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last-words-ofashootingstar · 7 months

Text

Moll

❥ Choi San x fem reader

SPOOKTOBER SPECIAL

➯a/n: i've been watching waaaaay too much 1920s drama sooooooo (i went way overboard, i feel liek i wrote a movie)

✃ moll; a mobsters girl, circa 1920s

✫彡wordcount: 6.2k

(✯◡✯)(>ᴗ•)genre: 1920s mafia au, plot heavy smut

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: mentions of drugs, violence, threatening with a gun(safety was on lol), kidnapping, forced marriage, forced affection, stockholm syndrome, pregnancy, murder(not descriptive at all), NSFW; virginity loss, unprotected (NO DO THAT🫵🏻), possessiveness to the max, breeding kink

not proof read

✩ index: dope; drugs, specifically cocaine or heroin. bent; drunk. bump you off; murder. bearcat; a feisty woman. vamp; an aggressive flirt. flat-tire; a bore. punch the bag; talk. dame, doll, bunny, water-proof; a (attractive) woman. holding a torch; having a crush. get in a lather/ get lathered up; get worked up or angry. skin; condom. get a wiggle on; leave quickly.

⁂taglist: @stvrfir3 @tunaasan @marievllr-abg

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

"Where's the money?"

"That's all of it! Please, Mister-"

The echoing slap across the room makes you cringe from your hiding place in the pantry. It's nothing new. Your family had been mixed up in all kinds of shenanigans and you had witnessed a great deal of them. But it always hurts when they come back to haunt you.

You cup your hand over your mouth to muffle your scared breath, trying desperately put your mind in a better place. Anywhere but here.

"I gave you more than enough time. Don't you think?"

"Nobodies buying, please Mr. Choi! You have to understand, I tried. I went from corner to corner to corner," your older brother pleads.

He isn't lying either. The drugs that the mafia had provided him to sell- well, they weren't selling. No body had the money. If they did, they only bought the smallest amount and resold it at a higher price.

It wasn't his fault the country was in a depression.

"It- I still have the dope stored away! Just in the back shed, you can have it back! May-maybe someone up North can have better lu-ah!"

A dull thud.

And another.

A crash. Your brothers body hitting the floor no doubt.

"You gon' tell me how to peddle my own product now? I don't think so! Are you bent? Huh?" His voice gets louder with each insult hurled at your brother. "You skim a little of the top, is that it? I oughta bump you off!"

You can't help the small gasp that exits your shaking lips, and you immediately recognize your mistake as it goes silent in the home. Only your brothers ragged breathing and the thrumming of your anxious heart reaching your ears.

"Mr. Ch-"

"Shut your kisser! Who's here with us?"

"N-Nobody! No! No, no, wait-"

Light floods the small room you've sought safety in, and that false sense of security shatters the second you see the man attached to the threatening voice.

He's a cop.

He's got a badge and a gun and authority. He's supposed to be someone safe. Instead, he's got knuckles blooded with your kin and a smirk on his stubbled face.

His wide shoulders block the light, casting his silhouette over you like a storm cloud.

You've cowered into the corner, skirt pulled over your trembling knees as you scoot further away. Wide eyes looking up at him, silently pleading.

"Why you hidin', vamp?"

"Please, Mr.Choi, she don't know from nothing!"

You glance past the man -Mr.Choi- 's neat slacks, and see your brothers face messed with blood, dripping onto the floor from his nose. He's pulling himself up slowly, kneeling on the hardwood.

"Get up," Mr.Choi nods his head at you, and you immediately follow his order, afraid to test his nerves further. "Help this goof up." You lower your head, slowly approaching the man who stays in the doorway. "Now, we ain't got all day!"

You rush past him and kneel, wrapping your arms under his and pulling him up with a grimace, "c'mon, Bub, get up."

The man watches you heave him up, leaning against the wall with his hand on his hip holster in case you decide to get brave. "Bub's done got you mixed up in something real risky, girl. What do you know?"

"Don't know nothin', Mister. Mind my own." You feign some semblance of calm. You lower your brother onto a chair, and he nearly falls onto the dinner table before you catch his head. "You had to knock him on the head?"

He chuckles, slowly stalking around the room, "don't get mouthy, Bearcat." He takes a seat at the head of the table, pointing to the chair opposite of him. "Sit."

You lower his dizzy head to rest on the table before taking the seat he pointed to, folding your hands in your lap and lowering your head. "I never touched your dope, I don't mess with that."

He slowly places his gun on the table, fingers lingering over it. He studies you- eyes never leaving. "How much of the beans has he spilled to you?"

"I don't know what you mean-"

"Oh, sure."

