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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: 25
Nationality: Trinidadian


I love coffee and green tea, and salted caramel chocolate.
I spend too much time doing nothing, reading fanfiction, watching tv series, dramas, anime, and somehow within all that manage to be a doctor.
My purpose, I'm not sure, but I do know that I want to become a writer.

Current Read List: Baker on the First Floor | Unordinary | Noblesse | Tower of God | Killing Stalking | Adekan | Circle | Caste Heaven | Lover Boy | 19 Days | Blood Bank | What Lies at the End | Lookism | Legendary Moonlight Sculptor | Raven Cycle |

  ~   ) \\\\\ o ///// (  ~

02 July 2018 @ 11:11 pm

Title: Burner
Series: The Syndicate
Pairing: Yunho/Jaejoong, Jungkook/Taehyung
Summary: Jaejoong is the leader of the widespread syndicate that runs underground Asia, and Yunho is his top agent and right hand man whose skills and composure are terrifying. There's Yoochun wtih a background as shrouded as his words. And Junsu the civilian cousin working as a hacker. And the new kid, Jungkook, off the street and into Jaejoong's home, put to work under cafe owner Taehyung. The threat looming stems from foreign invasion, the American Company that threatens, and is already taking over Asian soil. But there's an unknown group after the Syndicate, more personal, and directed against Jaejoong.

~ Only Human ~

Yunho brought the cigarette to his mouth as he lit the end, inhaling in to keep his chest and fingers warm, frigid from the cold that was Jaejoong’s air-conditioning. He was sleeping still, curled towards him, mouth slightly opened as he breathed. His bleached hair was a mess, and Yunho had felt his toes throughout the night, little ice blocks that poked at his ankles every time he moved.

Yunho had taken off Jaejoong’s phone when he woke, allowing him some reprieve. If it were an important call it would be redirected to him or Yoochun. He finished his cigarette while watching Jaejoong sleep, and reading the news on his smart phone. When his cigarette burned out, he left the bed to bring back two cups of black coffee from the kitchen – the coffee machine working by a timer – to catch up on business updates.

Jaejoong was turning on the bed, fingers rubbing into the corners of his eyes, and opening them to stare at him.

He stretched out his hands towards Yunho, inhaling deeply.

“Coffee,” he demanded, lips pouted, and Yunho wanted to bite his mouth until it ran red. He handed Jaejoong a cup when he managed to sit up further in the bed, leaning against two pillows, and took his own place under the covers, his mug in hand.

Jaejoong inhaled again before taking a sip, grasping around the hot cup to bring some warmth to his fingers. Yunho knew from unfortunate experience that Jaejoong would rather freeze than raise the air conditioning to a higher temperature setting.

“What time is it?” he asked, looking at Yunho with sleepy eyes. The anger that was there last night was gone.

“Half six.”

Jaejoong glanced around the bed, raising his hips to check.

“I put it on the table,” said Yunho, gesturing lazily to the table top on his side of the bed. “You needed the sleep.”

“You took off my phone.”

“I did.”

Jaejoong sipped at his coffee, and Yunho went back to reading the day’s stock market trends. Jaejoong’s head dropped on his shoulder, and he felt the breath of hot coffee hitting his bare arm, and Jaejoong’s cold toes sticking at his calf.

Junsu was exiting his bedroom when Yunho was leaving the kitchen with coffee, barely seeing him with his burning eyes, blinking to ease the pain and raising his hand in greeting.

“Morning Jung.”


They had the oddest relationship, and by oddest he meant fucking weird because he damn near disliked the other man, but it was half six in the morning and he was already exhausted. Still exhausted from yesterday and the day before that. So it was too early for any other thought but to get two cups of coffee and some breakfast.

He wondered when he was going to get proper sleep.

He poured himself a cup and curled onto the couch, bringing out his phone that had been shoved into the pocket of his sweat pants.

It was his university phone.

There were two unread messages. Both from the man called Kim Namjoon.

‘Kim Namjoon.’

The first message had been sent to give Junsu his number.

‘I have a job I’m interested in hiring you for. Meet me at the Low Hearts café near the city park at 8:30am, if you are interested.’

He hadn’t checked his phone since he came back to the Syndicate headquarters last night. He had been snatched up for another job, a small one, with too many complications – American secret services – and had research to do for his Masters course. Junsu had done nothing but hole up in front of his laptop in his room with a plate piled high with pancakes and too much whipped cream and a pot of coffee to keep him running throughout the night.

He had morning classes yet again.

He kept the second message open, looking down at the screen.

Kim Namjoon approached him for the first time yesterday, during his class that ran before lunch break. Kim Namjoon was a business major, twenty-seven years old, enrolled in part time classes. He was also, the current head of Kim Production and Finances, a company specializing in sourcing and outsourcing production machine parts and supporting third party companies legally (and illegally) with financial aid.

The original head, his father, Kim Hansul, died two years ago from a myocardial infarction due to severe coronary artery disease and stress. Since then, Namjoon took over as the sole heir, with no other siblings to share his fortune with, and without a mother to care for.

It was only the basic information that Junsu had searched during lunch yesterday, sifting through data that the public was meant to see, and yet to delve into everything that Kim Namjoon really was. Because business men and men with power always had plenty of something hiding.

He finished his coffee and got ready to meet Kim Namjoon, decidedly skipping breakfast at their kitchen. He could get a free meal from Taehyung.

Meeting Namjoon meant contacts. It was something new to the Syndicate, not a direct connection, but still there, and just as powerful as Jung Industries. Kim Production and Finances was known to deal in illegal contracts, and it was different from Yunho, who despite his position in the Syndicate, ran Jung Industries as a legally functioning business.

Namjoon was waiting when he arrived, sitting by himself in a middle table, already having ordered a sandwich and a cup with nothing but whipped cream and syrup. He was ready to defend his drink when Junsu sat.

“Hello. I didn’t take the liberty of ordering for you since…I prefer my drinks with more…not coffee than coffee.”

Namjoon’s smile was wide, and easily friendly. Junsu nodded, looking over at Jen. She came right away, leaving the customer she had been flirting with to stand next to him.

“What are you having today? Usual pot of coffee?”

“Maybe to go. I’ll have a cream cheese and salmon bagel, with spinach. And bag whatever Taehyung made fresh to take. I have a long day.”

“You always have long days,” she retorted, tapping him lightly with her notebook.

Namjoon observed him casually while eating his sandwich.

“We didn’t talk much yesterday, when I approached you. I apologize if I seemed too forward.”

“It’s fine. How did you find me?”

“A friend of a friend, who recommended that you’re mighty good with computers and accessing what usually cannot be accessed.” Namjoon’s cheeks dimpled.

“So what is it that you want me to do for you?”

“Two things, actually. I’ll pay you separately for each job. I want you to create an un-hackable website for my company, as un-hackable as an online website can be. I know, I know, nothing these days, especially with people like you, is impossible to break through, but I’d at least like to hire the best to attempt that. Secondly, I need you to find information on someone, a woman, named Kim Jisoo. She changed her first name somewhere along the line, and I am unsure if it was ever her real name, but it’s important to me. I’ll pay you well. Especially for the second job.”

There was a tone of desperation to his request, and it made Junsu wonder if the first request was only a cover for the other.

“I’ll do what I can. I like the challenge.”

Junsu saw dimples again. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll deliver the half the money for both jobs later today. Unless you want me to make out a cheque to you.”

“I’ll take cash or cheque,” said Junsu.

“Cheque then,” said Namjoon, quieting as Junsu was served his bagel, immediately delving in.

“What made you decide on doing your Masters? You’re the head of a company at the age of twenty-seven, Cyber Security and Forensics is very…”

“Unconventional? Unnecessary?” he said. “I like learning. I’m good at it. Even if I inherited a company, I could still do with learning things outside of business. I was a pretty boring kid you know. I did well in school because I liked studying. Not because I wanted to make my parents proud. And when my father died, I took over because I had to, not because I wanted to do business. I boringly wanted to become a doctor in Internal Medicine.”

“That is very boringly cliché,” Junsu remarked and Namjoon laughed.

“Yes so my choice of Masters is because I want to. That’s the only reason there is.”

When they were both finished, and Junsu had gotten his fresh brew to go along with warm almond honey croissants, Namjoon pulled out his credit card to pay.

Junsu stared at him until he flushed. “I’m really happy that you came. I wasn’t sure if you would. Let me pay for you, please.”

Junsu didn’t have the heart to tell him that he never paid when he came to Low Hearts.

Changmin leaned back on the park bench, and watched as people walked past, midmorning runners with headphones on, parents with strollers or holding hands with their well dressed children. It was one of the few times that Changmin gazed without thinking.

It was hard to think when he didn’t know what to think about. Or how he should start thinking about the things he should.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. He was hungry from skipping breakfast, but he couldn’t eat. He couldn’t think about eating. He couldn’t think about anything at all.

What he could remember and feel, was the sight and smell of blood, and how it felt to see someone die.

And even then, he couldn’t quite grasp every aspect of those images and memory.

He slouched further on the park bench, and closed his eyes. The heat of early morning sun felt so good on his skin, warming his cheeks and closed eyelids. And in the midst of his enjoyment, someone slapped the back of his head, jerking him into awareness.

His eyes flew open, confused, and searched for the source. Changmin spotted the one person he had been trying not to avoid and avoiding all this time.

“Yoongi,” he said incredulously, “You’re here.”

“No shit dumbass.”

“No I mean, you’re here. In front of me.”

Yoongi pushed behind his head again, and Changmin yelped, still making room for Yoongi to sit down. He didn’t.

“When you didn’t call or answer any of my fucking calls, I figured something had to be wrong. And I know you well enough that something would have you come to the park to mope.”

“I’m not moping,” he said lowly. Yoongi’s harsh look made him wince. The street racer was wearing his trademark hoodie, the black fraying piece of cloth that had seen better days, with those better days being around five years ago. Yoongi however, had never lost a race when he wore it.

