#But well known culturally in japan so throws up hands…. some things i just wont understand

[alphaketoglutaricacid]

As much as i think toshiros complicity is based in his cowardice I do kinda get why he didnt talk to tade about what he thought abt how she views her retainership. Like even if he had that conversation like what could she do other than nod and smile—the power differential between them is huge. I feel something that plays into his conflict aversion is that if he did get upset or hit someone its not like they could hit back without serious consequences. But also he’s been raised in an environment where his comfort has always been prioritized above other ppls wellbeing and he def chooses the easier route A Lot. Like the fact that instead of genuinely engaging w whats going on w izutsumi and tade he ignored all his retainers, let maizuru handle it, and went on some two year spring break dungeon crawling whatever like words cannot describe what an abdication of responsibility this was. That instead of working w his party he went off on his own w his retainers bc he just didnt want them to know he was a noble that much (granted he also didnt think laios was cut out to lead which tough but fair) like cmon man…. But i do think his fight w laios was good for him even tho it was a shitty bitch fight when they rlly shouldve been helping their party revive ppl bc he could have a conflict on equal footing w someone. His whole life hes viewed himself as someone w no power (and the ways this is false esp on the island) but i think in the dungeon he realized he genuinely has a responsibility to his retainers n his actions led to them following him into something really dangerous when they had no dog in this. But also it seems as an attempt to reciprocate, he does seem to have become very observant of other people beyond what is normal bc he doesnt speak much. Culture plays into his clash w laios but i think the fact he’s grown up being so closely observed and in turn closely observes others plays into it too. But its fun how hes always toeing the line between being a spoiled brat, being too passive bc of his own lack of agency, n also that hes genuinely intelligent and has thought a really long time about power.

I think it also gets at why marcilles plan to equalize the races by making their lifespans the same was doomed to fail and also highlights how she can only view other ppls oppression thru her own suffering—that theres always going to be differentials in power that are difficult, but you have to interact meaningfully w them rather than running from them. A simple world w easy solutions like that would be bloodless and false, no?

#dungeon meshi spoilers #Toshiro nakamoto man that you are… #fascinating fascinating character in such an interesting social position where there is no easy answer out #Unenviable situation tbh i would probs run away from it too that shits horrifying and thorny #Dungeon meshi really good at portraying situations that are coercive and take away ppls choices #like sure as a retainer u get food safety get paid and u have some freedoms but it doesnt make tade or izutsumis situations not coercive #Like the fact they wouldve been treated worse makes it worse the fact other ppl think they should be grateful instead of engaging #in the reality of their situation means makes it worse #there seems to be some kind of mutual agreement in benichis situations bc human servants dont seem to be able to have their service be #purchased without their consent in feudal japan but i doubt tade had a say in this and izutsumi def did not and was bought on a lark #but at some point its like well… whatever social construct their reffing is clearly outside my frame of reference #But well known culturally in japan so throws up hands…. some things i just wont understand

[btgalaxy]

Twisted

➳ a/n: cue generic party chapter ~ admin m

➳ pairing: yoongi x reader

➳ genre: mafia!au, angst, eventual smut, maybe fluff

➳ word count: 4.6k

Masterlist / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Chapter 4:

        Wake up. Train. Eat. Rest. Train. Eat. Train. Eat. Rest. Train. Sleep. Repeat.

It’s the everlasting cycle your life has contorted into. Every morning the old lady brings in your breakfast, thankfully with a book on the side for you to read throughout the day when you’re supposed to be ‘resting’, then you go and train with Jin all day, and that’s pretty much the extent of it- till you’re eating again.

He hates you. You can tell he does. Or, at least he’s immensely irritated by you. Although you really can’t tell why you seem to affect him so deeply and personally. You’ve only known the man for 5 minutes.

You can also feel Yoongi watching you, centre of the training area just next to the men eating, throwing crude comments your way you have to ignore. You sometimes glance up, only to see the same sight of Yoongi’s palm pressed against the glass looking down over you, an amused smirk loitering on his lips. Prick. He likes to see you suffer, you’re sure of it. Even when your legs are about to give in; when you can barely breathe you’re so winded, Jin’s still at you with ‘we’re not finished till I say we are’, and every moment you spend catching your breath he adds on to the end of your allotted time to eat into your rest times. Not that you much enjoy those times either.

