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cinebration · 4 years

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Playing Games (Victor Zsasz x Reader) [One-shot]

Anon asked: Soo an idea.. maybe one where you’re romans assistant and you’re kind of prudish so he has victor flirt with you and get you to open up?? Super flirty/angsty maybe??

I know I said I wasn’t acepting requests, but when I received this one, I saw it as a challenge. I wondered if I could write it without the interaction turning into sexual harassment.

I don’t think I succeeded. I hope anon likes it.

Zsasz headcanons:

1. Like in Choose Where, he has no sense of personal space, and he’s touch-oriented.

2. He can’t flirt worth a damn.

Tagged: @im-just-one-of-the-avengers

Warnings: mentions of sexual harassment, language

Roman Sionis didn’t realize until after he hired you on as his assistant that he had a prude on his hands. It wasn’t necessarily that you were a real prude, but whenever you overheard his exploits or his leering comments toward men and women alike, your face colored. Without fail you would flee as soon as possible.

Roman loved it. Seeing you squirm and flounder in the face of blatant sexuality tickled him in all the right places.

He noticed after the first month you became particularly flustered and embarrassed around Zsasz whenever the man flashed his lupine smile in your direction. Roman didn’t blame you. Zsasz dripped animal charisma, sex in a scarred, lethal-eyed package. Roman himself had fallen prey to the man’s magnetism.

Roman pulled Zsasz aside one evening. He was making you stay late to finish busywork.

“Zsasz,” he murmured into the man’s ear, “I have a job for you.”

Zsasz’s lips pulled away from his teeth as Roman explained his plan.

You knew it was busywork meant to keep you late. Practically elbow deep in it, you looked helplessly at the time. The cusp of midnight arrived with a tolling of bells in your mind.

Why was Roman keeping you late?

The door of the office swung open silently but for the turn of the door knob. You glanced up to see Zsasz slink into the room, a curious look in his dark eyes.

You tensed. What Roman had taken for prudishness was in fact skittishness. Both men oozed sex and desire, even when they weren’t trying. Navigating between them was hell, your mind so befuddled with pheromones you were honestly surprised you could walk straight, let alone string a coherent sentence together.

You knew better. You had learned your lesson.

Zsasz sauntered over to the desk, lips pulling back into a feral grin.

Shit.

“What’re you doing?”

Everything the man said sounded like a threat. That knife of his was somewhere within reach of his hand.

“Coordinating invites to Roman’s party,” you answered, looking away from him.

He came around the desk and leaned over your shoulder, invading your space. The man, you had learned, lacked a sense of personal space.

“Hmm,” he purred above your head. “Why aren’t you here?”

“I don’t get an invite. I’ll be working.”

He sat down on the table, crowding your elbow. “Do you work all the time?”

You glanced aside at him without really looking, avoiding eye contact. Familiar unease slithered down your spine. Nodding, you stared down at the list printout in front of you and the computer monitor. The check marks you place beside each name were suddenly shaky.

“Have a drink with me.”

“No.” The word jumped out of your mouth.

Zsasz’s smile fell. “Lighten up.”

Fuck. It was happening again.

“It would be inappropriate,” you managed to say.

“I’m not the boss.”

He had a point. You hunched over the printout. “Still, aren’t you Roman’s?”

Zsasz smirked. “It’s his idea.”

You suddenly went cold, panic gripping your throat. The words flung out of you in an almost strangled shriek. “I’m not doing this again!”

Zsasz frowned, scarred brow furrowing. “What?”

You couldn’t stop yourself, not with the panic driving control from your mind. “I left my other job because of this behavior.”

You hadn’t wanted to lose your job, so you had endured the harassment, gritting through it until it had almost been too late, until things had almost gone too far.

“My boss,” you hissed, “blacklisted me, all because I quit so I wouldn’t have to sleep with him. It’s the only reason I’m working for Roman. He was the only one who would hire me.”

You pushed away from the desk, putting space between yourself and Zsasz. He watched you with that curious expression of his, the frown deepening.

“I need this job,” you said, forcing yourself to look him in the eye. You couldn’t tell him that if you lost this job you might as well starve to death. Refusing him and Roman would at least guarantee a quicker death. “I’m good at what I do. I can do a lot for Roman and his business, if he’ll let me. But I won’t play games.”

“We like games,” Zsasz said, flashing his teeth.

“Not this one.”

You fled from the room before Zsasz could say anything, hurrying down the corridor and out the back door to freedom.

Roman emerged from the other room where he had been watching on cameras. His pretty face pulled into a petulant frown. “Well, that was disappointing. She didn’t want to play.” Raking a hand through his hair, he announced, “I guess I’ll have to fire her. It’s a shame. She was the best assistant yet.”

Zsasz fixed his attention on his boss as the man threw himself into your desk chair, muttering to himself. His first bitter thought was that someone had sullied your innocence before him, that he had been denied the chance. He loved corrupting innocence, was practically drawn to it.

The panic on your face, in your voice, stuck in his mind. He couldn’t shake it.

“Roman,” he said quietly, walking over to him and placing his hands on the man’s shoulders, “I think she should stay.”

Roman made a flustered sound of dissent.

Gently massaging the man’s trapezoids in the way he liked it, Zsasz continued, “You said she was the best. You shouldn’t get rid of her. She’s done good work so far, right?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“If you fire her, she might go to one of your enemies.”

Roman frowned. “I wouldn’t want that.”

“Then she has to stay.”

Roman sighed, shrugged Zsasz’s hands off him. “If she won’t play—”

“I’ll get her to trust us.”

“You better.”

You returned to work the next morning, practically walking on tip-toe. Nobody stopped you. Roman was probably still asleep, loathe to give up his beauty sleep so early.

Creeping into the office, you straightened the desk and drew up the list of invites again, your attention focused on sounds outside the office.

The door opened just as you had started to relax.

Zsasz entered. You tensed.

In his hands was a sheathed knife.

A shudder of fear wracked you before cold resignation set in. You sat up straight, face set.

