#neon noir au

[dreadlord-mr-son]

My friend and I playing with one of our more well-developed AUs.

[emilianadarling]

Fic: COMPLETE - Heart Beats Slow (Din/Luke Neo-Noir/Urban Fantasy AU)

fic: Heart Beats Slow authors: cam_elot | emilianadarling artist: lovey-dovey (full art on tumblr and ao3) chapter: Spin Velocity (3/3) series: The Neon Lights of Coruscant rating: E ship: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker contains: Alternate Universe - Neo(n) Noir/Urban Fantasy, Werewolf!Din, Incubus!Luke, Coruscant, Sex Magic and Magical Sexual Urges, Rituals, Pining, Desperate Masturbation, Porn & Plot.

summary: Among the towers and gleaming neon lights of Coruscant, a grieving Mandalorian finds a half-starved incubus in the snow.

In a galaxy far, far away - where magical beings live alongside droids and sentients - their lives, once separated by class and species, are drawn together inextricably.

And all the while, something darker lurks in city shadows.

[potionofinstantdamage]

A particular back alley in Westport, Anchorite Bay - 1926

[petitecreme]

We’ll make out in that alley behind the bass and neon pipes

[theagstd]

One Night Stand ; 01

➥ rundown ; as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

→ genre ; strangers to lovers | CEO au | pregnancy trope | slowburn

→ Jungkook x y/n

→ contains smut, fluff and angst

→ chapter one ; wc | 2.8k

primarily on Wattpad

Index ↪ next chapter

The club lights up with multiple disco colours rotating around the area, the neon, dynamic lighting, and strobes allow the people to see each other in various hues and tints, including you. There you stand, leaning your hip towards the bar while typing a letter and sipping the earthy red wine, 'Pinot Noir' with a twisty fancy straw that the club offers.

"Yeah, I'm gonna do it."

You screamed over for the second time to your friend who sits beside you, grooving herself to the music playing out loud with her champagne glass in her hand.

"There's no way you're gonna do it." Kayla is her name. The only friend you've made here in Seoul, Korea. You wouldn't exactly call her your best friend or good friend, but well, she's been there for you for a couple of months. You both worked together as an intern at the coffee store down the street, and she left for a better job while you're stuck finding job applications to work as a graphic designer that you've mastered. The boundary between your conversation was due to the loud music being played, but you managed to hear her over it. "Just a sec, let me mail my application."

It's one of the 5th applications you've filled for the day and were now sending it at a club, while you're drunk as fuck but you've tried to keep a tweesy bit of your consciousness just so this mail doesn't go all wrong, it can't go wrong. It's for a very prestigious company in Korea. You clicked on the 'send' option of email and turned off your phone to get back to why you're actually here at the club.

"Why not? You guys tried it, and now it's my turn." Picking out the plastic straw with your fake nails, you dropped it and chugged down the rest of the wine, patting your lips against the tissue to wipe off the excess alcohol that was stuck to your gloss, you moaned at the taste of the liquid hitting your throat.

"Girl, you're gonna rock it. Go ride him out!!"

The woman in the red bodycon dress with her hair tied up to a ponytail hyped you more by her words.

She was always ready for a good fuck and have always tried to push you for it too, since it's been a while you've been deprived from sex as you held strongly to your faith of being in a relationship but tonight, you could really feel yourself ready for it and so you were just gonna hit up to anyone who you think would be the best at it.

The dance floor looked so inviting with the couples and single females dancing to the sensual music played by the DJ, what the floor was missing was you so you slipped your way towards it and began to shake your body to the beats of the song. Kayla and a few of her friends cheered for you, and that only made you move harder.

the bodycon dress you wore, showed off your perfect curves that you've worked hard for throughout your life, your ideal hourglass body matched no one's on the stage, you were the woman of the night. Not only does the dress look alluring on you, but the length of it being above your knees, long sleeved, and the box neck of it made most of the men around you to drool. you enjoyed the attention that you received.

It was what alcohol makes you crave for. When the music skipped to the remix of Streets by Doja Cat, the lights dimmed to orange and red, spreading an intimate vibe between couples, allowing the ladies to feel themselves to each word, each beat of each second. The rich smoky scent of cigarettes lingered under your nose, arousing you to grab on and place them between your lips but you control yourself, not wanting to fall into the trap of tobacco once again that left you suffering for months.

What stopped you from dancing was the eyes of a man who sat distant from the dance floor, alone at the corner of the room with his champagne glass around the palms and fingertips. He looked appealing, charming, and smart. you looked over at him to be fully aware if he was, in fact, looking at you or another woman, then making eye contact with the man he looked into your eyes to. sipping his liquid while his hooded eyes never left yours, his eyes welcomed you, so you walked to him to accept his hospitality.

To get a closer look at his eyes, that warmed you, that stopped you from dancing, those eyes that made you feel unique of them all. your heels clicked on the floor, towards the man who was seated on the velvet couch that were coloured in crimson red, unmatching his jet black suit that sparkled with the ebony glitter, his black shirt unbuttoned and his hair sweaty and long that curled up and fell on his eyes, covering his right one.

'fuck, had i noticed him before, it would be me, eyeing him all the way.'

you thought to yourself while you pushed your bangs away from your eyes so you could look at him deeper. "hey?" greeting him with your deep voice, since the alcohol had left your voice box dry, you took a seat beside him, his manly vanilla scent brushed under your nose that allowed you to take a deep breath of his fragrance.

"What do you want?" he questioned you, with droopy eyes, no he did not look sleepy he looked aroused by your presence. his fingertips that gripped his glass, was taken off them as you gulped down the little liquid that he had remained in it. the man was surprised, the move was bold, unexpected yet attractive. you dropped the glass on the table and licked your lips, eyes squinting at the horrible taste of it.

"fuck, that was so bitter."

you whispered under your breath, that he heard as the music at this corner of the room was not very loud. you then looked over at him, since he had asked you a question a while ago before you chugged down his absolute bad taste on alcohol. Being confident was a positive aspect of liquor, it brought that up to you, it allowed you to be who you are within you, bringing out the inner devil. the queen of horniness, the spirit of sex.

