#it's like speakeasy but instead of alcohol you get me

[naffeclipse]

Speakeasy

Reader x Mob Bosses!Sun and Moon

Commission Info

Many thanks to Anonymous for letting me go ham with the mob boss brothers and making them absolutely dastardly! I love the scenario for this one and just how sinister but sweet Sun and Moon can be when they have their favorite little thing sitting in their laps. The boys just love to show off what's theirs.

Content Warning for suggestive themes.

———

You are anxious, to say the least. Two large hands escort you. One rests on your shoulder, the animatronic’s off-white and yellow thumb sliding slightly underneath the neckline of your dress to stroke the bare skin of your shoulder. The other is on your waist, dark blue and silver, keeping you close despite your urge to race straight out of the speakeasy.

The mob bosses smile down at you with the wicked, wide smiles of sharks. In no uncertain terms, they are keeping you with them.

Swallowing your visible nervousness becomes hazardous as you realize that the illegal venue is very much open for business. Instead of a nightlife of posh people prepared to spend exuberant amounts of money on smoking and drinks, then swing away on the dance floor open before a small stage for a band, there are gangsters everywhere. They line the bar stools, sit in the plush, rich leather couches and seats, and musicians play low, soft jazz as if to not disturb the entrance of the crime lords of the Celestial Gang.

Your throat becomes thick as you smell cigarettes and alcohol and sharp, overapplied cologne. Low lights burn yellow and cast thick, clogging shadows around the open room. Several animatronics already flank a center sitting room away from the bar and dance floor. Human men dressed in sleazy suits quickly move towards the mob bosses. 

The small swarm settles when Sun and Moon escort you to a fine, black leather couch big enough for just the three of you. You bow your head under the scorching attention, all eyes seemingly upon the outsider their bosses brought along to the business meeting. Your hair falls into your face as a brief curtain to the overwhelming atmosphere. 

How did you get here? One moment, you’re researching the famed Celestial Gang for a column in the newspaper which pays you well to find the best, most reliable information, and the next, you were ‘borrowed’ by none other than Sun and Moon. The crime lords have done dark and dirty deeds to keep themselves high in the underground. Why kidnap you for a few days just to put you in a red dress and take you into the heart of their illegal dealings?

“Take a seat, love.” Sun presses close to your ear, warming your face when his faceplate touches the corner of your cheekbone.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Moon’s rough voice touches you. He lifts a hand and removes the shield of your hair and sweeps it behind your face, exposing your freckles and wide, green eyes. “What would you like? A drink, perhaps, my dear?”

You recoil, revealed by force once more to the many eyes, but the real danger is the ones with their hands on you, refusing to allow you to escape. A stutter begins in your throat. Swallowing it down, you force yourself to say in a tiny, demure voice, “No, thank you.”

“Later then.” Sun nods his sharp sun rays towards a man behind the bar. He moves swiftly, his hands flying out of sight. 

Sun and Moon promptly set you down on the couch, and you can’t help but wonder if this is what a minnow feels when crowded by two sharks as they take their seats on either side of you. Caging you with their bodies, your eyes widen at how they press their legs against yours. 

Sun leans forward in the slightest to take your hand between his own and unfurl the anxious fist you made. Moon leans deeper against the backrest and slides his arm behind you, cradling your waist. Stiffening, you hold as still as a doe deer in the sights of a hunter. All the while, every last goon stares down the three of you but not a word nor electric breath leaves those who await their bosses’ command.

The man behind the bar emerges carrying a silver tray with one lowball glass filled with a rich amber liquid. Close beside it is a dark blue pack of cigarettes.

You shift in your red dress as the bartender approaches. The fabric of your gown is rich and built to flare out when dancing. You didn’t want to put this on—no matter how lovely—but Sun and Moon cowed you with firm reminders. While they’re ‘borrowing’ you, they intend to dress you as they please. 

The checkered shrug was all you could manage. It took much to convince them to allow you to wear it but you pleaded, and they seem to enjoy it, much to your embarrassment.

The bartender bows and offers the tray to Sun first. Strangely, the animatronic accepts the glass while containing your hand in his other grasp. The amber liquid swirls between his nimble fingers. The bartender crosses to the other side of the couch. Moon tilts his head. His red eyes glance at the offering in approval before plucking the pack and immediately opening it.

Your mind spins with how they might indulge in the very human vices, but to your amazement, it seems to be a sort of ritual. There’s something ceremonial about the presentation. The enjoyment of something refined and toxic without partaking.

You watch the liquor glimmer in the crystalline cup. Sun pale eyes, sharp and dagger-like, pierce you with a glance.

“It’s bourbon, dollface.” He tips the glass closer, offering it to your lips. “You couldn’t imagine how much blood and money went into acquiring this one small glass. Would you like a taste?”

You flick your gaze up. He leans over you, crowding you, dwarfing you until you’re almost sliding onto Moon’s lap. His brother eagerly keeps you in place as Sun studies you. His smile holds an edge while he squeezes your hand in the slightest.

“I shouldn’t,” you murmur, but you shrink as you speak.

Sun’s eyes flash like the tip of a blade. He lowers the glass closer still to your mouth until a rich aroma spills upward and invades your senses. 

“Oh, but I say you should.” His grin bears down upon you. “No one touches my bourbon but I do want to know if it’s as worthwhile as the bottle says. One sip, turtle dove.”

You hold his gaze, almost trembling. It won’t kill you, certainly, but this is more than the pressure of a drink.

“Okay,” you concede meekly.

Sun’s smile is lethal as he presents it to you. Gazing into the amber liquid, you lean forward, unable to even hold the glass as Sun carefully presses it to your mouth and gently tilts it. A sweet spiciness spills over your tongue, reminding you of the solar crime lord. You merely wet your lips before it smoothly slides down your throat before you turn your head away. Sun allows it, satisfied with a sharp electric click of his tongue.

“How does it taste?” he purrs, catching your chin and lifting it higher as he admires you. A flutter overtakes your middle.

“Expensive,” you manage, “and strong.”

Tilting his head, Sun’s grin widens as his voice enters a growl so sweet it matches the bourbon’s flavor, “Good. It’s earned all the blood and money I spent on it.”

A few bodies shift from foot to foot and animatronics blink a few optics. Mercifully, Sun releases your chin. Again, you duck your face to hide as the liquor cools your stomach. Only a few drops and you already feel strange and tiny like a trapped rat.

Moon flicks a lighter. The sharp spark of it catching causes you to jump, and Moon chuckles a dark, rolling sound deep within his chassis.

“Relax, baby.” His red eyes search through the curtain of your hair. “You’re in good hands.”

You take a long strand of hair hanging in your face and begin twirling it around your finger. Twisting and twisting the lock, you watch Moon methodically pick a cigarette from the pack using one hand. Slowly, he slides his arm out from behind you. A dark pulse to his gaze washes down you until he reaches for your face and sweeps back the hair dangling in front of you.

“Look me in the eyes. You’re too pretty to hide from me,” he says in both warning and affection, and it chills you to the bone. “Don’t do that again.”

“Okay,” you breathe. Every function within you shrivels under the intensity of his red eyes holding you captive.

His fingertips slide over your cheekbones, lingering for a moment as if he might count every freckle dusting your skin. You tremble inwardly. Moon shifts the cigarette dexterously to his fingers. Holding it steady, he leans forward.

“Be a doll,” Moon rasps. He’s not asking.

“I—” you take a deep breath, your heart pumping hard. “I don’t smoke.”

“I know, my dear,” Moon chuckles sinisterly. You do not doubt that he does. “You’re going to help me light it, nothing more.”

A part of you writhes but you can do little but part your lips. Your fingers twitch as if you had a hope of taking it yourself, but Sun’s firm grasp on your hand is thick as shackles and Moon is as unyielding as a cold night.

He sets it softly on your lips. Unfamiliar with such a ritual, you freeze as Moon holds out the pale flame. He cups it, looming over you while he sets the end aglow with red-hot heat, and all the while, his eyes are devouring you whole.

“Hold still,” Moon commands. 

He lights it, and on instinct, you inhale. A poor choice, considering the flood of smoke that quickly sets fire to your lungs with a singing flavor of anise. A fierce cough overtakes you. Moon takes the cigarette from your lips as Sun tuts his tongue. 

“Naughty thing,” Moon chastises as he allows you to finish your fit, but he draws the cigarette away from you, holding it perfectly between his fingers while his other hand roams your back, hitting softly until you, at last, expel the last of the forsaking tobacco now staining you fiercely.

“You need to be good, love,” Sun reminds close to your ear. His digit plays with the dangling jewelry hanging from your earlobe. A shiny, silver sword. “What are we to do with you if you can’t behave?”

You choke but for a far different reason.

“I’ll be good,” you say, unable to get out anything else but whatever might please them.

“That’s all we ask, baby.” Moon’s hand slips under your chin to turn you towards him. Your lips part as he squeezes in the slightest, and you feel like a fish with your lips puffed into a pout. “Business will only take a moment, then we’ll get back to you.”

You bleed a fierce blush at how he holds you, his eyes commanding you without restraint. You utter a pathetic sound of agreement before the crime lords share a look.

They keep you firmly in place all the while they conduct the mafia meeting. Throughout, Sun’s and Moon’s hands are constantly upon you. Sun speaks of numbers, how well the handling of merchandise such as alcohol has transpired and Moon focuses on conflict, the safety of the gang and the casualties suffered, and how to strike back against those who crossed the line against them. You listen, feeling little more than a plaything in their palms. Moon rubs your side gently. Sun traces his thumb over your knuckles. You endure their forced closeness, unable to even hide behind the curtain of your hair as per their warning.

Then, at last, Sun and Moon lean back with a sort of finality. The goons relax in the slightest, able to ease off from their strict attentiveness before a slow murmur of talk stirs the air. The music picks up a touch louder. A slow, smooth sound of jazz that fills you to the brim. You can hardly unclench your jaw before Sun and Moon share a look so devilish, you fear for your soul.

“We worked hard today, Sun,” Moon drawls out sinisterly.

“We have. We need a reward,” Sun hums, pleased and dastardly. 

“What are you talking about?” you ask, your heart racing within you.

“A dance, of course, dollface.” Sun takes your hand and lifts it high. Moon captures your other before you register how they lift you from the couch in one swift motion.

You reel as they escort you to the dance floor. One flick of Moon’s hand commands the musicians to turn up the music, and the gangsters’ eyes follow you as you’re pulled onto the last place you want to be. The dance floor. 

In one sure motion, Sun begins to remove the shrug from your shoulders. Any resistance you might have made is cut by Moon holding you in place by your chin until Sun carelessly tosses the checkered cloth off to the side. 

“Beautiful,” Moon announces. His thumb finds the tattoo of a quill on your right bicep and strokes it adoringly. You shiver under the caress.

You freeze when another presence falls into your shadow.

“Lovely little thing,” Sun says as he traces a finger along the line of your bare shoulder. Another shudder rolls down your spine.

You turn as if you might escape but Sun seizes you by the hip and lifts your arm high, twirling you until the world is a blur of low light and smoky haze, and dips you. You gasp. The same nefarious hands catch you by the waist, bowing so close to your face, the sharp crown framing Sun’s head in sharp, yellow rays takes over your vision. A blush fills you to the brim.

“There’s nothing to fear, love. We’ll lead,” Sun reassures you with a laugh that flips your heart. “Won’t we, Moon?”

“We will.” Moon answers by stealing you away into a swift step that leaves you dizzy and with a head rush. He half drags, half carries you with a tight grip on your hands. You can barely catch up. 

You flush, trying to protest that you want to leave, now, and stop being a shining new toy to show off to their underlings, but there’s no denying the crime lords. Moon sweeps your feet off the ground as he grabs your waist and lifts you in a half circle. The red fabric of your dress flares out. Your stomach drops and your heart soars.

Then you’re back on your feet. Breathless, left spinning after Sun’s dip and Moon’s twist, you can hardly register the closeness until both mob bosses are upon you. At your back, Sun clasps your hand, holding it behind your waist as if he intends to pin you against his brother. Moon likewise captures your other hand, holding it shoulder-level. Two palms fall to your hips, and in a strange, electrifying motion, Sun and Moon force you to dance with both of them.

“How do you know how to do this?” is all you can gasp. It’s too perfect. Too prepared. Sun looms over your shoulder with a lethal warmth while you turn your cheek as if you might keep both of them in your vision. Moon presses closer to you, hanging over you like the cool threat of a storm.

“We have thought long and hard about what we might do with a troublemaker like you,” Sun speaks low into your ear. “You’ve been learning too much, turtle dove.”

You stiffen in the slightest. Despite this, your feet are caught in their rhythm, slowly spinning in time to the romantic tune floating in the air.

“What?” you breathe. “How did you—”

“We have our ways,” Moon reminds. He tilts his head, his fedora covering the lowlight and shadowing his face even deeper. 

They know. You found out their relation to their elder brother. The police chief.

You also found that they haven’t spoken to each other in years.

Your pulse picks up in horror. This is what this has been about. This whole time, the cat-and-mouse game, is because they’re going to kill you.

“Please,” you say, trembling. Their hands squeeze your own. 

“Hm? Speak up, love,” Sun laughs, taunting you. “I can’t hear you.”

“Don’t kill me,” you say it starkly, quietly. Your eyes are wide. There is nowhere to hide while they trap you between their chassis. 

Moon stares at you, his red eyes darkening into crimson before he releases your waist and slowly leans down. He captures your face between his palms. With Sun holding you in place, there is nowhere to run. You close your eyes.

A brush of something cool and tasting of anise falls against your lips. You start under the lunar crime lord’s kiss. When you open your eyes, his grin is pleased, wicked. He holds you a moment longer under his sharp teeth.

“That would be a waste, don’t you think?” he rasps.

Sun grunts something before he spins you around by the hips. Moon allows him, and he takes you by the waist to keep you on your feet while Sun looks upon you with desire so fiery, that you fear it will engulf you. His pale eyes gnaw away at your every edge.

“I thought…” you murmur senselessly. 

“You thought wrong.” Sun presses a finger to your lips with a wicked grin. “I need to take a bite out of you too.”

This time, your eyes are wide open when he bends down to press his faceplate to your lips, and you gasp underneath his hungry kiss. He pushes and pulls, and you almost sway were it not for the Moon stabilizing you. Sun releases you slowly, greedily.

“That’s right, dollface,” Sun purrs as Moon presses close and kisses the back of your neck. “We have plans for you.”

[moriwood]

Speakeasy Serenade — s.jy

sim jaeyun x male reader fluff 1k words

As the token gay guy in your circle of friends, going out drinking just means your friends talking about their boyfriends and you pouring out advice. Tonight you meet Jake, who seems to find you prettier than anyone he has met before.

includes: supportive friends (from ive) :D, fluffy college gaes, art guy meets math guy warning: n/a

You casually take a panoramic video for the mandatory social media post, swiftly scrolling through the tables of students your age to the blinding neon signage flaunting the swanky bar you’re currently lounging at. The discordant yet inviting noise of the people chattering and the unrecognizable generic house music coax you to saunter into the beat of the crowd, to melt into its blur and comfort, to lose your inhibitions along your fading sobriety.

The girls are once again enumerating their recent trysts, Wonyoung’s sophomore athlete, Yujin’s substitute instructor, and another childhood friend of Gaeul somehow suddenly coming back. They seek your counsel, begging for romantic advice as if you have any experience under your belt. You don’t, and all you have for reference is your BLs and fan fiction.

“Let’s talk about you now, got anything going on?” Gaeul drawls towards you with a mischievous glint in her eyes, cheek leaning on the back of her hand.

“You should be the one with the most stories here,” Yujin jests, roughly grabbing both of your hands. “You know, Wonyoung’s boyfriend says there’s a gay guy in their team,” she slurs, “she can make him set you two up."

You chortle, “I’m not interested, I’m already satisfied with seeing you all find your guys.”

They teasingly coo at you, patting your head and such. Wonyoung sternly looks at you though, muttering, “but we’d also be happy with you finding your man, okay?” 

You respond with a weak smile. As you inhale the temporary comfort from Wonyoung, your eyes meet a man a couple tables over, in his early 20s you presume, probably a senior from your university. For a second, the man seems to be caught off-guard, yet he quickly recovers with a blinding smile that could only compare to the sweltering of your summer breaks. 

The warmth of the bar could only get so much warmer for a usually cold man like you.

Your palms feel clammy as you fail to immediately break off eye contact, and now the man’s walking towards your friends�� table. The man is handsome, really handsome, and about the same height as you, maybe a little taller. Some less alcohol could have probably given you a wider vocabulary to describe the scene. He blends so well with everyone else, yet he just stands out. 

“Hey, have we met before?” he boldly asks, the conversations on your table abruptly stopping. All eyes are now on the man, and you hear your friends murmuring behind you. His gaze burns you.

“I don’t think our friend here remembers,” Gaeul butts in, noticing you struggling to find your words. Yujin cackles, gripping on Wonyoung’s thigh.

“No, I don’t think so,” you stammer, finding a familiar seal stamped on the guy’s varsity jacket. “Although it’d be safe to assume you’re also from…”

The man deeply chuckles, head tilting back as he holds onto your shoulder, veins running along his arm, Adam's apple bobbing… Damn. “You don’t know how happy I am to find out we go to the same university,” he chimes. “Ladies,” he glances at your friends, “would it be alright for me to borrow your friend?”

“You can even take him home!” Yujin cheers. “We’ll be here waiting for you,” Wonyoung looks at the man up and down, then whispers, “or maybe not.”

“Oh, uh, sorry, they tend to get rowdy when they get tipsy-”

You lose your lousy apology as he pulls you away into the parking lot, where the bar’s house music is instead replaced by the live music from the open lounge across the alley. The new vibe sobers you up, the silence being filled by the strumming of an acoustic guitar and the late night hustle and bustle. Your gut says that the man was about to do something foxy but then you see the man clumsily sit on a curb.

“Uh, I’m not kidnapping you or anything,” he awkwardly clarifies out of nowhere.

You furrow your brows in amusement, “I didn’t think of that-”

“And I forgot my name! Jake. Hi, I’m Jake,” he swiftly puts out his hand, withdraws it, then puts it back out like a malfunctioning robot.

You couldn’t stop yourself from giving a hearty laugh as you told him your name. “Nice to meet you, Jake,” you chuckle, giving him an uncoordinated handshake. As opposed to his confident and suave demeanor from earlier, he now gives off a more tame, and in fact, quite nervous, aura.

“So, you’ve got a habit of leaving your friends and pulling strangers out of bars?” you tease, sitting down on the curb beside him. A gust of night wind hits the both of you, tousling Jake’s hair to a fluffy mess. He looks like a puppy, you thought.

Jake grins, running a hand through his hair. “Not usually, uh, no. I just… I saw you and knew I had to take the chance. My friends won’t notice I’m gone.” He earnestly looks at you, and flutters bubble deep in your chest. “So, uh… What’s your major?”

“Creative writing,” you reply, “it’s a small community. And you?”

“Math,” he hesitantly replies, almost ashamed. “Kinda boring for you, huh?”

“Hey, there’s beauty in math too,” you contemplate, searching across the theorems and concepts you’ve heard in your mandatory math classes the past few years. The conversation flows as the two of you share the intricacies of your majors, as if you were already plotting a shared future together in your careers.

“Like the golden ratio,” you remember, eyes on Jake’s finger mindlessly drawing circles on the back of your hand. “Turns out there’s a mathematical reason why I find some artworks more pleasing than others.”

Jake’s eyes light up. “And I’m looking at a breathtaking work of art right now.”

You find yourself at a loss for words, looking back at Jake. “That was smooth.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t stop myself,” Jake smiles, tilting his head like an apologetic puppy. You just want to pat his head so bad. “Gotta use all my pick up lines now before I regret it.”

“You’ve got a lot more opportunities to use them,” you reply, belatedly realizing what your response implies. “If you wanna go out with me sometime,” you add. You don’t want to say goodbye yet, and Jake seemed to feel the same thing.

Jake eagerly nods as he fishes his phone out his pocket. “I’d like that. In the daytime, on campus, with no alcohol?”

Your heart skips a beat. “I’d like that too.”

author’s note: hi hello to myself, imma pretend i didn’t go away for six months 😚😚 here’s a nothingburger of a fic as a comeback HEHRTHDHGFHA 🎉 shitty thumbnail i made exposes when i started writing this 💀 also realized i always got my peeps in a college age setting, rly need to broaden my horizons for d next fic wuhnuweuwhheuw

— moriwood.

[dxxdhood]

the manor

pairing: 1920s!dick grayson x fem!bartender!reader

summary: while working at a hidden bar during the prohibition, you meet a handsome stranger who invites you to a party. little did you know, you just enchanted dick grayson, one of richest men in gotham.

tags: 1920s au, smut (18+), oral (f receiving), alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, teasing, p in v, angst, fluff

wc: 4.1k

It's so cramped, trying to fit in dozens of chairs in the glorified excuse for a room, but you love the place. Laughing heard in every direction, the strong smell of your drinks, and the fumbled clinking of glasses by every patron– the speakeasy has it all. Sure, the constant threat of having the wrong person walk in and decide to report the place still manages to make you twitch on occasion, but for the most part, you don’t let it throw you off your game. Instead, you let yourself take in the fading lamps all around you, dimly lighting up the faces of regulars or reflecting into the glossy wood paneling. 

“Hey, doll. You wouldn’t mind pouring me another old fashioned, would you?”

And just like that, you get taken out of it. You fix the man his drink unenthusiastically, and as he attempts to chat you up, you try your best to tune it out. Although it’s difficult to give enough of a response to placate him while also clearing hinting you’re uninterested, you make a valiant effort. He leaves with a grumble to join his friends at an overflowing table in the back.

You’re about to wipe down the counter again as an excuse to stay occupied when you spot him. A man, well put-together but not obnoxiously so. His hair is slightly long, falling effortlessly across his forehead and curving around his cheeks to frame his face. His suit is nice – nicer than most of what the regulars wear – but not overindulgently. It was more odd that he showed up in a suit at all, seeing as this bar was a more casual affair. And, though you didn’t want to acknowledge it, he was very handsome. Just the small amount of his face you’re able to see through the dim has you interested.

Luckily, he walks straight to you, sitting at a stool right in the middle of the counter. You attempt to give him a moment or so of silence, because he could definitely be meeting someone here tonight, but you can’t resist.

“Evening,” you say. “Haven’t seen you around here before, sir.”

“Just found out about this place. I can’t believe I didn’t know it was here this entire time,” he turns his gaze towards you. “It’s warm. Lively.”

His eyes are a gorgeous blue, but you try to avoid staring at him too intensely. “Well, the good people here know how to keep a secret when they need to.”

He chuckles, “I hear that. Any drinks I should try now that I’m here?”

