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get-shiggy-with-it · 4 years ago

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collab masterlist

✧ pairing: villain!hawks x afab!reader

✧ word count: 5k

✧ warnings: this is like all smut, angst, ambiguous but happy ending, unhealthy relationships, mentions of transactional sex, reader has a healing quirk but it's really just for poetic purposes, reader has a vagina, no other gendered parts, oral sex (reader receiving), vague metaphorical drug reference, mentions of blood, mentions of wounds, mating press, soft sex (?), sorta, slight potential could be read as dubcon but they're both into it

✧ summary: for years you've stitched hawks back together when the world has torn him to shreds—and he always pays you back, though you can't help but start want more than he can give you.

✧ a/n: hey y'all this months theme was villain/hero swap with a shared opener! please go check out all the other wonderful works in this collab, there are so many talented writers/artists involved!! credit to @/lady-bakuhoe for the amazing intro. also bonus points if you catch the old aesthetic tumblr post references.

Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.

Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?

Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary.

One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.

***

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

That fact is made even more horrifically apparent as he stumbles through your open window—and how long has it been since you’ve slept with it closed?—dripping with blood and panting from his flight.

The T.V. blares in the background, filling your tiny apartment with incessant ramblings that only grow louder by the day, and you already know what they’re going to say before they say it. Because you see him, before the reporters stumble upon heroes in the wreckage—you see what they do to him before they’re warning the public of dangerous villains loose in the streets.

They spout off about failing heroes but you think they’ve done a pretty damn good butchers job. Red feathers matted together, sticky and brown, fall in tufts from his back. You burn with shameful jealousy at the thought of those who would call themselves heroes having laid hands on what is yours.

He isn’t really yours and you know that, though you often wish you could be a bit more delusional. It might not hurt so much then.

They call him a villain. They call him a threat to society.

But even faced with the truth spilling from him and onto your creaking floors, it is easy to forget what a ruthless predator the man before you becomes when he leaves these four walls.

Especially as he falls forward on heavy feet straight into your arms, outstretched and waiting. There are stains on your shirt but you’ve known the secret for getting blood out of clothing for years now. Cold water for the fabric, warm to wash away the grime on his lovely skin.

“Gonna need you to fix me up again, sweetheart,” Hawks mumbles into your shoulder where his forehead rests.

His breathing is even more ragged now, not just from the flight.

“I know,” you reply and your hands shake when they find the gaping wound at his side—wide and deeper than the ones before. “I know. Can you walk?”

He doesn’t respond but that mop of golden hair shifts a bit as he slings an arm over your shoulder and rests his weight. You don’t need to direct him to your bedroom. This is an old game you’re playing and he knows the steps.

So do you.

Though, you’re never sure if it's dread that fills you and makes your stomach knot and your knees weak. Or if it’s that awful, momentary rush of excitement at the prospect of being able to run your fingers over him, bare and giving you free reign.

As long as he’s bleeding out on your floor.

Then you can feel him.

When he’s dying and needs you.

Needs you to fix him.

But won’t ever let you close enough to finish the job the way you want to.

You comfort yourself in with the knowledge that at least he lets you this close. At least those thin, silver-skin scars are the unmistakable mark of your healing hands. At least you’ll always haunt him like the red feather down that sticks to your pillows or between your floorboards.

So you strip him carefully and try not to let his sculpted chest distract you from the work. Hawks is silent, such a model patient as always. Only grunting when your fingers move to knit together the ragged edges of his flesh.

This will leave a nasty mark, you know it already. But you can’t find it in yourself to mourn the loss of that lovely skin.

It will only make it harder for him to forget you.

You’re knelt beside him, laid out on a towel you keep at the edge of the bed. Blood will soak through to the sheets regardless, but you try your best. He takes a sharp breath, white teeth catching the back of his hand between them to stifle groans.

You wish there was more pleasure to it. That he was biting back moans for you instead of trying not to scream as his flesh pulsed and grew hot while it was rebuilt under your fingertips. So you indulge, pretend your hands are elsewhere, roaming his perfect waistline and pulling whimpers from him.

Your dangerous, villainous, predator Hawks sprawled on his back, wings spread and cumming onto his chest under you.

The sounds above you change, and you know it hurts—must be excruciating as bone is set back into place—but you chose to believe it’s because he’s trying to keep himself from screaming your name as he reaches his release.

Hawks, you’d croon to him—Hawks because you don’t know his real name. Don’t know who he was before he started this underground life of crime on the fringes of a society that called him a monster and then turned him into one.

He isn’t a monster in your bed, though he may cry like one.

Cry as you mold his flesh and try not to look him in the face. Try to pretend they are an overflow of some better emotion. And when those summer wheat field eyes roll back in his head and those horrible pretty noises stop, you push past the growing ache in your limbs until the skin under your palms is smooth and no longer leaking thick, red blood.

And you do your best to resist the itch to feel more of him while he can’t stop you. Even with your fingers numb from overexertion, you can’t help but fall back on your heels and long for the feeling of his cheek in your hand, or his chest on your face.

But your part of the transaction is done.

And your permission doesn’t extend past these limits.

And it pains you to wish harm on him.

But it hurts even more when he does not need you.

So you sit and hate yourself and hope that those heroes with their disgusting philosophies get their shit together just a bit more. So you won’t lose your purpose. So he’ll keep coming through your window, permanently open through rainstorms and snow and spring heat.

Hawks’ breath evens slowly, and you stay still as a watched painting—no shifting eyes or moving limbs.

You crave these times like water or warm food—constant and instinctively.

And this is the only time you’ll ever have them, hands so filled with pinpricks of fried nerves that you can barely feel the soft, relaxed muscle beneath them.

What a tragedy.

What an injustice—

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

***

“Hmm,” he groans, sitting up and wincing as the new flesh protests under his movements.

“You should rest for a bit longer.”

Hawks looks at you, stretched next to him on the mattress—a purposeful few inches of space left between your bodies. It’s both selfish and practical advice.

But he isn’t here for that kind of help.

“You know I can’t just be sittin’ on my ass,” he quips, flashing you that eyes closed, wide smirk that sets your heart hammering in your chest. “Can’t have anyone tracing me back here.”

“Normally I’d agree,” you don’t find it in yourself to give the words any bite, “but you were just actively bleeding out a few minutes ago.”

“Sure, but that was a few minutes ago,” he winks and you can already feel the bed shifting as he moves to settle himself over your hips, one toned thigh on either side to bracket you against the bed. “Now, let me pay you back for all that hard work, yeah sweetheart?”

You wish the way he peered up through those long lashes, gold eyes honed in on you like a piece of meat on a hook, didn’t make your face burn this much.

It doesn’t mean anything to him.

Because this arrangement really is transactional—so you have to get something out of it too. At least, that’s what he tells himself, you think. He doesn’t know that those scant few moments you hold his life between your fingers is more than enough payment.

It’s been this way since the very first time you stumbled across him, half dead in an alley. But then you think it might have just been a ‘heat of the moment’ sort of thing that had just stuck.

You heal him and he makes you writhe on the sheets with his tongue and his hands, until you're fucked into unconscious bliss and he can slip away without your prying eyes watching him go.

But you still aren’t allowed to touch Hawks, even when he reaches into those deep parts of you and molds them to fit only him.

“You don’t—” you start to protest, partly because you want to believe you don’t want it and partly because you want to hear him insist that he does.

“Shh,” Hawks presses a calloused finger to your mouth and it takes every ounce of strength not to suck it past your lips. “I don’t like leaving my debts unpaid.”

That’s the end of your determination for the night. So you try to relax into his touch as slides your bottoms off and tosses them to the floor. Try not to clench up under those fingers that spread your legs. He doesn’t like it when you squirm away, when you flinch from his hands.

You want to think it’s because he hopes you aren’t afraid of him—of what he is—like the rest are, and not because he wants to get it over with as quickly as possible.

You want to.

But he’s so hard to read, and your mind is not often a kind place.

“Mm, god I’m always so hungry after you patch me up baby,” Hawks licks his lips as he stares down at you. “You won’t mind if I eat you right?”

You cringe at how fast your head shakes.

“Mm, course you wouldn’t.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and he’s right though you resent it a bit that he’s got you pegged so easily.

But you’re weak, you’re no villain, you’re no hero.

And so you’ll never be able to resist him. But, damn, did you wish you had a name to cry out. Then at the very least, you could keep a part of him with you too. Then you’d have some to moan on the nights he goes uninjured and you have to bring yourself to lonely release, only thinking of him.

Of those wings spread above you like a burning, red sunset, obscuring the rest of the world from view with his blinding light.

“Hawks…” you hiss instead as he shifts your legs over his shoulders and lays his tender chest on the sheets. “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s it gonna be tonight then?” he asks, breath ghosting over the damp folds between your thighs.

“Thought you said you were gonna use your tongue,” you whine, impatient now for any scrap of attention he’s willing to give.

“If that’s what you want,” he presses a kiss into the crease of your leg and hip, nipping the delicate skin so you whine again. “It’s whatever you want, you know that.”

It isn’t though.

It’s not whatever you want.

You can pick the position, you can ask for his mouth or his fingers, but even then, they won’t go past your neck. Your hands must stay firmly knotted in the comforter and away from him while he works. Cause he is working. This is part of the job to him, it's only in your fantasies that he’s doing it simply for the hell of it.

Hawks nudges your embarrassingly soaked slit with his nose and hums at you, “So is that what you want? Want me to eat your pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Yes—ngh,” you don’t get much in past the confirmation.

He’s a busy man.

He doesn’t have time for your stupid, romantic day dreams.

So he dives right in, and it’s enthusiastic enough that you can convince yourself he simply wants you that badly.

Hawks tongue licks a long strip from your hole to your clit and sucks the little bud past his plush lips. They’re a lovely, soft pink against your skin and they make a mess of you in seconds. He starts up an even rhythm, drawing circles into the nerves that sing and have heat building up in you only seconds after he’s started.

You hate that you love how well he knows your body.

You hate that you only know his when it’s shutting down.

“You taste so good, you know that?” he mumbles, lapping at you and kneading your thighs. “Could live down here just drinking you every fucking day.”

He doesn’t always talk like that but you’re happy he is now. It distracts you from the deep, ingrained urge to yank him by the hair and taste yourself on his lips.

“Makes me wish I’d let those damn heroes get hits in more often,” he’s back to panting and you keen at the sound. “Want my fingers too?”

“Fuck yes,” you don’t even bother hiding the desperation anymore.

He deserves the boost to his ego. You’d shower him with praise if he’d let you, bathe him in warm words and press them into his skin with your tongue.

But he doesn’t let you.

Hawks’ hand on your thigh trails slowly against the sensitive skin until he’s pulling back to run his fingers through your folds to ease the stretch a bit as he pushes two inside. He knows you can take what he gives to you, knows you love the way he fills you up.

Your tingling hands ache to grab his head and force his lips back as he sits for a moment, eyes glued on the space where his fingers disappear into your body. He groans low at the wet sounds your bodies make at their joining. Your legs shake where they rest on him, the one other point of contact he’s allowed. Those deadly soft feathers brush your calves as he curls his fingers up and waits expectantly for the strangled cry he pulls from you.

“There it is,” his voice is so much lower when he speaks now. “Can’t exactly show you the real ones, but how ‘bout you let me make you see some stars, huh?”

He asks so much of you. So much. So often.

In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever actively asked him for a thing he hadn’t already offered in the few years you’d known him. Hawks does it all—the taking and the giving and the demanding.

And you’re simply along for the ride, holding on for dear life lest he drop you, let you plummet like rock to the barren ground.

Still, you are mortal and you crave and you will take what you can get.

“Mhm,” you whimper when his deft fingers increase their pace, not thrusting but grinding mercilessly into that delicious spot inside.

“You wanna cum now, sweet thing?”

Then, true to his villainous nature, Hawks latches his lips back onto your clit, wracking your body with waves of truly sinful pleasure. His tongue draws quick, perfect circles across the bud just how you like. You’ll never know why it feels so much better when it’s him touching you.

How he knows exactly what you want.

Most of it.

Then his other hand is reaching around your hip, thumb taking over to press down where his tongue had been. Panting for the third time, his gorgeous head rests on your thigh and he stares dead on into your eyes. That predator yellow gaze pins you to the pillows better than any hand could and he licks across his lips while you watch, moaning as he tastes you there.

You groan deep and unabashedly at the sight.

“What is it?” he’s teasing you, unable to keep that part of his cruelty hidden even now. “What do you want?”

You shake your head and wish you could turn away, flop against the mattress and writhe but you can’t. You just can’t give up this moment that’s etching itself into your retinas—like you’re staring head on at an eclipse, celestial and short-lived.

“Tell me,” Hawks whispers, nipping at your thigh and working his fingers harder on you. “Whatever you want, you’ll get it.”

And maybe it’s the sudden heat of the room, or the little breeze from his wings spreading defensively to block you from view of his nonexistent audience—the outside world maybe? To keep you, this secret indulgence, hidden from their prying hands. Or quite possibly it’s just your own weakness at the feet of years and years of loving—because you do, you love him, it’s clear by now that’s what this is—this man whose name you don’t know and whose eyes never seem to leave you even when he’s gone.

Maybe you simply crack under the pressure of keeping this awful, looming silence for too long.

You feel your lips split at the seams and it all comes rushing out in a polluted flood—a stagnant river of secrets.

“Let me touch you,” you gasp and close your eyes then just so you won’t have to see that grin slip from his beautiful face. “Please Hawks, let me touch you. I can’t do it anymore, just—I need to kiss you, I need more.”

All this time he hadn’t let up on pulling pleasure from your skin, but he stops now, bringing your release to a screaming halt.

The quiet that follows—devoid of fast breaths and wet slapping—is suffocating.

You wish you regretted the outburst, the waste of years worth of work to keep him coming back.

But you don’t.

Of course you will in a minute, when he slips away and doesn’t return.

But now it just feels as though that boulder of secrecy has been lifted off your chest and you can finally take in lungfuls of sweet, unhindered night air.

It’s only after that dreadful minute has passed and there are still hands on you—buried in you—that you dare to open your eyes again.

Hawks is staring blankly, an expression you’ve never seen before, so stark from the usual quirk of his lips and tilt of his chin. Blank, but calculating. You can see the gears clanking as his thoughts rush a mile a minute, faster than he’d ever dream of soaring over the city skyline.

He blinks once, twice, then again and you can see the redness blooming at the corners as his eyes grow glassy between each flutter of lashes. And then, as though moving through honey, he draws back from you, only to crawl up your body until your noses touch.

You hold your breath, lip caught between your teeth, but his slicked thumb comes up to pull it out of your gnawing reach. He strokes across the puffy skin, never meeting your gaze, until he slowly, slowly leans down.

It’s not really a kiss, more of an accidental brush, so little of your lips touch you could easily have imagined it. When he speaks again, you can feel him forming the words against you.

“I—” he starts and licks his lips and yours and you don’t think it’s an accident, “I can’t.”

It isn’t what you want him to say, but it’s better than a silent loss .

You know truth when you hear it.

“I know.”

And you do, you do know, you’ve always known. He’s darker when he’s not with you. You’ve seen the carnage he leaves behind broadcasted on screens, but it’s never stopped the ache before.

He can’t keep you the way you want, can’t have things that get in the way.

You can only touch him when he’s dying. You can heal him, reform his flesh and bone—pull him back from the brink—but you’ll never feel his chest against yours or his hair slipping through your fingers or have all of him buried inside you. He’ll never love you like you want him to.

It doesn’t stop you from wishing.

And apparently, it doesn’t stop Hawks from kissing you anyway.

“I can’t,” he repeats and it sounds so broken you almost think that wound has reopened and he’s going to start slipping away again.

But the only thing that slips is his tongue past your lips and tangling with your own.

And then the levee breaks.

It’s a sudden torrent of hands and legs knotting together like the torn edges of too many injuries. Hawks covers every available part of you like an addict seeking his fix. It’s breathless and uncoordinated but you’ve never felt more alive, alight, aflame.

He presses his lips to yours again, pulling away and then diving back in. Frantic hands pull you off the mattress until your back is against the headboard and he’s straddling your lap. You take the opportunity to sink your fingers into that goldenrod hair and it’s just as silky as you’d imagined it to be.

Hawks moans into your mouth, kissing you wildly, like the beast he is with teeth clacking and your tongue sucked between his lips.

“I can’t,” he keeps mumbling, between groans and hips grinding and hands grabbing, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t— “

You wonder then which one of you he’s trying to convince.

But you don’t ask, just let your hands wander to the delicious curve of his ass on your thighs and squeeze, rolling his bulge against you. His fingers push and proud, ghosting across your chest and stopping to pinch your nipple. He drinks down the whimpers you let out, letting his lips wander your jaw and throat, sucking bruises—leaving his own scars on you—as he goes. He pushes you back down to the pillows so his lips can continue their work, latching onto the quickly hardening bud and suckling lightly. His groan sends little shockwaves through you and he looks up with brows furrowed like he’s in pain with how good it all feels.

“I’m sorry,” he says and it’s so soft you barely hear it between licks at your chest.

“No,” you finally find it in you to respond, shaking your head and pulling him back to your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says again while you nip at his earlobe and down his jaw, tight pants yielding under your hands as they’re tugged away so he’s just as bare as you.

“No,” you shake your head and any response dies on his tongue as you dig your fingers into the feathers at the base of his wings and pull him forward.

Hawks lets out a choked gasp as his length, bare, hard, and leaking glides across your cunt. Any other time, you’d have liked to savor this moment. Get on your knees and worship his pretty cock—and you know it's pretty, just from your short glimpse. He’s long and perfectly thick, just how you dreamed he would be. The cute tuft of blond curls at his base is course in the best way as you trail your fingers through it to take him in your palm.

“Ahh,” he keens, arching above you with his head thrown back as you stroke him for the first time.

It’s been so long, you're not sure how you ever resisted this before. Not with how heavy and warm he is in your fist.

“Hawks,” you moan, sucking at the dip in his collarbone and moving to bite at his nipple. “Hawks, please.”

“I—” you think he might protest but you flick your thumb over the tip and it pours precum to help the slide of your fingers.

He’s already got those powerful arms hooked under your knees, all he has to do is lean forward and sink into that tight, awaiting heat, and he knows it. You can see the resolve cracking.

“Hawks,” you beg again. Because you are begging, that’s what this is.

And he looks at you, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth and brows all bunched up with his head shaking.

“Hawks.”

His hands grip the underside of your thighs and knock your hand from his dick.

“Hawks.”

His forehead comes down to rest against yours, eyes squeezed shut and red at the edges. You feel the sting at the corners as if they were your own.

“Hawks.”

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

Is he dying now?

Are you killing him?

“Hawks.”

His breath hitches, whatever he might have said is long gone when the head of his cock catches against your entrance.

“Hawks—”

He sinks in to the hilt all at once and the last utterance of his name is a yelp. Your walls clamp down hard around the intrusion, so much bigger than his fingers, so hot and long and thick as he pulses inside you.

There are no words after that.

No names, no refusals, just his face pressed up on yours as he pushes your thighs to your chest and rolls his hips, fucking you evenly into the mattress.

Not soft or slow or overly rough.

Though it is all of those things at once as well.

Hawks has always been full of contradictions. It makes sense that this is too.

Both your eyes stay open, lips brushing and sharing breath as he slips a hand back down to your clit and starts those perfect circles up again.

He doesn’t ask you questions now. Just stares in your eyes and sinks his cock into your over and over until you feel fuller, more complete than you ever have in the whole of your life.

There’s no warning leading up to the end. You feel the crest approaching, the coil waiting to snap low in your belly and you don’t dare take your eyes off his face. You need to commit the entirety of this moment to memory. Just in case.

Just in case it never happens again.

Or worse, it happens over and over until it doesn’t.

Until you run out of chances to touch him.

Until he comes to you too far gone.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters and that’s all the warning you get.

All the warning you have the strength to listen to as you tumble over the edge, waves of rolling pleasure burning under your skin. You clench hard around his cock as his hips stutter in their pace, thrusting unevenly as you gush and he spills rope after rope of hot release deep into you.

And you’d been wrong before, because this was full. This was whole, your stilling bodies pressed together at every point with his cock still hard and twitching as your walls milked him of cum that warmed you from the inside out.

This is what you would die for.

***

Later when you stumble into unwilling wakefulness, there are hands tucking a thin sheet over your bare skin.

