#this au is just “how far can i break Dick while keeping him in character while he does what i need him to do for plot reasons” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

holylulusworld · 4 years ago

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Bad Boys (6) - She’s ours (FIN)

Summary: New to town, a goody-two-shoes, you catch the attention of not one but two guys. Too bad they are the ‘bad boys’ and your ‘dad’ tries to protect you.

Pairing: Biker!Alpha!Bucky x Reader x Omega!Biker!Alpha!Steve

Warnings: A/B/O, A/B/O dynamics, angst, language, protective alphas, scenting, true mates, fluff, cuddling & snuggling, violence, blood, pregnant omega, Steve freaks out there for a minute

Characters: Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, unnamed deputies

A/N: Reader is Tony Stark's goddaughter. This is an AU/A/B/O setting. I have a thing for Biker /BuckySteve so bear with me.

Bad Boys masterlist

The beautiful text divider was created by @firefly-graphics

“Aw, I like your decoration, Bucky,” admiring Bucky’s room at the clubhouse you hum to yourself, wander around, or stop to pick a few things up. “I like the little bike bookend. Where did you get it?”

“Flea market, doll,” Steve smirks when his friend’s cheeks turn pink. “Bucky likes to go to the flea market and buy useless crap.”

“I like flea markets too,” excitedly you jump at Bucky, tug at his leather jacket to make him look at you. “Do you want to go with me next time? Oh! We could buy some things for Stevie’s house.”

“Please, don’t—” the blonde groans when you won’t stop talking about decorating, the flea market, and how you wish you could all move in together.

“Please—Stevie,” you whine. “I want to find something nice for your house, alpha. It’s nice but needs the woman’s touch. You’ve got no clue how pretty it could look.”

“Like my room,” Bucky states, grinning at his friend. “See, our omega loves my room and my decoration.”

“Except for the picture over there,” pointing at the wall you scrunch up your nose. “Why do the dogs on the picture play poker? They look like drunk gangsters or something. I don’t like it, Bucky.”

“It’s a classic,” defending his picture Bucky mutter under his breath. “None of you got a clue how hard I fought for that thing. There was a punk offering buck after buck for it at the flea market.”

“Did you lose?” grinning you place your hand onto Bucky’s chest. “I mean, you ended up bringing it home.”

“I won, doll. I paid ten bucks for it,” he grins. “Punk had to go home empty-handed.”

“See, no taste—” Steve insists. “None of you will ruin my house with crappy decoration. That’s my last word!”

“B-but, Stevie,” you cry, eyes big and wet now, “you’re not a bachelor anymore! You’ve got a mate now, an omega. I want to feel safe and comfortable when I visit you. Don’t you want me around?” choking on your words you hide your face in Bucky’s chest. “Do you already regret your claim?”

“Great job, Steve. Now she’s crying and I got no house for her to decorate,” grumbling Bucky runs one hand over your hair, tries to soothe you while you smirk to yourself.

None of your alphas can see you played Steve well. “No—no! Baby doll, you can redecorate anything you want to. Maybe even bring that ugly picture with you. I’ll do anything, omega.”

“How often can I visit you?” you nuzzle Bucky’s neck; enjoy he holds you tightly. “I don’t want to disturb your solitary, Steve.”

“I-I want you to move in with me,” Steve blurs out, gasping as you turn around to look up at him with wide eyes. “I mean, shit—uh erm, that’s a bit sudden I guess. We should talk about our bond first. It’s a bit different from normal bonds with one alpha.”

“Can Bucky move in too? Can we buy a huge bed and share it? Oh, I want a large bathtub for us to share too and a shower! Imagine all the sex with could have!” you babble, slowly stepping toward Steve. “Please—alpha?”

“Oh, crap,” Bucky snickers when Steve whines low in his throat. You nuzzled your face in his chest and now the rough biker fights his alpha to not give in to everything you demand. “She’s got your balls in her hands.”

“Perfect, alpha,” smiling you look at the bookshelf. Bucky brought his belongings, including the bookend you love so much. “Right, Stevie? It looks awesome.”

“Yeah, awesome,” Steve gave up the moment you demanded you need three more pillows on the couch. Now you are busy redecorating his living room.

He sighs deeply but tries to remember you are an omega who tries to create a cozy home for her alphas.

“Look at the pictures I placed on the fireplace, Steve. I want to take some of you, Bucky, and me too. I want to fill our house with our love.”

“Uh-she’s in nesting mood,” Bucky whispers. “Do I need to know anything, Steve? Did we get her full of pups already? I think her breasts grew too.”

“WAIT-WHAT?” panicked Steve glances at your chest, tries to figure out if your breasts are fuller. “It’s only a month. I mean, she was in heat but we—”

“Didn’t use anything, Steve,” smirking Bucky watches you usher toward the couch to place one last pillow next to the others. “Do I have to explain how sex works? If she wasn’t on anything, we got her round.”

“Round? Pups?” panting heavily now Steve clutches one hand to his chest. “Fuck—Stark will kill us!”

“Tons won’t kill you, alpha,” humming happily you nod to yourself. “I’m done here. Can we go to the bedroom now? I wanna cuddle with you on the new bed you and your friends built.”

“S-sure,” Steve’s eyes drift toward your belly and he swallows thickly. “Uh-Y/N are you on birth control?” you giggle at Steve’s words but don’t answer his question. you brush past him, grinning as he follows you like a nervous puppy. “Omega? Doll?”

“I wasn’t when we mated if that’s what you are trying to ask, Steve—”

Steve’s head is spinning when you walk upstairs, giggling as Bucky runs after you to sniff at your neck. “Damn me, omega. You smell like us. Stevie, I think we filled her good.”

“I-I need a minute here, Buck,” Steve pants. “Go ahead. I’ll be right with you, guys…”

“Where have you been Steve? Y/N was waiting for you for half an hour,” Bucky tuts. He growls when you hide your face in the cushions. “Look what you did! She wanted to cuddle with us on the nest she made.”

“We need to use one of these,” Steve place a paper bag filled with pregnancy tests onto the bed. “I want to know if she’s pregnant.”

“Alpha,” you purr low in your throat. Before he can blink you snatch the bag from the bed to hide it behind your back. “Can’t you scent me and tell me if I’m expecting?”

“I can barely focus on anything, doll. All I want is to cradle and scent you right now. I-I need to know if I filled you with pups,” the alpha purrs, much to Bucky’s amusement.

The brunette sits next to you, a shit-eating grin on his lips. “Steve, just scent our omega. Her scent changed and this means our girl is expecting.”

“How’d you wanna know, Buck?”

“I read books about omegas and true mates. She smells more like me and you now. I think we both filled her with our pup,” humming you snuggle closer to Bucky to hide your face in his chest.

“Please, alpha,” you whine, hoping Steve’s not mad at you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I was in heat and lost control.”

“Baby doll,” Steve purrs low in his throat, ready to pounce on you. “I’m not mad, Y/N. This is just a little overwhelming. I finally found my true mate, mated her to share her with my best friend and now she’s pregnant. I need a moment to realize I need to change my life.”

“I want my big bad biker to cuddle me,” whimpering in distress you look at Steve. “Please.”

“Alright, doll. Let me kick my boots off and we can cuddle.”

After joining you and Bucky on the bed, Steve sighs deeply. He scents you, excessively, purring now and then.

“So—who’s going to tell her godfather we got her pregnant?” Bucky grins when you look at Steve. “Guess she wants you to volunteer…”

“Look what the cat dragged into the sheriff’s department,” the deputies growl. “Pity the sheriff couldn’t get rid of us – huh? Maybe you change your mind and want us to take care of that sweet little omega?”

“If you want to keep your teeth, you will shut your cakehole right fucking now,” Bucky grits, hands already balled into fists. “You are talking about our true mate, the mother of our pups.”

“Pups?” the deputy gasps, looking at you hide behind Steve. “You got her pregnant? What a pity. The girl looked like she likes to take dick—” Bucky’s fist breaks the deputy’s nose with one precise punch.

While the man stumbles backward, pressing one hand to his bleeding nose, his friend tries to help him but ends up pressed against the wall by Steve, the blondes arm against his throat.

The alpha grits his teeth reveals his true intentions. “Back in the old times' alphas defended their omegas by ripping their concurrent’s mating gland out with their teeth.” He grins, feeling the deputy struggle against his strength. “Good thing the old times are over – right, Buck?”

“Right, Steve. I mean, some people should watch their backs and mating glands if they don’t want to end up in a dark alley,” the brunette grins at the other deputy. “I have a thing for knives and always wondered how deep I can cut a bastard until he bleeds out.”

“T-this isn’t necessary,” the deputy looks up at Steve before he tilts his head in submission. “My friend was just joking. He likes to run his mouth.”

“I will tell you this one last time,” Steve growls. “She’s ours. Our true mate and you will stay the fuck away from her.”

“So—,” Tony clears his throat. “You are pregnant by two alphas, great. I will get a godfather of the year medal this time.”

“Please don’t be mad, Tony,” you sniff. “It’s not your fault nor theirs. I wasn’t on anything and gave in to my instinct but Steve, Bucky, and I got a nice house. We can raise our kids there.”

“I heard you gave my deputies hell,” your godfather smirks at Bucky. “Good job, boys. Next time break a few bones.”

“Tony,” Pepper tuts her alpha, but she gently pats his hand. “Don’t encourage them! Soon they will be fathers! Now let’s talk about the nest and anything else, Y/N. How far are you?”

“Two babies,” Steve watches you lie in the middle of your shared bed. “We need to tell the gang we are going to be fathers soon, Buck. No more dangerous stuff for us. Y/N needs reliable alphas.”

“Aw, you’re such a softie, Steve,” Bucky whines when you look at your alphas. “Fine, I’m all soft for her too. What happened to us? We used to be stone-cold bikers and now we are putty in a girl’s hands.”

“Not just a girl, Buck,” smiling Steve looks at his friend. “Our omega, my friend. I think it’s time to grow up and be good alphas.”

“Agreed,” offering Steve a fist bump Bucky grins. “Now let’s take care of our omega. She needs us.”

THE END...*and yes I made her pregnant, sue me...*

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#Bad Boys (6) - She’s ours (FIN)#alpha!bucky barnes #alpha!steve rogers #biker!bucky barnes #biker!steve rogers #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #steve rogers #bucky barnes #true mates #pregnant reader

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mystic-kitten-writer · 4 years ago

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Omg smut pls 😭, i’ve been starved from yue zuko smut i keep reading pls chapters!

Here it is- I have to get back into the groove of smut writing, so here's my baby step 👀

Also, this was an ask I got a while back, in relation to Yue's heat smut I wrote. I was trying to find the original ask but I can't find it, but anon, this is for you 🥵

Love you babes, and take care~

AU: Limerence (A/B/O AU)

Pairing: Zuko x Fem. OC (Ying Yue Jiang)

LINKS: 01

Masterlist

Ruts weren't a foreign concept to Zuko.

More often than not, proving a nuisance.

A quick jerk, drowning himself in paperwork, often did the trick for the week. But this time? Zuko swore, his head dropping and hair cascading downwards like a curtain as his fist slammed against the wooden bed frame.

He was sweating despite wearing nothing more but loose-hanging slacks, the windows open and allowing a breeze to enter. But it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough.

It was like his skin was prickling, senses in over-drive as goosebumps rose along his skin. Heavy pants, Zuko's chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon - fighting the urge to trail his hand down his torso, imagining how cool her fingertips would feel against his burning skin. Her nails tracing every divot of his skin as her touch sank lower, the shiver that ran up his spine.

Always so shy, so submissive; on her knees like the good girl she was, playing with the band of his pants with glossy lips, swollen from her eager nibbles. Her doe-like eyes were staring up at him with a lust that could challenge his before moaning his name with a hunger.

"Fuck." Zuko growled, his toes pressing onto the wooden floor.

A ticking time bomb, groaning as the mere sensation of his pants rubbing against his hard cock had him cracking. His eyes rolled, a temporary relief as his heavy palm fell over himself. A shaky jerk over the fabric, grabbing his length, and he could feel the thick drop of cum leaking from his tip.

He was throbbing, pulse rushing, and skin dewy as his testing jerks grew in intensity. The uncontrollable groans that tumbled from his lips, bucking into his touch to seek more pleasure. So fucking desperate to tip over that edge for the first time since his bloody rut started.

But it wasn't enough; it was never fucking enough.

No matter how fast his hand moved, his thumb brushing the crown of his dick as he teased himself. It was like a fucking wall, blocking him right before he could fall over the sweet edge. The coil that twisted deep in his gut, his cock growing as he so desperately wanted to cum as Zuko's groans grew in volume.

So close, so fucking close every time but-

The shout of frustration as Zuko's fists slammed against the bed frame for the nth time this day because he was losing it. His rut was testing his patience beyond belief because Zuko knew; that even if he jerked himself off, he wouldn't be able to get off.

His nails were intending the wood as defeat, rage coursed through his veins. He was in so much distress, sexual frustration at its fucking finest as his balls felt heavy, and his cock begged him to get off just once.

But he can't unless-

"I need, Yue," Zuko wheezed, a haze falling over his mind because the whole room smelt of her.

A drug, and Zuko was sure he was currently overdosing.

How beautiful she'll look.

Yue's body sprawled on the bed, littered with bites marks from the inside of her thighs to breasts. Zuko able to look down over her body, watching as his cock would so easily slip into her needy cunt. His thumb strumming her sensitive clit with heat, the uncontrollable twitches from Yue's body as he would draw orgasm after orgasm from her.

A beautiful breeding toy for his sick entertainment. Yue's cries of bliss music to his ears; fuel for his insatiable lust.

Yue's tight walls milking and driving him to ruin her, break her and claim her as his. She'll look so pretty, cum trickling from between her legs. A sticky mess as Zuko would push back whatever cum would slowly drip from her sweet pussy with his long fingers before bottoming, her belly swollen with nothing but him.

And as if the spirits were testing him, he could hear her.

It was like the call of a siren, Zuko's head snapping to their bedroom doors as a bead of sweat plopped down his temple, his lips parted as he growled.

This was dangerous; he wouldn't be able to control himself, to hold back but- the twitch from his cock, another sweet bead of pre-cum dribbling down his length and further dirtying his trousers. Envisioning Yue back on her knees and dragging her tongue along the underside of his dick before swallowing him down her throat.

"Zuko is in a rut, Princess-" Zuko heard someone whisper-shout, and he couldn't stop the twitching of his fingers listening to someone so close to his precious. A protectiveness, Zuko's body, inching itself closer to the door as his sanity slowly started slipping through his fingertips.

"But he needs me, Sokka! Let me in!" Yue cried.

Oh, those sweet cries of her squirting around his fingers as he fingerfucked her on his lap. Maybe he could have her sitting right up against the mirror so she can watch herself cum as his fingers curled inside of her.

No. Yue leave, Zuko begged mentally as he hissed under his breath, taking in that he was currently forcing himself not to rip open their bedroom door and draw her inside.

"Zuko said to keep you, out" Sokka reasoned, but Zuko could hear the determined pout on Yue's lips. Lips that would look so good around Zuko's length. Gagging as he seized her long locks and fucked her mouth, his hips snapping-

Zuko didn't even realize what he was doing until he saw Sokka and Yue before him. The both of them staring up at him like prey that had just been caught, each holding their breath.

"Zuko-" Sokka would blow, but it was fruitless.

Zuko's eyes locked with Yue; pupils blown as he stared at Yue with a wanting that even had Yue quivering in her spot. But despite the pregnant pause that fell over them, Zuko licked his lips because he could see.

The gulp Yue took as she nibbled on her lip, her fingers toying with the front of her dress as a flush painted over her skin. And Zuko swears he could taste Yue in the air. So luscious and delicate.

"Zuko?" Yue would rustle, her hands reaching out to caress his bare chest, but with a wince, Zuko rose his hands, stopping her. His mind was racing, but he knew the moment Yue's skin touched his, he would be far too gone to control. The hungry looks Yue sent him alone were close enough to make him lose it completely, her eyes studying his physique as Zuko combed his hair back.

"Yue, we need to go now," Sokka warned, fast to grab her, but the snarl Zuko unleashed at Sokka had everyone stilling.

It was a warning, the only indication Zuko would give to Sokka because the thought of Yue having another scent on her besides his had him boiling with fury. If only Zuko could have his way, mate her, maybe have her walk around the kingdom every day with his cum dripping from her core to make a damn point.

"I'll make this quick, love." Zuko finally spoke, voice rasped.

His throat felt dry as he fought with the last of his willpower not to pin Yue against the door and fuck her senseless in the hallway. The fact that he was sporting the most prominent hard-on, in view of everyone, didn't even bother him.

Zuko's mind was hyper-focused on Yue. Every time she breathed or blinked, it didn't go ignored by Zuko. And he took a dangerous step forward, his frame towering over her. In seconds, Yue found herself cornered against the door and him, Zuko placing his hands on either side of her face.

"Zuko." Yue questioned, and Zuko spoke, "This is your only warning, love. You run off and stay far, far, away from me. Or-"

"Or?" Yue perked with a curious simper.

"I claim you, no holding back cause I intend to break you." Zuko hushed, and Yue merely giggled.

