#cigarettes are my copying mechanism

[capitanschampagne]

I smoked thirty cigarettes today, hope it'll give me a lung cancer 🦀🦀🦀🦀

[theywontletmebeprincipal]

anyway here’s my cornley polytechnic drama society into the woods fancast because I think it’s the perfect sort of show for them to fuck up 👍

jonathan plays the baker, alongside sandra as the baker’s wife. I imagine this is shortly enough after peter pan that they’re still very bitter at one another. said bitterness absolutely shows onstage, but it fits the characters perfectly and the audience ends up thinking that they’ve just finally gotten good at acting. jonathan brings a homemade “medieval feast” to celebrate opening night and it poisons the entire cast

annie plays the witch. this was the only casting decision that was unanimously regarded as good until chris let it slip that he’d ultimately done it because she was “the loudest singer.” robert took great offense at this and, despite having no interest in the part before, began campaigning to play the witch instead. it did not work. annie’s witch costume has two layers to make the quickchange at the end of act 1 easier, but the top layer keeps falling off before the reveal is supposed to happen. her magic staff is supposed to emit a smoke effect but it keeps malfunctioning, and at a certain point she just gives up and tapes lit cigarettes (stolen from trevor) to it. this goes about as well as you’d think

dennis plays the narrator. everyone had assumed it’d be an easy role for him since he could just read all of his lines off his book prop, but this is proven wrong near instantly when he starts genuinely reading the book instead. when dennis actually does start reading from the script, it becomes immediately clear that he somehow has the director’s copy and the entirety of the rehearsal notes are read out loud, including several deeply personal things that chris has written in his script for convenience

dennis also plays the mysterious man, but he keeps forgetting which way he’s supposed to be related to the baker. over the course of the show he goes from father, to son, to brother, to father again, to distant cousin, to grandmother

chris plays cinderella’s prince, alongside robert as rapunzel’s prince. they spend the entire show trying to out-act one another, and it goes without saying that this ends up a complete disaster. robert makes any moment into an unplanned duet to try and prove that he could have succeeded in seducing the baker’s wife. chris shows up at rapunzel’s tower and attempts to choke robert out with her wig. they get in an opt-up battle at the end of agony (reprise) that ends with robert singing a note so high it shatters a stage light

in accordance with typical into the woods casting, chris also plays the wolf. he orders a very expensive “wolf suit” online from someone he thinks is a bespoke costume artist. it doesn’t arrive until opening day, and it becomes immediately clear that what chris has actually bought is a full on fursuit. it’s very hard to see in and he keeps running into the fake trees

robert is double cast as milky white. there is no practical reason for this whatsoever, as milky white could’ve just as easily been a puppet or some kind of cutout on wheels, and it’s very obvious the whole thing is just a power move on chris’ part. during the scene where milky white is meant to “eat” the props, vanessa misunderstands and literally feeds them to him. he chips a tooth on cinderella’s shoe

due to a lack of numbers, vanessa is playing both cinderella and rapunzel. her costume is split down the middle, and due to this she can only face in one direction as each part. this means that half of the time she’s facing away from whoever she’s talking to, and that she frequently has to walk/run backwards without turning her head at all. whenever cinderella and rapunzel talk to each other she faces straight forward. the break-off mechanism in rapunzel’s side of the wig doesn’t work (sandra ends up stealing a single, barely visible hair), so she’s also constantly tripping on her hair

max, being in a new relationship with sandra, desperately wanted to play alongside her as the baker so that they could kiss onstage. unfortunately for him, he is playing jack instead. although this is maybe the single most-fitting role he’s ever been cast in and he’s genuinely giving a great performance, the opportunity is ruined by his having to do every scene accompanied by robert’s milky white

lucy was supposed to play little red, but was pulled from the production the day before opening by her parents, who have banned her from performing with “robert’s troupe” after what happened in peter pan

consequently, little red is now being played by trevor, who is wearing a costume far, far too small for him. trevor manages to get away with reading his lines off papers pinned to the inside of his cloak, but he doesn’t know any of the songs, so sandra has to sing them offstage for him while he lipsyncs

all of the ensemble characters are played by a celebrity “guest” frantically switching between various comically large hats. chris tried to get francis back for this part but after some careful deliberation he determined that it would genuinely be easier to kidnap a famous person than to get francis to come back after the disaster that was peter pan. the tension is only worsened when, via a botched music cue, it’s revealed that francis is now an active member of trevor’s metal band

the giant was supposed to have been played by trevor via voiceover from the sound booth, but now that he’s onstage playing little red the part is left to approximately four members of the run crew who are desperately trying and failing to say the lines in unison. lucy breaks into the theatre sometime during the baker’s wife search sequence and takes over the giant’s part the next time she’s on, much to trevor’s dismay

the worst fuck-up award goes to annie, for accidentally knocking the supports out from under dennis’ narrator platform during last midnight and triggering a chain reaction in which every fake tree onstage topples each other one by one like some terrible, life-threatening game of dominos. honorable mention goes to chris for spending $6000 of max’s inheritance on a custom costume without actually seeing it at any point during the process

the worst injury award goes to max, for getting his circulation cut off and almost losing a hand after his arm got stuck inside the golden hen puppet midway through act 2. honorable mention goes once again to chris, who got stabbed with a bunch of glass shards when robert broke that stage light

[celticcrossanon]

Serious question, Celta: do you think Harry is getting more delulu because things are getting worse & worse in Montecito with Harry's marriage disintegrating, creditors banging at his front door & the hostile reaction to Harry getting the Pat Tillman award? It sounds like Harry's delulu state is a defense mechanism to the immense problems in his life. Can you check and see if Harry's Tower is still standing? BTW, that's cool you can see Towers out of the corner of your eye! Take care, Celta. :)

Hi Nonny,

I think that has the outward circumstances of Harry's life worsen that he is retreating more into his fantasy world as that is how he copes with those circumstances (along with drugs, alcohol and cigarettes).

I've already written about the Towers in a previous ask so I will copy and paste my response here, to avoid having to retype it. :)

You take care as well, Nonny. :)

Meghan and Harry's Towers (you will see this repeated in my reply to another ask)

Meghan’s is gone. There is nothing left but a huge scorched crater in the earth. She has been blown out of existence by the force (the universe) that sent the meteor to make that crater. There is no chance of rebuilding anything on that site - it radiates toxic waste.

Harry’s tower has crumbled down to a ring of foundation that is about 2 feet high. If you stand on the outside and look into that ring, the ground is slanting downwards to the centre of the tower and it looks like quicksand is forming at the bottom of the slope. The slope is littered with blocks that once formed the floor of the bottom storey of the tower. 

Harry is in very bad shape, but he can still pull himself out and redeem himself if he finds the motivation to do so and works on rebuilding his tower. Meghan is irredeemable - the only thing she can do is try to build something elsewhere.

[st0rmyskies]

directors cut on LMTCOY Four s'il vous plaît😭🙏I love him so much

LMTCOY Four is asexual. Whenever I write him in this story is when handfuls of apologetic complaints and the occasional death threat show up in my inbox. It's super fun and makes writing him so rewarding for me. /sarcasm

Anyway, fuck the haters. Four was an ancillary character to the LMTCOY series all up until Twilight and Dark got together, unlocking a whole 'nother half of the cast that I'd never considered before. Four shows up more often now thanks to Shadow's involvement with Dark. Four and Shadow met one another well before the events of HSH, and Shadow knows more about Four than he'd want any of the roommates to know about him. Their relationship hinges on playful antagonism that sometimes doesn't seem so playful. Four has to play fucking 4D chess anytime he wants to get anything from Shadow (e.g. don't give him your real ice pop flavor preference).

Still, there are hints that their relationship toes the line of what would be considered strictly platonic. Although maybe it's all in the others' heads. From the first part of the Igneous Voe chapter:

The blonde behind the ticketing counter [Four] regarded Time from the corner of his eye. He sat cross-legged on one of the rocks, elbows resting on his knees as he slouched forward. A hand-rolled spliff twitched on his lips. He turned away and leaned in, in, in until his cigarette met the lit end of his companion’s, who was a veritable carbon copy of himself. The other young man’s black hair brushed just above his shoulders and was held back with a similar headband.  Four’s eyes slipped closed as the two of them inhaled together. Warm embers grew between them, eating away at tobacco and paper much faster than if they weren’t pressed together. Neither of them touched the other, and still Time felt like he should look away. 

I have a lot of fun being nonspecific about the nature of Four's relationship with Shadow, so don't expect any firm calls in that arena.

Although asexual, Four is not strictly sex-repulsed. He's averse to physical touch in most encounters, which makes intimacy challenging, but he does let down his walls in certain circumstances and only for those he really, deeply trusts. And Shadow, despite ragging on him in so many other ways, respects this, because he has some insight into why. So far it's best shown in the LMTCOY vampire AU, Blood Lust, where Four acts as Shadow's bleeder.

[Four] breathed through the pain, feeling his pulse thrumming in his skull, in the side of his throat, as Shadow’s lips closed against his skin. That was the part that always made him resist the urge to squirm away each time. When the strings of Shadow’s hoodie slid down and tapped Four’s bare shoulder, he flinched. Shadow reached down right away to retrieve the errant cords and tuck them into the neck of his clothes. Other than his lips and teeth, nothing else of Shadow touched him, not even the strands of his hair, not the whisper of breath. Four could feel the weight of him on the bed, and that was enough. 

Four is indirectly involved with Dark, Twilight, and Shadow in a later chapter of LMTCOY in which, as Miniscrew so brilliantly pointed out, Dark outsources dom duty to Shadow because he's just not interested to do it. Four would normally never get roped into Shadow's side gig like this, but it's their friends, and Four is a little worried about Twilight getting in over his head, even if he'd never admit as much aloud. Shadow goes as far as to block Four's view, assuming that Twilight and Dark's 'finale' isn't something Four would be interested in witnessing.

But maybe Shads was wrong in that. There is a follow-up chapter I toy with now and then that gives our favorite mechanic the chance to get a little bit more... involved, we'll say, with their friends.

“I think I want to touch your dick.” It was one of those statements that Four blurted out of nowhere. They happened now and then, usually after hours to days of pensive silence while he turned something over in his mind. Sometimes he waited for an opportune moment to bring up such things. Others, well… On the other side of the couch, Dark choked on his beer mid-swig. He set the bottle back down on the coffee table and turned away from the others, coughing loudly into his elbow. To Four’s left and seated in the armchair, Shadow mumbled an oath under his breath as he set his controller down in his lap and put his head in his hands. He had known something was up—Four had been ‘off’ for days now—but gods above, he didn’t think it was that. Twilight, seated on the center couch cushion, was the only one who thought to pause their game. He turned to look at Four, who was staring directly at him. Twilight’s eyes were bright and questioning and clueless. “I’m sorry, who were you—” “You,” Four answered simply. “Oh.” Twilight blinked. Next to him, Dark slowly sat back on the couch, a sly smile on his face as he looked between the awkward pair. “I think I want to touch your dick,” Four reiterated. Simple, direct, leaving no room for question.  “Oh, sweet Lolia,” Shadow muttered, tossing his controller aside as he stood and retreated toward the kitchen. “No!!” Dark barked, picking up one of his discarded socks from the floor and whipping it in Shadow’s direction. “You get back here!! We’re gonna discuss this together! Like a family!!”

When it gets finished and published depends on how involved I get in the, uh, events that follow. And this in no way erases Four's asexuality. But I think that he deserves to explore sex if he wants to, both in his own time and in his own way, with people that he trusts.

[octuscle]

My boyfriend is cute, but he’s also so weak. I wish he was tougher, like his redneck brother.

Allow me to ask you why you are with your friend who is passionate about 19th century English poetry and baroque trumpet concertos. And not with his brother, who shoots cats and empty tin cans with a shotgun and claims to be a "monster truck mechanic". Okay, your boyfriend is gay, his brother isn't. That's a pretty good argument.

You lie together in your room, cuddle a bit, read and listen to music. Each with their own headphones. He Johann Sebastian Bach, you Taylor Swift. He reads Byron, you read a Superman comic book. He looks really cute lying on the bed. But a bit rougher, a bit more masculine… That would be cool…

Out of the blue, your boyfriend says he needs to take a shit. You are shocked. He's never expressed himself like that before. He's in the bathroom for a surprisingly long time. When he comes back, he has a copy of "Four Wheelers" under his arm. And he's turned the music up so loud that you can hear the bass from his headphones. What's he listening to, you ask. "The Cadillac Three" he answers. Never heard it, you think to yourself… He rolls himself a cigarette. And asks if you'd like one too. Neither of you has ever smoked before…

After you've spent most of the afternoon chilling without saying a word, your boyfriend says "Babe, when are you making dinner? A proper chili would be great, I'm hungry as a horse." You ask if he's gone completely mad now, you're not his cook and especially not his babe. He rolls over to you, unzips your pants and pulls them down. You start moaning in anticipation. He's about to suck you off. And he sucks like the devil. To your amazement, he pulls his pants down too. His boner pops out of his pants like a jack-in-the-box. He spits on his cock and slowly inserts it into your hole. And then he fucks you like a devil. You squeal with pleasure like a guinea pig. His huge uncut cock feels so great in your tight hole. He starts to quiver. And he fills you up with his load until his sperm drips out of your ass. You say that was the best sex of your life. He replies that he's really hungry now and needs a big portion of chili.

You've never cooked a chili in your life. You've never cooked anything at all. You usually go out to eat. You ask how a chili is cooked. He says that at least you have a tight ass. And takes two large cans of chili from the kitchen cupboard, puts them in a pot and gives you a slap on your ass. Where the hell did these cans come from? Your boyfriend says that he's watching a bit of football and that you should please serve the food in front of the TV. Well, he put it a bit more rustic. When you come into the living room with two bowls of steaming chili, he's lounging on the couch. His cowboy boots on the coffee table. His thumbs under the big belt buckle. And the hair on the back of his neck almost long enough to fall over his shoulder.

It annoys you a little that he doesn't really eat anything else apart from chili. Scrambled eggs with black beans maybe. He only drinks beer and coffee. He does fuck you two or three times a day, but he farts and sometimes he watches football on TV at the same time. Your favorite thing is when he has breakfast at the gas station. Then you get woken up with a fuck and then have a few hours of rest before you have to go to work. But you also need them to prepare lunch and dinner, clean and do the laundry. Your husband has expectations. And Babe has to fulfill them.

[villainsview]

Part 5

FULL ART by @scarletfish8eta

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Lavender learned a new trick that day; how to break out of handcuffs without having to bother with picking the lock or dislocating a thumb or two. Apparently you could easily release the mechanism by sticking a pin into it and lifting the part that stopped the cuffs from opening.

“I only use handcuffs because they’re fast, but they’re by far not as secure as you might think,” Fetch said, handing the set back to Lavender.

“I knew that,” she said, “I had to hand you the pin, remember? You would’ve been trapped otherwise.”

“I would’ve found something,” Fetch said, fixing his hair a bit, “so, next hideout. Where?”

“About a day’s drive,” Lavender said, “if we switch halfway or a couple times we can either beat Delaney there or catch him there.”

“And what if you’re wrong?”

“Hey!”

“It’s not an insult, answer the question,” Fetch said, lighting a cigarette.

“We’ll need a new plan,” Lavender said, waving her hand a bit to keep the smoke away, “I actually have an idea too.”

“Go on,” Fetch said.

“Same as what we planned before,” Lavender said, “but we’ll just have to find another kid.”

“Erick is a means to an end for Keller,” Fetch said, “what in god’s name is going to convince him to let go of his best bargaining chip?”

“He has a list,” Lavender said, “a list of…young men he’s got his eye on, but is too much of a coward to act on it. It’s like a bucket list, but…gross. Thomas was on that list, but I beat him to it.”

“Why?” Fetch asked.

“I like the challenge,” Lavender said with a shrug, “if we work together we can grab another high risk target from the list. He won’t be able to resist.”

“You’re sure about this?” Fetch asked.

“He’s a man of disgusting but simple pleasures,” Lavender said, “most men are as far as I know.”

“You’re not wrong,” Fetch said, “so this list…?”

“I have a copy of it,” Lavender said, “but you’re gonna have to choose. Chase Delaney, or take a look at that list to trade Erick back.”

Fetch took a drag from his cigarette, thinking a second before speaking up.

“It might be the best shot we have,” he said, “Erick is a strong kid, he’ll hang in there as long as he needs to.”

“Then let’s make sure he won’t need to fight for long,” Lavender said, “come on, I’ll drive.”

“Absolutely not, you can navigate,” Fetch said.