Hawks has pulled himself from you after resting like you’d told him he should. He’s dressing, though not hurriedly, and you can’t find it in your jelly bones to move or stop him.

You’re both silent, even when he looks down to find your eyes alert and raking over him—costume donned and wings prepared for flight.

His face is drawn in a way that might have been resentment. Maybe towards you for breaking his resolve, maybe at himself for indulging in what he cannot have.

I can’t.

You hear the words as clear as though he’d just said them.

I can’t.

Can’t have you. Can’t forget his purpose. Can’t have gentle things.

Hawks is a villain, first and foremost, above all else and that includes you.

So you don’t move to stop him as he walks softly through your door. You just watch as he makes his way to the open window and perches on the ledge. He does look back, only briefly, to see you draped across the sheets, head resting on your arm and staring at him as he leaves you.

The ghost of that cheeky grin crawls its way onto his face before he tips backwards off the landing and into the night sky. He winks once before the indigo of the night swallows him like the maw of a leviathan. The city has teeth and it will chew him up and spit him back out into your arms soon enough.

So you’re content to wait.

You know this isn’t the last time. That he’ll come back to you as he’s always done. And offer you more and more of himself each time.

Because you can only touch him when he’s dying.

And this world is nothing if not determined to kill him.

So you can keep your purpose.

And by extension, you can keep him.

#hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #keigo takami x reader #villain!au #bnha fanfiction #tw blood #tw dubcon #hawks angst #hawks smut #bnha smut #mha smut #bee.writes

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heliads · 4 years ago

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Guns Blazing, Tides Rising (Part One)

When Kaz Brekker announces that they’ll be working with a certain Tidemaker to help with the latest heist, Jesper knows it’s not going to end well. He and Y/N L/N have a fierce rivalry, although feelings may change over a night.

series masterlist / part two

Jesper is almost one block away from the Crow Club when he senses that he isn’t alone.

Technically, he hasn’t been alone in a long time. There is no place to get away in Ketterdam, no alley left uninhabited or room without a listener. It’s certainly nothing like Novyi Zem, where you could find miles of farmland with nobody to talk to and nothing to do. No, the Barrel has never been somewhere to stay away from people.

This, however, is a different kind of presence. Jesper only notices it now, and he has no idea how long the Wraith has been following him. Sometimes he thinks she does it on purpose, walking behind him, footsteps silent as ever, just to see how long it takes him to figure out that she’s there. Jesper halts in his tracks, raising his voice to the hooded figure no doubt a pace or two behind him. “I know you’re there, Inej, and if I turn around just now you had better not do that thing where you wait two inches behind me just to make me jump.”

There is silence, as expected. Jesper turns in a slow semicircle, ready for the inevitable, yet he still stiffens just slightly to see Inej standing behind him. Jesper has been in the Barrel for a long time, and gotten used to the skulking and sneaking of the various goons. He fancies himself at least somewhat capable at figuring out when people are following him, but for some reason, he cannot do the same with Inej. Not at all.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “You did the thing.” Jesper finishes lamely. Something almost like a smile tugs at Inej’s lips. “That’s not exactly my fault. I’ve been waiting for you to notice me for a while. I’ve practically been stomping my heels against the cobblestones.” Jesper groans. “You have not. You’ve been as silent as ever, and you know that.” Inej ignores this, jerking her chin behind her, back in the direction of the Slat. “Your Crow Club endeavor will have to wait. Kaz needs you.”

Kaz Brekker needs him. “What a surprise. I’m very useful, as it turns out. Couldn’t this wait a little longer, though? I’ve heard they’ve got a new dealer over at Makker’s Wheel.” Inej just turns around, starting to walk back towards the Slat. No matter how hard Jesper tries, he cannot hear a single footstep echo against the stones. “This is more important.” Jesper raises an eyebrow. “More important than earning the Dregs money by supporting a local establishment? He doesn’t need to worry, you know, I’ve got money.”

Jesper grimaces at the look of incredulity starting to color Inej’s eyes. “Alright, it’s not a lot of money. But it is at least enough to buy a round or two. Besides,” Jesper continues, eager to shift the conversation away from his less than prosperous gambling habits, “Why did Kaz send you? He could have just delivered a note.” Inej lifts a shoulder, even the slightest of shrugs a graceful movement. “I told you, this is important.”

Jesper is intrigued by this. “Whenever you say ‘important’ more than once, it’s always good. Is it another heist? Extortion? Maybe a good clash of rival gangs?” Inej rolls her eyes. “I’m not supposed to tell you anything. That was the whole point of me going.” Jesper sighs dramatically. “You could tell me a little bit. I wouldn’t even mention it to Kaz.”

Inej instead lets her eyes trail upwards, towards the ramshackle glory of the Slat which is visible down the block. “You’ll get your information soon enough.” Her voice grows quiet, quieter than usual. It’s practically impossible to hear over the clack of footsteps on stone as pigeons and gang members alike rush to finish their business before it grows too late and the thieves come running. “I will say one thing, though. While we’re still away from prying ears.”

Jesper leans closer, fascinated. “What is it?” Inej looks up at him, and Jesper realizes that she looks almost regretful. “Don’t be too upset.” Jesper waits for more, some explanation to this excruciatingly vague statement, but nothing happens. “Don’t be upset? What, is Kaz going to cane me to death?” Inej tilts her head to the side. “There’s a plan, and it will involve some things that you won’t be too fond of. That’s all I can say for now.”

Jesper wants to pry a little further, even if he senses that the Wraith will remain silent, but the door to the Slat is already in front of him, effectively stopping any conversation. The Dregs may be Kaz’s gang, but loyalties can always be changed. Jesper has wandered the canals long enough to know that all secrets should be kept to locked doors, and even allies can turn against you. Some conversations are best when they’re not shared at all.

Jesper looks around for Kaz in the main room of the Slat, but he doesn’t see the dark-haired boy anywhere. Instead, Inej inclines her head towards the rickety set of stairs at the back of the room. “He’ll be waiting for you in his office.” Jesper moves to ask her something, anything, about what else is waiting for him there, but before he can even open his mouth to speak Inej has disappeared. It’s fascinating- Jesper hadn’t even turned away or looked elsewhere, yet she had vanished right before his open eyes. He hadn’t seen her go, just witnessed her blink away into the shadows.

Jesper stares at the empty floorboards where Inej had once stood, then, squaring his shoulders as if preparing for a particularly nerve-wracking round of cards, begins to ascend the flights of stairs. He pauses once outside the door to Kaz’s office, touching the hilts of his pearl handled revolvers for luck, then pushes open the door and steps inside.

Kaz is waiting for him, standing at his desk and running through a map spread out across the wooden surface. He looks up when he sees Jesper enter, straightening to nod once in greeting. Jesper’s eyes travel to Inej, who had somehow beat him up the stairs and is now perched, catlike, on Kaz’s windowsill.

Kaz doesn’t bother with pleasantries or questions about Jesper’s day, as per usual, just dives into an explanation. “There’s a mercher living down near the Financial District. He’s like the others- snotty, pretends to be pious, unseasonably rich for someone who just arrived at his title, but he’s strayed too far from his gilded walkways and tried to start restrictions on Fifth Harbor.”

Jesper lets out a snort. “Merchers. Always getting too big for their tie pins.” Kaz ignores this. “Under his new plan, we’d have to pay out reparations to him and also ease back on coaxing pigeons into our establishments. There’s no way in hell that would ever pass, but this mercher just happens to have some pretty significant blackmail on key members of the Merchant Council, and they’ll pass whatever bill he wants so long as he keeps his mouth shut. Unfortunately, we can’t kill him directly, but we can break into his mansion and steal his proof of the Council’s less savory transactions. Without the blackmail, the Council will never pass the bill, and we’ll be fine.”

Jesper raises an eyebrow. “As easy as that?” Kaz lifts a shoulder. “There’s a slight complication. This mercher, Joeri ter Steege, has a certain thing for oceanside views. He’s found himself a nice little inlet near the water’s edge, and access to his mansion is only available by boat. This means that any attempt to access his house would mean we would travel by water, and any boat could easily be sighted by guards that patrol the area.”

Jesper squints at Kaz. “What do you mean, only available by boat? If he’s living in an inlet, shouldn’t there be some dock connecting it to the mainland?” Inej flashes him a smile. “The merch has got himself a moat.” Jesper stares. “You’re kidding me. You’ve got to be kidding me. This merch is so extravagantly wealthy that he’s gone and got himself a moat? Ghezen’s hand, maybe I should become a banker. The things I could do.” Inej hides a laugh. “The moats you could build.”

Kaz’s hand tightens around his crow’s head cane. “Regardless of the merch’s terrible landscaping decisions, the fact remains that access will be practically impossible. To get across, we’d need a boat, and any boat would be sighted by guards. That’s why we need a Tidemaker.” Jesper’s smile starts to drop from his face. Suddenly, pieces are starting to fall into place. Inej’s warning. Kaz’s mention of a Tidemaker. Jesper shakes his head. “Don’t tell me you got the one Tidemaker I’m thinking of. Please say you brought in somebody else.”

Kaz opens his mouth to either condemn this or save Jesper’s skin, but then a voice rings out from the newly opened door and Jesper’s spirits sink into his boots. “Afraid not, Fahey. They’ve brought me.” Jesper turns around, finding himself face to face with a girl just walking into the office, hand loosely wrapped around the wooden doorframe. She tosses him a smile as if they’re old friends, when it couldn’t be further from the truth.

Jesper whirls back around to face Kaz. “You didn’t. You’re really trusting her? Y/N L/N?” Kaz shrugs. “She’s the best there is, unfortunately. We need to remain hidden, and she’s the only one who won’t rat us out or let us drown.” Y/N walks further into the room, letting the door close behind her. “I appreciate the vote in confidence, but don’t worry about me. I can get you in and out, no problem. Well, the only problem will be you, sharpshooter.”

Jesper feels the sudden need to grab one (or maybe both) of his revolvers and let fly with his bullets. Can a Tidemaker wash away a hail of ammunition? Jesper’s assuming not. Kaz taps his cane against the floor. “Let’s not reach to violence just yet, Jesper. Wait until after the extraction is over.” Jesper throws one last glare Y/N’s way. “Trust me, I’ll have no problem with that.” He can wait, after all.

The problem with Y/N L/N is this: she keeps finding a way to meddle with everything he does. First, Jesper was on a heist by himself, breaking into a stronghold of the Dime Lions to snatch up an encoded message left by Pekka Rollins. He was doing fine until a wave of water cascaded in through the windows, knocking him aside and thoroughly drenching the paper. It was useless now, both to Rollins and to Kaz. Y/N had only bothered to toss a wink across the room before leaving, allowing her wave to soak Jesper’s boots while she was at it.

The second time was during a shootout. She’d been hired to the other side, although Jesper hadn’t known it yet. Jesper was just about to fire upon the lousy goon who’d hired her when she’d used her powers again, this time specifically intending to ruin his guns. His precious pearl-handled revolvers, soaked through with water. It had taken him forever to get the saltwater out of every crack and groove in the metal, and during all of that time he’d vowed to himself that he’d be the one to darken her doorway and make Y/N regret ever stepping foot against him again.

Jesper had won the third time. This time, he was the unexpected guest, and she was seconds away from drowning an entire swath of gang members to protect a secret. She was just raising her hands to move the water into place when a gunshot sounded from out of nowhere and she was knocked sideways, hand already raising to the stain of red starting to bloom out from her arm. It wouldn’t kill her, unfortunately, but it was enough to give the gang members time to escape. Some of them were Dregs, after all, and Jesper had some friends to protect. That isn’t to say that he didn’t walk away with a smile, just that he had multiple motives.

Needless to say, he didn’t exactly have the best history with Y/N L/N. And now Kaz was asking him to have her back during a heist? It sounds like a joke. Unfortunately, Jesper has a sinking feeling that there’s no getting out of this. If he’s going to have to depend on Y/N for his life, things might not exactly go according to plan. He has no idea where Y/N’s loyalties lie, he reasons, but Jesper thinks there might be more to it than that.

The group meets up at the water’s edge. The canals bleed into the harbor here, and Jesper can just make out the lights of Joeri ter Steege’s mansion across the glittering black of the waves. He can also make out a slight tension in Kaz’s grip on his cane as he takes in the sight of the undulating water, but that isn’t for him to notice. Y/N melts out of the shadows, a blue lining on her coat the only indication that she might still cling to Ravkan traditions for Grisha. “Well?” She asks, walking past them as if not expecting an answer, “Are we ready?”

Y/N spreads her hands and the water of the harbor flickers and shifts on the surface. As Jesper watches, Y/N steps forward, and the water solidifies under her feet as if she’s walking on glass instead of the tides. She pushes her hands apart, and the area of solid water expands until it’s large enough to act as a bridge. She turns to the rest of the group. “We can walk from here. It’ll be faster than a boat, and far more quiet.”

Kaz nods, beginning to walk after her on the bridge of water. Before his feet leave the ground, his mouth moves once. “No mourners.” Jesper nods. “No funerals.” They won’t be able to speak as freely at the mercher’s island, so this will do best. Jesper considers the unmoving waves one last time, then follows him. He’s half expecting Y/N to let the water liquify under his feet just a little bit, out of spite, but it holds. They continue along the harbor, and if Jesper turns his head he can see the bridge rippling back into normal water after they pass by it. It raises the hairs on the back of his neck to see his escape route disappear so quickly, but Jesper does his best to quiet the voice of warning. Kaz would never bring Y/N in if he thought she would betray them, and even if he did, Kaz would have another way out. That’s just the way Dirtyhands worked.

All the same, Jesper feels a little better when his heels land on solid ground once more. Kaz doesn’t have to say a word, just points at the roof. Jesper nods, remembering the plan. He and Y/N split away from Kaz and Inej, heading towards the roof for their line of entry. When Jesper had heard this part of the plan, he had complained viciously. Why should he have to go scale the building alone with Y/N? Why couldn’t Inej go instead? In the end, it hadn’t mattered- the plan needed them both there, so that’s where they would go.

Jesper doesn’t exactly have Inej’s skill in climbing, but ter Steege makes it easy. There are balconies and handholds practically everywhere, as if the merch is offering free mansion climbing lessons to anyone interested. Jesper supposes that one would be less concerned about robberies if you had a moat, but still. You have that much money, you might as well pretend to make it hard for light-fingered con artists.

Soon enough, Jesper and Y/N are standing on the roof, staring down at the fourth skylight from the left. This is where they’ll enter, once it reaches eleven bells and it’s time to move. Now, however, all they can do is wait as Kaz and Inej get into position. Jesper carefully sits down, letting his long legs prop up against the tiles of the roof. Y/N sits next to him, staring up at the sky. The moon is out tonight, the pale light illuminating her eyes and dusting her cheeks.

Distantly, Jesper realizes that he’s never seen her like this- letting her guard down for once. He’s not shooting at her, she’s not trying to drown him, it’s almost like a peace offering. Y/N must be having the same thoughts, because she turns to face him. The moonlight still stays on her face, as if unwilling to let go. Jesper has the sudden thought that he wouldn’t want to do the same either, if he had the opportunity to linger here, then shakes himself mentally.

Y/N’s voice is quiet, a whisper cutting through his thoughts and scattering them to the wind. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t been fighting when we first met each other? Would we have been friends like you and Kaz?” Jesper chuckles in spite of himself. “If you think Kaz Brekker makes friends, I’m starting to think that you’ve suffered a head injury.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “He trusts you. That’s rare.” Jesper shrugs, conceding this. He keeps speaking, though, even when he has just decided to remain silent. “I think we could have been close. We have similar interests.” Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Money? A good time?” Jesper flashes her a grin, easy as flipping a coin and landing it square in your palm. “Exactly. See? We already understand each other perfectly.”

Y/N lets out a short laugh at that, moonlight still teasing at the corner of her lips. Jesper’s eyes linger longer than they should. Curse his tendencies to start rivalries with the prettiest of enemies- it’s beginning to get him into trouble. Y/N’s head tilts towards the tides below, and then she stands. “It’s time. The bells are about to ring.” Jesper mourns the moment lost, then stands and takes his position by the skylight. He waits for the bells to begin to toll, then grabs his revolver, spinning it back and forth in his palm like a nervous tic before firing four times at the corners of the window, exactly where the locks will hold.

He doesn’t miss the way Y/N’s eyes track the spin of the gun, or the admirative tug of her lips into a half smile. However, now is no longer the time for schoolboy glances, and Jesper kneels at the window, carefully removing it from its frame. This is their entrance, and they would do well to hurry along.

The plan almost goes well. Almost. They manage to break into the mercher’s office, stealing the documents and meeting up with Kaz and Inej to get out, but just as they’re about to cross through the main atrium of the mansion, a loud dissonance of bells breaks out. An alarm. Jesper sees identical looks of panic reflected on every face- this was not supposed to happen. Not at all. They don’t hesitate, just run. Jesper’s lived in the Barrel long enough to remember this one lesson: when you can’t count on gangs or anyone to have your back, your feet always will. Just remember to keep moving.

They’re almost to the water’s edge when the shots ring out. Guards have followed them out of the building and fire even as their feet pound down the beach. Jesper’s revolvers are in his hands before another second can pass, bullets aimed with precision as he runs. They’re almost to the water when he hears a sound from behind him that draws all breath from his lungs. From here, it almost sounds like a cry of pain. It’s soft, as if someone’s trying not to draw attention, but Jesper hears it nonetheless.

He turns around and his stomach clenches with horror as he realizes he was right. Y/N is stumbling, clutching a terrible scarlet stain across her chest. It’s deep, too deep, and far too close to her heart to be safe. Y/N has time to fling her arms up, casting out the bridge of water once more, before she falls to the ground. All of a sudden, Jesper’s vision tunnels. He can only see two things: Y/N, hand limp over the spreading blood, and the guards, pistols still smoking.

Jesper’s shots ring out again and again. He can’t hear anything other than a buzzing in his ears, something that might be his pulse or just a sign that he’s gone mad. To be honest, Jesper’s not sure that he cares. Bullets careen through the air, curving around pillars and corners to reach their targets. His da would panic to see him, grab Jesper by his shoulders and tell him to be more careful. Anyone could know now, could see the way the bullets fly through the air as if guided by an invisible hand and figure out what that means, but Jesper doesn’t think about that for a second. All he can think about is revenge, and making sure that every single body falls to the ground.

Jesper’s haze leaves him, and he realizes that all of the guards are dead. All of them. Then his guns are back in their holsters, and he’s scrambling towards Y/N. When he picks her up, she feels cold. Too cold. Blood is staining his hands now, turning the long fingers red, but he barely notices at all. His heels flash down the beach, then onto the water, which is still solid. It must be killing her to keep this up, but she’s still doing it.

Jesper swore that it took far longer to make the trip over the harbor, but it feels like he’s barely taken a few steps before he’s on the other side and the water bridge is swallowed up by the tides once more. Kaz and Inej have just made it onto the other side, and their eyes widen at the crazed look on Jesper and the bloodied form of Y/N in his arms. Jesper doesn’t have time to consider this, and he shouts at them as he runs. “Get a healer! Get somebody- Nina, maybe. Anybody.”

Inej takes off into the streets, but Kaz remains, giving Jesper a particular look. “I remember you saying something about how Y/N was your rival. This is your chance, you know. The Barrel can be a ruthless place, and nobody would suspect you if she never made it back.” Jesper has the feeling that this is a test, some challenge placed before him to see how he’ll respond, but he can’t find it within himself to care. Jesper has always had an affinity for the odds, but this once, it’s not enough. “No. I’m getting her out. I need a Healer.”

Kaz steps back, allowing Jesper to pass, but not before he sees the appraising look in his eyes. Kaz nods once, briefly, and then Jesper is around the corner and sprinting headlong towards the Slat. A Healer is indeed waiting there, and holds out her arms to receive Y/N. For a second, Jesper’s arms clench around her body, unwilling to give her up, and then he forces his arms to relax and she’s gone, carried away into another room.

Jesper is left with the blood staining his shirt and the decision staining his conscience. If Y/N died, was it his fault? Should he care this much? He’s not sure that question can even be answered. The Healer comes out eventually, nodding at him. She’s not ready to have visitors, or at least she won’t be awake to see them, but that doesn’t stop Jesper from disappearing into her room the second the Healer leaves.

Jesper feels his throat close up when he sees her. Y/N is lying stiff and unmoving on a narrow bed, breath unnaturally slow and eyes closed. It’s strange- he’s seen her fiery and powerful, glowing as a Grisha does after they use their powers, but now she looks seconds from death. Jesper’s feet carry him woodenly over to the bed, and he stands there for a moment before reaching down and taking her hand. He doesn’t expect to feel anything at all, yet there’s a slight pressure and her eyelids flicker open.

