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motherofwoofers · 4 years

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I’d Rather Be Hibernating Ch. 8

By the time Luka came to in his bed, the sounds of the city around him were already filtering in through the window. It was likely it had been at least two days, but he couldn't be sure. His face was half buried in his pillow, and he could tell only one boot had been pulled off. There was also an uncomfortable pressure below his navel… the jeans. Luka let out a groan, then rolled over.

The bright sun light streaming in from his window made him hiss, before he yanked the covers back up. Why was he awake again?

After a prolonged moment, where he may or may not have passed out again, he ran a hand over his face, before letting it drift down to his chest. Something tangled and tugged at his fingers, he toyed with it for a moment, then pulled the blanket back with his free hand. The light was blinding once more as he brought his hand up to inspect. A long dark strand of hair had gotten caught.

A smile broke across his face.

The other night flashing across his mind. The tangled limbs. Her warm body. *Taking his pants off.* Luka groaned again in embarrassment.

But then the reason for them being in that shared bed crossed his mind. And the smile faded.

The screams. The cracking of bones.

He let out a pained gasp.

Luka had seen a lot as a hero. More than he had ever wanted to see in his life. In a hundred lives. This last battle had shaken him, though. Shaken him down to his very core.

He gripped his shirt over his heart tightly. His heart beat solidly under his palm, even if it felt like it should be broken by now. The hair still twined within his fingers calmed him. If only a little. She was still alive. Still alive because *he* had been enough. He had figured out how to stop the latest Akuma.

Luka wondered how many close calls in the future they would face. A thought he quickly pushed away, before he rolled to his side. He let his feet settle on the ground, the left foot still laced and booted. He tugged at the laces as he began scanning the room for his phone.

Once he had managed to kick it off, he leaned down and snatched his jacket off the ground. The cold phone was tucked into his pocket, though it was usually hidden away in his hoodie. He went to swipe at the screen but nothing happened. Luka held down the power button, only to be greeted with a dead battery sign.

"Phenomenal." A quiet shuffling happened under his bed, before the end of his charging cord poked out. "Thank you, Sass."

"Of coursssse," and then shuffling once more as Sass found a warm spot near the power strip hidden under the bed, to settle again. Luka plugged the cord in and waited for it to reboot. Scrubbing at his face, he opened the top drawer of his night stand and pulled out a small pouch. He cleared some room from the top of the stand then unzipped the bag and pulled out its contents.

It had taken quite some time to find something to help manage the stress. The crippling anxiety and depression at times. Therapy was too difficult with his alter ego. And his mother had raised him wary of pharmaceutical drugs. Even if Juleka managed well with them, but she also wasn't a permanent Miraculous wielder. So when Anarka had sailed for the Netherlands soon after the fall of Hawkmoth, he had gone with to enjoy the short trip. To enjoy the potential normal future ahead of him. A celebration of freedom from terrorism.

It was also when she had taken him around to a few of her favorite coffeeshops. And from there on he had found a coping method. One only a few knew of, just in case. But it helped take the edge off.

Pulling a small piece of greenery from the bottle, he pushed it into the bowl of his small pipe, before lighting it, and inhaling. Covering the still smoking contents with the butt end of his lighter, while he held the smoke in, and leaned over to check his phone. He let it out as he swiped the screen open and saw the alarming amount of notifications. He opened the message from his boss at the local music shoppe where he taught aspiring musicians. It was a nice in between job, while Jagged was taking an extended break between performances. He was pushing for Luka to be his opener on the next tour. But he hadn't agreed to it yet.

Luka took another hit, finishing off the small amount he had packed, and set the glass pipe and lighter down. Then read the message.

LUIS: WE'RE CLOSED TIL MONDAY. DON'T WORRY ABOUT COMING IN.

Double checking the current date, he sent out a thumbs up to his boss, before letting out the last of the smoke. He'd been passed out for two days and thankfully it was only Saturday morning. A few more notifications from social media, and an unending amount of texts from Juleka and Rose. He sent the latter a reassuring message that he would stop by their place soon. A smiling emoji immediately popped up on the screen.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, grossed out with multiple days worth of film and now cotton mouth. But he was too worn out to get up and deal with it yet. The Akuma Alert app was graciously quiet, and he took the opportunity to scroll through his other less urgent messages. Including the source of the dark hair he continued to twine through his fingers.

