#the seduction of mimi

[filmap]

Mimì metallurgico ferito nell'onore / The Seduction of Mimi Lina Wertmüller. 1972

Quarry Contrada S. Cusumano, 96011 Augusta SR, Italy See in map

See in imdb

[everyth1ngandnoth1nghauntsme777]

They had no right to be so chic

[doomedmoth]

Three’s a crowd

Pairing : Poly and bisexual fem!reader | reader x alexandra saint mleux x charles lerclerc

Warnings : use of y/n, polyamory, fluff, very light angst, request, not much more tbh

Synopsis : Request : Could you write a poly fic about Charles, Alexandra and Y/N ? Everyone is celebrating Charles’ brand LEC but since Charles and Alex are the public couple (for Ferrari PR etc), Y/N can’t do anything. She’s starting to feel left out because of it since they’re going out and celebrating without her, they keep leaving her out and forgetting important dates (her birthday or smthg). Happy ending please !

Moth’s prophecy💡: Thank you to the anonymous cryptid for the request, I tweaked it a bit but still kept the main plot, and I hope you and the other poly enjoyers will like it ! Thanks again for the support and great ideas !

“Okay one… two… three… and posted !” You threw yourself in Charles’ arms as he clicked on the button and threw his phone away immediately, catching both you and Alex in a cuddle.

“You did it !” Alexandra pinched at his cheeks and you ruffled his hair, hands trembling with excitement.

Finally his ice-cream brand, Lec, was out, the main announcement posted on Instagram. The end of countless sleepless nights and never ending zoom calls, meetings at the worst time possible, and secrets to keep. Of course, now the promotion would be another handful, but at least the three of you would deal with it together. And you had always been pretty good at supporting your lovers.

You got into a more comfortable position on Charles’ lap, head resting against his, as Alexandra had gotten up and started her, as she called it, “happy dance”, which consisted mostly in jumping in circles screaming until she got dizzy. As you snorted, Alexandra very clearly loosing balance, Charles took your hand in his, softly rubbing it with his fingers.

“Thank you… I know it hasn’t been easy to deal with this on top of the races and everything… You’ve been amazing. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.” You could not help a smirk from coming up your lips, and thought this was the time to charge again.

“I know how you can repay me…” You straddled him, and as he did his best to appear confident and in charge, his blush betrayed his shyness. Alex had stopped spinning, seemingly much more interested in what was taking place on the couch. “Maybe you could…” You got closer to him, and peppered his neck with kisses until you got to his ear, in which you whispered as seductively as you could. “Maybe you could get me a dog ?”

He immediately rolled his eyes and playfully pushed you away as you laughed at his bright red cheeks. You had dreamt of having your own dog for so long, specifically a longhaired dachshund, and both Alex and Charles had said no multiple times. Charles’ arguments were mainly that he was away too often to properly care for it, and your girlfriend, who called the breed “hairy sausages”, argued she would have to deal with all the responsibilities of it because both yours and Charles’ works took a lot of time. And though she actually found dogs very cute, she did not have an interest big enough for them to manage her schedule around one.

You had pleaded to Lewis to use Roscoe to convince them, managed to go partly remote with your job, and flooded their messages with videos of dogs almost daily. At this point, you were seriously considering getting one in secret just to see how long it would take for them to realize, and then argue it is too late to give it back.

“Sure.” What ? You sat straight up on Charles as he pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. You couldn’t have heard well. You turned to Alex, who shrugged.

“I can’t deal with seeing you cry over reels anymore, and Mimi’s pretty cute.” She gave you a warm smile. Mimi was your friend’s dog, the one who got you into dachshund in the first place.

“You’re not serious, are you ? You’re just in a good mood. You’re joking.” Charles actually laughed, and you thought your heart wouldn’t be able to handle a prank.

“Promis juré ma princesse. Why not, you want one, you can take care of it, who am I to deny you ? Let’s get you a dog.”

No matter how well isolated was your apartment, you thought you would be lucky if no neighbors came to complain tomorrow. There was a lot to celebrate for one night.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I really need you to give Leo back, we’re going to take pictures…” Searching desperately for support in Alex’s eyes, you felt sick when you saw her staring at the ground. You were so shaken you let the event coordinator take the puppy from your arms and give him to Alexandra, who sheepishly turned her back to you and walked towards the press wall.

Charles himself was nowhere and everywhere at once, it was no use trying to get him to advocate for you. Too stressed by the beginning of the racing season combined with the launching events for Lec, he had mindlessly agreed to most of his agent’s suggestions, including playing what the Ferrari PR team had called “happy family”. Following the announcement of Carlos’ replacement, they needed good news to balance, and thought emphasizing Charles’ couple and furry kid would pull at a few heartstrings. But in their good Italian traditional beliefs, there was no place for a third, and since you had always been more busy, and therefore more discreet, than Alexandra, the cut had been made. They were to be the hit couple for a while, in a vain but admittedly successful attempt at calming the fans.

You had had little to no say, Charles having always been your voice in those kinds of businesses, and Alexandra being media trained to perfection. You thought back on your promises, on your dedication to be supportive of them, and decided the best thing to do would be to go get some air. It wasn’t as if you would be missed anyway.

As you stepped on one of the secluded balconies, the cold breeze of the night came to slap your face, and without anyone’s arms or jacket to comfort you, you suddenly felt very lonely. The evening had dragged on enough, you just wanted to go home. Debating between taking a cab or waiting for your lovers, you took out your phone, only to be flooded by notifications from your socials. You barely used them, so had no idea why they would be so active all of a sudden.

Both Instagram and Twitter greeted you with the same pictures taken either by fans or paparazzis. You shopping with Carlos’s girlfriend, Leo trotting happily by your side, as well as another few at a restaurant with friends, where Leo was sleeping on your lap while Charles and Alex were somewhere in the background, probably discussing going dancing after. The usual. But this time, all the comments seemed to agree on one thing. The dog wasn’t yours.

“Did they lend her the dog for the day ?”. “Leo’s godmother.” “Is she gonna be the babysitter while they’re gone ?” “Me when my friends get a baby”.

You three had always been private, but not secret. People made their own opinions anyway, and you did not care much about polishing a public persona. You did not use socials, Alex had private accounts, and Charles’ were managed by his PR team. In the end, even though you had dated Alexandra since high school, and Charles for a bit more than a year, the lack of official pictures or announcement, coupled with Ferrari’s new strategy, only served as validation to those who affirmed the real couple were Alexandra and Charles.

You felt sick, cold, and particularly lonely. Cab it would be.

“Babe what are you doing outside like that, you’ll get a cold !” You felt his jacket fall on your shoulders before you even heard him walk up to you. Ears buzzing, eyes watering, you weren’t sure you were able to face him.

“I’m gonna go home. I’ll leave you with your girlfriend and your dog if you don’t mind.” When you turned to him, you saw right behind one of the girls in charge of the party holding Leo, and your blood started boiling again. Charles was looking at you all confused, and you felt an itch to slap him.

“What ? What are you on about ? How ‘bout you come back inside, I think Leo misses you.” He chuckled, and you thought a full punch would probably be better than a slap.

“I don’t think your dog misses me.” The words felt like poison in your mouth, but you wanted him to get it. To understand how ridiculous this situation was getting. And why wouldn’t the girl put him down, he was clearly uncomfortable in her arms ? Why was no one taking it seriously ?

“Leo’s your dog, Y/N, I don’t get it…”

“Then give him back to me !” You screamed and the puppy yapped back, before jumping from the assistant’s arms, who shrieked and struggled to get him back. Too late, he had found your arms before she managed to pull the leash. “You should probably talk with your team, Charles.” He frowned at the use of his name, which almost always meant you were pissed. “Goodnight.”

As they finished filling their suitcases, you thought back on this evening, and that you probably should have shut your mouth. Following Lec’s launching party, what you hoped would be a wake up call for your lovers turned into something even worse. Charles was indeed called in for a talk with the PR team. And then Alex too. Your turn never came, and the more the days passed, the more it appeared your relationship was being taken over by management and marketing teams.

The following weeks had been a blur of unspoken tensions and meaningless routines. Breakfast alone, walking Leo only in the areas pre-approved to avoid pictures, going to work without him and coming home to new communication materials published with his face on it, work calls for your boyfriend stretching into the night, and your girlfriend going out so often it seemed her side of the bed was getting colder with each passing day. They both seemed to have undergone a sad transformation, their fiery and protective spirits dampened by forced compromises. Something told you they had been pushed to agree to the new directive, and yet you couldn’t help but stay mad at them. You understood Charles. The pressure he was under, the expectations of the whole team, the weight of his responsibilities. But Alexandra, you had known for too long. She had never been one to bow down and blindly agree to unfair decisions. She had loved you, through good and bad. She had promised you, together forever. And now she kept her hands by her side on the street and you wondered when her clothes had stopped smelling like you.

They kissed you goodbye, promised you mountains of gifts and a magnificent restaurant when they returned, but the door had not even closed when you fell crying to your knees. You had moved to the couch and slept there, your puppy watching over you, when your mother knocked on the door the following morning.

“Happy birthday darling !” She opened her arms and you ran in them, grabbing at your siblings behind her to get them in the hug too.

You had hoped to be out of tears by now, having spent the night reading articles speculating on why you were living with Formula 1 hottest couple -were you a distant relative ? A friend of Alex in need of a place to crash ?-, but the warm embrace of family members you hadn’t seen for months was enough to bring you back to the edge.

“Where are my favorite in-laws ?” She was beaming as she settled her belongings on the kitchen counter. “Oh that’s my baby grandson, come here baby !” She took Leo in her arms and you thought you had more time to breathe, but your younger brother tugged at your sleeve.

“Can Charlie take me on the boat ? I learned how to do a backflip at school and he can film me do it from the boat and then the others are gonna be so jealous and” You put your hand on his head and ruffled his hair softly.

“I’m sorry… Charles isn’t there. Alex too.” Your mother furrowed her brows and gave you a puzzled look. “Race weekend, and they were expected at an event they couldn’t cancel.” Your voice, barely above a whisper, was already shaking. You felt your tears ready to spill over, and gritted your teeth. “Last minute decision.”

Your brother only groaned and ran to the balcony to look at the port, already over it, but your mother came to hold your hand, and you exchanged a look of “we’ll talk about it later”.

Unfortunately, by the time you all came back from your evening out, and the kids were in bed, your mother was faced with the situation without leaving you any time to explain.

“Y/N, dear, come here please…” You sat next to her with two glasses of wine, and looked over her shoulder to her phone, where she had some celebrities gossip website open. “Is that the event they couldn’t cancel for your birthday ?” Her tone was cold, and you took at better look at the pictures.

A sunset movie-worthy, one of those that always brought tears to your eyes. A small table with candles and flowers on the beach, cocktails so colorful you could almost taste them from afar. Holding hands, looking at each other like the world had stopped, your lovers were apparently having the time of their life in a romantic restaurant, on your birthday evening. You took out your own phone. No messages.

The panic attack struck you without warning. Your heart had clenched all at once, and despite your mother’s attempt at laying you on your back, your muscles kept you rolled in a ball. You felt as if every breath was tearing apart your lungs, and could feel your heartbeat from your ears to the tip of your fingers. You could vaguely hear her talking to you, but it was as if a wall was standing between you, yet her touch felt very close, too close, as if her usually soft fingers were now burning your arms. Was it the end ? Was it how your great love story ended, alone on a Saturday night, crying so much you were drooling on the couch ? Your body was aching like never before, were you about to pass out ? To simply die ?

In the end you only managed to fall asleep after your mom calmed you down. You thought before closing your eyes that even your pain was disappointing.

You were helping your siblings pack up their bags when they came home, arms filled with packages. The little ones jumped to them, glad to have at least been able to say hello before leaving, but your mother stayed by your side, not even greeting them. She thanked them coldly for the gifts, and pushing the children towards the door, gave you a sympathetic look. She said she would always be there for you. She said you could come home if needed. But when Leo jumped on the couch and laid next to you, you knew no matter how painful it was, your home was here and there. You just needed time. You would figure it out, together. But not tonight. Tonight you just wanted out.

“Happy belated birthday, princesse.” Charles said tentatively, his voice tinged with uncertainty as he gestured to the mountain of gifts piled on the table. Alex sat by your side, but you got up before she could hold your hand.

“I don’t want your gifts. I want an apology. Think well about what you’ve done.” You kissed your puppy’s head and left the apartment immediately.

Almost running in the hallways and stairs, you got to his door panting. You knew he was back, they always made the journey together. So when he opened the door, clearly exhausted and surprised to see you, you broke down once again.

“I’m sorry Max… can I come in ?” He immediately closed the door behind you and called for his girlfriend, while his step daughter Penelope came to hug your legs. You collapsed on their sofa, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, unable to find the words to explain the depth of your pain. Kelly and Penelope tried to soothe you with soft voices and hugs, but Max only managed to pace the room, his jaw clenched in anger.

“What the hell happened ?” He had always been so sweet to you, so welcoming in this unfamiliar world. You felt bad for seeking comfort in his home after he had just came back. But the gates were opened, and while you cried, you still managed to make out a few words, enough for the couple to piece out the situation.