“What, trying to finish the job?” A slight smile cracks Y/N’s lips, and Jesper feels like he could cry out in relief. Maybe it’s time he takes up Inej’s saints after all. “You’re alright?” She nods, although even this small movement appears to hurt. “As well as one can. I think I have someone to thank for that, though.” Jesper nods slowly. “Yeah, the Healer was great. We should keep her around just in case.”

Y/N laughs, the sound undamaged even as her blood still stains the bandages. “You’re impossible. I’m talking about you.” Jesper’s cheeks feel hot. “Oh.” Now this is unreal- usually he’s the one eliciting blushes, never the other way around. “I couldn’t just leave you there, you know.” She nods once, smiling, and then her eyelids seem too heavy to stay open and she starts to drift off to sleep once more. If Jesper happened to stay with her even after her eyes shut, and even if a kiss just happened to be pressed to her cheek, well, that was nobody’s business but his own.

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titan-fodder · 4 years ago

Text

The Warrior Experience; ft. the Marley Warriors

Rating: Explicit; mdni

Pairing: Zeke, Reiner, Porco, Pieck x fem!reader

Word Count: ~5.3K

Warnings: mildly dubious consent (reader isn’t exactly there of her own free will but is still dtf), multiple partners, voyeurism, virgin Colt, rough blowjob, rough sex, unprotected sex, mentions of unpleasant contraceptives, lots of cum, clear bias toward Reiner

A/N: I don’t know what happened today. I just got possessed by the horny ghost. Enjoy~

It’s always Magath who retrieves you, the sour-faced General swinging open the door to your small room without any type of knock or warning.

On most nights, he takes a look at you, frowns, then grunts the name of whoever is actually calling for you—requesting your “presence”. This evening, however, he remains silent, leaving it a mystery that keeps you curious as you make yourself slightly more presentable, pulling on a skirt, running a comb through your hair, just enough to look a little more human.

You walk in silence down the hallways, your hands clasped behind your back as the older man struts in his usual militaristic fashion. As you near the Warrior quarters, you do your best to prepare yourself, but without an idea of who you’re meeting, it’s difficult.

Because they’re all so different. Galliard, for instance, usually starts the nights off aggressively. He particularly likes slamming you into various surfaces, pinning you down with a bruising grip, but his demeanor changes as soon as he’s inside you. The once careless young man turns to jelly underneath you, gasping and groaning as his adrenaline wanes and he unravels.

Always tired and slightly unstable, Reiner is soft. Even when his thrusts are deep and harsh, his hands remain gentle, calluses feather light as they dance up and down your ribs, over your breasts. His stamina varies. Sometimes, when he’s a little more out of his head, a little more haunted, he ruts into you for what feels like an eternity. Most of those instances, he doesn’t even come. You’re just there for a distraction— “A nice one,” he tells you quietly, gratefully, but you still know where you stand with him.

There are nights when he’s desperate for release, however, taking you with quick, sloppy thrusts, spilling inside you within minutes then rubbing your clit until you squeeze him back to full hardness so that he can do it all over again.

Zeke is the hardest to predict, on far ends of one, sadistic spectrum: he either wants you to do all the work while he smirks up at you with a cigarette between his lips, occasionally blowing smoke into your face, or he wants to dominate you entirely. When he falls into the latter category, you’re in his bed for hours, sniffling or sobbing, biting your lip to keep yourself from begging him to stop—one, because he won’t listen, but also because it isn’t your place.

The Warriors are honorary Marleyans which means they’re much more important and valuable than you are. Your opinion never matters, least of all in the bedroom.

You’re more or less a toy for them to use, an Eldian plucked from Liberio and brought to the military base with no real say in it. The Warriors are all young and virile, after all. They have needs like anyone else, but despite their honorary status, they’re forbidden from sleeping with Marleyan women.

So, you live here, at their beck and call with one purpose and one purpose only.

To your surprise, Magath stops before you can get to the sleeping quarters you are very familiar with at this point. You stand outside of a closed door, raise an eyebrow at the General but don’t dare question him.

“They’re in there,” he grumbles, nodding to the door before turning around and walking away.

They…

Raising a suddenly very heavy hand, you knock lightly then shift awkwardly until the door opens and reveals Galliard. His perpetual scowl is in place, but he nods his head in acknowledgment then moves to the side to let you in.

Galliard isn’t the only one in the room—what looks like some kind of conference area with a sizable wooden table surrounded by chairs, a window on the far end displaying the night sky and twinkling stars. Nearly all of those chairs are full, one scooted back from the table that you can easily assume belongs to the redhead standing behind you.

Zeke is lounging comfortably, feet kicked up on the table as he puffs on a cigarette. Reiner is sitting in his chair backwards, slumped forward to rest his head on the wooden backing, though he lifts it to look at you with bloodshot eyes. Pieck, who you do not see often at all, is slouched with her arms pillowing her face, offering you a lazy smile that’s laced with something you cannot place.

There’s one more person in the room, the vaguely familiar face of Colt Grice, Warrior Candidate slated to inherit the Beast Titan in a few years. You’ve seen him around the base, usually trailing closely behind Zeke, but haven’t gotten the chance to speak with him yet.

You remain standing even as Galliard takes his seat again, nibbling on your bottom lip, waiting expectantly—nervously. The last time you were in a room with all of them at once was when you’d first been brought here, and that had just been for informal introductions. There had also been another Eldian with you at the time, a male to keep Pieck satisfied, but he’s… No longer with you.

In true leader fashion, Zeke is the first to speak after taking a long drag from his cigarette, tilting his head back to blow it into the air and creating a haze over himself.

“Glad you could join us tonight, sweetheart,” he shows a short, unconvincing smile, and that paired with the condescending pet name leads you to believe he’s in one of his more controlling moods.

“I’m just glad to be able to service the Wa—”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t need to do all that,” he waves you off. “I’ll cut to the chase.”

“Let her sit down first, Zeke, geeze,” Pieck murmurs before holding a small hand out for you, beckoning you to take the seat next to hers.

Never one to argue or disobey, you shuffle over to it and lower yourself, but you can’t relax, not with so many pairs of eyes on you.

Galliard is twitchy, bouncing his leg up and down, pushing his hair back too often. Reiner, unmoving, just blinks slowly at you, expression flat. Grabbing your hand, Pieck offers a nod that isn’t the slightest bit reassuring while Zeke pins you with an icy gaze.

“Colt here is gonna be a big boy Warrior pretty soon,” he says, motioning to the boyish blond in the corner who suddenly seems more interested in the floor than anything. “And, he hasn’t been given the chance to have the experiences he deserves. You follow?”

You nod, easily putting the pieces together. They want you to sleep with him, some sort of sexual initiation.

“As I’m sure you’ve picked up, Titan holders don’t have the longest lifespans, so I figure he needs to enjoy what life he has left.”

Another nod, then you start to stand only to be stopped by Galliard who asks, “What’re you doing? Sit back down.”

“Oh,” you plant yourself back in the chair, eyes growing as your stomach sinks. “I thought you wanted me to show Colt—”

Zeke laughs around his cigarette, adding even more smoke to the air around you, and shakes his head. “No, you misunderstand. You will be showing Colt a thing or two tonight, but in here where we can all watch and… Lend a helping hand if need be.”

Mouth going dry, you can’t stop yourself from frowning. Sleep with Colt… In front of all of them? You don’t fancy yourself much of a performer, doubt you’ll be able to put on any kind of good show under so much pressure.

But, you can’t protest. You can’t go against their wishes or complain. You should consider yourself lucky, being able to service the Warriors. It means you’re a half-step above the other Eldians—a devil but a halfway useful one.

“Um. Okay,” you consent.

Zeke claps his hands together. “Excellent,” then tells you. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Go rinse off, do whatever you need to do to get ready, then meet us back here.”

You don’t dawdle, doing exactly what you’re told. The restroom is obviously for multiple people, a few stalls with cheap curtains to block you from view. You make quick work of bathing so that you’ll have time to prepare yourself, starting the process of stretching yourself while under the spray. With no idea how large Colt might be, and taking into account that he might be completely clueless about female anatomy, you make sure to work three fingers into your cunt, moving them as best you can until you’re a little loosened up and wet.

When you return to the conference room, you’re just in a towel, folded clothes under your arm and placed in an empty chair.

“Easy access,” Galliard smirks. “Good call.” You squeak when he slaps your ass then sit on the edge of the table as you’re directed to.

Most of them have shed their boots and jackets, looking a little more casual now. It doesn’t put you at ease—if anything, it makes you think the others will get a little more involved than Zeke originally let on, and the thought alone is enough to overwhelm you.

It takes some prompting for Colt to muster the courage to approach you. The others scoot to the edges of the room, giving the two of you center stage. It's daunting, but you do your best to forget about them, to focus on the nervous blond in front of you.

Spreading your legs, you pull him by the shirt to stand between them then look up at him through your lashes and ask, "Am I allowed to kiss you?" You can never assume. Everyone has different rules.

When you're with Reiner, he has his mouth against yours more than he doesn't, Galliard will nip and suck against every part of you that isn't your mouth, and the closest Zeke gets to your mouth is prying it open to spit on your tongue.

Naturally, Colt looks to his War Chief for answers, but Zeke just shrugs. "Your choice, big guy. You're the one calling the shots."

Colt contemplates for a little while but eventually nods and swallows. "Uh, yeah. That's okay, I guess."

He seems to feel just as awkward as you do about this whole situation, would also probably prefer for it to happen in private, but you imagine he's doing everything in his power to show that he's worthy of inheriting Zeke's Titan. He's basically in the same boat as you.

Reaching up, you lace your fingers behind his neck and pull him to you, pressing your lips to his slowly, softly, trying not to spook him too much.

After gaining as much experience as you have over the last year or so, it's rare for you to feel shy when getting intimate. Three of the other people in that room have seen everything there is to see about you, your most private of body parts, your most visceral, primal reactions. You have nothing to hide any more.

Colt is stiff against you. His hands are still by his sides, lips firm but unmoving.

He has no idea what to do. It's almost disappointing, knowing you're about to spend the evening teaching this kid, fresh faced, twenty years old at most and completely clueless.

You're saved when a gruff voice makes you pull away: "Alright, this is hard to watch." Reiner sits up and rubs his eyes, then swings his leg over the chair to stand and walk over. "Grice, have you ever even seen anyone kiss before?"

Cheeks turning red, Colt moves out of the way, stuttering out "W-well yeah, but I never watch."

The taller man takes the vacant space between your legs, and you inhale sharply when he slides a large hand to the back of your head, tilting your face even further upward. Reiner kisses you in a way that makes your head spin. He has that desperate taste he always has, and even without opening your eyes, you can tell he's frowning. But his hand is cautious, careful not to tug your hair just like he's careful not to knock his teeth into yours when he parts your lips with his.

"There we go," Zeke laughs, clapping twice and cheering, "'Atta boy, Braun!"

Reiner's tongue dances with yours in a heated back and forth for a few seconds before he pulls back. He doesn't smile, but he does sigh in a thoughtful manner before turning to Colt and pointedly telling him, "That's how you kiss a woman."

Reiner softly scratches the back of your head in a fond gesture, then steps away and motions for Colt to try again.

He's slightly more confident this time around, starting off slowly at first but eventually pushing against you harder and harder until it's a little much, and you just barely push at his chest to get him to let up. He replaces pressure with tongue, probing and curious but not awful.

"Undo her towel, Grice. Get a move on," Galliard demands.

Colt reaches up with a shaky hand, breathing through his nose while keeping his lips attached to yours as he pulls at the loose knot just above your breasts. The material falls and pools around you on the table, and before he can be criticized again, you grab one of Colt's hands and place it on one of the perky mounds. You move your fingers over his, showing how you like to be massaged then guiding him to your nipple.

"Oh, this is very romantic," Zeke drawls, snapping his fingers to get someone's attention then addressing, "Pock," who grunts in response. "You're a tit man, right? Your turn to show him how it's done."

The sound of a chair scraping on the floor rings throughout the room, but instead of pushing Colt out of the way, Galliard stands on the other side of the table behind you, bends forward, then grabs you by the hair to pull you down. The breath is knocked out of you as your back hits the table, and you blink up at the redhead in surprise.

Upside down, your face is about level with his hips, maybe a foot away from his pelvis, but before you can dwell on it, Galliard's rough hands are on your tits, groping, massaging, then pinching your nipples so that you arch and moan.

"Know I probably shouldn't like it so much, but you sound so pretty, baby," he growls, flicking over the hardened buds then squeezing again.

"We're all devils here. You can like it as much as you want," Reiner gruffs.

"Justifying your own feelings?" Zeke snarks.

You aren't able to see or hear Reiner's response, too busy whining as Galliard starts to slap your tits over and over, making the flesh burn and sting.

Porco groans, "Mm, love that bounce," hitting them a few more times then stopping and allowing you to take a shuddering breath.

Your body is hot all over, especially your chest, and your pussy is starting to throb. After playing with yourself in the shower, the heated kiss you shared with Reiner, and now the abuse Galliard just showered on your tits, you're starting to get restless, ready to be filled with something.

"While I'm right here, m'gonna show you somethin' else, Grice."

Galliard grips your upper arms and slides you closer to him on the table, then undoes his pants and pulls his cock free. As soon as you feel the tap on your lips, you open up for him, relaxing just in time for him to shove his length over your tongue and into the tight sleeve of your throat.

And, pride actually wells up inside of you. That hardly ever happens.

There's no time to acclimate really, your only choice being to just lay and take it, so you do, choking and gagging around Galliard's cock as everyone else watches. Tears stream down the sides of your face, but you feel them get wiped away and open bleary eyes to find Pieck peering down at you, soft hands catching the drops as she coos, "You're doing so good, love."

You squirm on the table, start to rock your hips into nothing—no one—in desperate need of friction now.

"You want something stuffed in that pussy?" Zeke calls out.

The vibration of your responding whine makes Galliard curse and thrust into your throat until your forehead is pressed against his heavy balls. Strings of spit leak from the corners of your mouth. You try to slurp and suckle, but the steady pistoning of Galliard’s hips just keeps pushing more out.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Colt, you wanna go for it, or do you wanna watch first?” Zeke questions.

“Um, I—I’ll watch first, I think.”

“Good choice. See how it’s done before diving in.”

You’re barely aware of the conversation around you, mouth full of cock, gentle hands on your face. Pieck must not be fazed by being so close to her comrade’s privates because she just keeps stroking and praising you, like she thinks you might break or lose it.

There are fingers on your wet folds, spreading them apart, then the harsh sound of spitting before a glob of thick fluid lands in your pussy. Zeke smears his saliva over your clit, and you buck under his touch, moaning when two thick digits are pushed into your heat all at once. Your cunt spasms around the intrusion, getting used to it as he continues the job you’d started in the shower.

“I don’t always do this sort of thing just ‘cause I like the way she feels all tight and tense on my dick, but if you don’t want her to whine as much, I’d advise prepping her with your fingers or mouth.”

You squirm and writhe, the glide of his fingers getting easier with every thrust as your hole drools slick onto the table beneath you. Zeke’s palm grinds against your clit, pressure and friction where you want it most for half a second before it disappears—comes back, disappears—until you’re forcing yourself down on his hand.

He lets out one of his standoffish little chuckles as you slide up and down Galliard’s length and fuck yourself on Zeke’s fingers, but the delicious sensation disappears entirely when Zeke pulls out, probably to work himself out of his pants, then presses the blunt head of his cock against your clenching hole. He pushes the tip in only to pull it back out, tap it against the swollen bundle of nerves a few times, then finally pushes in all the way.

You’re a little too far up on the table now, and Zeke doesn’t bother warning you or Galliard as he tugs you back down to better situate you on his cock, causing the other man to slip out of your mouth.

“Fuck man, I was getting close!”

Without a care in the world, Zeke shrugs him off, tells him, “Come on her face or something then, I don’t give a fuck.”

Your voice comes out hoarse as you moan for all of them to hear, teary eyes cracking open to see Galliard step back and lean against the wall behind him. His fist is tight around his shaft, but he’s pumping himself slowly, like he’s suddenly pacing himself despite just having fucked your throat raw.

A rough pinch to your nipple brings your eyes to Zeke, blond hair hanging in his face, glasses slipping down his nose. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, but other than that, he’s basically fully clothed. He’s flushed from his neck down to his chest, jaw barely hanging open as his eyebrows raise. He’s certainly enjoying himself, and you can’t say you aren’t because the drag of his thick cock in your pussy is incredible.

Your head lolls to one side and you find Colt staring at you with wide eyes, watching the way his superior sheathes himself in you over and over. It makes you blush, so you turn to the other side, see Reiner posted up in the corner, about half hard in his pants as he watches your face.

Mouth dropping open, you shut your eyes, trying to will away the skin-prickling sensation of being watched. You raise your arms above your head, hands dangling off the other end of the table, and Pieck takes them, squeezing once before lightly running nimble fingers over your sensitive skin.

You’ve never been with her, not that you’d be opposed. She’s very pretty and seems kind enough. But you had guessed you weren’t exactly her type. Now, though, you second guess yourself since she seems more than content with touching you.

The painful squeezes of Zeke’s fingers are batted away, replaced by the ghost of stimulation on your sore nipples. Pieck rubs over one so lightly you hardly register it, but it still shoots right to your pussy, makes you clench around Zeke.

He’s holding you by the hips now, pulling you onto his cock, and it goes like this for a while. At some point, the wet sound of Galliard jacking off fades, but you doubt he’s come; he’s typically quite vocal when he climaxes.

Zeke never lets up, fucking deep and fast and right over the spot that makes you leak until he suddenly pulls out and shoots strings of hot cum onto your thighs and the table between them.

“You don’t… Inside?” Colt speaks up.

Rubbing his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, Zeke answers, “Never. That’s preference, though. I just don’t want any accidents to happen.”

You would remind him that you go to the medic after every encounter you have with the Warriors to get checked out, given an unpleasant medicine that leaves you sick for a few days, but it’s hard to think straight right now.

Before Colt can move toward you again or any more questions can be asked, Galliard is rounding the table, cock in hand once again, shouldering Zeke out of the way so that he can bury himself in your pussy. He’s a shorter length than the man who was in you just moments ago, but a little thicker. Veiny and curved upward, Galliard always feels good inside of you. Unfortunately for you, he’s basically been edging himself since you were pulled from him, so he doesn’t last long at all.

Unlike Zeke, Galliard has no qualms about coming inside of you. You feel his seed fill you, mixing with your own wet arousal and making you drip with it when he pulls out.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he grins before giving your pussy a slap, making you push more of his cum out.

You hear someone suck in a deep breath, and Colt slowly shuffles over to you. He stares at your throbbing cunt for a while, raising a timid hand to stroke over now messy folds, and you let out a mewl, a very soft, “Please…”

Pieck places a tender kiss at your hairline that makes your heart jump into your throat, such a kind gesture as she murmurs against you, “You’re doing so well for them.”

“Can I—” You blink up at her face, floating upside down over yours. “Can I do anything f-for you, Pieck?”

She shows another one of those smiles, the kind that’s hiding a little something, and she shakes her head, wavy, black hair flowing over her shoulders. “I’m just enjoying watching. You’re very pretty to look at.”

You bite your lip, unsure of how to respond, so you just let her keep touching you, keep cooing and doting. You’ll never say no to affection like this.

Colt doesn’t have any trouble finding your entrance, which is a relief. He lines himself up and pushes in painfully slowly, panting the entire time and letting out one very satisfying, “O-oh, shit.”

“Feels good, doesn’t she?” Zeke hums.

Colt nods, arms beginning to shake on the table. He seems to be holding himself back, whether it’s from coming or fucking into you is a mystery, but eventually he bottoms out and stays still save for his trembling. It isn’t uncomfortable, but you do feel very full, his hips flush against yours, cockhead nestled right up against your cervix. If he was any longer, you would definitely be in pain.

“Grice, you can move, you know,” Galliard jabs, but Colt just shakes his head.

“One second. Lemme just…” He shifts his hips some, not thrusting as much as grinding into you, and you cry out when he presses against that far wall.

You can feel Galliard’s cum leaking down the curvature of your ass, pooling with whatever of Zeke’s is left on the table. You’re so wet, noisy when Colt finally does start slowly pulling out and pushing in. The squelches echo in the conference room and make you cringe, but Zeke seems to appreciate it as he hums, “Listen to that sloppy pussy.”