“Oh come on!”

“It’s my van Rhodes, be glad I’m letting you in at all after the shit you just pulled.”

“It was self defence!”

While the two argued, Delaney wasn’t having such a great time either. He’d finally found a secluded enough place to stop and check on his captive. For the past hours he’d been kicking against the lid of the trunk, making quite a lot of noise. He probably should’ve kept him more tightly restrained after all.

He got out of the car, looking around to make sure he really was alone at the rest stop at the side of an empty road, before walking over to the trunk and opening it. Erick’s knees were looking pretty bruised, it seemed he’d been slamming them against the lid to make all that noise.

It seemed the frog-tie hadn’t been sufficient. He was still blindfolded and ball-gagged, but he was struggling to breathe.

“Oh shit,” Delaney said under his breath, pulling the boy to sit up so he could undo the gag.

Erick coughed, gasping for air a bit.

“Ugh…moron!”

“I beg your pardon?!” Delaney said.

“You don’t— cough! You don’t gag your hostages with a choking hazard if you take your eyes off of them for hours! Is this your first time or something?”

“Oh come on, you’re fine,” Delaney said, “I’ll give you some water if you quiet down. Maybe I’ll let you ride in the backseat if you promise to be a good boy.”

He hooked a finger around the ring on the front of the leather collar, pulling him closer.

“Are you a good boy~?”

“You should’ve taken a breath mint before asking,” Erick replied.

Delaney sighed, tightening his grip on his collar before slapping him across the cheek. Erick flinched, he didn’t see that coming, literally.

“Let’s try again,” he said, “are you a good boy?”

“I know I’d be better at this than you at least,” Erick said.

“Okay, no water for you,” Delaney decided, picking the ball gag back up.

“Shame I wanted to spit it back at— Ack!”

He was cut off as Delaney changed his grip from the front of the collar to the back of the collar, choking him slightly.

“It’s really a shame I don’t get to break you in,” he said, forcing the ball back between his teeth before pushing him to lie down on his stomach, strapping the gag back in place behind his head.

He let go of the collar, allowing Erick to take in a little more air again while he picked up a spare length of chain, hogtying the boy so he couldn’t kick around anymore. He stroked his hair a little to settle him.

“Just let the drool out, you’ll suffocate less,” he advised, before stepping back and closing the trunk again.

Meanwhile Fetch and Lavender were well on their way to the address Lavender had given him to drive towards, it was the place she had been hiding out at for a while now.

It was a little loft apartment in another small town, accessible through the fire escape so she didn’t have to deal with any annoying neighbours. As they stepped inside, Fetch took a look around. It seemed she had been living out of a grand total of three boxes, one of them left unopened.

“New place?” he asked.

“I move around a lot,” Lavender said, opening the unopened box, “don’t touch anything!”

“I’m literally just standing here.”

“Attaboy.”

“Woman!”

“Ah, here it is,” Lavender said, pulling out a sheet of paper that seemed to be a photocopy of a written list with two columns.

She showed it to Fetch, who peered at it.

“A substantial amount of names,” he commented.

“Yeah, uh…you can ignore the left column,” Lavender said, “they’re too easy, he could get them himself. Also…the majority of them are dead.”

“Keller’s doing?” Fetch asked.

“Yup,” Lavender said, looking over the list at a couple familiar names.

Fetch noticed her zoning out a bit. Normally he would’ve let her be, but they had no time to waste.

“Daydreaming, Rhodes?”

“Hm? Oh yeah, sorry, just thinking back,” Lavender said, “these boys were…basically my firsts.”

“Keller groomed you?” Fetch asked.

“He thought I was like him,” Lavender said, “he thinks a lot of people are like him, especially in this business.”

“What is in it for you?” Fetch asked, “it can’t be just the money.”

“Control,” Lavender said, “their life in my hands…”

“It’s a rush, isn’t it?” Fetch agreed, “anyway, since the left column is a no-go, which one do we pick from the right column that he won’t be able to resist? Or is it any of them?”

“Any of them really,” Lavender replied, looking over the list again, before pointing one out.

“That one,” she said, “I think I recall where he lives. We can figure out the rest of the details later, but it’s not far from here, and I remember Mateo whining about him a couple times before I screwed him over with Thomas.”

Fetch took the list, squinting a bit at the badly copied handwriting.

“Vir…Virgil? — What kind of shitty handwriting…”

“Virgil Vaughn,” Lavender translated, “I wonder what he’s like~”

“He’s just a means to an end,” Fetch reminded her, “speaking of…I don’t exactly feel comfortable trading a random kid for Erick and leaving him with Keller.”

“We can chip him and send the tracking link to the police,” Lavender said.

“You can’t just chip a human,” Fetch said.

“You know how easy we would have it if you’d have chipped Erick?” Lavender said.

“Rhodes. Focus.” Fetch said, feeling a headache coming up, “We grab this Virgil kid, use him to lure out Mateo and Erick, but we don’t actually let him make off with him. Okay?”

“We could ransom him after,” Lavender said.

“If he’s worth something,” Fetch shrugged.

“Probably,” Lavender said, “dad was a businessman or something, he’s a mommy’s boy. I think we can catch a decent price.”

“Okay, so that’s our plan,” Fetch said, “get the kid, kill Keller, get Erick back, ransom Virgil and then we never have to see each other again.”

“Deal,” Lavender said, “come on, I’ll drive.”

“Still no.”

“Come on!”

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[penvisions]

the melting point {chapter 6}

Pariring: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (ex EMT! Reader)

Summary: You finally go out for another drink with the guys and make another friend in the process.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: ptsd, trauma, mentions of gunfire, mentions of guns, nothing explicit, just the noises of gunfire, flirting, sexaul undertones, girls being overly friendly with each other, cigarettes, smoking, consumption of alcohol

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist 

“Don’t start with me.” You leaned against the main counter by the register, cradling a hot latte in your hands as you pinned the man across from you with a look. 

You felt his eyes watching not so subtly the entire time you made Frankie a latte for the road, the man taking a minute to freshen up in your bathroom upstairs before bidding you both a good day and inviting you to drinks later on that night. You two had kept your distance, Frankie taking in the display on the shelves of candles and packaged mixes you offered of some of your stuff.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything about your…coping mechanisms.”

“He’s the one they volunteered to bring me the flowers.”

“That was all Benny’s idea, good guy, thoughtful.”

“Yeah, he’s not so bad. Let’s me stay late after lock up sometimes if the bakery is busy and I can’t get there in time.”

“Loyal.”

“Yes, like you.” Your gaze softened as you set your mug aside and crossed the small space behind the counter where he had been leaning on the opposite counter by the expresso machine. You fit yourself in his arms, sighing as they came to wrap firmly around you in a warm embrace. “Te amo, I missed you.”

“I missed you too, darlin’.” He let his slight drawl decorate his words, knowing how much you got a kick out of it when it slipped into his voice. You both just stood there quietly for a few moments, letting the time go by with no real worries. When you moved away to go back to your now lukewarm coffee, you glanced at him, taking in the way he was watching you carefully.

“I’m okay, really. Just…shut down for a bit is all. Got overwhelmed, you know how I get. Too much happening all at once.”

“I know, but it’s also good to know you have a helper when it comes to getting some frustration out at being overwhelmed.” The smirk and teasing tone of his words made color blossom on your face and you ran your hands over your bare arms, still in your tank top from last night. “How long has that little fire been goin’?”

“Uh, it hasn’t, actually.” You busied yourself with gathering his empty mug and downing what was left in yours before moving the cups to the back kitchen sink. He knew to follow you, watching your legs carefully as you ascended the stairs, worried about your hip even if you didn’t say it was hurting you.

“That was actually only my second time interacting with him but he’s just so….”

“Dreamy, scruffy, perfectly broad and just oh so handsome with that sweet smile he flashes you as he looks up at you through his lashes?”

“Oh shut up, someone sounds a little jealous.” You teased, knowing you two were in a good enough place to do so.

“Darlin’, he’s your type is all I’m sayin’. It takes one to know one.” He winked at you, his wide grin filling you with a warmth you hadn’t felt since parting ways with him. “It’s okay to try and find a perfect copy of what you once had.”

“Oh shut up!” You plopped down on the couch, his form doing so on the other end.

“But seriously, the way he was lookin’ at you, he’ll be good for you. Even if you decide you don’t want it after a while, but…it’s okay if you want that too.”

You didn’t say anything but the blush on your cheeks said enough as Frankie’s face appeared behind closed eyes.

-

“Oye, oye, mira quién limpia muy bien! Mantequilla, te ves hermosa!” Pope let out a low whistle as he spotted you walking toward them. You had on an olive-colored sundress with a scoop neckline. The short sleeves of the dress allowed for your decorated arms to be seen, the neckline of it allowing for the leaves that weaved their way over your collarbones, symmetrical on your skin. The bodice on it was formfitting, the fabric allowing for your curves to be seen before it flared out in a soft, billowy skirt that fell right mid thigh. You had tamed your hair, letting it fall in natural curls. Light winged eyeliner and shimmery gray eyeshadow helped to make you look a little less tired than you felt. You had tried, for yourself….and for Frankie if you were being honest with yourself.

Frankie turned to see what Pope was fussing over and his gaze caught the way your hands flattened out the skirt of the dress as you walked up to them. You gave them a little wave, a nervous smile gracing your lips. He felt his heart thump hard in his chest and he brought a hand up to rub a thumb under his bottom lip as he watched you approach.

“Manté, you look amazing!” Benny shoved passed Frankie’s frozen form and scooped you up in a hug. He swung you around and the skirt billowed with the movement. He set you down gently, so as to not make you trip in the wedged heels that adorned your feet. He looked at you, his arms still around you as he spoke. “I’m so glad you’re okay. You had me worried there.”

“We were all worried, but we understand. Things are heavier some days than others.” Will spoke up, gently nudging his little brother out of the way to give you a hug of his own. He was all but shoved for Pope to move in and hug you, picking you up and twirling you around a few times to elicit a sweet laugh from you.

“Hermosa, you are just stunning, I’m tempted to eat you up.” Pope’s hands were settled on your waist as he set you down, his eyes meeting yours. His eyes softened at the nervous glint your own still held. He leaned in to whisper in your ear, “You’re such a sight, wish you were mine but I know you gotta thing for Fish over there. He’s a lucky guy.”

The bloom of color across your cheeks had Frankie wondering what nonsense the man was whispering to you, the creep of jealousy in his chest not feeling too great as you leaned into the man to whisper something back.

“Who says it was just for him, maybe I wanted to impress the handsome man who shamelessly flirts with me all the time, hmm?” You winked at him as you separated. Frankie wasn’t sure how to greet you, especially with the flash of your pleasured face and the memory of a wanton moan gracing his mind as you finally made it to where they were clustered by the door. You reached out for him, an arm going over his shoulder in a gentle hug that sent tingles down his spine. Frankie didn’t do much other than bring a hand up around your back, his wide hand resting lightly on you as he returned the embrace.

“Thank you all for the flowers, they’re sitting in my kitchen and make me smile every time I see them.”

“Was just trying to reach out without being too much for ya.” Benny smiled, shaking hands with Taylor as the man approached the group, he had dropped you off down the street to go search for parking. “It’s nice to meet you in person. You sure weren’t lying about getting out.”

“My girl here needed me.” Taylor brandished your phone at you, it had fallen from your bag when you got out of the car in a rush. He gently pulled the strap of your crossbody bag to bring you closer to him and he snuck it into the larger pocket, his hand lingering on your hip to help steady you as he noticed your right leg drag a little at his motion. You tutted quietly at him, looking up at him with your back to them all for a second. Will shared a look with Pope, the both of them glancing over at Frankie at the casual display of comfortability. But he didn’t seem too bothered by it, if anything he seemed like it was perfectly normal behavior…

“She’s tough but she’s human.”

“Aren’t we all, let’s get this night started!” Benny led the way into the bar, holding the door open for you to go in first and motioning to the table they normally occupied in the back.

-

The sound of someone slamming down their shot glass had you ducking without a thought. The subsequent slamming of more after the first had your breathing and heart rate pick up, your eyes scrunching shut and your hands coming up to cradle the back of your head. The squeals let out by those who had taken the shots had you whipping around to face them, your hands going to your waist to reach for the stuff you no longer carried on your form, instincts to rush over to see if they were alright having you moving to stand. A gentle hand came down on your thigh before you could get up completely. You turned to look at a concerned Taylor, who was sitting to your left.

“You’re okay, darlin’. Just some rowdy people, no one’s hurt.”

“….right, sorry. Instinct.”

“It’s okay, you’re okay.”

You looked around the table, noting that it had fallen silent at your rustle of movements. The laughter that had just been filling the air at a dumb joke had stopped. The guys were trying not to be obvious in their concern, but you could see it in the way Frankie’s hands were tight around his pint. How Pope had one hand running through his hair as the other was flat on the table in his own reaction to the sound, how Benny and Will were having a silent conversation with a look. You let the breath you were holding go, reaching for your drink and downed the half that was in the glass.

“Excuse me.” You stood, Taylor’s hand sliding off your thigh at the motion. You reached for your bag and pulled out the pack of cigarettes that was in the outermost pocket before weaving your way through the bar and outside.

“So that’s why she doesn’t ever come out for drinks.”

“Benny!”

“What?”

“He’s right, though. Shot glasses being slammed sound like gunfire.” Taylor spoke, waving a hand at the busy waitress to let her know he was ready to order when she had a minute. She smiled at him, nodding to let him know she saw him and would be over shortly. “She’s not too big a fan of guns. Hates that I have them in the house, that I insist she has one in hers.”

“Guns are important for protection.” Santiago spoke up, wanting to make the point even in present company.

“Guns are also a number one trigger, y’all know that.” Will spoke up, not wanting to get into discourse over something they all hand in their hands or on their person for a majority of their lives.

“You and your girl need a refill?” The waitress saddled up the table, wiping her hands on the small black apron that was barely longer than her shorts. “Traditional vodka sour and a stout, right?”

“Yes, ma’am, that would be appreciated. I’d also like to ask you where the best parlor is, lookin’ to fill this space right here.” Taylor pulled the folded sleeve of his flannel up his forearm a bit to show the waitress the muscular line of his arm. “I have a feelin’ that floral piece peeking out from your hem was done locally.”

“You make a girl blush, talking so blatantly about staring when your girl sits right beside you.” She leaned down into his space in a challenge.

“She hasn’t been mine like that in a long while, sweetheart. So lookin’ ain’t hurting anybody.”

“Hmm, I’ll grab your drinks and the card for the shop, give me a few.” She winked at him before she moved away, her hips swaying a little more at her pleasure from the interaction.

“Ho-ly shit.” Pope patted the man on the back roughly. “She never even gives me the time of day anymore but you got her attention.” Her figure was intercepted by yours as you walked back into the bar and made your way up to the counter where the well was. You waved at her, your curls bouncing with the movement. As she came around the corner of the bar, you reached a hand out to gently touch her upper arm. You leaned into her space to say something and the guys watched with rapt attention as the bartender smiled wide and turned a bit to lift up her shirt and show you the floral piece that adorned her lower back. The movement allowed for her whole middle to be seen as her shorts were slung so low on her waist. She reached a hand out to guide one of your own to it, allowing you to run your fingers over the linework as she gushed about it excitedly.

You nodded along, listening intently. As she turned back into your space you reached down to grab the hem of your flowing skirt and brought it up enough to show the entirety of your right leg. The lace band of your underwear was very much visible and a nice mauve pink as you showed off the giant flower that decorated the side of your hip and upper thigh. You were both talking so fast but they couldn’t hear it over the hush of patrons, though they did very much see the way the woman’s fingers gently traced the ink as you had done on her.

Frankie’s mind short circuited as he recalled how soft you had been underneath him just this morning, the way his hands had run along the hot lines of your limbs and over the same ink the girl was now now tracing so innocently…. He coughed and turned away from the rather erotic scene, catching Taylor’s eyes as the man glanced at him across the table with a knowing smirk.

Not a word was said by any of them as you bounded back to the table with two drinks in one hand, held up by your shoulder and a colorful card in the other with a phone number and name scribbled on the back of it. Your smile faltered a little as you took in the way they were all staring at you as you approached.

“Y’all okay?”

They all cleared their throats and mumbled incoherently.

“That was…hot.” Benny’s words were blunt, causing a laugh to bubble up before you could stop it. The rest of the evening went off with a ton of laughs and easy going conversation.

previous chapter || next chapter 

[overtrred28]

Welcome home kiss | Emily Prentiss x GN!Reader

Pairings: Emily Prentiss x GN!reader

Summary: Emily’s return to the BAU brings some deep emotions to the surface

Warnings: swearing, use of a cigarette, mentions of a slight ED

Words; 1.1k

No one is permitted to steal, copy, or reblog my work as their own!!

