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gohyuck · 4 years

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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fvrxdrm · 3 years

Text

Last Night (Leon Kennedy x Reader)

Pairing: Infinite Darkness!Leon x GN!Reader

Warning(s): Implied sex

This is about a dream I had a few nights ago. I added a few things at the end bc the ending in my dream didn’t make sense but I’ll explain it later at the end notes.

*****

“Ugh! She’s a fucking headache!”

The coolness of the air conditioning in the briefing room dried up the remaining sweat on your back and forehead and your hands went disgustingly sticky with the clamminess clinging into your palm. Fatigued and dozy you were, you were sure you were going to pass out right there in your seat.

You, along with your partner, Leon, were tasked to save Ashley Graham again, this time in a more urban part of Italy. When the president told you about her getting kidnapped again, you legit rolled your eyes and Leon nudged your side when he saw the subtle gesture you displayed. Had Leon had the audacity to disrespect people who had higher power than him in his line of work, he would’ve flipped the president off and took the both of you to a nearby bar. He wasn’t like that though, much to your dismay. He still had that “mama’s boy” attitude in him even when he left some of it during his “rookie day” or night or something.

You were close to rioting that time. They were going to send you to that fucking mission again with only the two of you and hand you both shitty-ass pistols with ten fucking bullets. Who the fuck does that? Wouldn’t you send the whole team if you, the president of the United fucking States, had a daughter that’s been kidnapped? Also, why the fuck didn’t they enhance the fucking security level? Hello? Parenting 101?

Leon crashed onto the couch beside you, making you bounce a bit, before shaking his hair from the grease and dampness his locks held. “Agreed. I might’ve lost my ears right there…again,” he grunted as he stretched his arms above his head and managed to pop a few joints in the process. “Wanna grab a few drinks after this?”

With your head leaned against the back of the couch, you turned to look at your friend with jaded eyes and a lazy smile. You nodded in response and slapped a hand on his thigh. “Sure.”

*****

You may or may not have had one too many drinks and danced around like a fucking worm on crack. Leon had one of his arms wrapped around your waist and a glass of whiskey in his free hand as he ground against your skirt-clad ass while you responded back with the same enthusiasm as him. Both of you were drunk, that’s for sure. Not only with pure intoxication, but also with a sinful desire; something you two unknowingly shared on nights where fingers worked their magic to bring you both to a blissful high. You knew they weren’t enough to satisfy your wants, but they were enough to calm your racing thoughts temporarily instead of committing to a one-time thing and bringing awkwardness in the atmosphere, at least you thought it would’ve been a one-time thing.

Leon whispered naughty things into your ear, things he wouldn’t have said had he been conscious enough to stop himself from making a move, and boldly dipped a finger in your skirt and rubbed your pussy through your underwear. He was going to make love to you, he said, and he would make sure that you would be his. You bit your lip as you moaned at his words. He was hot and you would gladly let him fuck you anytime, anywhere. And so, you agreed.

*****

Ring. Ring. Ring.

The provoking sound of your phone pulled you away from your dream. Your fantasy was so close to getting to the good part. Leon was about to fucking kiss you and then somebody decided to fucking wake you up! You sighed. If somebody woke you up this early then you guessed it was really important. So, despite being piqued and groggy from the sudden sound, you picked your phone up from the night stand beside your bed, not even thinking about how different your room looked, and checked the time before answering the call. “Hello?” You spoke, your voice raspy and your throat feeling like a thousand knives were stabbed into it. You also took note of how your head felt like you were banging it against the wall with so much speed and vigor and attempted to ease it down with a simple massage but to no avail.

“Morning, Y/N!”, the voice from the other line boomed, causing your agonizing condition to aggravate even more.

Ashley

You groaned at the contrasting enthusiasm the girl had and you had to slam the phone on the mattress to ground yourself and keep you from dying. “Can you keep your voice down? I have a headache right now and it would be much appreciated if you could calm down,” you said after bringing your device back to your ear.

“Oh, sorry. I was just going to ask if you could meet me in the church later? I wanted to talk to you about something while we get everything set for my wedding tomorrow. I tried calling Leon, but he wouldn’t answer. Can you do me a favor of telling him about it too?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll call him.”

“Thanks, Y/N! I’ll see you later,” she said. The call ended with a series of beeps and you slammed your phone on the bed again with your eyes shut tight in irritation.

I cannot deal with that girl again. Especially now that I’m hungover… But who am I to deny the president’s fucking daughter…?

You sighed.

Welp, time to call Leon.

You raised your phone up parallel to your face and was about to press Leon’s saved contact name when you suddenly felt an arm wrap around your torso. Your heart pounded. With eyes opened wide and brain waking up from its slumber in an instant, you slowly turned your head towards your left and almost screamed at what you saw…or rather who you saw.

Leon.

His chest was exposed to the warmth of the morning air, hair strands clamped together by oil and sweat that was starting to form on his skin. He was still deep in his slumber and you noticed how the round bulge tucked in his eyelids moved around as if he was exploring something in his dream.

Never had you and Leon shared a bed together. Those times where he would come over to your place for a drink? He would always insist that he could just crash into your couch in order to avoid invading your privacy.

You panicked at the situation you were in. You grabbed the hem of your blanket and yanked it up to check if anything did happen, and surprise, surprise; something did. You were both naked and you felt something drying up down there. You also started taking notice of how your vagina felt sore from probably getting pounded and fucked silly last night-

Oh, right! Last night.

You vaguely remembered how Leon touched your body while you two were getting drunk. You two were getting a bit too flirty and began groping each other here and there, getting more and more suggestive as minutes passed, pie-eyed and unconscious with how you were treating each other as more than friends.

Every corner and every wall your eyes passed was becoming a void of something dark, something you became anxious of. What happened would forever change your friendship and your relationship with him for sure. Hell, you weren’t even sure if he was going to stay by your side starting from when he wakes up in a few minutes. And as much as you wanted to go back and prevent that from happening, you couldn’t, and you had to face the music whether you liked or not.

*****

Sure enough, when you woke Leon up, everything was awkward. No words were exchange from when you prepared for the day, breakfast, and until Leon drove you both to the location Ashley had told you to go to. The silence rose hysteria in both of your minds. You were going fucking crazy. You were fidgety when you sat beside Leon in the passenger seat and the man would bounce his leg up and down when you hit a red light. You both were trying to avoid taking a glance at each other, but those inevitable moments that you did, you would forcefully smile at each other and then gaze back out the window again. That was the cycle you lived on for a few hours and you decided to let it stay like that until one of you broke the atmosphere.

You waited inside the church as you were told. It was only the two of you inside but you acted like a handful of people were sitting beside you with the amount of space that was left unfilled between you. You were biting your lip and focusing on the pillars and stones that made up the building until you couldn’t process anything that was happening anymore and stood up, studying the interior as you roamed. “Hey,” you heard somebody whisper behind you. You looked down to your wrist when you felt something warm and saw a fairly large hand loosely gripping onto it before looking up to see Leon’s eyes gazing into yours. You nearly got lost in them but thankfully, he spoke before you got stuck into your own stupor. “I just wanna say… I’m sorry. I-it’s not gonna change everything that happened but I don’t want to break what we have. I value you and our friendship too much for me to let it go. I don’t think we can forget about last night but if it makes you feel better…I-I-“

“Can we talk about this outside? I don’t think it’s appropriate for us to talk about it here,” you chuckled. Leon nodded in agreement before leading you out to where a garden caught your attention. “Listen Leon, I know we can’t just pretend nothing happened but… I don’t wanna let go of this either. I value this as much as you do and it would be crazy stupid for me just to just hate you for something we weren’t even conscious about or something,” you said. You both laughed in relief as the weight on your shoulders dissipated into thin air before you placed a gentle palm on his cheek. Again, no words were shared but this time, no anxiety was present. Instead, you felt like this was an intimate moment only the two of you shared. Something was being written in the stars and you saw every word the gods wrote in the eyes of the person in front of you both.

As cheesy as it sounded, you two felt like magnets were pulling you towards each other, physically and mentally, and in a matter of seconds, you found your lips being pressed against Leon’s.

It was like you were recreating what happened last night without even knowing the details, except this was slower, more sensual, and certainly more emotional, and you couldn’t help the tears that flowed freely against your cheeks.

“Come on, let’s ditch Ashley. Maybe we could relive what happened last night?”

*****

Okay, so in my dream, Ashley’s not getting married and she didn’t call me. Instead, what happened was after the bar scene, Leon and I got teleported in front of the altar and just fucking talked. And then we walked outside and what happened in the end of this fic happened in my dream. Lol.

I rushed this bc I’m tired.

#leonkennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagines #leon s kennedy x reader #leonxreader #leon kennedy x you #leon+kennedy+fanfic #leon+kennedy+imagine #resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil fanfic

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xjoonchildx · 4 years

Text

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter six: no one but you

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you. now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, smut

rating: 18+

word count: 5.6K

A/N: i sincerely hope you guys like the way this ends, it’s always so nerve-wracking to end a story! the epilogue to this story is posted as well and linked. thank you to every single person who sent sweet messages of support it means the world to me. SMUT WARNINGS APPLY IN THIS CHAPTER: oral (m/f), unprotected sex (only in fiction y’all) and hoseok thirst.

of course, i cannot post this story without shouting out some of the most supportive, killer people on this site. you guys truly mean the world to me @ladyartemesia @ppersonna @taetaewonderland @hobi-gif

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

*********************

There are perks to being the boss.

For Namjoon, it means calling the shots on the streets from his office in the sky. Rarely does he leave the climate-controlled comfort of his pristine headquarters to get his hands dirty in the day-to-day business of the organization he runs.

Tonight, he’s making an exception.

Yoongi drives. Like a bat out of hell, as always.

It’s a thirty-minute ride from downtown Seoul to Incheon Port without traffic but Yoongi is on pace to finish it in just twenty. Hoseok watches the lights on the expressway speed by from the backseat. He tries hard to focus on the information Namjoon shares, the details he’ll need in order to ensure he doesn’t put himself or anyone else in danger tonight.

But fuck, it’s so hard to concentrate with the taste of you still on his lips.

He scrubs a hand down his face and takes a deep breath. He forces himself to push the memory of your body in his hands and your skin in his mouth and your voice in his ear to the corner of his mind.

Then he goes over the information again.

Namjoon wants to be in place at least ten minutes before the scheduled meet so he can figure out what’s going on before the Ssijog knows he’s there with his men.

He wants guns to stay holstered unless he gives the signal.

He wants --

“You must have really scared the shit out of that guy, Jung,” Namjoon murmurs from the front seat. Hoseok snaps back into focus to search for his boss’s reflection in the side mirror and finds Namjoon already looking at him. “He’s been blowing up his contact since last night, begging for personal protection.”

“He’s lucky I didn’t do worse,” Hoseok shrugs. “I certainly could have.”

“Oh, of that I have no doubt,” Namjoon agrees. “Someday you’ll have to tell me the story of how you managed to be outside of his apartment when his handler picked him up. Here I was, under the impression you had the night off.”

Hoseok swallows thickly.

“Just doing my job.”

There’s a twist to Namjoon’s mouth that Hoseok can’t read and it puts him on edge.

“Well, I must thank you for your dedication to your job,” Namjoon continues. “You’ve really gone above and beyond the call of duty for this assignment.”

Hoseok looks away from the mirror. “Yeah, sure,” he says quietly.

The car falls into an uncomfortable silence.

Yoongi clears his throat.