You’ve not made a single friend, not one. Everybody just looks at you like you’re the enemy- you suppose you were at one point. The only people you have met are constantly busy, and the old lady leaving you books wont even look your way, so you’re kind of stuck here by yourself. It’s lonely.

Your thoughts, predictably, often stray to Jimin. Whom you’re still somewhat adamant to portray as a kind, loving man in your mind, even if everyone around you is telling you otherwise. It’s maddening, the way some people spit out insults about him right in front of you; there was an occasion where one man was being cheered on for brutally slandering his name in the eating area next to where you were training, and Jin had to let you go early, practically being able to see the steam bursting from your eardrums and the fire blazing in your eyes.

You don’t like your life here, you prefer your old one. Granted, this life isn’t half what you expected it to be, you’re still isolated and you aren’t doing anything you really want to do- nor are you getting any sunlight whatsoever so your skin has paled and you look almost deathly. You’ve allowed yourself to wonder if Jimin really wouldn’t come and find you here, save you and take you back into his arms and give up this whole lifestyle. You could get away from this whole career of vice and crime and instead flee to some rural coastal town and lead a simple life, but you can’t even talk to Jimin right now. You don’t even know if he’s aware you’ve left.

“There’s some sort of a party tonight, duckie,” Taehyung grins, escorting you back to your quarters, as you’re apparently still too untrustworthy to move about by yourself.

“I thought you didn’t have those. I thought they would be deemed ‘moments of weakness’,” you counter.

“Well,” he shrugs, “there’ll still be a whole troop of men on guard. And it’s a special occasion. We successfully distributed our biggest shipment ever from Japan to all our partners; no complications,” he smiles smugly, raising his eyebrows at you as if you’re supposed to react more impressed.

“Nice,” you respond curtly and expressionlessly, turning to look straight ahead instead of at his beaming eyes. He suddenly stops you in the hallway, whirling you around by the shoulders, watching you sternly.

“You’re allowed to come, you know,” he remarks, “to the celebration, this evening.”

You pause, “I am?”

“Course you are. You’ve been training hard.” He wipes a finger across your sweaty forehead, but then quickly shakes it off with a disgusted look on his face, “you’re part of the team now, duckie.”

“So you haven’t heard anything from Jimin?”

He looks hesitant to answer, but the hope emanated from your eyes encourages him otherwise, “not yet, duckie. We’ve sent word, but there’s been no response.” 

Your heart sinks through your chest as you realise he isn’t coming. He doesn’t care. He broke up with you a moments too soon and now you’re stuck here for the rest of your life.

“Right.” You turn your gaze to the floor, manoeuvring your foot carelessly across the stone flooring.

“Well, you can have a drink later, and you’ll remember how great a place this is to be living.” The two of you begin meandering down the corridor again, “it’ll be good. It’s a good opportunity for you to talk to people; show them you aren’t just the ex-girlfriend of the enemy.”

Someone, you assume Taehyung but it’s difficult to tell, has left a plain black dress on your bed. It’s nothing fancy, it won’t be your best look nor will it show you off as anything special, but nevertheless it feels good to digress from your now usual attire of sports leggings and a plain block-coloured top. It’s the only thing you wear- everyday without fail.

As the evening comes around- you’ve now been granted a clock in your room which is a huge help to your routine now you’ve actually an idea what time of day it is- you slip into the little black number, plain as a whiteboard but whatever, it feels good to wear something that doesn’t drown out your figure. You’ve no makeup, you imagine there probably isn’t much around in an institute full of men that sweat all day anyway, so you settle for simply leaving your hair down to somewhat ‘switch up’ your usual look, cascading down your back.

A knock at the door comes as a surprise to you, considering nine times out of ten anyone just walks in, uncaring of whether you’re fully clothed or not. You saunter over to the door, swinging it open to reveal Taehyung in some black jeans and a shirt- hardly different from his standard dress.

“Duckie,” he smiles, offering a hand, “I’m here to be your date.”

You raise your eyebrows and scoff, “I don’t recall you asking.”