Marinette hadn't messaged him since the day of the attack, and he grinned. She was likely in a deep sleep curled up in her bed, buried beneath an excessive amount of blankets. He sent over a *good morning* text.

Then he stretched and stood, peeling a sweat soaked shirt from his body. He answered the deep growl in his stomach with a hardened left over piece of pizza from the fridge, before nearly tripping over himself as the notification strum of his phone went off. Her name popped up on his screen and he could feel his heart jump into his throat.

M: MORNING 💓

Luka inhaled the rest of the pizza as he typed out an immediate response.

L: THAWED OUT ALREADY?

M: NOT IN THE SLIGHTEST M: MAMAN MADE ME GET UP TO EAT

L: THE WORST L: SHE SHOULD JUST LET YOU WASTE AWAY

M: 😝

He grinned as he pulled the phone to himself and collapsed against the head of his bed.

L: TELL YOUR MAMAN THAT IM WASTING AWAY

M: NOOOOO M: SHE WILL BRING THE WHOLE BAKERY! M: BESIDES…

He waited as the ellipses kept appearing then disappearing on the screen. But the next message never came.

L: BESIDES?

M: YOU COULD JUST COME TO THE BAKERY INSTEAD

A large smile crossed his face, and he was about to respond when her face popped up on his screen requesting to video call. In a bit of a panic he swept up the contents of his nightstand into the bag quickly, then tousled his hair a bit before answering.

"Hey," a soft sleepy voice greeted him. Marinette's hair was already thrown up in a messy bun for the day and she was propped up in bed swaddled in a fuzzy pink and white blanket.

"Hey there sleepy head," he grinned.

"Look who's talking!"

"I messaged you first," he leaned back against his bed frame again, stretching an arm out behind his head. A deep red blush crossed her face and whatever she had been about to say was derailed into a stuttering mess. After a quick thought, he realized he was still shirtless, and the span of his torso was in the shot. A smirk crossed his lips as he watched her squirm.

"Where's your shirt?" She eventually managed to squeak out.

"On the floor. It seems I keep losing my clothes around you." He let his voice drop a hair into a deeper tone, thoroughly enjoying the returning flush to her face. "First my pants. Then my jacket. And now my shirt. I don't have much left."

"You made me keep your jacket!"

"But you asked me to take my jeans off."

"That's because you were uncomfortable!"

"I could've slept just fine with them on," he grinned at her. The same devil may care grin he saved almost exclusively for her.

"Lies!" She shrieked on the other end. He ended up dissolving into laughter as she sat back and folded her arms. The worn out black of his hoodie sleeves fully enveloped her, hiding her hands from sight, as she propped the phone against her knees he assumed. The sight of her still in his jacket made his heart do a small flip.

Luka propped his own phone up against the portable speaker on his night stand and pulled up his Mustang, before settling into a new position. Leg crossed with the body gently propped against him. He quietly picked at the strings and adjusted the tuning as she fiddled with her hair on the other end.

"What are your plans for the day?" Marinette pulled the sticks from her hair and let it cascade down in a tumbled mess. It took Luka a moment to respond. He hid his reaction well, he thought, by returning to his gaze to his guitar. Picking out a gentle tune on the electric, even though it wasn't the same as his acoustic.

"I need to see Jules before she murders me," he grinned, giving her his attention once more. A small giggle greeted him.

"She didn't sound happy the other night."

"No. No, she was not." He laughed, transfixed as she smiled at him. Blue eyes shining even in the dimness of her room and sleepiness still visible in her every move. "She seemed more interested in your virtue though, than my own health."

"Oh, that's right. You slept on the couch as I recall."

"Fully clothed too." A bright laugh escaped her as she covered her mouth with his jacket. "I wonder if she'll believe me when I show up without my hoodie when I go over later."

"If you survive long enough for her to ask."

"That's true," he chuckled and looked back to his guitar. "If she asks I'll just say it looked better on you anyways." He watched a sweet smile cross her lips, but she quickly looked away as someone called her name off screen.

"Oh that's Maman now, she's brought me more soup," she made a face of exasperation, but quickly changed it.

"I'd gladly eat that for you," he teased.

"Shhh! Don't say that!"

