rewind series || bts

heavy sugar || 1920s

a 1920′s inspired fic where, try as you might, you just couldn't ignore the dark and enigmatic gangster whose eyes lingered on you from across the room.

↳ warnings: unprotected rough sex, oral (m), face fucking, power play, 'sir' kink, choking, alcohol, guns, and death
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"Would ya lighten up, sourpuss? The boss said he'd be back in a jiffy." The familiar voice of your friend, Doyeon, called to you.

You let out a sigh as she bumped her hip into yours, causing you to pull your eyes away from where your boss had disappeared to.

You pouted, "That was ten minutes ago."

When you overheard your boss talking about some cops causing trouble out front, you couldn't help but be on edge. With the 18th amendment now in place, establishments such as the very one you worked in had been pushed underground, trying to work around the ban on alcohol.

The last thing you needed was for the police to crack down on the speakeasy you worked at, throwing you and all your other co-workers in the slammer.

"Rolf is a real bimbo, no lousy cop is gonna get past him. He'll be fine. Why don't you and I get back to work, yeah?" Doyeon tried again, causing you to slump your shoulders in defeat.

She was right, of course. Rolf, the owner of the restaurant— and hidden speakeasy —was a big guy. He could hold his own; there wasn't much you could do to help him if anything did happen anyway.

You had a few of these run-ins with the law every once and awhile. Rolf usually just had to pay the fuzz off and they'd be on their way. Police around here weren't funded enough to be taking down every hidden speakeasy littering the city streets.

"Fine. Let's get to it then." You nodded, a smirk tugging at your scarlet-stained lips.

Your and Doyeon's job was simple enough; socialize and dance with the customers. Your job, in particular, was to go after the few wealthy eggs here, getting them drunk and spending their money freely at the bar.

You had been working here approaching three years now, Rolf having plucked you off the streets one cold January night. Your family had kicked you out as soon as you turned eighteen and you ran out of cash quickly. This job, the people here, had become your makeshift family so you couldn't help but be a little cautious. This was an illicit establishment after all.

You let a smile find your painted mouth as you began to walk back over into the crowd, letting your hips meet the beat of the lively jazz band playing.

The part of the happy-go-lucky flapper was easy to play. With a little bat of your eyes and a strategically placed hand on their upper arm, you usually charmed the men easily.

Rounds of laughter surrounded you, falling from mouths of fancily dressed men, cheeks pink from the alcohol they had consumed.

"I think it suits me." You teased, hovering one of the men's top hat over your head. You had snatched it from him cheekily, shamelessly toying with him. These guys were regulars here, so you knew how to get the cash flowing out of them.

"You look absolutely ace, darlin'!" A bleary-eyed man you knew to be called Jimin smiled, causing you to twirl around dramatically.

You were laughing alongside the men when you suddenly got the feeling that you were being watched.

Eyebrows furrowed slightly, you looked around until you found the source of the feeling.

Sat across the room, seemingly going unnoticed, was a man dressed cleanly in a crisp black suit, men of similar attire surrounding him. You'd imagine you might have missed him had you not found him staring at you, as people moved around the room in far flashier glad rags than him. But there was something about his understated nature that was undeniably captivating.