"wanna go upstairs?"

mumbling breathly, you asked him, looking over at his eyes, now that he brushed his hair with his fingers allow you to examine his dark black eyes that glare into your soul. you didn't hesitate, you were assured that you needed him. you need him inside of you so you're gonna get it. he analysed you, from that ruby red gloss to that tight figure hugging dress that hugged your waist ever so perfectly leaving your thighs on display that had that flesh just the way he liked it,

so he could grab it with his palm while you rode him. he knew from first glance that he needed you, he could tell that you had the body just the way he liked it, just his type. However, he was not gonna take advantage of this opportunity since you're drunk. "no thanks."

He mumbled, grabbing his champagne bottle and pouring the rest of it into his glass, which you had left a lip imprint with the gloss, he could see how plump your lips were just by the stain you had left. you were not accepting a no for an answer, he dared to undress you with his eyes and he said no. You liked the play, you liked the tension, this made you grow closer to him, the man didn't move.

This, of course, means that he wants you too. "you're missing out. this is a good opportunity. Come on." you whispered, at which he caught on immediately. He was trying his best to ignore you, but he could feel himself getting hard just by this, teasing.

"don't. don't miss it out." He knew that you're doing this intentionally so you could trap him. It's working. the words coming out of your mouth breathlessly, fanning it over his ears while your lips brush on his ear lobe, the man exhaled sharply and quietly not wanting you to know that this is all getting him affected.

for the first time, he feels weak, even sipping the liquid isn't doing anything to him right now, the world seems like it's stopped and you're the only one here, working your way into his pants. he faced you only to see nothing but lust, passion, and the drive of sexual frustration. he looks for confirmation in your eyes, he sees it. he sees how you need this, and you seem conscious about this decision.

"Let's go." You hear him mumble, allowing the both of you to step up from the couch, following him to a corridor that leads to the washrooms. You internally groan at this. You want sex. full on sex not a quickie, but when you walk behind him, his hand never leaves yours. you pass by the horny couples fucking around,

the moans of the females, males and the gay couples who have almost filled up the male restrooms. he walked you into a room, the interior of it modern, ebony and maroon.

scented candles lighting up the atmosphere, rose fragrance slip into each other's breasts. he walked towards you, stopping at the doorstep while you admire the luxury of this area, where no one seemed to be around, this corridor was empty, the faint music was barely heard, just the room giving beauty and the beast vibes. his hand left yours as it snuck into his pockets. glancing over at you, he noticed your reaction and smirked, he sighed and questioned unsurely.

"Still up for it?" you faced him as he now stands in front of you, towering your height as he leans on to the door frame. "I don't second guess my decisions."

whisper and he pulls you inside, pushing you to close the door, his palm held around your wrist tightly, he begins by pressing his lips on your bare neck. his lips were warm against your cold skin, that let him easily melt against you while your hands wrapped around his neck, pushing him down for more, to be harder. a kisser as good as him, makes you crave this more, that excites you as this is just the beginning.

On the other hand, he could not stop tasting you with his tongue swirling around the nape of your neck, finding your sweet spot that he got in a few seconds. allowing your moans to spill out, he groaned against you when he heard your voice. pressing a few kisses after he had left his mark on you, he held your wrist and walked you over to the bed.

you sit on it, looking up at him while he looks down at you. his eyebrow raises, letting you know what he needs, his finger gestures you to take off your clothes so you do, letting the shoulders fall off, when your hand goes behind to unzip it, he pauses you and grew closer to you, his face on your shoulder as he lets his breath fan you while he unzips it. you push it off your body, letting you rest with the lace black lingerie you had worn.

he could feel himself drooling, he eyes wandering around your body so without wasting any more time, he removes his coat and throws it away, then about to unbutton his shirt when you push his hand aside. you slowly began to unbutton for him, this gave him the wonderful opportunity to check you out more, seated on the bed, with your perfectly toned abs. you looked like a masterpiece, a piece he's never seen before, never had he seen a woman this perfect with the most mesmerising features. you threw away his shirt, taking the moment to admire his chest.

fuck, he even has tattoos that decorates his right arm arm. its captivating, distracting you with his canvas that explains his individual touch and unique stories, you want him to tell you about it but now's not the time, especially when he reminds you that you're here for sex. he looks at your eyes, wondering why i've paused, then he sees it.

you're interested in his tattoos, that had him chuckling. "shall we begin, darling?" you looked up at him, then with a smirk and a nod you placed your index finger into your mouth, wetting it with your eyes locked with his. you stroked the man's hard chest,

the man who was confused a few seconds ago, now had his eyes closed as he threw his head back, moaning as he feels his insides heating up and clenching, he felt himself grow, he loved the boldness, he never truly admired dom females but today, you. he thinks he would never get over this or find someone better.

"fuck me?"

you ask, softly, looking up at him with big round doe eyes that made him weak, he wanted to drop on his feet and beg you to fuck him but he didn't. he let himself smirk as he bent down to meet your face, leaving centimeters apart, gently he caressed your chin with his finger and then he hovered over you, slowly pushing you down on bed until you met with the silk sheets, that rubbed against your bare back.

"With pleasure, darling...." he whispers as he sucked on your ear lobe while he pushed himself inside you without any warnings, allowing whimpers and muffled moans that leave from your lips.....

-

"I'm late! I'm late, shit shit."

You woke up to the yelling of the alarm clock that had tried its best to wake you up 30 minutes ago. now showing 7;46 am. in its display. You're supposed to be at the office at 8.

No way you're late on your first day. It's certainly not your first day of work, but it's still your interview, and there's no way you could miss this opportunity. Working as a head graphic designer is all that you need. It's what you've been dying for,

You've been doing multiple jobs to make a living, but there's something you've always been good at and that's been designing and advertising. What's all the qualifications and degrees for if you can't work at what you're best at. And plus this job's description has exactly what you're looking for, so you need this job, it's a need.

It's a blessing that the building is not too far from your apartment. You took a seat in front of the ceo's room. You've been there before as some of the staff reviewed you. Hence, you're under the shortlist.

And now's the big moment, interviewing with the CEO himself because he wants to recruit the best workers for his company, and that means they have to meet his expectations.

So he takes this in his hands. You were nervous, shaking your leg vigorously, and your sweaty hands had left imprints on your files.

"Ms Lee Y/n?"

"Yes, that's me."

"You've been called in." The woman dressed in a black skirt and a white silk shirt spoke kindly to you, leading your way to the CEO's room.

She opened the door, allowing you to walk inside, for which you thanked her, and she left, giving you a bow. you clicked your heels as you walked towards the man who was seated on his luxurious office chair that had its back turned towards you. "Take a seat."