“I invited you didn’t I?” He shrugs, “I escort you everywhere anyway.”

You step out into the hall, shutting the door closed behind you, “I’m aware.”

“Well, then. Let’s get you a drink.”

The training area’s lights have been dimmed and there’s music playing through the speakers Yoongi usually utilises only for announcements or to call someone to his office. The benches have been brought to the centre of the room and are ridden with platters of various dishes from all different cultures and countries. Your mouth salivates at the sight; all you’ve been living off is a sugar free, high protein diet which, to say the least, doesn’t consist of much.

Yourself and Taehyung move towards the benches where the men have already become drunk and rowdy, devouring torn off gobbets of chicken and turkey and pork and any other meat they could get their hands on. It resembles a primitive time of savagery which makes you nervous, so you’re thankful Taehyung immediately passes you a glass of some orangey-brown liquid which you glance at apprehensively.

“Bottoms up, duckie,” Taehyung brings his glass to clink with yours, “cheers.”

You nod back in response, before throwing the liquid back down your throat, nearly gagging as it’s been so long since you last drank any alcohol. You have to pause to take a breath as the glass leaves your lips, scrunching up your nose slightly before passing the cup back to Tae at your side.

“What is that?” You choke.

“Something strong,” he shrugs with a laugh, “most of the men are heavyweights, so we ordered in the strongest stuff we could get our hands on.”

Unlucky for you, you’re a renowned lightweight and even the sight of such a liquor makes you a little tipsy so within minutes you’re feeling its kick, when Taehyung passes you another. He grins at you, clinking your glasses again as you slosh them back, this one just a little easier than the one before.  The room begins to get a little hazy now, under the dimmed lights and roars of men you begin to become a little disoriented. Some fresh air would be ideal round about now.

After half an hour sat on a bench by yourself at the edge of the room you’re drunk and bored, picking at the plate of leftovers in your lap, looking rather pitiful. There are women here now, whether they actually live here too or have just visited for the night you’re unsure, but the air is becoming uncomfortably thick as their arses are groped as they walk from table to table and they’re constantly catcalled and denominated vulgar names. If you were in that position, particularly with this unnamed alcohol you’ve been sipping on now since you got in here, they’d have gotten a smack and names thrown right back at them.

You watch as a woman is swung onto a man’s lap, and she looks fleetingly uneasy, before concealing it with a forced smile. You’ve seen a similar scene play out at a club before, and it ignites an adrenaline to pump through you like air and you have to start glugging down the liquid in your glass to refrain from intervening.

“Woah, slow down.” You glance up to see a face you don’t entirely want to see right now.

You wipe your mouth with the back of the your hand, “what do you want?” Your voice is deepened as you attempt to keep the liquor down, burning all the way from the front of your mouth to the back of your throat.

“You’re going too hard too fast. It’s still early.” Yoongi takes a seat next to you, watching the woman on the man’s lap now also.

“Did you invite them here?” Your question is vague, but he still understands.

“They work in the kitchens, or cleaning or doing laundry.”

“Aren’t there men for that?”

“I’m not a misogynist, you know.” He turns, glowering at you slightly, “they wanted those jobs. They could’ve done training like you, or worked in the kitchen and they chose to be domestic.”

“I didn’t exactly get a choice,” you grumble, picking at another chicken skewer on your plate.

“Do you want to quit your training and become a cleaner instead?”

“No.” You manoeuvre your body away from him, sulking. The alcohol has clearly slithered its way into your brain now.

“Didn’t think so,” he chuckles, “I wanted to ask-“

“I need some fresh air. I want to go outside.”  Your topic change is sudden and interrupts his words, but you don’t really care at this point, you think you’ve earned the right to be selfish for a bit.

“You do know this is an underground base,” Yoongi taunts, “there isn’t exactly an outdoor smoking area.”

“There must be some way outdoors. I need to breathe,” you whine, dramatically.