Not my gif. @leightonxmurray​ 

Read the prequel here; “Goodbye my lover...”

“Meeting table. Now.” Aaron Hotchner walked into the BAU office for the first time in months, bypassing your desk.

“When the hell did you get here?” You asked as you followed the booming voice in the previously silent room, getting up from the desk and started walking with him. 

“Not now Y/L/N.” Hotch shook his head as he walked up the stairs towards the room.

“Okay then. Nice beard though.” You continued following him, confused on the situation, taking your normal seat next to Penelope and waited.

“Welcome back.” Derek looked to Hotch as he filtered in with JJ and Rossi behind him.

“Thanks. Everybody have a seat.” JJ walked around to stand with Hotch, confusing you even more.

“Why? What's going on? Everything all right?” Derek questioned, standing opposed to Hotch and JJ. 

 “7 months ago I made a decision that affected this team. As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilise her.” Your heart begin to pound in your chest, Hotch’s words barely registering in your mind as he continued.

“And she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need-to-know. And she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.” 

“What are you saying Hotch?” You looked up from your spot on the table, looking him in the eye.

“She’s alive?” Penelope piped up, Hotch stayed silent with his arms crossed.

“But we buried her.” Spencer’s quiet, broken voice echoed through the room.

“I watched her die in my arms.” You whispered, images from that awful night plague your mind, sending you into a spiral of pain. Small tears of sadness, anger and betrayal pool in your eyes.

“As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me.” Hotch finally spoke up again. 

You placed your head in your hands, shaking it trying to make sense of the situation. 

“Any issues? Yeah I got issues!” Derek shouted at Hotch, feeling the same emotions as yourself and the other team members. 

People slowly turned their heads towards the door, the sound of heels heard walking up the hall.

“Oh, my god.” Penelope spoke softly from beside you, causing you to lift your head, slowly turning towards the door. 

Emily Prentiss stands in the doorway, alive and making eye contact with you. Mind riddled with confusion, sadness and anger, you pick yourself up and walk out the back doorway and down the stairs towards the glass door, walking out. The team all look towards you but are too stunned with the arrival of the thought dead woman to do anything. 

As the rest of the team reunite with Emily, you make your way towards your secret spot on the roof, forgetting how cold it can be, especially when you don’t have a jacket on. You did manage to remember to bring your new coping mechanism, a cigarette and a lighter.

Moments later the door can be heard opening. Not turning your head towards the door, you can still feel the familiar presence of someone.

“Well that’s new.” Emily points towards the lit cigarette in your hand.

“Well a lot can happen in seven months.” You take another puff, avoiding eye contact as Emily finds a seat next to you, wrapping a jacket around your cold shoulders. “Thanks.” You mutter softly.

Moments pass before Emily speaks again. “I’m sorry. Utterly and completely sorry for what I did to you.” Emily shuffles to face your shoulder. You take a final puff before putting it out on the ground with you shoe. Facing you eyes to the sky, you sniffle, tears fall down your cheeks slowly.

“I watched you fucking die in my arms Emily.” You turn to face the other woman now. “Saying sorry will never be enough to fix that, and I know you will try, and I am willing to try. But, that. That was the worst day of my life. A-and then I was expected to just go ahead and bury you and move on with my life! How am I supposed to do that! H-how is anyone supposed to do that when they lose the love of their life?” You stand up and run your hands through your hair.

“I had no choice my love.” Emily looks up to you. “JJ, Hotch  and I all decided that’s what was best for me and the team. Even if that meant I had to hide from you for a little while.” 

 “A little while? Those were the worst seven months of my entire life. I-I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t work, I couldn’t eat, I ended up in the hospital because I was malnourished. And if Garcia hadn’t come to check up on me that night…” You trail off and shake your head. Both of you were now crying, Emily takes a step closer to you and softly holds your cold hands. 

“Baby… I am so sorry.” She slowly moves closer and attempt to wrap her arms around your shaking frame. You immediately latch onto Emily harder than ever, never wanting to let go.

“Don’t ever leave me again. Ever. I can’t take it.” You muffle inter her shoulder, gripping tighter with every breath.

“I would never dream of it my darling.” You hold on two each other for what feels like an eternity until you both feel a buzz in your pockets.

Can you love birds please come back down so we can deal with Doyle? Love you both xoxox - Garcia

You both chuckle at the message and slowly let go of each other, resulting in a hand hold as you make your way towards the roof door. You pull it open and get away from the coldness.

“You grew out your bangs.” You point out as you walk down together.

“Do you not like it?” Emily smiles lightly.

“Not really. I much prefer your pretty face with bangs.” Emily laughs and nods her head, taking in the advice. “I also find bangs HIGHLY attractive, if you hadn’t noticed already.”

“Is that so?” Emily raises her brows as you bite your lip and nod your head. “Well, I guess I’m going to have to fix that if I wish for a welcome home kiss, won’t I?”

“Wellll, I guess you could get one now.” You both pause at the bottom step before the door, turning to face each other. Emily smiles at you, placing her hands on your hips, pulling you closer. You place both your hands on either side of her face, moving her closer to you. 

Your lips finally touch for the first time in over seven months and it’s like the first time all over again. It’s like magic is flowing through you, bringing you back together. This is the happiest you’ve ever been.

——————————————————————————

[aveegrex]

MECHANIC CHOSO

I want choso so bad in my life it's unbearable please god

genre: smut pairing: choso x f!reader word count: 0,5k tw: oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), hints on vaginal sex, slight voyerism, fingering (f!receiving)

mechanic!choso who runs a little car shop with his brothers, always wearing the same dirty wife-beater unintentionally showing off his rippling muscles with a sheen of smeared machine oil

mechanic!choso who pins a cigarette behind his ear and shyly asks for your lighter as he sees you smoking outside, while yuji works your car 

mechanic!choso who always gives you a discount when you bring your business to him wearing the most inappropriate skirts known to clothing world

mechanic!choso who can’t for the love of god hold himself from sparing a glance at your panty-clad pussy as you bend over your car’s hood to show him what you think is wrong

mechanic!choso who blushes when you touch his bicep, asking him something about your car, and pops a boner when his sight lands on your pretty tits squeezed together by an irredeemably small tank top  

mechanic!choso who sometimes can’t help himself but leave a small thing about your car unattained so you’d return soon

mechanic!choso who once tells you to pick up your car after working hours to ensure his brothers are away for the night

mechanic!choso who musters up all his courage to ask you out that night, but stutters like a pre-teen boy when you bat your eyelashes at him, your hand on his hip, asking if he would consider taking alternative forms of payment from you

mechanic!choso whose brain goes hundred miles an hour when instead of elaborating on your offer verbally you chose to drop to your knees in front of him to get your point across orally

mechanic!choso who just nods feverishly when you ask him if that’s alright and prays that he doesn’t combust then and there, as your pretty glossed up lips wrap around his tip

mechanic!choso who looks down at you sucking him off, making the lewdest noises with your mouth, and tries to ground himself by grabbing your hair

mechanic!choso who goes nuts when you release him with a loud pop and ask him to fuck your throat with the most innocent look on your face

mechanic!choso who cums deep down your throat, your hair in his iron-grip, your pussy stuffed with your fingers

mechanic!choso who apologizes profusely for going too hard on you, mumbling that he never felt that good, only to have his words stuck in his throat as you hop on some random car hood behind you, spreading your legs to show him you didn’t even bother wearing panties

mechanic!choso who drops to his knees in front of you, stuffing his face with your pussy and making you cry with his tongue

mechanic!choso who then drives your fixed car over to your house the next day to spend his evening between your thighs, thanking all the deities for sending such a gift his way

mechanic!choso who gets so pussy drunk with you he has to take a few days off make sure you can’t walk

mechanic!choso. yeah, he’s the guy

reblogs are welcome, MDNI, btw this post is me manifesting

© 2022 AVEEGREX, all rights reserved. reposting and copying my works without my consent is forbidden.

[ahungeringknife]

That feel when you grow attached to your nameless narrator. Just a skrungly lil guy

January 6

I’ve seen whales on TV before. Everyone knows what a whale looks like. The things in the Umbra Sea they call whales aren’t whales but it’s the only word we have for them. It’s the only thing that makes it feel better that practically overnight the Atlantic grew by several hundred miles, shifting tectonic plates and continents in the span of five years and changing entire geopolitical maps. The entire eastern seaboard of the Americas and the west coasts of Africa and Europe got washed away in the tsunamis. Millions of people displaced by the growing Umbra Sea. And it keeps getting bigger, wider, filling up more of the Atlantic.

Fish live there too of course. The aquatic animals don’t notice a difference in the water except the water turns black only a dozen or so feet below the surface. But it isn’t the fish or sharks you have to worry about in the Umbra Sea. Its the whales. Those things we call whales because no one wants to think about it too hard.

This is the third whaling trip I’ve been on. Plenty of people think we shouldn’t kill the Umbra whales but that falls on deaf ears. They disrupt shipping lanes and capsize boats and are people eaters. They’re also huge. Bigger than a Blue whale. Bigger than a building. The whaling vessel I’m on is government funded, an old naval destroyer with all its guns still intact. That’s the only way to deal with an Umbra whale.

Its a windy day on the Atlantic. Unless we’re going in for a hunt you don’t cross into the Umbra and you certainly don’t spend the night there. From atop a gunny I can see the divide in the Umbra and Atlantic. It’s like someone drew a squiggly line in the water. On one side it’s normal dark blue. On the other it’s as dark as the north Pacific. I’ve never been in the waters of the Umbra but scientists say its cold. Polar cold. That’s why its so dark. But it hasn’t spread to the warmer Atlantic waters entirely.

My walkie talkie cracks and I ash my cigarette as I push the button on it where it’s affixed to my shoulder. “Come again?” I ask, turning up the volume.

“Stop turning your shit off,” comes the annoyed voice of the captain.

“I’m on break.”

“We’re about to enter the Umbra. Make sure everyone’s at their stations,” the captain says, not taking my shit.

“Copy,” and I snub my cigarette into the railing in front of me. I go down into the guts of the ship and get everyone up. Whaling crews are a skeleton crew for destroyers. Too dangerous to send entire ships full of men out to face an Umbra whale. Everyone is absolute needed personnel and the only people I don’t get out of the lounge rooms are the mechanics who are down in the engine room keeping an eye on things before we enter the Umbra. The cold water can make an engine seize if you aren’t careful.

I rally the men, a general term I have to constantly remind the handful of women on the ship, and head to my own station. You’d think head gunner would get to shoot the big guns. No. The only thing I get to do is make sure everyone’s shooting right where I want ‘em to shoot. I’m at the top of the destroyer with my walkie talkie, a pair of binoculars, a binder full of laminated pages, and what’s effectively a glorified laser pointer.

I buzz the walkie talkie before saying to the captain, “Everyone’s ready. Take us in.” The walkie talkie cracks as the only affirmative as the engines kick in high and we head towards that dark water.

As we cross the threshold nothing happens. The whales don’t patrol or anything. They’re just animals. But they hate the sound of ship engines. One will come sooner than later, looking to destroy the source of the noise.

An hour passes and I’m looking through my binoculars. The whales swim close to the surface when investigating noise and they glow like some fucked up Avatar movie creature. I’ve done enough hunts to know the colors mean things. Green means you’re about to get rammed, blue means its angry, and white means its calm. In the darkness of the Umbra sea the colors are easy to see even at a distance.

Then finally almost at the range of my binoculars I see a curve of blue glow in the water. I click my walkie talkie almost at the same time as the other spotter. “Whale off the starboard side in blue. Six klicks out by the looks. It’s approaching.”

The intercom comes on across the ship from the captain relaying the same information along with, “Everyone look alive. You’re about to earn your keep.”

The whale makes it to us at alarming speed and fifty feet from the ship it slows to raise itself out of the water. It looks like the fucked up fusion of an orca and a baleen whale. You’ve seen what a baleen whale’s skull looks like and it looks like that except instead of baleen its filled with a thousand teeth and has no thick throat to round it out. This thing uses its teeth. It’s got two sets of eyes. A pair that face forward and a pair slightly off center. It’s got a neck that is so stressful to comprehend and it can lift its head out of the water but keep its body submerged. The whale’s head alone is almost long enough to touch the ship from where it’s body is in the water.

All the guns are already pointed at it even as it clicks and chirps at us, sizing us up, inspecting its next meal.

A green dot of light appears right between its eyes as I shine my sight on it. Thick plating covers most of its head and back but there are some weak spots. Three whaling trips and over a dozen successful whale hunts with keen aim is why I’m the head gunner.

The guns open fire on the whale and it shrieks, thrashing in pain. I smile grimly. The hunt’s on now.

Text: We call it the second sea, pitch black, growing ever larger in the middle of the one we know. The whales that live there are terrifying, but slaying one pays big.

[sukunasun]

I read your "how the jjk men would give it to you" post you made and.... like... surprise dick w stressed nanami sounds *chefs kiss* amazing. I was wondering if you had more thoughts about it bc i havent known peace ever since i read that hc/snippet

i was wondering which piece you were referring to only to realize you meant THAT post....

despite the dark circles and a scowl keeping his face in an ever-constant state of agitation, he’s a picture worth a million dollars, in tight-fitted suits that pinch at the waist, the back of his hand dusting over broad shoulders, poised, prim, lapels ironed flat over a wide chest. built and beautiful and so prudish is he. what is it about nanami the salaryman. his life made up of decimal points going up and down, a strand of hair he finds randomly on his shoulder, and the long, long, hours that build up overtime, a culmination of disappointments and tension unlike any other. forcing him closer to that edge, losing all control.

maybe it's the way his face is lit by a computer screen, by fluorescent lights, looking sickly and tense. he leans back in his chair every 30 minutes and the heavy sighs he lets out, the deep groans, guttural and frustrated sound so pornographic you think he's doing it on purpose. your friends tell you it's the clark kent effect, everyone's into the hot nerdy types, the quiet ones who hide that wild, primal side of themselves. but he is no superman, in fact, he's the complete opposite, he hides nothing and he hones no powers. he's just a man in need of a splurge or something, the desperation written all over his face.

who says things like "make me copies, reschedule my meeting, this coffee is atrocious make sure you use the french press like i taught you" do this, do that, barking orders at you all day without so much as a thank you. well, it’s less bark and more bite really. he's so cutting it's like he could say anything to you just so he gets to sneak in some kind of backhanded comment, unsolicited and uncalled for, an inkling inside you warning you of its hidden meaning.

if he were anything like his coworkers, he could just visit the strip club, pick up a girl on a dating app, find some stranger at a club, a quick fuck, a one night stand. but nanami wouldn’t dare. it's such a shame that he doesn't know how to fuck, wouldn't be able to the way he seems so tightly wound and uptight—mr. 'i'm better than you because i make so much money and i am good at my job'.

not to mention it wouldn't work either because he needs something more, something along the lines of your pretty mouth wrapped around him, taking him all the way inside, choking on it. you'd make him last as long as possible, make him shake and tremble with his hands gripping your hair tight, fisting, tugging hard and he'd keep you there, releasing down your throat. it’s what he wishes for when he stands in a bathroom stall jerking himself off for the fourth time that day and god help him because it’s now a routine, just for the sake of release, mechanical and so quick he doesn't get to savour it. even when he does reach his peak—cum painting his fingers, hot and sticky and so incredibly disgusting when the adrenaline wears off, heartbeat slowing, lips swollen and bruised clamped down between his teeth, his body doused in all that shame—it's not enough.

later in the day he gets off the phone with a client who's been bugging him about buying, selling, about shares, investments, the money's not real and on paper they're making a fortune but nanami knows he's going home with most of it. his patience along with the desire to keep his job is wearing thin. seen with the way a vein bulges over his temples, jaw clenching, his tie comes undone then, tugs at it until it hangs loose. starts to crave a cigarette by the lounge, away from prying eyes, but it's not needed when he looks up and sees you by your desk. “he’s just this guy at the office, you know, the kind that has a stick up their ass and takes themselves too seriously,” he overhears you say on the phone—it’s offensive of course, because you say it with such contempt like he wasn't capable of bending you over a desk, over a leather couch, making you muffle your screams in a supply closet as he fucks you silly. he wants to scoff, you should have been keeping those things to yourself, let alone talking about him out in the open. 

at this rate, he could just pull some strings and let you lose your job but he decides otherwise, walking over to where you are, nanami raises an eyebrow when he stands over your desk. "menial tasks requires less brain power so this falls right within your purview doesn't it, what are you, an errand girl?" he usually speaks in a monotone voice. this time however, it's like he believes himself superior. smug and snobbish.

“i graduated top of my class," you reply with indignation. who does he think he is, was this some weird power trip? he’s always been so quiet, so composed and collected. “and it’s sexist to imply that i merely run errands,” you spit back. if it weren’t for you, he’d be fucked. who organizes his schedule and replies his emails when he could just do it himself. 

immediately, he says “i made the assumption based off your incompetence, not because you are a woman.” then glances at you with his nose upturned. cringing at your gaping mouth, at your shocked expression. “stop staring, you're getting drool all over company property," he plops a few stacks of papers by the edge of your desk and without thinking about the implications of it, pushes them towards you with his pelvis. a lazy thrust of his hips and you look up then, expecting to see a sly expression, just like every other man who work on top floors and smoke cigars in penthouse view board rooms but his face is hesitant, like he's holding back something, "get this sorted, and don't make a mess of it." he instructs, before walking away, striding towards the men's bathroom for...whatever reason, you didn’t know, but he's always disheveled and doused in cologne afterwards.

geto and gojo suggest he meets the daughter of one of their clients but nanami suspects it's just another one of their schemes. “she’s a babe, would be down to fuck on a first date,” gojo doesn’t care that he’s being loud and obnoxious because he has more money than anyone will ever make in their lifetime while geto slaps an envelope against nanami's chest, “here, go buy her something pretty, it might help us convince her dad to invest,” geto says from behind him. he peeks through the opening and finds crisp bills stuffed into it, bursting at the seams.

the woman in question looks more like a doll, she smells like vanilla and her full lips purse when she whispers, "i like you," straddling him and leaving soft little smooches against his neck. it sounds made up because she barely knows him. he looks down at her spread legs and wonders what they'd look like in stockings, the kind you wear, in a pencil skirt and a blouse buttoned all the way to the top. her wavy extensions don't do anything for him, where's the updo, where are the hairpins tucked behind the ear. he doesn't want to hear her praises or her exaggerated moans, she's definitely a professional, a respectable one at that because she does it well but he wants a woman who's careless with her work, who looks down on him, he wants an errand girl—

"don't speak, you’ll ruin it,” nanami groans, and in a hotel room behind closed doors, she does as she’s told. he makes her face the other way so he doesn't have to see her, hear her, he could just deal with the weird, nauseating mix of being unsatisfied later on, feeling guilty when he knows he's using someone else, she's merely an object now, he doesn't care about her or whether she likes him and it's so infuriating that he wishes to prove you wrong because he's made to press up behind you, feel his heart beating beneath the skin, racing and pounding. proof that he has one, that he's made for more than just sitting behind a desk.

so he'll compromise tonight, all until he leaves her in an empty bed the next morning, rushing off to work with geto’s money left on the bedside table.

he's even more of a pain in the ass that morning, breathing down your neck and making sure you're left with double the amount of usual things he makws you do. but also he keeps a distance, going as far as flinching away every time you so much as tap him on the shoulder. this man is on edge, like he's about to implode. "what's your deal, haven't you ever felt the touch of a woman?" you tease, just for fun, even when you know he wouldn't laugh. and he doesn't really, but instead finds himself fucking you against the wall of his office.

skirt bunched up around your middle, he rips into your stockings with his hands, ripping it and pushing your panties to the side, "i'll buy you another more so stop whining," then tells you to leave the heels on and you do. even when he holds you up in his hands, legs propped up on his shoulders, you try to keep them from slipping off. in the reflection of a mirror, you watch his muscled back flex, the walls thudding, and those heels start dangling over your toes from the sheer force, each one of his thrusts, hard and fast and deep, keeps pushing you over the edge.

the first time you come all over him, it makes you tremble and shake, the newfound revelation that he's actually so skilled is one thing but nanami kisses your neck, gently coaxing you through your release. when he moves you to a couch, he sets you atop him, legs spread wide and thighs held firmly in his hands. he adjusts himself behind you and before you could whine from just how sensitive you feel, he pushes himself back inside, stretched and full and so hot. making sure that over your shoulder, he could watch you in that same mirror, and that you'd see him too. you'd see just who exactly makes you feel this way.

and by the time he fucks you by the window, you whimper when you look out then, clear blue sky and bright sunlight, it's a beautiful day out and the street below are bustling with cars and people who are looking to make memories. some colleagues are out for lunch and others are having some fresh air, a seemly normal day, and your heart pounds, fear and excitement creeping up because anyone could see, turn their heads up to catch the view of a woman with her knees tucked to the sides of her head, squirming and bucking as her boss fucks up into her. "i'm starting to think you like this," he taunts when your moans ring out, and it's true because you were running your mouth, making a scene, you believed him to be incapable and inexperienced but now you can't think of any other man who's made you feel the way he does. nanami doesn't care one bit about the exposure, abut public indecency or whatever the fuck they'll say about him, let them see how he makes you come apart, making your mind go numb.

"you did this to me," he snarls into the crook of your neck, how often had pictured this moment and now that it's real, his cock buried inside you, the moans you let out sounding better than anything he could have imagined, and the look on your pretty face while you're succumbing to him, this snappy little thing now submitting herself. "let me know if it's too much okay?" he whispers, biting down on your neck, pounding inside you, feeling your juices run down til it drips all over the carpet floors. he'd make you call someone to get it cleaned, and he'd stress about getting it done on time so no one would suspect a thing but he'd also go back to being a pain in the ass, or maybe he'd start being a little sweet, a little kinder, gentle and tender...until he isn't.

[lovelettersbyj]

The Pill Man

Warnings: Some cursing, club scenes, drug use, alluding to sex.

Pairing: Im Changkyun x Reader.

Word Count: 1,969.

A/N: Drug dealing emotionally unavailable Changkyun using drugs as a coping mechanism…. PLEASE!!! After the God Damn mv I couldn’t help myself.

IMPORTANT: In absolutely no way am I condoning the use of drugs, just using his MV and another imagine I read as inspiration! Don’t do drugs, everybody.

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

The strobe lights continuously flashed invasively as I attempted to get a good look out into the crowd. The nightclub was annoyingly full, considering it was a Sunday. My best friend with a stubborn habit of convincing me to go out with her was lost to the music, dancing with one (or two) companions for the night.

Trusting she could handle herself, I turned back to the bar, using my pointer finger to tap on my glass as a silent plea for a refill. The crowds of people felt the same as always. Groups of girls going out to celebrate a birthday or an engagement, college kids looking for an easy fuck, or slimy guys with no drive trying to pick up the first sloshed girl they could lay their hands on. It wasn’t my favorite place to be at, except for the fact that my dealer frequented this exact spot.

It was a recent habit, but with stresses from work, home, and school life, one night out a particularly friendly looking stranger offering a ‘magic’ pill… well, you bet I was stupid enough to take it. Then suddenly, the nights became easier to sleep through; the random waves of sadness disappeared. Everything was going well until my one hookup landed himself in jail for an exchange gone wrong. So once again, I found myself in this icky nightclub looking for the next recommended dealer; I.M.

Only given a simple description, my eyes continuously scanned the waves of people in search of anyone who would remotely match.

The crowded space felt a bit too intoxicating, so I made my way out towards the back patio, pushing the large glass sliding door to the side as the brisk night air welcomed me in a sharp hug. There weren’t too many people out on the balcony, only a couple on the other side sharing a drink and engaged in a hush conversation. Reaching into the side slip of my bra, I pulled out a slightly smushed cigarette, holding it up to my lips. I searched around for my lighter, quickly realizing it must have fallen out at some point earlier in the night.

“Need a light?” A deep voice inquired, slight accent making my ears perk.

Turning to look behind me, a taller figure emerged from the back wall, walking now into the light. Clad in leather from head to toe, a shimmering snake green turtleneck gave him the only splash of color. He certainly looked expensive, and with the abundance of tattoos decorating his hands and neck, I slowly began to realize this was the man I had been looking for.

“Yeah, thanks.”

He flipped the switch on his silver lighter, the orange glow illuminating the space between us. He lifted it up to the end of my cigarette, the two of us never breaking  eye contact as the fire lit my cigarette. Feeling the burn of tobacco in my lungs, I let out a slow puff in his direction. Completely unfazed, the stranger in front of me simply inhaled the smoke, continuing to hold eye contact.

“Y/n, right?”

Bringing the cigarette back to my lips, I repeated the action; inhaling the bitter herbs and pulled it away to blow smoke out of my nose, “That’s right. You’re I.M.?”

He smirked, taking a step towards me and standing next to me, looking out towards the city night. “Kyum told me about you.”

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow, leaning an arm on the railing as I continued to study his figure. His nose was enchanting, the bridge long and strong as it stuck out perfectly amongst the rest of his features. “Only good things I hope.”

“I only care about the bad,” He chuckled, and the smirk that danced across his face suddenly made the back of my neck incredibly hot. Turning back towards me, his arm copied my posture as he leaned cooly against the railing. “Kyum mentioned very bad things about you.”

Breaking eye contact, I glanced back towards the nightclub and took another long drag from the cigarette. Looking back at him, I reached up for the cigarette but my fingers slightly began to tremble. Noticing this, I.M. reached for my hand, holding it between his and using his right thumb to stroke softly on the top of my hand.

“So you want some pills?” He suddenly inquired, never once letting go of my hand as it continued to shake.

I nodded, inhaling my tobacco once again.

“Follow me.”

Leading me by the hand back into the club, a large security guard dressed from head to toe in black reached for the door and opened it to let us both in. He guided me through the crowd, making our way to a large staircase on the side of the bar. Turning to face me he dropped my hand, using it instead to gesture me to go up. Glancing from the crowd of people back to I.M., I stuck the cigarette in my mouth as I now used my free hand to hold the railing while I made my way up. I could feel his burning gaze on the back of my figure as he followed up the steps behind me, but pushed through as we arrived at the top. Placing a hand on my lower back, he motioned me to walk along a hall that took us across towards the other side of the bar. Another security guard awaited at the entrance of a hidden door, nodding towards I.M. and opening the way for us to go in.

The room was fairly small, yellow blinds closed around the window as the night life outside slightly illuminated the space. On one side of the room was a small bed, sheets thrashed about the bed lazily. A small white nightstand was propped up next to it, and I could only imagine what lay behind the closed drawers. On the other side of the room was a small tan couch, with a dark wood coffee table in front of it. Used glasses, old cigarette butts and a plethora of random drugs lay scattered across the table and the room. Surprisingly however, the room smelled good; a mixture of cigarette smoke and an intoxicating sharp cologne swirled around the air.

“Do you live here?” I asked, continuing to analyze the setting in front of me as he walked over to the bedside table. Shrugging off his leather jacket, he peeled off his green turtleneck and slipped on a satin yellow button up, leaving the shirt completely open.

He pulled open the first drawer, reaching in and pulling out a cigarette box, “Sometimes. If I need a place, the room is mine.” Puling out a cigarette, he tucked it behind his ear.

He walked over to the other side of the bed, taking a seat and patting the mattress to beckon me over, “Come here, baby.”

The butterflies in my stomach violently swirled as I slowly walked towards him, taking a seat on the mattress and facing him completely. Tucked away behind the bed was a fairly small gas tank, which he set in between us. Connecting some tubes with a mask,  he held it up towards me.

“This is my mix of a special inhalant. If you want to get high quickly, this is the best way to do it.” Placing the mask up to his nose and mouth, he turned the small knob on the gas tank and immediately a white smoke filled the clear plastic mask, slightly escaping through the cracks on the sides. His eyes fluttered shut, and his posture rose up slightly as he inhaled deeply.

It was the most gorgeous sight, watching the gray cloud of smoke decorate his face as the inhalant toxically invaded his body. Turning to face me, his soft eyed fluttered open, his eyelids heavy already. He reached over to the knob, shutting it off and laying his head sleepily on the back of his hand. I remained quiet.

His head jerked up, and he ran a free hand over his mouth and jaw, smirking as the effects began to settle in, “Your turn.”

“What?” I stuttered, a shiver trickling my spine.

He extended the mask out towards me, “If you want to purchase my product, I have to know you’re not fucking me over.”

His features were stern, the veins in his eyes a more prominent red. I needed the pills, but I’d never done something like this before. Glancing between the mask and his eyes, I slowly reached out and took the plastic from him.

Holding it up to my face, I rested it snug against my skin, looking at him for further instruction.

“Just inhale deeply, and hold your breath a few seconds.” He quietly explained, his voice an octave lower.

He reached over to the silver tank, turning the knob. Once again the mask filled up with a cloudy smoke, this time the concentrated scent of what I could only assume was gasoline and paint thinner invaded my senses. My lungs burned, and the strong urge to cough threatened my throat as I did my best to hold back. What felt like eternity with the mask pressed up against my face finally ended, his tattoo covered hand on mine and insinuating I lower the plastic.

My senses raged; so many new and out of body sensations simultaneously burned, tickled and pricked at every inch of my skin. My head throbbed at first, truly making me believe my brain began to ooze out of my ears. The tips of my fingers felt cold and tingly, like all the feeling in my muscles was being evaporated. Finally blinking a few times I looked over at the man next to me, who simply chuckled before bringing the mask up to his face and taking yet another hit.

I attempted to steady myself, closing my eyes for a few seconds and taking deep breaths. Suddenly my eyes jolted open when I felt a large, cold hand resting on my left thigh. I looked down immediately, watching as his long fingers pulsed carefully, pressing into my skin and sending another thrill of goosebumps along my skin.

“So,” He smirked, his brown eyes swirling with temptation, “Do you want to show me all those bad things Kyum said about you?”

I chuckled, looking back down at his tatted hand that slowly kept making its way up further. Whatever mixture was in his tank began to work, and all my previous reservations lifted up and away. I looked back into his eyes, and he raised an eyebrow; a silent understand between us that we were on the same page.

I lifted a hand and delicately ran my fingers through his sleek black hair, “Well, I.M.—”

“Changkyun. Call me Changkyun.” His voice was hoarse now, and he swallowed thickly. Now I was the one who had him hooked.

“Well, Changkyun,” I stood up, using my knee to part his legs as I lowered myself onto his lap, “What do you want to know?”

His hands flew to my lower back, his mouth suddenly attacking the nape of my neck in a flurry of hungry love bites. A breathy gasp escaped my lips, overwhelmed with a knot in my core that began to aggressively ache for the man underneath me.

Grabbing me tight, he flipped us around onto the bed, now parting my legs as he settled his right knee dangerously close to my pulsing core.

He brought his mouth close to mine, leaving the tiniest gap that left the both of us panting for the much needed closure. He leaned in towards my right ear, slipping my ear lobe in between his soft lips, biting softly and pulling away.

“I want to know… what you taste like.”

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

oh my LORD! I'm obsessed with long haired tattoo covered Changkyun. What a man.

Definitely want to keep going with this one... What do you guys think??? Part two?

[feelin-woozy]

Title: Stoke The Fire

Word Count: 1984

Pairing: Bo Sinclair x female!reader

Warnings: Daddy kink, breeding, degradation, dumbification

Thanks @slasherrabbitmadness for the inspiration and the absolute brain rot that she has given me with the idea of dilf!Bo :) go check out her dilf Bo stuff because it's,,, chefs kiss.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to spend time over at Bo’s house; it became almost like a second home over the years. Your father and Bo have a relationship that bloomed from the moment they entered business together a few years back. It wasn’t easy to imagine what life was like before Bo became so close to your family.

A warm summer breeze blows past you, ruffling the soft saffron colored cotton of your dress against your thighs. Of course, you don’t miss the way Bo’s blue eyes dart to the newly exposed flesh of your thigh, but beyond that, he doesn’t make a move, just sips the beer in his hand and takes another easy drag off the cigarette.

Your dad is prattling on about this and that, talking about some jackoff who tried to rip him off the other day at work claiming that his rate was ludacris and that there were a dozen other mechanics that could do it for cheaper. And sure, that may have been true, but the quality wasn’t there. It wasn’t biased, perhaps a little, but it was still a well known fact that your dad and Bo ran the best mechanic shop in town; it’s why they got away with the rates they charged. And there was always a sense of taking care of the community, their community, that had the townsfolk whipped and willing to shell out the money.

The lively strumming of guitars swirled around you, and you bounced your leg to the steady beat of the Seether song that played over the speakers. It was heavier than the usual stuff that your dad played around the house, but then there were many things about Bo that were heavier. Perhaps that’s why they worked so well together.