“Like music to my fuckin’ ears,” Galliard adds.

Colt has trouble keeping an even pace, his hips stuttering often, but the ridge of his cock strokes over the sensitive spot inside you—the one that makes you drool and babble—almost every time. Your muscles clench around him, changing the sensation for both of you, and when that rhythm becomes even more erratic, you know he’s close.

“Fuck, fuck, I—”

“Just add to the mess. We’ll clean up later,” Zeke reassures him.

Colt’s eyes find yours for the first time since he started fucking you, searching for something like permission, so you nod and show a lazy grin.

“It’s okay, you can come in me.”

That sends him over, a strangled gasp ripping from his throat as he milks himself in your cunt. You can feel the pressure of building liquid inside you, pushing on your insides, but it wanes when Colt pulls out.

You feel swollen and used at this point, but your core is still hot with the desire to come. There’s a chance you won’t, especially now that Colt has finished, but you can always get yourself off in the privacy of your quarters if need be.

The freshly fucked blond receives a couple slaps on the back, some patronizing comments from his War Chief, and you take the time to just breathe and melt into the table, enjoying the way Pieck is stroking your hair now, smiling at the other Warriors.

Your eyes are just about to close when you see Reiner making his way over. He stands between your legs for a while, just looking over the damage, the slight discoloration of your chest, your raw nipples, mouth swollen from Galliard’s cock, then finally your used pussy.

His fingertips brush over sensitive skin, making you shudder, and you nearly cry when he asks, “You ready to get yours?”

You nod, sucking in an unsteady breath. Reiner mouths the word, “Okay,” then unbuckles his pants and pushes them down to his thighs, and the tears really do start to gather in your eyes now because Reiner is big, and you're already getting sore from three other cocks you've taken.

He rubs his hands up your thighs, tells you, “Wrap your legs around my waist,” which you somehow manage even though they’re weak with numbness.

Reiner doesn’t push in just yet, though you can feel his warm cock rubbing between your engorged lips. Instead, he slides his arms under your back and lifts you, turning so that he’s sitting on the table and you’re in his lap, ankles still crossed at his lower back.

“Just go at your own pace.” His voice is quiet, his mouth hovering just over yours, and here, like this, you almost forget about the others.

You lift yourself just enough to line his tip up with your leaking entrance then lower yourself onto his cock inch by inch. His girth stretches you, always burns just a little, even when you’re well prepared.

Your spongy walls make room for him, sucking him in even as you whine at his size. He waits for you to get settled, for you to start rocking, and only then does Reiner start moving. His cheeks are pink, light brown eyes nearly taken over by blown pupils, but the shift of his hips is slow and deliberate, hitting just where you need him to.

He keeps one hand at your back to help you balance, but his other moves down to press on the puffy flesh at the apex of your cunt. It forces your clit to rub against the coarse hairs on his pelvis, and you throw your head back as you finally, finally get that friction you were craving.

Reiner lowers his face to your chest, warm tongue laving over one nipple in a soothing manner as it pebbles against the muscle. He moves to the other and does the same, suckles on it softly so that you dig your nails into his back.

You leak with every shallow thrust, various fluids getting pushed from your wet pussy, and the closer you get to your orgasm, the worse it gets. You squirt first, a juice thinner than your slick arousal dribbling from you and coating Reiner’s thighs.

“Fucking—” He cuts himself off by kissing you, obviously uncaring of the fact that you had someone else’s cock in your mouth maybe half an hour ago. He licks into you, holding your body tight against his as your muscles tense, thighs rigid around his waist. You climb and climb, gut hotter and hotter until you reach your peak and moan into his mouth.

Your hips start moving on their own accord, a little faster as you squeeze the thick cock inside of you until your body grows tired enough to stop. Reiner keeps the same, slow pace, rumbles, “Just keep squeezing me, and I’ll come soon.”

So, you do, clenching around him and trembling the more overstimulated you become because you’re so sensitive and so swollen and so full. Every part of you aches. Every shift of his cock makes you whimper, but when Reiner finally spills inside of you, holding you down on his spurting cock, you sigh and slump against him.

You breathe heavily, and so does Reiner, his chest, now damp with sweat, rising and falling against yours. His shirt chafes against your nipples, making you hiss, but you’re too exhausted to move.

“Is that what sex is always like with you two?” Galliard scoffs. “That was some soft shit. I’m a little disgusted.”

If you were a little more lucid, you’d consider calling him out and announcing to the room how wanton he gets alone in the bedroom, but your brain is functioning at minimal capacity right now.

“Oh, leave them alone, Pock,” Pieck chides, and you glance across the table at her with tired eyes to find another one of those smiles on her face. “Everyone deserves some softness, especially this little angel after the way you guys treated her.”

“Didn’t treat her any differently than I normally do,” Zeke says, voice slightly muffled as he speaks around a new cigarette.

“In that case, I offer my condolences,” Pieck tells you, pulling a little snort from you.

“S’fine,” you slur. “I’m just happy to service the Warriors.”

Galliard rolls his eyes. Pieck hums thoughtfully. Zeke smirks. Reiner lets his head fall to your shoulder.

And, Colt croaks out a honestly endearing, “Well, I, uh, appreciate the service,” which makes you and all of his superiors laugh.

It’s not an easy job, this one you've been given. You try to be grateful for the opportunity, but most days end with you struggling to find your own self worth.

Tonight is different, though. It’s rare that you feel genuinely appreciated, but right now, sitting in Reiner’s lap with Colt looking at you in both embarrassment and gratefulness, you feel that maybe you're worth something.

#aot x reader #aot fanfic #attack on titan fanfic #attack on titan fanfiction #snk fanfic

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arrowflier · 3 years ago

Note

hi 💛 i know this may be out of character for post-finale, but i was wondering if you could write a bit of angst (with happy ending of course) where mickey becomes more withdrawn from the gallagher fam cause he doesn’t feel like he really belongs (thinking of lip during the “mickey’s not family” kitchen scene and mickey&lip’s fight) - maybe mick is staying back at their westside apartment more often, not attending family events, only feels comfortable around ian, etc. - eventually ian catches on, they talk, and he makes it better 🥰

This went a little different and it's ooc for the other Gallaghers, but I think it still hits the general vibe so I just went with it.

---

The wake of Frank Gallagher’s death was filled with uncertainty. For the present, the future, the family. For Ian. Because for all Ian said he wouldn’t care when Frank died, for all he said he was done caring for, mourning for a man that used him, threw him aside…

When it came down to it, Ian was still a Gallagher. And Gallaghers didn’t let each other go that easily.

Mickey wasn’t a Gallagher. He never had been. And he had never felt that difference more strongly than now, standing behind the counter in the Gallagher family kitchen, feeling like an eavesdropper as he listened to them plan.

Plan for a wake no one wanted, a remembrance no one asked for. Plan out Frank’s goodbye while the man himself sat in ashes on the mantelpiece.

Ian looked tired sitting on the opposite side of the room, facing Mickey. His face was drawn, his eyes squinted thin and surrounded by red, and his mouth twisted as he argued with Lip over how much of the money from selling the house should go toward completely unnecessary arrangements.

“I’m just saying,” Ian said plainly, “that we don’t need to do anything fancy. There’s nothing wrong with a cheap party at the Alibi.”

“Party,” Lip snorted. “Don’t think this is the kind of thing we’re supposed to celebrate.”

“Why the fuck not?” Mickey couldn’t help himself from chiming in. “Frank was an asshole, and nobody cared when he was dyin’ on the goddamn sofa.”

It was true enough. They had all been rather unbothered by his imminent demise until they got the call, a few words over a tinny phone connection enough to suddenly make it real. To make it important.

“No matter how much we hated him, he was still our dad, Mickey,” Lip argued, wiping a hand over his face. He eyed the drink Carl held hungrily before taking a slow sip of his own cola, adding, “Not all of us can just leave family to fuckin’ rot.”

And that hurt. Felt like a fucking kick in the chest, over a heart already bruised. He could see Ian watching him, though, and his husband had enough to deal with without getting into Mickey’s shit again.

“He’s already cremated,” Mickey pointed out, putting on an unconcerned face for Ian’s benefit. “Nothing left to rot, man.”

“Well we can’t just do nothing,” Debbie said, for once on Lip’s side. “I mean yeah, he was a shitty dad, but it’s not like he was Terry.”

“Not a high bar,” Mickey countered. “Think he deserves some kind of parade just cause he didn’t try and kill any of ya on purpose?”

A brief moment, just one, as that went through the room. Then:

“Mickey,” Lip sighed, “just let us deal with this, yeah? This is kind of a—”

“Family only thing,” Mickey interrupted bitterly, repeating words that Lip had thrown around one too many times. “Yeah, I figured.”

Ian offered an apologetic look from across the table, but didn’t argue for him. Not like last time, when his first thought had been to defend Mickey’s place.

Mickey took the hint.

“I’ll be out back,” Mickey said shortly, directed at Ian, and marched toward the door. “You know, whenever fucking family time is over.”

“Mickey…” Ian called after him, but he didn’t get up. Didn’t follow. And as Mickey left, he could vaguely hear Ian making apologies.

So he didn’t stop when he went down the steps. And he didn’t stop at the gate. He didn’t stop at the sidewalk, or the street, or the edge of the neighborhood.

If he wasn’t fuckin’ family, he didn’t need to be at the family home. So he went to his new one instead.

---

“Mickey?” Ian called out as he entered the apartment, hours later. “Mickey, are you here?”

Mickey didn’t answer. Ian found him anyway.

“There you are,” he said with a sigh as he came into the living room, where Mickey lay sprawled over the sofa. He stopped at Mickey’s side, towering over him.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Ian complained, looking to the device Mickey held with both hands. “Why did you leave?”

“Why do you think?” Mickey answered. “Wasn’t exactly welcome.”

Ian had the grace to look chagrined.

“Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly. “You know how Lip gets…”

“Stupid?” Mickey said, and Ian shrugged.

“I mean, yeah. Kind of.”

Mickey went back to playing on his phone, leaving Ian standing awkwardly at his side.

“I told them I’d come back once I found you,” Ian told him abruptly. “You should come with me.”

Mickey didn’t answer, eyes on his game.

“Will you come?” Ian pressed, and Mickey dropped his phone with a sigh.

“They don’t want me there,” he answered. He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck, and Ian caught it, pulled it away.

“Why would you say that?” he asked, voice earnest, his thumb tracing circles on Mickey’s wrist.

“Dunno,” Mickey lied, then caved immediately. “It’s a family thing,” he said. “And I ain’t family.”

“You’re my family,” Ian countered, but Mickey shook his head, pulling his hand free.

That wasn’t enough.

They were quiet, for a moment, and Mickey was about to give up and pick up his phone again when Ian broke the silence.

“You’re more family than Frank was, if you think about it,” he said suddenly. “Definitely more of a Gallagher, if you only count the good bits.”

“It’s cheating to only count the good parts of me,” Mickey argued, feeling bitter, and Ian knocked his shoulder with his hand.

“Meant only the good bits of being a Gallagher, Mick,” he corrected, rolling his eyes before they settled, soft, on Mickey’s face. “Stuff like being there, taking care of each other. Sticking together when things get rough.”

“Don’t think your brother agrees,” Mickey said flatly, then winced as Ian sat down hard on his outstretched legs.

“My brother,” Ian started, “is an idiot.”

Well, Mickey wasn’t going to argue with that.

“But believe it or not,” Ian continued, “he does think of you as family.” Mickey tried to cut in, but Ian glared at him until he closed his mouth, settling back against the arm of the sofa.

“You know what I heard him telling somebody the other day?” Ian asked. Not waiting for a reply, he said, “that if they had any trouble, he’d sic his brother-in-law on them.”

“Don’t think using me as a threat counts as me being part of the family,” Mickey grumbled, but Ian shook his head.

“Wasn’t a threat,” he explained. “He was offering your services. Cause you’re part of the family, now, and he knows you would help him.”

He would. Of course he would. Without a second thought, even for his least favorite in-law, even at risk for himself. But it was a surprise to hear that Lip knew that.

“Carl tells people you taught him how to fight,” Ian went on. “Brags that the infamous Mickey Milkovich taught him everything, and that’s why he makes a good cop.”

Mickey snorted. Of course that little fucker did.

“Didn’t think he’d grow up to be a pig, did I?” he said, and Ian just smiled.

“Liam tells the school bullies that if they mess with him, his brother will beat them up,” Ian continued. “Didn’t work very well until he said that brother was you.”

“Damn right I would,” Mickey agreed easily, scowling at the idea of anyone giving Liam a hard time. “He’s a good fucking kid.”

“And Franny fucking adores you,” Ian said, knowing it would make Mickey smile. “Which means Debbie does, too.” Ian scooted closer, sitting on Mickey’s thighs instead of his shins.

“You know I offered to babysit the other day, and the first thing Debs asked was if you would be there?” Ian laughed. “She almost said no until I promised you would be.”

“Little sis has good sense,” Mickey muttered, flushing to his ears, and Ian nodded.

“She does,” he agreed. “They all do.” He raised a hand to Mickey’s face, held his cheek. Stroked his thumb over it. “You’re family, Mickey,” he whispered. “And they love you. Just like I do.”

“Fucking sap,” Mickey murmured, leaning into the touch.

“You know it,” Ian said, and pulled him in for a kiss.

When they parted, Ian took Mickey’s worries with him.

“What do you say?” Ian asked softly, hand sliding down to Mickey’s neck. “Come home with me, let them apologize?”

“Thought this was home, now,” Mickey said.

“It is home, for us,” Ian answered. “But the house is home too. Family is home,” he stressed. “And you’re family.”

“Lip ain’t gonna apologize,” Mickey pointed out next, leaning in again, and Ian shrugged.

“Come home with me and tell him he’s an asshole?” Ian offered instead.

Mickey grinned, resting their foreheads together.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I can do that.”

#daily speedwrite #gallavich #fanfic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #lip gallagher

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elentiyawhitethorn · 3 years ago

Text

When Passion Rules the Game | Part Six

CW: NSFW, language

Part Five//Part Seven//Masterlist//2634 words

Aelin chuckled. “I hate you.”

Rowan grinned, playfully squeezing her ass. “I hate you more.”

“I can’t even wrap my mind around it, though. You like the Wendlyn Eagles. It’s just incomprehensible.”

Rowan smirked. “You’re far too dramatic for your own good.”

“Someone has to be. The rest of the world is filled with some boring ass people, I tell you, Rowan.”

He laughed. “Having met with Chaol Westfall, I can agree with you there.”

A snort that was far from womanly left Aelin’s mouth. “I still can’t believe you had to work on that project with him all day. I felt so bad.”

“You didn’t,” Rowan protested. “You were laughing every time I looked at you.”

“I can’t deny that.”

They both laughed. But the humor slowly dissolved as Rowan trailed his hand along Aelin’s side. The light touch turned greedy as Aelin leaned into him, aching for a rougher touch.

His hand reached for her breast and squeezed. Aelin scooted closer and reached her hand down below the sheets.

Rowan had her hand in his grasp in an instant. “Be patient, sweetheart.”

“I wish you’d stop saying that,” Aelin muttered.

Rowan smirked. “But you need to learn it.”

“Training me to be a good girl for you, hmm?” Aelin scooted closer, the legs that had been casually intertwined now tangled against each other heatedly. “But don’t you want me to make you feel good?” She gave her best puppy dog eyes.

Rowan leaned in and nipped her lower lip. “If you ask nicely.”

“Please let me touch you,” Aelin rasped, fluttering her eyelashes.

Rowan gave her throat a quick squeeze, Aelin letting out a noise of content as he choked her. Then he let go off her entirely, and Aelin moved her hand farther under the sheet.

Rowan’s cock was half-hard when Aelin wrapped her slender fingers around it. He squeezed his eyes shut as Aelin started pumping her hand. She was thoroughly enjoying the small grunt that left his lips as he tried to hold back a groan.

Rowan thrust his hips into Aelin’s hand. She trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along his neck as she pumped her hand. His cock hardened in her grip, and Aelin felt heat start to build between her legs.

Just when Aelin twisted her wrist and drew a growl out Rowan, he stopped her by flipping their bodies, pinning Aelin underneath him. He didn’t enjoy being the one squirming at someone else’s touch.

“Rowan,” she pleaded. He moved her arms, pinning her wrists over her head with one hand, and brought the other down between her legs. But Rowan only parted her folds with a finger, stroking gently. Aelin bucked her hips, but he only withdrew his hand.

“Please,” she whined. “Please, please, please.”

Rowan chuckled against her skin, licking a stripe up her neck and readjusting his hips so that Aelin was even more trapped under his body.

He slipped his finger inside her entrance, then pulled it back out immediately. “Beg me. Beg me to fuck you.” He roughly fingered her clit, then pulled his hand away entirely.

Aelin complied. Please was the only word in her vocabulary as she whimpered for Rowan to make her feel good. He finger-fucked her for a few minutes before he decided she was behaving well enough to come. Rowan pressed his thumb against her clit, rubbing circles around the sensitive bud of flesh. It didn’t take much for Aelin to be overcome by a massive wave of pleasure.

And when he fucked her, when he flicked her clit as he slammed into her, she came, not even close to satisfied. He didn’t stop moving not just until he came as well, but until she had a third orgasm. When he finally let up, Aelin dropped into a deep slumber, exhausted from his attentions.

—

They were back in the bar. Aelin was talking to a man, a man with silver hair and pine-green eyes. She didn’t know his name, but she wanted to.

“I’m new in town,” he said to her, but Aelin wasn’t concerned with the hazy lust clouding his eyes or the way his gaze dropped to her cleavage. She was thinking about how nice he was, how smart and kind and funny. She didn’t want to drag him in the bathroom, she wanted to tell him that she lo—

An obnoxious beeping filled the room, filled Aelin’s head, turned the man into a blur. Aelin snapped awake, scrambling into a sitting position. Her alarm was going off.

She glanced over at Rowan, drowsily rubbing his eyes beside her, still lying down. “You okay, baby?”

Aelin let out a long exhale, trying to recall what her dream had been about. Rowan, maybe?

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, assessing the sincerity of her statement, then nodded and said, “We should get up. Work’s in an hour.”

Aelin steadied her breathing—what had her dream been?—and expressed her agreement. They climbed out of bed and headed around the house: eating, making coffee, brushing teeth, showering. It had been three months since they’d become friends with benefits, and they had toothbrushes and extra clothing at each other’s homes. It made things much more convenient, not having to wait until the weekend to hook up.

Aelin headed out a few minutes before Rowan, both because arriving at the same time could be suspicious if anyone noticed, and because she had no reason to wait for him. She called a farewell, knowing he had a key to lock her door with. Again, for convenience purposes.

Despite that and the fact that they cuddled often after sex, naked and talking about football teams, their relationship really wasn’t abnormal. They had just become good friends.

Aedion headed into her office only moments after Aelin herself arrived. He looked at her, frowned, and said, “You have a hickey.”

Aelin refused to blush, cursing herself for not even bothering to look in the mirror other than for a quick hair brush and some light lipstick. She merely leaned back in her chair, threaded her fingers in front of her on the desk, and said, “We have an issue with the camera in the main elevator.”

Aedion sighed and took a seat. “We’ll have it fixed by lunchtime. Still playing with your boy toy?”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Get over yourself, Aedion.”

He snorted. “Me? You’re the one—”

“We are not having this conversation again,” Aelin interrupted. “Especially not here. Go fix the camera.” She tended to be relatively kind to her employees, and merely icy to the ones who pissed her off, but having grown up with Aedion, she tended to have a shorter temper when he was around.

A huff was all she got in reply before Aedion stood. He left, shutting the door gently—they had a silent agreement not to let their petty arguments disturb anyone else—and leaving Aelin alone. She pulled out her phone and swiped to the camera app, then took a look at her neck.

There was a dark bruise on the side, and Aelin breathed a sigh of relief. That would be easy to cover with her hair, unable to do anything less temporary during work. She pulled her blonde locks over that side and made a mental note to keep them there. Good thing she hadn’t passed many people on the way in.

Then she thought back to what had went down when Aedion had first walked in on her and Rowan, oh so long ago.

—

“What the fuck are you doing, Aelin?”

Aelin tensed. This wasn’t going to be fun.

She glanced over at Rowan, who looked part defensive and part confused. He probably didn’t realize Aedion was her cousin, though he might recognize him vaguely from work.