And he’s magnetic, drawing groups from across the bar towards him, chatting him up so they can understand who the attractive stranger is. He’s so freely charismatic, engaging people he’s barely met in conversation– even involving you when you’re not too busy keeping all your orders straight. Unexpectedly, he’s confident without being arrogant, but also self-effacing without being self-deprecating. It’s an impressive balancing act, and he pulls it off without breaking a sweat.

You try not to get your hopes up past that first interaction, knowing that he’s far too invested in other people right now to pay any attention to the bartender of all people, but for some reason, he keeps peering back at you. Every laugh that rips through him and has him banging on the table, but at the end of his reaction, he looks back at you to see if you found the joke funny, too. It’s endearing, how he’s so attuned to everyone – even your – emotions, and you’d like to give more than short, snappy responses, but you’re swamped with drink requests as the night goes on. He ends up slipping away from you minute by minute even though he’s right in your line of sight.

Before you realize it, it's the early hours of the morning and almost everyone is shuffling out of the bar– if not because they finally have to, because they don’t want to worry their wives even more. The man, Dick, as you heard others calling out that evening, is still sitting at the counter in the very same spot. You try not to let your brain get ahead of itself, but still, him being out at this hour means he likely doesn’t have a wife to worry. You shake your head, chiding yourself for still being so taken with him. The night is over, he may leave and never come again.

He’s not speaking now, which is a shame because his voice is like velvet. He’s clearly had quite a few drinks tonight, so you place a glass of water in front of him as you begin wiping down tables to close the place.

His eyes widen as you leave him the water, and instead of drinking it or ignoring it, he keeps staring through the glass, foggy with condensation. He almost looks puzzled, but you can’t figure out why.

“Why did you give me this?” he chokes.

You immediately assume you’ve made a mistake, so you move quickly to cover yourself. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to. You just had a lot tonight, your head will be killing you in the morning.”

Dick is still silent. The entire room feels too large for the both of you and it’s making you antsy.

“You haven’t left yet, and it’s awfully late, so I’m not sure that anyone will be giving you a ride. If you’ll be walking home, it’d be good to get some water in you,” you continue. “So you won’t, ah, vomit before you manage to make it back to wherever you’re staying.”

You turn to face him from where you’re wiping down a chair and catch him staring. His gaze is intense, like he’s trying to read you and telegraph emotions all at once, and you’re not awake enough to compose a worthy response. He picks up the glass of water after a beat, seemingly content with whatever he found or didn’t find, and drinks it while looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

His brows are the same jet-black as his tousled hair, and having their full attention turned on you makes you unable to turn away. Your breath catches in your throat as you see a drop of water run from his lips, gently curving down his neck and soaking into his pristine shirt. You turn away, embarrassed to watch the muscles of his throat contract as he swallows, but you hear him speak clearly.

“This Sunday, after your shift, I’ll send for you,” he says. “I’m having a party at my place. Please, I want you there.”

You nod, probably mumbling an affirmative as well, too flustered to really comprehend what he just asked. Well, less asked– more demanded. You finish up cleaning the speakeasy in a daze, and find yourself counting down hours in the following days until Sunday night finally comes. 

.

You swear Dick told you he would pick you up, but the motorist who claims he was sent by “Master Dick” is obviously not him. The older gentleman is very polite, still, and you’re hesitant to ask too many questions in fear of sounding rude. The car itself is a sleek black, with a paint job like new. That, coupled with the fact that Dick apparently has a butler is already causing you to put some of the pieces together, but even from as much as you’ve gathered, you couldn’t have imagined he was rich enough to own his own manor.

The amount of wealth hoarded in the place is apparent. From the moment you reach the grounds, you see vibrant, perfectly kept lawns transforming into a luscious garden. There are so many flowers that you can't pick out their colors individually, they all blur into one from your bumpy car ride. There are mountains on property surrounding the main house itself, and you can’t tell whether that waterfall you spotted was real or a trick of the waning moonlight.

The kind butler lets you in through the front entrance and you thank him. Gasping at the sight, your body nearly jolts backwards. The place is filled to the brim with people. Even when compared to your speakeasy, the entire foyer of the manor is proportionately more crowded. Everywhere you look, people obscure your view, all wearing dazzling outfits in pearly, silver, or dark colors. You have the self-awareness to feel underdressed, but you push past it as you attempt to wrangle your way through the crowd.

The music is loud, whatever brass instruments are playing must be rooms away, but you can still hear them clearly from your place in the arching, large first room. Everything is so invasive, you aren’t able to hear your own breathing, footsteps, heart rate, or thoughts. It’s starting to make you dizzy. You nearly bump into guests holding champagne flutes multiple times, and you shiver at the thought of having to pay for the cost of cleaning their luxury outfits, but you manage to get out of the room and into one of the hallways of the building.

You want to cry in relief, but even though the hallway is sparser than the foyer, there are still plenty of people around. There are women wrapped in furs and men wearing suit jackets crisp enough they look freshly made. They can clearly see you don’t have an outfit a fraction as impressive as they do. What happens when they find out you’re a poor, unassuming bartender?

Speedwalking through the hallway and ignoring the generations of family portraits lining the walls, you find yourself blasted in the face with nothing but noise. The aggressive sounds of people dancing along to the band, heels clacking on the ballroom floor shakes you to your core, and you truly believe you’re going to turn around and leave right then until you spot him. He’s on the dancefloor, switching partners just about every measure, his wavy hair drenched in sweat but he couldn’t care less. Dick continues dancing wholeheartedly, stomping along and swinging ladies in opera gloves around. You should leave.

But of course, at that exact moment, he catches your eyes staring at him from the doorway. He mouths a word, something resembling your name, but you run without looking back. These rich people stare at you like you’re a wild animal, but you can’t care. The buzzing air of the place is starting to rot you from the inside. You need out of this manor now.

“Wait, please!” you hear a familiar voice cry out, and a moment later, a hand is wrapped around your arm.

“Let me go!” you shout, attempting to rip yourself from Dick’s grasp. He’s even prettier up close, wearing a tailored suit that hugs his broad shoulders. His hair must have been gelled back at some point, but it’s since come undone, and it’s working for him. By god, it’s working for him.

“Listen to me, I’m sorry,” he shouts, and he says something else after that, but you can’t make it out over the music and talking.

“What?” is all you can manage to respond with.

He shakes his head before changing his grip from your arm to your hand. He begins leading you somewhere without telling you, trusting you to follow him despite not giving you any reason to. You’re tempted to leave, but his palm is so warm, you find yourself going along.

Walking through a couple of sparsely populated rooms and a flight of stairs, you arrive at a balcony. It’s beautiful, carved out of sleek, white stone with planters of flowers overflowing and growing down the sides of the railing. Speechless, you run your hand along the vines and allow Dick to talk.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I should’ve told you… I know I should have, I just…”

“Why did you bring me here?” you ask, flicking your head to glare at him. “You have so, so, so many people here tonight. You could’ve chosen any one of them to toy with.”

You shake your head as you pinch your brow, “You didn’t need me.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you look up. Surprisingly, he looks hurt even though he doesn’t have any reason to be, like he’s decided to take on the loneliness you’ve been feeling this entire night as his responsibility– which to be fair, it is. Reaching for your hand, he encloses it in both of his.

“Is that what you think? That you’re here so I can fuck around with you?” he whispers it, but you can still pick up on the anger beneath his words. Although, it doesn’t sound like it’s directed at you. “You’re so kind, so genuine. You didn’t know me – still don’t – and you still gave a shit about me. Like a real, honest amount of care, not the airs the rest of these suits put on to impress me and get on my dad’s good side.”

“And I’m not sure why I did it, inviting you here. I was so drunk at the time, and all I could think was that I wanted to see you again. You were right, by the way” he gives a hollow laugh. “The next morning, my head hurt like hell. I couldn’t remember if I actually invited you or if I imagined it. I’m sure whatever bumbling explanation I gave Alfred must have been painful to hear, but he still agreed to wait outside your work– I need to thank him again. Anyway, anyway, I really shouldn’t have done this. You probably feel so terrible, this must have been so awful to go through. God, you deserve so much better.”

He brings your hand up to his lips and he kisses your knuckles, eyes still facing the balcony floor. “I hurt you. I can’t convey how sorry I am.”

In the light of the moon, with only the muffled sound of jazz to fill your mind, you step closer to him. He’s quivering as he watches you, as if you stand any threat to him. You keep closing the distance between the two of you until there’s only a few centimeters left. You’re so close you can hear his shallow inhales and exhales. 

“You can make it up to me,” you breathe, landing your lips on his, kissing him lightly. He doesn’t reciprocate at first, and though your eyes are closed, you assume he’s uncomfortable, so you start to pull away. After another moment, he leans into the kiss and wraps an arm around your waist, rubbing his thumb up and down your spine. 

He sighs, bringing up a hand to cup your cheek. You curl your arms around his shoulders, hooking them around his neck for support. His tongue explores your mouth, and you gasp into him. But he only uses the opening to his advantage, placing his hand on the back of your head and pulling you into the kiss. You feel all the air sucked straight out of your lungs, but you keep yourself attached to him until you reluctantly pull away to breathe again.

Dick moves his head back, getting a better view of your face and your rising chest. “I have an idea,” he says with a crooked smile.

“Oh, yeah?” you lick your lips, not missing how he zeros in on your tongue.

“Follow me,” and without any further explanation, you see him jump the balcony’s railing. 

“Dick!” you shout, running over to the side and trying to adjust your eyes to the dark. 

He’s alright, waving at you from the ground next to the rose bushes. “Come on! The jump looks worse than it actually is.”

“Easy for you to say,” you scoff, taking in the wide expanse of land that Dick’s family owns as a part of the manor. “What, haven’t you been riding horses your whole life?”

“How’d you know,” he quips with a smirk. “I was always a greater fan of gymnastics, though.”

“Great, that leaves hope for me.”

He gives a small chuckle, “Come on! Just try the jump. I’ll catch you, I promise.”

Shaking your head, you place both hands on the cold railing and engage your arm muscles. With a deep breath, you push off and for a chilling second, you feel yourself travel through the air before your feet eventually hit the ground. Dick’s there, as promised, holding you at the small of your back and wrapping an arm around your front to prevent you from falling over.

His head is resting next to your shoulder, and you can hear the breathiness in his voice as he whispers in your ear, “See, wasn't so bad.”

You nod, trying to disguise the wave of desire that runs through you. He seems to have himself under control, dashingly grabbing your hand and racing across the garden path. You can barely make out the twists and turns he’s taking as he leads you from the sparse topiaries and seating areas into the thicket of bushes. The further you both run, the more you struggle to catch your breath, but you still manage to take in the gorgeous flowers around you highlighted in the moonlight.

“I’ve never been anywhere this beautiful,” you say.

You glance back at him and find he was watching you while you were enamored with the scenery. You attempt to turn your head to the side in self-consciousness, but he brings a hand up to gently tilt your head to face him. His blue eyes pierce you, and you know even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t be able to break away from his gaze.

He kisses you again, and it feels like he’s trying to swallow you completely. Gripping onto your hips, he attempts to loosen his hands after a second, but you cover his hands with your own and keep him holding on. The action has him moaning into the kiss, and he pulls away from your face ever so slightly, lips still parted, to work down your neck.

You can feel his sweet kisses turn to nips quickly, and you bring up a hand to try and stifle the noises you let out, but he removes it from your mouth. Instead, your hands interlock as he leaves a bruise on your neck. He licks at it dutifully, but he quickly moves lower, nipping at your collarbone and mouthing at as much of the smooth expanse of your chest as he can reach from your outfit.

He thumbs at a peaking nipple through your clothes, and you whimper, rooting a hand in his hair to keep yourself from falling over. Dick lets out a curse, and he moves to rid you of your top, hands resting on the closure before he asks, “Is this okay?”

You nod desperately, tugging at the back of his jacket to get him to hurry up, and he lets out a deep chuckle. He wastes no time leaving you just in your bra and bottoms, and he reaches a hand to cup a breast through the fabric. He exhales through his nose, groaning as he pushes the soft skin out from the cup and brings his head to your chest, licking at your newly freed nipple.

He continues to play with your chest, biting at it and teasing you until both of your buds are hardened, and it makes you struggle to keep your breathing even. You can feel heat coarse through your entire body despite the cool night air surrounding you on all sides, and you want – need – more. 

“Dick,” you whisper, scratching at his back through his clothing. He peers up at you, meeting your gaze through his thick eyelashes and he seems to understand instantly. He peels off his jacket, leaving him only in his white button up, and he rolls up the sleeves to his elbows as he brings a hand down to cup your thigh. 

“Oh my god, please!” you call out as his thumb rubs against the inside of your thighs. His tongue is still at work playing with your chest, but he brings his hand up to rub against your slit, the slick soaking your panties.

“Fuck, already?” he says, dropping to his knees in front of you. Your eyes go wide, and your body heats up like you’ve been struck with a fever. “I’ve barely even touched you.”

He peels your panties down, pooling them at your ankles, and grips your hips as he brings his face to your core. Slowly, he runs his nose against your opening, teasing you so close to where you need him. Your breath catches in your throat as he licks your folds, finally reaching inside your heat. Your toes curl, and you plant both of your hands in his hair as his tongue graces your clit, swirling lightly.

He works gracefully, quick to give you pleasure but never too much of it. Whenever your moans become too loud, he moves from stimulating your clit to dipping into opening, or occasionally licking at your thighs. The coil inside you keeps growing tighter, and you have no idea how you’ve managed to stay upright for this long. His tongue makes you feel like you’re floating, like you could stay here your entire life and be perfectly content. You find yourself scratching at his scalp, and you can hear the vibrations of his moan on your clit as he laps at you.

That slight stimulation is so near to what you need, “I’m close.”

He stops without warning and you want to curse him for leaving you. He stands up without wasting any time, and he unzips himself from his tailored pants. You watch in awe as he gives himself a few strokes before pulling you closer to him, getting your permission before sliding into your folds.

He picks you up with a start, gripping at your thighs and allowing your ankles to interlock at his back. Your gasps turn into a guttural groan, and he kisses you roughly to stop yourselves from being heard. He works himself deeper inside you, patiently allowing himself to bottom out as your walls urge him on. Once he’s finally sheathed, he gives a small thrust and it has you shivering, wanting so much more.

He gives into your demands, setting a quick pace while kissing you, swallowing up every sound you make and keeping them from himself. He’s steady with his thrusts, trying to pace himself and keep himself on hold for you, but you snake your hand to wrap at the base of his neck. Without a warning, you pull at the strands there and he grunts into your mouth. Biting at your lip, he tightens his grip on your hips as pumps inside you faster.

“Holy shit, you’re so tight,” he gasps. “So warm, I could – fuck – I could stay inside you and never leave.” You scratch at his neck, wanting more from him to finally quell the heat that keeps burning inside you.

“Dick, I need–” you start, but are unable to finish, so distracted in your daze of pleasure.

“Yeah, darling? Tell me what you need.”

You shake your head, too far gone by this point to articulate anything, but Dick seems to understand, anyway. He moves a hand down to your clit, and begins rubbing precise circles on it, finally meeting you where you need him most. You feel your walls clench around him, swallowing him further inside and hitting you where you’re most sensitive. 

You open your mouth to warn him, but the words turn into a breathy moan as you cum around cock. Your climax rips through you, and every nerve lights on fire as you hear Dick briefly warn you before falling over the edge, too. Both of you lazily rut against each other, working through your joined orgasm together. 

When the world finally comes back into view, you feel so ready to faint, but Dick holds your shoulders and allows you to rest on him as he lays on the grass. The chill of the night air is finally reaching past your skin, and he throws his suit jacket on top of you. Both of you stay outside in the garden, watching the moon and the stars shine on you as the night slips by.

[lousypotatoes]

Song Recommendation:

Singin' In The Rain - Gene Kelly

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Playlist

90 years ago...

Soft jazz music played in the dimly lit club. People all around were dancing, drinking, and laughing. 

At the bar, stood a woman, taking a long drag off her cigarette, waiting for her date. She wore a green flapper dress, white satin gloves, and had the most beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes.

"This gent better hurry up," she muttered, taking another drag off her cigarette. 

"Can I get you anything, miss?" the bartender asked. 

"Just a little martini please," you said, keeping your eyes on the door.

"Right away, miss,"

As the bartender made her martini, she looked around the club, seeing people dance and having her fun with their friends. 

'I wish I had people like that,' she thought. 

"Here's your martini miss," the bartender said, snapping her out of her thoughts. 

"Thank you sir," she said, pulling out some dollar bills out of her purse and placing them on the counter. 

"Apologies for the delay, Gloria," said a voice. She turned her head and saw her date walking towards her. "I hope it didn't cause you any inconvenience, darling."

"It weren't no bother, Edward," she said, a fake smile on her face. "I already ordered from the speakeasy, hope you don't mind." 

"I don't mind one bit, sweetheart," Edward said, looking her up and down. "You're looking mighty fine this evening," 

Her eye twitched. She hated men like this. "Why thank you," she said. "It took me quite a while to get all dolled up like this."

"It surely was worth the effort," he said, licking his lips. "Care for another round, Gloria?"

"No thank you," she said chuckling. "I haven't even polished off my first one yet,"

"Suit yourself, darling," he said. "Hey barkeep, mind pourin' me some whiskey?"

"Care to dance?" Edward slurred, finishing his sixth glass of whiskey. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. "I promise I won't bite, doll," 

She bit the inside of her cheek. She really hated having to deal with people like this, but it was her job, and she couldn't turn the money it offered. 

"Ain't no harm in it, I suppose," she said, putting down her glass. "I'm a little bit rusty when it comes to dancin'." 

"No worries sugar. As long as I'm tanglin' with you, I'm alright," Edward said, grabbing her arm. "Say, I could show you a thing or two," he said suggestively. 

She had to hold back a laugh. Men like this really were simple creatures. "If you play your cards right, who knows what might unfold," she said, winking at him. 

This caused Edward to smirk. "Alright then, let's see what the night brings us, shall we?" 

"We shall,"

After two hours of dancing, talking, and drinking, all that she learned about Edward was that he was self absorbed asshole. He never asked her about herself, instead just talking about how much sex he'd had. 

"The dough better be worth puttin' up with this jerk," she muttered, as they swayed on the dancefloor, their bodies pressed up against each other. 

"What's that, sweetheart?"

"I reckon it's high time we go back to your place," she got on her tip toes and whispered in his ear seductively. "Don't ya think, Ed?"

"It's about time you asked, darling," he said, squeezing her ass. "You'd be downright stunning with all those threads off."

"Sounds like a plan," she said, removing herself from his grip. "Let's blow this joint,"

"Oh Ed," you panted, your back up against the alley wall. "Shouldn't we wait till we get to your pad?"

"I've been waitin' all night already," he growled, nipping at your neck. "Ain't waiting no more."

"That's what I was hopin' for," she said. 

"What's that supposed to mean, doll?" he said, still nipping at your neck. 

BANG!

With a scream of pain, Edward slumped onto her, but she just pushed him off her and onto the ground. 

"Men like you, they turn my stomach, see," she said, polishing off her gun with her dress. "Ain't that a hoot? You really thought I was into you." 

Edward was writhing in pain. He tried to get up, but she just kicked him back down. 

"Who-" he sputtered, blood coming out of his mouth. "Who- Who the hell are you?" 

"Well, I'm not Gloria, that's for certain," she smirked, putting her finger back on the trigger. "I'd sure love to stick around I chat, but unfortunately, I cannot. 

She aimed the gun at his head. "It's been a real pleasure knowin' ya, Edward."

"Wait! Please don't sho-"

BANG!

Edward's head lolled to the side, his eyes lifeless. 

"Serves ya right, you filthy pervert," she said, putting her gun back into the strap under her dress. 

She moved Edwards body further down the alley. Nobody would find him till morning. 

"Damn! He got blood all over my new shoes," she said, walking out of the alley. "Guess I'll have to get them cleaned proper."

The walk home was uneventful, besides men hitting on her. She felt very calm and at peace.

Everybody in town knew her as the sweetheart who owned the most popular flower shop in New Orleans. "Oh, if only they knew," she said to herself, giggling as she opened the door to the 'Employees Only' room to her flower shop. 

Stepping inside, she heard the barking of her Yorkie. "Honey!" she exclaimed, scooping up the dog in her arms. "Oh, I missed you so much, my love!"

She put her back down on the couch and went over and turned on the radio. "We'll go home as soon as finish some work up." she said to the snoring dog, as she carefully took out her blue contact lenses, revealing E/C eyes. 

The phone started to ring, walking over to answer it, she took off her blonde wig and set it on her big, oak desk. 

"This is Y/N, to whom am I speakin' to?" she asked, ruffling her fingers through her H/C hair. 

"This is Winston," a deep voice said. "Did you off him?" 

"Well that all hinges on you, Mr. Winston," she said, sitting down. "You got the dough?"

"Yeah, I got the dough,"

"How much?"

"One thousand,"

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Let's rendezvous at Broussard's at noon tomorrow. Does that work for you?"

"I suppose so yes,"

"Marvelous! Till then, Mr. Winston," she said, as she hung up the phone. 

She didn't like the song that was playing on the radio. Picking up the phone once again, she dialed the radio station number. 

"You've reached Alastor Altruist!" said the voice at the other side of the line. "To whom do I have the pleasure of speakin' to at this late hour?" 

"The names Y/N," she said into the phone. "It's a pleasure to meet you sir."

"What a beautiful name you have, Y/N," he said, making her smile. "The pleasure's all mine, I assure you."

"I was hopin' I could put in a request for a song?" she asked. "If it's no trouble, of course."

"Why it's no trouble at all, my dear!" he exclaimed. "What's on your mind?" 

"Singin' In The Rain by Cliff Edwards," she said, "It's a wonderful song."

"It's a real classic, ain't it?" he said. "You'll be hearin' it right after this song,"

"Thank you so much," she gushed. 

"You're quite welcome, dear," Alastor said. "Have a good night, Y/N."

"You as well, Alastor," she said, hanging up the phone. 

There was something about each other's voice that the both of them enjoyed. They both hoped they would hear it more often. 

I really wish I was in hell with him right now :(

this banner was made by the lovely @al-of-the-stars i'll be usin it for the rest of this fanfic

stay safe and drink lots of water <33

xoxo, Izzy

[aikuse]

ARIIIII may i request a nanami blurb (nsfw or sfw i'll leave that up to you :3) based on the song killshot by magdalena bay please? <3

-> hit me with your killshot, baby. (x) | 2,276 words. afab!reader (no pronouns used but female anatomy included), slight yandere obsession if u squint, alcohol consumption, fingering, cunnilingus, implied penetrative + protected sex, nanami calls reader “sweet thing”, “darling”, higuruma cameo. nanami might be a lil ooc but bear with me here.

a/n: oh salem, this was DELICIOUS to write. what a banger of a song too omg i gotta listen to them more!! i took a more obsessive!nanami approach, i feel like he'd get off on how easy some people are to fall in love with him, but not necessarily in a bad way. it's almost like a confirmation that he's good, he's not rotten like the rest of the men he works with; he's respectful so he deserves rewards in a way??? anyway i'm not sure what happened but here we are LMAO

The speakeasy was quiet this evening.

