gangsters paradise. [jungkook x reader] [1920s au]

rolled stockings and cigarettes.

The night was buzzing. Although, most people probably couldn't tell by the way the streets were quiet. It was a Saturday, a prime time for party-goers. And these party-goers were all in the same place - hidden away, nestled tightly into the Big Hit Speakeasy. It was placed in the far corner of Manhattan, as to not be discovered by any police officer. On the outside, the bold lettering was black and read, "Big Hit Convenience Store". Upon entering, there were rows of shelves stacked with cans, bread, milk... Nothing suspicious. However, upon further inspection - and after someone had given a codeword to the boy at the checkout - they could find themselves f in the bar, right beyond the storage room. The jaunty music blared from the stage, draped with red curtain and dim yellow lights. The thick smell of cigarette smoke coated the air, the clinking of glasses and chattering voices could be heard. Most people are excited at the sight, but your awe had dimmed down after two years of working here. You were a performer at the speakeasy. It appeared glamorous to your family and your friends, but it was 50% routine and 50% danger at this point. There were nights, however, when you had learned a new song. When you felt the thumping piano notes under your feet, your heartbeat racing and some ounce of excitement in your soul. You would raise your voice, the notes vibrating the back of your throat and the noise filing the entire stage. Sometimes, people would quieten down to hear you. Most of the time, they continue to speak. 

As the club filled up with people and you peeked from behind the curtain, you knew that tonight wouldn't be as exciting as first anticipated. Tonight was a business night. There were multiple members of gangs coming into the Big Hit Speakasy - ready to discuss deals, treaties and possibly even rivalries. The thought of this made everyone on edge, including yourself. After being here for two years, you knew that things can go sour pretty quickly. After the Italian Mafia ended up shooting one of their own gang members right at their table, you only saw a rise in violence. Thankfully for you, the majority of the gangs around here had the classic "no hurting women or children" policy. You'd wrangled your way out of getting hurt many times with that, you were sure.

You sat backstage with the flappers, who were giggling and chirping away. You leaned on your hand and waited for the leader dancer, Dorothy, to help you with makeup. The flappers were really nice but you could barely keep up with their conversations. They were overly talkative sometimes... Your face lit up as Dorothy approached you, her tight curls bouncing. She greeted you, quickly picking up a lipstick tube. She glided the deep red colour over your lips carefully.  "Are you nervous for tonight?" She asked, clicking the cap back onto the lipstick tube. As she reached for the powder, you gave her an indifferent expression and a shrug. "Eh, I suppose. It's not like we've never seen a business night before." Dorothy gave you somewhat of a smug smile as she powdered your face and you instantly questioned it. "Well, it's just that the Korean mafia is going to be here tonight."

"And?"

"They're considered very, very attractive!" She chirped. You smiled and rolled your eyes. "Dorothy, aren't you engaged?" You asked. She laughed nervously in response while applying a generous amount of mascara to your lashes. "A girl can't admit when she finds a boy attractive? I'm not going to have an affair or nothing." You hummed in agreement as she stepped back, admiring her work on your face and nodded. She told you how great you looked before running back over to the flappers, being pestered for hair styling and perfume. You spun in your stool and stared into the mirror, trailing your hands along the side of the table. Most people your age were engaged or married. Some even had kids, which you found crazy. Romance wasn't a big part of your life. Sure, you had awkward and embarrassing crushes on boys since high school but none of them really went anywhere. You were quite certain that would remain the case for a few more years. You smoothed down your skirt, readjusted your heels, checked your stockings, pulled up your black gloves and got ready to go out onto the stage. The music was fading slowly. Your nerves still took over you slightly, even though you had been doing this for two years. The manager wriggled through the red curtains and yelped your name. You stood.

Your heart sank back slowly into your chest as you walked out onto stage. You looked out into the crowd. They were paying barely any attention to you, of course, but you didn't mind too much. They were too busy making deals. You stood at your mic and the piano began the intro. You opened your mouth and sang. It came naturally, really, you'd sang this one before. The bass plucked on a slow and steady beat, which you swayed slightly to. It was a rather dull and slow song. During singing, you enjoyed looking around at every table and surveying the faces of those sitting there. Sometimes they were familiar, sometimes they were new. Your fingers held the mic gently as you hit a high note. As it faded, your eyes flickered to the entrance which had swung about. Multiple men in suits were streaming into the speakeasy, not paying any attention to you in particular. You could instantly tell that they were the Korean Mafia that Dorothy had mentioned ten minutes earlier. You were working through the final chorus when you saw the last boy in the line of gangsters. His dark eyes were narrowed and looking over at the crowd. His ebony hair was parted in the middle, exposing his forehead slightly. He stopped looking at the crowd for a brief moment and looked up at the stage. Directly at you. Your eyes met his and for a second, your voice gave way and went silent. A few people had noticed but the main concern came from the piano player who stared over at you. You swiftly cleared your throat and finished the last few lines. A rocky recovery. Thankfully, the flappers were up next before your next song. You apologetically smiled at the pianist. You gave one last brief check of the crowd, trying to relocate the boy you had locked eyes with. However, it was too late and you disappeared behind the curtain.

Your breath had gotten away from you and you could barely get it back before the manager was jumping at your throat. "What was that? That brief mistake was quite the embarrassment, missy," he told you and you simply rolled your eyes. You waved it off, trying to think of an excuse that had nothing to do with the attractive Korean men you had just seen. "I think I'm getting sick, that's all."

A brief expression of concern passed his features but it was soon replaced by the usual scowl. He told you, "Well, go get a drink at the bar and rest your voice. I'll give you fifteen minutes." Then he stormed off - childish as usual. You exhaled deeply and stared at the floor. You took a minute to gather your bearings before inching out to the main seating area, taking your place at the bar and asking for a drink. "I'll have a southside fizz, thank you," you requested. You fiddled with your necklace absentmindedly. Soon, however, you were brought back to reality by a deep voice beside you. 

"This drink is on me."