“You can go, Rowan. I’ll take care of this.”

He hesitated, looking back and forth between the pair. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I can handle him.”

Aedion snorted at that, but Aelin didn’t dignify him with a glance.

“Okay, but I…” Rowan trailed off.

Right. Aelin was still wearing his shirt.

“Um”—Aelin sent Aedion a smile—“We’ll be right back.” He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and he flashed a saccharine grin.

Mentally dying from embarrassment, Aelin grabbed Rowan’s wrist and dragged him down the hallway. Not bothering to say anything to him, she yanked off his shirt, tossed it to him, and opened her drawer.

“So that was… a friend?”

Aelin yanked on some underwear and sweats. She looked in a different drawer for a t-shirt. “My cousin. Aedion. He works security.”

“Ah.” What was different about Rowan’s tone after she said that? What was he thinking?

Aelin turned back around, fully dressed now. Rowan’s gaze was fixed on the wall, rather than watching her as she dressed. Apparently all desire had disappeared, replaced by awkwardness.

“He won’t tell anyone.” Rowan’s eyes snapped to Aelin. “He’s very protective of me, but as annoyed as he’ll undoubtedly be, he won’t say anything.”

Rowan nodded. “Good.”

They didn’t say anything more. Aelin nodded. Rowan nodded, too.

“Well,” Aelin said finally. “See you at work on Monday.”

Rowan laughed lightly. “Yeah, see you.”

They left the bedroom and Rowan walked ahead of Aelin to the door. He gave a tight nod to Aedion, who didn’t return the gesture. Aelin sighed.

Once Rowan was out the door, Aelin smiled brightly. “Take a seat.”

“I’m good here.”

She ignored his tone and plumped onto the couch. “Want anything to eat?”

“What are you doing?”

“That’s none of your business, Aed.”

He frowned. “He works for you.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Aelin snapped.

Aedion pushed off the wall and stalked forward, dropping on the couch next to her. “You’re his boss. He’s probably just trying to get a promotion.”

A scowl crossed Aelin’s features. “You don’t even have any idea what this is,” she hissed.

“Then enlighten me, please.” Aedion’s growing temper matched her own. “Do you love him?”

Aelin scoffed. “Of course not. I just met the man a few weeks ago. Besides, that would be inappropriate.”

“That would be inappropriate,” Aedion repeated incredulously. “And this fucking isn’t?”

She huffed. “Rowan is well aware that this won’t be affecting his career at all, positively or negatively. It stays out of work, okay? There’s no reason to be pestering me about it.”

“It’s wrong, Aelin.”

“It is gods-damn not,” she snapped. “I am an adult, and he is an adult, and if we want to fuck, we will fuck. There’s your laptop. Take it and leave.”

Aedion did no such thing. “You know I only care about you.”

“If you care about me, you will mind your own business.”

Aedion sighed and stood up. “I’ll talk you on Monday. Lunch, remember?”

Aelin wanted to yell at him, her stubborn demeanor making it difficult to lose her anger, but if he was taking the steps to end this argument, she could do the same. “Fine. See you Monday.” Her voice was only slightly less sharp, but the words were enough. Aedion smiled in acknowledgment and left.

—

So much had changed since then, but Aedion’s attitude toward the pair’s out-of-work activities was not one of them. He glared at Rowan whenever they were in the same room, trying to find something to fault him for, but there never was anything. During their time in the office, Rowan remained respectful and kind, exactly as she’d requested of him all those days ago. He truly was a good man.

Drawing her thoughts away from Rowan, Aelin reached for a pen and got to work.

It was an hour later that Rowan joined her, starting on their major workload for the planning of their newest fundraising activity, as well as the arduous task of budgeting. Having such an involved roll in many of Aelin’s largest tasks, she had a small table designated for him against the wall, if ever they needed more space. Other thank that, he just used the opposite side of Aelin’s own desk.

Neither of them mentioned this morning, as was usual.

It may have been Aelin’s overactive imagination, but Rowan seemed distant today. Distracted about something or other. He brushed her off when Aelin asked if he was okay, and she let him have some space after that.

By the time the end of the workday rolled around, Aelin was exhausted. It was Friday, which meant she’d just spent the past five days pouring her sweat and blood into each project and task. She did work on the weekends, but the little loads she did at home could hardly compare to the stress of the week.

Aelin always worked later than everybody else; she wanted to get as much done as she could, and she made sure her workers, if not herself, had good hours. It was nearly seven-thirty when she filed away the last document.

When she came out of her office to find an empty floor, vacated entirely by Elide and all of the other staff, she was surprised. She wasn’t surprised that all of her workers were gone. That was entirely expected. She was surprised that Rowan was gone.

Not that he was supposed to be here; even though he worked a bit later some days, he usually left before her. But sometimes he waited up for her, in case she was in the mood. Well aware of the fact that they had fucked last night and they didn’t do it every day or anything, Aelin mentally shook herself for being concerned about Rowan’s absence. Still, some of the uneasiness remained.

Rowan had a pretty good position in the company, and as such, he had his own, albeit small, office. Aelin peered in just to be sure he was gone. Only a janitor, Arobynn, was in the office, and she waved at him. He gruffly nodded.

Trying not to reprimand herself out loud and look like a lunatic in front of the janitor, Aelin headed to the elevator. She was bothered that she was so caught up in Rowan that him not being there, even when it was entirely expected, made her lonely. It was just the sex she missed, of course.

Aelin impatiently tapped her pen against the handrail the whole elevator ride down, and when the doors finally opened, she hurried to her car, feeling she needed a nap. And maybe a whiskey.

—

The weekend passed in a blur. Aelin texted Rowan once, but he hadn’t responded. She hadn’t pestered him after that, knowing full well that he was allowed to have a life and she didn’t want to be desperate and annoy him into coming over. But she couldn’t deny the rapidly growing kernel of excitement resting in the pit of her stomach as Aelin headed to work on Monday.

“Hello, Elide,” Aelin called merrily, waving as she passed her.

Elide just sent a bemused smile to her friend.

Aelin marched toward her office, peering through the windows to find… a man that was not Rowan. Backpedaling because Aelin didn’t want to meet a client unprepared, she stepped away before he could see her. Then she made her way back to Elide.

“Who is that in my office?”

Elide frowned. “I sent you an email about it last night.”

“Last night? The last work I did was yesterday afternoon.”

Elide sighed, as if Aelin should have been checking her email all weekend long. She always had such high expectations. “That’s Nox Owens, the replacement.”

“Replacement for whom?” Aelin asked warily.

Elide blinked. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Who didn’t tell me what?” Aelin crossed her arms.

“We had to find a new coordinations director over the weekend. Mr. Whitethorn tendered his immediate resignation last Friday.”

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@autumnbabylon

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@pagemasters

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thenerdandfandoms

@theysayitscrazy

@yesdreamblog

#rowaelin #tog #when passion rules the game #my writing

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redrobin-detective · 4 years ago

Text

the end is where we start from

What we call the beginning is often the end / And to make an end is to make a beginning / The end is where we start from. ~ T.S. Elliot, Little Giddings

Danny was running, he didn’t know where to all he knew was who he was running from. He didn’t know if his parents were even coming after him, guns blazing and mouths sneering but he didn’t dare turn around to look. Maybe they weren’t even going to bother chasing him, maybe they were just happy the ghostly scum was out of their house.

He saw the entrance to Amity’s deepest woods and he darted for it. It was dark and thick and easy to lose yourself in so people usually thought twice before they entered. But people like Danny had little else to lose. The sting of branches swiping at him before he could turn intangible, giant, gnarling roots tripping him up before he could float over him. But he didn’t dare slow down because that would mean acknowledging what had happened.

Another missed curfew, another argument where he and his parents talked about but around each other. Another ghost showing up just as he got dressed for bed, another transformation to take care of it before he could get some sleep. Only the same old script flipped on itself when Mom opened the door, bringing in some tea as an apology for her harsh words just into time to see her son become a ghost. Her gun was drawn before the cup hit the floor and shattered, along with Danny’s heart.

Deep in the thicket of the woods, his human lungs burned and his living muscles ached but he couldn’t turn into Phantom now. Not when it was the stupid ghost’s fault he wasn’t welcome in his own home anymore.

‘What are you doing with my son, ghost?’

‘Mom, please it’s Danny I can explain, please would you just listen?’

‘You can’t be alive and dead at the same time! It’s impossible!’ Oh god my baby died and I didn’t even notice’

‘Mom, Dad, listen to Danny, he’s telling the truth. This is why he never-’

‘Jasmine, you’ve been deceived that’s what ghosts do! That’s what Phantom in particular is known for!’

“Jazzy, Danno, I want to believe you, but it’s a lot to take in. Let us run some tests to make sure.’

‘Danny! Danny wait! Come back!’

Eventually his human body ran out of steam, adrenaline and desperation can only take a person so far. His speeding gait slowed to a lopping jog before settling into a quiet, miserable walk. He squeezed his eyes shut and dared to look over his shoulder but, of course, no one was there. It was just him, the darkness and his own woes.

“What am I going to do now?” He asked quietly, weakly as he fought back panicked tears. All he could see was his mother’s angry, grieving face. His father’s confusion as he tried to make sense of it all while trying to keep the peace. Jazz’s frustration and futile attempts to shield Danny from the worst of the shouting.

He had nothing on his person, why would he? He’d been about ready to go to bed when his whole world came crashing down. His worn Star Wars t-shirt and sweatpants offered little protection from the gloomy October weather but Danny’s ice core more than protected him from the chill. He welcomed it if anything, it matched the ice growing in his heart. No money to escape with, no phone to call for help, no tools to contain any ghosts he battled. He hadn’t even had dinner last night, too busy fighting ghosts. For the first time, Danny was well and truly on his own. Not even dying had seemed so scary.

“I can handle this,” Danny said with false calm. It was pitch dark around him but a little ectoplasmic light brightened the area up. “I’ll just stay here for the night and then I’ll check in tomorrow. If things are still bad, I’ll grab my gear and go.” Where he’d go was a whole other question but that wasn’t important right now. He was still too raw to think about what he’d do if he actually had to abandon his human life. All he could focus on right now was the hurt pulsing through him.

He wandered around in the dark for a little while longer, looking for a suitable place to set up camp for the night. Eventually, he came upon a set of twisting trees that was perfect for his purposes. Lightening his weight, he climbed up halfway and made a little ice tent in the branches. It was lightweight but thick, covering him up and serving as a shield between him and the rest of the world. In his own little ice palace, no one else could hurt him.

“There we go, home sweet home,” Danny mumbled as he crawled inside with a dull thump. He’d left a little skylight open, so he could look up at the stars. If he didn’t think too hard about it, he could imagine he was out camping with his dad or stargazing with his friends. “No, stop it. You’re only making it worse,” he said quietly to himself as the annoying flush of sadness washed over him. He didn’t like to cry; it made him feel stupid and childish and exhausted. Jazz had lectured him about the cleansing release of neurochemicals and other junk but really he usually felt worse after crying.

“This is fine, everything is fine,” Danny sniffled, shuddering as he curled in on himself. The only cold that could hurt him was his own. It really wasn’t a great idea to use his that much of his ice in his human form, it chilled his body too much to be healthy. That, combined with his light clothes, the chilly night and that fact that he was laying on a solid block of ice, didn’t help matters. If Sam and Tucker could see him, they’d be shoving him in the shower to warm him up and plying him with food and blankets. Jazz and her dozen kind of herbal teas that help with mood or digestion or whatever would shove one or two into his hands and hover until he drank some. Their nagging was annoying but it was helpful and made him feel so loved. Love he wasn’t feeling out in the woods all by himself in the middle of the night.

“This is fine,” he repeated, more choked up this time and gave into his desire to cry. His chest hurt from the force of his sobs and eyes burned from the salty tears. He was flushed and cold and miserable but eventually, after wiping snot away from his nose and hiccupping quietly, he was ready to sleep. He was so worn out from all the hurting and the crying that he slipped from wakefulness as easy as going ghost.

“Child, what are you doing?” Danny groaned at the vaguely familiar voice. His ghost sense went off, reminding him once more how cold he was. He barely had it in him to shiver right now. “Ghost child, awaken and explain yourself.” Cold metal poked repeatedly into his side until Danny shoved the hand away, sitting up with a miserable glare.

“Go away, I’m not in the mood,” Danny grumbled, turning away from Skulker to try and go back to sleep. “I already feel bad enough, I don’t need you making it worse.”

“That does not explain why you are in a tree in the woods,” Skulker said slowly, still hung on stupid details. “The last I checked, the human Lair you stayed in was still standing. I stopped there to show you my latest weapon but you weren’t there, I traced your signature here.”

“Congrats, pass go and collect $200,” Danny sniped back quietly, not putting any heat into it. He didn’t have much to spare.

“Why are you out here, all alone?” Skulker frowned, “humans are susceptible to the elements, I presume you’re no exception given your current state. Just this once, I will stay the hunt to return you to your human Lair and we shall resume at a later-”

“No, I can’t go back,” Danny gasped fearfully, he curled in deeper on himself. “My parents, they know about me, about my powers. They didn’t take it well, I can’t- I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“But those human children-”

“I’m not getting them involved in this, they’re already in too deep. Tucker’s still grounded from that incident with Desiree and if Sam’s parents caught me in her room at night I’d lose the other half of my miserable life,” Danny grumbled. “Just leave me alone or kill me and take my pelt. Either one, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I see,” Skulker hummed, “stay here, Child, I will return.” Skulker said before flying off.

“Great, can’t wait,” Danny murmured as he rearranged himself on his ice block. He still felt unbearably cold but it probably wasn’t enough to actually kill him. Probably. “Stupid ghosts, stupid powers, if I hadn’t walked into that stupid portal, I’d be be safe and warm in bed right now and only have to worry about passing pre-calc.” It felt like he’d barely fallen back asleep when he was forcibly awaken by something soft and heavy dropping on him.

He phased out of the tangle only to find a bunch of blankets and heavy winter coat that looked 2 sizes too big for him. “What the-”

“Wow you weren’t kidding, babe, he looks like a trainwreck,” he heard Ember’s gruff voice say. “Hey dummy, put on the stupid coat. I ain’t had nerve endings in a while but I’m getting cold just looking atcha.”

“You bring your girlfriend to harass me in the middle of the night with,” Danny eyed the pile with price tags still on them, “stolen merchandise.”

“Shut up, we’re crashing your pathetic little pity party so you don’t die before I can off you myself,” the rock star huffed. “If that coat isn’t on you in five seconds, I’m manhandling your skinny arms into it.”

“Jeez you’re worse than my sister,” Danny grumbled even as he pulled the coat on. It was big but fluffy, the extra layer instantly made him feel a bit better. “Happy?”

“Getting there. Techy, you brought the food or what?” Danny yelped as a large amount of food dropped in through his skylight. It was an interesting mix, a jumbo bag of peanuts, dijon mustard, a jar of pickled eggs, a couple bags of chips and a box of uncooked macaroni noodles. “Here, eat some human food.”

“What?” Danny questioned as Technus poked his head into the icy tree house.

“Oh nice place you got here child but it needs more lights and a flat screen and, oh, I can set you up with a killer stereo system over eek!” the technology ghost yelped as he was pulled back and Poindexter replaced him.

“Hey Danny, heard you were in a bit of a bind. Thanks to you, my Lair’s school is a better place now, bully free. You can cool your jets with me if you need to fly the coop.” Danny didn’t answer and instead opened one of the bags of chips, barbeque and ranch sweet.

“You can also stay on my island for however long you need to recover,” Skulker grumbled, like it pained him to say. “It’s no fun to hunt you when you’re so weak. I want to defeat you at your prime not at your lowest.”

“No, no, come to my lair! Everything is beeping and flashing all the time and I have a Minecraft room!” Technus interjected.

“I guess you could come to mine if you have to,” Ember huffed. “But aren’t you also buddy buddy with the Yetis bein’ an ice core and all? Or Queen Dora? Pretty much anyone will open their lairs to you with your stupid, beaten puppy dog eyes.”

“You guys, I don’t know what to say,” Danny said softly, taken aback by the show of kindness. He took in the blankets, the coat, the food, their offers. They didn’t understand, not really, but they were trying. It meant a lot, coming from his enemies. “Thank you.”

“Well, yeah, us nerds got to stick together,” Poindexter grinned.

“You’re human and an annoyance but your existence has given my afterlife quite a thrill. I’m not ready for the hunt to end quite yet,” Skulker announced.

“You’re our favorite nemesis,” Technus exclaimed, trying to squeeze his face back through the packed skylight. “We fight, we banter but we also support each other when we’re down! Whenever I’m feeling down, I come into the human world and our battles have me back up and running in no time!”

“Huh,” Danny said, looking down with a small smile. If his enemies could put aside their grudges and help him when he needed it then maybe... “Thanks again really but uh, I think I should go home, check in with my folks. Probably shouldn’t have run off like that but um, if it goes bad...”

“You’re part ghost,” Skulker said with a sharp nod. “The Zone is as much your home as it is ours. Really should get around to making a Lair one of these days. Only weak ghosts and parasites leech off of others.”

“You know the way back from here?” Ember asked. “Need an entourage?”

“Yeah I got it,” Danny answered, triggering his transformation. Poindexter squealed with delight as he phased out of his sad little ice cave. It looked cold and lonely which wasn’t what he needed right now. “And I’ll- it’ll be fine. I don’t think bringing a bunch of ghosts home with me will help my case.”

“Farewell, Child. May your spirits be higher on our next meeting. Having the support of ghost hunters will certainly add to the challenge of the hunt,” Skulker grinned. “I look forward to it.” He flew off and the others followed. Danny smiled, watching them go for a moment before flying in the opposite direction towards his house.

He was halfway home when the Fenton Assault Vehicle careened around a corner at an unsafe speed. Danny jumped as it went past, startled out of invisibility. He made eye contact with his parents before the RV skidded to a screeching halt and then hastily backed up. The window rolled down and he met the wide, teary eyes of his mom and dad.

“Uh funny running into you in a place like this,” he said shyly, looking down.

“Oh thank heavens, Danny where have you been? We’ve been worried sick!” His mother cried, jumping out of the RV and pulling him down into her arms. His father was on the phone, he heard Jazz’s name being mentioned, along with Sam and Tucker. “Baby, you’re freezing! Is this,” she paused, pulling back and delicately touching his wisp like hair. “Is that normal?”

“Sort of,” he said, leaning back into her touch. “It’s all kind of a long story. I shouldn’t have run off like that, I’m sorry.”

“No, you shouldn’t have but I don’t blame you,” Dad said, stepping out of the car and wrapping them both in a hug. “But Fenton men always make up for their goof ups. You were headed back home, right?”

“Yeah, home,” Danny sighed.

“Danny, I still don’t understand but I, we, love you and I’m sorry if we made you doubt that. We’ll work it out, sweetie, I promise. That’s what family does,” Mom said before ushering him and Dad into the car. “Now in you get, it’s too cold and too late for this and I do not want the neighbors complaining to the HOA again.”

Danny changed back in front of his parents for the second time that evening, this time intentionally. Their curiosity and happiness at seeing him overrode their earlier fear and confusion. He settled more comfortably into the backseat, warm and happy for the first time all evening.

“Danno, where’s you get the jacket?” Dad asked.

“My other family, don’t worry, I’ll explain it all tomorrow.”