You sip on a lovely gin and tonic, mixed together just right as your eyes drag across the people dotted around the space. Your business shirt has been unbuttoned slightly, enough to tease as your drink steadily makes you feel warmer and fuzzier. Your heels are long gone, tucked away in your bag as you opt for chunky boots, which tend to be much comfier after a few drinks.

It was a cozy atmosphere; one of your favorite places to go after work to unwind without having to worry about seeing those you know. Which, unfortunately, has happened before and almost turned you off from coming back completely.

But you couldn’t.

Mainly due to the man you’re staring at now, half-hoping he can’t feel your burning gaze.

He’s stunning, and he’s been coming for the past few weeks now. Always on a Tuesday, for some reason, but you ignored the choice of weekday and instead decided to have your gaze wander across his features. His blue office shirt is unbuttoned at the top, just enough that light blonde hairs poke out of the revealed opening. His suspenders are tight against his chest, brown, connecting to his tan slacks. Shiny office shoes adorn his feet as he leans back, crossing his foot over his knee as he takes a sip from his own drink (something dark) and fixates on the book in front of him.

He’s beautiful. Tempting. Like forbidden fruit, except he doesn’t seem to be married.

Even better.

The one thing you do pick up on is how incredibly tired he looks. He normally comes in with another man, this one’s palette almost inverse from your muse’s; dark suit, white shirt, dark hair, but the same bags underneath his eyes and tired facial expressions. They don’t typically speak to each other that much, due to how quiet the rest of the venue is, and choose to read together instead.

However, today, his companion is not here. He has come alone.

One of your fingers, complete with a perfectly manicured black nail, rubs against the edge of your glass as you watch him. He wears glasses, the golden rims catching the lowlight every once in a while as his eyes scan across the words in front of him. He hasn’t noticed you staring; he never has, which is somewhat of a shock to you. Whenever someone is staring at you, it feels like there’s fire alight on the back of your neck. He’s either completely oblivious, or he knows and he doesn’t seem to care.

Something about that makes your thighs clench together. The song in the background, playing gently against the velvet walls, does nothing for your growing yearning for the man.

Something chronic, bit demonic I been on the late shift All alone, staring at my phone

Sin and tonic Stupid promise Something like a death wish All alone, stare into my soul

You’ve never been one for one-night stands, but for him, there is a chance you’d make an exception.

You down the drink, drawing on the courage of the gin as you stand, making your way over to him. You identify his book, first; ironically, it’s one of your favorites, and a smile tugs at your lips as you approach. He looks up in surprise, before his expression smoothens into something close to neutrality. “Well, well, the voyeur finally decides to encounter their muse, eh?” he says, and his voice washes over your ears like silk. It’s gorgeous, with a low pitch and a rasp that makes the ache in your stomach only strengthen.

You take a seat, smiling and blushing to yourself that you’ve been discovered. “I was wondering how long it would take you to notice,” you admit, and he smiles back, folding a worn bookmark into the page he's reading and shutting the book, placing it on the table before turning to you, taking another sip of his own drink. It’s whiskey, made neat; you can tell from the smell across the table.

You sit awkwardly for a moment, listening to the crackling of the fire behind you, before he breaks the silence, his smooth voice taking up space once again.

“Come here often?”

You can’t help but chuckle. “More than I will admit,” you respond, “but it’s nice here. Gives me a chance to slow down after work, and the drinks are lovely.”

He nods, agreeing. “Yes, it’s a good place. Higuruma and I come here often after work; he also enjoys unwinding in a quieter atmosphere.”

Higuruma. That must be his companion. “What do you both do?” you ask, your elbow appearing on the table as the side of your head rests on your open hand. He leans forward then, fully facing the table, and sighs. “He’s a lawyer. Ironic, since he’s just finalized his own divorce as well. I stick to the salary business. It’s boring, but it’s something. Pays the bills at the end of the day.”

You hum. “If I may be honest, you don’t look as if you’re happy there at all.”

He laughs at that, a jovial laugh that isn’t obnoxiously loud; it’s just enough to be between the two of you. “Yes, well, dealing with finance is never an enjoyable activity, but I’ve been in it long enough now where I can find my own pleasures. Especially outside of work when I can look at such a pretty lady, if I do say so myself.”

The blush that appears on your cheeks is bright red, you can feel it as you look down bashfully. “Oh, don’t get shy on me now,” you hear him say as he reaches across the table, lightly touching your chin and raising your face to look back at him. There’s a softness in his gaze, one that you’re not used to. The touch is gentle as well, and you’re praying that he can’t feel the spark you felt as soon as his fingertips touched your skin.

Instead, you opt for teasing him.

“That was a bit forward, wasn’t it?”

He pales, moving his hand away. “Oh, God, sorry, I just—”

You grab his hand, a smile on your lips again as you hold it between your own, rolling your eyes. “Kidding. Promise,” you reassure him as his face relaxes again in relief, “I’d have said something much faster if you crossed a line, don’t worry. Although to me, it seems you don’t enjoy doing that very often. Salarymen are always so by the book.”

He nods, rolling his eyes as well. “I try not to be. Hence me attempting to read books more,” he gestures to the book on the table, “and being here. It’s not as public as many people have dragged me to, but it’s intimate enough where it feels nice to unwind.” He takes another swig of his whiskey, his cheeks dusted a light pink from the alcohol.

You both chat about other things, such as the books you’re reading, what you do for your job, your favorite drinks and what speakeasies and intimate bars you’ve both been to. Before you know it, it’s dark outside, and you’re fumbling for your bag and your keys, cursing at how long you’ve stayed. “I know it’s Friday,” you say, standing, “but I always like to be home a little early. That way I can pour a glass of wine after being here and relax even more.”

He’s standing up with you almost mechanically, tucking his book into a briefcase you didn’t notice before. There’s a flash of black-and-white print inside of the case, but you don’t get a good look before he shuts it and locks it, smiling at you and offering his hand.

“Well, I can’t allow for a stunning woman such as yourself to walk home alone, yes?”

You’re tempted to say no. You know for a fact this is a decision you’re either going to regret or enjoy, but at the point you are at with knowing him better than some of your own coworkers who you’ve worked beside for years, your better judgment is shelved for an impulse decision.

You take his hand.

“Well, well, Kento, I will take you up on the offer. What a kind gesture to someone who's been staring at you for weeks. How do you know I don’t have terrible intentions?” you ask him as he walks with you to the door, hand in hand. He looks back at you with a smile, crinkling the edges of his eyes.

“I’m quite good at reading people.”

“Need you, Kento.”

The plea comes out as a whine, the blonde man’s head between your thighs as he laps at your center. He looks up at you through his eyelashes, and you feel your obsession roaring in your ears as he smirks against you. “How do you need me, darling?” he whispers, and your hips buck into his face, forcing him to return to sucking on your sensitive clit.

“Anywhere. Everywhere. Forever.” It’s all coming out as senseless babbles, your hands deep in his hair, tugging on the strands and scratching at his scalp as his strong hands hold your legs apart, your thighs twitching against his grip. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing; he doesn’t seem to mind your comments, either, even if they do seem a little intense at the moment. It seems he either knows his effect on you, or he enjoys hearing about it.

The latter makes you wetter just thinking about it.

You’d had him walk you home, sharing a glass of wine on your couch as you discussed your favorite pieces of literature, the books strewn across the floor in the flurry of motion instigated by Kento himself. “Please do not take this the wrong way,” he had whispered, before placing the wine glass on the coffee table, “but I cannot stand staring at your lips and doing nothing about them.”

You’d kissed him then, whiskey and wine and a calming feeling flooding your veins as your lips moved against him, his large hands cupping your face so gently as if he didn’t want to harm you. But little did he know, that was what you craved; you wanted him to devour you, to make you think of nothing but him. If you were hung up on him for the rest of your life, you would be satisfied.

Come and get that honeySweeter than I ever knewTell me that you love meLove me till my lips turn blue

“K-Kento—”

He leans back, his fingers having been added to the mix, squelching as he scissors you open so deliciously well that your back is arching. His thumb, locked onto your clit, keeps it under a steady rhythm as you cry out. Every brush against the sensitive area is tightening that coil in your stomach, your whole body trembling beneath him. You can feel it, the climax roaring into you like a shockwave. “Gonna c—”

He leans over you then, his lips centimeters away from your ear, and growls.

“Cum for me, sweet thing. Cum all over my fingers, I know you can do it.”

The explosion of emotions that comes out of you, the noises, everything feels like a dam bursting as your soaking pussy twitches and drools all over his fingers, dripping onto the couch as you cum harder than you ever have before. The whole world seems to fall away except for Kento’s face, a haloed silhouette, like an angel coming to deliver you from everything that’s harmed you.

He looks down and grins, as if he’s proud of his handiwork, and as he looks back at you, you cannot help but watch him as you ride out your high.

I love you falls from your lips, but he doesn’t bat an eye. He doesn’t even flinch; in fact, his motions only get more aggressive as he fucks you into overstimulation, tears pricking at your eyes and breaking your lashline, sliding down your cheeks.

“Say it again.”

“W-What?” it comes out choked as you shudder underneath him, his fingers only continuing their movements.

“Say it again.”

“I love you?”

“Say it more confidently. Come on, sweet thing.” He sounds exasperated, and in your vulnerable state, all you want to do is please him. Make him want to stay with you, make him live inside of your bones.

“I love you. I will love you forever if you’ll let me, I—”

“Fuck, that’s good,” he whispers as he finally relents, removing his fingers from your center. He doesn’t wipe them on his slacks, however…instead, he chooses to prod at your lips, his other hand brushing away your tears. You obey within a beat, sucking on your own juices underneath him, watching his pupils dilate. His gaze is dark; it’s like his own obsession with you is forming, a mutual delusion you both can share.

His hand removes itself from your mouth, before his belt clinks and you hear the zipper of his pants echo around the room, clearing the post-climax daze and fluff that had been stuffed in your head. You clench as you feel the head of his fat cock brush against your abused opening, and he leans down close to you, his broad, bare chest flush with your own.

“God, you’re everything,” he whispers as he slides in, and your mind goes blank.

If I fall in every time Wicked love will leave me blind Yeah, I knew it I been through it

Oh god Can you make my heart stop? Hit me with your kill shot, baby I mean it, so serious

divider credit: @/benkeibear

networks: @thehoneypotserver @enchantedforest-network

disclaimer: DO NOT copy or repost my works for any reason. translations are acceptable, but please ask for permission first!

© kakuchari 2023-2024

[pomegranate-pen]

If requests are open, could i ask for a part 2 fro that one Rocky x reader you did? I just read it and I am AOUYWVDOUWGD I love it.

It ended with him essentially taking himself out of y/n's life right? just disappearing and ghosting them? What if, and hear me out: reader did a little snooping and finds a way into the speakeasy- maybe they know Wick or someone else who agrees to help them out, and they just. go. OFF on Rocky(affectionately. Like they're angry but they're more hurt than anything and they don't care what he does, they just want him to come back because they love him and they miss him and they just hate worrying whether or not he's alive and okay because they don't see him anymore.)

Hope that's enough to get something going, and if requests aren't open, you can totally ignore this! I just love some good hurt/comfort with a dash of good communication. Have a wonderful day/night and thank you so much!

A/N: oh my god?!! so many people wanted a part two to this!! I'm so glad you guys loved it that much!!!!! GAHHHH THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR KIND WORDS!!! one warning though!!! I have written this way before a few asks, so I might not have exceeded everyone's requests here, and I unfortunately do not have the time to completely rewrite this- since finals month have just begun-

Part two of the rocky rickaby angst!

warnings: these are obvious, mentions of alcohol and whatnot. this is pure fluff btw

It has been two months. two, dreadful, heartwrenching, and painful months.

‘Have you gone mad?’ is the question that always echoes in your mind. Especially when no one seems to even speak of the name Rocky Rickaby around you.

The café feels empty without him around. Ivy and Freckle keep acting like nothing is wrong, but their acting is so horrible under your intense gaze, it was like a group of people who accidentally found themselves in improv class instead of their intended one. 

And f you have to hear Ivy say ‘Rocky? Who's that?” and Freckle shaking his head saying his cousin is in the circus, you will scream.

 It was like Rocky truly has died. That night he peacefully passed away and now it is what you feared would happen. There are no more poems, no more chaos, no more silliness of the cat you have grown to love. It’s just quiet, so dreadfully quiet you feel like you’re stuck in a café themed asylum. You miss him and his horrible syrup-filled teas. The ones whose bitterness is completely overtaken by the sugary sweetness so powerful it leaves you craving water.

And as you lay on your bed, with the same drops of rain clanking through your window just like the certain night, you feel yourself getting mad. You’re enraged by his actions. Since when does he decide what you will do with your life? Since when did he want to be the good guy? Who said this is the decision best for you?

With gritted teeth and a lack of sleep, you frantically twist and turn and start running the gears in your brain. You kept thinking, stuck with ideas of what to do to get his attention. Though your half-sleepy mind was making up a very half-assed plan, you were so desperate at this point, you couldn’t handle not seeing him anymore. You couldn’t handle worrying for him through the sidelines no longer. You will get to see him tomorrow, whether he likes it or not.

----

“I’m not allowed to speak a word.”

Frustrating. That is the word you’d use for this situation. Horribly frustrating. Who knew that Freckle Mcmurray could be this stubborn? Perhaps since it was a request from the one closest to him, he follows through with his loyalty till the bitter end.

You’d admire this quality of his if it wasn’t a huge block to you.

“oh come on Freckle, I’m just curious!” Freckle tried to do minimal tasks around the café to throw you off. For a moment he was cleaning the already spotless tables, in another, he was sweeping the dustless floors. “ don’t you think you owe me one after I helped you guys that night?”

Suddenly, he stops sweeping and looks at the ground with silent guilt. his hand having a strong grip on the broom. “ If I paid more attention Rocky wouldn’t have gotten shot in the first place.” His ears lowered a bit and his brow furrowed. His tail slightly shifted from place to place behind him as he started sweeping again.

Oh. it seems like the situation is a bit more complicated than you thought. “Freckle…” you put a hand on his shoulder, making him stop and look at you after avoiding your gaze for a long time. “ it wasn’t your fault— I’m sure Rocky was being…well…” you huffed. “Rocky. You know? No one expected you to know he’ll get shot.”

His ears lowered even more and he looks away. Shit. You made it worse. Now a bit of guilt seeped into you. “ that’s not what happened.” He mumbled, palms holding the broom at different angles and not even cleaning anymore. “ I was the one who was about to get shot. He blocked for me.”

“oh…”

He sighs and leans the broom on the table next to you. he sits down with a look of stress mixed within his guilty eyes now. “if-if it wasn’t for my clumsiness we wouldn’t have been forced to come to you for help!” his hands were now grabbing his head in distress as his tail wagged frivolously more than before.

“Woah woah— calm down, Freckle.” You place your hands on his shoulders, leaning down to meet his level and stopping him from almost ripping his eyebrows off. “ don’t freak yourself out so much. No one is to blame for this situation.”

His eyes squint at you and you cough. “ook— maybe there is— but it’s way too complicated to be just one person’s fault, don’t you think?”

He’s silent for a bit, but his breathing calms down and his eyebrows aren’t as furrowed as before. “I-I guess you’re right.” He sighs. He then went into silence- one where judging from his face, was one of constant conflict. That is until he finally sighs and grumbles out a ‘fine’ as he digs through his pockets and brings out a pretty pin, with a shape of a club on it. He brings you closer as he whispers in your ear.

“did you get all that?” he finally leans back and you get up. you nod your head, the information running in your head on repeat. “good.” He gives out a breath of relief, yet his shoulders tense up again in worry. “d-don’t do anything brash! I promised Rocky you’d stay out of trouble.”

Yet here he is helping you jump into one. You couldn’t help but give a giddy grin. After giving him a playful punch on the shoulder and profusely thanking him, you walk out of the café with a worried Freckle looking back.

-----

Dim, red lights bore the entire cave, pillars clean as a whistle overtaking some of the view and tables as far as the eye could see, yet, emptier than the café is, which is saying a lot considering how quiet that place could get.

Honestly, you didn’t expect to find this place so easily with no trouble. You expected to go over some guards or whatnot for inspection before being let in- but then again—you never were one to associate yourself with danger, you’re quite the newcomer to such things.

You only hoped that your attire was the right one for such a situation, and that you don’t leave this place getting chased by some hitman of sorts. Of which, you don’t think they have, unless you count the trio and the very scary-looking bartender. You swear you saw him glaring at you at some point. Still, you sat down a few seats away from his station and ordered a drink to not seem fishy.

you look around, no sign of Rocky, which now that you think of it, there is a huge chance Freckle told on you and Rocky stayed away. Dammnit! You should’ve expected this— as you try to drink your sorrows away, one sip of the illicit beverage has had the ends of your hair stand in horror. bitter, tasteless, and pure garbage. Oh god— is this what Rocky has been risking his life for?!

“Well well well, do my eyes deceive me, or do we really have a new customer here?” before you could mull over your new discovery, a sly, lazy voice grabs your attention. You turn around and the very first thing you sense is the high smell of his smoke. It invaded your lungs for a moment- and you couldn’t help but scrunch your nose a bit and cough.

“oh, sorry. Forgot not many people can't handle the smell.” He takes out the cigarette from his mouth and sits right next to you, burning down the roll on the counter. He leans on the counter, his shoulders holding his weight. “you new here?”

“whose asking?”

He laughs. “ the leader of the jazz band up there if you’re that scared.”

“the band?” you perked up. “ wait- uh- “You look back at the stage a few feet away from you, yet you see no violin. Perhaps he took it with him like he always does? “…do you perhaps have a violinist playing for you there?”

Zib now perks up a bit as well, giving you a confused glare as he answered. “yeah…but he’s got some new business he does here too.” He takes your glass and drinks it before you could rebuttal. And to your surprise, he doesn’t gag when he drinks it.

“I could’ve had a cold, you know.”

“I didn’t see you sniffling nor sneezin’.”

“what if I had meningitis or mumps that you’ll get now?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been through worse.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes. Best to just ignore his actions for now. “ so…this violinist-is he uh-“Oh god you probably sound suspicious now. You’re seriously way too out of your comfort zone here. “ is he perhaps the same guy who's a waiter up in the café?”

Silence takes over the space, and you're left with an awkward piano playing in the background as the stranger stares you up and down. You freeze for a moment, hoping to whatever celestial being that truly rules this world to let you live another day. Yet, the messy-looking man suddenly starts snickering, then full-blown cackling and at some point- coughing due to his weak lungs- yet still bravely laughing through it. safe to say you're embarrassed as you can ever be.

“you- hahah- you’re the-cough-lil’ cute nurse he keeps talking about?!”

“he— he thinks I’m cute?”

“No wonder you talked about mumps- err- whatever that is.” His laugh dies down and he looks at you with a look of horror and small amusement. “and you actually like him back? He wasn’t lying?”

“he talks about me?”

 “it’s Rocky. Of course he’s talking about you, every day to be precise.” He fiddles with his pocket and takes out another cigarette. You squint at him before he mumbles out a ‘relax, it’s a weaker one’ before lighting it up. “though…he’s been awfully quiet these few days.” He glances back at you. “I’m guessing that involves you coming here?”

You look away from him. “I guess you could say that.” You tap the counter, now remembering Rocky’s face that night- tired and bruised up, a face that makes your heart ache. “ will he be coming back? or is he avoiding me again?”

“I’ll be honest with you newbie,” he lets out a puff of smoke. “he’s in the backstage avoiding you. his cousin warned him.”

“I knew it!” you grumbled as he continued.

“ now usually, I’d advise you to stay away from the kid. But…” he shrugs. “I’ll admit that with your presence in his life, he suddenly got a bit more excited than usual- normally this would be a bad thing- but it does boost his performances on stage.” He then started to mumble a bit. “…although on bootlegging he’ll always be a lost cause…he still tries his best.”

“ but how do I get to him? won’t he run off?”

And with that, the cat gives a sly smirk. Okay…not the most trustworthy look, you thought. He beckons with his hand for you to come closer, and just like with Freckle, he whispers to you a strategy you didn’t expect.

---

A backstage, though more so a greenroom than anything else- since it doesn’t even lead to the stage- the band likes to call it a backstage since they hang out here when there’s nothing to do in the front. However, over the years, it has also become a place for extra storage, for things such as empty barrels and whatnot. And now, it is a hideout for Rocky, who surprisingly, isn’t hiding from an assassin or another angry farmer out to get him- rather a worried nurse whom he likes too much.

“…you sure you don’t want to talk to them?” his cousin, Calvin Mcmurray- though he likes to call Freckle, a habit that has been spread to everyone much to his cousin’s dismay- is staying with him for the time being. Since he doesn’t have much to do anyway, not unless Rocky comes up with a new unneeded task. “they've probably gone through a lot of trouble to get here.”

Rocky, to Freckle’s surprise, is silent. Shifting around and thinking of a solution. “I made the right choice,” he spoke to himself. Now staring at his shoulder which was once shot at. “ they couldn’t have handled this anyway.”  

“…are you okay?” Calvin was confused and no matter what he asks, for weeks Rocky hasn’t told him what happened that fateful night. “ you know if you don’t see them they'll just force you to, right?” he reasoned. “ they're not one to easily give up.”

“there you go questioning my logic again,” Rocky sighs and holds his finger up in a scolding manner. “ what did I say? The plan is simple.” He smiles, then gives a sheepish expression. “ avoid Y/n at all costs until they finally gives up, gets so mad at me that they avoid me themselves all together! Then boom! They're safe and sound and I can easily take risks again.”

“…but…they don't easily give up-“

“nonsense Freckle!” Rocky huffs. “what’s the worse they could do? join the lackadaisy?“

A loud bang erupts in the room as a familiar face barges in.

Your eyes light up when you see him again. After two long months, you can finally see the silly cat whose been on your mind for so long. after two months of constantly wondering if his wounds have opened up or not- and praying that he hasn’t gone to the Dr.Quackenbush guy he spoke about- you finally see him. yet, your expression is frustrated.

“Rickaby,”

Zib whistled. “ last name used, means big trouble buddy.”

You decided to ignore that comment and walk closer to him. Rocky being seated gave you a more domineering look in his perspective, and your determined energy was radiating through the roof. “you can’t avoid me any longer.” You grumble. “especially since it’s not even for your sake- you’re choosing for me. which by the way- is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done.” Probably not the most, but you were too mad to think properly. “ if you keep avoiding me like this, then I’ll have no choice but to just get a job here.” you then shrugged. “ from what I’ve seen, they could use a nurse here anyway- or rather anyone who even knows a thing about aid kits.”

