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angel-eyes05 · 1 year

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to leave the warmest bed i've ever known (part 2)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

pairing: spider-woman!reader x miguel o’hara

summary: life on the run is not for the weak. you're reminded of this once you run into someone you haven't seen in a while

warnings: a lot of angst (there'll be fluff and smut soon i swear i just feel like writing angst right now lmao), HUGE ATSV SPOILERS DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THIS MOVIE, mentions and descriptions of blood and injuries, this is so against canon its insane

word count: 2.2k

notes: ok so i changed my mind, miguel and the reader arent gonna make up just yet🤭. trust me when they do it'll be worth it lmao. im gonna need everyone to suspend their belief for the next chapters cause im kind of just making up the plot to beyond the spider-verse at this point for this silly little fic so just go with it

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God, this was very quickly turning out to be a very bad decision. The movies made being on the run seem a lot easier than this. What they had failed to include was how easily it was to get ambushed by Spider-Society members while hopping between the dimensions looking for Miles. Your little group basically had to hop through a bunch of different dimensions within a week and look for him there, then leave before HQ managed to track you guys down. You’re not sure how much time has passed since you left. Maybe a few weeks. Maybe a few months. The passage of time was pretty weird when you were constantly hopping through the fabric of space and time. All you knew is that your eyes had naturally dulled out the neon orange light that shined from the portals you were constantly jumping through. Luckily, none of your team had been caught yet. There had been a few close calls, but only two of those led to severe injuries, one of them being Gwen, and the other time being you.

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You and your team had been ambushed due to a malfunction with the portal opening. Each of you were put with your own variant to fight. Just to your luck, you were confronted by Jess. She looked awful to be honest. Stressed. She was probably put on finding you and your team while Miguel endlessly searched for Miles. This little wild goose chase had tired her out. Part of you felt bad. But that was very quickly overcome by the feeling of betrayal growing in your chest. You had a feeling she felt a similar way. “Please don’t make me do this. Just let me take you home,” she said weakly. Home. That’s right. That's basically what HQ had been to you before. You hadn’t been back to your Earth in five years, ever since Miguel caught you on the top of that building. Jessica was your first friend there. She had shown you the ropes to everything, been there for you during your lowest moments, and guided you to your highest ones. And now you had to repay her by sending her back to Miguel in a bloody pulp. You hated that this is how things had to go. But such was life for someone like you. “I have no home anymore,” you said at her monotonically before charging at her with your fists first. She’s quick to react, using one of her webs to swing away. It’s clear she doesn’t want to hurt you, each of her movements swift to defend herself, but never going on the offensive side. She could easily take you down if she wanted to. She had been doing this longer than you had and was more skilled than you too. She was going easy on you, desperately trying to show you she didn’t want to fight. But you didn’t care. You had put too much on the line to start to give up now.

The others had taken down their foes long before you had finished with Jess. You could see Gwen running up to you out of the corner of your eye, Ben tied up in a web behind her. You webbed her to the floor before she could get closer to the struggle you and Jess were currently in. You gave Gwen a quick, reassuring nod that she returned before running off to find the others. Once Gwen was out of sight, you quickly attached a web to Jess’ face, and pulled it down into your knee, knocking her glasses off her face and shattering on the floor. With her off her balance, you took the opportunity to try to knock her out. You slammed your fists into her face, one after the other, releasing all of the stress that had accumulated in your body over the past couple of months into her cheeks. You couldn’t see the damage you were doing, blinded by rage and betrayal and your fists blocking out her face. The only thing you could see was the blood splattering off of her face onto yours. You felt a voice in the back of your head begging you to stop. You desperately wanted to, but you had lost control of your body. Jess wasn’t the real person you wanted to hurt here, you already knew who that was. But she was the closest thing you could get to him right now. And if you were being honest with yourself, she wasn’t completely innocent to you either.

In her last desperate attempt to save herself, Jess shoved her forearm in the way of your balled up knuckles, grabbed a piece of shattered glass from her broken frames, and shoved it deep into your chest. Your reign of fury on her face suddenly stopped as pain quickly snapped through your body. You quickly fell to your knees, partially out of shock, and looked down to see the blood spilling out of your chest. As Jess dropped to her knees as well, you could finally get a gauge of the damage you’ve done. You couldn’t tell if the blood loss was making you see things, but her nose looked almost crooked, a dark cut slicing through the middle of it and blood pouring out of both nostrils. Both of her eyes were swollen, not entirely shut but on their way there. You looked down at your hands, the skin on your knuckles broken off and bleeding through the fabric of your suit, blending in with its natural red. They were trembling with a mixture of faded anger and new guilt. I never wanted to hurt her, you kept repeating to yourself in your head, as if it was going to make any difference. Maybe if you thought it hard enough, it would erase your actions. You suddenly flinched when you felt Jessica’s hand cupping your face. You looked up at her, mouth agape. Her soft thumb brushed your face as she stared lovingly at your face. So she did know. That made you feel a little less stupid when you broke down in front of her then and there. You just felt awful. Jess was your friend. Your best friend probably. And look at what you’ve done to her. You couldn’t understand how she managed to still be so soft with you, despite how much you’ve just mutilated her face.

It was ever harder for you to understand how quickly she enveloped you as soon as she saw the tears begin to streak her face. You didn’t deserve this. You should run away. You need to run away. You’re currently bleeding out, and you’re just sitting here, sobbing into the crook of her neck. She’s probably just stalling for time and holding you here until help comes for her. But the longer you sat here the longer you realized…this was just her. It was only Jess here. No help was coming. Jess just wanted to hold you again one last time before letting you run away again. Once you pulled away from her, she wiped away your tears. “Don’t let me catch you,” she whispered into your ear. It was a reminder to you that while she was still holding onto her beliefs, that didn’t mean she ever stopped caring for you. She helped to push you up off of the ground, her hands now covered in your blood. You began to walk away out of the dark alley to look for the others. Before leaving entirely, you turned around to look at Jess, still laying there. “I’ll find you once this is all over. So don’t you dare die on me, okay?” you shouted at her. She gave a simple nod in return, watching as you stumbled out of alley way. While you made the ultimate decision to let her live that day, you still had anger boiling up in your body. Somebody had to pay for all of this. All of this chaos that was about to unleash itself onto the multiverse. And you know exactly who did. And you didn’t intend to show him the same mercy you showed Jess. No. This was a job you intended to finish.

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Thankfully, your chest laceration healed up quicker than expected, allowing you and your teammates to get back on track. Images of your encounter with Jess replayed through your mind for the next couple of weeks. The only other person you told about the details of your brutalization of Jess was Peter B., knowing he would understand with all the hard decisions he’s had to make himself. Gwen and Hobie had also noticed that you were acting a little bit off, but you avoided the subject every time they would bring it up.

Suddenly though, it was happening. The moment you and your team had anticipated for the past couple of weeks. You were awoken by the bright glow of three orange portals opening up, three Spider-Men in each. Your team sprang awake and began to make a run for it. It was no use though, as one by one, each member of your team was separated by a different group of variants, until it was just you, Gwen, and Peter running. While you were running, you felt a hand yank at the hair on the back of your head. You quickly turned around and found Ben Reilly as the culprit. You didn’t hesitate to jump into the air and kick his face, pushing him off of you and onto the floor. As the three of you kept running, your attention was suddenly caught by something else. “Keep your hands off her! That one’s mine!” you heard the familiar voice call out to Ben. A chill went down your spine, as the three of you stopped dead in your tracks. You did it. You finally managed to lure the bat out of his cave. Before you could turn around and find the face that belonged to that deep, alluring voice, you were caught off guard as you felt a body dive into your stomach at full speed, knocking all of the air out of you lungs. The pure force of the dive pushed you and the figure into the brick wall of an abandoned building, crashing into the structure.

Vision and hearing fuzzy from the impact, you heard Gwen scream out your name and begin to start running to you, before her and Peter B. get swept up by their own variants to take care of. Your head throbs in pain as you look around the building, feeling a huge weight on your chest. You look down at the rest of your body to find what’s weighing you down so much. And it’s him. Miguel’s massive body laying on top of you, his head dug into your stomach and arms wrapped around your waist from the dive. You were partially in shock. First of all, from the fact that your first interaction with him in months is him attempting to kill you (although it’d be a lie to say you weren’t thinking similar things). Second, you were still reeling from the blow. And third, the most shocking of all, was that this was arousing you in some way. Despite how much anger you were feeling towards him right now, you still managed to get butterflies in your stomach from how much of him was on top of you right now. He basically enveloped all of the lower half of your body.

Shame and anger filled your body fast as you tried to push him off of you, any attempts in vain though due to how massive he was. He helped you though when he began to stand up, allowing you to get yourself up and dive through his legs as an escape. Just as you made your attempt to run out of the hole in the wall, away from a fight you know you couldn’t win, Miguel’s giant hand wrapped around your forearm. He pulled your body back to face him and slammed his massive fist into your face. Blood spurted out of your nose purely from the impact and you were nearly knocked onto the floor. You grabbed your nose in reaction and looked up at him towering over you, unable to make out his expression from his mask. “You must’ve been thinking about this encounter for a while. Have you been thinking about me, Miggy?” you quipped at him. Usually you spoke playfully with him whenever you were in a good mood with him, but this time it was your one desperate attempt to push down any feelings that would get in the way of you doing what needed to be done. “Don’t feel so flattered cariño. Whatever happens here isn’t personal,” he said in that deep, flirty tone you always found so sexy. But right now all it did was piss you off even more. “Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better,” you said, dropping the slight smirk you had on your face. Taking action right away, you charged right at him, ready to do it right this time. You just wished he had his mask off so you could look him dead straight in his crimson eyes as you killed him.

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NEXT CHAPTER

a/n: i had night shift by lucy dacus on loop while writing the fight with jessica....thats all ill say on the matter. also sorry miguel's barely in this chapter i need to set up plot and shit. ALSO I JUST WANNA PREFACE, MY FIC TAKES PLACE A COUPLE OF MONTHS AFTER ACROSS THE SPIDERVERSE SO JESS HAD ALREADY GIVEN BIRTH. I SWEAR Y/N DID NOT JUST BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF A PREGNANT LADY💀💀💀

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#fanfic #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderverse #fem!reader #fanfiction #jessica drew

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guinea-pig16 · 1 year

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Late Night || Part 3

This is part 3 of Late Night, so if you'd like context I'd recommend reading part 1 and part 2! Fic is below the cut, please enjoy!

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Word Count: 2,300+

Warning: angst, suggestive thoughts

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Monty’s fist shot through his mirror, shattering the glass and splitting the wooden frame, the lights around the edges flickering in a panic.

He was pissed. He was pissed beyond words.

He let out a roar and grabbed his bass guitar, lifting it above his head, he splintered it against the floor, making it let out a horrific whine.

Monty tore apart his green room. Nothing was spared from his fury. Families walking around outside were directed by Bots to steer clear of his room. Velvet rope closed off the area, a smiling Monty cut out explaining that he was resting and would be back shortly. The shredded chair that had been thrown through the plexiglass of his room disagreed.

Hours passed and Monty finally slowed his rampage. The PizzaPlex had closed by this point, and the MopBots had finally been able to come by and begin sweeping up the broken glass and splintered wood outside of his room.

He stood there amid his destruction, body heaving in air to cool his overheated gears.

Why?

Why did this have to happen to him? Why was he always second place? Why was he always the second favorite, left behind, discarded, no one’s first choice?

Why did you choose Freddy over him?

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It was after your last shift when Monty came to find you, to try and cheer you up, find out who was bothering you, and make it go away. He had reached the entrance and saw you walking away. He had just begun to call for you when Freddy appeared.

Monty had stopped in his tracks. He doesn’t know why, but he hid, and watched as Freddy spoke to you, and led you away, back to his room. He doesn’t know why, but he followed behind silently, seething as he saw how uncomfortable you seemed. He watched as the both of you entered the room, and he watched through the crack in the curtain as you professed your love to Freddy, him doing the same.

And he watched as you two kissed.

He tore his eyes away soon after.

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t feel.

It seemed as though his servos had been ripped out of his body, his metal plating wrenched open and his wiring tangled and torn. And it hurt. It hurt so bad. He shouldn’t be able to feel pain, but this ache in his chest said otherwise.

Monty slipped away from the window and silently trekked back to his room, numb. There was a word for this, wasn’t there? A word that encapsulated what he was feeling. He wracked his mind for it, but it continuously slipped from his grasp. What was it?

He stumbled into his room and stood there. He looked around at his belongings, eyes empty. His gaze drifted over his couch, his neon sign, his arcade machine, his chair, his bass guitar, and then finally, his mirror. There, taped to the edge of the mirror was a photo strip, of you and him, smiling, making silly faces, him ruffling your hair, and then you laughing as Monty slammed his head on the ceiling of the booth. Numbly, he grabbed the photo strip and looked at the last picture.

Had he not been clear enough? All the times he hung around you during work, all his jokes, all the touches, and the looks. Had you not noticed how he would go star-struck at your smiles and laughs? How he would gaze at you in awe when you would rant about your favorite things, how he would memorize the way your eyes would light up like the brightest stars in the sky.

Had he realized too late that he was in love with you?

Monty’s chest tightened as he gazed at the pictures of you.

Oh, how he wished to hold you… How he wished to hold you close and whisper how much he adored you, how he would do anything for you. How he wished he could look at you with all the love and adoration he holds, and see you look at him the same way. How he wished he could kiss you passionately so you would know exactly how you make him feel. How he dreams about you at night… How he imagines you… pressed against his wall… bodies so close together…his mouth on your neck, your short breaths, his hands wandering roughly. Your arms wrapped around his neck as one of his hands wanders lower, lower. The sound you would make, how he would smother it with a rough kiss… Oh, how he wished he could ruin you…

…But he can’t now…

…Because of him.

Monty’s face drew back into a sneer, his hands beginning to tremble.

Oh, how he hated him. That stupid, popular, fucking bear. It’s Freddy’s fault this happened. It’s Freddy’s fault he lost you. It’s Freddy’s fault he’s alone. It’s Freddy’s fault that he’s always second place. It’s Freddy’s fault. It’s Freddy’s fault It’s Freddy’s fault It’s Freddy’s fault It’s Freddy’s fault It’s Freddy’s fault-

That’s when he snapped.

Monty’s fist reared back.

And he imagined it was Freddy’s face peering back at him as his fist connected with the mirror.