#I'm sad and angry so have some sad and angry danno #the hurt helped with my bad feeling but the comfort soothed them #this was very theraputeic #danny phantom #hurt/comfort #*clapping hands* let danny be frenemies with the ghosts #also ive had the idea of danny running off and making a lil tree ice fort in my head for a while #seems like a good idea until you freeze your human butt off #jack and maddie are good peeps in my mind #they might not react well at first but they'll always come around for their kids #anyway here's wonderwall

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onebizarrekai · 4 years ago

Text

v3′s art is comically terrible for a professionally distributed game in a series: a compilation

in this not-essay I will list all of the mistakes and problems I have spotted in v3′s art. don’t worry, it’s entirely for fun and I’m doing this on a whim, so please feel free to not take this seriously but also it’s hilarious and embarrassing how ridiculous this is like what happened did they speedrun the whole production or what

see, there are some things you can take as meta like “they made it bad on purpose to allude to the downfall of tv shows that have been on air for much too long” but I have a very strong feeling this is not the case due to the nature of some of these errors

disclaimer, the more I study this art, the more I fear that the artists were underpaid and underslept, so if this is in fact the case, I am so sorry to all of them but also I’m going to make fun of the art anyway

anyway let’s get started!

if you study this image for longer than 5 seconds, you will see that kaede is the only one fully shaded and keebo is literally just his normal sprite pasted into the image. every other character is just an ordinary ref, hence most of them facing the exact same direction with neutral expressions on their faces. it looks like a bad edit, and is probably one of the worst pieces of art in the game. it kind of gets better from here on, but my roasting will not.

with that out of the way, here’s the problem that officially bothers me the most and clarifies my viewpoint of “this is not meta and an actual lack of company communication”

this freaking cg, which seems normal at a glance, but some wiseass was like “oh, kaede is a girl, so obviously she’s going to be shorter than the Male Protagonist™” ah, that’s funny. because if you look at the character bios, kaede is, in fact, one inch taller than shuichi and not like 6 inches shorter as she is shown here.

also shuichi’s shoulder is disproportionate and horrendous and he looks vaguely like a jojo character, but I wasn’t even thinking about that until right now.

thanks guys, 50% of the fandom who has never bothered to check these bios thinks that kaede is like 5′3 (did the developers really put so little thought into her to the point where drawing her correctly in the game didn’t even matter??)

also I would like to point out that, even though this isn’t related to the art itself, yes, a character kaede’s size being only 117 lbs is unfeasible, but this applies to literally every character in danganronpa ever and it’s not new news that it’s unrealistic

update: someone in the tags informed me that in versions of the game that use centimeters, like the japanese version, kaede is actually shorter than shuichi, which just adds another thing to the list of weird decisions the localization team made for no reason. that said, after confirming this, kaede is 167 cm in the original, while shuichi is 171 cm, which are approximately 5′6 and 5′7 respectively, but one inch is still nowhere near as drastic as it is depicted above. (in spite of this, I would rather depict kaede as slightly taller, so I’m probably going to keep doing that.)

the journey continues!

bro if you want kaede to have shoulder length hair then stick to it to begin with

you can pretend this is at an angle all you want but they definitely committed the shorter kaede sin a second time

wait a goddamn second.

DO YOU SEE THIS

no………… it wasn’t kaede who shrank. it was shuichi who got taller

speaking of which, can we talk about how shady the perspective is in this elevator pic? look at shuichi and kokichi in comparison to kaede. kokichi, who is canonically 7 inches (edit: or 5, if you’re loyal to the original) shorter than kaede, looks taller than kaede. he’s growing too. what steroids are these gays taking

running into the room, electric boogaloo: I don’t think tsumugi is supposed to be the same height as kokichi

gonta… gonta you’re lookin a bit like a jojo character there

I love how kaito’s head looks kind of like it was pasted onto his body. why is he the same size as shuichi? shouldn’t he be high school bully size or something? his torso is teensy

ah yes, white angie.

I love this cg but why is shuichi’s right hand so much bigger than his left hand

I also love how this cg looks like they literally took pictures of trees and pasted them into the background, especially on the left. the shadows are so weird, especially closer to the ceiling, it’s difficult for me to believe they didn’t do exactly that.

return of Enlarged shuichi

puberty update: kokichi is now taller than shuichi in spite of shuichi never missing leg day. what crimes will he commit

I have to mention it, guys. this has to be one of the worst danganronpa cgs. kokichi’s facial proportions look atrocious. look at the way his face sticks out like his jaw is in the wrong place. his scarf is a pasted texture. that’s it. this moment was so iconic but the cg just looks so… so… off. like something is terribly wrong, but you can’t put your finger on it.

you know what? let’s get into that ‘pasted texture’ thing.

let’s imagine you’re an artist working on a professional game. you’re assigned to draw cgs of kokichi ouma, who has a checkered scarf from hell. sure, it will be terrible to draw, but you only have to draw it once at a time! plus, perspective is pretty important, right? can you be bothered? nah, actually. let’s just copy paste a checkered pattern into the cg, because I’m sure nobody will notice. it’ll blend right in with the other cgs that someone actually put effort into drawing his scarf in, right?

no. the answer is no and I very much noticed. this genuinely looks terrible and I would understand taking a shortcut like that in fanart or even an indie game but this is a full price pc and console distributed game

(an addition: look at kokichi’s TINY HANDS in that last one)

meanwhile, they straight up forgot to color in kokichi’s scarf in this cg.

dude. I forgot about whatever the hell this cg was. anyway look at keebo please just look at him

lovin kaito’s baby arms

real talk, maybe you could argue that he’s missing muscle because he’s deathly sick, but most of his cgs don’t line up with this, and his arms just look disproportionate to his torso size (granted this is a consistent problem across all danganronpa games and a lot of characters have this weird problem, like hajime, but also kaito is bigger than hajime so I kind of have higher expectations of him) maybe it’s his stupid goatee and the way he reminds me of yasuhiro?? it creates this illusion that he’s older than he is and so I keep expecting him to look more like an adult

oh, also rantaro is missing some of his accessories in that video he made–you know the one–but I don’t wanna go back and screenshot it

also you may have noticed that I’m skipping all of the monokub cgs because I literally do not care about them and I’m not even bothering to check and see if they have artistic mistakes in them

JIMMY NEUTRON???

hey um uh kaito you seem to be missing your neck

hey guys do you like my pregame fanart

so, that done, the sprites are also pretty terrible at times. they’re not as interesting to go through, however, and downloading the full sprite sets for every character and studying every single one of them will drive me insane, so I’ll just sum some of the ones I noticed up. I made things for kaede and shuichi before deciding I wasn’t going to get into it, so here are these.

that said, other mistakes include kokichi missing his purple highlights in all of the sprites encompassing a specific pose, stray pixels all over the place on everyone, and everyone also has heavily inconsistent shading, but literally all I think about is how pregame shuichi is unshaded and two of kaede’s pregame sprites have glaring outfit change mistakes in them

anyway, thank you for taking the time to read my ridiculous ramble. in all seriousness, there’s this looming presence of some lack of communication in the development team, like with all the art and design inconsistencies, pieces and sprites that look rushed, stray pixels, and missing basic proportional stuff. these are the kinds of things that you supposedly have to pretty much have in the bag in order to get jobs in professional businesses, so it’s really weird to me that this game suffers from so many of these problems. it’s like they tried to make the art so much more crisp than the other games, but it fell on its face as they realized it was going to take longer to draw everything and they started to rush. it’s weird, because the coloring itself looks normal–it’s just sloppily drawn, and the proportions are a mess once put into the context of perspective. many of the cgs look like they were drawn by different people, and I’m still not over the fact that half of kokichi’s cgs have his scarf pasted in as a texture.

the moral of the story is that if you’re selling a game at full price that also happens to be in a series that has had 3 very good games in it already the stakes should probably be higher than this. v3 has been out for more than 3 years and it’s still $40 (did it cost more than that before? I sure hope not), and the overarching quality of the game is just not as high as the other games. I’m not saying that the other games don’t have any problems with their art at all, they’re just not as glaringly obvious and every artistic choice in those games feels intentional.

regardless, I had a blast roasting the art at 2am, so maybe you got a kick out of all this chaos.

#god I keep telling myself I'm gonna stop rambling about v3 #v3 spoilers #drv3 spoilers #ndrv3 #random stuff #but making this… it sounded so fun #danganronpa

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nessinborderland · 4 years ago

Text

Between Apple Pies and Chocolate Cosmos (01)

Pairing: Aguni x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Character Study

Words: 6.4k

Summary: Aguni first laid eyes on you in the greenhouse. After that, he simply couldn't take you out of his mind.

Warnings: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Feelings, Eventual Romance, Denial of Feelings, Slow Burn, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Notes: This was inspired by the wonderful @aghostsrantingcorner ask. For reference, there’s some things in this fic that were inspired by these posts by @hatterstan-shameblog. This will be 2-3 parts max. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do <3

Aguni first laid eyes on you in the greenhouse.

It was a rainy morning, and the Beach was as silent as you would expect after a night of deadly games and partying. He always took advantage of the silent mornings to have a walk around the place, breathe some fresh air, and – most importantly – attend to his garden.

He had started working on it soon after he and Takeru found the Beach, still in the early days when it was only them. He never saw a reason why he shouldn’t. Since he was stuck there for an indefinite amount of time – since he would probably die there – he might as well keep up with the only hobby that brought him some resemblance of peace.

So, he did it. Every single morning. It kept him grounded; reminded him of who he was.

His Eden – as he liked to think about it – was a medium-sized glasshouse near the kitchens, surrounded by land where he had replanted a variety of fruit trees and berry bushes that he had found around Tokyo. It needed some remodeling, but it was perfect as soon as he was done fixing the broken glass and built a system to expertly use the rainwater. He loved the place. Its variety of colors and smells, the silence, and – what made him the happiest – being able to watch the literal fruit of his labor grow.

It was his little piece of heaven in the hell he was trapped in.

Now, one thing about the greenhouse: no one was allowed inside the place beside him. Everybody knew it. It was not like anyone had any real interest in plants or vegetables but, still, people knew that that was his place. Even the old ladies responsible for the meals knew to not go inside; if they needed any ingredient, they asked him.

So imagine his surprise when he got closer to the glass walls of his greenhouse and heard soft singing coming from inside. It was barely audible, the tip-tap from the rain hitting the glass making it harder for him to understand any words. But he knew someone was in there.

His first thought was to barge in and kick out whoever was disrupting his garden. He could feel his anger grow as he stared at the blurred figure on the other side of the glass, messing around with his stuff. He took a deep breath before opening the door and stepping inside.

The air inside the greenhouse was warm, with light condensation already sliding down the glass walls. The intruder – a woman, he noticed – was with her back turned to him, humming a song that was more than familiar due to Takeru’s taste in music.

“... lay all your love on– ” you gasped as you turned to him, no doubt startled by his presence. The vase in your hands shattered as it hit the floor with a loud smash, and you let out another startled sound. You crouched to clean up the mess, a row of apologies already escaping from your lips. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, please don’t move while I–”

“You shouldn’t be here,” was all he said as he stood there, stoic and cold expression looking at you from above. Your face was vaguely familiar to him – like every other face at the Beach – but he knew nothing about you. He noticed when you froze and slowly looked up, locking eyes with him. He saw the exact moment you recognized him, eyes growing wide and mouth agape as you held broken pieces of clay in your hands.

“Aguni–”

“Clean up your mess and leave,” he mumbled as he walked past you to access the damage you had done to his greenhouse. He noticed how several of his previous empty vases were now occupied by small plants and flowers that he had meant to work on that morning. You had just done his work for him. And perfectly, he could tell. Or as perfect as he could expect from someone that wasn’t him. He felt his anger subside. “The chamomile is supposed to be planted next to the tomatoes,” he said as he started carefully removing the small flowers from the vases. “We have no need for tea here.”

“Hmm...I thought you were using those for medicinal purposes?” you hesitantly asked. He kept his back to you, focusing on the task at hand as he waited for you to leave. Leave, however, you did not. "I'm sure they could be useful if–"

"There are only two kinds of people here," he interrupted in a cold tone. "The living and healthy, and the dead. If you're wounded, you belong to the latter. The tomatoes, though, could use some–"

"But couldn't we start an infirmary here?" Your question made him stop what he was doing, and he raised a brow as he looked at you over his shoulder. No one interrupted him; ever. You clearly didn't notice his hard stare as you continued to talk, "We could use garlic and oregano oil for infections, and aloe vera for–"

"You shouldn't be here," he repeated, now in a tone slightly louder than he liked to use. You halted mid-sentence, the small smile on your lips changing into a frown. "I'm not repeating myself. This greenhouse is off-limits. Leave."

He gave you one last glance before focusing again on his task, listening as you gathered the broken vase. A whimper made him look back at you, watching as you stared at your bleeding finger, droplets of blood falling on the rich soil underneath you. He sighed before grabbing a roll of paper towels from a shelf above his head, turning to hand you one.

"Thank you," you said in a low tone as you accepted the help and involved the tissue around your finger, hissing from the pain.

Only then did he notice what that broken vase had been carrying. At your feet, in the middle of a small mountain of dirt, was a chocolate cosmos. It wasn't one of his flowers, he was sure of that. He had never even seen a live specimen before.

"Weren't those extinct?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Your eyes widen at his question before you looked at him with a soft smile on your lips. He felt the tips of his ears get warm; why in the hell were you smiling at him?

"Mhm, I think so... You can still find them in captivity, though," you said as you gently picked up the reddish-brown flower. You looked at him for a moment before nodding to the table behind him. "Could I get another vase, please? It's just that she's been staying in a box since I got her and I just wanted to– oh, thanks!"

You smiled at him again as he handed you another small vase without a word. Aguni averted his eyes, focusing on your hands as you arranged the pretty flower in its new home. He felt... uneasy, is the word. His usual relaxing morning had been ruined by some random woman with a nice smile.

He didn't like that one bit.

"Well... I'm gonna go now," you awkwardly started as you made your way to the door, before stopping and turning around as if you forgot something. "Oh, by the way, did you...did you do all this?" you asked, gesticulating around you. He nodded once and you smiled again. "It's beautiful. Good job."

With those words, you finally left him alone.

Aguni was sure he wasn't just blushing in his ears now. His whole face was warm. He never had anyone compliment him on his gardening skills before. Yeah, Takeru told him several times he was good at it, but no one had actually shown interest. It made him feel some kind of way.

He shook his head and got back to his work. He could still enjoy his quiet morning before a council meeting if he was fast enough.

»«»«»«

You were there the next morning.

The sun had barely risen when he approached the greenhouse, a warm cup of coffee in hand while he whistled a tune that had been stuck in his head since he woke up. He hadn't even noticed you until he went to open the door, your voice making him jump slightly where he stood.

"You like ABBA too?" you asked from behind him.

He looked over his shoulder to stare at you. You were sitting under a tree not far away, that same nice smile on your face. You were holding something in your hands – something that he noticed was hot – as steam was visible in the chill morning air.

He felt his ears get warm again; damnit, he hadn't even realized that the tune he was whistling was the same song he had caught you singing the day before. He took a deep breath and shook his head.

You both stood there, clearly waiting for the other to speak first. He was never a man of many words, though, so he just nodded once in your direction before getting inside his greenhouse and closing the door behind him.

A knock on the door not long after made him roll his eyes. He walked away from his work table with a sigh, cursing at his lack of peace and quiet; all the man wanted was to drink his morning coffee in solitude.

"What?" he asked as he opened the door to find you there, holding something wrapped in paper in his direction. He had noticed the steaming thing earlier. "What's that?"

"I wanted to thank you," you said, almost stumbling over your words as you signaled him to take it from you. "It's a pie."

"A pie?" he asked slowly, raising a brow in distrust.

"Yes, apple pie," you sent him a small smile as you tried to get him to accept the baked good. When he just stood there, arms crossed, your smile fell. He almost, almost, made a move to grab your offer then. "Hmm, Mrs. Yamamoto from the kitchen lets me use ingredients sometimes to bake stuff, and as long as I clean everything after–"

"I don't eat breakfast," he interrupted, arms still crossed as he looked you up and down with furrowed brows. He was trying to understand your intentions towards him. What was your move here?

"Oh, but you should, you know?" you said in a raised tone. "It's the most important meal of the day! A-and this one was made with your apples, so I thought you would–"

"What do you want from me?"

Even though Aguni was a man of few words, he never had any problem being direct. When you just looked at him with big, confused eyes, he was even more weirded out by your manners. You were either being genuine or were a really good actress. He didn't know what made him more uncomfortable.

"I just want to... to thank you for the vase?" you hesitantly answered, arms lowering.

His hand snapped towards your arm before he even realized, suddenly aware that he did want that pie. However, a pained gasp made him release you immediately upon touching you over your jacket.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, secretly hoping he hadn't actually hurt you.

"I- I'm fine," you answered with a shake of your head. "It was just a small injury from yesterday's game."

"Let me see," he ordered.

You stared wide-eyed at him, and it almost made him backtrack and send you away. Why should he care if you were hurt?

Aguni was about to do exactly that when you gingerly extended your arm in his direction. He focused on your arm as his fingers lightly grabbed your wrist, pulling your sleeve up to show a burn mark roughly the size of your palm. It didn't look too bad, but he could see that you hadn't put anything on it.

"Come," he said as he gestured at you to follow him inside the greenhouse.

He worked fast as he prepared something that would help you with your burn. He didn't know much about medicinal plants, but he knew enough.

He gestured at you to sit on the table as he carefully applied a mix of aloe vera and oats to your injury with light feather-like touches. It was all done in silence until he heard a noise from you, something resembling a barely huffed laugh. He glanced up to notice you looking straight at him, that same damned smile on your lips. He quickly focused back on the injury, hoping you wouldn't notice his red ears.

"I thought I was part of the dead now," you said, clearly referencing what he had said the day before. He grunted with a shrug, now at all interested in talking about his change of ideals. "You know...I never thought you were the type," you kept talking, and he kept addressing your injury. "To like plants, I mean. This place is amazing."

"What type am I, then?" he caught himself asking. Not that he particularly cared about your answer, but curiosity got the best of him. You laughed at his words and shrugged.

"Hmm, I don't know... the type that punches tigers?" He had to control the will to smile then, hiding his face from view. "I really wasn't expecting tall, big, and stoic Aguni to be so good with plants. I'm pleasantly surprised."

His movements halted for a second as he processed your words. He was sure he was red all over his face now, damn you. He continued what he was doing before he could overthink your words too much.

"Never judge a book by its cover."

He cringed as soon as those words left his mouth. What a corny thing to say. He decided then that your burn was sufficiently covered in aloe, and immediately retracted his hands, turning his back to you as he cleaned his fingers and tried to get his blush under control.

"Hmm, I guess you're right…" you said as he heard you stand up. "Well, thank you again, for this." He nodded and grunted in acknowledgment without turning to face you. "And the pie is here, just in case you want to try it." You hesitated, "...Hmm if you don't want it, you can always give it to Last Boss. He- he caught me in the kitchens once and I promised to bake him stuff if he helped me clean up after. He doesn't talk much and he's kind of scary, but he's nice." He turned to you then, and the expression on his face might've told you that you were overstaying your visit, so you quickly rushed for the door. "Mm okay, bye!" you said as you sent him an awkward wave and left.

He wondered if you thought he was scary but nice.

»«»«»«

A piece of chocolate cake was left by his greenhouse the day after.

The day after that, a croissant.

The gifts were always accompanied by small notes written in pretty handwriting. Some were simple recipes; others were small facts about medicinal plants he knew nothing about. He kept them all, safely hidden in a can on his worktable. A week went by where he expected a new pastry or sweet to welcome him. And, without fail, there it was. He never saw you around though, in the mornings or throughout the day, which he found odd. He didn't even know your name, but he found himself searching for you throughout the Beach, or in the games at night. But he never saw you. He would've thought you were dead if it weren't for the consistent gifts you left at his door.

Now, he wasn't lying when he said he wasn't a man for breakfast. He really wasn't. But after trying a piece of that apple pie, he saw himself devouring almost the whole thing. The same with the cake and the croissant. They were probably the best baked goods that he had ever tried. He was even more excited to start his mornings.

This morning, however, he arrived at the greenhouse to find nothing by the door. No box, no note, no wrapping. Nothing. He furrowed his brows, feeling disappointed, but quickly shrugged the feeling off as he got inside. Your pleasantries had to stop someday.

It bothered him, though. And he hated the fact that it bothered him. He hated the fact that he cared. He spent the day thinking about it. Thinking about you. Where could you possibly be? What happened? He didn’t even know your name. He didn’t know what bedroom you lived in, and it was driving him mad.

He had zoned out throughout the morning meeting, lashed out at several of the militants, and was now fully ignoring Takeru as his best friend went on and on about something he didn’t care enough to even pretend to be listening.

“Mori, hey!” His friend snapped his fingers in front of his face, forcing Aguni out of his thoughts. He stared at Takeru with a frown.

“What?” he asked, taking a sip from the glass of water in front of him.

“The first time all week that we’re having lunch together, and you’re quieter than usual,” his friend said, nodding at the plate of barely touched food in front of him. “You’re not even eating. What’s going on?”

“I’m fine,” he shrugged, stabbing a piece of roasted rabbit with his fork and taking a bite. He chewed as he thought of a good excuse. Takeru could be annoyingly perceptive when it came to other people’s emotions, especially his. “Just have a lot on my mind, that’s all,” he finally said.

