#and somehow ended up getting drunk in some shady bar

[crow-person]

she is exploding them with her mind

[ysmtttty]

Red Ferrari

Chapter 7

Summary: Azris AU, where Azriel is a mechanic and has his own service station. One day, Eris comes there because something is wrong with his car

AO3 link Chapter 6 Chapter 8

Azriel didn't hate Mor; he just didn't understand her.

He didn't understand her when she agreed to go to prom with him but ended up drunkenly leaving with some guy who was clearly also driving under the influence. After that, she didn’t answer her phone for a whole day, which scared not only him but also Rhysand.

He didn’t understand her when she texted his friend, Gwyn, whom Azriel had met in college, telling her that he was taken. Azriel wasn't, in fact, taken, just as he hadn’t been before going to college, since he and Mor had never really been in a relationship. Gwyn told him that Mor made her uncomfortable, but she just brushed off Azriel's apologies, saying it could have been worse.

He didn’t understand her when, after college, Mor reappeared in his life, mostly because she was hanging around Rhysand, trying to ask him for money because she was spending all her own on junk.

He didn’t understand her when she kissed him for the first time and said he was a good guy, only to disappear from his life for another two years, leaving for Europe the next day.

He didn’t understand her when she returned and continued her unhealthy lifestyle, moving on to heavier substances. He didn’t understand himself either, because feeling too much sympathy, Azriel actively tried to help her.

Despite how many times he had to drag Mor out of lousy clubs in the middle of the night, save her from various shady characters, and hold her hair back while she vomited everything she had drunk and swallowed that evening, he somehow didn’t leave. He couldn’t leave her alone.

A year later, Mor sobered up, giving up drugs. Azriel wasn’t sure if it would work in the long run, and he even suggested that she consider rehab, but Mor just waved it off, saying she felt like a "new person" and was endlessly grateful to him for all his efforts.

Azriel also didn’t understand her when she kissed him again during that year when she was trying to quit drugs. He had feelings for her, but he understood that they would remain unreciprocated. But suddenly, she changed her mind, and there they were, kissing once again, in a strange relationship, at Mor's request, keeping it a secret from everyone. It seemed like a logical request to Azriel since Mor was still a socialite and tarnishing her reputation with a simple mechanic was probably not something she wanted. Or that's what she told him.

This "relationship," in which Mor could spontaneously show interest and then disappear for long periods without warning, lasted almost a year. When he was with her it felt normal, good actually, but when she was away Azriel couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with all of it. At some point, he decided to share this with his close friends.

That day, Azriel found out that Mor had slept with Cassian too and had asked him not to tell anyone either.

A month later, Azriel didn't hear from Mor, and he thought it was for the best. It took him and Cassian two months to stop feeling the tension between each other because of the awkward situation she had put them in. It took Azriel six months to stop feeling shitty after their "breakup" and the end of a relationship he wasn’t even sure had existed.

Now Azriel didn’t care about Mor and the fact that she had suddenly appeared again, hanging around Rhysand. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had drug problems again or a ton of debt for various reasons, but he was still determined not to get involved.

"That was an amazing rooftop bar," he told Cassian as they walked into Rhysand's place to grab a drink after their shift. "I’m losing to him badly when it comes to dates."

They both stopped as soon as they saw that Rhysand wasn’t alone. He and Mor were sitting on the couch in the living room, arguing about something. Nothing unusual, though—it was their typical state—but Azriel felt the urge to leave as quickly as possible before they noticed him. Unfortunately, he didn’t manage to do so.

"Did I hear ‘dates’ correctly?" Mor suddenly asked, turning her head to them and smiling. Azriel involuntarily winced. "Are you seeing someone?" she asked with curiosity.

"None of your business," he replied harshly, walking past her into the kitchen. Cassian greeted her awkwardly and then followed him, mumbling to Rhysand to call them when they were done.

In the kitchen, Azriel paced around the kitchen island, feeling a sudden wave of irritation. Cassian closed the door behind him, approached him, and placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"You’re going to burn a hole in His Majesty’s floor at this rate," Cassian said.

"Rhys could have warned me that she was here," Azriel snapped.

"Alright, alright, calm down," Cassian said calmly, and Azriel wanted to hit him because he was calm. He was damned if he was going to get angry over Mor.

"Last time, you said you knew what happened," Azriel said. "What the hell is she doing here this time?"

Cassian looked at him for a long time, making Azriel actually force himself to calm down, and only then did he answer.

"Mor got married four years ago," he explained, and Azriel found himself somehow unsurprised. "It was an arranged marriage. Her jerk father gave her away to some other rich jerk. I don’t know who the guy is, but Mor is now getting divorced. From what I understand, she sues over the division of property and wants to take as much as she can."

"Four years ago?"

"I was shocked too," Cassian nodded as he searched Rhysand's fridge for beer. "I think the stunt she pulled with us was to piss off her father. Maybe she wanted them to refuse to marry her because…"

"Oh yeah, and for that, she needed both of us," Azriel replied sarcastically, grabbing one of the bottles from Cassian’s hand. "Just accept that Mor is just a bitch who acted like one. She might have a million excuses, but I don’t care. And I’m not pissed because I haven’t moved on—I did—but I just don’t like seeing her at all. If she needs Rhys’s help that badly, I hope she gets it and then goes back to whatever hole she crawled out of this time."

"I didn’t think you hated me that much," came a voice from behind. Azriel turned around and saw that Mor had joined them, standing in the doorway and having the audacity to look truly hurt. Rhysand stood behind her, clearly having tried to steer her away, but now he watched the unfolding scene with concern.

"Thinking was never really your thing," Azriel said, opening the beer bottle and taking a sip. "Oh wait, just don’t sue me for verbal abuse," he mocked. "I’m just a simple mechanic, remember? I won’t have enough money for you."

"Az…" she began in a soft tone, and Azriel hated hearing his name from her. Not like that.

"Fuck off, Mor," he said coldly. "Just disappear already."

With those words, Azriel left the kitchen, walking past her. Rhysand escorted Mor to the door, and Cassian caught up with him.

"Next time, let me know if she’s coming to your place," Azriel said in a calm but stern voice when Rhysand returned, joining them on the couch.

"Sorry, sorry," Rhysand nodded and sighed. "I didn’t know she was coming either. But it was an urgent matter…"

"I don’t care what the matter is, Rhys," Azriel said seriously. "If you know that Mor is somehow within a three-kilometer radius of me, please be kind enough to warn me."

"You’re right, got it."

"Let’s change the subject," Cassian suggested in an encouraging tone, grabbing the TV remote. "Our favorite team is playing today, Rhys has a fridge full of beer, and I hope you bought those paprika chips I asked for."

Rhysand chuckled as his tone turned mock-threatening as soon as the chips were mentioned. He went to the kitchen and returned with a bag of chips and a beer for himself while Cassian adjusted the TV and found the right sports channel.

Azriel catches himself thinking he wants to text Eris. To tell him about Mor, about today, to ask how his day went and what poor souls he tormented in court since Eris had mentioned some brain-draining and tough case he’d been working on for over a month. He’s about to write something when Cassian clicks his tongue loudly.

"Hand over your phones, both of you," he grumbled, holding out his hands with palms up. Rhysand exchanged a look with Azriel, neither of them eager to hand over their phones. "No texting your significant others. This is our night; you can catch up in the morning."

"Since when are you against relationships?" Azriel asked, raising an eyebrow but still handing over his phone.

"Since Nesta blocked him," Rhysand snorted and reluctantly handed over his phone too, putting it on silent first. "He’s just jealous."

"Absolute lie!" Cassian protested, stashing their phones away and turning up the TV volume. "She just needs space, which I’m giving her."

"Space from you?" Azriel snorted this time. Rhysand gave him a high five.

Cassian grumbled about how they were both traitors and idiots, turning up the TV volume even more. They didn’t return to the topic of Mor, and Azriel was glad because, during the last years, it used to always turn into an attempt at a therapy session. Specifically, therapy by two idiot friends who needed it just as much as he did, where they tried to "talk out" their problems. Azriel never mentioned that Mor’s decision to sleep with his best friend wasn’t exactly his problem.

The following week, Azriel noticed some oddities. To be precise, there were oddities in Eris's behavior, as he began responding to calls and messages less frequently. Blaming it on Eris's busyness, Azriel decided it wasn’t that big of a deal. He himself got swamped during the racing season when all the local racers brought in their wrecked cars, demanding they be turned into high-speed machines.

Still, a nasty voice in his head occasionally suggested that Eris might have simply grown tired of him by now. However, Azriel pushed that voice away because why the hell should he be so worried?

Things with Eris were simple. Dates, conversations, sex – everything felt natural. Azriel didn’t know the status of their relationship because each time he either forgot to ask or felt like he didn’t really care about the label they might put on themselves. They were both comfortable, so it seemed strange to him to worry about something like that.

However, Azriel knew that if the conversation ever came up, he wouldn’t mind starting a relationship. His first serious relationship in so long. Despite knowing each other for just under a month, it felt natural. He had a feeling that Eris wouldn’t mind if Azriel asked directly.

Nevertheless, his message had gone unanswered for a whole day. Azriel tried not to dwell on it too much, instead throwing himself into car repairs, while also arguing with Amren over her refusal to book a client who had dared to ask how old she was.

Cassian and Rhysand weren’t on shift today, one of them just taking a day off, while the other had some urgent matter, for which Rhysand had asked both him and Cassian to cover his shifts all week. Azriel had just waved it off, thinking that the sooner Rhysand helped out his cousin, the sooner she would disappear and leave them alone.

During his lunch break, Azriel dialed Eris’s number, deciding to find out what was keeping him so busy that he hadn’t been able to respond for over a day. However, he was met with a voicemail. Not wanting to seem pushy, he made no further attempts to call that day.

The next morning, his message was still unanswered. And later that evening, a familiar Porsche pulled into the workshop. Azriel ignored the involuntary rush of joy and relief, but both feelings vanished when it wasn’t Eris who stepped out of the car, but his younger brother. Azriel had nothing against Lucien, but he had definitely wanted to see his older brother more.

“You look disappointed,” Lucien chuckled, tossing the car keys into the air.

“Disappointed that less than a month after a checkup, this beauty needs something again,” Azriel replied, shrugging as he approached the Porsche.

“I borrowed the car for a couple of days,” Lucien explained awkwardly, scratching his head. “And maybe I chose the wrong roads for this car.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow questioningly but took the keys and drove the car to the lift. Securing everything and raising the car, he began inspecting the lower part of the body and suspension.

“There’s also a dent on the right side,” Lucien added. Azriel just nodded as he checked the condition of the tires and rims. “Roughly, how much will it cost? And how bad is it overall?”

“Hard to say for now,” Azriel muttered as Lucien paced around the garage. “I don’t think it’s too bad,” he added to reassure him a bit. “So far, no major damage is visible; maybe something will come up during the inspection of the shock absorbers and springs, but for now, the tires are fine, and that’s already lucky for off-road driving.”

Lucien noticeably relaxed and exhaled in relief.

“By the way, where’s your brother?” Azriel decided to ask while continuing the inspection of the car.

“No idea,” Lucien shrugged. “Eris has this stupid habit of seeking solitude every time he’s stressed. Although right now I’m avoiding him too, for obvious reasons,” he nodded toward the Porsche, “so it’s hard to say what’s going on with him.”

Azriel just nodded.

“Anyway, I wouldn’t worry if I were you,” Lucien said with an encouraging smile. “Eris might be an ass, but this isn’t one of those cases. I think he’s just dealing with a mess at work.”

“Does that happen often?” Azriel found himself asking for some reason.

“Not really. This time it’s just a special kind of mess.”

Azriel wasn’t entirely convinced by these words, but he didn’t continue questioning, seeing no point in it. Instead, he continued the inspection, sending Lucien to wait in the lounge area, where he cautiously glanced at Amren, who looked like she was ready to eat him alive. After completing the car inspection, Azriel quoted the repair cost, watching Lucien’s face pale at the numbers, and told him he could pick up the car within the next few days.

In the evening, Azriel decided to call Eris, as he had promised himself, for the last time. And once again, he got the voicemail. Azriel convinced himself that this didn’t necessarily mean something bad, but that nasty voice in his head grew significantly louder and much nastier.

The next day, Azriel was sitting in the garage, watching Cassian repair one of the bikes left for him to work on. He wasn’t in a hurry to share his worries, especially considering that Cassian wasn’t having the smoothest time himself, given how he kept getting in and out of Nesta’s blacklist.

“Why do you look so grumpy?” Cassian asked, annoyingly perceptive in moments like this. Azriel shook his head. “Don’t give me that. Your face says, ‘I have problems, but I’d rather keep them all bottled up inside until I explode from all the pent-up emotions.’”

“Don’t play therapist,” Azriel rolled his eyes, feeling irritated by how accurately Cassian had guessed. “I’m just having a bad day.”

“And it’s bad because?”

“Because today is Friday, and I still have a shift tomorrow.”

“Uh-huh,” Cassian drawled, clearly not believing him. Azriel wanted to throw a wrench at him.

“What’s with the ‘uh-huh’?”

“Nothing, but if you ever want to talk about your ‘just a bad day,’ I’m always here. You know that.”

Azriel didn’t talk about his worries with him that day, but they went to lunch together, during which Cassian actively tried to cheer him up. And honestly? Azriel was very grateful for that because it distracted him from the unpleasant fact that Eris might not call him back at all.

Later, Rhysand himself arrived at the workshop, with a flat tire and tousled hair. He wasn’t in the best mood, grumbling about how uneven the roads were in their city and how slow and incredibly bad all the notaries were.

“Calm down, you look like you’re about to kill someone,” Cassian said, patting him on the shoulder.

“I need to be at the restaurant to give Mor the documents in less than an hour,” Rhysand grumbled, already reaching for the spare tire to change the wheel.

“I’ll do it,” Azriel said, grabbing the tire while Cassian set up the lift and raised the car. “You look like you’d puncture this wheel too while installing it.”

“Next, you’ll ask me to pay for your services,” Rhysand shook his head, crossing his arms and watching as Azriel quickly changed his tire.

“Oh no, I’ll ask for a favor in return; I need you to give me a ride home after you drop off the documents,” Azriel said.

“I thought you didn’t want Mor to be within three kilometers of you.”

“I want to be warned when she’s within three kilometers,” Azriel corrected. “Besides, I need someone to give me a ride; taxis are too expensive.”

“Did your car break down?”

“No, his car is fine,” Cassian answered with a chuckle. “Let’s just say, Amren got tired of seeing his grumpy face and offered him coffee.”

“And you agreed to take coffee from Amren?” Rhysand asked, even more surprised.

“I thought it was a hint about my lack of sleep,” Azriel grumbled, “who knew she’d pour brandy into it?”

“That’s Amren, everyone knows there’s either liqueur or brandy in it,” Cassian laughed, catching Rhysand’s look. “Don’t look at me like that, I have plans with Nesta, I can’t give him a ride.”

“I promise to sit quietly in the car and not get worked up over your lovely cousin,” Azriel said with a sarcastic smile as he finished with the tire and stood up. Rhysand rolled his eyes and gestured for him to get inside.

“I’m deducting the taxi fare from your salary, coffee lover,” Rhysand grumbled.

“I’m sending you a bill for the tire change, boss.”

“Have a good evening,” Cassian added as they left. They both waved goodbye, Rhysand reminding him to close the garage as if it needed to be reminded after so many years of working there, and they drove off.

The drive took a good forty minutes due to traffic. Azriel rested his head against the window and closed his eyes while his thoughts spun in a depressing direction. For example, he didn’t want to think that things with Eris were over before they even began. Or that he had already reminded himself that dating someone like Eris was bad news and that Azriel would be nothing more than a fling, but he had decided to ignore that because Eris had already proven otherwise several times.

Rhysand also didn’t start a conversation or ask what was wrong, for which Azriel was grateful. He didn’t feel ready to go through the second round of denying that something was wrong when his face clearly said, “Everything is screwed up.” He only opened his eyes when they parked at the restaurant.

“I’ll be quick, stay in the car,” Rhysand said, grabbing the folder with documents from the back seat and unfastening his seatbelt.

Azriel just watched him silently, observing how Rhysand pulled the car keys from the ignition and walked toward the restaurant. He opened his phone and mindlessly scrolled through the news feed, trying not to think about anything specific. About anyone specific.

His not-thinking about someone was soon interrupted by a security guard’s shout. Azriel blinked and opened the door to hear better.

“Are you disabled?” an old man asked roughly.

“Excuse me?”

“Is the driver of the car disabled? You’re occupying a disabled parking spot!” the security guard grumbled.

Azriel looked out of the car and saw the disabled sign painted on the pavement and the corresponding traffic sign just a meter away.

“Move the car or I’ll call a tow truck.”

“Okay, okay, my friend will be back literally…”

“Move it now!”

Azriel rolled his eyes, found Rhysand’s Toyota key fob in the glove compartment, and got out of the car, raising his hands in the air and repeating “okay” to the security guard. He locked the car with the fob and reluctantly trudged toward the restaurant to get the keys from Rhysand and repark the car.