He demanded as he twirled his chair to meet the face of his applicant, with his sheet of papers and pen between his fingers. your eyes widened at the vision of the man in front of you, parting your lips and breathing, only getting heavy with the time passed. the CEO didn't meet you until he had no response from you. He raised his eyebrows, then took his eyes off the paper to meet yours, and he paused. "You?"

He muttered, and you immediately blinked multiple times, looking everywhere else except his eyes. There is no way he is the one. There's no fucking way that your one night stand turned out to be the CEO of the company you applied to. fuck.

-

next chapter ↪

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[bambi-slxt]

🤍𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 ~ 𝐩𝐭. 𝐨𝐧𝐞🤍

𝕔𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕠𝕝𝕠 𝕩 𝕗𝕖𝕞!𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

previously titled Talk Dirty

word count: 1.7k

genres/tropes: romance, dealer!chris, sturniolo au, slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers

teaser: here

summary: Christopher Sturniolo has built an unshakeable empire in Los Angeles, California. He manages "business transactions" and "cargo export and intake" along with his two brothers, Matthew and Nicolas. One night the three gentlemen attend a high-end nightclub in the more affluent district and are met with a nervous bottle-girl working her first shift. Christopher strikes up conversation in the way only confident men can until an accident causes her to spill a drink on him. In a panic, she drags him to the bathroom to clean him up, and, quite amused, he lets her. Thus, their strange friendship begins.

warnings: drug usage, alcohol consumption, guns mentioned and used (non-sexual context), smut, mature themes and topics

notes from bambi: this is a multi-part series, and updates will be sporadic. lmk if you're interested in this one <3

Cassandra's POV:

The year I almost died held more excitement, danger, and tenacity than any one person deserves to encounter. Definitely more than I knew to prepare myself for…I wonder sometimes, as I look back on the events of these last few months, if the choice to go back and change anything is one I would make. 

But then, if I did, I would never have met Christopher Sturniolo, and I can confidently say he is worth every moment I spent at gunpoint.

My life as a bottle girl seems so far away now, though at the time, I couldn’t imagine anything more glamorous. Every darkened hour of my shift filled with music and soft neon, running trays of drinks beneath beautiful people on shining poles, weaving past tables covered with swaths of chips and cards and surrounded by only the most elite clientele Orange County, California so graciously offered.

It stands to mention that at the time I felt I had no talent, no prospects, and no education, and therefore would only get so far in life. Until Christopher, I sold myself short in every aspect of my life.

The hour of 2 a.m. always buzzed–the air itself breathed to the rhythm of some unknown heartbeat, all exemplified by the lively hum of the building of vices I called “work”. At 2:07 a.m. three gentlemen in dark suits accompanied by a small entourage were ushered into Private Room 9 and as I only just clocked in, I took them onto my books for the evening.

Pressing my hand on the opaque glass, I pushed the thin, floor-to-ceiling door inward and braced myself for whatever I might encounter. Working in the pleasure business left no room for shock or awe, and though I knew better than to comment on anything I may see, my face hadn’t quite picked up that particular skill.

The entourage caught my attention first. A dark-haired and strikingly beautiful young woman sat primly on a cushion near the darkest corner of the room, running her elegant fingernail along the edge of her empty glass. To one side of her sat a scantily-clad, gorgeously built man with a side shave, his curls tamed into a neat row down the back of his neck, and to the other side, one of the men in suits. I realized then that every man in a three-piece that sat before me also wore the same facial structure–I was looking at identical triplets. 

“You look so pretty!” the man with the side shave said to me, reaching over to lay an arm behind the girl.

“Thank you, sir, I try,” I responded, hoping to keep the conversation light and fast to disguise my glaring inexperience. I was rewarded with a simple chuckle–nice job. “How can I serve you tonight?”

One of the triplets spoke up. His voice had a gravelly quality that I made sure to note internally. “Pinot noir for the room, please.” He carried on with his individual order as I kept meticulous, if not shaky, written record in my notepad. 

“For you sir?” I directed this to another suited man, this one sporting a deep red tone to his hair. 

“Champagne, thank you.”

“Are we celebrating?”

The last triplet, who had up to this point remained silent, cracked a smile in the soft lighting. “You could say that.”

“And you, sir?”

He lounged in the plush couch beneath him as if completely at ease, which rendered me baffled–though perhaps this scene didn’t phase him as it did me. The first shift at a new job has a funny way of making you forget everything you’ve ever known.

“What do you recommend?” This one’s voice flowed like honey, smooth, slow, warm. 

I paused, thoughts trampling over themselves in an effort to tumble most ungraciously from my tongue. “...That depends, sir. What taste are you looking for?”

He waved his hand. “Christopher. Call me Christopher. You’re an employee, not a servant.”

The room chuckled along with him and returned to their own conversations. 

“Alright…Christopher,” I said, tasting the name for a moment before releasing it. “We have an excellent collection of reds, if you’d like a variety…Though I have to suggest the Oak Knoll Merlot, she has a bit of a plum taste without being too sweet,” I suggested. I clenched my fists slowly in the hope none of them would notice they’d previously been shaking–I really hoped I’d just told him the right shit, because if not, this night was about to go downhill very quickly.

Christopher nodded. “That one, then. Thank you.”

I dipped my head and turned to leave. 

“Miss,” his voice hummed, “What was your name?”

I looked back at Christopher and his loosened black tie, laid in such sharp contrast to his white button-down. “Cassandra.”

He smiled again. “Pleasure, Miss Cassie.”

I ducked out of the room as blush bloomed across my cheeks.

My heart thundered down to the main floor and all the way to the bar. With trembling hands I poured the wine, and unsure wrists did their best to support the tray of drinks. Weaving back through the crowd, I managed to keep from any mishaps, but only barely. One misstep and hundreds of dollars would splash all over patrons, staff, and the freshly cleaned floor–and off of my already-measly check. Finally off the social level, I ascended the underlit staircase and made my way toward the private rooms. The music pounded through the walls, our DJ losing himself in the height of his set, and the floor seemed to breathe in time with the sultry bass. Room 1, 3…5, there’s 7, 9, here we go…

I leaned against the door with my hip and entered the room once more. A faint, sweet smell touched my nose, and it twitched of its own accord.

“She’s back,” said Side Shave. “Hey, girl.”

