#gentleman's dub club

[9misoundsystem]

Gentleman's Dub Club - High Grade

[sonicziggy]

"Play My Games" by Gentleman's Dub Club, Hollie Cook https://ift.tt/1TNuPls

[ozarkthedog]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃

summary: while doing a deal with Marc, Joel comes to collect your debt.

pairing: (mob enforcer!Joel Miller x afab!reader) x dealer!Marc Spector.

warnings: 18+ mdni. dub con -> read responsibly. alt universe. soft!dark. no physical descriptors of reader. power imbalance. threats. debt to the mob. weed. no m/m. oral sex (f&m). rough sex. dirty talk. spit roasting. shotgunning. aftercare. w.c. 4.2k

author's note: honestly, this started out as pure filth/pwp, then it turned into so much more. there is potential for multiple parts, mostly revolving around Joel x reader. don't hold me to it, but like i said, this took on a life of its own, and now i'm madly in love with mob enforcer!Joel.

huge thank you to @ghotifishreads for beta-ing and being such a wonderful, supportive friend.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐎𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐛���𝐚𝐫𝐲

The carpet in your tiny living room was slowly developing a hole from your pacing back and forth. You love this apartment. Sure, the faucets drip, and the dingy wallpaper started peeling the day you moved in, but it was all yours. 

Since you moved to the big city after leaving home, you took any job you could find. You knew starting out on your own would be tough, but you could grin and bear it. Anything was better than small-town life. You wanted adventure, to see what the world had to offer.

What you didn’t plan on was getting involved with the wrong kind of people. 

When you fell months behind on rent, a co-worker mentioned she knew someone who could help. 

It was too good to be true, you thought, as you slowly walked into a smokey nightclub around midnight. Uptempo Spanish music played in the background as patrons drank at the bar, loudly singing and chattering. You tread deeper into the club, entering a VIP section where multiple gorgeous women sat on the laps of intimidating, finely dressed men in expensive suits. 

Various sets of eyes spot you the moment you cross the threshold, but only one set feels like they’re burning into your soul.

An unnerving man with piercing brown eyes holds your wary gaze. He’s draped in a long, brown leather coat, and streaks of gray pepper his temples. He stands to the side, leaning against the wall, and watches with intrigue as you shift nervously on your feet. 

His arms are crossed. A mustache tops his lips, which are etched in a permanent scowl as if he’s a dog that’s been kicked too many times. Still, he’s among the most handsome men you’ve seen since coming to the city.

He pushed off the wall with his broad shoulders, finally breaking his stare, and leaned down to whisper in the ear of a younger man seated at the head of the table, presumably his boss. 

“You need a little help, Sugar?” the younger man asked. 

His dark hair is a mess of curls, and his cheekbones look like they could cut glass. “I could use some help around the club. There’s always a gentleman in need of some company.” His fingers traced along a woman's nylon thigh as he looked you up and down. His coy lips tugged into a smirk as the group quietly laughed. 

The brown-eyed man's face grimaced at the younger man's tone. You want to curl in on yourself. The smoke in the air makes it hard to breathe. “Uh, no,” you start, tonguing your dry lips. “I just need to borrow some money.” 

The younger man purses his lips and nods. “That can be arranged. Joel here will take care of you.” He motioned to the older man on his right and looked you over with a curious gaze before waving you away.

Joel, the mob boss's right-hand man, meets you in the dingy alley behind the club. Water drips off the corner of the rooftop from the storm that blew through earlier in the day. A gust of cool fall air blows through, and you hug yourself to keep warm.

You learn that Joel was a no-nonsense man, straight to the point. Clear and precise.

He thrusts a heavy bag into your hands, and the leather handle creaks under the weight. “You sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” he asks, lighting a cigarette. Orange hues lit his features sinisterly as if he were a demon or creature from hell's depths.

You stood your ground, but the tremble in your voice gave you away. “Yeah, I know what I’m doing.” 

Joel’s eyes go soft. It’s the first time he looks human since you first saw him. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered, shaking his head. He blows a long gust of smoke from his nose. “He expects to be paid, with interest, by the end of the month.”

You teethe your bottom lip with a nod as nauseous worry swarms your belly.  

“I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” he states, thumbing at his lips. “Just so we know you haven’t run off with our money.”

Your eyes widen, and your knees slightly buckle. “No! I don’t plan on taking off. You don’t have to worry about that.” You trip over your words, frantically making sure he knows you won’t rip them off.   

He chuckles at the sight. It’s a deep, dark rumble from years of smoking and drinking, and it makes your cunt throb. “We don’t think you will, but it’s part of the job. Besides, having to keep track of such a pretty face ain’t so bad.” he muses, a light smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

An anxious, breathy laugh puffs from your chest. You hesitantly wring the leather handle as your eyes fall to the wet pavement.

A horn blares in the distance. Angry drivers yell into the night, breaking the perilous spell between you and the enforcer. 

“If you ever need help with anythin', let me know, okay?” he offers before turning on his heel and returning to the club.

“How will I contact you? With a bat signal or something?” You asked quizzically.

He chuckled again, and it set your heart on fire. “Just call the club and ask for me, sweetheart.”

You were truly and utterly fucked. 

It was the end of the month. Joel would arrive at 5pm to collect, and you had $50 measly dollars left in your bank account.

You’d squared up with your landlord and then some, paying for a few months in advance to show how grateful you were that he didn’t kick you out on the streets. What you didn’t plan on was getting fired from your job. You desperately tried to find another one, but you knew it was pointless as the end of the month slowly crept.

A knock on the door jars you from your thoughts. You scramble to open it, thankful your dealer was around today. You badly needed a smoke to curb your anxiety and impending doom.

Marc stands on your doorstep, beaming with his classic lopsided smile. “How’s it going?” He asks, making the short trip over to your couch, unbuttoning his long, black, and gray tweed coat before plopping down with a sigh. 

“Uh, fine,” you reply quickly. “You know. Same old.” 

“Same shit, different day, as I like to say.”  He scratches his trimmed beard with a coy grin. He looks really good today. Dark gray hair gelled and tousled. 

Nerves tug at your belly. You can taste the bitter doubt in the back of your throat.

Marc was a decent dealer. He let you start a tab when funds were low and gave you extra lighters and papers when needed. You knew to avoid crossing him, so what you had to do was extra tricky.

You sit on the floor across from him as he chucks a bag filled with joints onto the coffee table. Your body itches to feel the smoke burn your lungs.   

“Wanna hang for a bit? Smoke with me?” you offer, already reaching for the joint with a timid smile.

Marc quirks a brow. He digs his phone out of his tweed jacket and checks the time. “Uh, yeah, sure. I can hang for a bit.”

You try to light the joint, but the lighter won’t spark.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Marc asks, taking the lighter from your shaky hands. 

You silently nod and press the joint between your lips. Just as he lights the spliff, a knock sounds on your door.

You curse under your breath and hand the unlit joint to Marc. “Sorry. I’ll give whoever that is the boot.” He nods and sparks the joint, taking a long drag as you cross the distance to the door.

You yank open the door without thinking. “I don’t want anything you’re selli-”

“Hey there, Sweetheart,” a familiar, deep voice drawls.

You stand like a deer in headlights before the intimidating mob enforcer. 

He wasn’t supposed to be here so early. That’s the last time you open your door without checking the peephole.

“What’re you doing here, Joel?” you inquire, leaning in close so Marc doesn’t hear. "I have until tonight to give you the money."

The older man's leather jacket is pulled tight around his rugged shoulders as he leans in your doorway. His salt and pepper curls look damp as if you were his first stop after he got out of the shower.

“The boss has plans later and wants to ensure you're paid up.”

You wanted to scream. 

“This isn’t fair.” Your fists clench at your sides.

“That’s life, Sweetheart’.” Joel shrugs. “So, where’s the money?"

It takes every ounce of courage you have to stand your ground. 

“No. The boss said I had until 5pm, so I won’t give you anything until then. Now kindly, leave.”

You slam the door, but not quickly enough. A worn boot slides between the frame and the door, halting your escape.

“God dammit,” Joel fumes, shoving the door open, sending you flying back into your living room.

You catch yourself before you fall and watch as the enforcer makes his way into your sacred space. Now you know what it feels like to be on his wrong side. He kicks the door shut with his foot, ready to pounce, but freezes when he sees Marc.

“Miller.” Marc acknowledges from his laid-back position on the couch, joint pinched between his fingers.

Joel’s jaw twitches. “Spector.”

“So, what’s going on here?” Marc asks, gesturing with a curious wave. He then blows a lungful of smoke into the room and flicks bits of burning embers into an ashtray.

“None of your business,” Joel grits before focusing his attention back on you.

You do your best not to cower in front of the large man as he stalks closer. “You don’t want to make the boss angry.” He says, in an eerily calm voice, one that makes your hair stand on end. “Where’s the money?”

“I don’t have it.” You admit, barely louder than a whisper.

His jaw clenches hard. He shakes his head in disbelief, hands perched on his hips. His eyes grow scarily dark. "That’s not what I want to hear.”

“I don’t know what to say. I have a few dollars left in my account,” Your voice wavers.

Joel drags a heavy palm over his face and sighs. “What were you thinking? How were you going to pay him?” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder to your dealer.

“I, uh, I had a plan.” Your fingers wring at the seam of your shirt, and nausea swarms your belly.

Marc stands and finally joins the conversation. “Yeah, I’d like to know how you intended to pay me.”

You shift on your feet, eyes darting between the two more prominent and influential men. 

“I was going to offer to blow you.” The words tumble out so quickly that you wonder if they even heard you.

You wish the floor would open up and suck you in. It was bad enough that you had to resort to blowing your dealer, but now Joel was here to witness everything and most likely drag you to a certain death.

“For fucks sake,” the older man groans. 

Marc’s brow shoots into his hairline. He whistles as his eyes drag down your body. “You sure got yourself into a real jam here, huh?” He licks his bottom lip and steps closer. “I think something could be arranged, at least on my end. What about you?” He claps a hand on Joel's back, barely moving the powerhouse of a man. He was an enforcer, after all. This job wasn’t just for anyone. 

Joel shakes his head in dismay. His leather jacket creaks as he moves, lightning fast, quickly pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, Sweetheart.” He informs, “Since I’ve taken a likin’ to you, I’d hate to see you get hurt. I’ll pay off your debt.”

The heavy weight you’d dragged around for the last week falls from your shoulders. You didn’t realize you’d stop breathing until the sweet air rushed into your lungs.  

 “But,” he continues, rubbing his thumb across your bottom lip, “you’re going to pay me back in kind.”

The heaviness returns, except now you’re afraid the extreme weight will crush you.

Joel notices your racing thoughts. “Shh. No need to think,” he murmurs, letting his hand fall to your hip and making himself comfortable. “Just be grateful you’ve got to deal with only me and Spector.” 

His eyes are solemn and tender, lost in his thoughts; his gaze travels across your face. You raise a cautious hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat under the smooth leather. That magnetic pull you felt the first time you met him pulsed through your veins again, and you think he felt it, too. 

Then, his features twisted with remorse. "This wasn't what I had in mind, but you've left me no choice, Sweetheart."

In a flash, Joel drags you across the worn floorboards and carelessly tosses you over the back of your couch. The air knocks from your lungs. Your ribs flash bright with pain. He moves too fast for you to protest and tugs your leggings off, throwing them across the small room. 

