(Author’s note: this is a gangster version of PRINCE because I think it’s hot and it just fits him well.. 😅) YEAR: 1984

"2 o'clock. You see 'em? No drink, no girl; that fool. he's been casing the place this entire time. Too many people around, he's waitin' till closing." Your eyes land on the man in question; Prince’s right. He looks hella fucking shady. Looming in the corner alone, like a tiger waiting to pounce. Just watching. Waiting.. Not that you have time to stare, because in the next millisecond, Prince’s strong arm is wrapping around your waist and yanking you into his lap.

"Al’right. No bigger time to look like we belong here, huh?" His grin is cocky, even if you simply splay your legs across his lap and angle your head to get a better view of the target without being too obvious, hand thrusting into his thick, curly hair. Oh, whatever. You need some way to blend in, after all.

"Hhuh, wow, love.. Ya done this before?" Prince grunts as your fingers start to move. You ignore him, his eyes trailing to a sparkling Manticore mermaid statue in the fishtank at the epicentre of the joint covered in silver diamonds. How fucking sick. Caught by fishermen and sold to a night club in Seattle.

The mission sounds deceptively simple;take care of the target, get out. The two of you are gonna need to take out White's crew(a group of hitman in Seattle’s underworld that you two somehow got tangled up with), though. Not like that seems like the number one priority on Prince’s mind.

"A beautiful man like that all by himself out in the wild? He’s bound to get lonely." He laments almost wistfully, and this guy is such a fucking idiot. "I always do this—I always go for the ones I can't have." You don't even realise his eyes are lingering on you instead of the statue until his own hand starts to wander.

He hisses when you tug on his hair, harshly. "Aye," he whines, huffily swatting your wrist away and scrunching his nose in annoyance when you start stroking his cheek instead. It's lucky you're so focused on the mission at hand. It means he gets to lean into your palm, without your nagging platitudes in his ear. He's just a man, Goddamnit. A a stubborn one, that’s for sure—but a man nonetheless. Even if he doesn’t show that all the time.

"C'mon, darlin’. We're gonna be here a while. Might as well have a little fun."