“told you they wouldn’t give up,” Freckle squeaked, though he was hiding behind his hat with lowered ears and a scrunched-up face.

Rocky clears his throat as he gets up, grabbing your shoulders and turning you around the other way. “Y/n…an unexepcted pleasure to see you again!” he laughs nervously while looking at the others. “How about we take this conversation somewhere else?”

You cross your arms and pout. “if you don’t run away then sure.”

“don’t worry, we’ll keep guard." Zib spoke as he pats Freckle’s shoulder. You made a note to yourself to thank him later.

“..shall we?” Rocky’s tone has become a bit nervous and sheepish.

With a nod to your head, you speak. “ lead the way.”

----

“alright— now I know there might be some issues when change happens-“

The place he chose, was just a top attic that lead to the surface, where a beaten-up car sat. and to your shock, some dried-up spills of blood on the floor. Rocky sat down on a crate box and motioned you to sit on the other next to him.

“Change? What, am I a kid now?” you sat down. “ what you did was absolutely mindbogglingly-“

“-I did it for your own good.” He cuts you off. “ think of it this way— “ he sits up straight. “your life is normal, it’s peaceful and has a good future ahead of it. though yes someone could argue mundane is boring, you seem to like the mundane from what I've seen- mine though? It isn't like that in the slightest. I work in a ….” He hisses a bit in concentration. “…very dubiously legal place doing odd jobs. You won’t like it.”

“Who said you could make these decisions for me?” you huffed, deciding to now spill your guts before he runs away again. You held his hands, making sure he was looking at you as you spoke, as stressful as it is to have someone stare at you. “ you’re right about one thing. All my life has been normal.” You give his hands an affectionate squeeze. “ but that doesn’t mean I was happy in it. I was sick of normal, of mundane day-in and day-out lifestyle. And then- then I met you.” god, you could feel your cheeks burning up. “you’re fun. Sure you can get too crazy but I like that about you. it’s so easy to talk to you and I just- I just love spending time with you because-..” Your heart was going to beat out of your chest.”… you’re my favorite person.” You huffed out. “I like your presence in my life- you make it worth living. I like how you have this weird obsession with pancakes- I love all the expressions you make while you're debating about something- I like you, idiot.”

Silence took over the room , and you couldn’t help but move your gaze away from embarrassment. Shit— you shouldn’t have said the last part- that was too much- will he ignore you forever now?—

“…so you..wouldn’t mind the injuries?”

You look up at him and shrugged. “ I mean…I’ll certainly get worried, there’s no stopping that. But if you promise to be a little more alert, then I promise I won’t freak out as much. “ you gave him a playful smile.”Just remember to visit me if you get hurt. Not the guy who uses a lot of chloral hydrate.”

“consider it done darling.”

“darling? Really?”

“would you like me to call you ‘Doc’ instead? Or perhaps something more romantic? Sweetheart? Honeydough? Love?—“

“okay Stop-“

“ Why I can go all day!— Sunshine, Honeybun, Lovebug, Hot Stuff—“

“alright alright I get it!” you couldn’t help but give out a giddy laugh. “darling is fine.”

“Anything for you, darling."Rocky gets up and gives a small bow, which the response from you was a small chuckle. “ say,” he gets up. “ how did you meet Zib?”

“Who?”

“the guy you came in with.”

“oh— his name is Zib? Huh, weird name.”

“It’s his nickname, though I’m not sure what his birth name is.”

“was yours always Rocky?”

He grumbles. “you don’t want to know what my actual name was.”

You grinned and tilted your head in curiosity. “oh, don’t be like that! I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“it is.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Now spill.”

He stays quiet for a moment, then fiddles with his tie as he answers. “it’s Roark.”

You desperately tried to hide your snort, yet a small bit was let out. Rocky shook his head dramatically. “ridiculous, isn’t it? only my aunt calls me by that name.” he then gives a worried smile. “though usually her tone is always scolding too. So that checks out.”

“no-no- “ you stopped your laugh. “I think it’s a very nice name. but I do like Rocky more.”

“Perhaps you should give me a nickname, darling?”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “perhaps I should.”

You stand up as well. Lean to his level and give a small kiss on his forehead.

“I’ll see you later, my favorite bard.”

“That’s the best you could come up with?” yet, when he says that, his grin is bigger than ever, as much giddy as yours is.

“Is this a way to treat your number one fan?" you rolled your eyes. " And anyway, I’m a nurse, not a poet.”

He gives a soft smile, and for once, you realize how much his smile was always full of energy and chaos, yet this one was different. This one felt calm. He gives a peck on your forehead, and you were certain your heartbeat was loud.

“I’m honored to be your favorite bard.”

you give a soft smile back, and for a moment, there was a sincere quiet glance between you two. that is before Rocky broke it. "by the way..." he gives his common grin. "...did you just confess your love to me?

[instarsandcrime]

I was wondering, do you have any Alastor head canons? They can be about whatever you'd like to say

Oh dear, that's an interesting question! He's one of the characters that I tend to write at my slowest because honestly, like everyone else, I have no idea what his deal is. But I'll do my best for both snz and otherwise!

Not snz:

To me, he's a fellow anemic. He needs to recover his strength with food after he goes a bit overboard with his powers or transforms into something larger and more eldritch.

As a small addition to the previous headcanon, his go-to food for recovery is his mother's jambalaya rather than the regular venison or otherwise. I know that's a bit of a well-used one, but it's well-used for a reason!

Before episode 5 Alastor most likely still visited swing clubs with Mimzy. I can definitely imagine them tearing up the dance floor together, even after death!

I can also imagine Alastor on regular dinner dates and tea times with Rosie for gossip sessions.

I genuinely do believe in the 'Lilith deal' theory, and that his order is to protect the hotel. However, he's also trying to worm his way out of the deal with the hotel as well.

He refuses to use a cellphone at all times. He would rather suffer a double death. So if there's ever a worst case scenario where he does need to communicate via text, he would probably dictate the message to Niffty. The results tend to vary.

He has a radio in almost every room for security, safety, and communication purposes.

He has a strong alcohol tolerance, considering the 1930's and its speakeasy days. He'd probably be the second or third to last in the hotel to lose to a drinking contest.

The most crack headcanon that I have in regards to Alastor being aroace: Before he fucked off for seven years, Vox tried to ask him out, but Alastor didn't pick up on the cues at all and thought that it was a deal to join the Vees instead. That leaves everyone who asks with the impression that Vox was pissy over asking Alastor to join his team instead of, you know, a date. And the worst part is that Vox can't say shit about what really happened either, because who would just admit that????

He has a deer's tail because I say so, actually.

Snz:

Another obvious one, but he's a germaphobe. 100%.

He's not much of a caretaker unless he really likes the person. Charlie, Niffty, and Rosie are good examples!

When they're asleep he'll sneak in a Creole pet name for luck, as long as no one else is around to hear it.

He has bad bedside manners for anyone he doesn't have much of an opinion on-- or worst case scenario, anyone he hates.

With Lucifer he pulls out all the stops. However, he does align with the fact that he cares about Lucifer recovering-- but only because it would be boring without the regular brand of chaos that he brings.

Connected to the 'Alastor has radios set up around the hotel' headcanon: He has a playlist of over 1,000 songs specifically titled 'Songs Lucifer Hates', and puts each one on full blast until Lucifer caves and takes his medication or goes back to bed.

Yes, this torture method can easily follow him out of Lucifer's room and to any radio in the hotel.

No, Lucifer does not last past four or five songs, and that disappoints Alastor every time.

Alastor does not get sick often, but when he does he gets hit hard.

His sneezing usually comes in doubles or triples, and they tend to be on the more intense side.

They're hard to hold back, so he normally stifles to stay quiet-- unless the room wants to listen to screeching feedback and loud outbursts.

He is a handkerchief user, and carries them wherever he goes. For people very close to him, he will let them keep one.

I'm a sucker for a magic user's loss of control with their powers-- I can see Alastor's emotions get outed by his shadow, or his tentacles shoot out at random intervals.

He gets feverish easily, complete with fever dreams, and tends to mumble about them in his sleep.

[speciallysapphic]

Night Out

Summary: A simple night out alone turns into something you never anticipated.

Warnings: 18+!! Smut, porn with barely a plot, daddy kink, fingering, oral, mention of alcohol (let me know if I'm missing anything)

Pairing: Speakeasy!Natasha x Fem!Reader

AN: I'm ridiculously gay and it shows. That is all, thank you.

It was Saturday night. You talked yourself into actually going out instead of spending another night with a bag of chips and reruns of reality TV. Besides, you had run out of wine at home, and it felt good to get dressed up and go out. Even if it was just going to your favorite old fashioned speakeasy style bar by yourself. You sat at the bar nursing on your 3rd drink of the night while listening to the music. You can’t shake the feeling of someone watching you, your eyes scan around the dark room, suddenly your eyes lock with a pair of piercing green eyes. Normally you would look away awkwardly after making eye contact so suddenly with a stranger. But something about her was mesmerizing. She sets down her drink and starts walking towards you. The light hits her and her red hair gleams under it, her body exuding confidence in every stride. You shift in your chair and smooth out your outfit, attempting to be subtle about your nervousness. 

She makes her way to you and leans on the bar, pulling back the bottom of her suit jacket to let her free hand rest in her pocket. The red head smirks at you, looks you up and down then says “You’re far too pretty to be alone in a place like this. How long do I have before your partner comes back?” You blush a bit but try to hide your embarrassment at the compliment.

“All night, I guess. I don’t have a partner.” you reply. She straightens her posture up slightly at your reply, takes her hand out of her pocket and offers to shake yours. 

“In that case, who do I have the pleasure of meeting?” 

“Y/N” you smile and shake her hand. Her formalness amuses you but you find it attractive. Much better than the pick up lines you get on dating apps. 

“Natasha” She replies as she pulls up a chair.

Now you recognize her. It was hard to see her as the Avenger she is without her black combat suit and a gun on her hip. Seeing her like this was totally new. You’ve always found her attractive but seeing her in a tailored gray suit with a black tie and her hair pinned up was a whole other level. Natasha waves down the bartender and orders you another drink as well as one for herself. Once the bartender disappears she leans forward and firmly places her hand on your thigh.

“So what exactly is a girl like you doing out alone in a place like this?” You feel a shiver go up your spine as you’re looking into her emerald eyes. 

“Just needed a night out. Shake off some stress I guess.” How you got the words out, you’ll never know. Natasha can tell you’re a little nervous, but that’s right where she wants you, nervous but eager.

She slowly slides her hand further up your thigh and leans in to say “I know a great way to combat stress…” Her eyes scan your body, making her intentions even clearer. 

“Oh, I could definitely use some stress relief.” You reply and nervously bite your bottom lip. Natasha takes your hand and stands up to lead the two of you away from the bar.

She leads you to the bathroom and locks the door. The assassin pushes you up against the wall by your hips and begins kissing your neck. You let out a soft moan involuntarily. You can feel her smile against your skin, she’s enjoying this. She moves her thigh between your legs and holds her body against yours, pinning you in place while she swiftly takes off her jacket. The kisses get hotter. You’re biting at each other's lips, exchanging ragged breaths between contact, her hair has fallen down and you let your hands get tangled in it. Natasha slides down to her knees and undresses the lower half of you. You’re quick to help her where she needs it, not wanting to waste a second of time. You want her more than words describe. Before you even have a chance to fully catch your breath you feel her tongue glide through your folds. Your knees almost buckle, Nat looks up at you and places a hand tightly on your hip. 

“Stay strong for me baby” She orders before going back. Her tongue circles, you can feel how wet you are without having to look. You’re attempting to not let your moans get too loud, the bar was noisy but not that loud. Natasha slips two fingers into you with ease, you’re practically dripping for her. 

“Oh Fuck! Tasha!” You wrap your hand in a fistful of red hair. Her movements become more deliberate. Adding another finger, she starts pounding into you. Nat is looking up at you to watch the pleasure play across your face. 

“Good girl.” She hums in praise. This only added fuel to the fire.

“Make me finish, please” You beg her. The spy slows her movements. While she admires your boldness, she wasn’t going to make it that easy. You whimper at her, desperately wanting the friction you felt seconds earlier back.

“Oh Y/N, I wanna hear you beg for it.” She snarls at you, her voice raspier than before. 

“Please Natasha, I need it.” You try. She shakes her head, silently asking for more. Frustration is getting to you.

“Please… Please daddy I need to finish, Let me finish for you.” You can hear the desperation in your voice with every syllable. Nat smirks and suddenly her movement picks back up. She’s at an unrelenting pace. Every thrust of her hand sends you further and further to the point of bliss. With three fingers still pumping inside you she seals her lips around your clit and her tongue goes wild. Flicking, sucking, and gliding at all the right paces and patterns. Nat’s free hand presses into your hip stronger, knowing she’ll have to help you stay upright. With her other hand goes deeper and sucks at you all at once. 

A loud, uncontrollable moan escapes you. It was the best orgasm you’ve ever had. While you’re still reeling from the explosion of pleasure, the Avenger is resting her head against your thigh. Slightly smiling to herself, proud of what a mess she’s made of you. 

“You did so good for me, Y/N” She coos, stroking your thigh. She stands up, kisses you softly, then cups your face in her hand. Your eyes staring back at one another, she just smiles. You begin dressing yourself. Natasha half heartedly fixes her hair in the mirror, and throws her jacket over her shoulder. In the middle of you smoothing out your outfit and brushing sweaty strings of hair out of your face, Natasha turns your face to look at hers by gently grabbing your chin. 

“This was fun Y/N. We should do it again.” Before you can think of anything to say, she struts out of the bathroom and vanishes into the cool, dark night. 

[pastelevie]

making myself a new icon since im pastelevie and my icon atm is sylveon. i made the pencil sketch but tryna make it digital and nice with my mouse is gonna be hell

[fics-by-caroline]

Bloodlust

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Magical!Reader

Summary: You and Loki are part of the Avengers, but the pair of you have different ideas of what justice entails than the rest of the group; i.e., more horror, more drama, an eye for an eye. And man, do you two ever look sexy covered in blood.

Category: Smut (18+ only, please!)

Warnings: Smut (blood kink, oral sex -- f receiving), rough sex, porn with some plot), language, graphic descriptions of violence, gore, smoking, alcohol consumption, mention of human trafficking.

A/N: This is my first time writing smut, so please be nice 🥺

   Taking a drag from a cigar in the corner of the dimly-lit speakeasy, your target looked you up and down. Even without tapping into his thoughts, you could tell that he liked what he saw; how the black dress you wore hugged your figure, how you had crossed your legs in a way that allowed him to catch the red bottoms of your heels, red that was reflected in your lipstick and nails. You turned to make eye contact with him, and were immediately hit with hearing him imagine you on your knees sucking him off in one of his fancy cars and afterwards kicking you out onto the street.

   Typical, You thought with disgust, finishing your martini. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into your back. Feeling him get up and walk towards you, you shot a knowing look at Loki across the bar.

   “Can I buy you a drink?” The man’s voice was dripping in disgusting salaciousness. He sat beside you, reeking of the over-application of cologne, whiskey, and cigar smoke.

   You shot him a demure smile. “A dirty martini, drier than the Sahara.”

   The man waved down the bartender before leaning closer to you. “Michael Ashbourne.”

   You suppressed an eye roll, taking instead to lighting a cigarette. “I know who you are, Mr. Ashbourne.”

   “And what is it that you know of me?” Ashbourne stroked your hair with a drunken finger.

   Uncrossing your legs, you turned to face him. “That you are one of the worst Midgardian men alive today. You cheat people out of their winnings in various casinos around the world, making yourself and your friends — no doubt the ones who surrounded you in that corner over there — some of the richest men in the world, while managing to operate under the radars of your enemy governments. You sell weapons and drugs because you always want even more money on top of the billions you already have, not caring about the damage you cause. You drink the most expensive liquors, sleep with all the women you please, and leave people eating the dust in your wake. But what brings you to the epitome of disgusting actions is your engagement in the trafficking of girls, once again, for even more money.” Even though you kept your voice low, you made sure to lace every word with biting poison.

   Ashbourne pulled back in shock, unmoving and speechless.

   You smirked at his silence. “Your cunningness is almost impressive, especially for a human. You manage to remain one step ahead of the mewling mortals who are left to crawl in your fading footprints. Bravo. Unfortunately for you, however, I am not one of them.” You waved a finger, from which a small ribbon of white magic followed.

   “Who the hell are you?” Ashbourne hissed.

   “A hero in the eyes of the people you have crossed, and the villain in yours.”

   Ashbourne scoffed condescendingly. Stupid bitch, you heard him think. “Speaking in mysterious riddles just makes you look stupid, missy. I don’t know how you know what you know, but it’s a bit too much for my liking.” He raised a hand, beckoning over the large men who had accompanied him.

   You sighed, unimpressed. Before they could so much as reach for their belt, you pulled the pistol from your garter stockings and fired silenced shots in between their eyes, before holding a dagger against Ashbourne’s throat. The speakeasy froze in horrified silence.

   With a small chuckle at the sudden shock and fear in Ashbourne’s muddy eyes, you called to Loki. “Darling, are there others?”

   “No darling, not here … but we can’t have witnesses, can we?” Loki sauntered up to you, kissing you on the head. He looked around at the few bystanders in the bar, terror keeping their feet rooted in place.

   “Loki, is that really necessary —”

   You were cut off by Loki launching towards the horrified bystanders like a cat pouncing on prey, his daggers slicing through their necks gliding ease. He finished off by throwing a knife into the bartender’s skull, silencing his terrorized mind that shrieked in your own so annoyingly. Loki looked back at you with an amused glint in his eyes, blood on every surface of the speakeasy, including Loki’s own body. Gesturing around him, he noted dryly, “They were dead in seconds, no suffering.”

   You rolled your eyes before turning your attention back to Ashbourne, who sat with eyes wide and mouth agape. You smirked and applied a bit more pressure to the blade in your hand, drawing small beads of blood. You snuffed out your cigarette and stood up, toying with his bowtie as your heel dug into his foot. You could taste the fear that drenched his mind. “What’s this?” You cooed. “Feeling scared?”

   “Ah, you’re so right, my love,” Loki smiled, looking around the room at the bloody mess he created. “Not using magic is so much more fun. I missed getting my hands dirty.”

   You chuckled lowly. You couldn’t help but stare at him hungrily; there was something in the way the blood splatter stood out against his pale skin that awoke an arousal in you. Shaking your head, you turned back to the man under your knife and cocked an eyebrow. “How do you think I should do this? Stabbing is too classic, going for the neck is too neat.”

   “Unzip him, dear,” Loki hummed. He shot a bolt of green magic towards the man, binding him in glowing ropes that wrapped around his pitiful body. Noticing your dry look, he shrugged. “I want a proper view of your handiwork, and I can’t have that if I’m holding him.”

   “Fair enough,” You said. After a moment’s thought, you waved your hands, making Ashbourne’s shirt disappear in a white flash of your own magic.

   “Wait, wait, stop. What do you want? Money? I have money. What do you want?” Ashbourne pleaded.

   “I want ...” you said coldly, “to hear you scream.”

   You stepped forward and sunk your dagger into his lower abdomen, slicing upwards smoothy, careful as to not sever any major blood vessels. Ashbourne screamed in agony — music to both yours and Loki’s ears. You grinned at the blood that spurted out to meet you, and tossed the dagger onto the surface of the bar. You looked at the open mess in front of you and sunk your hand into the open cavity, making Ashbourne wail.

   Loki smacked Ashbourne’s face with a deadly glare. “Stay awake, you.”

   You reached farther into Ashbourne’s gut, quickly finding the pulsating aorta. You looked up at Ashbourne’s paling face, cheek now sporting a bloody handprint from where Loki had slapped him, and pulled on the artery, which snapped and spurted hot blood all over you. Loki released his magic binds, leaving the body of the man to collapse like a rag doll onto the floor, very much dead.

   You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears as you discarded the shred of aorta in your hands onto the lifeless body. You turned to look at Loki, who was smiling back at you with a familiar, blazing fire behind his eyes. He reached over and picked up your discarded dagger from the tabletop. He looked it over once, then swiped his tongue up one side of the blade. You groaned in arousal at the sight.

   “The taste of justice, my dear,” He said, licking his lips.

   He turned his fiery gaze back on you, holding the knife out for your taking. Without breaking eye contact, you licked up the other side, the metallic taste of Ashbourne’s blood spreading through your mouth only adding to the wet ache between your legs.

   “Fucking hell,” Loki breathed, the large bulge in his dress trousers clearly evident.

   You took the dagger, swiping away the rest of the blood that stained it on your finger and licked it clean. A deep rumble escaped from Loki’s lips before he smashed his lips onto yours, your tongues trading the tastes of blood and saliva. With a sharp tug, Loki tore your dress down and pinched your nipples between his bloodied fingers as he backed you up onto the bar. While normally, he would take his time with you, tease you at a torturously slow pace, make you plead and squirm beneath him, he now was fuelled purely by an animalistic flame, his lips and teeth marking your lips, jaw, neck, shoulders, collarbones. You broke apart only for you to render the pair of you naked by way of a flick of the wrist and a flash of white light. You stared at each other, both of you breathless and admiring how the blood that drenched your clothing had stained your bodies in a beautiful pattern of death.

   “I love you so much,” You whispered.

   “I love you too,” Loki said, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip lightly.

   In a flash, the momentary gentleness was gone as Loki pushed two fingers inside of you and curled them. You shouted out in pleasure, then gasped when you felt Loki’s tongue on your clit.

   “Fuck, Loki!” You hissed, throwing your head back and grinding deeper onto Loki’s fingers and tongue.

   The most audacious and obscene sounds filled the speakeasy as Loki twisted his fingers inside your cunt and attacked you with his mouth. You moaned unabashedly and Loki in return groaned against your body. His nips against your clit were anything but gentle, his fingers fucking your cunt so deeply, so gloriously, that your entire body sparked with invisible electricity.

   “You’re going to cum for me,” Loki growled, “you’re going to cum for me and make me drink it as you do.”

   You nodded into the air, gasping, panting, writhing under him. You clenched around his head, locking Loki into place, and came on his face, rolling and thrusting your hips against his mouth. Loki held your hips and drank your release until your orgasm finally finished washing over you.