"Marinette, who is that? Luka? Does he not have food? Tell him to come over, sweetheart! I'm making dumplings for dinner," Sabine's motherly voice came out slightly hushed from his phone.

"Mama! Luka is going over to Juleka's," she exclaimed, before accepting a tray with a roll and a deep bowl.

"Oh. Well there should be plenty of leftovers if he changes his mind, dear. Tell him I said hello. Do you need anything else?"

"No, thank you, Mama. I'll let him know."

Luka waited until Marinette turned back to him, her spoon dipping into the bowl.

"I might need to come try the famous Dupain-Cheng dumplings," he grinned.

"Only if you put a shirt on first."

"Why? Do you think your Maman would be upset if I didn't?"

"No," she drank a spoonful of broth before continuing. "She would probably fuss and find you something to wear. But, I'd be upset."

"Oh?"

"I don't feel like sharing," a coy smile crossed her face, and she lifted an eyebrow as she spooned another drink into her mouth. He couldn't help but bite his lip.

"I'll be sure to wear a shirt then," he grinned before adding, "then you can ask me to take it off again." The resulting tomato red blush on her face made it all worth it.

A guitar strum and then a message bubble popped up on his screen.

JULES: WHERE ARE YOU?!

Strum.

JULES: ROSE SAID YOU WERE ON YOUR WAY 30 MINUTES AGO

"Jules is growing impatient." He sighed, setting the guitar on his bed.

"Good luck. Make sure she doesn't murder you too much. I might need some warming up later."

"Send me all your luck, then. I'd hate for you to freeze," he, unplugged his phone and carried it around as he pulled out a clean shirt from his dresser.

"I may need to find another source of heat." Another coy smile.

"Now how am I supposed to get anything done, with you suggesting something like that." He took the opportunity to tug his shirt on, and missed the message that accompanied another strum. But the frown on her face was enough to know that she had gotten an alert as well.

"Where is it?" He asked quietly.

"Near Pont Royal," she ground out. "Rena Rouge is on the scene already."

"Guess, Jules will have to wait."

#lukanette #luka couffaine #miraculous ladybug #aged up #marinette dupain cheng

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redvsvblue · 7 years

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Paint and Metal and Everything in Between (1/4)

Uh...so...there was one scene I wanted to write but it needs build up, so...this happened. Uh. Here’s some Jeremwood set in the FAHC AU. There’s a NSFW scene. I’ll crosspost it on AO3 when I clean it up a bit.

(Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, general tag)

Jeremy's running down backstreet alleys with Michael, a cash-heavy duffle slung over his back and his legs protesting with every corner – Michael's glancing back at him and laughing gleefully and the sirens only get louder, ringing around in the narrow alleyways.

“What's the plan?!” Jeremy shouts, smiling despite the fact that the cops already pinned down Michael's escape car and now they're running for their lives in the worst part of Los Santos.

“Don't worry, I called backup!” Michael yells, and Jeremy wonders what it'll be now. He hasn't spent much time with the FAHC yet but he's already been treated to one of Gavin's dizzying chopper rides. He hopes it's not that, but some part of him has already resigned itself to climbing a hook.

They burst out into an open street and Jeremy immediately scans for cops and flinches at the car that squeals around the corner, low-riding and black and zooming up to them before braking sharply. Michael grins and yanks open the back door, squeezing in with duffle and all and ushering Jeremy in as the engine revs and the car speeds off again, the door slamming shut with the force, barely missing Jeremy's fingers.

Lights flash behind them and Michael laughs loudly as he retrieves an SMG from his footwell – Jeremy kicks his duffle down and looks up into the rearview mirror to see – oh shit – the Vagabond staring back at him, maskless and painted ghoulishly, grinning almost manically as he swerves around another corner.

“Hey!” The Vagabond says, meeting Jeremy's eyes in the mirror.

“Lil J, this is V, V, Lil J,” Michael says before smashing out a window with the butt of the SMG, twisting to shoot behind them.

“Aw, you didn't have to break it,” the Vagabond complains, accelerating through a red light and flipping off the honking horns.

“This was our backup?!” Jeremy shouts, the new speed slamming him against the seat and he scrabbles wildly for a grip. He's never really met the Vagabond, let alone talked to him – the Vagabond was busy on a job when Jeremy joined, and he supposes this is now their first official meeting and boy what a fucking first meeting.