“So anyway --” he announces loudly, “-- Jimin and Tae were able to track Kang’s texts through some internet bullshit they mess around with. Apparently dude flipped out after you left his place and wouldn’t let up until his handlers agreed to meet him tonight.”

“At Incheon Port?” Hoseok asks, glad for the redirect. “That’s a hell of a drive for a chat.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Namjoon says under his breath.

The car falls silent once again.

**********************

Mun Kiwoo has a reputation for being messy.

The man at the top sets the tone for the organization, and Mun is no exception. His men are known for their brutality, his deals often go south, and by most accounts his syndicate is hanging on by a thread.

But it’s still hanging on.

Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi watch quietly from their vantage point behind a shipping container as Mun waits in the dark, cigarette in hand. He looks like an unmade bed -- shirt rumpled and half-tucked into his wrinkled dress pants. He lights one cigarette off of another as he answers a series of calls on his cell.

His agitation seems to rise each time it rings again.

Hoseok takes stock of the two guards Mun has at his side tonight. They’re bulky men with huge arms and round bodies -- the kind of guys who look dangerous due to sheer size, but would be slow to respond in a physical fight. Namjoon holds up two fingers to confirm they’re the only men with Mun and Hoseok nods.

Headlights bounce off the pavement after a few more minutes of waiting.

A black car pulls up close to the water’s edge and Mun Kiwoo ends his call just as he lights another cigarette.

Kang Donghyuk is the first out of the car, followed closely by his Ssijog handler. Kang is dragging his ass and even from a distance, Hoseok can make out the bandage over the side of his face.

Hope it hurts, motherfucker.

“Mr. Kang,” Mun Kiwoo’s voice is clear now, loud enough for all three men to hear. “You have been rather insistent about this meeting. I’m a busy guy. What do you want?”

All three men strain to listen to Donghyuk’s response, but it’s too muffled to catch. Yoongi brings his hands to his throat to make a choking gesture. Can’t hear shit, he mouths. You choked him too hard.

Hoseok rolls his eyes.

“That sounds like your problem,” Mun laughs in response to whatever Kang has said. “Not mine.”

Donghyuk gestures wildly as he tries to make his case, likely pleading for the protection of the Ssijog. Mun Kiwoo looks unmoved.

“I’m not interested in causing any more trouble with the Gajog, Mr. Kang. This entire situation has been a means to an end. Stirring more shit with Kim Namjoon is not in my best interest.”

Namjoon signals to Yoongi and Hoseok that it’s time to move. All three men step out from their cover behind the shipping container, hands in front of their bodies to demonstrate none are holding their weapons.

“Fucking hell,” Mun Kiwoo groans when he spots them. “I don’t have time for this shit.”

His guards bow up at his side, both men reaching for their guns. Mun has the good sense to raise a hand and stop them from pulling their firearms -- which keeps Yoongi and Hoseok from doing the same. All of the men face off in silence for a moment, each side waiting to see if the other will do something to break the fragile peace.

Kang Donghyuk whines under his breath and Hoseok shoots a warning glare at him. He drops his gaze to the ground and shuts his mouth.

“You say you don’t want trouble with me, Mun and yet --” Namjoon snarls, “-- you have this piece of shit working my sister. Explain.”

“You know how these rich boys are, Kim,” Mun chuckles. “They develop a bad habit -- or in this idiot’s case, two -- and daddy’s money isn’t enough anymore. They’re easy to buy.”

Donghyuk looks from Namjoon to Mun, panic in his wide eyes.

“They’re trying to kill me,” he rasps.

“So what?” Mun laughs. He smiles wide to reveal a mouth like an abandoned graveyard, teeth broken and scattered. “This guy thinks we’re friends,” he jeers, jerking a thumb in Donghyuk’s direction. “He’s too stupid to figure out that he served a purpose and now he doesn’t anymore. Simple as that.”

Namjoon sucks in a breath with obvious irritation.

“I’m still waiting to hear what any of this shit has to do with my sister.”

“Ah, yes,” Mun says, stubbing out his cigarette and getting back to the task at hand. “Listen, I don’t have anything against your sister personally, okay? Lim Joowon is my son and I want him back. He can’t spend the next 15 years behind bars. You understand that, right? Doing whatever it takes for your family?”

Namjoon utters a curse under his breath.

“I’ll give your sister some credit, though -- she’s tenacious. I thought she’d give up after we took her digital files,” Mun admits. “Instead she’s cost me a hell of a lot more money. I’ve had to start cutting a lot more checks to ensure this shit goes away.”

“She’s not the type to roll over and play dead, Mun,” Namjoon growls through gritted teeth.

“The pigheaded gene runs in the family, huh?” Mun grins. “Look, let me level with you Kim, man to man. I don’t even need your sister at this point. I’ve paid enough people to fuck this case from the inside out. But I won’t lie, she is my insurance. If any of the higher-ups start asking questions about why this case fell apart -- who better to point the finger at than the sweet young prosecutor with the dirty family connections, hmm?”

Namjoon tenses, hand reaching for the gun at his side. Yoongi stops him with a muttered warning.

“None of us give a fuck about what happens to your son, Mun,” Namjoon says. “What I have a problem with is you sending that piece of shit --” he points at the trembling Kang Donghyuk, “ -- into her fucking home. Invading her space. You crossed a line.”

“You’re right,” Mun agrees lightly. “It was rude. Uncalled for. I’m gonna apologize for it right now.”

He pulls his pistol from his side and the sound of clinking metal bounces off the shipping containers as everyone pulls their guns. Hoseok trains his pistol directly at the shaking Kang Donghyuk and silently prays for the chance to pull the trigger. Mun Kiwoo’s gun is pointed at Namjoon and Namjoon’s is pointed right back.

Then Mun’s face lights up with a bizarre smile. He swings the point of his pistol in the direction of Donghyuk and pulls the trigger twice.

Donghyuk sputters as he falls to the floor.

Hoseok and Yoongi exchange looks.

Namjoon stares at Mun incredulously.

“What?” Mun’s nonchalance is comical. “You wanted to do that too, right? Besides, that guy owes everyone in the city money. I promise you, his own mother won’t even miss him.”

“Jesus,” Yoongi mutters under his breath. “This guy is fucking nuts.”

Mun puts his pistol away and his men follow suit. Namjoon signals for Yoongi and Hoseok to do the same.

“Consider that a goodwill gesture,” Mun says breezily. “An official apology from me, to you. And please pass along my consideration to your sister. Please assure her that none of this is personal. But I will make sure my son stays out of prison. And like it or not, she’s going to play some kind of role in that.”

Namjoon stares off into the water.

“I can’t control my sister, Mun. She makes her own choices,” he says after a moment. “But let me be clear, this is the first and last polite discourse we’re going to have about this situation. I don’t want you, your goons or any --” he glances at the bleeding pile of Kang Donghyuk on the floor, “-- paid help going near her. Not in her office, not in her home. Nowhere. Are we clear?”

Mun Kiwoo lights another cigarette and smiles wide, the space in his teeth prominent against the gleaming ember hanging from his mouth.

“Crystal.”

On the way back to the car, Hoseok hears the heavy splash of Kang Donghyuk’s body hitting the water down below.

He shuts his eyes against the rush of pleasure he feels as he climbs into the backseat.

************************

YOU

Something isn’t right.

You stare at the empty seat across the conference table -- the one where Hyejin normally sits -- and something twists in your gut. She’s out sick today. You can’t even remember the last time she took a sick day.

All morning, you’ve tried to convince yourself that it’s no big deal. That you’re working yourself up for nothing.

But Donghyuk is out today, too.

Vaguely, you register the sound of your boss’s voice at the front of the room. Any minute now, you’ll be asked to brief the team on the status of your case, but you can’t think straight. You can’t focus on anything but the feeling in the pit of your stomach that something is wrong.

Your thoughts race back to last night, back to your brother taking his men away for business in the middle of the night.

Back to Hoseok.

You try not to think about what it felt like to have his warm body pressed against yours. The way he smelled like fresh laundry and spice. The way you unraveled the moment he touched you.

Your phone pulses with an incoming text.

namjoon: i’ve asked jungkook to bring you to the office tonight after work [ 1:25 PM ]

namjoon: a lot to discuss [ 1:26 PM ]

Your brain grinds to a halt as you stare at the messages.

It’s like everything is wrong and everything is right, all at the same time.

“Miss. Kim?”

You look up to see your boss staring at you, one expectant eyebrow raised. You take a deep breath, line up your papers and stand to take your place at the front of the room.

****************************

The sense of déjà vu that hits you as you make the long walk across your brother’s office is nearly overwhelming. This is exactly how this entire mess began weeks ago -- with you summoned to see Namjoon after hours, with Yoongi and Hoseok flanking him on either side.

But there is one thing different about tonight.

When you briefly lock gazes with Hoseok as you make your way to Namjoon’s plush chair, there is a warmth behind his dark eyes you can see from a distance. It’s a complete contrast to the first time you ever saw him, when you thought you could freeze to death from the ice in his glare.

You look away before anyone can catch the flush working its way up your neck.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you brother begins evenly. “I finally have some answers for you about what’s going on.”

“Well, I’m ready to hear them,” you exhale, taking a seat. Your eyes drift over the papers strewn scattered across his desk.

“We’ve learned that the reason the Ssijog want your case against Lim Joowon to fold is because Lim is Mun Kiwoo’s son.”

You raise a brow.

“That’s news to me. I didn’t even know Mun Kiwoo had a son.”

“Neither did we,” Namjoon admits. “Apparently this is his only son and the man he intends to pass control of the Ssijog down to. So it makes sense that he’s so hell-bent on seeing this case fall apart.”

He picks one of the papers off his desk.

“This is the more problematic piece of the puzzle,” Namjoon says quietly. Your chest tightens in response to the expression on his face. “Jimin and Taehyung tracked a Ssijog account making payouts. Payouts to people in your office.”

He holds the piece of paper out to you.

“There are six names on that list.”

You take a deep breath before taking the sheet from his hands.

Your eyes scan down the document, taking in the blows, one by one. Two receptionists. One paralegal.

Lee Hyejin.

Kang Donghyuk.

Park Soo.

You say nothing as you stare at the list, taking in the names again.

Someone you called a friend. Someone you’d allowed into your bed. The boss you’d bent over backwards trying to impress. You stare at the black-and-white evidence of betrayal in your hands, reading the words over and over -- expecting to feel sadness or rage or humiliation or something.

Nothing comes.

“Give us a moment, would you please?”

Yoongi and Hoseok file out of the room quietly at Namjoon’s command. The second the heavy door to the office clicks shut, he clears his throat. “There is something else we need to discuss, Amsaja,” your brother continues quietly. “Kang Donghyuk is dead.”

“Good.”

Namjoon’s eyes go wide at the quick, calm delivery of your response.

You stand to walk to his sideboard to pour a drink. You have no idea what’s inside the decanter, only that whatever it is promises a burn you want to feel right now. You pour a glass and take a sip, leaning against the heavy wooden piece.

“Did you kill him?”

“No. The Ssijog beat us to it,” Namjoon admits. “But Hoseok paid Donghyuk a personal visit at home to convey our -- displeasure -- at his involvement in this mess. He damned near choked that man to death hours before Mun Kiwoo put two bullets in him.”

“I’m sorry anyone has ever tried you because I promise you they are going to pay.”

The words Hoseok spoke in your kitchen surface in your mind.

They’d sent a bolt of pleasure through you at the time -- triggering a kind of primitive response you’d be embarrassed to admit out loud.

