Disclaimer: This is a crackfic about the different Bobsonas, based on actor Robert Downey Jr. and his questionable fashion sense. It also includes some hints on other people and things related to the MCU. For more info about the Bobsonas and their respectful creators, please check the link below!
Warnings: rated T, no Bobs were harmed in the making of this fic, mentions of (use of) drugs, swearing, I used the slur “frog eater” at one point, this is a mobster fic set in the noire genre so blood, weapons and violence might become a thing, skipped the typical homophobia and racism tho but a lot of people use roids and crystal
Summary: When Bobster Di Seta, one of Twunky Town's most feared mobsters, finds out that Boberto Laineux, brother of Bobster's arch enemy, Robert "The Bobfather" Laineux, was elected the city’s new mayor, he needs to put an end to the reign of the french mafia. To infiltrate the Laineux family and increase the sales of his own drugs, he orders his handsome underling, Steeb, to seduce the only heir of the Bobfather: Bobling Laineux, the doe-eyed billionare playboy. But just when Steeb discovers that there's more to the young mobster than good looks and sassy one-liners, their blooming romance is put to the test by a cold-blooded murder. Will the only unbribable cop of Twunky Town's police force solve this case before the city falls into war? Or will the rivalry of the two mobster clans turn everything into ashes?
A Story based on the RDJ spectrum
Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven
Chapter One - A Game of Bobs
Some people might say this is a love story. Some might call it a thriller. Most people would consider it a waste of ink and paper. To be completely honest with you, it’s probably a mix of all three. It’s the story of how I lost not only my job and my sanity, but also my glossy natural curls.
It’s the story of my last case.
The year’s 1947. I was a young and ambitious detective at the Twunky Town Police Department, just recently promoted to work at vice. The two rivaling mobster clans, the Di Seta’s and the Laineux’, ruled the city with a firm grip, and the vice squad had their vision plastered with enough bribe to just clean up the aftermath of the drug wars. But not me. I was determined to not become some gangster’s puppet. I joined the TTPD to serve law and justice and not some french mafioso in a scarlet mink and a collection of ridiculous fedoras.
But let’s begin with the day it all started going downhill.
The shattering of glass cut through the peaceful atmosphere, followed by a pressed “goddammit!”. Hay rustled when some of the alpacas shifted nervously, moving to the outskirts of the wide, luxurious stable and further away from the angry human and his spilled drink on the fenced patio.
“Mr. Di Seta? You need some help?” A young, blonde man appeared in the top half of one of the dutch doors, hesitant to enter.
Bobster Di Seta, head of the mobster clan, turned down the volume of his oversized mahogany radio and inhaled deeply, one time, two times. He resisted the urge to snap at his subordinate, took one last deep breath and turned around, calm and contained.
“Steeb. Yes, clean up this mess. Make sure to pick up all the shards. I can’t let anything happen to these fluffy little beasts. They cost me enough money already.”
Steeb didn’t bother to open the bottom half of the door and just casually hopped over it, his broad shoulders only one inch from getting stuck in the frame. Bobster caught himself staring a second too long at his employee carefully picking up the broken glass with long, slim fingers. The boy was as meaty and handsome as he was eager to please his boss, and Bobster had to admit that he’d like to give the boy a... promotion. For his good work of course.
“You need anything else, Sir?”
The sound of Steebs voice retrieved Bobster from his daydreams, back into the barn with his whiskey spilled on the tiles and the radio silently humming in the background. He almost forgot what made him drop the glass in the first place. Bobster reached over to the small bistro table he usually took his lunch at and grabbed one of the empty crystal bowls, holding it out to Steeb and gestured him to drop the shards into it.
“Can’t have you cut your pretty fingers, right boy?”, he hummed as he placed the bowl back. Steeb, uncertain what to do with his now empty hands, shoved them into the pockets of his slacks, watching his boss strolling over to the railing that separated the patio from the rest of the stable, filled with the most exquisite alpacas in Twunky Town. He’d always wondered why someone would want to brunch in a barn filled with llamas, but he assumed you had to be somewhat extravagant to lead a mob.
Bobster let his eyes wander over the peaceful scenery, the sturdy little camelids cuddled up in heaps of hay, grooming each other or just enjoying the warm patches of winter sun that the broad windows casted on the floor. And that was when he came up with his plan.