“You made me worry, Changmin. I’m still worried.” Yoongi finally sat down, skinny legs spread open, letting out a deep breath as he looked at him, really looked at him. “At least you don’t look injured.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I…” Changmin thought of Jaejoong and Yunho, of the leader’s cold face and the barrel of his gun, the smell of Yunho’s cigarette smoke that made him itch for his own. He didn’t know what to say. He had wanted to tell Yoongi since he had saved Junsu, and now, nothing came out. Words couldn’t come to him as well as they usually did when they spoke. He groaned, covering his face with his hands.

“I did something dumb,” he mumbled, “And in doing so, I’m now working for the Syndicate.”

Yoongi raised his head, the material of his hood crumpling. “The Syndicate,” he said, and Changmin was forced to explain, because he knew how it sounded, how he sounded.

When he was finished, telling him about Yunho and Jaejoong and how he was now living with them, with Junsu and the other stray Jungkook, Yoongi had nothing to say, only his overbearing look that Changmin hated about him sometimes.

Yoongi bent his head and laughed. Yoongi’s laughter was never loud – he wasn’t a loud person – but his laugh continued on until he had to grip at his chest, shaking his head at the incredulity of his story.

“Sad thing is, I believe you. I can’t believe that you did that, but…Changmin…the leader of the Syndicate? His right hand man? You’re safe for now since you saved the leader’s cousin, but what happens when it isn’t? You’re dispensable to them.”

Changmin had already thought about that. Multiple times since he was brought into Jaejoong’s floor. It was why he was ready to die yesterday when he thought Jaejoong was about to kill him. That maybe, there would be consequences for telling Yoongi about the things that he was specifically forbidden to speak of.

“What about your parents? Have you called them?”

“No. You know how my father is, Yoongi. He isn’t going to miss me.”

“He would miss you. He’s your father.”

“Then you don’t know my father as well as I thought you did.”

It was a shitty thing to say, when he had really missed Yoongi and hadn’t seen him in days, but it was also truth.

“How are they treating you though?” Yoongi asked. Changmin had told him just the skeleton of the story, leaving out the little parts, like Jaejoong and Yunho’s relationship, or the way Jaejoong looked making them breakfast. He didn’t know how to share something like that, because it didn’t seem real.

“Good, really good considering everything.”

Changmin could hear Yoongi’s car keys moving around as he shifted. It made him crave the smell of burning tires, of cold nights where the air was heavy with it, with gas and cigarette smoke and loud jeers overpowering the screeching of decked out cars racing past the Alleymore street.

It was Yoongi who had named it that, a privilege of winning races and dominating nights. It was far enough from the main city, from businesses and houses that the noise wouldn’t bring trouble. Changmin had found himself in the front seat clutching on to the top of the window edge as he and Yoongi ran from police cars, and those nights were the ones that he remembered the most, wind slicing his cheeks and the burst of cold in his chest.

“I was going crazy,” he admitted, slumping further so that their shoulders touched. “I didn’t know if you’d miss me, to tell the truth. I thought that if I died, it wouldn’t matter to you.” He made sure that their eyes clashed, holding Yoongi’s gaze so that his speech wouldn’t falter. “My parents may not matter much to me. My life too, I haven’t done much, you know. I never followed my dreams. I have a shitty job. But hell, since we’ve been friends, life has been good. I can tell you all my favourite memories, and all of them are with you. Except the time I played my first MMORPG.”

A runner had her music on loud, iphone attached to her arm, the sound trailing as she glimpsed by. Changmin was momentarily distracted.

“I’m your liability now, aren’t I?” Yoongi sighed, and pulled out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Changmin asked him.

“Making some calls since I’m not sure if I’ll be going back. Even if my friend is a dumbass, he’s still my friend.”

Jungkook had seen when Junsu had came and when he left, and noted the man’s face he’d met with, a face that was vaguely familiar on passing. He was on wares and stores duty today, fingers deep in soapy coffee scented water, and then flipping through pages to make sure they had enough of everything to keep the store going.

He opened the fridge and took note, and then the cupboards below the counter, stooping to count the packs of full cream milk, soy, coconut, almond, fat free. He didn’t think so many types of milk existed. Only that there was milk and that it tasted nice. And that it was more expensive than buying ramen or cheap rice cakes.

Checking the sweeteners came next. Sugar was no longer sugar, just as milk was no longer milk. Jungkook was engrossed in the boxes of different names, only straying from his job for the day when Hosoek came into the stock room, holding up a plate with two, pale orange macaroons.

“Taehyung’s newest creation – passion fruit macaroons. He said for everyone to try it.”

It was tangy-sweet, a flavor that Jungkook oddly liked. He finished off the two when Hoseok told him he’d tasted them already, and offered to take the plate back to the washing area since it was only a few steps from where he’d been checking stocks.

When he’d left, Jungkook went into the kitchen, slipping past Jen who was balancing a tray of drinks, spotting Taehyung’s small frame jammed against the counter top kneading dough with white stained hands.

“The macaroons were good,” he told him, leaning against a stool without sitting. Taehyung didn’t jump from his sudden words, and turned to him, smiling, tired, because his other baker wasn’t back yet, and he hadn’t complained since his work load had doubled.

“I thought you might like it. I’ve been meaning to try them since last month. And well, you know how things happen.” Taehyung’s fingers squeezed and pressed the lump of solid flour, and it was strangely calming, watching him knead, following his movements.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Not sure yet. I think going to fight. Depends on what Yunho says when I get back.”

“Oh he’s back then. I didn’t see him yesterday.”

“I think he is,” answered Jungkook. He had heard his voice greeting Junsu when he was about to leave his room, and since he hadn’t seen Jaejoong for the morning, he assumed they were both tied up in Jaejoong’s quarters for an indefinite amount of time.

“Can I go with you?” Taehyung stopped kneading as he asked. “I want to see you fight.” His tongue swept across his lower lip.

Jungkook felt the familiar heat in his lower abdomen, the sort of flush that made him do things without thinking, and he was already prone to doing so. Taehyung was just the extra push.

He didn’t see a reason to say no. Especially when Yunho and Taehyung knew each other.



Jungkook picked up his clipboard, pages flapping as it shook. Taehyung didn’t have broad shoulders like Jaejoong. He was all sharp angles, overdone hair and black painted nails, and even watching him from behind, Jungkook understood what lust felt like.

He always did things because he wanted to.

It was why he had gotten into so many fights. And it was why he had won more times than he had ever lost.

Jungkook pressed up behind Taehyung, chest against his back, chin fitting into the slot of his neck and shoulder, breathing into his cheek and soft hair. He didn’t particularly dislike Taehyung. And he didn’t like him either. He did, however, enjoy the sex, the way the older man was enraptured when he came, how he liked it rough and Jungkook didn’t know how to fuck in any other way.

Taehyung’s hands stopped moving when Jungkook’s fingers squeezed his biceps, moving down his forearm to grasp his wrists, forcing him to bend his waist as he pushed closer.


The way to the kitchen was unhindered, no protection from glass or wood or steel. Jungkook rubbed his lips against his neck, opening his mouth, letting his teeth linger and scrape onto the skin there. Taehyung trembled. He felt it even in his wrists, the tremor beneath the flesh of his mouth and teeth. Jungkook bit down, hard. Taehyung keened loudly and arched backward, kept in place by Jungkook’s hands pressing on top of his own flour stained fingers.

He left a bruise there, angry, quickly turning purple-red, sucking on it to darken the stain. Jungkook was fascinated by it, how it looked, how Taehyung kept his neck crooked and how it seemed to fit as though it was always meant to be there. He let go of Taehyung’s hands, dusting the flour stains onto his shirt, and grabbed his clipboard from the counter.

“I’ll wait for you later, if you want to come watch me fight.”

Taehyung’s gaze was petulant.

“I will once I finish my batches on time,” he snapped, roughly squeezing the dough, and then decreasing the pressure to calm himself. His hands were still trembling.

Jungkook didn’t expect the retort. It was probably because Taehyung was already overworked and didn’t need distractions like Jungkook. Or it was how he reacted. Unable to negate the way his body had responded.

Taehyung wasn’t all smiles and soft words.

His stack of papers thumped as he walked back to the storeroom.

They were all seated in Jaejoong’s office – Yoochun and Yunho lounging on the couch, heavy with smoke, and Jaejoong in his padded work chair that cost almost as much as the laptop in front of him. He was content to listen to the sound of their breathing, puffing marijuana into the trapped air of the office area, still in the mellowness of the morning.

He had lain on Yunho’s shoulder for longer than he could remember, unable to count the minutes, or the hours. Jaejoong hadn’t fallen back asleep, only rested there, because it was comfortable, because it felt…it felt safe. And Jaejoong never felt safe anymore. Not since the day he had killed a man in his uncle’s kitchen. That feeling of always being ready to fight was what had kept him alive. Yet the little moments like this morning, the heavy sweetness of it made him complacent. Made him feel safe. And the harsh reality was, that Yunho had that ability. If there was ever a man that Jaejoong could trust to fight and win, it was Yunho.

Jaejoong didn’t have the luxury to feel safe. He switched his gaze to Yunho, his spread legs and polished boots, his closed eyes and un-gelled dark brown hair. Yunho was Yunho. Unpredictable. And the one man Jaejoong should never feel safe around.

Junsu’s voice was in his head. His constant reprimands. Yunho and Junsu had never gotten along, not since Junsu had found out the nature of their relationship. Of how Yunho and him had burned together and separated, only to be dragged to each other once more.

“New developments?” Jaejoong asked, when the roll in Yoochun’s hand was flickering away, and his hooded eyes finally settled on Jaejoong to pay attention.

“I didn’t have the chance to tell you earlier this morning. Two of our men are dead.”

“You didn’t find it necessary to inform me of this before smoking a blunt?”

“I needed to confirm that the information was true. And why they were killed. I needed the weed for the second part, obviously.”


“Kim Kibum, one of our infiltrators, and Ken Joss, the Japanese American who worked for the Japanese embassy last year before taking over overseas shipment.”

“Those are unrelated deaths,” said Jaejoong.