Penelope stayed close to you, hugging you with all the warmth a child could muster, while Kelly had been forced to stand in front of the door to prevent your friend from committing murder. They were now arguing silently, and you felt your eyes get heavier by the minute, strangely lulled to sleep by their hushed whispers. You had finally put words on what was happening, and the little girl’s cuddles had managed to calm you down to the point of dozing off.

“I think you should take her home.” Kelly murmured, still worried.

Max nodded in agreement, and he carefully scooped you in his arms, cradling you against his chest as he carried you back to your apartment. Charles was standing in the doorway, Alex pacing behind him, and both let him pass, faces etched with concern.

“You two stay right there.” Max’s voice was sharp, commanding not to argue. He laid you down in your bed, tucking the covers around you and stroking your hair until sleep finally claimed you. When he tried to leave the apartment, your two lovers were still standing by the door, begging to be heard.

“Max, please, what’s going on…” Alexandra tried to get close but he immediately took a step back, and pointed his finger at her.

“You had your chance to make things right by staying this weekend. You blew it up. Take your responsibilities.” He then turned to Charles, and almost spat to his face. “And you… I thought family was supposed to always come first. Maybe I was wrong.” His face was distorted with anger, and his knuckles white on the door handle. “You two have to man up for once in your fucking life. Either you tell Ferrari, and everyone who’s putting their noise in your business, to fuck off, or you loose her.”

With that, he slammed the door, leaving Charles and Alexandra with the consequences of their actions. They knew they had been fooled. Manipulated. Two nights ago, when the pictures of them had been taken, they were having one of the worst conversation possible. One they wanted to share with you as soon as possible, and in person, and not on your birthday. They were now wondering how they could do so without sounding like liars.

Would you trust them ? Believe Charles, when he would tell you the PR team had said you weren’t cut for fame, that the spotlights were obviously making you stressed, that you would be happier away from it all ? Believe Alex, when she would admit that they had threatened her with your boyfriend’s career, as well as your own, reminding her that she had never needed to work, and that if she loved the both of you, she should let professionals handle the situation ? Believe them, when they would say that’s what they talked about at the restaurant, and that their look of love was captured when they thought of you home, and wished you were with them ?

They weren’t sure. The thought that you could decide to end it all, and you would be smart to do so, frightened them. When they finally went to bed, hands shaking and eyes wet, each one cuddling by your side, hoping this night would not be the last, you did not even wake up.

“Still not forgiven ?” Max pushed Charles’ shoulder softly, half teasing him, half genuinely concerned for his friend, even though he hated to admit it. He had moved away from the group of men having a drink in the shared garden of their building, and had been staring at the moon for too long for someone in a good mood.

“I don’t know… She keeps saying everything is fine, but it’s clearly not. Even when we told her of our meetings, she was like… she agreed with them ?” Charles turned to his friend, disbelief written all over his face. “Said they knew what they were talking about, that it was for the best. Keeps walking behind us in the street, encourages us to go out just us two, even refuses to hold Leo when there are fans ! Her own dog, Max !” Charles felt the arm of the taller man lay on his shoulder, and he rested his head in the embrace, sighing.

As he was about to turn for a full hug, he heard Carlos whistle from the table, and Daniel signed at them to get back and away from the hedges.

“Paps.” The Aussie simply said when they got back, pointing a finger at the light of a camera through the bushes. “What a waste of money living here if they still manage to get in.” Max groaned and started to pick up the bottles, inciting everyone to go back inside.

“What a pain those fuckers…” He grumbled, clearly annoyed to not be able to enjoy his evening out with friends without the sound of camera shutters ruining everything. “What fucking interest is there to our lives, go get one of your own or something for god’s sake…” Everyone agreed but still followed him to one of the shared inside spaces, frustration hanging heavy in the air.

As they settled around the pool table, anecdotes about obsessive fans and annoying paparazzis were shared, but Charles’ mind was drifting elsewhere. An idea had begun to take root, a small glimmer of hope for his relationship, to maybe get back his girlfriend, before sadness had taken over most of her. He chugged down the rest of his drink, and called for the attention of his friends.

“What if… what if we used the paps ? What if I said fuck you to Ferrari without dealing with the legal issues ?” A spark appeared in their eyes, and in their last sober decision, they called Alexandra to come down, all agreeing she would be their voice of reason.

Oblivious to it all, you were reading in bed when the gathering happened, and would never know of it.

Only a few days later was the plan put into action. Charles’ idea of using actual paparazzis was turned down by Alex, who reminded the boys of the consequences on their careers if anyone found out who made the call. Despite his drunken arguments of being ready to fuck it all for his girls, soundly supported by his friends, she had found a much safer solution.

When you stepped on the huge balcony, you felt tears come to your eyes, happy ones, for the first time in weeks. Your lovers had crafted a perfect romantic dinner for you, straight out of a movie. The table was laid out for three, candles lit up and rose petals everywhere on the ground. A bottle of expensive champagne was chilling in a bucket of ice, waiting to be popped podium-style, and Leo was waiting by the door with a little bow tie on his collar. You had missed being just the three of you, no waitress, no management, no friends, just a homemade dinner and loving looks.

So when they took you in their arms, wrapping you in love and affection, peppering your skin with kisses and sweet compliments, you simply gave in without a care for anything else. You hugged and kissed until you had no breath left, and let them treat you, for you had deserved it.

Yet the whole time, unbeknownst to you, Daniel and Max had been stationed right under your balcony, hidden from view as they snapped pictures of the intimate scene unfolding. They did their best to capture every shared glance and affectionate touch, every kiss and hug that would make it impossible to deny the love shared between you. They had all warned paparazzis were roaming in the area the night before, which would make the whole thing even more believable for the PR teams. The secret mission was going to perfection, and when you retreated indoors with a seductive wink to your partners, Charles and Alexandra gave a subtle thumbs up to the boys to signal the end of the work for tonight.

As you awoke to the gentle rays of sunlight through the curtains you had not closed well last night, a sense of peace came over you for the first time in a while. Yesterday’s romantic dinner, and night, was still fresh in your mind and body, and you smiled when greeted with your lovers’ sleeping faces when you turned in the bed. Reaching as quietly as possible for your phone, your soft morning suddenly turned to hell as you saw hundreds of notifications and missed calls appear on the lock screen.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you scrolled them all. Missed calls from Ferrari. Messages from long lost friends. And obviously, dozens and dozens of pictures plastered across every gossip account related to Formula 1. It seemed an anonymous account had taken and posted pictures of your very private dinner during the night, and then disappeared, right after the pictures had been reposted everywhere.

With trembling hands, you turned to look at Charles and Alexandra, still sleeping peacefully by your side. Instead of finding solace in their presence, a wave of dread washed over you, the fear of losing everything you held dear threatening to consume you whole. Would this be the breaking point for them ? Would Ferrari ask you to move out ? Would they all lie, deny completely your existence ?

The sound of Leo’s plaintive cries echoed through the room, snapping your partners from their slumber. They came even closer to you, filled with concern as your breathing got more and more erratic, tears streaming down your face. They took turns kissing away your tears and whispering words of comfort until you managed to give them your phone, as well as theirs. You tried regulating your breathing as they scrolled, and sat down, expecting a tough conversation straight after.

Alex simply threw her phone away after not even two minutes of screen time, coming back to lay her head on your chest and faking purring. Charles sighed, and opened the camera of his phone. Had they asked him to make an apology video ? He turned the camera to Leo, and added his hand to where Alex’s fingers were already intertwined with yours. Snapping a pic of the small dog with your three hands next to him, he immediately posted it on his story on Instagram, which he had apparently gotten back the login details for, with the caption “Family 4️⃣❤️”.

“About time it was out officially, right love ?” Charles stroked your cheek lovingly while your girlfriend hummed in agreement, nuzzling closer to you. “I was thinking your red dress for the event next week, and we could get me a new suit but” He kept rambling on, his phone buzzing non stop on his side table, head in the crook of your neck. Too stunned to speak, you simply laid back in the bed and let him talk your ear off. It wasn’t over then ?

By the time of the next Lec event, you were sure it was far from over. Alex was holding your hand, and you had gotten matching nails the day before. Charles had insisted you were the only one to wear red tonight, and he kept you as close as physically possible, one hand always on your waist. The little pup struggled to find his place in all this affection, but you made sure to keep him in your arms whenever he needed comfort, and otherwise refused to give the leash to anyone else. When Charles’ agent came to warn you there would be trouble, Alex stepped in front of you with the look of defiance you had always loved, and simply told him “With all due respect, fuck off.” Charles shrugged, saying this wasn’t a Ferrari event anyway, and smiled as he took you two away.

You finally stood tall and proud, at peace and at home. The party was quite private, you were mostly surrounded by friends and well-wishers, and one in particular came to greet you with the biggest smile on his face.

“As pretty as ever querida !” Carlos took you in his arms, and gave a small pet to Leo’s head. He congratulated you, and gesturing to the PR team seemingly having a breakdown in the corner of a room, he chuckled. “The only thing I won’t miss at Ferrari is their shitty strategy.” He winked at you before going back to the buffet, not without a last word “It’s clear the only happy family they should advertise is you three, with how they’re looking at you.”

You turned back to meet their eyes. Charles raised his glass to you, and Alex’s smile was brighter than the neon lights. You felt filled with pride, love, a sense of validation like no other. You thought of your mother, of her warm embrace and comforting words. You hoped she would see the pictures of tonight. You hoped she knew you had a home away from home in them. And so you ran to them, and laughed until your cheeks hurt, and danced until the lights went out, and promised to love until the very last star in the sky burnt out.

[gingerkunoichii]

Hi, I'm Mimi! I'm a amateur artist/writer who is currently only doing works for Naruto (planning to start jjk) :)) I go by she/her pronouns I mostly try to do reader focused things since I find it more fun and fluid. A lot of my work is nsfw and often breaches on uncomfortable subjects.

My asks are open, so please send me ideas for headcanons/imagines for any character in the naruto verse!!

How They'd React to You Teasing Them - Naruto Men. - nsfw Itachi as Your College Boyfriend. - nsfw

Yandere Naruto Men and their Obsession with You. - nsfw

Borderline - nsfw - SHIKAMARU X READER ✮ tags // rough sex, angst, toxic relationship, love/hate, mindgames, intense infidelity You and Shikamaru have been messing around for years now - never making things official, making eachother jealous in sick games, purposefully going back and forth to eachother, arguing, hating, fucking. now after months of not speaking to him after he got a new girlfriend, you decide its time to cause chaos in his life again.

Troublesome - nsfw - SHIKAMARU X READER - (carry on from Borderline) ✮ tags // rough sex, angst, toxic relationship, love/hate, mindgames, intense infidelity After the Fourth Great Ninja War, peace blankets the shinobi world—but hearts. Shikamaru Nara, finds himself entangled in a toxic, tantalizing web with you. A female kunoichi his equal in intellect, his rival in manipulation, and his downfall in every way that matters.

For two years, your relationship has been a volatile dance: friends with benefits one moment, bitter enemies the next. You break apart only to fall back together, leaving a trail of jealousy, betrayal, and passion in your wake. The twisted game has consumed them both—playing with the hearts of others, pushing each other’s buttons, and always circling back like moths to a flame.

You're toxic, playful, and seductive; he’s mean, calculating, and knows exactly how to provoke you. playlist ‪‪❤︎‬

Negative Space - nsfw - Modern AU - (check tags on AO3 for pairings!) ‪‪❤︎‬ SMS between Naruto and Y/N ‪‪❤︎‬ ✮ tags // college AU, drug abuse, abusive relationships, past blackmail, bad decisions, a lot of smut, messy

After leaving your old university under a cloud of scandal, you arrive at Konoha University, ready for a fresh start.

Once queen of the party scene, your killer smile and sharp edge left a trail of broken hearts. The drug fuelled nights, bad decisions, and neon-lit chaos follows you. Alpha Kappa Blossom, a sorority with varying characters welcomes you and you feel like you've known these people for a lifetime very quickly—but nothing comes without strings.

Your past still lingers. No matter how loud the music and whatever you take to sedate yourself from reality, you can’t outrun the fallout. playlist ❤︎‬

Fade Into You - nsfw - Canon Divergence - ITACHI X OC ✮ tags // slowburn, angst, emotional hurt, arranged marriage, eventual smut, alternate universe

In an alternate universe where the Uchiha Massacre never occurred nor the suffering that came alongside it, peace and weary trust is brokered through a fragile political alliance: an arranged marriage between Itachi Uchiha and Fumika Senju, the granddaughter of Tobirama Senju. The union, meant to symbolise unity between the clans that had rivalled for many hundreds of years, comes at a personal cost for both—Itachi, still mourning a forbidden love, and Fumika, forced to leave behind her life as a kunoichi to become a dutiful wife. playlist ❤︎‬

My Art - Mostly Naruto Related :))

Modern Sasuke for Negative Space Modern Shikamaru for Negative Space Gojo Satoru Digital Pencil Drunk w/ Toji Shigaraki Tomura waiting for us

[604to647]

Dance for Me

8.4K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: You and your friends go to a strip club for a fun girls’ night where, unbeknownst to you, Detective Rockford is undercover.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please).  Strip club, pole dancing as fitness, soft but also slightly possessive!Tim, slightly possessive!Reader, established relationship, nicknames as usual (Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous), private room shenanigans (Fingering. It's fingering).