“You heard the news already, Steeb?”, Bobster asked as he turned around and faced the nervous blonde after minutes of silence. Steeb frowned.
“Uhm... you mean the election results? Boberto Laineux won with absolute majority, right?”
“Damn right you are, boy. Boberto Laineux, new mayor of Twunky Town. No way this whole election wasn’t rigged. I’d bet half my alpacas his older brother Robert just killed all the voters he couldn’t buy. You heard of him?”
“The Bobfather? Sure did”, Steve blurted, but fell silent when Bobster inhaled sharply with a pained look.
“Don’t- don’t call him Bobfather. His ego is overfed already. Double-faced little bastard. None of my products could ever stand a chance against his Bonguettes and Crystal Crêpes, but did I blame him for that? No, I did my research, I ran tests, and put all my heart and money into a high-end designer steroid based on alpaca saliva. And what did that greedy little frog eater do? Flood the market with down-washed dumpster roids. Swoleabaisse... what kind of name is that even?!”
Steeb shifted nervously. He already heard that Alpacked, the high society’s new anabolic, didn’t sell as well as intended, the french mafia still having the upper hand in drug sales. With the Bobfather’s brother in the mayor’s office it would be even harder to compete against Swoleabaisse’s immense success.
Steeb had been a part of the Di Seta clan for barely two years, but he felt like he owed them something for taking him in. A few weeks more on the streets and he’d probably been forced to sell his body for food and shelter. Seeing his boss fed up over these bad news made him quite desperate to help.
“So... what’re we gonna do about Boberto?” Steeb asked. Bobster raised a brow and flashed him a smirk.
“How considerate of you to ask what we are doing about this, Steeb”, he hummed. Slow and smooth he approached the taller man, came to a halt mere inches from his broad chest and looked up, tilting his head and savoring how the blonde’s cheeks flushed under his glare.
“Tell me, boy, if I’d ask you to help me put an end to the Laineux’ reign, would you help me?”
“O-of course, Sir!”
“And if I asked you to do so by infiltrating the french mafia and seducing Robert’s only child, would you still help me?”
Steeb frowned for a second. He had heard of the Bobfather’s heir, Bobling Laineux. Handsome, intelligent, but more interested in throwing parties and crashing venues at his father’s nightclubs than in running a mob. Steeb was well aware of his effect on other people, but he was sure that Laineux Junior was still way out of his league.
“Well, I could try... I guess?”
Bobster threw his hands up so suddenly that some of the alpacas nearby startled and stared at him indignantly.
“Then it’s settled. Go and meet with Maria, she’ll take care of.. well, whatever you might want to call this outfit. Get yourself dolled up and meet me for dinner at the manor for more details.” Bobster patted Steebs arm and couldn’t resist to give it a light squish. Then, before things could start to get awkward, he quickly strut over to the broad wooden stable door and slipped out into the chilly February afternoon, leaving Steeb with his thoughts and a herd of equally confused llamas.
I didn’t know it then, but young Steeb and I were at the very same venue that night. It was an open secret that Robert “The Bobfather” Laineux had every cop, starting from patrol way up to the chief, under his wing - and he made sure to keep it that way by pampering us every now and then.
And that’s how I found myself crammed between Twunky Town’s rich and famous, pompous chandeliers dangling over my head, faintly glistening in the smoke-filled air of the ballroom. With my colleagues gone the minute we entered and nothing to hold onto but my ideals and a scotch worth a months salary, I roamed through the maze of leather chairs and heavy brocade tablecloths. I found a seat at the very brink of the dance floor, slightly hidden by a huge bouquet of exotic flowers; perfect to sit all by myself and brood over my drink. At a corner table, several feet from my location, a certain young fella was about to make a move.
Steeb ran a hand through his hair for what must’ve been the hundredth time this night. Thank God Maria had used more pomade than he did all week - most of it was probably gone by now. He nipped on his drink and let his gaze drift through the ballroom again, stopping at the corner table like he did all evening.
There he sat, surrounded by a hoard of coquettishly giggling guys and gals, ruffling their opulent gowns and tinkling with heaps of colourful gems. But the young mobster didn’t need any of this. The creamy white suit, hugging his slim shape perfectly, made him stand out like a pearl in an ornament of glass beads. The colour of his dress shirt was the same deep scarlet tone as his château, and the teasing glare he shot over the brim was of the same chocolatey brown as his curls.