Yoongi looks at you, bringing out his tongue to run over his lower lip in contemplation as you admire his features. He is handsome, truly. His pale skin and white blonde hair make him look innocent and angelic.  Ironically, he is practically the furthest thing from that. Under the dimmed lights, you can still see the purple bags grazing beneath his eyes, clearly mimicking the stress he’s under, although he’d never reveal to you what is happening in his life. You wonder, and think he doesn’t really have anyone. No family that you’re aware of, no actual friends other than the people that work for him, and no girlfriend or wife. There must be a lot of weight on his shoulders, and to bear it alone must be an almighty challenge.

“We can go up top for ten minutes, then back down. And only if you promise to slow down.” Something resembling a smile tries to force through your demeanour, and if you were less drunk you would probably suppress it, but you’re instead leaning in to press your face into his shoulder with an embarrassing squeak of excitement to finally breathe some fresh air.

“We’ll go in an hour or so, I’ll need to find someone sober enough to keep an eye on the men while we’re gone for a little bit.” He shuffles away from you awkwardly, but you don’t really care and instead busy yourself with your food, obtaining another drink ignoring his request to ‘slow down’. If you’re gonna make it through another hour here, you’re gonna need something to take your mind off of it.

The time passes about as fast as paint dries, and the boredom alongside it is of analogous quantity also. You’re now practically laying across the wooden plank forming the seat of the bench, your knees bent and head nearly dangling off the end as you look up to the top of the cavern, imagining your childhood when you’d go cave exploring with your parents. Just those guided tours, you know, but they were still a lot of fun, and you loved to admire the stalactites looming over what seemed like a never-ending abyss as you would peer down over the barriers into the darkness.  You miss your parents. Yoongi informed you a while back that he’d contacted them posing as you, that you’d gone away on a trip to China and wasn’t sure when you’d be back. Then, if you do end up staying here, they’ll tell them you got into an accident, and with that you’d lose your identity and any chance of returning to your former life. They must be so worried, so scared for you. They didn’t like the idea of you moving to Seoul to a safe apartment and failsafe job, let alone travelling around China where you know absolutely nobody with no guarantee of security.

When Yoongi returns, you can barely even classify yourself as functioning, mumbling incoherent sentences to yourself about your parents and the caves, before his face blocks your view of the ceiling and you’re instead made to look directly into his glaring eyes, piercing through your drunken glaze.

“I thought I told you to slow down,” he scolds, a frown prominent on his forehead creasing the smooth skin.

“I thought I told you to,” you suck in your breath, searching for some witty comeback that you can’t really find throughout the haze, “fuck off.”

“Didn’t picture you as the aggressive drunk.”

“Yeah, well,” you pause, shrugging, “shouldn’t picture me at all then.”

He gives you a confused look, half enjoying your current state, half dismissing your stupid, nonsensical argument, “let’s go then.”

You try to remember the route he takes you out, but you know by the morning any memory of tonight will cease to live. You’ve always been that way, deeming the notion a coping mechanism with all the stupid things you do while pissed; if you remembered all of them you don’t know how you’d go on living with your pitiful self.

After climbing up staircase after staircase and eventually a ladder, the breeze hits you. It’s cold, but god it’s nice. It wraps around you and makes you wonder how the hell you’ve been living down there without so much as a breath of the crisp outdoor air. It makes you appreciate it more.

The night is pitch black and there’s not so much as a lamplight to guide your way through the labyrinth of forest you’re now walking through, completely submissive to Yoongi’s lead, guiding you somewhere that could be his slaughterhouse for all you know. You’re too busy, however, admiring the way the moon glows a warm white and illuminates the endless grasslands blanketing concealing your new home at Manes, glazing your vision and blurring any fear lingering in your mind, although the alcohol pumping through your system also plays a part in that.

“Here.” Yoongi offers a hand to you, hoisting you up the small hill and settling himself on the ground, watching over the different enclosures of land. You mimic his actions, stumbling before placing yourself beside him to squint your eyes over the area, trying to get a better look despite the blackness of the night.

“Why do you live next to a farm?” You can see something resembling a cow in one of the enclosures, some sheep in another, a small set of stables to the left.

“We like to prepare our own food supply. It’s dangerous to be shopping publicly, and this way we can monitor how much we’re eating better,” he explains, bringing out a small pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

“You smoke?” You question, watching him snap his thumb over his lighter, igniting a small flame that he brings to the end of his cigarette, situated between his lips.