Such a light-hearted giggle that despite the overwhelming hormones of his heat, Zuko found himself taken aback. It was so out of place, but the way Yue's eyes shined as she looked up at him, continuing to nibble on her lip and batting her eyelashes.

"Break me, Zuko," Yue whispered, and Zuko's eyes shut with a shaky breath as he felt her fingers run down his chest.

Every fantasy, dirty thought that ran through his mind was now coming to life as her soft lips pressed against his, "Claim me like how I claimed you."

Disclaimer: I do not own any Avatar characters besides any original characters I have created.

Cross-posted on Ao3/Tumblr/Quotev/Wattpad to discourage plagiarism.

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

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wenwenbittercake · 3 years ago

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Inuin and Y/N

(This is a normal AU where Inuin and KoKo are your best friend and Inuin have a crush on you but you like KoKo-nut more. He’s stuck between wanting to break their friendship and want to kiss you senselessly.)

Warnings:yandere contents, swearing, spicy🌶🌶

(Sorry for late posts, I just got really depressed after my recent submission got 4 likes 😫😫😫Sorry if I haven’t written your submission because it’s probably not finished yet or It’s too uncomfortable for me to write. With that, enjoy.)

“Hey Inui!”

Someone hug Inui from behind making him snap out of his daydream. He turn around from his chair to see a familiar face that create a tint of blush on his cheeks.

“Y/N why are you here this early?”

“Early? Look around you dumb ass.” KoKo said as he comes into the class.

Inui lazily look around him to see the class empty. He must had fallen asleep.

“Oh.”

“Wht do you mean “Oh”? Pack your stuff or we’re leaving you behind!”

“KoKo don’t be so harsh on Inui, he’s just tired from his part time job.”

KoKo got a frond on his face when you defend Inui. Inui on the other hand blushes while putting his things in his back.

“Oh yea? For a person who sleeps around in class of cause he’s going to work in that shabby motorcycle shop.”

“Hey.” You warn Koko. Both of you look each other and inspect Inui’s face.

Inui is used to the constant slanders and being beaten around by Koko, It’s not that he’s a bully, he’s just like that. He would apologies later about it but what he said is true. Koko is a smart kid who get all A’s in his class. He’s the brightest kid in their little friend group. So, the brightest flower catches the most beautiful butterflies, and that butterfly is you.

For the first time in his life, he craves for someone and that someone is you. He misses you 24/7. Always wanting to see your face, hear your voice and feel your touch. He even goes as far as going to your house one night after work to see you. But unfortunately, you were asleep. It doesn’t matter much when he climbs to your window to see you sleeping so soundly.

You can call him a psychopath but he’s just making sure your save by hacking into your phone and looking through all your social info and private messages.

You can call him a creep for following you around at night making sure no wolfs can catch a cute bunny like you.

You can call him a sociopath for lying to you as he only sees you as a friend when he craves to feel more of you then your hands.

He doesn’t care what you call him, he’s doing all this to keep you save form the dangerous people out there or to feed his desires.

Now you both are in a hotpot restaurant. Koko apologies to Inui by treating hotpot and BBK to both of you. All of you talk about school life, how hard to weekly test was or gossip about that one kid in class that reminds the teacher about the homework. Noting goes into Inui mind as he’s too focus on you and Koko interactions.

Koko is talking about these facts he knows of, and you listen to him with wide eyes. Then he whispers something in your ears making you blush. Inui clench his jaw seeing that. Koko looks proud that he’s getting all your attention to himself. On the other hand, Inui watch Koko and you with a sad look with a dash of jealousy.

“Oh, look who’s jealous.” All the spotlight is now on Inui making him slightly uncomfortable.

“Why are you all looking at me?”

“Oh, we all know you’re the jelly one here.” He teases as you switch your seat near him.

You close your space between you and Inui, your face so close to his, a slight movement from him can make him go for a kiss. Your eyes half lid and tease him as you trace his collar with your slender fingers. Not touching him but so close to. Inui’s breath become heavy, his head even feel cloudy to the situation, both of you look at each other’s eyes with lust.

“Tell me baby.”

He just wants to push his head forward and give a deep long kiss, but Koko’s clap snaps him out of hid fantasies. You giggle and hop off Inui’s lap and go sit beside Koko.

“Koko did you see that?”

“Yes, you did a great job.” He said as he places his arms around your shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Inui looks confused.

“It’s a prank! Got you!” You shout and laugh with Koko. In that moment Inui felt both embarrassed and mad. It’s definitely not your idea. Your inexperience ass would never. It gotta be Koko’s.

“You guys are dicks.” He said as he stood up a leave.

“Inui wait- “you were about to stop him when Koko pull you back in his arms.

“Leave it, he’s fine. He’s just a little embarrassed.”

That Bitch

That night Inui can’t get you out of his head. He can’t when you look so cute and sexy when you did that half lid move. The way you touch him felt so different from how you use to touch him. So soft and teasing. He tries to memorize it, but it slowly fades away. He can only remember how hot and lustful it felt. How he got hard just by your voice. He needs it again.

“Inui, I’m going to ask Y/N out.” Inui nearly chokes on his lunch.

“Wait what?”

“Yea I’m gonna ask her out.”

“Wait wait where? When.”

“Tonight, at the playground we use to go at.”

“Wait isn’t it too fast?”

“Wdym it’s fast? Look I realize my feelings for her are real and I just need to let it out. I just want you to know that.”

Inui looks shock as Koko left from the cafeteria. No way this is happening. His best friend with the girl he loves the most. He tries to think positive. Maybe it’s the best for you. Koko is perfect for you, he’s smart, he’s rich, he can fulfil everything you need. He can make you happy. But seeing you with Koko make his heart aches. The thought of how Koko can make you feel complete tortures him every bit.

The rain was pouring like there no tmr. He looks at his clock, 7:30 pm. Koko is going to ask you out at 8 and he’s here sweeping floors. What a fucking loser, he thought of himself. He looks through his phone to pass time and see your message.

Koko told me to wait at the playground we use to play. Idk why but I feel like something serious is going to happen.

I want you to come by that’s all.

It’s fine if you’re busy.

What is he doing here? Y/N needs him. He’s supposed to do whatever you desire right?

He rash out of the shop, even Drakun was shocks at the speed. He run desperately like a predator meets his prey. This is his only chance to feel honest with you. After Koko ask you out, it would be too late. You will be Koko’s. The thought of it filled him with agony.

He stops in front of the playground; his eyes scatter the play. There he finds you standing there with a yellow umbrella. He knows it your cause he bought that umbrella for you.

“Inui? What are you doing here? Omg your soaked.”

He stands in front of you, his eyes fill with desires. He feels like burning. The only thing that’s keeping him cool is the rain. He felt happy when he realizes Koko is nowhere to be found.

“Inui?” You look up to him with wide eyes.

Fuck Y/N

He pulls you in his arm and kiss you. It feels so longing. You yelp in shock giving him a chance to enter his tongue in your mouth. You panic causing your umbrella to drop. He let out all his needs, his urges with action. His fantasies are becoming a reality. Your taste, your touch, the way you whimper in his hold. It all feels so good, he’s starting to feel feverish.

The rain pours all over both of you. It feels like you’re in a movie. Actually, you’re not sure if you like Koko or Inui. You’ve spent so much time with them yet, you still don’t have a sure answer when it comes to both of them but now. You’re sure now.

You both parted from your feverish kiss, you look at each other eyes. You look at him with wide eyes, your lips swollen. You hold on Inui’s shirt, trying to not fall from your shaking knees.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I just can’t take it anymore.”

“I-it’s actually fine. I kinda like you so..’’

“Wait are you serious?”

“Of cause I’m serious! What you don’t wanna take responsibility now?”

“No, it’s just- “

“Shut up and just hug me.” You hide your embarrassed face in Inui’s chest. He chuckles at your action and wrap his arms around you tightly.

“Let’s go home.”

From a far, a man with a chain earring stood silently behind trees as both love birds left. He grips his umbrella tight as he glares at Inui. The envy he’s feeling is strong enough to kill a man.

“That Bitch”

(Thank you for reading my fanfic. Also sorry if I made a mistake or it's not that good. This is my first time writing a yandere character so forgive me. 🙏🙏🙏also i'm sorry I don't put the artist name for the headline. I don't know the artist who draw it that's why. If you know, ur more than welcome to tell me. Thank you ❤🌹🙏🙏)

#inui x y/n #inui seishu #tokyo rev smut #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tokyo rev x reader #inui x reader #tokyo rev #kokonoi x reader #tokyo revengers kokonoi #hajime kokonoi #smut #inui smut #mikey tokyo revengers

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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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slytherinwh0re · 4 years ago

Text

Dinner date

Draco Malfoy x female reader AU

Warnings: SMUT (18+ minors dni) and swearing

Summary: Where you and Draco are coworkers and he asks you on a dinner date.

Masterlist

You need a drink.

The job of an auror is always difficult but this week was so busy you’ve had absolutely no time to yourself. Thank Merlin it’s Friday and you have the rest of the weekend off.

Once you walk into The Leaky Cauldron you go straight for the bar, Tom already pouring your drink. You give him a small thank you as he walks away to attend to the rest of the packed bar, it is Friday after all. The brandy burns your throat slightly but it’s exactly what you need right now.

You look over at the man taking a seat next to you immediately recognizing him as your coworker, Draco Malfoy. You went to Hogwarts together but never talked until after the battle when you both received jobs as aurors at the ministry. Many people still didn’t trust him completely because of his father’s choices but now he’s a man who chooses for himself and there’s no denying his change in character. He’s a good man and proved himself to be a great wizard.

You see him often at the ministry but any conversation with Malfoy is about work and maybe a quick hi here and there. He does his job and keeps to himself.

“Busy week wasn’t it (y/l/n)?” He looks tired but handsome nonetheless.

“Bloody horrible, I’ve been looking forward to this drink all week Malfoy.” You take another swig to prove your point.

“You and I both, tell you what, next rounds on me and call me Draco.” He slap a few galleons on the table and Tom brings us each another drink. You can’t help but smile feeling as though you just made a friend in the blonde.

The next hour is full of conversation between you two. Draco is surprisingly easy to talk to and even sorta funny, although that could just be the effects from the Brandy.

“Who would’ve known that Draco Malfoy actually has a sense of humor.” The serious look on his face makes you burst out laughing and you notice he’s trying to keep from smiling.

“I’ve always been hilarious for your information.” This just makes you laugh harder.

“Over dramatic maybe, but funny? I don’t think so.” He can’t hold back his laughter anymore and all you can do is stare at the handsome man in front of you with a big grin on your face.

“Well it’s getting late and I’m completely knackered but I had a great time (y/n). One of my best nights in a while actually. I was wondering if you’d maybe want to come over tomorrow afternoon and I could cook us some dinner?” Your already pink cheeks turned bright red.

“I’d love to Draco.”

***

The next morning while you’re eating breakfast a beautiful white owl taps on your window with a letter from Draco.

(Y/n),

Hope you’re having a good morning, dinner will be ready at 7. See you then.

Draco

You read it at least ten time, letting the fact that you’re going to Draco’s house for a dinner date sink in.

***

Your walk to the Malfoy manor was a short one, the crisp fall air feeling good against your skin. You had decided on wearing your favorite pair of black skinny jeans, the ones that made your ass look great, a cream sweater, and matching cream boots.

You knock on the gigantic wooden door twice and not even 10 second later Draco is letting you in.

“You look amazing (y/n), I’m glad you could make it.”

“Thanks for having me, it smells great.”

As you walk through the house with Draco you’re in awe of how spectacular the entire place is. You’ve never been in a house this big.

“I hope you like ham.” He looks nervous.

“I love it, everything looks amazing. You’ve really out done yourself.” He really did, the ham was in the center surrounded by a ton of side dishes.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked so I made a little bit of everything.” His cheeks were slightly pink as he pulled your chair out for you.

***

Dinner was as amazing as it looked, both of you ate far too much so you went to the living room to lounge around.

You sat on the same couch as Draco facing each other, about a foot apart, each of you with a glass of Brandy on the table, laughing at some ridiculous joke he made. Suddenly he reached his hand out to push a lose strand of hair behind your ear, his hand skimmed against your jaw and grabbed your chin for a second before letting go.

“You’ve always been so beautiful (y/n).” He was so close you could feel his breath on your face. You put your hand on his knee, needing to touch him in some way.

You couldn’t handle it anymore. You looked at his lips once before leaning in. Draco met you halfway, finally connecting his lips with yours. It was a short sweet kiss that made your stomach flutter. He brought his thumb up to your bottom lip dragging it across before lightly grabbing your throat with his long fingers and going in for a much rougher kiss, not that you were complaining.

You broke away so you could swing your body so you had one knee on either side of his legs straddling him. He put his hands on your hips as you kissed him again, he slipped his tongue into your mouth and you shifted your hips slightly making him groan, holding onto them tighter.

Your reach for his shirt, Draco takes one hand behind his head and yanks it off in one swift motion. That was possibly the sexiest thing you’ve ever witnessed. He reaches for the hem of your sweater, fingers grazing your bare skin.

“May I?”

Instead of answering you take the sweater off yourself showing off your deep green bra.

“I love the color.” He smirks at you knowingly.

“I thought you might.” You giggle as he starts leaving open mouth kisses on the tops of your breast. You reach around to unclasp the material, feeling way too impatient to wait for him to do it. You let it fall in between your bodies, picking it up and tossing it to the end of the couch. His hands move from your hips, running across the sides of your body.

Draco looks right at you when he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, making you throw your head back and moan quietly. You feel him straining against his jeans so you start moving your hips in small circles. You grab his belt and undo it quickly, you unbutton his jeans, and slowly slide yourself down until you’re kneeling in between his knees on the floor.

“You look so sexy love. You gonna suck my dick for me pretty girl?” You bite your lip and nod, never breaking eye contact with him. You grab his pants and boxer and pull them down, his big length slapping him in the stomach.

You wrap your small hand around him, slowly pumping him. You lick a bold stripe up the base of his length making him hiss and then you’re taking him in your mouth. Draco grabs your hair from falling into your face and you hollow your cheeks, sucking harder. You love how in control you feel of the sexy man in front of you. You twist your hand at his base in rythm with your mouth as you look up at him.

He pulls your head back by the hair, makes you stand up and starts taking off your pants.

“These jeans have been driving me crazy all night but I think they’ll look better off.” He slide them down your legs along with your underwear. He sits back on the couch so he could look at you standing completely naked in front of him groaning more to himself about how perfect you are.

You climb back on to his lap so your straddling him again, this time grabbing his dick and slowly stroking it inbetween your soaked folds. You’ve been soaked since he grabbed you throat. Finally you can’t take it anymore, you sink down until you’re sitting all the way on him. You can’t help the loud moans that leave your mouth as you bounce up and down on him.

He’s sitting back, his hands roaming your entire body, finally resting on your ass. One hand smacking down on it, the feeling causing you to scream his name.

“Scream my name (y/n), let everyone know you’re mine.” He grabs your hair again, pulling your head back so he has better access to your neck and starts laying kisses everywhere, sucking on certain spots, leaving dark marks. One hand is on your hips and he starts thrusting up, meeting your hips with his, his name falling from your lips continuously.

“Draco I’m gonna cum, I’m so close.” You feel the knot in your abdomen tightening more with every bounce, his hand in your hair moves down to your clit. He rubs it with his thumb, tracing figure eights onto you while you lean back, a hand on each of his knees.

“Cum for me (y/n), you look so fucking sexy riding my dick, such a good girl.” With one final flick of his thumb on your clit you come undone. Your ears are ringing and all you see are stars. Second later Draco’s spilling in to you, his face in the crook of your neck.

You both clean yourselves up quietly, he hands you his tshirt to put on and you do so without question. It smells just like him.

“Spend the night with me?” He’s looking right at you and you know you’re a goner.

“Only if you get me another cup of Brandy.” He laughs quietly while pulling up his jeans.

“Sounds good, I was gonna make you hang out with me tomorrow anyways.”

#draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x you #draco x reader #slytherin #draco lucius malfoy #draco #malfoy #request something #draco fanfiction #draco imagine #draco x you #harry potter smut #hp smut

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anondudeao3 · 4 years ago

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Fic Recs!

Since I'm on hiatus, I've finally had time to do some reading, and I thought I'd give some fic recommendations, since I won't be posting for quite a while. These are my absolute favourites!

(I'm splitting this into two posts — one for JayDick and one for JayTim — because now that I'm finished with the first half it's quite long)

JayDick

A Love Triangle With The Same Person

By: Chrystie, kate882

Word Count: 10,031

Summary: Dick might have a bit of a thing for Jason, one of Red Hood's criminal underlings. But he's also already a little in love with Red Hood.

→ Identity porn! Who doesn't love identity porn? Very cute and sweet.

Everything I Know

By: epistemology

Word Count: 12,360

Summary: Red Hood is a little bit in love with his partner, Nightwing, who has a huge crush on Jason Todd, the hot bookstore owner, who is actually the Red Hood, who is too busy being in love to notice Dick Grayson, who's actually Nightwing.