“Exactly,” Yoochun remarked. “Seemingly unrelated deaths. I don’t know who killed them. Our mystery attacker that attempted to kill you, and possibly killed the four other men that ended up on the local police radar, or AmCo.”

The unknown factor was bothering him. If Yoochun hadn’t figured it out yet, then it meant that they were dealing with someone worth dealing with. A group that could cause real trouble.

His laptop screen flickered on as he accidently tapped the touch pad. A spread sheet was up of their current businesses – their legal businesses. The illegal businesses were kept safe in Yoochun and his memory, undocumented. The profits and deficits were stored away in an unknown location by Yoochun, unnamed, coded. Jaejoong made sure that only he and Yoochun understood those codes.

Kim Kibum was the boy who had spoken to him that day. The day Jungkook had arrived. Joss was not Korean by birth but he had lived in Korea for more than half his years. He worked the docks and the warehouse, ensuring their drug shipments made it to and from Japan and Jeju. His flexibility in switching languages made him ideal for his position, and Jaejoong had given it to him because of it.

“Where were the bodies found?” he asked.

“I emailed the report to your phone. We managed to clean it up in time before the police even got a whiff. The pictures and the prelim reports should be there. The formal autopsies are underway.”

Jaejoong pulled it up. It was third in his list of emails, a delicate number balanced by incessant incoming ones and the quickness in which he deleted them. The bodies were found close to Warehouse D5. Within range of each other. Five metres apart. Joss was shot in the abdomen, right shoulder and thigh, and died from assumed cardiovascular shock from the excessive blood loss. His body was found inside the storage shed that kept the trucks running from Warehouse to Warehouse. Kim Kibum was found face down on the dirt outside Warehouse D5. There was a close up of fingerprints to his delicate neck, of the bloodstained back and shoulder and the surrounding ground. The back shot looked like an exit wound, which meant that it was a chest shot. The pictures showing his left hand confirmed it. It was blood stained, matching that of a man grasping at a gaping wound on his chest. Death, also by blood loss.

It didn’t add up.

From what he knew, there was no need for Kim Kibum and Ken Joss to have ever met before. And there was also no particular reason for either of them to be dead - with there being no other casualties.

“What if it’s neither?”

Yunho was no longer ignoring him, his rolled blunt long smoked out and gone from his fingers. There was a small flicker of acknowledgment from him that Jaejoong caught, and knew that he thought it too.

Yoochun waited for him to explain.

“Kim Kibum and Ken Joss shot each other.”


I know I promised a new chapter ages ago. Honestly I tried. But this last rotation had me so exhausted mentally and physically I couldn’t write. Not with that level of exhaustion. I should be fine now in this rotation.

New part. New things. The plot’s finally coming along. Truthfully my plots never flesh out before I start writing – they flesh themselves out and thankfully I think I’ve fifty-five percent gotten a hold of this one.

I hope you guys enjoy. J
20 May 2018 @ 04:53 pm
Hi guys.

I'm really sorry for not posting in forever. Works been pretty rough, especially this rotation I'm currently in because I hate it. I've not given up or forgotten about Burner. It is my precious baby that I enjoy writing so I'm probably going to try to churn out a chapter this week.

Thank you for always reading. :)

26 January 2018 @ 11:05 pm

Title: Burner
Series: The Syndicate
Pairing: Yunho/Jaejoong, Jungkook/Taehyung
Summary: Jaejoong is the leader of the widespread syndicate that runs underground Asia, and Yunho is his top agent and right hand man whose skills and composure are terrifying. There's Yoochun wtih a background as shrouded as his words. And Junsu the civilian cousin working as a hacker. And the new kid, Jungkook, off the street and into Jaejoong's home, put to work under cafe owner Taehyung. The threat looming stems from foreign invasion, the American Company that threatens, and is already taking over Asian soil. But there's an unknown group after the Syndicate, more personal, and directed against Jaejoong.

~ Everything for You ~

Jungkook woke to his alarm. It was the basic preset tone that came with the phone – born of Jung Industries – and was annoyingly loud and persistent. He had set it when he learned of his new job at Taehyung’s café, for everyday at six am so he didn’t have to reset it at night.

Damn good thing too.

He groaned, sitting up, dragging the soft pillow with his elbow. He leaned back, and stared at his thrown off shirt, bunched up on the ground near the door.

He didn’t remember taking off his clothes last night.

He hadn’t, except for the slip of his jeans down his hip bones and freeing his cock in front of Taehyung, pushed up against the counter. Taehyung had been free of his pants and underwear, shirt shoved high up to his neck, and he had been a sight.

A sight Jungkook remembered, explicitly remembered, even on waking.

His empty stomach and the need for good coffee – an easy thing to become accustomed to – forced him out of his room. He kept his phone in the pocket of his jeans from yesterday, throwing on a long sleeved tee that he had worn the day previously.

He hadn’t yet opened the drawers to see the full lot of clothes that had been bought for him. The cupboards and drawers were heavy with that, new clothes that smelled crisp and like money.

The thought of clothes reminded him of yesterday. His music player. His pair of gloves. The matching head phones Taehyung coerced him into buying. The plastic bag had been placed somewhere on the stretch of tables and forgotten when Jungkook had left the café sometime after midnight.

Jaejoong was up and in the heart of the apartment floor, standing in front of the large glass wall beside the kitchen, looking out into the city. He held a mug with one hand, and the other tucked into an armpit. The look he gave was pensive. A look that Jungkook couldn’t place.

“Morning,” he said, quietly so as not to disturb Jaejoong’s peaceful brooding. He made himself a cup of coffee, taking it on one of the stools in the kitchen, ignoring the phone that laid less than an arms breadth away. He never had the habit of fiddling with mobile phones. Without data, friends, or the time to play games, it was more of a luxury that he was even able to get one, cheap and well used.

This one was brand new. And he had met the owner of it, of the company that was filthy rich off of Korea’s obsession with new mobile devices.

Jungkook sipped his coffee, glancing at Jaejoong.

“You okay?”

He was different this morning. Muted. Serious. He hadn’t known the man long so he couldn’t tell which were his normal emotions, his set personality traits.

“There is nothing concerning,” he replied, turning to him. “I’m waiting.”

“Yunho? I know he went off somewhere yesterday. Is he due back today?”

“He’s due back soon,” Jaejoong answered.

Jungkook stopped himself from asking anything else. He didn’t need to know anything else, about where Yunho went, or what the mission was. He wasn’t important enough. He was a stray dog lucky enough to be this close to the leader, stuck in his home because there was no where else to house him.

He made sure to remember that.

“Do you want breakfast?” Jaejoong asked suddenly. He was in a long robe that moved when he did, slacks and a thin tee, fuzzy bedroom slippers clacking on the tiles. The domesticity of it, his image, his words, made Jungkook freeze. “Jungkook.”

“Yeah. Sure. I could eat.”

Jaejoong’s wry smile made his face heat. He hadn’t babbled in years. Not since his first encounter with an older woman, unsure of the methods of pleasure.

“I didn’t expect you to know how to cook,” he said casually.

“Because crime lords don’t eat, right?” Jaejoong took out ingredients from the fridge, butter, eggs, a glass bottle of milk.

“Well, I don’t know much about crime lords,” Jungkook grinned.

In the middle of sifting flour, and Jungkook’s cup of coffee already empty, Jaejoong spoke.

“I like cooking. I’ve been cooking since I was younger. Before my elevation.”

“I can make simple stuff,” said Jungkook. “But most of my meals were ramen and ingredients aren’t cheap. It’s easier to buy cheap shit in the grocery that’s ready made than actual ingredients that’ll spoil because of a fridge I didn’t have.”

Jungkook never had anyone make him pancakes before. American pancakes, the type they sold in restaurants and what he’d seen people order in Taehyung’s café. He said yes to chocolate chips even though Jaejoong had already begun throwing them into the mixture, separated out into three bowls. One he watched him add blueberries, the other, with a fancy oatmeal mix he called muesli.

Changmin had impeccable timing as he came in, sniffing the air until he saw fresh pancakes laid out, reaching to it before he greeted them and speared three onto a plate.

“You looked like the type that’d cook,” he told Jaejoong, swinging his long legs and squeezed pure maple syrup onto his tower of pancakes. He was more accustomed to this, and Jungkook watched him and copied his actions, dusting powdered sugar, adding the fresh chopped fruit, and unsweetened cream.

He cut into it slowly, his layered two, covered with some syrup and bit into it with a small piece of fruit and cream. He had a few more bites, and then more, forgetting about his second cup of coffee until his plate was empty. Jaejoong was staring at him with such a soft expression that he looked away, embarrassed.

“There’s more,” he said, and Jungkook nodded, taking from the refilled stack on the table.

“Junsu’s not here?” Changmin asked.

“In an hour or two,” Jaejoong answered. “I have somewhere to be today,” he told him, the last of the pancake mixture on the stove, wiping his hands on a cream coloured towel. “Get ready for half eight.”

Junsu hated morning classes. He was not a morning person, but neither was he prone to having a preference for evening hours. He worked with his own schedule, which was based entirely on when he got chance to sleep.

When he wasn’t doing work for the Syndicate, he was doing other jobs. For companies, legit high order companies that paid damn good for hackers and someone with his particular skills. He always screened them through Yoochun, and took job orders without ever meeting face to face.

One such job had him up throughout the night, forgoing sleep and stuck in his childhood bedroom, writing a program for Calinton Works, a new company in the oil industry who hired him for a last minute job and Junsu stupidly accepting. He was the only programmer cum hacker that accepted.

Re: last minute job.

He could have skipped classes. But he didn’t like to.

It was something he regretted, today, unable to leave after his early morning class because his afternoon classes were rescheduled before twelve, and Jaejoong had messaged him concerning pancakes and he really, really liked Jaejoong’s pancakes.

He made dumb decisions. Like deciding to do his Masters and a Minor.

Junsu tapped his pen on the desk, ignoring the snide look from the girl sitting next to him. He wasn’t in the mood to be people friendly.

Jaejoong was rubbing off on him.

There was nothing urgent for him to do, concerning the Syndicate. It meant that after his classes he could hole up in his room in his and Jaejoong’s level and sleep until some asshole decided to wake him up.