“Hi,” I offered weakly, trying my hardest to focus on the drinks in hand. “Champagne…for you,” I said as I placed the tall flute in front of what I hoped was the right triplet. He smiled, revealing a small gap in his teeth. Dark red hair, gapped teeth…that’s one of them. Now how to tell the other two apart? 

“For you…” I murmured to the one with the gravelly voice, and he nodded his thanks. “The Pinoit for the room,” as I placed it on the low center table, “And the merlot for you, Mr. Christopher.”

At that moment, the glass door shattered into a thousand pieces, and I yelped, jumping in shock as the wine went flying all over Christopher.

Christopher's POV:

A man fell unconscious on the floor as bits of glass tinkled down around him. The culprit responsible for the door, I assumed. Looking around, I took note of the lack of injury, at least injury of the physical. Poor Cassandra stood frozen in shock, hands trembling, face drawn, taught with fear. “Matthew. Nicolas,” I said, “Please call security and have this man removed.” My brothers nodded and, after carefully stepping over the slovenly, drunken man on the floor, disappeared down the hall. “Ms. Thompson, take our lovely server to the bathroom please-” Tara stood to lead her out, but Cassandra suddenly leapt into action. 

“Your shirt, I am so sorry sir, let’s get you cleaned up, I–oh god, I’m so sorry, so sorry, I–” As she rambled, Cassandra took a firm and unyielding hold on my wrist, dragged me up from the couch, and before I could say a word, she tugged me around Tara and Larray, out through the door frame, past the arriving security guards, and down the darkened hallway. I blinked rapidly for a moment as my body ceased to become my own, held captive by the strange woman who led me toward…the bathroom? 

Sure enough, she ducked into the Women’s room, and I couldn’t help but smile a bit in apprehension. “What exactly are we doing in the restroom?”

Her breathing had become labored as she gulped oxygen around her stuttered apologies. “Your shirt, sir, it’s going to stain, we’ve got to–here I’ll just…”

My jaw went ever so slightly slack at the sight before me. Cassandra, who only moments before had been a simple picture of nightclub elegance, now furiously loosened my soaking tie, unbuttoned my dripping shirt, slipped them off my body, and threw them into the sink, running the water as cold as she could manage, scrubbing away at the red-stained fabric. “I’m so sorry sir, I didn’t mean to–You have to know that was an accident, oh god, I’m so sorry, so sorry–”

In her manic cleansing, she failed to notice my hand until it rested on her shoulder, at which point she jumped, and my lip twitched. “My apologies. I don’t think you’re of any use to anyone if you deprive your body of air and keel over dead on the tile.”

She stood stock still, panting from the exertion of the past few minutes, her eyes locked onto mine.

“I know this wasn’t your fault. It wounds me that you think I’d be so unfair,” I said with what I hoped was a comforting smile. “After all we’ve been through together, you really think I’d take something so accidental and make it so personal?” I prayed she understood the sarcasm.

Cassandra cracked a smile that vanished as quickly as it appeared, though I would have none of it. “I saw that smile. There’s no going back now, I’m afraid.”

She looked to the floor and took a moment to breathe, or so I assumed. When she turned her gaze to me again, I saw a pooling of tears at the base of her eyes. 

Change the subject, you idiot. “Where did you learn the cold water trick for wine stains?” I asked, hoping to give her time to recover.

Cassandra went back to scrubbing relentlessly at my now-sopping wet shirt. “I know that cold water is best for blood stains, so I assumed it would work for wine as well,” she said quietly, the soft hiss of the water almost beating her out for volume. I snorted. “Do you deal often with blood-stained clothing?” Her gaze snapped to mine, and, realizing my mistake, Of course she does, you dolt, she’s a woman, I tried to recover myself. “Or do you take every man to the bathroom and strip him naked?” And now you’ve accused her of prostitution. Zero for three, Christopher.

pt two: here

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thanks for reading!

- bambi <3

[soft-girl-musings]

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 1 (Strangers In The Night)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N

wc: 2,222

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

A/N: can't believe this is the product of covid-induced hcs and thots between me and @mrs-lockley, thank you so much for encouraging this buddy (also @lunar-ghoulie if i had a nickel for each time you've sent an ask/dm about a WIP and it ended up being where i put all my energy, i'd have two nickels. which isn't a lot but it's hilarious that it's happened twice).

----------

On nights like tonight, Jake Lockley regrets his choice of profession.

It’s a dreary November evening, darkening by the second as the New York streets grow damp and cold. The wise had decided not to venture out; the blindsided rush across slick pavement to whatever shelter they can find. The desperate stay on the clock and curse their luck.

He should know by now that when a client says they’ll be “just a minute,” it’s a boldfaced lie: even if they have every intention of being efficient, he’s been stranded on the curb more times than he can count.

So he keeps the meter running. He’s seen the duds his regular client has on each week; the man could afford to fork over a few extra bucks. Might even build character.

The steady rhythm of the rain had been fine at first, but after half an hour parked beneath the neon sign of The Paper Moon– hat, coat and gloves doing nothing to ward off the chill creeping into his cab– every raindrop taunts him in his isolation.

To hell with this.

He shuts off the engine, pops his collar, and braces himself before stepping out onto the street. The rain falls fast and hard, so he rushes toward the brick exterior of The Paper Moon. He’s never been inside, but the glowing crescent of the sign had piqued his interest the first time he’d dropped his client here. He may as well see what all the fuss is about.

The doorman– a tall, dapperly dressed unit with a neutral grimace– casts a wary look his way. Jake ducks into the alley beside the building. Guess it’s exclusive.

Through the rain he spots a side door with a meagerly covered stoop, upon which is hunched a smaller, yet equally well-dressed figure. The young man’s tawny complexion pops against the emerald green of his just-too-big blazer, mist gathering in the dark brown waves slicked back from his creased brow. He grips a cigarette between clenched teeth, stuttering curses around it as he strikes a flimsy matchbook to no avail.

“¿Necesitas un fuego?”

At his offer, Jake is met by startled, impossibly wide brown eyes. The shock turns to glee as his face breaks into a toothy smile.

“Sí– sí sería genial, señor.” He makes room on the stoop, his dimpled cheeks betraying his youth. Jake pulls out a lighter and deftly lights the end of his cigarette, earning another dimpled grin after a few christening puffs. “Muchísimas gracias.” 

“No hay problema.” 

He lights one of his own, the smoke mixing with the fog of his breath as he holds out his free hand. “Jake.”