Zsasz paused before the desk, turning the knife in his hands. “I brought you something.”

He extended the knife to you.

Frowning, you glanced between the weapon and his face. You gently took it, arching an eyebrow in question.

“You wear it in your waistband,” he explained. “Try it on.”

Watching him warily, you stood and tried to slide the clip onto the outside of your pants.

“Not like that.” Coming around the desk, Zsasz reached out, both hands empty, and said, “I’m going to help you.”

You nodded slowly, eyes fixated on his hands.

Taking the knife, Zsasz pulled on your belt loop and slid the sheath against your skin. His fingers brushed your hip, sending delicious sparks up your side. Palpable body heat radiated off him, clouding your mind. Clipping the sheath into place, he relinquished the belt loop, his fingers lingering for a moment on your skin.

He imagined with sudden clarity you accidentally missing the sheath when resheathing the knife and slicing yourself, leaving a fine scar on your hip. The thought made his breath stutter.

“With this,” he purred, “you can hurt anyone who takes things too far.”

“Even you?” The words slipped past your lips.

His lips pulled back into that feral smile. “I like new scars.”

You nearly quailed beneath his intense gaze. “Thank you,” you said slowly, taking a step back.

“I can teach you how to use it.”

“That…would be nice.”

Nodding, Zsasz opened his mouth to say he was free whenever you wanted.

Roman’s voice barked your name. You jerked your head toward the closed door of the office, panic surging.

“Am I fired?” you asked.

“No.”

Smiling weakly, you strode from the room to answer roman’s summons.

The moment the office door closed, Zsasz went to the filing cabinet, searching for your hiring file. He flipped it open, looked for the name of your former employer and his address.

He had to pay the man a visit.

#Victor Zsasz x Reader #Victor Zsasz #Victor Zsasz imagine #Zsasz #bop Zsasz #Roman Sionis #Chris Messina #Chris Messina imagine #Roman Sionis x Reader if you squint #birds of prey #bop #birds of prey and the fantabulous emancipation of one harley quinn

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hanadolphieron · 4 years

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lunar artist!yeojin; chapter four~

warnings; space ships, flying in space, space battles, explosions, grenades, fighting, armies, exhaustion, bad dialogue sorry bout that, unconsciousness, prison

genre; sci-fi, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, angst

pairing; im yeojin x gender neutral!reader

word count; 2.1k

summary; your small crater town on the moon was rarely visited. one day, artist!yeojin travels all the way from mars to paint the serene, wistful scenery of your planet.

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you’re sweating at this point. hot, itchy perspiration runs down your neck, your arms, all over your body. you don’t care. all that matters now is escape.

the gates to bexyim are close now. close enough that you can see the people crowding around inside them.

well, it’s not exactly a crowd. more like a small, distanced flock of humans scurrying around. they look terrified, like someone is about to snatch them up and take them away.

and, you notice, somebody just might.

as you slow your pace to a walk, you catch sight of armored beings, covered in the silver regalia you know belongs to the lunar military.

they patrol through the city, daring people to challenge them.

you recall stories of the drafts that occurred when you were still a kid. your dad was fortunately not called, and your family was safe.

but others weren’t.

some poor mothers lost their whole family to the drafts, and some not only to those, but to the war.

and you’re seeing the aftermath of that right now.

you emerge through the city gates, being scanned by the flashing lasers inside them, and see the tired faces of the people around you.

and you know the look of exhaustion isn’t just the natural downwards shape of lunar faces.

these people have lost their livelihood, the most important part of lunar life- their family.

all because of that dreadful, burning planet called mars.

you know the moon didn’t start this war.

the resource of your world are spread thin to begin with, there’s no way your government could have made a decision that bad.

i mean, they are politicians, and don’t make the best choices, but still, they would have known better than this.

you keep walking, breathing hard and loudly. you feel self conscious from all the stares being trained on your back, and look down, watching your feet.

a voice calls out to you, “y/n!”

you glance up, seeing your boss.

“oh, hello,” you respond softly.

“we’ve lost contact with you since the war started. where have you been?”

“i’ve actually been at my house. i had no idea there was a war going on!” you giggle, drifting into the shallow, polite persona you use with your company.

“well, we need you to be on the job. now. we’ve been losing journalists by the second, either to the drafts, deaths in the family, or just pure fear. we know you can handle the job.”

“the job?” you question.

“yes, we need someone to be at the frontlines, giving reports on how the battle is going.”

“aren’t there multiple war areas?” you don’t like the sound of this. i mean, go up to the frontlines? and report? who do they think you are?

“yes, you’ll be moving around throughout them. the first station is one to the south of mars, closest to where all the big battles are. we seem to be winning over there, only a ragtag group of soldiers is there, they’re all runaways or have some other thing going on. none of them are as disciplined as the rest of the army. their leader is though. she’s fierce. watch out for her.”

“okay,” you say, “where, where do i go?”

“come with me,” your boss says, leading you towards another street, “do you have anything with you?”

you walk fast to keep up with her pace, “i don’t actually! it was sort of a spontaneous trip here, i was trying to figure out what was going on,” you say, letting out another chuckle.

“there’ll be some supplies on the ship, i’m sure,” your employer easily responds.

out of the corner appears a launchpad. a small ship sits atop it. hopefully it’s just a transport, you don’t fee confident prancing up to the war in such a tiny vessel.

you don’t feel confident going anywhere near the frontlines to begin with, but duty calls.

laylia, your boss, doesn’t even stop, continuing onto the ship. you follow, helpless. everything is moving so fast.

“well, guess this is where we part. have fun y/n,” she calls, already leaving.

“yeah, uh, see you!” your voice barely makes it out, the door is already closing and air whistles around you, carrying you into the air.

you clutch the side of the ship, not used to the movement.

after you make it into the atmosphere and turn on the hyperdrive, you make you way to a seat and plonk down.

exhaustion overtakes you, and despite your nerves, you pass out on the chair.

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blaring red sirens awake you a few hours later and you sit up way too fast, making your eyes have a seizure and fill up with colored parallelograms.

falling up into a standing positions, head still spinning, you look around.

you notice something in the side window. another ship. a marsian one.

gasping, you urgently glance around, searching for someone who knows what they’re doing and can hopefully help you.

everything begins to set in.

you could die. right now. right this very second. and what have you done with the time you’ve had?

someone grabs you by the shoulder and you’re jolted out of your thoughts.

“hey, you’re the journalist, right?” they ask you.

“yeah,” your voice shakes.

“come with me, we have to go,” the solider says, and seeing your nervous expression adds, “you won’t get hurt, i promise, we’ll protect you. i’ll protect you.”

the soldier continues to stare into your eyes.

who the heck is this kid? you think. are they really trying to flirt in the middle of a life-threatening situation? you shake your head, stepping forward and pushing them to move along.

the two of you run towards the doorway, which has somehow docked at an enemy ship.

an enemy ship?

hold the shuckadoddle frickety frack up. you can’t do this anymore. regretting everything, you tell yourself to stop, anxiety taking over your mind.

your legs don’t listen to your thoughts, and you keep running.

escaping and heading into danger because of impulsive decisions seems to be a constant theme in your life. hmm.

explosions fill your ears. you can’t see them, only the grey walls boxing you in the quiet metal ground disappearing under your feet.

your eyes are trained on the floor beneath you, but you somehow take in everything around you. peripheral vision seems to work double-time in emergencies.

soldiers rush forward in the other corridors, going the same direction as you.

they’re just blurs, silver numbers moving as a group, dispensable and unimportant.

the person leading you hasn’t given you a weapon. you’re defenseless. but hey, when have you ever not been? you have no idea how to use a gun.

adrenaline takes over. you’re the most confident you’ve ever been since that one time when you were little and your mom bought you high heels and you got to walk around the house like a venusian model.

the memory makes you sad. you haven’t seen your mother in years. you might not ever see her again.

regret flashes through your mind.

you push it away.

the explosions are near. you hear them before you see them.

thundering, blasting booms echo through your eardrums, becoming the only thing you can hear.

next, you see them.

smoke wafts toward you, mixed with sparks.

then before you can register it, a crash erupts and orange fire comes streaking towards you.

the soldier pulls you down behind a doorway, and the fire goes past.

they move as soon as the fire goes past.

“come on, we have to hurry!”

you can barely hear them over your own fear. it’s the only thing going through your mind.

you chase after the soldier, probably running to your doom but who cares at this point. you have nowhere else to go.

you reach the hanger, where the battle is commencing. sliding to a stop behind a crate, you catch your breath, heaving, almost spitting all over the solider.

they seem to be in a better state than you. stupid trained military.

“turn on your comm,” the soldier speaks to you.

“how?”

they reach over and push a button.

“talk. report something.”

“uhm. ok,” oh dear how are you going to do this.

still breathing hard, you pant into the microphone, “we’re in the main hanger of ship 456,” you read off the crate you’re slouched against, “lunar reinforcements are coming in by the second. we seem to be in the lead, our troops are hiding behind crates and have shelter. ships are blowing up from explosions thrown at the other side,” you pause, catching your breath, you’re speed-talking into the microphone.

remembering what your boss said, you say, “the general doesn’t seem to be here. just a rag-tag army of shorties. let’s go luna!”

turning off the comm, you belch a sigh.

then your world turns upside down. a sound like a sonic boom pushes at your eardrums. your vision goes green and purple for a second. you black out.

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yeojin almost falls again. laughing you shriek at her, “yeojin! this is the fortieth time! get yourself together!” the last part comes out in a purposefully strangled voice, one you use whenever you’re yelling but don’t want to yell because you’re not mad, just overly excited.

she trips over her ice skates, cackling over your words. you barely catch her this time, arms weak with happiness.

you pull her up, holding her close to you. she’s touching your arms, holding onto them, leaning in closer, looking as happy as can be.

but something isn’t right.

you feel nervous.

something’s coming.

yeojin’s face falls, and your sight shifts.

you’re dreaming. yeojin isn’t here.

eyes opening, you shudder and flinch with the harsh reality of waking up. you’re not safe. you have to run.

making a start, trying to get away from a place you haven’t even looked at, you’re caught by restraints.

finally registering your location, you realize where you are.

in a prison cell.

panicking harder now, you push against the cuffs clasped around your wrists and ankles.

you’re breathing hard, but if feels like you’ve been holding your breath, submerged under water.

you’re drowning.

thoughts fill your mind. you can’t look at them, pushing them away, the only emotion in your system is fear. it’s propelling you. the only thing keeping you going. you need it.

sharp exhales fill the room. you don’t realize it’s you.

a deep voice, that special kind of scary government-esque voice that means serious trouble, breaks through, “hey!”

cutting through your mind like a knife, your mind shifts to the right side of the room where the voice is coming from, hyperfocusing on all the details.

white light comes from the ceiling. it reflects off of the metal walls, the same color as the ones you ran through before. it feels like it’s been days since then. maybe it has.

the person who possesses the voice moves toward you, quickly and with purpose. their shoes clack across the black floor.

they move past the other holding devices, ones that look exactly like the one you’re in- upright but titled at an angle, putting the prisoner in an awkward vulnerable position, cuffs around the ends, a cold feel of despair and fear crawling on them like slime.

other soldiers flood through the door. two of them. they follow the first one.

the three officials stand in front of you. silent.

then they start whispering to each other. you don’t say anything. can’t actually, your voice box has gone unresponsive and clogged.

turning to you, the one seemingly in charge, barks, “what do you know about ha sooyoung?”

you freeze for a moment. you have no idea who that name belongs to.

“i- i don’t know,” you breath out.

“what?” the man steps closer to you, getting in your face.

“i don’t know!” you say louder this time, voice hitch.

“really? why are you here then?” the man doesn’t move away. you can smell his breath. peppermints, smoke, and death.