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Monty’s chest heaved as he panted, a motion programmed into him if he overheated. He looked around his room, mind finally clear from his mindless rage. He winced at the shattered window and noted his missing armchair. His couch was split in half, each part sitting in opposite sides of the room, both parts equally shredded to bits. There was stuffing, splinters, and glass littering the floor, making Monty grateful he was an animatronic and it wouldn’t hurt to walk around in it. His speakers had been ripped from the walls, one he could tell he’d put his foot through, and the other… From a glance out his window, he could tell it’d met the same fate as the chair. His curtains were nothing but rags at this point, shredded to a pulp. His vanity table had been reduced to wooden scraps, and his vanity chair had been twisted into a metal pretzel. And his bass guitar… Damn, he wished he hadn’t destroyed that… The body had been smashed to bits, the neck twisted and bent. And finally, his mirror… that was the only part of his rampage he remembered. There was a clean hole right through the center of the mirror, and the wall behind it. Monty looked at his fractured reflection in fragments left in the splintered frame.

God, he looked worn out... If he were a person, he knew there’d be bags underneath his eyes. He let out a sigh. Thankfully, it seemed he didn’t damage himself much during the rampage, from what he could tell he’d only really scratched the paint off himself.

He looked around his room again, thinking. Man… I’ve really gotta stop doing this… It’s always a pain in the ass to get new furniture… And now I’ve gotta get the window replaced, that’s a new one. I don’t think I’ve ever smashed that window before… He thought as he began to pick up larger chunks of debris to throw away. Least I can do is pick up a little for whatever sorry ass has to-

Knock, Knock.

Monty stopped and tiredly looked back at his door. Speak of the devil… He thought as he straightened and walked towards the door. Man, what even was he going to say to whoever had to clean this up? He hadn’t done anything this bad in a long time. He stood in front of his door, mulling over his words. The door slid open.

“Hey, look, sorry about the-” Monty started, and then froze. Cold washing through his senses.

You were standing in the doorway.

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You had already prepared yourself to see the worst when Monty opened his door. You’d been here for plenty of his tantrums before, so you were accustomed to seeing his room completely trashed.

But you weren’t expecting this much damage. You had to keep yourself from gasping as you caught a glimpse behind Monty.

Jesus Christ, he broke his fucking window! That shit is plexiglass! How did he manage to break plexiglass!? You thought as you quickly scanned Monty’s body for injuries, sighing internally when all you saw were some dents and scratches. Monty was still looking at you like a deer in headlights as the two of you lock eyes.

“...Um… Hey Monts… I just came to check up on you after the uh… well you know.” You say awkwardly, gesturing to the mess behind him. He turns his head to look at the wreckage, and you swear you saw him wince slightly.

“Yeah… I was just uh… Blowing off some steam…” He says, running a hand through his mohawk. You raise a brow at him.

“...Some helluva steam then. You do realize you threw your chair and speaker through plexiglass right?” You wave a hand to the outside of the greenroom where bots are currently sweeping up the broken chair, speaker, and glass. Monty stares at his feet. Your gaze softens and you cross your arms.

“Monty, what’s wrong? You know you can tell me, right?” You say softly. Ever since you started working here, you were the only one who was able to get Monty to talk about his feelings. After every tantrum, every rampage, you were there with open ears, ready to listen to whatever was bothering him. You didn’t mind, he was one of your friends after all.

Monty finally looked you in the eye again. You could almost see the thoughts running through his head as he stared at you. You observed him as he thought. He looked tired, almost defeated. You could feel sadness radiating off of him, so palatable it almost brought tears to your eyes. What on earth could have made him feel this way?

“...Y/N… I-” Monty started, leaning closer to you. But he was quickly interrupted by the sound of jogging footsteps, and a familiar voice. Before you turned around, you saw Monty’s fist tighten.

“Monty! I see you have finally stopped. Are you feeling better, my friend?” Said Freddy as he approached the two of you. You turned and smiled brightly at Freddy, unknowingly causing Monty to frown, rage beginning to bubble up once more.

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Monty watched as you turned your attention from him to the bear behind you, giving Freddy a gorgeous smile. He watched as Freddy smiled back and placed a hand on your shoulder, you unknowingly leaning into the touch. And he watched as Freddy turned those wretched blue eyes to him, them filling with concern. Oh, how he wanted to rip those eyes out of his stupid face.

“I’m fine.” Monty sneered, causing you to raise an eyebrow at his attitude.

“...Ah, that is wonderful to hear, Monty! You had all of us worried today. It lasted much longer than usual, you see…” Freddy said, uncomfortably, shifting slightly in place. Monty glanced behind him.

Damn, how long did it last? He had blacked out during his rage, the only thing he remembered was punching the shit out of his mirror. After he saw… Monty growled lowly at the memory, and watched as Freddy subtly pulled you closer to him. You put a hand over Freddy’s, and looked at Monty, concern filling your gaze.

“Monty, what’s wrong? There’s clearly something bothering you. Come on, you can talk to us…” You say, reaching a hand out to him.

Monty considered your hand for a moment, and looked between you and Freddy. He looked at your concerned expression, and then looked at Freddy, and was slightly surprised to see the same look. He didn’t think Freddy cared that much. Maybe… Maybe he could tell you. Tell the both of you. Maybe you would understand. Maybe Freddy would too. What if… What if you felt the same way? Maybe he and Freddy could agree to…

No.

Monty froze.

Y/N chose Freddy, remember? They left you in the dust, gone, discarded.

He shuddered slightly.

F o r g e t t h e m .

Monty was silent for a moment, before he straightened and glared at you and Freddy, causing the two of you to take a step back.

“I’m fine. Now buzz off before I make you.” He snarled, before slamming his door shut. He stood there and waited until he heard the two of you walk off, listened to the hesitation in your footsteps.

…Why did he do that? He was just about to talk to you, let you know how he felt. What stopped him? Monty ran a hand over his face and began to walk across his room to sit on the remnants of his couch when he stepped on something that wasn’t glass or wood. He stopped and looked down.

It was the photo strip of you and him.

He stared, and then leaned down and picked it up. He held the strip gently in his hands as he looked at the picts of you and him. There was still time to get to you and Freddy. If he ran he could catch up, explain himself. And then he knew you’d be able to help. Figure out a way where you both could be together. And maybe he could learn to get along with Freddy, if only for your sake. Maybe he didn’t have to be alone-

As if.

Y/N doesn’t care enough about you to do that. How could you be so naive?

Monty stilled, staring at the strip.

You don’t need anyone, you’re better off alone.

F o r g e t a b o u t t h e m .

T h e y n e v e r c a r e d a n y w a y s .

Monty blinked, his vision going blurry for a moment.

Right. They didn’t care, did they?

What was he thinking?

Monty looked once more at the photo strip, and then shredded it to peices, feeling familiar rage bubbling up in him once more. A snarl ripped out of him.

Oh yeah, he remembered the that word now.

His eyes glew red as he began his rampage anew.

Betrayal.

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Hi hi hiii !! I hope you enjoyed! Sorry if this wasn't what you hoped for, or expected from me, I've been having crazy writer's block recently and have been busy with graduation stuff. I'll be working on a part 4 and maybe 5 soon though! I promise I'll get to an actual proper Monty x reader soon!

Thank you so much for your support! XOXO <3

tagged people:

@dokoni-mo @softiejae @quietlyignoringyou @johnwicks-tie

#fnaf fic #monty gator #monty x reader #glamrock monty #montgomery gator #montgomery gator x reader #angst writing #gim fic #fnaf security breach #fnaf sb #glamrock freddy #fnaf x reader #fnaf fandom #glamrock freddy x reader

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maidflowery · 2 months

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Fortified Wager ♧♧♧ 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 3

♦︎♦︎ Aventurine x Reader ♦︎♦︎ 𝕀𝕝𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕

🄱🄰🄲🄺 🅃🄾 【Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ２】

𝕋𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕠𝕗 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥

𝗨𝗻𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗰𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗹𝘆, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗱 𝘂𝗽 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻, 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲, 𝗮𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗹 𝗮𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲. 𝗥𝗲𝗳𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘃𝗲𝘅 𝗴𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗱 𝗴𝗮𝗺𝗯𝗹𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗱 𝗮 𝗯𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿—𝗮𝗻 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗵 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗿. 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗻, 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗼𝗰𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸. 𝗣𝘂𝗿𝗽𝗹𝗲, 𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗲, 𝗻𝗮𝘃𝘆—𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝗱𝗲𝗲𝗽𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗱𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁, 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝗲𝘁 𝗵𝗶𝗺.

╔══ ≪ ♥♥♥ ≫ ══╗

Aventurine's reign of terror on Primavera ended after his 8th victory.

After that, he no longer showed up daily, but instead two or thrice a week, usually on the weekend—probably to the staff’s relief.

Since Aventurine had become somewhat of a local sensation, this change threw many into confusion, and many rumors began circulating.

Some said that he was just bored, while others believed that there was something deeper going on behind the scenes. Word went around that someone threatened to expose him for foul play, or that he was almost robbed on the way home.

Despite being there to witness his 8th victory, you couldn’t say much because you dashed home after trying wagyu steak for the first time in your entire life.

In your defense, you were afraid that Aventurine would withdraw the offer after seeing everyone dining literally like kings.

Ah, weeks later, I can still taste the tenderness of the meat and the sweet savory sauce...

But honestly, work probably just got busy or something, considering he worked at such a high-profile company.

Personally, the weekends were literally your only days off, so no complaints there.

...No, if anything, you were immensely grateful to him!

🂡 🂠 🂣 🂠

“—I’m late!!”

You were running with all your might.

Before anything else, no, you weren’t running late to work. In fact, you just got off one.

That day was Saturday, so there was no class. Even during the weekend, sometimes you had a shift to cover, and today was the example.

Growl.

You hadn’t had dinner yet, so your stomach was rumbling. You'd also be lying if you said you weren't tired. However, you were smiling from ear to ear.

As for where you were headed to, it was none other than the fanciest nightclub that countryside town had to offer. Yes, Primavera.

The nightclub's dazzling entrance stood before you. Neon lights in vibrant hues of pink, blue, and green illuminated the facade, casting a pulsating glow onto the surrounding pavement. The door itself was flanked by towering LED screens displaying animated graphics and the club's logo. A velvet rope, guarded by impeccably dressed bouncers, marked the entrance, while a red carpet invited guests to step into the glamorous world beyond.

You casually strode inside, making your way through the flashy hallway. The walls were adorned with large, abstract artworks bathed in soft, ambient lighting that shifted subtly in color, creating a sophisticated atmosphere. Mirrored panels lined one side of the hallway, reflecting glimpses of the stylishly dressed patrons passing by.

It didn’t take long for you to find the main dance floor.

Including the first time your friends invited you out, it was the fifth time you had been there this month.

And no, it wasn’t because you were suddenly promoted to a CEO or something.

Upon arriving, you immediately shot a glance at the bar section of the venue.

“Nice! I made it in time!”

As usual, the smoking hot blond gambler was playing poker against his opponent at the table reserved for them, surrounded by a large crowd. From the looks of it, the game had been going on for some time.

Aventurine was probably smiling as usual. As for his opponent, you really couldn’t make out his expression from here, but your condolences.

Having made sure that you hadn’t missed the highlight of that night, you went to look for a staff member.

Despite the flashing lights, you could easily find them due to their fancy uniforms. A few were standing nearby with polite smiles etched to their faces.

"The menu, please!" You asked like you owned the place.

When they heard that, their expressions twitched, but you pretended not to notice. None of them moved, though. Did they not hear you or something?

Just as you were about to repeat your order, something slid in front of you. A sleek, large book bound in black leather. It was the menu.

You turned around and saw a bluish-haired young man holding out the menu to you.

This guy...!

When you saw his face, you had to do a double take.

Generally speaking, the youth was good-looking. He was lean and slender, without any excess weight anywhere. His posture was firm and elegant, while each of his movement was graceful. His slicked-back hair, coupled with the tuxedo, made him look like a real-life European butler. As a side note, he was short.

What’s with those dead fish eyes...!?

Yes, the first thing that caught your eyes was his hollow, bleak gaze. It reminded you of the saying, “If you stare at the abyss, the abyss stares back.”

But soon, you were also reminded that it was rude to stare.

“T-thanks.”

You were about to receive the menu when the butler(?) suddenly retracted his hand.

What?

You looked up at him again, feeling both confused and shocked.

You were stunned by what you saw—the butler(?) was outright scowling at you! Not to mention, it was a look of pure contempt and disdain!

What the hell is that about?!

Then, as if it was just a lie, he reverted back to his expressionless face.

As you were reeling from what had just happened, you heard him say in the most fed-up tone.

“...It’s you.”

“Excuse me??”

You tried to reach for the menu again, but the butler(?) swiftly evaded your hand. It happened twice, and then thrice, so it sure as hell ain’t a coincidence. He was pissing you off.

What’s with this guy?!

Thus, your battle with the annoying butler(?) began.

“Is this how you treat a customer?! Shame on you! This is coming from someone who also works in the service industry!”

In the middle of the fight, you tried to assert your customer rights. You had managed to grab a hold of the menu and was trying to seize it from him.

In response, the butler(?) scoffed. "Ha. A customer would pay for their order. Do that, and I’ll release this.”

“As far as I recall, all of my meals have been paid!” You shot back in retaliation.

Technically, they were—just not out of your own pocket.

The butler(?) smirked. "Uh-huh. Are you banking on that gambler winning and treating everyone again?"

He took advantage of the timing to pull the menu so hard, you almost toppled over, but you held on.

Damn! This guy is so slim! Where does all this strength come from?!

You used a low and wide stance for better stability, and grip the menu firmly with both hands!

“Well, it’s happened the last four times, so what’s stopping him from doing just that this time!?”

Slow and steady were the keys; you managed to pull back the menu inch by inch.

Amidst the altercation, his colleagues entered your vision. They still didn’t budge.

Are you just going to pretend nothing happened? Okay then.

“Who knows? I heard that his opponent is especially tough tonight. A top global poker player.”

“Yes, but I’m sure he’ll win anyway!”

“Then have the decency to place your order when he actually does!”

“Does it matter?! Either way, I’m getting my food!”

“Of course it does! Who would be so shameless as to order without any intention of paying?! Even daring to ask for the menu in advance! The sheer audacity!”

After enjoying a lavish meal totally free of charge four times, dare you say that you had gotten a bit... bolder? With Aventurine around, even a beggar could be a chooser!

Then, as you engaged in a tug-of-war with the butler(?) over the menu, the crowd that had filled the room all the way to the entrance suddenly erupted in cheers.

“As expected of Aventurine!!”

“Aventurine, you’re so amazing!!”

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"

"Victory!"

"We love you Aventurine!”

"Our champion!"

"Well done!"

"Incredible!"

—Followed by a cheerful, carefree voice as if the owner hadn’t just won millions by just sitting around and twirling cards.

“Well, well, I see that everyone is as lively as ever. As always, I really appreciate it. The tab’s on me!”

Even louder cheers ensued, and at the same time, you realized that the menu had eased into your hands. However, the butler(?) hadn’t completely let go.

You turned to look at him and shot him the nastiest grin you could muster.

“Heh.”

The butler(?) still wouldn’t let go! Also, that disdainful scowl was back! It was on full display this time!

How persistent!

Just as you were prepared to start round two of tug of war, a much friendlier, yet hesitant voice could be heard.

“C’mon now, Marius. That’s not how you should treat a customer.”

Damn right!

After frequenting this place, you’d become quite familiar to some of the staff and patrons, so you recognized the voice right away.

“Bartender!” You turned around with glee.

An older man with wavy ginger hair tied in a ponytail had come over. He was clad in a classy business vest and pure white shirt. In his hands was a tray with an iced colorful beverage.

He was Teo, the one and only bartender of Primavera!

Yes, the same guy who stopped you from bringing their cocktail glass home the first time you went here!

On top of that, he was also good-looking!

However, a voice much colder than the icy drink the bartender was carrying interrupted your reunion.

“I see it as nipping the problem in the bud. You’ll be thanking me later when you have one less entitled beggar to deal with.”

“Excuse me?!?!”

Keep in mind that you and the butler(?), Marius, were still in the middle of a tug of war.

In response, Teo smiled as if troubled. “You’re being too harsh. Besides, we’re the ones who advertised free meals if Aventurine wins the game. Doing so and not making good on our words would be false advertising.”

Teo seemed accustomed to Marius' antics and coaxed him like an older brother, with patience as vast as the ocean.

“Tsk. Emphasize on the word ‘if.’”

At last, Marius relented. Finally, the menu was yours!

Marius was about to turn on his heels and leave, but not before shooting you one last menacing glance.

“Let’s see how long his luck will last, shall we?” He scoffed; his lips twisting into a sardonic grin.

He left with those words.

All right, that’s it—!

You’ve had enough!

“I want to speak to the manager!”

You demanded Teo, who stood there looking uneasy.

Then, he awkwardly replied.

“You... kind of already did, just now.”

🂥 🂠 🂧 🂠

You stood in front of the bar, placing an order for your meal. After waiting in the queue, your turn finally arrived. By the way, Aventurine was nowhere to be seen.

The one who took it was, of course, Teo.

“—Cheer up. You were about to order this, yes? I especially prepared it for you.”

During this hard time, only Teo and his angelic smile were there to nurse your bruised ego. Compared to that guy from earlier, Marius, the difference was like heaven and hell.

You stared at the tray he was carrying earlier.

Whenever you went to Primavera, you’d make sure to order different food, but your drink would remain the same no matter what.

“Here, a glass of ‘Lazuli Bells.’”

A vibrantly-colored drink consisting of three layers. The purple upper layer was a concoction made of grape punch and some flower extract. The second layer, which was cyan-colored, was made of fizzy bubblegum soda. The third layer, the thickest and darkest one, was pure blueberry syrup. The sweet and floral fragrance blended well with the refreshing fruity flavor.

There was no alcohol content because Teo had tweaked it for you, who were a light drinker. Now, you can enjoy it without worry. How thoughtful and considerate of him.

“Thank you. You don’t have to do this, really.”

You shyly received the drink from him. The vibrant green mint leaf bobbled on top as you did so.

Teo smiled earnestly. “On top of increasing the flower extract, I also added a dash of raspberry and a spoonful of honey to the grape punch this time. Do let me know your thoughts!”

“I’ll be sure to!”

That was the least you could do. The guy seemed to sincerely enjoy his work.

You took the glass of drink to your usual spot.

🂡 🂠 🂣 🂠

Previously, you mentioned that after your frequent visit, you had become acquainted with the staff and patrons of Primavera.

In reality, there were only two of them. One staff, and one patron. No, of course Marius wasn’t included. The staff being Teo, as for the patron...

Your usual spot was located at the farthest corner of the bar section. After the Aventurine fever, everyone was scrambling to get a front seat to witness the star of the night. Hence, it could be said to be the worst seat ever.

At the very least, you weren’t alone.

At your usual spot, sat a girl wearing a hooded, hand-knitted poncho. The entirety of her outfit had a neutral color palette, blending in with the crowd. Due to how the hood was drawn to her face, only a glimpse of her navy-blue hair could be seen from time to time.

From the moment you first laid eyes on her, you could feel a spirit of camaraderie.

—Ah, this girl also doesn’t want to stand out like I am!

You were the somewhat introverted and quiet girl at the class. Usually, you’d spend your weekend playing games at your dorm. As such, you didn’t want anybody to notice that you went there instead, all by yourself.

“Hey!”

You called out, and the girl turned to you.

The face underneath the hood was, to put it simply, so f*cking gorgeous! So much so that you still gasped whenever you saw her to this day.

A pair of round sapphire eyes. A fine, delicate nose bridge. Tiny, doll-like lips.

When she saw you, she smiled.

Once again, you were reminded of what it meant “to light up the room.”

—Damn! Be still, my rapidly beating heart!

You had to clutch your chest.

Staring into her eyes was akin to stargazing. Whenever she smiled, it felt like witnessing the radiant night sky, lit by a multitude of stars across the universe.

How can someone this beautiful exist!?

It shouldn’t be strange for a place as elite as Primavera to be filled with gorgeous-looking people, yet you still couldn’t get used to it.

“...I thought you’d never come. O-oh! I mean nothing by that. I’ve just been waiting, that's all, no offense...”

The girl panicked, covering her mouth with both hands. Even her gesture had a languorous beauty to it.

“None taken, Celine.”

You reassured the panicking girl and took a seat next to her. Soon, you noticed the thing on top of her lap.

“Another embroidery?” “—Lazuli Bells?”

Apparently, Celine also noticed the drink you were holding.

The two of you had always sat together since you first met her during your second visit. And like you said, you always ordered the same drink. So, it would make sense for Celine to recognize it.

At a glance, it looked like an average multicolored drink that any restaurant would serve, though. You didn’t remember ever mentioning the name to her.

“Yes, that’s right! Does Celine know this as well? I heard that it’s infused with Primavera’s home-grown special flower! If I recall correctly, the name is—”

“—Lazurite. I can smell it from here... It’s subtle, with a faint hint of sweetness that isn’t too overpowering...”

Celine had a serene look on her face, as if she was reminiscing about her fondest memories. She lowered her gaze, her long eyelashes fluttering like a pair of butterfly wings, and brushed aside a lock of hair that fell to her face.

Once again, you had to clutch your chest.

“La-lazurite, yes, sounds like an ore, doesn’t it?”

Celine chuckled at your comment. It didn’t seem to be her first time hearing it.

“Hehe, actually...” She showed you the embroidery hoop, which was about the size of her palm. “You’ll know once you see the actual flower.”

“Wow! Celine, this is so amazing!”

Depicted in that pure white fabric was a stalk of azure flower in full bloom, surrounded by a bunch of bell-shaped buds, woven meticulously by hands. Calling it “azure” may not be precise, seeing as some petals were either blue or purple.

"The flower is purple during the day but partially turns blue at night, just like the twilight sky. The petals also reflect the light. Once, there was a vast field filled with only lazurite flowers. It was as if there were two starry skies—both in the sky and on the ground."

Hence, "lazurite"—the combination of "lazuli" and "meteorite." Flowers that blossomed and illuminated the entire field, making it seem like the starlit skies.

As Celine explained, you could tell that she was whisked away by the sweet memories of the flowers.

“That sounds really wonderful. I wish I could see them, too. Do they exist in this town?”

You asked because you only moved here for college.

Celine reverted to her usual subdued smile. In that particular moment, she seemed a bit sad, somehow.

"Sorry... I didn’t mean to raise your hopes, I mean, you can, but it definitely won’t be easy...”

“Huh? Why did something happen to them?”

“No, no... They just aren’t widely available anymore. Right now, on this entire planet, the flower can only be found in Primavera, probably...”

“HUH?!”

You were so shocked, you almost dropped your drink. Right, your drink. Your eyes slowly and abruptly landed on the multicolored drink in your hand.

What have you been putting into your mouth?!?!

Besides, Celine seemed to be fond of those flowers. Did that mean all these past weeks, right in front of her, you...

“S-sorry! I didn’t mean to surprise you...!” Celine was in panic mode again.

“Does that mean I’ve been drinking the world’s rarest flower?! Oh my god!!”

“No! Despite how it may sound, the flower isn’t rare or anything! Please, don’t let me spoil your drink!”

“I’ve been contributing to their extinction, Celine!!”

“Like I said, it isn’t like that—!”

After some back and forth, you found out that when she said "can only be found in Primavera," she meant they had a bunch of greenhouses filled with just lazurite flowers and had been tending to them religiously.

“Phew.”

After that had been resolved, you sat next to your friend, enjoying your drink.

“...Amazing. This drink never ceases to amaze me. It’s as if flowers are blooming in my mouth.”

Meanwhile, Celine was busy tending to her own “flowers.” On top of the blank white cloth confined within a plain wooden hoop, was a mirror to another realm. Like a magic wand, her needle made countless tiny, blue-purple blossoms grow in that meadow. Once she had envisioned her next piece, there was no talking to her for the next few minutes.

...Honestly, from the first time you saw her, you thought that a cozier, more relaxing place would suit her more. For example, a European-style café. But who were you to judge?

Besides, she did mention that she came from an old-fashioned family, so she seldom visited this kind of place.

As you savored your drink, you held up your glass towards the ceiling. The ice cubes clinked as the beads of condensation trickled to your hand.

Within your glass, the lights coming from the multitude of chandeliers seemed to dilute into one, swirling, expanding, undulating...

At the same time, the triple layers—purple, blue, and navy—grew sharper in color.

Before you knew the name and the lore behind it, you just thought that the drink looked nice.

You were enraptured by the colors, and before you knew it, you got lost in them.

Finally, it became your favorite color combination.

‘Lazuli Bells,’ huh...

After learning and seeing the embroidery of the flower, you could see what the multicolored drink was supposed to resemble.

Don’t get me wrong, the flower is nice and all, but...

“—Today is your lucky day!”

Today, Celine was the one who broke you out of your reverie. Usually, it was the other way around.

“...Sorry, did you say something?”

Celine seemed excited about something, so much so that her embroidery was left unattended.

"I forgot to mention this before, but tonight, Aventurine will be facing two opponents! Right now, he’s taking a small break, but you will see him again soon!”

“Huh?! S-so what...?!”

Your first response was to deny it.

“Hehe. I intended for it to be a surprise, but I can’t stand seeing you looking so sad.”

“Who’s sad?! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

You weren’t sad. Not at all. In fact, happiness began to spread in your chest as you desperately feigned ignorance.

Then, as Celine giggled, the one and only man himself, Aventurine, entered your view.

For a second, your heart stopped beating.

Amidst the clamoring of crowds, the blond gambler made his way towards his designated spot.

For a second, you were disappointed that he stopped there, so far away from your usual spot.

Then, as he stood in front of his seat, Aventurine reached for his glossy top hat, adorned with a single peacock feather.

...Hat’s off.

After tracing the brim of his hat, Aventurine lightly removed it, letting it droop on his fingertips.

A single flap of his cloak.

Just as you predicted, he used his other hand to eloquently swish the tail of his coat.

Cross one leg.

Lastly, as he sat down, he placed one long leg on top of the other, leaning his arm against the premium couch.

Inwardly, you smiled in satisfaction. After watching him numerous times, you had that introductory gesture of his memorized.

Afterwards, Aventurine engaged in a conversation with his second opponent that night, paying no heed to anything else. From your seat, you could barely make out his profile, with the crowd and mass media swarming around.

...How strange.

The first time you saw him, he was right behind you, so much so that it took one simple greeting to direct his attention to you.

Yet, knowing that you would never be brave enough to take that one simple step, you could only swallow your bitterness.

Unconsciously, you held up your drink again, this time lower than before, around the same level as your face.

Reflected within that convex glass, the blond gambler seemed a bit bigger—an inch closer.

Then, instead of his reflection, you focused on the colorful layers of the drink.

Purple, blue, navy—each turning a deeper shade under the light, just like his eyes when he turned around to look at you the day you first met him.

╚══════╝

🄾🄽🅆🄰🅁🄳 🅃🄾 【Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ　４】

#aventurine fanart #honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine #aventurine x you #aventurine x y/n #aventurine honkai star rail #fanfic #fanart #hsr fanart #hsr x reader #star rail aventurine #aventurine hsr #fortifiedwagerfic

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cardierreh15 · 8 months

Text

Queenie’s Beehive

Happy Black History Month my Loves!!! Who do yall think this story is based off of?

***I do not give anyone permission to repost, translate or copy my work!!!

Warnings 18+: Seducting Behavior/Dancing.

Pairings: Napoleon Solo x Queenie Covington(Black!OC)

Description: When Solo & Illya’s Leads point them in the direction of a club, Solo turns on his charm to get a word with the infamous Queenie Covington

Word Count: 4.1K

Song: Virgo’s Groove by Beyoncé , It’s A Man’s, Man’s, Man’s World by James Brown

Side Note(s): I changed the time to accommodate the story. I do not own or take credit for any of Beyoncé’s or James’ song ✨ Credit will always be theirs and theirs only 😊

The Beehive

Sacramento, California

February 5th, 1978

19:42 🐝

Napoleon looked down at the small brown business card. On the front in plain honey colored words were the address of the establishment. On the back was a beehive. That was it. Very minimalistic and straight to the point.

‘Interesting marketing strategy.’ Napoleon said as he passed the card over to his partner, Illya.

Illya took a moment to take in the small yet fine work of art. ‘Hmm.’ Before he handed it back.

Once their cab slowly came to a stop by the curb, the two gentlemen thanked their driver and stepped out of the car.

They were immediately met with a beautiful yellow LED lamp screwed into the building; showing across their skeptical glances. The lights were shaped into that of a beehive with tiny twinkling yellow lights, resembling bumble bees.