The security guard kept shouting at him to move faster, and Azriel reminded himself that this was just an old jerk not worth his nerves and that telling him off would be stupid since he could actually take a photo of their plates and send it to the police. Rhysand would definitely not be happy paying a huge fine later.

So Azriel quickened his pace and entered the restaurant, quickly spotting Rhysand and running up to him.

“Car keys,” Azriel said, noticing that Rhysand looked somehow frightened by his presence. Almost asking what was wrong, he looked around and saw not only Mor but also Eris, who was staring at him in shock. “And what the hell are you doing here?”

Silence. It was as if Azriel had suddenly stopped hearing everything; all the restaurant noises around them went silent, and only that horribly long pause remained. His thoughts were in complete disarray while a nasty voice fed him the most unrealistic scenarios and explanations for what was happening. Could this be a date? Azriel tried not to think about it and not to connect it to Eris's radio silence. This wasn’t it. This wasn’t it.

“So, you know each other?” she asked with a smile. Eris and Azriel both shot her a look full of hatred, causing her to raise her hands in mock surrender. “Touchy, touchy, I am just asking.”

“Are you her lawyer?” Azriel asked instead, both not wanting it to be true and thinking that it would be a logical and, most importantly, the best explanation for what was happening. “Representing her interests in the divorce?”

If that were true, Azriel couldn’t blame him. Eris was just doing his job, and since his client was Mor, so be it.

However, after his question, he heard Mor’s laugh and saw Rhysand clearly turning pale. Eris wasn’t looking at him at all, gripping the folder of documents until his knuckles turned white.

“What?” Azriel asked irritably, unable to tolerate the lack of a proper context explanation.

“Az, it’s complicated,” Rhysand started weakly.

“No, this bastard isn’t my lawyer,” Mor interrupted.

And if he wasn’t her lawyer, did that mean… Azriel recalled Cassian’s words about the rich guy Mor had been married off to. Eris was rich. Eris and Mor were sitting at the same table with documents, and he wasn’t her lawyer. He could very well be her husband’s lawyer, right? It couldn’t be…

“This is your plan?” Eris turned to Mor, asking with undisguised irritation. “Is this a set-up?”

“Set-up? Don’t be dramatic, I have nothing to do with his presence here,” Mor said with a feigned sweet smile. “But I find it interesting that you two know each other and that Azriel doesn’t know what’s going on. It’s not very polite to keep people in the dark, Eris.”

Azriel frowned deeper, watching Eris’s gaze darken, for a split-second shifting to panic before returning to its cold composure. Not wanting to be further provoked by Mor, Azriel shoved the keys into Rhysand’s hand, telling him to move the car. Rhysand hesitated at first, but he added that there was a chance of losing the car entirely to the tow trunk, which became the decisive factor prompting him to leave briefly.

“And then there were three,” Mor commented. “So, Az, do you want to hear the truth?”

Ignoring her smirk, Azriel looked at her with indifference. “It doesn’t matter what’s going on between you two; it’s not my business. If it affected me, I’m sure Eris would have told me.”

“Oh wow, loyalty. So admirable. And so… undeserved.”

“Mor,” Eris warned, his voice dangerously low.

“Note that this time it’s not my fault,” Mor shrugged, clearly unimpressed, before turning back to Azriel with the same smile as before. “Azriel, darling, this person clearly doesn’t deserve the trust you’ve placed in him.”

Eris stood up from his seat with a screech of the chair. “Can we talk alone, please?” he asked Azriel quietly.

“We’re not finished,” Mor said.

“We’re finished,” Eris coldly replied. “If there are new documents, send them to my email. During office hours, nine to five.”

Azriel glanced at Mor, who was about to say something more, but he wasn’t interested in listening and followed Eris out. As the cool evening breeze hit their faces and they moved a respectable distance away from the entrance, Azriel crossed his arms and looked at Eris expectantly.

“Firstly, I’d like to apologize for not answering yesterday,” Eris said, the first thing he said after a brief pause during which he clearly tried to gather his thoughts. “I was going to call back today, but I didn’t have time to fix my phone.”

“A broken phone, seriously?” Azriel laughed humorlessly, looking at him seriously. “Weren’t you the one who hated ‘childish excuses’ instead of a straightforward refusal?”

“Weren’t you the one who actually did have a broken phone back then?” Eris frowned. “I threw my phone at the wall last night after Morrigan called me. And now we move on to the second point…” he took a deep breath, “where I say that she is my soon-to-be ex-wife.”

Azriel thought he was simultaneously ready and not ready for this news. He had guessed. He had guessed from how Mor had smirked, clearly understanding that this conversation wouldn’t be easy for them and that Azriel would be angry with Eris, and damn it, she was right, Azriel was angry. He had to remind himself mentally that they were adults and couldn’t resolve such conflicts by shouting in a fit of rage.

“You know, more than anything, I’d like to say something along the lines of ‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,’ or ‘Tell me when you’re ready,’” he sighed, forcing himself to sound calm, though notes of anger still slipped into his voice, betraying his emotions. “But you know, I would have settled for a simple ‘fun fact, Azriel, I’m married’ without any details. Just for the record. So that, you know, I wouldn’t accidentally run into you in the middle of a conversation with your still-wife and then feel like a complete idiot.”

“I mentioned the divorce before,” Eris protested.

Azriel shot him a glare. "No. You said that you 'had a divorce,' in the past tense, in such a way that it was impossible to understand whether you were talking about an abstract divorce of one of your clients or your own. Tell me I’m wrong.”

He waited expectantly, but Eris only sighed, having nothing to say about that one. “I thought so,” Azriel murmured.

“I thought I’d deal with the divorce faster,” Eris said, looking at him so regretfully that Azriel wanted to look away. “This… marriage was arranged and essentially has been a long torture, and I didn’t want to drag you into this divorce because it’s even worse. There are too many factors I didn’t want to involve you in this. I had no idea you and Mor… dare I say friends? Acquaintances?”

“We’re not friends,” Azriel said sharply. “Exes.”

“Oh.”

“Small world,” Azriel responded sarcastically. “Does this mean you weren’t planning to tell me at all?”

“I…” Eris cut himself off, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “I am not going to lie, I don’t know, Azriel. But I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner,” he said quietly, and for the first time since Azriel had met him, he looked completely and utterly defeated. “Didn’t explain properly.”

“What’s there to explain?” Azriel asked, his voice strained. “You’re married, Eris. You’re still married, and you didn’t think that was something I should know. In my opinion, that’s enough to tell you to fuck off and never contact you again.”

Azriel understood, on the one hand, that it wasn’t Eris’s fault that he was divorcing Mor, who, by coincidence, was his ex. On the other hand, his anger at the whole situation hadn’t gone away; Eris was still hiding a massive part of his life, and, judging by his words, might never have told him, leaving him with vague phrases thrown in without context or explanations.

Not that Azriel had asked or tried to pry, but he wanted honesty. Just a little honesty instead of half-truths and lies. Even if Eris had simply told him about the divorce, it would have been miles better because then Azriel would have had some idea about his life. But instead, he was standing here at a random restaurant, accidentally figuring everything out on his own, and had no idea where to place his emotions because, damn it, despite all the anger, Eris was still a person Azriel had started to have feelings for. For the first time in a long while and quite strong feelings.

Then a completely different thought clicked in his head, and he turned his head, trying to catch a glimpse of Rhysand in the parking lot.

“Azriel,” Eris began but stopped when he saw Azriel raise his hand, signaling him to be quiet.

“I need to think,” Azriel said harshly. “Your shit is hard as hell to digest just in a few minutes, and I need to talk to someone else.”

He didn’t turn back to Eris and didn’t listen to what he said as he walked toward Rhysand, stopping him in the parking lot and not letting him pass. Azriel felt the blood boiling in his veins from the anger he was experiencing.

“You fucking knew,” he accused as soon as Rhysand had the decency to look at him.

“Az, I…” he started, and Azriel was already exhausted from the way people had been saying his name with that tone for the past fifteen minutes.

“No, shut the fuck up,” Azriel interrupted. “You knew that Mor was divorcing him. You knew that all this time not only that Eris was married but that he was also married to Mor. And all this time, you didn’t think to tell me? Not once?”

“It was not my secret to tell,” Rhysand said defensively.

Azriel thought that in a few more seconds he would hit someone. Probably one of the close people who had been hiding a huge mess from him for a month. And damn Eris, they hadn’t known each other for that long, but Rhysand? Rhysand knew the whole story with Mor and knew how much Azriel was triggered by any appearance of her in his life. To Azriel, that seemed like enough to tell him the truth.

“It’s not your secret to tell?” Azriel repeated sarcastically, smirking crookedly as Rhysand grimaced at his tone. “You’re fucking involved from all possible sides. How many times did you see him, Rhys? How many times did you encourage me to date Eris while you were seeing him behind my back and doing, what exactly? Oh right, protecting Mor so that the poor and unfortunate cousin could get more money.”

“Azriel, it’s not my fault that Eris chose to hide this from you,” Rhysand said firmly but his voice became quieter after. “Besides, I didn’t want to hurt you. You looked so happy with Eris, and I thought…”

“Stop thinking,” Azriel growled. “I’m fucking tired of how everyone around thinks they know what’s best for me. You had no right to pretend that Eris was just a random guy when you knew the truth all along. Just as you had no right to decide whether I needed to know the truth or not, as if I didn’t deserve to know what was going on in my own life. You don’t hide important things from your friends just because you think that’s best for them.”

Rhysand fell silent, his gaze dropping to the ground. Azriel could see the regret written all over his face, but it didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, it only fueled his anger further.

“You know what? Fuck Mor, fuck Eris, and especially fuck you, Rhysand, because you’re the one I’ve known for more than fifteen years and whom I thought I could trust.”

Azriel honestly didn’t know who he was angrier with the most. And honestly, he decided it didn’t matter if he was angry with both, no matter who had fucked up more.

Not wanting to spend another second here, Azriel turned away. “Don’t expect me at the workshop tomorrow,” he threw at Rhysand as a parting shot and walked toward the road to catch a cab

tag list: @sizzlingstarlightsky @isnotwhatyourethinking @molcat07 @chairofchaos @lilah-asteria

[ridiasfangirlings]

Dewa anon again, I'm back to my origins, If Canon won't give my poor baby a backstory I will. It starts with neglectful parents(as usual, for some reason everything about him screams parentified child) and like a bunch of of siblings, except instead of maturing and trying to raise their children they just get worse with time. Long story short, the siblings+Dewa go non contact(except for the youngest who thinks their siblings are being way too dramatic and that they should forgive the :parents")with them but they keep showing up to ask for money and favors, specially to Dewa since he's the oldest and they expect him to parent not only his siblings but also themselves since they refuse to take responsibility for literally anything.

I think Dewa gives off parentified child vibes because we always see him as the one taking care of problem child Chitose, he just has this vibe of a guy who somehow always ends up taking care of everyone else whether he wants to or not. Imagine him with neglectful parents who keep having kids but don’t really spend time with them, I could see them maybe being kinda like Kusanagi’s family where they’re away for business all the time (except in this case I imagine the business being kinda shady, or like maybe they’re the type who keep getting roped into get rich quick schemes so they’re gone for half a year claiming they’ll be back as millionaires and then they show up with nothing all oops maybe next time and Dewa can only sigh). As the oldest Dewa quickly becomes the responsible one, the one who’s always having to get his younger siblings out of trouble and making sure they stay fed and clothed. Eventually maybe his parents do finally ‘grow up’ but it’s only for their youngest child, who actually does get some parental attention, and that’s why the youngest doesn’t get why the rest of the group go no contact as soon as possible. Dewa himself moves out with Chitose once he realizes that his parents have finally tried to come back and ‘play family,’ in part because he’s so exhausted by them already but also imagine this has instilled in him something of a need to always have someone to watch out for. His parents don’t really need him now that they’re trying to be adults but Chitose needs someone to be sure he doesn’t get himself killed by an angry drunk lady at some point, so Dewa goes with Chitose. 

Of course even after he leaves his family Dewa’s parents will constantly try to ask him for things, especially if any other siblings are still at home. I could see Dewa having issues with giving in because some of the siblings he mostly raised are still living with the parents but also putting his foot down about coming home, claiming he has his own work and such and therefore no time to be babysitter. Once it’s down to just the youngest he pulls back though, I could see Chitose having to convince him that the youngest sibling isn’t his responsibility and he’s done enough, it’s time to cut the cord. Imagine Dewa smiling a little bitterly too, Chitose is supposed to be the troublemaker and Dewa the responsible one but here Chitose is the one giving him advice. Having all of Homra behind him helps too I imagine, like maybe he sends his parents money one last time for his youngest sibling and then goes totally no contact. The first time his parents try to go to Bar Homra to look for him is also the last, and when Dewa thanks Mikoto for it Mikoto just shrugs and says it’s no problem.

[hunting-songs]

Drinks On Me! Somehow, someway, your character has found themselves on a pub crawl. What do they do? Bold the choice that applies the most for each pub.

Pub I Huddles in a corner staring wide-eyed at the group and wonders how they got there in the first place | Sits off to the side, sipping something non-alcoholic and watches the antics | Cheerfully sits with the group and drinks their first round | Calls for a round of shots to get the party started | Hangs our near the center of things, telling stories and cracking jokes

Pub II  Finds a new corner to huddle in, growing increasingly concerned as the drinks flow | Panicky tries to find Water instead of Alcohol | Relents and orders a glass bottle of wine to nurse chug through the next ice age | Laughs and chats with the group, drinking the drinks and enjoying the camaraderie | Is off flirting and chatting someone (or a few someones) up | Has made friends with the pub’s musician and is on stage singing and/or dancing a jig | Is still not drunk

Pub III Has been kidnapped by a roving gang of pirates smugglers (ironically also on a pub crawl of their own) | On a third glass bottle of wine and starting to let flow all sorts of interesting self details | Is probably already unconscious | Has managed to spontaneously get half the bar to sing a drinking song | Has hooked up, proposed, and split up at least twice thus far and is working on their rebound third | Disappeared into a back alley with a shady looking character leaving assurances of picking something up to “liven things up a little” | Has already passed out at Pub 1 | Is still not drunk

Pub IV After being adopted as their impromptu mascot, is now being ferried around by the pirates smugglers on a makeshift palanquin as their “Pirate Queen” | Beyond wine drunk and keeps losing layers because it’s “too hot” | Is engaging in some cross group friendly rivalry in the ages old combination of booze and hurling sharp objects (or shoes) at a target (or has ended up in one or four bar fights)| Passed out in the gutter halfway to the fourth pub | Picks up the part of the group laying drunk in the gutter to bring them home | Whether it is incendiaries or herding the entire crew onto an impromptu dragon flight, whatever surprise is planned will be memorable | Is still not drunk

Tagged By: A little Wildbirdie! Tagging: @rake-rake @skarletchains @bewitchingbaker @nephytale @gyofukuki @jxgi @uzumakiuser @kiigan @distortedkilling @yeonban @swxpped @zealctry @muddsludge @curseisms @saiakv ....AND YOU!

[werspinna]

Drinks On Me! Somehow, someway, your character has found themselves on a pub crawl. What do they do? Bold the choice that applies the most for each pub.

Pub I Huddles in a corner staring wide-eyed at the group and wonders how they got there in the first place | Sits off to the side, sipping something non-alcoholic and watches the antics | Cheerfully sits with the group and drinks their first round | Calls for a round of shots to get the party started | Hangs our near the center of things, telling stories and cracking jokes

Pub II  Finds a new corner to huddle in, growing increasingly concerned as the drinks flow | Panicky tries to find Water instead of Alcohol | Relents and orders a glass bottle of wine to nurse chug through the next ice age | Laughs and chats with the group, drinking the drinks and enjoying the camaraderie | Is off flirting and chatting someone (or a few someones) up | Has made friends with the pub’s musician and is on stage singing and/or dancing a jig

Pub III Has been kidnapped by a roving gang of pirates smugglers (ironically also on a pub crawl of their own) | On a third glass bottle of wine and starting to let flow all sorts of interesting self details | Is probably already unconscious | Has managed to spontaneously get half the bar to sing a drinking song | Has hooked up, proposed, and split up at least twice thus far and is working on their rebound third | Disappeared into a back alley with a shady looking character leaving assurances of picking something up to “liven things up a little” | Has already passed out at Pub 1

Pub IV After being adopted as their impromptu mascot, is now being ferried around by the pirates smugglers on a makeshift palanquin as their “Pirate Queen” | Beyond wine drunk and keeps losing layers because it’s “too hot” | Is engaging in some cross group friendly rivalry in the ages old combination of booze and hurling sharp objects (or shoes) at a target (or has ended up in one or four bar fights)| Passed out in the gutter halfway to the fourth pub | Picks up the part of the group laying drunk in the gutter to bring them home | Whether it is incendiaries or herding the entire crew onto an impromptu dragon flight, whatever surprise is planned will be memorable

*After living for over three years in a muslime Household, Wolf nolonger drinks alcohol. She also is nolonger able to get drunk in the firt place, because her inhuman selfhealing factor heals the poisoning alcohol causes.