A/N: Written for @yopossum’s mootboardsandminifics celebration!  Congrats again on your milestone and thank you for the gorgeous moodboard!  As well, credit must be paid to @inept-the-magnificent for putting Undercover!Tim in our collective minds with this pic – for our story, let’s imagine he looks exactly like this, except he wears his leather jacket over his usual white dress shirt, unbuttoned very low to reveal his black knit undershirt (Halp 🫠🫠).  As always with our The Rockford Portfolio couple, the story can be read alone, but this instalment has a few nods to other stories from the collection (nothing important!); it's also a little longer than usual and has a silly police case subplot - I hope you all still enjoy!

And yes, for those who have read Strawberry Shortcake, this is indeed the same The Midnight Palace 🤭 (you don’t have to read it, it’s just a fun little Easter egg).

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

Tim opens the door to your apartment to the welcomed smell of something savoury and aromatic simmering on the stove.

“I’m home, Shutterbug,” he calls as he toes off his shoes.

“Perfect timing, Detective!  I’m just plating dinner – how was your day?” he hears you busy in the kitchen.

“Not too bad, baby.  Dinner smells gr-” Tim’s voice cuts off when he drops his keys in the key bowl on the foyer table but doesn’t hear the familiar clinking of his keys with yours; he looks down to see the reason: a flyer that’s been thrown into the bowl on top of your keys. 

The Midnight Palace.  What would you be doing with a flyer for a local strip club?  For this particular strip club?

He’s still turning it over and looking at the images of silhouetted body parts bathed in neon pink lighting as he hangs his suit jacket on the back of his dining room chair, sitting just as you come out with two steaming plates of food.

Setting down his dinner, you lean over to plant a sweet, welcome home kiss to Tim’s lips, letting him know with your tender, but lingering brushes against his irresistible pout that you’ve missed him all day.

“Thank you, Shutterbug, dinner looks amazing.”  You beam at Tim’s compliment as you sit.

“How come you have a flyer for The Midnight Palace?” he holds up the flyer he found.

You giggle, “Oh! Do you remember when Mimi had her bachelorette party at that pole dancing class?”

Did he remember? Yeah.  Tim remembers that you came home and sat him on the edge of the bed so you could show him the off-pole moves you had learned in class.  He remembers the way you had arched your chest forward while perched on the chair you placed in front of him and extended your limbs seductively while slowly opening your legs - only to snap them shut at the last second and swivel away from Tim’s lustful gaze, but not before he spied the darkening spot on the front of your panties.  Tim remembers how his eyes nearly fell out of their sockets following the hypnotic sway of your hips as you moved to straddled the chair with your back to him so that you could strip down to your lingerie while throwing him the occasional smirk over your shoulder.  He also remembers how he had taken you on all fours right there on the floor after you teasingly crawled towards him with your tits falling out of your bra and your juicy ass pointed up in the air, wiggling for his attention.

“I remember,” he grins through a mouth full of vegetables.

“Well, Meems has been attending the class semi-regularly ever since – she really likes the workout, says its good for the core,” you gesture cheekily to your own stomach that’s currently rumbling with hunger, “and her instructor works at The Midnight Palace.  Anyways, once a month they have an Amateur Night and the owner lets Sasha invite her students as a way to give them some fun practice in a different setting and to help them build up their confidence.”

Tim nods slower, still chewing as you carry on, “Anyways, Meems is going to do Amateur Night this Saturday and she needs a hype squad, so a bunch of us are going to make a girls night out of it.”

“That sounds nice,” Tim says carefully, he can tell you’re not done and he’s still listening, but the detective part of his brain that never really shuts off is starting to boot up from sleep mode.

“… and she also asked if those of us who were at her bachelorette party might also want to dance… for moral support,” you chew your lower lip, eyeing Tim’s reaction.

“Is that something you want to do, Shutterbug?”

“I don’t know?  It might be fun cause we’re all such good friends and I remember the class being really cool.  And there’s no obligation to strip or anything; Mimi says she’s just going to wear like a bra and some exercise shorts – it’s really about the pole dancing.  I thought I might go to a class or two with her this week to see if I recall any of the moves,” you hesitate, “Would you be okay with that?”

You don’t know what you really mean by asking Tim this question.  First of all, you aren’t asking for his permission and you know Tim would never presume so, likely he would probably be confused (and possibly even upset on your behalf) if you were.  Second, you know for a fact that Tim is the last person to be judgemental about any kind of sex work – you’ve seen firsthand how respectful and protective he is over some of his female informants.  You suppose you just don’t want to make him uncomfortable, even if you can’t articulate why he might feel that way – some type of possessiveness, maybe.

Tim tries to give you a comforting smile; as much as he loves to claim ownership over you when the two of you are in bed, he doesn’t have any desire to exert actual control over you or what you do.  He finds any poor excuse of a man who mistakenly thinks he’s entitled to a say over what women do with their time and bodies to be pathetic as fuck - he’s run into guys like that throughout his entire career and thrown more than his fair share behind bars.  You’re your own woman, one who Tim admires exceedingly, and the last thing he would ever want is for you to hold yourself back on his account, “Baby, you don’t need to worry about me.  If you want to get up on that stage and dance, I’m sure you’ll blow them all away.  And I know you always save the good stuff for me, anyways.”  He winks at you.

You giggle and lean over the table to kiss Tim’s cheek; he’s always so supportive - how did you get so lucky?

“But,” and Tim looks serious, “can I tell you something in confidence, Shutterbug?”

You nod.

“The Midnight Palace has a clean reputation, but… the club showed up in Mr. Pie’s accounting books and we don’t know why or what the connection is.  There could be something fishy going on there.”

Tim reaches into his jacket inside pocket and pulls out his detective’s notebook, flipping through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for and turns the notebook towards you, pointing at something on the open page, “The club name has been entered into the Pie ledgers a handful of times over the last year, always at irregular intervals.  There’s no notation in the books other than this symbol written next to it.”

You look at it: it’s a simple line drawing of a tube with some short diagonal lines drawn across the column.

“We don’t know what it means, but this symbol looks like a joint and it might denote some type of drug activity.  It could be a pick up, a drop off, a contact, a payoff location, a stash house, or who know what else.  Promise me you and your friends will be extra careful, okay?”

You melt at the look of worry on Tim’s face and nod, so touched by his concern, “I’ll be careful, baby.” When his hard lined face softens a little, you cup Tim’s face in your hands, softly scratching his facial scruff so he knows you appreciate how he’s always looking out for you; he leans into your touch, closing his eyes at this affectionate gesture.

“But, can I say something?”

Tim opens his eyes to let you know he’s listening.

“That doesn’t look like a joint.  It looks like a spring roll.”

Tim laughs, “Why would it be a spring roll?”

“I dunno?  Pie?  Spring roll?  Maybe it’s just a food thing,” you giggle.

“Alright, alright.  I’ll look into it,” Tim teases, “A lot of money in spring rolls, I hear.” 

“Woooooooooooo!!!!”

“Look at you, sexy lady!!!”

“Shake what your mama gave you!!!”

You grin to yourself when you hear your friends’ loud cheers, wolf whistles and hype-up cat calls as you get into position on stage, waiting for your music (“Dance Tonight” by Lucy Pearl) to start.  This past week you had attended Sasha’s pole dancing fitness class on your lunch breaks with Mimi and a few of your other girlfriends and not only found it to be the workout that Mimi claimed, but also just so, so much fun.

The positive, supportive female energy in the class had been uplifting and terribly contagious; by the end of the week, you found yourself not only excited to cheer on your friends and the rest of Sasha’s class at Amateur Night, but giddy with anticipation to get on the stage yourself.  The night held the promise of rowdy, empowering, unabashed fun.

You weren’t disappointed.  Not only was your group of friends in high spirits, all vibrating with enthusiasm and elation, but you were delighted to find that same caring and inclusive female comradery being extended by the women who worked with Sasha at The Midnight Palace.  The entire class was invited to come backstage into the dancers’ area to get ready, get hyped, and get into the mindset – the room buzzed with excited, feminine chatter.  All the house dancers, happy to have a more low-key night, were so encouraging: giving tips, sharing their body glitter and just being overall supportive and kind.  You were sitting in front of Sasha’s dressing table mirror, letting her apply some strawberry scented glitter gel to your cleavage (“It’s a crowd favourite,” she insisted, “trust me.”) when something sitting outside the door of the owner’s office catches your eye.

“What’s that?” you point to the arrangement of three white drawstring sacks, each the size of a garbage bag and looking so full that the contents would be threatening to burst out if not for the tops being drawn taut and tied into double knotted bows. 

“Oh!” Sasha looks over, “Shoot - they’re still there.  I was hoping that creep had come and gone already.”

Creep?  You look at her worried; Sasha catches your expression and smiles reassuringly, “Oh, don’t worry, hunny!  Chet isn’t a patron – you won’t see him out there when you’re on stage.  He’s just some loser that works for a guy that the owner’s brother got in some hot water with, so every so often the owner gets these bags ready and then Chet comes and picks them up.  I wish they would find somewhere else to do the pick up instead of our changing area though, cause that Chet is SUCH a creep.  Always leering at us and saying gross stuff; like, this guy does not understand boundaries AT ALL.  Poor Tiffany.  Her vanity is the closest to the office so he tries to chat her up the most.  Hangs around while she’s trying to get ready and asks her all kinds of inappropriate questions.”

Sasha makes a face and then looks sympathetically at her fellow dancer who does seem to be giving the offending bags a look of disgust. 

“What’s in the bags?” you ask.

“Oh, it’s all our tips!  Like the actual bills that patrons give us.  It’s not a regular thing, but we always know there’s going to be a pick-up in about a week when the owner asks us to start saving our tips.  We give her all the small bills for that week and then after Chet comes, she reimburses us in Benjamins.”  Sasha makes a silly “make it rain” motion with her hands and you laugh along with her.

“That’s a lot of small bills,” you marvel.

“Oh yeah!  Well, all the girls do it, even the cocktail waitresses – and it’s our tips for a whole week so it adds up to be a lot.  Our patrons here are VERY generous – you’ll see, babe!”

You smile gratefully at Sasha and confess that you hope you can do her and the class proud; like a clucking mother hen, she sweetly tells you she has complete confidence in you.  When she catches you looking at the bags again, she interprets your interest as unease, “Don’t worry about Chet, hun.  I didn’t mean to make you anxious – if he hasn’t come by now, he won’t until after midnight.  He avoids the crowds.”

You nod and try to give her a look that expresses relief, but internally, your heart is beating wildly.  In general, you don’t consider yourself to be a very nosey person, but you truly could not help yourself from inquiring when you saw the bags because each of the thick canvas sacks has a simple blackline drawing of a spring roll printed on the outside.  It looks exactly like the picture Tim had shown you from his notebook earlier in the week - this must be the club connection to Mr. Pie that Tim and his fellow detectives were looking for.

Even as you and your friends finish getting ready and go out to your reserved table to down some liquid courage, your mind keeps returning to Tim.  Should you call him?  Should you tell him what you learned?  Sasha said that Chet would be coming after midnight and by both her and Tim’s accounts, the pickups didn’t seem to follow any regular schedule - who knows when the next iteration would be?  You think you should call Tim – this could be important to the case and you can’t let your detective miss his chance for a solve.  You’ll call him right after your dance, you decide with some satisfaction.  Your distracted thoughts of Tim and his case keep your nerves at bay right up to when it’s your turn on stage; not for the first time, you’re grateful for the calming presence of your boyfriend even when he’s not with you.

🎶I wanna dance tonight, I wanna toast tonight, I'll spend my money tonight, I wanna get freaky tonight🎶

You’re still thinking of him when the opening notes of your song ring out and you start to swivel your body seductively to the beat.  Moving with a dancer-like grace towards the pole, you reach out to grab it suggestively the way Sasha taught you before taking off for your first, simple twirl around.  The loud cheers of your friends, the rest of Sasha’s class and the house dancers echo throughout the room and you beam, invigorated.  Hitting each low base beat with your hips, you run your hands up to your hair, mussing it playfully as you walk backwards towards the pole.  When your back hits the cool metal, you trail your hands slowly down your face, neck, then teasingly over your breasts until they get to the sash of your dress – all to the hoots and hollers of the crowd.

🎶Ask if she wants to go, Tonight's gonna be hot for sure, Be dancin' on the floor, Folks trippin' I don't know🎶

Rather than wear a skimpy outfit, you had opted for a simple wrap dress that accentuates your curves – the plan was to undo the front of the dress and let it fall apart to reveal your lingerie, then continue your dance with the dress open.  That didn’t feel too revealing or scandalous, and visually, you thought it would look nice with the fabric of the dress flowing behind you as you swung around the pole.  Sascha had emphasized in class that a lot of pole dancing was about performance. 