Beyond those doors, beneath that heavenly designed neon lamp lay the disco highlife of the century.

Awaited by the door were two Gods amongst men. So tall they could touch the roof if they wanted, and muscles that could break bones. To the left and right of them were two separate lines, damn near wrapped around the building that were guarded by red rope.

Illya began to worry.

‘We’ll never get inside.’ He said plainly.

‘Do you not have faith my friend?’ At the flick of his wrist and a twitch of his fingers, the tiny invitation appeared in Napoleon’s fingertips.

‘More magic?’

‘Someone’s gotta like it.’ He smirked and leaned in, ‘Here’s the plan. We go inside, we split up, we listen. Try not to look suspicious please.’

‘Suspicious?’ Illya scoffed, ‘The only person here suspicious here, is you cowboy.’ Pointing at his partner.

Napoleon made a face and looked down at his fit. He was in a plain gray suit with a matching waistcoat, and a white crispy dress shirt and black dress shoes; his usual attire.

‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’

Illya on the other hand, sort of fit the bill. With a brown leather jacket with a turtleneck beneath, dark colored slacks and brown dress shoes to match. Oh, and his signature gray beret sat atop his blonde head.

‘You look like you’ve come to work and not to have fun.’ He rolled his eyes at his unwarranted pun.

‘In all technicality—‘

‘Yes, I know now can we go inside please?’

‘Perhaps. Do you remember your alias?’

Illya rolled his eyes as he head fell back, ‘Yes. I am a migrant here for work. You are a Wall Street journalist looking to have a conversation with the legendary Queen of Disco.’

He had a little bitterness in his voice. Napoleon caught on to that fairly quickly.

‘If you’d like, we can always trade places?’

Illya made a face, ‘Trade places? I am afraid that wouldn’t work.’

‘And why not?’

‘Because…’ Illya stuck his hands in his pockets and turned away. ‘you’re too small.’

A scowl curled up on Napoleon’s face at the insult, wanted so dearly to call him a bunch of curse words but he just cleared his throat and followed his partner towards the bouncers.

Once the men stood in front of the bouncer, Napoleon handed him the card.

The bouncer eyed the card closely, turning it back to front then pulled out a skinny pen like contraption. He clicked it on and a purple light shined down on the brown sheet. Revealing a bumble bee and a +1.

His big brown eyes flickered up from the card to Napoleon then over at Illya which he sized skeptically.

‘Who’s this.’

‘Oh? This is a friend of mine. He’s never been to an American club.’

‘Is that right?’ The bouncer said as he clicked off his pen and tucked it in his breast pocket. ‘Well, this is the perfect place to pop that cherry. Enjoy fellas.’

Napoleon carefully took the card and placed it inside of his breast pocket, ‘Thank you.’ And both of the men walked into the club.

As the men walked in, they were blinded by the bright twinkling lights of the many disco balls that hang on the ceiling along with over a dozen strobe lights dancing across the club.

The place was bustling and busy like nothing they’ve ever seen!

Like a Beehive!

Napoleon gently bobbed his head to the music as his crazed blue eyes danced amongst the floor, watching as gorgeous women of all colors and sizes grind and move their hips upon the dance floor.

It appeared that this mission was the least of his worries but, who he was going to be sneaking out of here with. That was until Illya landed a smack against his chest, knocking him out of whatever silly daze he was entrapped in.

‘Ow!’

‘Stay focus, cowboy. We’ve come to do a job.’

‘Yeah but who said we couldn’t have fun?’

‘Not you. You get carried away. Try not to blow our cover.’ Illya added before walking away in his stern manner.

Napoleon rolled his eyes and reached in his pocket to activate his voice recorder. Then he made his way across the bar which wasn’t far from the entrance.

As he walked over to the bar, he gazed at the dancing patrons, greeting everyone who’d passed to see if he could spot this special lady.

When he stopped at the bar, he took notice of the bartender. A woman, standing at great height. Must’ve been those thigh high platform boots. She had her back turned, cleaning out some glasses. This way he could admire her as she did so.

She had a big, beautiful Afro and wore this leather black and yellow striped short dress that hugged and defined her curves. Maybe this was her?

He cleared his throat loudly, ‘Excuse me bartender!’

The woman looked over her shoulder halfway in a startle, before quickly placing the glass and rag down. She spun around to greet him, her Afro bouncing with each movement. She wore big golden hoop earrings that twinkled and shined everytime the lights danced in her direction.

She flashed him this darling smile, with eyes brown as chocolate yet so bright with happiness and warmth. She was to die for!

‘What can I get for ya’ suga?’

Napoleon’s lips parted to speak but he all of a sudden felt shy. Truly unlike him. A burning heat rose to his cheeks, ‘Hi uh—‘ he looked at her chest which revealed her cleavage but her name tag rescued him from staring. ‘Flo… can I have scotch on the rocks please?’

‘You got it baby. Any particular kind?’

He stared up at the gorgeous brown skinned woman, almost disregarding the question— he cleared his throat and blinked hard once he realized he was staring again.

‘No— no,’ he chuckled, ‘Nothing in particular. How about you surprise me.’ He raised a brow, his own warming smile curling on his lips.

The two stared into one another’s eyes before a giggle left her lips, her dimples puncturing into her cheeks much deeper than before. ‘Alright na. You asked for it.’ She pushed off of the counter and started on his drink.

Napoleon smiled softly before he spun around halfway in his stool and began to gaze across the crowd. After a short moment, he spotted his partner standing off by the stage. Illya gave him a gentle nod of his head before Napoleon returned it in acknowledgment.

‘Here’s your drink, sugar.’

He quickly turned around and met the woman with another smile, ‘Thank you. How much do I owe ya?’

‘Nothin. It’s on the house.’

He raised a brow, ‘Is that so?’ That caught him by surprise really. He had been drugged in all different forms before, so taking a free drink always made him skeptical. ‘Am I like your 100th customer?’

‘No. I ain’t ever seen you here before, I wanted to welcome you here. People who wait outside those doors seldom get inside; just having a little shred of hope to even spend a second inside of this place.’

‘Hmm. Must be quite the place.’

‘You don’t think so?’ Flo asked, placing her hands on her hips.

‘Oh! Of course I think so. The women here are stunning.’ He gave her a quick size before straightening up, ‘Look. I refuse to drink this by myself. Lemme at least buy you one too?’

‘And drink on the job?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

A smirk was plastered on Flo’s face as she internally battled with herself.

‘Tik tok, love. I could practically hear the ice cracking.’ He teased, tapping the face of his watch with his index.

Flo inhaled deeply and rolled her eyes, ‘Alright, fine.’ Her southern draw had slightly peaked through, ‘Only cause you’re cute though.’

Napoleon smirked as she turned around where his smirk quickly faltered and he looked over his shoulder once again.

Once she was finished making her drink, she turned to face him and placed her glass down. ‘Alright—‘

‘Oh! One more thing sweetheart, could you pass me a straw?’

‘A straw?’ She raised a brow. ‘You don’t look like the kind of man that drinks his whiskey through a straw.’

‘Well there’s a lot you must learn about me baby.’

‘Alright then. Ask and you shall receive.’

While she was fulfilling her end of this bargain, Napoleon swiftly swapped their glasses before she could turn back around.

‘Here’s your straw. What should we toast to?’ She asked as she lifted up her glass.

‘Actually, I don’t need the straw… I just like to watch you work.’ He smirked as he wrapped her large hand around the glass that just seemed so miniscule in his palm.

Flo giggled rolling her eyes, ‘You flirt with all your bartenders like this?’

‘Oh dear no! I’m a one bartender kind of man. Actually, let’s toast to that. You being the most spectacular and gorgeous bartender that’s ever graced my presence.’

‘I can get down with that sugar.’ The woman winked as the both of them carefully clicked their glasses together.

Napoleon brought his drink to his lips slowly, watching Flo take a big swig out of hers before placing it down on the counter. No side effects hit her immediately… but perhaps they shall later.

As Napoleon embraced the welcoming warmth of his drink, he placed his glass down on the paper towel that she’d handled him. The space between them grew quiet for a second before he looked up at her. ‘What can you tell me about the person who owns this club?’

‘Who? Queenie? Why you wanna know?’

‘I’m a Wall Street Journalist. I’m looking to write an article about her success!’

Flo looked down at her watch and turned around to grab a rag and clean off her countertop. ‘Well, ion know if you can tell but… Queenie got her work cut out for her that’s for sho.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, her husband—‘

There it was. Exactly what he needed to further investigate.

‘Bought this place for her to solidify their marriage. I’ve been her friend for quite some time and never have I ever thought she would marry that grade A dickhead.’ Flo rolled her eyes.

‘Oh dear. What’s he like? How does he treat her?’

‘He worships the ground she walks on. But it often appears she couldn’t give less than a rats ass about him.’

‘Do you know how they met?’

‘She was singing in some lounge in Texas. That’s where we’re from.’

Napoleon was taking in all these minor details about this woman. He knew she would tell him everything he wanted to know… all she needed was a little motivation.

‘Right. And do you know what her husband does for work?’ He lacked the knowledge of that field, which was why he and Illya were here in the first place.

‘He owns a couple businesses as far as I know… i thought we were talking ‘bout Queenie though?’

Napoleon paused, ‘We are!’ He cleared his throat before taking a sip. He took notice of how she kept looking down at her watch, ‘Y’know the more you look at that thing—‘

‘“The slower time goes.” I know. But since you’re new here… it’s Friday Night.’ Her eyes glanced up at him.

‘Something special about Friday nights?’

Flo looked down at her watch one more time before a huge grin graced her face once more, ‘In fact… they are very special.’

Napoleon’s thick brows tugged into one as his face was written in incomprehensible confusion. Then, every light in the vicinity of the club shut off without warning. A few short squeals floated across the room in dismay.

Startled, Napoleon stood to his feet as he went into panic mode, afraid that he and Illya had been bested. His bright blue eyes fought desperately to adjust in the darkness. But in seconds, a sweet and groovy melody filled the air.

‘Baby, come overrrr.

Baby, come overrrr.

Baby, come over. Come be alone with me tonight.

Beehiiiive!!!’

A woman sang lewdly over the sound of the speakers.

‘Don’t be scared babies. Queen Bee won’t hurt you.’

Napoleon’s eyes had finally adjusted somewhat but he had yet to find Illya.

A big yellow spotlight shined on the stage revealing a band to the left and 3 back up singers who harmonized angelically. Three women with big poofy Afros donned with fresh flowers. They wore something similar to what Flo wore just instead of short dresses, they were flared pants; covered in black and yellow rhinestones.

They shined like stars on that stage.

Napoleon finally spotted Illya who hadn’t even left the spot.

‘All these emotions. It’s washing over me tonight.’

Once the room gained its groove back, Napoleon looked back to see that Flo had disappeared from her post.

He raised his brow in suspicion before he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Illya.

‘I saw you flirting with the bartender.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I was gathering intel.’

‘And?’

‘She knows just as much as we do.’ Napoleon sighed as they both turned to look at the charade.

That was until this huge disco ball began to slowly descend from the ceiling.

The two men's lips parted in disbelief.

Eventually, she was revealed standing on top of this gigantic ball. She had this beautiful smile plastered on her face as she greeted the crowd with alluring harmonizing.

She almost sounded like a siren; gracing the masses with her deathly hymns.

But when he saw her face, there was no way she could be something so sinister and evil. She was… ethereal. An angel in disguise of a woman who could snatch the soul from any man who dared looked in her direction.

Napoleon was stunned.

‘How are we doing tonight my worker bees?’ She grinned as the crowd beneath her cheered with blissful enthusiasm. ‘Yeeeeah!’ She laughed happily as she continued to scan the crowd.

‘That must be—‘

‘Queenie Covington.’ Napoleon felt like he couldn’t breathe. This was fan behavior! She was not what he’d imagined her to be.

Both of the men watched the woman carefully descend from the ball with the help of her security guards. Her platinum blonde hair cascaded down her back like sacred waterfalls. She wore a bedazzled tank top, matching bedazzled light denim shorts and high metallic silver fringed boots.

She shined brighter than any star they’d ever seen.

Baby come over, come be alone with me tonight.

All these emotions,

It’s rushing over me tonight— AH!

Ride it!

‘What is the plan now, cowboy?’ Illya asked.

‘What plan?’ Napoleon retorted.

‘You don’t have a plan.’

‘You think I knew she was doing an open mic tonight?!’ Napoleon huffed as his pink nose flared with aggravation, ‘We’ll figure it out.’

As Queenie began to croon over that melody once again, the flashing lights glowed into this magnificent yellow hue causing her glow light gold. Her eyes were closed as she allowed the music to embrace and be one with her soul. And when her hazel eyes fluttered back open, her eyes cut across the room towards the two men at the bar who seemed to be bickering at one another. Though, that didn’t take her out of her sensual groove.

‘Look after her performance, she may come to the bar to have a drink.’

‘And if she doesn’t?’

Napoleon inhaled deeply, holding it there as he tried to think of something. ‘Then we’ll do what we always do.’

Illya knew that specific plan and a lot of the time it involved them both getting damn near getting caught.

‘Oh no. Not this again.’

‘Not this again? What choice do we have? She’s the only lead that we have on him. We must exhaust all options.’

‘Sure. Whatever.’

Baby you can hit this, don’t be scared.

(Baby you can hit this, don’t be scared.)

It’s only gonna get you high!

Baby come over.

The boys watched in amazement as the woman swayed and rocked her hips as her own hands made love to her own thighs, belly and breasts.

Queenie cut her eyes back at the two gentlemen back at the bar once again; particularly the one in the suit. He surely stuck out like a sore thumb. And most of her folks here were regulars.

That star struck glare in his eyes was also very telling. She always did enjoy seeing men gawk over her. So with a smile and a wink, she began to moan her lyrics.

Don’t you leave. (me)

Don’t you leave.

So use me. (Use me)

Pursue me. (Pursue me)

Kiss me where you bruise me. (Bruise me)

Oooh weee—

Taste me, the fleshy part.

I scream so loud, I curse the stars!!!

Napoleon gulped hard, reaching in the collar of his dress shirt and tugged at it as he felt his temperature rising.

Illya glanced over at Napoleon and smirked as he took in this canon moment. ‘Has Casanova finally met his match?’

Without taking his eyes off of her, Napoleon groaned, ‘Shut up.’

As she adlibed and add those heavenly high and lows, the song had come to a beautiful close.