Tagged By: Walther von der Vogelweide! Tagging: @hidefire @alchemaxed @iobartach @goblinfire @supraxstcllas @felinethiefs @spidcrmenace @xsolastine @lotsofchutzpah @neonwebs @wovendeath @sickthem @voltedblood @spinxeret @books-and-right-hooks @kylo-wrecked @canoncompliance @attercopus @sleeperkeeper @bewitchingbaker @betterbutbitter @svperboi @itsybitsypeterparker @the-rogue-dragon @carnivorousfatality @smertzimy @recklesstech @ir0nheir!

[gnomewardbound]

Far Away ~ Hugo&Dominic

weepinglions

Dom’s hand reached out and palmed the lighter, mumbled a quiet thanks to the stranger. He thinks he might hear a soft chuckle leave the man, but he’s also too buzzed to be sure, so he doesn’t think much of it, ears as deceptive as he has to be. He is sure, however, that the man’s Spanish rolls off his tongue as smooth as the whiskey he’s been downing. Dominic’s dark brow perked, and even darker eyes narrowed as he lit the cigarette dangling from his mouth. He uses one hand to shield the flame from the winter wind, and considers the stranger. 

He looks like a Ranch Hand who made one-too-many wrong turns, and somehow ended up on the shady side of a city he has no business being in. Dom very vaguely remembers going to the Spanish Rodeos in Cuba, he was young and all his uncles would make wagers on the Vaqueros till they were piss drunk, screaming and fighting among the dirt and blood. He doesn’t remember them looking quite like the one in front of them, because this one.....seems less rough around the edges; gentle, almost. He’s got soft brown eyes, and his smile isn’t quite as tipsy as Dominic’s, but, it’s the kindest one in the shitty little bar. Dom slides the lighter back across the picnic table, and takes a long, grateful drag from the cigarette. 

“Es Dominic.” He says simply, his name leaving him like a secret he doesn’t quite want to share, but does anyway for the sake of being another lame local at the bar. Dom scratches under his beard, the grey hairs amongst the dark ones stick out and show his aging. His eyes are still on the other man’s and he tries to not make it weird, like he’s not sizing him up, because he’s not, not really. He doesn’t look like a threat, in anyway, but, it’d be rather interesting if it was some sort of test from his buddies in the Org. Dom only nods over at him, and cocks his brow again, always the left one, because the right’s got an ugly scar he doesn’t quite care to draw attention to and answer questions about. 

 “Y tú? Te ves muy lejos de casa.” Dom asks, it’s simple in the way he words it; he just wants to see if he’ll be as eager to give his name as he was to find out Dominic’s, and if he’s really far from home.

"Dominic... Hm.. Soy Hugo." This time the small chuckle that escaped his lips was on purpose, as he rolled his name over his tongue, as if he could taste his desires and--

Hugo blinked nonchalantly, and grinned, taking another swig of his whiskey, unfortunately the last few drops. It was starting to hit him that he hadn't had any alcohol for over 24 hours, and as he'd been trying to save the money he had for experiences not food, he hadn't eaten in the past 5 hours. This gave a wonderfully dangerous feeling of tipsy invulnerability that he knew would get him into trouble eventually.

"I'm not," Huey continued, this time in English. His family, namely Carla, found it fascinating his inability to maintain Spanish conversation while he was drunk. Huey, didn't care. This stranger spoke both, and in this moment, that's all he cared about. "I'm from Montana. Little ranch down in the Southern part of the state. You on the other hand..." Hugo grinned once more, this time feeling it split his face and warm his cheeks, the rye whiskey bathing him in a thick blanket of happiness and warmth. Fuck, I love whiskey. "...you look like you were born and raised here, Mr. Popular."

[thearvariblues]

Okay but this just needs a fic.

Like, imagine Pete finding out Porsche is getting paid more than him. He asks Porsche why it is, and Porsche claims he’s just doing some extra activities for Kinn. Pete goes ask Kinn about the activities because hey, he’s supporting his grandma and some extra money wouldn’t hurt. But Kinn starts to sweat and get all evasive and something in Pete’s brain just... clicks.

Cut to Pete getting drunk in a shady bar known for drug deals and BDSM sex. Pete’s only here because it’s the only place where the main family would never ever look for him. Imagine his surprise when he encounters a member of the minor family, and it’s the worst one - Vegas.

But Pete is drunk and kinda stops caring, and he somehow starts talking to Vegas, and then he just starts pouring his heart out about the whole salary thing and Vegas is just blinking because it’s ten thousand baht, for fuck’s sake, you can sleep with me for ten thousand baht a month, that’s less than I usually spend on prostitutes.

And obviously, as Pete explains, it’s not about the money, it’s about the respect, and Pete deserves it for everything he does, and Vegas just chuckles and goes oh yes, such a good pet of the main family and Pete feels a shiver run down his back and his breath quickens and Vegas is suddenly very interested.

In the end, Vegas ends up calling Porsche to kindly pick up his stupid drunk friend, because even though something in him wants to just drag Pete into one of the rooms in the back and ruin him, he actually wants Pete conscious when he does it.

As Pete is getting dragged out by Porsche, he suddenly turns around and asks “Hey, by the way, Khun Wegath, are you here for the drugs or the kinky sex?”

“Drugs, obviously,” Vegas replies.

“Damn. Shame,” Pete mutters right before his eyes roll back.

And that’s the story of how Vegas gets utterly obsessed with Pete, and how Pete does end up getting those ten thousand extra baht a month (and quite a few new kinks, too).

According to @FilmaniaKP on twitter, these are the salaries of the bodyguards and in my humble opinion this might be the shadiest thing. Why is Porsche paid more than Pete?! WHYYYYY? Is it because he is fucking the boss? And Pete obviously doesn't know because if he did he would NOT smile, he would be painting a grenade yellow and give it to Porsche with the words, "here, hold on to this pineapple". Underpaid and fed kindergarten meals... I'd take torture and the prospect of a swift death over lifelong humiliation too.

Shame on Kinn for running his mafia like a middle manager at Walmart.

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Can you please do enemies to lovers headcanons with Riven?

I can certainly try but I am making no promises

Of course Riven dislikes you at first. Because he, for the life of him, cannot admit real feelings. And you dislike him because. Well. It's Riven. He's a giant asshole. He's the most pain-in-the-ass guy you've ever met.

The thing is that you have the same friends. So you're around each other way too much. Which means you're getting on each others nerves - and everyone else's. Which is kind of worse.

You're just constantly throwing shady, passive-aggressive comments, sassing the other out. And it's annoying the hell out of your friends.

It's like this for months. Months and months and months of venting and ranting about the other to the rest of your group - Riven talking Sky's ear off to the point where Sky's just like "fucking stop. just stop. just admit you love them."

After that, every time Riven looks at you he remembers that. Not that he admits it, god, no. Not even to himself. But he catches himself.... possibly liking you more than he thinks he does. And that angers him even more.

So suddenly there's not only sassing each other. There's him actually telling you to "go fuck yourself", and even though you really, really do dislike him (...at least you think so), you're starting to worry.

You trying to talk to him makes it even worse though. And with how idiotic, stupid, and simply crappy he's being, you get upset too. Which means the two of you are now just doing your best to annoy each other. Which somehow gets your friends even more annoyed than what you'd been doing before. And the two of you yourselves are even more annoyed too, because still, the rest of your group hangs out together, so now you are either on your own for much longer, or quietly sitting at the same table pretending the other doesn't exist.

Until one evening it all just kicks off.

Because it always does. You'd been out with everyone, and the two of you were drunk, or tipsy in the least, or perhaps just drunk on the vibe of the music and the lights.

You were just hanging out. Sky, and Bloom, and people you didn't know or had passed maybe one time in the hallways, and the rest of your friends, all of them were there. And still Riven snapped at you when you had the audacity to speak around him.

So you decided, then and there, that it was enough. And that it'd end. Now.

Which meant that the two of you ended up kind of just screaming, shouting, yelling at each other in the corner of a bar, with a huge breathing bubble because no one wanted to be in close proximity of you.

And so he kind of... confessed. While screaming. While being so annoyed by you that he was fighting with you like this.

You just stared at him. You were pretty sure that in this moment, you looked like a blobfish, or some other type of creature that had pupils blown so wide and a mouth so round that it looked fucking haunted. But you couldn't care less. Because he'd basically just told you that he had a crush on you. And you.... well, you'd despised him all these months. But had that maybe just been because he'd despised you first?

There was just one way to find out.

So you pulled him close and you kissed him.

Not one of those big, romantic Hollywood kisses, no - rather sloppy at first, bumping teeth once, and him tasting of alcohol and smoke. It wasn't pretty. In the slightest. It wasn't even a good kiss. But it was one. And there were butterflies in your stomach while your lips were on his.

And when you pulled back - he looked dazed. You supposed you must've looked the same. This time, he kissed you. And it kinda just got better from then on.

So you didn't stop kissing him. Not just that evening, simply... not at all. Neither of you ever voiced whether you were a couple after that, but you both knew that you were. You went on no more dates with other people. You slept in his bed and he in yours. You made him do your boring homework and spar with you. When you were sick, he took care of you. And when you weren't, you still spent every minute you could with him.

Sometimes stories just do have a happy ending, don't they?

[lampmeeting]

kloktober day 7: sci-fi or fantasy

one of my original story ideas is kind of a space opera kinda thing, so i decided to bring the boys into that universe as the ragtag crew of a spaceship! details (plus bonus magnus) under the cut

nathan: captain/pilot of the Mordrymden, sort of a catch-all ship. salvage, transport, bounties, whatever they can get hired for. he loves beer and guns and movies and music from Old Earth, especially metal. he's a nice boy from a nice family who plays at being hard. every time he has to shoot someone he feels terrible and needs to holochat with his mom afterwards. has a big dumb crush on the woman who's the boss of the big shady nightclub-like space station, and the crew "accidentally" ends up there quite a bit.

pickles: ship's mechanic. always banging on everything. left for space at a young age with dreams of being some amazing rock star bounty hunter, but that didn't quite work out. has an older brother in organized crime that he despises but always seems to run into. him and charles were married years ago before charles' disappearance, and he still wears his wedding ring in a locket and asks about him everywhere they go just in case.

murderface: the cook! has a large hydroponic garden on the ship that he's very territorial of. somehow knows the weirdest trivia of every planet they visit. gets his feelings hurt if he makes a new dish and the guys don't like it. is typically followed around by NU8-LR (affectionately called "Knubbler"), a sarcastic, party-loving little robot they found during their travels.

skwisgaar: the navigator. hears the universe in his head as music and follows movements and phrases to get the ship where it's going. when they're lost the music sounds terrible and he gets very upset and distracted. while he claims to be human, there's a rumor that his father was something else. if the crew meets an alien, 9 times outta 10 skwisgaar's gonna try to seduce it.

toki: doesn't have a role on the ship. he's still pretty new and getting used to things. was rescued from a research facility on an ice moon where a cult had been experimenting on him his whole life hoping to find a way to channel their god. did it work? murderface befriends him first and lets him hang out with the plants.

charles: or "doc off". is a holographic program that helps to operate the ship and dispense information. the physical charles has been gone for years, disappeared for reasons the crew still don't understand, but charles left this hologram in the ship's computer for them. pickles will sometimes get drunk and talk to him all night.

magnus: part of the original crew, had been drinking buddies with nathan and murderface for years beforehand. purchased half of the Mordrymden years ago thinking they'd make big money. his recklessness during jobs earned them a bad reputation though, and jobs started drying up. he and nathan got in a physical altercation one night, and nathan was forced to shoot him with his blast pistol. now magnus sulks in darkened bars by himself and keeps his ears open for any opportunity to get back at his ex-friends...

[casifer-is-king]

Private Investigator

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x fem!reader

Rated: T

Warnings: some language, infidelity.

A/N: This is my first piece of writing in like five years.... I'm gonna warn everyone right now that this is probably not great hahaha. But it was impossible for me to get this idea out of my head and once I started writing it just kind of kept going.... And since it's all written out now, I might as well post it. So if you read this, thank you so very much 🥺💜 This is cross posted on AO3 under my username BlondiMarie.

You always gave your husband the benefit of the doubt. Even when all of your friends warned you about their suspicions. So, when it came down to you telling them you weren't going to confront him about anything without proof, they took it to heart and got planning.

That is how you found yourself in a crowded coffee shop during the lunch rush. Your two best friends, Ashley and Erin, sit across from you as you all wait for the Private Investigator that they had found who knows where. Supposedly, though, he was very qualified. And prompt, you noted, as the man you assumed was here to meet you walked up to your table three minutes before the appointed time.

"You must be my 12:30 meeting?" he asks."I'm Frankie Morales."

"It's nice to meet you," Ashley speaks up, then goes around introducing you all.

Frankie shakes hands with each of you before taking the empty seat next to you. In the crowded room, his chair is set close to your side and you can feel the heat of his body next to yours. He's definitely a cute guy you notice, in a rough, outdoorsy kind of way. His hair curls out from under a worn baseball cap and his facial hair is scruffy, but kept short with a patch along his jaw that doesn't seem to grow.

“So how can I help you ladies?” he asks.

“Well it's really for our friend here,” Erin states, gesturing to you. “It's her husband. We are pretty certain he's cheating on her.”

Frankie glances over at you. “Pretty certain, huh?” he asks as the waitress brings a cup of coffee over and places it in front of him. You find yourself suddenly distracted as he tears open two sugar packets with long, deft fingers, then picks up the spoon to stir it in.

Realizing that he's probably waiting for an answer, you feel yourself blush faintly. “They are pretty certain. I just want to be sure either way. I don't have any specific proof that he's cheating,” you say, finally tearing your eyes away from his hands. He's thoughtlessly twisting the spoon between his index finger and thumb. It's somehow entrancing, the way his fingers move.

“But he's definitely pretty shady,” Ashley steps in. “Suddenly he's working long hours at work, coming home late from the bars and claiming he's with his friends. Plus when is the last time he even took you out?”

The question is pointed at you, but you ignore it by looking into your tea cup instead. It had been months since the two of you had gone on a real date. It's something you both enjoyed a lot in the early years of your relationship - going out to a new restaurant every weekend and ordering three course meals just for the fun of it.

"Yeah, I see this shit all the time," he assures, saving you from having to answer. "If he's doing anything he shouldn't be, I'll find out."

Your friends and him discuss his rates and when payment is due before they rush off, both having to get back to work.

"Did you have to get going too?" Frankie asks you when it's just the two of you left at the table.

"Not yet," you reply.

"That's good." He ducks his head a little so you can't see his eyes anymore, "I was wondering if I could ask a few more questions. Like about your husband's schedule and where he likes to spend his time."

“Of course. He works at an architecture company downtown. It used to be a Monday through Friday, 8 to 5 type of job. But the past few months he's been working late, sometimes he's even going in on Saturdays. Says it's some big project and he's expecting a promotion by the end of it.”

Frankie takes note of your husband's workplace on one of the tiny napkins. When he sees that you're watching him, he ducks his eyes from view again. “Forgot my notebook,” he says sheepishly.

You crack a smile at his embarrassment, but don't say anything, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable. You continue on like nothing happened. “He goes out with his friends a lot, but he's always been that way. I stopped going with him a while ago. He said it brings their team spirit down when he always has to explain the game to me.”

“Not big into sports?” Frankie asks, and you can detect a bit of teasing in his tone.

“Not even a little bit,” you laugh openly.

Frankie makes a little bullet point on his napkin and writes, ‘X sports,’ on it. “Any specific places your husband goes to watch the games?”

“Usually Sally's, over on 7th street,” you provide.

“Yeah, I know it. They do the karaoke after the game,” Frankie states nonchalantly.

“Yes! That's why we agreed on that bar. I'm a sucker for bad karaoke,” you laugh.

“You should see my friend Pope after he gets a few drinks in him,” Frankie chuckled. “Man can't even sing when he's sober, let alone drunk off his ass.”

“Those are just the best performances, though,” you say with a smile.

“It's definitely something,” Frankie nods with a snort.

Your phone chimes an alarm, alerting you off your next meeting you need to get to. "I'm sorry, I actually do have to go now," you apologize, actually feeling sorry that you had to leave this conversation. Frankie is easy to talk to, and an attentive listener.

"Oh, right. Well maybe I could get your number? Ya know, just in case I have any other questions as I go?" Frankie asks quietly, dipping his head again and fiddling with his long-empty coffee cup.

"Of course!" You agree readily, taking his offered phone and adding your details into his contacts. "And thank you again for doing this. It may end up being nothing, but my friends are very overzealous."

"It's not a problem. Just doing my job. I'll let you know what I come up with either way," Frankie replies with a small smile.

As you walk out together, he holds the door open for you and your turn to him once you both come out onto the sidewalk. "Does it often end up ending well? For people you've looked into in the past..." you ask.

Frankie squints a little and his eyes show flecks of warm caramel in the sunshine. "Not often," he replies finally.