His friend looked at him for a moment before setting his elbows on the table, supporting his chin on his palms. Oh no, he knew what that meant. He was about to be questioned to death.

"Are you in love?" he asked, a slight smirk on his lips.

Aguni choked on his own spit at the man's question, violently coughing as he vehemently shook his head.

"What the hell are you talking about?!" he asked after easing his cough, throat burning, and eyes teary from the effort.

"Well let's see," Takeru started, hand raised as he prepared himself to make a list. Aguni instantly regretted his question. "You've been late to meetings almost every morning for the past week, you barely pay attention to anything I tell you and I'm pretty sure I heard you hum 'Lay All Your Love on Me' by ABBA the other day. I've never heard you do anything close to singing," Takeru said as he wiggled three raised fingers before raising a fourth. "And a little bird told me that they heard you talking with someone inside your garden house." The smirk on his lips turned into a grin as Aguni averted his eyes. "So, tell me; who is she? Or is it a he? C'mon, you know you can tell–"

"I don't know what you're talking about," was all he said in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone.

Takeru wasn't easy to fool, though.

"You know what, I know you're full of shit, but I will allow it," he said with a fork pointed in his direction. "For now, at least. Now it's dessert time!" Takeru licked his lips as he pulled a tray to the center of the table. "I've been wanting you to try this for days, it's delicious!" He opened the tray to uncover two perfectly sized individual pies. Not just any pies, either. Aguni knew exactly who made them.

"Where did you get this?" he blurted out, staring at the perfectly cooked pastries. Takeru looked at him with a confused look.

"Huh, the kitchen? Where else?"

"Yeah, but who made them?" Aguni pressed further, wanting an answer that would show him that you were actually alive. "Were they made today?"

"Uh, I would hope so, yeah. And I don't know who made them, old Yamamoto just said it was one of her helpers," Takeru retorted with a shrug. "They're amazing, though, you should try it."

Aguni almost felt himself sag in relief. If these were made today, that meant that you were alive. It also meant that you definitely had stopped leaving gifts at his door. He tried not to focus on how he felt a little hurt by it. It was not like you owed him anything, anyway.

He still couldn't stop thinking about you as he finished his lunch with Takeru. He hated to admit it, but he felt bad for how he had treated you when you first met. He felt like he owed you at least an apology, and – not like he would ever admit it to himself – he wanted to see you again.

He always went for a short walk after lunch before having to proceed with his duties for the day. He wasn't exactly surprised to find himself by the kitchens, peeping inside the large double doors to take a look – part of him hoping to see you there.

What he saw instead were the so-called Food Ladies, a group of old women that had taken upon themselves the important role of cooking for everyone at the Beach. They were now chilling and having their own meals after the lunch hour rush. He spotted Mrs. Yamamoto, the oldest of the bunch – that also happened to be the boss – leaning by the doors that led outside, smoking her usual cigarette. She spotted him too, with small dark eyes that made him want to run away. It was strangely similar to the way his grandmother used to look at him when he misbehaved as a child.

“Oi, boy, c’mere,” she called him before he could walk away. The laughs and conversations of the other women ceased immediately as he entered the room. They eyed him for some time, one of the old ladies elbowing another before whispering something he couldn’t hear. His brows furrowed; he hated all that attention.

“Mrs. Yama–”

“You have to learn how to control your militants, Aguni,” she said as soon as he got close enough. “Two of your boys were disturbing one of my girls this morning. God knows what they would’ve done to the poor thing if I hadn’t shooed them away.” He had to control his facial expression; was she talking about you? “That girl gets up before dawn to cook sweets for so many people in this godforsaken place, and that’s how they repay her?” The old woman shook her head, before adding, “The rude boy with the piercings on his face and the odd one with the katana. See to it that they don’t get close to her again, do ya hear me?”

He nodded once before turning to leave, anger already simmering inside him. He had the urge to use his fists on a very specific someone.

He found whom he was looking for on the roof, as he expected. Last Boss was the first to notice him, eyes going wide as Aguni power walked to the man next to him.

“...and Chishiya– oh fuck! What the hell?!” Niragi screamed as Aguni pushed him toward the edge of the roof before forcing him to lean over it.

He held the man by his collar, almost making him lose his balance and fall to his death. Part of him really wanted to let go. He knew what Niragi was capable of.

“What were you doing in the kitchen this morning?” he asked in a cold, emotionless tone. The younger man looked down before visibly gulping and staring at him with a furrowed brow.

“T- The kitchen?...” he asked back. Aguni took a deep breath before loosening the grip on his shirt, making Niragi yelp and grab his arm. “Look look, it was his idea to go there, I didn’t do anything!”

Aguni looked back at Last Boss, and the man raised his hands while shaking his head.

“He- he just followed me there, I didn’t ask him to come with me,” the tattooed man said, stumbling on his words. “If you’re talking about the old lady, she kicked us out, but we didn’t do anything, I swear.”

“The girl?” he asked through gritted teeth. He was starting to lose his patience. The younger men shared a look between them before Last Boss started talking.

“Y/N?” he asked for clarification. So that was your name. “We didn’t touch her. Niragi just took some pies and we left.”

“Is that so?” Aguni asked Niragi, the man still in his grasp. He knew what he was capable of, and he wouldn’t put it past Last Boss to lie for his friend. “Cause that’s not what I heard…” his fingers loosened once again around the man’s collar, making him tighten his grip on Aguni’s arm.

“Fine, fine, I- I might’ve teased her a little,” the man confessed. “But I didn’t mean to make her cry, and we left right after. I didn’t do anything, I swear!”

Aguni considered his words for a moment, before pulling Niragi off the edge and pushing him to the ground. The man cursed something under his breath that Aguni preferred to ignore as he now focused on Last Boss.

“Do you know her last name?” he asked. The man shook his head. Aguni sighed; he would have to check Mira’s records if he wanted to find her room. “You both better stay away from the kitchens and from that girl,” he said, now keeping his stone-cold gaze on Niragi. “Is that clear?”

Both men nodded.

Without another word, Aguni left the roof.

»«»«»«

It was surprisingly hard for him to find your room.

Mira had immediately denied any access to her records, claiming invasion of privacy. Which it was; he would probably do the same thing if he was in her place. But he pressed on, and she eventually gave in, simply saying that you lived in the south wing of the Hotel, somewhere on the second level. He accepted the information and forced himself to ask around for you, as inconspicuously as he could. Surprisingly, practically no one recognized the description he gave of you, and no one knew your name. He was almost giving up when finally...

“Oh, Y/N?” a couple of young women said. “Yeah, she lives next door to us, room 237.”

He finally had your room number.

Aguni spent five minutes gathering the necessary courage to knock on your door, hesitating and almost leaving every time he lifted his knuckles against the door. He made a frustrated sound, annoyed with himself.

“You’re an idiot,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Hello?” someone greeted behind him. Aguni froze before looking over his shoulder. There you were. Dressed in shorts and a light jacket, hair in a braid over your shoulder, and a hesitant smile on your face, you looked pretty in his eyes. It really made him wonder if Takeru was right; he did have a crush on someone. “Hmm, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, uh- hey.” He cleared his throat as he realized he had been staring. He could feel his face getting warm. “Hm, how’re doing?” he asked, before grimacing. Ah yes, Morizono, very nice. You raised a brow as you looked at him for a moment.

“I’m... fine,” you answered with a hesitant smile. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yes, I- I wanted to apologize,” he cringed at his stuttering. But there it was. Direct and clear. The fastest he could get himself out of this awkward conversation, the better. “I heard about what happened this morning with two of my militants, and I just want you to know that they won’t bother you again.”

“Oh, that was just a misunderstanding!" you say as you shake your head. "I was just talking with Mrs. Yamamoto about that. Nothing happened."

"That was not what I heard."

"No, no, I'm fine, they didn't do anything to me," you reassured him. "Niragi just… said some mean things, but Last Boss stopped him. Mrs. Yamamoto thought they were hurting me and I'm really sorry." You shrugged and gave him an awkward smile. "I just cry sometimes. I even went to talk with Last Boss about it, but I think Mrs. Yamamoto really scared him, 'cause he keeps avoiding me." You said with an awkward chuckle. "But I'm okay, really."

Aguni grunted with a nod, convinced that you were telling him the truth. Still, he wanted those two, Niragi in particular, as far from you as he could.

"If they mess with you again, let me know, all right?" You nodded at his request, and he almost had the urge to smile back at you. "Okay then," he said with a nod before making a move to leave.

"Hmm, did you enjoy today's pastry?" he heard you ask in a hesitant tone. He turned around, confused. There was no pastry waiting for him today. He said so to you, and your brows furrowed. "Uh, no, I'm pretty sure I left you something. Strawberry pie with a chocolate crust?"

"There was nothing when I got there," he said. There were butterflies in his stomach, though. You hadn't stopped baking stuff for him, after all.

"That's odd…" you said as you bit your lip, wondering what could've happened. "Well," you shrugged, "I'll make sure you get it tomorrow morning, then."

He nodded without a word and watched as you smiled at him before moving to open your door.

"How's your arm?" he blurted out before he could stop himself. You froze by the door for a moment before showing him your arm, skin looking much better than it was just a week prior.

"That aloe mix you gave me helped a lot. Thanks, again," you said with another one of those smiles that made him want to smile back.

"You know…" he hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and saying what he meant to say, eyes on your feet, "If you ever want to, you can show up by the greenhouse, sometimes. There are these new seeds I got that might interest you. I don't know, but the offer stands."

He shrugged, like what he just said meant nothing. He finally focused on your face, and his stomach did somersaults as he found you grinning at him.

"I would like that very much."

»«»«»«

You were there the next morning.

And the next. And the next. And the other one after that. Always with a smile on your face, always carrying a new sweet that you would both share.

The first days were as awkward as you could imagine. He almost feared looking you in the eyes, feeling like a teenager again with all the blushing and weird sensations in the pit of his stomach. All he needed was a smile from you to look as red as one of his tomatoes.

At first, you would eat in silence, until you eventually broke it by mentioning something about plants, or what flowers you were expecting to bring the next time you went scavenging. Then it would be just you doing most of the talk as he stuffed his mouth with whatever deliciousness you had brought him that day, nodding, and grunting on occasion. He realized he liked hearing you speak. Hearing your voice.

Then he would start working on whatever he had planned the morning before, and that's when you would watch him as he went around his garden showing you things. You would give him ideas from time to time, always following him as you attentively listened to his words. He realized he liked the attention. Your attention.

It didn't take long until you were more comfortable around each other. Then you would both talk freely, almost always about plants. He would be lying if he said he wasn't curious to know more about you, but he didn't have the courage to ask.

"What did you do... before?" you asked one day, about a week into your morning rendezvous. You were sharing a quiche today, and he took his time chewing before answering.

"Was part of the SDF," he said. You nodded like it made sense that a man like him had a job like that. "Nothing too interesting, though,” he said with a shrug. “You?"

"Worked at my family's bakery," you said, a small smile on your face as you seemed to think back to those times. "My grandma taught me everything I know. She made the best quiche in Tokyo, you know? Mine has nothing on hers."

He couldn't control his chuckle then, nor he meant to say the words that got out of his mouth next.

"Takeru would love to hear that."

"Who?" you asked, brow raised as you chewed a piece of the salty pastry. There were flakes of crust on the corner of your mouth, and he had to control the urge to wipe them away with his thumb. He shook his head instead.

"Just a friend from… from back home," he said. "The man can't cook to save his life but bakes one hell of a quiche. Yours is better, though."

You smiled at the compliment and proceeded to eat in silence. He didn't want to waste the chance to get to know you more, though.

"What do you do all day?" he asked. You raised a brow, and he specified what he meant, "I mean, I barely see you around and no one seems to know you, so…"

"Oh, I just stay in my room all day," you said as you shrugged and let out an awkward chuckle. "I'm not really a people person and I spend most of my nights awake, so I mostly just sleep."

"What do you do when you're awake, then?"

"I go to the games, I bake and, well, now I spend some time here with you." He could swear his heart beat a little faster at your words. He felt strangely honored that you decided to spend time with him.

"Yeah, I'm not much of a people person myself," he said. "Plants are much better, aren't they?" He tried to send you a small smile but immediately regretted it as it felt more like a grimace. You smiled back at him, though, so it probably wasn't as bad as he thought it was.

"Hmm, you're right, but I don't mind some people."

He didn't know what to make of your statement.

»«»«»«

A month passed when you met every morning.

Your joined morning routine had taken a comfortable rhythm for both of you, where you ate, talked, and worked without that awkward vibe of the first few days. With you joining him in the work, his crops flourished. It was the best part of his day, without a doubt.

He realized several things during that time.

The first was that you liked to sing while you worked. Didn't matter if you were planting potatoes, watering the flowers, or preparing herbal remedies – that you had eventually convinced him to be useful – you were always humming a tune under your breath, or singing the words aloud.

The second thing he realized was that he liked it.

He liked to hear you sing so much that the songs would stay in his head for the rest of the day, and he would wake up with your voice still echoing in his head. He had even caught himself whistling at times. Once during a council meeting, where he had zoned out again and was completely oblivious to the fact that he had been humming 'I Want to Break Free’ by Queen until Takeru snapped his attention and everyone was looking at him like he had grown two heads. All except his best friend, that had a knowing smirk on his lips.

The third thing he realized – and, to his shock, didn't surprise him – was that he had totally developed a crush on you.

"So, am I ever going to meet them or what?" Takeru asked over his glass of golden whiskey, taking a sip when Aguni took too long to answer. "You can't keep them a secret from me forever."

"I don't know what you're talking about," was all Aguni said as he took a gulp of his own drink, avoiding his friend's eyes and looking at the moon up high in the sky. His friend really had the best view for late-night drinking, especially after a stressful game.

"Fine, don't tell me," Takeru shrugged like he didn't care, but Aguni could tell he one hundred percent did. What was he supposed to tell him? There was no relationship for him to talk about.

"Okay, listen…" his friend's eyes shined as he focused all his attention on him, making Aguni want to hide from his scrutiny. He took a deep breath before saying, "There's nothing to talk about. There's no relationship."

"Ahh, but you're in love, aren't you?" Takeru let out an excited laugh, and Aguni could feel the corners of his mouth pulling up. "In all the years we've been friends I saw you like what? Three people? And you never behaved like this." He drank whatever was left of the drink in his glass before filling it up again. "This one sure looks promising." There was a pause where they just drank in silence before he asked again "So, what's her name? It’s a she, isn't it?"

"Y/N," Aguni mumbled, loud enough for him to hear. Takeru's eyes widen comically at the name.

"The pie girl?!" he asked in a raised tone. "You're head over heels for the pie girl?" He laughed then, and Aguni furrowed his brows in annoyance.

"You know her?"

"Yeah, I mean, old Yamamoto wouldn't tell me who the miracle baker was, so I went to see for myself. She's cute," he let out a mean chuckle, "I knew you were getting thicker around the waist. She's feeding you well, I see."

"Yeah." Aguni gave him a full-on smirk as he said the next words, "She makes the best quiche I've ever eaten."

The shocked and offended gasp that left Takeru's mouth almost made him laugh.

"You take that back!" the man punched his arm once and drank the remaining of his whiskey in one single gulp. "You just ruined my night. Get out and think about what you just said. I'll be expecting an apology by morning."

Aguni laughed then, the only kind of laugh that he could only make when he was around his best friend.

"Yours is good," he shrugged, still laughing. "But hers is better."

»«»«»«

->Next Chapter

#alice in borderland #alice in borderland fanfic #ima wa no kuni no alice #aguni morizono #aguni x reader #aguni fanfiction #aguni imagine #aib fanfic

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sturchling · 4 years ago

Text

Salt-Fic September Day 4: Breaking Point

Marinette was so excited. Valentine’s day was coming soon and it was always a lot of fun. The class always gave each other sweets and just had a fun day together. She spent the whole weekend bouncing ideas for what to do for the class off of Damian. Damian and Marinette had met when his family visited Paris about a year ago and they became close friends. Damian acted like he was irritated as Marinette came up with more ideas, but he was having fun as well. Marinette was so excited to see what the class had come up with to do on Valentine’s day. They were all supposed to discuss it on Monday, so they could have a plan by Valentine’s day on Friday. Marinette walked to school that Monday, excited with a head full of ideas on how to celebrate.

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

When it came time to discuss plans for Valentine’s, Marinette offered all of her suggestions on things they could do as a class. “Ok, anyone else have any suggestions?” The class all looked at each other. Alya stood up, “Listen Marinette, we were thinking we won’t do anything for Valentine’s this year. We just aren’t that excited about it this year. I hope you aren’t upset.” While Marinette was a bit upset, she could understand. “Don’t worry guys, its fine. We don’t have to do anything this year.” While Marinette had said it was fine, she spent the rest of the day feeling a little let down. But she would respect the class’ wishes and not force them to celebrate if they didn’t want to.

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

Despite her efforts to push her hurt feelings aside, when she spoke with Damian that night, he knew something was wrong. Marinette eventually told him what the class had said. “I know it is silly to be so upset over this. I just look forward to it every year.” Damian was never good at comforting people, but he did try his best. “I am sure you will still have a good Valentine’s day. It may not be what you had in mind, but I’m sure it will be fun.” Marinette gave him a week smile. “Thanks Damian.” They continued the conversation, and Marinette made a valiant effort, but it was clear that she was still upset. Damian didn’t like that at all and started making a plan.

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

That Friday, Marinette’s school was closed early for the holiday. When she got home, she found someone she wasn’t expecting. Damian was sitting in her living room, chatting with her family. Marinette stood by the door in stunned silence. Damian noticed her first, “Hello Marinette. How is your Valentine’s day going?” Marinette stammered, trying to answer him, “F-fine. What are you doing here?” Damian stood and walked to her. “While I don’t typically celebrate this holiday, it means a great deal to you. I saw how hurt you were when your friends didn’t want to celebrate, so I came to celebrate with you instead.” Marinette was ecstatic to say the least. Damian was happy to see Marinette smiling, knowing his plan had worked. “Now, as I recall, you wanted to go get some Andre’s ice cream with the class today. Let’s go get some.” With that, the two of them left to go get some ice cream.

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

Marinette and Damian were passing the park on their way to get ice cream, when they saw it. The entire class. In the park. Celebrating Valentine’s day together. They were exchanging sweets and presents and having a great time. There was music, decorations, and even a cake. They were having a class Valentine’s party without Marinette. Marinette was beyond hurt, but clung to the hope that it had just been a mistake. Damian saw the hurt on Marinette’s face and was furious with these people before he even met them. Marinette walked towards her class, and everyone in the class seemed shocked to see her.

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

Marinette felt a pit in her stomach as she got to her class, asking, “Hey guys, what’s going on? Did I miss an announcement? I thought we weren’t doing anything this year?” The class looked at each other with guilty faces. Alya was the first to respond. “You didn’t miss anything…” Marinette had a growing sense of dread and hurt as she asked, “Then what happened? You guys said you didn’t want to celebrate this year.” Alix spoke up, as the class began to look more confident. “Its not that we didn’t want to celebrate. Its that we didn’t want to celebrate with you. With how you have been treating Lila, it wouldn’t have been any fun having both of you here. And since you are the one being cruel to Lila, it didn’t make sense to have Lila miss the party.” Rose still looked guilty, and she walked closer to Marinette. “I’m sorry about this Marinette. There is some candy over there that none of us want. You can have it if you like, but you need to go. You are kind of crushing the mood.” Lila started to wail about how this was all her fault that Marinette was hurt, but Marinette couldn’t hear her. Everything around her had gotten quiet. Her friends had chosen not to invite her. They left her out on purpose. Marinette was beyond hurt; she was heartbroken. She turned and fled from the park.

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

Damian watched as Marinette raced from the park. He glared at the class one more time, and wished he was able to stay and make them pay for hurting Marinette. But Marinette needed someone, and he had to find her. She had told him about Hawkmoth, so he knew Marinette could be in major trouble right now. He ran to follow her and it wasn’t long before he found her. She was crouched in an alley, sobbing. He started to go to her, to try and comfort her, when he saw a purple butterfly reach her first.

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

Marinette wasn’t aware of what was going on around her. She knows she stopped running and is crouched somewhere. She knows she is crying. She felt like she was underwater. She was disoriented and felt sick. Lila had won. She had got her friends to leave her. Her friends chose Lila over her. She was vaguely aware of someone running towards her, but she didn’t know who it was. Then she felt a strange feeling wash over her. The sadness she had been feeling multiplied and it was all she could feel anymore. “Heartbreaker, I am Hawkmoth. Your friends abandoned you and broke your heart. I’m giving you the power to break their hearts in return. All I ask is that you bring me Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous. Do we have a deal?” Marinette still had enough awareness to pull off her earrings and give them to the person standing next to her, which she could now see was Damian. He looked at her in horror as a wave of dark energy enclosed her. “Yes Hawkmoth.”