As the knot holding your dress together unfurls and your dress starts to fall away from your body, you stalk towards the front of the stage with a bounce in your step timed to the music so that the slinky garment unravels the rest of the way on its own to reveal your matching bright pink lace lingerie underneath.  The screams from the women in the crowd practically shake the walls:

“So fucking hot!!!”

“OOOOOhhhhh baby!!!”

“Show us that assssssssss, yasssssssssss!!!”

God, you love women.  The front portion of the room tonight is nearly all women, full of amateurs like those from Sasha’s class and their cheering friends – every single female voice is in hype mode, loud and proud: cheering on each woman who takes the stage for celebrating her own special brand of femininity, rooting for her to embrace the physicality and power of her body and sexuality, no matter her shape, size, age.  Even you’re surprised by just how comfortable and confident you feel on stage, not at all exposed or vulnerable even though you’re only wearing underwear – that’s the power of women supporting women.  There are some male patrons in the club tonight, but they’re mainly in the back of the room and are wildly outnumbered; the lights shining on the stage are so bright, you can hardly make them out.

🎶Money flyin' everywhere, Champagne, we won't go there, Bottles poppin' in the air, They'll be screamin, "I don't care"🎶

And then, as if your earlier thoughts had conjured him, you see Tim while you’re on the pole doing Sasha’s signature hook spin move that took her two whole days to teach you.  You have to do a double take on your second rotation because you barely recognize him.  For one, his normally soft curls have been pushed back and styled with product you’re sure you’ve never seen on the bathroom counter; for another, the leather jacket that currently hugs his broad shoulders and hangs open on his wide frame is like unlike anything he has hanging in your shared closet.  His white dress shirt you do recognize: one of the many that he wears for work where the crisp cotton wraps tight around his thick tree trunk arms and the buttons down the front valiantly strain trying to contain his hard chest.  Only tonight, those same buttons have been given a reprieve because Tim’s left over half of them undone so that the open neckline reveals a black knit undershirt that you’re also seeing for the first time. 

He looks hot. 

Not that he doesn’t always – Tim is one of the most gorgeous men you’ve ever met, and his clean, simple, utilitarian style (plus that gun holster, sigh) has always had an almost primeval hold over you.  But something about this near opposite outfit and his combed back hair, like you’re watching a sexy Bizarro Tim manspread on the nearly too small lounge chair as he sets his dark gaze upon you, is causing your breath to quicken and your pussy to clench around nothing.

What’s he doing here?  Tim certainly didn’t tell you he was coming to The Midnight Palace tonight.  And why is he dressed like that?

You decide it’s no matter as you smirk and shimmy to the upbeat tempo of the music, shrugging your dress off your shoulders and letting it fall to the ground - leaving you on stage in just your bra and panties.  It wasn’t the original plan, but Tim showing up wasn’t in the plan either - now that he’s here, you’re going to give him something to look at.

🎶Look what the cat hauled in, Me and a couple friends, No need to settle down, My body don't know how🎶

---

“Rockford, isn’t that-”

“Close your eyes, Calloway,” growls Tim.  He knows without a doubt that the tone of his voice leaves no room for argument.  Tim realizes he hadn’t thought through this plan.

He wasn’t able to ignore the nagging voice in his head when you told him that you were going to dance at The Midnight Palace; it wasn’t that he was bothered by you going to a strip club or even that you would be dancing on the amateur stage.  If he was completely honest with himself, he did feel a tug of something akin to possessiveness at the idea of other people seeing what he considered his – but his more practical, clear-headed self didn’t have any feelings other than pride in you for having the confidence and skill to get up on that stage.  Tim already knew, intimately, that you have impressive assets, and if you wanted to show them off, he fully supported you.  No - it was the Pie case that ate at him.  That The Midnight Palace was somehow connected to Mr. Pie and Tim didn’t know how was driving him crazy; it made him nervous that you and your friends were going somewhere where some unidentified danger might be lurking.

So, he convinced his long suffering, frequent partner Detective Arnold Calloway to go undercover with him at the club tonight, with a plan to stake it out for any clues or activity that might shed some light on The Midnight Palace’s bearing on their case.

Tim got to the club after you and spends most of his time alternating between scanning the crowd, observing the dark corners of the club for suspicious activity and watching you and your friends at your table next to the stage.  He can’t help but smile when he sees how much fun you’re having – you’re throwing back drinks and throwing down bills onto the stage with aplomb; Tim can hear your bright voice cheering on all the dancers from where he sits.  The way your eyes light up and you gasp in pure delight when a dancer does an impressive pole trick is adorable; your genuine admiration for the women that surround you and the joy you derive just from being with your friends warms his heart.  Even in a strip club, his Shutterbug is so sweet.

He had completely forgotten that you were going to dance until he sees you walk onto the stage and that’s when it hits the brilliant Detective Tim Rockford for the first time that he’s about to sit in a room with his partner and a bunch of strangers, some of whom don’t have the same supportive motives as the women next to the stage, while his girlfriend pole dances in some state of undress.  He really hadn’t thought this through.

Tim glances over and once he’s ascertained that Calloway’s eyes are indeed closed, he goes back to watching you on stage - admiring the elegance with which you move your body to the music and the fluid way you maneuver around the pole.  His breath hitches when your dress falls open to reveal the sexiest lingerie set he’s ever seen – bright fuchsia lace that hugs your curves just right, lifting and accentuating all your softness while simultaneously giving him and everyone in the room hope that you might spill over and grant them all a peek of the heaven that’s underneath.

He might drool a little.

🎶Right there I see you lookin', Sure hope that you're not took and, Don't get lost in the crowd, This place is so damn wild🎶

Tim knows that you see him.  He can actually pinpoint the moment you do because the way your hips pop to the bass beat of the RnB music gets a little bouncier.  The shake of your tits in your lace bra a little jigglier.  He sees the curve of your pretty lips crook into a little smirk - you’re giving him a show. 

🎶Go ahead and floss your ice, Go ahead do what you like, I'm feelin' just as fly, Do your thing it's on tonight🎶

As you dance, alternating using the chair as a prop and doing the periodic spin around the pole, Tim feels hypnotized.  What you’re revealing isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before, nor is it particularly indecent, but something about this environment with its roars of approval and sexual innuendo, air of lust, and the eyes of others that want to see more of you – is making Tim feral.  He keeps his eyes trained on you, as if he could ever look anywhere else, as you kneel on the stage and lower yourself to the floor, crawling towards the applause and screams of your friends. 

He’s definitely drooling.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spies a group of smarmy looking guys sitting in front of him who are all tracking you with their whole bodies – pointing at you and yelling to each other about how you were “a good one.”  Their admiring and sometimes raunchy comments about you cause Tim’s nerves to stand on end; when he overhears how you're starring in their wistful fantasies he grips the armrests of his chair so hard he thinks he might rip through the faux leather.

“You think she’ll offer to do lap dances?” the double polo wearing douchebag closest to Tim yells to his equally douchey friends.

Tim is a millisecond from pushing back his chair and dragging this dumb frat boy out of the club by the scruff of his neck when Calloway, eyes still squeezed tight warns, “We’re here to do a job, Rockford.”

Tim’s nostrils flare as he breathes tightly to try and calm down, redirecting his focus to the rhythmic sway of your body on stage as you gear up to do one last spin of the pole - revolving two, three, four times, then sliding to the floor with your knees spread and back arched to point your perfect heaving breasts to the ceiling when the song ends.

🎶I wanna dance tonight, I wanna toast tonight, I'll spend my money tonight, I wanna get freaky tonight🎶

---

With giggling bashfulness, you collect the bills that were thrown onstage during your performance and exit behind the curtain, ready to rejoin your friends and thinking you’ll pretend that you haven’t seen Tim yet just to tease him a little more (though brilliant detective that he is, you’re sure he already knows that you know he’s here).  Exiting through the side door while the stage is being prepared for the next dancer, you emerge still in your underwear (for Tim’s sake, not bothering to put on your dress), when you see Tim surrounded by a gaggle of women offering up lap dances.

It probably wouldn’t have bothered you too much except you see one of the girls put her hand on Tim’s arm and give his muscles a groping feel that he doesn’t look too keen on.  When he politely shakes it off, you see another girl get right up in his face, leaning in close by putting her hands on Tim’s upper thighs.

That’s a bit bold, you think - those hands are placed a bit higher on your boyfriend’s legs than you would prefer.  Judging by the expression on Tim’s face, his preference would be if they weren't on his body at all.  Bearing no ill will or malice towards your fellow amateur dancers, you could pretend what you do next is purely altruistic, but you can’t ignore the slow stir of possessiveness you feel simmering in your stomach.  Gesturing to your friends that you’re heading over in Tim’s direction so they don’t think you got lost, you catch Mimi and your other girlfriends’ looks of amusement when they follow the line of your pointing finger and spot Tim who currently has more than a few pairs of breasts being shaken in his face.

You come up from behind Tim’s chair, purposefully ignoring the girls that are gyrating right in front of him, and place your fingertips on his broad shoulders, pressing down possessively on the supple leather.  Tim stiffens at the initial contact, but softens almost immediately as you start to trail your hands down the front of his leather jacket, recognizing your touch by the way your fingers claw over his hard chest.

As your hands travel lower, claiming ownership over Tim’s chest and the heart contained within, Tim closes his eyes and breathes in your sweet, familiar perfume when he feels your face next to his.  He expects a chaste kiss to the cheek but instead, you dip your head so your nose nudges down past his jaw, breath fanning over where his dress shirt meets his neck.  Hands climbing into the space where the shirt opens, your fingers spread over the black knit tank underneath before you pull him back flush against his chair - the unexpected movement causes Tim to exhale with an “Oomf!”  Keeping him pinned, you lower your puckered lips to the collar of Tim’s white shirt, pressing down firmly so that you leave behind a perfect bright pink lipstick imprint of your pout – marking your man as yours.

Tim doesn’t even notice when the girls that were trying to get his attention scatter, in search of other, more willing laps – never having paid them much mind in the first place; but he does smiles smugly when he sees several of the men from the group in front throwing looks of jealousy his way at the attention you’re giving him.

“Fancy seeing you here, Detective,” you coo so only he can hear, your lips ghosting over the sensitive spot behind Tim’s earlobe.

“Just a coincidence, Shutterbug.  Remember I told you that we had some concerns about this place? Calloway and I thought it was a good night for some undercover work, isn’t that right?”

“Please leave me out of this,” begs Calloway, desperately trying to avert his eyes from his partner’s girlfriend’s half naked body.

You giggle, “Hi Arnie!”  Calloway gives you a wave in response without making eye contact.

“Ok, Mr. Undercover – take me to a private room,” you lace your fingers through Tim’s and pull him up out of his chair; right before you head off with Tim in tow, you call out to Calloway, “Keep your phone handy, Arnie - Tim’s going to text you!”

Still looking anywhere but at you, Calloway looks stricken at the prospect.  Tim’s confused by your declaration as well, but is too busy grinning at the shocked expressions of your other admirers to pay it much attention – in fact, he might make it a point to give your panty-clad ass a firm palming as the two of you walk away.

Once you pull the curtains closed on the private room, you lead Tim to the velvet couches that line the back wall - climbing on top to straddle him once he’s settled.

“Okay, Detective, why are you really here?”

“I told you, baby - just routine police work.”

You grind a little over the crotch of Tim’s pants, eliciting a little groan from the back of his throat and he grips you tighter around the waist.  Stopping yourself from rolling your eyes at Tim’s answer, you put on an exaggerated look of concern, “You didn’t come because of me?  You came here to look at other half naked girls?”  Pressing your breasts together with your arms, you push them up towards Tim’s face and give him a pout.

Detective Tim Rockford is well known for his skills in the interrogation room, but he knows when he’s outmatched, “Ok, Shutterbug.  I admit it.  Just wanted to keep an eye on you – I was worried.  The Midnight Palace doesn’t have a reputation for anything seedy, but I can’t ignore that there’s a connection to Mr. Pie’s organization.  We don’t know what it is, so I can’t help but imagine the worst.”

Smiling down at your sweet detective, you kiss Tim passionately, using your tongue to soothe his worrying heart.  Tim’s rough hands run up and down your bare back and over the lace that covers the plush globes of your ass, lightly kneading and making you moan - his hands feel so good and warm, but you can’t get distracted.  Pushing yourself off from Tim’s solid frame, you beam, “Lucky for you, I do know.”

“Know what, gorgeous?” Tim is leaning forward, trying to chase your lips again, but your next words jolt him out of his lustful haze.

“I know what The Midnight Palace’s connection to Mr. Pie is.”

Tim’s eyes widen as you tell him about the money bags with the small bills, the reluctant cooperation of the club owner trying to pay her brother’s debt, and how the girls are all creeped out by Chet, the pick-up guy.

“Sounds like money laundering, but probably just like a basic first layer – the small bills probably go on to get further cleaned somewhere else,” you muse thoughtfully as you finish up.

Mouth agape and face stunned, Tim can’t quite figure out what to say to express just how impressed and utterly in love he is.  Once again, you think of his work not as something that he does in his time away from you, but as something important to him and you treat it accordingly: listening when he tells you about his cases and using your own smart mind and sharp observation skills to help him.