You nod, your heart dropping faintly. His honesty is appreciated though, so you grace him with a small smile. "Thank you again."

You don't hear from Frankie for the next few days, but you do think of him. Especially any time your husband does something that makes your gut do that little tug of dread.

It's five days later that you get a text.

Game night tonight. Did your husband happen to say if he was going out? Frankie asks.

You reply maybe a bit too quickly, of course he is. He's leaving here soon to meet up with the guys.

You feel a little less self conscious when it's barely a second later and Frankie is already typing back. Well let's hope that's where he'll actually be.

He'd never miss a game XD, you reply. Sports are like religion to those guys. So you get to just go to the bar and watch them watch the game? Sounds fun hah.

No one ever said it was a glamorous job, Frankie sends back. But it's always a perk when I can drink and watch some football while I'm at it.

You send back some laughing emojis, and set your phone down to heat up some dinner.

Your husband sweeps through the kitchen, grabbing his keys and jacket. “I'm meeting the guys now,” he says.

“Ok, have a good time,” you reply, turning to face him. He nods, pulling on a hat. “I love you.”

“You too,” he replies briskly, dropping a faint kiss on your forehead and walking out the door.

You sigh, plating your food and wandering back to the living room to watch something on TV while you ate.

Your phone flashes a notification and you look down to see Frankie had sent another text.

How have you been doing? He asks.

As well as can be expected, you text back.

Try not to stress too much. I'll let you know if I find anything out, he replies.

It makes you smile, even if you know there's no way you'll stop stressing at this point.

The weeks went by and texts from Frankie became more frequent. He'd ask a few questions about your husband, then branch off into asking about your day. Those conversations then opened up to you both telling stories about your jobs, which would lead to talking about other aspects of your life. You talked a lot about your pasts - he tells you about how he grew up, some funny and interesting stories from his time in Delta Force, and about his best friend's MMA fights.

You tell him about your family, tell him stories about all the ridiculous people you come across at your job, and do a lot of venting about your crumbling marriage and husband.

You feel bad every time you bring it up, but it's always so much easier to talk to Frankie than it is even Ashley and Erin. At least with him, each of your concerns weren't met with a look of pity and “I told you so,” retort.

The marriage has been spiraling for several months now, and maybe hiring a private investigator was the push you needed to really bring the issues to light. You noticed more often when your husband chose to spend nights out “with the guys” and when he'd go into the other room to check his phone. And when you finally point out the lack of time he spends with you anymore, he gets automatically defensive.

You felt alone in your relationship and it was starting to make you feel bitter. He was definitely hiding something, and you trusted that Frankie would find out for you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie had been working this job for a few weeks now. He'd worked a ton of infidelity investigations since he'd lost his pilot license and finally got clean. But this one was different. He wasn't sure what drew him to her, but he couldn't help but want to know her.

Was it professional to text your client every day asking her if Sally from the overnight shift left a pile of work behind for her to deal with for the fourth day in a row? Probably not. But that didn't stop him from trying to glean any little piece of information about her that he could.

He kept it friendly, though, trying not to cross farther from that line between client and something more. But she was a sweet woman, and she had seemed so quiet at that first meeting in the coffee shop. And sad. Like she didn't want to get caught up in the things her friends were saying, but somewhere deep down knew what they were saying was true.

And, dammit, Frankie always had a soft spot for sweet, sad women.

Which is why he is spending his seventh night in a row sitting in his car across the street from her husband's workplace. During their earlier conversation she had mentioned that her husband claimed he was working late tonight. But in the weeks that Frankie had been on this case, the man never worked late once.

Right on time, his target exited the building. He was not alone this time, though, having his arm around a brunette that Frankie recognized as one of his co-workers that he had gone to lunch with a couple times.

Frankie snapped a few pictures of them together, the target’s arm pulling the brunette closer than appropriate, in Frankie's opinion. They both got into his car and Frankie began to follow behind.

Just as they parked at some restaurant across town, Frankie's phone rings and Benny's name lights up the screen.

“Hey,” Frankie greets.

“Dude, where are you?” Benny asks, his voice pitched a bit higher than usual.

“I'm working,” Frankie replied, keeping a close watch as his target is sat conveniently at a window table.

“Come on, Fish, it's Friday night! Will and I are already at the bar drinking.”

Frankie checks the clock and scoffs a bit when he sees it's only 1830. “Sorry, Benny, but I have to work late tonight.”

“You make your own hours. Isn't that why you chose that damned job? So you can decide when you do and don't work. So just decide you can't work tonight and get your ass over here!” Benny all but whines. “What's the deal with this case, Fish? I thought it was a simple cheating husband. You're not usually so obsessive over these ones.”

And leave it to Benny to call him out on his abnormal behavior. “I'm gonna close this case tonight, I have a feeling. Sorry, brother, but I'll see you tomorrow afternoon for practice,” Frankie placates his best friend.

“Sure, ok man. See ya then,” Benny finally gives in.

It's another boring hour of staring at his target before they are finally on the move again. Back to what Frankie assumes is the brunette's house, where they both go inside and Frankie adjusts himself in his seat to find a comfy position for the foreseeable future.

It's another two hours later when the door finally opens and Frankie scrambles to get his camera up, keeping his head down. He hopes for a little luck and is rewarded when both parties enter the doorway and embrace with a final, passionate kiss.

Frankie's camera keeps clicking away, even as his anger continues to rise. He has to hold himself back from throwing himself out of the car and punching his target in the face. He wants to know why her husband would bother with another woman when he has her at home waiting. Wants to know why her husband would throw away everything he has with the sweet woman who was so trusting at the start of all this. But that would definitely be crossing a line, and Frankie has never felt the need to go that far before. So he reins himself and waits until the target has driven away and the brunette has closed the door behind her, before he drives home himself to develop the pictures and complete his paperwork.

Developing pictures at home can be time consuming, but Frankie usually finds comfort in the task. It's a hobby he took up to distract himself from his cravings, and the darkroom usually brings him comfort after particularly stressful days. Tonight, though, watching these images fade onto the photo paper, he is angry. He knows this news is going to crush her, regardless of her suspicions. And while this is usually the case with clients, Frankie isn't sure that he could handle it if you broke down in front of him as some women have in the past.

He's learned so much about her in the past few weeks, from her favorite color to her favorite song when she was 10, and all of these things have endeared her to him in a way no other person has before. And he's opened up to her in return; in a way he hasn't any other woman in his past. But she makes it easy.

It's late when Frankie has finished compiling the file, so he decides not to text her yet and strips down for bed and drifts off, hoping for at least a few hours of restful, dreamless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You got a text from Frankie late the next morning, hey, dulzura. What are your plans today?

Finally my day off lol, you text back.

Think you could pencil me into your busy schedule? Say in an hour?

Frankie had yet to schedule another meeting, opting to ask any questions he had between texts about their days. With a sinking feeling, you quickly type out, definitely. How about the same café as before?

Sounds good. I'll see you then.

You got ready with a sense of dread. You knew that this meant Frankie had found something. There was that small chance that he came up with nothing in these past few weeks, but the more realistic side of you knew how this would end.

The drive to the coffee shop was short, and the parking lot was thankfully much less crowded than last time. Walking in, you spotted Frankie right away at the same table by the windows. You placed your order before heading over to the table. He was stirring a cup of coffee again, but quickly turned his whole focus toward you as you sag across from him.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Frankie asked. “Your friends couldn't make it?”

“I'm good. It's nice to see you again,” you answered. “I actually didn't tell them. I kinda wanted to find out the truth privately. I'll tell them as soon as I've processed whatever you have to tell me. I'm assuming that's why you wanted to meet? You found what we were looking for?”

Frankie's hand moves to the back of his neck as he gives a slow nod. He pulls a yellow envelope from the chair next to him and places it on the table between you. “Yeah. I have some pictures here.”

You begin to reach out, but stop short before touching the folder. You know if you look now, in the middle of this café, you'll just break down when you see the proof of your husband's affair.

“Please just tell me,” you implore, eyes looking up, but not quite reaching his.

Frankie is quiet for a moment, studying you with his chocolate eyes. Finally he lets out a short sigh and responds, “Andrew's having an affair with a coworker. Looks like it's been around five months.”

The news hits you directly in the chest. It makes it hard to breathe. Knowing it was likely that he was cheating and having picture proof of it are two different things. You feel like it shouldn't hurt this much, but can't help the way your body collapses into itself.

“I know it's not the news you wanted,” Frankie starts, but you cut him off.

“No, but it's what I needed to know. So thank you. I appreciate all the work you put into it. I'm really sorry, but Ashley just went out of town and she won't be back for two weeks. I can get Erin's half of your fee, then get the rest as soon as Ash is back.” You quickly switch to the business end of the meeting, hoping to delay having to come to terms with this new information.

Frankie looks a little whiplashed at the sudden change in topic, but catches up quickly. “It's really not a big deal. I'm not too worried about two weeks. How about we just meet up again once you all have everything together. No stress.”

His hands are fiddling with his coffee cup again, and you focus on them as one index finger absently caresses the handle of the cup, the thumb of his other hand moving up and down the opposite side of it. You're caught off guard again by the movement of his fingers. It's sensual, how his large hands and long fingers massage the warm ceramic.

You're distracted from your observation of those hands when the barista sets your to-go tea in front of you. Finally looking up again, you see Frankie's brows have pinched together, forming a little worry line between them.

“I'll get it to you as soon as possible,” you finally fall back into conversation.

“That's fine. Really, don't stress about it,” Frankie reiterates.

“Can I ask you something?” You ask softly after a brief pause.

“Of course, hermosa.”

“Why did you become a private investigator?”

The question catches Frankie off guard for a second time; you can tell by the subtle widening of his eyes followed by a brief knitting of his brows. Then he quickly hides his eyes behind the bill of his baseball cap, feigning stirring his coffee a couple times. Not used to being able to see his face when the two of you have conversations, you realized he's actually quite expressive. He must know it too, because you note his hidden eyes as something you'd seen him do the first time you met him.

“You don't have to tell me,” you extended a way out for him, noting his sudden discomfort.

“No, it's fine. Um, remember when I told you before how I moved on from being a pilot to this?” At your nod, Frankie continued on slowly, like he was forming each word in his head twice before speaking it. “Well, it was less that I moved on and more that I lost my license. Uh, addiction issues. I know how that sounds! But I swear I'm clean now and -”

You can sense Frankie spiraling, so you impulsively reach out and place one of your hands on his large one. “You don't have to plead your case with me, Frankie. I'm not judging you.”

Frankie freezes momentarily, then relaxes. You feel one of his long fingers twitch on the tabletop under yours and quickly remove your hand. There's a little sigh from him before he continues, “well, anyway, this was kinda just something that fell in my lap. My friend, Ironhead, works with enlisted still and heard it's pretty easy to get into if you have the background and patience for sittin’ around and waiting. Well, I had the experience with my past in Delta Force, figured the patients would come along as I go. Never did like surveillance gigs.”

The last sentence seems like an afterthought, but you catch the mild disdain in his voice and it makes you smile to see the man in front of you sounding so petulant. “Ok, but Ironhead is an interesting name,” you comment.

Frankie huffed a laugh. “His call-sign actually. Most of us had one on my squad.”

“Oh really? And what was yours?”

“Catfish,” Frankie responds immediately.

“Catfish?” You repeat. “Where did that one come from?” you laugh a little bit.

“And that's a story for a different day,” Frankie responds with a laugh of his own.

After another small pause, your eyes drift back down to the inconspicuous envelope sitting on the table in front of you. With another small smile and a nod, you reach for the envelope. “I better get going. Lots of errands to get through on my day off.” It's a lie, but you figure a swift exit is necessary in this moment.

Frankie nods, then shifts his hat to run a hand through his already messy curls. Hat back in place, he stands and gestures that he'll walk you out.

Back outside, in the bright afternoon sun, Frankie looks down at you as he walks you all the way to your car. His eyes are caramel again, but they hold a bit of something akin to sadness in them. He drops his head, those eyes disappearing behind the bill of his cap, and slides his hands into his pockets, shoulders curving inward. “I really am sorry,” he begins. “I had hoped it would be different this time. You deserve better than some cabrón who can't see that he already has something great right in front of him.”

Frankie sounds so sincere that it stops you short. You look up at him as he peeks from under his hat. His mouth is twisted into a frown under his mustache. And that's all it takes for your eyes to begin to fill with tears.

In an instant, Frankie's arms are around you. He doesn't hesitate to pull you into a loose hug. One you could easily step away from if you had the care to do so. Instead, you step forward and accept the comfort. In a second, his arms close around you tighter and you're wrapped in his warmth, face pressed into his brown jacket. Trying not to fall apart right here in the parking lot, you catalog how his arms feel around you, and how warm his chest is.

His jacket smells like an auto garage, faintly like oil, but his shirt underneath smells woodsy - probably whatever cologne he sprayed on this morning - and, underneath that, clean like fresh linen. It's a comforting scent, and you breathe it in for a second longer than probably necessary before you finally lean back. He drops his arms immediately and takes half a step back.

“I am so sorry,” you apologize instantly.

“No, don't be. You have no reason to be. Just, um, get home safe ok?” That worry line is present between his eyes again. “Text me when you get home.”

“I'll be ok,” you assure him. You climb into your car and allow him to close the door gently for you. He steps back and gives a tiny wave before he turns and walks over to his own truck.

The drive home is a bit of a blur. You call Erin and Ashley on the way to tell them the news. Erin is instantly in her car and on her way over. “We are gonna change the locks and have ourselves a movie night,” she proclaims.

Ashley frets over not being there, but you assure her you're okay and she should enjoy her vacation. You only called because she'd freak if you told Erin before her.

Erin gets to your house 30 minutes later with a box of cheap wine and a bag full of snacks. You talk her out of changing the locks, but it doesn't matter either way because when you text Andrew to tell him you're having a girls night he tells you he's going to be out late anyway and not to wait up.

Your heart drops the way it always does when you suspect a lie. This time, though, it's not just speculation. You have the proof right in front of you, in an unopened manila envelope partially covered in chip bags.

“So is that them?” Erin speaks, noticing your gaze on the offending envelope.

“I guess so. Pictures and proof of my husband's affair with some front desk girl at his office.” Your tone is mild, but you feel a pressure building behind your eyes once more and that crushing weight settling over your sternum.

“Have you looked yet?” Erin asked.

“Nope.”

“Are you gonna?”

“We can open them together,” you suggest.

But before she can answer, your phone beeps to alert you that you got a new text message.

Hey, bonita, is everything ok? You never texted me… You safe?

His words bring a small smile to your face. Frankie always has a way of making you feel like he truly cares. Checking in often, but never overstepping into being overbearing. It's a warm welcome compared to the icy breeze of you and your husband's cohabitation of the same home, but never really living together.

You type out, yes. Sorry. Erin insisted on a girls night, and hit send.

That's good. Did she bring the salsa verde doritos?

Your smile grows at the mention of your favorite chips. Of course he'd remember something as silly as that. Frankie had a knack for remembering little details. Things you sometimes even forgot to had ever mentioned he would bring up weeks later in a random conversation. It's probably just a Frankie Morales thing, but it still always made you feel just a little special that he remembered such details.

“What has you suddenly shining like the sun?” Erin questions with a raised eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you know you're blushing, but you try to play it cool. “Just Frankie checking in. Making sure you're taking care of me.”

“Um, of course I'm taking care of you! Who else is gonna do it?” Erin jokes, pushing your shoulder teasingly. “Unless Mr. Morales was trying to volunteer for the job?”

“He's just being kind,” you roll your eyes at Erin's implication. “He's been very supportive through this whole thing.”

“Supportive, huh? And what kind of support might he be offering?” In a swift motion your phone is suddenly in your best friends hands and she's danced off to the other side of the room. Ignoring your protests and attempts to claim back your property, she starts swiping through weeks of conversation between you and Frankie. “Holy shit! Have you two even stopped talking since you met?”

“Come on, Erin,” you beg, “he’s just been asking for more information for his investigation and making sure I'm okay.”

“Two days ago you told him about the goldfish you got in college that died within the week. Was that pertinent information to his investigation?”

Seizing an opportunity, you snatched your phone back, clutching it to your chest. “Shouldn't you be trying to cheer me up?”

“Looks like your new bestie Frankie should be here instead,” she snarks with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh shut it and pour me some wine,” you reply with an exaggerated eye roll.

While your friend is busy you quickly type out a response to Frankie. She's pretty much the worst. Brought bbq instead even though she knows I hate them.

Frankie's reply is quick, or maybe that's why she brought them. So she wouldn't have to share with you, avara.

I don't know what you just called me, but I know I'm offended.

Frankie's reply is a long string of laughing emojis.

With the photos forgotten, you let Erin put on some 80’s movie and tried your best to enjoy the night. The envelope would still be there tomorrow, so for tonight you just relax.

It will probably be the last time you'll be able to in a while anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie hasn't heard from her in a few days. She doesn't text as often and it doesn't feel like his place to bother her.