You look up, and you regret floods your veins. He's sizing you up. Face completely void of emotion. Shoulders slack and relaxed like he isn't ready to shoot you at a moments notice. "Punch the bag, now. Before I shoot off your Bubs knee cap." He cocks his gun.

"Okay! Okay, listen-" you gulp, looking back down, "all he's ever told me is that he gets some products and sells them, gives you the money and you give him a cut. That's it! That's all I know, really. Don't know where you get it or nothin'. I can keep my trap shut."

"You don't go to the corners with him?"

"Nev-"

"If I show your face at the station, nobody gonna recognize you?"

"No," you look up again, "everyone knows I'm a good girl, Officer."

He lets out an amused chuckle, rubbing his brow. "You tugging my leg?"

"No. I'm not a drug peddler. I'm a secretary. I volunteer at the soup kitchen. I babysit-"

Your anxious babbling to get yourself out of your brothers trouble is interrupted when Mr.Choi, suddenly behind you, grips the back of your neck and pushes your head to the table. Your eyes meet your brothers drowsy ones, tears quickly filling up in both. "Please, she's tellin' the truth! I ain't even tell her I was selling till you called last minute! She's innocent!"

"I don't like liars!" He shouts, making you jump under his harsh grip, "I asked you if we were alone the moment I walked in this dump! You're a little sneak, aye? How do I know you didn't hide her to gather intel on me? Get me fired and kicked out? Get yourself a little raise? How do I know she's even your sister? She could be a snake! Tell me the truth, now!"

The cool metal of his gun touches your temple, and the sobs you've been holding back fall out of your lips loudly. "Bub, tell him!"

"Tell me, Bub!" He mocks you, pressing the barrel deeper into the back of your head.

"That's the truth! I sell your dope by myself and she doesn't know nothing about it! Please, she's all I have!" He's growing more and more frantic, head heavy as he lifts it to look Mr.Choi in the eyes, "I'll find a way! I'll go up North myself, I-I'll take a dimebox to Iafeild o-or," he himself is crying now, watching helplessly as he tugs you out of your chair. "Please, she's all I have!"

He pushes you to the floor and watches you scramble, kicking your knees out from under you, albeit gently, it makes you fall face first. He lowers himself in a squat, watching you with a certain amusement you curl up on yourself. "Well why didn't you just say so!" He clips his gun back on his hip and smirks as you both let out a sigh of relief.

Mr.Choi doesn't leave just yet, however.

He straddles your back and flips you over, gripping your chin as it trembles. Pulls your face close to his and inspects you. Your tears wet his fingers. "Hmm, can't blame me for being suspicious. She's water-proof and you," he looks over at the table and chuckles, "well you're just a dog."

He stands and extends his hand for you, rolling his eyes as you ignore it. "Get up, Doll." He groans, pulling you to your feet, "go pack a bag."

"W-"

"She's not goin' with you," your brothers brief bravery is shut down the second the copper reaches for his gun again, "I- I mean why?"

"You," Mr.Choi points to him, "are gonna go to Iafeild and sell all of the shit I gave you like you should have done two months ago. And she," he wraps his arm around your shoulders with a cocky grin, "is gonna be your encouragement to get me my money. If you aren't back with all of it in... three weeks, say? Little sis' here is gonna take the big sleep." He ignores you as you cry harder, simply glaring at your brother. "Capiche?"

He nods frantically, looking away as you look to him with pleading eyes. There's nothing he can do. This is bigger than him. He's got messed up with the wrong crowds and now you have to pay the price as well.

"Put a pep in your step, clock starts tonight."

❦

He opens the car door, watching silently as you peek your head out before your body follows.

You clutch your bag close to your chest, still sniffling and sobbing quietly. Your kitten heels click on the cement, messed curls blowing with the October winds.

"Follow me," he guides you by the small of your back, shockingly gentle with your shaking form. "Don't pull any tricks, Doll." He leads you up the stairs of the secluded farm house, opening up the screen door and ushering you in.

"San, Finally!" A voice booms from inside the home, making you squeak. When you turn to go back out the door, you collide with Mr.Choi, who you gather must be San, 's chest. "Was starting to think- oh! Who's the dame?"

"This," he turns you by your shoulders and tilts your head up to face the man who's descending the stairs, "is Mr. (L/n)'s sister. She's staying for a bit while her brother sorts out some business upstate." You can almost feel his smirk in the way he speaks.

The other man, who's finally come face to face with you, seems a great deal less threatening than San.

"Tsk," he rolls his eyes at San, "sure thing, fella. You just went and found yourself a Moll."

"A Moll? Sure, she's cute but she seems a bit flat-tire, no? Not exactly the type of woman I go for."

"She's exactly the type you go for, you're trying to get her in the bag! Lost bunny is your type."