“Mauricio.” His newfound companion grips his hand and shakes vigorously. 

They sit in silence for a few moments, their subtle exhalations and the slowing rain the only sounds between them.

The mood is disrupted by shouting from the other side of the door, followed by clattering and the unmistakable sound of someone falling. The door behind them flies open and a lanky, dark skinned man in a matching green blazer pokes his head outside.

“You’d better get your tail in here, Maurie. She’s in one of her moods tonight.” 

“Rats, alright,” he groans, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stamping it out with his heel. Mauricio straightens his blazer and pushes a hand through his hair. He pauses at the door and looks back at Jake. 

“Do you wanna come inside, dry off for a spell? We put on a mean show,” he swears. The kid's face isn't one Jake imagines people say “no” to very often.

“...Yeah, alright. Thanks.”

“Great! There’s a couple of tables toward the back that should still be free, you can sneak in there no problem.” Mauricio holds the door open a bit wider for Jake to step through. “If anyone gives you any trouble, just tell ‘em you’re with me.” With a wink and another winning smile, he darts off to follow the other blazer.

Jake finds his spot easily enough, taking in the atmosphere as he weaves between tables and patrons. So this is The Paper Moon.

The building’s drab exterior is deceptive: inside is a small lounge, bustling with activity and humming with life. Richly draped walls envelop the space, with ornate lamps and soft candlelight radiating from every table. The room looks as warm as it feels, a welcome relief from Jake’s prior solitude. 

He takes off his soaked coat and loosens his tie. Across the room Jake sees his client– a cold, calculating Mr. Wesley– who gives a curt nod, as if granting his permission to take a load off (for now).

He orders a drink from a slightly bewildered waiter and continues to survey the space. People of all shapes and sizes occupy tables and barstools, with the chatter of at least three languages creating a dizzying buzz around him. The crowd dies down when stage lights flash on at the far end of the room.

Out marches the band: the guy who'd clambered to the back door sits at the piano, cracking his knuckles before playing a few notes on the keys; an older man with a similar complexion props an upright bass in position, riffing along with the scattered piano melody; an impressively mustachioed fellow polishes the mouthpiece of his trumpet; Mauricio settles in behind a set of drums, waving a stick in the air when he spots Jake.

As warm as he's gotten after coming inside, the temperature seems to skyrocket as the click of heels and the shimmer of the last band member crossing the stage sends his heartbeat right into his throat. In walks– no, floats – a vision, evening gown the same color as the richly painted lips that curl into a smile as easily as breathing. Something Jake seems to have forgotten how to do.

He can’t take his eyes off you.

----------

There’s something in the air tonight.

Maybe it’s the smoke lingering on Mauricio’s jacket (you’ve told him time and time again how smoking before a show irritates you; he must have snuck a pack backstage), or maybe the weather has you out of sorts. Whatever it is, you’re one false step away from losing your cool. Which, of course, cannot happen. Not onstage.

As the band warms up, you take one last look in your compact mirror, blot your lipstick, and take a deep breath. It’s showtime.

The moment you step onstage, you turn on the charm. Nothing can touch you up here. Not when there’s music to play, a band to lead. A night to make unforgettable.

You approach the microphone and smile. “Hello again, darlings. Did you miss us while we were away?”

Applause and cheers echo back to you from the audience. There’s a distinct two-toned whistle that rises above the noise, but you don’t think anything of it.

Not until you scan the crowd and see something– someone – that doesn’t belong.

Lounging at the previously unoccupied back table is a man you’ve never seen before. Which wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t know the face and name of everyone who enters your club.

His eyes stay trained on you as you nod to the band to begin. One outlier a bad night will not make– you’ll deal with him later. For now, you let the caress of the opening notes ease the new tension in your body, and you start to sing.

With six shows a week, one would think the routine would become tedious. Quite the opposite: any night you play the same standards with the band is bound to be a good night. The chemistry between you and your boys is perfect– even on an off night like tonight, you still manage to follow each other and make the same hour of music sound brand new.

You lead one song, then another, completely in your own world. Of course, the constant cheers and occasional audience participation don’t hurt. But just when you hit your stride and forget your troubles, that whistle rings out above the noise.

The stranger's on the edge of his seat, rapt attention never leaving the stage. Seems innocent enough, but you’re still on high alert.

The set comes to a close, ending with a vibrant flourish. The band improvises a steady beat as you take a sip of water, then smile once more into the microphone.

“Oh, stop. Really…. well, alright, you can keep going,” you croon at the crowd as they cheer louder. 

You gesture to the band. “Let’s give a big round of applause to The Jays, what do you say?”

“On piano we have the dazzling Jackie Thomas,” you call out as he trills a fancy melody a little louder than the rest. “Followed by this absolute Adonis on the bass, Benny Hayes,” you add as the smooth licks of his instrument sound out a reply.

“Let’s hear it for Leo Castellón and his magnificent mustache on the trumpet,” you tease as he blasts out a tune. “And our baby bird on drums, Mauricio Farrés!” You raise your voice as the youth bangs out a closing rhythm. 

“And as always, I’m Ms. Songbird. We hope you’ll join us again soon, my doves. Goodnight!”

The band plays themselves out as you descend downstage to the front of the room. Time for the next act.

You know how to work a crowd both on and offstage; hospitality is as much a part of the gig as the music. Tonight’s a full house, but you take your time gliding past each table, front to back. Does everyone have their preferred drink? How’s the food? Was the music to their liking? All questions you ask with genuine interest, but you know the answer: everything is perfect.

"Hey, little songbird," a voice calls above the noise.

Everything except him.

You've been avoiding the back table for a while, trying to collect your thoughts before confronting him. No time like the present, I suppose.  

You turn to see the outlier standing by the table he’d commandeered, a shimmering bundle of rhinestones dangling from his hand. The glint of a grin catches the low light the same way your traitorous earring does.

You touch your ear and your face grows hot. “Where did you–”

“Fell off as you floated by the last few tables, angel.” 

Your heels tap out a warning as you approach. Toe-to-toe, with the added height of your shoes, you practically tower over him. Your brow furrows as you size him up: too forward to have something to hide, too laissez-faire to be up to any obvious trouble. All the same, you don't trust him.

You look him up and down; he does the same. "You're not very tall, are you?" More of a challenge than a question as you reach for the rhinestones in his hand.

Leaning back against the table, jewelry dangling just out of reach, his sly smile grows. "Well, miss, I tried to be."