Jason and Dick fall in love with the wrong versions of each other, and things become complicated fast.

→ More identity porn, but this one is a lot more sort of missed connections, plus it has bookshop owner Jay who was never taken in by Bruce! It really has you begging SOMETHING to happen to somehow make them see that THEY ARE EACH OTHER, THEY ARE THE ONES THEY LIKE. AHHHH IT'S THE SAME PERSON. And when it finally does happen, it's so sweet and satisfying. (I recommend checking out their other fics too! Lots of sweetness.)

Lie To Me, Darling

By: Chrystie, kate882

Word Count: 19,214

Summary: Officer Dick Grayson is undercover in the infamous Red Hood's gang trying to track down the man behind the helmet. With his former partner killed for being found out, there's a new guy in the gang to take his place. Jason doesn't seem like the average new gang recruit, and Dick may be getting more than he bargained for trying to get close to him.

→ Okay, ngl I JUST now noticed that this one is by the same people as the first one, and I specifically didn't want to put multiple fics by the same people (just say I recommend checking out their other stuff, but not rec separately), but it's too late now and I don't have a 7th JayDick fic to recc that isn't also an author repeat, and I don't want it to be uneven.

But ANYWAY. This one will fuck you up, I can't lie. Unhappy ending, but if you can brave that, ohhh it's so good. It's so damn sweet whilst the good times last, even though you know it's only temporary and it's all going to go to hell at some point... man. It hurts. But it hurts so good. It's beautiful, and I personally think it's worth the pain.

Two Birds on a Wire

By: empires, pentapus

Word Count: 20,565

Summary: Dick asks Jason for help on a case. Jason should have never agreed.

→ It's probably laughable that I'm reccing this, since pentapus is one of the authors and their art is like huge in the JayDick fandom, and the fic has more than 22.5k views, which seems to be quite a lot as far as JayDick fics go. But in the event that you haven't read it yet... This is actually the very first JayDick fic I EVER read, it introduced me to the ship, and I just reread it and it's still just as amazing, what a winner to start out with!

The dynamic between Jay and Dick, the way Dick gets so into his undercover role, Jay's emotional turmoil, the action — it's all just absolute chef's kiss! It's so hard to write action well, and these two made this fic so engaging!

All Soulmates Final, No Refunds

By: empires, salvadore

Word Count: 38,900

Summary: Mystic Waters Grande Hotel sells itself as a luxury soulmate retreat with all manner of couple’s activities. The cost is high, and all is not as it appears on the hotel’s grounds. Dick and Jason go undercover as newlywed soulmates to find out what’s behind the rash of missing persons. And dig up old feelings in the process.

→ (Since empires was collaborating with two different people of the different fics, I don't count that as a repeat).

Well firstly, this is a rare Batman!Dick JayDick! And secondly, yes, one of the ubiquitous soulmate AUs. But with some very interesting twists! Also, like TBOAW above, the action in this is amazing, and absolutely had me on the edge of my seat. Similarly, their undercover personas were lots of fun, and it was very fun to see them push each other further and further with them.

Secrets of the Sea

By: ParzivalHallows

Word Count: 42,711

Summary: Being a merperson was dangerous enough, but being a merperson captured by pirates? That's got to be one of the worst fates for a merman. Merman Dick Grayson is captured by a slave ship, where he meets Jason Todd, who's a slave on that ship. Together, the two plan an escape. However, they need to put aside their odds first, which is very difficult for the two stubborn men.

→ I have to give you fair warning first, this one is incomplete and hasn't been updated since 2017, so I don't think it's ever going to be finished (but it can't hurt to leave a nice comment!) BUT WAIT, DON'T SCROLL YET, hear me out. It's really good, okay. You do need to mind the warning tags because there is major character death (not Jay or Dick though, and since it's not complete I'm kind of choosing to believe that they're not really dead and later in the story it actually turns out that they managed to survive).

There are a lot of grim things in this story, it's really about survival, but the worldbuilding is fucking phenomenal, and the author drew me right in. The descriptions and the action and emotion, the unexpected magic that they have to figure out? It's all so cool and well done.

Steady On Forward

By: JayseHasNoGrace

Word Count: 96,287

Summary: Dick Grayson's life has never been easy, but he'd like to think it's been going better lately. He's been operating mainly out of Gotham again for almost a year, and has been in a steady relationship for just over. He knows where he stands with crime-fighting, and the family is all on pretty good terms, considering.

Things are really going pretty well.

Unfortunately, the balance doesn't last long, and old horrors from Dick's past end up dredged up alongside new ones.

This is a story about love and family, but equally so about trauma and healing from it. Please heed the warnings in the preface.

→ Alright, the final JayDick rec, the longest, and the darkest. But wait, again, don't scroll! It's also by far the most hopeful AND FLUFFY. Now, the author is NOT fucking around about heeding those warnings, there's a shitload of them and it's really heavy, hard shit. Do not get me wrong, this fic is going to HURT you. But by the end, it's going to have felt so cathartic, and you're going so feel soft and hopeful and whole. I don't know how they did it, but it's SUCH an emotional rollercoaster. Another commenter on AO3 (mach5plus1) said it better than I could:

I gave this fic my whole heart, it took it, smiled and said “awwww, I’ll take care of it!“

Then started putting pressure on it and I told it “ouch, that hurts”

The fic kept smiling and put more pressure until a piece broke off (last chapter)

and then another (this chapter)

The fic keeps doing it until my heart is shattered into pieces and it’s standing over each shard with a frown saying “oops” (the upcoming chapters)

Then, after finding each piece again and picking them up, the fic will slowly push each piece back into place.

By the end it’ll give my heart back a little different, but somehow better than it was when I gave it away.

It will crush your heart, but it will lovingly patch it back together by the end, I promise. If you can read it without getting triggered, I thought everything was well handled, and it's so worth it. (I recommend checking out their other JayDick fic too, they only have one, but it's a fluffy romcom, so if you need a break after this one, that's there!)

#jaydick #fic rec #jaydick fanfic

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 4 years ago

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Correspondence, Chapter 01

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary: An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: some profanity, a side character who is a dick about Reid, set in season 06, self beta’d

Word Count: 2437

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

Chapter 01

March 2010

Dr. Spencer Reid

(Current Tenure: California Institute of Technology): Fred Kavli Professor of Theoretical Physics and Mathematics; Director, Walter Burke Institute for Theoretical Physics, Department Head of Mathematics, Physics, and Astronomy at Caltech.

- (Degrees, in order) Ph.D. Mathematics, Caltech, 1995; Ph.D. Chemistry, Caltech, 1997; M.A. Nuclear Science, MIT, 1999; Ph.D. Engineering, MIT, 2000; M.A. Sociology, Columbia University, 2001; M.A. Philosophy, Georgetown, 2001; Ph.D. Psychology, Georgetown, 2002; M.A. Applied Analytics, Columbia University, 2003; M.A. Socio Economic Statistics, MIT, 2004; M.A. Geology, Caltech, 2006; Ph.D. Geography, Caltech, 2006; M.A. Economics, Caltech, 2008; M.A. Brain and Cognitive Sciences, Caltech, 2009

- (Teaching positions, in order) Professor of Mathematics, Caltech, 1995-1997, Professor of Mathematics and Statistical Analysis, MIT, 1998-2005, Visiting Associate, Georgetown, 1999-2002; Professor of Chemical Engineering, MIT, 2002-05; Kavli Professor, Mathematics, Caltech, 2005-; Professor of Theoretical Physics and Mathematics, 2006-; Deputy Chair, 2005-; Director, 2008-.

“Jesus.”

The dossier is just an information sheet; no photo ID, no news articles beyond text component pieces, but it is a thick stack of correspondence and case consultations that S.S.A Aaron Hotchner holds in his hands.

“Five Ph.D.’s and eight separate M.A.’s in fourteen years? What was he doing before that?”

“Who knows? You don’t earn a Ph.D. overnight, even if his accommodation sheet makes ‘em look like they pop up like mushrooms,” Mark Anderson says, audibly tired through the phone speaker on his desk. He was one of the Unit Chief's from the teams at the FBI L.A. field office, who’s phone number was given to him by an old friend, Sam Cooper -- another BAU team leader. Hotch had hit dead end after dead end on this case, and sitting at his desk in Quantico, Virginia, he looks down at the recommended consultant’s extensive list of degrees and teaching positions with a building headache behind his dark eyes. He wasn’t a fan of Anderson, or his briskness, but at this point he’d take anything he could get. “I’m pretty sure that man has never lived outside an academic field. He’s a handful, runs my agents up the damn wall, but he knows his stuff.”

“I hope so. I’ve been on the phone the past three days trying to find someone with a background in Obscure Cognitive Linguistics,” Hotch reads from a separate file, filled with violent images and depraved acts described in morbid detail. “Our unsub sites a very particular thesis about a Study of Language from a Cognitive and Developmental Law, and I keep getting sent to experts in adjacent fields. I don’t see anything in this Dr. Reid’s background about language.”

“Oh, trust me, Hotch -- you’ll get more than you bargained for. This is your guy. He’s basically an expert on everything, and if he doesn’t know anything about languages I’ll eat my tie. He never shuts up.”

Frowning at the speaker phone, Hotch keeps his comments to himself. He’s sure that Anderson probably doesn’t appreciate having an old professor puttering around the field office, but that didn’t mean he had to insult the man. Especially when he was there as a consultant.

“Okay, fine. Thank you. I’ll give him a call now-”

“Oh, you don’t want to do that. Just send him an email. Trust me.” Anderson all but groans like a petulant child. Graining on Hotch’s nerves excruciatingly.

“I’m sure he’s busy enough with his students, he doesn’t need to be fielding emails from the FBI,” Hotch hedged, still frowning.

“Not too busy to write you a dissertation in reply, I’m sure, but you’ll at least get the answers you need. You could be on the phone with him a half hour before you get to what you called about. Hopefully it won’t take you too long to sift through.”

Alright, now he is done listening to the other agent.

“Right. Thanks, Mark.”

“Anyti-” Hotch hangs up on him before the man could make any other remarks. His patience is non-existent after the past week and this extremely brutal case that only seems to compound exponentially in it’s viciousness with each passing day. If Anderson felt like being an asshole to some old man with nothing better to do than rack up Ph.D.’s, he could do it on his own time. Hotch needed help, and this man seemed to be the only person around who might be able to finally do so.

Dr. Reid’s office number is in front of him, as well as about three different lab location phone numbers, and one email address connected to the school faculty. He considers for a moment just ignoring Anderson’s advice and calling the old professor, but he has a meeting with his Department Chief, Strauss, in twenty minutes and the team would be arriving from canvasing the dumpsites soon.

So with a suffering sigh, Hotch pulls up a new email (for what feels like the millionth time for this case) and composes a standard correspondence introduction. Who he is, credentials, case numbers and specifics as far as clearance rates for civilians go, and then finally the questions he needs answered. There is something about this particular thesis that has to be very tongue in cheek to the unsub, saying something that isn’t really there, and this could just be another dead end -- but if it led to them saving a victim from becoming another dead body, he is willing to give it one last try.

Thank you for your time, S.S.A. Aaron Hotchner Unit Chief, Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI Quantico, VA.

Then he hits send, and leaves the response up to the universe.

The team came up with nothing fruitful. Strauss proceeded to ream Hotch six ways from Sunday for wasting valuable bureau resources and coming up with zero results. His day was spinning down the drain in a hellish cyclone when he sits down behind his desk in his office an hour after leaving it. Case files still piled to one side, grotesque photos stacked within them, and Aaron Hotchner wants nothing more than for them to disappear. For the case to be solved and to be able to go home to his son and his quiet house. But there was no break in sight, no new information, nothing.

Except a new email in his inbox.

Agent Hotchner,

I know that thesis paper well. I can help you.

All air seems to have been sucked from the room as Hotch reads the words a couple of times, not quite comprehending after the morning he has had that someone wasn’t giving him more bad news. That this Dr. Reid said he could help him.

A single click of the email opens up the correspondence reply, and the agent is met with a giant wall of text. Scrolling down for pages, and a quick skim of the material shows such a complex, comprehensive amount of information that there is no way it’s just copy and pasted from any one source. Or even several. It’s a long email spanning a vast number of pages, covering every topic he had asked about (and then some).

The thesis paper, the tongue-in-cheek citation from the unsub, how this killer is acting like he’s being clever when it’s really ‘very obvious what he’s doing, as long as you know the paper’ and detailed links and quotations and references to locations and side tangents on items mentioned that could be evidence to look for or weapons of choice, and so much else Hotch’s head feels like it’s spinning. Like reading the cliffnotes of a complex spy novel, with all the spoilers in one place.

It takes him half an hour to read through everything Dr. Reid sent, meaning the professor had to have been typing a million words a minute from the moment Hotch had emailed him to get everything replied so quickly, and Hotch was baffled to realize that an old man with a handful of Ph.D.’s and no FBI training just solved his case.

Not a figment of speech.

Dr. Reid just solved the case, without even holding the file in his hands.

Hotch is dialing a phone number on his speed dial without even looking away from the screen.

“Garcia? Call the team into the briefing room, and phone SWAT to mobilize. We’re going down to the riverfront in thirty minutes.”

“--Wait, what are you talking about? Did you figure out the unsub’s code?”

Not me, Aaron thought to himself, standing up and printing Dr. Reid’s email after forwarding it to the entire team and their tech analyst, Penelope Garcia. He didn’t have time to explain it that many times, and the amount of information in that single email would be enough to send any of them tumbling heels over head. But it solved every aspect of their case. Hook, line, and sinker.

And the clock was ticking.

“Now, Garcia.”

He rushes from the room with the stack of files in his hands and his laptop open to Dr. Reid’s email. Not even thinking to thank the man for his help as he heads across the bullpen with profound determination.

They have work to do.

They catch the unsub that very day.

Quick, efficient, completely by surprise. They saved Amanda Sutton and another girl they hadn’t even known was missing. No one died. None of his team was hurt. The unsub hadn’t confessed, but Rossi and Morgan had played him like a fiddle in interrogation and now all of his team members were walking to the elevators leaving for a long weekend where they wouldn’t have to worry about serial killers or another dead soul on their conscience. Today was a win. As close to a win as they ever can get, in their line of work.

And it isn’t until he’s back at his desk, the hours ticking into the night, that he opens up his email and there in his inbox is the very reply that started everything. Dr. Spencer Reid. CalTech Department Head. Professor of everything under the sun. Expert on anything, even the obscure.

The reason Hotch will get to spend the weekend with his son, without the overbearing aftershocks of a case gone so horribly bad plaguing him.

His hands are moving before he can stop them. Opening up the email, typing out a response to Dr. Reid thanking him for his help. Relaying what happened, detail by detail much in the same fashion he had completed the paperwork piled on his desk. Letting him know that his information really did end up helping them. All of it. Even the side tangents.

I don’t know how I can ever thank you for the extensive consideration you gave this case, or how to explain how it solved it so seamlessly, but your time and effort does not go unnoticed by me.

Okay, so maybe he fluffs it up a bit more than the dreadful bullet-point list descriptions required by the Deputy Chief and the Director and SWAT Team justification reports. Just so it doesn’t look so inadequate in comparison to the man’s thesis-paper-length email he sent to aide Hotch and his team. The passion he has for his work leaps off the page, but it was a lot -- and if the old man put that much dedication into a basic FBI correspondence email, then he was probably used to it being a thankless effort.

Hotch sends the reply, and continues with his work. He always takes a bulk of the paperwork, so his team can go home and rest and recharge. He needs them at their best for each case, and if that means he spends a couple hours longer after when they finish a case, it is worth every minute. But this time, once he finishes, he gets to take the coveted time off as well.

It’s as he’s finishing up, everything stacked neatly and ready to be dropped at records, in the mailroom, Strauss’s office, the director’s, and he’s about to log off his laptop that he sees a surprise -- Dr. Reid replied to him, again.

It’s much more brief this time.

Agent Hotchner,

I’m so glad I was able to help you.

You are one of the only agents to reach out and tell me how the case went after my consultation, and I’m very grateful to know that my information actually helped your team catch the killer. I know I tend to spout facts at random, but I do have methods to my madness and it’s such a nice change to correspond with someone who understands that.

My services are always at your disposal. Anytime. Whatever I can do to help.

Sincerely, Dr. Spencer Reid

Hotch types out a brief reply. Thanking him for his offer, for lending him his expertise, and letting him know in not so many words --

I’ll have to take you up on that.

He’d be a fool not to. Someone with that much knowledge and the ability to connect it all in the way Dr. Reid had in the span of an hour? He could be a real asset to the BAU, as a permanent consultant, even through email correspondence.

He sends the reply just as he stands to leave. Turning off his office light, and his chest feels lighter for the interaction. For giving the professor that sense of assurance that what he had to say did in fact do some real good. Hotch even finds himself smiling softly, sadly, that he has also found a little bit of solace in helping another lonely old man across the country find a sense of purpose that night. Who was working late, as well, despite it being the end of the week. Speaking to not much waiting for him back at home, in whatever shape ‘home’ takes for the man. But Hotch can relate to that, too. Jack is at Jessica’s until the morning, and there is nothing at his apartment to greet him but silence and bare walls and memories he’d rather not dote on. Maybe this Dr. Spencer Reid is in a similar boat, finding comfort in his work when he can. He certainly seems to, with the amount of time he’s poured into his doctorates and degrees. In the number of departments he runs and monitors.

Hotch can’t help but feel a connection, a companionship between empty offices. Thousands of miles apart, but maybe -- possibly -- at least similar in that aspect.

Not so alone, even if only for a brief moment.

(tbc...)

Tagged list: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls

#omg i forgot to do tags #Jesus so ive been so excited for this and here it finally is and i fuck it up .2 seconds in go me #this is a S L O W B U R N fic and we are starting all the way at the beginning and im so excited im kind of shaking #updates every saturday evening #message me if you want in on the tag list #also on ao3 #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting

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doorsclosingslowly · 3 years ago

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They've Made of Our Bodies a Bleeding Stair

Jesper and Kaz try to retrieve Inej from Ketterdam without being recognized and murdered—and without Kaz getting ransomed back to Ravka as the the wayward Sun Summoner.

11k | Sun Summoner Kaz AU pt. 2 | Jesper/Kaz, Inej, past Kaz/Darkling content note: non-linear narrative, explicit sex, roleplay of past rape

“I want you to be him.”

“Of course,” Jesper replies. Then, articulately, once his brain’s caught up, “Uh. What?”

“The Darkling.” Kaz has turned his face away. He’s looking at the ramshackle marriage bed that takes up the bulk of this room he’s lured Jesper into. He unerringly picked the right closed door, too; he skipped the squeaky floorboards, as if he knew the exact layout of this—but it’s Kaz. He knows everything, even some dilapidated house in the Kerch countryside. The bed was probably a masterpiece of craftsmanship, when it was carved from some dark wood, a thousand years ago or whatever. The way it looks, it must’ve been old already when the previous owners of this farmhouse got it, and from the state of the house, they abandoned this place decades ago. Quite a lot of the furniture’s missing, either sold off when the place was left or stolen afterwards, but that bed was too worthless already.

The mattress is still there too. Probably fucking teeming with moth larvae and maggots and their combined accumulated shit, so it doesn’t bode too well for Jesper, how forcefully Kaz is staring at it.

“Please say it doesn’t involve the bed.”

“You said yes,” Kaz rasps, which is all the information Jesper needs to start gagging. Fake-gagging, for now, but if he sees even one wriggly little worm he’ll…

Bed. Darkling. That still doesn’t really… Want you to be him—oh—

“Yes, Jesper.” And how the hell with his ramrod tense back still turned towards Jesper—Jesper, who’s done nothing at all, hasn’t said anything except to register his displeasure at the idea of bathing in insect faeces and their squirming little manufacturers!—how the hell Kaz has realized that Jesper’s figured out what he probably means—it must be a confidence trick. Kaz likes those. But how—yeah, it’s not the point, but trying to understand whatever magic Kaz is using on him right now is much, much better for Jesper’s sanity than dwelling on the fact that Kaz might just have insinuated that he wants Jesper to pretend to be the Darkling, specifically the Darkling from that time he told Jesper about back in the Little Palace, the time he threw up after. The time he thought he could suppress his discomfort with touch long enough to seduce the Darkling into a partnership—seduce seduce, which means he wants—to flirt with Jesper? To sleep with Jesper? Is he actually saying he—

Oh. There’s a cracked mirror on the wall above the bed. That’s how Kaz saw his face.

Jesper would chalk the hallucination up to a hangover, but he’s not even drunk. Neither is Kaz, unless this old ruin of a farmhouse they broke into this morning is hiding barrels of wine the local youth haven’t made off with yet. Also, if he was hallucinating Kaz propositioning him he would—well, Jesper at least hopes he’d have enough self-respect not to make himself a stand-in for the man who bought and imprisoned Kaz for two years, controlled him by using his fears and modifying his body and cutting him off from every other person in the whole court, taking every single object he could have used to protect himself, and whatever those weird spines in Kaz’ chest are he’s probably responsible for them too. Jesper would not, actually, like the first and probably only time he’s allowed to kiss Kaz to be some kind of revenge-by-proxy thing where he recites the Darkling’s lines while Kaz swallows back bile, and then Kaz beats him up. Or murders him. It’s pathetic, but Jesper always imagined that kiss a little sweeter. Kissing over Haskell’s corpse. Kissing over the Darkling’s corpse. Kissing over the corpse of some other piece of shit who’s stupid enough to try using Kaz as their possession.

“Just warning you, I don’t have the costume or the script, so don’t expect something worthy of the Komedie Brute,” is what Jesper says instead.

Kaz’ eyebrow quirks. “You’re acted before, haven’t you? Improvised. You can flirt your way into anything. That was the main reason I kept you around.”

“You kept me around because I’m gorgeous, funny, and an incredible shot. I just play myself, if it’s seduction! Why would I improve upon perfection?”

“This isn’t seduction. He’s already locked me in the Little Palace for months at this point. Two escape attempts have failed. This is… speeding up the process,” Kaz says, nonchalantly enough it makes Jesper want to puke.

Which won’t help anything. He’s already agreed. And Kaz doesn’t care about moral objections, only practical ones. “I need more info. I haven’t actually met the Darkling.”

“You’ve met powerful men. You’ve met men who believe their righteous cause entitles them. You’ve met men mired in greed and vengeance—you’ve met me.”

“I like you.”

“Pretend you don’t, then. You used to complain about me in the Slat—of course I know, I knew everything that went on in the Dregs. You hated the way I seemed to know everything, and held it over you—so does he. You disliked my single-minded focus, the way you all seemed like pawns to me, my mockery. The way I held myself as something far superior to you. That’s a start.” Kaz limps a slow quarter circle around Jesper, and his dark eyes are burning with loathing. Jesper would hold him if he could. “You’re not asking why?”

“Uh, now that you mention—”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

Jesper sighs. Of course. He’s never expected anything else. Then he stands up straight, assuming his best the stick in my ass is so long it’s knocked the word fun from my brain pose that hopefully may pass for authoritative and slimes out, “What business, Mr Brekker?”

“Sun Summoner. Or Sunshine. He figured out Brekker’s a fake name on the first day.”

“Kaz Brekker’s a fake name?!” Jesper should have seen that coming, really… what does he even know about Kaz Brekker, truly? Except—

“It’s a name. It’s real enough. It’s feared. It’s mine.” Kaz’s eyes travel over the cobwebbed wall of the farmhouse bedroom, as if he was searching for the next lie to spin. Except that isn’t one of Kaz’ tells—Jesper’s seen him bamboozle and convince marks of the most stupid tales, and when Kaz wants them to believe him, he looks earnest. Young, depending on the role he plays, old, eager, stupid or wise. He doesn’t bother lying to Dregs, or rather: he doesn’t bother convincing them, usually. All his words are backed by the brutality of his cane. Who could be stupid enough to question even his weirdest utterances. “It just happens not to be one I was born with.”

“So what you’re saying is, the Darkling’s just not Kerch enough to get you?” Jesper grins. “Ketterdam, really—you know, I always really liked that about the Barrel, that healthy dose of ‘You are who you want and we don’t give a fuck to correct you.’ Anyway. Got it. You’re Kaz Brekker, but he’s a dick. Mr Sunbeam, what brings you into my office this evening?”

“The fete, Aleks.” Kaz shrugs off his coat, and then the purple kefta, too. He holds out the kefta in front of him, like he’s expecting Jesper to put it on. Well. That’s as good a start as any, and so Jesper turns and lets Kaz dress him into the robe he never wanted to wear.

“Then he says, ‘You must be nervous. After all, there are few gatherings in the Ketterdam slums that involve such spectacle.’” Kaz has sanded down his rasp somewhat, sounding almost smooth and seductive. He goes into a spiel of the Ravkan court and the inferiority of the Barrel that thankfully, he carries all by himself. Jesper wouldn’t even know what to say, except ‘Stop talking shit about the Barrel, you prick’ and that’s not exactly in character.

Kaz’ eyes periodically dart down to Jesper’s hands, and he realizes he’s fidgeting with the hem of the kefta’s sleeves. He stops.

“I am ready,” Kas says in his normal voice. His normal talking to a mark voice. “I realized what this demonstration represents—that I belong to something greater. It is as you said—we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope. We. Together.” He stands up straight. Equally on both his legs. He winces. He’s not holding his cane, Jesper realizes. He’s not wearing his gloves. “I am ready to stand by your side. We should be partners. The Sun and the Dark.”

“Uh… great. We’ll be great together. Do great things. Better partners than enemies. Some of those rumours even freaked me out, you know—that kid with the wind-up toy in his throat—”

“Think before you speak, Jesper,” Kaz hisses. “Never let me lead. Never give me control. Every word is a cue to corral your prey where you want it—whether a compliment or a barely-there hidden threat.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Sometimes.” Kaz meets Jesper’s eyes. The tense mask of his face breaks into a smirk. “To be honest, I find the subtle craft of manipulation is wasted on you. You’ll obey anyway. Let’s go back to the start, and focus.”

Jesper shrugs off the kefta again and then lets Kaz dress him, again. He does his best imitation of Kaz, of that early Kaz before Jesper learned how he takes his coffee and before he saw the brutal twist of his face, that one time when the Dime Lions had Jesper on his knees and shoved a gun in his mouth. He plays the imperious tactician in his office who told his goons to drag Jesper up four flights of stairs with a bag over his head, ready to be shot for his debts, and then sold him on the one thing that gave his life meaning.

He insults Dirtyhands’ father and mother to his face, and gets really into it, too: Ketterdam’s full of idiots who’d miss the love of their life because they were busy trying to pry cobblestones off the streets to sell for half a sausage, and the harbour’s so filthy even the fish won’t fuck in it—keeping the brothels in good fish-ness, haha. Because the fish rent rooms so they don’t get fishy sex diseases from the water. Do fish get diseases from sex?

“Kill me now,” Kaz moans, and that one’s probably deserved.

“Anyway, my Sun Summoner, I’m sure you’ll perform well,” Jesper says with just the tiniest hint of slime.

“I am ready. I realized what this demonstration represents—that I belong to something greater. It is as you said—we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope. We. Together.”

Jesper moves slowly, idly: not caging him in against the bed yet but definitely implying he can and will.

“I am ready to stand by your side. We should be partners. The Sun and the Dark.” Kaz swallows. “‘That means a lot to me. You mean a lot,’ is what you say now.”

How come the Darkling’s not constantly slipping on his own slimy slime trail?

“That means a lot to me.” Jesper gives Kaz a deep, smouldering look. The pockmarks on his cheeks. The jumping muscle in his jaw. The hint of a pained grimace from standing unaided. The boyish grin when he’s totally fucked over another gang boss and gets to gloat. The vicious hatred when someone touches his Crows. Licking powdered sugar off his gloves. “You mean a lot.”

And that’s it. The way Kaz looks at him—this is when the Darkling makes his move.

“I have been waiting for you for so long,” Jesper purrs smarmily, closing his eyes, moving in for the kiss, and—Kaz isn’t there anymore.

It was a single step backwards, because Kaz has hit the edge of the bed already, face blotched with humiliation, and the way he looks at Jesper is—angry is the least terrible interpretation. If he backs out now, Kaz is going to kill him for pitying him or catering to a weakness that honestly—how is not wanting this weak? But Kaz is Kaz, and Jesper’s just Jesper, and—

“Focus,” Kaz hisses. “You own Ravka. You will own the Sun, too. You have waited for this triumph—take it.”

“Why don’t we take this to the—” fuck you, Brekker, for making me say this— “bed, then? Take off your clothes. Don’t be scared.”

That’s a good dig. The kind of insult that looks super caring, unless you know Kaz enough to understand he sees any crack in his image as a dangerous failure. Jesper’s getting the hang of this malicious flirting thing, finally. When this is over, he’ll need to scrub the slime off himself twice.

Kaz looks at Jesper while he disrobes. At him, Jesper hopes against hope, at the real person he’s roped into his worst scheme yet with a goal that’s still totally obscure; at Jesper and not the asshole he’s imagining in his place. Kaz’ eyes trace his cheeks, dance over his shaved head, catch on the lips.

Jesper takes off his boots and gun belt, and the kefta. He undoes the fly of his trousers, pulls his dick out, and stops. He glares at Kaz, daring him to object to the attempt at making this slightly less miserable—Jesper’s the Darkling, he’s in charge, so Kaz can fuck off with his masochism. He’s done undressing. He’s not taking off his shirt or trousers. That layer of cloth stays on.

But Kaz doesn’t object. He stands up straight, naked, brittle, wincing, and then glancing away he mutters, “Ignore the antlers. He hadn’t done that yet.”

Fucking Darkling.

The antlers stick out of Kaz’ collarbones, uneven tines of—possession, mutilation, and Jesper’s eyes catch on a tiny set of grooves on the left one. The scabbed-over cuts underneath. The bruise from the gunshot. And even despite that horror, Kaz has a nice chest. Serious muscle, a street map of scars and a smattering of dark hairs—it feels weirdly improper to stare at him, so Jesper’s eyes dance down to his knobbly left knee and the softly twisted right thigh with its knots of scars, up to the face where he’s biting his harsh pretty mouth, and down again. His dick is nice, fat but not too long, rooted in a tangle of dark curls.

It’s utterly limp.

It’s pathetic, how much that hurts. Of course he isn’t into this. Of course he doesn’t find Jesper remotely attractive. Of course this is just some weird masochistic proxy powerplay for him, some attempt to prove he’s stronger now and can bear it or whatever the fuck, and Jesper’s just the sad stupid body he’s using to enact it.

And of course not even that is enough to make Jesper bow out. Kaz asked.

“Do you want me to suck you off first? Get you in the mood, even a little?” It’s not just for Kaz, that offer, though the whole thing will probably be less painful and awkward if he manages to coax out some arousal. It’s not for younger Jesper, who fantasized about being ordered to blow his boss as penance more often than he likes to admit. No, this is so Jesper can bury his face in Kaz’ pubic hair for a minute. And cry.

Kaz raises an eyebrow. He sounds arch and ice cold when he asks, “Jesper, do you think the Darkling would suck my dick?”

“He should have. Saints, what an asshole,” Jesper shoots back before he can think. “You need a better class of lovers.”

“By which you’re of course implying that you are much better than Aleksander Morozova, the General Kirigan, the Black Heretic, eternal Conqueror and crowned Emperor of Greater Ravka, Salvation to Grishadom, Master of the Fold and He who chained the Sun, et cetera and so fucking on and so fucking forth the Darkling himself?”

“Given I just offered you a blowjob without bringing useless power shit into it, yes.”

“Wrong data, incoherent formula. Correct answer.” Kaz’ grin is crooked. Inordinately fond, and Jesper would have settled for no longer desperately hiding terror but this is—

Yeah.

“I’m going to try to make this roleplay as realistic as I can, but I don’t know if I can forget enough about how to have sex to sink to the Darkling’s level. Also, you don’t happen to have the address of that Grisha Tailor who mutilated you back there? I need them to make my dick look weird. Corkscrew, maybe. Some warts. It’s probably green. I’d peg him for advanced neurological syphilis but I am about to sleep with you, so— ”

“Did you know, Jesper, that the Darkling always wears a gag when he has sex?”

“Shutting up now, boss.”

“Don’t shut up,” Kaz replies instantly. Very, very instantly. “Just keep your disparagements somewhat plausible. And… rare.”

Only to jolt me back, he’s asking. “Got it. So I guess I’m supposed to loom over you a little? How close do you want me?”

“I’ll need to—” Kaz turns around and bends over to root around in the pockets of his coat, and it’s even weirder, worse, looking at his ass when Jesper knows Kaz doesn’t like him back. Kaz tosses over a tiny bottle. Oil. “Give that to me. Tell me to prepare myself.”

“Just saying it once more, boss. You don’t have to go through with—”

“Stop thinking about the Kaz Brekker you know,” Kaz hisses. “Stop anticipating my reactions. Stop caring. You are the Darkling. You have been waiting for the Sun Summoner for decades. You’ve formed your picture of them. This delinquent flinching little rat you bought doesn’t quite fit, not his limp, not his fear of touch, not his pathetic need to assert himself, but, well… you have time. He’ll learn how to make himself fit into the space you provide him. He’ll become your Sun Summoner.”

“Have I told you yet that I’m going to kill that piece of shit?”

“You’ve mentioned it, once or twice. In the last hour.”

Jesper bares his teeth: a grin, but not. A promise. “Good. I’ll hold his mouth open while you stuff him full of black powder and set him on fire.”

“Stop stalling, Jesper. That won’t make it any easier.”

That won’t make it not have happened.

“If you’re sure this will help.”

Kaz nods.

“Lie down on the bed, then. Is there a—no, no pillows here, roll up the coat and slide it under your hips.” Jesper turns his face away, listening to the timid, stuttering squelches of Kaz stretching his asshole. Jesper doesn’t know what would be worse: if, after everything, he can’t get it up… or if he can.