“Only on occasion. When I get the chance to.” He takes in a breath, exhaling a puff of smoke that you quickly turn to face away from.

You hate smoking. It was the main attribute to your uncle’s lung cancer which killed him a couple of years back. You can’t understand how people carry on damaging themselves full well knowing that it could kill them.

“You know you could die,” you state, matter-of-factly, frowning childishly.

Yoongi laughs at this, loudly, the first time you’ve ever heard him laugh like that, “you’re not so drunk as not to remember what I do for a profession, right? I could die at any second.”

He seems rather amused by his little joke, but you on the other hand feel slightly nauseous, “how the fuck did you even get into something like this? Surely your parents wouldn’t have wanted their son to be involved in such a clusterfuck.” Your words seem to aggravate him as he clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth, slowly taking in another puff of smoke.

“My father was helping me to become a businessman. Was gonna help me get a head start in the advertising industry- or, at least, that’s what I thought he was doing. He was actually preparing me for my inheritance when they died. And when they did, I had Taehyung at my door, handing me all these fuckin’ documents telling me I’m some kind of drug lord now,” he chuckles, humourlessly, “I can’t say I wanted to get involved in this lifestyle, but I wasn’t gonna be the one to terminate my family’s legacy. So what if it includes some shitty shop or a damn hairdressers, nobody wants to be the one to end it.”

A silence ensues, capturing the both of you and holding you in place, mulling over Yoongi’s words. For the first time since meeting him, you actually feel as though you’ve got an insight into his mind, his life. Your mind begins so sober up as you desperately try to cling onto his revelation, to try and understand him better when you aren’t entirely fucked on whatever you’ve been drinking.

“Didn’t you want to do something else with your life? Travel? Have a family?” You look at him curiously, watching the way he rolls his cigarette over his lips enticingly.

“I never had the chance to think about it. I was conditioned for this job. My parents wanted it that way so I did it for them,” he pushes his tongue into the side of his cheek, sighing, “I guess I could leave now. I could get away from this, move to another continent and start again.”

“Then why don’t you?” You press, rolling your now bare feet over the grass, skimming the ends on the underpart of your foot.

He sighs, “I don’t know. Familiarity, I guess. I don’t know much else.” He taps the end of his cigarette before taking one final puff, then throwing it into the distance as he lets out a final grey cloud into the atmosphere.

“But you were training to be a businessman?”

“I am a sort of businessman.”

“A businessman of debauchery.”

He laughs, genuinely laughs. He turns to look at you, a glint in his eye resembling something you can’t decipher underneath the dim light of the moon, grazing over his skin to irradiate only the upper parts of his face, but makes him look like some kind of supernatural beauty, as if he were not of this world.

“Besides,” he looks back out onto the plains, “if I had left, then I would’ve never met you.”

The way back is blurry as hell; the light of the moon is engulfed in clouds of smog that have been blown over from the city, now polluting the country sky with complete darkness. You grapple onto the back of Yoongi’s jacket, scrunching up your face as you attempt to see further ahead, although with no luck as you end up tripping over and over again, each time ending with Yoongi hoisting you back up from the ground and muttering profanities about how taking you outside was a mistake.

When you reach the faux basement door of the crooked house concealing the Enterprise, Yoongi swings it open and the music can be heard playing quietly far away through the stone walls forming the foundations of the underground tunnels. You both clamber in, very ungracefully, jumping down into the artificial light as the wooden planks slam shut behind you.

You look at Yoongi, observing his expression carefully, “I think I need to sleep.” You announce, gulping back a hiccup as his lips twitch disobediently.

“I think you need to too,” he nods.

You reciprocate the action, turning to face one way, then another, then realising you have no fucking clue where you are in this place.

“Right,” you exhale, “right, you need to invest in a map, or like signs.” You raise your eyebrows up at him, watching you amusedly.

“I need to turn down the music first,” he remarks, “head towards the sound of the music and I’ll find you in the training area.”

You pout, frowning, before nodding your head and slowly turning on the balls of your feet as he eyes you entertained, also going a separate way towards his office.