Re: another last minute job.

Because Junsu always accepted them. Always.

The short time forced him to work harder. Better. Finding new ways to do things. Improved ways.

And it created contacts. Networking. Good standing with old companies and new. Just incase the Syndicate needed them.

Junsu never told it to Jaejoong. But he knew that Jaejoong had always known.

He groaned, pressing his head to the new cup of coffee he had the luxury of getting in between classes, and stabbed his pen into the desk.

“Fuck you,” he told his seat mate. “I’m tired.”

The professor’s voice droned on in the background, and Junsu halfway listened.

“Then you shouldn’t be doing the things that you do at night.”

It was a male voice, and Junsu stilled, head still pressing against the paper cup. He knew the female student was sitting next to him since the last lecture, but the seat to his right had been empty.

He got up, and turned his head.

He was greeted with a broad grin.

Driving was cathartic. He knew that some people found it anxiety inducing, uncertainty, death, injury from reckless drivers and drunk drivers. But there was a thrill to it, if you liked it. Peace, from loving it.

It was how, Changmin surmised, that he was able to find normalcy out his situation. It was easy to forget about his office job, falling into the lull of waking to a modern apartment suite and acting as the personal chauffeur for a drug lord. His mouth quirked, as he glanced at Jaejoong from the rearview mirror.

Not a drug lord. Crime Lord. Syndicate Master. He didn’t know much about the Syndicate to know if they dealt in drugs.

And he wasn’t naïve enough to think that they might not have been.

It was nice. As far off as it could be with loss of contact with everyone he had ever known. One person really. Just one. And he couldn’t chance calling him again. Even from a payphone.

Jaejoong made him stop off at a high-rise building, one he passed sometimes if he took the longer route to work. It was a corporate building, dealing in house refurbishing and furniture sourcing. Changmin waited in the car.

He slumped lower on the back rest, sending the seat low until he was near lying down. The new mobile phone in his pocket burned his thigh. Just the thought of it.

What would really happen if he called Yoongi again? Yoongi was a better driver than he was. A practiced one. Took more risks.

There would be only two possible outcomes if he gave in. They would kill him. Or they would force him to join.

As lonesome as Yoongi liked to pretend that he was, he had friends. A life. One that he was perfectly content with. Happy with. He couldn’t destroy that. Yoongi was never like him, who settled for a comfortable job with a decent pay and lived a boringly routine life.

Changmin was opening a fresh pack of cigarettes when Jaejoong got in. He smoked as he drove him to the next location, another corporate building, life insurance. He wondered if Jaejoong was doing it out of spite.

It continued like that, smoking and driving until nearing one in the afternoon. Jaejoong made them stop at a small time restaurant that specialized in beef bone soup. Changmin wouldn’t have stayed in the car even if Jaejoong had asked him to. Smoking only curbed his hunger minimally. Meaning not at all.

It was easy to be quiet around Jaejoong. The morning had passed without conversation, except Jaejoong’s commands on where to drive to and when to stop. The lack of conversation eased when they settled in at a wooden table, and Jaejoong gestured for him to order what he liked.

“You’re not having anything?” Changmin asked when he didn’t look at the menu.

“I eat the same meal every time I come here. They don’t need to come take my order.”

“How long’s that?” he asked, looking around the shop. It was homely, small. The tables were old, but they were all in use. The inside was nothing but steam and the smell of food.

“A long time,” Jaejoong answered, sly looking as he propped his elbow onto the table.

Changmin ordered the beef bone soup and a bowl of rice, and a serving of bulgogi.

“So is this your favourite restaurant or there are others?”

“One of my few favourites,” he admitted. “Ahjumma would cook anything I ask for. Even for things I can make myself.”

Changmin dipped his spoon into the earthen bowl when it came. “But wouldn’t someone target this place? No offense,” he stated hurriedly, “Just…if you frequent one shop enough, whatever enemies you have, they’d realize it, right? I don’t really know how crime shit works but it’s what I would have tracked.”

“It happened once.”

Jaejoong was staring right at him. Changmin shivered. He hadn’t expected Jaejoong’s anger from his statement.

“Get up.”


Jaejoong didn’t repeat his words. He didn’t have to. Changmin scrambled up, barely noticing the tossed bills on the table, only Jaejoong’s hard eyes and face.

“Sir is there a–”

Jaejoong stepped past the worker, and Changmin feebly followed. He stood in front of the door to the driver’s seat, staring stupidly and waiting until Jaejoong was in, and then opened.

He remained seated, turning on the ignition and waited.

“Drive to the side street.”

Changmin nodded, gripping the steering wheel tight enough that his fingers had gone numb. The numbness was in his chest too. He was shit scared. Fucking shit scared. He shouldn’t have opened his mouth. He knew what he was in. He knew. Dumb ass Shim Changmin who always kept on making the wrong decisions in life.

Like when he gave up pro gaming to become an office worker, all because he was too scared to oppose his parents.

He stopped when he turned, a metre and half from the corner. The partition between the driver’s and the passenger’s seat was still down. He was avoiding looking in the rear view mirror.

He heard a gun being loaded.

He still couldn’t look up or turn around. He was staring at how white his fingers had gotten, clenching around the steering wheel so tight. He thought about his father. His bitter words even when he had pursued an unconventional Korean day job. Yoongi. Would Yoongi miss him? Probably. Probably not. Changmin wasn’t that important to him.

“They put mushrooms in my soup.”

And his mother. The all consuming bastard of a woman. Evil in the form of a petite fourty year old and red hair.

And mushrooms.

Changmin lifted his head. “Huh? Mushrooms?”

“I’m allergic to mushrooms.”

“You are? That sucks. Mushrooms make everything taste better.” Changmin stopped. “I’d rather not know what you’re allergic to before you kill me. That’s sorta brutal you know, telling me that.”

“I’m not going to kill you. They’ve never put mushrooms in my soup before.”

Changmin heard the unsaid words. “You’re going to kill them?” he sounded out.

Jaejoong answered by opening the car door and stepping out. He didn’t tell Changmin to follow him. But he didn’t order him not to. He was out of the car with the keys digging into his palm, rubbing bruises into his skin as he rushed to follow Jaejoong.

There were things that were only images in a person’s head, credited by imagination, fiction, what one saw on television. Crime lords, he figured, would look like one. You’d look at one and just know.

When he first saw Jaejoong, the thinness and blonde hair and his face, the way he grabbed onto Junsu with care, he wasn’t the person from his drawn up preconceived thoughts.

The Jaejoong in front of him was.

It was the long trench coat that lifted as he walked. The gun that Changmin knew he had.  The bare promise of death uttered as though it was only normal.

Jaejoong went in through the back door. It was an old door, worn down with the years and lacking a fresh coat of paint and varnish. It hadn’t been locked. The area was full of small family businesses. A community of lower class to middle class folks that banded together because they were in the same deepening crevice.

Changmin wasn’t given time to react when Jaejoong shot the first man he saw. One shot to the head. A woman screamed, crouching to the ground with her palms slapped on top of her ears.

Jaejoong shot the next one before he could fire his own gun, and the young boy searing beef on the cast iron skillet. He slumped, hand knocking the handle and the skillet clattered to the ground, beef smoking on his thigh where it landed.

He didn’t see or hear the woman coming through the back door, natural blonde hair, American. The brightest red lips. She reached for Jaejoong, and he twisted his body, grappling for her arm and turning it as he moved. She cried out. Jaejoong hooked her throat with the curve of his arm, the inside of his elbow, forcing away voluntary airflow.

Changmin watched as she struggled to breathe. JAejoong didn’t appear to fancy torturous deaths. Changmin wanted to close his ears up as he snapped her neck. He couldn’t stop watching the way her body fell, limp, motionless rag doll with disfigured anatomy.

Jaejoong motioned for the girl to stand, the same girl crouched by the kitchen cupboards, shakily removing her hands from her ears.

“Did you put the mushrooms in my soup?”

“Kata ahjumma made me do it,” she whined, reaching for his hand. Jaejoong allowed the contact. “They made us…”

“I know.” He squeezed her trembling fingers briefly, and released them. “Where is she?”

“In the storeroom. They locked her inside when they saw you.”

Jaejoong searched the kitchen until he saw it, the lot of silver keys bunched together, on the ground near the edge of the sink. He picked it up, slipped his gun underneath his belt, and opened the door.

“How many men were here when we came?”

The woman’s breathing was raspy. “Four.”

Changmin looked at the bodies and counted four. The worker woman’s face was pasty white.

‘When we came.’.

Changmin looked again. The three men and the woman who–

He yanked his head as he turned to watch the door open. Jaejoong grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him out of the way. The air cut sharp a few centimetres from his arm, the bullet thudding into the wall and imprinting a deep-grey splotch.

The next bullet came, taking the same path just shy of the first. Jaejoong slipped into the room right after the impact, firing his own gun that had the fourth man screaming out. Changmin had to see. He kept flat to the wall and looked in.

The man was not purely South Korean, and held onto his bleeding arm, muttering curses in English as he eyed his fallen gun. Changmin jumped as he heard and saw the second gun shot. The right arm this time. His arms hung at his sides, darkening his shirt and the floor beneath him. His frame started to wobble.

Changmin finally saw past him. Saw past his fresh blood and onto the less fresh puddle stretching out on the floor-boards and soaking into the wood. He saw the matted ash-grey hair, the wrinkles on tanned skin, a feeble, lifeless hand and a new bright green apron.

Jaejoong’s arms moved. The gun was gone, and there was a flash of something else. The half Korean opened his hand and spread his arms as far as he could, laughing as winced.

“She’s dead. He knew that she was important to you. A fucking old woman. The leader of the Syndicate and you’re friends with a fucking granny. Fucking shot my arms man. Don’t look like a boss. Did your friend kill the other men for you?”

There was an undercurrent of nervousness in his voice, thickened with sheer bravado.

“Close the door,” said Jaejoong.

Both Changmin and the worker hurried to do so.

Changmin slumped against the door, and listened.

He had to learn.