“It's the best backup!” Michael yells back, crouching into the car to reload.

“Gun's under your feet!” The Vagabond calls, spinning the car into a sharp U-turn that makes Jeremy's head whirl but he gropes underneath for the gun anyway, pulling out a heavy carbine and fumbling for the extra clips sliding around beside it.

As he straightens again the back window shatters, glass spraying all over the inside of the car and Michael just offers Jeremy a wild grin and turns to shoot out the back. Jeremy snaps back the slide and turns to do the same, aiming for wheels and windshields as the Vagabond races down one-way streets the wrong way, nearly sending them flying when he zooms over speed bumps. Bullets hail over the roof of the car and bounce off harmlessly – Jeremy snaps in a new clip and empties it into a cop car engine as they drive into a tunnel. It explodes in a thunderous crash boom and he sees the cops diving out of it as it flips, blocking the path of its friends.

“Nice one!” Michael yells, ducking back down to grab grenades from fucking somewhere, Jeremy doesn't know, he's dizzy and they're going really fucking fast and next thing he knows they're on a bridge, dashing around civilian traffic.

A helicopter whirs above them and starts shooting – Michael and Jeremy both tuck back in, Jeremy taking the moment to gulp in huge breaths while the Vagabond navigates them off the bridge and into shitty back roads.

“Get the chopper!” The Vagabond shouts, and Michael and Jeremy pop out to do just that, pummelling it with bullets until they hit a blade and it starts going down. Parachutes drop from it and Michael shoots those, too, laughing when they rip and start twirling in sharp circles.

The sirens fade a little, the cops seeming to have given up on them, and the Vagabond slows down to only twenty above the speed limit, driving out of the shitty bit onto the coastside motorway, slotting in behind a fast white Infernus.

“We're clear,” Michael says, slumping back in his seat and returning the grenades back into the bag they came out of. Jeremy sighs and drops his carbine on his lap, brushing glass off of his arms and out of his clothes.

Michael reaches over to slap his arm and gives him a wide grin while fist-bumping him. Jeremy laughs a little hysterically and glances up at the mirror to see the Vagabond looking at him.

“How much'd you get?” The Vagabond asks, glancing over to Michael.

“Aw man, at least fifty,” Michael says, his gaze dropping to the bags.

“Fifty G?” The Vagabond raises an eyebrow and overtakes the Infernus. “That's pretty good.”

“Yeah, pretty good take,” Michael agrees, “wouldn't you say, Lil J?”

“What? Oh, yeah,” Jeremy pants, his hands trembling a little from adrenaline.

“I think you wore him out,” Michael teases, leaning forward.

“What a shame,” the Vagabond replies with a smirk, lifting his eyes to Jeremy in the mirror.

“Fuck you,” Jeremy says, grinning at their laughter. “I'm perfectly fine.”

“Sure,” Michael says. “Where we goin', V?”

“Well, Hookies is up here,” the Vagabond says, flicking on his headlights as the sky darkens around them. “Heard they got new owners. Cleaned the place up a bit. Wanna check it out?”

“Hell yeah. Lil J, you in?”

“Can I even be out?”

Michael and the Vagabond laugh again.

It turns out Hookies is a great place now, and it's got these fucking amazing little vodka shots that Jeremy's had way too many of and a home-brewed moonshine that's fucking delicious.

They've claimed a table outside, plopping down with their cold drinks and numerous glasses and talking shit in the stagnant Los Santos heat, their loud arguments lost in the din of the outside crowd. Michael often steals the Vagabond's Diet Coke for a chaser – V doesn't drink, that's why it's great to go out with him, Michael had slurred, looping an arm around Jeremy's shoulders, designated driver, and the Vagabond had merely cocked an eyebrow and replied, who said I'm taking you home? - and even with the face paint on he's still easygoing, thumping Jeremy on the back when he chokes and sliding napkins over to Michael when he spills moonshine on the table.

It's a fucking great time and Jeremy's drunk enough the lights are starting to blur, and when Michael finishes his latest bottle of moonshine the Vagabond decides to usher them out. He holds tight to Jeremy's arm and Michael stumbles along beside Jeremy, still half draped over him and chattering about something to do with the stars and Jeremy laughs at his slurred insults, the Vagabond's good-natured chuckle echoing quietly beside him.