“You should tell Arnie!  And maybe he can get a private room with Tiffany?  Sasha says that that Chet guy bothers her the most - I bet she would be more than happy to help if it meant getting rid of him,” you point towards Tim’s pocket to indicate he should text Calloway.  Tim does just that, exactly as you had predicted he would before the two of you came into the room.  He also texts a secondary team about possibly needing to set up surveillance and a tail.

When he’s done, Tim looks up to see you standing, cute little mischievous smile lighting up your face, “So, what should we do for the remainder of our private room time, Detective?”

Tim teases you right back, “Dance for me, Shutterbug?”

Shyly, you nod and start moving your body to the beat of the music streaming in from outside the room.  You place your hands on Tim’s thighs and spread his legs wide so you can dance in closer, swiveling your hips as you lower yourself between his knees, rubbing his inner thighs suggestively.  Rising slowly, body still moving in time with the music, you run your hands over your own body – drawing Tim’s darkened eyes to everywhere your delicate fingers graze: up, up the sides of your hips, along the lace trim of your panties, in lazy circles over your soft belly, over the swell of your tits and crossing over one another to lightly push the straps of your bra off your shoulders.

All the while your smooth legs brush up against his, getting dangerously close to Tim’s growing bulge.

Right before the falling straps of your bra start to tug down the lace covering your delectable curves, you spin around abruptly and bend over, putting your luscious ass on display - shaking and bouncing it provocatively in Tim’s face.  Just a few seconds of this tantalizing view has Tim snapping and reaching out with his meaty hands to grab you by your hips, yanking you back into his lap.

You yelp and laugh, throwing your arms around Tim’s neck and tease, “Hey, Detective!”  Pointing to a sign above the curtained entrance, “No touching.”

It’s all in good fun though as you kiss him, open mouthed and eager.

Tim grins back, “Call the cops on me then, Shutterbug,” as his hands roam over every inch of your body, groping and massaging fervently, as if to defy the rule on purpose.  You moan when his lips find that sweet spot on your neck that always makes you lose your mind; Tim sucks and licks while his fingers tug down the lacy cups of your bra to find your nipples already waiting for his touch, pert and pointy.

“Never seen this lingerie before, gorgeous.  Is it new?” Tim murmurs into your neck as he expertly pinches, rolls and tugs at your peaks the way that always gets you panting; you roll your hips over nothing, seeking to sooth the ache that he’s started to build up in your core.

“Mmmmmhmmm - wanted to surprise you when I got home later,” you breathe, eyes closed, your hands messing up Tim’s styled hair - tugging at his curls whenever his efforts cause an electric jolt of pleasure to run through your body.

“Looks good, baby.  And you looked really good on-stage tonight, Shutterbug.”

You tilt Tim’s face to yours with a little pull on his locks and gently press your lips to his, “Thank you, Tim.”  Your eyes are soft and grateful.

The two of you look longingly at one another as Tim’s hands drop to your waist, hands so big that his fingers reach around to your back where he rubs tormenting circles into your skin.

“You look good too, Detective.  I like this look on you,” you coo.

Tim blushes, “Thanks, baby.  It’s just some undercover stuff I’ve had forever.  Not even sure it fits right anymore.”

Not letting Tim get away with this self-effacing comment, you run your hands in an admiring manner over the soft leather of his jacket before raking your hands down his chest; fingers catching on the open V of his dress shirt before sliding under to caress the soft knit of his undershirt, “Fits pretty good from where I am, Detective.”

You kiss down Tim’s neck, past his collar bones and swipe your tongue along the neckline of the black wife beater, mouthing over the material and giving it a little nip with your teeth in between your words:

“Took my breath away when I saw you sitting in the club, baby.”

“Look so fucking hot and like such a bad boy.”

“Thought I was going to soak through my panties on stage and that everyone was going to see how wet I was for you.”

Tim groans at your dirty praise and slips a hand down the front of your lace panties, growling low, “How wet, gorgeous?”

There’s no need to answer - Tim starts to swipe through your folds with his thick fingers and finds you sopping wet and desperate.  He teases you mercilessly – dragging his fingers up and down your seam, paying little to no attention to your throbbing clit; occasionally brushing it only lightly before cruelly ignoring it in favour of dipping his fingers back down to your entrance, every so often even venturing to spread your ample slick down to your other hole.

“Please, Tim,” you whine against his lips.  You feel him grin.

You would say he takes mercy on you, but it hardly feels like mercy when Tim lowers his head to take your breast in his hot mouth just as he plunges two of his fingers deep into your cunt.  The sudden double sensation has you crying out and seeing stars – you chant your detective’s name softly and moan how good he makes you feel while Tim sucks and nibbles on your nipple and continues to saw in and out of your tight hole.  He reaches parts of you so deep and unexplored, even by you, eager to mark and lay claim to a land that will only ever be his.  Fuck, you love him.

Singing it so he knows, your melodic voice drips with lust and devotion.  Tim hums appreciatively against your chest; his response is to switch his worshipping mouth to the other side of your chest and push a third finger into your needy cunt.

The stretch is sharp and delicious - any sting of pain morphs quickly into pleasure; charmed by the way Tim curves his fingers against your tight walls, your pussy leaks shamelessly with fresh of arousal.  You buck a little in his hand, trying to chase the heel of his palm in order to give your poor aching clit some relief.

“Use me, baby – yeah, make yourself come on my fingers,” commands Tim, mouth still full of your soft, perky tits.

Bracing your hands on Tim’s broad shoulders for stability, you grind down, meeting each thrust of Tim’s hand so that his open palm spanks your pussy with a loud, wet slap every time.  The sound is debauched, pornographic, and it makes you gush even more.  When Tim angles his thumb to draw devastating circles on your clit, you nearly sob from near overstimulation, “I’m so close, baby, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come…”

Tim continues the looping of his rough thumb over your slippery nub while dragging his face away from your chest so he can lick up your neck, back to the sweet spot that started it all.  He bites down with a little smirk and grits out with your delicate skin still between his teeth, “Come.”

You let go and fall with a soundless scream, toppling over the edge of ecstasy, but, as always, with a warmth that blossoms in your chest in the knowledge that Tim is there to catch you.  Always right there to coax you through your high with his touch, his words, his love.

After you’ve caught your breath, Tim helps you right the lingerie that he helped christen and put on your dress.  As he’s retying the front sash for you, brows furrowed in concentration (he’s so much more used to undoing the knot), you ask, grin still spacey but eyes a little worried, “Did I do okay, Detective?”

“What do you mean?” Tim looks up to the sound of the trepidation lacing your voice.

“It’s okay that I asked about the bags I saw?  I don’t want to overstep when it comes to your investigation,” you’re chewing your lip adorably and Tim just wants to kiss away every little concern lining your pretty face.  Instead, he finishes adjusting your clothes, then slips his big hands under your dress to pull you close by the back of your thighs.

Tim presses his chin into your soft body and looks up at you adoringly as you card your fingers through his hair, “It’s more than okay, Shutterbug.  You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t take the opportunity to help when you see it.  I’m so lucky to have you help me, baby.”

Taking Tim’s face into your hands and running your thumbs through his facial scruff the way he likes, you lay the deepest, tenderest kiss on his lips – letting Tim lick in slow and sensually into your mouth, claiming your every breath as his own.  Pulling apart only when the little melodic bell that indicates private room times are up starts to chime, Tim gives you more than the necessary bills for the private time as you walk out.  When you tell him it’s too much, he closes your fingers over the cash with his hand, “You earned it, baby.”  You were going to give it all to the house dancers anyways, so you accept without any further fuss.

Before letting you go, Tim glances quickly at his phone while still squeezing your waist, “Calloway’s got Tiffany in a private room now.  I’m going to go join them… hopefully get some more info so we ID this Chet guy.  Will you be okay getting home, Shutterbug?”

You nod and the two of you mouth I love yous, before going your separate ways.  After rejoining your friends, you try not to let your mind wander to what Tim is doing too much as you cheer on the remaining dancers from Sasha’s class and flit the night away with your friends. 

Although you don’t see Tim again for the remainder of your time at The Midnight Palace, you spot his Crown Vic still parked in the lot when you and your friends leave the club.  It rained while you were inside and it must have been a warm summer storm because in the chillier night air, the cars in the lot all have a thick layer of condensation on their windows.  Doing your best to sidestep the fresh rain puddles that glow pink from their reflection of the club’s neon signs – you make it to Tim’s car and write “I love you” across his windshield with your finger, hoping it’ll still be there when he finally gets to leave.

You hardly see Tim for the next few days, which is unusual even for him.  In the wee hours of the morning following your night at The Midnight Palace, you received a picture of Tim’s windshield, your faded finger art still visible with a new word more recently added beneath to now read, I love you more.   

Going to pull an all-nighter, Shutterbug. 

Will try to get some shut eye on the couch in my office. 

Come back to me safe, Detective Rockford.

Nothing could keep me from you, baby.  Love you.

You’re busy the following day and don’t get a chance to visit Tim at the precinct or message him much, never mind badger him about making sure to eat or getting enough rest.

You suspect that he doesn’t do much of either, because you return home around dinner time to find takeout containers left for you on the kitchen counter and a loudly snoring Tim passed out in bed.  He barely stirs when you kiss his temple and wish him sweet dreams.

He’s gone again when you wake up, leaving you a good morning note to let you know that he misses and loves you as much as you do him. 

A busy work day for both of you has you once again missing the other’s calls and relegated to a few text messages here and there.  You’re really starting to miss him.

Finally, fate deigns to realign your and Tim’s schedules after two full days apart; you happily scramble to sit up in your nighttime bath when you hear a soft knock on the bathroom door.

“Hey Shutterbug,” Tim’s smile is soft, his eyes relieved, his entire stance exhausted.

“Hey yourself, Detective.  Long time no see,” you coo, resting your arms and chin on the side of the bathtub and gazing up at your handsome boyfriend, “Come in the water, baby.”

Tim undresses swiftly and slides into the warm water, fragrant and bright pink from the bath bomb you dropped in earlier.  It smells like jasmine and lemongrass, your shampoo and a fourth scent that Tim can never place but just always associates with you.  You sit behind Tim, legs bracketing his hips as you wash his hair and scrub down his body with a pouf.  Wherever it's needed, you try to apply some groan inducing pressure to Tim’s back with your slippery hands in order to work out some of the more stubborn knots - the office couch has not been kind to Detective Rockford’s back.

Despite the lack of sleep, the ache in his muscles, and missing you, Tim can’t help but grin widely – it’s been a hell of a last 48 hours in the Pie Case. 

“You were right, Shutterbug.”

“Hmmmm?” you’ve got your chin hooked over Tim’s shoulders, soaping up his beefy arms and thick chest.

“They were spring rolls.”

Thoroughly amused, you laugh a light musical laugh that sends Tim’s heart soaring, “That little emblem on the bags wasn’t a joint, it was a spring roll?”

Tim nods and then he tells you what he’s been doing for the last two days. 

After revealing their identities to Tiffany in the security of the private room at The Midnight Palace, she had been more than happy to help them take down Chet as you had correctly surmised.

The police easily set up surveillance and a tail that picked up Chet after he came by to grab the spring roll marked bags, which now contained stacks of marked bills that Tiffany helped sneak in.  The surveillance and the marked bills helped the police trace an intricate network of money laundering schemes over the past two days, of which, as you had also theorized, The Midnight Palace, was just an insignificant player.  But being able to pick up the money trail at such an early point of the overall scheme allowed the police to map out and uncover much more intricate and convoluted parts of the laundering network: bank accounts had been tagged and flagged, other local businesses implicated, international banks subpoenaed.  Chet himself had been picked up late this afternoon and sang like a bird.

The work was far from over, but a hell of a lot of progress had been made in the last two days – the whole precinct was riding on a high.  And Tim can’t help but swell with pride that they owed much of it to your keen eye.

You feel your face flush at Tim’s praise.  You don’t know what to say – it seems only natural for something that’s so important to the man you love to be on the forefront of your mind at all times; so instead, you ask a question to which you truly wish to know the answer, “Why a spring roll?”

“Ah ha!” Tim smiles, this was, he had to admit, rather clever, “The smaller bills collected in the Spring Roll bags were earmarked to be deposited at the bank under an account for a fake food court business selling Chinese food.  The bank never questioned it – large volume deposits of small bills for a food court stall seemed perfectly appropriate.”

“That is clever!” you muse, “But not clever enough.”  When Tim tilts his head back you kiss him with affection, proud of your brilliant detective’s mind.

Once satisfied with the state of Tim’s cleanliness, you wrap your arms around Tim’s neck and cheekily nip at his earlobe, “So… for my help, do I get paid in spring rolls?”

Tim hums, his hands finding the dip of your hips under the water, massaging them appreciatively, “We could do that, or you can redeem another prize from the Detectives’ Rewards Incentive Program.”

“Oh really?” you giggle at the inside joke from that first unforgettable night Tim took you to bed and grin into his wet hair - your pussy already throbbing with want.  You press your tits into Tim’s back, “What do I qualify for, Detective?”