Left, no right. No, now it’s quieter. Left again. Right? Your thoughts are jumbled and inconsistent as each corridor looks exactly the same. It’s near impossible to navigate through each stone tunnel with the same lights, same flooring, same empty walls. You aren’t too sure how anyone manages to find their way through such a complex network of endless halls.

When you hear the stumbling of feet behind you, you’re thankful. But when you turn to be greeted by Jungkook’s face, holding his bandaged hand to his chest after clearly hitting it on the wall, you freeze. He spots you immediately, running his tongue over his lower lip before taking it between his teeth, stalking over to you with an unnerving smirk playing on his lips.

“Hey Y/N,” he purrs, coming close enough you can smell something like whiskey on his lips, intoxicating him to the core. You take a step back, silently.

“You know, I’ve been having a lot of trouble since you did this-,” he waves his cloth-covered hand to you, “-to me.” He makes another move towards you, and this time you’ve nowhere to retreat to as your back hits the wall and your head dizzies beneath his aching glare.

“See, this hand here is my-,” he pauses, looking for the right word, “my helping hand. My hand that helps me each night, to destress, to get a little… release.” He leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath wafting over your skin like nails grating across your flesh.

“And now I feel very stressed, as you can imagine. Without my helping hand to give me a little assistance.” You feel his free hand traipsing down your waist where your arm is lax and your hand completely numb to his touch. He wraps his digits around yours, slowly pulling them to his crotch area as your breath hitches in your throat, your stomach dropping.

“So I think it’s only fair,” he chokes in a breath as your hand skims over the fabric of his jeans, “that you help alleviate my pain, after all, you’re the one causing it.” His pitch raises at the end of his sentence as he presses your palm flat against his groin. You squeeze your eyes shut, holding back a sob of fear as he massages your hand against his member, revelling in the pleasure your non-consensual touch provides him amongst his intoxication. You can feel his erection pulsating even through the material, clearly eager to be released from its cage, now tenting in his jeans slightly.

“Yes,” he whispers, “fuck, let’s go. Let’s go back to your room. Fuck, now.” His murmuring is vulgar and sickens you as a quiet tear falls from your closed eyelid, reluctantly shuffling your feet behind him as you try to pull your hand from his grip.

Just as you turn the next corner, however, the sound of footsteps crashing against the ground stops Jungkook, looking back only to be greeted by a solid punch across his face, knocking him to the ground instantaneously and knocking you back into the wall. Your head hits the stone, and you’re immediately turned spilling the contents of your stomach as you hold yourself up, gripping onto the wall as your fingers curl in pain.

You can hear a commotion behind you, but you’re too distracted with the emptying of your stomach, your head dizzy as you attempt to lift yourself up. You can feel your knees trying to give in, to fall to the floor, but you fight the urge and instead try to push back, when you feel a hand steadying you at the waist.

“Duckie?” Taehyung’s voice is loud, too loud. You lean forwards again, throwing up on your feet now, your body completely giving up as it becomes loose and falls against the body behind you.

“Fucking prick she’s being sick- don’t yell at her she might have a concussion. Fuck.” Yoongi sounds hostile and intimidating, snarling at Taehyung who’s now trying to pull you back when you’re snatched from his arms and picked up off the ground by another set.

“I’ll take her to her room- you clear this mess up.” The body carrying you turns, “and you- I’ll deal with you later.”

You are unable to even open your eyes for a minute, your head throbbing as you’re rocked with each step and lurching at every corner. You don’t know how long you’ve walked when you reach your room, but you’re thankful for the dimmer lights and the bed you’re gently placed on, the mattress soft and comforting as you lull your head back onto the pillow.

“You need to keep your head up.” You manage to flicker an eye open, seeing Yoongi with an incomprehensible expression manoeuvring the cushion under your head so you’re sat up more, looking back at him perched on the edge of the mattress with his arms fiddling over your shoulders, his chest close to your face.

You groan, try to speak, but nothing happens.

“Don’t speak, it’s okay,” he soothes, uncharacteristically.

Then, you begin to cry, quietly and relentlessly.

Masterlist / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter 

#twisted #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts suga #bts mafia au #bts angst #bts fluff #yoongi smut #admin lottie