And somehow that response pales in comparison to what you’re feeling right now.

A normal woman wouldn’t find satisfaction in the idea of Donghyuk cowering in fear inside his apartment. A normal woman wouldn’t feel warmth spread through her entire body at the mental image of Hoseok wrapping his hands around Donghyuk’s throat. You slip a finger under the collar of your blouse and search for your scar -- closing your eyes at the familiar feel of the raised skin.

You remind yourself that you are not a normal woman.

“Hoseok uncovered Kang’s involvement with the Ssijog even before we found the payouts.” Your brother pauses, a wry twist to his mouth as he continues. “He can be a very determined man when something is important to him.”

Namjoon holds your gaze for just a beat too long after delivering that statement. You look away and walk to his office window.

“Tell me what you’re thinking right now, Amsaja,” you brother says. You can hear the sound of him pouring his own drink behind you. “Your silence has me concerned.”

You’re thinking about every time Hyejin feigned concern for you and tried to get you to open up. The days Donghyuk insisted he take you to lunch or to dinner when you insisted you were too swamped. The bullshit little speech Park Soo gave you the night of the charity dinner about keeping Seoul from falling into the hands of criminals.

You’re thinking about what a joke they all are -- dressing up and looking down their noses at the criminal element they claim to despise. Wearing their fake piety like a badge of honor and paying for their fine things with dirty money.

You’re thinking that you’d rather choose a hundred street thugs over any one of their kind. At least your brother has the balls to wear his sins on his sleeve.

Namjoon joins you at the window, glass in hand.

“What I’m thinking, Jaegyueo,” you say calmly, “Is that a lot of things are starting to make sense for me. I haven’t felt this clear in a very long time. So, thank you.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your brother’s mouth and you return it.

You clink your glasses together in a toast.

***********************

You are two whiskeys deep when you leave Namjoon’s office.

Hoseok is waiting in a chair in the hallway. He stands to his feet when you appear from behind the heavy wooden door.

You suck in a breath as you take him in -- the sharp beauty of his face and the soft curve of his mouth and the way his suit hugs the lines of his lean body. You realize, with more than a little embarrassment, that you are staring.

“I’ve got the car warming downstairs,” Hoseok says carefully. “If you’re ready to go, that is.”

“Yes. Hoseok, I --” you swallow thickly, “-- I never apologized for what I said to you. I didn’t mean those things. I’m so sorry.”

Hoseok steps close and reaches one hand out to tuck your hair behind your ear. You shut your eyes, leaning into his touch and inhaling his scent.

“You’ve had a hell of a night,” he murmurs. “We can talk about that some other time. Let’s get you home, yeah?”

You open your eyes to look up at him just as Yoongi rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks.

“Glad this isn’t awkward,” he mutters, before turning to walk back the same way he came.

**********************

The air in Hoseok’s car is thick with tension on the ride home.

You’ve stopped pretending to not stare, eyes fixed on Hoseok while his eyes stay glued to the road. He guides the car through a sharp turn and you catch the way he winces as his hand grips the steering wheel.

A throb of guilt hits you square in the chest.

“You’re hurt.”

“Nah,” Hoseok deflects quickly. “Just a little sore.”

He won’t look at you. Why won’t he look at you?

“Namjoon told me you nearly choked Donghyuk to death,” you say quietly, studying his face for any reaction. He slows the car to a stop at a red light and rubs his fingers across his mouth, stares out of his window.

“I wanted to kill him,” he admits. He takes his aching hand off the steering wheel and flexes his fingers as if reliving the memory of that night. “I almost did.”

That embarrassing reaction flares inside of you again. This time it slides down your back and pools low between your legs and you have to squeeze your thighs together in response. You shiver as you remember the promises he made while pressing his body to yours.

“Tell me what you want. I swear to God, I’ll give it to you.”

You’ve never wanted anything as badly as you do Jung Hoseok right now.

*************************

You force yourself to wait for the elevator doors to shut.

The second they do, you crush your body and your mouth to Hoseok’s. If you catch him off-guard, there’s no way to tell -- not with the way he immediately backs you into the elevator wall, slotting one knee between your thighs.

“No one gets to hurt you anymore,” he groans the words into the shell of your ear, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your neck. “Just like no one gets to touch you anymore. No one but me.”

The strangled sigh that escapes you is the closest thing Hoseok is going to get to a thank you right now. You whimper in agreement, gasping when his fingers grip your ass to pull you flush against him. The swollen outline of his cock brushes against your stomach and you shudder.

The elevator ride is too long and too short, all at the same time. Hoseok backs you through the doors as soon as they open, fumbling in his pocket for the keys while you suck bruises into his throat. By some miracle, he gets the door open and both of you through it in one piece.

“Fuck,” Hoseok swears as you wrap your arms around his neck, grinding against his insistent cock. He has to drag you both into the bedroom as you press against him like a dead weight, teeth nipping at his bottom lip as you both stumble into the bedroom. You drop out of his grasp when the bed hits the back of your knees.

Hoseok stands back, chest heaving with exertion.

“I need you to hear you say it,” he pants. “Please.”

You sit up straight on the edge of the bed and unbutton your blouse, slipping it off without hesitation. “No one gets to touch me,” you breathe, reaching to unclasp your bra. You toss it away.

“No one but you.”

Hoseok’s eyes darken to near black.

He shrugs off his suit jacket and slowly pulls off his holster and gun, placing both carefully on top of your dresser. Then he turns back, body looming over yours. He cups your cheek with one large hand, looking down at you with such heat that your breath hitches in your chest.

You lean into his touch, fingertips grazing the contour of his cock beneath his suit pants.

“You promised to give me anything I want,” you whisper, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. He nods slowly, the rasp in his voice betraying the calm on his face.

“Anything. Name it.”

“I want to take care of you,” you say, pulling the hem of his shirt out of his pants. Your fingers work the buttons open, one by one. “Let me.”

Hoseok exhales a heavy breath as you open his shirt and stroke your hands down his chest. You give yourself a moment to admire the lean strength of his body, fingers stroking over the metal tags that hang just above one dark, flat nipple.

His stomach tightens and his cock twitches in his pants when you tilt forward to press a soft kiss to the golden skin just above his belt. You work it open with unsteady hands and his pants follow just a moment later.

“I want to make you feel good,” you whisper, nuzzling the outline of his length with your cheek. You push his boxers down his slim hips just enough to expose the head of his cock. “I don’t want you to think about anything but this.”

Hoseok groans when you flick your tongue against him.

His cock throbs under your fingertips through the fabric of his underwear when you dip down to tease the head with your mouth. You lap at the salty moisture gathered at the swollen tip and his head drops back.

“Sweetheart, please --” he grits out, hands reaching for your hair. He winds his fingers through the strands and jerks when you rake your teeth across the wet ridge under the head of his cock. “-- don’t tease me.”

Some other time you might play the delayed gratification game with him. You might take hours to torture him and keep him dangling at the precipice of pleasure. Tonight, though -- the only thing you want to do is make him come so hard he can’t see straight.

“I won’t,” you promise sweetly, pulling the rest of his thick length free from his boxers to wrap your warm fingers around him. You flick your gaze up to appreciate the way his head is tipped back in pleasure, lips parted.

“Look at me,” you murmur, pumping him with languid strokes.

His eyes are glassy with arousal when he opens them to gaze down at you. You make sure he’s watching as you take him deep, hollowing your cheeks as you draw your mouth across his length. He gathers your hair in his hands so he can appreciate the unobstructed view of your private show.

“No one gets to touch you anymore,” you whisper. You take him down as far as you can again, tongue dragging against the thick vein that runs the length of his cock. You are panting when you pull off him, tongue running the seam of your lower lip as you catch your breath.

“No one but me.”

Hoseok’s dick jerks in your hand in response, hand tightening in your hair as you lick a long stripe up his shaft. He chokes out a moan as you lick at the sensitive spot just under the head of his cock, eyes fixed on his.

“No more,” he croaks.

You pull your mouth away reluctantly, tongue swiping at the taste of him on your lips and the sight seems to set him off. He grabs your face with both hands, groaning into your mouth as he claims it.

He pulls away, panting.

“Lie back,” he demands between breaths. You comply without question.

Hoseok leans over you, arms braced on either side of your body as he drops his head down to take one nipple between his teeth. Your hips jerk at the stimulation and you squirm underneath him, thighs slippery with your own excitement. He laves at both nipples slowly, thoroughly, until they are aching and wet. Then he trails a soft line of kisses back up to your ear.

“I want to taste what’s mine,” he whispers, and a pang of arousal hits you so hard you forget to breathe. You lift your hips to help him pull your skirt away along with your soaked panties and he sinks to his knees on the floor in front of you. Every muscle in your body locks in anticipation.

Hoseok nudges your legs apart with his hands, placing gentle kisses along your inner thighs. His dark eyes are half-hooded with pleasure by the time he drapes your legs over his shoulders.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” he groans when you are fully spread open for him. He drops a kiss on your mound and your body jolts at the sensation, every nerve ending standing at attention. He moves lower, long fingers tracing the outline of your swollen cunt and you suck in a breath.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, dipping one finger into your damp heat. “Is this all for me?”

“Yes,” you choke out, hands gripping the sheets as his finger flexes inside of you.

“Only for you.”

Hoseok makes a sound of satisfaction deep in his chest before sealing his lips over your aching clit. You shudder against his mouth when he pulls back to soothe you with the flat of his tongue. “You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined how you would taste,” Hoseok groans, licking deeply into your wetness. “It doesn’t even come close. Nothing comes close to this.”

“Hoseok --” your hands come off of the sheets to grip into his hair, “-- Hoseok, please don’t stop.”

Your senses are so heightened that just the pressure of the heel of his hand against your cunt is making you crazy. His finger crooks deep inside you, stroking against your swollen walls while his lips and teeth toy with your clit. You whine at the stimulation, at the wet drag of his tongue that has you writhing beneath him.

“You’re close sweetheart, I can hear it,” Hoseok’s voice is ragged with arousal. “Let me hear you. Come for me.”

You clutch his hair between your fingers, moaning brokenly as the heat between your legs simmers to a boil.

“Hoseok --”

“That’s it,” he praises you with dirty words spoken in the sweetest way. “Let me taste you. Let me hear you.”

Hoseok is prepared the moment you come apart.

He grasps your hips firmly in those large, warm hands of his -- tongue and lips persistent as the live wire inside you tightens and snaps. The force of your orgasm shakes your entire body and leaves you begging and breathless. Hoseok savors every drop of your release until your hips sink back into the mattress and you protest weakly against the threat of overstimulation.

The mattress dips under you as Hoseok joins you on the bed, lips swollen with use and mouth marked with your taste. His head dips into the hollow of your neck, nipping gently at the skin, while his fingers skate over the soft skin of your stomach and thighs.

You shiver in his hold, closing your eyes for a moment to savor the feeling of his body on yours.

“I want to watch you come like that every day,” Hoseok whispers into your ear. “Only for me.”

“Only for you,” you agree in a whisper, finding your voice after what seems like ages.

You slip one hand between you, fingers wrapping firmly around the rigid cock pressed against your stomach. Hoseok groans when you tighten your hand around him.

“Hoseok,” you breathe, feeling a pulse between your legs that seems to beat in time with the throb of his cock in your palm, “Fuck me please, I’m losing my mind.”

His hoarse chuckle sends a shiver up your spine as he moves to cover you completely with his body. He lines up the head of his cock at your entrance and you tilt your hips up into his.