Today, though, he woke up late after being out late on a surveillance job to a text from her. I'm kicking him out. I can't stand to live here with him anymore. I just want him gone and out of my life.

Squinting down at the bright screen if his phone, Frankie replies, is there anything I can do for you, bonita?

Recommend me a great divorce lawyer? Is her response. He knows it's sarcasm, but he shoots her a list of a few lawyers he knows of and trusts anyway.

Frankie was glad she wasn't going to stick around with the bastard. He'd seen that enough times to know it never works out anyway, and always makes things worse in the end.

You're amazing Frankie. Thank you for everything. I also have your payment in full btw. Do you have time this weekend to meet and grab it?

You really don't need to thank me, dulzura. I just want to help. This Sunday is good for me. At the café?

Her reply takes a little longer this time, so Frankie finally drags himself out of bed. A quick look at the time tells him he barely has time for a shower before he has to meet Ironhead and Benny for their planned fishing trip. Once Frankie is back, she had finally replied with a simple, yes.

She had rarely been short in her texts before, and it made Frankie's stomach sink a little. Shooting off a quick, let me know if there's anything you need, he pockets the phone and heads out.

A few more days pass with minimal texts. Frankie makes a point to text at least once a day. Maybe it's intrusive, but she never complains about it. And, if he's honest with himself, he misses her too much to stop now.

He realizes that she has become a fixture in his life. Going from texting multiple times throughout the day to barely a good morning text over his morning coffee makes him twitchy and he feels like he's always wondering what she's doing.

Sunday finally comes and Frankie is at the café ten minutes early, ready to finally see her in person. Ready to hold a conversation with her, even if only for a moment. But the ten minutes pass, then another ten and his leg starts to bounce under the table. She's never been late before, and Frankie checks his phone for a 20th time to make sure she hasn't texted to tell him she's had a change of plans. He decides to shoot her a text himself to make sure she didn't forget about their meeting.

Twenty more minutes with no response to his text and Frankie is back in his truck. He's already talked himself out of driving to her house and just knocking on the door several times. But as his truck rumbles to life and he exits the parking lot, he ends up turning left instead of right. Going to her house would be viewed as crossing some line in Frankie's eyes. He's never gone to a clients home without invitation before. Generally it's best to go about as if you don't even have that information, just to keep people from getting creeped out.

Frankie justifies his actions now by telling himself he just needs to see that she's okay. That her not showing up is abnormal and thus deserving of investigation.

When he pulls up to the curb across from her house, he notes the two cars in the driveway. His heart drops as he sees that one of them is her husband’s, parked neatly behind hers. Frankie knows she had told him she was kicking Andrew out, but his heart drops as he realizes maybe she had reconciled with him and he moved back. Frankie wonders if that's why she had been so distant lately.

He's about to just pull away when he notices the front door open and there she is. She has her arms full of boxes which she unceremoniously drops onto the sidewalk outside. She looks frazzled, but unharmed, Frankie takes a mental note. But she's yelling back into the house, her face red with anger.

Andrew shows himself in that moment, coming outside to scream something in her face. In the next moment, he's grabbing her roughly by the arm and trying to force her back into the house.

Frankie is out of his truck before he really has time to think. He's across the street and reaching them with quick, efficient steps in only a moment, which causes a pause in the fighting for a second. Frankie takes advantage of their confusion to gently pull her away from Andrew's loosened grip and moving her so that he is between the fighting couple.

Andrew, for his part, still has a look of surprise that has rendered him frozen in his spot. Whether that's from the way Frankie had barged into the situation or the pure anger that is radiating off Frankie's body, it's hard to say. But it gives Frankie the window he needs to pull back his fist and firmly plant it into Andrew's nose. Frankie hears the snap and feels the familiar give of a nose breaking under his knuckles.

“Get the fuck out of here,” he growls. “And I suggest not coming back around. Don't come near her, don't call her, don't even think about her.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once Andrew has run off, finally taking the remainder of his belongings with him, you're left alone with an angry Frankie, his fists still clenched and his shoulders tense.

Honestly, he's sexy as hell and you definitely notice. Anybody would be blind not to, you think to yourself.

You usher him inside, through to your kitchen, and pour two glasses of whiskey, sliding one over to him.

“I'm sorry I barged in,” Frankie apologizes after he takes a large gulp of his drink. “I didn't hear from you today and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Shit, your money! I am so sorry.”

“It's fine, hermosa. I'm not worried about the money. I was worried about you.”

His declaration freezes both of you for a moment, before you lift your own cup to your lips and take a sizable sip.

“He was supposed to come by while I was out today, but he showed up early. I guess he's been trying to get ahold of me,” you finally break the silence.

“You guess?” Frankie repeats back.

“Well, I blocked his number cuz I got tired of his constant calls and texts. He thinks I'm being irrational and we should work this out. But I've also heard that he's been staying with his side piece ever since I kicked him out, so….”

Frankie shoots back the rest of his alcohol. “I can get you paperwork for a restraining order,” he offers.

You smile at that because of course Frankie would offer you more help. “I think you already did enough for me,” you reply.

Frankie's hand goes to the back of his neck and his head dips low, “I shouldn't have hit him. That's just gonna cause you more trouble.”

“Don't worry about that,” you chastise gently. “He got what was coming to him and he knows it. It's just that, you have done a lot for me in general these past few weeks. A lot more than I think I can pay you back for.” Speaking of which, you turn to your purse on the counter, digging through it to pull out the check written out to Frankie.

“Maybe you can pay me back with dinner,” Frankie aims for nonchalants.

It draws a breathy laugh from your throat. “It would take a lot of dinners to cover your fee.”

“Well, we could start with one and see where it goes from there.”

✨✨Part 2✨✨

[mothra-obeyme]

Reaction of you asking the brothers + undateables to protect your drink at a party

! Obviously a trigger warning because this may be a sensitive topic for some people !

All women understand/know the situation when you're at a party and have to go on the toilet but you don't want to leave your drink unsupervised because we all know that there're people out there that take that opportunity. Who do you ask?

Masterlist

At first when you asked him he was confused but then quickly realized what you meant when you asked him to protect your drink

It's was a good decision to trust him with your drink because he's not really active at parties and he's protective so believe me when i say he will make sure your drink is protected

Oh lord have mercy if he sees someone drugging your drink at a party because that would not end really well

After you come back would ask if you got drugged at a party before tho

He would be really confused at first because he is vibing on the dance floor right now so you would have to explain why but when he understands believe me he is going to protect that drink with his life

He will scream at anyone who comes in a 6 feet radius of your cup and is not afraid to beat people up to protect that drink

make sure to praise him for doing a good job when you come back from the toilet

How did you get him to come to the party

He isn't one to do much at a party or drink alcohol so you're pretty safe with him watching your drink

He may get a little intimidated if someone bulky looking comes up to your drink but he wouldn't back down to protect his normie friends

"I only did this because if they drugged you i would've no one to play video games with."

( He also feels like an anime protagonist protecting the female love interest so make sure to thank him )

Understands it as soon as you tell him that you have to go on the toilet and ask him to guard your drink

He also isn't the most active one at parties i think we all would trust him with our drinks at a party

He also can easily intimidate someone if they're trying to put drugs into your drink

And of course he isn't above beating someone up if he has to you just got to make sure that he doesn't kill anyone

As soon as you come to him with your drink in your hand he knows what's up so you don't even have to ask him to protect your drink

Somehow manages to still keep the party going while perfectly making sure that no one drugs your drink

Don’t be fooled by his friendly aura because he can easily burn you so hard if you try to drug the drink that you will cry

and of course he wouldn’t be above beating someone up for you

You can return the favor through protecting his drink at a party because we know that it also can happen to men

He is such boyfriend material

You would have to explain to him why he has to protect your drink but once he understands it he will also be your personal bodyguard ( If isn't that already )

He would just be eating all the food at the party while making sure people stay away from your drink as far as possible

Really he would just be your personal bodyguard

You're afraid of walking back from the party alone? He's making sure you get home safe or he might as well carry you back home if your too drunk to properly walk

Another "How did you get him to this party?"

When you ask him to protect your drink he was a little confused

"Why do i have to protect your drink when you go on the toilet?"

But when you told him he was very understanding and took your drink

He is literally having his head laid on the bar the entire time so it wouldn't be much of a difference to protect your drink

Glares at anyone that comes near your glass but it doesn't really work well when he literally somehow managed to come to the party in his pajamas

When you come back he may act annoyed but he's thankful that you trusted him with protecting your drink

It's probably on one the masquerades he organizes

When you asked him to protect your drink to go on the toilet he's confused because he never experienced the fear of being drugged

You have to explain to him that there are stupid people who want to drug you and kidnap you to do bad stuff to you

But when he understood he immediately tells Barbatos to set a meeting to discuss that topic

When you reminded him of the thing that made you come to him he of course protects your drink

He is the future king of the Devildom so believe when i say no one will dare to drug the drink he's holding

After the party he will ask more about it to make you feel more comfortable in the Devildom

Also on one of the masquerades

He is asking to protect your drink before you even think about asking him about it

A little taken back you thanked him and went to the toilet

So this can go 2 ways:

1. No one will come near him because this is fucking Barbatos

2. Some idiot still tries to drug your drink which will end pretty badly for him. Like he will pull a Sebastian Michaelis and throw silver wear at them if he has to

When you come back he will give it back to you with a neutral smile and you being oblivious that he just nearly killed a demon with a fork

Please trust him with your glass he will protect it

I think he would know that something like that happens because he isn't that dense

"Of course i will protect your drink MC, Do you need anything else? A tissue? Are you hungry?"

He really doesn't want to fight anyone so i just see him perfectly holding your glass without spilling anything while dodging everyone the demon tries to do to your drink while still holding a conversation

Solomon:

He may be a little bit shady sometimes but he wouldn't just let anyone drug your drink without doing anything against it

He also knows of course what you mean as soon as you ask him to protect your drink and will gladly do it

Either he lets the glass just float near him or he uses his magic so that nothing is able to get into your drink

He will diss anyone that tries to come near your glass

He also isn't against using his magic to humiliate or attack someone if they really don't want to give up

Luke:

Also one of the masquerades

Just don't try to explain it to him just say that he gets sweets when he protects your drink from shady looking people

He will bark scream at anyone that comes near your glass and will protect it with his little dog angel life

Simeon may has to pull him back from trying to beat every demon near him

Make sure to give him his sweets and praise him when you come back

[queen-scribbles]

"No matter what I'll always come after you" for Vesper?

Okay, this, as usual, ran away from me to the tune of 2300 words, but I’m not complaining.  (It does touch on game events, including the end, just so anyone wanting to avoid spoilers is aware)

----

Most children threatened to run away from home at least once. Vesper just hadn’t expected Constantin--of all people--to make good on it. (Though maybe she should’ve.) While her mother and uncle debated where he might have gone and organized searches for the palace and city proper, Vesper snuck out a side door and headed in the opposite direction, toward the meadow where they’d picnicked  few days ago. Constantin had wanted to explore more, but their governess wouldn’t let him. If he was feeling defiant enough to make good on running away, she’d bet he went back there.

And the deep footprints in the riverbank mud bore out her theory. He proved easy to find once she had his trail, headed straight for a patch of woods, though she found him more from the yelp than his trail.

A yelp that presaged his falling from the tree he’d been trying to climb.

“Constantin!” Vesper lunged forward to catch him, but thanks to the limits of ten year old legs, only sort-of managed to break his fall. (Whenever her growth spurt wanted to show up would be fine by her.) “Are you alright?!”

“What’re you doing here?” Constantin demanded instead of answering. He looked alright, if dirty and still petulant.

“Looking for you,” Vesper retorted, nudging him off so they could both sit up. “We were worried-”

“I’m not going back,” he interrupted sulkily, poking the dirt with a stick. “I’m sick of sums. And behaving myself.”

“I can tell,” she teased, brushing dirt off the knee of his breeches.  “But our parents are worried sick, and I feel like the longer it takes to find you, the more trouble you’ll be in.”

Constantin jabbed the stick more viciously into the ground at the base of an ant hill, and was silent a long moment before nodding.  “...Fine.”

Vesper helped him to his feet, brushed more dirt off his clothes. There was nothing that could be done about the scrape on his forearm, or the ripped sleeve that hung around it, however.

They were halfway home before he took her hand and mumbled a slightly grudging, “Thanks for coming after me.”

Vesper smiled. “Always.”

----

Raised voices had become so commonplace in the family portions of the house, Vesper barely batted an eye at the muffled strains of the Prince in contention with someone yet again. She knew who it likely was even before hearing Constantin’s protesting retort. She knew how this would go, too, and finished the current page of her book, setting it aside with a sigh.

As usual, her uncle’s voice rose in both volume and quantity of words until she could almost make out the words of his tirade from three rooms down the hall. As usual, there was a long, rebellious pause, then Constantin’s voice so low she barely picked up the murmur of it, then a slammed door. As usual, Vesper counted to twenty, then went after him. As usual, he was on the balcony that looked toward the harbor, sitting on the ground with his back against the wall.

“Should have known you’d come after me, with a row like that,” Constantin said without looking.

“Always,” Vesper said lightly. “You alright?”

He shrugged, gaze fixed toward the horizon.

She waited him out, knowing the words would come.

“It’s never good enough for him,” Constantin finally spat. “I’m never good enough. Everything I do, Ves. It’s always just a little wrong, or falls just a little short, or a little too embarrassing, or I’m a disgrace to the family name! He’s never happy!”

“He does ask a lot from you,” Vesper agreed softly, because it was true. Knowing her uncle had reasons for his high standards--the family’s position, Constantin being his heir--didn’t negate how impossibly high the bar seemed some days.

Especially with it being set for Constantin. Who liked to flirt with the wrong people and fight with the wrong people and never really could seem to hold his tongue.

But he didn’t need censure or critique now, not from her, he needed a listening ear. So that’s what she did. She listened. She sympathized. And she let him calm down from the heights of ranting before she even suggested heading back inside.

She was stiff from sitting on the ground so long, but seeing him smile again was worth it.

----

The air around the tavern stank of cheap beer and vomit, which was better than most nights. Vesper wrinkled her nose and tried to ignore it. Damn Constantin for choosing this one, though he’d likely done so banking on the knowledge she’d be reluctant to follow him here alone. Unfortunately for him, if that had been his thought process, it hadn’t taken much to convince Kurt to come with her. (It may have involved the words ‘I’m going regardless’ from her, and grousing from Kurt, but she knew, despite his grumbling, he liked her and Constantin more than he’d admit. Hence him following her to four other taverns before this one.)

They’d barely taken two steps inside when the unmistakable sound of Constantin singing reached their ears, and Vesper groaned.

“I won’t tell the prince where we found him if you don’t,” Kurt muttered behind her.

Vesper’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Oh, my lips are sealed, it’s his I’m worried about.”

Kurt just grunted in response to that, and the two of them made their way through the crowd until they found her wayward cousin.

“Vesper!” Constantin grinned when he saw her. Not drunk yet, but on the way. “Didn’t think you liked places like this, cousin.” He gestured broadly at the surroundings, sloshing his drink over the table. Well on the way to drunk, then.

She forced a smile. “Oh, but you know I’ll always come after you, dear cousin, no matter what it takes.” Even visiting shady taverns our parents would kill the both of us for patronizing.

He laughed and took a deep drink before slouching back in the chair. “Are y’ here to join me or drag me home?”

“The latter, I’m afraid,” Vesper said lightly. Her uncle was on his way home from some diplomatic summit and would be in a foul temper if his son was missing upon returning. She needed to get Constantin home and sleeping off this afternoon’s escapades. “Though I do hope there will be no actual dragging involved.”

Constantin’s gaze flicked to where Kurt stood behind her, arms crossed, and grinned again. “Backup, Vesper? Worried you can’t corral me on your own anymore?”

His tone was playful, but she knew how swiftly that could change when he was in a mood, and she chose her words accordingly. “Two pairs of eyes are better than one, and it is part of his job to watch out for us. I was worried, cousin. You’ve been gone most of the day.” She left off they’d been looking for him almost half of that time.

“Afraid I got kidnapped or broke my neck?” Constantin teased, taking another drink.

“Among other fates," Vesper said with an easy laugh. Both of those are actual possibilities with you. “You know I have a vivid imagination.”

He laughed as well, loud and tipsy, and leaned forward to clumsily pat her hand. “As you can see, I’m fine, dear cousin.”

“Yes, it does appear you had an enjoyable afternoon,” she agreed, deciding she didn’t want to know the origin of the stains on his shirt and coat. Or where his hat ended up. (If he had even worn one.) “My mother’s fretting herself silly about you, though, Constantin, what say we head home and put her mind at ease?”

He took long enough to answer she was afraid he’d dig in his heels and she’d have to have Kurt yank him out of the chair. But he rolled his eyes and pushed the nearly-empty tankard across the table. “Oh, fine. Wouldn’t do to have my beloved auntie worrying herself sick.”

He stumbled getting to his feet, and Kurt grabbed his arm to keep him upright.

“Thank you,” Constantin slurred, leaning against him heavily. (He’d been closer to drunk than she thought, apparently.)