“i’m a reporter,” you say, clearer this time. hopefully there isn’t any harm in saying that. ratting out your country is the last thing you want to do.

“well then you must know all about her,” the officer stresses the all, moving closer.

you’re shaking at this point.

“i promise i don’t. i haven’t been to any major city in years. i- i don’t know anything. nothing.”

“i don’t believe you. no way you’re telling the truth. you sound too suspicious. not even knowing about ha sooyoung? your own general? impossible. kerek, get out the electrifier.”

“wait! no! please!” you scream without even registering your words. electrifier? this has to be a dream. you’re not going to be tortured. no. this can’t be happening. you can’t do this.

kerek, one of the man’s accomplices, moves to the edge of the room, retrieving the device.

then he stops. a noise comes from the right side of the room where the door is.

someone opened it. they’re now standing in the doorway.

they move forward into the light, illuminating their small figure.

you can’t believe your eyes.

it’s yeojin.

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masterlist - previous - next

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#femifics #loona #im yeojin #loona astrology #loona reactions #loona scenarios #loona x reader #loona fluff #loona angst #loona imagines

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knives-out20 · 4 years

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TiO - Bobby & The Buddies

Fandom: Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)

Pairing: Bobby Brightside (OC) x Cliff Booth, StarBeep, DeepSpace,

Warnings: This is normal procedure now, Swearing, Faggotry, Gay shit idk, Homosexual tendencies, Another weird dark joke,

Notes: a ha ha...enjoy. Song used is TiO by Zayn. Dolly is an OC that belongs to my buddy, Dio.

Dedicated To: @mori-ohs

Bobby practically put his lips against his mic, crooning into it. “I can taste it on your mouth, and I can’t leave it. You’re a freak like me- can’t you see? We can work this something out, and I’m believin’...You get off on me, it’s like cheating” he shrugged, pulling away to let Deep take control of the song he mainly wrote himself- Bobby helped with the sound of it, but the lyrics were all him.

“I, I, I, I just want to watch you when you take it off” Deep purred, eyes falling softly closed. His fingers strummed against his guitar as he saw fit, just like how he planned. “Take off all your makeup, baby, take it off-”

Bobby and Beep caught each other glanced over at Ace. “You know?” Bobby mouthed to him.

“You do too?” Beep mouthed back.

“Did I not yell ‘hypocrite’ the other day?”

“Take off all your clothes, and watch you take it off~”

“Fair” Beep mouthed, shrugging.

Bobby, Deep, and Beep sang “take if off, take it off, baby, just take it off” twice, Deep controlling the next verse.

“Push me up against the wall, don’t take it easy” Deep grabbed his mic stand, shaking his head. “You like it hard like me...it’s what you need” he scoffed, smirk just about noticeable.

“Nice song?” Peep asked, appearing by Ace.

“Let’s get naked and explore, our inner secrets. For what it is,”

Ace crossed his arms, looking down at him. “Surprising coming from you- doesn’t your brother singing like that make you uncomfortable?”

“It’s what it is.”

“I mean, duh” Peep playfully rolled his eyes. “But, you gotta suck it up. You’re in a band with family, can’t get in the way of the fact that you’re in a band, full stop.”

Ace nodded in agreement.

Peep looked up at him, wondering if he truly was unaware that the song’s main element was the fact that Deep wrote it about him.

Deep repeated the chorus, Damien taking on the next line.

AKA, “Take it off, take it off, baby just take it off.”

Bobby carried on with “take it off, take it off, just-”

“Take it off, take it off, baby just take it off- take it off, baby just take it off” Deep sang, a hint of genuine pleading in his voice. His eyes were still closed, who knows what was happening behind his eyelids?

“Ow!” Bobby exclaimed, the Buddies giggling all around him.

“He always do that?” Gene asked, appearing beside Peep.

Peep jumped, holding Ace’s arm as if he was gonna protect her.

Ace grinned.

“Uh- yea. Either to make us laugh, or if it’s part of a- of a suggestive song- like this one. It’s kinda his thing, y’know?”

Gene looked her up and down, nodding and walking off.

“God.” Peep sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, Ace.”

“No worries, Peep” Ace pat her head.

Deep straightened out his fingers, trailing them slowly up his microphone stand in a suggestive manner. “I just can’t wait, to see it all- I’m so turned on.”

“And it’s all mine” Bobby purred.

“I just can’t wait, to see it all- I’m so turned on” Deep riffed ‘on’, Peep, Bobby, and Beep catching Ace’s impressed expression from behind his excessive makeup.

Deep delivered the final chorus, the other men of the Buddies taking on vocalizations, echoes, and backing vocals. He panted silently when he finished, hearing Frankie tap his drumstick together in applaud.

Ace joined in, with actual applaud. “Sick shit, Deep!” He called.

Deep chuckled, turning to look over his shoulder. “Ah, thanks” he nodded, the attention from the others slowly leaking off of him and onto other things. “Hey, Ace, wanna hear something?”

“You know it” Ace grinned, pointing at Deep with both pointer fingers. He walked towards Deep, towering over the man because of his platformed boots.

“I went to the store to buy some condoms. When I went to the checkout, the lady asked me, do I need a paper bag? I said ‘no, I’ll just turn out the lights.’“

Ace exploded in hyena-like laughter, some of the Buddies laughing along because they overheard. He doubled over, grabbing Deep’s shoulder to help him keep steady.

Deep looked at Ace’s hand on his shoulder, blushing lightly. Slowly, he put his hand over Ace’s to ‘keep it from slipping’, if he were to get asked why.

Ace put his other hand on Deep’s other shoulder, pushing on them to help him stand back up. “Wow, man- wow,” he panted, dumbed down to a fit of giggles. “You ‘n’ your siblings really know your shit, huh? Joke-making and lyric-writing...what more could anyone want?”

Deep got his hopes up with that, eyes going slightly wide. “Wow, I mean- I dunno. Charisma? Looks? Good in the sack?”

Ace shrugged. “If you can make someone laugh, there’s a chance that’ll be all you need.”