“Please,” you plead again, lifting your head to brush your lips against his. “Now.”

He sinks his cock into you slowly, inch by inch, groaning at the tight fit of your cunt around him. The stretch inside of you is nearly too much -- you whimper when he bottoms out and he drops his forehead to yours.

“You okay? Am I hurting you?”

His entire body feels like a rubber band ready to snap -- coiled energy waiting to be released. But he holds back the instinct to move until you nod your agreement.

“You feel so good,” you murmur, nudging his hips to move with your own. You stroke your hands down the slick skin of his back. “I’m so full right now.”

Hoseok swears under his breath as he tentatively rocks his hips against yours, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside of you. You wrap your legs around him as the discomfort subsides and the only sensation that’s left is the pleasant pressure of his cock against your walls.

Hoseok’s hips move harder as your whimpers melt into moans.

“Dammit,” he swears, head dropping low between his shoulder blades. “So tight and wet for me. So perfect for me.”

You look up to take in the sight of his perfect face slack with pleasure, mouth parted and face flushed with exertion. His dog tags hang from his neck, swaying as his hips begin to piston in earnest. You pull on them to force his mouth close to yours.

“Only for you,” you whisper, “No one else.”

Hoseok’s steady rhythm stutters when you whisper those words into his mouth and press your lips to his. His hips jerk wildly as his release races up his shaft. He laces his fingers into yours, fucking you deep into the mattress in those final seconds as he loses all control to chasing his end.

He comes with your name on his lips.

************************

Hoseok breathes deeply into your hair as you stroke your fingers across the lean lines of his chest, fingers tracing the metal outline of his dog tags. You lie together like that for a while, skin to skin.

Your thoughts are loud in the quiet.

You’re used to the bitter sting of betrayal by now.

Long before Lee Hyejin or Kang Donghyuk or Park Soo ever sold you out for a check, your own father betrayed you for the bottle. You of all people know too well that most people aren’t to be trusted.

But then Hoseok’s fingers drag lightly across your back and they bring you back to the here and now -- back to the promise he made to you tonight.

“No one gets to hurt you anymore.”

And you decide to trust just one more time.

************************

@saintjeonofbusan @lemonjoonah @illnevertrustmyselfagain @sunkissed725 @taetaewonderland @shadowhale @sugaminyoonjiji @jinhitwhore @trust-me-im-joly @daydreambrliever @jjeonjoon @ultraanonymousey @yoon-bug @multistantrash17 @poohsaidhi @alyboo-jpeg @sahmfanficbts @yoongissugarmommy @ppersonna @p-polaroid @vi-hoshi @stressedinmedschool247 @jgissle12 @ctvrty @btsnatalena @strawbewymiwk @stephleee @jalexa83 @livanthi @fantasybangtan @trviahope @mono-kookie@hauntedlilies @sugasaidbultaoreune @yeojaa @secret-alphabets @hodginss@parkjimin-persona

#hoseok x reader #hoseok smut #bts mafia au #hoseok mafia au #bts tsundere #ficswithluv #btswriterscollective #ksmutclub #btscreatorscorner #networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub

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emra-s · 3 years

Text

A short story for Pride Month 2021

I may not be part of the community, nevertheless it saddened me to hear that amidst the celebrations of Pride Month the Hungarian goverment launched a legal attack on the LMBTQ+ youth. Due to this saddening occasion hungarian writer and literary translator, György Dragomán shared this monologizing short story on social media, that I leave here in my clumsy, amateur translation. [Every right goes to the author ofc, the story is available in hungarian on the writer's website]

Gyorgy Dragoman: The wall

Do you know where I was this afternoon? No, not in a workplace meeting. I mean, there was one, I just wasn’t there. I was sitting in my car the whole afternoon, with rolled down windows, there, next to the foster home’s fence. I was listening to them, as they were shouting, playing, yelling, screaming, god knows which word fits here, I was listening to them, and I was trying to imagine that out of that mass of voices one is familiar to me, that out of that crowd of children one is our own child, that we can bring them home, that we can raise them together, that they can be ours, that we can love them and watch them grow up.

I was sitting there, holding the steering wheel and my mother and father came to my mind: banal grey moments, how they take me to school and we go buy new shoes, how they scold me because I came home late from the cinema, or because I forgot to put away the salad bowl; my father came to mind, how he was skinning the membrane off of the mutton, the movement, wherewith he cleaned the knife afterwards, that one time when my mother had brought a glass jar of beetroots from the pantry, and I was playing Lucky Luke just then, pointing a toy pistol at her that was filled with match heads, and I pulled the gun and it banged so loud that she dropped the glass that shattered on the floor tile, everything was painted red with beetroot juice, we collected the shards together and all of it went to the trash can.

It’s weird what a person can and can’t recall. I, for example, can not at all remember what was it like when I told my mother I’m gay, I remember the preparation, how I tried to practise and then the relief that it’s over, I said it, as my mother says „ohmygod, my little boy, you can’t have a normal life like that anymore”, that moment as I hugged her and said „of course I can”, the pain when she said „thank god your poor father couldn’t live long enough to hear this”, the moment I decided not to be angry at her for this sentence. But you know all of this already, I’ve told you a thousand times, I don’t even know why I’m tellng you again, maybe just to let you know I’m not a coward, no, I’m just tired of all of this, [it tires me] that from that moment on my whole life is about trying to prove to myself, my mom and you and the whole world that yes I do, I can live like anybody else can, when it’s obvious that I really could, if they let me.

I was holding the steering wheel and listened to how they played there, over the concrete wall, and I was thinking about you, your passionate anger with which you used to say that the walls have to be knocked down and we can’t let ourselves be imprisoned because with that they imprison themselves just as well and about what I will tell you, how I’m going to tell you that I don’t have the strength, I can’t get through this, I’m worn out. Yes, just as yours, it is all my wish too, to be able to raise our children together in piece and love, I long for it just as much as you do, maybe even more, I know that justice and the European law is on our side, it’s just that there are no [legal] paragraphs for a shaking hand, nor for weariness, nor for the feeling that every moment of your existence is a political act, I don’t want to fight, I just want to live normally like everyone else does. I know, we have to fight it out, that’s normal for you, fight is your element, maybe that’s why I fell in love with you, maybe that’s why I wanted to bind my life to yours, because I wanted to believe that I’m just as wild and determined as you are, but as I was sitting there next to the foster home’s fence I had to realise that I am weak, that I don’t have the strength anymore, I can’t get through this, I can’t beat the whole continent just to be able to live like anybody else.

I was sitting there, holding the steering wheel and thought about how I will tell you that that’s it, I give up, and the box came to my mind, there in my mother’s attic, filled with my childhood toys, all of what my mother didn’t let me throw out when I went to university because she said „it will be good later for her grandchild”, obviously the old toy pistol is there too, I remember it’s holding, the coldness of the nacre handle, I was trying to imagine it in our child’s hand, I was trying to get myself to say yes to you after all, to have a go at it despite everything, and then I took my hands off the steering wheel and I was shaking more than I ever did in my life and I knew it’s all in vain, I won’t have the strength for this. That’s it, I told you. I’m not asking you not to be angry.

The new laws – that on the surface are for the curbing of pedophilia and for the protection of children – proposed banning the "promotion" of sexuality of young people. Amongst other things it would mean that:

Sharing any kind of content with people under the age of 18 that portrays/represents homosexuality and/or gender transitioning is banned

„Popularizing” homosexuality and gender transitioning through sex education is banned

Only those organisations could teach sex education in schools that are registered by the state and gained the required permission (a.k.a. liberal minded non-governmental organizations are out of question)

Sharing any kind of advertisement with people under the age of 18 that depicts and with that „promotes” homosexuality and/or gender reassignment are prohibited

A demonstration is held on Monday evening (06/14/2021) in Budapest against the proposed changes.

#lmbtq #hungarian lmbtq #pride 2021 #Dragoman Gyorgy #Pride short story #LMBTQ+ short story

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scullysexual · 3 years

Text

{ post col fic: 4}

Season 9 canon-divergence. 2002 becomes the last documented year. The Colonists come and wreak havoc over everything that was once known and normal. From buildings being blown up to certain parts of the world not in existence anymore. When a simple patrol assignment goes wrong, Mulder finds himself bargaining his way to the top while Scully sinks lower and lower.

Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // AO3

@today-in-fic @mypanicface let me know if you want to be tagged.

- - -

Out of the hospital, a bright light shining above her, whiteness all around.

She was in that train compartment again.

Her chests constricts, breath growing shallow as she begins to helplessly move around on the table.

Figures appear above her, three identical people. A tear slips out from her eye.

“Put her to sleep,” one of the clones say.

Scully is just about to call out a ‘no’ when a cloth is pressed against her mouth.

Her last cognizant thought is chloroform before the setting around her fades, her eyes closing.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Two weeks have passed since her initiation. Edie had promised that the pain would stop after a week but it still hurt to move her cheeks, the cut still burning and itching.

Two cuts from mouth to ear. Right now they were red and nasty with butterfly stitching keeping the tissue together. This type of cut will scar, as is its intention to mark those who are enslaved by the Colonists. Only the women, though.

These cuts on her face will scar her skin forever. Even if she ever became free, if the Resistance ever did save them, the scars, this life will always be there, people will know what she was. Scully wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

A sea claimed America.

Mulder sits on the edge of a cliff staring at a large Island- USA Part Two he called it- across the water.

“We’re going to need a boat,” says Skinner.

Mulder surveys the coastline beneath him. Not too far away does he spy a ferry transit boat taken from Washington State.

“That,” says Mulder pointing down.

A look of hesitation appears on Skinner’s face.

“They use that to transport slaves.”

Mulder holds both arms out towards Skinner knowing full well his former boss still carries FBI issued handcuffs.

The Colonists have clones that carry out their dirty work; rounding up refugees, transporting them. Treated as the lowest, they still held a higher standing than most humans.

Mulder, now handcuffed, is forcefully yanked out of the wagon.

“What have we got here?” This clone is the common type- bald and intimidating. Mulder frequently saw this man on many a patrol and in hiding.

“Prisoner. I’m taking him to San Francisco,” explains Skinner.

“San Francisco doesn’t exist.”

Well that was news to them. Skinner however recovers.

“Point is, he’s going there.”

The clones exchange a look before asking>

“Is he marked?”

Marked. Branded on the sole of his foot. That answer was no.

“Of course,” says Skinner.

“I think we check,” suggests another clone.

“There’s no need to,” says Skinner. “I marked him myself.”

Yet the first clone isn’t convinced.

“You’re human,” he spits.

“I have permission to transport slaves.”

The clone gets close to Skinner’s face.

“You are a slave.”

“I’m not a slave.”

The clone takes out a pistol, cocking it.

“Then die.”

“I just want to go to San Francisco.”

The clones smiles gleefully.

“You’re not going to fucking San Francisco.”

The shot rings out. Mulder yells as Skinner’s body falls to the ground.

A clone reaches for him and Mulder tries to shake him off, succeeding, yet only to be grabbed by another.

“What do you choose?” the clones asks.

In any other circumstance Mulder would choose death over enslavement yet his promise to Scully rings in his ear. Besides, this could be his only chance to California.

He bows his head hearing the vicious, joyful smirk on the clones voice.

“Get in,” he demands and Mulder is yanked by the chain between the cuffs, forced beneath the deck with fifty others, a promise to Scully on his lips.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Dust flies around in the air. A spotlight baring down on her. She can barely see the people sat in booths before her, a man’s voice ringing off numbers, somebody kneeling beside him measuring the width of her hips with a tape measure.