  Before you could begin to catch your breath, Loki seized your neck in one large hand and pushed himself inside of you in one fluid motion, causing the both of you to moan loudly. He started moving his hips immediately at a quick and relentless pace, splitting you apart in pleasure. You reached up to wrap your arms and legs around him desperately. As he hit that sweet spot that no other could, you brought your nails down his back, no doubt drawing blood. All thoughts had disappeared from your minds, pure animalistic pleasure and arousal clearing everything else out. Your combined energy made the lights spark and flicker, furniture going flying as your grip on your magic became weaker. Loki slammed into you, your walls tight around him, his pelvis grinding in such a way that he moved against your clit. You were only barely registering how you clung onto him for dear life, the most indecent noises pouring from both of your mouths, bodies slick in blood and sweat sliding against one another. Your connection into each other’s minds let you both know that the other was just as close to their climax without speaking. Expletives punctuated your shared groans and screams, Loki’s grip on your body so tight that bruises were sure to follow, your teeth and nails marking his skin.

   “Loki, I — fuck — Loki!” You cried as you felt your body begin to tremble uncontrollably.

   “I know, I — ah! I know —!” Loki groaned, biting your neck.

   You exploded again with a scream and you slammed your hand onto the table, releasing a huge pulse of magic that levelled the room around you. Green explosions set off around you as Loki lost control and spilled into you with a stammering thrust and deep groan. Even though your eyes were both closed, you could see each other in your minds, totally blissful and exhausted, chests heaving. Loki’s lips found yours in a loving kiss.

   “We should ... we should clean up here before the others come by,” You said, still out of breath.

   Loki nodded wordlessly. He pulled out of you, causing you to whimper. We waved his hand, and the speakeasy righted itself in a glow of green light. Tables and chairs fixed themselves, light fixtures hung back up on the ceilings, blood and bodies disappeared, until the only remnant of your activities was the gore that still covered your naked bodies. You stood up and cricked your neck before cleaning yourself and Loki up, and dressing the pair of you in the dress and tuxedo you two were wearing. 

   “What will we say to the others when they ask about the sudden disappearance of everyone here?” You asked slowly.

   “Don’t worry, love,” Loki grinned, “we can tell them the truth. We’re both too valuable for them to kick us out of the group.”

   You laughed and took Loki’s outstretched arm, walking out into the cool night.

[bikerjongho]

recs game!

Tagged by @blossom-hwa, thank u lina!!!!

recommend 5 or more of your own works that you would rec to someone asking what they should read first & explain a little bit about the work. these can be the most popular, the ones you think are underrated, or your own favorites! then tag five other writers!

santiago ― this fic, unlike the other four that I will also recommend, is very light and silly! I think if you had to pick up one of my fics for the first time and are not a fan of horror or supernatural, this is the fic for you. im also extremely proud of the concept! san works as a waiter at a mexican restaurant and everyone that goes there thinks he’s hot stuff (younger crowds think he’s Hot and older crowds think he’s the sweetest and kindest gentleman). he is called santiago by a sweet older woman that he’s besties with. san is the reason why this restaurant is booming, people just adore him. but when a rival mexican restaurant opens and takes customers from san’s restaurant, san has to reel in the help of dancer friends (wooyungi) to win a dance off against dancers from the other restaurant that hired them (fun fact, those dancers are stray kids members!!!) to get their customers back. I remember writing this fic and feeling so joyful and the words came so easily. I wish people loved it more!

piracy and pyromania ― this was my first ateez fic... ever! this fic is special to me not only because it was my first, but because I wrote it after a really long writing drought and also I wrote it during an extremely difficult time in my life and I found some solstice in writing this fic, because finally, something im doing is enjoyable and maybe life is worth living. just a bit. anyway, this is an ot8 fic where all of them are pirates with supernatural abilities and they’re all very ruthless and evil. they do shit like set other ships on fire or raid towns and kill people. not for the faint of heart! this fic was inspired by pirate king, and I remember it playing in my shower playlist while I was taking a shower and the entire plot came to me and I feverishly wrote the entire thing in one sitting. it was extremely cathartic.

stradivarius in flames ― the first fic starring hongjoong that I wrote! this fic came about on a whim because I saw a Tumblr post about music teachers and them sacrificing old instruments to a bonfire (or something. I linked it on the actual fic) and I thought that was insane so this fic was born. hongjoong is a demon hunter except he specializes in music demons, which are demons that use musical instruments as hosts to cause problems. one is being hosted inside a stradivarius violin so hongjoong crashes an orchestra concert where it’s being played... and I won't say any more because that will spoil it! this is another fic where the words came super easily and I wrote the entire thing in one day. I think it’s a really unique concept (though, I think a lot of my concepts are super unique and creative)!

corpsehands ― probably the fan favorite. ironically, I hated this fic when I wrote it. I thought the concept made no sense and it was a boring fic, and instead I was bombarded by all of these people that adored it! I was really pleased! in this fic, wooyoung is a bartender during prohibition (so, alcohol is illegal and this is a speakeasy) with a supernatural gift. I cant explain a lot of the plot because it revolves around his supernatural talent, but I think the plot and themes in this fic are extremely compelling and interesting!

card bender ― out of these five, this is the only jongho fic! Im putting this one on this list because it’s a personal favorite of mine. I just think jongho is so so so so so so hot in this one and there’s a sentence in this one that might be my favorite sentence ive ever written. in this fic, jongho is a poker player and he’s extremely good at it. poker is somewhat of a luck game, but jongho always wins, implying he’s a little supernatural or he’s cheating somehow. he’s drunk, cocky, and extremely good looking. what’s not to love?

tagging: @mathgoatwrites @abiaswreck @itsapapisongo @straykits and anyone else that wants to do this! you also dont have to do this if I tagged you, ofc

[sail-not-drift]

Stucky Fic Recs

I’m waiting for my hair dye to develop and have also lost my mind to these two, so here, have some recs. All are amazing. The ones that make me FERAL are bolded, the ones that made my soul ascend have stars.

Dedicated to @neversleepingever and @mygutsforgarters, you heathens.

Dishonor On Your Cow - Shrunkyclunks (but not really, sort of) where Steve and Bucky have a hate at first sight meeting during the Battle of Manhattan and Bucky eventually joins the Avengers for feelings and hilarity.

****He's All That - College AU where frat boy Bucky takes a bet to turn disaster Steve Rogers into the class president but catches feelings instead. 

dance with a ghost - Shrunkyclunks where Bucky moves into an apartment and finds himself haunted by the ghost of Captain America.

Introduction to Fake Dating Your Best Friend 101 - Professors AU, Steve and Bucky are a pair of professors who have to fake date for academic purposes and are real dumb along the way.

Five times Steve kissed Bucky - Pre-serum “fight me” Steve Rogers to post TWS.

To Believe in Tomorrow - Shrunkyclunks AU; Bucky's mornings at the community garden get a little more interesting when the new guy shows up.

Blush Pink - Dirty talking, dom!Bucky PWP.

if all my mistakes (led me to you) - No powers AU, Steve has to scramble to find a plus one for Peggy’s big day after being spontaneously dumped. Bucky is his slutty neighbor.

**Unusual Weather - Tony gives Bucky Asgardian drugs to chill him out while Tony fixes his arm. Steve is there to hold Bucky down. Then Bucky starts dirty talking.

a long way from the playground - Fake dating, no powers AU, Bucky needs to pretend he has a date to Becca’s wedding and blurts out his best friend’s name.

Something Borrowed - In-universe Sam POV AU where Sam, Steve, and Bucky go to Sam’s sister’s wedding.

Bucky Barnes: Sunscreen Assassin - In-universe AU; Steve refuses to wear sunscreen, Bucky takes that as a challenge.

winter wheat, sunflower peat - Powered AU where instead of re-meeting in TWS, Steve meets Bucky as a hitchhiker. ANGST AND FEELS.

**The Daily Rogers - College AU, exchange student Bucky meets Steve “fight me” Rogers, who classmates run a nasty blog about.

No, Mr. Bond, I Expect You to Pine - Secret Agent adversaries-to-lovers AU where the Winter Soldier keeps tying Captain America to walls and sticking around to chat.

Drive It Like You Stole It: A Bodyswap - Steve and Bucky get bodyswapped then go on a magical road trip with Peter Parker; extreme antics and harmless emotional torture for Peter ensue.

Your Lack Of An Answer Is Kind Of An Answer: Four Questions Natasha Asked Steve Rogers, And One Time Bucky Barnes Answered - Beautiful and painful Natasha POV, so many Steve feelings, SO MANY.

Achilles Come Down - You jump, I jump, pre-serum and after.

eros and psyche - Post-TWS, Steve and the Winter Soldier start an affair where the Soldier never lets Steve see his face.

Sparked Up Like a Book of Matches - Beautiful Steve-centric, post-TWS. Sometimes Tony gives him super alcohol in a sippy cup. Sometimes he sees Bucky out of the corner of his eye and wonders if it's real or if he's starting to lose his mind.

Itinerant - Nomad Steve goes wandering the world without the rest of the team to try and find himself while Bucky recovers in Wakanda.

Sweet Relieving - Pre-serum PWP, Steve cross-dresses, Bucky talks DIRTY.

4 Minute Window - Post-TWS, Bucky “kidnaps” Steve and they build a life together.

time on my hands (could be time spent with you) - Nomad Steve runs missions while Bucky recovers in Wakanda and everyone thinks they’re married.

My Working Week and My Sunday Rest - Steve's life after he throws down the shield and hides with Bucky in Wakanda.

Cat Nap - AU where Winter Soldier Bucky and Steve didn’t know each other; Bucky deprograms himself and Steve accidentally steals his cat.

The Size of Perfection - WWII, Steve is shy about how big the serum made his dick. But then there is extreme bittersweet beauty.

Ain't No Grave - Post-TWS (with a pre-TWS prologue) where Bucky accidentally adopts two homeless kids and tries to recover before finding Steve again.

So, You've Adopted a Fruit - Retired Steve and Bucky; Bucky rescues a stray kitten.

Bucky Barnes: on top of the Polls - Steve gets extremely unbalanced during American elections and Bucky both hates and lusts for it.

Together Forever and Ever - PWP, Bucky’s birthday.

Meet-Cute AU's - A gazillion different AUs, heaven on earth.

Lessons in Normality - Shrunkyclunks AU where Steve doesn’t know his normal boyfriend Bucky is a secret agent gathering information on him, Shield, and Hydra.

Pedantic Affectations - Shrunkyclunks AU, Steve is a vigilante badly undercover as a teacher, Bucky is the detective trying to bring him in. Steve in his brilliance decides to throw Bucky off his scent by dating him.

*That Ass (Property of James Barnes) - Bucky is loudly obsessed with Steve’s ass.

Strange Visitor (From Another Time) - Lois and Clark-esque Shrunkyclunks AU; Bucky is a reporter pissed at the new kid in the newsroom who ends up being Captain America.

Snapshots - Post TWS: Steve is trying to find Bucky. Instead, he finds the sexy Navy "propaganda" Bucky somehow never mentioned he modeled for before the war. Painful and profound.

The Roommate - Shrunkyclunks AU, Steve decides not to live in Avengers Tower and instead gets an apartment and finds a one-armed veteran for a roommate.

Side bitch out of your league - Shrunkyclunks AU, Steve misdials Bucky while on a mission. Then misdials him again. Then dials him on purpose.

(760): I literally cut myself out of my pants. Waste. Of. Money. - No powers AU, Bucky texts a random number on Sam’s phone for outfit advice.

Slide To Answer - No powers wrong number AU; Steve misdials Bucky for dating advice, then keeps doing it.

a line that goes all the way. - Recovery in Wakanda pining.

**********they're gonna send us to prison for jerks - Post-TWS, Steve and Sam are undercover and move in next door to a math teacher who looks just like Bucky, but Steve can’t be sure... MY EMOTIONAL SUPPORT FIC.

***Siege - Post-TWS AU where Bucky sticks around after pulling Steve from the Potomac and there are some painful and beautiful plot twists and some goddamn PROSE.

a blade with no handle - AU, the Winter Soldier joins the Avengers; identity porn.

Let's Fall in Love - Tony sends Steve and Bucky to a ridiculous fake speakeasy bar, feelings happen.

***Circling Back - Steve looks for Bucky, Bucky finds Steve, Steve tries desperately to put Bucky back together. Bucky tries desperately to let him. ULTIMATE POST-TWS RECOVERY FIC. Avenger family feels.

#TweetMeDaddy - Shrunkyclunks AU; Bucky works for Shield and tweets something that gets flagged as a death threat. It isn’t.

Good Boy - PWP, dom!Steve petplay; Bucky is still adjusting to life with the Avengers, and Steve is willing to do whatever it takes to make him feel comfortable.

[16woodsequ]

Weekly headcannon ask!

Do you have any headcannons or opinions on Steve and his dads relationship?

Hi! Sorry this took a bit, but here we are!

I do have some headcanons about Steve’s dad, and because I’m me, a lot of them are pretty angsty, so be warned!

TW: discussion of child abuse, ableism, and alcoholism

So first off, we have to talk about whether or not Steve’s dad is even alive. I’ve discussed this a little in a previous headcanons post, but Steve’s dad is technically dead in the mcu. Steve says he died of mustard gas. In the comics of course, Steve’s dad makes it home from the war, and is generally a terrible person.

I usually headcanon that Steve lied about when exactly his dad died. If Steve’s’ dad made it back from the war, then I headcanon he was a gas casualty at some point, and had lung issues afterwards. If he then died from something like influenza, then Steve could technically claim he died from mustard gas, without it being 100% a lie.

I headcanon that Steve does this, because I headcanon that Joseph Rogers (if he survives the war) is abusive. I imagine Sarah Rogers told Steve that he came back from the war a different person, and I can see Steve thinking to himself that the mustard gas killed his dad, just slower.

So anyways, that is an easy way to work around Steve’s claim that his dad died from mustard gas. If Joseph was abusive I can see Steve sort of wishing his dad had died in the war like he claimed. 

Joseph Rogers’ A+ Parenting

I haven’t read the comics, so I am not sure if any of them expand on why exactly Joseph is abusive, but I imagine it has a few layers to it. For one, he is a veteran who is no doubt dealing with trauma in a time period when the effects of shellshock are not fully recognised. Alcohol is a common self-medicating tool, and I can see Joseph turning to that for relief.

Add onto that Joseph being a gas casualty, I usually headcanon that it is harder for him to breath after the war. PTSD and difficulty breathing would be a frustrating loss of control for someone like Joseph, and that isn’t even taking into account the daily stress of living in poverty as an Irish-Catholic.

And then there is Steve himself. Steve is chronically ill. He wouldn’t be the ideal son. His illness would cost money, and his breathing problems would probably remind Joseph too much of his own issues.

Ableism would be an easy thing for Joseph to latch on to. Eugenics was popular in that time period, and I can see Joseph seeing Steve as the embodiment of a lot of his anger. He went to war and barely made it back to his wife and child, but his child is sickly and can hardly breathe, and when he gets sick he uses up money that they don’t have.

Of course, Joseph wouldn’t be helping anything. I imagine he would have worked as much as he could, but it is debatable how well he could hold a job. I usually headcanon that he died right before the Great Depression, so he didn’t have to deal with that, but even if jobs were more available in the 1920s, I think his alcoholism would be his worst enemy and lose him jobs every couple of years or so, if not more frequently.

Sarah would be working too, since working class women would be more likely to work than middle class women, but I can see Joseph being sore about that too. I imagine every time he lost his job he was extra bitter about the fact that he had to rely on his wife’s work to survive. Toxic masculinity was deeply entrenched in that time period, so feeling emasculated would not have helped Joseph’s mood at all. 

As for how often he drank, it is kind of hard to say. Technically prohibition was going on, but it was easy enough to drink in speakeasies most of the time. I’m not sure how easy it would be for him to buy alcohol and drink it at home, but it would be realistic for him to come home drunk.

Even if he had work that could be the case, since I imagine his work buddies would often go out for a drink after their shift. Of course, Joseph’s drinking would do nothing to help the financial situation of the family.

Joseph and Steve

I imagine Joseph was abusive and was a violent drunk, but while I think he hurt Steve, I don’t think he regularly beat him to a pulp. This is mostly because if he did that, then Steve would die. Steve is sick enough that I don’t think he would survive regular all-out beatings.

Of course, that doesn’t mean Joseph didn’t grab, push, hit, etc. But I think his anger tunnel-visioned on things, so if he were distracted away from it, or Steve managed to get out of the general area, then his focus would be taken elsewhere.

I think Joseph did a lot of damage with his words though. I imagine he yelled a lot about Steve’s inadequacies and how Steve is a waste of money, etc. That kind of thing would stick with Steve for a long time, and I can see him trying to be the least of a burden possible in response.

In general, living with Joseph would put anyone on edge. Even when he wasn’t actively hurting people, he could still get mad over basic things that remind him of his helplessness. Being around him would be like walking on eggshells. I imagine young-Steve flinched at loud noises and slamming doors, and yelling, but also tried not to show it, because his dad didn’t like him ‘being a coward’.

Also, I headcanon that adult Steve never really liked the smell of alcohol, especially on other people. I think part of him was a little glad that the serum made it so he couldn’t get drunk, because that means he can never get violent like his dad. I think Steve was always a little afraid of letting his temper get the best of him after the war, and so he tried to bury his feelings instead of dealing with them, because he didn’t want to turn out like his dad. 

Good times

As all humans, Joseph would have his good days. Maybe he found a new job, or maybe something else put him in a good mood, but sometimes he would come home without being angry.

Those would be hard days too, in a way, because Steve and Sarah wouldn’t know if something would set Joseph off—and some days, acting worried that he will get mad would be enough to make him mad.

But I think Steve must have at least a few good memories of his dad. Maybe his dad being proud of him for a good grade in school, or maybe even being proud of him for facing off against bullies and telling them what’s what.

I think sometimes Joseph would try to treat Steve as though he were the son he wanted. He would chat with him about things they could do together ‘as men’, or he would tell him stories of his own boyhood days...but then, inevitable Steve would get sick again, and Joseph’s good humour would wash away.

Others and Joseph

I don’t think Joseph’s abusiveness was a very well kept secret. Tenement building walls are thin, and I imagine the neighbours knew what was going on. But I doubt Joseph was the only loud/violent drunk in the building.

Bucky might not have known the full extent of what was happening—because he was a kid—but he would have seen some of the bruises, and maybe Steve’s initial cautiousness around his own dad, and he would come to the correct conclusion. I don’t think Steve talked a lot about what was happening, but he would probably talk about his dad getting angry about certain things, or breaking stuff sometimes.

I imagine Bucky’s mom knew more about what was going on, and would do her best to help Sarah out, but Sarah would be in a tough spot. Divorce and single-motherhood were generally frowned upon, and her poverty would also make it harder to leave Joseph.

As for Steve’s teachers etc. I think most of them suspected too. But I don’t think much came about from it. Interesting fact, doctors were not legally required to report child abuse cases until the 60s.  

Joseph death

This is a headcanon I’ve had laying around that I haven’t been able to put anywhere yet, but I headcanon that Joseph died of influenza when Steve was between 8 and 10. Given their poverty, I think Joseph would have died at home, which is kind of horrible, since that would mean Steve was around to watch his dad get sicker and sicker, and then eventually die.

As an extra cruelty, I think Joseph would be pretty peeved at dying this way, and I can see him vindictively telling Steve that he will die this way too one day, since he gets so sick all the time. I can just see Joseph being spiteful and saying something like that while Steve is trying to look after him while Sarah is working.

MCU canon Joseph

I also have a few thoughts for if Joseph did die in the war, and didn’t come back. I’ve seen content speculating that Steve wanted to join the army because his dad was a soldier. I don’t know if the comics say that anywhere, but I usually headcanon otherwise.

I think having a father who died in war (or having an abusive one afterwards), and seeing what that did to Sarah, Steve would know all too well what war could do to people. 

No doubt Steve’s father would be on his mind while he tried to enlist, but I think saying he wanted to join mainly because his father was a soldier takes away from the heart of the reason Steve wanted to join—he felt like Hitler needed to be stopped, and he didn’t have a right not to do something about it.   

Well, that got longer than I thought it would, but I hope you enjoyed! 

Headcanon masterpost

[hanaasbananas]

let's get covered in flames and play some games with the smoke

@apopcornkernel made this post about enemies AND lovers a few months ago and it IMMEDIATELY gave me MANY ideas. And then what was supposed to be just Vibes ended up being over 8k and historical. Sorrynotsorry

AO3

He finds his soulmate on his birthday.

Having finished a disastrous family dinner, Adrien rises from the table, ignoring father yelling after him and escapes out into the pouring rain.

In seconds, he’s soaked to the bone, and he hesitates on the front steps, wondering if it’s worth going back for his jacket but then he hears the lock click into place and the decision is made for him. Father won’t let him back in until morning.

Not that he had any plans to come home before then anyway.

His hair is plastered to his forehead by the time he  reaches one of his regular haunts on the other side—the wrong side—of town, his teeth chattering in earnest, stopped only by something appearing in his mouth.

Swallowing in surprise, Adrien feels the item slide to the back of his tongue, almost going down his throat and choking him before he coughs, forcing it back up. A group of people skirt around him as they leave the bar, giving him bemused looks while he continues to cough, until he finally hacks out the item into his hand.

A pendant.

Eyes watering a little, he holds it up in front of his face, taking in the colour of the gemstone—the only clue he has to his soulmate's identity.

Not for the first time, he wonders at the practicality of soulmate jewelry appearing in one's mouth, but then, who is he to judge the universe?

The chain glints in the dim light before Adrien curls his fist around it and shoves his hand deep inside his pocket. He knows that shade of blue. He’d have known it was her even without the pendant burning his skin, telling him she’s near.

Lighting up a cigarette, Adrien leans back against the wall, scanning the room for her and finding her sitting at the bar. He’s never met her as a civilian before, though he certainly knows of her. But if she’s his soulmate, why hadn’t he received the jewelry when he’d first become Chat Noir and fought her?

Unless it isn’t Ladybug, but no—she turns to the side slightly and he’d recognise that profile anywhere.

Well. The universe works in mysterious ways. Adrien will certainly never claim to understand them. Taking a long drag from his cigarette, he stubs it out with a sigh before making his way across the room.

“Ladybug,” he greets, sliding onto the stool beside her.

Her shoulders stiffen, though her voice is sugary sweet as she flips her hair and turns to him. “I’m sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong— you !” A scowl twists her lips—coloured a shade of red almost as bright as her suit—and she drops the act.

“Me,” he confirms, bowing his head mockingly. She recognises him of course. He’d expected nothing less.

There isn’t a single girl in this city who hasn’t been warned to stay away from him—and with good reason. After all, Gabriel Agreste may be one of the biggest names in the alcohol trade—and he’s filthy rich to boot— but he’s still Hawkmoth, still has every cop around here on his payroll, can make people disappear with just a snap of his fingers.

Even the most opportunistic man thinks twice before dealing with the Agrestes. Not to mention the fact that everyone knows that one of his sons is Chat Noir, though nobody is quite sure who.

Adrien prefers it that way.