There was a pattern now in how he and Hoseok worked. They both served until the crowd dimmed down, and then took turns between serving and cleaning down the tables and toting the dirty wares into the back to be washed. It was a leisurely routine that Jungkook liked.

He carefully settled the ceramic cup of Butterscotch Latte and another of Low Hearts Special Hot Chocolate in front of a couple, leaving a tiny stack of pink printed napkins next to the saucers. A custom he picked up on as the hours went by.

It was a busy day. From the morning crowd to mid morning late goers and into lunch. Jungkook didn’t know what time it was, having not yet checked his phone. Hoseok was taking orders from another table, his voice carrying over.

Jungkook glanced the counter, walking across to grab the tray of smoked salmon Panini and turkey bacon wrap. Most of the things he was serving he had never tasted or heard of.

The repetitive work made it easier to miss Taehyung. When he’d arrived, Taehyung was stuck in the kitchen, and hadn’t yet left it with the stream of customers flowing through. His parcel however, was tucked in his work cupboard, tacked with a sticky paper with his name and a heart on it.

Jungkook had tossed it away.

He had wiped the counter twice before he started waiting tables. The counter was no longer a counter, but a landmark. Of Taehyung’s shaking arms and curved back, the way his ass cheeks trembled as Jungkook fucked him. It had been so good and Taehyung had been so damn loud that Jungkook didn’t know he liked that, until it had happened. He hadn’t appreciated vocal partners before.

The three of them – he, Hoseok and the other girl he hadn’t learned the name of – rotated their lunch shift. When she came back, Hoseok held his abdomen and shouted that he’d be back in a half hour.

An hour after, when Hoseok returned seeming pleasantly full and chasing Jungkook away for food, the customer flow dwindled, and he was reminded of the emptiness in his stomach. He stopped by his work locker, taking out the headphones that he’d bought yesterday. He had tonight to download music and transfer it to his Ipod.

Right. He forgot. He needed a laptop. He could afford a laptop.

The kitchen was right next to the changing room, opening into the corridor. He stepped in, surprised to see Taehyung alone, scrambling eggs on the stove. Taehyung didn’t notice him standing there.

He watched him plate up an egg and mozzarella cheese sandwich, spiced mustard-mayo, spinach, thin sliced tomatoes and vinegary onion slices, stacked on top of warm toasted bread. It was the last lunch order he remembered taking, aside from the cakes and savoury items from out in the display case.

Jungkook knew when Taehyung saw him, the small smile and tired eyes, pushing the plate out for Hoseok to serve.

“Hey Kookie.”

He winced at the nickname. “Hey. How come it’s you alone in the kitchen today?”

“AJ’s sick. Suyeon’s on vacation leave. It’s a good thing I started early this morning. I knew it was gonna be a busy day.” He propped his elbows on the counter, body dipping. “My hips hurt. A lot. Do you know how hard it was to recover with three hours sleep?”

Jungkook was thinking how to answer. His empty stomach answered for him.

Taehyung’s wide smile was there again, a small flash of pain as he straightened. He had ingredients already separated, and it took him two minutes to put together another smoked salmon Panini, slipping it delicately onto a serving plate and dragging it across to where Jungkook stood.

“Your lunch. I do cook for my workers you know. They all know that. Hoseok usually feels guilty. Jen usually leaves to meet up with her man.”

Taehyung sat as he watched him eat, sleepy eyed, fingers playing with the line of seasoning bottles on the table. The worker that manned the cashier came in with a mug of coffee, handing it to Taehyung who grasped it gratefully.

“Thanks Shin-ah.”

He was allowed to eat in silence. He had been expecting Taehyung to ramble on, like he was accustomed to doing. But he was silent, soft looking. His eyes were heavy with fatigue.

“It was good,” said Jungkook, hip leaning against the edge of the table. “Thanks for the sandwich.”

“Of course it was good.” Taehyung was radiant. He put his coffee down. His fingers, long and thin, left his coffee mug to touch the material of Jungkook’s shirt, latching on and tugging him closer, downwards. Jungkook let him. Their faces were too close to each other.

“I really wanted to kiss you when came in this morning,” he told him, fingers rubbing into his shirt. His bottom lip brushed his mouth, touching, not yet a kiss. Jungkook watched his closed eyes, the thin eyelashes, and brought his hand to cup behind his head and neck, swallowing Taehyung’s mouth.

Taehyung allowed him control of the kiss before kissing back, pushing against him, teeth closing in to nip at his lips. Jungkook bit Taehyung’s lower lip out of spite.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked, licking the cut that marked his mouth. The bruise suited him.

“I’m not sure yet,” Jungkook replied. “It depends on Yunho.”

“Oh? Are you working with Yunho too? He’s my second favourite, after leader.”

“You could say that.”

“I guess I’ll sleep tonight then.” He said it dismally. Jungkook pulled on the hair by his neck to snap him out of it. “Ow!”

“You’ll survive.”

“I doubt it.” Taehyung’s knee was dangerously close to his jeans crotch. “Give me your number.”

“I guess.” Jungkook pulled out his phone. Taehyung was staring expectantly at him. He didn’t actually know his own phone number. He pulled up the list of contacts, letting out a sigh when he saw that the person who inputted the few numbers for him had added his own.

He handed it to Taehyung.

“I’m putting my number in too,” he said. Even when he was sleep deprived he did everything exuberantly. Maybe it was because of their closeness in age. Maybe it was the fact that it was hard to dislike him. Or because Taehyung was good-looking in the ridiculous, symmetrical way, almost doll like.

Jungkook accepted his company. He shoved his phone back into his pocket, and came off the edge of the counter.

“I’m going back in front,” he told Taehyung.

“You haven’t taken your full lunch break. Lunch breaks are given for a reason.”

“Today’s a busy day. And I like working.” He kept his head phones in his pocket too, heading out to the tables that weren’t cleaned yet.

“Finished already?” Hoseok was taken aback. “That was like…ten minutes.”

Jungkook shrugged, and grabbed a cloth from the workstation.

“I ate.”

Hoseok didn’t pursue it anymore, shrugging it off too, humming as worked.

Yunho went straight up to Jaejoong’s level. Yoochun had been there to meet him in the Warehouse, coming off the plane with an empty stomach and riled up from too many cups of coffee. He was in need of a bath and food and something other than Japanese sweets.

The taste and smell of blood was still on him. Yoochun had slapped him on the back despite the state of clothes, gesture of congratulations because he had won, they had won.

There was never any doubt that Yunho would fail a mission.

Yamashita had thanked him at lengths, shocked that the Osaka facility was gone, shocked that he couldn’t contain himself because he was pleased. There was a suitcase of Japanese wine and sake, sweets and skincare products for him and Jaejoong, and clothes, a gift to the Syndicate leader, because Jaejoong loved Japanese fashion as much as he did Korean. The times were different now. Gang members were stylish. No matter the occupation, Yunho had always seen men and women dressed fashionably.

Even the poorer ones. It was how culture worked.

Jaejoong hated that he never messaged or called after missions, showing up to his office or bedroom when he felt like it. Jaejoong also knew that he would never change that.

His office was empty, the light on in the kitchen cum living room. The bedroom then. Even if Jaejoong was out he always waited in his bedroom. It was nicer.

The cold air hit him as the door opened, the darkness of the room, Jaejoong’s figure lying on the couch, curled into the back rest. His pants and dress shirt were black, blending in to the leather couch, a vague silhouette that didn’t move as he walked on the short stretch of carpet on the tiling.

Yunho brought his fingers to Jaejoong’s back, scratching lightly through the dark silk. He shifted on the couch, turning onto his back and heaving himself up onto the arm rest.

“How did it go?” he asked quietly.

Yunho took seat on the edge barely unoccupied by Jaejoong’s toes, gripping his ankles to push his legs further across. His skin was cold.

“It’s gone. Yamashita owes you multiple favours now.”

He avoided the added ‘because of me’. Jaejoong knew best about how the world worked. About life and death. Profit and loss. Trickery and survival.

Jaejoong only nodded. There was no joy to his expression, just quiet. He had heavy eyes, a forlorn atmosphere. As he lifted his head Yunho could see it too, amidst the sorrow – there was anger.

He trailed his fingers up his bony ankle, his right ankle, the one closest to the edge of the couch. They went up into the end of his pants, just to the lower calf.

“Remember the first time I carried you to eat beef bone soup?”

Yunho lifted his leg, grip around his calf, and kissed the top of Jaejoong’s foot. A shiver, like a marching tremble, passed through his skin.

“I do. I still go sometimes. The owner has never forgotten me.”

She still tried every time he frequented to get him to call her ahjumma. The only person he could spare familiar terminology for was his mother. And it had taken him years, for it to pass his lips and allow his mother some reprieve.

“It’s still the best beef soup I ever got to eat. Even the one I make doesn’t taste quite like how she made it.”

His lips left the skin of his foot. Jaejoong’s phrasing was odd, voice too light. He was leaning over the arm rest, looking up at the ceiling.

“How did she die?” He questioned.

“Blunt trauma. Repeated lashes to the head. She was an ahjumma. Kids these days are disgusting.”

“There is no code to live by,” Yunho reminded him, “Not a moral one.”

Jaejoong made a noise, that he knew too, that regardless of innocence death came to all. The difference was in contacts. She was important to Jaejoong. Something constant. She was something that could be destroyed to get to him.

“You’re sad.”

Yunho fixed himself to hover over Jaejoong, one leg in between his, the other trapped between Jaejoong’s left knee and the back rest.

Jaejoong looked at him instead of answering. He watched back, at the pale face, darkened under eyes, the little streaks of black from his scalp that blended into bleached blonde.

It was difficult to describe how he felt about Jaejoong. What he thought of him. He couldn’t put into words, or reasons, or whys. It was just that Jaejoong was Jaejoong. And he couldn’t really imagine life without him, except a boring one. Years ago, Jaejoong had asked him if he had loved him. It was a moment of weakness, of vulnerability. When they had sex more than they killed, and Jaejoong was so pliable to his looks and words and kisses. He was still so, but those years had been different. The early years of the new Syndicate.