‘Thank you.’ She grinned happily as the audience blessed her with a healthy applause .

‘Thank you so much everyone for coming. Being able to perform in front of an energetic crowd is always a true blessing. Please, enjoy the rest of your night sugars and stay groovy.’

They gave her one more applause as she brought her hands together in prayer and bowed in their wake. She then swiftly turned around to speak to her back up singers.

Napoleon narrowed his eyes, taking note of the smiling group of women. It was nice to know that she and those that worked with and/or for her got along fairly well. Then, she excused herself and went backstage.

‘Did you enjoy the performance?’

The two gentlemen jumped at the sudden voice, one that was familiar to Napoleon alone. They turned around to see Flo standing there with a knowing smirk on her full lips.

‘Where did you go?’ Napoleon’s head fell to the side.

‘Oh. I help engineer those pretty lights and what have you. Just some techy junk.’ She smirked and glanced over at Illya. ‘Who’s your friend here?’

Well, the story seems to check out. Though, he didn’t know why she needed to be so suspenseful.

‘This is uh—‘

‘Alex—‘ Illya looked over at Napoleon before looking back ahead at the bartender. ‘My name is Alexsander.’

Napoleon looked back at Flo who gave them both a strange glare. ‘Alright, Alex…sander. Could I get you a drink, sweet baby?’

‘No ma’am. I’m actually here for work.’

‘Well I think we may have something open for security… you sure do fit the bill though.’ A smirk curled on her lips as her head fell to the side. She was checking Illya out.

Napoleon raised a brow with a smirk as the two began to converse with one another. It was about time Illya blew off some kind of steam.

‘Flo, hey.’

Napoleon watched her walk up to the bar and pull herself onto the empty seat beside him. Thee Queenie Covington. Their whole mission, sitting not even a whole foot away from him.

“You are not to sleep with Mrs. Covington under any circumstances, Solo.”

Well it was a good thing he didn’t make promises.

‘Give me the usual.’ She added.

When Flo’s and Illya’s conversation came to a close, he and Napoleon leaned into one another.

‘Just start casual conversation. Perhaps she’ll give us everything we need.’

‘Not to worry.’ He pulled away and turned halfway in his seat, ‘Excuse me, Miss. Queenie I am sorry for the intrusion but—‘

‘No autographs right now sugar.’ She said in a hurry as Flo placed her wine glass in front of her.

This is a man’s world! This is a man’s world!

‘I’m sorry Miss. Queenie I’m not here for an autograph. My name is Napoleon and I’m with the Wall Street Journal. I’d like to honor you in our newspaper.’

She had brought her wine up to her full lips and took a long sip. ‘Mmm! Napoleon? Like the little French dude? You don’t strike me as a “Napoleon”.’

‘What do I strike you as then?’

But it wouldn’t be nothing, nothing — without a woman or a girl.

‘Hmm…’ her head fell to the side as her pretty eyes roamed all over his handsome features.

She breathed him in and my what a breath of fresh air he was. The colors and the lights that danced across his face only seem to enhance the shadows and curvature of his jaw, making his face appear more masculine. Then, every once in a while a yellow light would flash over his eyes, causing them to glow like high beams.

‘I don’t know… maybe a “Henry” or a “David”. Definitely not a short little man with a God complex.’ She giggled, her full lips pulled back to reveal that dazzling smile once more.

He chuckled as his head fell in slight embarrassment. He should’ve changed his damn name.

‘You know I’ve heard that before.’

‘I bet you have.’ Queenie smirked as she took another sip from her glass, ‘So, what is it that I need from me, Napoleon?’

‘I just want to ask you a few questions if you have time?’

‘Yeah, I sup—‘

‘Mrs. Covington?!’ A tall lean male came rushing over to the bar, carefully pushing folks out of the way.

Goddammit.

Queenie rolled her eyes and turned around to meet the gentleman’s gaze, ‘Oh dear, what is it now? I’m in the middle of something!’

‘Yes but it’s your husband ma’am.’

‘Oh? Is the fool finally dying? I’m having a meeting.’

Napoleon took notice of how her mood quickly shifted from something light and fun to something else when her husband was brought up.

Her attitude was so fierce and sharp, you could see how it cut and tore through the gentleman’s ego. Napoleon found himself smirking a little.

‘It’s… it’s important ma’am. He demands your presence.’

She stared up at him for a long moment before letting out a deep breath through her nose and shook her head. ‘Fine. Please just— give me a second to finish my drink.’

The male in all black bowed his head and took a step back to give the woman privacy.

‘Mrs. Covington…’

‘Dear heavens, Mr. Napoleon I am so very sorry. You’ve come all this way to meet me and I have to leave.’ She sighed once again before knocking back the rest of her wine. She was gonna need it dealing with that god forsaken man.

As frustrated as Napoleon was, he couldn’t step out of character so he just gave her a gentle smile.

‘No need to apologize, Mrs. Covington. Perhaps another day? Are you free tomorrow afternoon?’

‘I should be. Maybe we can have brunch. Since this is my screw up, on me.’

‘Nooo, no ma’am. I won’t have it, it’s just a minor inconvenience—‘

‘Are you telling me no?’

The woman stared at him with eyes that searched his soul. Digging in every nook and cranny to figure out who he was.

And to her surprise, he didn’t buckle or break. He wasn’t like most men it appeared. His gaze remained on hers.

‘I’m telling you not to treat me. I don’t think it’s fair.’

‘Hmm.’ She hummed softly as she smirked and stood from her seat. ‘Alright. Meet me here tomorrow at 11:45am. Don’t be late.’

‘You lack faith in me Mrs. Covington.’

Queenie raised her brow and began to walk away, her slightly swaying hips making a statement. Then she paused and turned halfway to meet his gaze once again.

‘Oh and Sugar?’ She called out over the swelling of the music.

But it wouldn’t be nothing— nothing!! Without a woman or a girl.

He blinked and lifted his chin in response to her voice.

‘Call me Queenie.’

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jinxhallows · 1 year

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Changbin mafia au, i dont care about the plot but i NEED mafia au changbin 🫣

So hear me out, someone else asked me for a Jisung mafia au that ropes in Changbin and Chan so I did this. It may be a nugget of Changbin, but if you like it, I'll do a little more :). This was really fun and not my usual style. Thank you and the other person for giving me this request! <3

ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ's ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ [ 𝟹ʀᴀᴄʜᴀ ᴍᴀғɪᴀ ᴀᴜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ sᴘʀɪɴᴋʟᴇ ᴏғ ʜʏᴜɴᴊɪɴ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʀᴀᴢᴢʟᴇ ᴅᴀᴢᴢʟᴇ ] ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ: 𝟷𝟾+ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴛᴏʀᴛᴜʀᴇ, ʙᴏᴅɪʟʏ ʜᴀʀᴍ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ɪʟʟᴇɢᴀʟ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠɪᴛɪᴇs ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟹.𝟺ᴋ ━━━━━━━━

The vibrant lights of downtown cast a deceptive glow over the bustling streets. In the heart of this urban neon jungle, an artist management agency stands as the beacon of dreams and stardom. But behind the glittering facade, an intricate web of secrets and shadows awaits those who dare to look closer.

Jisung leans against the expansive window of the agency’s office. His dark hair, styled in an artful tousle, frames his face.

His eyes, once filled with an innocent sparkle, now hold a glint of weariness as they stay fixed on the distant skyline. Draped in the elegance of his impeccably cut suit, Jisung exudes a quiet confidence, a silent testament to the evolution of his dreams. Each stitch and fold emphasize his sleek stature, while the pristine white dress shirt beneath it whispers of refined sophistication. Adorning his wrist, a silver watch tells the tale of time's ceaseless march, its timeless elegance standing in stark contrast to the chaotic world he has become entangled in.

His unwavering determination to uplift talented artists has led him down an unexpected and dangerous path. The clash between his youthful aspirations and the reality of the mafia’s grip, especially now that he had worked his way up to the top of the food chain, weighs heavily upon him, a burden visible in the depths of his expressive eyes.

Amidst the contemplative symphony of the city, Jisung's pocket buzzes with a summons, a siren call that snaps him back to the present. Retrieving his phone, he presses it to his ear,

“Hello?”

“Do you have time for one more?”

Jisung sighs, “That’s pushing it, Hyunjin.”

A few seconds of silence pass by.

“It’s a Yoon Ji-Hoon piece,” Hyunjin says, his eyes gazing up at the eight by twelve foot canvas and its mesmerizing blend of surrealism and symbolism. It’s no wonder it's been known to captivate anyone who gazes upon it. The artist was said to have vanished mysteriously shortly after completing the piece. Hyunjin had been watching the piece closely for years, and now there was a chance to take it. “There’s a rumor going around that it's going to be sent on loan to an exhibition in Rome on Friday night.”

Jisung understands the magnitude of this opportunity, the key that can unlock their ambitions. For months, he has navigated the treacherous waters of the American illegal art trade, seeking that elusive breakthrough. The rare and precious works he has managed to procure thus far have only scratched the surface, teasing the potential that lies just beyond his grasp. If a gallery in Rome was about to have an exhibition, the piece was about to gain even more notoriety, and fast.

“How soon?”

“Give me three days.”

The final three beeps echo in Jisung's ears, signaling the end of the call. He closes his eyes, his jaw clenches, determination and apprehension intertwining within him. The weight of the upcoming heist, just two weeks before the highly anticipated comeback stage for their biggest artist, and a mere month before the start of their first US and European tour, isn't ideal. But deep down, Jisung knows he can't let this opportunity slip through his fingers. He has worked alongside Hyunjin, the esteemed expert, for a long time now, and their shared experiences have forged a bond of trust in each other's judgment.

Restless, his fingers tap against the sleek gray shell of his cellphone, anticipation simmering within him. With a deliberate motion, he opens it again, his eyes focused on the familiar speed dial number. Pressing the button, he raises the device to his ear, waiting for the connection.

A rugged voice crackles on the other end, brimming with a raw edge that mirrors the shadows they dance within.

"Yeah?" comes the gruff response.

Jisung takes a moment to steady his voice before answering, his words carefully chosen. "Gotta pick up a gift from one of our old friends. You in?"

A brief pause fills the line before a low chuckle reverberates through the speaker. He knows exactly what Jisung means. "Depends. Which friend are we talking about?"

"The one that's always late to the party," Jisung replies, a hint of amusement lacing his words.

Changbin's dark laughter rumbles through the line, a tinge of excitement underlying it. "I could use a drink. Count me in."

━━━━━━━━

Chan's elbows rest on the padded rim of the soundboard, his palms pressed together in a silent gesture of restraint. He struggles to hold yet another weary sigh as he hears another crack in the visual of the group’s vocal performance. Despite the countless attempts and even a break, the singer's voice falters, casting a shadow of frustration over the recording session.

"I almost have it—" the struggling voice attempts to reassure.

Chan's gaze shifts from the singer to the time displayed on his phone. With a gentle touch, he presses a button on the soundboard, his voice calmly resonating through the headphones worn by the younger man in the recording booth. Leaning forward, his words carry a mixture of understanding and encouragement, "We should call it for the night, Taeho. Get some rest, and we'll come back to it again tomorrow, yeah?"

Taeho releases a tired sigh, gingerly removing the headphones from his silky, platinum blonde hair. Stepping out of the booth, he enters the studio where Chan is immersed in the digital audio workstation, his nimble fingers deftly navigating the intricate tracks, seeking to finesse the composition as best he can, at least for the time being.

"Where did everyone go?" Taeho's voice echoes through the empty studio, a touch of bewilderment coloring his words.

“Probably to the dorms, its eleven at night.” Chan reclines in the plush black chair. His eyes follow Taeho as the idol picks up his notebook from the couch, the weight of disappointment heavy upon him. Taeho was one of the cherished members of HarmonyX, a Korean pop boy group that had taken the music industry by storm five years ago. With their debut, they swiftly ascended to become one of the top three highest-selling Korean music artists in all of Asia. Now, after four successful albums, their popularity has reached international heights, culminating in a highly anticipated sold-out tour across America and Europe. However, this tour would only commence after their comeback stage, following their much-needed break of six months.

"Taeho, pushing yourself like this will only lead to burnout," Chan speaks, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and wisdom.

"I know, sunbae," Taeho replies, his tone faltering with a hint of self-doubt. "But this is our first American tour. Nobody expects me to do anything except look pretty." A sigh escapes his lips as his voice trails off. "I feel like I've been working so hard, and it's still not enough. The others are so much further ahead of me..."

Chan leans forward, his gaze focused on Taeho. "The others aren't you, Taeho," he emphasizes, his words carrying a weight of truth. "The pressure will only intensify. People will scrutinize every move you make, dissect every note you sing. You will never feel like you're doing enough because that's how this industry operates. But remember, you're not here just to meet expectations. You're here to support your family, your father, and your sister."

Taeho sniffs, nodding in acknowledgement of Chan's words.

"Goodnight, sunbae," Taeho bids farewell, his voice tinged with a mix of gratitude and exhaustion.

"Goodnight, Taeho, no partying tonight, save your voice. Come in at noon tomorrow." Chan responds, watching as the young idol makes his way down the dimly lit hallway, his head bowed in contemplation.

Once Taeho steps into the elevator and the doors slide shut, Chan closes and locks the studio door behind him. He dons a black beanie, pulling the hood of his hoodie over his head, blending into the shadows. With his backpack slung over his shoulder, he squats down in front of the safe beneath the mixer. The code enters with a series of beeps, and the satisfying click of the lock echoes through the room. Chan retrieves a brown money wallet from within, unzipping it to quickly count the contents with a practiced touch. After securing the wallet and his phone inside his backpack, Chan hoists it onto his back. As he switches off the lights, leaving the room shrouded in darkness, he locks the door behind him, silently vanishing into the night.

He strides down the dimly lit hallway, the faint hum of the elevator beckoning him. As the doors glide open, he enters the metal enclosure, his fingers swiftly scrolling through the contacts on his phone, searching for Jisung's number.

"Burning the midnight oil again, are we, Mr. Bang?" the security guard jests, a playful glint in his eye as he hurries to catch up to Chan's brisk pace, unlocking the glass door leading to the lobby of the prestigious entertainment agency.

"Yeah, sorry, in a bit of a rush. Thanks again!" Chan waves his gratitude, stepping out onto the polished marble floor. With purposeful steps, he makes his way to the waiting black luxury car, its sleek exterior gleaming under the soft glow of the streetlights. As he opens the back door, sinking into the plush leather seats, the driver glances up, meeting Chan's determined gaze through the rearview mirror.

Simultaneously frustrated and hopeful, Chan curses softly under his breath as Jisung's voicemail greets his ears. He gazes out the window, his eyes scanning the dwindling crowd of departing staff, searching for any sign of Jisung's familiar figure. Disappointed by the absence, he settles back into his seat, ending the call and slipping the phone into his pocket. Finally, he leans forward and addresses the driver with a sense of purpose.

“The Velvet Note, please.”

━━━━━━━━

Seoul's vibrant cityscape comes alive under the neon glow of the night, casting a mesmerizing spell over the bustling streets. Amidst the dazzling array of clubs and bars, a hidden gem emerges, a sanctuary of sophistication and intrigue known as The Velvet Note. Disguised behind an unassuming facade, this distinguished venue beckons to those in the know, its allure irresistible.

Stepping out of the sleek, black sedan, Chan adjusts his backpack on his shoulders, his eyes fixed upon the grandeur of the building as he strides towards the entrance. A sense of urgency and authority emanates from him, an aura that commands attention. He knows where he’s going and what he’s doing. The doorman, recognizing him, nods respectfully and lifts the velvet rope, granting him passage into the exclusive realm beyond.

Crossing the threshold, Chan is immediately enveloped in a sensory symphony. The vibrant music pulsates through the air, weaving a tapestry of rhythm and melody. Cascading lights dance across the room, reflecting off the opulent furnishings and the glimmering chandeliers above. Wealthy patrons, wrapped in an aura of privilege, engage in animated conversations within their private enclaves. The interior of The Velvet Note exudes an aura of refinement, with its plush velvet drapes adorned by intricate golden patterns, accentuating the venue's exquisite taste.

The club manager, ever discreet, guides Chan towards a set of curtains that conceal the entrance to the exclusive private section. As he navigates through the room, his gaze scans the scene, locking onto Jisung's intense stare and Changbin's stoic composure.

The private section, veiled in an aura of secrecy and power, reveals itself. Luxurious leather couches surround low tables, where crystal glasses clink and whispers of covert affairs fill the air. The dim lighting shrouds the room in an enigmatic haze that hints at the hidden transactions unfolding within these walls.

Approaching Jisung and Changbin, however, Chan senses an unspoken tension, a palpable unease that hangs in the air. Jisung's brow furrows with concern, while Changbin crosses his arms, his demeanor betraying an underlying dissatisfaction. Before them stands a tattoo artist named Minseo, his nervous hands exposing his apprehension. Something is undeniably amiss.

“What’s going on?” Chan strides forward, his steps measured and purposeful, dropping his bag at Changbin's feet before taking a seat beside him. His gaze pierces the man standing before them, who avoids making eye contact, a clear sign of deference.

“Why don’t you tell Chan? Your excuse was so elaborate earlier.” Jisung interjects, reclining on the couch, his arms draped nonchalantly across the backrest. He observes the man through his black, circular frames crossing his leg.

A mischievous half-smirk tugs at the corner of Changbin's lips. "No more words, huh?"

"I... I don't know what to say. Just give me one more day, another day to figure it out—" the man stammers, desperation and panic creeping into his voice.

"Another—another day?” Chan's disbelief is blatant, his incredulity mingling with a touch of anger. He struggles to understand how this man could have the audacity to play games with them for a second time,

“Mate, I was the one that gave you another week.”

As tension thickens in the air, three imposing security guards approach the man from behind, their presence sending a shiver down Minseo's spine. Arms crossed firmly over their chests, they stand in silent readiness, awaiting instructions on whether to intervene.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, the man's face contorts into a frown, his panic intensifying. With a sudden realization of his predicament, he collapses to his knees, clasping his hands together in a desperate plea for mercy, his voice trembling as he begs for his life.

Jisung raises his hand in a dismissive gesture, signaling for the man to be taken away. The air is filled with the man's desperate screams, his pleas echoing through the club as he fights against the strong grip of his captors. Relentlessly, they drag him toward the rear of the club, descending a staircase that leads to the dimly lit basement. This hidden realm serves as his secret tattoo studio, concealed from prying eyes.

The rough brick walls are painted a stark white, casting an eerie glow over the bare room. In the center stands a solitary tattoo chair, accompanied by a stool, while a nearby cart displays an array of inks and a collection of needles. Random sketches are haphazardly taped to the walls, showcasing impressive artistry in a highly questionable environment. Tattooing is deemed illegal in South Korea, making this operation an ideal front for their illicit activities. The profits they earn from Minseo's tattooing services also serve as an added source of income.

Eliminating Minseo would undoubtedly dent their revenue stream.

With a calculated calmness, Jisung takes off his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves, revealing his forearms. His actions speak of imminent action as he meticulously dons a black latex glove on his right hand, ensuring a snug fit on each finger. He flexes his hand, testing its flexibility, before repeating the process with his left hand.

"Minseo, I'm going to ask you one more time," Jisung declares, his voice dripping with a mixture of authority and a subtle edge of menace. "Where is the rest of my money? You owe me forty million won. How does it simply vanish into thin air?"

Minseo is held firmly in place on the tattoo chair by the brawny men, his movements restricted. His gaze locks onto Jisung, studying the assortment of needles and the tattoo gun laid out before him, his expression an enigmatic blend of calmness and hidden turmoil.

"I-I was robbed," Minseo stammers, the sound of Jisung snapping the latex glove against his wrist causing him to abruptly fall silent. He watches intently as Jisung surveys the tools at his disposal, contemplating his next move. With an unsettling tranquility, Minseo speaks again, his voice holding a glimmer of hope. “But I can get it back I told you, just another day.”

Jisung settles onto the stool, his clenched fist resting on his thigh, while his other forearm finds support on his knee as he leans forward. A mix of amusement and annoyance dances in his eyes as they roam over Minseo's distinct features—the gauges in his ears, the intricate tattoo adorning his skull, and the myriad of ink that covers his entire body, including a few daring ones on his face. After a moment, Jisung glances over his shoulder, directing his attention to Chan and Changbin.

"What do you think?" Jisung's voice carries a hint of mischief. “Should I give him another day?”

Changbin slowly approaches, waits a moment, and then answers,

“No. He blows his money on gambling, and ours probably went down the drain with it.”

Jisung listens attentively, nodding not once, but three times, before turning back to face Minseo, a nonchalant shrug accompanying his movement. "Well—"

“I’ll give you sixty million won!”

Suddenly, Minseo's desperate plea interrupts Jisung's train of thought. The room falls silent, the attention of all three men captured by Minseo's unexpected proposition to offer sixty million won—an increase in the sum owed. Minseo's chest rises and falls rapidly as he awaits their response, aware that his offer has managed to seize their attention.

"Sixty million by midnight," Jisung repeats slowly, laden with skepticism. "You expect us to believe that?"

“Y-You have my word—”

“Minseo, your word isn’t worth shit,” Changbin cuts him off, “We’re wasting our time, let’s cut our losses. Can’t afford the heat on us right now Ji, not with everything coming up.”

“I dunno Changbin, I’m kinda interested.” Jisung turns back to Minseo, “How do you expect to come up with sixty million won in the next twenty four hours?”

Minseo looks between them frantically, “T-Tonight there’s a party at Matrix, lotta celebs, high profile people, lookin to blow their money and have a good time in a place where they can’t be outed. My guys, we usually pass it through there, we-we’ll upcharge, I know I can have it for you, I’ll repay you with interest, just please, give me another day.”

Jisung waits a few moments before he nods, “One. Day” he punctuates, “and I will count it all in front of you, got it? If anything is missing, I’ll have to end our contract.”

Minseo's initial glimmer of hope quickly wanes as Jisung's finger halts the release of his restraints. The tightening grip of the staff sends a surge of anxiety coursing through him, his heart pounding in his chest. A sinking feeling settles in his stomach as he witnesses Jisung preparing the tattooing equipment. With deliberate precision, Jisung rolls the stool closer, while two of the men exert a firm hold on Minseo's squirming body, restricting any chance of escape.

A sinister grin dances on Jisung's lips as he positions the humming tattoo gun above Minseo's quivering abdomen. "Consider this a gentle reminder, in case our due date slips your mind," he taunts, his voice carrying a sadistic amusement. With a swift press of his foot on the pedal, the tattoo gun springs to life, its buzzing filling the room. As the needle touches Minseo's tender skin, a sharp jolt of pain courses through his body, causing him to flinch and tense up involuntarily. Jisung applies more pressure, sinking the needle deeper into the supple flesh, eliciting an agonized cry from Minseo. The two restraining men exert greater force, forcefully subduing Minseo, ensuring he stays captive to the excruciating ordeal.

Jisung tuts and sits back on the stool. “Sorry, do you need something to numb it?” With a flick of his wrist, he grabs the nearby bottle of isopropyl alcohol, tilting it over the open wound etched into Minseo's skin. The liquid seeps into the jagged lines of the number 00, causing Minseo to let out a piercing shriek of agony. His chest heaves as he struggles to maintain consciousness, the pain threatening to overwhelm him.

Jisung, undeterred by Minseo's suffering, hovers over him and continues his work with a relentless determination. Minseo's consciousness flickers in and out, the world around him blending into a hazy blur as he succumbs to the torment.

“All done!”

Finally, Jisung pulls away, satisfied with his handiwork. Minseo lies before him, pale and weak, his limbs dangling limply at his sides. Jisung pushes himself back from the tattoo table, a self-satisfied smirk gracing his features. Disregarding the tattoo gun, he tosses it carelessly to the floor, the metallic clatter echoing in the room. He rips off his gloves, tossing them aside with a flourish.

The botched tattoo on Minseo's abdomen now bears a twisted message, a grim reminder of his impending fate:

18/12 00:00

The inked numbers read, "December 12th, Midnight," a chilling countdown etched permanently onto Minseo's flesh.

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chapterbychapterstories · 9 months

Text

Hero x Villain

This is part of a larger story. Here is the link to Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Sewer water rushed around them as the Villains made it to the end. An open grate that poured the water down into large smelly pools of filth. Undercrust layer 50. The trio took the maintenance ladder down to the catwalks that led all over the city.

People knew better than to push and shove. Sure the catwalks were crowded, but the streets were flooded with crap, literally, so you just moved with the flow, keeping an eye out for the bridge that led to your destination. The patched up rope bridge soon came into view. Built out of anything they could get a hold of, it had metal, wood, plastic, and even a particularly dangerous rubber patch. Tele led them over it, using their power to ensure they didn’t fall.

The sketchy bridge led to a patch work building, a neon sign above spelled out “Bar Keeps Tavern” which to the three was home. Metal clanged together as Tele pushed open the door. “Welcome!” A large man popped up from behind the bar. His shaggy black and white hair draped over his eyes. “Children! Welcome back! How was the Uppercrust? Did you do anything fun?” He also talked a lot.

“Hey Keeper, the Uppercrust was bright, we had a ton of fun, and made good use of all those bombs.” Tele could also talk a lot.

“Good good, good to have you all back. More Drones around lately, it puts me on edge when you all are away. Drones make bad customers, but they always pay so it’s not so bad.”

“The Drones came in for a drink?” WC took her usual seat on the bar.

“They’ve come in twice now. Weren’t very talkative.”

WC glances a Tele, “Well Keep if they come in again close up. They aren’t the kind we want hanging around.”

“Right, that’s a good idea. Thanks Wixie.”

She jumped off the counter, going to the trap door that led to their hideout. “Anytime Keep.” The trap door was light, made out of some metal they salvaged. Down a couple steps, and a narrow tunnel, they found themselves in a large room. A table with maps of the Uppercrust, held down by a dud bomb, and a metal arm. Against the far wall was a fan that blew a cool breeze through the room and out the other side. It also brought the smell inside. Rot and crap, the smell of layer 50.

Tele dropped their bag on the floor, heading for their hammock. “Home sweet, smelly home.” They collapsed into the makeshift bed causing the wall to groan.

“I wonder how they picked the heroes.” Barrier leaned over the table tracing the route we took to the Queen’s mansion.

“Through careful evaluation and training that killed a few ‘subjects’. Not that it matters, we need to plan how we are going to take down the Hero Program.” WC stood across the table from him.

A remote hovered in the air in front of WC. “Oh, that reminds me!” Tele sat up in their hammock, sitting in it like a swing. They had to be using their powers because if WC tried sitting in it like that she’d fall over. “I wanted to see if we made it in the nightly report.”

The remote clicked, a whirring noise came from a small projector above. A flicker, then a projected image of the nightly report came up on the wall behind her. She turned to see a grainy image of herself shooting a laser pistol at Flight.

“Eeeeeeee!” Tele squealed. “Look, we’re celebrities!”

The video cut right after WC pulled out her sword, a stiff looking woman came on. “That video was taken earilier today by a Queen’s hover Drone outside her personal residence. Two of the Villains have been identified as 04061327096 codename Telekinesis,” an even blurrier image of Tele came up, “ and 10011327056 codename Barrier-”

“Ah! Bair bair look, we’re famous.” Tele was jumping in their seat.

“The unnatural one has yet to be identified. All three are said to be armed and dangerous. Any information on these villains must be reported to the Hero Program immediately.”

“Awe, WC they didn’t recognize you.” Tele slumped back into the hammock.

“That’s because I finally got all that junk they put into my hair and eyes out.”

“Yeah, stupid of them now they don’t know what you look like.”

“It also means they don’t know my power yet.”

“Well, now that we are celebrities I’m sure more people will follow us. Soon we will have the whole Undercrust fighting with us. Tonight I vote we eat and sleep.” A pack of food rations floated up from their stockpile, into Tele’s lap.

Barrier glanced at WC before grabbing a ration pack for himself, and settling into the hammock under Tele. “I, uh - I second that.”

This is why they couldn’t vote on anything. “Ugh, fine.” WC grabbed a ration pack for herself. “But tomorrow we plot the destruction of an empire.” She settled into a dingy couch.

Above them in the bar Keep spoke with a few customers that came in, walking back and forth to serve drink orders. And just like a lullaby it puts her to sleep

#creative writing #fantasy #superheroes #hero x villain #distopian

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hornyhermitry · 9 months

Text

Roppongi Nights

————————

Rated: NSFW, 18+

Characters: Takeomi Akashi x Ran Haitani

Word Count: 6114

Summary: When Takeomi is thrown out of his friend Wakasa's bar due to lack of funds, he ends up in a Roppongi night club and has an unexpected encounter.

Preview:

Takeomi waved the folded paper money in front of the man’s face. “I’m here to have a good time, nothing more, nothing less.” The muscular thug clad in a very traditional black suit looked the former Black Dragon executive up and down and then stepped aside to let him in. The loud bass from inside was already greeting Takeomi warmly, stirring up anticipation in his body, when he walked past the wardrobe. He nodded to the wrinkly old geezer peeking out the little window and his tired eyes quickly adjusted to the dimmed lights inside. He could smell the main room already before entering it. The light smell of the fog machine, its clouds wafting over the stage and settling down in half-drunk glasses of drinks that had lost their carbonation a long time ago.

Roppongi Nights

Blinking neon lights lit up the dark alley greeting Takeomi when he stepped out of the stuffy establishment. Cigarette stub between his right middle and ring finger, the man in his late 20s rubbed his face and groaned.

He hated it when Wakasa treated him like that. Time and time again he’d have him kicked out of his club as soon as he was a few drinks in and running low on cash. He wasn’t sure when this had become a common thing to happen - it hadn’t always been like this. Wakasa used to encourage him to crash at one of his hostess bars and catch up over a few drinks there. There were always plenty of girls and sometimes Wakasa would call over a few new hires to get acquainted with their expected duties. But somehow…

Takeomi took a drag of his cigarette and used his hand to comb back his slick hair. Somehow, somewhere down the line the drinks had become more and the catching up had become less. Irritated at the little piece of soft plastic shifting out from between his fingers when he rubbed his eye socket, he flicked the cigarette away - only for it to fly against the club bouncer’s collar.

The orange stub quickly burned through the violet satin shirt he was sporting.

“Ah, shit man, I’m-” Takeomi quickly nodded his head apologetically “I’m sorry, it wasn’t on pur-” he threw up his hands in an attempt to calm down the gorilla approaching him with big strides but it was no use. The much bigger man grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in close enough for Takeomi to smell the sake and Tonkotsu sauce on his breath.

“Stop causing trouble for Imaushi-san, A k a s h i .” He spat the last word into his face and shoved him onto the boardwalk. “He doesn’t need your kind here, you’re upsetting paying customers. Get lost.”

Flipping the guy off, Takeomi grunted and then shoved his hands into his pockets as he turned his back away from the LEDs signaling “SHIROI NEKO - GALS GALORE”.

It was only 8PM and he was already well into it.

He had started drinking early today. Earlier than he usually would on a Thursday night but he’d already been up at 5 in the morning to be on his way to Haneda Airport in order to catch an old business partner over a coffee before they left the country for a while.

Ever since Black Dragon had been disbanded, Takeomi was struggling to get by. At this point he was hoping for someone to invest in the underground fighting ring he had been thinking about. It made sense for him to approach old contacts about it, considering his old alias “God of War”, but it wasn’t as easy to convince people of a market for that as it was for girls or drugs. Takeomi wasn’t too keen on actively dealing in either of the two. Many people would consider him a man with rotten morals, and they probably weren’t entirely wrong about that, but there was some code of honor he stuck to. And thinking about his younger siblings, the thought of roping young people into addiction or sex work himself didn’t sit right with him.

Grounded by the familiar buzz of the alcohol he had already downed tonight, the scar-faced man aimlessly wandered about searching for another strip club to wind down with a few more drinks and a pretty little thing grinding against his lap.

He was not a stumbling drunkard by any means, but the half unbuttoned shirt paired with his tattooed chest peeking out and the huge scar running down from his forehead to just next to his lips made people generously avoid him and step out of his way still. Some of them whispered to each other as they passed.

Not that he minded. He was a delinquent and a drop-out, he was already too involved with crime syndicates to ever make a life as a salaryman or even blue collar worker, but he hesitated to fully commit to crime some of the others had done. Shinichiro had taken the good money that Black Dragon had made in its last breaths to buy a small store space and was working on setting up a bike repair shop. Wakasa had already been involved with the local Yakuza when they had met for the first time. He was running multiple bars and had lots of guys roaming the streets to recruit women into adult entertainment. And Benkei helped him convince some competitors to step off their turf as if he had been waiting to do just that his whole life. Absentmindedly looking up while his fingers fumbled to get a cigarette out of the crumpled up pack in his hands after some time walking around, Takeomi noticed a little violet arrow pointing up a narrow staircase leading up to a first floor entrance plastered with labels reading “18+” “ADULT ONLY” “DANCE” and suggestive black cutouts on faded red signs as high as the whole store.

Bingo.

Jogging up the stairs, Takeomi stuck the cigarette into the corner of his mouth and nodded towards the bouncer, stretching his neck to subtly flash his ink at him .

“Evening, Onii-San. We good?” Arm above his head, he pushed the bar’s half-length veil out of his face and was already halfway through the barrier when the stern man put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in close.

“We don’t appreciate trouble here. You go in, you are discreet about what you see and do, you pay, you leave.”

Takeomi’s eyebrows shot up and the wide grin pushed up the long facial scar as he bit into the cigarette filter. “Who do you take me for?”

Not waiting for the response, Takeomi pulled the folded paper money held together by a metal clip out of his shirt pocket and waved it in front of the man’s face. “I’m here to have a good time, nothing more, nothing less.”

The muscular thug clad in a very traditional black suit looked the former Black Dragon executive up and down a last time and then stepped aside to let him in.

The loud bass from inside greeted Takeomi warmly, stirred up anticipation in his body when he walked past the wardrobe. He nodded to the wrinkly old geezer peeking out the little window and his tired eyes quickly adjusted to the dimmed lights inside.

He could smell the main room already before entering it.

The old and new smoke that lingered between the walls and mixed with the stale sweat guys carried under their shirts and in their pants after a long day of work and also that of oiled up overly perfumed dancers that lazily ran down between their thighs and shimmered in the flickering spotlights giving the movement of their limbs a magical quality. And the light smell of the fog machine, its clouds wafting over the stage and settling down in half-drunk glasses of drinks that had lost their carbonation a long time ago.

It wasn’t a big room and most of the small round tables were already taken, a longer one fitting 6 was half-taken up by a group of 3 youngsters awkwardly looking around in such an out-of-place way that had Takeomi doubt they were old enough to be here.

They reminded him of the first time he had snuck into a strip club with Shinichiro. The two of them had been so piss-drunk, when they tried to go to a private booth with one of the dancers, Shin had fallen flat on his ass, dragging the slightly older boy down in the process.

It ended with them being kicked out under a lot of shrieks from the ladies. A crooked smile disappeared as quickly as it had shown up on his face. Takeomi leaned over the counter and signaled for the barman to get him a lemon chu-hi. He missed the days of hanging out with his old friend, but that son of a bitch only had eyes for his little brother anymore and taught him everything about gangs and bikes there was to know, so he could one day take up the torch. Tchk. Dragging kids into this.

With a hollow clink sound, a glass of chu-hi appeared in front of him. Exchanging glances over the steep price too common for this kind of establishment, Takeomi stuffed his money bills back into his shirt pocket and went looking for a place to sit down.

The stage ran all through the center of the room and split it in half. A few sofas were placed in front of it, inviting especially thirsty customers to take a rest and watch the show up close. Music and lights were going wild, but there was no one at the stage right now. A quick glance at the watch and the advertisement hanging behind the bar told Takeomi the next show was due to start in a few minutes.

Just in time for a prime spot then , the former Black Dragon executive thought to himself and slumped onto one of the sofas right in front of the center-stage.

Cranking his neck and shaking out the stiffness from staring at the ground while walking, he fished out his money again and started to count. The bass was slowing down to a seductive thumping already and he was keen on making sure he had enough cash on him to enjoy the joy.

10,000… 15,000… 25,000 His big thumb brushed through the Yen bills stuffed between the two ends of the clip. Snatching the ashtray closer to his end of the table, Takeomi put his pack of cigarettes down next to it, pulled his slightly disheveled shirt into place again, shifted the glass around and made himself comfortable.

As he lit a new cigarette, the lights went out and the bass stopped. A group of businessmen whose ties indicated they already were a few drinks into the night pushed past him and sat down to his left. Somewhere behind him an animator was talking into a cheap microphone. Leaning back over the sofa’s neck rest, Takeomi glanced around and noticed a little crowd was gathering behind him. With a raised brow he lazily turned his head and watched a bunch of old guys with visible beer bellies scurry to the seats to his right while seemingly arguing over whether the drinks were self-service or to be brought by a waitress - a quarrel that was quickly solved by a scarcely dressed hostess guiding them to their seats and taking their drink order.

Fog was already being pushed onto the stage from various sides again, turning it into a mystical sea of promises for the dancer to emerge from.

The announcer spoke a few more words that the speakers strategically placed around the room blasted towards the crowd, but Takeomi did not catch much of it, nor did he care for it.

With an especially loud blast, another cloud of fog slushed onto the stage, pushing older wafts down around the edges and then the show began.

Red, pink and purple spotlights frantically jumped over the thick clouds blocking the view, the bass came back hammering the rhythm of sex through the crowd’s bodies and under plenty of whistles and cheers, the lady of the night emerged from the fog.

Shiny black heels were pushing through the shimmering clouds and revealed long and slender legs as pale and smooth as almond milk. Takeomi’s glance took in the elegant feet and bony ankles confidently walking towards him and he could feel the tugging in his loins when his gaze wandered up those sinful slim thighs.

Just like the snake tempting Eve in paradise, a black snake-like tattoo wrapped itself around those slender legs and disappeared in that forbidden area made for him to explore but just barely covered by the shortest and most teasing pleated skirt imaginable to mankind. Takeomi gulped at the sight and leaned forward to flick some ash into the ashtray before him, his eyes wandering further up the dancer’s body winding and squatting only inches away right in front of him.

The way those delicately curved hips swayed left and right with the music, the way the strobes danced over the immaculate and tender skin squishing at the hips and then stretching again in front of his eyes, Takeomi could not help but imagine burying himself in the heat waiting between those inked thighs.

Glass of chu-hi in hand and taking a sip, he raised his gaze and took in how far that black snake wound around the soft curves at the girl’s hips, her waist, snuck up her ribcage and -

A coughing fit shook the man so violently he sputtered his drink all over his shirt when he realized he was definitely not looking at female breasts. And that barely contained bulge jiggling in the satin thong every shake of the hips flashed at him from under the tiny skirt was definitely not a vagina.

Neither was the guy whose crotch was less than a few inches away from his face a stranger to him.

Quickly discarding the initial shock he wiped off his hands on his pants, got a grip on himself and met the dancer’s smug stare with a lopsided grin and cocked his head to the side.

“Didn’t know you like whoring yourself out for money, big Haitani.”

The tall beauty on the stage shifted from squatting mid-bounce onto kneeling on all fours and leaned forward to hum into the curve of Takeomi’s neck, the bratty twin braids brushing against his collarbone.

“Didn’t know you like crossdressers, Akashi.”

Loud whistles cut through the fluorescent lights and someone repeatedly hit the table with an ashtray.

“Get that little ass back to grinding that pole.” someone yelled from the other end of the room.

“We’re here for a show fag, get to it.”

The last shout caused Takeomi to turn his head and push himself up from his seat, but Ran halted him mid-motion with a hand on his chest and turned to look at the group himself.

Batting his lavender eyes seductively, Ran spoke with a low voice.

“Want me to show you what a fag I am?”

The man in his late 40s scoffed and gestured aggressively. “Why are you giving that twat a private show, what’s so special about him!?”

Lowering his head so far his steady breath gently pushed the fog out of his way, the tall and handsomely curved man on all fours snaked his body over to the older salaryman, never breaking eye contact. It could have been the alcohol, but the flush appeared on chubby cheeks so fast after Ran’s body was moving towards the guy, there was little doubt the older Haitani brother was the one who caused it.

Ignoring the sign reading “no touching”, spidery fingers crawled over the man’s thighs and Ran’s big palm brushed over the sweaty crotch and up to his navel.

The flickering spotlights danced in his eyes and the skimpily-clad boy opened his mouth to lick his fingers, raised his hips and spread his legs further. Takeomi and the instigator had two very different views on the man in his early 20s stretched out on his knees between them.

There was a sizable dick held in place by that thong covered by a skirt barely worth the name, balls spilling out playfully over the sides. Ran’s smooth and shapely thighs were more attractive than most women’s, the former gang vice president had no problem admitting to himself.

The chubster’s chest heaved up and down under heavy breathing under the spell of watching the eldest Haitani push the fingers that had just massaged his crotch deep into his mouth. Coated in spit and strings connecting his bottom lip and his fingertips, he pulled his hand back revealing a long wet middle finger and spat in the guy’s face crooning seductively.

“Call me a fag again you fat fucking faggot and I’ll fuck you up the ass so far with your mom’s dick prosthetic you’ll think Christmas Eve came early.”

After a last gentle pat against the guy’s cheek, Ran pulled his arched body up into standing position in one elegant move and strutted back to the pole that had been hidden in the generous smoke show.

Takeomi wanted more and he was determined to get it tonight.

From the corner of his eye Ran caught Takeomi winking at him with a couple of bills in hand just as he was bending over at the waist and ran his hands teasingly up his sides and along the titillating ink when he came back up. With a subtle head tilt and sipping from his drink, the former Black Dragon vice beckoned him over and the younger man wrapped one leg firmly around the metal bar, spinning around with a lasciviously arched spine. When he swung past him, he pointed at a discreet door a few meters behind the visitor, who turned around and got the hint.

Takeomi briefly dropped by the bar to get a new drink as well as cash out on a bottle of champagne. Within seconds of the barkeep pressing a button, a cute girl dressed in frilly lingerie, slightly younger than the Haitani - and on second glance not a girl either - took up the bottle, grabbed Takeomi by the wrist and led him over to the secluded space behind the nondescript door. Bending over in front of him to place the tablet with glasses on the small round table in front of a black velvet sofa, the young boy spoke with a surprisingly light girlish voice when he ran Takeomi through the rules. 30 minutes at most or he’ll have to get another bottle, no touching allowed unless explicitly stated, sexual services beyond a dance have to be paid upfront and no haggling, condoms, lube and oil are in the little compartment under the table.

“There’s a little sink behind the furthest pillar in case you wanna take a quick sponge bath, but …” The waiter threw a glance over his shoulder and stood upright again. A flirtatious smile showed up on his face. “You do smell really good. Call me if you need dessert later.”