Your attention is drawn away from the melodic beat and easy going conversation between Bo and your dad when a small hand tugs at the hem of your dress. You turn your head to look down at the young girl, blue eyes staring up at you with a smile that lacked a few teeth. You return the smile to her, waiting for her to speak and voice whatever thoughts swirled around in that head of hers.

You had nearly forgotten that Oliva was here with the three of you. Bo’s time with her split with his ex-girlfriend, who he had some choice words about every time she was brought up. The young girl was undeniably Bo’s child through unruly brown hair bouncing with every shift she made and blue eyes that were carbon copies of her father’s. You couldn’t help but wonder what she got from her mother; Bo didn’t have any photos of her around the house.

“Will you come play with me?” She reaches for your hands, her skin slightly sticky from God knows what, but you don’t pull away; you just give her hand a small squeeze in return.

“Olive, sweetie, don’t bug her. Go play by yourself okay?” Bo says softly, a sort of sternness shining through his words. You lift your gaze to look at Bo, and you catch a glimpse of fondness that softens the lines of his face. Olivia whines, eyebrows furrowing as if she’s about to pitch a fit at Bo’s words.

“It’s okay Bo,” You smile at him, wide and radiant as you get to your feet without letting go of Olivia’s hand. “I don’t mind.”

Bo just nods his head with a bit of a shrug before turning his attention to your dad again. However, you don’t miss the way his eyes surveil you as Olivia drags you to the small backyard park that Bo and your dad had built together the previous summer.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s almost two weeks later when you find yourself bent over the laminate countertop, hands scrambling for purchase as you’re pushed forward again and again. You hadn’t even been here for five minutes, coming by only to grab some tools for your dad to borrow, wearing that same saffron dyed dress you had worn last time that you were over here. Bo’s worn trucker hat lost to the linoleum, jeans pushed only half way down his thighs, leaving his belt to jangle incessantly with every movement. The edge of the countertop digs into your hip bones saved only for the dress that’s bunched up over the curve of your ass. It does little to pad and protect you against the vicious rocking of Bo’s hips, but it’s better than nothing.

“Been thinkin’ about this sweet pussy every fuckin’ day,” Bo groans, grimey fingers curling into your hips and dragging you back against himself. He stays put for a moment, keeping your bodies pressed flushed together. “Been thinkin’ about knocking you up.”

The way your pussy flutters around his length is indecorous, the whimper you let out even more so. But it can’t be helped; hearing the filth that dripped from Bo’s lips always had that effect on you, but there was something about the way he said it that made your insides churn. The serious edge to his words that wasn’t there the times you had fucked prior, the way his words turned from a pipe dream to something that could be a reality.

“Does my baby like that idea?” Bo titters, the noise breathless and broken. A testament to the effect that this was having on him as well. “Like the thought of me fuckin’ a baby into you?”

“Fuck, Bo.” Your head drops, cheeks pressing into the chilled countertop. You don’t even pretend like this wasn’t doing it for you, hips rocking back against his to tempt him into staying true to your word. “Yeah, yeah fuck.”

He leans over you, the thin cotton t-shirt dragging along your sweat-slicked back as he pressed his lips to your neck, teeth catching the rosy skin. For a moment, you think that he was about to leave a mark to bloom against your skin, a small sign over ownership that would have you avoiding your parents’ home till the skin healed, and you could look them in the eyes once more.

“Gunna have to get you off that birth control of yours,” Bo murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek before he pulls away again, looming over you and admiring the way he has you splayed out like a wrecked mess in his kitchen. The windows open, and the back sliding door cracked so neighbors would be able to hear every little indecent noise that passed your lips like a mantra. You were glad for the arborvitae that lined the fence. It gave you some privacy, even if it wasn’t much, and it did ease your nerves considerably. “After that, maybe I’ll just keep you on my cock day ‘n night till I know it took.”

Your hands curl into fists at the thought, knuckles blanching under the force. The idea has your mind melting; nothing has ever sounded so perfect to you. It was almost insane how easily Bo got you cockdrunk, how easily he bent you to every whim that crossed his mind. But there was something about his smile, his scent, the way he could play you as if the two of you were made for each other that left you a strung out fanatic.

“Tell me how badly you want it,” Bo growls, nails cutting crescent shaped moons into your hips. If he wasn’t dragging you so perfectly through the trenches of pleasures, the pain might have brought you from the lust addled fog, but instead, it only shoves you down further. It made you feel like you were drowning, drowning in his words, the scent of sex that hung headily around you, the obscene noises that sounded like your own but were so far away, the way skin slapped against each other and the wet noises of your pussy dripping around his thick cock. It was all too much, and you knew it would only be a matter of time before your orgasm swept you pitilessly under the current. “Come on baby, if you wanna cum you gotta tell Daddy how badly you want it.”

A sob tears through your chest, thighs shaking as you’re forced onto the points of your toes with each thrust. Bo laughs above you cruelly, not once slowing down and allowing you a moment of reprieve to find your words. There was a satisfaction in seeing the way he strung you along, bringing you so close to the edge, and you knew that if you didn’t give in, give him what he wanted, he would pull away.

It wouldn’t have been the first time. There had been many times he’d pull out only to jerk himself off to completion and paint your pussy, or your panties, only to force you to wear his cum as a reminder. So you try with a renewed desperation, to try and formulate anything of sense before Bo had the chance to pull out of you.

“I-I fuck,” You stutter, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Every time the words were cocked and loaded on your tongue, the way he brushed against that spot within you had them rolling off your tongue in the form of drool. If it didn’t feel so fucking good, it would’ve been beyond humiliating.

“You look fuckin’ pathetic like this,” Bo sneers, hips stuttering. You knew he was close, his words coming out a sharp rasp as each thrust was punctuated with a guttural growl. “Just an empty headed slut made to be knocked up. S’okay baby, Daddy will take care of you.”

That’s what sends you over the edge, cunt clenching down like a vice around the cock plowing into you. It must have been good because you’re distantly aware of the sound of Bo choking on a noise within his throat. And God, do you wish that you were more aware and not floating listlessly through the waves of pleasure so you could see just how wrecked Bo was. You wanted to acknowledge the way graying brown hair clung to his forehead, cheeks flushed as he gritted his teeth. It was always one of your favorite sights. A low moan tumbles from the two of you at the feeling of warmth filling you, the gentle pulsing of his cock as he empties himself within you.

The two of you remained like that for a moment, and you silently wished it would never end as you tried to quell your racing heart and the rapid movement of your chest. Then, when Bo begins to pull out, you whine, but he only snickers, fingers moving from your hips to dance along your folds, running through the slick and cum that dripped out.

“Ya mean it?” You whine softly, pressing back as he pushes cum back inside of you.

“Mean what, baby?” Bo muses, fingers moving at a taunting pace. You crane your neck a bit to stare up at Bo, catching the post sex bliss that overlays his face, the smug look that only makes your stomach twist, thighs clenching.

“Are you going to knock me up?” Your tongue flicks out over your lower lip, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his thick fingers stretching you open once more. Bo groans low in his throat at the thought, and you peek your eye open to catch sight of the twisted grin on his face and the dark intent that swirled within blue eyes.

“Course I am,” Bo says matter of factly as he pulls his fingers out of you, reaching down to grab the lace panties you wore and pull them back up over you. With a pat on your ass, he begins to tuck himself back into his pants, walking over to the fridge. “Would be a shame to let that pretty pussy a’ yours to go to waste.”

[octuscle]

Actually, he wasn't my type at all. I'm more into hairy, muscular Arabs… The guy was rather slim. Caucasian. But he exuded this masculine dominance. A superiority. And a horny self-confidence. I couldn't help it. "Like"

It takes me a few seconds to come back to my senses. This is no longer my office, where I had definitely been surfing through NSFW content just moments ago. My computer is gone. My shirt and jacket are gone. The sun is shining through the dirty window of a shabby hotel room. The "No Smoking" sign is in the wastepaper basket along with a few cigarette butts. And in my mouth is a freshly lit cigarette butt. I had never smoked before in my life. But my body needs nicotine. And sex. Shit, I' was 'm so horny. There are a few stains on the cheap carpet that must have come from my cum or that of other men. At that moment, the cell phone on the desk vibrates. A new message. "Master, when can I be your cunt today?" My inbox is full of messages like this. There are dialogs in which men sent me impressive pictures of their cocks and, even more often, their assholes. I didn't send any pictures. The replies I sent were usually short. So I simply copy one and send it to the last sender "200 euros plus 'tip' to chavmaster02@badmasterboyz.biz. Then we'll see". I have no idea what I meant by "tip". It takes less than two minutes for PayPal to notify me that 400 euros had been received. Shit, what on earth am I supposed to do now? Half an hour later, I had smoked three cigarettes. I had stomped the last one out on the carpet with my combat boots. I had been surfing through my cell phone apps. But I ain't any smarter. But my cock is hard as steel. And then the room phone rings. "Hey Ronny, it's Marek from reception. There's another pervert for you." Send him up," I reply, shocked by my own smoky, masculine and dominant voice. Shit, shit, shit! What had I gotten out of it so far? I obviously have very active and successful accounts on OnlyFans and other relevant portals. But when I looked at my emails, I also had to have a "bourgeois" profession as a car mechanic. Apparently I live near Nuremberg in Bavaria and am quite successful at humiliating other men for money. Shit! I'm some kind of hooker!

There's a knock at the door. Bloody hell. I take a drag from the cigarette, open the door and blow the smoke in the guy's face. "Have you got the money?" I ask. "But I paid via PayPal…" I take his chin in my hand. I pull his ear to my mouth. And I hiss quietly, "Dude! That wasn't my question? Do you have the money?" The guy takes out his wallet and gives me a 50 euro bill. "That's all I've got…" "That's fine," I reply and gesture for him to come in. "Go on, strip! Keep your underpants on." The guy doesn't hesitate for a second. His boner is even bigger than mine. "And now go and get a packet of fags from Marek at reception. Tell him to book it to the room." "But I can't go out like this!" Smack! The guy deserves a good slap in the face. I grab his chin again. "What's it called?" "By your command, master!" "That's a good boy, bitch!"

A few minutes later he's back. Marek is behind him, filming everything with his cell phone. "On the floor!" I growl. My customer doesn't hesitate for a second. I sit down next to him, raise my arm, press his face into my armpit with my other hand and just say, "Lick it clean!" He licks as if his life depends on it. Every now and then I pull his head down and spit in his face. "So, bitch? How's that?" "Very good," he moans. You slap him in the face. "It's 'Very good, master', you dirty piece of shit". Marek calls out to me that the next customer is already waiting downstairs. I collect all the snot and spit it in the bitch's face. "Who owns you?" I ask. "You, master!" "That's right, you bitch. Now fuck off, you perverted pig!"

Humiliating my next customer is almost routine. Shit, I love showing other men that they're nothing but miserable filth. And that I can dominate them at will. The picture @milankotowyc posted of me has a new like. Fuckin' deserved!

Your last like is your new body. Who's winning?

Dumb muscle himbo for me it seems!

[gohyuck]

prologue | part 1 | part 2 | part 3

pairing: greaser!jeno lee x rich!reader; part of a collab by @neovisioned​

genre: greaser!au; runaways!au; criminal!au; angst/fluff/smut

word count: 10.4k

warnings: infidelity, miscarriages of justice, johnny’s a huge asshole in this i’m so sorry, a lot of straight up classism, explicit mentions of sex (fingering), vehicular manslaughter, armed robbery, general unarmed violence and fighting, pistol-whipping

a/n: so i know a lot of people loved the fact that my most recent long fic (surgeon jaemin!) focused on side characters, but i’ve made this fic pretty jeno-centric on purpose, and i hope it’s still as enjoyable as possible for readers! 

May 29, 1957

He’s always been easy on the eyes. 

It’s shallow, and a great part of him knows it. Still, as far back as he can remember, Jeno’s always had one thing, and one thing only: his looks. When he was 7 and starving on the streets, terrified of going back to a broken, lifeless home, he’d use his adorable face to elicit pity and pizza from the aging man who ran the local diner. When he was 15 and growing into himself, his blossoming attractiveness got the girl in his geometry class to give him her homework to copy off of, free of charge. When he’d first started working at the garage, a high school dropout at the age of 17, it was his ‘rugged handsomeness’ - review courtesy of the college girls who trailed their rich boyfriends as they searched for cheap fueling and car repairs - that called in tips by the handful. 

Jeno’s always had his looks. That’s why, even though he thinks it’s silly of him, he can’t help but look at you with eyes that are overflowing with apprehension. He grips the blond hair-dye just a little too tightly, fingers making what’ll be lasting indents in the plastic box. 

“Do I really have to do this?”

You arch an eyebrow, wrenching the dye out of his iron-grip as you do. Jeno watches, feeling more helpless than he has been this whole time as you shake its contents out into your hand. The bleach and the agent you mix it with fall into your open palm, followed by the barely darker dye. You read the instructions over once, twice, before finally looking up to meet Jeno’s trained gaze. 

It’s all you can do to heave a heavy sigh.

“You were framed for a robbery, and then you stole a car and accidentally kidnapped me, but the hill you choose to die on is dyeing your hair? Really? If you’re like this now, what are you going to do when we get tattooed?”

“I - We - Tattoos?” Jeno squawks, and you can’t help but sigh again before rolling your eyes. 

It’s going to be a long night. Amidst it all, you can’t help but think back to how everything started.

As Jeno keeps his glare trained on the dye, you can’t help but assume that he’s doing the same. 

♕ ♕ ♕

Day One: May 25, 1957

Cherry red lips, wanton giggles, a skirt that’s too short, even by what she calls her ‘very own tramp standards’. Jeno can’t get enough of it all - can’t get enough of her, he’s so intoxicated by her. It’s in the way her head falls back, her mouth falls open, her knees fall down, allowing her legs to fall wide. He leans over her, his well muscled arms making it easy to hover instead of collapse on top of her as he coaxes her release from her, two fingers deep in her spasming cunt while his thumb works away at her clit. Jeno’s close - so close - to what he wants, but he doesn’t dare to chase after it; instead of pressing his lips to hers and tasting that enticing lipstick for himself, he settles for pressing his forehead against hers, letting his soft breath land against the silent scream her mouth is currently displaying. 

Her chest heaves, her next breaths come out in gasps. As she settles down, Jeno can’t keep himself from dipping his head down, pressing a gentle and completely chaste kiss against the skin of her stomach between her belly-button and her underwear line. She squirms at the feeling of his warm lips against her now-hot skin, and he chuckles against her body before pulling away for good, though not before wiping his fingers on her thigh. 

“‘S that good, Jess?” He quirks an eyebrow, pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket for her to wipe the sweat across her forehead with. “There’s grease on that s- yeah, that’s the good side.”

“You sure know how to charm a girl, Jeno Lee,” The woman responds dryly, though he doesn’t miss the pleased smirk that crosses her features. She swipes at her inner thighs once before tossing the handkerchief - or, really, rag - at the mechanic, who catches it with ease and stuffs it back where it came from. 

“You’re the one who wanted to be fingered in the passenger seat of Johnny Suh’s car, filthy girl,” Jeno throws back, not surprised when Jess swats at his arm at the mention of her boyfriend. She loves Johnny, Jeno knows she does, but that doesn’t stop her from begging for Jeno’s fingers or tongue or, if she’s got time, his dick, whenever she stops by the City Motors garage that Jeno’s been employed at for the past two months. She always comes in driving Johnny’s red Chevy Bel Air convertible. He knows it’s bad of her and bad for him, especially if Johnny ever gets wind of it, but he can’t find it in himself to stop, not when it’s free spank bank material. 

Jeno’s probably a bad person for it. He doesn’t really care - after all, it’s just sex. If emotions were involved - and they never are, not for Jeno, not when it comes to getting his dick wet - it might be a different story. That, and it’s Johnny Suh’s girl. 

Jeno fucking hates Johnny Suh. 

“Say, speaking of John,” Jess says, seemingly sufficiently cooled down by now. “I keep meaning to and forgetting to ask - you’re the same age as his sister, aren’t you?” 

“(Name)?” Jeno asks, his brow furrowing when he gets a nod of confirmation. “Yeah, I mean, we were in the same homeroom and shit this past year. Why?”

“Just curious. You’ll probably see her a lot more often from now on, honestly - she got a job at the diner when they had that hiring spree last week.” Jess flicks her head vaguely towards Jeno, and he knows it’s because, if he turns around and looks out the window, he’ll be staring directly at Kim’s, what can be considered the only good eatery on this side of town. He tries his best to seem even vaguely interested at what Jess is saying - going so far as to crane his neck backwards in order to look at the same diner he sees day in and day out - but she calls his bluff easily. Instead of saying anything, she just rolls her neck out before finally shoving the car door open.