"Oh, take a hike, Hwa!"

You go back and forth looking at them in confusion as they bicker, hugging your bag to your chest tightly. You don't know what a 'Moll' is but you do know you don't want to be Mr. Chois. You simply tune them out and stare at the floor blanky, tears still flowing.

"If you're not holding a torch, why didn't you kill him like we planned?"

"Well-" His words die on his tongue as he looks over at you. You do look like a lost bunny. Making yourself small between them and letting your tears flow as a defense mechanism. He won't admit it, especially aloud. But you are exactly the woman he's been looking for. "Oh, hell," he pulls a blue handkerchief from his pocket and shoves it into your hand, "stop crying so much. Not gonna hurt you."

Very hard to believe after his threats, but you try your hardest to stop the onslaught of warm tears. You wipe your face with the fabric and sniffle quietly, coming back to your own body as Seonghwa extends his hand slowly.

"I'm Seonghwa, 'can call me Hwa if you like. I'll be lookin' after you when San here is busy. Let's get along well."

You shake his hand gently and croak out a simple, "(Y/n)."

❦

The rest of the day passed quickly, locked up in a bedroom while San and Hwa could still be heard downstairs, which only served to add to your anxieties. It felt as if at any second they would change their mind and come up to bump you off.

You busied yourself doing what San told you to before he locked the door behind him. 'Unpack and get cozy.' Though that latter wasn't as easy as hanging your few dresses in the oak closet and putting your hairbrush in the nightstand, awkwardly placing your products in the corner of the attached bathroom. Especially after you pieced things together.

There was an array of suits and slacks hanging in the closet. Shiny loafers on the floor. A clip of bullets in the nightstand. A roll of condoms. A stash of cash in a duffle bag on the hook behind the door. A pack of cigarettes and matches on the window sill. A bottle of cologne that smelled suspiciously like Mr. Chois car.

This was Sans room they had locked you in.

You had long took a seat on the windowsill and dangled your legs out of it, debating how badly it would hurt if you decided to fall and try to make a run for it. You came to the conclusion that it was useless. It took fourty minutes to get here from the city. The last home you passed being 20 of those away.

The lock on the door clinked loudly, and it opened slowly. You turned and looked over your shoulder, and it wasn't a surprise that San was the one you faced.

"Hungry, Doll?" He shuts the door with his foot as he carefully enters with a plate in hand. He doesn't seem alarmed by your hazardous seating choice, probably because he doesn't take you for a fool that will break their ankles trying to jump from the third story.

"No," you mutter, turning back around and facing the setting sun without another word or pleasantry his way.

"Don't let it get cold, I reheated it just for you."

"Too bad. Not hungry."

He comes behind you and rests his palms on either side of your hips, chest pressing to your back as he looks out at natures expanse. "Pretty, ain't it?"

When he doesn't get anything resembling a response, he tries again. "It's my own property. Worked in that barn everyday until I became a cop."

He's met with silence. "Plan to share it with my wife one day."

Nothing. "I know you think I'm a monster but I am just a man."

"A man who had a gun to my head..."

"A man who's just trying to survive a war and a pandemic. You'll get that one day. I don't mean no harm until harm comes for me."

A silence washes over you both for a moment.

"Will you shoot me if my brother doesn't sell all your dope?"

"No."

And again. His soft breath, your anxious ones.

"Then why am I here?"

It's his turn to be silent. He backs away from you and sits on the bed, watching you as you sit still like a statue. You watch the sun disappear like a motion picture of art. A certain peace overcoming you for the briefest moment.

"Because you will be that wife that I share with."

And peace shattered by Choi San once again.

You head snaps in his direction, falling back into the house from the windowsill with a thud. You both stare at one another. San stares with an unreadable expression. Yours of pure horror and confusion. "What?!"

"I'll drop business with your brother for good. Clear all his debt with the boys. Give him all of the cash he gets from this last... adventure. He'll be well off and so will you. I'll make a good, honest woman of you."

"Y-" Yours brain is officially thrown into a panic, an overdrive of emotions, and it all tumbles out before you can stop it. "You have to be off your rocker! You're insane! I already am a good, honest woman! Go chase yourself, I'm not marrying you- you- what? No! No!"

"You 'aven't got much choice in the matter, Doll. Don't get yourself in a lather."

"Don't get- oh, I am lathered up, Mr.Choi! I oughta smack some sense into you, demanding a girls hand in marriage like it's still 1890! It's nineteen-twen-"

He smacks the sense into you before you can to him.

"Oh God," you sob, holding your stinging cheek as tears build up in your waterline. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry," you lower your head. Thinking, surely, you just dug your own grave. "Please-"

"This is exactly why I chose you," he crouches in-front of your crumpled form and tilts your head up, "a dame who appears like a lost bunny but has the soul of a beast."

You simply stare up at him, deathly afraid to move or speak in fear of letting your anger and sadness slip again.

"Got somethin' to say?"

You gulp before nodding your head in his hold.

"Go on."

"I don't w-want to marry a mobster... I don't want to be involved with dirty money! A corrupt copper..."

He chuckles softly, rubbing his thumb over your untainted cheek. "You should be thanking me, Doll... That dirty money? Been putting a roof over your head for three years. Corrupt copper? Well, he even had the decency to have the safety on his gun while pointing it at your pretty head. Mobster? Willing to put a ring on your finger and give you a nice home."

The tears start free falling as your situation fully sinks in. There really is no way out. You'll end up in the ground if you don't let him put a ring on it.

"So, I'll say it again," he grips the back of your neck, squeezing ever so slightly, "you should be thankin' me."

"T-thank you."

"Attagirl," he lets go of you completely, letting you fall back to the floor, "now eat."

❦

He let you be that night, and you didn't see him the next morning either. It was Seonghwa who came to the door, and you didn't know if you should feel relieved or not.

"Hey, Miss," He spoke softly, staying just outside of the doorway. "I heard what happened... I'm sorry."

He seemed genuine enough. You sat down your hairbrush and turned on the small stool. Your eyes puffy and red from the lifetimes worth of crying you did last night.

"Uhm, so San wants us to go to town and pick out some fabrics for your weddin' gown. If you aren't up for it, I can pick them out myself."

"Will he be going with us?"

"No, just you and I."

You were sick and tired of smelling San every time you tried to take a deep breath, and that's how you ended up here.

It's less overwhelming than being in that farmhouse that seems to be your prison for now and for forever to come. But overwhelming nonetheless.

Hwa is talkative. But you don't mind. He treats you well. Like an equal. He doesn't talk down to you like many men do. And that, you very much appreciate.

He tells you of how he feels it's unfair you have no saying in your future, his heart is heavy with sadness that he cannot help you. And he tells that to your face. He will not help you. He is loyal to San. But that doesn't mean you can't be friends.

You seem to share life stories with one another the entire car ride there. And then he already feels like an old friend as he holds up fabrics to your skin to see which compliments you best. You, admittedly, aren't as into it as he is. As much as a bride should be. But then, how could you when you were picking things out for the day that would solidify your future with a mobster?

You both settle on one that, you will admit, made your heart flutter when you imagined yourself in. And then you're on your way, but Seonghwa stops the vehicle halfway through town.

"What are we doing?" You look out of the window and your heart stops in your chest as you see that he's parked infront of the police station. "No, Hwa! You promised I wouldn't have to see him."

"I'm sorry, Miss (Y/n)... he said he wanted to see what you picked afterwards. It will be quick."

You take a few deep breaths without San's cologne smothering you, then you swing the door open and follow after Hwa.

Sans broad shoulders aren't hard to pinpoint in the semi-packed station. "Ah, my beautiful fiancée!" He perks up immediately as he spots you and his friend.

What he does next absolutely floors you.

He cups both of your cheeks, and kisses you deeply. Right out in the open. Hot lips on yours.

You grip his wrists, face flushed with heat as he pulls away, bending down slightly to rest his forehead on yours. "Did you pick a pretty fabric for our special day?"

The look in his eyes seems almost innocent from far away. He's already got everyone in the room convinced that you're a willing participant of this relationship. But you, up close and personal, can see the glint of silent threats in his eyes- telling you to keep up the act or face the consequences.

"Uhm, uh-huh," you move slight to the side and look to Hwa, who's head is down slightly for a spilt second before he smiles at you and San and holds out the roll of fabric.

"Oh, Doll, what a good choice! No doubt you will look jaw-dropping," he runs his fingers over the fabric, imaging the pure beauty that you will be. "You'll make it extra good, right, Hwa? Only the best for my girl."

" 'Course, San. We're gonna work on some sketches when we get home." His smile is genuine, like he looks forward to it.

"Officer Choi! Hate to interrupt but we got a hold-em-up at the bank," another officer passes in a hurry, stopping briefly to congratulate you both.

"Ah," he clicks his tongue, rubbing his hands on your side gently, "wish me luck?"

"Good luck..." He looks like he's waiting for more. You gulp and force a smile, almost gagging on the words you conjure up, "good luck, Baby."

❦

The days after that first one passed almost like groundhog day. You awoke with San nearly laid ontop of you. Bathed and made breakfast. Worked with Hwa on your gown until it was completed. Walked around the farm and conversed with the farm-hand. Cooked and had a semi-awkward dinner with the three of them. Talked and became closer with San, slowly becoming happier with your situation.