Hope you guys like it, let me know what you think! @maribat-central-official

Part 2

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gohyuck · 4 years ago

Text

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.”

#first #five #tags #don't #work #jeno #jeno smut #jeno fluff #jeno angst #nct dream #nct dream smut #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #jeno scenario #jeno scenarios #jeno x reader #nct jeno x reader

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mintaka14 · 3 years ago

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Liquid Courage

A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction

By Mintaka14

Marinette sighed and allowed herself to be dragged forward. Alya had an arm hooked through her elbow, and Juleka was blocking her retreat behind. She’d been assured that Rose and the other girls were meeting them wherever it was they were going. There really wasn’t any point resisting, although she baulked a little as they drew closer to the neon bright doorway of the club.

“Alya, it’s my birthday,” she whined.

“Exactly! And we’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Shouldn’t I get to do what I want?”

“Oh, you’ll want this.” Alya’s grin grew wider. “Our girl’s legal now, and we need to celebrate.”

Marinette sighed again. She’d wanted to spend her birthday hanging out on the Liberty, listening to music, eating cake, laughing with Juleka and Rose, and trying to work up the courage to finally ask Luka … but Luka had a gig tonight, and it had been ages since she and Alya had been able to catch up, so when Alya had insisted on a girls’ night out Marinette didn’t really have a reason to say no. Particularly not when Rose had been so enthusiastic, and Juleka had given her an unreadable look from under the black and purple curtain of her hair and suggested that it’d be worth her while.

The noise inside hit her like a wall. As her eyes adjusted to the strobing darkness, Marinette felt Juleka nudge her arm and she looked up.

“It’s live band tonight,” Juleka leaned in to mutter into her ear, and Marinette could barely make out what she was saying. “Told you you’d want to come.” Juleka nodded towards the stage, and over the heads of the crowded dance floor Marinette caught a glimpse of a familiar head of blue hair. Luka’s gig. She could feel the butterflies - the good kind - take flight inside her.

Luka was saying something to the drummer. Marinette watched as he frowned down at the guitar in his hands. He’d stripped off his hoodie, and the tattoos on his muscled shoulders stood out in sharp relief under the stagelights as he strummed a quick chord and made an adjustment.

Marinette let out the unsteady breath she’d been holding. Before she could say anything to Juleka, Alya tugged her arm and towed her past the bar to a table in the dark corner, and the cake that was waiting there. She could make out a handful of their former collège friends grinning at her, and Rose waving excitedly, with Kim and Alix holding up a banner in the background. Judging from the way the words Happy Birthday Marinette! were sparkling even in the darkness of the club, Rose had been at it with the glitter.

“Surprise!” The collective shout drowned out even the noise of the club, and Marinette couldn’t help smiling. She found herself passed from one set of arms to the next, exchanging hugs and exclamations with people she hadn’t seen in far too long, catching up on snippets of news and beaming until her face hurt. At some point, someone pressed a paper plate full of cake into her hands, and Alya gave her a broad and slightly smug grin.

“Having a good time, birthday girl?” Alya yelled. “Just wait, it’s going to get better!”

On her other side, Juleka muttered, “For the record, coming here to see the band was my idea. The rest of it was all Alya. Just remember that later.” She pushed a shot glass of vodka into Marinette’s hand. “You might need this.”

Before Marinette could respond to Juleka’s cryptic comment, Alix claimed her attention, asking about her plans for after lycèe, and then Nino wandered over to chat. She was very conscious that she only had half her attention on the conversations around her as she finished off her cake. Most of her focus was on the music. She leaned back in to Alya, who seemed to be checking her phone again, and half-shouted, “I’m going to go dance for a while.”

Alya’s eyes flicked up briefly from her screen. “I’ll come find you in a minute. I’m just waiting for… someone… to text me if they’re coming.”

Dancing wasn’t Marinette’s goal, though, as she edged her way through the crowd towards the stage, and she could tell the moment that Luka found her because his stare of intense concentration broke into a smile and a quick wink thrown at her. He turned away to say something to the lead singer under the cover of the drum solo.

When that song finished, Marinette was a little startled when Luka stepped up to the mic. He rarely sang lead.

“Hey there,” he told the club, and Marinette felt a shiver run through her at the gravelly sound of his voice echoing through the speakers. “Hope you’re all having fun tonight. This one’s for the birthday girl.”

His eyes found her again in the crowd and stayed on her as he played the opening chords, and the drum kicked in with a soft hiss of cymbals. Marinette didn’t recognise the intro, but when Luka stepped in a little closer and started singing about the amazing girl with endless horizons in her eyes she realised that it must be something new. One of his songs.

About her.

He seemed to be searching for something, his guitar echoing the melody in a rising question. Marinette could feel her pulse beating in time to his music, and when she pressed her hand to her heart, his mouth quirked up in a smile as if he’d found what he was looking for.

“Damn, the boy can sing,” Alya said in her ear over the music and the noise of the club. “Is that a new one?”

She’d put away her phone now, and if Marinette had been paying attention she might have wondered at Alya’s palpable air of satisfaction. Marinette ignored her, her eyes only on Luka.

When the final chords ended in silence and the club around her errupted in cheers and clapping, Marinette drew a shuddering breath.

Before she’d really had time to recover, Luka leaned in to the mic again.

“Happy Birthday, Marinette,” he told her over the speakers, and that smile of his widened into a smouldering grin that should have been illegal. “Okay, time to change the pace.”

He glanced back at the band, and started playing. Luka’s heel thumped a beat in time to the almost aggressive chords he struck out on his guitar. He swung back into the mic.

“Cut my heart about one, two times. Don’t need to question the reason I’m yours,” he growled, his eyes only on her and his smile growing broader as she stared up at him with wide eyes. They’d been circling around this for months, since he got back from touring (years, if she was honest), and when he leaned in a little and told her to sign me up for that full time, I’m yours it felt like they were the only people in the room.

She jumped a little when the drums crashed into the chorus, and was vaguely aware of Alya bouncing along to the music beside her, but she was far more interested in the man with the guitar and the gorgeous tattooed muscles on stage who kept his eyes on her and sounded like he meant it when he asked what he’d have to do to be hers.

Oh boy.

“Come on,” Alya shouted, hooking her hand through Marinette’s arm, and Marinette turned dazed eyes on her as the applause exploded around them and drowned out everything else. She glanced back at the stage as Alya towed her away through the crowd. Her eyes met Luka’s.

Tonight, no more hesitating. He’d already asked her, in his own way, if she only had the courage to speak up. She could do this.

“Here.” Alya handed her another shot glass full of vodka. “A litle bit of liquid courage to help you confess.”

It couldn’t hurt, Marinette decided, and she threw down the contents, shuddering at the taste.

Luka never sang. He always let his instruments speak for him, but he had sung for her. And damn, his voice could bring her undone when he chose to use it. She put the glass down, feeling the warmth run through her, and Alya put her hands on Marinette’s shoulders.

“Okay, birthday girl. You’re eighteen now, you’re a strong, confident woman, and you can totally tell a guy you love him without freaking out. Time for your birthday wish. What do you want more than anything?”

Marinette squeezed her eyes shut, and saw a slow grin and soft ocean blue eyes. She felt Alya spin her around, and the movement threw her off balance. She opened her eyes again, searching for a glimpse of Luka. He was laughing at something that the bassist was saying, and settling his guitar back on its stand. When he reached up to rake sweaty blue hair back from his face, Marinette felt dizzy all over again.

She reached for her shot glass, which someone had refilled, and knocked it back. Right.

“Marinette,” Alya was saying slyly. “Look who’s here!”

There was a blond head in front of her, blocking her view of the stage as she staggered. Adrien caught her with one hand on her arm, and his green eyes were watching her in fond concern as she righted herself.

“Oh, hi Adrien,” Marinette said brightly. “I’m so glad you could make it. We should catch up some time.”

Without waiting for a response, she wove around him and made her purposeful way towards the stage. She could do this. She could do this. She felt someone catch at her arm, and she thought it was Alya, but she shrugged her off and kept scanning the crowd.

She couldn’t see Luka anywhere, and she turned in a giddy circle trying to find him.

She’d never had much luck with confessions, but this was Luka. This was months and years of songs that sounded like her, and clothing that was so very him, and little private jokes, and long video chats from half a world away. This was eyes meeting and sharing a silent moment in the middle of a crowd, and curling up on his bed for quiet, late night conversations that skirted awfully close to declarations of love. This was Luka stepping up to sing his heart to her. He’d made it as easy as it could possibly be for her, and it was time for her to meet him halfway. The vodka left a warm prickle under her skin that blurred the edges of her nerves.

The stage was empty now, and Alya caught up with her as she ducked around another set of flailing limbs. She was saying something, but Marinette couldn’t hear her over the electronic beat of the dance mix that had started. Marinette tried to peer into the staff area behind the stage. There was no sign of Luka.

“Looking for someone?” a familiar, amused voice said close behind her, and Marinette spun around too fast. Luka caught her as she crashed into him and clutched at his tshirt. She looked up into deep blue eyes.

“Hi,” she said a little breathlessly. “I love you.”

And in the end, it really was that easy to say. Luka’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t let her go.

“Girl, what do you think you’re doing?” Alya was hissing in her ear. “Adrien came especially to see you!”

But Marinette had other things to think about.

“I loved my birthday songs,” she told Luka, who still had his arms around her and a dazed expression on his face. “Did you mean it?”

As he leaned down to her, his forehead brushing hers, his smile turned a little wry. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not enough that I don’t know what I’m doing,” she insisted.

“Enough that you’re not thinking straight,” Alya interrupted forcefully. “Marinette –“

“Enough that it might be time to call it a night,” Luka suggested, levelling a cool look at Alya. Marinette caught the swift, unreadable glance he flicked at the blond model talking to Nino on the other side of the club, and she pressed deeper into Luka’s embrace.

And clearly, Marinette found, she’d had at least enough alcohol to shut down her usual filters, and blunt the overthinking. It was her birthday, dammit, and she wanted birthday kisses.

“That sounds like a good idea,” she said brightly. She turned in Luka’s arms to beam at Alya and throw her own arms around her friend. “It’s been an amazing party,” she told her blithely over the noise of the club. “Thank you so much for organising this tonight, Als. I think I need to head home now. Raincheck?”

Alya’s eyes were narrowing at her, but Marinette was already turning back to Luka.

“Walk me home?” she asked him.

He took the hand she held out to him, and followed her like he always did.

“Marinette –“ Alya was saying, but Marinette was already towing Luka through the crowd, dispensing hugs and thank yous and promises to catch up again soon to all her friends on the way. Then finally Marinette was out of the overheated club, and it was just her and Luka.

In the cool night air, the fuzz of too much noise and distracting lighting and vodka was clearing fast, and she glanced up at Luka.

He sighed. “Come on, birthday girl, let’s get you home.”

“I can’t go home,” she said, and there may have been a trace of smugness in her voice, because Luka gave her a startled look. “I was supposed to stay at Alya’s place tonight. You don’t want to rat me out to my parents, do you?”

“You couldn’t have mentioned that before we left the club?”

“I could have, but then I wouldn’t be here with you,” she pointed out. Her sense of mild triumph faded into sudden worry. “Don’t you want to take me home with you? Oh god, I just forced myself on you.”

“No! Marinette, that’s not…” He raked his hair back with one hand, and gave her a rueful look. “Sweetheart, you’re killing me here. You’re drunk, and this isn’t a conversation we should be having until you’re sane and sober.”

“I had three shots.” She held up three fingers, just in case there was any confusion. “I’ve been trying to have this conversation sane and sober for a while now.”

“You’re not even walking straight,” Luka sighed.

“I can still kiss straight, though,” she offered, and lifted up on her toes with her face turned hopefully towards him.

It felt like an unpleasant jolt when his hands caught gently at her shoulders and set her back at arm’s length. Marinette blinked up at him, trying to recover her balance.

“Did I… that song, did I misread it?” she asked a little anxiously, and Luka gave a strained laugh.

“No.”

“Then… why won’t you kiss me?”

He sighed, and took her hand. “Marinette, I’ve been stupid in love with you since you were fourteen. Every year, you get more amazing, and every day I fall a little harder, but here’s the thing – if you kiss me, I don’t want it to be something you did while you were drunk.”

“You don’t believe me?”

His gaze shifted off to the side, and his mouth turned a little wry. “Tell me again tomorrow.”

Oh Luka… She stared down at their linked hands, and there was a moment of silence between them, then Marinette looked up.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Luka’s mouth quirked up in a quizzical smile.

“Okay, fine, I’m not going kiss you tonight, even though I’ve been in love with you for ages and three shots is not why I want to… anyway, okay. And tomorrow morning, we’re going to talk about it.”

Maybe she had been a little more affected by the vodka than she’d thought, because it felt so nice when they reached the Liberty and she fell into Luka’s bed, and felt him tuck his quilt in around her. She buried her face in his pillow and the familiar smell of his shampoo with that faint tang of metal and water and hot sun.

When he wandered out of the room and came back with a cushion and the ratty old blanket from the living room couch, she mustered enough energy to prop herself on her elbow and frown at him as he eased himself down to the floor beside his bed.

“You’re not planning on sleeping on the floor tonight, are you?” she asked, and Luka gave a nonchalant shrug.

“It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last,” he told her. “Go to sleep, Melody.”

She gave a huff, and dropped back down into his pillow, too tired to put up a proper argument over misguided chivalry.

“This is another thing we’re going to talk about in the morning,” she muttered darkly. He reached up to turn out the lamp on his desk, and in the soft darkness Marinette fell asleep to the sound of his deep, rhythmic breathing, until the noise of Juleka returning home disturbed her in the morning.

“So this is where you ended up,” Juleka muttered drily, and stepped over Luka, still asleep on the floor in his pile of blankets. “I thought Alya said my idiot brother was going to take you home. I’m pretty sure she thought it was your home, not his.”

“We had stuff to talk about,” Marinette whispered defensively, and Juleka’s eyebrow rose.

“Uhuh,” she said sceptically. “Talk. I don’t want to know.”

She turned away to sling her bag down behind her bed.

“For the record,” she added. “I did try to talk Alya out of the whole Adrien thing last night. It’s not like anyone ever listens to me.”

“I know,” Marinette sighed. “I love Alya, but there are only so many times I can tell her that I’m not interested in Adrien, and I haven’t been for a long time now. I thought that she’d accepted that I was over that whole drama, but clearly, she just thought I was in denial or something.”

“Clearly.” Juleka’s glance fell on Marinette’s phone, sitting on Luka’s desk nearby. “Speaking of Alya, you’re going to have a lot of messages when you turn that on again. She’s been trying to reach you since you and Luka took off last night.”

Marinette’s eyes went wide.

“Oh, God,” she groaned.

“The look on her face when you threw yourself at Luka last night and dragged him out of the club was awesome, by the way.” The corners of Juleka’s mouth twitched up in a smirk. “Thank you for that.”

“Jules –“

“What? You should have heard her when I tried to suggest that it’d been almost four years now and maybe you’d moved on from a dumb crush you had when you were fourteen.” She put her hands on her hips and levelled a look at Marinette in an uncanny imitation of their friend. “No offense, Juleka, but I think I know my girl better than you. Yeah, like I’m not the one who’s been watching you making googoo eyes at my brother since he came back to Paris. You never said anything to her?”

“Up until he got back, there wasn’t really a whole lot to talk about,” Marinette said defensively, and Juleka snorted.

“Except all the phone bills you two have been racking up while he was on tour.” Juleka flopped onto her bed. “I’m so tired. I’ve been dealing with Alya all night at that sleepover you bailed on. Seriously, I know we’ve fallen out of touch with her a bit since we started lycèe, but how on earth did she miss that you’re completely stupid for Luka?”

“Luka doesn’t seem to have figured it out yet,” Marinette muttered, rolling over and stretching for her phone on the desk. She understood why he’d done it, but she was still feeling a little hurt that he hadn’t kissed her last night.

“I think he’s starting to get the idea,” said a masculine voice from the floor below her. Marinette looked down into Luka’s blue eyes and sleepy smile, shrieked, and lost her balance. The wind was knocked out of Luka with a muffled sound as she landed on him. His arms reflexively closed around her.

“ ‘Morning, beautiful,” he said with a hint of a laugh in his voice.

“How much of that did you hear?”

His smile grew wider. “That depends. How much of it did you want me to hear?”

She probably should get up, but he didn’t seem in any hurry to let her go, and Marinette was enjoying the feeling of being tangled up in Luka’s arms and legs, even if her face was burning at the unexpected proximity.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked softly.

“Really good,” she said dazedly, and nuzzled her face into his t-shirt. “Warm.”

“I meant, do you need any aspirin or anything?”

Marinette huffed, and felt him shift under her. “I told you, I only had three shots. I’m fine.”

“You two are disgusting,” Juleka complained, just as her phone went off and she gave the call notification an annoyed look. “I’m still here, you know, having to watch all this.”

“Then go away,” Luka mumbled into Marinette’s hair.

Juleka stomped across the room, muttering under her breath, and paused in the doorway.

“Oh, and turn your damn phone on,” Juleka said flatly. “She’s calling me now, and I draw the line at dealing with Alya’s little meltdown for you. And I expect to be the Best Woman at your wedding, you sappy lamebrains,” she added without any change of expression.

The door closed behind her, and Marinette reached for her phone again, the corners of her mouth lifting irrepressibly at Luka’s sudden intake of breath when she stretched against him. The moment that she turned it on, the screen flooded with layer on layer of notifications and messages, each one more incensed than the last, and before she could even open the first one the phone buzzed in her hand, startling her.

“What the hell, Marinette??” Alya’s voice shrieked at her. “What was that all about last night? Do you have any idea how many favours I had to call in to get Adrien there last night?!”

“And it was really nice to see him,” Marinette said soothingly.

She ignored Luka’s smothered laugh, and focused on Alya’s disgruntled huff.

“Not that you’d know,” Alya grumbled on the other end of the line. “You barely said hello before you took off like that with Luka. What was that all about? I thought he was overseas with Jagged or something.”

“Yeah… he came back,” Marinette said brightly.

“So I gathered. So why didn’t you tell me you were dating Luka?”

Marinette felt a twinge of guilt at the note of hurt in Alya’s voice, but she’d honestly tried to tell Alya that things had changed. She’d been trying to tell her for years.

“Because I’m not yet,” she pouted. Luka was laughing harder now, and she could feel his shoulders shaking. She glared down at him, but that didn’t seem to stop him. “He wouldn’t kiss me last night.”

“Vodka shots,” he mouthed at her.

“If it’s any consolation, your pep talk really helped,” she offered. “I did tell him I loved him, even if he didn’t believe me.”

The way that Luka’s arms tightened around her at that was very distracting.

“You owe me details, girl,” Alya was saying, and it sounded more like a threat than a promise. “I’ll be there in ten.”

“… Als, I’m not at home.”

The shriek Alya emitted should have cracked the phone.

“Ow!” Luka complained from underneath Marinette. “Could you dial it down, Alya?”

Alya’s second shriek was even louder. “Is he there right now?? Marinette!”

“It’s not what you think.”

“The hell it isn’t! Girl, you will call me later and tell me everything.”

“Almost everything,” Marinette promised, as Luka’s eyebrow rose. “Love you, Als. Later.”

She ended the call and put aside her phone. With Luka’s arms around her, and given the way he was looking at her, she was pretty sure she was going to get her kisses, finally. No courage necessary.

“So, about that talk,” Marinette said, propping her chin on his chest and looking up at him. “No shots, no schemes, I’m completely of sound mind.”

The gorgeous jerk grinned at that.

“As much as you ever are,” he said fondly.

“So do you believe me now when I say I adore you with all my heart and I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life? Or do I have to persuade you?”

“I’m convinced,” he told her, and look in his eyes sent a flutter of entirely delicious nerves through her. “But you’re welcome to persuade me if you want to. I think I’d enjoy that.”

“Then can I kiss you now?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” he breathed, and his mouth was on hers before she could even respond.

#endgame lukanette #pro lukamari #liquid courage #they're idiots your honor #alcohol consumption #alya salt #oblivious alya

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