“Say ‘hi’ to her sometimes, y’know?” She asks, peering in once she’s standing. “For me. Forget that she’s a Suh sometimes. She needs to talk to more people, anyways.” Jess states, her gaze imploring. Still, Jeno can’t help but scoff at the last thing she says, prompting an affronted look from the woman who’s looking expectantly at him. 

“(Name)? Needing to talk to more people? Everyone adores her, she’s always with some new person getting into some bullshit. Honestly, she probably needs to talk to less people at this point.” Jeno explains himself so as to not garner anymore adversity from his fuckbuddy, though the way he squints in mild disbelief at Jess’ suggestion annoys her anyways. The mild petulance that comes through only serves to remind Jess that Jeno is, in fact, only 19 - and while her being 21 doesn’t change their dynamic much, it does bring about some slight difference in maturity. 

She tends to overlook it because the benefits seem to outweigh the detractors.

As Jess makes eye contact with Jeno, though, she knows he won’t listen to her friendly suggestion. She doesn’t know why she bothers, sometimes - even though she’s only in it for the sex, he’s really only in it for the sex. As far as anyone’s concerned, Jeno Lee does only two things, and he does them well: fix cars and fuck. Considering that he’s a high school drop-out with no plans of college or trade school, Jess supposes that he doesn’t have much else to do. 

“Whatever,” She finally acquiesces, not bothering to return the small smirk Jeno throws at her. “What’s the time?”

“It’s about 4:45,” The mechanic responds without even checking his wristwatch, though Jess doesn’t doubt that he’s right. “What time’s he coming by for his car again?”

“Couple minutes past 5. Got a smoke? I need one.” Jess is still peering into the car from outside, her expression making it seem like she’s waiting for something more than a quick cigarette break. Jeno holds her gaze steady for a beat, two beats, before he breaks away, pushing the door open on his side so he can finally get out too. After all, the car is honestly kind of cramped, and absolutely not ideal for what they’ve been getting up to in it… week after week after week. 

“You should tell your boyfriend to stop fucking up his car,” Jeno states simply, leaning over the fabric top of Johnny’s convertible. It’d been the left sideview mirror today, the transmission last week, the rims the week before. It wouldn’t surprise Jeno if Jess drives in four days from now with a crack in the windshield and her underwear already around her knees. Jess says nothing, only leveling Jeno’s stare. He waits, finally breaking it for the second time in a row once he’s sure she’s sweating a little bit in her new boots. The small smirk he allows himself as he beckons for her to follow him back into the garage is reward enough for him. There’s a pack of Camels set on his work bench, open in such a way that Jeno knows Jaemin must’ve taken one earlier when they’d started their shift together. 

“Help yourself, doll.” Jeno says, gesturing vaguely towards it after pulling a cigarette out for himself. He swipes the lighter off of Jaemin’s desk - his friend’s on a late lunch break at the diner right now anyways - and uses it to light up his own smoke before tossing it underhandedly to Jess. 

“Don’t ‘doll’ me,” She scoffs, her words muffled around the cigarette that’s now in between her lips. He admires her hands, her nimble red-tipped fingers as she lights it up, pulling it out from her mouth and letting it dangle between two fingers before setting the lighter down on top of the pack. “You know only Johnny’s allowed to call me that.”

“If he had that much of a handle on you, you wouldn’t be crying for my cock every week now, would you?”

“I don’t cry,” Jess protests, and Jeno finds both her sudden indignance, and the fact that this is the hill she chooses to die on, kind of cute. He has no feelings toward her, sure, but it doesn’t mean he can’t admire her for what she is: art. And someone’s gotta nail masterpieces against walls, right?

“You get the gist.” Jeno brushes her complaint aside with ease, blowing smoke out through one corner of his mouth before he speaks. “Tell him to watch where he parks so he doesn’t screw up his mirrors again. There’s gotta be some limit on daddy’s money.”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?” Jess throws back, and Jeno can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“His highness won’t talk to a lowly greaser like me, obviously. Probably thinks I spend all my tip money on hair oil or some stupid shit. You really picked one for yourself, Jess. Outdid yourself on the asshattery of the last one. The fact that he makes you drop his car off when he’s the one who screws it up should be a red flag itself.” Even talking about Johnny has a pit of dread growing in the bottom of Jeno’s stomach, and he drops his half-smoked cigarette to the ground before crushing it under his work boots. He knows it isn’t the cig making him feel sick, but he suddenly has no appetite left for nicotine anymore. 

“You’re lucky our friendship predates my relationship, or I’d fuck you up for saying shit like that,” Jess warns, though there’s no real bite behind her bark. She drops her cigarette to the ground too, and Jeno steps on it so she doesn’t have to. 

“Can’t believe you’re deciding to keep some kind of allegiance to me based solely on the fact that our moms used to stick us together when they went to whore around downtown while our dads were being drunken good-for-nothings somewhere or the other,” Jeno scoffs in faux disbelief even as his eyes fold into half moons. Jess allows herself a small grin at the expense of their younger selves as well. They both know better than anyone that shared traumas can only make bonds stronger. “When’ll you tell your prissy, pompous, prick of a partner that you’re one of the lowlifes he hates so much?”

“He already knows that I wasn’t… well off before I got my job at the salon,” Jess replies carefully, doing her best not to incriminate her boyfriend in the eyes of someone who already loathes him. “Besides, he honestly isn’t that bad. He says shit sometimes, yeah, but he knocks it off if I tell him to. Shouldn’t affect whether or not you talk to (Name), anyways.”

Jess slips you into the conversation so easily that it almost gives Jeno whiplash trying to process what she’s said. When he’s done, it’s all he can do but to let out a confused query.

“The hell does (Name) have to do with this?”

“I mean, you’re the same age, and you kind of know each other. I just figured that...”

Suddenly, Jess’ motives dawn on Jeno. Judging by the way she trails off, ending her sentence both sheepishly and abruptly, she sees that he’s figured her out, too.

“Are you fucking trying to set me up with your scummy boyfriend’s sister?”

“He isn’t scummy! And, I mean, not necessarily. Maybe. Just a little, but come on! Isn’t it right for me to want two people I love and care for to find love and caring in each other?” Jess’ words come out harried, and she flaps her arms around a bit to try and prove the point she just can’t seem to hit on. Jeno’s brows furrow even more, and he can’t help his incredulous snicker.

“You, Miss ‘I just got fingered by a childhood friend in my boyfriend’s car for what has to be, like, the sixth time in four weeks’, want to talk about what’s right and what’s not?” Jeno points out, and Jess winces slightly. He knows it’s a bit of a low blow - yes, Jess is a cheater, and it’s completely terrible of her, and maybe even Johnny Suh deserves better than someone who’s unfaithful, but if Jess is the one committing the crime then Jeno’s aiding and abetting. He can see the hurt flash across his friend’s features, and he allows himself to soften for a moment before speaking again. “I’m sure (Name) is nice and all, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now. If I was, I wouldn’t be messing around with you, or anyone for that matter.”

Jess sighs, but it’s a sigh of acceptance. She glances down wistfully at the smushed cigarette she’d abandoned earlier, making no move to get another one. Jeno assumes she’s trying to cut back - the cost of a pack has gone up again. 

“I do love him, you know that, right?” Jess says, voice soft and sincere in a way that has Jeno’s eyes flicking up to meet her own. “I just - I can’t give all of myself to him, you know? Not yet, anyways. Not after everything that’s happened in my life. It isn’t justification, it’s just…”

“You’ve been dealt so many bad hands that you don’t know how to play poker anymore,” Jeno finishes, smiling gently at his friend. “Yeah, I get it. I’m just your pain relief, remember? You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Fuck first, friends later.”

“Pretty sure it’s the other way around,” Jess rolls her eyes, though she knows he’s just messing with her. They might use each other, but their friendship predates any sexual relationships either of them have been having with anyone. They both know that Jess doesn’t just drop by the garage to drop her panties, although that is what happens first and foremost every time. 

Before Jeno can quip back at her, the telltale thrum of a car’s engine draws his attention away from his friend. Both of them turn their heads simultaneously to see none other than Yuta Nakamoto pull up in his Thunderbird, Johnny Suh riding shotgun beside him. Jeno doesn’t miss the way Jess perks up, her grin dazzling as she spots her boyfriend. He can’t say the same for himself, not when his stomach drops at the sight of the two men. 

Yuta at least has the ‘decency’ to shoot Jeno a patronizing smirk. Johnny doesn’t even acknowledge the man beside his girlfriend, instead turning directly to appraise his fixed up car after giving Jess a quick peck on the cheek. 

“Funny,” Johnny remarks thoughtfully once he’s done with his once-over. “Are you sure you fixed this? It doesn’t reek of grease or anything. Maybe you underdid your hair today, kid, hmm?” 

Jeno’s suddenly hyper-aware of how slicked back his pitch black hair is, and his fingers twitch at how badly he wants to push it back again, both out of nervousness and anger. He says nothing, only clenching his jaw in response.

“Leave him be, John,” Jess speaks up, holding her hand out for her boyfriend to take. He grabs it naturally. “He’s a good kid.”

Johnny’s cocky, holier-than-thou grin slips a little at seeing his girl - his girl - defend someone he equates to the bottom of his shoe, and Jeno notices it. For a moment, it seems like there’s a rebuttal sitting on the tip of his tongue. His necessity to keep his girlfriend’s approval wins him over, though, and Johnny says nothing more, only asking Jess to hand him the key he knows she has. 

Yuta leaves first, though not before confirming their next whereabouts with Johnny. He slides back into the drivers’ seat of his Thunderbird, raises his eyebrow at Jeno through the windshield, and backs out slowly but surely. Jeno isn’t a big fan of Yuta, either, but at least the man respects his car.

The same can’t be said for Johnny. 

He slams the passengers’ side door shut once Jess gets in, and Jeno can’t help the wince he gives at the noise. In that moment, he feels deeply for the Bel Air, wishing he could jailbreak it from the hell it must be experiencing at the Suh household. Right before Johnny gets into the driver’s seat, he stops, eyes flitting towards Jeno as he digs something out of his pockets. 

Jeno watches as Johnny flicks a dime into the open tip jar they leave out on a rickety old stool, stands there and takes it as the older man shoots him the kind of wolffish grin that never reaches anyone’s eyes. 

“Buy yourself something nice,” Johnny says, smirking as he looks Jeno up and down. He takes in the peeling leather on the greaser’s workboots, the grease stains on his blue jeans, the way his white tank top is soaked through with sweat, his ratty leather jacket lying across his workbench. When he looks back up, eyes meeting Jeno’s, the latter can’t help but feel as if he’s just been searched.

“At least… if you even know what ‘nice’ means.” Johnny finally finishes, smirking maddeningly at Jeno. Before any rebuttal can be made, Johnny’s inside his car and turning on the ignition. Jess waves goodbye to Jeno, albeit sheepishly, who only raises a hand in parting. It’s only after they’ve disappeared, tearing down Central Street, that Jeno registers Jaemin leaning against the corner of the garage. It’s evident by the way his friend is standing that he hadn’t actually witnessed anything, and Jeno finds that he wants to keep his interactions to himself today. It’s also evident that, while Jeno has nothing to tell Jaemin, the opposite does not stand true.

“What’s up?” Jeno asks, picking up and tossing the Camels at Jaemin on what is, by this point, sheer muscle memory. He throws the lighter right after, and Jaemin catches them both with ease. This is unsurprising - before school, life, and work all became too hard to balance, Jaemin had been a catcher on the local high school baseball team. 

“There’s a new broad behind the counter at Kim’s,” Jaemin says, sticking the cigarette in his mouth and lighting it as he speaks, all with the kind of finesse that only comes from years of doing the same thing. “Looks familiar, ’m sure I’ve seen her before - pro’ly went to school together. Damn pretty, looks more your type than mine, though.”

Jeno doesn’t really care, frankly, but it’s Jaemin and he’ll always humor Jaemin. That, and they’ve got about an hour ‘til the next person with an appointment comes in, so he’s got some time to kill. 

“You wouldn’t know if you went to school with her, considering you only ever fuckin’ showed up to play ball. I don’t think I ever saw you in class.” Jeno scoffs, though he knows he should probably keep speaking when Jaemin throws him a scathing glare. “How can you be so sure that she’s my type?”

Jaemin takes the cigarette out of his mouth, waving it around aimlessly as he finally walks over to his own workbench, right beside Jeno’s. He’s got a couple of chairs beside it, and he shoves one towards Jeno before sitting down himself. Jeno, for his part, swings his chair around so he can sit down backwards as he faces Jaemin, folding his arms over the back of it and resting his chin on top of his forearm. Once they’re both situated, Jaemin finally speaks again.

“Pretty, but doesn’t remind me of any of the greaser girls or the rich girls, somehow. Guess she doesn’t fit in that way. Smart, either talks animatedly or doesn’t say shit at all. Seemed all bright-eyed but with sum’n dark behind them. Mysterious, just a bit. Paint a good enough picture for you, asshole?” Jaemin good-naturedly flicks some ash towards his friend, drawing forth a chuckle from the other man. 

“Sounds like you’re describin’ a book character,” Jeno throws back, causing Jaemin to roll his eyes even as he’s genuinely smiling. “Been spending too much time with Mark.”

“Maybe so,” Jaemin acquiesces, leaning forward in his chair to look Jeno in the eyes. He turns his head to the side, blowing smoke out through his lips before looking back. “Doesn’t change the fact that she’s good for you. Really, I think you two could hit it off. Even got her number for you.”

“You’re that desperate to pawn me off, huh?” Jeno raises an eyebrow, though he holds out his hand for Jaemin to drop a slightly-crumpled napkin into. He might not go for whatever girl it is romantically, but it might be good to go on a date or two just to keep himself from getting too rusty with the girls. That, and he has to admit that sitting at home, tinkering with the house’s clocks or yelling at Donghyuck not to use up all the hot water for the week is less appealing than having a nice night out (or a nice night in, depending on the girl). He supposes he’s mildly optimistic as he unfolds the napkin, even allowing himself a small grin at the idea of doing something outside of his ordinary, everyday, work to home to work to home life.

Jeno’s smile fades fast once he sees what’s scrawled messily on the napkin in black ink. 

(Name) Suh

XXX-XXX-XXXX ;)

He blinks once, blinks twice, before letting out a groan and allowing his head to drop onto the wood of the chair’s back. Jaemin, concerned, asks if he’s alright, but Jeno just ignores him, too busy wallowing in the cosmic irony of his best friend giving him the number of the one girl he would never get with. 

“Is this about the chick or is it something else? I saw Johnny Suh pull out of here, that motherfucker. If he wasn’t giving us so much business all the time I would’ve TP’ed his house by now. Is it him? Don’t let him get to you-”

“Jaemin,” Jeno interrupts his best friend, finally looking up from his reprieve in the chair. Jaemin quits rambling almost immediately, his gaze running over Jeno’s unreadable expression. Jeno looks down at the note, up at Jaemin, and then back down at your handwriting again before letting out a weighty, long-suffering sigh.

“Jaemin,” Jeno repeats himself, finally making eye contact with his friend. “We need to have a talk.”

♕ ♕ ♕

“You saw that her last name is Suh and you didn’t stop to think that she might be related to Johnny fucking Suh? Really? I know you’re dense, Jaemin, but for Chrissakes!” 

Renjun’s voice rings through the small, two bedroom house as he chastises Jaemin while the two of them cook dinner. Jeno’s sitting on the floor in the living room, fiddling with Donghyuck’s radio: he’s been meaning to fix it for weeks, now, but it’s only today that he’s really found the time. That, and he’s trying to avoid the ongoing argument that’s occurring while two of his friends are making meatloaf. He knows that he’s the reason for it, yes, but that doesn’t mean that he wants to be involved. 

It isn’t Jaemin’s fault, really, and Jeno knows this. He can’t stay mad at his best friend in general, but he’s doubly inclined to let Jaemin off the hook because the younger boy has no clue as to why Johnny Suh is so universally hated in the Lee household. Jaemin doesn’t even live with them like Renjun does, so he’s blissfully unaware of exactly how marred the relationship between Jeno and Johnny is. 