Deep felt his hopes reach as high up as the heavens. “Y’think so?”

“I know so. Hey, you should tell that to your brother. He tryin’ so hard to get to Starchild? Crack a joke or two, funny is sexy.”

Deep nodded obediently, “yea, sure, I’ll tell ‘im.”

“Good boy” Ace purred, patting Deep’s head and walking away.

Deep watched, same as always. Blue eyes trailing from the broad shoulders of Ace’s silly spaceman outfit, to dangerously loitering around his narrow waist.

“Snap out of it” Maria scoffed, shoving Deep.

Deep rolled his eyes. He turned around, seeing Beep talking to Starchild a way’s away from the stage.

“How’s your lil’ crushy-dushy going?” Bobby giggled, chin on Deep’s shoulder.

“‘Crushy-dushy’?”

Bobby platonically kissed Deep’s cheek. “Uh-huh, and ‘crushy-bushy’ for Beep. I need a name as stupid as the idea that you two fell for a couple of our employers. Why can’t you be more like your sister-”

“Like I haven’t heard that enough in my life-”

“Shut up,” Bobby snickered, dragging out the ‘u’ in ‘up’. “Anyways, Derek, why can’t Benji and you be more like her, and simply be scared shitless of Gene, leaving him for Dolly to take care of?”

Deep scoffed. “Rats, my bad for falling for people using the feelings I can’t fuckin’ control. Whatever shall I do?” He dramatically apologized.

Bobby kissed his teeth, playing with the tassels on his jacket. “Steal a pair of my gogo boots-”

“You have more than one?”

“You don’t?” Bobby jokingly shot back. “Steal a pair and be closer to Ace’s height. Simple.”

“Then what?”

“Well, start playin’ this new single and start feelin’ and touchin’ and kissin’ and-”

“Okay, okay, I don’t need to hear what a usual night between you and Cliff is like” Deep teased.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“No thank you.”

“I’d shove you but clearly, I’m not the one you want pushing you against walls, eh?”

“...Touche.”

“Push me up against the wall” Bobby crooned as he turned around, smiling as he watched Ace talk to Peter. “Ace’s my favourite, but don’t tell the others that I said that. You made a good choice. Now you just gotta catch it.”

“I know that.”

Bobby turned Deep to face him. “I believe in ya, Deep. Honestly. I believe in you ‘n’ Beep almost as much as I believe in Cliff ‘n’ me. Cliff ‘n’ me, we’re eternal. I believe in us more than anyone and anything in the universe. You understand, don’t cha?”

Deep nodded. “Yea, I do. Each time I see that ring he got for ya, I do.”

Bobby waved his left hand in front of Deep’s face, remembering their first conversation about it.

Bobby hopped into the the seat behind the passenger seat of Frankie’s car. ”Onward, ho!” He exclaimed, his buddies hollering along as they drove down the street. ”What’s on the plate today, prostitutes?”

Penelope, aka Peep, leaned back in the passenger seat. ”We’re hitting the roads today, doing whatever in between, and ending it off on some good ol’ cliff jumping. Kapeesh?”

Bobby nodded obediently. ”Vague, exciting. Very fresh.” He counted heads, “where’s Maria?”

Benji, aka Beep, sucked his teeth. ”On a date. Some guy named, uh, Jim? James? Heck if I know” he shrugged.

Derek, aka Deep, sat between Beep and Bobby. ”Speaking of dates, I heard someone finally tamed the wild and chaotic Bobby D. Brightside~” he teased, nudging Bobby.

“No, no, no. Someone finally tamed Cliff goddamn Booth, that’s the feat” Beep corrected. ”The dude’s a unit, and you’re telling me he popped a nice ‘n’ shiny ring for for a scrawny motherfucker from Baltimore?”

Bobby smiled sweetly, blushing at the mere thought of Cliff..

“Aw, rats- we lost Bobby. Hey! Earth to Bobby!” Deep called, nudging him.

“Eh?”

“You were gone for a second. Got a Cliff-induced smile.”

“That happens, y’know that. You got an Ace-induced grin yourself. Like how Beep’s got a Starchild-smile.”

“Well...You’re right, but Jesus, you didn’t have to say it.”

Bobby laughed. “I know y’both mean well, I do. Just...tread lightly, alright? Love in the world of rock ‘n’ roll can prove to be dangerous at times, no matter the people involved” he sucked his teeth. “And trust me, people can do some...weird shit, for love” Bobby winced. “I happen know from experience” he added, remembering the adrenaline rush he got from the night he strangled Billie Booth, in that fateful alleyway, on the fateful night that he got away with her murder.

And to this day, not a single person knows he killed her. No one. Not Cliff, Rick, the Buddies, KISS, MJ, Dolly, Soup, Emil, Floyd, Bruce, no one. And it’s gonna stay that way.

“Don’t- Don’t fall into that weird, scary pit. Okay? Same goes for Beep” Bobby asked, pointing over at Beep and waving at him.

Deep arched a brow, but decided not to ask any questions.

Bobby hasn’t been very secretive about his past, so anything he hasn’t told the Buddies, Deep assumed it must be something too personal.

Deep understands that. He nodded. “Got it, Bobster.”

Bobby smiled, patting Deep’s cheek. “Atta boy, Deep.”

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wintaer-bear · 7 years

Text

Gladiolus (M) Ch. 1

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader Genre/ Rating: smut and fluff/ mature (18+) Word Count: 3.8k ***WARNING: mature themes (daddy kink), strip/bar/club!AU Summary: Being the girlfriend of a club owner sounds like fun. Free booze, free parties, free company. But none of that matters at the end of the night when the lights turn on and he comes home smelling like the life of the party.

11:12 PM.

Just another three hours until bar close, followed by sixty minutes of closing hour. Then half an hour to clear out the stragglers. Cleaning up will take at least another 90 minutes. A twenty-three minute drive home.