“Best get to work, Spector, if you plan on getting your end of the deal,” Joel threatens the dealer as he crouches down, giving himself a front-row view of your exposed cunt. 

“Let’s get a look at the goods.” His large, warm hands roughly spread your cheeks apart. “Fuck me. That’s a sweet looking pussy.” He drags a thumb up the slice of you, making your spine bow as your hands press into the cushions. “Already wet, too. My kinda girl.”

Unconsciously, you strike an elbow back, but an imposing figure grabs your flailing limb, halting your retaliation.

You forgot about the other man in the room. 

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t ever wonder how you’d look with my cock in your mouth,” Marc admits while fisting his length out. 

He’s half-hard and already intimidating. You stare up at him incredulously while he grasps his veiny girth and traces your tightly closed mouth with the weeping, dusky pink tip. He smears his pre-cum on your skin, marking you before he begins his corruption.

Joel smacks your ass hard, making you yelp and shoving you onto the dealer’s awaiting cock. You instantly gag as Marc's hips pitch forward once he feels your warm, wet mouth. He curses under his breath, cages your head between his hands, and begins sawing his cock back and forth over your tongue. 

His brute thrusts make you gag and spring tears to your eyes. “Come on now. Why the waterworks? This was your plan, after all,” Marc teases, patting your damp cheek.  

Without warning, Joel’s tongue dives into your heat. A blazing heat erupts in your belly as he licks from end to end, wild and ferocious, not stopping until he tastes every inch of you. 

You instinctively moan from the blissful arousal that begins to pulse from his treatment. He laves at your taint and tickles your untouched rosebud for a beat forcing your mind to somersault before traveling south to circle his tongue around your clit. 

“Could eat this cunt all damn day,” he slurs against your throbbing core like he's drunk off you. “God damn, s’fuckin’ delicious.”

Joel sucks the tiny button into his mouth, earning a whole body shiver as you writhe against the couch. He rubs his nose against your soaked folds, making sure to take deep breaths while he eats you alive. 

Marc leans to his left while he works his cock ruthlessly down your throat, making you sputter as the bulbous head prods your tonsils.

You hear a click. The sound of paper igniting and then a long, deep breath.

Marc leers down at you while holding the smoke in his lungs. He curls a hand around the back of your head and presses until the auburn wiry strands littering his girthy base tickle your nose. Then, he exhales, blowing a long, winding breath like a dragon down into your face. 

Your vision blurs from the vapor. The trapped oxygen burns your lungs, and your body quivers from your helpless position while you gag sickly around his cock. Joel winds his arms under your belly, keeping you steady as you thrash anxiously. 

When Marc finally lets you free, you sputter and suck down as much air as you can. A glossy strand of drool connects your lips to his throbbing cock. You sniff and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand as his fat length bounces in your view. “You look fuckin’ wasted, Kitten.” He quips with a languid laugh and takes another hit. 

Joel stands behind you, knees cracking as he towers over your vulnerable body. You warily look over your shoulder when he grinds his against the soft skin of your ass.

You’re caught in his wretched stare like a deer in headlights. “Best hope this pussy fucks as good as it tastes,” he threatens, tapping his bulbous, weeping crown on your sticky folds.

Joel gives no warning before he steadily pushes his obscene length into your heat. Your jaw drops with a raspy wail, allowing Marc to fill your mouth again and mute your frantic moans. You feel every vein and girthy inch of Joel’s cock splitting you open, as well as Marc's, as he glides his thickness over your tongue.

It seems to go on forever until they bottom out harmoniously. Joel presses his hips against your ass, and his plush lips pull into a sneer as your core stretches to accommodate him. “Oh, Sweetheart. This cunt is practically chokin’ me.” He provokes with a ragged groan, rubbing his thumb along the glistening, excessively stretched skin that embraces his cock.

A high-pitched whine slithers from your throat before it’s quickly cut off by Marc snapping his pelvis. Joel licks his creamy thumb with a dark chuckle before caging your hips in his steely grasp. He sets a steady rhythm, entirely withdrawing before shoving his cock back in, giving you no reprieve as Marc continuously thrusts his dripping length between your spit-coated lips. 

Your body burns. Your mind is warped. Joel's cock keeps brushing against that spongy spot behind your clit. It's all too much. You feel yourself losing strength, giving in. Either from lack of oxygen to your brain or your greedy cunt that's feeding off their wretched pleasure. 

"You gonna come, Sweetheart? Can feel her milkin' me real good. Shit-" Joel hisses as your velvet walls squeeze him tight.

Both your holes lock around their cocks as you come. Your eyes roll back, your spine bending like a bow as the harsh wave of desire ripples through you. 

Both men curse at the sight and feel of you. 

It shouldn’t feel this good being used and tossed around like a toy, but a thick, syrupy heat steadily gathers in your belly. With your head in the drug-induced clouds, every illicit touch sends you higher into a euphoric atmosphere.

“Wanna hit?” Marc offers, holding the joint between his fingers to the enforcer.

Joel finally tears his eyes away from where he’s spearing you open. He nods, stilling his hips, and extends a hand before pressing the joint between his lips. He takes a long drag before splaying his broad body over yours. 

You notice him in your peripheral as he watches you choke down Marc’s cock. “What a fuckin’ sight,” he drawls, joint bouncing between his lips. “Swallowin’ his cock like your life depends on it.” He roughly drives his hips forward, his leaky crown cruelly kissing your cervix, making you gag from the agonizing bliss. “Kinda ironic that it does.” 

You feel their cocks pulse in unison when you start writhing at Joel’s threat. You knew they wouldn’t hurt you, but the thought was too much to bear in your current state. They quickly make work of your flailing limbs; Joel grabs the back of your neck with a heavy paw, and Marc traps both your hands in his own, caging them against his stout stomach.

They set a brutal pace. You no longer feel in control of your body as they use you to get off. The room echoes with the sounds of gluttony, like feral animals staking their rightful claim on lowly prey. 

Marc comes with a growl, caging your head between his hands as you push against his abdomen, and fucks his salty release into your mouth. He collapses onto the couch with a ragged sigh, his engorged cock a shiny mess as he catches his breath. 

“Gotta get used to this, sweetheart,” Joel gloats in your ear, working an arm around your collarbone to pull you back onto his cock, forcing you to meet every one of his brutal shoves. “Your pretty pussy is gonna be ruined by the time your debt is paid in full.” 

Marc cups your jaw in one of his hands and takes a puff of his joint. He slides a thumb between your sticky, come coated lips and blows the smoke into your mouth. You gladly inhale, letting the drug work its magic. Joel grabs your hips and picks up his speed, greedy for his pleasure. 

He comes with a gruff, dark groan, snapping his hips hard against your ass until he's buried to the hilt and pumping his sticky load into your fluttering core. 

You collapsed onto the cushions once Joel let go of your hips, your body too weak and drugged to care to move despite your vulnerable state.

“We’re square, Kitten.” Marc grazes your cheek with his knuckles, and a sly grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “But anytime you want a hit and can’t pay, I’ll be more than happy to help you out,” Marc quips before silently nodding at Joel and leaves with a bounce in his step.

"Come're, Sweetheart." Large hands slide under your belly and help you stand on your feet. His eyes soften as he looks over your puffy eyes and swollen, slick coated lips. He cups your cheek and sighs through his nose. "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

A rush of water hits your ears as Joel turns the shower faucet. You stand behind him like a child waiting for their next instruction before he turns back to you with a slight smile.

"Up and over. That's it," Joel says, ensuring you don't bump your elbows as he removes your shirt, folds it, and places it on your vanity. He helps you step into the shower before he sits on the toilet lid and watches you through the clear plastic curtain. 

Silence falls over the tiny bathroom as he lets you take solace under the stream.

You melt in the warmth. It eases your aches and dulls your overwrought senses. You stay there until your skin prunes and icy cold water pours from the tap.

He helps you step out of the tub, ensuring you're on solid ground before grabbing a towel hanging on the wall and wrapping you in the soft cotton. 

"You'll stay with me until your debt is paid," he said, resting his hands on your shoulders; the weight keeps you grounded as your world turns upside down.

"You won't have to worry about anythin'," he continues, carefully drying your body with a tenderness you didn't expect. "I'll pay your rent, so you still have this place when our transaction is complete." 

You know you should be upset. A screaming, raging mess but seeing such a dangerous man on his knees drying water droplets from your body makes you lightheaded with alarming power.

He stands when you don't outwardly react. His lips are pressed into a worried, hard line, his hands are perched on his hips, and a sharp brow wrinkles his forehead. "Okay?"

The vexation that laces his tone snaps you out of the dumbstruck fog. You knew there was only one right answer.

“Yes,” you rasp, defeated. 

He smirks, softly chuckling under his breath at your submission.

"I'll be back in a few hours," he says, cupping your jaw like he's drinking from a stream; God knows what brutality those hands have dealt out. "I trust you'll still be here when I get back." 

You nod quickly under his grave stare. 

He plants a searing kiss on your lips, making you gasp. It's dominating and possessive, like he's christening the start of your new life together by licking into your mouth and claiming you. 

He breaks the kiss with a grunt and nudges your nose with his own. "Thatta girl." 

He holds your gaze as he slowly walks backward out of the room. "Pack enough for the next week. I'll swing by later to get the rest," he instructs before turning and walking out your door.

You're left standing in your tiny bathroom, panting like a newborn fawn. Your legs wobble as you move to sit on the toilet lid and clutch the towel tighter to your chest; heart smashing against your ribs.

Joel was right. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into.

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

*if you'd like to read more about Joel and reader's new life together, please invade my inbox about them! it helps motivate me!*

->reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated!<-

follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[brennenscolby]

The best thing cash can buy.

• Warnings + content: MINORS do NOT interact! yandere tendencies, mentions of guns, weapons, violence, fellatio (blow-jobs), dirty talk, edging, cunnilingus, breathplay, voyeurism, fingering, creampie, groping, breast play, hickies & bruises, breast fetishism, Dom! Koko, Switch Koko¡ pussydrunk! Koko, choking, overstimulation, body worship, begging, anal play, spanking, aphrodisiacs, missionary sex, backshots:*, role play, obsession, infatuation, praise, Sub! Reader

• Suggested tracks: Oui - Jeremih + Wake Up in the Sky - Gucci Mane, Bruno Mars, Kodak Black + Pour It Up- Rihanna

• Summary: in which you capture the attention of certain executive treasurer….

• Pairings: Bonten! Kokonoi Hajime x Stripper! Female reader

• Genre: dub-con, CNC, sugar baby themes, BDSM, dark fic, self insert

A/n: For now, this is just a ONE SHOT. please let me know if you guys are interested in a longer series!

One -

Wc: 1.5k

The night he came around, the gentleman’s club was packed with numerous clients, of which on average consisted of grown men, years of age accelerated into your future. A handful appropriated ulterior motives such as serving infidelity to their wives and offspring, whom of which foolishly waited for them at home, while others occupied the club to fill the void in their hearts fabricated by failed relationships they could never re-establish ever again. But he wasn’t one of them. No, his youthfulness radiated a concoction of mischief and elegance at best, morphing into the epitome of immortality.