Nobody wants to get caught up in that bullshit. Nobody wants their daughters caught up in it either.

Least of all Tom Dupain—his father’s main competitor in the business. But Marinette Dupain is not the shrinking violet her father thinks she is. He’s seen her swear like a sailor whenever she arrives to fight an akuma, even teaching him a few new words. If they hadn’t been fighting at the time, he’d have proposed on the spot.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Adrien asks.

“What is this?” She's not defensive, but her eyes meet his calculatingly, darting past him to make sure that he’s alone, that she isn’t in any danger she can’t get out of, so he relaxes, feigns nonchalance, making himself as non threatening as possible.

Lifting his shoulder in a shrug, he says “it’s a peace offering, a show of good faith—whatever the hell you want to call it.” He flags down the bartender, raising a brow. “So? Whaddya say?”

He won’t tell her about the soulmate thing. Not yet. But none of their people are here—they’re practically anonymous, just two young people getting a drink together. It’s as close to neutral ground as they're ever gonna get and the night stretches out ahead of them, brimming with endless possibilities.

Eventually, she nods. “Make it a good one.”

***

Green eyes meet blue over the rim of the glass, an invisible tug of war going on between them as they drink from the same glass, lips touching where the others have been. Her presence is intoxicating, more so than the whiskey, and every time her fingers brush his, a thrill runs down his spine, electricity dancing along his nerve endings and he wonders why the bar hasn’t caught fire yet, wonders how the building is still standing around them, hasn’t been reduced to rubble at their feet.

Soon enough, it becomes too much to ignore, and he rises. He’s been to this speakeasy before, knows all about the rooms in the back, and it’s not long before he’s sliding a few notes across to the bartender who hands them a key.

The door barely shuts behind them and he’s already grabbing her dress, tugging at the hem and bunching it up around her thighs. Marinette pushes his suit jacket off his shoulders, fumbles with the buttons on his shirt before giving up and ripping the fabric instead, sending buttons skittering across the floor, deafening in the quiet room.

“That was an expensive shirt, doll,” he breathes over her neck and she laughs, throaty and dark, pinning him with her gaze.

“That’s too bad.”

He goes to kiss her then, to cup her face but she swats him away, taking his hands and planting them on her waist instead. “Keep your hands down here, mister,” her lips curve in a wicked smile “those lips too.”

Rising on her tiptoes, she presses a kiss to his jaw, continuing higher and higher, her breath tickling his skin as she whispers in his ear: “we wouldn’t want you getting any ideas about stealing my miraculous, now, would we?” She bites his earlobe gently, tugging at it with her teeth and dragging a groan out from the back of his throat before leaning back, regarding him with hazy, lust filled eyes.

“Of course not,” he says, tempering his disappointment.

Adrien’s never wanted something as much as he wants her lips right now. He wants to kiss the lipstick from her lips, taste her mouth and feel her tongue against his own, and she knows it. She can see what she’s doing to him, but he sees through her, sees that she wants it just as much and if she wants to play games, well...he’s never been one to turn down a challenge.

Instead, he dips his head, nipping and sucking at the column of her throat, tasting the salt on her skin, letting the scent of her perfume wash over him as he noses the strap of her dress down her shoulder.

Pressing kisses against the exposed flesh, he grins when she clutches at his shoulder, her legs wrapping around his waist, and he stumbles backwards towards the couch, Marinette’s gasps filling his ears like the best kind of music.

Afterwards, he watches her leave in her rumpled dress, gloves clutched in one hand, purse in the other. She pauses in the doorway, looking back at him.

“I’ll be seeing you again, Agreste,” she says, and it sounds like a promise.

He stays, long after she’s gone, pouring himself another glass of whiskey, examining the lipstick print she’d left on the rim of the glass, and he thinks:

Happy fucking birthday to me.

***

They do meet again.

He doesn’t seek her out, but they run in the same circles, frequent the same bars, and once he notices, it becomes impossible to ignore. They gravitate towards each other, neither able to stay away for long.

Soon enough, it’s not enough to spend a single night here and there whenever their orbits happen to collide, but consciously making plans to see each other. It’s lying sated in bed together, limbs draped over each other as they share a cigarette instead of hastily getting dressed and leaving with her scent still clinging to his hair, her lipstick marking his skin.

He learns the planes of her body, memorises the taste of her skin and what makes her come undone beneath his fingers. Still, Marinette never lets him kiss her. He hasn’t tried again since that first time, though the craving for it keeps him awake at night, a sweet ache deep in his bones that never goes away; a thirst he cannot quench no matter what he tries.

He learns the planes of her body, but does not yet know the taste of her lips.

***

“Where’s this one from?”

Propped up on one elbow, Adrien gently traces one of the scars on Marinette’s exposed back, feeling the raised skin underneath his fingertips.

“No idea,” lying on her stomach beside him, Marinette watches him lazily. “I stopped counting after that first week of akuma battles. Does it matter?”

“I thought the cure—” he breaks off, suddenly distracted when Marinette sits up, the sheets pooling around her waist.

Rolling her eyes, she reaches out to grab his chin between her fingers, pulling his attention away from her breasts. “Doesn’t work on me,” she shrugs, “it never has.”

He’d thought the miraculous cure only left him scarred as punishment, reminding him that he was doing the wrong thing. His scars are well deserved, but Marinette’s are not

Is this his fault too? Adrien thinks of the soulmate necklace that he always keeps in his trouser pocket, holding onto it like a talisman whenever Marinette isn’t near.

He still hasn’t told her, but now he wonders. If someone else was her soulmate, would her skin be unblemished, all damage reversed at the end of each battle? Is it her connection to him that gives her these scars?

Adrien doesn’t have an answer.

Maybe it's selfish—who is he kidding, it’s definitely selfish—but as he pushes Marinette back down onto the mattress; as he explores her body, kissing her scars and committing each one to memory, he can't help but be glad that they match.

***

In the meantime, they still fight as though nothing has changed. And nothing has, not really.

Father still sends out akumas, Adrien is still his fathers lackey, and Marinette still comes to fight them both.

If there’s a new synchronicity to their movements, a new, more intimate knowledge of how the other moves, they don’t mention it. And if he’s more careful about where he lets his staff land, about the power behind his blows, he doesn’t mention that either.

Nothing has changed. And yet nothing will ever be the same again.

***

Marinette doesn’t figure it out for another month, but when she does, she’s spitting mad-angrier than he’s ever seen her.

She collides with him as soon as he enters the bar, before he can so much as shrug off his jacket, grabbing his hand and dragging him into the back room. The door only just shuts behind them and she’s whirling on him, eyes blazing.

“Why are you going easy on me?” She hisses, poking him in the chest “I haven’t been injured in weeks.”

He raises a brow “and that’s a bad thing now?”

“Yes!”

“Well I’m sorry, but I prefer when a fight is evenly matched.”

That, and every time she stands against him in that red suit, radiating power, seeming for all the world to be invincible...all he can think about is what lies beneath. Of her skin, pliant and soft beneath his fingertips, of the scars that litter her body.

He knows them all now. Knows which ones took the longest to heal and which still hurt her sometimes. What he doesn’t know—what keeps him awake at night, guilt gnawing away at his stomach—is which ones he gave her.

So many years. So many battles. How many of those injuries were inflicted by him?

Adrien will not be the one to add to them, lengthening his list of crimes. He won’t stop the akumas from hurting her—father would get suspicious after all—but that doesn’t mean he has to take part.

And there are other things that distract him

“ Evenly ma—” Marinette almost shrieks in outrage, stamping her foot. “ They always have been!”

“They were,” he corrects her. “Not anymore though.” Stepping forward, he leans in close to whisper in her ear, his breath ghosting along her skin, “it’s not a fair fight when I’m distracted. When all I can think about is your legs around me.” Marinette’s breath hitches and he grins, circling her “when the entire time I’m imagining what your lips might taste like, and all I want to do is stop fighting so that I may kiss you instead.”

Marinette’s cheeks are flushed, her breathing unsteady when he pulls back, but she’s quick to recover and meets his gaze defiantly. “Then kiss me.”

Adrien blinks, his turn now to be taken aback. “What?”

She shrugs, examining her nails nonchalantly. “Kiss me then. Or was that all talk?”

He doesn’t have to be told again.

Surging forward, Adrien cups her face for the first time but he doesn’t take the time to savour it, his fingers already sliding to the back of her head, burying in her hair as her hands fly to his shoulders and capturing her lips with his own.

Kissing Marinette is nothing like he imagined. It’s better.

As her lips move against his, Adrien thinks in a distant part of his mind that it was probably a good thing they waited this long to kiss, because already he is addicted to the taste of her. His tongue swipes against hers and her arms circle his neck, pulling him even closer. Her mouth is intoxicating and he could get drunk off the taste of it, like caramel, like expensive chocolate and strawberries—a forbidden fruit, acquired at last.

***

“You know, I wouldn’t have to keep doing this if-sit still” —Adrien presses down on her hips, holding her in place as he makes the final stitch through her skin and cuts the thread, reaching for a clean rag— “if you didn’t keep taking hits that aren’t meant for you in the first place.”

Marinette rolls her eyes, leveraging herself into a sitting position so that he can bandage her wound more easily. They’d struck an agreement, Adrien promising not to hold back during akuma battles as long as she meets with him afterwards to get patched up. So far, it’s been working a great deal better than doing it herself , especially on days like today.

This injury had been one of the more nasty ones—the akuma’s blade slicing through her side. The only reason it hadn’t gone straight through her belly was because she’d been pushing a civilian out of the way and it had caught her side instead, but the jagged blade had still done a fair amount of damage.

“I’m Ladybug , that’s kind of my whole job. Now if your father’s akumas would stop sending those hits…” Marinette trails off, staring down at him with an arched brow, though the effect is diminished by the hiss of pain that escapes her as he wraps the bandage tightly around her torso.

Adrien’s grin is sharp when he looks up at her through his eyelashes, and once again, she is taken aback by just how beautiful this man is—the sharp angles of his face, his thick messy hair, and piercing green eyes. Beautiful, yes—and dangerous.

He winks at her then, teeth glinting in the low light of the hotel room, “now where’s the fun in that?”

***

Adrien isn’t sure when it shifts.

He’s noticed the change of course. Noticed how they laugh between kisses more often than not, how their interactions are gentler—a fire simmering under the surface instead of consuming them whole.

It’s dangerous, what they’re doing, and yet they can’t seem to kick the habit. What started out as strictly physical, as a way to blow off steam is turning into something else, something he can’t—or won’t —put a name to.

***

There’s no akuma tonight, and Adrien is enjoying the rare moment of peace. In the distance, someone is having a party, the music spilling out onto the street and he finds himself nodding along to the tune when a flash of red—Ladybug—crosses his eye.

Curious, he follows her from a distance, watching as she stops at the docks. His eyebrows rise. The only thing people come here for is alcohol shipments. Carefully, she sets down a large crate atop a pile that was already there.

“Why, Ladybug,” he drawls, stepping out from the shadows. “I didn’t take you for a bootlegger. What will the papers say? Aren’t you supposed to be a model citizen?”

She snorts. “Model citizens can still drink .” Gesturing over her shoulder at the crates, she shrugs. “Papa asked me to drop these wine bricks off during the day and then I forgot. Now’s as good a time as any.”

“Under cover of darkness?”

“ Obviously . Ladybug might drink, but I’d rather not find out what would happen if people saw her contributing to the trade of alcohol.” She reaches behind one of the crates and pulls out a bottle of wine “want some?”

“Drinking debauches mankind, you know,” he remarks and she wrinkles her nose, popping the cork and taking a swig. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“Well then it’s a good thing I’m a woman isn’t it?” She smiles coyly darting out of his reach when he tries to grab the bottle. Taking to the rooftops with him hot on her trail, her laughter echoes around them, a happy joyful thing that makes his heart sing.

Ah, he thinks, catching her round the waist and holding her close. So this is love.

***

Some nights, she’ll sneak Adrien into her bedroom instead of getting a hotel room. It’s a thrill, having to keep quiet, especially when Adrien takes great pleasure in drawing noise from her lips, forcing her to bite her tongue until she tastes blood, lest her papa come investigating.

Marinette is fairly certain maman knows what she’s up to, but she turns a blind eye and Adrien is usually out just as the first rays of sunlight bleed across the sky, his hair like molten gold.

Not this time though.

This time, she wakes to his arm lying heavy across her middle, his head buried into the crook of her neck but it is not a slow awakening.

“Marinette?” Papa knocks loudly on her bedroom door and she jerks up, heart pounding wildly in her chest as she scrambles to put on her nightgown.

“I’m up, papa!”

“Shitshitshit —” Adrien is still only half awake but there’s no time—she shoves him onto the floor. Casting her eyes desperately around for his clothes, she pushes them into his hands and shoos him under the bed before practically launching herself across the room to her vanity, grabbing her hairbrush just as papa walks in.

“Good morning, pumpkin!” papa booms, crossing the room and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I just wanted to see you before I go.”

“Go…?”

Papa nods. “We’re running a raid on one of Agreste’s warehouses and I’ll be on the floor with my men when it happens.”

“Oh,” Marinette’s voice is faint as he continues to talk about the raid. She forces a bland smile, acutely aware of Adrien underneath her bed, listening to their conversation.

After what seems like an eternity, papa leaves, ruffling her hair as he goes, laughing at her attempts to swat him away.

“Goodbye, papa! Good luck!”

Hardly daring to breathe, she listens carefully, waiting for papas footsteps to recede, going further and further down the hall until she hears the low murmur of conversation between her parents in the kitchen.

Only then does she relax, dropping her hairbrush onto the floor with a thunk. “You can come out now.”

Adrien emerges from beneath her bed, but she can’t meet his eyes and he doesn’t say anything either. Still, he pecks her briefly before leaving, fingers brushing against her jaw and she leans into the touch, pretending that she does not see the conflict brewing in his green eyes.

Not for the first time, she wonders what she is doing with her enemy. Wonders at the risk she is taking, not just with her own life, but her papas as well, and all those in the city who she protects.

She’s playing with fire as if she’ll never get burnt, but even if she did, she thinks she’d probably dust herself off and jump right back into the flames, as long as Adrien was there to greet her.

***

Adrien mulls over the information on his way home, trying to decide what to do. Is it not his duty to protect the business he will one day inherit? It’s in the family's best interest. It’s in his best interest.

He could tell father. He should do it.

But he won’t.

***

The raid goes off without a hitch. Her papa is unharmed—though bewildered at her sudden affection, but it is Adrien who receives the majority of it after a week of staying away from him, too worried about the raid to do anything but stay home all week.

“You didn’t tell your father,” she says afterwards, pouring out their drinks and passing him a glass. They’re naked, the sheets tangled around them and her mouth is red and swollen from his kisses, but the way his fingers close over hers, lingering for a second before drawing away seems somehow more intimate, and she feels a flush rising on her cheeks, looking away and throwing back her drink in one gulp. “About the raid. Why?”

Adrien shrugs. “I could hardly warn them about something I’d never heard about,” his voice is laced with nonchalance and she rests her head on his shoulder, letting him toy with her hair as he speaks. “I wasn’t there now, was I?”

He doesn’t elaborate, but there’s no need to. The implication is clear and Marinette feels the last of her doubts slip away. He will not betray her.

It is this thought, the absolute certainty with which she believes it that brings the  final defences around her heart crashing down, and finally, finally , she lets herself define what it is that makes her heart beat faster whenever Adrien is near, that has her laughing so hard at his stupid jokes that she snorts wine out of her nose. that has her searching a room for him as soon as she steps through the door, restless until she finds him.

She laughs then, twisting around to kiss him full on the lips, burying her hands in his hair and pressing herself closer to him, so close she can almost feel his quickening heartbeat underneath his chest

Love, she thinks. It’s love.

***

“What would you do,” Marinette asks conversationally, drawing circles round and round on Adriens chest. Though she feigns nonchalance, there’s a slight tremble to her voice that she hopes he doesn’t notice. “What would you do if I said I love you right now?”

Adrien stills.

“Are you saying that now?”

She avoids his eyes “maybe.” She’s wanted to say it for a while now, the words simmering below the surface, always on the tip of her tongue whenever she sees him,  but she can’t help but be afraid. Afraid of what might come after.

“Well,” Adrien sounds amused, putting a finger gently under her chin and tilting her face up to meet his. “I’d say I love you too.”

***

“Keep your eyes closed,” Adrien says, one hand on the small of her back, leading her up the final flight of stairs.

There’s only one door on the landing—precisely why he chose this place—and he fumbles in his pocket for the key, almost dropping it in the dark.

“Adrien,” she whines, stomping her foot adorably and he laughs under his breath, pressing a quick kiss to her brow before unlocking the door.

“C’mon doll, just through here,” he guides her to the middle of the room, moving to stand in front of her, “go on then, you can look now.”

Marinette opens her eyes slowly, hand flying to her mouth as she turns on her heel, taking in the apartment they’re standing in.

“Adrien…” she meets his gaze, eyes wide “what is this place?”

“It’s ours,” he says, taking her hand. “I uh...I bought this place for us. No more hotel rooms.”

It’s small. A little cramped too, and the wallpaper is too dark, which they’ll have to change, but moonlight filters in through the large window and she looks at him like he’s bought her a mansion, like it’s the most beautiful place she’s ever seen.

“No more hotel rooms,” she repeats, a smile playing about her lips. “I like that.”

***

In the weeks that follow, they practically move in together. Instead of frequenting the bars in the city, and partying all night, she’ll make her way to the apartment where more often than not, Adrien is waiting for her.

They start to bring things in, a few books here, some records there. One night, rather than tumbling into bed, they get drunk and rip off all the hideous wallpaper. The next night, Adrien brings paint with him and they make the place their own.

It’s almost enough to make her forget everything. Almost, but not quite. After all, they never meet out in the open-the risk of either of their father’s men seeing is too great-can never be seen together

There are nights when she will stay up, running her fingers through Adrien’s hair as he sleeps beside her, and wishes that they could run away. When she sees the dark circles under his eyes, and he tells her of his father’s latest cruelty, of his frustration at being run ragged every day, she worries that their story will not have a happy ending.

Sometimes, she looks at her friends, at Alya and Nino—the open affection they share—and feels jealousy rise up inside of her like a raging monster crying out that it’s not fair!

On those nights, when she feels with such certainty that they will not have a happy ending, she settles for holding him tightly; for loving him in these secret moments in the darkness, and hopes that it will be enough.

***

Adrien gets the stone from the soulmate necklace set into a platinum band, gets their initials engraved on the inside.

He gives it to her on the anniversary of that first night, so long ago—almost a lifetime—finally letting go of his secret, and anxiety churns in his gut as he leads Marinette over to the mirror in their bedroom.

Standing behind her, he wraps his arms around her waist, burying his face in her neck. Marinette giggles, reaching back to tangle her fingers in his hair. “We didn’t have to come all the way over here to cuddle you know.”

“No, I—” Adrien swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “I wanted to show you something.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the small box, noticing distantly that his fingers are trembling as he opens it, showing her the ring inside.

“Is that…”

“Look,” he turns her to face the mirror again, holding the box up next to her eyes. “It matches. I didn’t tell you before, but…”

“We’re soulmates,” Marinette breathes, eyes sparkling brightly. Carefully, he slides the ring onto her finger and watches as she admires it, turning her hand this way and that, watching the stone catch the light.

He still can’t quite believe that she’d accepted it so readily. After the way he’d agonised all week, with the ring weighing heavy in his pocket with every day that passed, the sheer joy on Marinette’s face makes the breath catch in his throat.

To keep that look on her face, he’d do anything. He’d throw a lasso around the moon and pull it down for her, if only she’d ask.

She’s his soulmate . Adrien’s lived with the knowledge for a year now, but he still struggles to comprehend it sometimes. That she is his, that the universe chose them for each other.

It’s far more than he deserves, and he has to resist the urge to kiss her, to sweep her off her feet, hold her in his arms and never let go.

Marinette has no such reservations however, and she throws her arms around him, kissing him, slow and deep. “Let’s go away,” she says. “Just for a weekend. Somewhere that nobody knows us.”

How could he say no?

***

It’s exhilarating, being out in broad daylight.

She’s used to spending her nights with Adrien. Meeting him in dingy bars and dark alleys, hotel rooms with the curtains pulled closed, and though she’s seen him in the early mornings, when the sunrise spills through the window and tells them that their time together has finished, but it is an entirely different thing to see him outside.

Outside, where the sun glints off his blonde hair, transforming it into spun gold; where she discovers new shades of green in his eyes and is blinded by his smile, cheerful and bright in the daylight.

He’s never been more beautiful to her than he is now.

Adrien seems to be similarly affected, if the way he looks at her is any indication, and Marinette feels as though she is glowing from the inside out, basking in the heat of his attention.

In two days, they do everything that they couldn’t do in a year. They go to the park, and to the beach, holding hands—the action feeling somehow more scandalous than any of the other things they’ve done together—without fear of being seen.

She wears the ring he gave her and they pretend to be newlyweds and go to the fanciest restaurant in town. They go to a dance hall and dance the night away, then stumble back to their hotel in the early hours of the morning, hands fumbling with each other’s clothing, as he captures her mouth with his, their kiss a hurried clash of lips and tongues and teeth as they tumble into bed together and he makes her come undone beneath his fingers.

It’s the lightest she’s ever felt, and Marinette knows that she will cherish these two days forever—the glimpse that she got into the life of normality they might lead, if only things were different.

She never wants it to end.

But it does end, and thing’s aren’t different. In fact, things are worse.

Because when they return, the city is on fire.

***

It’s easy to follow the trail of destruction behind the akuma. Easier still to get the corrupted object and purify it, but as the miraculous cure sweeps over the city, putting out flames, restoring levelled buildings and knitting everything back together, Marinette feels the weight of her responsibility settle on her shoulders.

She’d felt so much lighter with Adrien, when they were away, but that could never last. Not when she has a duty to the people, when she is the only person who can set things to rights.

As she looks out over the healed city, Marinette turns away, frustrated tears slipping down her cheeks.

She can never leave again.

***

“And where have you been?”

Adrien pauses in the entryway, meeting father’s thunderous gaze. Félix stands beside him, though for once his brother doesn’t look smug at Adrien being in trouble.

And he’s definitely in trouble.

Father could hardly care less about one of his akumas nearly burning the city to the ground, but he does care about what his sons are doing. Or not doing, in this case.

That’s what he doesn’t yet understand. Father has a pattern and he sticks to it, never once deviating, no matter what. It was why Adrien had chosen this particular weekend to go away, knowing there was no possibility of an akuma attack, knowing that he would not be missed.

Squaring his shoulders, Adrien drops his bag by his feet. “Out.”

In three quick steps, father strides across the hall, his hand cracking across Adrien’s face, making black spots dance across his vision. “Did you have permission?”