Well. He’ll have to. His dick will just have to obey the dictates of the situation, just as Kaz’ body was made into the Sun Summoner. He’s young. He’s still looking at Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, naked, who asked Jesper to sleep with him, and that’ll have to be enough. They’ve gotten this far. They’ll force their way through. That’s how you do it. That’s how you gamble. How you lose big. Kaz might have once tried to explain to him something about sunk costs and throwing good money after bad, but Jesper ignored him that night and lost a hundred and twenty kruge to Specht, and he’s never looked back.

“Okay, Mr Sunshine. Let’s consummate our fucking partnership,” he grinds out when Kaz has gone quiet, takes the bottle to slick up his own uncooperative dick, and carefully, he climbs on top of Kaz. The clothes were a good decision: Kaz barely flinches when he kneels in-between his legs and pulls the sleeve over his hand to carefully guide his right knee to rest on Jesper’s thigh.

Kaz is staring up at his face, breathing, just breathing. The antlers in his collarbone frame his bright face—brighter than the candles should allow, like maybe—and his focus is rigid and he’s breathing, breathing quickly—

“Is this teaching you anything yet?”

“Not really,” Kaz rasps, after too long. “Or—I think—maybe it was—” he glances at Jesper’s pathetic, unhappy limp dick. His face twists. “I thought you were into me.”

This is— “I love you. Kaz Brekker, whoever you are. I don’t give a fuck about this Sun Summoner bullshit. I love you. I love you,” because this is—Jesper can’t do this. He can’t. His elbows are locked: he can’t drop his body any lower. He can't go lower than this. “I love you,” until it’s finally over. “I love you. I love you.”

☼

“And I’m telling you again, I don’t know what he does Tuesday evenings,” Jesper hisses.

“You were still with the Dregs, three months ago!” Kaz is wiping his cane clean. It didn’t even really get dirty—they mostly used kitchen knives to do the deed, and in the case of a maidservant who unwisely came to work in the middle of the night, a bullet that Jesper’s already collected and reshaped into something functional, because he might not get to buy new ones. Desperation. Frugality. The Kerch are rubbing off on him. It’s good, though. The fact he’s cleaning the wood is all the confirmation Jesper will likely ever get that Kaz does like the new cane Jesper made him from a cute straight rowan sapling, reinforced with the metal scavenged from all but the most essential buttons on their hodgepodge of clothes. At least there’s one thing of Jesper’s he values. “How can you not know the behavioural patterns of your boss? Are you that brainless?”

“No-one knew what he was up to! He barely came by the Slat. He wasn’t that interested in us.”

“You worked for Per Haskell, Jesper; you worked for that man for years—for nearly as many as I did, when you ran off to Ravka—and now you attempt to convince me you barely know his name?” Kaz still doesn’t look quite as harsh as he used to, or maybe that’s just Jesper hankering for their past. Well, he didn’t used to explain his plans to Jesper as if he was an imbecile—but then, he didn’t used to need Jesper. He had more stooges back then. Now, he only has one. Ally. Friend.

If it’s as weird for him, though, as it is for Jesper being back in Ketterdam after he didn’t die on his revenge suicide plot and the city didn’t, either—well, he might still get murdered for stealing the Sun Summoner or skipping out on debts or something completely unrelated, and Ketterdam’s… well, she’s weathering having her ruling class torn apart twice in short order, once by the Darkling’s conquest and now, by the slow collapse of the Darkling’s overstretched realm after he’s lost his saint/weapon/doll.

The Barrel’s fine—as glary and miserable as it ever was, anyway, but though Kaz would probably insist most of the Mercher’s Council had their hands in gang business one way or the other, their reach was indirect, mediated and secretive enough for the chaos tearing up the Geldstraat not to trickle down as quickly into the slums. And anyway, the involvement of the merchers only ever made life worse for most people. The plight of the rich can only be a blessing.

Right now, they’re inside a nice place in the Zelver district. Close enough to power to feel the death throes, and even disregarding the political manoeuvring and debris and panic everywhere, just looking at the house from the outside made Kaz twitchy, somehow.

His energy almost matched Jesper’s trigger finger.

It’s Haskell’s house, so that unease makes sense.

Haskell’s expensive secret new house far outside the Barrel that they’re despoiling now. They looked as out of place in the beautiful Zelver district as any Barrel rats, with their heads shorn close to the bone so they’ll look different enough to not get recognized and faces wiped with dirt, dressed in a melange of Ravkan clothes they haven’t found a chance to replace yet and tawdry Barrel flash for everything else.

Kaz was wearing two coats when he entered the house, an old rose and amber paisley trench that even Jesper admitted is hideous, though now it’s splattered with blood that actually really ties the colour scheme together. Still gross though, and luckily slung over the chair. Along with the purple kefta Kaz hid underneath, the one he still hasn’t given back. Or burned, which is what they did to the other Ravkan overcoats. On the streets his two coats bulked up his frame so much he looked like a kid that Jesper’s never met, dressed up to play a gangster’s role. He looked nothing like the Sun Summoner anymore, and only somewhat like Jesper’s imagined baby Dirtyhands crawling out straight from the harbour, fifty kilos sopping wet and ready to kill a man and feast on his entrails.

Now, he’s stripped down to a ruffled red shirt over a green undershirt—he conspicuously shunned the yellow one next to it on the washing line—and light blue pinstripe trousers. The shirt is a little large in the shoulders, and he’s cuffed the trousers. They stole everything from a cottage on the edge of Ketterdam. Not quite Barrel flash, but almost—alike in style but with better fabric, something a town edge kid probably bought to look like a cool gangster. Or something Jesper would have bought to look special for a very special date. If he squints, he can almost imagine—it’s the morning after, and—

Ever since the Little Palace the idea of Kaz naked has totally lost its lustre. The idea of his muscular but scrawny, scarred chest, his wiry tattooed arms, his ambiguously demonic hands—it’s all overlaid now with a flimsy ugly sleeveless yellow paper taffeta gown. With normal hands, kept bare as humiliation.

But maybe—maybe they sat together, not on a log in a forest but on a sofa this time, and then in the morning Kaz was cold and he stole all of Jesper’s clothes to wear over his own. That’s much better. (Maybe he just wanted Jesper naked all day…)

Jesper won’t let the Darkling steal his fantasies, too. They’re—

Ouch. Fucking ouch.

Jesper really shouldn’t have added tiny spiky worms to the side of the cane, but Kaz’ indignation was just too funny.

“Let me make this clear—” Kaz rasps, once he’s regained Jesper’s full attention. Half-full. ‘Like he’s plundered Jesper’s wardrobe’ is still such a good look on him. “We are both hunted. Neither of us can afford to be caught outside on the streets of Ketterdam and let whoever saw us live. If we’re going to make Haskell’s house our temporary base of operations, we need to make his death as inconspicuous as possible. We cannot safely anticipate which of his visitors to eliminate and which to fool unless we know whether they, in turn, may be missed.”

“Well,” Jesper mutters. “Mitki might come by. If the neighbours don’t chase him off.”

Kaz raises a single, dirt-encrusted eyebrow.

“Mitki’s the newest lieutenant. Might have made it this—”

“Not Anika? I can understand why a flake like you didn’t rise in the Dregs ranks, but she—”

“Ambush. Dime Lions, five weeks after you disappeared.”

“Rotty?”

“Slit throat. Still no clue who did it.”

“Specht? Pim? Neeta? Big Bol?”

“Razorgulls, knife, last year. Bullet to the head, same day. Hellgate. Hellgate.”

“Muzzen? Ruk? Keeg?”

“Another ‘Gull stabbing, just before I left. Hellgate, again. Keeg just disappeared, though. Might still be alive somewhere over the True Sea, if he’s clever. Not that he was, he’s probably floating, poor sod.” Jesper shrugs. After a while, it just gets too much: the beginning of the Dregs’ end is seared into his brain, but there aren’t enough synapses for the tenth—or fiftieth—dead friend to hurt as much. “There’s a reason why I didn’t think twice about running when I lost those fifty thousand. Like I said, boss, it’s been a shitshow since you left. Haskell never wanted for new ones, since he got his kids fresh off the street, but he just stopped giving any shit whatsoever, and since you weren’t there to pick up the slack… well, I can see why he didn’t care, now.”

Jesper spares a bitter look for the mountain of kruge next to Haskell’s foot, the mountain he offered Kaz as soon as he saw him, long before Kaz even tried to hack off both his hands and feet with a dull meat cleaver. Long before Kaz had to settle for cutting down to the bone and then wrenching Haskell’s extremities from their sockets by sheer force of hatred, while Jesper puked into the kitchen sink. The mountain he’d never have amassed as the boss of a gang as shambolic as the last years of the Dregs.

The mountain that’s going to pay off Inej’s indenture tomorrow.

Haskell allowed her to rot there. It’s only fair he pays for her freedom with his life.

“Everyone we could use is gone. And you…” Kaz tips Jesper’s chin up with his cane. The world shimmies a little. “You, of all the old Dregs, survived.”

Jesper shrugs again. This is too much to confess to Kaz, of all cruel bastards, probably far too much, but—they’re sitting in the living room of Jesper’s former boss, the man who sold Kaz out to the Darkling and used the prize money to live in luxury, while letting his gang die on increasingly pointless ill-planned errands. The other end of the table is still flecked and puddled with slow-drying blood—not to mention the corpse, or corpse-pieces, laying there—but over here, they have a bottle of expensive whisky they found in a cabinet and they’re trading swigs from the bottle, all bitter and clean.

“I didn’t take it too well, when you and Inej just disappeared, and then my friends kept dying. Might have gone on a couple of benders. Might have lost some games. Might have lost some fights. Might have had some sexual encounters with people who turned out to be massive creeps. Consequently, I may not have been technically around to be asked to go on some of these errands, or perhaps I just didn’t notice because I was drunk.”

“Jesper.” Kaz doesn’t even sound surprised. Wow. Thanks for having faith in me, boss.

It’s not really that humiliating, though, now he’s said it out loud. He spent two years making bad decisions and occasionally braiding Inej’s hair. Kaz spent that time getting turned into a doll. Who can say what’s worse? He takes another deep gulp and grins. “You know me, boss. I need some external structure in life. I really need a commandeering asshole dragging me into his schemes to be my best self.”

“And yet, you outwitted the Darkling.”

“That wasn’t difficult, to be fair. Tell them I’m Grisha, search the Little Palace, shoot Kaz Brekker in the head, get executed…” Jesper trails off. When the silence grows teeth, he takes a pull of whisky that’s so desperate it makes him cough, but Kaz is still letting him stew.

They don’t really need to talk about it, though. No value in going over what happened in the Little Palace. No value in discussing anything. Everything is fine now. Yes, Jesper did want to kill Kaz. Yes, he’ll die for Kaz.

And they both know why.

Kaz steals the bottle. It’s incredible, actually, Jesper was just holding it—well, maybe he’s a little more drunk than he thought, but Kaz would probably like being complimented on his pickpocketing. “I didn’t even see you steal that bottle,” Jesper says.

“I’d be angry you’re drunk,” Kaz rasps. “But you’ve been completely useless at all stages of the current plan so far. And the previous one, by your planning—I always forget, in my amazement at what you accomplished, that you failed.”

He says that, but his cheeks are flushed pink with alcohol. His pupils are wide when he looks at Jesper. He raises the bottle to his lips and tips his head back, swallowing what should have easily been ten more swigs of whisky. Thieving bastard.

☼

When Jesper awakes on Haskell’s second softest chaise longue in the receiving room—neither of them was particularly eager to climb into Haskell’s bed, and, in Jesper’s case, not particularly still able to walk up the stairs either—his mouth is dry, his bladder full and the light is poking his brain even through closed curtains and eyelids. And Kaz—he searches the whole house after finishing his business, but yes, it’s true—Kaz is gone.

So are his cane and his current Barrel flash coat and the kefta, which means Kaz is probably safe. Well. As safe as the escaped Sun Summoner can be. Not kidnapped, at least. More alive than anyone stupid enough to cross Kaz’ path.

He’s taken Haskell’s kruge, and left a note.

In Kaz’ sharp hand, the note reads, “STAY.”

It’s underlined three times, and on the back side Kaz has written, “or you will die,” which to be fair is pretty ambiguous.

‘Die’ as in, ‘I mistrust your competence and assume you’ll get yourself killed if you move a finger?’ Or as in, ‘I’m warning you I won’t go out of my way to save you?’ Perhaps it’s a straightforward ‘Disobey and I am going to personally murder you and piss on your corpse?’ All are very real possibilities, knowing Kaz.

To really understand the message, Jesper needs to get into Kaz’ mood when he woke up—hungover, but how much? Enough he hates the entire world, or so much he hates Jesper more? Also, his current way of thinking. Jesper’s usefulness. A point in favour is the fact that Jesper saved him from a fate worse than death, but on the other hand, Jesper forgot to extract a deal from him and Kaz is so Kerch it hurts, which means he’s pared down solidarity and reciprocity and love into exchange, into deals, and all Jesper’s offering are the first three. They shared a bottle of whisky next to the corpse of their old boss, though, and in general Kaz looked like he was having fun more than once on their dirty, miserable long trek out of Ravka. Way more fun than he had in the majestic Little Palace. Also, Jesper’s incredibly likeable. He’s beautiful and funny and stupidly in love with Kaz without asking anything in return, so really it only makes sense that Kaz has finally succumbed to his charm.

(He dug his hand into Jesper’s hair, that night on the fallen tree and twice afterwards, but—maybe that was only to make Jesper squirm.)

Well, he enjoyed Jesper’s company while they fled from Ravka to Ketterdam, at least. That’s the crux of it.

So why would Kaz anticipate that Jesper might want to run anywhere? There’s a well-stocked kitchen here. A far more sensible assumption would be that Jesper might want to make some waffles or go on a morning jog. No, not that one. Enjoy a lavish breakfast. Have a bath, perhaps, after spending two weeks crawling through the Ravkan forest and the Shu countryside and stowed in the belly of a wine cargo ship and then countryside again, this time Kerch. Jesper’s feet hurt just thinking about it, and that Kaz managed to get here, even at the half-speed they settled on, speaks to—well, the same bull-headed masochism as always, but the fact he still refused to even consider stealing a cart or horse or approach any larger settlement before Ketterdam means he must be even more terrified of the Darkling than Jesper can imagine. He refused to leave any trace whatsoever. (And yet he’s back in Ketterdam, the one city in the world he was connected to before the Little Palace, because…?)

Ketterdam is the only city, village, collection of buildings and people they’ve been to for weeks, which means it’s the first chance Jesper has to gamble, but—even he knows not to stake anything on the possibility there’s someone left in the Barrel who doesn’t know about Jesper Fahey, he who owes Pekka Rollins fifty thousand kruge and just skipped town, kill immediately with extreme prejudice.

Well, Rollins is dead now—the only gang boss courageous or aggrieved or hungry enough to try and covertly resist the Darkling, go figure—but whoever’s head Lion now probably won’t even let Jesper try to spin an argument about how he really owes that money to ‘Pekka Rollins’ Dime Lions’, not any successor organizations. No such luck, and anyway, people stupid enough to bounce on their debts are fair game to any gang in the Barrel. They don’t cooperate on much, not even for mutual benefit, but murdering dishonest gamblers? That’s a team sport.

Jesper’s last recklessly suicidal plan worked out fantastic, so maybe he should find a card table. His luck’s turned. He could win millions.

Which Kaz definitely would anticipate, and warn him away from. Kaz is a buzzkill. Just because Jesper’s going to get murdered on sight in the Barrel…

Because Jesper’s gonna get murdered on sight in the Barrel.

If Kaz wants to rebuild his status in the Barrel, there’s no bigger liability than Jesper. And Kaz wants to, surely. He worked his way up inside the Dregs carefully and diligently, spent more time than anyone sane would inside a tiny attic office adding up numbers, and sucked up to an utter piece of shit like Haskell, just so he could one day become a Barrel boss. And now, to rise again, he has to cut off the dead weight.

Which means Jesper.

That’s why he left.

It’s not even a betrayal. They don’t have an agreement for life after reaching Ketterdam, let alone one that says Jesper can follow him forever and ever just like in the good old days. Inej—but Inej’s actually useful to a new Barrel boss, as soon as her indenture’s paid. Jesper’s the weak link here. Jesper’s screwed.

Which doesn’t mean he won’t go down fighting. He knows the way to the Menagerie—the quickest way, the scenic route, the paths least commonly trafficked by Pigeons and the ones usually avoided by staadwatch or gangsters. He knows Kaz well enough to guess which one he’s taken. If he hasn’t woken too late—and by the sun’s position, it’s still early in the morning—then he has a chance to pass Kaz off and… insult him? Beg? Cry? Sell his father’s soul for a position in the new Dregs? Maybe he’ll just have to wear a Komedie Brute mask for the rest of his life and it’ll be fine. He’ll figure it out later.

Jesper draws his shoulders up to his ears while he scurries through empty alleyways, the collar of his fancy pseudo-Barrel flash coat turned up. He’s almost glad that Kaz made him go hatless and shaved bald—thoroughly unstylish and un-Jesper enough he might survive the morning—but there are drawbacks to the disguise in the damp chill.

Also, the disguise isn’t good enough. After some minutes, Jesper notices that some clusters of metal stay at roughly the same distance to him. Eight clusters of—round, small, definitely mostly kruge with a few Ravkan coins thrown in. Thirteen guns. A rifle. Two of the coin clusters are fairly close together and move in unison. Jesper’s dealing with seven shadows, then.

That’s—a lot.

Jesper’s had a little more training being a Durast now, but what he could really use now is combat training. He hasn’t even been in a battle in over a month, unless you count handing Kaz knives while he carves up Per Haskell, and since Jesper had to puke right after, you probably shouldn’t. He’s fought rabbits. Jesper’s sure fought some rabbits in Ravka. Two deer, too.

He could probably escape his pursuers. It would take time, though, time Jesper doesn’t have when Kaz is leaving him behind without a word. He’ll just have to kill them quickly.

At least there’s one of his favourite surveillance detection routes nearby. One of the rare aboveground tunnels in Ketterdam, not used by Pigeons for obvious reasons of creepiness and also because it just leads to a big courtyard behind a factory: a courtyard that’s easy to escape, when you know the gate’s lock is broken. Kaz showed it to him, just weeks after Jesper got recruited, after the second time the ‘Gulls got the drop on him and beat him to a pulp. In the courtyard, he made Jesper shoot some sparrows and some pigeons to prove his worth. Not crows, though, and for a year Jesper believed that detail was just thrown in to test whether Jesper would obey nonsensical orders. It’s still a plausible explanation.

He’ll just have to ask Kaz, after he begs him for a role in the new Dregs. After he kills these seven pursuers.

If.

He catches the first man off-guard and blows his head off when he exits the tunnel, but after that, it’s a stand-off. Jesper, hiding behind a massive wood barrel for cover, against six men ducked into the mouth of the tunnel.

Jesper manages to pick off another man by firing into the tunnel and blindly redirecting the bullet into the first nook, but the second attempt at using that trick doesn’t hit anything, and neither does the third. He has eight bullets left now, and five enemies. Even Jesper can tell that’s bad odds.

Retreating across the courtyard, though—the first few meters are fine, there are enough wine barrels and he can just dash from one to another, slightly nudging bullets off their course so none hit him.

Those guys have far too many bullets left, though, by the time Jesper’s forty meters away from the gate. Forty meters without cover. His pursuers aren’t bad shots either—likely Dime Lions, because there’s no way a Liddy would ever get so close that Jesper has to redirect their bullet—and they’re cautious enough that only two of them are crouched behind that barrel next to the tunnel, now, while the rest are still hidden inside.

This might get a little tough—but if Jesper starts manipulating bullets more obviously, will that information travel to the Little Palace? They know the Sun Summoner escaped with a Fabrikator. Is he painting a target on Kaz’ back?

Is he—

Bloodcurdling screams and groans, and Jesper’s too far away to hear any thwacks but his senses have expanded and he knows that metal coating intimately. Knows that cane.

Kaz emerges from the tunnel opening, Inej behind him, and—

Boom.

The Dime Lion’s shot him.

Right in the chest, and Kaz stumbles, falls to his knees.

Keels over.

Jesper shoots wildly while he runs over, whirling the bullets around the barrel that the Dime Lions are hiding behind—two left, Kaz wouldn’t have let any of the ones in the tunnel escape—desperate to hit something or at least keep them distracted and scared long enough to get there, or for—Inej’s pulling Kaz back by his coat, and she’s still wearing a sheer Menagerie dress, she probably doesn’t have any knives to protect—nothing’s hit yet, nothing’s hit, and all Jesper’s bullets are in the air whizzing around but he’s not hitting anything and Kaz is down and Kaz—

Kaz pushes himself to his knees, and then he stands up.

He’s breathing hard, and in the ugly rose/amber/bloodstain trench there’s a hole above his heart, sooty and burnt, but he’s still alive, Kaz is alive, he’s—

“What are you?” a Dime Lion gasps. Jesper’s finally got a bead on her. He sinks three bullets into her head.

“I just killed…” The other one is less lucky, and Jesper only manages to hit his stomach before he runs out of airborne bullets. He’ll die, but it won’t be quick.

“I crawled out of the harbour before. I’ll do it again,” Kaz rasps, and before the Dime Lion manages more than “Dirty—” a wet squelch informs Jesper of his demise.

That’s all of them.

“Kaz, you—” Inej’s much quicker at Kaz’ side, but he moves away before she can touch him to check his injury. Moves quickly enough he’s probably not on death’s door. He is a good actor, though. She looks at Jesper, and he’s about to join her in begging Kaz to get some medical aid, at least, but then Kaz shrugs off the ruined trench coat.

“Those kefta aren’t entirely useless,” Kaz rasps, grinning like an amused fucking asshole who almost gave Jesper a heart attack.

And then, Inej wraps herself around Jesper.

“You’re alive! I was terrified,” she shouts against his chest, slapping his back and grabbing as if she can’t decide whether to kill Jesper or never let go. “I thought you got yourself killed! You just disappeared, no word, I thought—”

“I may have lost a game where the stake was fifty thousand kruge?”

“You—Jes—” Inej squeezes him harder. “I told you to stop. I’d rather have you, with me, than have you die trying to pay me off.”

“I almost won! But there was no chance I’d get out of it, without indenturing myself, and—it all worked out, didn’t it? You’re free! Which reminds me…” Jesper takes off his own coat—blue and green and purple wave patterns, very fancy, a bit on the small side for him—and lays it onto Inej’s shoulders. It suits her, too—it drowns her a little, sure, but the way the coat reaches down to her ankles looks regal, and anyway, Kaz is a good sewer. He’ll fix this. “Can’t have you catching a cold.”

Before she can reply—tell him again she wasn’t worth risking his life and freedom in every card game he could for two years, when she definitely is, she’s Inej, he’ll do anything for her—he runs away and searches the dead Dime Lions for a new coat for himself, all their money, the rifle, and picks up the used bullets too. Knowing Kaz, he’ll want them to leave this place soon, and Jesper can’t very well try to convince his boss he needs to keep his sharpshooter around when he has no bullets left.

Speaking of—Jesper saunters over to Kaz when he’s done. With his most careless grin, he says, “I want my goodbye kiss before you ditch me.”

“I left you a note,” Kaz rasps. “I should have remembered you can’t read.”

Which as good as counts as a promise that Kaz didn’t intend to leave him behind: that, and the adrenaline of an easy gunfight has Jesper grinning widely. This is the life he wanted. The life he yearned for during the last two miserable years. The Crows are back, baby. He asks, “What now, boss?”

“We leave. Before anyone comes to investigate those gunshots.”

“Novyi Zem?”

“No,” Kaz rasps, just as Inej says, “They’ll let us drown.”

“They what?”

“Move.” Kaz starts limping past the factory, and then doubles back one street over—in the general direction away from the sea. Jesper and Inej quickly flank him. “I went to the Fifth Harbour before I paid off Inej’s indenture. It’s near empty. Old man there said no boats go to Novyi Zem or Eames Chin right now, and no boats come back. Because nothing gets unloaded. Kerch ships can’t dock there. They all get stranded at sea.”

“People started running when Ravka cut us off from the continent,” Inej mutters. “Before the invasion. And now the Darkling’s gone, the Kerch Grisha are either running or dead.”

“Too many refugees, apparently. Something about culture and scroungers and economic migrants. Novya Zem’s closed its ports to Kerch.”

“But I’m Zemeni—”

“You’re just a person. Those borders don’t exist to help you. The harbour watch don’t exist for you, the government doesn’t exist for you—if there’s a choice between cementing their power and your life, every bureaucrat worth their salt will choose the former.”

Jesper wants to argue, but actually, he’d trust Kaz over Novyi Zem a million times. Kaz saved his life when Ketterdam and Kerch would have swallowed him whole. Novyi Zem isn’t any different. “So we’re stuck in Ketterdam, then, where I’ll get shot on sight and you’ll easily get tracked by the Darkling. I only remember one safehouse that’s still uncompromised, as of last month anyway, unless you think we should go back to Haskell’s, boss?”

“Inej,” Kaz rasps. “That shop over there. Buy us a cart. We’re going to Lij.”

“What’s in Lij, boss? Why Lij? Where is Lij, anyway?”

But Kaz doesn’t answer him. Even aboard the cart, directing their new donkey with a seemingly perfect grasp of the roads leading to a small southern Kerch town none of them have ever been to, he refuses to elaborate. He looks tense, though. Jesper reshapes his many new bullets while he walks alongside. If there’s a fight waiting for them in Lij, they’re going to win.

☼

Kaz paces the length of the room. Window, door, window, door—there’s not much space beside the marriage bed, and the air draft of his passing caresses Jesper’s shorn head.

He’s put back together now, dressed in his socks and his boots and his underpants and his trousers and his gloves, though his torso’s only covered by the open purple kefta. Despite the cane, he limps more heavily than before he trekked for weeks through the Ravkan forest. He’s not fully recovered yet, if he’ll ever be.

Jesper’s on the floor. He climbed off the bed—off Kaz, after he ruined Kaz’ stupid get proxy-raped by the proxy-Darkling again plan. He said what he said, and the silence that followed was all the answer he’ll get, and then he sat down on the floor. It’s as good a place to wait as any. Probably more hygienic than the bed, anyway. He watched Kaz dress, until he almost looked like the Barrel lieutenant they both wish he was still allowed to be, and now he’s watching Kaz Brekker Dirtyhands the Sun Summoner pace holes in the old dusty floor of an abandoned farmhouse an hour’s walk outside of the small Kerch town of Lij.

He’s not getting murdered, though. Not for what he almost did. Not for what he said. That’s as good as this was ever going to go.

“It was worse this time.” Kaz directs his rasp towards the floor. He doesn’t stop moving. “I froze. Why was it—it was you. I knew you were—you’d never—with you it should have been more tolerable. Not worse.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss.” Jesper still can’t decide whether he should be ashamed that he was too squeamish to go through with it. Kaz doesn’t seem as angry as he could be, that Jesper totally fucked up this whatever-it-was-supposed-to-be. Not the mocking disappointment he doles out at Jesper’s predictable failures—gambling, distractibility, lateness, no impulse control and so on—and not the seething hatred when Jesper does something he hasn’t anticipated.

“I turned it over and over in my mind. For a year. What I did wrong. How I could have turned this to my advantage. How to excise this weakness. I thought I’d found—but there’s nothing.”

Jesper would offer to brutally desecrate the Darkling’s corpse again, but it clearly doesn’t help. Kaz won’t let this go. Never mind that he was a teenage thief imprisoned in a palace. Never mind it was him against the whole entourage of the most powerful Grisha. The man who crowned himself Emperor.

Sometimes you’re just fucked. And there’s nothing you can do. Life isn’t fair.

“There is a way to beat him,” Kaz hisses. “And I will find it.”

“You did. Sort of.”

“What—”

Jesper grins a shark-grin. “You’re not in Ravka now, are you?”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Why doesn’t it? No, boss, listen—he didn’t beat you alone, either, right? He had his Tailor making you into a doll. His Fabrikators locking your cage. His soldiers. Hell, Haskell selling you out—so really, it’s your victory that I found you.” Now that Jesper’s trying to explain his gut reaction, it just seems more and more logical. “Why can’t you have your own gang? You practically rescued yourself. You took a look at a boy who’d have gotten shot in a few weeks because he couldn’t pay is debts and he couldn’t stop fucking gambling—you had me dragged up to your office. You took that chance. You saved my life so I could save yours. That’s… planning ahead. Planning years ahead. Well done.”

Kaz finally, finally stops pacing. He sinks into the mattress just slightly to the right of Jesper, so he can sprawl out his legs without making contact. He looks at Jesper, but he’s silent, and his face isn’t giving anything away.

At first, that makes it feel like he’s actually listening. Actually considering what Jesper told him, and agreeing. Kaz is a quick thinker, though. He doesn’t need this long to realize that Jesper’s correct, which means he’s coming up with counterarguments—arguments why actually, he’s still weak or whatever and needs to force himself—and Jesper really, really can’t watch him do this to himself again. Why this, anyway? Why is this the weakness he fixated on?

“Why is that creep so obsessed with making you touch people, anyway?”

“Because it’s easy. Necessary. Even a child does it. Touch is what makes us human, and the Sun Summoner is human, whatever lies he tells himself,” Kaz recites. His eyes are bright. Wet.

“Bullshit. You terrorized the Barrel for years and it didn’t matter at all that you never touched anyone. It was just you. It didn’t even really sink in for me, that you don’t touch people, until I saw the way he dressed you up, how miserable you were.” That’s probably a good place to leave it, but Jesper’s livid. Jesper could mince and mangle fifty Darklings with the pure force of his loathing, and there’s not even a single one around here. That energy has to go somewhere. “You’re trying to tell me the Ravkan fucking palace couldn’t change protocol a little and adapt? If it never mattered in the Barrel, it never mattered at all. He just picked something. If you’d been allergic to shellfish, that’s the only food he would have served you, and he would have said you’re weak for your windpipe swelling up. He wasn’t able control you because touch made you weak. When you’re in control, it doesn’t matter. Because you fucking kill whoever touches you. You don’t bow to them. They bow to you.”

Kaz doesn’t reply. He doesn’t look away from Jesper, though. He just stares down at him, with his eyes still wide and still wet. He mutters, “You’ve turned quite opinionated in my absence, Jesper.”

“In your presence. I’m quoting your words back to you—sort of, it was about the cane, and I’ve forgotten half of it. But you were right. You were always right.” Jesper laughs. “See? Now you’re teaching yourself through time and space! Your masterplan is incredibly fucking elaborate!”

“My—I’m not falling for it.” Kaz is grinning, though. “If I agree now—by this time tomorrow you’ll have done something incredibly stupid and you’ll throw the whole Everything I do is your triumph because you saved me thing in my face. I’m not responsible for your awful jokes!”

Pretending to wipe tears from his eyes, Jesper wails, “My plan! My ingenious plan! Foiled by the dastardly Dirtyhands, oh no!”

Kaz laughs at him. Kaz laughs, and laughs, and Jesper joins him.

It takes a while before Kaz stops, gasping for breath. No-one in Ravka’s ever told a good joke, Jesper decides, because he’s made way funnier jokes before that Kaz didn’t even chuckle at, but gift horses and mouths and so on. Colour’s returned to Kaz’ face: his cheeks are blotchy and red, even after his breathing’s evened out. Kaz mumbles, “You know, that’s exactly how I imagined it.”

What? Oh. Jesper’s sprawled on the floor, leaning back on his elbows, his shirt pulled out of his trousers—his trousers, which are open, and he still hasn’t tucked away his dick. He forgot. There were more far important things to do, and now… well, he probably looks more debauched than Kaz in his purple kefta, with just his prick exposed to the chilly night-time Kerch air while he lounges on the ground. He ghosts a finger over it.

“Do you want me to—do you want to watch, boss?”

“I’d—” Kaz swallows. “Saints.”

Jesper turns a little, so Kaz can get a better view. He doesn’t undress, in case that’s an integral part of the fantasy, just gently trails his fingers down his still-limp dick—though it’s definitely waking up now—and looks up at Kaz.

Kaz doesn’t meet his eyes anymore, but that’s fine: more than fine, when he’s alternately looking at Jesper’s cock and at Jesper’s lips. Jesper darts out his tongue, and Kaz’ pupils blow even wider. Jesper licks down his palm and starts jerking off in earnest. “Hey, boss,” Jesper mutters, and when the head jerks up Jesper blows him a tiny kiss.

“What do you think about?” Kaz rasps.

“I just look at you. That’s enough. I like your face.” The tiny quirk of his lips, the way his eyes dart back down. “What are you thinking about, boss?”

“I didn’t expect you to enjoy this as much.”

“Seriously, boss, I know you’re not that stupid. How many times—”

“Not me,” Kaz mumbles. He gestures obscurely at the room. Jesper. The wall. The floor. The floor again. “This. It’s—not proper. Demeaning.”

“I wasn’t feeling demeaned until you started talking—”

“I was going to make you my right hand, once I took over the Dregs. Not my whore—”

“You were?” slips out, small and breathless, before Jesper remembers that this is for Kaz. This for him to enjoy. The warmth expanding in Jesper’s ribcage can wait. “There’s nothing bad about this. You like it. I like it. I don’t see anyone else in this room, and even if—a very clever guy once told me that you don’t bow to the world. You make the world bow to you.”

☼

It’s scratching that wakes Jesper. Scratching like the sharpening of a knife, quick, impatient, desperate—but it’s Kaz who’s on watch right now, Kaz who found this shallow cave they’re spending the night in, and Kaz wouldn’t let any danger come this close unnoticed. Unfought. Kaz wouldn’t just leave Jesper to his fate—would he?

He wouldn’t. At least not yet.

Kaz is sitting at the mouth of the cave. The moon drenches his matted dirty hair in its white glory, his handmade trousers, his naked wiry chest. His chest which he hasn’t bared for a second since Jesper gave him the kefta, even pulling off the Sun Summoner chemise that they tore into threads while still wrapped up in both of his coats: but now he’s half-naked, head bending down to look at those tines sticking out of his clavicle. Those antlers, those keratinized tumours, those bone cancers. Whatever those mutations are, he wants them gone.