And then all too suddenly...

It's two days short of three weeks since you've been 'brought home', as San likes to say. Which means one very big thing.

You are to be married.

It's a small affair, but beautiful nonetheless.

You can quickly tell that only one side of San's life is invited. There is not a badge to be seen as you peer out of the window, only gangster after gangster taking their seat.

Hwa finishes buttoning up your gown and steps back, smiling at you like a proud family member. "Ready, Miss?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Hwa walks you down the aisle.

And then it's a blur.

How did your get back in your bedroom? Was the ceremony already over?

It seems to have happened in a flash.

You stand infront of the window again. All of the guests have either left or have taken up in one of the many guest rooms in the home. San no doubt offered them up so that he could have witness to what was about to happen.

Your wedding night. Oh, how special and magical a day.

San slides his hands up your back, landing on your tall collar and skillfully unbuttoning it. Slowly, almost teasingly. His words send a shiver down your spine, they set your hairs on edge: "you are so beautiful, my Dear... it took everything in me not to take you right there in the aisle. I've never wanted anyone, or anything, as badly as I want you."

Your breath hitches in your throat as his soft lips come in contact with your now exposed neck. It not the first time he's left adoring kisses on your body. But somehow it feels different as husband and wife. "San..."

"Yes, Doll?"

"I... I'm a virgin."

"I know, Doll. Tell me to stop and I shall, but... I want to make you feel good like only a husband can. I want to show you my love in physical form." His hands slide into the now open back of your dress, around to your breasts. "Only I can touch you. Only you can touch me. Do you understand that?"

A breathless 'yes' trembles out of your lips as he cups your bosom. The little moan that follows has his hard member throbbing, so ready to finally claim you. He presses it to the round of your ass, and you have to hold back a gasp, simply letting your mouth gape as you look out at the dark night sky. But when his calloused finger tips roll over your hardened nipples, you can't bite back the curse of pleasure that bubbles in your throat.

"Oh, you poor bunny," he whispers in your ear, "you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into." The warmth of him slowly dissipates, and the tell-tale sound of the stool in the room dragging on the floor makes you turn around. "Drop your gown, let me see my wife in her full glory."

Heat burns on your cheeks, of embarrassment or arousal you can't quite tell at the moment. He's shed his fanciest uniform jacket and is now working on his button up, his cock straining against his slacks.

"You ever seen a man's prick?" He smirks as he catches you staring. Your eyes don't leave his lap as you take off your white kitten heels. That is, until he calls you out.

"No," your eyes drop to the ground as you neatly arrange your shoes, "never..."

"Mine will be the first? Mm, first and only," he half hazardly tosses his shirt, leaving his chest bare. Scars and toned muscle on full display for you. "Catch up, Dollface."

You step out of your gown carefully, holding it to your chest to hide yourself. "What if I'm not... pretty enough?"

"Oh, my wife can't possibly disappoint. I've seen that silhouette while you shower." He tilts his head and smiles, a soft smile. "You'll be my first as well."

You swear your eyes have bugged out of your head the way he chuckles at your expression. "Really?"

He stands, gently unraveling your fingers tight grip on the white fabrics. "Really, and I don't want to wait any longer. I want it to be with you. It will be with you." You let him take the fabric, and he drapes it on the stool carefully without ever taking his eyes off of you.

"W-what about the skins in our drawer?"

"So I don't make a mess while I fuck myself thinking about all of the dirty things I want to do with my wife."

"Oh-" You swear you're running a fever. You've never felt this way before- but then, you imagine you'll be feeling many firsts tonight.

"Would you like to hear about them?" He grins, his signature shit-eating-grin, as he guides your hands to his belt. You fiddle with it with a small nod, slowly pulling it off of him as he speaks. "I've got you laid down on our bed, legs spread..." You unbutton his slacks. "Touching, exploring what's mine." His zipper is undone next. "I take my time, make you nice and wet." His bottoms are gone. "I hold your hands." His boxers go after them. "And then I fuck you on my cock."

And he did exactly that. That's how you got here.

Hours of teasing later, his member is finally buried inside of you, stretching you like your fingers never could. He interlocks his fingers with yours as his hips withdrawn. Squeezes your hands tightly as he slowly sinks back in.

"Oh God," you whisper, heels digging into the mattress as you arch beneath his built frame, "ah, Sannie."

His hips stutter, mind overheating as the nickname reaches him. You feel... oh, you feel amazing. Like heaven on Earth. Your gummy, warm walls suck him in, so wet and inviting. He wants to bury himself in your cunt and never leave. "Fuck, Bunny, you feel fucking godly."