"Right." You snatch the earring back before he says anything else. "I see you also tried to be discreet, and that didn't go so well for you, did it Chuck?"

"Actually, it's–"

“–club policy to check your coat at the door. Something our hostess would have insisted upon, meaning you– ” you emphasize as you lean in, fingertips pressed to the tabletop by his side, "–slipped in under the wire." You search his face for anything to betray his intentions. "Now how did you manage that?”

The stranger lowers himself into his seat, hands raised in surrender. "A little backstage access, courtesy of your drummer there." He nods toward the stage: you catch a glimpse of Mauricio clumsily ducking back behind the curtain. You'll scold him later.

His gaze shifts across the room. “See that fella over there– the one who looks like it'd kill him to smile? I’m just waiting to drive him home, like I do every week.” He grins again, that same look in his eyes. A look that sets you on edge. “Just a humble cab driver, miss– nothing up my sleeves.” 

“Didn't know cabbies could be so exclusive,” you say, still eyeing him. James Wesley has been a regular for a few weeks, but you've never met his driver.

“With what he tips? Doll, I'd do damn near anything he asked.” The stranger chuckles, sipping his drink.

You know what he means: the wait staff has noted a major uptick in gratuities since Mr. Wesley has started frequenting the lounge. 

“Very well,” you offer stiffly. It all checks out, but you get the feeling there's something he's not telling you. “I hope everything is to your liking.” 

You turn to leave, but he takes your hand before you can go far.

“Oh believe me, it is… Ms. Songbird. ” A wink and a smile play on his lips as he swiftly presses them to your knuckles, letting go just as fast. You storm away before giving the satisfaction of showing how flustered you are. 

“Mr. Manalo,” you beckon a waiter as he passes. He stands at attention. You gesture to the table you’d just left, not bothering to look and see if his eyes are still on you.

“Watch out for this one, will you? I get the feeling he isn’t just here for the music.”

----------

A/N: !!!! every story i write becomes my new favorite, but Noir!Jake has carved a pretty special spot in my heart this autumn. so excited to share more of him with y'all!

as always, thank you for reading :)

addtl tag list: @fandxmslxt69 @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[candyfloss-esophagus]

Guys guys I was just struck by a brutal noirpunk au concept.

So the reason Noir doesn't take his mask off? It has a protective function on it, which stops him from turning everything he touches greyscale (side effect of the spider god thing). It's why he doesn’t take it off outside his dimension. Hobie is the same in the other direction, he turns everything into neon newspaper clippings (side effect of that toxic waste spider what bit him). Except Hobie is better at tamping it down, which is why he only makes the objects he interacts with directly do that and doesn't need anything to help him do it. So Hobie and Noir are dating, they're kicking ass, they're sickeningly in love except... Except Hobie has never seen Noir's whole face. The few times he's asked he's been deflected which yk he respects. Until one day, Noir's mask comes off entirely, either by accident or through brute force and it starts happening, everything is being turned black and white and oh man he's a monster just look at what he's doing curse this fucking eldritch spider being and— and then Hobie’s there brighter and more colourful than ever and they're kissing and the bright lights that Hobie is made up of are sparking up against the black and white ink spillage and Hobie is... not being affected by it? Noir relaxes although he is very confused and he gradually comes to the conclusion that he and Hobie neutralise their respective powers. Boom. Happy endings all round.

[olderthannetfic]

I'm rewatching a little playlist I put together for Escapade slash con.

Eight Slugs in Me

Li Lianhua, Private Eye // 这份情怎么能了 by la_muerta

Three Million Stories in Bay City by Franzeska

Tribute to Noir by Neon Cinema

NOIR ff/au | Trailer by Candiceflt

Moody by thirdblindmouse

Depart & Act - SGA McShep - Detective AU Trailer by Randommind Time

Cigarettes After Sex - Cry [Happy Together - Tony Leung Chiu-Wai & Leslie Cheung by KH edits

Fringe (Brown Betty)/Yesterday was a Lie- Trailer Mashup by babydolleyez22789

|fmv| soyeon & miyeon || detective au! | (g)i-dle, bts, monstax by Hope Wolfling

Framed: Back in Business by Kadorienne

Iron Man Noir AU Fan Trailer by reggievass

Chasing The Storm: A Veronica Mars Promo [Remastered] by zimshan

Fun in the thirties by Radiolaria

Murder, Inc. by ATwistOfLemonLyman

The Charm of Oldschool Villains, The Golden Age of Noir Dames x Hush by 汉斯华特软凳

cbx — 70s detective au by rui

CYE | Blood Money by LightningNoire

Night Meeting by Franzeska

I Knew You Were Trouble [Rope] by mercurycures

"Doin' Time," Lana del Rey - Bound (1996) by Barry Parker

die for you / beyond evil by butillmissyou

Film Noir Mix - Shadowplay by 汉斯华特软凳

Li Lianhua, Private Eye // 这份情怎么能了 (part 2) by la_muerta

[tricksterly-conduct]

I'm trying to upload art again cause i have still been drawing, but i just don't do anything with it other than share with my friends. So i'm going to be uploading my Miraculous Ladybug au/redesign thing that i did a while back.

I didn't really intend to share this on my blog, but i feel like I might as well put these somewhere.

Putting this under a cut cause i'm about to yap

So i started with Ladybug and Chat Noir. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with them at this point. At first they were going to be sonas, and then things got out of hand.

So this is sort of a space race au. Like, a mix of Ōban Star-Racers and Motorcity.

So every episode is basically Ladybug and Chat Noir racing for the miraculous to collect them. They have to travel through space and such to get to the next race. (btw this isn't Marinette and Adrien)

Ladybug is more akin to Batman in this. They don't talk often and when they do, it's usually to Chat Noir or the main villain. They use their Lucky Charm similar to those arcade games where you could use nitrous for a burst of speed or something else. Their earrings are also at the end of their antennae. Because i wanted more of a buggy look for them. They also have long nails to represent the tarsal claws that Ladybugs have.

Chat Noir doesn't have a vehicle. They just ride on the back of Ladybug's hovercycle and launch attacks while Ladybug drives. They're the chatty spider-man/catwoman figure. I wanted their Cataclysm to be more neon green like their eyes or the jewel on their chest. They can also shoot their cataclysm like a blue shell from Mario Kart.

Their reasons for teaming up is that they both want to keep the miraculous from falling into Hawkmoth's hands. However, there's of course backstory to it all.