“You’re my favorite.”

The sleek skin behind your neck still prickled with elevated hairs even after the incident. It’d been days ago, when his minty breath fanned your heated ear cooly, and his honeyed voice blessed your ears with its attractive, low vibration the second your smooth knees squished into the pristine leather chair beneath his manspreaded thighs. A lap dance is what he paid for, and unlike the majority of occupants in the building, you willingly gave him a moment to commemorate with the likes of high libido at best.

A shiver clambered down your spine in the space you occupied, hands coursing with adrenaline as you gulped and blinked profusely to drown out the memory underneath the darkened spots behind your eyelids.

You shouldn’t be doing that, not right now anyway. You had plenty of time to reminisce and sulk in the bittersweet memory when you got home with sore feet and a bag full of generous tips. While this specific individual hypnotized you with the grace of his gentility, you were sure he wouldn’t be returning anytime soon. Especially not to a Gentleman’s club laced with greedy tensions in the epicenter of Tokyo’s most dangerous gang.

An inkling of terror filled a space at the back of your turbulent mind after you first obtained this information upon accepting the job with desperation in light of your debts and bills over a year ago. You turned a blind eye to the impending doom manifesting in every corner of the wretched building as it was the only location where you found serenity, certainly from the strict rules that protected strippers and additionally contributed to a large sum of income. According to the circulating rumors you couldn’t help but overhear through the passage of murmurs and giggles, the apparent owner of the club was actually a Toman member himself. However, the high-ranking member’s name was unknown, as was their appearance.

Your bottom settled on the cushioned stool, the flattened red and worn fabric weaving out a distinct matted dip, of which provided a small discomfort to the cheek of your butt. A flicker of displeasure sprouted across your face, before disappearing the second your nimble fingers snapped the pearl-shaded switch located beside the widened work surface you called a desk. Pretty bulbs of light framing your rectangular mirror illuminated your set up, encouraging you to pull out the withered little pouch you called a makeup purse.

Upon pulling out other necessities, you stilled for a second, excitement spreading across your face as you leaned into the mirror, hues of yellowed light bouncing across your cheeks and face. Brush after brush smeared across the apples of your cheeks, to the fluttery spaces below your brows, followed by your plump, crimson colored lips. Every second of the way, he ghosted your thoughts, haunting every single one from beginning to end with his endearing presence that beckoned you over with an alarming yet thrilling temptation of the unknown.

The pad of your tongue collected spit, parching your dried lips as you contemplated what to do next in order to wash away the person living in your head. Standing upright, you easily slipped into your night apparel, of which was fabricated from black lace material that operated to highlight the hidden gems and feathers appended for the aesthetic embrace of burlesque style. A relaxed sigh heaved from your lungs before you inhaled the timber-tinted scents the room concocted from years of regular wooden desk utilization.

The base of your hands bled pastel from lack of circulation as they brushed the decorated cups of your revealing bosom, adjusting them to the perfect angle for the saturating pads of your fingers to sprinkle on shimmer and bronze. As you did so, your brow twitched in anticipation, the tender blubber of your chest reminding you of the moment he fondly gazed down at your inviting and divine breasts, drool stimulating the nerves of his tongue and almost coercing him to salivate before meeting your eyes intently.

“Beautiful.”

What did you get yourself into?

You remained upright in the empty room, heat igniting your face as you fanned away the invading and persistent notions with your pigment covered appendages. It was only one night you saw him, and you couldn’t help but think, could he be here today again? Most importantly for you?

You shook your head furiously out of distaste but your heart voluntarily skipped a beat with little resistance, almost as if to say yes. With feigned denial, you focused on securing the laces of your thick heels. The rusted door handle across the room jiggled alarmingly, and you rested assured, knowing the entrance of an employee was anticipated. Your feet plowed onto the floor below, falling in sync with the announcement you consciously knew would reach your ears.

“Hey, you’re on.”

You nodded obediently at your manager, passing her with easy and additional sway in your delectable hips as you waltzed to the navy curtain framing the sizeable platform adjacent to your dressing room. You completed your final round of routine by counting your blessings as you predicted the seconds you’d be greeted with expectancy.

Music vibrated across the polished ground, smoothly sliding beneath your heeled feet and up to your chest, violently making your blood thump as the passage of your name made its way across your ear canals. Like you rehearsed numerous times before, a cute smile framed your face. The drapes rolled apart, presenting your jewel encrusted, radiant frame. You batted your thickly coated eyelashes at the audience, recognizing a few suited bodies from previous encounters.

The palms of your hands arched upwards as the lower placement of your lush body expertly rolled in a teasing manner, exhibiting the shimmering skin of your legs in addition to the miniscule fabric framing your backside. In a concealed manner your darkened eyes scanned across the exposed, neon shaded room, before drooping from the lack of a certain someone.

The tune of the song bursting with conviction enraptured your attention, and your concentration drew back to the seductive, yet elegant routine. Engrossing your sensual movements to the pounding bass echoing from overhead speakers, you smiled beautifully at every hand that threw green bills at your designated metallic pole. And even when they desperately clawed to grab any part of your essence, you smirked before playfully retreating. This was your life and you’d surely milk every second of it for success and payment.

Your hips visibly smoothed and straightened with each swivel, spawning cries of exasperation from the audience you entertained. The back of your sleek, polished thigh hooked around the crown of your silver pole, and you twirled majestically, harmonizing hues of light reflecting translucent umbrellas over your frame. The crowd flocked with applause, and whistles while most importantly, tossing coins and dollar bills onto your glowing platform, igniting the flame in your irises the further you recieved cash in abundance.

Perspiration stuck to the secluded flesh behind your legs and between your fingers, executing traces of condensation onto your luminescent pole: all resulting from your scorched and wet skin. Exhaustion tinted your optimistic thoughts as you further pressed to maintain positions of dignity and most importantly, energy. The set had been going for half an hour, and you were almost done, luckily you’d get to take a long break for the awaited finale routine of the night. Though, with all the leisure time you’d have until the final routine, you wished for another way to pass the time.

While you proved to be popular at shuffling seductively across a metallic pole, you weren’t exactly praised enough to gain the interest of clients in private room sessions. And those were the most favorable at prompting convincing stacks that served as evidence to the existence of money trees.

However, your attempts of yearning for more secluded festivities had quickly been put off after the first few purchasers you bitterly entertained. On top of filthy men watching you dance, they always violated the rules, such that required no touching. While they had their lap dances completely terminated, you’d always lose money due to their childish whines of refunds for incompletion. The contract conducted between them and your manager only made it worse as refunds were a written agreement that failed to be discussed with you prior.

And while you despairingly sulked and grabbed a saddened drink at the bar after most of your routines, one day, your dreams of longing for more finally came true. And this was made possible by a certain gentleman with pretty eyes and an intimidating presence.

You waved half-heartedly at the captivated audience as handfuls of clients began to disperse and look towards other assembled platforms across the hall, preparations intact for the presentation of additional strippers. The security guards shielding your area of performance guided remaining clients towards miniatures side shows, of which occupied locations even a few floors above your own. However, they weren’t able to lead a certain body astray.

Your knees cracked discomfortly when you kneeled with outstretched palms to scramble and scoop up the half hanging, crumpled dollar bills on your LED platform, which faced execution if they spilled on the matted ground below. You sighed deeply once a few gave into murderous temptation. Despair and anguish ate at the little determination you had in your aching bones to move, before you abruptly stood on your sore ankles to grab at whatever you could muster in the darkening space.

The intensity of your cash excursion consumed the the last few remnants of your focus and you failed to notice the approaching shadow expanding over your form. The sound of steps made your ears twitch and you curiously gazed ahead, only to find yourself approximately nose to nose with exquisite and perfectly shined shoes that donned a familiar shade of black you could only reminisce on from your prior memories.

“Don’t pick that up.” Your brain could barely register what was said the second you felt the cash being snatched from your greedy palms, and thrown into the rusted, blue bucket you called your ‘happy holder’. Your look of shock intensified the longer you glared at the newly arrived guards in front of you, but it was quickly altered the second you realized who echoed the command with a demanding snap. The back of your spine felt rigid and adhered right down to the rugged ground your knees pressed tightly against.

Before even accepting the pleasant chance to gaze upon his attractive face, you picked your wobbling legs up, and fixed your posture to look even the slightest bit presentable. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of your shimmering, flushed cheek, marking its territory on a hollow dip between your shoulder and collarbone. You blinked once, or twice or even three times before conjuring up what to say whilst avoiding his enchanting gaze. “Y-you came.” You announced, the pounding of your heartbeat presenting minuscule tremors down your arms with tingly sensations grazing your legs.

He stood in all his glory, the plush of his lips still holding that charming, dark smile he cockily wielded in your presence. A familiar streak of eyeliner in the shade of vermillion framed the feline shape of his narrowed eyes, enchanting them to appear striking and menacing, yet alluring to your gaze. The second his dark eyes met yours, he chuckled in amusement, making your heart skip a beat.

“Ain’t it obvious? Of course I did. Couldn’t forget about my favorite girl.”

A mischievous glint dusted over the twinkle in his dark eyes. His pink, wet muscle of a tongue skippered out of his mouth, and only added to the chaos it would ensue.

[materassassino]

Had a dream that they finally released 2Old2Guard... but in a really weird way, not entirely, but in bits and pieces with commentary from Charlize and Victoria Mahoney. Andy was extremely antagonistic and basically only cameo'ed in the movie? Nile was cute but she was foundering a bit trying to find her way. We got a JoeNicky flashback, but not to the Crusades, rather they were infiltrating some gentleman's club and Luca was acting his ass off but was absolutely dubbed because he had no accent (some German dude told him he loved him and Nicky basically said "oh, that's nice" and then got them absolutely rumbled because he looked at Joe, lol). I then DM'ed someone and we basically agreed that it was worse than the first but not terrible so far.

Then thank God I woke up.

[scary-lasagna]

"He’s had a few incidents where his lovers caught him a bad time, his human form slowly disappearing at a passionate moment"

May i request a short, fluffy yet lovingly intimate scenario with Offender going through this, but instead of his lover that night runnin away, they stay.

( i love him 😭 )

I love when scenarios accidentally line up with my OC backstories

"I've seen worse."

A newly awakened siren working at one of the most popular bars in downtown seemed like a recipe for disaster. Which is exactly why you decided not to work there, but simply scope things out in case the pay seemed good enough. It seemed a bit above average, with men ordering from the top shelf more times than your bank account could count to.

The lighting stayed dimmed low, with plenty of hidden spots in various booths and seating arrangements throughout the club, perfect for sneaking kisses and hands traveling up skirts. Siren clubs weren't entirely out of style, nor were they too scarce in the city. Sirens had such a bad reputation in recent years, that no one except higher-paying snobs wanted to lay around in them.

The owner though...seemed nice. He greeted you at the door, with a friendly charm you couldn't quite place. And the gentleman commented that he'd never seen you before, and allowed your first drink on the house, no matter how expensive you wanted it to be.

The owner never stood in one spot for too long, flighting from table to booth to the dance floor, checking on customers and workers alike. He seemed a little too perfect, for a measly fae, and yet you always caught yourself smiling in his direction whenever he stared at you with that golden gaze.