“I’m home, you fucks!” The front door swings open with abandon just as Jeno finishes straightening the radio’s antenna, and he winces at the screech of the door’s protesting hinges. He’s so startled that he almost drops the radio itself, but he manages to catch it in time. This is lucky - Donghyuck saunters into the living room at the right moment, seeing Jeno both fumble and save his precious radio. Jeno pretends like he doesn’t see the glare his cousin throws at him, instead waving in greeting to him before beckoning him over.

“They’re going at it in the kitchen,” Jeno says lowly once Donghyuck’s close enough to hear him. “I wouldn’t go in there just yet.”

Donghyuck mulls this information over in his mind for a moment before raising a single, perfect eyebrow. He snatches his radio from his cousin’s lap, securing it in his grip, and sits down beside Jeno before he chooses to respond.

“And what if I want to cause problems on purpose?”

“Didn’t you have a full day of doing that at work today?” Jeno asks rhetorically, causing Hyuck to roll his eyes over-exaggeratedly. 

“Which job?” He throws back, and Jeno can’t help but laugh. Donghyuck cracks a smile, too, though neither of them know why: it isn’t funny, especially not when Hyuck is speaking truth. He’s worked two jobs since dropping out of high school alongside Jeno a year prior - one close to the rich side of town in a quaint bookstore frequented by nearby college students, and one as a local plumbers’ assistant. None of the boys ever know where he’s at, which is concerning to all of them but something nobody bothers bringing up with Hyuck. 

Judging by the fact that he’s wearing jeans and a shirt that’s had the sleeves ripped off, Jeno feels as if it’s safe to say that Hyuck’s just gotten home from being under sinks and in cisterns. By this time, he typically would’ve washed the oil out of his hair and changed into his sleeping clothes. Jeno’s heart twinges at the idea that his cousin might have to go back out to work after eating.

“You gettin’ some sleep tonight?” Jeno’s query is soft-spoken, and Donghyuck can’t help but give him a sad smile before he slowly shakes his head no.

“On house call duty until 5 in the morning. I’ll be home to nap, have some eggs, and then get to the store, though. Maybe we’ll see each other then, brother.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Jeno sighs in a way that says he knows they won’t, and Donghyuck hits his shoulder with his own. They sit like that, in silence, listening to Renjun and Jaemin bicker for a few moments, wallowing in the harsher truths of their lives for a few short moments before Donghyuck, never one comfortable with the quiet, breaks it to ask the obvious question.

“What’s up with those two?” He tilts his head towards the kitchen, and Jeno sighs before dropping his head down and pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes.

“Jaemin wingman-ed me to one of the new hires at Kim’s.”

“That’s not so bad,” Donghyuck says, furrowing his brow at Jeno. “I mean, you’re a manwhore. Figured that isn’t something you’d particularly mind.”

“Shut up,” Jeno scowls, much to Hyuck’s amusement. “And that’s the pot calling the kettle black. It isn’t the act, it’s the victim.”

“The vic- the girl?” Donghyuck’s voice is incredulous now, and Jeno all but groans as he shakes his head in disagreement.

“No - I mean, maybe, considering it’s Jaemin she was talking to - but no, fuck. I meant me, I’m the victim.”

“And why is that?”

“Because the girl is - he got me (Name) Suh’s number, damn it. Of all the girls he could’ve talked to about me, it was her.”

Donghyuck’s teeth clench immediately at hearing the unholy last name, and the air leaving his mouth between his lips makes an odd, hissing noise. His grip on his radio tightens, the pads of his fingers whitening. It’s a beat, two beats, before Hyuck lets up on the thing he has in his hands, sighing with mild dejection.

“Jaemin only moved here right before high school,” Donghyuck rationalizes, though the darkness behind his pupils lets Jeno know that he isn’t happy about being reasonable. “And we never really talk about the thing with Doyoung. I guess he either didn’t register that they’re related or he thinks our hatred is only over the class bullshit Johnny pushes on us whenever he sees us. I’m surprised you never told him the whole story, though - you two are as close as brothers.”

“What, you jealous?” Jeno teases on instinct, mainly aiming his witticism at the last phrase Hyuck had uttered. His cousin rolls his eyes once again, nudges his shoulder once again. Jeno grins, dropping his gaze to his hands. 

“It isn’t that I wanted to keep it from Jaemin - it just never came up. He hates Johnny, too, but it isn’t in the same way as us. I guess I’ll explain it tonight - we’ve got an early shift at the garage tomorrow, as it is.” 

“Let me guess,” Donghyuck sighs. “You start at 5?”

“Damn straight.” Jeno smiles sadly. “We aren’t kids anymore, Hyuckie, are we?”

“No sir,” Donghyuck smiles back, running a thumb over the radio’s buttons. “But goddamn, does adulthood suck when you don’t even have time to be with your family. Speaking of, where’s that idiot older brother of mine?”

“I heard that, you asshat!” Jeno looks up just in time to see Mark box Donghyuck’s ears, albeit as gently as possible. Still, the youngest Lee winces in pain, whining at the sudden attack. 

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Jeno notes, grinning up at his older cousin. “Didn’t hear you come in. How much did you hear?”

“Came in through the back. If you’re talking about whatever is happening in the kitchen, then nothing. If you’re talking about your explanation of whatever is happening in the kitchen, then everything. You two are not observant in any way, shape, or form - I’ve been here for a couple of minutes. I agree, by the way - you should tell Jaemin about it.”

“Tell Jaemin about what?”

Jeno, Donghyuck, and Mark all turn their heads simultaneously to see Jaemin and Renjun walk in, the former balancing the meatloaf on a tray and the latter holding a stack of plates, knives, and forks. Mark, who’s already standing anyways, leans over, grabbing some of the cutlery to ease up Renjun’s load. Jaemin sets the tray down on the floor after kicking aside the tools Jeno’d been using on the radio, and once he straightens up, he looks down at his best friend expectantly. 

Jeno meets Jaemin’s gaze, takes note of the annoyance that’s still etched across Renjun’s features, and sighs. He runs a hand down his face before looking up again, this time meeting everyone’s eyes individually. Finally, he asks what he thinks is most important of all before starting on his spiel.

“When are the kids getting here?”

♕ ♕ ♕

Chenle and Jisung have to convince their respective parents that, yes, they have in fact completed all of their homework and studied for all their upcoming tests, before they’re allowed to head over to the Lees’ house for dinner. Both boys - the only two still left in high school, both juniors - come over in no time at all, seeing as they live in the houses on either side of Jeno’s. 

“Why the fuck are we having family dinner?” Chenle asks, voice booming as he walks in without any prior announcement. Jisung, who’s trailing right behind him, quietly shuts and locks the door.

“Jaemin fucked up,” Renjun says, right at the same time as Mark responds with a “Because I said so.”   Jisung and Chenle share a look - each with an eyebrow raised in confusion and mild anticipation - before sitting down, Jisung on the right of Jaemin and Chenle right beside Hyuck. Jaemin immediately ruffles the youngest boy’s hair, pairing it with a ‘You’re doin’ good in school, right? Good with all those books ‘n’ shit?’, to which Jisung, as always, nods while trying to dodge Jaemin’s next loving attack. Out of the seven men and boys currently having dinner in the house, only Mark and Renjun have their high school diplomas.

Jeno was so close to living a different life. He does his best not to think about what could have been. Instead, he starts talking, commanding everyone’s attention in the way only he can. 

“We think it’s… time we talked about Doyoung.” Jeno lets the words settle, resting against their skin before seeping into their bones. He sees Chenle visibly shudder, Donghyuck resting a soothing palm against his younger friend’s upper back. Renjun lets out a heavy sigh, and Jisung bites at the inside of his cheek to keep himself from making the sad, choked noise he certainly was about to let out. 

Jaemin, for his part, says nothing, only waiting patiently in a way that’s become his signature. Jeno thinks there’s nobody in the world more caring than Jaemin, sometimes, and his best friend never ceases to prove him right. 

“Doyoung’s my older brother’s best friend - you remember Taeyong, right? Yeah, he’s Taeyong’s best friend.” Mark explains, looking straight at Jaemin once everyone seems to have recovered from the mild shock. It’s understandable, of course - they never talk about Doyoung. It’s been years, and not once has The Incident come up. 

There’s always a time for everything, Jeno supposes. 

“Does this have anything to do with why Taeyong’s in jail?” Jaemin’s question is tentative at best, but Jeno can see that he’s just piecing things together in his mind. All six of the other boys nods simultaneously, murmuring affirmative answers as they do. 

“About five years ago, Johnny, Taeyong, Doyoung, and, uh… what’s his name? Nakamoto, or whatever, him... The four of them were fucking inseparable, did everything together. Johnny’s parents are known classists and elitists and whatever other -ists exist, but Johnny never seemed to be that way. Doesn’t matter, anyways. Rich kids are all the same in the end.” Donghyuck speaks this time, shedding more light as the story unfolds. The bitterness in his voice is highly evident, but nobody can blame him - they all know what it’s like to be ridiculed, pariahed because of poverty. All seven of them had forsaken the idea of trust ages ago.

“One night, Johnny and Yuta went out and got halfway to blind drunk at some bar they weren’t supposed to be at. Yuta at least went and decided to walk home instead of driving his car back, but Johnny didn’t give a fuck. ‘Course, he hit something almost immediately after getting in the damn thing, but he was too fuckin’ pussy to check and see what had happened.” Renjun tacks on after Donghyuck, adding on the next part of the infamous, unfortunate tale. Chenle is the next to speak. 

“He was near a phone booth, so he called Doyoung to come help him. Doyoung and Taeyong both hurried to help their friend, figuring he must’ve gotten hurt, only to find that he’d- he’d…”

“That he’d hit and killed the son of the mayor at the time,” Hyuck finishes, noticing how Chenle hesitates to go on. “Johnny had called the cops right after calling Doyoung, and the pigs got there not a minute or two after my - Mark and my - brother and Doyoung did. They immediately assumed one of them had been driving, and then assumed that the car had been stolen from Johnny rather than being Johnny’s itself. Fucking Suh never clarified, only stood by while his friends got hauled off. They knocked my big brother on Grand Theft Auto. Seven years for a crime he didn’t fucking commit. Still, at least we get to visit him every week.”

“They took in Doyoung in on manslaughter - not even vehicular manslaughter. He pleaded guilty to it because he knew they’d charge Taeyong with it if he didn’t, and Taeyong was looking after the rest of us - Renjun included - at the time. We don’t have any fucking parents, and Doyoung knew it. He’s already done five years, but he’s spending the next decade of his life in a federal super max, and we aren’t allowed to see him. Poor thing - Taeyong ended up getting jailed, too. Doyoung couldn’t’ve have known. Don’t know if he knows now, even.” Jeno finishes the story, voice quivering with rage and the few unshed tears that always accompany his thoughts about the huge miscarriage of justice his family and friends have faced. Taeyong’s room is still the same as it was five years prior, untouched. 

“Johnny was a witness in both cases, and he took the stand against them, saying they really did do what the cops said they did,” Jisung finishes, voice soft but emotionally charged. “My mom and Chenle’s mom stepped in as best they could to take care of Mark, Renjun, Jeno, and Hyuck afterwards until Mark got grown, but I just know it isn’t the same as Taeyong.”

“Your moms are angels,” Mark responds, smiling kindly at the two youngest members of their ragtag group. “They saved our lives. Of course, they wouldn’t have had to do so if…”

“If Johnny Suh hadn’t ruined them first.” Jeno completes the thought, Donghyuck and Renjun nodding in agreement. Jaemin says nothing, only looking each of them in the eyes earnestly. 

He gets it, Jeno decides. The rest of them must see this as well. 

After dinner, when Jeno goes to the bathroom to brush before sleeping, he finds a thoroughly sodden piece of paper stuck to the bottom of the basin. It takes him a moment to realize what it is - the sharpie has bled into one large blob. Jeno smiles to himself before getting to work cleaning it up.

He scrapes your phone number off of his sink with his bare nails and sleeps easier that night than he has in a long while. 

♕ ♕ ♕

Day Two: May 26, 1957

Jeno’s always been good with time. It’s a gift, though it’s rare he acknowledges it: being able to more-or-less accurately tell the time without ever looking at a clock is hardly the kind of superpower people dream about. 

You leave work at around 3 p.m. - Jeno knows this because he’s out in front of the garage, sat on the hood of Jaemin’s rusty pickup truck nursing a ham sandwich when you walk out of Kim’s, unbuttoning your uniform’s top few buttons as you find your brother’s waiting car. He’s too far away to hear the words you exchange with Johnny, but he watches as you glare into the Chevy for an excruciatingly long amount of time before heaving a sigh and re-buttoning your shirt. 

Jeno doesn’t watch as the two of you drive away, but he doesn’t have to. Johnny always drives like he deserves more respect on the road than his car does, and it boils the younger man’s blood more than anything. After all, Jeno’s always been able to count on machines. People? Not so much. Cars respect him, so he respects them. 

He finishes the sandwich, immediately replacing it with an unlit cigarette. ‘Oral fixation’, Donghyuck had smirked at him one night ages ago, only to have gotten a shoe thrown at him by Renjun. Jeno can’t say that his cousin is wrong, but he’ll die before he lets Hyuck know that. He thinks back to the morning, when he’d left to come to work. He’d only seen Jaemin and nobody else, and that was just because Jaemin had been his ride. 

Speaking of Jaemin- he’d been right: you’re pretty. You’ve always been pretty, but Jeno tries to ignore it. Nobody related to the scum of the Earth Johnny Suh himself can be beautiful both inside and out - he’s never been more sure of anything. Such a thought process might be unfair, sure, but he reckons it’s better that he avoid you altogether rather than get caught up like his family members had. That’s how life goes: you hunt or get hunted. 

Jeno will be damned if he ever finds himself being the prey again. 

Jess drops by at around 4:15, no necessity behind her visit. They don’t do anything, not this time, though Jeno does have to force himself to stop imagining her lipstick leaving marks in places the sun can’t see, his fingers leaving bruises along her skin. Jaemin raises an eyebrow when he sees them talking, though he doesn’t say anything, only tossing Jess his pack of Camels. It’s only got one cig left in it, so Jeno lights it and puts it to her lips. She blows out a ring of smoke before he takes a drag from it himself, his fourth smoke of the day.

“You should apply for a dealership job or something,” Jess says at around 4:30, and Jeno’s now hyper-aware of her reason for visiting. He scoffs, handing the cigarette back to her for good. It’s suddenly the most unappetizing thing in the world. She notices his expression, but slogs on anyways, hoping that she’ll get through to him. “I’m serious! You’re smart, Jen, real smart. You could do worse than sellin’ cars to crackpots in suits. You’d make more cash, too.” 

Her drawl only comes back to her when she’s talking to her childhood friends, and Jeno supposes it’s an unwitting act of classism. They don’t ‘speak good’, as Jaemin would teasingly put it, but they have heart. It’s something that’s hard to find in people who have more money. Jess has grown up like them, yes, but in some ways she’s no longer part of the world Jeno’s forced to live in. It’s a world where he’s got family and friends in jail, where his own brothers - he almost never calls them his cousins, because they’re brothers if he’s ever had any - have to work two jobs just to make sure all of them get by, where their friends have to do the same. Jess has a stable job now - kudos to her - and a rich boyfriend. She’s set for as long as she can hope to be.

She’s okay with doing up the hair of ladies who sit idly and gossip about the ‘filthy poors’ in the south side of town. Jeno can hardly look rich folks in the eyes without gritting his teeth into dust. He’s well aware that they are not the same. 

“Why this sudden interest in my career?” Regardless, he only questions her coolly, unwilling to start an argument that won’t find an end any time soon. There’s no telling when a car will come in and Jess will have to leave so the boys can do their work, and, besides, this isn’t a discussion he wants to have. Not with Jess. Not with anyone. 

He’d been so, so close to going to college with a full ride. Jeno had dreams once. He’d been a fool to even think of possessing such intangible commodities. He doesn’t have any anymore.

“I just… you’re brainy as hell. It’s a shame seeing you as a grease monkey when you could do more with your life, is all. I mean well, Jen, you know I do.” Her eyes are wide in earnestness, and Jeno can’t help but sigh. It’s not Jess’ fault he’s a realist, that he’s lost opportunities before. Before he can say anything in response, though, probably breaking her heart just a little bit in the process, Jaemin pipes in. 

“If I have to drop him off at a dealership everyday in the hunk o’ junk I drive while he’s dressed up in a three-piece suit, I’ll hang myself using a chain of grease rags. Besides,” He chuckles, tilting his head at his best friend. “Who’ll keep my sorry ass company here at the shop?”