Yunho had said no. He hadn’t lied. And Jaejooong had known that.

Yunho didn’t particularly understand the word love. He understood care, and want, and needs. There was little he cared for, and even less he needed. Wants were always there, changing by day, always attainable. Life was only that, a list of wants that humans struggled through.

Jaejoong was a want. He was the young boy in class with a fair face and ignored his father’s background. He was the first person he had wanted to kiss. He was the first person he needed to fuck. And he was the second person that he cared for. One of the only two.

“I’m going to kill them all,” Jaejoong murmured, a promise, a sweet promise from his lips that Yunho bent to kiss, open mouthed, firm into soft. His palms covered Jaejoong’s face, thumb shifting his chin upward, swallowing more of his noises, his breaths, his swelling anger.

He let him, this time. To keep kissing. Nothing but his mouth and Jaejoong’s urgency. His own need.

It was a fragility he kept sheltered. One that he needed to. It was because Yunho knew Jaejoong from before the birth of the New Syndicate, birth of a new leader, before his rise in the organization he was forced into. Softness hardened by blood. Death and survival was a poison that never left, but so did the before.

“Carry me to the bed,” said Jaejoong. His please was the light graze of his teeth, and the way he looked at Yunho like he was his everything.

It was the look Yunho found Jaejoong looked the best in.


This chapter’s longer than the norm. There were a lot of things that needed to be addressed (like finally writing a proper summary). I think the good thing about taking a break from this fic is learning that it’s easier now to make the characters more real. Jaejoong, despite being the leader of the Syndicate, is human. And he has never claimed to be anything but that. Emotions are human. And so is revenge.

On a better side note, I just needed to say that Jung Yunho is still the most gorgeous man in the world and he’s gotten better looking with age and I CAN’T.

17 January 2018 @ 10:40 pm
Title: With You
Pairing: Jungkook/Taehyung
Rating: PG


Jungkook liked when night time came around, liked the soft lull of late hours, dark out and everything gentle. The way the bed sheets, new, expensive, felt against his skin, fresh out of the shower and dimmed lights in his bedroom. He opened his window some nights, to smell the city air and glance at the speckle of lights glinting in the distance, ignoring the air conditioning remote.

And some nights, there was Taehyung, sleepy eyes, crooked, soft smile as he shuffled into his room, taking up space on his bed as if it were his own. He belonged there, on his bed, more so than his own. Those nights Jungkook watched Taehyung instead of the city buildings, smelled the soap he used and unique Taehyung scent.

When the digital clock flickered past midnight, and then one, maybe two, Jungkook was curled on the bed next to him, fingers underneath his shirt, tracing the honeyed flatness of his belly, the dip of softness just above his groin. Taehyung always let out little sighs of content, wriggling back into Jungkook, arching his neck like a preening cat that begged for more attention.

And Jungkook would give him that. He would give Taehyung everything.

It wasn’t always about sex. He fell asleep often to mouthing kisses on Taehyung’s neck, forgetting to close the window and Taehyung forgetting too because he was too busy warming his cold toes into Jungkook’s shin. They would both wake up in the morning with frosty noses and Jungkook groaning protests into Taehyung’s back, because he hated waking up, hated mornings, loved when Taehyung played with his hair and then dug his toes into his abdomen to torture him into wakefulness.

Some mornings, when it was five am and the sun just above their apartment, and the pattering of Jin and Namjoon could be heard outside his door, he would sit on his bed and stare glumly out, music player on, Taehyung’s long fingers controlling the stream, and then into his hair, soft, scratching, making him fall in love all over again.

And when Taehyung kissed him, mouthing along his lips to a Jay Park song from his track list, he laughs, because he can’t imagine himself any happier than this.

Of course my first BTS fic is a drabble.
21 September 2017 @ 02:56 am

Hello Stranger
It’s the last pack of Marlboro in the side street 24 hour shop. Chaos ensues. Well, not really.




It was one am and Jaejoong had forgotten to eat. It was the alarmingly loud noise stemming from his stomach that stopped him during a coding session, looking away from his laptop screen of mixed letters and strewn in numbers, to stare at where the loose shirt covered his abdomen.

Forgetting to eat was becoming a habit. He had rice and kimchi and beef stew in the fridge, but at one in the morning, a smoke and ramyun sounded better than actual food - though he thought ramyun was perfectly fine food since it went in his stomach.

He had a hoodie on and tied up his boots to trudge out in the night, still littered with people and cars. Night life in Seoul was always noisy, from conversations and music, the new club opened up a few blocks away, the pc cafes on both sides of the street that he lived on.

He lived in one of the apartment complexes for moderate priced rent, too expensive for the poor man to afford, probably cheap for a rich man. It was big enough for him alone, nice enough to live in as he worked from home, suffering his carpal tunnel syndrome and forever blinking eyes from looking at the laptop screen.

Programming wasn’t a bad job. It was monotonous, and it suited him.

Inside the twenty-four hour shop was bright, like everything else at night in Seoul. He went for a spicy pork rib container, shoved it onto the counter and pointed to the last pack of Marlboro on the rack.

“I’ll take the Marlboro.”

Jaejoong was sure those words didn’t come from him.

A tall man stood next to him, buttoned up royal blue shirt, pressed hair and just a bit of darkness above his mouth. Jaejoong did not take well to strangers stealing his last pack of smokes.

“I was already in the process of buying it,” said Jaejoong.

“In the process,” said the man. “You haven’t bought it yet.”

Jaejoong made himself inhale and exhale. Starting a fight at sometime past one was not wise. Certainly not.

“I’m at the cashier. Just cash me the pack of smokes will you?” he asked the teenager (probably early twenties and struggling) staring at them with tired eyes. The kid didn’t need their shit during his night shift.

“I asked first. Look, I need it. I’m pulling an all-nighter for my new thesis. I need something else besides caffeine.”

“Poor you. You’re not the only one pulling all nighters buddy.”

“We’ll split it,” said the man. “Please.”

Jaejoong was hungry, tired, in need of coffee and a smoke. Shit, he forgot the can of black coffee. He forgot he was out of brew coffee. He had to wait till morning to buy the expensive pack he usually bought. He couldn’t settle for shitty brew.

He sighed, rubbing his burning eyes.

“If you grab me a can of black coffee, consider it done.”

The smile he received was too much, and he turned away, taking up the plastic bag to go to the side table facing outside. The man had paid for both their coffees, and like himself, he had a container of ramen, beef flavoured.

“Your coffee,” he said, opening it and sliding it over.


“I have an empty pack,” the man told him, digging into his pocket, and throwing out the empty packet. He took the two containers to pour hot water into them, grabbing two pairs of chopsticks as Jaejoong separated out an equal amount of smokes. Only because he could smell the desperation.

It wasn’t because the stranger was handsome with an annoyingly charming smile.

“I’m wondering what else you’d do for a smoke,” said Jaejoong, grinning when the man sat back down and placed the container in front of him, chopsticks settled onto the thin paper cover.

“Yunho, name’s Yunho,” he said, “And honestly, anything right about now. I hate all-nighters. Especially when I have a client at eight and then more, whole day.”

Jaejoong felt sympathy at that. At least he could sleep for a few hours whenever he wanted. He didn’t have a physical work place to go to. Well he had one, he just opted to work from home since he worked wherever his laptop was.

“That sucks. What is it that you do?”

“I’m a psychiatrist.”


“What about you?” asked Yunho, opening his own can of coffee and attacking it.

“Computer programmer. I work by requests. Design web pages, programs, help with security detail, those things.”

“That sounds cool,” said Yunho, and Jaejoong could tell that he meant it.

“What’s your thesis on?” he asked, when his coffee was halfway through, and peeked into his ramyun to feel the heat escape onto his face. He dug his broken chopsticks in, mixing in the soup base and seasoning.

“The effects of coffee on the long term outcome of Major Depressive Disorder patients.”

Jaejoong liked hot ramyun at night. The coffee was more lukewarm than cold, and Yunho answered questions without rambling. Jaejoong liked men like that. They ate in silence, Yunho lighting up a smoke after checking for a no-smoking sign. He hadn’t finished eating, but he slouched forward, looking out the glass wall, resting his cheek on his palm as he leisurely smoked.

When his stomach was warm and filled with noodles, he lit up his own smoke, enjoying the peace of night, the quiet lull inside the twenty-four hour shop, only the teenager’s fingertips pressing on his mobile phone, Yunho’s breathing as he held the smoke between his fingers.

Jaejoong was a boring man. And he was content with that. He was content with his three friends, with living alone in his well enough apartment, and he liked his job. He wasn’t a person that needed constant human interaction to feel happiness. He also, liked men. And he was never shy about that particular aspect of himself.

It was a while since he met a man that could keep his silence.

“Do you like men Yunho?” he asked, tapping onto the ash tray that the teenager had grudgingly brought when he saw them smoking. He knew they could go outside, but it was somehow different, watching out through a glass separator, being kept from darkness and noise and night wind.

Yunho was surprised by his question. It was in the way his eyebrows raised, and corner of his mouth going upwards into an amused grin. Yunho finished his smoke before answering.

“I’m partial to both men and women.”

“I see.”

Yunho opened back his container, chopsticks in his hand as he finished it. Jaejoong watched outside as he ate, drinking out his can of coffee.

“I may be partial to a man as attractive as yourself,” he said, lips wet with soup, a flicker of seasoning just there on his lower lip. “When I’m not dying over my thesis, of course.”

“I thought it’d be especially as you’re dying,” Jaejoong told him, suddenly unsure if he should rub off the green speck on Yunho’s mouth. He wasn’t good at thinking when it came to conquests, to romance. The small amount of time with Yunho told him that he was a man that knew what he wanted. And Jaejoong didn’t know if Yunho would want him to touch him, a stranger that stole the last pack of Marlboro.

Yunho licked it away.

“Might be true,” he admitted, “But when I start focusing on something, I’m not good at leaving it. My attention’s going to be on finishing my thesis.”

Jaejoong felt the small sting of disappoint. The rest of him understood. The logical part of him.