Namjoon has developed a habit in counting down the seconds in the moments he’s away from you. The man loves nothing more than crawling into your shared sheets at sunrise to wake you with morning kisses and breakfast he has picked up along the way. Your day starts early, by the time he’s done showering you with love and affection, you’re in a rush to redress in more appropriate undergarments and work attire. He’s left to clean up the scattered breakfast that never quite seem to make it into your stomachs, but fills him up entirely. If he’s not drunk on your love, his stomach is full with butterflies you hatch as you kiss his cheek goodbye in your white coat. God, he loves you in that white coat.

In his mind, Namjoon already has you bent over and on the brink of ecstasy. You have formally forgiven him for this morning’s trivial spat that began over “not squeezing the toothpaste correctly” (it’s from the bottom up, by the way) and his left hand is holding your waist steady while his right is entangled in your hair as it pushes your moaning breath further into the pillow with each pounding action of his thick hips. His lips visit the back of your shoulder in a wet reward for taking him in so well. Each touch elicits a guttural sound between your exasperated pants, a muffled vibration that seems to resemble his name.

“Joonie, Joon-ah.”

At least, that’s what he hopes it’ll be like when he returns home this upcoming morning.

Namjoon had to leave in the middle of the discourse, leaving it unresolved and to sink in as he made his way to work. It was just toothpaste for Christ sake. Nothing to get so worked up about. He hated leaving you in an angry mess, but try as he might, he couldn’t pinpoint the source of such angst much less anything to hold onto with such resentful conviction. He figures it’s another one of your shared and misguided arguments brought on by stress that will blow over by the time he gets home. You’ve always been one to take on more than you can handle and Namjoon’s own mind has be preoccupied searching for the next best step for the club.

Namjoon takes a look around his office, music threatening against his door, reminding him of the company he has to entertain tonight. He takes a final glance at his phone, his last message left on read, breathes a heavy sigh of sobriety, and returns to the fancy limbo of his own creation.

[8:15 PM] Namjoon: Goodnight princess. Daddy will see you when he get’s home. {read}

The smell of hookah and alcohol is mesmerizing, nostalgic if he wasn’t exposed to it three nights a week. It reminds him of a time when he looked forward to the blacked out nights and the youthfulness it instilled; a time when he was on the other side, enjoying the booze and spending money he didn’t have. Now he was the owner, the boss kicking out drunks and allowing pretty, high-end tails in at his discretion.

The club is in its normal state, busy and hectic. There’s a bachelor party going on that is obviously more for the friends than the groom-to-be. Namjoon chuckles under his breathe as he recognizes the loudest one as Jackson, a companion you made during one of your rotations.

“Namjoon! My man!” He drunkenly shouts, calling Namjoon over with hands. “Come down a drink with us! I’d say it’s on us, but it’s your house, so I guess it’s on you.” The blonde haired man’s words come out slurred as he downs a double shot of rum and whisks is eyes to the stage where one of Namjoon’s dancer’s has just began her show. “Wow, she’s a hottie. Look at her hips move.”

“Yeah, that’s Rose,” Namjoon replied, unfazed by the dancer’s movements. “She’s got a slot open if you want to surprise your friend. I’d book her soon though. She sells out quick.”

“Who? For Jaehyung? Nah,” Jackson laughs hysterically at the thought. “That boy is too in love with his fiancee to even look at anyone else. Coming here was his idea, but when he got here all he wanted was booze and lobster. Said the other girls made him cringe.”

Namjoon glances past beside Jackson. The groom to be is working his way through the lobster tail in one hand and clinging onto his beer is the other, oblivious to lustful looks surrounding him. “Sounds like a solid man to me,” Namjoon chuckles. “You enjoy yourself Jackson. If anyone tries to give you trouble, just let me know. I’ll be hovering around here somewhere.”

“Get you a man who has your back!” Jackson calls after the leaving body. “Oh, wait! Let’s take a picture for Y/N! She still doesn’t believe I do anything more than hold babies and scream.”

Namjoon laughs at the thought. The number of times you’ve come home exhausted from Jackson’s overwhelming enthusiasm and energy is well over a dozen and now he could see why.

[11:29 PM] Y/N: [image.jpg] so jackson, an actual angel on earth, the purest form of innocence, can come to 148, but i, your queen of the bedsheets, cannot? what kind of sexism is this??? {unread}

[11:45 PM] Y/N: fine. ignore me. ill just sulk. {unread}

[11:45 PM] Y/N: and think about how you DONT squeeze toothpaste correctly {unread}

[11:46 PM] Y/N: yes, im still mad about that {unread}

[12:09 AM ] Y/N: why is jackson sending me pictures of you behind the bar? {unread}

[12:18 AM] Y/N: [image.jpg] get that smug little smirk off your face {unread}

You know Jackson doesn’t mean anything harm by his texts. He captions every picture with something silly like “get you a man who can bop bottles” or “he’s so daddy.” The golden boy honestly thinks his snapshots and updates are hilarious. Like you, he doesn’t get out much, the rawness of the hospital hours weighing him down.

The last picture he sent was a blurred picture of two bodies, one leaning over the bar to whisper something into the other’s ear. Even with the blur of lights and pixels, you could tell it was Namjoon. He hunched over the bar with a grin on his face as the female covered her lips to his ear.

[12:22 AM] Y/N: istg kim namjoon if you dont stop flirting up a storm ill strangle you myself {unread}

Dramatic. You know. You were supposed to be an adult, a professional, but somehow everything and anything Namjoon did made you turn into an overdramatic high schooler.

The weekends were always the same. They’re the only two days of rest before the start of another hectic work week. You want nothing more but to spend those dwindling hours snug in your living room watching some cheesy disney princess movie with Namjoon, but your evenings are cute short when he has to return to Club 148 to supervise his venue. You’d never tell him, but it’s a jab at your ego and feeds your insecurities to watch him dress in his best suits and be surrounded by beautiful and adorned women who respond to his beck and call. It just didn’t feel right to ask him to quit running the club when he had built it from the ground up to feed your dreams in the first place.

One more hour. Just another hour until bar close.