“Let me show you,” Tim smirks.  Then before you can register what’s happening, Tim rolls over in the bath, sending bright pink water sloshing over the side of the tub as his hands find and latch onto those soft curves that he’s been dreaming of for the past two nights.  You yelp, squeal, then moan - putty in Detective Rockford’s capable hands as he shows you just how much you’ve been missed.

Audio and visual aids for this fic:

[jainydoe]

Misdirection, Ch. 1

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 the sugar daddy au I promised...

This is not a love story. 

That’s not how he looks at it, anyway. 

Because he is, at his core, a hopeless romantic. Devout in his worship. Ever since he could twirl a flower and tuck it behind someone’s ear, he’s kneeled, their bodies his altar, every act of service his own type of prayer. In his youth, he couldn’t go days without it. After his classes, then in between classes, then sometimes, under the table, one hand writing notes, the other up a girl’s skirt, he’d whisper covenants in their ears, verses upon verses of the old poets and the new on how their beauty would snuff him out right there. It’s why he’s got his sights set on the Bureau - boots on the ground, hands in the dirt, paid to bring justice for souls ripped before their time. There’s nothing more terrifying than death - and in that, there’s nothing as seductive.

Then he gets to college and meets Johanna. The ultimate love story. Boy meets girl. Girl convinces boy the best solution to their raging hormones is a casual sexuationship where he can rail her and make her cum as much as he wants and he’ll let her cheat off their orgo and anatomy exams as payment. Boy is stupid enough to fall in love with girl and she’s bored enough by the rest of the riffraff to actually marry him. 

In a shock to all, girl runs off and leaves boy with a baby, a soft little thing with grabby fingers and a gummy smile. He ignores the fact he has her eyes. Tells himself it doesn’t make him love him any less. As if branded and bruised, he can’t bring himself back to church. Not for a while. Not until the sting wears off. He tries meeting men at bars, women at libraries. He smiles and kisses hands and hopes they can see in his demeanor that he’s a man of faith. But maybe they aren’t believers. Maybe they find him dumb and naive. He’s flailing. Begging. Deranged. The spare times once or twice a year, eventually, that he’s pitied enough to be dragged to some hotel room, the Single Dad, the Divorcee, he’s gone for hours, babbling praise and praying on high that he hopes this will work, that this will make them stay, his devotion, his care. Everyone wants passion until it’s from Emmrich, it seems. 

When he turns forty six, it marks a full year since the last time he’s had someone, and maybe it’s the time to reflect, but it’s allowed his allegiance to rot into hate. He’s a prude, now. A stiff. He’s always looked down on his colleagues who, in their happy marriages with their happy wives and happy lives, live in secret disgust, wasting away their bodies and wallets on themselves. Agnostics. Romantic on the holidays. Phonies. 

It takes years to beat the love out of him. He’s celibate. He’s focused on fatherhood. He’s hardwired into work, the tsunami inside washing itself over the lives that intersect his area of expertise. He’s promoted. Then promoted, again. He’s at the top of his game. He’s the shit. He’s working 36 hours a week with the Bureau, and teaching at Nevarra U., and his students adore him, and the faculty worship him, and he tells himself this kind of love is enough. He’s Mr. FBI, Mr. PTA, Dr. Genius, and nothing and no one will have him on his knees ever again. 

Then he runs into Archibald at the annual faculty gala. 

SUBJECT: CLICK NOW for HOT Singles in YOUR AREA! XXX

Archibald Battenberg, PhD, JSD <abattenberg@nu.edu>

to evolkarin

Hey old pal,

Glad to have run into you. Mimi thought you were quite the charmer - just like old times, right? If you’re interested in other girls like her (or even her for that matter I’m all for liberation and whatever) I’ve included the link below. I’m sure you’ll pick a winner from the litter. Let’s get drinks, yeah? Celebrate the divorce? On me.

- Archie https://msdirection.com/ The code is SUGAR4BABY

Archibald was a fuck-wit and a menace. Had been since college. But Emmrich was notorious for skipping things ever since Manfred - really, ever since Johanna - and he wasn’t gonna go to the gala, seriously, but then he had a glass, then another, then Myrna called his private landline and there he was, cocktail in hand, counting the minutes until his alarm would indicate it’s time to vaporize into the night. As he’s nursing his manhattan and ignoring eye contact with the dean, he spots a woman, satin and sleek, a pampered panther in a sea of slippery sea beasts. She’s not a believer, he can tell, but the way she’s looking at him - she sees him for what he is and slinks his way before he could protest. They shake hands and she speaks eight languages and compliments his watch. Says she likes men who appreciate the real deal. He laughed in that breathless way he does when he’s shocked and on edge, watching her blunt hair frame her jaw in a way that made her attention all the more cutting and examining. Like a surgeon assessing their canvas. When he learned she was on the arm of Sloppy Archie-berg, he was a bit stunned. With Archibald’s signature ham-fisted tie, hoggish way of holding himself - Emmrich was pretty sure he didn’t even own conditioner. It was only once his date excused herself, though, that he’d revealed her secret. That Miss Mimi was a creature of the night. A call-girl , he called her, and Emmrich could tell Archie felt naughty even saying it. Like a child admitting they’d eaten sugar before bed. When Mimi returns and kisses Archibald’s cheek, Emmrich aches. Not for her, but for God. For the light of eternal delight to shine on his lips once again. He used to consider Johanna’s mouth the kingdom of heaven, and wonders, for the first time, if he’s been a misled fool. 

He couldn’t remember a time when he ever found Archibald charming, but when Save-the-Dates went out for the big Volkarin-Hezenkoss wedding, he was the only one to respond with condolences. Emmrich decides to email back a yes to drinks and notably forgets all about Mimi and her company until the postcard from Antiva arrives in his mailbox. 

Dear E,

Fuck you. I miss you. I’m moving back to the area. Say hi to the little guy for me.

Rot in hell,

J

There’s a verse he thinks of, about how the armor of God will protect you from the devil’s wiles, and maybe, he considers, God’s armor could be purchased through a subscription to Ms. Direction’s. It has to be. Because, for once, here are women who want it. Who want him. A man willing to tithe. This is for the Real Deal, he thinks. Not pussy-footing, quick-fuck, cheap-date juveniles. He’s dizzy as he locks the study door, Manfred in bed, all the lights out, and stares at his laptop as if it will begin whispering a beckoning call. Emmrich, come quick, come now, come enter your credit card information. 

He does. 

In a manner almost chaste and sweet, the website is basic. Bare-bones. He appreciates it. The way the black background and red font make it clear you’re here for sex. It’s been years since he’s let his eyes roam over others, and, for a quick moment, he thinks it’s a bad idea. Shallow biographies. Stupid usernames. Feet? Maybe he’s too old. Maybe he’s too tired. He’s on page four, wind wiped out, he doesn’t investigate why he thought Ms. Direction would have a slew of Nice Girls waiting, hands outstretched. If that hand were holding a crop, however. He crosses his legs and continues perusing the digital classifieds, willing himself to focus. Eventually, that leads to work-brain. He reminds himself these women aren’t in danger. They’re not minors. This isn’t illegal. His eyes gloss over in boredom. 

MARIANNE, 19 Looking for a stud to treat me like a princess.

JULIA, 29 Just a naughty girl who needs to be punished. 

RAVEN, 25 Let me treat you like filth-

He actually does click on her profile. But as he looks through her photos, sees her bedroom, the clothing on the floor and vat of lube - he wishes her well and leaves with a feeling of murky disgust. 

It’s as he’s exiting her profile, deciding to exit the site altogether and possibly consider asking for a refund that he spots her. 

Her. 

It’s straightforward. A photo of her face. She calls herself Rook. Doesn’t explain why. She needs money for rent and is hoping to spend time with someone interesting. He can be interesting. If he tries. In that moment, he’s twenty again, looking purposefully at a girl’s mouth, then in her eyes, asking if she believes in the afterlife. Of hauntings. Of spirits and the occult and drawing little symbols on her palm that, according to legend, will connect her more deeply with the beyond. 

He types a message. 

Dear Rook,

You seem pretty interesting, yourself. I’m, certainly, interested in learning more. Would coffee be of interest?

For fuck’s sake, stop using the word interesting. You’re a doctor. Be eloquent. Fuck.

Dear Rook,

Coffee?

Too chaste. This is a stranger. 

Rook,

No. 

Darling Rook,

God.

Dear Rook,

I’m interested. Wanna get coffee?

Emmrich

He clicks send and feels the air rush out of chest as if sucked up by some phantasmal vacuum. He shuts off the laptop, tosses it on his desk and quickly paces up the stairs to his bedroom, working a knot into his robe. This is about as daring as he’s been since signing up for the gym membership, and we all know how that went. 

The next morning passes quickly. Daycare then a morning class on elementary forensics then a quick lap on the track at the academy. He’s catching his breath, gulping down an icy reprieve when an email comes in. 

SUBJECT: Re: Message to rookie24

His phone slips out of his hand, falling face down onto the grass. A student looks his way. He waves a hello, beginning to itch all over. His fingers shake as he opens the message.

Hi handsome,

Coffee sounds good. I’ll be at Crossroads by Fade Ave at noon this Saturday. Hope to see you there.

Rook x

He knows that means a kiss. He feels it, too. Standing there, sweaty and pulsing, he feels his heart rate quicken even more at the promise of something over the weekend. A date. A cheap miracle.

–

“You have got to be KIDDING ME,” she yells, ignoring the passerbyers and scared parents, beginning to grip their children tighter. She’s not one for making a scene, especially on the train, but this is the final straw. 

Her medical bill is thousands. For an IV and aspirin and sitting in a cot. Look, hindsight, twenty-twenty, blah blah blah, point is she thought maybe fighting people for money could be a good way to get the bills paid. Taash said so, themself. And Lucanis and Davrin taught her how to properly throw a shank into someone’s side. And she wasn’t even that hurt, ultimately, but she did black out after Rowdy Regina Rockhouse (stupid name) got her in the back of Bellara’s Suburu and icing herself in the ER until 3am. She’s made a list on her fridge of sure-fire ways to get money without signing up for a third job or selling body parts. But after crossing out Underground Fight Club , she writes in gently, small, at the bottom ask Neve about selling body parts. Thankfully, she has lunch with Bell before giving Neve a call. 

“I’m, like, poor. For a while, I thought I was poor, now I realize I wasn’t. This is it. And shut the fuck up, I know you’re gonna say some shit about rock bottom, going up and whatever, I don’t wanna hear it.” 

Bellara is sympathetic in a way that’s not suffocating. Rook loves her for it. Trusts her for the life she’s lived that should’ve made her jaded, but didn’t. Maybe it’s that trust that has her not totally dismissing Bellara and calling her immediately crazy for her suggestion. 

“You could always join a dating site.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She twirls a stick of honey in her tea, looking at the patrons surrounding them. “Check out that couple. That guy just bought her a pastry and latte. They look so happy. Maybe, oh, I don’t know, maybe meeting someone nice could help distract from all the ugliness?”

“You want me to whore myself for pastries.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I’m gonna have to beg Mauricio to not evict me for the third month in a row and you think pastries and dick will fix that.”

“I’m not trying to minimize your issues, Rook, I mean, I can help with your bills for a little, or you could come stay with me, maybe, you know I don’t mind,”

“I don’t want you like that, Bel. You have a great ass, don’t get me wrong,”

“Rook,”

“But if I’m gonna be giving out the sugar, I’m gonna need some considerable sugar to make up for it. Oodles of sugar. Like, piles.”

“I don’t know how to talk with you when you’re like this.”

“You’re a genius, Bel.” She kisses her on the forehead and steals her apple turnover, taking a chomping bite as she makes her way to the exit. “Sugar for sugar, Belly baby.”

It takes about a half hour of careful research before she finds the perfect site. It even looks sexy. Catered towards brats and babies to be worshipped. She snorts. She’ll bite. She’ll fashion herself the nymphette of some old guy’s fantasy if it means paying off a credit card, or two. Hell, she’s fucked uglier men for less benefits. She tells herself this will be a cake walk. 

She tries taking photos. Lacy edits of her with big eyes and red lips, but the thought of attracting anyone with it makes her nauseous. She figures her face will do. They’ll be looking at it a lot, probably, may as well see it for all it’s worth. She chooses one where she’s smiling and not still bruised from Raging Re-bitch-a-zilla Rockfart and calls it a day. No one will message her. She’ll forget she made the account. She will show up on Lucanis’ doorstep and promise him her firstborn in exchange for a roof over her head and possible bodyguard duties, because Mauricio will threaten her life in a week. It’s two in the morning and she’s almost finished with the final episode of Love is Kind when she gets a message. He doesn’t have a profile photo. He’s messaging potential cash-sluts past midnight. All signs say Do Not Interact. Which is why she brings it to Neve. 

“Jesus, Rook, is it really that bad?”

She squints at her, knocking back a shot of bourbon and ignoring the way her throat widens up into a retch. “Was the direness of my situation not clear when I joined Taash’s fucking fight club? Or did that nude modeling bullshit? Or that outward-bound type camping gig where I slugged tents and crap for Lace?”