His phone screen read off 2:06am.

He should head back. He should also buy another can of coffee or two before morning.

“I’ll be done with my thesis by the end of the week.”

Jaejoong stopped shoving the empty coffee can into his ramyun container. The opened plastic bag was in his other hand, and Yunho dumped his garbage in it.

“So my attention will be fully on you then, if you want.”

He handed Jaejoong his phone. “Put your number in. I’ll go buy us some more coffee. If I need it, then you might.”

Jaejoong stared at the smart phone left on the table. He glanced at the cashier boy, at his obscene smile while watching them.

At least they were some entertainment during his work hours.

When he entered his number, he realized he had yet to tell Yunho his name. He waited until Yunho returned, accepting the plastic bag, and handing him back his phone.

“Why didn’t you ask me my name?”

“You would have told me it if you wanted me to know it.”

Jaejoong knuckles unconsciously covered his mouth, and turned to throw away the bag of garbage.

“I forgot,” he said, as they walked to the door. “I forgot to tell you my name.”

Yunho laughed, opening the door.

“You know my name, and I have your number. I’m sure that’s an even trade. I’ll find out your name when I finish my thesis. How’s that?”

Jaejoong felt the little warmth in his cheeks, despite the wash of cool air.

“I don’t mind,” he said, holding up his bag to wave. “Later then, Yunho. Good luck with your thesis.”

“Good bye stranger,” waved Yunho.

Jaejoong walked away, eyes closing in embarrassment, happy with the warmth in his cheeks and his belly. The coffee cans clanked as the plastic bag swung with his steps, and beside him, cars drove by, keeping up the strew of city noise.

A glance back showed him Yunho’s from, the pressed hair reaching his collar, taking the opposite direction.

Jaejoong tugged the hood over his head, and continued home.

12 September 2017 @ 02:24 pm

Title: Burner
Series: The Syndicate
Pairing: Yunho/Jaejoong, Jungkook/Taehyung
Summary: Jaejoong is the leader of the widespread syndicate that runs underground Asia, and Yunho is his top agent and right hand man whose skills and composure are terrifying. The Korean Syndicate is under heat from the American company's invasion, and Jaejoong has his hands full, with protecting his people, and trying to control Yunho, the man that cannot be controlled.

~ Judgement ~

The group of Syndicate agents travelling with him were from Squad S. Jaejoong had promised Yamashita the best and undoubtedly went through with it. They were quiet at least, with him seated next to them, glancing at him when they thought he was unaware of it. Squad S and Squad A had been on a few missions with him when necessary, and they knew enough of his personality to leave him alone, making them tolerable to work with.

Travelling at night was always nice. The air itself was cooler, and looking out through the small slotted windows into the darkness was a peace that was nonreplicable on land.

Yunho really wanted a smoke on a night like this.

“Mr. Jung, would you like anything?” The air hostess hired for the private jet was one of two that passed to be able to work for the company flights. Yunho had taken them for his private jet when his chief operating officer had recommended them.

“Coffee I guess.”

“Right away sir.”

Yunho glanced at the faces of Squad S. He had seen most of them before, except two. And they looked identical.

“Who are you two?” he asked.

The identical agents stiffened, and the alertness of the remaining agents rose as they looked forward.

“Sir! Jo–”

“Ah.” Yunho closed his eyes. “I don’t actually care.”

On nights like these there were only three things worth doing. Killing. Fucking. And smoking. It would be nice to do all three.

“Your coffee sir.”

Her name tag read Ha Yoonju.

A flight from Korea to Japan took roughly two hours, dependent largely on the carrier. There was about an hour and a half left on the flight.

He really wanted a smoke.

The time passed with two cups of coffee, and the quiet chattering that had picked up when the squad members noted that he was in a relatively good mood. A particularly lazy one.

When he opened his eyes they were playing cards on the built in glass table, a few crumpled bills next to each agent.

Yunho looked out, at the never-ending landscape, only blacks and grey and the tops of pointed trees. He felt the small jerk of the jet descending, and he checked his phone.

The GPS locater Junsu had downloaded for him didn’t match up. This was not where Yamashita’s men were meeting them.

The agents realized that the plane was landing, and they packed up the cards, voices rising as they quickly fought over the winnings.

Yunho looked at the gun on the seat next to him.

An ambush. They wanted to try an ambush.

Given the difference in their landing location, they should be landing somewhere where AmCo. men were waiting.

One agent noticed him staring at his gun. At least one of them wasn’t entirely worthless. They had all been briefed on the landing designation before take off.

Yunho kept watching out as the jet landed. He didn’t have materialistic ties to his private jet. It wasn’t the only one the company owned. But it was the one he and his mother used for work. He would hate for it to get dirty.

Squad S men unbuckled their seatbelts as they landed.

If it were Yunho, he would have shot them out the sky. Take them out. But the new pilot must have informed them about the guns.

He liked when things went according to plan. Yoochun had good ideas sometimes. Maybe most times. Ninety percent.

The squad members clustered near the door. They must have sensed it with their palpable unease. The air was always sweeter before death came, the way it seemed to spark before an oncoming onslaught.

The door opened before the pilot came out. Yunho heard the gunfire, saw the front line of squad members standing in front get gunned down, until the others crouched away from the door, lined up against the inner walls of his company plane.

He really liked smoking before fighting.

He picked up the gun from the seat beside him, pointed it towards the pathway in between the plane seats and fired. He heard the thud of a body dropping. A female voice whimpered. He forgot about the airhostesses. He’d probably have to get new ones.

The twins had matching looks of awe visible. They were still alive. Yoochun made sure all squad members wore bulletproof vests. And Kevlar pants. The front line members were already standing, and the squad fastened masks to their heads, black bullet proof masks, that had been attached to their necks. It had happened quickly, before they could put it on.

Squad S didn’t need directing. They filed out of the plane, machine guns poised. Yunho stood, glancing at the airhostesses crouched by the back seat nearest the toilets.

“Clean up the blood,” he said, using his gun to point to the dead pilot. He bent down to grab his shirt, hoisting him over his shoulder. He stepped out of the plane, looked out at the crowd of gang members stretching out to fill up the clearing, surrounded by the tall oak trees that went on for miles.

He tossed the body from his shoulder, and it settled at the bottom of the short steps down to the dirt floor.

Gang members always went about fights wrong. There was always a stand off, of watchful silence, before bloodshed began. Yunho didn’t have such patience. He raised his gun and shot the closest AmCo. member, headshot, and the body dropped, bringing about the sound of more gunfire.

AmCo. members weren’t covered in full body armor like Squad S men were, but they were surely wearing bullet proof vests underneath. Sacrificial lambs. They were nothing but sacrificial lambs.

Yoochun’s idea had been to round up some of the AmCo. members in Osaka. Hire a new pilot. New people meant new traitors. Whether there was a leak in their organization working for the unknown gang or AmCo, it didn’t matter, not when the information would get out, somehow. Not when they made it intentional, that it would reach AmCo.’s grubby little fingers.

Yunho stepped into the crowd, in the midst of the AmCo.’s soldiers. He shot another as he walked, pulling out the gun from his waist, and aimed it at a man in front of him. He shot before he was shot, firing until his cartridges were empty, and tossed one of the guns to slam into a tattooed man’s face.

One of them came up behind him, knife flashing underneath bare moonlight and sparse sky. Yunho brought his leg down, swung with his heel smashing against the side of his neck, reloading his hand gun as he turned. He grabbed the closest man by his neck, squeezing his throat, pointing his gun to the side and pulling the trigger at the oncoming man.

He continued squeezing until the pulse underneath his fingertips gave way, shooting from his crouched position, getting tired of pulling a trigger. The lot of them had thinned out. They hadn’t come with many weapons, and there hadn’t been plenty of them anyway.

But it was some of the men. The number of AmCo members in Japan was not limitless.

Yunho threw away his still loaded gun, and pulled out the short knife from his waist belt.

The men closest to him dared to step back, after watching him squeeze the life from one of their members’ neck.

Yunho really wanted that smoke.

Especially before he met with Yamashita.

Jungkook wiped down the table, shirt rolled up on his forearms. Taehyung had put him on after hours clean up duty, and was currently behind the counter, making them both coffee – he hoped it was coffee and not the milky, whipped cream shit that he had to serve whole day.

But the clean up duty was fair to him, after the long lunch he had taken, even if it was spent with his boss.

He hadn’t responded to Taehyung’s question as yet, and Taehyung didn’t seem to care, still prattling on when they returned to the café, laughed with Hoseok before going back into the kitchen for the rest of the day.

There was music playing from Taehyung’s phone. The music player and gloves he had bought was stashed in the worker’s cupboard by the kitchen, in a holding bag that looked as expensive as the amount of money he spent to buy it. Going to the mall had been an experience he wanted to re-experience again. He had only gone into four stores because of time constraints, and because of Taehyung taking him to look for baking items. But he had spent long in the electronics store, stared at clothes he always wanted to wear, and realizing that now he could afford things, basic things that he had always forsaken because he didn’t have the money before.

He didn’t need to buy clothes now that Jaejoong had given him some. Even the itch to spend money was quelled by caution. That he needed to save in case he had to run. Needed to save money to actually buy a place of his own.

There was nowhere to run to, though, he thought, as he slapped the cloth on another table. He had practically sworn himself to Jaejoong this morning, and it wasn’t something that he regretted. He may not have had a lot of things in his short life, but he was resolute in his decisions, and words. Jaejoong took him in. And was giving him an opportunity to earn a life.

He was never going to get a better option than what he was being given now.

“Are you almost finished?” asked Taehyung.

“Yeah, just two more tables and then the floor to mop,” Jungkook answered, switching tables again, and fixed a chair that was dragged out.

“I’ll get the swifter,” he said, placing the two plain mugs on the counter. Jungkook continued wiping as Taehyung returned, pushing the swifter to mop near the entrance.

The music playing was better than silence, with Taehyung unnaturally quiet, mopping the tiled floor as Jungkook washed out the cloth and hung it to dry. He peered into the mugs and was glad to see that it was plain coffee, something that he knew and could drink. He reached for the container of sugar packets, and glanced at Taehyung.