Only a moan is his response, your head tossed to the side in embarrassment. "D-don't stop," you pant, squeezing his hands tighter as you gather the courage to- "please go faster." Oh, nevermind. Your mind has left and only your pussy's logic remains. And it's logic is- "Sannie, faster!"

His thick, veiny shaft feels otherworldly as it drags against you. You need more. And he is happy to oblige. He quickens his pace, keeping his strokes languid and tender so as not to hurt you. But by God, he goes faster.

"Ah! Ah, my God!" You cry into the night, uncaring as your pleasure echoes in the houses thin walls.

Your noises, your facial expressions, your divine warmth around him. San feels that familiar coil tighten quickly, winding up. "Fuck, (Y/n), I'm gonna bust," he bites his lip, a loud moan vibrating his chest.

"C-close, I'm close, Sannie," you squeeze his fingers in yours, looking up beggingly, "please don't stop, ah- ah! Just like that! Nngh!" Your eyes roll back into your head, cunt clenching down on him like a vice, a gush of heat tells him you've just came around him, so he no longer holds back.

He hooks one of his legs around yours and pushes himself deeper than before, making you yell out in overstimulated ecstasy. And that primal yelp as he buries himself as deep as possible sends him over the edge, coil in his gut not only snapping- but burning to ash as he fills your womb with his release. "Fuck, fuck," he whines, rutting into you unable to move as your core clenches more than ever, refusing to let him go. "Mine," he growls out, leaning down and colliding his lips with yours passionately.

Your body goes limp beneath him, your soft breaths fanning against his sweaty face as he pulls away from the kiss. He wraps his arms around your waist tightly and your jelly like arms wrap around his broad shoulders. "Mine, all fuckin' mine," he lowers his weight onto you slowly, and it makes his hard cock feel heavier than before. He ignores your whiny moans, resting his head on your chest. "My wife, filled with my seed. Mine, mine, mine," with each of his possessive proclamations comes a thrust of his hips. "Say it, say you're mine."

"I'm yours," you whimper under his weight, blissed out beyond belief and in shock that -despite having filled you less than five minutes ago- he is already rock hard again and thrusting into you, slowly building his speed back up.

"Louder," he demands, head pressed firmly to your chest and listening intently to your drumming heart beat.

"I'm yours," you speak more confidently.

"Louder," his pace has passed where you reached before, he's nearly drilling you with his cock.

"Ah! Fuck!" You screech, nails digging into his skin, legs wrapping around his wildly thrusting hips instinctively.

"Say it," his voice rumbles on your chest, sending vibrations through you as his thrust shake the bed, "fucking say it, tell everyone who you belong to."

"I'm yours, San! Oh! San! Sannie! Baby!" Your brain has shut down, you're putty in his arms, babbling loudly. "Cumming!" You can't help but announce it to the farm, your pleasure has set you ablaze and everything is pointless besides San.

He follows shortly after, his second release flooding your stretched walls and pushing his first out, making a mess of your sheets and pelvises.

When he doesn't show any sign of slowing, you slap his shoulders repeatedly and let out a loud whine. He stills deep inside of you and pants into your chest, cock still throbbing inside of you.

He's become insatiable.

"Break, please," you slur, hands finding purchase in his disheveled hair. He melts into the drunken affection, eyes peering up at you with love and adoration... obsession in the comfort of your own home.

He slowly pulls out of you, watching in awe as the pearly white of his love seeps out of you. He rubs your thighs in a soothing manner, taking a moment to catch his own breath.

"D...do you feel good?" He looks up, almost like a lost puppy. You've never seen him so vulnerable.

"God, yes," you smile at him dopily, propping yourself up on your elbows with a groan. He sits back, immediately locking his arms around you and pulling you into his lap. His scent blankets you, and you welcome it. Taking a deep breath.

His member is messy with a mix of your juices, resting against your lower belly like it knows that's where it belongs. Showing you both how deep he reaches.

The sight alone lights the fire in you again, now just as insatiable as he is.

"I love you." The words that slip past your swollen lips shock the both of you, eyes meeting in an instant.

The crickets outside chirp their song, stars and moon casting light through the window. A shooting star flies by.

"I love you."

❦

There's a knock at the door. Strange. Anyone who needs in can get in. You trot down the stairs and stop halfway as your eyes meet your brothers through the screen door. "Bub?" You nearly trip over your feet as you jump down the rest of the steps, slinging the door open and wrapping your arms around him tightly. It been long past those three weeks San have him. Almost a year past.

"Bub! Bubby!" He spins you around in his arms, nearly falling off of the porch.

