Setlist: Killing Me Softly - 1940s Swing Cover

note: i am well aware that Killing Me Softly is written around 1972 by Lori Lieberman. I only put up the setting around 1940's inspired of Robyn Anderson's 1940s swing cover. :>

Summary:

Set in 1940s' era.

Jimin is a jazz singer in a fancy club serenading customers every night with his angelic voice when Jeon Jungkook, a young mafioso, took interest in him and will do whatever it takes to have the singer within his palm.

                      𝄥𝄞────────── 𝄇

Los Angeles, CA.

Strumming my pain with his fingers,
Singing my life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song,
Telling my whole life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song

Tremendous amount of rain were pouring in the summer night, the dark clouds engulfing the sheer moonlight. The usual white ways were empty, the incandescent lights beneath one street was flickering endlessly.

The sound of drops were heavy against the varieties of metal and marble roofs, enough to cover the sounds that are coming from one of the rooms in the middle floor inside the Cecil Hotel.

"Where do you think you are running this time, little lamb?"

His firm hands reloaded the pistol with a loud clack, heavy foot steps from the reptile leathered shoes getting closer in the locked washroom were a certain silver hair was hiding himself inside from the mafioso.

"Please, please! G-go away from me! I didn't even understand what I did to you! I-i was just a simple singer!"

The silver hair pleaded, the bangs on the wooden door were getting louder that it might break soon, the rusty knob making it much more easier to break in.

"My little song bird, it isn't hard to understand that I want you to sing only for me right?" The mafioso banged the wood louder, his heart already up to his throat as the door was slowly being broke down.

"I-i'll sing for you, just not like this. Please, s-sir Jeon..go away.."

The silver haired didn't knew what he had done to the brunette mafioso to beg for his very own safety. All he did was to live his life, serenading customers every night under those chandeliers with the jazz band playing behind his back; applause rounding him every time he hits a high note along with his intricate gestures.

He was still young, arriving in the city of angels with those dreams to slowly stride his way and be discovered as a shining star yet in this circumstance-the most unpleasant circumstance of being trapped by the young mafioso to fulfill his heinous want from him.

I heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style
And so I came to see him, to listen for a while
And there he was, this young boy, a stranger to my eyes

"Oh my, my, little song bird. You wanted to be that star don't you? If you became mine dear, I'd make you one and even the shiniest one among them isn't that promising?"

The mafioso's voice was smoother than oil, yet his words were drippingly venomous. He wanted the song bird by himself since that very day he had set his eyes on him, with the angelic voice that resonates against his ears; he immediately yearned for him.

It was embedded on his mind on the first day he discovered the boy's existence.

The stressful day where his subordinates failed their jobs to get the payment from the stupid drug dealers, and that stupid Min Yoongi ditching their meeting because of some shit his gang did. The night where he had decided to unwind after gunning down three of his useless men and drive over in his stylish silver Cadillac Convertible towards the popular jazz bar that has been the talk of the town.

He sat at one of those wooled couches alone along with the courtesy of being a feared mafioso he was, that the name Jeon Jungkook was enough reason for them to never tag along. And no one would even dare to do so-not with his fearful stoic expression painted on that beautiful frame that asserts dominance in every angle.

One wrong thing or even just a bad flow of the wind, or squinting a dirt on his shoe, once Jeon Jungkook is annoyed then perhaps expect that your brains are gonna splatter out the floor and had its chunks stepped and spitted over. Empathy is one of the word erased in his dictionary, and seemed like will never be written back again.
Crosslegged and clad in his black victory suit, his damp wavy brown hair framing his face that didn't stop the women to spare a loving look at him despite the fear, ordering the Millionaire Cocktail and sipping it peacefully while the sounds of saxophone and drums were swaying people around. The alcohol was fairly doing well on keeping him sane enough not to shoot the noisy dancers on the dancefloor, or even kicking any woman that had their annoying heels clacking loudly without rhythm and staring at him.

The night was coming slow to him, he might have already finished two of the millionaire cocktails and the Gin Rickey that lined his throat achingly-not that he cared about how many did he gulped down already, nor he was paying attention besides calling the frightened waiter to serve him the drinks he wanted.

"Are you all having a good time?"

The mafioso didn't spare a look and only huffed at the announcer, eyes squinting out of annoyance from the crowd that cheeringly said 'yes!' when he is obviously not having everything that time none other than the good punch of the alcohol in his gut.

"Now I'd like to introduce our very special guest, the song bird of our own pride Park Jimin as he'll be serenading us throughout the night. Let's give him a big welcome!"

He wasn't suppose to care as the back of brain shouted at him to just continue gulping down his drinks, not until he heard that voice that roamed down in his ears and brought shiver down his spine-that heavenly voice making him snap his head to spare a stare expecting an angel singing in front of the band.

And he was never wrong.

The silver haired angel seemed to fell down from heaven, clad in his white silk clothes and a matching scarf adoringly wrapped in his neck holding the microphone with his fingers and even swaying the stand altogether in a serene manner.

He was a stranger for him, but he was sure himself that with the angelic face, he sure belonged in the city of angels.

For a man he was singing a piece that were usually sang by female singers, the new song 'Why Don't You Do Right' that he have heard on his wooden tabletop radio at his office while assembling his pistol and taking a smoke at the scorching noon as much that he can recall.

Oh dear, it was a mockingly seductive song yet he seemed to make it much more better sounding in his ears, the mafioso's breaths becoming more ragged as he seemingly forget how to breath while admiring the singer in front of him.

With one of flicking movements, he was sure their gazes meet one another where his world suddenly came to a halt.

That's it.

He wants him.

I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd,
I felt he found my letters and read each one out loud.
I prayed that he would finish but he just kept right on.

"Song bird, you know this could've been easier if you responded to me right?"

The singer didn't answer on the other side of the door, but the mafioso could hear his shuffling fear inside as he finally decided to break down the door that separates the two of them.

He can see the fear on Jimin's eyes, glossy and close to tears as he was choking in own  sound while leaning closely to the bathroom's tiled walls.

"S-sir..J-jeon Jungkook. I-i didn't knew what I did to you for everything to lead to this. I-i can't be yours, please—"

"Bullshit."

With one click from the trigger, the bullet was fired just beneath him but remained unharmed with a little hole and the broken tile. The silver hair felt so sick of the moment, his temperature rising as sweat run down from his forehead down to his chin unbeknownst of his own tears falling; the fear already chunked on his throat as broken sobs escaped from his lips. 

The stench of gun powder was still around the room, the mafioso leaning down to level along with the crying angel, his large hand cupping the boy's cheek pressing his thumb on the soft skin.

"Song bird..I could help you with everything you need and you know that right?"

The singer was trembling badly in his position, his eyes fixated on the leathered shoes of the mafioso rather than meeting those brown orbs that he feared. The hands against his cheek were wiping away his tears that seemed endless.

"Mmhm, Jimin. Songbird, look at me and listen well. The ugly flat your parents resided in Oklahoma..their unpaid money..your payment for that ugly flat you used to reside before..and maybe that education for your brother that your pushing with that little piece of singing wage you have in this expensive city. You can have those worries away, just be mine."

Jimin can hear the sound of the pistol touching the floor as two hands—the other with the suffocating smell of smoke from the gun now cupping his face and lifting up to meet the gaze of the mafioso, their eyes fixated together. He was too absorbed of staring at those eyes that he didn't feel the thumb that was carefully tracing his lips, or he was just too numb to feel anything at all by the moment.

"Song bird, you have to answer me."

The mafioso's voice became more firm and impatient, and the singer just wished to just wake up from the dreadful nightmare. He knew there's no way out anymore. The man of honor could harm anybody he knew, his family, his friends; his dreams.

Jimin knew its done whether he picked or not, he's gonna be the man's property whether he wished to or he'd repudiate. He's a mafioso and he was just a singer, whether he run and escape at another state he'll be found in no time.

The choices would be him singing in fear forever, alive and well or he'd be buried six feet deep with a lacerated throat done and abused by the mafioso's wishes; singing with the angels with their harps above and whichever of those choices are both going to kill him slowly.

"Song bird, I don't want to wait further more."

The singer's lips were still quivering, his mouth making small breaths and gasps with the hesitation to make his choice. His lips moved without any sound, mimicking words that he knew he'd instantly regret.

"Jeon Jungkook..please..stop."

Strumming my pain with his fingers,
Singing my life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song,
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song

The lights were over the singer, the torrid temperature coming from the numerous studio lamps making him sweat over his purely wool made suit tapping his oxford shoes while waiting for the signal to pose over the camera for one of his official creative photographs to be publicized.

"Pose nicely to the camera, song bird. You'd never want to mess an expensive shot for a photo." The singer inhaled rather deep when he heard that hawking voice, sparing a look at the mafioso who had that roguish smirk on his lips that he disrelished.

"I know..Jungkook. I'd be posing better."

The mafioso clicked his tongue, seeing the distaste on his precious song bird's face.

"Still that unappreciative, song bird? I brought you here and every little thing you had is because of me."

He chuckled grimly, the singer nodding his head unwillingly yet dead set like a marionette being controlled by the puppeteer. For Jimin, the mafioso is everything to him now. He sold his soul to the devil was a better phrase, no, he was fully the devil's ownership.

He can't talk back, he can't insult, nor he can't even resist anything that comes directly from the mouth of the mafioso. Park Jimin was done after that night in Cecil Hotel, now he was living glamour in the shadows of his dream and stepping over the Hollywood.

Jeon Jungkook had him wrapped around his fingers, no matter how strong his grasp is he'll never get away from him.

He was his, and his alone.

And he'll be singing for him, forever.

Even if it kills him everytime.

              
               
                      𝄥𝄞────────── 𝄇

I don't really make one shots and here it is. This song is in my brain for weeks already, and I was pretty anxious writing because its some older era, as much as possible I want some details to be similar to what the 40s era had, and just separate it from the killer fanfics.

I think i'd make another oneshot soon, it could be based off Creep by Radiohead or Look What You Made Me Do based off PostmodernJukebox cover, possibly a spy AU.

But nonetheless, thank you for reading!