“Just doin’ my job,” Kurt said with a grunt, accepting the inevitable and tugging Constantin’s arm around his shoulders as they headed for the door. He shot Vesper a look she’d almost call impressed.  “Nice going. You’ve got a way with words.”

Vesper bit back a laugh as she pushed open the door. “Thank you. I have to counter my abysmal showing with a blade somehow.”

Kurt chuckled, and she caught the faint flash of a smile before he bit it back.  “You’re still learning, Green Blood. Give it time.”

“That does help with a lot,” she said, glancing at her thoroughly inebriated cousin. Hopefully time would help smooth away some of his more worrisome habits.

At the very least, though, it would help with his hangover.

----

One thing that came in handy, with how often Vesper found herself in these scenarios, Constantin was loud. He was loud when he was celebrating, loud when he was complaining, and he was loud now.

Vesper could hear him hollering demands and derisions at his captors well before she and Kurt reached the warehouse where he was being held.

“D’you think there’s any chance of this becoming a less frequent occurrence when we reach the island?” she asked as she scanned the building for discreet ways in.

Kurt pressed his lips together--whether biting back a smile at her question or annoyance at her cousin, she couldn’t tell--and shrugged. “Only time will tell, I suppose.”

Vesper bobbed her head to concur with his assessment and resumed searching for a way in. Fortunately, it proved easier than anticipated to sneak inside the building. She’d rather not incite a brawl just before leaving Sérène. It was equally easy to follow Constantin’s yelling to the room serving as his makeshift cell.

“Constantin, shhh!” Vesper hissed against the keyhole.

There was silence, then, slightly quieter and much more effusive, “Ah, cousin, there you are! I knew you’d show!”

“We can’t leave without you, Governor D’Orsay,” Vesper reminded him as she examined the lock. “And you know I’d come after you anyway.”

“Always.” There was a grin in Constantin’s voice. “If you’re looking for the key, I believe one of the rapscallions mentioned a desk?”

That was indeed its hiding place. And she found his effects in the trunk beside it to boot. Her cousin was almost giddy as he burst from the small room the moment the key turned in the lock.

“That’s more like it!” he crowed, clapping her on the back and nodding toward Kurt. “Thank you ever so much for the rescue, dearest cousin and loyal Captain. Now” --he snatched his hat from pile in Vesper’s arms-- “let’s go have an adventure, shall we?”

She schooled away a smile at his enthusiasm and held his coat out of reach. “Constantin? Remember how we discussed Teer Fradee being an opportunity for a fresh start? Please endeavor to keep that in mind.”

“Yes, of course, dear cousin.” He darted forward to grab his coat and she let him have it. He pulled it on and whirled around with a flourish. “We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Vesper shook her head and smiled as she tugged him toward the route she and Kurt had used to enter. While somehow Constantin’s enthusiasm managed to make more noise than Kurt’s armor, they did make it back out unchallenged. She grabbed Constantin’s arm to tug him toward where Captain Vasco waited.

Her cousin was right about one thing--they’d delayed long enough.

---

The winged form of the High King came crashing to the ground with her second to last round through his throat. Vesper ignored the still twitching body. Kurt or Sìora could check he was actually dead, she only cared about Constantin.

Her saber clattered against the stony ground as she lunged toward the half-constructed cairn around her cousin and started pulling it apart with her bare hands. Once free enough, Constantin slumped limply against her chest and Vesper held him close.

“...Vesper?” he mumbled, barely audible, through lips chapped and scarred by the malichor and heaven only knew what else.

“I’m here,” she said, voice shaking with relief they gotten here in time. “I come after you no matter what, remember?”

There was no reply, the weight of him heavy against her chest, but she could still feel him breathing.

“Hold on, cousin,” she murmured. He was so quiet, so still. They needed to get him to a healer.

There was a hand on her shoulder and Kurt crouched next to her. “Green Blood.”

Because it was Kurt, Vesper didn’t try to hide the lingering worry in her eyes as she released her hold on Constantin so Kurt could take him for the journey down the mountain.

She tried not to let King Vinbarr’s words echo too loudly in her head as she and Sìora followed, tried not to let the foreboding take root, but the sheer desperation in the man’s voice still left a seed.

“He will be the end of us all!”

---

The trek up through Anemhaid was made all the more difficult by the heartsick dread steadily building in her chest, but Vesper made it. Alone; her companions stayed to help their people, and her heart was stuck at the bottom of the mountain. (Don’t be a hero, she’d said, knowing full well he would anyway because he couldn’t help himself, knowing she’d have to do the same.)

She didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be doing this.

She finally slowed as she reached the main cavern, saw her cousin’s familiar silhouette.

“Vesper.” Constaintin almost smiled as he turned. “I knew you’d come.”

“Of course I did, cousin.” Vesper swallowed hard, chest tight, and rested one hand on the hilt of her pistol. She hoped against hope she wouldn’t need it, but the dreadful knot in her gut and strange glow in his eyes promised she would.  “No matter what, I always come after you.”

[saltedpeppermintmocha]

into the night (bakugou x reader) - Chapter 3/?

Summary:

You were born to die.

It is a fact you’ve known since your quirk first manifested, and one you have been denying for just as long. You refuse your supposed fate and try to live the best life you can while remaining undetected.

But maybe fate has another plan. A chance encounter on a mountainside changes your life forever.

Chapter One

MATURE : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT // 18+

“-such an asshole though!” You groan into your hands, hiccuping lightly.  

“I couldn’t hear that, but I can kinda guess what you said.”  A tinny voice responded.

“Sorry.” You mumble, bringing the phone up to your ear. “I’m jus’ angry.”

She laughs. “And drunk."

“Mmmaybe.” You attempt.

“Honey, I know when you’re drunk.” She laughs. “I met drunk you first.”

“HAH! Yeah, that was great.” You smile at the ceiling.

“I don’t know about that.” Her voice is light and airy. “Having some random girl come into the bar at like midnight screaming that I stole her desserts wasn’t exactly how I planned my first day open to go.”

“But, you met me!”

“Ah, and my life hasn’t been boring since.” Another light laugh. You hear a different voice in the background. “Okay hun, I have to get back to work now. Take care of yourself okay? Drink water, eat some bread.”

“Imma go for a walk.” You decide, sitting up. The room spins a little, so you close your eyes.  

“Uh, that’s probably a bad idea hun.” The voice on the phone continues. “Just stay home.”

“No no no nonononononono.” You say. “ s’Makkari, s’fine.”

“I just don’t want you to run into any shady characters out there.”

“Pshhh, shade-shady characters should be scared of ME!”

The voice in the background gets a bit louder. She puts a hand over the phone and responds to them. “Ah, shit okay. One sec.” The muffled sound stops as she takes it off. “Hun I gotta go, but please be safe okay? Text me in the morning.”

“Will do captain.” You salute lazily, then hang up the phone. Ah, shit. You forgot to say goodbye. Bringing the phone into your eyesight, you sigh sadly. You miss her. Naoko had been too busy with an event at the bar a week before you left, so you haven’t seen her in almost two weeks now. It’s longer than you’ve gone without seeing your friend since her bar first appeared in your neighborhood.

Putting your phone down on the bed, you stretch a little before reaching towards your nightstand. Past-you had been smart enough to grab some water on your way upstairs, so you chug it. It doesn’t make you feel any less woozy, but you hope you’ll be happier in the morning because of it. Once gone, you return the glass to the nightstand and stand up, making your way shakily downstairs. The stairs are no challenge for you, so you make your way towards the front door, pausing only to peek into the living room. Dad is still passed out on the couch, the blanket you laid over him earlier somehow still holding on. The room itself is a bit of a mess with beer cans littered throughout, but that is a problem for tomorrow.

You give a quick nod, grab your jacket, and head on out into the cold. It should be cold, as evidenced by your breath becoming visible, but your alcohol-ridden body stays warm as you walk. It’s only after you’ve gone quite a distance that your body starts to register the change in temperature. You don’t mind much, the cold serves as the shock your system needs to gain more awareness. While you are walking a bit more clunky than normal, you are no longer stumbling or swaying. You feel lucky that nobody is outside to witness you.

Nostalgia hits you in full force as you pass your old elementary school. Memories flash behind your eyes of running around the field, digging in the dirt, and playing make-believe. You were lucky to go to school here. Nobody gave too much thought into quirks beyond the initial ‘cool’ factor. Kids from Makkari didn’t have particularly strong quirks, and you can only think of one classmate that even dreamed of becoming a hero. Maybe that's why Dad decided to come here after all.

You pass the school and continue down the road, drawing a smiley face of condensation on the window of Tanaka’s store as you pass. Task completed, you continue on your aimless walk. You should probably start heading back soon, your fingers and toes are getting a bit cold. You look up as you walk, marveling at the star-lit sky. The sky in Sapporo is never this pretty.

“Watch it, idiot.”

Your head snaps forward at the unexpected voice, vision swimming slightly.  There is a person directly in front of you. A few blinks later, your eyesight clears enough to recognize him. The asshole on the mountain. The blond is dressed in all black, breath coming out in quick wisps of mist in front of him. You can hear a dull beat of music from his headphones.

“It’s a shady character!” You raise your hand to your mouth, covering a gasp.

A scowl forms on his face. “The fuck did you call me?!”

You giggle, hand leaving your mouth to return to your side. You want to say something, really, but nothing is coming to mind. In the end, you just stare at him. To be fair, he also takes a minute to consider you. Those red eyes flicker up and down your body, brows furrowing.

“You’re drunk.” That scowl fades a bit into an unimpressed look.

“Whaat?” You deny, looking away. “Nooo.”

“So you’re usually fucking dumb enough to walk around in slippers?”

Huh?  You look down at your feet. “Oh.” Wiggling your toes a bit, you giggle. “Cold.”

“Tch. Dumbass.” A moment of silence. You are still looking down at your feet when you hear the shuffling of clothes. Looking up, you realize he has begun to leave. Something in you wants to stop him. Probably the alcohol. Wait, what is he even doing here? Shouldn't he be up on the mountain? Is he actually here?

“Are you a ha-hallucination?” You ask, taking a step forward. You bring your hand up towards him, not entirely sure what you intend to do. It stops inches from his shoulder. Huh? A warm hand is wrapped around your wrist, preventing you from making contact. “You feel real.” Your hand opens and closes in his grasp.

“Go home, extra.” He scowls. Wow, his eyes look more intense up close.

“Yanno,” You say. “I think - I think you’d be pretty if you smiled.”

“Hah?!” Red eyes widen a small bit.

You smile at him, big and bright. “Like ‘dis.” It’s a bit muffled through your smile. There is a moment of silence, both frozen in place before he scoffs. Your hand drops heavily to your side as he lets go. The hand that was holding your wrist moves to your shoulder, a sudden pressure forcing you to completely turn around to face the village.

You stumble as he lightly pushes you forward. “Go home.” Looking over your shoulder, your eyes lock with narrowed red ones. Ugh.

“Fine.” You mumble, turning back to walk. “Byebye shady character.”  You can almost feel that intense gaze on your back as you walk away, only breaking when you turn a corner. It’s a bit weird, but despite his sudden appearance, you don’t feel unsafe around the mysterious blond. That intense gaze was more...intriguing than scary. Maybe it’s because he saved your life. Hm.

It takes you much longer to get home than you thought. You had been too distracted to realize that you made it all the way through the village and onto the surrounding side roads. Extremely unsafe, in hindsight, and something you would never do in Sapporo. Still, the walk back was quiet and easy.

Dad is still passed out when you re-enter the house. You adjust the now fallen blanket to once again cover him and head upstairs. Now that you are a bit soberer and inside, your feet feel frozen. You grimace and change into pajamas and your thickest socks. You contemplate having another layer of socks, but decide to just head to bed instead.

You don’t exactly fall asleep, but pass out when you hit the bed.

The headache creeps up on you in the morning. At first, you think you’ve gotten away without any consequences of trying to keep up with your Dad in drinking, but by the time you are dressed and heading downstairs, your head feels like a jackhammer has hit it.

The main floor is clean of any remnants of last night. Dad is fully dressed and humming while making breakfast. You frown, jealous at his cheerful demeanor.

“Morning.” Dad sings, placing food down on the table. It is a simple breakfast today, definitely something your body should be able to take. You grunt in response and grab a piece of toast, nibbling lightly on the edge. Breakfast is a quiet affair today, with Dad slipping you some headache pills in the middle of it. Ah, how you love him.

“Your phone is buzzing.”

Glancing down at your phone, you see it light up briefly. Huh. While you had grabbed it on your way downstairs, the headache had made you concerned about checking it.

[ 7 New Messages ]

[ 6 Missed Calls ]

You blink at your phone, confused. Checking the missed calls first, you see they are all from Naoko: four from last night, two from this morning.

22:08

Naoko: Hey hun plz remember to text me when ur home.

23:34

Naoko: Are you still on ur walk?

23:55

Naoko: Plz let me know you got home ok.

01:24

Naoko: I hope you’re just passed out at home. PLZ CALL ME IN THE MORNING

Naoko: I am not above calling Makkari police on ur ass.

08:33

Naoko: Okay I’m getting really worried now.

09:10

Naoko: Please be alright.

“Oh shit.” You sit up straight, thumbs hitting the buttons to call Naoko back instantly.

“Not at the table,” Dad grumbles.

“But-” The phone connects.

“I’m going to kill you.” Aaand she's pissed. You grimace at the sound of her voice, a bubble of guilt growing in your stomach.

‘Out.’ Dad mouths, pointing towards the living room. You roll your eyes but get up, passing the living room to make your way up the stairs.

“I’m so sorry!” You say. “I honestly got home and passed out. I just woke up!”

There’s a long silence on the other end as you enter your bedroom, sitting down at your desk. Then, a sigh. “It’s alright.” She replies, and you can practically hear the anger drain from her voice. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I was just worried, you know? The last I hear, you are absolutely drunk and wandering the streets. It’s not safe.”  That bubble of guilt grows a bit more in your stomach. As the owner of a bar in the busy downtown core of Sapporo, Naoko has witnessed a fair share of horrible things happen to drunk people. You stay quiet as she seems to calm herself, then “I never got it out of you last night, why were you even that drunk?”

“I tried to outdrink my dad.” You mumble.

“...Really?” She sounds surprised. “Your dad? All of this wasn’t at least for some guy or something? A rebound?”

“As if!” You let out a sharp laugh. “There’s no cute guys in Makkari.” An exaggeration, sure, but the cute ones are either taken or not in your age range. In fact, now that you’re thinking about it, you might be one of the only single people around your age in the village. Oof, that's a bit of a punch to the gut.

“What about your mountain boy?” Naoko asks. “I thought you said he was attractive.”

“He is  but he’s a complete…jerk…” Your words fade off a bit as a memory floods your mind. The night sky, dark and beautiful. Drawing a smiley face in the window. Blond hair and a heavy base echoing from headphones. Red eyes and a scowl. A hand on your wrist, on your shoulder.

“Ahhh…” You raise your free hand to your cheek, feeling it heat up. “Oh no."

“What?”

“I think...I think I saw him last night.”  

“Wait, while drunk?”

“I don't remember all of it!” You insist. You remember reaching for him, smiling big in his face. “It’s all a bit blurry, but I think we talked for a minute.” Oh shit, what did you do? What did you say??

A laugh echoes through the phone, juxtaposition from the dread that creeps up your spine. When you reached out, what exactly were you doing? “Well, did he walk you home?”

“No." You hope you would remember that. "I don’t think so…”  There's a disapproving sound from Naoko on the other end, then a thoughtful silence. “Can we talk about something else? Anything else?”

“Alright, I’ll let it go. For now. ” She responds. “Hm, let's see, I can tell you about this girl that came into the bar last night…”

The call didn’t last much longer after that. Your heart wasn’t really in it, and Naoko always has a bunch of errands to run on her days off. You hang up the phone and place it on your desk, walking over to plop down face-first on your bed. You groan as more blurry half-memories from last night flood your brain. Did you make even more of a fool of yourself in front of that jerk? Ugh.

Eventually, Dad calls you to help with clean-up downstairs, so you begrudgingly pull yourself up and go help. You shoo him away from the sink, manners telling you that if he made the food you should be the one to clean up. Instead of leaving, however, he sits back down at the table and talks. It warms your heart, really, how much you can tell that he’s missed you.

You agree to go with him today to run errands. Originally you had planned to climb the mountain today, but after everything that happened yesterday you are not too sure if you can face the blond again. It’s a nice day, walking through the village and spending more time chatting to folk. You both pop into Tanaka’s store and chat for a bit with him. It feels like you are a teenager again, almost like you’ve gone back in time, but Dad has gone more grey since you’ve last seen him, and Tanaka struggles to move around the store like he used to.

Dad stays to chat with Tanaka a bit longer as you pop into the nearby cafe. You are next in line when familiar voices make you turn around. Saneka and Nakamura wave from the door, walking up to talk. It’s mostly mindless small-talk until Nakamura brings up the noises on the mountain again. He mentions hearing them again last night, definitely more interested in them than the other day. You think about the blond, his scowl, and intense gaze, and honestly consider mentioning something. But what would be the consequences of that? If a hero had to come to Makkari to take care of an unlicensed quirk, that would only spell more trouble. And, well, you sort of owe him. You deny hearing anything.

Luckily, you are next to order. You order a latte from someone you don’t recognize. It’s made quickly, and you wave at Saneka and Nakamura as you leave, headed back towards Tanaka's store. You are about to go in when your pocket buzzes. Letting go of the handle, you check your phone.

[ 1 New Message ]

Naoko: What did you say the mountain guy’s quirk was?

You are confused at the sudden question. Sure, you were drunk when you explained it, but you don’t suddenly have more information now. Why did she even care? With one hand occupied with the coffee, you slowly answer. Thank god for autocorrect.

You: I’m not really sure. Didn’t see it.

You: It was loud tho, and strong. The trees were completely shattered. Some I think were on fire?

[ Incoming call: Naoko ]

The hell? You pick up the phone. “Uh, hello?”

“Was it like an explosion?!”

“Hm, yea. I guess so.”

“Shit.” She mumbles to herself, voice shaking slightly. “I think that might be him...”

“Who?” You take a sip of coffee.

“A pro hero.” You startle at her answer, coffee definitely going down the right pipe. Coughing harshly, you hit your chest with the hand holding the phone and try to breathe. It takes a minute before you calm down.

“A-what?” You finally make out. “That’s not possible.”

“I don’t know hun.” She replies. “Just, the description you gave of him and the attitude and now the quirk….” She fades off for a moment. “Google him. Ground Zero.” You place your coffee on the sidewalk, careful to not knock it over. You put her on speaker and open up your internet app, typing in ‘Ground Zero hero’.

You pause, hand over the ‘search’ button. There is no way. Naoko must be wrong. But Naoko has always been obsessed with heros and hero culture. Still, she could be wrong about this, right? Your heart pounds a bit harder. Heroes don’t come to Makkari. Nothing happens here. Why would he be here? It makes no sense. Taking a shaky breath, you hit the button. It takes a minute, as your data has always been a bit spotty out here, but soon the page loads.

RED RIOT TAKES DOWN VILLAIN WITH GROUND ZERO

IS GROUND ZERO DATING FELLOW HERO URAVITY?

GROUND ZERO: SETTING A HORRIBLE EXAMPLE FOR CHILDREN

TOP 10 EXPLOSIVE GROUND ZERO INTERVIEWS

You stare at the articles as they come up, dread crawling up your spine. There are no pictures, but something in you fears the worst. You click on the images tab. It loads slowly, but the first image that appears makes your stomach plummet.

Blond hair. A red, intense gaze. A seemingly permanent scowl. Your wide eyes take in more photos as they load. Some of them are professional, magazine shoots or runway press. Some of them are shakier, taken of him the heat of battle with a terrifying look on his face.

“Well?” Naoko's loud voice shocks you from your staring.

You take a deep breath. “It’s him.”

In a village like this, if a hero showed up it would be the only thing people talked about for years. So, why haven’t you heard of it? You frown in thought. If people don’t know, did he come here in secret? It's extremely suspicious, but if it was something bad, why would he risk his cover to save you?

“Let’s talk about this later.” You take it off speakerphone and press it to your ear. “How does five sound?”

“Sure.” She replies steadily. This discovery seemingly has less of an effect on her. “I have some other stuff I have to do anyway. If you run into him again, think you can get an autograph for me?”

You respond unsure and hang up after a quick goodbye. Reaching down, you grab at your latte and take a large sip, not really tasting it as it goes down.

The door to the store opens and your dad pops his head out. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” You give him a -hopefully confident- smile. He still looks concerned, so you take the opportunity to hide from his gaze by walking into the store. Tanaka waves at you from the counter.

“What was that about?” Dad asks from behind.

“Just...work.”

“Does your team really need to call you on vacation? What is so urgent about accounting?” The two of you reach the counter. You determinedly look at Tanaka, avoiding Dad's gaze.

“Uh, yea.” You mumble, before realizing you probably need more to dissuade him. “One of my juniors made a mistake, so she called me to figure out how to fix it.”  It concerns you how easy it has become to lie to him. Dad makes a sound that you can't understand without looking at him, but you can feel another question coming, one you probably can’t answer. You decide to change the topic.

“Hey, Tanaka.” You lean against the counter, feigning causality. “That guy that is staying in Fuccanchi, what do you know about him?"

“Oh, him again!” Tanaka smiles. “Not much, I’m afraid. I’m afraid you lost your chance dear, he left this morning.”

...

Oh.

[shabre-legacy]

Fluffy prompts one-shot

@jbnonsense, I’m so sorry this one took so long, I wrote most of it, then lost the notebook. But it’s finally done. I hope you like it. As requested Fluffy prompts #2 “Are you jealous?” “No…maybe.” for Leikael and Corso

     Leikael sighed as she entered the cantina. Usually she loved places like this, but usually they were a bit more beat-up and smoke-filled, with Sabbac tables and occasional gunfire and plenty of shady deals. Places like this where fancy cocktails were served in fancy glasses, suits and dresses were a must and no weapons were allowed; these types of places were strange to her. She could barely tell Bowdarr was still a step behind her due to the crowd around the lower bar. The long skirt swished around her ankles as she made her way across the floor to the more exclusive, less crowded and unfortunately even fancier part of the cantina where live music was playing and the night’s job was taking place. 

     Bowdarr stayed right behind her as they made their way over to the bar and ordered a round of drinks; playing his role as her bodyguard perfectly. They both knew she didn’t actually need one. The thigh holster and the vibroblade along her back made sure of that, but tonight they had to maintain their covers. Hers was a wealthy socialite, living off daddy’s money, therefore she’d obviously have a bodyguard for a night out in lower Coruscant.   

     She took a sip of her cocktail, too sweet, too weak, too fancy for her tastes; and scanned the room for her crew.  Akaavi was right where she expected her to be, sitting at a table off to the side, nursing a drink of something dark (and strong if Leikael knew her tastes.) The unmistakable gleam of her Mandalorian armor keeping the area immediately around her clear.

     Risha was out on the dance floor nearby, twirling around in her soft, shimmery silvery gown. She looked far more at ease in a dress then Leikael felt. Akaavi caught her eye, tipping her glass slightly in Kael’s direction before returning her gaze to Risha. A silent signal that she was still in her role and was keeping an eye on her. They both watched the other woman twirl around with her partner, stepping smoothly in her 4 inch heels. Honestly, Leikael wasn’t sure how she did it. Risha was a spacer, a freighter bum, a ship rat, just like her. They both preferred blasters on their belts, sturdy boots on their feet and engine grease on their hands to this fancy shit. Risha understood how it worked though, and usually made sure they looked right for these sorts of jobs, and she somehow managed to move smoothly and handle the dress and the makeup and make it all look effortless; while Leikael ended up looking more like a bumbling Bantha.

     She quickly scanned the rest of the upper level for the last member of her crew. Corso was also following their plan and was right where he was supposed to be; in the middle of the dance floor. Tonight’s target, the pretty blonde currently twirling around and giggling in his arms. 

     It had taken a lot of effort to persuade Corso to be the frontman on this one. They’d had a buyer lined up for some valuable and expensive merchandise. The kind that wasn’t illegal, but was highly taxed, a pain to get legally and the Exchange wanted a monopoly on the black market. Unfortunately, the pressure from the Exchange and Black Sun had sent the seller underground and the only one who knew where was his daughter; the girl Corso was dancing with. 

     Corso had been reluctant to be the face of a con that required seducing the sellers daughter, so that she’d hand over the location she’d so far been unwilling to share. Even when both Kael and Risha explained that all he’d be doing is spending a few hours drinking and dancing with a pretty girl, he still didn’t like it. Felt wrong to mess with a lady’s heart like that, he’d said. Also he was courting Leikael, that was serious to him, didn’t matter that Kael knew and was ok with it, such behavior, for any reason, felt wrong. Akaavi seemed to agree with him. Risha had found that odd, but Kael wasn’t surprised. Mandalorians took things like courting and relationships real serious. Though a large part of that was probably due to their focus on raising kids. What had Cradu called it again? ‘The Mandalorian parent instinct?’ whatever it was, it was probably the most downright adorable thing about them. 

     It had taken half an hour of discussion, failed bribes and more than one promise from her that if he was really that uncomfortable with the plan, they’d try and find another way of finding their seller, before Corso agreed. Risha had immediately dragged him out to get suited up for his cover. 

      From what they could tell, their target liked rich, handsome and dumb men that she could manipulate. They could make Corso look rich, that was easy. He already looked so damn good that sometimes Kael just had to stare for a few minutes. And he could play dumb. He was smart, very smart and he learned quick, but he didn’t have much of a formal education. While he was ok with that, he knew how others sometimes looked at him. So he was often content to play the part of the dumb farmboy and let others underestimate him until he was ready to change that perception. And he could be so charming when he wanted to be. He could handle this job. 

      He could handle it, but Leikael suddenly wasn’t sure if she could. A strong desire to go out and grab their target by her hair and throw her across the room had jumped into her mind. 

      As she stood at the bar, false smile plastered on, sipping at yet another weak cocktail (she really needed to get something stronger), yet another one of the men wandering around the room made his way over and asked her to dance. 

      Even the effort to form a polite, in-character rejection felt irritating. She loved dancing, adored it. It had been the part of this job she’d been looking forward to most. She may have to wear a stupid dress with a useless skirt and pretend to be just another vapid waste of a socialite and wear these awful, awful heels and only one vibroblade and a single holdout blaster, but at least she’d get to dance. Now though, watching Corso just owning the dance floor with that insipid blonde viper, she wasn’t in any mood to dance. 

      ‘It’s just a job’, she muttered silently to herself, turning back to the bar and getting herself a shot of whiskey, needing something stronger with some bite. “It’s just a job, no need to be making it personal.’ The woman didn’t know Corso had someone else in his life. Siths hells, she didn’t even know his real name. As far as she was concerned, Corso was the son of some fancypants Kriffar merchant on Coruscant to strike some deals with some senators. She didn’t know who he really was. It was a role, a job, something she’d asked him to do, so there wasn’t a reason for her to be getting this upset. 

      But she still couldn’t help the stab in her heart as she watched him dance. She’d never had the chance to see him like this. Risha had told her he was good, but usually when they were at a cantina with room to dance, they were working, or it was a dangerous area, both scenarios meaning Corso was wearing that heavy armor he always worse, or they were exhausted, in which case they didn’t move from their table. She’d missed out. She simply watched as he confidently led the girl across the floor in a complex series of steps. His muscles flexed as he spun her around, his whole body moving in time with the music, hips swaying with the beat. He looked almost at home out there. She’d always admired, not only how strong he was, but how well he knew how to use his strength, usually in combat, but also just around the ship. 

       She wanted to slam him up against a wall, show him how much she liked the sight of his dancing, she wanted the target away from him, she… She wanted to be the one he was dancing with. To have him hold her, and spin her around, she wanted to be the one feeling all those hard-earned muscles flex under her hands as he dipped her or pulled her in close. She wanted all his attention focused on her. 

       As she silently watched as casually as she could, the song came to an end and the band started up with a faster one. Corso leaned down and said something to the girl before placing his hand on her back and walking together over to the bar. They stood there, drinks in hand, talking for a few minutes. Then she saw Corso lean over and say something as he signaled that he got what they needed. Akaavi pushed a button on her gauntlet and just as planned and programmed, the target pulled out her commpad and looked at it for a moment before leaning in to flirt with Corso for another moment. Leikael couldn’t stand watching another moment. She turned and ordered another drink. The job was done, she could now get drunk and forget the whole night. The bartender looked at her like she was crazy when she ordered a Starshine Surprise, but didn’t argue. They probably weren’t common here, but she needed the punch.  

      She didn’t see the woman walk out of the club, or Corso walk over to her. She didn’t notice until Corso leaned on the bar next to her and placed his hand on hers as she grabbed for her drink. 

       “I think that went well, got what we needed, and faster then planned too.” 

       She didn’t even look at him. “Yep.” 

       He squeezed her hand as she used the other to take a swig of her drink. “Is everything ok? You’re usually happy when a job goes right. Did something happen?” 

      She sighed, how like him to be concerned when she was in a mood. “Nope. Everything is just fine.”

      Kael stared at the cup in her hand, wondering if she could make it catch fire if she stared hard enough, until Corso gently reached over and turned her face to his. He studied her for a minute before he almost smiled. “Are you.. Are you actually jealous?” He asked just a hint of laughter in his tone. 

       “No. Of course not.” She snapped back as she yanked her head away and returned her stare to her cup. Corso just leaned on the bar more and watched her for a moment. Finally, she sighed and forced out a grumbled “Maybe” just loud enough for him to hear. That made Corso start laughing, that stupid grin across his face. It only lasted a moment, but it made the heat in her cheeks rise. Jealousy wasn’t a familiar emotion to her. She didn’t know why she’d gotten so jealous over Corso working a job, and she didn’t like it at all. And she also didn’t like the fact that Corso somehow found it funny. 

      The band had gotten through several more songs by this point, and were striking up another good dancing song as Corso’s laughter eased off and he looked at Kael for a moment before holding out a hand where she would see it. “Dance with me?”

      She glanced up, “what?” 

      “Dance with me. I know for a fact I haven’t had the chance to take you dancin’ yet, and we’re already here” He smiled that stupid grin with those soft eyes that always made her melt.

       She sighed, downed the rest of her drink and took his hand. He led her out to the floor and pulled her close to him, keeping the steps simple and sweet. After a few moments, he leaned down enough to speak almost directly in her ear, making sure she could hear him. “You know I’ve only got eyes for you, darlin’. Doesn’t matter what we gotta do for work. You’re the one I’m courting. Nobody else could ever get my attention. I’m yours, long as you’ll have me.” She looked at him and smiled softly, she understood, she finally got how he must feel every time she flirted with someone to make the job easier. They’d do what they needed to, but she had his heart, and he had hers. They were ok. 

      She stretched up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek as the band changed songs again. This one was faster, heavier, a bit more sensuous. She only had a moment as Corso grinned down at her and pulled her even closer as they fell into the dance. The rest of the crew slipped out of the cantina, leaving the two of them out on the floor, sorting everything out and enjoying the rest of the night.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Bar fight

“When you said you were taking me to a place of your culture, I was expecting someplace more.....refined”  Morgal stepped out of the cab after his human friend and gazed at the establishment in front of him. The outer walls were covered in decaying wood planks that looked like they could catch fire any second. The noise coming past the saloon doorway was overflowing with laughter and music and as Morgal watched a human stumbled out, threw up on the pavement, then proceeded to pass out on the ground. He made sure to step extra carefully around the pile of vile as he followed his friend to the entrance.  “I’m guessing you were expecting an opera theater or art gallery?” Jack asked as he wrapped an arm around Morgal’s shoulder and ushered him to the door. “That’s high society bullshit, the smallest of the small of human culture. You want to find the beating heart of mankind, this is where you come to.”  Morgal looked once more at the shady establishment and then back at his friend before sighing, letting himself be carried along by Jack’s arm. When he moved to this new world Morgal could not help but feel like he was always being watched by the humans and judged. His species carried three extra sets of arms across his body which must have intimidated them. Jack had been his first human friend since migrating to the human homeworld and he had not felt the same gloomy cloud of judgement when they were together. They both worked in office positions side by side and had developed a friendship over the previous months. Jack had gone out of his way to help him understand human customs and had not once asked for anything in return saying “Friends don’t bargain.” Tonight he asked Morgal after work if he’d want to join him for some “human culture” and he felt accompanying him would in some small measure pay him back for his kindness.  Jack pushed open the doors and Morgal finally got a look inside. Unlike the decrepit exterior, the inside of the “saloon”, as Jack had called it, was vibrant with color and life.  Rows of round tables were filled with various humans laughing, drinking, eating, and playing various games. Uniformed human females walked between the tables delivering goods and taking orders.  One side of the saloon had a large stand with countless bottles of strange liquid, each one held in a different glass bottle of color and shape. Morgal noticed with amazement how the humans behind the stand listen to orders made and somehow slide over to the exact bottle and perform a vivid acrobatic display of pouring the drink for them before accepting payment.  Morgal was so transfixed by the skill that he hardly noticed Jack pulling him over to a nearby vacant table. The two swept off a pile of crumbs from the previous occupants and sat down at the table. “So, what do you think so far?” Jack was nearly shouting to be heard over the roar of the gathered crowd. “It is..” Morgal began as his eyes made another pass around the room, “not what I expected.....” As his eyes wandered they laid sight upon a human female walking past him carrying several large beverage containers, more than Morgal thought possible for a species with only two arms.  As she skillfully avoided a patron who suddenly fell in her way her eyes met his. For a moment Morgal realized he had been rude by staring at her and remembered that Jack said some human females don’t like it when they are stared at. Before he could look away he noticed the uniformed female smile and wink at him as she passed by. Morgal felt something he was unsure of for the first time that made him feel lighter than normal and he attempted his practiced human smile back at her before she vanished into the throng of patrons.  Morgal looked back at Jack who was now staring at him with his head cradled in his hands.“I think I am enjoying it much more now.” Morgal admitted as he slacked back into his chair while Jack drew a mischievous grin and raised his arm up. Morgal was curious for the meaning when suddenly the female he had been staring at was beside them.  “What’s your poison?” she said as she pulled out a pad of paper. The smile at seeing her again rapidly left his face at her words. Did I offend her!? I knew I shouldn’t have stared! Why did I stare!??!!?  Morgal’s head was racing with ideas, each worse than the last. “She means what drinks are we ordering Morg, not literal poison.”  As Morgal let out a sigh of relief Jack continued speaking with the uniformed woman. “I’ll have a glass of whisky with three shots of tequila.” The uniformed female nodded and then looked at Morgal. “And for you hun?” Morgal paused to consider his options, he was still unfamiliar with human drinks so figured he should play it safe.  “Do you have anything fruity?” he queried. She nodded, “We have a strawberry daiquiri that’s nice and fruity; though I’d have picked you for something a bit more sweet.” She made a movement with her lips and eyes and Morgal cursed himself for not learning what human facial gestures meant. Thankfully Jack came in to save him before his mind began racing again. “He’s a sweet heart alright, basically a giant teddy bear with all those arms. He’s still getting used to our drinks so we’ll start with those daiquiri’s and see how the night goes.”  She wrote down something and then left the table back to the stand at the far end for the drinks. Morgal was content to watch her go when Jack motioned his attention. “Think she’s into you man.” “But I am not a man Jack, we’ve been over this.” Jack shook his head. “No, I mean I think she’s got you on her radar. Play your cards right and you might get some digits tonight.” “Why would I need more digits? I already have 45.” “I mean her phone number digits.” “Your phones have digits?!”  Jack’s hands covered his face for a moment and dragged down across his face. “I think she likes you and wants to know you.” Morgal felt that light feeling again at that and stared back at her. “Why didn’t you say so?” “Remind me to get you a book on human sayings. You are in desperate need of one.”  Before Morgal could ask further he felt something grab hold of his right shoulder. He turned his head and saw a rather bulky man behind him, his massive hand firmly clenching his shoulder.  “Can I help you?” “Yeah, by leaving.” the man replied. Looking past the man Morgal could see two other men standing behind him, one cracking their finger knuckles while the other drinking from a glass bottle.  “I do not understand.” Morgal was unsure if this was another human custom or not, but he felt the hand on his shoulder tighten further.  “Don’t care what a alien freak like you gets or not, so long as it’s getting your sorry ass out of this place. Now.” The expression on the bulky man’s face was one he had often seen in human motion pictures, “Anger” he thought it was called.  “Who you calling freak?” Morgal turned to see Jack stand up and walk over to them. “You look like the shit I scrape off my shoe when I get home at night.”  “Buzz off limp dick.” one of the men standing behind the bulky man said. “Yeah, this is between us and the alien.” the other chimed in, finally finishing their drink. “His name is Morgal, and he’s my friend.” “Gay friend” the knuckle man chuckled.  The uniformed female returned to the table and set down the tray. “Here’s your drinks fellas.” She began putting them out on the table but then stopped when seeing the situation. “If you’re going to fight take it outside.”  The bulky man let go for Morgal’s shoulder and looked at the female. “Don’t worry hun, they were just leaving.” He glared at Jack with daggers in his eyes to emphasize the point, but Jack just shook his head and reached for his drink. “We’re not going anywhere till we’ve had our drinks.” he said as he brought his whisky up to his mouth.   “Then let me help you finish them.” In an instant the bulky man’s hand lashed out and slapped the glass out of Jack’s hand. The liquid spilled across the table as it flew towards the uniformed female. She started to raise her arms but the glass was too fast and was about to smash into her face when a hand sprung out and caught it.  Morgal calmly set the glass down on the table and stood up to face the Bulky man. “That...was rude.” The words came through clenched teeth as Morgal began feeling angry himself for once. He could handle name calling for himself, but this Bulky human had nearly hurt the female human who had made him feel light, and that upset him.  The Bulky man smirked and brought his fists up. “Yeah? What’re you going to do about it?”  Jack’s fist smashed into the man’s face and sent him sprawling back into the two men behind him. “How about that for starters?” Jack quipped.   One of the men holding the Bulky figure dropped him and lunged at Jack. Morgal grabbed him with his arms and casually tossed him in a different direction. They landed on a nearby table and sent the collection of cards and drinks scattering to the floor, much to the displeasure of the table’s occupants who then stood up and advanced on Jack and Morgal.  “Thanks for that, but could you’ve aimed for someplace else?” Jack said as he slowly began backing up. Morgal shrugged. “It was either that or the other option.” “What other option?” Jack asked as a fist came hammering into his gut.  “That. That was the other option.” One of the new comers grabbed hold of a chair and swung it at Morgal. He brought his arms up just in time and the chair shattered into pieces on impact. A chair leg went flying into the glass of another patron and shattered it, dousing them in cold brew. Letting out a roar of anguish the doused human rushed the chair wielding human and began savagely beating him with his fists.  More and more patrons began getting drawn in as the constant shoving, punching, and flying debris hit bystanders sending them into a drunk filled rage. Morgal quickly found himself having to constantly defend himself from all sides.  Through the chaos he saw the human female he had been speaking to before grabbed by another male human, he could see she was struggling to get free of his grip. He began moving towards her, throwing away battling patrons that blocked his way as if they were twigs.  As he reached her he grabbed the man’s arm with three of his own and squeezed. The man let out a yelp and let go of her as he turned to face Morgal. Still holding the man’s arm he lifted him into the air and began punching him with his remaining five arms in rapid succession before swinging him like a rag doll over his shoulder into a nearby table.  He turned around to the human female and saw her looking at him again. The anger suddenly was sapped from him, replaced with an almost sheepishly demeanor. He did not know what to say, so he just bubbled the first thing that came to mind.  “Sorry about the table.” She shrugged and rubbed her wrist where the man had grabbed her. “Place needed a makeover anyway. Thanks for the help.” Morgal was about to say something else when he saw her reach for a glass bottle beside her and fling it at Morgal. He brought his hands up to block but the bottle instead flung past him and hit the man that had grabbed her straight in the face sending him back sprawling to the floor once more.         He was grateful that she had saved him when he remembered what jack had said earlier. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a business card and held it out to her as she ducked another flying bottle. “Thank you for saving me, here is my phone number. Feel free to call me.”  She took the card out of sheer surprise then ducked back down as Jack came flying back between them. Morgal excitedly knelt down to Jack. “I did it! I gave her my digits!” “That’s great pal.” Jack coughed as Morgal helped him to his feet. “Can tell me all about it later, but kinda need your help for a second.”  They turned to see the Bulky man from before now back on his feet. He picked up an entire round table and flung it at the both of them.  Despite the swirling chaos around them, Morgal was surprisingly happy that he had decided to join his friend tonight. Maybe they would do it again soon. 

[weightlessau]

adorable and soft [ateez; jongho]

Warnings: mentions of guns and a few curse words

part two of cute and squishy

summary: the weekly meet up didn’t go quite as you expected (well, maybe you did expect it a little bit)

requested (yay!!), it’s maybe a little more actioney than they wanted but i swear it’s fluffy!

Unfortunately that date Jongho mentioned never panned out. Just after lunch Sunhi and you only had a few minutes to exchange numbers before the whole group made their way home again, because of a 'sudden emergency'. Days after them you went home as well.

Sunhi and you are practically best friends at this point, even if she does keep quite a few secrets from you. Like why there's always one of the other men shadowing behind her when you meet up or where all her money comes from, but you never press on for more information. You're smart enough to guess that whatever her and her group is involved in, you probably don't want to be a part of that.

Today is one of those meet ups Sunhi and you have at least once a week.

'What should we do today?' Sunhi texts you in the morning to which you already have an answer to.

'There's this bar that I've wanted to check out. Do you want to go tonight?'

'Sure! I'll come pick you up at 8'

'Who are you coming with today?' you ask her. You secretly hope that it's Jongho, even though you're still embarrassed that you called him 'squishy', you have to admit that he is quite cute. After some contemplation you have also decided that a date with him may not be a bad idea, but you don't want to be the one to contact him. You're still unsure of his motives, if he really asked you out on a date or if he just said that to fluster you. He didn't have the chance to ask you again. Apparently he's 'out of the city for work'. You didn't want to know what kind of 'work' considering the answer you got after you called Jongho cute. A thinly veiled death threat.

A couple minutes later, Sunhi gives you an answer to your previous question and you think that maybe luck is on your side, 'Joong said that Jongho is free today ;)'

'Stop with the winking,' you whine over text. Of course everyone noticed the conversation Jongho and you had at the lunch table and Sunhi teases you constantly because of that. You're not alone in your suffering, though; you heard that Jongho is only referred to as 'squishy' by the other men.

';)))))' she sends you back and ends the conversation.

At exactly eight o'clock that night a black car pulls up in front of your home. Although you can't see who is sitting inside the car due to the darkened windows, you can be sure that Sunhi and Jongho are waiting for you.

Before you reach the car, Jongho has already hopped out and swung open the backdoor for you.

"My lady," he greets you.

"Thank you, Jongho." He closes the door when you're seated inside and gets into the driver's seat.

"You're still calling me Jongho?" he asks cheekily from the front while Sunhi just laughs at your flustered face.

"That's your name, isn't it?" you say with a smile and a roll of your eyes. He's still flirting with you, maybe you'll have a date by the end of the night, you hope.

Before Jongho can continue your little banter, Sunhi cuts in and you two start a conversation, completely ignoring Jongho at the the front.

When the three of you get into the bar Sunhi and you immediately sit down at a table and order some drinks for you and of course food. Jongho sits down a few tables down, body turned towards your table to see when you're potentially in danger.

Minutes of laughter turn into hours and soon Sunhi and you just slur the whole talk and lean on the table between you heavily while Jongho laughs at you behind his third meal (he has to pass the time sober somehow and what better way than trying the whole menu one by one?). The laugh is wiped off of his face when he sees a man approaching your table and striking up a conversation. He doesn't intervene in any way, before Sunhi or you show any signs of discomfort. But that thought is thrown out when three more men join that Jongho knows closely.

"Aren't you Hongjoong's little bitch?" Jongho hears as he quickly sends a message to his leader and makes his way to your table.

'Rival gang at bar'

'At least four of them'

'Need backup'

Jongho just presses send on his messages and doesn't wait for an answer. He has to get you two out of here before the situation escalades and innocent people get injured.

Turns out that won't be as easy as planned.

"Well if that isn't Choi Jongho." The man nudges a friend standing next to him.

Jongho swallows the insults that are crawling up to his mouth and instead says, "I don't want any stress here, so just leave it." Quietly he adds a quick, "you bastards" as he tries to usher a drunk you and an equally drunk Sunhi out of the bar. Thankfully the bill was already paid when you ordered.

"What did you just say?" A gun is whipped out and the customers of the bar start screaming the second they notice what is happening.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath.

Now the other men have also drawn their guns, pointing them all towards your group. No one says a word now, the whole bar has fallen quiet out of fear. Even you can feel yourself sobering up.

The doors to the bar slam open and Hongjoong marches in, with his gun drawn, closely followed by Wooyoung and San.

"Drop your fucking guns or you'll be in big trouble," Hongjoong threatens, "you're in our territory right now. You don't want me to contact your leader, do you?" He keeps his voice controlled and low, almost like he's having the most boring conversation, making him seem even more threatening.

Your blurry eyes see one of the rival gang's men raise his gun slightly, but before he can go any further a gun shot echoes through the bar before the customers scream out. The man drops down to his knees and clutches his left thigh where blood is oozing out.

"Wooyoung!" Jongho shouts out to the shooter.

"What?" Wooyoung shrugs, "he was about to do something."

The rival's grab the armpits of the injured member and drag him to the exit, where Hongjoong, San and Wooyoung are standing.

"This isn't over," the injured one spits at Hongjoong as they pass him and flee.

Hongjoong lets out a sigh while he looks around at the terrified faces meeting him, including yours. He walks over to his wife and throws his arm over her shoulder, hugging her intoxicated form to him.

"We'll go home now," he announces to the boys. "Jongho, you take [y/n] home." You see the small smirk decorating his face.

"Okay," Jongho agrees and ushers you towards the exit.

As you pass, you could swear that you heard San snicker and say, "good night, squishy."

Outside you are greeted by the biting cold, washing away your drunkenness, when you hurry towards the car.

The car ride is quiet with you trying to process what just happened. But you weren't all that surprised. After all, you expected them to be a part of shady business and that just got confirmed.

"Can you stop when you see a convenience store?" You break the tense silence.

"What would you need at this time?" Jongho asks, confused as he glances over to you shortly.

"I want to drink some more. I can't deal with this shit semi-sober right now. Either I'm completely sober or completely smashed, or I'll go crazy tonight," you explain your sudden plan to him and coincidentally a 24/7 open store appears on the side of the road, making Jongho pull over and park the car.

A few cups of beer and soju later, you're slurring again, leaning against Jongho's broad frame. Your drunken state lets you let loose a little bit. Or more than a little. You even go as far as hugging him, pressing your cheek onto his chest and squeezing him tightly.

"You're so squishy." There's nothing in you that thinks talking to Jongho is a bad thing right now. You drowned all those thoughts with alcohol.

"So soft," you slur and snuggle closer, closing your eyes in bliss.

"Alright, [y/n], I think it's time for you to go home," Jongho laughs and tries to peel you off carefully, but you only tighten your grip and pout up at him, with your chin propped onto his chest.

"No," you look into his eyes firmly to refuse and then press your cheek onto his chest again, closing your eyes.

You feel the rumble of Jongho's laugh vibrating his chest and then feel strong arms embracing you.

"Step on my feet," Jongho tells you and you follow his order, stepping your right foot onto his left and your left onto his right, still clinging onto him but this time with him securing you onto his body as he walks you two to the car. He helps you into your seat and your head immediately lulls to the side, half asleep, as Jongho reaches over you and puts on your belt for you. Before he can duck out of the car to get into the drivers seat, you grab his arm and look up at him with your eyes as pleading as possible.

"I want a good dream," you mumble.

"And why are you telling me that?"

"I want you to-," you pause, "I don't know. I forgot." You cross your arms over your chest and pout again as you look straight ahead, facing away from the still hunched Jongho as if it's his fault that you forgot.

Jongho doesn't try to make you remember and just closes the door and gets in on the other side.

A few minutes of driving pass when suddenly you scream out, "squishy!" making Jongho swerve the wheel.

"That's what I forgot!"

"What the hell, [y/n]!" he slightly raises his voice out of panic. "What does that even have to do with a good dream?"

You shrug, happy that you now know what you forgot, "I don't know."

Jongho has to resist rubbing his face in frustration, a defeated smile taking over his lips. "How about we're quiet the rest of the ride, [y/n]?" Jongho phrases it like a question, but doesn't want an answer from you, which he doesn't get.

You just stare at his side profile for the rest of the ride, admiring his features and his cute little smile. A dreamy smile graces your face as you prop your elbow onto the armrest and your chin onto your hand.

"You're really pretty," you whisper, not even realizing that you're talking. Jongho doesn't show any more reaction than his smile broadening slightly, the action pushing his cheeks up and making them appear more full.

"So soft." As if in a trance, you reach out towards his hypnotizing cheek and quickly grab it between your fingers before Jongho can even react in any way.

"Ow! [y/n]!" he warns you, "let go of my cheek!"

You laugh loudly, "no."

A sigh leaves him and he gives up, trying to rip his face away from your grasp while driving.

Thankfully you arrive just a few minutes later. Jongho helps you walk into your home. Already having a routine for when you come home drunk, you lead him to your kitchen and sit down on the counter.

"I'm thirsty," you slur out, looking at Jongho with half opened eyes.

When he hands you your glass of water after opening every possible drawer and cupboard, you sulk, "and hungry."

A slice of bread and two more glasses of water later, you get ready for bed and Jongho tucks you in for the night. He can't get off the bed though, because you have his arm cuddled against your chest.

"Stay," you hum and pull his arm further to you, making him stumble onto the bed completely, landing beside you. You let go of his arm then and open your arms, "come here, squishy," you pet your chest, "let me cuddle you."

Having given up resisting the drunk you, he lays his head onto your chest and lets you squeeze him, "why do you only call me squishy when you're drunk?" he teases you. There is no point in him feeling embarrassed when he's actually feeling very comfortable in this position, pulling you to him as well.

"Do you not want to be my squishy?"

"Only if you go on a date with me."

"Ask me in the morning."

And with that Jongho can feel you tight grip on him softening. He stays lying next to you until the next morning when he asks you the question properly this time.

"Do you want to go out on a date with me?"

bonus

You accept.

Even though you're together, you still only call him 'squishy' when you're drunk, but he gets reminded of the nickname often enough by his friends.

p.s. thank you so much for 100 followers 🥰