"Oh, thank God! You're alive!" Both of you have wide smiles, blissfully unaware as San turns the corner in his farming overalls. "Let's get a wiggle on, before Mr.Choi knows I'm here." San stops in his tracks, eyes trained on you.

"Oh... Bub."

"Let's get, c'mon." He goes to drag you by your arm to the awaiting car.

"Stop! I'm not going with you."

A smirk grows on Sans as a frown grows on your brothers. "N-not going? Don't be silly!"

"Let go of me," you slap his hand away and when your hand falls back to your side, that's when he sees it.

Your belly. Swollen with child.

"(Y/n)..."

You wrap your hands around your stomach protectively as his concerned look turns to a glare. "D-did he rape you? Dear Lord," his hand flies to his mouth in shock.

"What!? No, no, nothing of the sort. San and-"

"Hurry, before he gets back."

"Before who gets back?" San grins wide as he joins your side, wrapping his arm around you and purposefully showing off the ring on his finger. "Long time, no see... Bub."

His face so that of a ghost, backing away until he hits Hwa, who forces him to kneel.

"You really left your poor helpless sister for dead?" The words that San speaks knocks the reality back into you. He did leave you. You'd been so happy with your new life that you'd forgotten entirely about what lead up to it. "I doubt you've even got my cash, huh?"

"Mister, please! Surely you've forgiven me?"

"I don't hold grudges... my wife is a different story, however." He turns to you with an innocent smile. "Honey?"

"Sissy... Tell me you didn't."

"I did." You dead pan. "You left me!" You land a slap harshly across his cheek. "Bastard!"

"Alright, Miss, don't put too much stress on the baby-" Hwa tries to calm you, but you've already gone off the deep end after being reminded of your life before San.

"I hate you!! You left me all alone! You threw me to the wolves! Where were you?!"

"Sis, just- just come home, you aren't thinking straight."

The cicada chirp loudly, nearly drowning out your next words.

"This is home. This is all I have. This is all I want."

"Sis, what has he-" Tears are welling up in your brothers eyes. And it pisses you off.

"I hate you! I never want to see you again, I hate your coward guts!"

San squeezes your shoulder gently and it brings you back to reality. Your brother is shaking as all of the realizations come crashing down on him. Hwa knows what's about to happen, he and San have talked about it a million times. He takes the gun from his belt and hands it over.

"My Moll has spoken."

Bang.

❦

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez au #ateez fic #choi san smau #choi san x reader #choi san #choi san smut #smut fic

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16woodsequ · 4 months

Text

Sunday Steve - Day Eight

Things that would be new or unfamiliar to Steve in the 21st century, either due to the time period he grew up in, or his social-economic status and other such factors.

Day Eight: Shampoo and Conditioner

Shampoo: The origins of the word shampoo comes from an Indian hair and body massage called champooi/champo.

In the late 1800s and early 1900s shampoo was a water soluble, dry shampoo powder that would be dissolved by the teaspoon in a cup of hot water (Link). Shampoo could also come as bars of soap, which could lather or be grated and dissolved into boiling water and left to cool and solidify.

A 1908 New York Times shampoo guide claims "hair is best shampooed at night, following thorough combing and brushing, and singeing split ends. Castile soap is applied with a stiff brush and rinsed four times every month to six weeks." (Link)

Bathing had become more and more common as part of the hygiene routine in the early 1900s, but shampooing was generally recommended every two weeks—or every four to six weeks (preferably using castile soap or tar soap) because shampoo was known for drying out and damaging hair. (Link)

While at-home shampooing was slowly becoming more common, it was more common—for those who could afford it—to get it commercially done. Most shampoo ads were targeted towards women, but men in barbershops "transitioned from using hair tonics to using shampoos to remove the build-up of heavy styling products" (Link).

The liquid shampoo first really started hitting the market in 1927. So by the 30s at-home shampooing became even more common. This is due to a combination of most Americans have in-house plumbing, their own bathrooms, and the shampoo formulas becoming less harsh and drying. The combination of all this meant one could wash their hair every week. (Link) (Every day shampooing began to be marketed in the 70s since oily hairstyles were out of fashion.)

Liquid shampoos were sold in glass bottles, while powdered shampoos came in tins.

Bottles of shampoo and lotions manufactured in the early 20th century by the C.L. Hamilton Co. of Washington, D.C., United States

It wasn't until 1934 that detergent-based (no-soap, modern) shampoos came onto the market (Link).

Sarah Rogers likely wouldn't have been able to afford to get her hair shampooed, but she could have made her own shampoo from castile soap bars (example youtube video) or bought shampoo powders which were then dissolved in water.

She would only wash her hair every few weeks, most likely brushing her hair and keeping it up in styles in-between washes. (Link) Using a clean brush to brush ones hair helped remove and evenly distribute oils.