“It was very sweet of you to help those kids.”

“Yeah, well, now I need help.” She twirls the bottom of her glass against Neve’s desk. It’s ten in the morning but Neve doesn’t mind. She never does. Rook doesn’t know if it makes her feel better or worse. “Besides, some of those kids might be my competition now for cradle-robber-cock.”

“I don’t think your new friend will want you to call him, or it , that. Besides, he seems to like your profile. I say just go for it.” Rook shifts in her seat. “What’s stopping you?”

Nothing. Everything. This would be another person to disappoint. Another crutch. Another life she ruins. Neve is a mind-reader. “Stop being melodramatic, Rook.” She takes her hand, offering her quintessential, moody smile. “Whoever this Emmrich is, I’m sure he’s a big boy who can handle the likes of you.”

She messages him back. 

–

Saturday arrives and a pile of clothes sits on Emmrich’s bed, vests and trousers splayed as he stands in the mirror, posing. 

I look like hot, wet shit. 

He grabs at his hair, pulling, eyes closed and breath slowing. This is fine. He’s fine. It’s just coffee. Something he drinks often. 

This is meant to be pleasurable. 

He holds that to his chest as he begins the ritual of preparing to leave the house. Lotions. Colognes. Hair gel and face creams. Would she like the way he smells? Does she hate facial hair? Or neckties? Or kids? 

Saturday arrives and a pile of clothes sits on Rook’s floor. Is this the kind of guy who would want her in a dress? Should she wear black? Or something bright? Is this an interview? Should she shave? She calls Bellara and Davrin, hoping for a balanced review. They can’t agree on an outfit. She feels like hot, wet shit. Then comes the text from Lace. I’m stranded in the middle of Arlathan but Bell’s at work and I know you live close to the lab so I was wondering if maybe you’d possibly rescue me? Also Bellara’s agreed and Taash is here, too.

Rook is used to playing the hero. It’s the role she’s been cast in for years. But in this moment, she hates Lace Harding. She hopes her and Taash get stampeded. Or that they drown. These images provide comfort as she begins the trek to Bellara’s 2011 chariot. She’s never been a romantic. But for once, she feels truly hopeless.

[mediaevalmusereads]

Ok, more specific recs if you want historical romance with working class characters:

At Least One Character is Working Class

Ana Maria and the Fox by Liana de la Rosa - M/F, an heiress and an MP

The Duke Who Didn't by Courtney Milan - M/F, a sauce-maker and a duke

Vampires of El Norte by Isabela Canas - M/F, an heiress and a vaquero

A Gentleman Never Keeps Score by Cat Sebastian - M/M, a disgraces gentleman and a tavern keeper

Romancing the Duke by Tessa Dare - M/F, daughter of a children's book author and a duke

Marry Me By Midnight by Felicia Grossman - M/F, heiress and a synagogue custodian

Proof by Seduction by Courtney Milan - M/F, a fortune teller and a marquess

Any Duchess Will Do by Tessa Dare - M/F, a barmaid and a duke

Would I Lie to the Duke by Eva Leigh - M/F, a soap maker and a duke

The Duchess Deal by Tessa Dare - M/F, a seamstress and a duke

Secrets of a Summer Night by Lisa Kleypas - M/F, an impoverished heiress and a business owner

The Governess Game by Tessa Dare - M/F, a governess and a duke

Duke of My Heart by Kelly Bowen - M/F, a private investigator and a duke

Wicked and the Wallflower by Sarah MacLean - M/F, a lady and a criminal

True Pretenses by Rose Lerner - M/F, an heiress and a conman

Sweet Disorder by Rose Lerner - M/F, a newspaperman's widow and a war vet

Both Are Working Class

The Marquis Who Mustn't by Courtney Milan - M/F, an innkeeper and a potter

An Unseen Attraction by KJ Charles - M/M, an innkeeper and a taxidermist

Hen Fever by Olivia Waite - F/F, a soldier's widow and a poultry farmer

Beauty and the Blacksmith by Tessa Dare - M/F, a gentlewoman (not nobility) and a blacksmith

The Devil Comes Courting by Courtney Milan - M/F, a missionary's adopted daughter and a telegraph line worker

A Lady By Midnight by Tessa Dare - M/F, a music teacher and a corporal

Forbidden by Beverly Jenkins - M/F, a cook and a business owner

The Siren of Sussex by Mimi Matthews - M/F, a working class woman and a tailor

The Rakess by Scarlett Peckham - M/F, a lady libertine and an architect

Something Like Love by Beverly Jenkins - M/F, a seamstress and a bandit

The Governess Affair by Courtney Milan - M/F, a governess and a duke's servant

Unraveled by Courtney Milan - M/F, a criminal and a magistrate

[ieatgluesticks]

Now for a totally very small rant about my 2 current obsessions Hazbin Hotel & Psychocuties/ПСИХОНЯШКИ

(This is basically just some differences and such with Alastor & Dr Masacrik)

Dr Masacrik seems wayy more comfortable with trying to use romance or seduction as a way to trick people into trusting him and letting their guard down, so then he can kill them, or like in Mimi's case, keep them around and manipulate them into helping him with stuff. On the other hand, Alastor is canonically aroace and seems to hate romance. In the pilot episode his personality made it seem like he might've been fine with using the same tactics as Dr Masacrik. Tho due to kinda bad writing for season 1, Alastor's personality got changed up a lot. And according to his personality in season 1, he probably wouldn't do what Masacrik does. Mainly because it seems he prefers to use intimidation and/or deals. And when he uses manipulation he doesn't seem to use romance at all. Also Dr Masacrik SEEMS (not completely sure yet since there's only one actual episode of the series so far) to target females, as there's way more straight females then gay men, so the flirtation and seduction would probably work better on females. Tho Alastor canonically seems to be more of a gentleman to females. In the canon comic "A day in the afterlife" he protected a female when a guy was trying to (i think sexually) assault her. He had killed the guy and ate him. Basically, Alastor probably wouldn't do anything like Dr Masacrik does.

yup very small rant about those two 👍

EDIT: Ok now that I think about it, Alastor before he died might've actually used atleast slightly similar tactics as Dr Masacrik cuz he wouldn't have had all those powers that he does after he died which he could've used to intimidate or scare people into making deals with him.

[gacha-incels]

after reading that last ask that actually talked about the games' story, i just. asker is okay! it just made me realise that this situation lowkey feels similar to JKR and HP.

im transmasc and autistic, and had pm games as a special interest prior to kjh showing his true colours. so seeing others continue on with playing and willingly give money? its just. yeah.

jkr harming trans people, kjh harming women, people who refuse to put down their works despite seeing how they continue to harm people because "theres nothing they can do about it" at best? idk where i was going with this but just. theres something to be said about separating art from the artist, the misuse of that term, and then how that misuse continues to fuel the artist's actions.

(... on the autistic part, its mainly me jabbing at those who refuse to put the games down. dunno if that made sense or not.)

I do find it ironic that there’s an overlap of people who will be very vocal about JK Rowling and boycotting anything Harry Potter related but still play Limbus Company while knowing everything that’s going on. like as soon as it’s something you actually enjoy being criticized and boycotted, suddenly you don’t give a fuck? suddenly you have all these excuses about playing a game that’s being actively boycotted by the very people its actions have harmed? as I said in the ask that you’re referring to, there are a lot of people that see themselves as “progressive” who simply do not view misogyny as a real issue, let alone one that significantly, violently affects half the world’s population. It’s sad enough to have to compare HP & LC in order to get westerners to care about what’s happening in South Korea.

There’s another sinister aspect of obfuscation westerners engage in when they react to limbus company and the pervasive misogyny in South Korea. People will write shit like “oh I don’t think we can understand what’s going on there, the culture is just way too different,” or “I don’t know much about this but (completely wrong information),” or “both sides are extremists!” It’s seductive language because it lets you off the hook for grappling with the morality of playing these games and it stops you from thinking about reality for women that live there. To many, these things are difficult so they just won’t think about it. It’s easier to “shut off your brain” and play games (a sentiment I saw repeated frequently in the limbus company subreddit and twitter). There are plenty of resources written by Korean women in both English and Korean that explain what’s happening, from journalists writing in a newspaper to someone writing about their experiences on their personal twitter or blog. To view them as some exoticized “other” whose culture you cannot understand is dehumanizing. like you, I find it frustrating to see people still engaging with the game, giddy about new gacha banners, etc. female Korean fans of PM/LC razed entire twitter accounts full of fanart and actively protest misogynist games and companies. monggeu (Leviathan) bravely told her story to the news regarding the working conditions at project moon, and Mimi (Wonderlab) took her entire commissioned comic down from Project Moon’s site. Meanwhile, western players can know all of this yet still play the game because they like to and it’s easy to keep playing. At some point it’s just shameful.

[lgbtqmanga]

New Releases April 15, 2025

I Want to Love You Till Your Dying Day (manga) vol. 2 by Nachi Aono

Undeterred by war and violence, Sheena commits to protecting Mimi, an immortal girl deployed into battle. As the two become closer, Mimi puts national security at risk when she discloses her status as a classified military weapon. This lapse in judgment angers the authorities, including those who run the magical orphanage. Mimi throws herself into even more deadly clashes and survives fatal wounds—thanks to a dark magic connected to love. Can Sheena harness that power to rescue Mimi and help bring about peace?

Kase-san and Yamada (manga) vol. 4 by Hiromi Takashima

Kase-san and Yamada are moving in together! But in the midst of their hunt for an apartment, Fukami learns that Kase-san is leaving the dorm. Shocked at this news, Fukami challenges her roommate to a 100-meter dash in an attempt to stop her. Who is destined to be Kase’s roommate - Fukami or Yamada?!

The Little Bird Sleeps by the Sea (manga) by Yuu Minaduki

Left devastated after the tragic death of his parents and sister, Yuuichi Tachibana adopts his seven-year-old nephew, Ayumu. Seeking a new beginning, he chooses to move them to a new house with a view of the ocean, hoping for a peaceful setting where they can concentrate on their healing. There they meet Ryou Kurebayashi, who owns a neighborhood deli, and become regular customers. As Ryou and Yuuichi grow closer, learning about each other’s unfortunately similarly tragic pasts, they begin to support one another - and Ayumu - day by day, building a little family of their own by the sea.

PUNKS TRIANGLE (manga) by Yuho Okita

Fashion student Chiaki dreams of seeing his designs on the runway, worn by none other than Ai - the charismatic male model who changed his life. When a prestigious competition promises to make that dream come true, Chiaki is fired up to win. But his hopes are dashed when he’s paired with the clumsy and unfashionable Enaga for the project. One fateful night, after a run-in with some delinquents, Chiaki is unexpectedly saved by his idol Ai. Even more shocking, Ai seductively offers to teach him how to have fun at night… Caught between the alluring, mysterious model he worships and a clumsy, rough-around-the-edges classmate who can’t seem to stay out of trouble (but may be hiding a surprising secret), Chiaki faces a heart-pounding, pure boy’s love dilemma that will turn his world upside down!

Rainbows After Storms (manga) vol. 3 by Luka Kobachi

Sunshine and storm clouds await Nanoha and Chidori as they head into their first summer as a couple. They’ll need to be ready for all sorts of thrilling activities, like an aquarium date, Chidori’s birthday, and their first sleepover - with all of their friends, of course. Even while hiding their relationship, the pair spend their precious time together treasuring each other.

Riverbay Road Men’s Dormitory (novel) vol. 1 by Fei Tian Ye Xiang

Multimillionaire movie director Zhang Yuwen has it all - fame, fortune, and a successful career. But what he really craves is to create a novel he can call true art. Passionate about this dream, he abandons the film industry to pursue writing full-time, only to hit an unexpected roadblock: his characters feel flat, lacking the authenticity he longs for. The problem? Zhang Yuwen has spent most of his life alone and hasn’t had much real-world interaction to draw from. As a single gay man with a luxurious villa full of empty rooms, Zhang Yuwen comes up with an unconventional solution. Why not rent those rooms out to other gay men and use them as inspiration for his novel’s characters? Enter his four new roommates: Yan Jun, a single father; Chen Hong, a fitness coach; Zheng Weize, a shy young livestreamer; and Chang Jinxing, a playboy and aspiring photographer. Each brings their own unique story and quirks, giving Zhang Yuwen the perfect opportunity to study real people up close. But as Zhang Yuwen dives deeper into their lives, one question remains: can these very different men manage to coexist long enough for him to finish his masterpiece? Or will the chaos of living together become the real story?

The Summer Hikaru Died (light novel) vol. 1 by Mio Nukaga and Mokumokuren

The bond between Yoshiki and Hikaru is a welcome escape from their isolated village. But one fateful day when the two boys meet up, Yoshiki can immediately tell something is off. Though the person standing before him wears Hikaru’s face, Yoshiki knows that his friend is…gone. It is then that Yoshiki makes a decision. Although things will never be as they once were, he would prefer this Hikaru to no Hikaru at all.