Adrien remains silent.

“Answer me!”

“No,” he bites out. “I did not.” His cheek stings, but he resists the urge to touch it, clenching his hands into fists.

Abruptly, father’s expression clears, and he turns on his heel, motioning for Adrien to follow behind him. Silently, he does, ignoring the spike of worry in his gut in response to the troubled look Félix sends him.

Once they get to his office, father settles behind his desk, lighting a cigarette for himself before speaking again.

“Did you know,” he starts, almost conversationally “that Tom Dupain has a daughter? She’s around your age, I’d say.” Father pauses, shaking his head with a smile and the sight makes Adrien’s skin crawl. “Oh, what am I saying—of course you know her. Quite well too, from what I’ve heard.”

Adrien’s blood runs cold.

“I didn’t want to believe it of course,” he continues “but I did a little digging, and you know what I found?”

Numbly, Adrien shakes his head.

Opening his desk drawer, father pulls out an envelope, shaking out the photographs inside. They spill out across the desk, incriminating him. Incriminating Marinette.

Hadn’t they been so careful about being seen? Taken every precaution they could? But no, Adrien realises. Once he’d gotten the apartment, they’d grown lax. He’d gotten cocky, thinking that nobody would see them there.

Except someone had.

The photographs are of the two of them, exiting the apartment building. Marinette’s head is tilted up to meet his and he is cupping her cheek in his palm. In any other circumstances, he’d think it was a beautiful photo, but all he feels right now is horror, churning away in his stomach and robbing his ability to speak.

“You thought you were being very clever weren’t you? With that little apartment you got together.” Father is watching him carefully as he speaks, and Adrien struggles to school his expression, to seem unaffected. From the slight tilt of fathers lips, he is unsuccessful.

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t entirely convinced that this wasn’t something simply...carnal. Something I could turn a blind eye to. Until this past weekend.”

Bile rises in his throat as suddenly, Adrien understands. The akuma attack hadn’t been a spur of the moment thing. It was a test. A test that he had failed.

“She’s distracting you. From your duties to this family, to our cause .” Reaching for the nearest photograph, father looks him directly in the eye, stubbing out his cigarette on Marinette’s face, the paper smouldering and blackening underneath the cigarette.

“Break her heart,” he says “or you’ll be picking up the pieces of her broken body instead.”

***

Adrien kisses her as soon as she arrives, his hands warming her face, drawing her closer and deepening the kiss. Giggling against his mouth, Marinette wraps her arms around his neck, pressing herself flush against him.

“Hello to you too,” Marinette murmurs, pulling away slightly. Her brow furrows when she sees the expression on his face, her smile dropping. “Adrien…?”

His face is shuttered, the shadow of a bruise on his cheek but when she lifts a hand, reaches up to touch it, he flinches away from her. “Adrien?” she asks again, swallowing down her unease “are you alright?”

“I am now that I have these.” Avoiding her gaze, he steps out of her embrace, holding up a hand and opening it to reveal something small in his palm.

Marinette blinks.

Something round. Two somethings—a pair— round and dark.

Something familiar .

Hands flying to her ears to confirm what she already knows, she laughs shakily. “Very funny, Adrien. Give them back.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“N —” her voice rises with panic “Adrien this isn’t a game!”

“It is, actually,” she stands, frozen to the spot as he circles her, his lip curling with contempt. “Did you really think that I meant any of this?” He laughs mockingly, leaning in to whisper in her ear “it was all just a game , so that I could get these silly little earrings from you.”

“No…No you’re lying.” Marinette stammers, even as her heart sinks, as she feels it crack in her chest. And still, she doesn’t want to believe it, can’t believe it. “Adrien, stop this, it isn’t funny anymore.”

He doesn’t respond, simply shakes his head and clicks his tongue in disapproval, walking slowly past her to the door.

Marinette doesn’t think, just acts, launching herself at his back and wrestling the earrings from his grasp. She doesn’t notice how easily he relinquishes them, aware only of the blood rushing in her ears, adrenaline coursing through her veins and she runs .

She doesn’t look back, doesn’t stop, not until she gets home, locking herself inside her room. Hands shaking uncontrollably, she struggles to put the earrings back on before giving up, throwing them across the room with a frustrated yell.

Stupidstupid she’d been so stupid to let herself fall for his tricks so easily. Had he laughed at her? When she had swooned into her pillow, recounting his affections, his words, had he gone home and mocked her with his father and brother, laughing at how quickly she had fallen into his lap?

The shattered pieces of her heart cut and slice at her insides until she can hardly breathe, agony unlike anything she’s ever felt before spiking through her; and as tears blur her vision, falling faster than she can wipe them away, Marinette half expects her eyes to be leaking blood.

***

He doesn’t see her for an entire month.

Adrien doesn’t particularly remember that first week after he breaks Marinette’s heart, the days blurring together in a constant haze of drunkenness and grief, but he does remember that he never saw her, even from a distance.

It’s better this way, he knows. Now Marinette is safe and at least father doesn’t know she is Ladybug, but he cannot forget the betrayal in her eyes, how he saw her heart shatter as he destroyed them in the worst possible way.

And yet, he can’t stay away.

“You’re not wearing your ring.”

It’s the first thing he notices, his eyes alighting on her hand as she exits the bar. The second thing he notices is how tired she looks. Her eyes are ringed with dark circles and her mouth a scarlet slash standing out in stark relief against her sallow cheeks.

And still she is the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Marinette falters at the sight of him and then she freezes, squaring her shoulders and levelling him with a glare. “Why would I wear it?”

“Look, I just—” he doesn’t know what to say, and he watches helplessly, unable to reach out to her, acutely aware of the people father has watching him, following his every move.

“Save it,” she snarls, “I don’t believe a single word out of your mouth anyway.”

He sighs. “I deserve that.”

“You deserve worse.” Marinette starts off down the street, barely sparing him a second glance as she passes by him, her arm brushing against his slightly, sending a frisson of electricity running down his spine. “Actually, no—” she spins on her heel, eyes blazing. “I need to know—why did you do it?”

“I loved you. So so much,” her voice breaks and he yearns to reach out to her, to pull her into his embrace, hold her close and never let go. “With all my heart.” Marinette continues “and you...did you never love me at all?”

If I answer that question, then your love will pale in comparison , Adrien wants to say. He opens his mouth to speak, to say yes! Yes I loved you! I still do, but no words come out.

Marinette’s eyes fill with tears. “I guess that’s my answer then.”

This time when she leaves, she doesn’t look back.

***

Breathing heavily, Marinette spins her yo-yo as a shield, ducking out of the way of the akuma’s fist and circling around him. Stepping back slightly, she watches him warily, waiting for her next opening.

A quick movement catches her eye, a dark blur just behind the akuma and she struggles to maintain her focus, keeping the yo-yo aloft.

The fight has been going on for over three hours now, and her strength is flagging, the sight of Chat Noir enough to sap the last of her energy. She can’t fight him as well. Not now.

Maybe she could face Adrien—in fact, it would be preferable—but ever since that night, his brother had taken over Chat Noir’s duties, and Marinette doesn’t know his movements, his fighting style like she does Adriens.

She doesn’t have time to learn either. Not when the akuma—a butcher with an unlimited arsenal of deadly tools at his disposal—throws several sharp knives one after another in her direction.

Cursing Hawkmoth under her breath, she dodges the knives, leaping backwards and propelling herself onto the closest rooftop, narrowly avoiding the baton Adrien’s brother swings at her as she passes by him.

Struggling to catch her breath, she wipes the blood from her forehead, crawling over to the edge of the roof and surveying the street below. They’ve  emptied now, most people having retreated into their homes after the first few injuries. Some still linger, accidentally wandering into the battlefield and she has to keep an eye out, making sure to shepherd them away quickly before they get hurt.

She’s never seen so many civilian casualties in an attack before, and as she watches the akuma throw a giant cleaver, she is suddenly fiercely glad for her miraculous cure, even though she can feel her ribs throbbing in pain, knows that she will be bruised black and blue later.

Unbidden, Marinette remembers the reverent way that Adrien would trace her scars, would kiss them and ask about each one and she bites back a sob at the memory. She has new scars now—ones he can’t see, ones his brother gave her, and he will never know about them.

Part of her is glad. But every time she bandages herself after a fight, when she lies awake at night, in too much pain to sleep, she finds herself pretending-just for a moment-that it was real, that Adrien had meant it all, that the warmth he had provided her with-the safety- wasn’t just a farce.

She cries herself to sleep those nights.

Shaking her head, Marinette brings her attention back to the street below, her mind racing as she tries to figure out a plan of attack. Her thoughts are too jumbled though, and below her, the akuma roars once more, growing more agitated by the second.

There’s no time for a plan. Not if she wants to end this fast.

Swallowing hard, she gathers her courage and jumps down from the roof.

***

Adrien watches, his heart in his throat as Marinette narrowly avoids being thrown backwards like a ragdoll, getting out of the way just in time to only be knocked off her feet instead.

She stands, wobbling slightly and he knows it is only a matter of time until she is completely unable to fight. Not that it is much of a fight anyway-it’s been going terribly almost from the get go.

Father certainly knows what he’s doing. For the past week, each akuma has been more deadly than the last, and Adrien has watched from the sidelines as Marinette fights on two fronts—the akuma, and Félix.

He thinks of her scars, of how the cure cannot save her, how she is so close to losing now, growing weaker by the second. She won’t be healed, she can’t come back from this, I have to —

His brother vaults past where Adrien is standing. “Félix!” he hisses, reaching out and yanking on his baton.

Félix jerks back with a glare, his voice irritable. “What?”

“Give me the ring. We need to swap.”

“Are you mad?” Félix snorts. “Father’s angry at you. I’m not letting you get me in trouble too.”

“To hell with what father thinks!” Adrien yells “give it to me!”

Félix hesitates, sensing the seriousness of Adrien’s demand. Behind them, a sharp cry rings out and his head snaps back, seeing a young woman fallen on the street, her leg twisted at a sharp angle, clearly broken. Marinette’s seen her too. So has the akuma, reaching into it’s arsenal of weapons ready to take advantage of her distraction. Nonono —

Whipping back around, Adrien glares at his brother.

“Now!”

***

Looking around wildly, Marinette pulls the civilian's arm over her shoulder, half dragging, half carrying her off the street, searching for a safe place to leave her.

“Ladybug! Over here!” A voice calls out and she sees someone step out from the building in front of her, taking the young woman from her arms and hurrying back to safety.

Turning back around, she misses the look of horror that crosses his face.

And then she sees it.

Hurtling towards her—so fast that she can hear it whistling shrilly—is a giant honing steel moving so fast that she knows, even as she ducks, that it will hit her.

The whistling grows louder, a deafening scream filling her ears and she squeezes her eyes shut, bracing for the impact.

It never comes.

Instead, there is a sickening squelch , a muffled grunt turning into a guttural, pained yell. Opening her eyes,  she stares up at Chat Noir—not Félix but Adrien —standing with his back to her.

Standing impaled on the honing steel in front of her. Protecting her.

Scrabbling backwards, she watches as he falls—almost in slow motion—to his knees, a shocked gasp escaping from his lips when she reaches for him, lowering him carefully onto the ground.

Green eyes meet blue and a relieved smile breaks out across Adrien’s face, transforming his pained grimace.

“A -Adrien —” she stammers, clutching at him, careful not to jostle the steel embedded in his gut. “Why—what—”

“You deserve worse,” her own words echo in her mind, taunting her, and she lets out a sob, almost a scream, “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t—I didn’t mean—” She can’t hear anything over the blood thundering in her ears, isn’t aware of the battle raging around her as the entire world fades away to nothing, narrowing down until they are the only two people left.

“I know,” Adrien says, as if reading her mind. “It’s okay, I know. But know that...” He coughs, ignoring the blood that splatters his chin “that I didn’t mean it either. What I did.”

Marinette’s breath freezes in her lungs. “You—”

“Lied,” he nods, but the movement causes him to hiss in pain. “Sorry...I’m so sorry,” he wheezes, “I had to protect you. From my father. I had to—I had—”

“Shh, Adrien, no it’s okay,” she shushes him, falling silent as he grasps her hand, moving it so that it lays flat over his heart, where she can feel the faltering thump of it beneath her palm.

“ I love you,” he breathes, “I always have. I didn’t say it enough, but...” his fingers tighten almost painfully around hers, voice turning plaintive “you do believe me?”

“Yesyesyes—” Marinette nods madly, and with a flash she drops her transformation, uncaring of who might see her, desperate only for him to hold on, to show him—

Her fingers are slick with his blood, and it takes her several tries before she successfully pulls the chain out from under her dress, yanking it over her head. “See?” she shows him the ring, threaded through the chain “I never stopped wearing it, see?”

“I’m...I’m glad. Keep it for me, won’t you?”

The gemstone glints in the dying sunlight before dimming suddenly and she stifles a sob, knowing what comes next.

“Hey...hey—” breathing heavily, he moves with great difficulty, lifting his hand to cup her face “come here, doll,” she lets him guide her down until their faces are barely an inch apart. For a long moment, he simply stares at her, his green eyes roving over her face as though trying to memorise it.

Impulsively, she moves to kiss him then, one last time. It is meant to be a chaste kiss, but Adrien’s lips move against hers with a fervour that surprises her, his fingers tightening in her hair and she clutches at him, desperate to imprint every sensation of this last kiss into memory.

Pulling away, she sees the ghost of his signature smirk tugging at his lips, even as his breathing becomes more laboured “a kiss to remember me by, eh?”

Surprised, she laughs through her tears, stilling as carefully, he wipes them away, his thumb stroking her cheek. “No more tears, okay? No more tears.”

Pressing her lips together, Marinette nods jerkily, laying beside him and resting her head on his chest. With great effort, Adrien brings his arm around her shoulder, holding her close as he is able to and she closes her eyes, imagining they are back in their apartment, lying together in bed, the sheets tangled around their waists, the sun creeping along the floor through a crack in the curtains.

Marinette doesn’t hear the battle end. She doesn’t see his transformation fall, or his kwami drift to sit beside his head. She sees nothing, hears nothing as her tears mingle with his blood and she lies still, counting every last beat of his heart until finally, there is nothing left to count.

[bangtanlalaland]

together | ksj (m.)

synopsis ⇣ you encounter the world’s most handsome man, who’s also the richest, only to discover that he’s your long-lost childhood friend.

→part of the bring it back collection!

— 1920′s!au; friends to lovers!au

⇢pairing: millionaire!kim seokjin x textile worker!female reader

⇢genre: angst, fluff, smut

⇢word count: 3.9k+

⇢contents ⨯ warnings: somewhat inspired by the great gatsby, some plots twists in here (have your popcorn ready plz), mentions of pining, soft love making in this, some sad stuff (sorryyyy, just adds to the drama), a splash of 1920′s slang (i tried ok)

a/n: just a reminder you guys, in case you’re wondering or expecting this, I am not basing this story entirely off of what happened in the great gatsby so plz don’t come after me. as stated above, this fic is somewhat inspired by the novel. I’d also like to add that most of the events taking place in this story is like a re-enactment of my own personal experiences, therefore this one is a little personal for me, but I am glad to have this chance to share it with you all. anyways, hope you all enjoy!

song rec: “together” by the xx

glossary

big shot—someone of high status/great popularity

bimbo—tough guy

bootlegging—illegal distribution of alcohol

cash or check—to kiss someone now or later

gay—happy (no connection to homosexuality)

jane—a female

jitney—a small bus that costs 5¢

nookie—sex

quiff—a slut

speakeasy—an underground bar (usually involves illegal distribution and/or selling of alcohol)

wingding—a lively celebration or party

Everything was planned. And you should have known this—that it was all an act/a gimmick. The fame, the money, the chivalry. And it didn’t get you anywhere but strung out on coffee and cigarettes—paired with a broken heart. Part of you wanted to blame your friend Betty for even dragging you to that pointless wingding, and then another part of you wanted to blame yourself for letting your guard down. The moment you saw his stupid, handsome face, you should have just walked away. You should have ended whatever was to come, right then and there.

But, you didn’t.

Instead, you chose to wind up in his bed and smothered by his arms. You chose to let yourself go, because at one point in your life, he was someone you trusted. The never-ending ache in your chest weighs upon you as if you’re carrying a rock that’s the size of New York state. You continuously tell yourself: You should have left. You should have said no. You should have just walked away.

Maybe if you said no, would he have ended up in your life some other way? Would you have been happier than you were during those moments with him? Could you even truly say you regret those experiences, even though at that moment it was exactly what you wanted? The past few weeks, you’d driven yourself mad, contemplating and replaying scenarios within your mind to re-arrange the pieces to the puzzle.

But, you end up with nothing.

You can’t think. You can’t eat. You can’t sleep. You can’t do anything without seeing him. Feeling him. Hearing him. And even smelling him. It’s as if he lingers in the spirit—like a ghost, haunting you every waking second of the day. Except, you know nothing about ghosts and how to rid of them.

And the memories…

You can’t forget the times when life was oh so simple—when you knew who he used to be, the he you grew fond of and loved with every fiber in your being. You can’t get over those shiny, gold, silky sheets you had become accustomed to lace yourself in, wrapped within his embrace. Both of your bare bodies glued together by perspiration, and those deep-chocolate irises that make you crumble under his gaze. Especially when he’d whisper to you with that voice of his dipped in comfort and say,

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more happier in my life.”

However, it’s too late. You tell yourself that it’s over, and there is no going back. Ever.

five months earlier

You wiped away the perspiration, on your forehead, with the back of your hand. As people say, “Another day, another dollar.” Literally. You’re only paid 16 cents/hr for your work at the town’s local textile factory. Your hands often find themselves cracked and dried by the end of your shift. It’s the roaring 20′s and everything was booming. Well, at least for everyone else except you.

“Oh, Betty! I told you already I don’t ‘party’.” You whined, while clutching your purse to head beeline out of the factory.

“You’re telling me that a doll like yourself doesn’t ‘party’ during this Jazz Age?” Your blonde-haired co-worker scoffed with a laugh. “Surely, you ought to be ashamed!”

Your mouth flew agape at her audacity, “Well-” You attempted to muster up a comeback, “Well- speakeasy’s are not even legal!”

Betty added, “Oh, you’re no fun! You know that?” You giggled at her frustrated expression since she seemed so conflicted.

“I know. Which is probably why a man would never want me.” Betty stopped you in your tracks, placing her hand over your arm.

“Oh, nonsense! You’re a doll and you know it.” She contemplated for a moment, “You just need some… opening up is all!”

You nodded in reply, “I suppose so.” Betty’s face lit up as if an idea popped up in that wild brain of hers, “How about this?” She gripped onto you tighter. “Why don’t you join me this weekend at Mr. Worldwide Handsome’s wingding!”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “I don’t think you understand what “partying” means, when I say I do-”

“Now, now wait! Before you say no, it’s not what you think.” She reassured with a beaming smile.

“Who is this Mr. Worldwide Handsome?” You questioned, finally reaching the bus stop to catch a jitney.

Betty hesitated for a moment, “Why I don’t know. Well, I don’t think anyone knows.” You scoffed at her coy way of attempting to convince you.

“Oh, that’s just nonsense, Betty! If this is your way of trying to get me to go with you to that party- then, you’re doing quite an awful job at it.”

Betty rolled her eyes at you, “____, you’ve got it all wrong! I promise. It’s not what you think. It’s just a place where you can be yourself. He holds these gatherings every weekend and it’s so… lively! You can be free and… gay!”

—

You nervously stepped out of the automobile, as you and Betty were dropped off outside of the grand mansion where dozens if not hundreds of people gathered within the entrance of the establishment. Flappers and big shots roamed the premises.

“Why did I let you persuade me into coming here?” You whispered to Betty who had her arm interlinked with yours. You plastered a fake smile amongst the guests. Betty was dressed in a mini, black dress with sparkling fringes, a deep red lipstick adding an extra pop to her porcelain skin.

She cooed back at you, “Because you are my friend, and I was not going to take no for an answer.” As you relayed to your friend earlier in the week, you weren’t one of those “party girls” or “flappers” as they call it.

Seokjin roamed about his mansion, at the top of the stairwell, tapping his feet on the marble flooring below him, sipping on a glass of champagne in his hand. His handsomeness granted numerous glances and coos toward his towering figure. He sported his signature, jet-black mullet that’s slicked back. His white tuxedo glowed effervescently, blinding anyone within his perimeter. Plush, pink lips decorated his dashing face.

He busied himself in obtaining another glass of champagne as another server passed by. But when he turned away to face the entrance of the palace, his heart dropped, his lips parted distinctively, tongue sliding along the bottom of his lip. It’s as if everything and everyone around him had stopped, whilst his almond-shaped eyes landed on a Jane that he grew to be familiar with many years ago—two decades to be exact.

Ever since you both departed, he wanted desperately to find you again just as you did. He missed you, and you missed him, and there hadn’t been a day that passed when you didn’t cross his mind. You both grew up in the same quaint town, but then Jin’s family moved to the big city and that was when everything changed.

You both drifted apart, and it was now a good twenty years later that you both finally crossed paths. But see, that was only part of the plan. Seokjin hosted these grand parties, and spread the word throughout the entire city to fuck his way out of a heartbreak he thought was silly to have. He treasured the attention and the numerous dolls flaunting themselves at him—that eventually he’d forgotten all about you.

It was something about big gatherings, quite like these that made your insides churn. A sense of anxiety resided within you when being in the presence of countless individuals. You felt like all of their gazes were solely focused on you; you’d never been a fan of attention. Although, you were unaware this party would change your life.

Drastically.

You desperately attempted to shake off your anxiousness, scanning the environment for anything or something you could do or use as an escape. And then…

Champagne.

Perfect. You thought to yourself, hurriedly scurrying toward the server, grabbing a glass filled with fizzing liquor.

“Thank you,” You noted with a smile and took a sip, an attempt to calm your nerves. But you still couldn’t shake that feeling, that someone was watching you. And it was as if your worst nightmare had come true, because followed by that feeling, there was a voice. One that was calling your name.

“____?” Your body trembled of chills, and you turned around to discover the voice that was noticeably behind you. When your eyes met the tall, slender form, you nearly dropped your wine glass into shattering pieces.

With a gasp, “Seokjin?” you questioned, placing a hand over your chest where a thumping heart hides from behind. His pupils sparkled with something you thought was admiration, and then he shined those perfect, pearly whites that stole your heart in that moment. You thought to yourself, This is it. He’s the one.

“It’s been so long. Wow, I am speechless.” He stated, with an extended hand, “May I?” He probed, rising his eyebrows. You foolishly lended him your hand, his plump lips pressed a gentle kiss on top.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, curious to understand how the universe joined you both together in this moment.