[hamsterclaw]

Fic Library: Jimin

Lost and Found by @kimvtae. An idolverse AU featuring Jimin as a problematic idol who gets sent for rehab in America, where he meets reader. Beautiful writing and reformed bad boy Jimin is characterised so well here.

Adonis by @xjoonchildx. Jimin's a hot paramedic who you meet with a little help from the little old lady next door. Funny, cute and written in Ana's incomparable style.

Put it on me by @jimilter features models Jimin and reader on a shoot and it's laugh out loud funny, snappy and smutty. So so good.

La Grande Maison by @softyoongiionly features Jimin x reader and is a mystery/thriller with great scene-setting and beautifully realised friendships.

I know a place by @augustbutwinter has Jimin and a gender-neutral reader in a sweet pining story about unrequited love.

Fall like moondrops by @madbutgloriouspond is a beautiful story set in a just-post-college AU featuring a dancer Jimin who's determined, sweet, and an all-round decent guy. It captures the end-of-summer vibe and apprehension about upcoming change perfectly.

Devil's in the backseat by @ugh-yoongi is a sexy, smutty tale with banter that's sparky and so so funny, featuring Jimin x f! reader in an established relationship.

Headrush (It's too sweet) by the uber-talented @minisugakoobies is a spiky, sexy, fun, headrush featuring stylist reader and idol Jimin.

Neon Seoul by @readyplayerhobi has a noir murder mystery set in a cyberpunk dystopia and features detectives Jimin x reader. The worldbuilding is stellar.

Make an offer by @bangtanintotheroom features an irresistibly sexy Jimin in a sugar daddy/sugar baby AU.

Of stars erased by @fantasybangtan. I'm a sucker for dystopian future AUs, and this is a story that makes me reflect on how lucky I am to be able to read stories like this, for free. Incredible storytelling by a fantastic writer.

An Ghealach by @theharrowing is sexy horror at it's best. A haunting, ambiguous, unreliable-narrator tale featuring linguist Jimin and a mysterious OC.

Like Crazy by @thatlongspringnight is a beautifully realised story about loneliness and seeking solace in transience that features Jimin x f! reader.

Blunt Rotation by @gimmethatagustd is a law school AU featuring pretty boy Jimin and weed girl reader. Funny, chaotic and razor sharp.

Weight by @augustbutwinter features Jimin x f! reader and is set in a semi-historical, royal AU, where nothing is quite as it seems.

Menace by @eoieopda features Jimin x Kim! reader in an irresistible relationship dynamic characterised by brattiness and hate sex and a Jimin who lives up to the title of the story. So so good.

The airport couple: P(ass)enger from hell by @dovechim features frequent traveller Jimin and TSA agent reader and is so good I've reread it time and again. Cracky, hilarious and Jimin is perfectly written as an outrageous little shit.

On the borderline by @jimilter is a friends to lovers AU in progress that's a super fun read - deliciously smutty, angsty and infused with Ash's signature brand of humour.

Red flag by @xjoonchildx has rich boy Jimin x reader in a witty, sparkling smutty caper that's a romp of a read.

Shadows in the graveyard by @minisugakoobies is sexy, kitschy, schlocky horror at it's best featuring reader x Jimin stranded in the woods.

[ludi-ling]

They Call Me Rogue

✒️Written for Rogue/Gambit Week 2024's Day 5 prompt - Noir AU. ✒️

 

              She was awoken from a deep and troubled slumber by the sound of a carburettor popping on the street outside. Night had fallen, and neon lights were fizzing right outside her bedroom window; daytime was a distant memory, and now was the time that people like her came out to play.

               God – this schtick was getting to be far too much. Lord knew some days she woke up not even recognising herself anymore, when she found it difficult to put a name to the face in the mirror.

               She sat up anyhow, yawned and stretched.

               “Crazy dreams,” she muttered to herself. “Last thing I need now.”

               Yet still she couldn’t help but steal a glance at the space in the bed beside her, the one that hadn’t been filled in a long time. Sure, she had her kicks now and then, but they were mostly cold-hearted and calculating affairs that didn’t really count. She didn’t dream about men much; but recently she had been, in ways that made her blush. And she didn’t blush very often at all.

               She got up and had a cold shower – not because she needed it, but because it was the best this seedy hotel had to offer. Then she dressed in camisole, garters, and laddered stockings, and sat on the bed, emptying out her purse contents as she did so.

               Three driver’s licenses, two passports, and a chequebook.

               Her hand hovered over the pile as if casting some form of divination, before she settled upon a license. For a moment she scrutinised the piece of paper before nodding firmly to herself – standing, she went to her suitcase, unclasped the leather straps, and threw it open not so much with a flourish as a dismissive flick of the wrist. A cloud of dust rose with a poof like mountain ash, glittering in a nearby shaft of neon-tinged moonlight. Inside was only slim pickings – she’d living hand to mouth the past couple of weeks, and while she considered walking the streets beneath her, circumstances had got so dire that she’d almost entertained it. No, no, no. Lying low was a necessity, not sinking low. Besides, now she had means again. And she’d waited long enough or the trail to go cold. Time to move on, like her momma had always told her to.

               She finally decided on the grey suit – a tad shabby, but she hadn’t worn it much and no one would recognise her in it. Once dressed, she pinned on her hat and slipped on her little tan kid gloves. The pistol she slipped into her purse.

               Then she hurried off into a sultry New York night.

--------

Read the rest on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/56792074

[mlmxreader]

Get Outta Here | Dean Winchester x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Dean

"Can you not climb in through my window? You have a key for a reason"

"You're packing your bags, you're coming with me"

1940s Noir

"Ride to meet your fate"

Wild West ❞

: ̗̀➛ it's the 23/07/1940 when Dean comes to see you, and although you do love him and you do wish for nothing more than to leave where you live, you're not sure you can take leaving with him.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ sex references, swearing, smoking, adultery/cheating, mentions of alcohol & alcohol consumption, 1940s noir AU

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Everything was always so fucking dull, it looked like it was all in black and white except for the gleaming yellow streetlights; the fucking rain wouldn't stop, constant and consistent.

The only thing that always stayed the same, except for the cars that lined up neatly up and down the streets, abandoned by owners for the night.

Across your hall, you could hear the sounds of your neighbour moaning and grunting loudly - another one of his "friends" was over whilst his wife was away to see her family.

Happy endings weren't exactly in their highest supply lately; liquor and cigarette smoke was a constant smell, the stench of doom and betrayal stinging your nose. Even the happiest of married men weren't truly happy, no one was.

You stretched out on your bed after turning your lamp on; it wasn't enough, everything except the bed was still dark and fucking grey. Like life had been turned into black and white. You wanted to leave, even thinking that maybe if you lied on your medical records, then the army would take you, and you could disappear on the way and settle somewhere else.

But one thing kept you around.

Mister Winchester.

With his large dull green overcoat, grey fedora, and his variety of suits. The hunter himself, who would buy himself a drink out of the office bottle. The friend of all the bookies, cabbies and newsies. Everybody knew him - everybody knew his fondness for staying at shitty motels.

The ones that had neon signs outside that blinked on and off as they slowly died out in the rain; leaking bloody batteries out onto the pavements. You couldn't count how many people went in with him during the night, then left during the morning before he could leave them.

As if he knew that you had been thinking about him, he stumbled in through the window from the fire escape outside; drenched and dripping, he didn't even acknowledge you as he threw his hat aside and sighed heavily. A splash of colour amongst the dull greys, you could see his bright green eyes with ease, and lit a cigarette to almost drown out the bright colour.

"Can you not climb in through my window? You have a key for a reason," you told him, hardly even stern.

Dean shrugged as he swallowed thickly, looking around. "Where's your suitcase?"

You cocked a brow, tilting your head to the side. "Suitcase?"

"Where is it?" He questioned, almost harshly. Panic laced in his voice.

"Top of the wardrobe," you gestured over to it. "Why?"

"Because you're packing your bags, you're coming with me," he breathed out, throwing it onto the bed and starting to grab your clothes.

"Now, now, daddy-o," you stood up, pushing him aside and hesitating as you frowned. "I'm gonna need more of an explanation."

Dean scowled, rubbing his face for a moment before taking your cigarette. A long and deep drag followed as he swallowed thickly. "We gotta go. There's demons in town, big ones. We won't be able to take 'em at all."

"So just call Castiel," you shrugged, about to go back to your bed when he snatched your wrist.

"He won't be able to help. We gotta run."

You huffed, snatching your wrist back and going to your bed. "I'm not going."

"You've always wanted to leave this place," he pointed out. "You always said it'd be the cat's meow if you got up and left, didn't ya?"

You glared at him as you scoffed. "I'm not running away with you."

"Why the fuck not?!"

You clenched your jaw. "Why would I go with you when I know why you have that shitty motel room? Dean, you've been on active duty for years. I don't need a behaviour report to know that, so no."

You lit up another cigarette as you watched him carefully; you knew he had little else to say.

He sighed, finishing the stolen cigarette and throwing it out the window. He lit another. "I'm askin' ya because I care. Now pack your bags, Sammy's bringin' the care over - we got ten minutes."

"I said I'm not going."

"You're gonna get yourself in a whole lot of bad business," he warned.

"I do not care," you told him. "I might love you, I might love you a lot - but you treat me like I'm nothing to you. You take all your little fucking new pieces to that motel. Dressed to the nines and everything. And what do I get? You coming here when you're worried, telling me to run away with you? No, buster. You can ride to meet your fate, for all I care."

Dean sighed, shaking his head. "So what? So what I see other people? So what if I don't come to you every fucking night - but I'm worried, I care, and you're just sat here bellyaching when we should be packing!"

"Don't blow a fuse with me," you warned lowly. "You'll be done for before you can count to one."

"Please," he whispered, trying to keep his voice even and calm. "Please, just come with me and Sammy. Get outta here and lie low somewhere safe."

You clenched your jaw, then stood up. "You get one chance. I find out you had another one of your friends? You'll wish I'd have made you sleep with the fishes."

Dean held out his hand. "Deal... now please, get your clothes and leave here."

You didn't shake his hand, grabbing your clothes and stuffing them into the suitcase as quickly as you could; you thought about taking the day's newspaper. The twenty-third of July, nineteen forty.

You guessed you wouldn't live to see the twenty-fourth, so you left it there. Grabbing your cigarettes and your trench coat; you tugged it on and made quick work to find your grey fedora as well. Maybe you could run away at last; find somewhere, anywhere, that was different.

"Gimme the bag," Dean huffed, taking it from you. "C'mon, Sammy'll be here any minute and we gotta go."

"What? No big kiss?" You asked with a huff.

He did consider it for a moment but then shook his head. "Later, there's no time right now."

if you made it to the end of this fic and you enjoyed it, then please, if you have any cash to spare, even if it's just a few pounds, please consider giving them to help Tahini save her family.

[petitecreme]

I didn't get round to finishing my Modern!Witch AU (bc I think I got stuck and something happened I had to stop it).

But the Wirecraft AU was a dumb idea of "Well Gabriel gets rejected by 'his' Jack so he thinks if he fucks with magic to go in the future to see if 1) they do get together and 2) Jack is unhappy (because they're not) it'll sate his curiosity etc etc.

But he fucks up his spells (from emotional drama~) and ends up in the Neon Noir AU with old grizzy Jack and its my guilty pleasure of this ruffed up psycho being the softest kitten to this dumb young Gabe thinking he's just a rent boy that looks so much like his dead husband.

Though they're both over the age of consent I was worried it would be taken as cradle snatching or some cancellingshit and got scared to even go ahead with it. But maybe I'll just be gross and post it here or whatever, idk.

[didyoutrydynamite]

I’m now imagining a cyberpunk noir AU where Detectives Jaune and May are partners and Reese and Neon are their civilian contacts.

Cyberpunk: EdJ-RNZ

[anonymous-dentist]

rattling the bars of my cage wdym cellbit cyberpunk detective au.. say more pls

Look man, I got the image into my head one day of grungy greasy detective Cellbit with neon glowing blue eyes because, guess what? He lost his og eyes in the War. Luckily, a “generous sponsor” selected him and a couple other (supposed) orphans and (forcibly) gave them cybernetics to replace what they had lost as some kind of PR move. Cellbit got new eyes, another kid got a new ear, another kid got new lungs. In exchange, sometimes he has to do a few odd jobs for this mysterious “Cucurucho”, which was complicated slightly by the couple of years he spent in prison. But now he’s reformed and he’s retired and he’s a detective and he even has a son.

Not much to it tbh, kinda just regular noir but with cyberpunk stuff, yk?