“You want sugar in your coffee?”

“One packet,” he answered, bending to get under a table. The coffee shop smelled of the mixture of coffee and sweet disinfectant. Hard work always made Jungkook feel better, and the coffee warmed his fingers and insides, settled against the counter, bringing the mug to his lips after dumping two packets of brown sugar.

Yunho hadn’t contacted him to go to the fighting ring tonight. He assumed that when he wanted him to fight he’d know of it. He looked at his knuckles again, still bruised, and at his ugly fingernails. He had no need for nice looking hands. His hands had brought him this far.

He loosened another button of his shirt.

Jungkook looked at Taehyung when he heard the clang of the swifter dropping on the ground. Taehyung was staring at him, eyes dark, heavy, an expression he wasn’t accustomed to seeing on his face.

Taehyung was glancing at his neck, his arms, bringing his thumb and second finger to bite lightly at painted nails as he watched him.

“What?” Jungkook asked him.

He wasn’t that clueless when it came to lust. Taehyung’s look was heavy with it, so heavy that he didn’t move when he approached him, fingers lightly touching the bared part of his chest.

“Jungkookie,” said Taehyung, staring up at him, “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re really good looking?”

“No?” he answered truthfully. “I don’t have the time to care about–”

Taehyung’s palms slapped into his chest as he kissed him, pouted lips, a slip of his tongue across his mouth. Jungkook’s eyes widened, opening his mouth, surprised into the kiss. He pushed back, bringing his teeth together, sucking on the tip of the tongue that crossed his lips.

He’d kissed a few people before. He’d fucked for money before. Only a few times when he was desperate for food. And he’d had sex once because he wanted to, with a girl just as awkward as he had been for his first time.

But Taehyung was so open with his expressions. When he pulled away, lips shiny with his own spit and Jungkook’s, the heat across Jungkook’s face and in his chest, weren’t just from the labour and the hot coffee.

And Taehyung had a really pretty face. Better when it looked like that.

There were a lot of things he could think of, to give himself reasons why he shouldn’t or should be doing this. But Jungkook wasn’t that kind of person. He’d saved his own ass too many times by going with where life took him. And in front of him was his boss, licking his lips, really wet lips that had just kissed him.

He bent his head and kissed him back, shoving the mug onto the counter, hot coffee spilling onto the back of his hand and his fingers. His other hand came behind Taehyung’s head, gripping into his hair, pulling him as close as he could to swallow his mouth.

He felt the reaction in his stomach, arousal low in his abdomen, his lower lip dragging against Taehyung’s, his teeth snapping onto it as it did. Jungkook hissed, feeling the sting.

Taehyung’s fingers played at the corners of his hips, digging into the flesh through his jeans. It was oddly nice to have someone look at him like this, with so much want, unlike the eyes of rich women that wanted a teenager with nice arms and a nice face.

Maybe Taehyung was the same. But this sort of lust wasn’t for money.

Taehyung brought his body closer, keeping his fingers clenched on his hips, pushing his groin into Jungkook’s. He was smiling, mouth open, watching Jungkook with half lidded eyes that widened and then closed as Jungkook leaned lower to scrape his teeth into the side of his neck. He dragged his teeth across the flesh there, and Taehyung arched his neck, baring further, making a small, soft sound as he did so.

Jungkook let go and bit him, sinking his teeth into the corner of his neck, earning the unhindered moan and tighter fingers across his jeans. Taehyung kept his head like that, lolled to side, expanse of honey skin for him to play with.

“You like that?” he asked him, bringing his thumb to rub where he bit. He let his nail scrape along the trail his teeth had taken, and felt the tremor run through Taehyung’s body, along his skin.

“Obviously I like it Jungkookie. I’ll like anything you do.”

Jungkook was going to tell him to stop calling him Jungkookie. Taehyung had a way of pissing him off and overwhelming him, and when Taehyung went on his knees after kissing his fingers, rubbing his cheek across the swell of his jeans to pull on his zipper, Jungkook forgot all about it.

Yunho was on his second cigarette when Yamashita’s men picked them up, securing the area where his plane had landed. Yamashita had also spared him a pilot to transport the plane to the original landing place, and Yunho didn’t bother to tell him that he knew how to fly.

The SUV took them to the meeting place, a storage company near farmland, stretched out on fertile land, crops growing as they drove up the dust road. Japan was gentle to him, where he smoked and drank tea, liked the lull of the culture and the business. Jung Industries always did good business in Japan.

The SUV stopped in front of a row of cars, blocking the entry way. There were men standing, some with visible tattoos on their bared arms, most in black suits and shades in the depth of nighttime.

Yunho jumped out and leaned against the car door, finishing his smoke in front of the legion of yakuza higher ups there to protect their Yama-dono.

Yamashita was good at what he did, being the Leader of Japan’s biggest crime scene. That was probably all Yunho could respect him for. It wasn’t really jealousy that made him dislike the man, but he hated people that tried to fuck Jaejoong while he still existed. And he made sure that Yamashita knew that. Knew that well.

A slim man with glasses came out from the storage company, blue pinstripe suit, hair slicked back.

“Yama-dono requests you inside when you’re ready, Jung-san.”

Yunho stayed outside until his cigarette burned out, and then crushed it under his boots. Squad S remained crowded around the cars they’d been transported in, alert from the fight, faces flushed, skin already tainted with blood for the fair evening.

Yunho looked at his arms as he walked inside, escorted by the glasses man. He had a few spots of blood on his suit. Black was such a nice colour. Hid the brightness of blood stains even though they were there.

Yamashita was sitting cross legged on the wooden floor, underneath a short table stretched out with a pot of tea and Japanese snacks. His sleeves were broad, hanging down as he brought the small teacup to his mouth, hand supporting underneath.

Yunho sat on the opposite side. Glasses man rushed to pour him a cup of tea.

He stared at the snacks.

“I remembered you liked sweets,” said Yamashita.

Yunho dragged the plate closer to himself, picking up one of the buns.

“I chose here because it’s closer to the Osaka base, otherwise I would have welcomed you at our headquarters. I apologize for the discourtesy.”

Yunho shrugged, taking another bun. “I’m fine with being closer to the AmCo. base.”

“I’m thankful for you coming.”

“I just want you to owe Jaejoong for this, and me, for taking out the Osaka base for you.”

The man who had been standing behind Yamashita snorted, fingers gripping over the scabbard of the long sword he had on his hip.

“You’re so confident you’re going to take them out? There’s a reason why we haven’t been able to get rid of them. They have weapons. Men.”

“Which you also have. You’re yakuza.”

“They have a fortress,” the man hissed. “One that we haven’t been able to penetrate.”

“That’s why we’ve requested help,” said Yamashita, soothing his man’s brashness.

“I…” he fumbled, “Sorry, Yama-dono.”

Yamashita poured himself another cup of tea.

“Try the tea. It’s good.”

Yunho did. “I prefer coffee.”

“It’ll be enough men,” said Yamashita. “Jaejoong told me he sent his best squad.”

“He sent me,” Yunho told me. “I promised Jaejoong I’ll take care of it tonight. I don’t break promises.”

Yamashita smiled. “I count on that, Yunho.”

Yunho glanced down at his empty plate.

“Takeru get him some more snacks,” Yamashita said, the glasses man bending to take the empty plate and leading into door to the left of the room.

Yunho understood the difficulty when he saw it, pulling up in front of AmCo.’s Osaka base on the speed boat. It was built on a waterfront, amassing a stretch of buildings along the coastline, like a small town of strictly Americans and the Japanese men on contract and sworn loyalty.

From Jaejoong’s annoyingly thick files, they paid well. More than the yakuza could. The men who joined the yakuza joined out of loyalty, duty, respect. It made them fight harder. But good property and money sometimes overcame things like that.

There was a high wall surrounding the main building.

There were two ways to get into the Osaka property. One was through the streets, coming up into the warehouses and small business properties in the open. The other was through the coast, sleeking through in the night on small speed boats to minimize visibility.

Yunho took advantage of both.

Yamashita’s men weren’t like the decked out Squad Yoochun had built, dressed in bulletproof gear. They wore suits and dress shirts, shiny shoes, and bore swords on their hips and pressed guns to their bellies. Yunho had fought with some of them, the last time he and Jaejoong were in Japan together. They were men that didn’t need such things.

But the help of modern technology also helped.

Yunho had boringly laid out the plan with the help of Junsu and Yoochun’s machinations.

He rode in the front boat, aiming towards the small port built before the main headquarters. The shipping dock lay not too far from there, the line of boats tied to the harbor, slinking in miniature bobs to the flow of the current. Another speed boat rode next to him, to bring in the front line before the other boats carrying half of Yamashita’s men, and few of Squad S.

It was one of the twins that rode on the speed boat beside him. He hoisted the rocket launcher on his shoulder, and glanced at Yunho. Yunho stared down at his phone, until the blinking message came.


Yunho sent the reply as soon as he raised two fingers for one of the twins to see. Twins had a way of sensing things without his interference.

The rocket launcher took out the towering wall, only crumbling an entrance through stone. The speedboat next to him swerved to avoid crashing into the port.

Not too far away, they saw the orange-red flare go up, tangled in smoke from the street entrance.

Yunho jumped out onto the pleated wood, and took out what Yoochun had bargained for with Jung Industries money.

Electromagnetic Interference – strong enough to wipe out communications within the main headquarters.

Yunho caught the long sword that Takeru threw to him, stepping onto the gravel from the stretch of wood, immaculately dressed in his pinstripe suit.

He lit up another smoke, and unsheathed the sword.


Not writing fanfics for ages and coming back to this made writing this a lot easier. Yunho and Jaejoong’s characters are the hardest to tackle, but I think this chapter made Yunho’s character a lot easier to work with. And I’m happy with how it turned out.

Plus it comes to the surface that the true powerhouses of the Syndicate are really Yoochun and Junsu, with how advanced weaponry and technology came to fruition. It helps that they have a lot of expendable money.

I know this chapter is short. The next one will be a bit longer.