You became a regular, and over time of visiting, buying drinks, and receiving free drinks, you formed a flirty relationship with the owner, who dubbed himself 'Hans'. He'll walk you to the bus stop and stand beside you no matter how busy it may be inside, and will loan you his overcoat on chilly nights.

But relationships like this will always lead toward a heated direction. Nights at his bar were spent in private rooms full of flirtatious kisses, hands running up thighs, and a peek of what could be in store for you in the coming days if you continued traveling this direction.

That wasn't all that went down in those rooms, you learned quite a lot about him, his past, his brothers, and his current woes. He trusted you fully, and you trusted him with your secrets as well, allowing him to peek into the darkest part of your mind, even for a few seconds. But he always reassures you that he's witnessed worse than whatever you could conjure from memory.

Hans will travel home with you one night out of many spent close together at the bar, barely making it through the door with your clothes fighting Hans' aggressive hunger for your body. His teeth nipped at your neck, already irritating your growing bruises of kisses.

The light switch longed for the closeness of your bodies as it was left forgotten in the dark, the only light in the room peeked through the curtains, bathing your bare bodies in the moonlight. You couldn't help but admire the sculpting of his curved and solid back. It felt so lovely to run your nails along his spine, rippling goosebumps along his pale flesh.

Hans' skin glistened and shimmered underneath the moon, and as he teased your bitten lip between his teeth, the shadow looming over you seemed to tower over you, but surely it must be the trick of the moonlight. The friction from his body grazed your bare torso, and you blinked in an attempt to adjust your eyes to the darkness outside of the moonlight.

Hans had turned into quite the tall being, with no more human-like resemblance of facial features besides a nose and a frown with different sized pointed-teeth peeking from beneath it.

"I'm sorry." Was all the was whispered. Hans turned to leave, his hand dragging down the wall in a sluggish disappointment, but you stopped him, and grabbed his arm.

You didn't fall in love with a face, nor a body. You fell in love with his stories, his past, present and future. You fell in love with the way he talked about his brothers, and the small jokes he manages to slip in, just ot make you laugh. You fell in love with the walks to the bus stops, and the intervening of pervy old guys sitting next to you at the bar.

As a siren, you never thought you could find love in such a way.

You've fell in love, and it only took one look at him to tell him the first thought on your mind, "I've seen worse."

And even though his frame towers over you, and his jaw could unhinge at any second and bite your head clean off, you held no fear toward him. All you feel is the need for him to stay, or you might just fall apart.

"You're not scared?" He asked with a newly gruff voice, all remnants of his human form had diminished, even down to the sound of his voice. He sounded surprised, as if anyone else would have screamed and backed away in horror of this new monstrosity.

"Why would I be?" He never tensed as you wrapped your wrists on his neck, pulling his lips toward your own with a gravity greater than the Earth pulling the moon into it's loving embrace.

You decided in the moment you would never leave him, and somehow, you knew he thought the same as well.

[heya-but-better]

His Favorite Thing

Part 1 (?)

~~——————————~~

Unedited, 18+, Dabihawks, dub-con, drunk sex, temperature play, branding kink, hawks is a bird, collaring kink, pet play(? It’s there, but like very loosely), writing doesn’t get past foreplay tho

~~——————————————————~~

In was times like this that he really enjoyed.

The club was nearly empty, neon blue and purple lights dulled down to fit the lazy late night fatigue. Dancing had passed, the loud drunks had been carried out.

All of who remained were people that Dabi typically got along with, which tended to ease the villain. So, these were the times he really enjoyed.

He leaned back in the velvet leather couch with a slow drag of his cigarette. The scarred man kicked his legs up, sliding his plate down to lounge casually, brushing the filter of the cigar against his bottom lip, caressing the textured skin through the paper.

His eyes were half lidded, blurring the sight of shining gold staples imbedded between the seams of healthy and marred skin, the ones that reflected the familiar blue and purple of the lights above with a magenta undertone.

Gold and purple, mixing into magenta. It was funny to him in some weird way, a huff of a laugh pushing out of his nicotine blazed lips. The same ones that came together, kissing the cigarette one more time for another hit.

Dabi was elegant when he wasn’t burning the world. He looked beautiful when he wasn’t laughing in a mania fueled crazy. His beautiful eyes glowed in the light, which was probably also his favorite thing in a time like this.

Or perhaps it just so happened to be Dabi in general. His favorite thing.

Hawks’s favorite thing.

Maybe he was dumb, but the hero was dumb and content. Content wasn’t something he often described himself as.

Here, watching a murder and Japan’s most wanted arsonist, as a hero who was doing nothing to even approach him.

Hawks stared from across the quiet club at the villain who laid in the vip lounging like he owned the club. Through quick research, the bird man knew he knew the owners close enough to basically co-own, so his ego wasn’t misplaced.

At least, it wasn’t in here.

“Sir?”

Hawks jolted lightly, quickly looking back to the bartender who was giving him a peculiar face. His golden eyes widened just a moment in a guilty look, one of panic. He was too tipsy to rely on his hero-practiced suave charm, caught off guard.

This wouldn’t be a big deal to him normally, staring at people was a hobby. It just felt different with Dabi.

“Do you need anything?”

The panic was also induced by the bartenders pointed question and suspicious tone. He was a well known hero staring at a well known villain, so sure, it was understandable. The last thing the staff would like is a pro villain-hero fight breaking out inside their establishment. Clubs like this were typically neutral zones between those labels however.

Hawks managed a smile, one tired and crooked from the corruption of alcohol burning his logic.

“No sir, just got lost in thought.” Hawks beamed to the mustached gentleman.

He nodded at the response, head tilting down to continue to polish the glass he held. “Try not to get lost in thought while looking towards our vip guest, then. Cause any discomfort to him and you’ll be escorted outside.”

Hawks hummed blankly, golden gaze flickering down to his empty glass with melting ice pooling at the bottom of it.

Quite the reputation he’s built up, huh? Dabi, so loved and protected. The thought drew a soft chuckle from Hawks.

The winged hero shifted the glass, catching the glare of the neon lights in the polished reflection of it.

Hawks’ eyes trailed around the warped display of it zoning out as he traced the blue lights curving to form the very affectionate word of ‘whore’ with a heart replacing the ‘o’. The man sitting just under that sign…

Well, the hero couldn’t help but tilt the glass again, finding the perfect angle as the ice clicked together at the disturbance of where they lay.

He found the messy hair reflected, shifting it just a little more to catch a glimpse at that pretty face—staring directly at him?

Hawks very quickly slammed the drink back flat on the bar top, willing his small wings not to sharpen. Sure, the hero was staring before, but that didn’t mean Dabi staring back didn’t scare him.

Scare him? Maybe startle was a better word. His pulse picked up, pounding in his chest, blood rushed to his face and his ears heated up uncomfortably. What the fuck would you call this emotion? Flabbergasted? Gobsmacked? Stupefied? Gagglefucked?

Hawks felt very fucked.

He didn’t want to pick a fight. He wanted to be creepy but not completely creepy and watch him from a distance!

After a moment to recompose himself, he glanced back down at the glass, tilting it and—a calloused hand slowly curled around his throat and Hawks involuntarily shivered. He was met with the reflection of Dabi directly over his shoulder.

“Wha’s a little birdie like y’rself doin’ all the way down here?”

God, that deep voice slurred by an obvious intoxication did something, the heat traveling from Hawks’ ears to his full face. He refused to even move his head as a scarred palm caressed over his Addams apple.

Unluckily for the hero, the hand collaring him moved up his neck firmly, tilting his chin up along with the movement, forcing his pinked face (only tinted that way from a nearby red neon sign, and nothing else) into full view.

Dabi towered over him with an unfairly drunken confidence. Hawks’s own inebriation left him mousy and easily overpowered. Maybe that’s why he didn’t move to pry the hand from his neck. It was the alcohol’s fault.

The villain’s chest pressed firmly against his shoulder blades, the soft fabric of his shirt caressing the base of his feathers through the thin fabric of Hawks’s flight suit in a way that had them weakly fluttering.

“..hey?” Hawks croaked dumbly, too frozen, pressured by the intense azure-blue gaze of the villain above him.

“I asked y’a question, bird.” The villain’s chest rumbled as he spoke these words, fingers caressing Hawks’s stubble, inching to swipe along the meat of his bottom lip. “I expect an answer. Been followin’ me?”

Hawks had to physically stop himself from licking across the thumb pulling down on his lip.

“N—“ Hawks caught himself mid-stutter, instead drawling out his lie, “—ooo?”

“Hmm..”

Dabi slowly pushed his black nail-polish decorated thumb into his mouth. Not even just a little, fully sliding it across the flat of his tongue. Hawks licked the underside of it on instinct, sucking the intrusion before he could think. His mind was muddled with the emotion he had kindly named gagglefucked, running far too wild to operate with any resistance.

However this response was well received, a cruel smile pushed against the staples on Dabi’s cheeks, head rolling into a interested tilt.

“You have my attention now.” The villain practically purred these words which itched a very primal part of Hawks’s brain, drawing a soft avian coo from his occupied mouth before he could stop it.

Dabi raised a brow at the bird response. It made panic swell in Hawks chest, communicated by a widening of his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to make those noises—the commission had ‘deemed them unsavory for publicity reasons’.

The brow fell with rather easy acceptance, “You really are a bird.”

Hawks’s already emotional mind felt a violent sting of confusion at his amused tease. If almost sounded supportive.

“…’s just a weird… lisp.” Hawks mumbled the clunky lie around Dabi’s thumb, golden eyes starting to find any excuse not to look at that demanding gaze from above him.

They adverted to check on the bartender who had disappeared from the scene that suspiciously felt of Dabi securing Hawks. But then again there was certainly no way. Hawks had been chasing after Dabi for the past god damn month to get into the league of villains. He’s been shot down every time, and every time Hawks found himself more engrossed in the lazy bastard.

“Get up.”

The command was whispered like a cruel joke. Dabi withdrew his hand, wiping the spit from his finger off on his own shirt as he took a step away.

To his mild horror, Hawks’s body lurched to listen, more obedient to the villain (who was finally giving him attention) than even himself.

He turned quickly, maybe in alarm, following the sound of chains on Dabi’s platformed boots dangling together with a metallic clink. He scrambled to follow, once again unsure why. Hawks just knew this villain wasn’t just going to stop because he was too drunk to understand what was going on.

Dabi was a man that took what he wanted no matter how morally ambiguous that desire might be. And if he didn’t get it immediately? Most often it morphed into a nasty obsession of need.

Hawks blinked for maybe two seconds, and apparently that’s all it took to find himself face first on a bed.

Wow, the club had private vip bedrooms. That was something he didn’t know about!

Also, Dabi was crawling on top of him, ready to eat.

Hold on there.

Hawks grabbed the scarred arms aiding in Dabi’s path of crawling on top of him in a desperate attempt to ground himself.

“What?” The hero warbled, eyes wide and baby wings beating against the bed they were pinned against. “Wait—“

Dabi huffed, leaning down to Hawks’s face with an impatience the hero never had seen on him before. Normally it was passive disinterested or cocky snark. Never want. Never the less the villain’s advances paused, even if the interruption left a sour distaste in his expression.

Hawks managed to suck in a breath of air, “Wha’tre y’doin—?”

“Takin’ what y’ve been teasin’ me with.” The villain cut him off with a slight growling tone.