[squishywizardd]

Christopher and Mimi >>>>>>

No because I actually LOVE the development of their relationship so far if that’s what you choose. They’re so well matched. He’s genuinely growing into a kinder person who is literally obsessed with this incredible woman and she’s pretending to be indifferent but can’t fight the fact he’s growing on her. It’s such a good enemies to lovers it doesn’t feel forced at all…this man is genuinely in awe of her AS HE SHOULD BE I MEAN IT’S MIMI HOW CAN YOU NOT BE.

** AND HE WANTS HER FOR HER NOT BECAUSE SHE’S USING A SEDUCTION CHARM ON HIM**

[honeybeewhereartthee]

Crystal Heart: zuzu and mimi

Previous || chapter 03 || next

At the beginning of time. The devil doesn't have a name. Name are for those who want to be bound to one.

They don't even have a primal form, or even main gender. They are all those things that can change human hearts, things and beings that can seduce a heart of someone.

But in humanoid form, their eyes are strikingly enchanting that once you gaze upon them, you will be captivated in their love spell— then again such love spell is quite bothersome as a fae that loves negatives crystalize emotion. Love crystal are nothing but poison to them.

That's why, the devil thought of a way to use such curse to be use to them. To make people fall and break their hearts to be full of despair, jealousy and hate. Their hearts will surely be the most prize noirs.

Among all seductive demons, the devil is the most well known. A cold hearted dark fae who can laugh at people heartache as they eat noir like it's the sweetest red apple. they are all means, ethereal among the rest.

"hey Beelzebub!" Someone called out. The devil doesn't reply to such name but someone tap their shoulder in come a dark fae that isn't much fearful of the devil. She even smiled at them. "Why don't you reply when I'm calling for you?" She ask them who eating yet a other noir heart they gotten from a human they target for couple of days while enjoying looking at flowers in spring. "I dont I agreed to such label." To them, names are just label.

"Beside who even want such name for gluttony demons. You most have mistaken what type of demon I am." To be even compare to not so good looking demons is the worse crime you can do to a seductive demon.

"but you like to eat more than do your job." The dark fae name Hanako pout, the idea of name being use against someone is yet to be well known in that era, so sharing names is fine to them.

"humans are almost all filthy creatures, all they can do is give me food." The devil is not fond of humans. through it's more leant than they thought of angels. "But you like human children and babies." Hanako pointed out.

"ah that's what's your wrong. I only like newborn human children. They smell delicious." Spoke the seductive demon like they are demon of gluttony. "They can easily produce black heart cause they are easily to be bullied." They added with a charming smile. In the end of the day, its all about noir.

"you know, you like noir so much. I'm quite surprised you don't target a fellow fae for one."

"to kill a fae by stealing their heart full of hatred?" As if thinking of such idea almost new to them even through they have heard of it before. "It might taste good but fae only have one heart for their lifetime. What if I liked the taste of it and want more? Should I start to learn to defy law of life and death so I can eat more?" It's really a surprise this fae is not a gluttony demon with how they speak.

"there's no such thing as unlimited supply of fae heart. Especially from single fae. Reincarnation or matter of life and death isn't that easy thing you know?" Hanako sigh as her friend seems to be dreaming while awake. "Even if there's one. Do you think that person would let you do that? Your a fae who won't give you own heart to anyone after all."

"ahaha. If there's such good source I wouldn't mind exchanging hearts with them. After all with my looks alone anyone would be captivated by face value love." The devil is quite narcissist at the moment.

"Ah exchange heart then what? You can't eat your own heart can't you?"Hanako really want to question the logic of this fae sometimes.

"why bother with logic it's not a real thing anyway. It is but an what if. If that's even possible, the world might as be doom with my own offspring cause how derange such idea is." Obviously dreaming a pipe dream and thinking realistic doesn't need to be mix together. The devil rolled their eyes at their friend words like she's the idiot of this conversation.

Hanako want to punch this devil with that look they are giving her. Sometimes this fiend is the most annoying shit in the world.

The devil have a quirk. They like to jinx themselves unknowingly. It turn out what they said at the moment become reality in the future. At that time when the remember it, they were underground lock up as the world start to end around them.

They thought in their mind while being blindfolded to not seduce anyone who dare look at them in the eyes, mouth gag so they won't say more jinx things and ears listening to 24/7 how to be a good angel like trying to turn her to a new leaf: "ah. It seems the world is ending.... Good. I'm so sick of this repeated verses." Through thinking which core fae did it, was it the 3rd one or her son. Either way. Suck to the world.

...

A/N: pronoun change depending what form they are currently in.

[reabies]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Estelle Head-cannons pt:I

Lwk sorry if it’s ass

—👾🥝👾—

•makes sample sized perfumes as a hobby

•has a burner phone with a separate number and email she uses for her side job- she’ll get texts and voicemails asking for ‘Lucille’ and when she will be available.

•Has a black cat named Dior. She was a stray she picked up when she first moved into her apartment. She’s missing an eye.

•^^makes her little outfits for fun when she’s bored. Yes, her cat has a mini wardrobe with outfits 😋😋😋

•she naturally has a very ‘seductive’ speech pattern. It’s not necessarily FREAKAYYY, But she’s very elegant and sultry in the way she speaks- a habit she picked up as Lucille that just stuck.

•prefers burlesque shows over strip shows, makes her feel more classy and appreciated.

•she’s been proposed to. Twice.

Once on stage during a performance as Lucille, by a desperate and typically drunk man that was a regular at her main joint whenever her show nights were. Then, a second time by the same man, just outside when she was walking to the limo that was supposed to take her and her close dancer friends to a gathering- the bouncers did get involved.

•Lucille is known for her ‘dominance by design’ if you will. The majority of dancers and women in her side jobs field has some sort of specialty, Lucille’s just so happens to stand on BUSINESS.

•She knows that some people can be wooed because of her French accent (if they’re degenerates!) so she WILLLL be using that to her advantage.

•100% has a diary that she writes in with a variety of glittery gel pens, color coordinated and all.

•will never be caught dead in baggy clothes like sweats or t-shirts. THIS WOMAN HAS A REPUTATION TO KEEP.

•dare her to say tongue twisters in English. She cannot.

•Everytime she goes to an American mall, she is not below going into Claire’s for things like scrunchies and shit. This woman is resourceful neow.

•believed in Santa until she was 17. Her mom never had the heart to tell her. (Her mother is a sweet lady.)

•Estelle is the type of person to decorate for holidays wayyyyy too early.. what’s that? It’s October 1st?? HALLOWEEN DECORATIONS. thanksgiving just ended? Her tree is up. This woman will never be caught lacking.

•^^hosts holiday parties too for Christmas and New Years, even Valentine’s Day. (Do not go to her Valentine’s Day parties, you will not be leaving coherent. OR alone)

•Estelle watches TLC shows for the drama. Also shows like the bachelor and Kardashians, that’s the media she consumes.

•if you lend Estelle 20 bucks, she’ll give you 40 back.

•secretly enjoys watching mukbangs while she eats. Don’t ask me.

•Lucille may be erm… assertive! But Estelle is NAWT.. give this girl a break man 😞

•her sewing machine? Jean-Claude. Her beetle? Mimi. Her iron? Le Scorcher. She names everything..

•if your socks don’t match you’re outfit she will absolutely rip into you

•once threatened a man with a bedazzler. He backed down.

•she always wraps gifts PERFECTLY and BEAUTIFULLY. There will not be a single crinkle- and she also uses the cutest wrapping paper depending on the occasion.

•she’s one of the people that use voice to text because she’s almost always too busy to type. Or she just cannot be bothered.

•once got banned from a small fabric store for ‘obsessive caressing’. She claimed she was just “appreciating the weave.”…. Whatever the fuck that means

•was once offered a sugar daddy arrangement but ghosted the guy because his shoes were ugly.

“He had Gucci slides… with ankle socks.. Non, merci..”

•does own multiple ‘strutting around the apartment’ robes. Duh.

•refuses to use broken pencils. She’ll say “life is too short to write with stumpy sadness.” Or some corny shit like that.

•if you wanna know the type of vibe her ‘nightlife’ as Lucille is like, if you remember watching the lone digger music video where the cats and dogs absolutely beat the shit out of each-other while the ladies kept dancing in the cages, that’s basically it. Like, that’s the inspiration. (If you don’t watch it NEOWWW it’s fire asf)

[cantsayidont]

Hateration log, supplemental:

BULLETPROOF HEART (1994/1995): Very peculiar film noir (sometimes entitled KILLER on home video releases), directed by Mark Malone from a script by Gordon Melbourne, about a soulful hitman named Mick (Anthony LaPaglia), whose assignment to kill a woman named Fiona (Mimi Rogers) becomes the world's weirdest first date. Mick and his half-bright assistant Archie (Matt Craven) soon discover that, far from trying to hide or escape, Fiona — who has stolen a lot of money from the mob and is now threatening to go to the D.A. — is positively desperate for someone to put her out of her misery, responding to her putative assassin with alternating fits of morbid fascination, glib taunting, sadomasochistic seductiveness, weary melancholy, and at least one catatonic fit. Mick finds himself increasingly reluctant to go through with the job, much to the frustration of both his target and his boss (Peter Boyle).

The odd scenario and repeated tonal shifts are strange enough to hold your attention throughout, but the story never really finds its groove: It might have worked as either a sexy black comedy or as a tragic romance, but it keeps trying to do both and thus not entirely succeeding as either. It doesn't help that the eventual explanation of why Fiona is so keen to die is unpersuasive, or that the ending seems to be setting up an additional twist that's not ultimately forthcoming. CONTAINS LESBIANS? Nope. VERDICT: Memorably odd, but it can't quite decide what it wants to be.

[falsenote]

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

Who Killed Teddy Bear

Quick, name a film directed by Kevin Kline’s father-in-law. If you have a taste for failed sleaze you’ll come up with the third film in my “stalker trilogy,” Joseph Cates’ WHO KILLED TEDDY BEAR (1965, Prime, Plex, YouTube). The other two are SCREAMING MIMI (1958) and SATAN IN HIGH HEELS (1962), and though the middle one is clearly exploitation, the other two are more exploitation adjacent. SCREAMING MIMI exists to display the physical endowments of Anita Ekberg without showing any naughty bits. WHO KILLED TEDDY BEAR is more exploitation in the C.B. DeMille tradition of wallowing in decadence while seeming to condemn it. It’s altogether possible that Cates, writers Arnold Drake and Leon Tokatyan and producer Everett Rosenthal were seriously concerned with the culture’s growing sexualization, and you could hardly accuse its talented stars — Sal Mineo, Juliet Prowse and Elaine Stritch — of spreading smut. Yet it still has a smarmy feel about it, compounded by the low budget and unfortunate, choppy editing that seems to indicate they ran out of money before shooting everything in the script.

Prowse is an aspiring dancer making ends meet as a platter spinner at an early disco. She starts receiving obscene phone calls, but who is it? The vice cop (Jan Murray) who takes a particular interest in the case seems somewhat preoccupied with sexual perversion (he plays tapes of victim interviews while his ten-year-old daughter listens from the next room). But  he doesn’t have the body displayed in the shadows as the man calls her. When the stalker calls while Murray is there, the camera cuts to reveal it’s the club’s busboy (Sal Mineo). Meanwhile, Prowse’s boss (Elaine Stritch) seems to have her own designs on the woman’s body.

This is all shot rather primitively, with cameras following Mineo as he prowls 42nd Street, ogling suggestive lingerie in a shop window, looking at porn magazines and entering a theater showing CALL GIRL 77 (1962). The dancing at the disco is shot from a low angle to make it seem somehow sinister and hyper-sexualized. There’s also a flashback to Mineo’s past, when his seduction by an older woman led to an accident that left his young sister with brain damage. It’s all very sex-negative, yet for some reason there’s also a scene — beloved by gay men, their magazines and their porn sites — in which the camera makes love to Mineo as he works out in a tight Speedo. Is this to associate working out with sexual perversion, or does it possibly include our gaze in the film’s attack on sexuality?

The film’s main virtue is that it was shot in New York, offering a glimpse of the pre-Disney Times Square and theater actors like Rex Everhardt, Frank Campanella, Bruce Glover, Tom Aldredge and, of course, Stritch. She fares the best of the four stars, possibly because her part is too short to be burdened with the inconsistencies facing the others. Her pain when Prowse rejects her advances is touching (she had been directed to play the scene angrily but suggested what she considered a more realistic approach). Mineo probably suffers the worst from the inconsistent writing. He has solid moments, but there are other places where he doesn’t seem sure of where the part is taking him. Murray is unspeakably bad, not endowing his lines with much of anything so his painful story about his wife’s murder is almost funny. The role needed a George C. Scott, and they got a stand-up comic and game-show host, though I doubt even Scott could salvage the moment in which the detective suddenly remembers how mirrors work. Prowse is so beautiful it almost doesn’t matter how good she is. She gets a nice moment of dancing toward the end, and in her final shots, her body language is devastating. Just before the climax, she’s putting away records at the disco while humming “My Desire.” It’s an almost poetic comment on the action with a lot more resonance than the film’s usually shrill attacks on sexuality. If it was her idea, it suggests that, absent any directorial artistry, the actor sometimes has to function as auteur.