In 1933 shampoo cost about 25-50 cents. (Link) (Link) I haven't dug deep to know exactly what kind of things Steve and Sarah would be able to afford. But it wouldn't surprise me if there were times they could and couldn't afford hair care products.

As for if Steve would shampoo his hair, he probably just used soap. Shampoo had soap in it until 1933 (which was why it was so drying) (Link). But men could afford to use soap on their hair since they usually had shorter hair and their natural head oils could help mitigate the damage.

I can find less information about men's hair routines if they couldn't afford to go to barbershops, so I'm less certain of what Steve would do. But 20s, 30s, and 40s men's hair styles had a lot of oil or greasy styling products. While these would need to be washed out for re-styling (probably weekly like women) the oil products would help against drying out the hair.

Men also always wore hats. Having stiff or slick-down hair was important so that hair styles wouldn't be ruined by putting on and removing hats. Hair oils would stain hats, chairs and other things heads came in contact with.

Circa 1920 Glostora hair oil and brush ad and Hair Slik ad

Don't be fooled by the ad. This vintage bottle of Glostora is 5 inches or 12.5 cm tall. It would be put on after shampooing, like conditioner.

In the Captain America: The First Avenger movie we can see that Steve's hair isn't slicked back. This could just be a modern day styling choice, but it could also show that Steve did not care about styling his hair.

Cleanliness was was important so he probably washed his hair every few weeks with soap and bathed regularly. But it doesn't look like he put heavy product in his hair. (Unlike Bucky, who probably had more reason to shampoo his hair. It wouldn't surprise me if Bucky went to the barbershop when he could afford it.)

Steve probably couldn't afford to do more to his hair than wash it with soap every few weeks. He likely made his own shampoo with castile or tar soap. This method makes more shampoo than the bottles of liquid shampoo being sold.

Conditioner: Conditioners originated from a product called brilliantine (developed in 1900) which was used to soften beards and moustaches. This product would be put on after styling in barbershops to make the hair shine and soften it. (Glostora and Hair Slik are similar products.) (Link)

"It was oil based, giving off a slimy residue to anything it touched. Homemakers knit lace doilies to cover the backs of high back chairs and couches to protect the furniture from men’s greasy heads" (Link)

Other items used similar to conditioners were hair tonics, or Wildwood Cream.

Conditioner became a necessity because of shampoo, as it is drying to the hair. So it wasn't used much until shampooing became more common (oil has a long history of being used to tame hair, but commercial conditioner products became more common along with shampoo use.) (Link)

Women caught on to these types of commercial products. I've had a hard time finding specific conditioner products from the 30s. Here is a hair care routine for women circa 1930 that mentions brillientine, so it looks like women began using brillientine as well before more specific conditioning products were developed.

There seemed to be more conditioner products developed by the 40s. Here's a conditioning cream from around the 40s, and a different one with a price (about 39¢).

1942 Drene Shampoo Hair Conditioner Vintage Print Ad

(Drene was the first modern synthetic (no soap) shampoo and you can see in the side panel of this ad they say "Don't rob your hair of its glamour by using soap or liquid soap shampoo—which always leave behind a dulling film that dims the natural lustre and color brilliance!")

Wrap up

Modern day hair routines would be recognisable but still somewhat unfamiliar to Steve. This is partially because men's hairstyles have changed drastically from the slick-back styles he is used to. Hats have also gone out of style.

Also, it is common now in America to wash one's hair around three times a week. This shift came about with the change in hair styles. Woman leaving hair down and covering it less necessitates the need to shampoo and condition it more. (Women shampooed their hair once a week in salons up to the 60s).

The products are also slightly different. Liquid shampoo is the dominate form now (I doubt Steve ever bought liquid shampoo) and they come in plastic bottles. The liquid shampoo is likely a much different formula than he's used to. Additionally, conditioning is a very specific step in the process and hair product ingredients have evolved.

There are also combination products like 2-1 shampoo and conditioner which came about in the late 1980s.

Along with the cultural changes, Steve's socioeconomic status would effect his perception of hair-care routines and buying hair products.

With modern (no soap) products, Steve's hair is probably softer and shinier. Steve would have been aware of no soap products, but I don't think he would have bought them. However, he could have had these products used on him during his USO tour. Interacting with the women there probably introduced him to many products he was less familiar with.

Men's hairstyling in the 1920s.

This post kind of got away from me! But I hope you enjoyed my deep dive into 20th century hair care.

#steve rogers #steve rogers meta #meta #sunday steve #1920s #1930s #1940s #american history #us history #history #shampoo #conditioner #hair care #vintage hair #hair styles #hygiene #20th century #long post

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