Raising both brows while lighting a cigarette kept safe between both hands, Takeomi bit on the filter. “I’m not in the habit of being into ladyboys.”

The light rose-coloured frills around his tiny waist wiggled when the young man stopped for a last wink back at Takeomi before he left the secluded room. “It’s crossdressers, actually. And… that’s what they all say, uncle.”

The playful expression on his face died the moment he pushed through the barrier and nearly bumped into the much taller man striding into the room as if he owned the place.

Takeomi chuckled to himself. Ran Haitani probably did own this place.

Legs spread wide, he leaned back and rested his arm over the sofa. Watching the confident but underplayed strut as Ran walked towards him, Takeomi could not help but notice the natural air of grace and danger that surrounded the long-haired man like a feline predator.

“Those are real bills, right Akashi? You’re not trying to rip me off on my own turf?”

Exhaling smoke and leaning forward to grab the champagne bottle, Takeomi mustered the teasing man in front of him.

“They are real.”

He poured the two of them two flutes of the sparkling alcohol and extended one to Ran.

“Are your services?”

Grabbing the thin stand at the bottom of the slim glass, Ran closed the distance between himself and the older man and stood between his legs. He looked down his nose as he took a sip and smiled discreetly when he noticed how unabashedly the man took in the sight of his half-naked body and the semi hard on growing underneath Takeomi’s pants.

“Very much so.”

One of his crooked eyebrows raised, the scar-faced man placed the hand holding his cigarette on the outside of Ran’s thigh and brushed his thumb over the black twine winding along his side and under the tiny skirt.

“You gonna let me shoot a load into that pretty little ass of yours?”

His finger slid under the strap holding Ran’s thong on his hip and he flicked it against his skin. Ran’s smile grew more visible but he did not twitch and followed Takeomi’s glance scanning his light abs, his slim waist and playing with the little cloth covering his crotch.

“I take it you enjoyed the private show earlier, old man.”

Takeomi scoffed and slapped Ran’s ass half-heartedly. “Who’re you calling old man? I’m not even 30.”

Something the experienced gang executive wasn’t prepared for happened. Ran’s eyes narrowed and he licked his lips. “You sure look like it.”

Disbelief shook the former Black Dragon member’s face but before he could fly off the handle, Ran put his glass down, leaned over and put one big, graceful hand on the man’s thigh, the other one started to unbuckle his belt.

Braids again tickling against his skin, Ran whispered into Takeomi’s ear.

“I’m into older men anyway, Akashi. Fuck me and the dance is free.”

The hand resting on his thigh slid up and joined the other one at his crotch pulling the belt open and unzipping his pants. Reaching around Ran’s bent hip, Takeomi stubbed the cigarette out on the ashtray and put his hands on the slender man’s sides when he leaned back again. Ran’s long bony fingers did what they did best and massaged light grunts out the man under him who bucked into his touch. The intimate purr had him tense up and groan for more. Thumbs brushing along the inked ribcage, Takeomi grounded himself against the slender man pushing against his body and grunted when he found pierced nipples under the cropped shirt and that hardened under his fingers.

Truth be told, if it wasn’t for the cock between his legs, the big Haitani might be one of the most desirable women Takeomi had had on his lap so far. And he’d spread the love among the lot of them over the last few years.

One of his hands roamed onto Ran’s and he pushed the nimble fingers away from between his thighs, away from his hard cock aching to be taken care of. The other hand grabbed the back of the braided head and pulled his neck into an arch.

“First you dance for me.”

Violet eyes curled into slits and Ran’s hands left Takeomi’s body. Elegant fingers now twirled his twin braids and he knelt down between Takeomi’s slim hairy legs with a pouting expression comically unbefitting his manly long face and pronounced cheekbones.

“How would you like me, aniki~?”

He was playing a stupid little game with him, but with that dainty bone structure, the mysterious lilac eyes framed by hair as black as both their hearts, he was also beautiful. Between his legs rested a nymph with a body as delicately curved and fierce as the stroke of a brush on silk.

The full-body tattoo winding from his shoulders to his ankles accentuated the natural form of his body. His skin was like satin. What a perfect illusion he was, the cropped fishnet top loosely hanging over his midriff and that lewd skirt just barely touching his thighs.

It bothered Takeomi how the braids put the older Haitani’s muscular shoulders on full display and the dimmed light deepened the shadows his toned muscles cast over his body.

“Get rid of those braids and turn around.”

Nothing else needed saying, Ran simply complied, violet gaze locked onto bronze one. He rested his head on Takeomi’s thigh and started pulling the first braid apart. Takeomi did not like that grin flashing across his face when he looked up at him.

“What?”

The devilish nature of the arrogant prick between his legs clawed its way out to the surface.

“I could also get a pink wig if that is more to your liking.”

The older man scoffed.

“When you’re done, turn around and get on my lap.”

Haitani Ran took his time unbraiding his hair.

Strand by strand his fingertips patiently unwound the hair neatly tied together. When he finally was done, he pushed it over his shoulder and loose waves of darkness interspersed with light fell against his back. Black and blonde streaks that framed his pale face and gave it a much softer shape than before. Takeomi brushed over them and was intrigued by how soft they were compared to his own. Before the erection twitching noticeably for attention could bother him any further, Ran cut the games and got up in one swift motion.

Fuck, how beautiful he was.

Hands resting on the knees of the man with slicked back and skunk-striped hair, the dancer lowered his hips bit by bit onto his lap with every sway of his body and the music. Takeomi’s hands explored the tall beauty’s gentle curves while Ran’s barely covered ass ghosted Takeomi’s crotch.

The slow, heavy music he had entirely drowned out during the past few minutes faded back into his focus guided by the soft swings of the younger man’s milky body.

Teasingly grinding his bare ass against the scar-faced man’s hard-on, the feel of that surprisingly big cock between his cheeks worked up Ran’s own desire.

The growing erection pushing up the little skirt curtain did not go unnoticed by the restless hands kneading and tugging at his smooth skin.

An excited prickling feeling surged through Takeomi’s body and he mumbled into Ran’s ear. Not waiting for a reply, his big hands cupped the soft ass-cheeks that bumped against his cock and spread them. Patiently but persistently pushing his tip against the tiny hole he bit into Ran’s ear, dick twitching at the little moan he drew out from him.

“Get it.”

Massaging Ran’s ass-checks still grinding against his dick, Takeomi’s middle fingers also tugged at Ran’s asshole. Ran bent over to fumble out the lube from under the table, moaning at how the older man didn’t stop spreading and teasing him. Snapping the lid open with a squeaky plastic sound he reached around his back and squeezed some of it onto the senior delinquent’s fingers.

The friction of Ran’s whole body weight pushing his ass against his dick in the process made something in the ex vice leader snap. He impatiently rubbed the lube between Ran’s cheeks and pushed a long finger into him, within mere seconds more followed. Two fingers, three, he was pumping his digits into the squirming body on top of him and then shoved Ran off his lap onto the small table.

Ran stabilized himself with his hands on the glass surface that was cool against his own hard on and reflected the dim ceiling lights.

Already anticipating what was to come now, he heard Takeomi’s pants rustle and the belt fall to the floor with a clinking sound.

Ran was as tall as Takeomi, taller even in his stiletto heels, but when the scar-faced man grabbed hold of the skirt around his slim waist and crunched it up between his fists, to pull his ass closer, Takeomi’s hands seemed like shovels digging into his fragile body.

Roppongi’s most famous delinquent did not get a chance to turn around and look at the man behind him.

Without skipping a beat, Takeomi pushed his hard dick into him and made him moan. Keeping his hips right where he wanted them, he fucked the man into the table without any care. Bent over like a bitch, shaved all over, long legs ending in glistening black stiletto heels and winding under his thrusts with heavy pants, Ran Haitani might as well have been a regular whore and not the boogeyman of Roppongi. Takeomi roughly thrust into him and enjoyed seeing him struggle with the sweaty skin spanning his belly sticking to the surface and the nipple piercings clinking against the glass.

The view onto the elder Haitani made his balls tighten. He couldn’t see his face, all there was to see was a sea of dark silky hair spilling over the table and framing the writhing body as one with the ink painting his curves. Spurred on by his imagination of Ran’s face with eyes fluttering closed when he rolled his own hips into him, Takeomi sucked in a deep breath.

“Is this why you can summon 100 men with just one shout?”

Now it was Ran’s turn to scoff and turn his head.

Before he could come back with a smart remark, a heavy hand deliberately slapped his ass.

“Shout then.”

Takeomi pushed deep into him and hit just the spot.

A loud moan left Ran’s lips and the older man watched him try to tip-toe and press his knees together whining for more.

The view was even better now. With the saucily dressed man slightly twisted, half-way lying on the side Takeomi could see his face while he rutted into him. It was reddened, his lips swollen and dry from panting and he caught a glimpse of the man’s every breath fogging up the glass surface underneath. His gaze wandered lower and he could see Ran’s dick trapped between his belly and the glass surface as well, eagerly twitching under the thrusts.

An odd thought about definitely not wanting to put his siblings into a line of work like this crossed his mind and Takeomi hoped in passing that his little brother did not have the same tendencies as this rotten shithead under him. That comment about the wig had stuck with him.

Dammit.

Thrown out of the heat of the moment, the man in his late 20s pulled out, careful not to stain his own pants hanging around his knees and dropped onto the sofa behind. Palming his dick with his left, he snapped his fingers a few times with the right to draw attention.

Dismissively wagging his head, he signaled for Ran to come over to the sofa and finish him there.

Catching a breath Takeomi lit a cigarette and took a sip from the champagne. The fact his ass sweat was seeping into the black velvet was no concern to him, he was glad his cock got a final breather in before the grand finale because damn, he had been pent up already when he had gotten kicked out of Wakasa’s club.

The other man got up, but later than Takeomi would have expected. Puffing on his cigarette he wondered if that cocky bitch had been serious earlier and was really into getting fucked by older men. Had they been here in private, he’d have been pretty damn sure Ran looked a bit let down and on edge.

The skirt had fully turned into a crumpled up belt resting on his hips. His cock had broken free from the satin thong and was bobbing along every time the stiletto heels dug into the floor. The cropped fishnet top was crumpled up around his right nipple and a few nets were torn and his long hair was damp and stuck to his neck and cheeks. His usually immaculately neutral face devoid of any real emotion was flushed and he was swallowing visibly while walking over.

A pity he had not been wearing any make-up or lipstick, smeared red around his mouth would have been the perfect look for this slut, the old chunibyo thought.

“Nearly had me there, aniki.” There was that purr from the androgynous beauty again that he hoped to feel against his length very soon. Much to Takeomi’s surprise, Ran had no shame in confessing his state and took a good look at him during his own refill on champagne.

“Few more thrusts and I’d have written your name on the table with my cum.”

First he lowered himself onto the naked thigh covered in thin black hairs and slowly stroked the senior gang member’s hard-on with a calm hand. Takeomi leaned against the curve of his neck and said something to which Ran shook his head. Pleased with that reply, Takeomi caressed his cheek and lips and then pushed the former Tenjiku executive off his thigh.

Then Ran knelt on the floor in front of him and started lapping the lube and the precum off Takeomi’s dick like it was candy.

In turn, Takeomi grabbed a fistful of Ran’s hair and yanked his head back so he could get a good view of Ran swallowing it down and licking his lips clean. The sight of that wet open mouth built pressure in Takeomi’s groins that needed to be taken care of fast and Ran was fully aware of it. He wrapped his swollen lips around Takeomi’s cock and moved deep down his shaft. His hands disappeared between his own legs. The tight wet suction Ran’s mouth worked on his cock sent Takeomi reeling and he groaned, pushing Ran deep enough for his nose to touch his pubes.

“Fuck, Haitani, don’t stop.”

Takeomi grit his teeth and tensed up to hold out just a little bit longer as his length stretched out Ran’s throat with long, deep thrusts.

He tried, but he couldn’t take it any longer. The sudden raspy murmur of Ran’s voice vibrating around his cock sent him over the edge.

“Come for me, Akashi.”

The pressure that had been building in his balls and winding up his loins spilled out of him accompanied by a hoarse groan. Still balls deep in Ran’s mouth, he shot sticky ropes of cum down his throat.

Panting for breath, and holding Ran’s head in place rougher than necessary, he suddenly noticed the jerking motions between his feet. Takeomi yanked Ran off his dick, and caught him jacking himself off. He grabbed his wrist to pull it away and looked into his clouded purple eyes but it was already too late. Pierced nipples hard and pointing at him, hips bucking towards the man between whose legs he knelt, Ran’s spine arched back violently and his load spilled over his stomach and thighs and onto the floor with a loud whimper.

Takeomi also noticed the fully burned down cigarette stub still between his fingers and the ashes scattered on Ran’s back.

Right. Why did he light up a cigarette mid sex again? Oh well. They had staff here to take care of that.

After a quick glance at the mess that Ran Haitani currently was, flushed, half-naked and slumped over the little table to do a line of coke, he got up. Fanning some air onto his skin with his open shirt, the slick-haired man walked over to the sink at the back of the room for a quick wash. It had been a strange night. The last place he’d have expected to end up tonight or any other day of the year was in Roppongi’s very own Ran Haitani. Both his ass and his mouth.

He grimaced to himself with raised eyebrows thinking how he wouldn’t suck a dick that’s been in his ass. Kids these days. Turning off the water tap and drying his hands, Takeomi grinned and lit up a cigarette. What a silly thought. He wouldn’t suck a dick full stop. But a hole was a hole. That much was true.

A tall lithe body pushed past him and stood at the other side of the sink.

“You gonna come again, old man?”

Again Takeomi suddenly noticed the music reaching his ears now but not while they had been busy. He had forgotten about it for quite some time. Now the bass was helping him steady his breath back to normal. Blinking under the smoke wafting into his eyes, Takeomi glanced at the bi-coloured hair that had fallen into Ran’s face aside and leaned over the sink.

“What happens here stays here.”

With that he stuffed 30,000 Yen into the waistband of Ran’s skirt and left.

Takeomi went to the wardrobe first, to pick up his jacket, but it wasn’t here. Damn. He must have left it back at Shiroi Neko. There was still an open discussion to be had with Wakasa about the way he treated a friend coming to his establishments. In hindsight he was lucky that he had all his valuables on him and nothing in his jacket pockets. He nodded to the old geezer again on his way out and noticed the blinking sign above his head advertising “Roppongi’s hottest this way”.

It made him wonder.

There were two Haitani brothers, weren’t there?

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