She’s about to be paid for. Sold to the man who pays the most for her. They called that prostitution in the old world yet here it’s the norm.

She’s about to be forced to make babies but they don’t understand her body cannot do that. Only once, a miracle she gave up.

Her body still carries the evidence, faint scars adorn her stomach and breasts. She had hidden her body away from Mulder, self-conscious of how it had changed to accommodate a developing child. He had kissed her scars and told her she was still beautiful.

And maybe those scars keep her alive now as a gravel sounds and shr is bought for 600 Jewels.

.:.:.:.:.:.

Mulder learned quickly how sex was now to be viewed. The aim was simply to procreate, make a baby and let it grow. It was almost animalistic, no connections to be formed, they weren’t even allowed to do it face to face.

.:.:.:.:.:.

Scully cried the first time. She had only been with Mulder since that first night when she rediscovered herself. Even when he was missing she waited, her loyalty extending past a simple work partnership. Yet now, as another man thrusts into her, as another man’s come drips out of her, she can’t help but feel she’s failed him somehow.

.:.:.:.:.:.

He hates himself everytime. For giving in, for thinking of her everytime he comes. It’s a disservice to both Chloe and Scully.

It was simple really, he wanted her. Seven years without properly hearing her or seeing her was beginning to take it’s affect.

“I’m sorry,” he says when Chloe has left the room and he sits encased by his own self loathing.

He feels arms wrap around him, a head resting against his shoulder and her voice speaking out it’s own apology.

“I’m sorry, too.”

He blinks and she is gone.

She was never there.

.:.:.:.:.:.

Her period comes as a blessing rather than a curse most days. It all stops. For a month Scully is taken out of the breeding program.

Scully fixes herself up, in a much better mood than she was earlier and pleasantly bounces down the stairs.

“It’s been five months and nothing!” the mistress cries.

“What do you want me to do?” Roger asks.

Scully pauses at the door to the drawing room. It was rude to listen but they were talking about her.

“Sell her. Put her back up for auction. Buy one that works,” Ruth is demanding.

Her happy mood dashing away at the thought of enduring a second humiliating auction, Scully slumps against the wall. She hadn’t become comfortable here by any means but it had become familiar, and despite that first night, Roger wasn’t terrible. He was kind at least. The thought of moving doesn’t sit right with her unless it was moving to freedom and that was unlikely.

“Better yet get somebody younger,” Ruth adds and that hits a nerve within Scully, causing her to frown and the feeling of being inadequate pooling in her stomach. She was passed the age of thirty-five but she definitely hadn’t reached the menopausal stage, her body still worked she just needed time.

But time had never been on Scully’s side.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“What if it happens again?”

Scully looks over the small campfire, Mulder’s voice pulling her out of her thoughts.

He looks lost in his own.

“What if what happens?”

“What if you become pregnant again?”

She notices now that he’s saying this to her stomach, as if he’s trying to see if she is pregnant at all. Without much thought, Scully wraps the blanket tighter around herself.

“I won’t,” she says curtly.

“It’s happened before,” Mulder states.

Yes it has happened before but miracles only happen once.

“Would it be a problem with I did?” Personal problem she means. Would he view her as a burden? View their baby as another mouth to feed?

“No,” comes Mulder’s voice. “But it wouldn’t be easy.”

No it wouldn’t.

The reason for his questioning puzzles her. The conversation of another child is rarely mentioned.

“Why do you ask?”

Mulder sighs. “I’ve been thinking about him.”

Scully purses her lips, feeling herself about to shut this conversation down. However, for some reason, she lets Mulder continue. “About where he might be, if he’s even still alive.”

William. The name of a child both parties refuse to talk about.

Scully can see the tears forming in Mulder’s eyes and stands up from her place.

Sitting down she brings him into her arms, comforting him as the tears silently fall.

“Maybe he got lucky,” she tells him.

Maybe he was okay.

#post col sad angsty fic #chapter 4 #probably shouldnt be posting rn but whatever #i write

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scxrsgxrd · 4 years

Text

Remedy // Gordon Merkel

Part Three

Part one here

Part two here

Part four here

Part five here

Hello my lovelies! Thank you so much to anyone reading this series, it means so much that people are enjoying it :’) and I hope you all enjoy this part just as much!

WARNINGS: 18+ mature language, mentions of blood, alcohol, smoking and female sex work.

Merkel lay awake for the rest of the night, not willing to let himself fall back into a slumber and relive the same nightmare. When it was finally an acceptable hour for him to make his way out if bed, he rose up slowly and walked over to the sink in the corner of the room to splash his face with cold water, sighing at the refreshing feeling.

“Merkel?” He heard a small voice mumble from the bed.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He wiped over his face with a towel before making his way back to the bed and perching on the edge.

“You.. you stayed?” Her voice beamed as her eyes seemed to sparkle, he’d never actually stayed the night before, no matter what ungodly hour they’d finished with their business, he’d always leave.

He nodded, brushing her knotted hair off her face and planting a light kiss on her nose, this small show of affection seemed to make her beam even more.

“Let’s go out for breakfast, I know a little place that does the best pancakes-”

Merkel internally cursed as he brought himself to interrupt her.

“No, its,” he cleared his throat, knowing to choose his next words wisely. “It’s not good if we’re seen out together.”

The light in her eyes disappeared suddenly and her lips turned into a pout, Merkel braced himself.

“You’re married, aren’t you? I knew it. I fucking knew you were just like the rest of those scumbags.” She snarled, grabbing his left hand as though to check for a ring.

He cringed slightly, retracting his hand as he felt himself disappear within his mind, old memories flooding back to him about his previous life, about Klara. From his almost catatonic state he noticed her eyes focus on the chain around his neck which had begun to poke out from behind his button down shirt, and most particularly, the ring attached to it.

Shit.

“You, my friend, have some goddamn explaining to do.” Her tone was still the same, and her arms were tightly folded across her chest as she studied him, waiting for an other-worldly lie to leave his mouth.

“What’s your name? Your real name?.” He sighed, he was in too deep to hit her with a bullshit excuse, she deserved better.

“I really don’t see how that’s relevant.” There was a clear air of defiance in her voice, and Merkel could feel his head begin to throb.

“If you want answers, then I want to know who exactly I’m giving them to.”

“Anna.” Her reply was hesitant, she was wary as she had been told countless times the risks of revealing her real name, but she trusted Merkel, she really trusted him.

“Anna.” He mused over her name, a small smile tugging at his lips, which then quickly faded when he realised that she was still deeply, deeply unimpressed with him.

“I gave you my name, I want answers.”

Merkel breathed out deeply, twirling the ring on the chain around his neck as he tried to string together a worthy explanation.

“I was married.” Was all he managed to come up with, which did nothing to soften the frown on Anna’s lips.

“The fact that you still have the ring tells me you either had a very amicable separation, or you’re still bullshitting me. My money’s on the latter.” She was almost snarling at him. This was a man she’d trusted, a man she’d thought was different. She felt as though her naivety was laughable.

“Our separation was.. different.” He swallowed harshly as he felt his throat tighten. It had been five years since he’d spoken about Klara, and the pain was still raw.

“Different?” Anna scoffed, not registering the pain in Merkel’s eyes as he continued to twirl his long fingers around the ring. “That still doesn’t explain why we can’t go out in public together.”

“Anna, please. Just this once, will you take my word for it? I don’t want to talk on the matter anymore.” He lifted his hand to place it on her cheek, but she pulled back, her eyebrows were furrowed as she studied him for a few seconds.

“Get out.” Anna’s voice was barely a whisper, but he knew she meant it, and he was in no mood to argue. He huffed lightly before standing up and picking up his coat, brushing it off and walking over to her door. He made sure to slam it on his way out.

He knew something wasn’t right when he entered his apartment. The suitcase he’d left at the door to unpack had disappeared. He instinctively grabbed the nearest sharp object he could find and slowly made his way over to his bedroom, kicking the door open and flinging himself in to face the intruder.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t show up.”

“Helene?” His voice sounded startled, much to her delight as she set herself down onto his bed with the photo album she had been occupying herself with. The look in his eyes was the one she craved most; the fear alarm that was triggered by her presence was almost intoxicating to her.

“Yes, darling, don’t sound so surprised. You really thought I didn’t know exactly where you lived?” She laughed, removing her blazer and laying it down carefully on the bed before flicking through the album in front of her.

“Ah, such a shame you never invited me to your wedding. The weather was amazing, oh and Klara, how beautiful she looked.” Helene set her eyes on him, hungry for his reaction, he knew this. He forcibly smiled, his hand clutching the small knife so tightly that he felt the skin break and a warm trickle make it’s way down his wrist.

“Why have you come?” Merkel’s words were choked, his lips pursed and his eyes flaming. He grabbed the photo album and threw it across the room, his contempt for the woman sat in front of him was almost palpable.

“Didn’t you read the postcard? I said I’d have your assignment to you in the next few days.” Helene rose to her feet and walked in a slow circle around Merkel, her red Louboutin heels clacking against the hardwood floor as she lay a hand on his shoulder, tutting as she felt him tense immediately.

“Relax, darling.” She drawled, moving her fingers down his arm slowly before opening his clenched fist and removing the knife, a small chuckle leaving her as she inspected it.

“Just tell me what the job is, Helene.” Merkel spat, shrugging her off and taking a few steps back as he visibly shuddered.

She smiled. “Always so eager.”

“You need to intercept and eliminate Alexei Yelenova. The details of his residence are on a postcard underneath your pillow.” She smiled once more, but this smile faded when Merkel burst into a fit of laughter.

“Alexei Yelenova? You mean the KGB general stationed in Berlin?” He wiped a tear from his left eye and laughed once more.

“The very same.” Her tone was grave, and she lunged forward to grab onto his face, her long nails piercing his cheeks as she stared into his eyes.

“I like you, Merkel. I like you because you don’t question me, you wouldn’t want to change that.” She sneered and tightened her grip for a few seconds before pushing him away from her and grabbing onto her blazer.

“I’ll show myself out.”

He dove under his pillow once she left and produced the postcard, on it was a large villa which he immediately recognised. The same place all the high profile shitbags had their debauched parties. He flipped it over and sighed as he scanned over the message Helene had left.

Be here in two days time. Don’t be late and don’t disappoint me. Much love, H.

Several cigarettes and large whiskies later, Merkel began to pack for his short trip away to Alexei Yelenova’s villa.

Anna sat alone at the bar as she fiddled with the straw in her cocktail. She thought the bright colours and paper umbrella might cheer her up, but instead she felt worse. She tapped her fingernails on the glass as she went over her earlier conversation with Merkel for the thousandth time, how dismissive he had been about his marriage and his reluctance to open up to her.

“Anna?” Her thoughts were interrupted by a surprised voice and a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she turned herself around to see Irina stood before her, who pulled her into a tight embrace.

Irina was one of the first friends Anna had made when she had first started her work, and they had been roommates until Irina had moved across Berlin in search of more high profile clients a few months prior.

“Irina? What are you doing back here?” Anna asked as her friend sat on the stool next to her, her eyes glimmering with excitement as she set her bag down.

“I have news.” She almost shrieked as Anna tried her best to shush her, but she was almost trembling with anticipation.

Anna didn’t have time to ask what the news was before Irina blurted it out.