In the right hand, he’s holding the knife that Jesper made from buttons so they could cut the blanket into trouser-shapes. In the left hand, he’s holding one of the protrusions growing from his body.

And then, he starts hacking again.

Viciously, helplessly, like a sick rabbit mutated into its own trap. He misses, once, and the knife sinks into his collarbone: but silently he tears it out again and cuts at the cancerous bone, and the knife’s sharp but the only dents that Jesper can see are tiny, glowing, lighting up the knife that’s flecked with his own blood.

☼

Jesper stirs the potato chunks. Thankfully, the old hearth still works, at least after he and Inej fed it with firewood they brought from the market, and so he’s cooking potatoes in butter and water. He mashes them up with some heavy wooden implement he found in a cabinet, once they’re soft enough—he washed it of course; he doesn’t want to eat moth shit—and then Inej passes him a wooden board of carrots in neat small identical pieces. Show-off. Jesper loves her so fucking much.

“Careful, don’t let it burn,” she says, twirling her knife, and Jesper—well, he meant to stir the pot of what’s apparently becoming stamppot. He did. He didn’t mean to think of how he’ll get Inej and Kaz out of Ravka—

And that’s when Kaz limps into the kitchen. He wasn’t still asleep when Inej and Jesper went into town to get some food—as if the Bastard of the Barrel ever sleeps in, even when he’s far from his titular Barrel—but he begged off the trip. He told them to say they’re working for Johannus Rietveld, if they’re asked, who’s apparently inherited this farm, but—they weren’t asked a thing, anyway, and who knows what Kaz did in the meantime. Who knows what weird cover identity he’s cooked up that they haven’t yet had to invoke. And whether it’s weirder than the one Jesper just created.

Jesper gives him a tender little smile. “Had a good morning?”

“No.”

“Because of last—”

But Kaz can read Jesper at least as well as he can read himself. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he rasps. “You’re the least terrifying person I’ve ever met.” Which probably means Yes, I’m rattled, but I won’t take it out on you. Too much.

“Thanks, darling.” And obeying Inej’s sharp elbow, he goes back to stirring the potato mash, and the slices of rookworst smoked sausage she’s dumped into another pan as well. “We decided Inej needs a proper homecooked meal, now she’s free, and we both haven’t eaten anything worth eating for ages, either.”

“You cook?”

“I grew up with my Da. It was either him or me. We traded off, if you want to know, and I’m pretty good apart from when it mysteriously turns into charcoal. And we didn’t find any Zemeni spices in the Lij market—this isn’t Ketterdam, and this old trader I talked to, she said it’s because maritime traffic to Novyi Zem is down to trickles at this point there’s a real dearth of spices, she couldn’t get them at any reasonable price—”

“Don’t burn the stamppot,” Inej orders.

“Anyway, we found a recipe tacked to the wall behind the oven, so that’s what I’m making now. Something super Kerch. Stamppot—you’ve ever eaten it?”

Kaz makes a sound that’s deeply indecipherable. Jesper can’t even tell whether it’s mournful or happy.

“Anyway, we’re almost done. Spinach now, please—Inej made me stick to the recipe, you know—and then the fried sausage and some salt and… you’ll stay with us for lunch, right, even if it isn’t royal Little Palace fare?”

“We ate unseasoned burnt rabbits in the forest,” Kaz replies curtly. He’s gotten over whatever strange emotion took hold of him, then.

“Yeowtch, they were awful. Why didn’t you remind me to take them off the fire. I know how to smuggle us into Novyi Zem,” Jesper says, carrying the deep pot over to their chosen clean bit of floor. Next to the windowsill, so Kaz can sit down with a little less discomfort—the house has been cleaned out apart from the marriage bed, really, and making Kaz go in there now… Making Inej go in there now, when it’s where last night he and Kaz had sex… And it’s not like they were loud, but who knows what Inej read into them pacing around each other for an hour. This is much less awkward. Besides, Jesper’s recently had some great experiences with floors.

Inej doesn’t stop playing with her knife, even after she balances her stamppot served on woodboard on her knees and digs in with her slightly bent spoon. She hasn’t set it down all morning, even carried it into town when they went looking for something to eat, and while she’s been supervising Jesper’s cooking—making sure he’s reading the recipe, keeping him on-track, bickering with him over unclear or illegible instructions—she’s been twirling it around her fingers. A truly remarkable feat, given that it’s the piece of shit knife that Jesper cobbled together from coat buttons, and he didn’t know what he was doing at all except that it should probably be sharp. Inej really needs to talk him through the finer points of balance if she wants him to overhaul the thing.

“They’re not letting in any more refugees from Kerch, you said,” Jesper starts setting up the explanation for his ingenious plan, while he passes over Kaz’ portion and another spoon he dug out from the bottom of a cabinet and small-scienced back into shape.

“The rich Kerch started running first, when the Darkling advanced. Anyone who’d ever had a Grisha indenture… They probably got in. They had the money. As for the rest… well, we’ve all heard of what happened in Fjerda, unless we’re Jesper and too busy drinking and playing Makker’s Wheel—”

“Hey! I was trying to pay off your indenture,” Jesper complains, while nibbling on his surprisingly decent if underspiced potato mash. “I’m Zemeni. They’ll let me in.”

Kaz still hasn’t touched his food. He hasn’t put it away either though, hand cradling the board instead of throwing it at Jesper. Maybe it’s because he’s too curious about the plan. Jesper should have waited, but he was too excited, and now Kaz is frowning as he replies, “So you keep saying. How does that help us? I assume you wouldn’t leave the two of us behind, after all that trouble you took.”

It feels good, to hear him say that. Almost good enough to forgive that Kaz doesn’t like his lunch. “That’s where my plan comes in. I’ve finally figured it out. If we’re married—”

“We can’t marry each other,” Kaz rasps. Before Jesper gets too sad about that, he continues, “In case you haven’t yet learned to count, we’re three people now.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve been thinking it over for so long. But divorce exists, you know so I was thinking that our story should be—and I’ll write to Da, but I thought you should probably agree first—I married one of you and then fell in love with the other but I still loved both, so I was trying to—”

Inej coughs. Laughs. Yeah, she’s definitely laughing at him, and then she says, “You’re going to tell your father about your marriage in a letter—your multiple marriages, because not only did you get married without inviting him, you already traded in your wife for a younger, prettier model. You lothario!”

“If you think that Kaz—actually, are you younger than Inej?”

Kaz, spoon in mouth, glares down at him.

“I’m trying to save our lives here. I’d appreciate some cooperation! And Da will forgive me, when he sees how happy I am with my new bonebreaking gangster wife and my old knife-twirling gangster wife who I had to divorce for petty bureaucratic reasons. Do you like it?”

Another spoonful of stamppot disappears into Kaz’ mouth. His eyes are closed while he chews, and then he looks away. His voice is hoarser than normal when he mumbles, “It tastes exactly the way I—it’s good.”

“Better than unseasoned rabbit charcoal. Anyway, it might throw the Darkling off our scent some more, if we disguise Kaz as a woman—and don’t be sexist. Women come in all shapes and sizes, no-one’s going to suspect a thing. Also we’re from Ketterdam. If any woman like Kaz can marry anywhere, it’s here. It’ll be a scandal, if they refuse to honour our marriage. Letting a few poors drown outside Zemeni borders, sure, but breaking the mutual recognition of administrative documents?”

Jesper is actually pretty proud of his reasoning here. That makes it even more annoying when Kaz rasps, “No-one will ever believe I’m your wife. I can’t even touch you.”

“No-one’s going to believe I love you? Are you sure?” Jesper flutters his eyes up at Kaz.

“He has a point, Jesper. You won’t be the first desperate refugee forging a marriage to leave.” Inej twirls her knife again. “You’ll need to act the part.”

“We’ll just tell them the truth.”

“Which is?”

“You don’t want to be touched, and if they have a follow-up question, they’d better direct it to the barrel of my gun. I’m not letting anybody non-consensually grope my beloved Kerch wife. Never again. Not over my dead body.”

“Won’t they think it’s weird if Kaz—sorry, your beautiful Kerch wife doesn’t let you touch him?”

“I don’t care. I told you. Let the world bow to us. I love my ingenious, vicious Kerch wife, completely independent of any physical contact we may or may not ever have. I respect my stubborn loyal deadpan Kerch wife far too much to cross those boundaries just for social custom. Also, my sweet murderous Kerch wife has a mean right hook.”

“Thankyou for the demonstration of your acting skills,” Kaz rasps drily, scratching his spoon on his serving board for the last flecks of stamppot. “We’re not going to Novyi Zem, though. There are more amplifiers than just the Stag he forced into me, and we’re going to find the rest. I’m going to tear apart every miserable molecule in the Darkling’s body, cell by fucking cell.”

“And you just let me keep talking?”

“It was entertaining.” Kaz licks his spoon, and then the board. Any second now, Jesper will tell him there’s more left in the pot. “Write your Da. We’ll keep your plan as a backup, in case everything goes horribly wrong. You’ll need a ring, though, to make it official,” and Kaz starts rooting through the kefta pockets.

Jesper can’t breathe. Is Kaz really…? He can’t breathe until he looks at Kaz’ stretched-out, gloved hand, and—

“How the fuck did you steal that one?! I was just wearing it!”

#jesper fahey #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kaz x jesper #dimtraces makes things #shadow & bone #shadow and bone

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clouditae · 4 years ago

Text

Let’s Escape Reality

Word: 5.6k

Christmas has become a holiday you never look forward to. Divorced parents, multiple parties to attend, but he’s always there to remind you that it never hurts to be a kid again

[Tuesday, December 24th, 10:15pm] Mom: Hey sweetie! Can’t wait to see you tomorrow morning! Your father always wakes up closer to the afternoon so he can wait while we have you all to ourselves!

[Tuesday, December 24th, 11:48pm] Dad: Hi baby, hope you had a great time with us today and we can’t wait to see you tomorrow whenever your mother let’s you go!

It’s currently five in the morning, your eyes barely open and thoughts not wanting to deal with your parents right now. It’s always the same with those two; one parent complains about the other. “Your mother is always so naggy” or “Your father never listens”. Always putting you in the middle whenever you talk to them or whenever you’re with them. They need someone to listen to them as they bash the other, and that happens to be you or your siblings. The daughter they created. All you want is for this day to end already, and it just started.

Forget the Christmas morning and lunch with your parents, forget wrapping the gifts you got for your family, friends and the person you picked to be secret Santa for. Forget the Christmas party you have later on today. Screw all of it.

Rather than going to see the other messages you got from your siblings, you open a different message.

[5:26am] Kook: Gooood morning beautiful! Can’t wait to see you at the party tonight <3

You can’t help but smile, feeling more calm than you did going to bed last night. You take in a deep breath, finally getting out of bed to take a shower and begin your morning on Christmas day. Plugging your phone into its charger on the nightstand next to your bed, you head into your bathroom where you start your shower. You take off your clothes, bringing your hand under the running water to feel the temperature. When it’s to your liking, you step in, letting the warm water run down your body. Thoughts run through your head as you close your eyes, taking in deep breaths to not have a breakdown.

Ever since your parents divorced, life has been difficult. It’s been four years since their divorce, but it always feels like yesterday when they announced it… separately. It was hard on not only your parents, but you and your siblings as well. Whose party do you go to? What is supposed to be happening New Years? Birthdays? Simple lunches that your parents fought over because one somehow figured out the other made plans with you. You felt like a toy they were fighting over; never considering how you’re feeling or how your brother and sister are feeling.

You suppress the urge to cry as you quickly take your shower. Once finished, you get out and put on pajama pants and a shirt, putting your hair up in a towel to dry before making your way towards your room to begin wrapping presents. You begin with the long distance lamp you got for you and your best friend. She always seemed upset at the thought of moving to New York for work and leaving everyone here, so you got her that best friend touch lamp that changes colors for both lamps when you touch it.

”She’ll cry when she gets it,” Jungkook told you last year when you almost bought it but didn’t. Your best friend was supposed to move to New York last year, but things happened and she did not leave.

“I don’t think she’ll cry,” you tell him, staring at the picture of the lamp on your phone.

“How much do you want to bet?” he challenges.

You chuckle at the memory. Guess you’ll see if today you lost that bet. You write your friend's name on the present, placing it to the side before moving to your mom's present. You begin to wrap the gift, thoughts going back to Jungkook. You wonder what he’d say when you’re at the store staring at an alarm clock you were considering getting for your mom at first. He’d probably lecture you. You think further back to when you first met Jungkook three years ago.

You sigh, entering the café with your friends. How much longer are they going to argue about team Clarissa or team Dante? In the end they’re both going to cry over the season finale.

“I’m telling you, Mina, Sophie is totally going to end up with Dante! He’s sweet and only wants to make them happy!” your friend Rory argues, walking up to the long line.

Mina only laughs challengingly, “Yeah right. Clarissa is the one for them. She’s been there since the beginning and she confessed her feelings for Sophie compared to Dante who acted cold and was a dick to her!”

“That’s because he has trouble letting himself feel something for someone again! It’s your typical troubled bad boy!” Rory protests, shaking his head before crossing his arms over his chest.

“Will you two keep it down? You need to remember we’re in public and no one wants to hear you gushing over two fictional characters,” Ben sighs, rubbing his temples. He’s clearly done hearing this conversation just as much as you are. They’ve been arguing since all of you got into the car to get coffee.

Mina sighs, “Fine. We’ll stop for now, but the second we get into that car, you’re gonna regret ever being on Dante’s team.” She pokes at Rory’s chest.

“You’re on,” he replies in a quieter tone, taking a step forward as the next customer goes up to the cashier and places their order. “Changing the subject,” Rory begins, now looking at Ben, “I know you’re a coffee fanatic, but why bust a mission so far out of our way to get coffee when there are a million stores closer?”

Ben smiles, eyes lighting up in realization. “Remember how I’ve been telling you for weeks that I want you guys to meet my friend Jungkook?”

“Yeah, but you never bring him anywhere when we actually get together. I still think you’re making him up,” Mina theorizes, looking up to meet Ben’s eyes.

“Ha-ha,” he mocks. “But no, Jungkook is real and he works here. I thought that the best way to meet a busy kid is to find them at work. Plus he makes a pretty damn good cappuccino.” Ben shrugs, gesturing with his head for the three of you to move forward.

“Does he work eight jobs or something?” you can’t help but ask. Ben has been talking about you three meeting this Jungkook non stop for almost two months, but never once has Ben actually brought him over. Ben’s excuse as to why Jungkook has never been brought over is because Jungkook is busy.

“No. He has six older brothers, so he’s always with them. They help him with everything he could need, and how to be a better barista is one of them.” Ben can only shake his head as he chuckles.

“Damn. Their parents got busy,” Rory whistles.

“They’re not blood related; they just grew up together.”

“Next in line,” a voice calls. You look to the front of the line, realizing that you’re next. The four of you quickly walk up to the woman behind the counter. She smiles her customer service smile and asks, “What can I get you today?” You all give your orders to the brunette behind the counter, Rory and Mina buying the most expensive drink they can get. She repeats the order back. “Is that correct?” she asks, earning a nod from Ben who is paying. “Okay. Your order should be ready soon!”

You follow the group to the side closer to the pick-up counter where Ben’s name will be called. “So where is your best friend?” Mina asks, eyes scanning the staff behind the counter.

Ben looks behind the counter where Mina’s gaze remains. “Hmm. He’s probably in the back or on break,” he answers, turning back to look at her. “He’s real.”

Rory and Mina can only chuckle at the determination Ben is giving. “Okay, okay.”

“So are we going to start doing secret Santa? I’m telling you, it’s a great idea,” you voice, pushing your idea on the crew once again.

You’ve been dedicated to having secret Santa since last Christmas. It’s something you have always wanted to do, but didn’t have enough friends to do it with. Even now you don’t have enough friends to do it without it being easy as to who was picked by which person, but if you find enough people willing, it’ll be a great idea to try out. When they say nothing you add, “C’mon! You can even invite your friends to join and hang out with us at the party.”

“Five people is still not enough, Y/N,” Ben says, shaking his head while giving you a sympathetic look.

You groan, “That’s why you invite some of your friends over so that we can all get to know one another and then ask who wants to join the present exchange.” You then cross your arms over your chest. “You guys always say you want to do something with friends only, and here I am presenting to you with a pretty good idea.”

They stand in silence, looking lost in their thoughts at your words. Finally, Ben is the first to sigh and say, “Fine. I’ll ask him and find some other friends.” He points to you. “But you’re planning the party for all of us to meet and the party for the secret Santa.”

It’s Mina’s turn to exhale. “I’ll ask around.”

You turn to Rory who only nods. Breaking out into a huge smile, you say in a singsong tone, “I’ll have everything ready. I promise.”

“Order for Ben,” a disembodied voice calls.

You all turn to the pick-up counter to see four cups in a drink carrier. Following Ben, you watch him drag the carrier closer to him. You don’t see him look up and smile as he says, “Hey.” You tear your eyes away from the cups where yours lay in wait for you to devour and look up to see Ben’s attention on the person behind the counter. He turns to the three of you. “Guys, this is Jungkook. Jungkook this is Rory, Mina and Y/N.”

Jungkook is for sure real, but he doesn’t even look real. He’s tall, almost as tall as Ben, but not quite there. His cherry red hair is brought back into a bun, some of it draping around his sculpted jawline. His round, coffee brown eyes glances at your friends before landing on you, a smile gracing his lips. “Hello,” he says in a silvery, husky tone.

You feel how Mina sounds when she replies, small and taut. Ben is friends with this God like figure? It’s not that Ben isn’t good looking—it's more that you’d have to be either very beautiful or funny as hell to be friends with someone like Jungkook. You’re putting him on a pedestal when his personality could be horrible.

“So, my friends—mainly this one,” he begins, nudging your arm with his shoulder, “wants to do a secret Santa and since we need more people, Y/N is going to throw a party beforehand so we can all get to know each other. You interested?”

Jungkook can only smile for a moment, expression clearly taken aback from the sudden invitation to a party where he’ll only know one person. He looks to you, his smile a bit more genuine and answers, “I don’t mind going. Just tell me when.”

You smile at the memory as you turn off the ignition to your car and get out. You stand in front of your mom’s house, letting out a small sigh before opening the trunk and pulling out the presents you got for your mom and one for your siblings. You stack the presents on top of one another, realizing that you’ll have to make trips. However, to your luck and the sense of a sibling in trouble, your brother appears beside you.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite sister,” he says, giving you a side hug before grabbing the stacked presents from you.

You chuckle, “If Cal heard you say that, she’d throw a fit.” Grabbing the other gifts and items you bought, you close the trunk and follow him up to your mom’s two story house. You make your way up the walkway towards the decorated front door. Your mom goes above and beyond when it comes to decorations. The outdoor has lights lining the roof, two inflatable snowmen were on the snow-covered lawn, and as you get closer to the steel entry door, it’s decorated with a garland running along the window and door; a wreath hanging above the entrance.

The door flings open to reveal your mom. She smiles widely at you, crows feet forming at the eyes. “Hi, honey,” she says in her nasal voice, opening her arms out for you to walk in to. You smile, juggling the items in your arms as you wrap them around her waist, hugging her tightly. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hi, Mom.” You release her, but she doesn’t seem ready to let go of you just yet. It’s understandable since the last time you saw her was around a month ago, but your arms are getting tired from holding all the heavy objects. “Okay—Mom, my arms hurt.”

She chuckles, removing herself and her grip around you. “Sorry.” She grabs the items from your left hand. “Why don’t we put these under the tree and have breakfast?”

You follow her out of the entryway and into the living room where the Christmas tree stands. It stands in the far left corner between the stand and the couch. It’s tall and decorative with old ornaments you made when you were a kid. The television is playing a Christmas movie you forgot the name to. It’s old, but the scenes play in your mind like a record. Your sister sits on the couch facing across the television. She looks up to you as you follow your mom across the room and place the presents under the tree.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite sister,” she calls, getting up from the couch, making her way around the coffee table in the middle of the room and wraps you in a just as tight hug as your mother’s.

“I’m your only sister,” you explain, patting her back before she let’s go.

“But that’s what Nathan said right?” she inquiries, laughing when you don’t deny fast enough. “That’s what he told me when I came.”

“You’re both my favorite sister,” he defends, shrugging his shoulders as he walks to the island that somewhat separates the kitchen and living room. He grabs a piece of bacon from the plate placed in what looks like a field of plates.

“We’re your only sisters and can you not eat until we’re all at the table,” Cal groans, shaking her head as she goes to the island to grab the plates and place them at the table in the dining room to the left of the kitchen.

Nathan says something you can't understand due to his chewing, but he nevertheless grabs the plates and follows Cal’s lead. You do the same, grabbing a plate full of pancakes and another plate full of eggs, placing them at the center of the table. Once everything is set, you take a seat next to Cal, your mom and Nathan sitting across from you. You chat with one another as you fill your plates with a little bit of everything. You listen to their stories as coffee, milk and orange juice is poured into cups.

Your mom took advantage of the three of you being in the same room as her as she tells you about that one day at work where one of her students laughed so hard at their own prank that they farted and that resulted in urinating themselves a bit. “I don’t understand why I chose to be a teacher, but here we are,” she sighs, taking a sip of her coffee.

“You should have been a nurse,” Cal chimes, shoving a piece of toast in her mouth. You glance between your mom and Cal, waiting for the tension to rise. With Cal being exactly like your mom; hard headed and with the same attitude, they always butt heads and sometimes ruin whatever get together you have.

“Elena is pregnant,” Nathan suddenly blurts. You stare at him wide eyed. Usually when your mom and Cal get into arguments, Nathan will come up with some stupid comment to ease the tension, but this one was a lot bigger than his usual lies.

“What?” you mom whispers.

“Yeah, Nathan. At least come up with a believable lie,” Cal chuckles.

“Uh,” he begins, adjusting himself in his seat, “today’s not a lie. Elena is pregnant—the doctor told us a few days ago.” He brings his hands up and shakes them lightly, somewhat looking like he’s doing jazz hands. “It’s a Christmas miracle. Merry Christmas,” he says in a tremulous tone.

You, Cal and Nathan wait in anxious silence for your mom to say something. She’s silent for a moment before smiling, eyes getting glossy and tears streaming down her cheeks as she reaches forward and hugs Nathan in a tight grip. “I’m going to be a grandma,” she cries.

Cal nudges you with her shoulder. “We’re gonna be aunts,” she tells you, eyes wide and clearly in shock.

“I’m going to be an uncle!” Jungkook yells, wrapping his arms around you from behind while you’re trying to fold your laundry. “I can’t believe it.”

You giggle, “I know, I know. You’ve been screaming about it since Seokjin first told us.” Jungkook introduced you to his brothers six months after meeting him. Six months after that you were asked to be his girlfriend and now in nine months time, you’ll be a not legit aunt.

“I always thought Taehyung would be the first to have kids since he’s such a kid person, but since Seokjin is the one with a wife, it makes more sense.” He smiles at you as he removes his grip from around your waist and takes a seat on your bed where your folded clothes lie. “I’m going to spoil that baby and ruin Seokjin’s life with how spoiled that baby is.”

“Well you’re about to ruin my neatly folded clothes with your determination to spoil a baby that hasn’t been born yet,” you laugh, grabbing his arm and pulling up off your bed.

You’re not sure why that memory came to you all of a sudden. Maybe it’s because you’re going to be an aunt in nine months. Maybe it’s because you’re going to spoil that baby like Jungkook always talked about and did when Haru was born. Maybe his dedication rubbed off on you.

“We should probably head out,” Nathan’s voice rings, bringing you out of your thoughts. “Dad’s lunch is starting soon.” You follow in suit, getting up from your spot on the couch in the living room. You grab the remaining wrapping paper that was torn apart off the floor, tossing it in the trash where the rest lay. Grabbing the presents everyone got you, you place them carefully in a bag, feeling the weight of it drag your arm down. "Bye, Mom. Thanks for the presents and breakfast." Nathan gives your mom a tight hug.

You smile at your mom as she releases your brother and opens her arms for you to walk into. “Come by more often, yeah? You only have one mother you know,” she lectures, rubbing your back affectionately.

You chuckle. “Yes, yes. I’ll come by and visit more often.” Saying goodbye to your mom, you get into your car and follow your siblings to your dad’s house on the other side of town. All five of you used to live in the middle of the city; a nice cozy home where you shared so many memories. Your parents divorced and your father moved up north while your mother moved south. Both completely away from one another where they never have to see each other for any reason other than something important happening to you or Cal or Nathan.

Twenty minutes later, you pull up to the driveway of your dad’s house. Just like your mom’s, your father’s house is decorated with lights, and other types of decorations on the outside. You can only imagine what it looks like on the inside with your dad’s new girlfriend always being extra when it comes to Christmas. More than your mom. Grabbing the rest of your siblings presents and your dad’s gift from the trunk, you follow Cal and Nathan to the front door. Cal knocks on the door and a few seconds later the door opens revealing your dad with red frosting all over his lips.

“Hey,” he begins, voice booming with excitement, “I’m glad you guys made it just in time! We’re putting frosting on the cookies.” Your dad moves to open the door more for you three to enter.

“Put frosting on the cookies or eat the frosting?” Nathan asks, placing a finger on his chin where a small dab of frosting stuck and wiped it on his apron.

Your father laughs, “You know me, I can’t help myself when it comes to frosting.”

The day goes on as you spend a few hours at your dad’s place. You talk about what you’ve done since you last saw one another, Nathan being a future father, and how long the lines were for the recent Christmas movie that came out in theaters. You opened the presents and ate the cookies they made—they were actually good. Everything was peaceful, and for the first time, you spent Christmas without one of your parents saying something bad about the other.

That is until your dad made a joke about your mom and you decided it was time to leave. You say your goodbyes once again, and left the house. You’ll wait for your father’s apology text; you’ll tell him to stop acting like a child and grow up about the divorce, and that’ll be the end of that. Your mom may hear about it, and you’ll have to tell her the same thing.

It’s your endless circle of bull.

You show up to Rory and Mina’s place earlier than usual. When you knock on the door, a surprised Mina opens it, but it immediately disappears when you shake your head at her. You enter the small, comforting house as Rory walks up to you and hands you a glass of eggnog. You drank it like you’re dehydrated. You just want today to be over already.

“We were just about to decorate the tree if you want to help,” Mina says, holding up some ornaments.

“You’re barely doing it on the last day?” you question, placing the glass on the coffee table before following her to the tree that was also in the corner of the living room.

“This is our friend tree,” Mina starts, tone defensive, “we already have our actual tree up in the den.”

“An actual tree?” You grab an ornament from her hand and hang it on the “friend” tree.

“We have one for the family, and we have one for our friends. All ornaments for this tree has pictures and stupid things from you guys,” Rory explains, lifting an ornament picture of Ben. Taking a closer look you see that it’s a picture of him in the middle of taking a bite out of his burger. HIs mouth opened and his eyes looked wild and hungry as he ate. You can’t help but laugh. “Remember his face when we first put it up on the tree? He was pissed.” Rory laughs along with you.

You remember that memory. Ben lectured you guys for a while. As you continue to decorate the tree, you can’t help but remember your first time putting up a tree together with just Jungkook. It was your first Christmas as a couple and he wanted to help you decorate your tree at your apartment.

“I say we don’t put lights on your tree,” he grunts, struggling to untangle the Christmas lights.

You grin as you watch him before pulling out another box of decorations. “You almost got it,” you encourage, clearly finding this amusing.

“If you keep smiling like that I’ll just leave you here to do this yourself,” Jungkook warns, glancing at you with a small hint of playfulness.

“Okay. Sorry, sorry.” You go over and sit across from him on the floor. Grabbing the other set of lights, you untangle the knot with him. “Thanks for helping me by the way.” You glance at him, watching a small smile grow at his lips.

“Christmas is my favorite holiday. The decorations, the present wrapping, opening the presents, and a bunch more,” he explains, a look of victory on his face when the lights untangle. “Why aren’t you as excited as I am?”

You give Jungkook an awkward smile. You never told him about your parent’s divorce, but you suppose now would be a good time as ever. “Uh…” you trail off, handing your still tangled lights to him. “My parents divorced, and now they’ve ruined all of this by talking bad about one another and always trying to keep you from doing something with the other parent. They just ruined the whole… family thing Christmas is about.”

Jungkook is suddenly to his feet, the lights untangled once again. He looks down at you with determination. Holding his hand out for you, he announces, “Well today I’m going to make you love the whole process of Christmas all over again.”

“What?” you chuckle nervously, slowly reaching for his hand.

He grabs it, startling you as he pulls you to your feet. You don’t have great balance with the force he causes when pulling you as you fall into him. He wraps his arms around you as you look to meet his eyes. He smiles his toothy smile, placing a small kiss on your nose. “Let’s decorate the hell out of that tree.”

You can feel the heat rise in your cheeks. You should be used to this by now, but every time he does something cute, you’d only act like it was the first time he’s ever done it. “Okay,” you mumble, feeling him release you from his grasp, but you’re only disappointed it ended so soon.

Walking to the tree, you watch Jungkook as he gets on the step stool and starts at the top of the tree to wrap the lights around. You stand on the other side, grabbing the lights to bring it around the tree and back into his hands. Finishing the first lights, Jungkook gets down and grabs the second set of lights, but not before pulling his phone out of his pocket and browsing through it before you hear a familiar song play through the Bluetooth speaker you have sitting next to your television. You smile as he looks at you. Suddenly he starts dancing to the Christmas song playing. Swaying side-to-side, snapping his fingers, he looks like he’s never danced before. You can't hold back your laughter as you watch him dance his way back to the stool to finish wrapping the tree in lights. You bob your head to the song as you help him with the lights, then the garland and finally the ornaments and star.

Everything is ready. Ready for presents to go under and pictures to be taken. You’re going to be one of those people who takes a picture of their tree, but Jungkook thinks of something better and takes your hand in his, bringing you closer to him. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other holding your hand to your chest as he sways side-to-side with you. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you rest your head on his shoulder as well. The two of you danced in silence for a while, even though some songs were upbeat.

“I love you, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers after a few more seconds of silence.

You don’t hesitate, and maybe that’s what shocks you the most as you answer, “I love you, too.”

Everyone is gathered in the living room, talking and laughing about everything. It’s getting hard to have everyone hang out, but you’re grateful to see familiar faces smiling. Some are running late or won’t be showing up at all, and it hurts you just a bit to know that you’re all growing and maturing as time goes on. You won’t be seeing these people as often as you used to or wish to. Eventually they’ll just disappear out of your life and move on with their own. Enjoying everything that comes their way while you struggle to stay afloat with everything happening in your life.

You get up from your seat, telling the few who notice you try and leave that you only need air. That you’ll be back in just a sec. Once outside in the spacious backyard, you take in several deep breaths. There are plenty of times where you wish you had their lives—any of their lives. They get over their parents divorce, or their family is still one. They don’t have to mature so early in life, and they enjoy the little things. They love their job. They’re happy where they’re at, but always willing to strive for more.

Your life only crumbles.

Closing your eyes, you imagine Jungkook walking out the back door to comfort you. He’s always concerned and late at every important event. He lights up your world when you struggle to swim above the roaring waters.

Opening your eyes, Jungkook stands in front of you, your favorite smile plastered on his face. “I see you’ve missed me,” he says, a hint of teasing in his tone. You can only roll your eyes at him. “Do you want to build a snowman?” he suddenly questions. “It seems like you forgot the meaning of Christmas.”

You scoff, “Are you Jack Frost or Santa or something?”

Jungkook shrugs. “I may be.” He walks past you and more to the middle of the lawn, getting on his knees. “So are we doing this or what?”

You sigh, clearly giving in to him like you always do as you walk up to him and get to your knees. You gather as much snow to the middle, creating a bigger pile and forming it into a ball. When the two of you decide it’s just big enough, you start to form a smaller ball for the middle section.

“Tough day?” he asks, eyes focused on forming the ball.

“More like year,” you confess.

“Look,” he begins, slowly picking up the ball and placing it on the bigger one, only for it to somewhat break apart, “fuck—life has been rough for you. For the years I’ve known you, you are always the one to take everything in. No matter how hard and tiring it is, you have to just make time for yourself only. Don’t let your parents get to you; tell them off once in a while. They’re adults, too, and they have to know that putting the kid in the middle of their ridiculous fight is getting them nowhere. Also you need to have fun, too. You’re in your twenties and acting like you’re forty-something is not the answer. I don’t like telling people I’m dating a grandma.”

You stare at him in shock. “Grandmother? That’s—how—” You have no idea what to say to that. So, instead of saying anything, you grab a handful of snow and shove it in his face. “Shall I tell people I’m with a kid then? I don’t think they’ll like that.”

With his eyes closed, he is frozen from the impact. He wipes at his eyes, clearly in shock as he stares at you. “I see this is how we’re starting our night.” You don’t have time to react as a handful of snow was shoved in your face.

It’s an all out war with him as the two of you go to opposite ends of the yard and hide behind trees as you throw snowballs at one another. Clearly you’re both bad seeing as for the following ten minutes, you both hit each other once during the entire fight. Jungkook catches you off guard when he suddenly lies on the floor, stretching his arms and legs out and begins to sweep them in a semicircle. You drop the snowball and walk over and lie next to him, creating your own snow angel.

From the corner of your eye, you see him get up and look down at his masterpiece. He looks pleased before looking over to you. He gives you a sad smile. “I know life is hard, and I know me not being here is harder, but know that even though I’m not here, I’ll always be with you. I love you so much, Y/N, and you’re going to do amazing things in life. But you need to be a kid once in a while. How else am I to appear?” He chuckles. “Bring me an Christmas tree ornament yeah?”

You wipe at your tears. “Yeah.”

That’s how you spend your Christmas with Jungkook at the secret Santa party, and that’s what he’d say if he was still here. But he’s not here.

“Y/N?” You open your eyes to see Rory, Mina and Ben standing around you. “Everyone left and the cemetery should still be open. Ready to see Jungkook?” Ben asks, holding his hand out to you.

You let out a shaky breath and reply, “Yeah.”

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