Goodness gracious, Steeb really was way out of his league.
But, he was here, he was all dressed up and he had a mission. Just as he decided to down the rest of his drink and finally make a move, his target excused himself and got up. While his admirers continued their chatter, he made a beeline for the bar Steeb was sitting at, casually leaning on the counter next to him.
“Hey, sailor. Don’t think I’ve seen you here before?”, Bobling Laineux hummed with a small nip from his wine, sizing him up cheekily.
Steeb felt the mobster’s eyes trace every hint his navy blue suit gave away, and to be honest, it made him tingly. He shifted in his seat, signing for another drink before he faced the handsome mobster, flashing him what he hoped to be a playful smile.
“Nope, my first time here actually”, he answered. Bobling cocked an eyebrow, eyeing the tall blonde up and down a second time. Steeb felt his hands get sweaty. Damn, Bobster really set him up with the sharpest guy in town. Too bad it was all a scam.
“Well, I’d be thrilled to ask you for the first dance then”, Bobling smirked. He didn’t wait for a response, took Steebs hand and gently pulled him on the dance floor. A few other couples were already dancing around them, and they smoothly fit into the fast rhythm of the swing band.
Steeb wasn’t much of a dancer, but with Bobling, he forgot time and place. They twirled and twisted, only inches from the other guests but somehow miles away. Neither of them spoke much, small talk felt superfluous when each others company was more than enough. Long, intense glares, an occasional smirk and a hand lingering on the small of his back just a few more seconds than necessary, it didn’t take more to make Steeb feel all flustered after the third song.
The band paused and the lights dimmed slightly, a spotlight illuminating the center of the stage. Accompanied by cheers and applause, a lady dressed in emerald green joined the band. Steeb and Bobling mimicked the other couples drawing nearer, slowly swaying to the soft tunes of a ballad. Way closer than before now, Steeb caught a faint hint of Bobling’s exquisite cologne that sent shivers down his spine. He gave his beau a small twirl, and when he tucked Bobling back in, chests flush against each other and his stormy blue gaze meeting shimmering obsidian, it felt like there was no one but the two of them.
“Well, sailor. I don’t think you’ve told me your name yet.” Bobling sounded as suave and playful as always, but the soft pink that tinted his cheeks gave away his true feelings.
“Dorito. Steeb Dorito. A pleasure, Mr. Laineux.”
Oh Jesus, did his voice really sound that croaky? So much for playing it cool. Why didn’t he ask Bobling to leave bite marks on his neck straightaway? That would be way less obvious. Bobling just smiled and said nothing for a few more twirls. But when the song ended and all the other couples stopped for a round of applause, the mobster’s gaze remained on Steeb before he spoke.
“Tell me, darling, if you’d flutter with those long lashes of yours, would I feel a breeze on my skin?”
Steeb smirked. His hand gripped the younger man’s waist more tightly as he leaned in just a few inches, his voice dark and husky as he answered.
“Why don’t you come closer and find out yourself?”
Will Bobling continue to be a thirsty hoe for Steeb?
Will Bobster’s evil plan succeed?
Will the author get carried away by RDJs everlasting sexappeal again?
Will the plot remain a wild mix of cringy crackfic and blooming romance?
Will the alpacas ever overcome their trauma?
Will there ever be a person, drug or location with a name not mutilated to the point where I should slap myself for writing it?
Find out in the next chapter!
A/N: English is not my first language and this is actually the first piece of fiction I didn’t write in German. Therefore my punctuation and grammar might be a bit off sometimes but cc is highly appreciated!
Ello! Could you bless us with some young rdj and young (maybe a little older) evans pics because I'm VERY MUCH INTO THAT POST OF YOUNG TONY IN MIT MEETING RECENTLY UN-FROZEN CAP pwease
hello! sorry to keep you waiting, but ask and ye shall receive.
(tony & rhodey, MIT-era; part of my RDJ spectrum-inspired fics. requested by @newnewyorker93)
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“Shit shit shit, fuck, where’s my other shoe?”
Jim turns from where he’s standing by the counter next to the french press to see Tony rushing out into the living room from the hallway, frantically searching the apartment for the other half of his pair of red Converse shoes, which he’s been wearing almost everyday for the last three months because they match his new glasses.