Time couldn’t past by fast enough. Namjoon removed himself from behind the bar, and poured himself a scotch. He doesn’t normally drink on the job, but what started as normal night, had somehow turned into a stampede of parties and drunks ordering up the bar. His three bartenders couldn’t keep up, and Namjoon saved his own ass by hopping behind the bar to take a couple of orders himself.

He doesn’t know how Seokjin does it. Seokjin will chat up his customers, pour shots, get them to spill their life story, turn attention to the next customer mid-through, and still get tipped 20% minimum. Namjoon had a hard enough time hearing the orders let alone keeping the orders straight and receiving any tip at all. The number of times he prepared the wrong drink was enough to fill three empty bottles of wholesale liquor.

“Good looking out chief,” Seokjin waved to his employer as he returned to the safety of his confines. His office was located on the second floor, and overlooked the bar and entryway. The tall one-way mirrors made it look like just another hall of reflective glass to the unsuspecting customers, but made it all the easier to keep track of his club.

Namjoon pulls out his phone, aware of all the buzzing that went on whilst behind the bar.

He figures it’s spam from the club’s SNS, last minute questions about tonight's theme, but lets out a breathe of adoration at the realization of the mass texts you’ve been sending in your group chat. He reads each text in the tone he’s sure you sent them in.

[12:47 AM] Namjoon: I love you too baby :))) bt maybe next time can u dm me so Reuel doesnt have to read our messages? {read}

Namjoon made sure to double check that he was sending the message directly to you and not the group chat.

[12:48 AM] Y/N: how about next time you DONT flirt with the pretty girl buying drinks?? {read}

Namjoon laughs at your response. It’s hard to take your petty jealousy seriously when he was so obviously in smitten with you.

Namjoon adores you. He counts down the minutes until he can return home to you. He brings you breakfast in bed. He kisses the stretch marks on your stomach, on your thighs, on your ass. He loves every part of you, and if it wasn’t blatantly obvious to the girls he pouring drinks for that he wasn’t interested, Namjoon figured they weren’t bright enough for a thorough explanation anyway.

[12:48 AM] Namjoon: How about i squeeze from the bottom instead? :) {read}

[12:49 AM] Y/N: not my bottom. {read}

You read right through his message, clear of his intentions. No way was he going to get out of this fight with dirty talk… again.

[12:49 AM] Y/N: not even if you asked nicely. {read}

[12:50 AM] Namjoon: We’ll see ;) How’s my little baby? {read}

[12:50 AM] Y/N: fine. sleeping. bye. {read}

Namjoon let out a chuckle at your last text. You’re obviously upset at him but he can’t help but think of the cute expression you make as you roll your eyes at his antics.

The rest of the night pasts by in a blur. Namjoon continues to make rounds of his club, making sure all his employees remain compliant with his philosophy. He doesn’t like to blend the pleasures of work and play and when his employees are on the clock, he expects strict mannerisms of work.

Jungkook has been caught being a little too frisky during his private dances, and although Namjoon hates to demote him to a bouncer, it hopes it reinforces the seriousness of his law. Ideally Namjoon would have let the boy go, but he has developed a soft spot for the misguided adolescent; a story Namjoon has seen too often ignored rather than helped.

The rounds aren’t just for his employees, but for his customers too. Interacting with the high bidders and gold membership owners help build his network and rapport. Though Namjoon may look like a insouciant club owner, he’s a businessman at his core. Namjoon is always looking for ways to raise Club 148’s profits and improve the stability of his volatile business. Night clubs are common in his area, and each is in competition to outcompete one another. He’s at a particular disadvantage due to his strict rules of pleasure, something most of his employees respect him for boy clients see different.

By the time the last straggler exits the building, Namjoon is wiped. The constant inbetween regulations and customers has him dizzy and ready for bed. It takes his crew just as long as he predicted to clean the mess left from the events of the night.

“Good work tonight everyone,” he thanks his crew as he does at the end of each night.

The drive home is always his favorite. A realm of calm in the typically busy streets. He gets a chance to recollect all his thoughts and a he drives into the sunrise, and he thanks the heavens for another day he gets to return to you.

Normally, Namjoon comes home and takes a shower. You don’t drink or smoke, so the scents of Namjoon’s club makes your empty stomach do flips, but this early morning is different. He crawls into bed with scents from last night’s shift.

It’s Sunday, the only day the two of you get to spend the entire 24 hours together. There is no evening rush to get to his club, and no early morning on-call duty. Sunday is your day, so why does he smell like Saturday?

“Babe, go shower,” you mumble, words weak in your sleep. “You smell like cigarettes and poison.”

“I figured it out,” he says sleekly, ignoring your request. “I thought about it all night and on my drive home. I get it now.”

“Get what?”

“You’re a planner,” he continues and presses a kiss upon your forehead. “You’ve always been a planner.” This kiss splayed on your nose. “I’m not a planner.” Your lips. “I do things as they come,” his lips are now on your collarbone, tracing their way back up your neck.

“But I’ll squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom from now on.”

You chuckle beside him as his lips press against yours. “Oh, so you think that’s asking nicely?”

“Wasn’t asking” he smirks, feeding his hands the skin of your thighs as he brings your legs to wrap around his waist. His gaze is intent on yours.

Your lips find Namjoon’s for the first time tonight and he takes it as a notion of approval. Almost immediately, he moves his palms from your outer thighs to the curve of your ass and lays kisses on your breasts. You moan at his light and gentle touches and gasps his name as he tighten his grip on your buttocks, pressing you into his groin. “God, I love your ass.”

You can feel his hardening cock rubbing against your core as he pulls you on top of him. You’re sweating, panting, wanting.

“Did my baby miss me while I was away?” He gives a slap tap to your ass.

You bite your lip at his teasing and nod, confirming your pleasure. Namjoon loves to taunt you. It’s the sole reason you’re rushing out the door five minutes later than you should be every morning for your shift. He loves the moaning mess he makes of you as he kisses your core and the begging you succumb to when you’re impatient for a good fuck.

“Bend over for me sweetheart, let Daddy see.”

You do as he commands, quick to position yourself on all fours. Namjoon replays the fantasy he had of you earlier, a moaning tool as he gripped your waist. His dick twitches at the thought. He can’t wait to enter you, but not before you’re pleading for relief.

“So wet,” he moans, teasing your tight pussy with his fingers. He runs his drenched finger along your slit. “Stick it out for me, baby. Show me how pretty your pussy is.”

He meets your core in the air with his tongue, tracing circles around you clit. The air and muscle cool along your entrance. You want him.

“Please Daddy,” you beg. “Don’t tease me.”

He groans, restraining himself from entering you all at once. “You’ve got to show me first, sweetheart. Show me how hungry your pussy is.”

As if on cue, your Kegel muscles begin to involute on their own, twitching at his beck and call. You imagine every inch of him inside you, pounding into you until you’re sore.

“That’s it. That my hot baby. Call daddy’s cock with your pussy.”

Your ass begins to dance in the air, taunting him to enter you. You can feel the hardness of his cock pressing against your cheeks as he continues to thrust his fingers in and out of you.

“Joonie,” you moan in ecstasy. “Please. Ugh. Just. Ugh. Fuck. Me.” Your voice comes out in sporadic gasps as he shoves his third finger in you and searches for your spot. His excitement unveiled as he too gives out a moan from your pelvic muscles squeezing around his fingers.

“Damn baby, arch your back. I think your pussy is ready for me.”

Namjoon extends his free hand down the small of your back, pushing your frame deeper into the mattress. He loves seeing you in this position, your ass is curved and high, hiding your tight cunt that’s begging to be fucked. He pumps a wet kiss on the highest curve of your ass, warning you of his entrance.

An exchange of moans reverberate through the room, echoing down the halls as Namjoon enters you. He’s not gentle. He allows gasps of breath exit his mouth, as he chants your name, praising your cunt. “So fucking tight.”

Namjoon doesn’t let up his thrusts even when he feels your walls caving in. “Ungh,” he groans. “That’s it baby. Squeeze my dick.”

You’re exhausted, your cunt erratically twitching from cumming a second time.

“Look at those cheeks bounce. God, I love this ass.” He gives another slap to your ass, watching as your booty jiggles on his dick.

“Come in me Daddy. Fill me up.” Your voice is begging, frail and honest.

“Don’t tease me, sweetheart. You know I want to.”

As long as the two of you have been together, very rarely do you let Namjoon come in you. He loves it, the thrill of releasing himself in you as you convulse around his cock but you’ve come wary of the consequences.

“Please Daddy,” you beg, giving one final squeeze around his cock. “I want to feel you cum.”

Namjoon gives a few erratic pumps before he feels sweet ecstasy releasing from the tip of his swollen cock and traverse to his knees. His body falls to the bed, dragging yours with him as he braces his arm as your pillow. He tosses his trousers from the night before on the ground and fixes himself in his briefs. You straighten out your own nightgown as your snuggle into his chest.

“She was just a customer, you know?” He laughs, turning his body to face you. “And I meant it when I said I’d squeeze from the bottom.” His hands jiggle the base of your exposed cheeks.

“Still hate her,” you replied, giving him a peck on his cheeks. “And good, you can start by-”

“Daddy?” A small and angelic voice interrupts. Namjoon brings his attention to the little girl walking towards your bed, her yellow bear in hand as she yawns and rubs her sleepy eyes open. “I knew I heard mommy calling your name.”

“Good morning Princess.” Namjoon is quick to feet, relinquishing you from his warmth and transferring it to the little doe-eyed doll who looks just like you. He picks her up as gentle as you would a infant. “Who’s this new guy? Your prince?” Namjoon directs his finger to the stuffed toy at her side.

“No. Daddy is my prince. He’s my beast, see?” She shoves the bear in her awestruck father’s face and bellows a growl with all her might. The sweetest roar he ever did hear.

“Daddy can’t be your prince little baby. I’m mommy’s prince. And she’s my queen.” The girl frowns in his arms and looks at you on the bed before whispering something in the smiling man’s ear.

“But she said she’d strangle you.”

“I didn’t mean it, Reuel. Mommy was just a tiny weeny upset at Daddy.” You mutter, rising from the bed.

“But I read it on my tablet!”

Namjoon gives you a triumphant smile. He and Reuel always tag team you. “I meant to say,” you breathe, exasperated at your four-year old’s reading comprehension, she must have got that from her dad. “I’m going to strangle him with love. So much love. So much love Daddy is going to-”

“I’m hungry,” the mini-you cut you off (again), turning her head to her father. “Let’s go make breakfast downstairs daddy.”

“That’s a good idea,” Namjoon agreed, smiling at you as he placed little Reuel’s feet to the floor. “Mommy has a mess to clean up.”

Sunday’s are supposed to be your day, family day. But Reuel and Namjoon make it Reuel and Namjoon day with their behavior exclusive exchange of whispers and secrets. It hard for you to even get a kiss from Namjoon when she’s all over Namjoon’s shoulders during “princess movie time” and holding his attention while you make trips into the city. He’s obviously the favorite parent, but that doesn’t discourage you from fawning for her attention as much as you do for Namjoon’s.

“Come on Reuel, let’s go get some ice cream. One for you, one for me, and one for daddy.”

“How about I go with Daddy and you wait here?” She points to the bench and drags her father’s hand along in the direction of the dessert parlor.

You face is visibly hurt, distorted by the easiness your daughter dismisses you when her father is around.

“She’s just like you, you know?” Namjoon smiles, licking your ice cream. “Looks like you, talks like you, gets jealous like you.”

You jerk your ice cream away from him, glaring at him with your beady eyes. “Sounds like a double win to me.”

A/N: this is part of the Appease (strip/bar/club!AU) Series. yee.

#bts smut #namjoon smut #kim namjoon smut #rap monster smut #rapmonster smut

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