“A man I’ve been working for, he’s having a huge party in two days. He wants me to bring more girls, and you look like you need a good time.” She grinned as she nudged Anna’s arm. Irina had never been one to shy away from a party, she was a free spirit who was, by definition, the life of the party.

“I don’t know, Irina. You know that’s not really my thing.” Anna responded, earning a rather intense eye roll from Irina.

“I’ll be there, and I’ll take care of you. All you have to do is be there and have a good time, he likes to have a lot of people around to take attention away from his meetings with colleagues.” She lowered her voice as she finished the sentence, looking around her shoulder as though to check that nobody was listening.

“Fine, Irina, I’ll come. Who’s the man throwing the party?” Anna asked before taking a large sip of her cocktail.

“Alexei Yelenova.”

Tags: @roman-cek @lucifer-reads @billofourtime @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @ill-skillsgard @skrsgardspam @theskarsgardcult @bskarsgardlove92 @dreamtherapy

If anyone wants to be added/removed, let me know :)

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard fanfiction #atomic blonde #atomic blonde merkel #gordon merkel

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sohin-ace · 4 years

Text

Mista - Laundry

This is cross-posted from Wattpad and available on AO3.

Enjoy~

You had taken it upon yourself ever since you joined Passione that you'd take care of chores as much as you could since the gang, children as they were, could be quite messy.

You didn't want someone like Bruno to take responsibility of something as trivial as chores when he was already so busy.

He, as well as the boys were grateful of your helpfulness, and even though nobody asked you, you still whole heartedly put yourself at work for everyone. You really loved the gang like your own family so it was only natural for you.

You really were like the mom friend of the group, which was well appreciated by your Capo, who could only understand your position.

"Oh my God Y/N! What did you do to my shirt?! It smells so good!" Narancia squealed one day when he found you in one of the hallways.

"Oh, nothing special," You chuckled. "I guess it's just the detergent." You stated humbly while playing with the straps on his top. "How do you like it?"

"It's soooo soft and way more comfy than before!" He felt the fabric on his chest as if to emphasize his words. "Thank you so muuuch, I love you!"

"Huh? Giorno what happened?" You grabbed the blonde's arm and lifted it to inspect the material of his shirt that was tearing up at the seams. "Your sleeve is all torn up."

He glanced at it and widened his eyes in surprise. Aw, too bad, he really liked that shirt and now it was ruined.

"Hm? Oh.. I guess it was a particularly rough fight. Damn it..."

You could hear the defeated undertone in his voice and you gently smiled at him. "It's okay, give it to me, I'll sew it up for you."

"Really?" He blinked at you before sighing lightly. "Thank you, Y/N. Pardon me for the trouble..."

"Don't be sorry Giogio, it's fine! We wouldn't want to have such pretty clothes in bad conditions, now, would we?"

Thankful towards you, he gently grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it before walking away to change clothes.

Those were the kind of occurences that happened ever since you joined. Your addition to the team made their daily life easier and much more pleasant.

It also didn't help that you were so selfless and kind to all of them that even Abbachio quickly warmed up to you, seeing how similar you were to Bucciarati.

As much as the boys were nagged here and there to actually help out and not let the same person do chores everyday, you were fine with volunteering when you weren't on a mission and had free time.

You were happy to help your boys out and never really had any problems with that. Not until one particular day.

You were finally putting away the laundry that had been drying in the sun all day. You hummed a little song as you lifted the basket and walked inside, starting to sort each member's clothes out and fold every piece carefully, as you always did.

Over time, you learnt to recognize each member's more or less iconic clothes and knew them by heart, whether it was Abbachio's black everything, Narancia's precious collection of Band T-shirts or Giorno's silken and golden ensembles.

As Mista was passing by the living room to get food for the Sex Pistols, he saw you picking out a familiar pair of briefs. He gasped, blushing instantly and ran towards you, snatching the piece away from your hands.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING Y/N?!" You jumped and almost screeched in fright at his sudden booming voice.

"OH MY GOD!!" You put a hand over your nearly exploding heart. "Mista you scared the living shit out of me!"

"What do you think you're doing with my underwear ??!!!" He yelled at you in a mix of anger and embarassment, a furious blush dusting his face and ears.

"I-I'm... What do you mean? I'm doing the laundry...?" You squeaked, still shaken by his sudden outburst.

"No no no no no!!! NO! NO! You don't understand! You can't do that! You can't just- I don't want you fiddling with my stuff like that!!" He pursued, scolding you almost, like you were guilty of some crime.

"Huh? Why not?" You asked in confusion. "It's fine, It's just me. I'm not gonna judge you- Look, I'm doing everyone's laundry, it's nothi-"

You were about to lift a random piece of underwear to prove your point, which happened to be Bucciarati's lace bralette, but he cut you off, scoffing as you didn't seem to understand the problem.

"No no no, Y/N my girl." He started making adamant and frustrated hand gestures. "It's EMBARASSING! Would you like it if I was handling your panties?!"

"I-I mean..." You stuttered a bit, flustered by the whole ordeal and not knowing what to tell the poor guy. "If I didn't want you seeing my panties, I'd do my own laundry..."

He froze for a second and he swore he heard the Pistols snicker somewhere. Oh shit, you had a point. He paused, having nothing to come back at you.

"B-but... If you want... I can tell Bruno, or anyone, to do your laundry... If it's what's bothering you, I'll just stop touching your stuff..."

Mista then calmed down and watched your defeated expression. He realized he was a bit too harsh on you over nothing and must have hurt you.

"W-wait Y/N, uh..."

"No, no, I understand." You dismissed him. "You're a man, I'm a woman, I should keep my boundaries. You're right."

You lifted the small pile of his underwear that you neatly folded beforehand and shoved it surprisingly gently to his chest.

He grabbed it while still looking at your dejected self. He started to regret going ham on you. You were only trying to help, after all.

"Wait, no- that's not it..."

It's just that he didn't want the girl he was crushing on witnessing some things. He wanted to impress you, and for you to see him at his best shot.

And you knowing that he owned underwear with 'Lucky you' or 'This gun has perfect aim' printed in bold fonts right over the crotch was definetely not the best way to proceed.

"It's okay, Mista... I'm sorry if I invaded your privacy."

"No, Y/N! Listen-"

"What's going on here? Oh Guido, you finally decided to help." Bucciaratti came in and saw you both.

"Actually Bruno, Mista doesn't feel comfortable when I sort out his underwear, so... Could you maybe-"

"Huh?" Bruno raised an annoyed eyebrow at his gunman. "Then wash your damn clothes yourself, stop bothering Y/N. She's as busy as you are. Be grateful that she's nice enough to take the time to clean and cook for us when none of you do."

Bruno walked to you and helped you up. "I'll take care of this, Y/N. Go take a break."

You obliged and thanked your capo as you left, leaving Mista to groan out in frustration and feeling like shit next to his leader who was going to lecture him all day.

"Oohh, it's laundry day? Can I help you?" Narancia said a bit too giddily for his own good as he found you all by yourself and you smiled at him.

"Sure! Can you take care of the sheets? It's the basket over there, I'll help you hang them."

"Okay! Hey wait a minute..."

Narancia furrowed his eyebrows and stared at the basket in your arms before he started searching through it.

He then took out some clothes, inspected them, and put them back in front of your very confused eyes. He did this a few times, but before you could even ask him what he was looking for, he said.

"Didn't Mista put any clothes for washing? All week?!" The boy exclaimed, absolutely baffled by his friend's filthiness.

"Um, he didn't want me to do his laundry anymore."

"What? Why?"

"I think he got shy from me seeing his underwear." You sheepishly told him and he snorted at such a stupid reason.

"Pfftt! Pussy."

"That's ridiculous." Abbachio added as he took the heavy basket from your arms. "Does he have dirty secrets or something? Would he rather have stinky-ass underwear? This boy doesn't make any fucking sense I swear."

"It's fine. I mean, I do have myself some embarassing pieces of undies, so I can't really say anything."

"He's such a drama queen." Abbachio commented as he walked off to hang the clothes outside, leaving you to barely have any work to do.

As you were done with the task at hand, you grabbed the men's attention before they could slip away and thanked them for helping you.

"Thank you Nara, thank you Abbachio. I'll make it up to you two with a special meal~"

"Ooh yeaahh!!" Narancia pumped his fist in the air in victory and Abbachio rolled his eyes.

"Don't mention it. I was bored."

They both went on their own way and you followed suit, but before you could even pass through the living room, none other than Mista came in and blocked your way.

You looked up at him and smiled, but your smile soon fell when he suddenly grabbed your upper arms and pushed you backwards.

"M-Mista..?!"

He guided you across the room until you reached the small closet that was rearranged to be the laundry room. He pushed you inside and entered with you, closing the door behind him.

"It-it's uh... A very tight space." You managed to utter between hitched breaths as you looked down towards his hips, his gun poking you from how close you were.

There was barely enough space for you two and his body practically trapped you against the washing machine behind you. What the hell was he thinking?

"It's the only place where I know we'll have absolute privacy."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words and your eyes widened. "Wh-what do you need privacy for...?"

He realized what he said and how you must have misinterpreted and it was his turn to panick. He turned red and choked on his own words.

"W-wait... Don't get me wrong! It's not like tha- I mean-...I'm not gonna do anything. I just want to talk!" He stuttered and rubbed his head in frustration. Gosh he was so nervous around you.

"I'm listening, Mista."

"Okay." He took a deep breath and tried not to concentrate on your cute form right beneath him. "I wanted to say... I'm sorry for what I told you last week. It was so stupid and I got mad at you when you were being helpful. You're so nice to be a mom to the gang... And I hurt you."

Your eyes softened on the boy and how sincere he sounded. You reached out to gently cup his face in your hand.

"Oh, Mista." You breathed, endeared. "I already forgave you. I'd never want to make you uncomfortable, caro."

His heart pounded in his chest and he felt hot as he started to sweat bullets, your soft gestures putting him on edge and turning his legs to jello.

"I-I actually... Jeez... Oh man..." He stammered, completely unnerved by you.

Why did you have to be so sweet? Now he could barely form a proper sentence. His glance shifted from your eyes to the walls around him and he cleared his throat.

"I have a reason why... Like... Why I was so y'know... Embarassed... And stuff..." He trailed off mumbling.

"What is it?" You encouraged with honey voice, letting your hand slide down from his cheek to his chest, making him bite his lip.

"Oh god... Actually Y/N... I...I'm..." He tried, between heavy breaths, squeezing his eyes shut and balling his fists. "I fell in love with you. Shit damn, I said it."

He felt so relieved to finally have confessed to you after so long, but he almost regretted it right afterwards.

As he was about to take your silence as rejection, he felt your warmth hitting his neck, feeling your soft lips reaching his jawline in a sweet kiss and your hands run up and down his biceps, groping at them occasionally in a comforting manner.

He shuddered at the pleasurable sensations and relaxed visibly. It took all his self-control to prevent himself from letting out any weird noises. He was already crazy for you before, but if you kept touching him like that, he might just die on the spot.

"You're so cute Mista." You chuckled at the boy who was now a blushing, flustered mess who could barely keep his eyes opened. "But I knew already."

His froze and his eyes widened like saucers as he pushed you away to get a better look at you. "Y....You knew?! But how?!"

"The Pistols told me."

"The Pisto-... What the actual fuck?! These bunch of assholes!" He grumbled, wanting only to call them out and scold them for betraying him.

You leaned in and wrapped your arms around his torso, resting your head against his warm chest as you squeezed him against you.

His whole body stiffened at the intense proximity and how your body felt against him. Oh god. Was it wrong to feel like you fitted perfectly against him, like two puzzle pieces? Because that was his exact thoughts.

"I was just dying to hear it from you directly. I'm happy."

He let his hands shyly find their way on your back and locked you in his arms. He sighed in delight and relished in your softness resting his head on top of yours, smiling like a little boy. He couldn't be happier.

You suddenly slid your hand between the two of you and right towards his front which made the sensitive boy gasp and almost scream at what you could possibly be doing now. But to his surprise you only stole his gun and slid it out of his pants, tucking it inside your own pocket.

"That thing was a bit uncomfortable." He huffed a heavy but relieved breath at your words.

"Oh god, you drive me nuts sometimes..."

Oh man, do I love Mista, such a sweet bean.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo #jjba #vento aureo #golden wind #guido mista #mista #x reader #reader insert #writing #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo part 5 #part 5 #mista x reader #guido mista x reader

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thebandcampdiaries · 3 years

Photo

Comatose Red Ivy presents: Comatose Up In Smoke

April 2021 - A self-styled Redheaded Transgender Superstar Bytch, Comatose Red Ivy is most certainly not your average artist! This amazing performer is all about setting the bar higher in terms of genre definitions and sonic aesthetics, creating a sound that blurs the lines so seamlessly between diverse musical styles. From the melodies of country, to the raw edge of hip-hop and the iconic twist of punk music, anything goes, and there’s no stopping Comatose Red Ivy’s astonishing creative flow and excellent dynamics! The artist’s most recent EP, Comeatose Up In Smoke, is actually a perfect example of what it means to be creative without any compromise. Each song has something unique to offer, and the sheer variety that you will find is truly amazing, especially when you consider that there are not that many artists who actually feel brave enough to expand their sonic horizons and find the best creative solution to represent their identity in full color. When it comes to creating music that matters, you can’t beat Comatose Red Ivy, and all the authentic vibe the artist managed to capture on this release.

Find out more about Comatose Red Ivy, and do not miss out on this exciting new release.

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCxXM9Qug0Bg7dQIjEpGI13w https://www.instagram.com/comatose_red_ivy/

We’ve also had the opportunity to ask the artist a few questions!

I love how you manage to render your tracks so personal and organic. Does the melody come first, or do you focus on the beat the most?

Answer: Don’t focus at all. Never listen to the beat anymore than 5 or 10 seconds to catch its tone then I press record, sing or rap to the end of the track, press stop, then upload and go on to next song. All freestyle, don’t write anything, don’t consider anything.

Do you perform live? If so, do you feel more comfortable on a stage or within the walls of the recording studio?

Answer: only been doing music since October 30 2020 so no chance to perform but I am to perform, I feel most comfortable anywhere there is music. My performances will be similar to Kurt Cobain meets the Sex Pistols, they not ready.

If you could only pick one song to make a “first impression” on a new listener, which song would you pick and why?

Answer: 300 Houses No Home: It’s a song that sets many different tones and represents perseverance, hope, victory and ability to over come even most severe of situation.

What does it take to be “innovative” in music?

Answer: Not using the industry for influence. Never try to sound like something, just press record and be yourself, PHUCK THE TEMPO< PHUCK THE FLOW, I go on the GoGo and beat the beat as I eat the beat, punch it in the mouth if I want.

Any upcoming release or tour your way?

Answer: Releasing my 6th Studio Hip Hop Album, “Prodigious Savant” it’s ready to be uploaded, have my Second Country Album finished “Beans and Cornbread” already dropped first sing “CASH WAYNE DEERE (FRONTIER FREESTYLE)”. Got a 5 track story adventure coming and a Punk Rock EP.

Anywhere online where curious fans can listen to your music and find out more about you?

Answer:

I have A Tumblr if ya want to chat or need help. YouTube you can listen to my music for free with adblocker, and SoundCloud has all my RapFame Songs and odds and ends stuff I do online.

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fenharel · 4 years

Text

oc a-z headcanons

tagged (like 500 years ago) by @arlathen sorry for doing this so late!! tagging: @rkyloren @bleden-mark @thalasians @lelibela @lelianasgf @noonvraith (this is really long dont feel pressured to do anything lmao! ♥)

Alignment: What would be their D&D alignment? How might it come into play?

True Neutral!! She’s neither a good person or a bad person, she doesn’t seek to follow the rules nor does she seek to break them. I guess it comes into play whenever she’s willing to discuss any possible solution to a problem, even things good alignet characters would disregard. But she never purposefully would pick the worst solution either. She’s just generally a very grey character.

Beverage: What do they most like to drink, and why?

Champagne (let’s pretend that exists in Tir Ná Lia) & Wine! But she adds water to it, she always wants to have a clear head.

Co-Habitat: Do they live with anyone? What’s “need to know” before moving in?

She lives together with Avallac’h! “Need to know” before moving into her home is that some of her pets are poisions or just downright dangerous, so don’t pet any unless she gave you her ok. Other than that there is not much you need to know! If she loves you she wants to share anything with you, so absolutly just make yourself comfortable. But respect that she likes things her way, so, there’s also that.

Decor: What kind of home do they keep? Are there any defining details?

She has a Mansion in Tir Ná Lia that’s definetly too big for her and Avallac’h lmao (It used to be hers alone for a long, long time). It’s surrounded by a giant garden with several pools, fountains, pavilions and bridges and her Tigers, Crocodiles and Peacocks live there (among other things). You walk several hundrets of stairs up to her main entrance. The Mansion is made out of white marble, on engraved on the floor you can follow an elder blood family tree that goes through all rooms of the estate. It also has high ceilings, spiral stairs (The style is all very elven, obviously), high windows and several balconies. Ivory and other plants grow inside of the mansion, like on the handrails. A lot of the walls have also been painted by Avallac’h. The entire basement are laboratories.

Escape: What do they do to de-stress? How successful is it?

Deithwen rarely feels the need to de-stress, because she’s rather the type to get energized by any kind of work. If someone close to her sits her down and tells her to relax for a bit then she likes to read (science books lmao), hang with her 45435 exotic animals, go places with her bf, and have sex.

Fluff: What hits their soft spot? Does anything turn them into emotional goo?

She secretly thinks she’s a bad person. Anyone who tells her that they think otherwise hits her soft spot perfectly. (ESPECIALLY if Deithwen values them very highly) :’/

Grudge: How bad does an insult go over? Do they hold a grudge long?

BADLY. Especially if the situation is emotionally charged she has a tendency to sting you. She can also hold a grudge forever without you ever knowing about it until it’s too late and you only realize because she stabs you in the back. :/ HOWEVER if whatever happened wasn’t bad enough for her to lose her trust on you, or she was never close to you in the first place, she doesn’t care about any grudges really. Girl has things to do.

Hobby: What’s something they do for fun that might be surprising?

Besides of cuddling her pet tiger and fucking yes witcher elves are weird and apparently not very horny and the stuff I already mentioned.... She does like to write, a journal or sometimes even fiction or poetry that she doesn’t share with anyone. She also indulges in philosophy and is downright fascinated by elven/human/etc. behaviour.

Insomnia: What’s their sleeping schedule like? Snorer? Sound sleeper?

She doesn’t sleep much and sometimes she talks! If she has trouble sleeping, she likes to have soft harp music in the background.

Jaded: Do they buy into the “happily ever after” ideal? What’s their standard?

Honestly? She doesn’t care.

Kin: What’s their role among their relations? Do they consider others family?

Yes!!! Family is low-key really important to her!! She’s an older sister, the firstborn in the family, a wife, an aunt, a sister in law, a mother!!

Law: What do they think about abiding rules? Are they selective about it?

Only if necessary, if she can bend them she’ll do it, if she can find loopholes, the better.

Magic: In a magic series or not, are they accepting, or is each instance a shock?

She’s a Sage :D

Network: Are they connected to the people? How much do they reach out to others?

She’s an extrovert and a leader type!! She has absolutly no problem reaching out to people and always had a natural charm to her and can be very inspiring!! She did had to learn over a long period of time how to hold her influence over people though, she used to disregard the fact that people are just people with needs for very long.

Offspring: What kind of parent would they be? Would they prefer one, or multiple?

Post TW3 she actually gets a daughter called Elaine!! :‘) She a very demanding mum with high standards and always has to remember that she needs to have more emotional tact with her kid than she has with other people. But she ultimatly takes her role as a mum very seriously and loves Elaine more than anything. If getting pregnat wouldn’t be so hard as an elf, she would have more than one child.

Pistol: Is this character skilled with a weapon? What’s their opinion of violence?

She has gathered some basic skills with the sword and with daggers over the years, but that has never really been her vibe. She is ultimatly most dangerous using magic. And she doesn’t believe in unecessary violence but she doesn’t shrink from it with the situation demands it (she prefers to be a type of commander though).

Question: How often do they feel doubt? What topics are they defensive about?

Not often she’s so self confident and head strong. She can be very defensive and absolutly pissed if her authority is questioned or challenged.

Reminder: How are they at remembering daily needs? What falls through the cracks?

If it comes to work she doesn’t forget shit. She’s more forgetful with anything that’s not about work, but then again she likes to plan everything and make notes and all that, so things fall rarely through the cracks.

Sing: Do they like music? Do they listen often/sing/hum/play songs in their head?

She does like music! Especially played by her bf or her sister. She used to have music lessons when she was a kid but she doesn’t really play anything anymore. Her singing voice sounds unused, but she is talented.

Touch: How do they handle contact? Is their personal bubble big?

She has a huge list of acquaintances and connections in relation to her work. She wouldn’t call any of them her friends, but she does know a lot of people and hangs with a lot of them from time to time, especially at banquetts and balls and things like that. She has a handful of real friends.

Upcoming: How much do they think of the future? Do they make long-term plans?

She thinks ahead all the time and prefers to make long term plans!! Can be about work or her personal life. She's able to change directions if an unexpected problem accurs but she always has a goal in mind.

Vice: What bad habits do they have? Is there something they would be ashamed of?

She had to learn patience for almost half her current lifetime, she made a lot of stupid mistakes because she was too rash, disregarding people who need to think longer than her.

Wardrobe: What’s their fashion style? Do they have any staple pieces?

THIS

X-Ray: How’s their health? Any problem areas? Do they take care of themselves?

She takes very good care of herself (and her loved ones!!!!). She also always smells nice and looks top notch.

Yack: What’s their favorite thing to talk about? What do they go on about?

Science............

Zodiac: What’s their astro sign? Does it fit? What would you pick, if it’s unknown?

I picked Capricorn for her because I thought that would fit the best to her character so, yes it does fit. :D Hard working QUEEN who’s secretly sometimes baby.

#deithwen #ocs tag #yes ur right. deithwen is daddy #also sorry again for taking so long with this!! i took like a ~6 month tumblr detox lol

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vintagevalentinex · 4 years

Text

Now

Here it finally is! I’m so excited to present this Sam/Reader fic to you!! My hope is that it will turn some of you into Sam!Girls like me! :)

This fic was inspired by the Fifty Shades of Grey Remix of Crazy in Love by Beyonce. Listen to it here! Definitely give this a listen while you are reading or before!

Anyway, tell me what you think! :)

@icecream-and-winchesters @bovaria @abaddonwithyall @but-deans-back-tho @aprofoundbondwithdean @bkwrm523 @withoutaplease @oriona75 @theerinpage @ohfora67impala @castielspahdehrah @maraisabellegrey @stephizzle94 @kittenofdoomage

Title: Now Author: vintagevalentinexx Words: ~2630 Pairing: (Sam x Reader) Warnings: Violence, fight scene, unprotected sex, blood, etc.