It’s 8:30 in the morning on a Wednesday. Jim knows for a fact that Tony doesn’t have class until two in the afternoon on Wednesdays, so it’s a little strange to see him rushing to leave the apartment this early in the day.
Tony doesn’t seem to have noticed Jim yet, so he turns back to the french press to make his coffee, pouring a cup for Tony as well because he knows he’ll demand some once he’s made his way into the kitchen nook. He may be all over the place and trying to get dressed as fast as possible, but Tony will always stop for coffee.
Sure enough, a couple minutes later, stomps his way into the kitchen, still with only one shoe on, and grabs his mug. He slumps into a chair, letting out a satisfied hum as he sips his drink.
“Thanks, sugarplum.”
“Anytime, Tones.” Jim eyes Tony’s outfit and his general state of disarray. “So...what are you doing up this early? And what the hell are you wearing?”
“I overslept. I have a meeting with my adviser in,” Tony pauses to check his watch, “fifteen minutes. Shit, I really need to go. Have you seen my other shoe?”
“Have you checked under your bed?”
“Under my bed! No, I didn’t!” Tony gets up and sprints to his room, the chair toppling over as he goes. A short moment later he comes back out into the hallway, hopping on one foot as he tries to put his other shoe on. “James Rhodes, you are a genius. Now I won’t have to go meet Professor Alton wearing only one shoe.”
Jim has no idea how Tony thinks the rest of his outfit is fine for a meeting with his thesis adviser.
“Hey, you sure you don’t want to change before going?”
“Why, what’s wrong with this outfit?”
“You look like you just wore a frumpy cardigan over your garishly yellow pajamas and decided it was good enough for a public outing.”
“These aren’t pajamas! They’re designer!”
“They look like pajamas.”
“Rhodey, you know my pajamas don’t look like this.”
“I know that you wear oversized Star Wars t-shirts to sleep, but other people don’t. They’ll think these are your PJ’s. And your cardigan looks like they have fake elbow pads. It’s weird.”
Tony huffs. “I don’t have time to change. This will have to do. Besides, Alton’s there to look over my work, not my clothes. Seriously, gotta go, bye!”
With that, Tony leaves their apartment and Jim goes back to preparing his breakfast.
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After a long day of classes and group study sessions, Jim makes it back home completely exhausted and ready to pass out. He’s trying decide what to order for dinner when he opens the door to see that Tony’s already beat him to it, waiting in the living room with two pizza boxes on the coffee table in front of him.
“Honeybear!” Tony calls out. “I got one pepperoni and one four-cheese because it’s been a tiring day and we deserve to indulge.”
“We do,” Jim agrees. “Thanks, Tones.”
Grabbing a slice of four-cheese, Jim plops onto the couch next to his best friend and proceeds to gobble down the pizza. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until his first bite. They eat in comfortable silence for a while, and after his second slice, Jim goes to grab some soda from the fridge for the both of them.
“So how’d your meeting go?”
Tony perks up. “It went great! Prof Alton thinks I’m on the right track, and he helped me go over which parts of the programming language I needed to work on before the project is presentable. But anyway, it went well. He took me out for brunch afterwards which was nice.”
“Hey, that’s awesome! I knew you wouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t worried. But it does get a little stressful, you know, with the courseload I have this semester.” Tony nudges Jim with his elbow. “And hey, Alton complimented my outfit.”
Jim lets out a loud snort of laughter. “He did not!”
“He did! Well, he said he’d never be caught dead wearing something like this, but he was impressed that I had the guts to do it. And he said I pulled it off.” A cheeky smile makes its way across Tony’s face. “When we left for brunch he even pointed at his own tweed jacket and said we matched. Because he had elbow pads.”
That makes Jim crack up even harder, and before long, Tony joins him.
“Admit it, Rhodes!” Tony sputters out between bits of laughter. “I’m a fashionista!”
“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever. Eat your pizza, you big nerd.”
They spend the rest of the night idly chatting away, making plans for the upcoming long weekend. Every once in a while, Jim’s eyes wander over Tony’s ridiculous yellow plaid not-pajamas. He’ll never admit it out loud, but Tony really does pull off that outfit.