“Follow me,” was all he said. He lead you through the bustling crowd, and into his office. He removed the jacket of his tuxedo while you admired the maroon-tinted walls paired with large bookshelves and persian rugs decorated the space—modern art pieces adding an extra touch. One in particular stood out to you, in which Jin noticed your stare didn’t break away.

“Edward Hopper’s Automat,” He added, whilst standing beside you and relishing the sight of gorgeous pearls that decorated your neckline—thanks to Betty. He was stunned at the beautiful woman you blossomed into. Considering that the last memory he had of you, was when he’d been taken away in a locomobile, and there you stood at the end of the dirt road—with puffy, wet eyes as you cried out his name, begging him to not leave. And so did he, as he waved you goodbye and tears streamed down his cheeks. It was when his entire world fell apart.

Jin lost himself for a moment, reminiscing on the past. “Seokjin?” You said for now the third time, an attempt to get his attention.

“Yes? I- My apologies,” he replied. You shook it off with a giggle, a warmth having filled up your heart. “No need to worry.” You dropped your head low, as a flash of heat washed upon your face, and suddenly you felt shy.

You felt the cool embrace from Jin’s palm on your back, and when you looked up to meet his gaze, he was already staring at you.

With a sigh of relief, he slipped, “I’ve missed you, ____.” You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him in for a hug, and he smelt of the liquor he’d been dousing himself in, paired with a tantalizing scent of cologne, notes of bergamot, tangerine and a hint of fruity persimmon. As you pull away, you peer into each other’s eyes, his slender fingers graze underneath your chin and you both lock lips with one another—his own tasted of the wine they’d been soaked in from earlier. The amount of desire drowned by your kisses sent a wave of heat through the both of you, and before you could think of pulling away to catch your own breath, Jin pulled away, his fingers lacing into yours to lead you toward the master bedroom.

“I missed you too,” you replied, maybe a little too late, but you still made him smile. His hands found purchase on your small back, “I can’t believe that you’re finally here. I don’t think I’ve ever been more happier in my life.” You caressed his broad shoulders, admiring how he towered over you. Oh how handsome he’d become, you thought.

It was as if both of you read each other’s minds, an unspoken tension between the two of you—like gravity pulled you two together, your actions in tune with each other. He laid on top of you, caressing your body and placing gentle kisses along your jawline and onto your collarbone. His silky sheets felt like bliss under your now scorching skin.

“Seokjin,” You moaned. His fingers found the zipper on the side of your dress, and he removed his bow tie and waistcoat, while undressing himself completely. He gently pulled the delicate material of your dress down and off your body.

“So beautiful,” He slipped, while trailing kisses along your leg and worshiping your body as if he was truly in love with you—especially when he entered you and buried himself to the hilt.

He was your first and he knew this. When you slipped, “I’ve never- Oh!” He simply caressed your cheek and planted kisses onto your now swollen lips, drips of sweat clinging on his forehead, your hands grazing along his back—the heels of your feet digging into his bottom. You couldn’t get the rest of your sentence out, the feeling of his member too much for your being, but there was this nostalgic sentiment that followed afterwards—a drawn out moan muffled by kisses.

“You’re saying that a Jane like you hasn’t had any nookie? Ever?” He chimed in with a chuckle. You slapped his arm in reply, “Well, don’t make fun of me now!”

But instead, you both broke out into a laughter, having completely forgotten about the party that continued on just one floor below.

“You feel so amazing,” Jin moaned, thrusting his hips into your core, your walls clenched relentlessly around him and it made his cock throb. Leaks of pre-cum oozed into you paired with your own wetness, soaking his shaft completely.

“Oh, Please don’t stop!” He picked up the pace and rammed into you, losing control of himself, so much that the headboard knocked against the wall in a beat-making manner. “Don’t stop! Yes, yes!” You egged him on, fueling his hunger.

“You’re such a doll, you know that?” He slipped between breaths. Your being now glued to the sheets from the sweat that accumulated.

He eventually slowed his momentum as an orgasm shortly approached. Your walls contracted around him repeatedly, and you were instantly drowned in euphoria. You hadn’t processed that Jin’s fingers were rubbing your clit furiously, making your orgasm crash upon you. And right after, you felt the warmth of his semen painting your walls—his bedroom now filled with the harmony of your moans.

Seokjin fell beside you on the bed, his chest rising and falling.

“That was amazing,” He slipped in between breaths. But to his surprise, you’d risen from the bed to re-dress yourself.

“Hey…” He hopped up on his feet, his flaccid cock jumping in the process. “Where you going?” He asked, grabbing your wrist.

“I-I shouldn’t keep Betty waiting…” You trailed off, his eyebrows quirked upwards. “She’s my friend. I came with her tonight.” His strong grip pulled you closer toward him; his fingers caressed your face.

“When will I see you again?” He asked, his grip on you becoming tighter. You shrugged your shoulders, because you weren’t sure when you’d see him again or if you’d have the chance to. Some part of you had hope because you know where he lives now, and you know he’s not far away and out of reach.

When you attempted to pull away, he pulled you back again, “Cash or check?” You contemplated a few moments, and with a tilt of your head, you tiptoed to give him a quick peck.

But it all just felt like a dream. One that you didn’t know would come crashing down. Because that’s all you can remember now. His sheets, his face, his voice, his length, and his scent—everything was Seokjin.

—

You came back and more than once. But the next few times, you came alone. It became a routine, almost. You’d join him during the night, and the two of you would escape into the part of his mansion where no one was around—everyone else having occupied the lower level and the courtyard. He’d always bring you to his bedroom, never letting you out in public together. You should have known that was a sign.

Anytime you both were together, you were alone. Because truth is, Seokjin was embarrassed. He held a high status and couldn’t be seen with someone like you. That’s what he told himself. He thought you wouldn’t have come back after the first night, but then you proved him wrong. And he wasn’t going to turn down free sex, especially since you were inexperienced—which gave him more power in the bedroom. He simply went with the flow, taking you as you gave to him.

Yet, you didn’t understand any of it. Especially when one night you took the lead, riding him with your breasts on full display. He moaned your name repeatedly and admitted, “I love you, ____.” And you fell for it, you actually believed him, with his cock fully sheathed inside of you. You were both wrapped up in the moment, your feels at their maximum. Except, you meant it when you replied, “I love you too, Seokjin.” That was the difference.

But one night, he slipped.

You paraded through his estate during one of his parties, brushing past numerous guests and bumping into some, but you couldn’t find him anywhere. He’d normally await for your arrival at the top of the stairwell, but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the courtyard or the balcony or the pool. Your heart thumped with a never-ending beat, and you couldn’t ignore the feeling.

Eventually, you found yourself entering the room that you remember oh so well, and you wished you hadn’t. The sight you witnessed sent a burning ache within your chest. Moans and groans filled the atmosphere as you neared the bed that contained those golden sheets you’d become familiar with. To say you were horrified was an understatement. Jin was plunging into another woman while another woman sat on the other woman’s face, a sudden churn of your stomach ascended—you felt as though everything you consumed that  day would come right back up.

“S-Seokjin?” You let out, and he abruptly stopped his motions, snapping his gaze toward you. His eyes blown wide and lips parted.

“Fuck!” He spilled, stumbling out of the woman he was in. You turned away, heading beeline for the door. He quickly found his grip on you, and you fought him off, pushing him away and continuously slapping him away.

“How could you? How?!” You screamed. The sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor echoed throughout the palace, as you strutted out and never looked back.

He knew that he fucked up, because truth is, he didn’t even know what he really wanted—but he knew he was selfish. He continued hosting more wingdings, and he never stopped screwing more women. He convinced himself that you were just another Jane he checked off his “To do” list. Because that’s who Seokjin had become. He was no longer that sweet, innocent little boy you once knew. He was no longer your only best friend that you could trust. He was no longer who you thought he was.

—

After receiving the test results from your doctor, that’s when everything sunk in, and you made a promise to yourself that you’d eliminate the abuse of caffeine and tobacco you’d taken within your diet. Although somehow, someway, Seokjin found out that you were pregnant (more than likely it was Betty who told him at his still ongoing wingdings, since you spilled who Mr. Worldwide Handsome is), and he had the guts to show himself at your workplace. He paraded through the establishment, calling out your name. To your embarrassment, you remained at your station, internally cursing yourself for having gotten involved with him.

“____!” He raged, searching for your tired figure. You let out a sigh of exhaustion. And there he stood, with creased slacks in his million-dollar man attire, but his gaze was only focused on you.

“____, we need to talk.” He reassured to you, but too loud for prying eyes nearby. You swiped away the sweat that clung to your forehead.

“Well, I am working. How dare you barge in like this as if you have the right?” You retort with a hint of rage in your tone.

He took a deep breath, not wanting to hear it from you. “Listen, I didn’t come to cause any trouble, alright? We need to talk about my baby.”

You scoffed in reply, “Your baby?” His eyes widen slightly, “I am the one carrying our child! This is our baby, not just yours!” He ran his fingers through his hair in a frustrated manner.

“Last I remember, you were too busy having nookie with those quiff’s who were in the same bed you had knocked me up!” Your chest heaves of anger, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.

“You can’t just show up here like you’re this-this- bimbo! Because you’re not!” You hadn’t even realized you’d been yelling the entire time, gaining the attention from your nearby co-workers—who attentively watch your riled up figure, courtesy of your hormones.

Jin attempted to speak, “____, I’m-” but then you cut him off, tiredly yelling, “Beat it, Jin!”

His face instantly contorted into an expression you didn’t like to witness. It was a face of pure defeat. His jaw clenched under your stare, but he turned the other cheek and strutted away. You can’t say you felt sorry for him or embarrassed that you called him out because deep down, you knew that he brought everything upon himself.

—

You had a baby girl, and the moment you met eyes with her, was when you promised yourself you would climb mountains, swim oceans, and fight any battle to protect and love her the correct way—because she is you and you are her. The first two months were tough, yet Seokjin was nowhere to be found. Betty had been there for you through every step of the way, and you were beyond grateful for that. Although, you felt guilty for not letting Seokjin see his daughter, because after all she is still yours and his child. You asked Betty to accompany you to his mansion, where you had hoped to encounter him—but to no avail, you turned up with nothing. The entire palace was abandoned, like a wasteland. No automobiles, no servants, no Jane’s, no Seokjin.

A few days later on your way home from work, you overheard a few pedestrians gossiping about him. “Mr. Worldwide Handsome? I can’t believe it! Is it true? That he’s really on the run?” One of them says, the other woman replies, “Look, it’s in the paper!” Your eyebrows furrow on the spot.

“Pardon me. Can I see that?” You probe, pointing to the newspaper the two ladies were observing, and surely they were right. His photo was in the daily paper, with the headline of the name of Mr. Worldwide Handsome. He was wanted for bootlegging. He never told you who he really was, all he mentioned to you was that he was indeed Mr. Worldwide Handsome, but never confided in you about his supposed work.

Now he was gone, and you had a feeling that he was never coming back, because the first night when you two were reunited, it was in that moment, just as he’d practiced with numerous other women for years—Seokjin had one goal in mind:

To get her.

[out-of-jams]

Rules of the Game || jhs

↠ Rules of the Game ↞ “You didn’t even need to see the tag sewed into the jacket of his suit to know that it cost more than you made in a single weekend. Didn’t need to sit next to him on that leather couch to know that he probably smelled exactly how he looked: dark, rich, dangerous.”

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Warnings/Genre/Rating: Set in the Roaring 20s! Mobster!Hoseok. Singer!Reader. Flapper!Reader. Fluff. Strangers to lovers. Law breaking. Alcohol use. Oneshot. PG-13.

Word Count: 2.7k

Fic Theme Song: My Heart Belongs To Daddy -- Marilyn Monroe

A/n: I recommend listening to the song above to set the mood!~

                               | | Masterlist | |

All of my works are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me.©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission.

The air was hot.

Humid.

Stifling.

A bead of sweat drifted down the back of your neck and goosebumps broke out on your flesh as it traveled below the top of your dress. It was one of your favorites: black and short with silver embedded jewels that glittered beneath the low ceiling lights. A tight fitting pearl necklace decorating the bare skin of your neck matched the earrings pierced through your lobes. And the heels on your feet made you taller, though not by as much as you’d like.

“You ready to go again?”

You glanced up from the glass of water clutched in your hands to meet the questioning stare of one of your dearest friends. Kim Taehyung nodded his head towards the stage that took up the whole back wall of the joint. Two women in similar styles of dresses to yours and short cut hair side-eyed him as they walked past. Giggled into their illegal cocktails and whispered behind their hands.

Perhaps if you hadn't known the man at your side before he was old enough to be weaned from his mother’s breast, then you would have sighed with them. Would have fluttered your lashes at the unnecessarily handsome man gifted with a sweet face and even sweeter disposition. You couldn’t fault them for double-taking at his warm chocolate eyes and hair long enough to cover his lightly tanned forehead.

Taehyung’s coral colored, cupid-bow lips tilted up as he tried and failed to hide how he preened beneath their longing stares. Rolling your eyes, you slid your glass of water back onto the high topped table and patted his suit clad arm. “Let’s go before you get snatched up again and I lose my saxophone player for the night.”

“That was only one time!” Taehyung’s amused voice followed you back to the stage and up the three short steps. Chatter from the packed speakeasy hidden beneath the restaurant upstairs filled your ears with familiarity.

The space wasn’t very big. Then again, it didn’t need to be. Not when it sold illegal drinks like newsboys sold papers. Molls and Dolls was one of the most popular joints in town and everyone who was anyone tried to get their names put down on the incredibly long list. The interior was ritzy, filled with expensive leather chairs, polished wooden tables, and imported Persian rugs.

At the side of the place, to the left of the stage, was the bar. Already packed with broads and fellas dressed in clothes so expensive that those who looked wouldn’t doubt that they came with enough dough to buy whatever they wanted. They belonged to the type of crowd that you didn’t. 

You didn’t grow up rich, didn’t have all the possessions you owned bought with daddy’s money. Maybe that was why it was so easy to see past the fronts they wore like cheap, plastic masquerade masks. They wanted people to think that they held all the power, when in reality, they did not. Were just like everybody else when you took away their money and it came down to it.

Nodding at your piano player in a silent motion to urge him to put down the whiskey and pick up the tunes, you approached the microphone center stage. It was cool to the touch as you lightly wrapped your fingers around the stand. The ten minute break you’d taken was exactly what you’d needed to moisten your throat and prepare yourself to sing for the rest of the night.

When a familiar melody started up as your pianist danced his fingers across the keys, you felt your eyes slip closed in bliss. While the rest of the patrons were home to mansions and pricey cars, the stage was where you belonged. The eyes of those who came to watch you sing, to hypnotize them with the words that itched to spring free from your tongue, breathed life into you. And the rhythm of the instruments at your back guided the beating of your heart.

You hadn’t been singing at Molls and Dolls for very long. A year ago was when you’d been approached by the mac who owned the place. He’d caught you the moment you slid from the stage at one of the less infamous underground clubs in the city. Had praised your voice and offered you a slot to sing at his joint every Friday and Saturday night. The only catch was that you could work for him and him only.

The one thing that stopped you from turning him down (how could you live off of working two days a week?) was the hefty wad of cold, hard cash he’d slipped into your palm. A downpayment, he’d said, loose change compared to what you could make with him. Something to give you the incentive to accept.

How R.M.--he never gave out his actual name--really earned the money he got stayed a mystery to you. You knew that the safe in his office was filled to the brim with more bills than you could count; more dough than he could possibly make in an evening. But you never asked. Didn’t need to when he paid you enough to keep the questions from your mouth.

You came to sing, to sip at the drinks you were given and bask in the attention from those who envied you. Who wished they could hypnotize a room with only their voice.

Like now.

You could feel their gazes upon you while you sang and you soaked it up. Tried not to let a smirk capture your red tinted lips when you felt heat boring a hole into the side of your face. Instead, you slid your kohl lined eyes open as the band playing behind you transitioned to fast paced, sexier song.

“If I invite a boy some night To dine on my fine food and haddie.”

Across the room, a pair of dark eyes watched you. They were familiar, and yet not. Belonged to an absolute billboard of a man who looked like he fit more on the cover of magazines sold on street corners, than in the basement of a speakeasy. Hair the color of the scotch he sipped on and skin the same hue as molten honey, he met your gaze beneath heavy brows. His high cheekbones, a strong nose, and jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds were enough to catch many a lingering look.

“I just adore, his asking for more But my heart belongs to Daddy.”

You didn’t even need to see the tag sewed into the jacket of his suit to know that it cost more than you made in a single weekend. Didn’t need to sit next to him on that leather couch to know that he probably smelled exactly how he looked: dark, rich, dangerous. Every single weekend, he claimed the same spot across the room with a handful of other, equally handsome men.

You weren’t sure what they did or why they were there. Why everyone skirted around them like particularly frightened railway mice. R.M. would join them occasionally with friendly handshakes and pats on the back. So it wasn’t very difficult to put the pieces together that wherever he got all of his money from had something to do with those fellas.

Words had never been exchanged between you and the man who watched you perform like you were the only two people in the room. Neither of you had crossed that invisible line that drew itself down the middle of space that divided you. It was an unspoken rule in the game the two of you played. You’d sing as if just for him, and he’d gift you with his attention.

“Yes, my heart belongs to Daddy So I simply couldn't be bad Yes, my heart belongs to Daddy.”

Already hooded eyes seemed to darken even further at the suggestive words that spilled from your tongue. And if you looked close enough--which you always seemed to do when it came to him--the slight quirk of his heart-shaped mouth was a sign of his approval.

“So I want to warn you laddie Though I know that you're perfectly swell That my heart belongs to Daddy Cause my Daddy, he treats it so well.”

Not even the crowd gathered around the front of your stage like meerkats, with their eyes trained on you with rapt observation could pull your own from him. One of the men sitting next to him, a petite looking blond with a soft, pretty face, leaned over to say something into his ear. Not even then did he turn away from you. Just answered his companion without breaking the rules of the game.

“If I invite a boy some night To cook up some hot enchilada Though Spanish rice is all very nice My heart belongs to Daddy.”

The hair at the back of your neck stuck to your skin from the heat that perforated the room due to too many bodies and too little air circulation. But you didn’t pay it any mind, too busy trying to stave off the feeling of disappointment when a man you didn’t recognize approached the men. Cut off your line of sight to the man sitting on the couch. Whatever was said was enough to cause him to rise, press his almost finished drink into the hand of one of his companions and follow the stranger out of the room.

Though the look he sent you before disappearing was a message in and of itself. A silent apology for ending the game before time was up.

The rest of your set up on stage didn’t affect you like it usual did. Failed to provide you with the normal high that accompanied a performance. You tried not to let displeasure show on your face when you departed the stage. The night hadn’t ended, nor would it until the first signs of light began to show as the sun rose over the city skyscrapers. But you were exhausted.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t leave even if you’d wanted to because R.M. had yet to pay you for the weekend. If it were Friday, then you would have just shrugged it off and let it go until the next day. But it was Saturday and you didn’t want to have to come back during one of your off days. Molls and Dolls was too far away from your apartment to hike across the city when you didn’t need to.

R.M. was nowhere to be seen, had disappeared a little while ago according to the bartender who poured you a glass of gin. So sadly, you were left waiting for the man when you weren’t even sure if he would return for the night. Sometimes he would vanish and reappear the next day like nothing had happened. Though you supposed that since he owned the place and all, it was more than acceptable for him to do so.

You just wished that he didn’t do it when you needed to get paid.

Sighing, you pressed the martini glass to your lips and took a hefty sip. The alcohol burned your throat as it slid down, but you didn’t mind it. Not when it lit fire to the blaze itching beneath your skin. Taehyung had disappeared somewhere into the flock of tittering women the moment he’d packed up his saxophone and stepped off the stage.

Left to your own devices, you rested your cheek in the palm of your free hand and surveyed the room. It was still packed wall-to-wall, filled with the sound of chatter and the jazz band who took your place performing. They were talented, good even, but you didn’t expect anything less from someone hired to work for R.M.

“Could I get you another drink, miss?”

Blinking at the sudden intrusion of a voice invading your personal space, you turned to meet the shameless stare of a stranger. He had a face that was all angles and sharp lines with eyes the color of the sky at midday. By the way he carried himself, leaned against the bar like he owned it, you could already tell what kind of man he was. One who thought he could have anything he wanted with the snap of fingers because of the weight of his wallet. Who thought he was the absolute bees-knees.

Raising an eyebrow at the way his gaze lingered on the bare skin of your legs exposed by your dress, you took another sip out of your glass. “I’m still drinking this one.”

“After, then,” he winked. “What d’ya say?”

You hummed before looking pointedly away from him in hopes that he’d get the message without you needing to spell it out. “No.”

“No?” Apparently not. The only thing he got was closer to you as he slid across the bar until his arm brushed your side. “Come on, doll. Don’t be a prude.”

Turning back to shoot him a heated glare, you leaned away from his touch. “Are you deaf?”

He didn’t seem at all affronted by your scoff when he reached up to brush your cheek with his pointer finger. “Can’t say that I am. Now accept my offer before I take it back.”

“Take it back, then.” You jerked your head back until he had no choice but to drop his hand.

“You--”

“I believe that the lady said no.” A voice, deep and raspy and accented with a vocal fry, spoke from over your shoulder. Warmth from a hand pressed to your waist accompanied it, and you found yourself looking back in surprise.

The first thought that came to your mind was that he was a lot taller than he looked from across the room. To the point where you had to crane your head up to take him all in; the sliver of his neck exposed by his expensive suit, a mole beneath his right eye, two dimples that indented either side of his mouth as he pursed his lips in displeasure.

He cocked his head to the side, voice pitched dangerously low. “Don’t make her say it again.”

One glance at the fella who’d forced his presence on you had you raising a brow at how quickly the blood drained from his face. His blue eyes were blown wide, mouth opening and closing like he’d forgotten how to make a sound. He let out a squeak that sounded so incredibly unmanly that you were embarrassed for him, before making himself scarce. Perhaps his reaction should have given you second thoughts about the man who’d come to your rescue, but it didn’t.

It only made you all the more curious.

“I could’ve handled that, you know.”

He looked down at you, took in your playful smile and flashed you one of his own. “I didn’t like his hands on you.”

“But yours is fine?” You questioned, referencing his own hand still on your waist.

He hummed, a deep rumbling sound, and smirked. “You tell me, dollface.”

“I think,” you tilted your head towards the bar, “that you should give me your name and buy me another drink.”

You could feel it then, like the room had shifted.

He barely even had to glance at the bartender for him to make his way over. “You can call me Hoseok.”

Hoseok brushed a stray hair from your face and tucked it behind your ear. It took all you had not to let the way your heart raced from the simple gesture. “And you?”

Your name fell from your mouth and something flashed in his eyes as he tasted it on his lips. Gestured for you to tell the bartender what you wanted.

The rules of the game had changed.