Why do I continue to hunt with these idiots?

You were breathing heavy; heaving air as you ran through the abandoned warehouse Sam had dragged you to on what he called a “simple job.” You nearly rolled your eyes at the thought, your lungs burning as you spotted a decent place to catch your breath out of sight. You could hear something running towards you, and stopping in its tracks, trying to figure out where you were. You checked your gun, trying not to groan when you realized you only had three bullets left in the magazine. You patted your thigh, feeling the silver knife you had in the hostler. Hello old friend. I guess today was a good day to wear shorts. You silently get up from your crouched position, scanning the room, finally seeing the silhouette of the monster you and Sam were hunting. Where the hell was Sam? Those damn boys always seem to be inconveniently missing when you need them. You took a deep breath and drew your pistol, taking your shot. You heard the monster cry out in pain as you leapt from your hiding spot, knowing that it wasn’t over yet. You looked around the large space, your heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you tried to find the monster. You took two steps forward before you heard it swipe at you from behind. You heard a yelp, and you didn’t realize that it was you that made the noise before you could feel the warm wetness of your own blood making your t shirt cling to your back. You side stepped, narrowly missing a fatal blow as you unloaded the last two bullets into the monster. What the hell was this thing?! Sam said it was a shifter. Why the hell does it have claws?! You dropped your gun, grabbing for the knife on your thigh when you finally got a good look at this thing. Well…it seems like it’s a shifter…but it has…claws…seriously…?!…Where the HELL is Sam!?

“Hey (Y/N)!”

“Hey Sam, how are things?”

“Well…honestly…we could use your help if you’re in the area…”

You sighed into your phone. Can’t wait to hear what this is going to be about.

Sam chuckled nervously into the phone. You could tell that he was probably running a hand through his hair, like he did when he was a little nervous.

“Well here’s the thing. We caught wind of a shifter causing trouble over the state line and we were about to go first thing this morning but Dean woke up with the flu.”

You laughed a little as you heard Dean grumbling in the background about how he wasn’t sick, and sneezing rather loudly.

“Well…I could probably be at the bunker in a few hours. Are you sure this isn’t something too crazy? I just came off of a brutal djinn job.”

You could practically hear him smiling into the phone. “It’s totally a simple job, (Y/N). How bad could one shifter be?”

“Alright, alright. I’ll see you in a little while.”

There was no question that there was something unspoken between Sam and you. And you weren’t the only one who noticed. Dean would needle the both of you constantly whenever you had the occasion of helping the boys on a job. It couldn’t be helped though. Sam was…Sam was probably the best man you’d ever met. He was absolutely selfless and he had proven that time and time again, to the point where it hurt you so much when he thought so little of himself. You loved that he cared about people, genuinely cared. It didn’t matter if he had only known them for a short while; Sam had the kind of compassion that would make missionaries jealous. He was definitely college learned too. He was so smart and well-read and it made you absolutely swoon when he would spout off information as if it weren’t a big deal. You also couldn’t forget the obvious; he was breathtakingly gorgeous. He was ridiculously tall and broad, and could make nearly anyone feel petite. He was so strong and muscled, and his hazel eyes And those dimples. You could go on and on forever about what a catch he was. And you had an inkling that he felt at least fond of you. There was definitely an unresolved tension between the two of you that you wished that you could explore, but the life of a hunter was a tumultuous one.

You could hear the monster stalking you, circling around you. You gripped your knife tightly in your hand, squaring yourself up, getting ready to strike. As the creature lunged at you, you made wide slashing movements, grunting as you twisted your upper body, dodging more attacks from its sharp claws. You continued to slash at the monster, listening to it wail as it bled out all over you. You watched as it stumbled in front of you, wasting no time as you delivered the final blow, watching as the life drained from the monster’s eyes. You studied the creature, walking around it as you wiped the blood on your knife onto the leg of your shorts. You heard heavy footsteps quickly approaching you. You turned quickly, knife at the ready, poised to attack, quickly letting out a sigh of relief when you realized it was just Sam. You put your knife back in its holster, motioning him over to you.

“Well…it looks like it was a shifter. But it seems like it tried to mimic a werewolf. The freaking thing had claws, Sam. Claws! Where were you?”

He looks sheepishly at you, shifting his weight back and forth between his legs.

“I was on the other side of the building, (Y/N). I would have been here sooner if I heard you.”

You shook your head, shrugging. “It’s not a big deal anyway…anymore at least…”

Sam stepped forward, taking in the bloody mess that was your clothing. “Are…are you alright?”

You smiled. “It’s not my blood…well mostly. The damn thing got my back pretty good. Might need some stitches later. You should see the other guy though.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, finding your forgotten gun on the floor, picking it up. When you stood up, Sam was right in front of you. His gaze was more intent, taking in your form.

“I wasn’t telling the truth before, (Y/N). I wasn’t actually on the other side of the building….”

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat radiating off of Sam. He wasn’t as bloodied up as you, but he looked like he had a long night of hunting as well.

He bent down, his lips at your ear and you shivered, feeling his breath against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Well…where were you then?”

“I was watching you. Watching you fight. The way you move…you’re so graceful but deliberate. And the way you took the shifter out?…well…”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he closed the distance completely between the both of you, a large hand brushing hair out of your face.

“It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no

You shifted nervously, fidgeting with the gun in your hand.

“Sam…I—“

“Now, (Y/N). I need you right now.”

“W-what…?”

Sam’s hand rested heavily on your shoulder, transferring his heat into your skin.

“I see the way you look at me, (Y/N). I look at you the same way. This has been a long time coming, and we both know it.”

Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no

“But…right here…? Sam, I’m covered in blood and filth!”

“I don’t care. It has to be now. Please, (Y/N).”

You chewed on your lower lip, staring up at him, his eyes clouded and needy. You brought your hands to the base of his neck, pulling him toward you. On your tip toes, you pressed your lips to his, giving him your answer. Sam nearly growled into your mouth, his hands going to your hips, pulling you flush against his body. The both of you were dirty and sweaty but it didn’t matter; all you could feel right now was the delicious sensation of his skin pressed to yours, his lips moving against your own.

Sam wrapped your thighs around his waist, holding you in the air as he walked the both of you to a wall of the warehouse, pressing you against it. You grunted, the deep cuts in your back making contact with the rough wall, but you didn’t care. All you knew right now was that you needed Sam. His mouth went to your neck, attacking it with nips and kisses as he lowered your legs to the ground, his hands making quick work on the button and zipper of your shorts, pushing them down as he ground his jean-clad erection against you.

You got me looking, so crazy my baby I’m not myself lately I’m foolish, I don’t do this I’ve been playing myself, baby I don’t care Baby your love’s got the best of me Your love’s got the best of me Baby your love’s got the best of me Baby you’re making a fool of me You got me sprung and I don’t care who sees Cause baby you got me, you got me, oh you got me, you got me

His hands pinned you to the wall as you bucked against him, your mouth finding any piece of exposed skin on Sam’s body that it could as you moaned against his flesh, his body pressing heavy against you. You groaned loudly, finally breaking free of his clutches as your hands went to his jeans, roughly unbuttoning and unzipping him in the same kind of manner, returning the favor. His hands found yours again, lacing his fingers with yours as he held them tightly, finally pinning both of your hands above your head with one of his larger ones, his free hand freeing his cock from his boxer briefs. He pumped himself a few times, grunting at how eager and ready you were for him as you writhed against him.

“You look so good like this, (Y/N)…pressed against me. I know you feel it…the hunter’s high after a job is over. Do you always get this wet after a kill?”

You couldn’t speak, but you did whine as Sam continued to work you over with his words, a thick muscled thigh pressed in between yours as he growled filth into your ear. Sam sunk to his knees, his face pressed against your tummy as he nuzzled at you, his hands running up and down your inner thighs. His big hazel eyes found yours, sparkling with mischief. In an instant his face was between your legs, nuzzling and lapping at the already wet, swollen flesh, spurred on by the cries spilling from your mouth from above. He growled into your pussy, lifting a leg over his shoulder as his tongue thrust deeply inside of you, his eyes locked on yours as your hands finally laced into his hair, holding him there tightly. You could hear the wet, smacking sounds of his mouth working you over as your vision started to blur. You weren’t sure if it was from blood loss or Sam’s talented tongue, but you weren’t going to question anything right now. You screamed out Sam’s name as you started to cum, your body writhing and trembling as he brought you over the edge, your voice echoing through the empty, abandoned warehouse. He finally pulled away from you, chuckling at your shaky legs, chin shining with your slick, slowly rising up above you again, his cock straining against your stomach, heavily leaking precum. His hands found hips, kneading firmly.

“We’re not done yet.”

Got me looking so crazy right now Your love’s got me looking so crazy right now Got me looking so crazy right now Your touch got me looking so crazy right now (your love)

Sam picked you up by your legs again, pinning you to the wall once more, his cock grinding against your wetness, both of you letting out needy groans. His hands cupping your ass as he pressed just the tip of his cock inside of you, his forehead pressed to yours. He whispered to you in a moment of tenderness.

“I’ve waited a long time for this, (Y/N).”

You smiled, a shaky hand reaching for his hair, bringing him in for another kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.

“I need you Sam. Now. I need you now!”

He returned your smile, albeit more sleazy as he slammed into you, hilting himself inside.

Hoping you’ll save me right now Your kiss got me hoping you’ll save me right now (your love) Looking so crazy in love Got me looking, got me looking so crazy in love Got me looking so crazy right now Your love’s got me looking so crazy right now Got me looking so crazy right now Your touch got me looking so crazy right now

Sam was not gentle. He slammed himself into you over and over again, the sounds of groaning and wet flesh slapping against wet flesh echoed throughout the abandoned warehouse, blood and sweat messing both of your bodies. Sam pulled you off the wall, slamming up into you as you bounced in the air, your arms holding on around the back of his neck, your breasts pressed against his muscled chest as the grunting in your ear became more and more impassioned and intense. Your hands found his back, nails scratching down the muscles as you felt your walls clenching, fluttering around his thick cock as you started to cum again, Sam falling to his knees, still impaled inside of you as you continued to ride out your orgasm. After a few more thrusts he followed you over the edge, spilling inside of you

Got me hoping you’ll save me right now Your kiss got me hoping you’ll save me right now (your love) Looking so crazy in love Got me looking, got me looking so crazy in love

You sat there on Sam’s lap, feeling him soften inside of you as you both tried to regain your breath. His hands went to your back, holding you, his eyes going wide when he realized the condition your back was in.

“(Y/N)! This feels like it needs stiches! Why didn’t you say anything?!”

You smiled lazily up at him. “It’s fine. Besides, it was definitely worth it.”

Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no

He rolled his eyes at you, grunting as he pulled himself out of you, helping the both of you stand up. The both of you continued to exchange glances at each other as you made yourselves presentable. He turned you around to properly examine your back, sighing as he saw how deep the wounds actually were.

“I’m going to need to stitch this up when we get back to the motel. And it wouldn’t kill you to wash all this blood off when we get back there.”

Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no

You turned around in his arms, your smile growing as you closed the distance between your bodies, your hand going to cup his already growing bulge.

“Well…I’m definitely going to need help when we get back to the motel.”

“No problem. I’ll give you all the help you need. All night if I have to.”

Your stitches opened up three times that night.

#spn #sam #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester/reader #repost #new blog

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