“Oh god, please – please don't drive as fast as you did before,” Jeremy asks when the Vagabond's bundling them into the car, Michael already sprawled in the backseat and Jeremy about to lift a leg to get in.

“Don't worry, I won't,” the Vagabond says with an amused quirk of his lips. “I don't want my seats stained.”

“Thanks man,” Jeremy slurs, patting the Vagabond on the chest before getting in – the door shuts gently behind him and he's starting up another conversation with Michael as the Vagabond slides into the driver's seat and turns on the engine.

True to his word, the Vagabond drives at the speed limit, keeping his corners smooth and his lane changing seamless, and Jeremy internally thanks him as he presses his cheek to the cool glass, idly watching his breath steam up against it.

“I bet we could, y'know, mould it around his face,” Gavin says, gesturing vaguely to his own face as Michael stares at him.

“Sure man,” Michael says with a laugh, shaking his head. “I mean, if he's up for it.”

“What – What are we doin', again?” Jeremy asks, resting his elbows on his knees to lean forward and look around Michael to Gavin.

“Geoff's got a bunch of silly string shit,” Gavin says, “and it – it hardens after a while, don't it? So I figure we could make a – a mould of your face.”

“Why me?” Jeremy asks.

“'Cause you're new,” Gavin says with a shrug. Michael cackles and presses his hand to his chest.

“Yeah, 'cause you're new,” he giggles, mocking Gavin, “it's an induction ritual.”

“An in-in what what? Induction?” Jeremy asks – okay, he's had a little moonshine, he's not exactly straight-faced sober right now. Some words are hard. Michael breaks into fresh giggles – he's been hitting the moonshine, too, and Gavin laughs loudly.

“Can you imagine if we got Ry to do that?” He exclaims, laughing again at the thought.

“Ry?” Jeremy asks, puzzled. “Who's Ry?”

“Ryan,” Gavin says, and furrows his brow. “V.”

“Shut up,” Michael mutters, slapping Gavin's arm. “He doesn't know his name yet.”

“It's okay, I won't – I won't tell 'im,” Jeremy promises, patting Michael's knee. “It's our secret.”

“Yeah, okay, our secret,” Michael says, and then they get back to the silly string matter.

Jeremy's walking around with straws in his mouth and disgusting rubber on his face, holding his hands out in front of him like Marco Polo with Michael guiding him, both him and Gavin snickering behind him.

“Here, stay a second,” Michael says, leaving him somewhere as his hands slip away. Jeremy waits a few minutes and then there's a noise beside him and he whirls around, his arms knocking solidly into someone's ribs and he stumbles back, grunting through the straws.

He nearly trips over his own feet but a hand lands on his lower back, urging him back upright and Jeremy sighs in relief. The hand doesn't leave, warm and broad against his spine, and Jeremy ignores the drunken shiver that runs up him.

“What're you up to?” Someone asks – the Vagabond, Jeremy realises after a moment, definitely a smile in his voice. He tries to speak through the straws and fails, but the Vagabond laughs anyway.

“Michael and Gavin?” He asks, and Jeremy nods. The Vagabond hums in acknowledgement and Jeremy tries to ask another question through the plastic. Thankfully, the Vagabond seems to understand him.

“Where are you? You're in the kitchen,” the Vagabond – Ryan, Jeremy remembers suddenly, his name is Ryan – says. “Right in front of the fridge, actually.”

Jeremy makes a relieved noise and Ryan chuckles again, curling more of his arm around Jeremy's back to hold him steady and that's absolutely not why Jeremy's suddenly sweating under his rubbery mask.

He hears Michael and Gavin returning, laughing madly about something, and Ryan gives him over to Michael's hands. Jeremy's a little disappointed when Ryan's fingers leave but doesn't let it show, instead turning towards Gavin's voice – he smacks him in the face with the straws by the sound of it and the rest of them break into a chorus of laughter.

“Jeremy!” Gavin exclaims, batting lightly at the straws. Jeremy snorts and the sound sends Michael into more cackling, his hands squeezing Jeremy's waist.

“Don't hurt him too much,” Ryan says. “We still need him.”

“We'll try,” