, slipping on his thick gloves before getting into the back of the car with Youngwha. His uncle stopped driving himself around to places. Jaejoong had never gone for his license as he didn’t have a car to drive. And he wasn’t a fan of driving.

His uncle was on the phone, angry. “No. Yes. No. Not now. You will have to wait since you fucked it up.”

Jaejoong waited for him to finish his call. “Everything okay?”

“I didn’t think you cared,” said Youngwha.

“I don’t.”

Jaejoong could feel Youngwha’s eyes on his skin, the bruises left on his neck and chest by Yunho’s mouth. Youngwha wasn’t a man to care about sexuality – they were in different times – but he was disgusting enough to care that Jaejoong wasn’t the dominant partner. He saw the sneer that curled away into nothingness, empty disappointment that meant nothing to Jaejoong.

“I saw your step mother yesterday. She remarried.”

“Good to know.”

They didn’t speak to each other again for the rest of the car ride. Jaejoong didn’t know where Youngwha was taking him, and spent the time on his phone, scrolling through social media and games to download. His pay check from small time ‘missions’ hounding down citizens for the money they owed from loans covered his phone data and other miscellaneous expenses. Like skin care products and perfume. He couldn’t afford the fancy ones yet, but Yunho had bought him those same fancy ones he had been admiring so much online for his birthday.

He was brought to a Japanese restaurant. He trailed behind Youngwha through a corridor, old style sliding doors on both sides as they went. Youngwha stopped at the very last room to the right, and knocked on the sturdy wooden part.

“I’ve brought him, Leader.”

Youngwha moved away, motioning for Jaejoong to enter. “Go ahead. Call me when you’re done.”

“You’re not coming in with me?”

“No. Go in. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Jaejoong watched Youngwha turn and leave, fingers into the little nook to pull the door open. He stopped the tremor in his hand before it got worse. He had always known there was a man behind the Syndicate. But there were never words or rumours spoken about him. There was nothing. Not a name or face or whispers that people knew of him. It was scarier that he was a ghost, something unknown that Jaejoong had no choice but to conquer.

He took a deep breath and slid open the door. His breath came out all at once, routinely closing the door behind him. He stood stupidly as he gawked at the other man, the Leader of the Syndicate, sitting sprawled comfortably in a loose trousers and tee.

“Sit, Kim Jaejoong. What happened to that boldness of yours you charmed me with last night?”

Jaejoong hurried to sit, flushing, groaning in embarrassment.

“I’m actually pretty shy, you know,” he said, and then added, “Sir. Do I address you as Sir, or Leader?”

The Leader of the Syndicate laughed, knocking back the cup of sake in his hand. “Do you remember my name?”

“Soo Ji sub.”

“Good. Good. You can call me Soo Ji sub. Ji sub. Sir. Leader. Leader Ji sub. Leader Sub. I don’t actually give a fuck.” He picked up the bottle of sake, waiting for Jaejoong to pick up the small cup in front of him. “Drink with me.”

Jaejoong nodded, lifting his cup for Ji sub to pour. Ji sub poured for both of them, raising his cup to knock into Jaejoong’s. When Jaejoong gulped down the sake, looking away, Ji sub was already pouring him another.

He lingered with his cup in hand, observing Jaejoong.

“When Youngwha told me someone broke into his house and thought his nephew was his little toy, I was very amused. And when he told me that his nephew killed a trained member of a criminal organization, by chance, I couldn’t not let you join the Syndicate. It was meant to be, you see, and it was my decision to let you in.”

“Youngwha set up this meeting yesterday when he told me that you’ve turned eighteen and you’re ready to do more for me. So imagine my surprise when I heard your name last night at a dinner party I never expected you to be at. I also didn’t expect you to be the date of the son of Jung Industries.”

Jaejoong refused to feel self-conscious under Ji Sub’s stare.

“I like you kid. I think you’ll do well here. Better than your uncle. I mean, you may follow suit and try to kill me in the future, but I doubt that. You’re too pure, even for a killer.”

Th sake burned going down.

“…since you fucked it up.”

Oh. Oh.

Jaejoong held out his cup for more. But why was Younghwa still Ji Sub’s right hand man? If he knew Youngwha wanted his position then…

He had no proof. Some criminal organizations ran on rules and honour. The great ones. Those were the underground organizations that flourished. Honour was a serious matter. And Soo Ji sub ran the Syndicate on honour, and rigidity.

“I just want to live,” he said, staring down at the clear liquid, sloshing as he brought the cup to his chest.

Ji sub smiled.

“Well why don’t you live and become the new leader of this hell hole?”

“You can either stay a lackey, or climb to the top. Your choice.”

Yunho. The bastard. It was like he had a foresight into his future.

Jaejoong reached to touch where the bruises were, aching the corners of his neck, his throat. Ji Sub never stopped observing him.

“Okay. Why the hell not.”


Writing a younger yunho and jaejoong is hella fun. Especially since they’re closer now, and actual solid friends. They’re so much freer, childish. Yunho was like that and still is. Jaejoong was so much shyer then, and still as soft as he has gotten older, but it’s very deep down.

(I just really wanted to share my baby tony stark. Look how pretty he is)