A corner of Jeno’s mouth lifts up immediately at the save, and it’s all he can do to shrug and gesture towards his best friend in agreement. Jess rolls her eyes before darting her gaze between the two men, and once she realizes that she really won’t get anywhere with either of them, she only sighs and shakes her head, dropping the idea for good… for now. 

“That’s not the only reason you came here.” Jeno states, keeping an eye out for any potential customers. It’s a Sunday, though, so he doubts many people will come by. Church hasn’t been out for long - he knows this for sure because Mark never fails to attend, no matter how heavy his university course load gets and let alone how many hours during the week he’s had to work. He’s the only one currently pursuing a higher education, and Jeno thinks that he might be the only one tenacious enough to do so. 

It’s a shame - Jeno’d been real smart in school. So had Hyuck. They both know Mark beats himself up everyday for being the only one of the Lees who’ll get a Bachelor’s, but they both also know that he’s least likely to jeopardize his education. If anyone deserves college, it’s Mark. 

“How’d you guess?” Jess draws the mechanic out of his thoughts, and he blinks rapidly before orienting himself back in reality. His smirk returns - Jeno thinks he might use it as a facade too much at this point - and he can only laugh. 

“I didn’t - it was a shot in the dark. What’s up?” 

Jess opens her mouth to speak, but is cut off by Jaemin, who doesn’t realize she’s about to talk. Jeno’s best friend tosses him the beat up truck’s keys in a perfect arc, throwing him a well-meaning grin while he’s at it. 

“We won’t get much work today,” Jaemin states as Jeno catches the keys nimbly. “I’ll walk down to Church today, haven’t been in a while. Might be nice.”

“If you’re gonna go every three months at most, what’s the point of goin’ at all?” Jess asks, only mildly peeved at having been interrupted. Her grin is sunny, though, and Jaemin knows that she’s just teasing. A friend of Jeno’s is a friend of his; the vice versa also tends to ring true. 

“Unlike this one over here,” Jaemin jabs a thumb out towards Jeno. “I still believe. That, and I figured I’d walk Mark home. Don’t get to see him too often, y’know?”

“Hey- “ Jeno starts, stopping immediately as Jess waves him off with one hand. 

“Don’t mind him, he’s just disillusioned with everything he can’t see. Catholic Church included. Of course, whenever his grandparents are in town, he still pretends.” Jess explains sagely, much to Jaemin’s amusement and Jeno’s disgruntlement. The latter rolls his eyes, raising the hand enclosing the keys in a wave goodbye as Jaemin pushes himself off of the wall he’s leaning against. 

“Funny how Mark’s a Protestant and so is Hyuck - kind of, I don’t think he’s super religious at this point - but you’re a Catholic.” Jaemin notes, and Jeno shrugs for the second time in one day. 

“Mark & Hyuck’s dad was a Pastor, my dad converted to Catholicism for shits and giggles when he was, like, 15. They might be brothers, but they aren’t the same. I was never the religious disgrace of the family, though,” Jeno notes, a small, sadder smile replacing his grin momentarily. “Not after Taeyong said he’s an atheist. Anyways, Mark’s probably on his way home already, if you leave now you might be able to catch him.” 

Jaemin knows better than to press, only nodding, raising an eyebrow for a split second, and turning on his heel before easing himself into a jog. He’s still dressed in his work clothes, and his hair is as shaggy as ever, and Jeno thinks churchgoers might faint upon seeing him. He also knows that Jaemin doesn’t mind. 

“Now you,” Jeno looks at Jess once Jaemin is out of sight. “What’s up?”

Jess’ shoulders droop immediately, and for a moment she looks so forlorn that she doesn’t even look like herself. The expression passes as quickly as it had come into view, and Jeno accepts the nonchalant smile she gives him like it’s what she means to project outward.

“John’s been secretive lately.”

She says so much more with her eyes than she does with her mouth. Jeno sighs, tilting his head as he does to survey his friend for a moment. Jess is conflicted, that much is evident, and Jeno doesn’t quite know why. Nevertheless, he’s always made sure to keep his head out of other people’s business. He won’t change now. 

“If you’re worried that he’s cheating, why don’t you talk to him about it?” Jeno says it like it’s easy, like Jess isn’t unfaithful to her own boyfriend. His eyes dart out towards the street again - nobody’s coming in for repairs. Jess lets out a huff of air, and Jeno realizes she must think his words are sarcastic rather than as earnest as he’s meant them to be. 

“I’m being ridiculous, I know, it’s just- I just… I don’t know. It isn’t even that he’s acting super different, he’s just being more… conspiratorial? With his friends? It’s more of a feeling than anything else, I guess. I must sound fucking insane.” She runs her fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her face even as she casts her eyes towards the ground. She may be trying to reassure herself that she isn’t seeing things, but it’s called a sixth sense for a reason. 

“You have good intuition,” Jeno rushes to assure her that she isn’t losing her mind. “I hope you’re wrong, but… maybe you and your boy toy need to have a good talk. From both sides.”

“Yeah,” Jess responds, not knowing what else to say. “Yeah. I just had to say it out loud to someone that wasn’t my reflection, I think. I’ll figure it out. Anyways, I have a couple regulars dropping by at the salon today, so I should probably- ” 

“Go to work,” Jeno cuts in, his smile forgiving. Of what, neither of them are sure. “We have all the time in the world to talk. Bye, Jess.”

“Bye, Jen.” Is the response he gets, and then Jess is on her way. The day is silent again, now that Jaemin and Jess are both gone, but Jeno finds that he doesn’t really mind it. It’s not so bad- with no customers, no coworkers, and no friends around, Jeno gets to sit and think.

That’s what he does best. 

♕ ♕ ♕

It’s 6:27 in the evening when it happens.

For once in his life, Jeno checks his wristwatch. He isn’t sure why the sudden compulsion to actually know the time overcomes him, but he chalks it up to ‘dying from boredom’ and thinks nothing else of it. After all, the rags won’t clean themselves and the shop’s workbenches are only as neat as their owners. Jeno isn’t the most put together person alive, but he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t mind mess. 

So he cleans, even when he’s the only one who’s doing it. 

He’s in the midst of organizing his wrenches in size order when a familiar red Bel Air glides into the diner’s parking lot, top down with Johnny Suh’s loud laughter audible even from across the street. The music blaring from his car radio is only almost as loud as he is, and that’s saying something, because Johnny takes up every space he’s ever in. Yuta Nakamoto is beside him like he always is, though he’s more reserved than usual. Jeno does his best not to pay them any heed, but it’s difficult when his own responsibilities are mind-numbingly boring at the moment. He’ll take any entertainment he can get, even if it’s Johnny fucking Suh being the true neighborhood nuisance once again. 

Funny how people look at Jeno funny when he walks down streets minding his own business, but they don’t say jackshit about a Suh kid blasting Elvis in public right before dinner time. 

But that’s neither here nor there. 

Jeno actually manages to finish his tool-sorting and is getting ready to finally, finally pack up when the music stops. Johnny must’ve parked. The burgeoning night is eerily silent, and the young mechanic pauses what he’s doing - making sure he has everything, mostly - because the world seems like it’s holding its breath. Just as he’s about to relax, slump his shoulders, and get back to his own work, he hears it. 

Of course he hears it. It’s impossible to miss. 

The scream shatters the silence into a million pieces, startling Jeno so hard he almost drops Jaemin’s car keys. He’s rushing out of the garage before he can think, and it’s moments later that he sees none other than Johnny Suh and Yuta Nakamoto rushing out of the diner, stuffing what look like pistols into the waistbands of their jeans. There’s cold, hard cash grasped in each of their hands, and Jeno cannot, for the life of him, comprehend what he’s seeing.

He makes brief eye contact with Johnny Suh, and the recognition in the older’s narrowed eyes freezes Jeno’s blood. There’s no time to ponder this, though - not when Johnny pulls out and rushes away within seconds, his car roaring to life on the town’s streets. Jeno’s just witnessed a robbery - a robbery by one of the richest and most powerful people in the area. Jeno’s just witnessed a robbery, and the criminal himself is aware of this.

As he watches the owner of Kim’s run out, hands on his head in panic and disbelief, all Jeno can think about is how Johnny Suh is going to try to shut him up. Jeno is now the star witness to a criminal act. There’s no way he’ll sleep tonight.

He leaves City Motors with duller eyes than he ever has, his workstation spotless and mind swallowed in darkness. 

At least now he knows why Johnny’s been weird towards Jess lately. 

♕ ♕ ♕

Jaemin drops Mark off at the Lee household with a parting hug, clasping their hands together in a high five before pulling each other into their chests and clapping each other on the back. Each other. Jaemin might be the ‘newest’ addition to their band of seven, but he doesn’t feel any different from the rest of them. They’re his brothers, and he’ll always have their backs. They’ll always have his.

Mark invites him inside, but Jaemin declines - he’s out of chewing gum, of all things, and he knows the sketchy convenience store by the alley near 7th Street always sells at half price on Sundays. He bids the older man goodbye again, throwing him a lax two-finger salute and a small smirk before turning on his heels and jamming his hands into his jean pockets, a stance that does nothing to help his already awful posture. 

He whistles all the way down to the store - Kun’s Konvenience - mostly because he can’t get the tune Hyuck is always humming out of his head, but also because he feels almost truly happy. Sure, his future looks like it’ll lie in the City Motors garage for the rest of his life, and sure, maybe he shouldn’t step foot inside Church - the dirty looks had been telling today - but that doesn’t dampen his mood. The sun is shining, the sky is a brilliant blue. Kun’s is selling gum for cheap, and Jaemin’s in need of it. He rounds the final corner and the short, squat red brick building he’s looking for comes into view. 

His hand is closing in on the handle of the store’s front door when another, slightly larger, hand places itself on top of his. 

Jaemin barely has time to step back when a fist connects with his jaw. Through his swimming vision, he sees Johnny Suh raise a pistol, and he doesn’t have the time to raise his hands before the butt of the gun collides with the side of his head. The last thing Jaemin remembers before passing out entirely is the ugly, ugly sneer across the older man’s face as he glares down at him. 

“Sorry. Blame your meddling friend.” Johnny spits out, placing a well-aimed kick in Jaemin’s side as his finale. 

 ♕ ♕ ♕

It’s 8:32 at night when the landline rings. Mark’s studying and both Donghyuck and Renjun are out at work, so Jeno’s the only one available to pick up the phone. Typically, he’d be wary of doing so - the neighborhood elementary schoolers have only recently discovered the cheap thrills that come with prank calling - but something compels him to hear out whoever’s on the other end.

There’s a crackling noise, and what sound like hushed whispers, and this goes on for so long that Jeno’s about to either yell something about working on homework instead of pranking or just hang up without a word when the other person finally speaks. Jeno sets down the dish he’s washing, pays no mind to the way it clatters into the otherwise-empty sink when Johnny fucking Suh finally opens his damned mouth. 

“Caught an eyeful down at City Motors today, didn’t you?” He asks, casually, as if there are no underlying threats hiding beneath his overly honeyed words. As if he isn’t the one who’s committed a crime, as if Jeno’s the one with the gun and the money he never earned. Bile rises almost automatically in the younger man’s throat, but he can’t bring himself to put the phone down anymore. It’s as if he’s stuck. 

“What do you want?” Jeno manages to hiss out when the urge to vomit recedes, and the way Johnny chuckles in response sends chills down Jeno’s spine. There’s something sickeningly sinister about the situation they’re caught in, and Jeno knows that he’s unprepared for when the other shoe drops. His mind can’t even work properly, not when there are so many ways for this to go. 

“Police will be at your door tomorrow morning, looking to arrest the Kim’s robber. I’ll have given them a helpful tip by then, of course. Wouldn’t be good of me to know who it is and not let the local law enforcement know. Also… left you a present in the alleyway by that one convenience store your kind go to. Think it goes by the name of… Jaemin?”

Jeno’s blood runs cold at the mention of his best friend’s name. Johnny doesn’t stop speaking. 

“He was real easy to drag by his feet after I got him in the head, though getting rid of the trail of blood by the store was a little harder. I’m about half sure I left him breathing, but-”

The landline slips out of Jeno’s hand, no active effort made to put it down. Everything suddenly feels as if it’s in slow motion, as if his muscles are made of lead and his tongue is made of sandpaper, but he hears himself calling out for Mark before his own actions register in his mind. He must sound frantic, because he can hear his older cousin practically sprint down the stairs even through the haze his mind is in. Jaemin. Jaemin’s hurt. Jaemin’s bleeding, Jaemin’s in pain. 

“What? What the fuck happened- Who was on the phone- Jeno? What happened?” Mark’s voice is panicked enough, rushed enough, to shake Jeno out of his stupor. His anguish moves aside, making way for rightly placed rage as he meets his family member’s eyes. When he speaks, his voice is choked, barely restrained and yet so, so pained. 

“We need to go to Kun’s,” Jeno states, swallowing the growing lump in his throat. He can’t cry, not now, not when a clock might be ticking. He hasn’t cried in ages. He can’t cry now. Jaemin needs him. He can’t waste his time crying. “We need to go to Kun’s.” He repeats.

“It’s Jaemin.”

[matthewtkachuk]

obx masterlist

JJ Maybank

baby you were my picket fence

Three and a half weeks after your break up with JJ you miss missing him. A tropical storm has you reaching out to the boy who still has your whole heart.

feel something (series)

On the outside, you’re a kook princess with a seemingly perfect life and a perfect family. The expectations are suffocating you, to the point where the only thing you feel is numb. You’re chasing different coping mechanisms in order to feel something. Until a chance encounter with a certain blond pogue you know you’re supposed to hate gives rise to a different kind of feeling.

say you love me (blurb)

the one where jj tickles you until you admit you love him

everything you’ve ever wanted (blurb)

the one where you leave for college and jj takes you to the airport

your voice, it calls me (blurb)

the one where you don’t like talking on the phone, but JJ always calls you instead of texting. JJ admits that it’s because he wants to hear your voice

about love (blurb)

the one where jj doesn’t know a lot about love, but he knows you

mistaken identity

jj mistakes you for a touron, despite the fact that he’s been copying your test answers for years and pined after you just as long. will you let him take you on a date to make it up to you and win you over?

Rafe Cameron

nicotine

You’re already addicted to cigarettes, and Rafe is worse than nicotine

distractions (blurb)

the one where you’re on a zoom call with your professor and rafe needs to be the center of your attention

ignore me (smut)

you’re mad at rafe for fighting so you give him the silent treatment. rafe has to resort to desperate measures to get you to stop ignoring him

forgive me (smut) - sequel to ignore me

you’re ready to forgive rafe, but first you’re going to make him work for it

surprise (blurb)

the one where rafe’s been acting shady and you think he’s forgotten your birthday

how to be a heartbreaker (series) co-written with my love @rekrappeter

Rafe Cameron’s privileged upbringing has let him get away with far too much, for far too long. Between his tormenting of the pogues, running his mouth without consequence, and arrogant attitude, it’s time someone knocked him down a peg. Breaking his bones didn’t work, but maybe you can break his heart.

speak now

it’s the day of your wedding and, even though it’s been two years, you can’t stop thinking about the one who got away. little do you know he’s also consumed with thoughts of you and he’s not ready to give up just yet

the essay (smut)

rafe’s having issues with his philosophy class, especially the paper worth thirty percent of his grade. you’ve already taken the class, crushed the essay, and rafe offers to take care of you if you take care of the paper for him

aviophobia

a rough flight provokes your fear of flying, luckily your cute seat mate is willing to hold your hand and help you through it

keep your friends close and make out with your enemies

you’ve hated rafe cameron your entire life, though at this point you don’t really remember why. you were always told that the more a boy picks on you the more he likes you, but that couldn’t be true… could it?

Topper Thornton

mad woman

the one where topper’s insecurities and jealousy have driven you mad

give you anything (blurb)

the one where topper would give you anything if you asked

Pope Heyward

51. Please tell me you’re sorry, I need to hear you say it

the one where pope is ashamed of his kook girlfriend

still not sorry (sequel to please tell me you’re sorry, i need to hear you say it)

the one where pope broke your heart, but still can’t say he’s sorry

caregiver (blurb)

the one where your bad day has you seeking pope for comfort

Blurb Night

JJ Maybank

44. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

16. Celebratory hug

40. It was my fault for thinking you might care

Rafe Cameron

14. “How heartbreaking.”

Topper Thornton

17. “I can’t sleep.” / 18. “I can’t breathe.” / 40. “Do you think I wanted this?”

9. You’re jealous aren’t you

89. “I noticed.” / 90. “You can tell me anything.”

Pope Heyward

2. Sleepy hug

40. “I made this for you.”

4. comfort hug

16. “It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”