Dabi shifted his position to rest on a single arm, other hand wandering back around the hero’s neck, pressing down against the soft skin. It wasn’t enough to make it hard to breathe, but Hawks felt himself stop breathing anyway.

The villain collared him like he owned him for the second time.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you look at me.”

The hand caressed his skin, blue eyes burrowing past any defensive walls Hawks had, making him fall limp in this grip.

“The way y’re always watching. Lick’n your lips, flutter’n your wings all ‘xcited. Watch’n my quirk like ‘s some spell.”

Hawks felt that heat creep from Dabi’s palm and for once he knew for certain he wasn’t going to be burned. No. Not with how Dabi was staring at him.

“So,” He continued with a lazy pause, one that hooked Hawks to hear him finish, “Here I am, taking what I want.”

The hand flashed with heat, singing Hawks’ skin just enough to mark him. It drew a yelp from the hero’s throat, the one so diligently caressed.

Hawks figured he would say something now, but the attempt was very quickly cut off by lips against his. The hero had no chance to defend himself or claim anything against Dabi’s observations.

Observations, because that’s what they were. There was no lie in his words.

And now he was returning all those longing gazes with something Hawks never expected to be doing with Dabi. How did shy stares jump to getting their dicks wet?!

Clothes were torn off, Dabi’s two-textured lips mouthed down his chin to his neck, hand shifting out of the way so he could kiss and lick the new marking claim. The smell of winged hair did nothing to stop the filthy groan that parted from the villain’s lips at the sight of his hand still on Hawks’s skin. If he was lucky it would be there for a long fucking time as a fresh, pretty scar.

Oh how beautiful that would be.

The ripped fabric of Hawks’s flight suit was jerked to the side by the over eager Dabi, his mouth continuing to explore his new muse’s body.

“D-Dabi—“

“That’s it. Moan my name pretty songbird.”

Hawks cry turned to a sharp whine the instant the villain’s wet tongue massaged around his nipple, even hotter metal stinging against his sensitive skin. Without much of an option, the hero’s hands flew up to Dabi’s black hair, gripping it in some sad attempt to ground himself back to reality. The cloud of drunkenness made that attempt for of a struggle.

Cloud 9.

Sucking earned a gasped mewl, a noise Hawks hadn’t even heard himself make before.

The villain took inspiration to draw out more keens, hands exploring his waist’s curved, tracing the dips with teasing grazed. They flowed to catch on the waist band of his pants, already starting to tug them downward.

The cold rushing around his thighs made Hawks’s hips buck up against Dabi’s body, another embarrassed whine straining through his lips. The cute noise was rewarded with a love bite over his chest, teeth digging into his skin just to hear another gasp.

“So responsive~”

Hawks barely managed to hear the tease. He probably wouldn’t have if his mind didn’t cling to the sound of Dabi’s voice, no matter what he said. It didn’t matter if it was a filthy cuss out or a snide remark about Hawks’s conviction of wanting to join the league.

Or if it, apparently, was sweet talk over foreplay.

Dabi’s mouth lowered even further, breathing out hot teasing air across his stomach purposefully making him flinch at the sudden temperature.

“Dabi—“

Hawks cut himself off this time with a guttural moan at the simply action of feeling the villain’s head between his thighs. He didn’t even make contact, but there were so many unspoken promises Dabi could give him.

And fuck, the hero wanted to see how far he’d really go, no matter how confusing this all was.

~~—————————————~~

Part 2? :D

Let me know~

[foggyparadisecandy]

MISS PURITY STORY, PART 2

[CONTENT WARNING: Hypnokink, Mind Control, Corruption, Non-Con, Sexual Situations, Submission, Degradation]

[You might want to read Part 1.]

Polly Preston loved the training files that Miss Leather would give her to listen to each night. Each file made Polly that much better and helped her forget about being "Miss Purity," her childish superpowered hero fantasy.

Miss Leather's training helped ensure Polly focused on essential things like service and obedience and pleasing men and women through her body. These days, Polly felt rather ashamed of her silly little "fairy fantasy girl," as Miss Leather rightly dubbed Miss Purity.

Under Miss Leather's caring guidance, Polly had gone from a "little mouse" to a "sexy kitten," and Polly couldn't be happier.

Polly now had a full-time job at Miss Leather's Lovely Ladies gentleman's club, where Polly was always the star attraction. Miss Leather billed her as "Miss Impurity" and played up the fantasy angle.

Although she didn't quite understand it, she loved how Miss Leather laughed when she would sneer as she referred to Polly as "Miss Impurity," so Polly would find herself laughing along at the joke to appease Miss Leather.

She loved Miss Leather and would do anything for her.

And to please Miss Leather, Polly worked the club every night, without exception, for the last five years.

She would come on the main stage in her jet-black, skin-tight, sexed-up version of Miss Purity's clothing and proceed to peel it off, slowly, sensuously, piece by piece, until all she was left wearing were her mesmerizing smile and her five-inch black patent leather heels.

She loved the slavering looks of the regular crowd and would enthusiastically give them lap dances one, two, or even three at a time,

She made sure the bouncers and patrons knew she was ok with full touch and encouraged it. Miss Leather suggested that, and Polly loved Miss Leather's suggestions.

Miss Leather had really helped Polly, and Polly loved Miss Leather and being under her control. Miss Leather helped Polly understand that giving in was always the best option for Polly.

Polly couldn't believe how lucky she was to have met up with such a gorgeous, talented, intelligent, strong woman like Miss Leather, who was willing to help her achieve her maximum potential.

Miss Leather handled all Polly's financial matters and paychecks and took care of everything for Polly - food, clothing, alcohol, drugs, and even allowed Polly to sleep in a cage in the club's basement so she didn't have to waste money on rent. Plus, it shortened the commute to work so she could spend more time entertaining.

Polly was doubly lucky because Miss Leather was a very busy woman and still made time for Polly. In fact, since Polly had come under Miss Leather's care, apparently, Miss Leather's business had grown by leaps and bounds. Miss Leather said it was all thanks to Polly being such a good girl. Polly found that hard to believe, but it pleased her to no end, knowing she might have had some role in Miss Leather's success.

It made her happy to be of service to Miss Leather and Polly lived for those moments when Miss Leather would give her guidance and attention. And Miss Leather did so much for Polly.

In fact, Miss Leather allowed Polly to have special fun with the club's assistants, Mark "Man Mountain" Markovian and Tim "Trapmaster" Tolliver.

At first, as a virgin, Polly was resistant to this suggestion, but Miss Leather taught Polly that giving in was always the best option, so she did.

When Polly first met Markovian, she felt weak in the knees at his strong, rugged, manly appearance. He was her first lover and ... it was amazing. She couldn't believe she had waited so long to have sex, and once she did it that first time, they became a regular hookup, sometimes multiple times each day.

She loved how strong he was, and she just felt so nice and weak and helpless under him, giving him whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. It felt so good to submit to him.

But after a year or so, something had changed with Markovian.

Instead of treating her like a fucktoy, as she had grown to love, he became more caring and attentive. At one point, she had jumped in his lap to get something sexy started, and after making out for a bit, he pushed her back with an odd look on his face and told her that things weren't right. Things weren't meant to be like this, and Polly was a good kid.

Confused and hurt, Polly let it drop, but a few weeks later, she needed to feel him inside her. She longed for it and had to have it. She ached for him to fill her as only he could do. When she brought it up, he told her he couldn't do that anymore, so she got pissed and called him a limp-dicked loser.

That got him going good!

He picked her up like a ragdoll and slammed her into the wall, driving her forcibly into the drywall. Of course, it didn't hurt her. She'd always been tough, even as a kid. If anything, it turned her on, and she felt her pussy light on fire in anticipation of what was coming next.

He then held her up with one hand around her throat and shredded her clothing with his other hand before thrusting his "man mountain" into her like the good old days. She had just started to feel the heat of arousal building through her body when she noticed the look on his face change to embarrassment, and his rock-like appendage shrunk and faded while still inside her.

He gently set her down on the ground and said, "no more, Polly. No more." And he walked away, leaving her hungry, aching, and extremely confused by this cruel treatment.

Luckily for Polly, her second regular was more dependable. Yes, Tolliver was an odd little man, interesting-looking, some might say bizarre-looking, short, barely five foot tall. But Tim Tolliver knew what women wanted.

She knew she was in for a treat when he started that infectious laugh. She loved to hear his laughter.

Tolliver would routinely bring out implements to work her over and punish every inch of her body in novel ways, taking out his sadistic desires on her willing flesh.

She was aroused just thinking about how hot it was to be bound up for him, contorted into various shapes, tied to different objects, to be under his control, trapped, and subject to his ever-escalating experiments of evil designed to inflict mental and physical pain on her. At first, she squirmed and pleaded to be let out, but once she started to give in and let him do his work, she realized how much better it was.

As Miss Leather patiently explained time and again, giving in was always the best option for Polly. So Polly learned to do that, and it felt so good.

So fucking hot.

Lately, Tolliver would lock her in the pillory with her head and hands firmly secured and her naked body exposed. And he would routinely work her over with all sorts of devilish devices that would best be called medieval torture paraphernalia, smacking her, poking her, jabbing her, prodding her, filling her, zapping her with electricity, and more.

Polly loved it, and she couldn't wait for their next session. He never showed an ounce of pity, and she had learned to love him for that consistency.

Apart from Markovian's inexplicable behavior, things were going great for Polly, so she was surprised to see Miss Leather, Markovian, and Tolliver in the dressing room after her shift.

"Hello, Miss Leather, is something wrong?" Polly looked to the floor respectfully as she addressed the powerful woman with the commanding presence.

"Yes, little mouse, I would say so. Something is very wrong."

Hearing this, Polly almost collapsed in fright. Miss Leather hadn't called her "little mouse" in years.

Had she done something wrong? Had she not been smiling enough? Had she not been serving the customers enthusiastically enough? Was she thinking too hard again? Why couldn't she be better and serve better? Why was she so stupid and disappointing after all this time?

"It appears one of your friends is looking for you right now, little mouse, and we need you to take care of it." Miss Leather said sternly to the terrified, shaking girl.

"Fuh .. friend?" Polly stammered confusedly. Her friends were all in this room with her. Thinking hard momentarily, she hesitantly drew a name from her past. "Debbie? Debbie Delight?"

Miss Leather and Tolliver burst out in riotous laughter while Markovian looked away.

"Debbie?! Oh lord, no. Debbie is long gone, mouse. Once you came to live with me, she no longer served a purpose, and we disposed of her like trash."

Polly nodded hesitantly. Of course, that made sense. Debbie served no purpose. So who could it be?

"You poor little thing, you don't remember your little costumed friends any longer, do you?"

Genuinely confused, Polly kept her head down wondering what Miss Leather was talking about.

Cruelly laughing again, Miss Leather said, "Oh, this is so delightful. You have no idea any longer, do you? Well, little mouse, it appears your speedster friend, Zip, is scouring Charlton City looking for you, and we need you to stop her. In fact, we need you to help convince her to join you here in the club."

Polly didn't recognize the name and wasn't sure what Miss Leather was talking about, but, of course, she would help Miss Leather. She loved Miss Leather and would do anything for her. If Miss Leather needed another girl to join the club, Polly would do her best!

"Y-yes, Miss Leather. I will be happy to help."

Lexie Leather laughed again before speaking condescendingly to the girl, "You? *You* will help, little mouse? Don't be absurd. We need your alter ego for this problem. You are nothing but a dirty dishrag. You are of no importance and no value to me. Do you understand?"

Polly felt tears flooding her eyes at this but knew Miss Leather was right. Miss Leather was always right.

"I'm suh suh sorry, Miss Luh luh leather. I want to help but I'm so worthless."

Miss Leather said nothing but reached over to Polly and slowly moved her fingers alongside her head as if adjusting a dial.

Blinding white light flooded Polly's vision.

Dazed and confused, her vision slowly returned and she saw she was standing on a dais surrounded by seven shining female forms made of pure white light.

"Polly Preston," the voices sang in unison, "You have caused us great distress. Your power of Pure Vision, Pure Wisdom, and Pure Intelligence should have been sufficient to avoid your current dilemma. And yet you have allowed yourself to be captured and imprisoned for a lunar cycle."

Miss Purity was slowly regaining her senses. A lunar cycle? No. Wait. She had been stuck as Polly in the club for a little over five years!

"Polly Preston," the voices continued in their unearthly, beautiful melodious voices, replying to Miss Purity's thoughts, "What you feel has been years has been a single lunar cycle. The devices used to do this are beyond our understanding; however, we know you were trapped in a magical simulation of some fashion."

Simulation? The VR system Lexie had created? Lexie had trapped her in VR for a month and made it feel like years? Oh no. No.

"Polly Preston," the voices harmonized, "What was done is done, and now you must focus on what is yet to be done. You are our conduit to the waking world and serve as our agent. As our conduit, we feed you Pure Powers to do right and serve the meek and needy. We have learned that as our conduit, we are also subject to feedback from your experiences. This last lunar cycle has caused us great concern."

What was the Council of Purity saying? Had they been impacted by whatever Lexie had done?

"Polly Preston," the voices continued, growing slightly discordant and out of step with each other, "We have become off-center and need you to find your center. Use your Pure Heart to find your center to help us re-establish our center. This is imperative."

How could this be? Miss Purity knew the Council of Purity had been around since the beginning of time? How could this even be?

"Polly Preston," the voices strained, "You must remember. You must remember your true power. You must activate ..."

Blinking her eyes back in the real world, Miss Purity looked around the filthy, dingy room, eyeing the three villains while quickly summing up the situation. She noticed each of them holding a VR headsets while Miss Leather was holding two - one of which must have been on Miss Purity.

She felt ill thinking of all the degrading things done to her in the game world. Glancing at Tolliver, she felt ... gross ... and disgusted as he sneered with that oily grin. Turning away to eye Markovian, she saw him looking toward the floor and wondered about the man's intentions back in the club and now in the real world.

Swiveling back to Lexie, Miss Purity was angry and confused at how she could be treated so poorly by someone she felt so strongly about. Someone she really cared about and even looked up to.

"How delightful to see you again, Miss Purity. We've had so much fun entertaining the little mouse, but, as I told her, we need your special help to take care of this little playmate of yours."

"You're out of your mind, Lexie. I am taking you to prison now and I will make sure they put you in the deepest hole they can find."

"Come now, Miss Purity, don't be ridiculous. We've spent years working alongside you, training you, and improving you in the club. We know what you want better than you do at this point. Isn't that right?" Lexie said with a haughty sneer creeping across her face.

This is ridiculous, thought Miss Purity.

And yet. She found she could make no move against any of the three. Something was blocking her. Something was holding her back.

She would not give in to their little tricks. She knew the VR was just a manipulation, a false set of memories.

She found that she slowly started to move forward by using her Pure Willpower. Bit by bit. Inch by inch. She was doing it. She would defeat Miss Leather once and for all.

Miss Leather was so strong and commanding. Miss Leather was so powerful and beautiful. But she must be stopped.

Miss Purity knew this.

She kept creeping forward, slowly, steadily. She felt a rush of relief as she took full control of her body again. The overwhelming pleasure of being free to do what she wanted.

Miss Leather looked down at Miss Purity on the floor and smiled seductively. "I see you do understand after all. Such a good little pet you are."

Miss Purity found she had thrown herself to the floor in front of Miss Leather. Lovely Miss Leather. Her Goddess. Her ruler.

Miss Purity realized that giving in was always the best option.

So she gave in.

And as she gave in with all her heart and soul, her pure white costume slowly faded to gray, and then to pure black.

And it felt so good.

[More Miss Purity coming soon!

If you liked this, please consider hitting the heart or even reblogging - I really appreciate it!]

CLICK HERE FOR MORE STORIES

[8cfc00]

my ocs. from my 1920s-1950s (idk what time period) noir ass story about a gentlemen's club. dubbed. Gentlemen's right hand. follows the story of the "right hand" of the club's founder investigating a mystery or smth:

Clarence James "Jim" Knight- aka the Right Hand. has a super powerful right hand. gets powers from founder like a dnd warlock. no left hand (wears a prosthetic). loyal to the club like a dog. probably took an oath to serve it.

Ruby Agnes Bell- aka left hand. ish. the shield to jim's sword. not entirely sure what her power is. perhaps she can command people like the command spell in dnd. serves the club because she is almost forced to. does not have a heart (the founder took it)

(Doctor) Chance M. Gray- aka. the ears. the smart and sypful one. a doctor but not in medicine more like something like math or magic. insists on being called a doctor though. also mute... speaks with cool magic runes or something sick ass like that.

Phoebe Wells- aka. the boots. walking and physical gal, perhaps can duplicate herself to spread out more. the brawn. cool. haven't thought much about her yet.

All of them work for the club.

There is also: Fredrick "Fritz" Love- enigmatic regular who is rich and into novelty and shit. exists to have homoerotic tension w jim and almost be a foil to him.

interesting things i want to explore w this story are: the line between individuals and organisations. tradition and the purpose of ritual (perhaps even the importance of ritual at times...) tradition versus modernity but from the perspective of tradition yknow? the heart of the idea of a gentleman- looking like one versus being a good person at heart if you know what i mean.

current draft of the story itself is: a former worker of the club (the eyes) 's body was found placed on the doorstep of the club. the gang now has to repair the club's reputation while unravelling a plot by an organised crime organisation to assassinate several influential members of the club. or something. its hard to write when you are a bit unsure of how this shit even works and are just really into cool suits and want to make a story about people who care about cool shit like cigars and whisky

[priokskfm]

#FREEDOWNLOADS #FREEPROMO #RADIOCHART Stickybuds - Fractal Forest Mix - Shambhala 2023 My 16th year playing in the Fractal Forest! Tons of awesome beats and messages from my friends and I, hope you enjoy! Dl -> Email list signup - https://bit.ly/Shmb23 or on Patreon.com/stickybuds. Biggups! Tracklist Blackout JA Intro Taiwan MC - Mr. Babylon Taiwan MC - Mr. Babylon (Ed Solo + Stickybuds Remix) 2Pac + Dr. Dre - California Love (Ed Solo Remix Instro) Cian Finn - Free (Acapella) Thai Stylee - Bad Mind Fi Stop (Acapella) Reggae Roast ft WARD 21 - Drop It (Aries & Kelvin 373 Remix) Slynk x Lazy Syrup Orchestra - Mellow Kinda Hype (Kotek Remix) Blaiz Fayah & DJ Glad - Bounce It (Ed Solo Remix) The Nextmen & Gentlemans Dub Club ft. Gardna - Rudeboy (Acapella) King Tubby & The Observer All Stars - Dubbing with the Observer (Filip Motovunski Remix) Spice - So Mi Like It (Acapella) Lunos & Whitey - Get Ready Opiuo - Front2Back DJ Braindead ft. Tedross - Make Ya Krafty Kuts - Right There Mr. Bill & Not Yes - Flunkosaurus Krafty Kuts ft. MC Spyda - Vibes (Acapella) Culprate - Inertia (Ft. Habstrakt) BRONSON & ODESZA - CONTACT Francis Mercier & Magic System - Premier Gaou Jauz - Make It Good MARTEN HØRGER - ANØTHER DIMENSIØN PART TWØ Alott - NTFA LOKATE - Flow (Acapella) Cazztek - The Jam Wuki - The Edge (Acapella) Matroda & Bleu Clair - PWR Wuki - The Edge (Stickybuds Edit) Blackout JA - Take Me To Shambhala (Acapella) Audioscribe - Higher TYGA - Taste (Ed Solo Remix) Stickybuds ft. Blackout JA - The Firestarter (Acapella) Lateral - Every Nite Mefjus, Camo & Krooked - Sientelo (Acapella) Teddy Killerz - SOYUZ Mob Tactics - Murderball Document One ft. Doktor - Okay (Acapella) V O E - Left Unsaid (Instrumental) The Funk Hunters + Stickybuds ft. Flowdan - Empire (Phibes Remix Instrumental) Kabaka Pyramid - Well Done (Acapella) Stickybuds + K+Lab - Feel The Weight (Acapella)
Stickybuds + K+Lab - Feel The Weight (Exile Remix) Ed Solo - Bassline Growler (Instrumental) Mr. Bill & The Widdler - Pasta Masta (Acapella) K+Lab & Stickybuds - Soopercharged (Instro) Nick The Lot - Set The Trend (Acapella) Opiuo & Vorso - Martian March The Funk Hunters + Stickybuds ft. Flowdan - Empire (Acapella) COPYCATT - DUNQUE KOAN Sound - Chronos Grant & Ellis - Dead Man Walking (Full + Acapella) Sean Finn - Ain’t Nobody Blackout JA - Outro Скачать: https://ift.tt/I5qXChV https://ift.tt/eqYR2fy

[thecolorfulloko]

its modelo time she said

the following takes place close enough to hear the waves break natural oils salt washed and golden skin sun baked our dirty heads soaking up the minerals together sinking into the water and drying out on the sand where the living breathing ocean spares us from going any further beached as it made for the shore stacks of buildings strand along the coast in one of many communities that carve into the edge of her country here ive headed for the summer already mistaken for a native she let me crash in her hammock introduced me to her circle i dont know why i fool myself everyone is only out to see her shes got connections all around the square social currency to get us into the best parties well spent on the most potent i can experience we’re polishing our third eyes picking up higher vibrations wiping away the clouds my mind has a clear view im looking down at the deep like a wellness retreat i found it making sense the rush in my heart when i hear the soul in her records beats to fall in love to what she produces is plentiful a shine she carries bright a glow to her face that reflects shes got the right idea and she really means it and im convinced of the magic she possesses its a potion given in small doses shes sweet as sapote now sometimes its her that i crave we sat on the curb in the plaza she promises she can heal me with herbs the right frequencies and meditation ritualistic methods of relaxation consuming ceremoniously proper respect for the dead before we kiss the especial we can reach the gods and make an offering our devotion through these spiritual interfaces reading from her book of hymns the goal is for the sermons to travel all throughout collective consciousness music is the best way to spread the word i asked for some recommendations she made me a sample worthy mixtape i saved it in my song machine a composer and singer, yours truly and i havent died yet just let me come up a little watch me turn the switch insert the tape set the levels on the EQ now we're talking we style like dub all-stars we've got creative control as long as we hold those crystals we can sustain and we can endure turning up the volume a little ghetto blasting the streets like this swimming through this heat even when the lights turn on up until then we were casual my gold under an open collar the short skirt for Milena my comments were at least respectful and we got down drunker than ever staying out late as we wanted restless legs in the night clubs frame by frame   flashes of her dancing closer to me then it got darker i was close to blacking out but from what i can remember the pitch was lower the tempo was slower i made the move she held on like i was saying goodbye her tears pressed against my cheek thats when she let go of my hand knowing we were more than friends i guess shes better off with her backup plan but her gentleman still bites his tongue and that girl looks cute with anyone even as her relationship began to stagnate a harsh contrast to the honeymoon phase it can be such an ugly feeling to betray Milena says she will love the best she can so this is how it ends and this is how i romanticize everything was perfect for a while everything was right when we were alone i returned still tripping on my feelings drifting in and out of regret staying awake to all of the noise in my head losing touch and recovering from the withdrawals a ways away and im near sighted shes out of focus a million miles from her and i was tempted to send my love but like all my former sidekicks the years passed and corrected dressing us definitely theres no going back and no more rewinding our soundtrack i stopped the tape and put in another   proud of myself for going this far being like i want everyday without a fantasy reality is a fruit ripe to eat oxygen is delicious repeating my affirmations until i fall sleep sometimes dreaming of Milena im swinging in that hammock carried away by the stars underneath my eyelids and i can still taste the sea on my lips

[parkerbombshell]

Cobwebs And Strange Radio Show #386

Cobwebs And Strange Radio Show  Mondays 12 noon EST , 5pm BST , 9am PDT bombshellradio.com Archival Shows: bombshellradiopodcasts.com COBWEBS AND STRANGE #386 - Labelle - Lady Marmalade (Nightbirds, 1975) - Happy Mondays - Kinky Afro (Pills ’n’ Thrills & Bellyaches, 1990) - Franz Ferdinand - Night Or Day (The Human Fear, 2025)* franzferdinand.bandcamp.com - Family - Burlesque (Bandstand, 1972) - Jetstream Pony - Captain Palisade (single, 2024)* spinoutnuggets.bandcamp.com - Supergrass - Lose It (I Should Coco, 1995) - The Allergies - Watch What You Say (single, 2024)* theallergies.bandcamp.com - Trouble Funk - Pump Me Up (Drop The Bomb, 1982) - The Clique - Superman (The Clique, 1969) - The Chalice - In My World (Patterns On The Window: The British Progressive Pop Sounds Of 1974, 2024) - Big Star - September Gurls (Radio City, 1974) - The Soup Dragons - Kingdom Chairs (This Is Our Art, 1988) - Snowgoose - Good Medicine (Descendant, 2024)* - Sofie Royer - Ghost Town (Young-Girl Forever, 2024)* - New Musik - This World Of Water (From A To B, 1980) - Gucci Crew II - Sally “That Girl” (So Def, So Fresh, So Stupid, 1987) - Hispanic MC's - I Do Love You (Rocky Padilla: Sugar Style (40th Anniversary Lost Masters), 2022) - Geto Boys - Mind Playing Tricks On Me (We Can’t Be Stopped, 1991) - A$AP Rocky - Everyday (AT.LONG.LAST.A$AP, 2015) - The Speed Of Sound - Jaunt (A Cornucopia, Pt. 3: Bounty, 2024)* thespeedofsound.bandcamp.com - Guadalcanal Diary - Watusi Rodeo (Walking In The Shadow Of The Big Man, 1984) - KNEECAP - Amach Anocht (KNEECAP (Original Soundtrack), 2024)* kneecap.bandcamp.com - Prince & The New Power Generation - Gett Off (Diamonds And Pearls, 1991) - Echolalia - Odd Energy (Echolalia, 2025)* - Broadcast - Come On Let's Go (The Noise Made By People, 2000) - Mango In Euphoria - Crystals 2.0 (single, 2024)* mangoineuphoria.bandcamp.com - Gentleman's Dub Club - Smalltown Boy (single, 2024)* gentlemansdubclub.bandcamp.com - The Mourning After - Put On A Smile (single, 2024)* chaputarecords.bandcamp.com - The Seeds - Try To Understand (The Seeds, 1966) - ILLIT - Tick-Tack (I’ll Like You EP, 2024)* - Loossemble - TTYL (TTYL, 2023) - Tombstones In Their Eyes - Mirror (Asylum Harbour, 2024)* tombstonesintheireyes.bandcamp.com - Samantha Crain - Ridin' Out The Storm (single, 2024)* - Mt. Misery - Hey! (Mt. Misery, 2024)* mtmisery.bandcamp.com - Librarians With Hickeys - Spying By The Numbers (How To Make Friends By Telephone, 2024)* bigstirrecords.bandcamp.com - Auld Gods - Firefly (Weird Skin, 2024)* auldgods.bandcamp.com - Roxy Music - Whirlwind (Siren, 1975) - Sally Potter - Black Mascara (Pink Bikini, 2023) - Julie Driscoll, Brian Auger & The Trinity - Road To Cairo (The Best Of, 1968) - Dub Pistols - Rapture (Speakers And Tweeters, 2007) - My Chemical Romance - This Is How I DIsappear (The Black Parade, 2006) - Sonic’s Rendezvous Band - City Slang (single, 1978) - The Olivia Tremor Control - A Peculiar Noise Called "Train Director" (Black Foliage: Animation Music, 1999) -  Hope Sandoval & The Warm Intentions - Let Me Get There (single, 2024)* Read the full article

[mozki]

🪷🌈💫🦦🌾

[jmreynolds]

Belanger Books' anthology of all-new Carnacki stories, "The Book of Carnacki". It includes my story of liminal spaces gone wrong, "The Stalls of Wych Street". You can grab a copy from Amazon, but if you'd like a taste before that, I've included an excerpt below:

 “Can a street be haunted, do you think?” Thomas Carnacki asked, as he considered the chess board set before him. A fire crackled merrily in the Restoration fireplace on the far wall, warming the perpetually damp sitting room of the Cheyne Walk residence, as well as the two men who took shelter in it from the rain outside.

“I don’t see why not,” Charles St. Cyprian said, without looking up from the board.  “If houses can be haunted, or trees or wells, why not a street?” He reached for his remaining bishop, paused, and then sat back to reconsider his move.

As he did so, he let his eyes wander. He took in the familiar bookcases, badly in need of organization, the ceremonial masks mounted on the walls and the pair of ikwlas – short, stabbing spears favored by the Zulu – crossed above the fireplace. Strange statuary perched on the mantel or crouched on the untidy shelves like tigers in the long grass. The air smelt of incense and tobacco. It was the exact sort of sitting room one might expect of a man the popular press had dubbed ‘the Ghost-Finder’.

It wasn’t the first time Carnacki had invited him round, but it was the first time that Dodgson, Jessop and the others hadn’t been present as well. He didn’t care to speculate on what it might mean. It had been nearly a year since he’d made Carnacki’s acquaintance, and he still wasn’t sure why the other man had taken an interest in him.

There were precious few similarities between them. St. Cyprian, fresh out of university, with only 3rd class honors to show for his time, was a creature of cocktails and clubs and spent most of his monthly stipend on frivolities and passing fancies.

Carnacki was older by a decade at least, one of the last Edwardians. He dressed like a gentleman but swore like a sailor. And yet, there was a connection between them. Some ephemeral thread that inextricably bound them. For St. Cyprian, it was a puzzlement and an annoyance in equal measure.

“Tell me this then – if a street can be haunted, can it also be the haunter?” Carnacki offered the younger man a cigarette from his case. St. Cyprian took one, but hesitated. He discerned the familiar pattern of a trap in Carnacki’s question.

“Well, if that ain’t a funny question I don’t know what is.”

Carnacki smiled and checked his pocket watch. “Simple enough, I thought.”

St. Cyprian frowned and straightened. He was fairly certain he was winning, but it was dashed hard to tell with chess. All those squares made it hard to concentrate. “I say Carnacki old thing, are you trying to distract me?” He indicated the board.

“Not in the least, Charles. Have you decided on a move yet?”

“I’m still thinking.” St. Cyprian paused again. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“The answer to your question. You wouldn’t have asked unless you already knew. So, let’s have it – can a street haunt its neighbors?”

Carnacki snapped his pocket watch shut. “I don’t know. Why don’t we find out?” He pushed himself up out of his armchair and adjusted his waistcoat. “On your feet, Charles. Inspector Davies will be waiting, I expect.”

St. Cyprian looked up at the other man in surprise. “What?”

“St Clement Danes. Davies is meeting me there. I thought you might like to come along.” Carnacki paused. “Was I wrong about that?”

“I – no. No.” St. Cyprian stood, bemused by the sudden turn his visit had taken.

“Checkmate in three, by the way,” Carnacki said as he headed for the door. “You should learn to watch the board more carefully if you ever hope to win.”

St. Cyprian glanced down at the board and, after a moment’s consideration, ruefully tipped over his king. With a sigh, he snagged his coat from where he’d tossed it earlier and followed Carnacki into the foggy autumn night.

Carnacki stood on the stoop outside, lightning a cigarette and looking across the well-lit street towards the Thames. St. Cyprian lit his own cigarette, shivering slightly in the chill. “What’s at St Clement Danes, then?”

“Wych Street.”

“Which street?”

“Exactly. Come on.” Carnacki crossed the street in his usual rolling stride, buttoning his pea-coat as he went and a halo of cigarette smoke about his head. St. Cyprian jogged after him, awkwardly struggling into his own coat.

“Are we hailing a cab?”

“No, I think not.” Carnacki patted his stomach. “The constitutional will do us both good, I think. Besides, it will give us time to talk.”

“About?”

Carnacki glanced at him. “I think you know, Charles. You’re not as dim as you’d like others to think…though I doubt you’re half as clever as you imagine.”

St. Cyprian forced a laugh. “I daresay I’m not clever at all, old thing. Cleverness is overrated. Dab hand on the pitch though. Ask anyone.”

“I have.”

“And?”

“You’re not as good on the pitch as you imagine either.” Carnacki smiled, lessening the sting of his words. “Nevertheless, you have potential.”

“So my mother insists, daft woman.”

Carnacki sighed and adjusted the collar of his coat to keep out the drizzle. “As I was saying you have potential, Charles. That you choose to waste it as you have is something of a disappointment.” He looked at St. Cyprian. “I heard about that business with the Ponsonby girl’s pet rabbit last week, by the by. I do not approve.”

St. Cyprian looked away. “A harmless jape, Thomas. Nothing more.”

“Necromancy is not harmless, Charles. In fact, it is rather the opposite. And in poor taste, besides. The girl was traumatized.”

“I was only doing as she asked,” St. Cyprian protested. “And it was only a bit of ectoplasm besides. Is this why you invited me along tonight…to express your disappointment in how I conduct myself?”

“Not quite. Have you given any more thought to my offer?”

St. Cyprian frowned. “I hadn’t, no.”

Carnacki stopped and caught St. Cyprian by the arm, forcing the younger man to face him. “The Royal Occultist must have an apprentice, Charles. The position is yours, if you want it. I strongly suggest you take it – for your own good, if nothing else.”

St. Cyprian pulled his arm free of Carnacki’s grasp. He’d never even heard of the office before he’d crossed paths with Carnacki. The idea of someone being invested with the authority of the Crown in order to investigate the supernatural – or the abnatural, as Carnacki insisted on calling it – had seemed ludicrous at first.

But St. Cyprian had seen enough over the last few months to convince him that Carnacki wasn’t simply spinning one of his after-dinner yarns. Police inspectors weren’t the only ones to come to Cheyne Walk, hat in hand. He laughed softly and stared at the river. “I knew this was a trap. Jessop’s right – you always have an ulterior motive.”

“The only trap here is the one you insist on making for yourself,” Carnacki said, sharply. “Gifts like yours can turn sour, if not properly channeled.”

“I don’t have any gifts, Thomas. A few tricks, that’s all.”

“Tricks that could be put to better use than amusing party-goers.”

St. Cyprian blew a plume of cigarette smoke into the misty evening air. “How – by hunting ghosts with you? Not for me, old man. Sounds too much like work.” The thought was ludicrous. Dodgson or Arkwright – even Jessop – would’ve leapt at the opportunity. St. Cyprian preferred his ghosts at arms length, and Carnacki dashed well knew it.

Carnacki was silent for a moment. “Tell me, Charles – are you still having nightmares? About what transpired beneath Guildhall?”

“That’s none of your business,” St. Cyprian said, more quickly than he’d intended. He didn’t like to think about the night of their first meeting, or the events that had occurred thereof. The things he’d seen. Better to push it to the back of the old noggin, and let it lie. “I sleep fine, thank you,” he added. A blatant lie, and one that a part of him hoped Carnacki would call him on. But instead, the older man turned his attentions to the Thames. St. Cyprian fell into a disgruntled silence as they proceeded in the direction of St Clement Danes.

Eventually, he could stand it no more. They were turning onto the Strand when he said, “You still haven’t explained why we’re taking this nocturnal perambulation. There is no Wych Street – there’s an Aldwych, but no Wych Street. Not to my recollection, at least.”

“Ah, but there was. Once. Little over a decade ago, in fact. I’m surprised you don’t remember it. Infamous for its pornographic bookstalls – though I might be confusing it with Holywell Street.”

“Never had much a head for trivia, me,” St. Cyprian said. “What’s so special about this nonexistent street, then?”

“The fact that it apparently still exists, despite being torn down some years ago...”

[lotussed]

Listen/purchase: Superstylin' by Gentleman's Dub Club

[harutostablet]

Meeting the Queen

Even with everything going on the only thing consistent was work. Haruto actually stayed in his room for once and woke up, alone.  He picked up his glasses and phone off the bedside table.  It was 8am. He was surprised to see that it had a new text message. Text Ueno: How good is your Korean? Instead of responding, Haruto tosses his phone on the bed and goes to take a shower. Text Ueno: We have a dinner date. I'll pick you up from the dock at 9pm By 8pm, Haruto's clothes were laid out on the bed and he was finishing up his makeup. Nothing special; just enough to cover up his usual lack of sleep. He stepped off the ferry at 9:30pm. There was no mistaking Uncle Kenji’s car. The flashy black sedan had gold rims and tinted windows.  Even his driver was flashy.  If he remembered correctly the guy was a drummer from a band that didn't quite take off.  That was one thing he could say about Uncle Kenji, once you were under his wing you were in it for life. This was a special moment, so he had to look he had what they were wanted. That was the code in the land of make believe. The driver tossed his cigarette away when Haruto walked up.  "The old man said you would be late." The chauffeur obviously meant Uncle Kenji. "Sorry," said Haruto. "Don't matter to me," said the driver. He appraised Haruto's outfit before reaching for the door to make sure that it met the standard. Today’s look was distressed dark blue denim, shredded at the knees.  A chocolate button down under a cream blazer, gold chain, watch and black sneakers with gold accents.  Today’s wig was dubbed mini-Farrah for the way it fanned out at the bottom. And of course, his striking blue contacts. Not that he could change it now. The driver gave him a nod before opening the door. Ueno was inside, wearing of one of his more expensive suits. Haruto could tell by the quality of the fabric. The young idol flopped inside the car. “Why do I have to go again?” he sighed leaning against the door. “Networking, if she bought three songs without meeting you, think of how many she’ll buy after seeing you in all your glory?” Ueno was too enthusiastic for his own good. It reminded Haruto of someone else. “Hai…” he sighed and sat up. The meeting was in an expensive Tokyo hotel room.  Anyone else would raise an eyebrow at the location but Haruto knew better. Public places were to be seen: restaurants, clubs, whatever.  Business was done in private: apartments, hotels, whatever. Of course, they went to the penthouse. Haruto looked out of the glass wall watching the floor sink beneath them while Ueno gave him the run down. “Let me do the talking,” he said adjusting his jacket in the mirror doors. Why would I talk? Haruto thought.  “They don’t expect you to know Korean.  And try to at least look like you weren’t drug here kicking and screaming.” “I’m a shitty liar,” said Haruto. The elevator door opened.

“That’s why I’m here,” Ueno literally popped his collar. Haruto rolled his eyes.  He was all smiles when they reached the door. Not a genuine one, this one was practice, cocky, perfect. A wall of a man, Haruto assumed was security, opened the door. Ueno breezed passed the man with a polite bow. Haruto followed behind. Definitely money. But no one stayed here, the complimentary gift basket was still sitting where housekeeping left it. Haruto turned his head to follow Ueno to another room. Another security guard opened the door in uniform black. For a second, he wondered if was what Megumi wore with Joshua-senpai? Haruto shook his head. That was another world. Another life. On the other side of the door was a very sleek Korean woman in her mid-thirties sitting cross-legged in a plush black chair. An older gentleman was seated on a just as plush black couch. He rose to his feet to greet the duo. Bows and introductions were done in Korean. Haruto understood but didn’t say anything, just bowing when he name was spoken. Nor did he need an introduction for the woman seated in the chair. She was dubbed the ‘Queen of Pop’, Sang Ji-Yun. She was a multi-platinum recording artist. Well known across East Asia, Europe and had a cd or two in America. Haruto swallowed his nerves bowing deeply. When Ueno told him that the Queen bought a couple of his songs he didn’t believe it. Now, standing here in front of her, he was shaking in his sneakers. Ji-Yun didn’t look up during the introduction or when everyone sat down. She was far more focused the wine in her glass. Soon the meeting fell into the usual rhythm.  The agents spoke in a mix of Korean, Japanese, and English. Haruto could pick up most of the conversation but he was happy that he didn’t have to speak. It gave him the opportunity to look at Pinterest for party ideas on his phone.  He only perked up when he noticed the two agents rose from their seats. Keeping his face stoic, he looked curious as his agent completely ignored him and walked out of the room.  Haruto looked at the Queen for a second then back at his phone. “Can you dance?" she asked.  Haruto looked up from his phone.  She took a sip of her wine. "Is my Japanese that bad?" He blinked before putting his phone in his jacket pocket.

"You speak very well," he said with a smile.  "I can dance. Why do you ask?" He knew the queen was just as talented a dancer as singer. A small part of him wondered she heard any of his music but that would be a weird thing to ask. "Because I just bought three of your songs..." "Oh?" he said softly and bowed his head, not knowing what to say. "And, if you want me to buy more, you'll dance." A small smirk creased her lips. Haruto watched the woman before him for a few more seconds then slipped out of his jacket. Even if he didn’t understand why she was asking he definitely knew how. "Does it matter what?" he asked mind racing on what the queen would want to see. "Not at all," she purred as she rose from her seat to sit on the couch, recently vacated by their agents. He took his phone from his jacket and flipped through the list to one of the current solo he was working on in his lessons. Breathe, he told himself. Just breathe. He set his phone on his chair and hit play.

He closed his eyes when the beat came on.  Just me, no one else. Just me.  The song was intense, meant to get your heart rate up. Just warming up in dress clothes. Pop. Pull. Turn. "Sore, sore, sore," he breathed. "Open your eyes," her voice broke through his armor. Working. That's right. A mask of perfection replaced his armor. The cocky idol he pretended to be, strove to become. Bold blue eyes locked onto brown ones in a challenge. The queen was a powerful force in the music industry. So was he…… right? Even if he wasn’t or would never be in this moment, before the Queen, there was no other option. He had to be.  The routine was supposed to show that he not only could perform different styles but he could  put them in practice in the floor of of the song. Each transition meant to be smooth but controlled. Haruto had worked on this particular routine for several months. He had to move from masculine to feminine. Pop and lock to fluid modern.  This was more than an exam this was his life. When the song ended, he gave her a wink before bowing formally at the waist. His heart was beating again his ribs, but years of conditioning kept his breath calm. He bowed until she spoke.

"Your isolations are lazy," He looked up to see that she spoke with the wineglass against her lips. Her tone was bored but her eyes showed a flicker of interest. He must have done something right. "Thank you for telling me," he says bowing again.  The door behind him opened.  Haruto turned around to see Ueno and the other agent watching him.  So, he bowed to them. Ueno didn’t bat an eye that Haruto was standing, so Haruto didn't.  He just picked up his phone and sat back down in his chair.   "So, what do you think of my guy?" his agent asked.  The pop queen shrugged. "He can open for me." "What?" Haruto asked.  Ueno shot a glance at the idol to silence him. "We are happy to work with you," Ueno bowed. Haruto automatically followed, bowing deeply. "A pleasure for us as well." Haruto peeked up to see that the other agent bowing as well. When his eyes looked to his new boss, she was smirking, watching him. Shit, he thought and kept his eyes down until Ueno straightened up. “Are we finished with these boring matters?” the queen looked at the agents still speaking in Japanese. “Indeed we are,” said her agent. Haruto’s new boss smiled brighter. “Good,” she said. “Let’s celebrate.”

Copious amounts of alcohol later

"You should have told me...."Haruto slurred as he slumped back into the glass elevator. A slightly less drunk Ueno Daisuke followed him inside. The agent pulled a small bag of pills from is inside jacket pocket. The baggy was full of white pills. He poured two out for Haruto who put them in mouth without question, then popped a couple in his mouth.   Haruto kept the gross pills under his tongue…they worked faster that way.  Ueno swallowed them dry.   “Tell you so you could overthink it and freak out?” Ueno had also gotten more relaxed around Haruto. “you work better when your mind doesn’t get in the way.” He tapped Haruto’s forehead making the younger man sway.  The elevator doors opened.   Haruto pushed himself off of the wall and made a beeline outside as expected, Uncle Kenji’s flashy card waiting for him.   “Good night?” the chauffeur asked. Haruto nodded as he flopped on to the leather seat.  He didn’t know how long he was curled up in his seat but Ueno woke him up with a can of coconut water. It was already opened making it easier for Haruto to swallow the half-dissolved pills.  He drank the rest to get the taste out of his mouth.   “You still should have told me,” he argued leaning against the car door. Why is it so fucking hot in here, he thought. And reached for the pins keep his wig in place, tossing them on the floor.   “Are you going to make it back to campus?” his agent asked amused. “I can still book you a room here?” Haruto said and breathed a sigh of relief running his fingers through his damp hair. “I just need to get to the ferry,” he said to both Ueno and himself.   “Then to the ferry you will go.” Haruto nodded and closed his eyes thankful he had his own room.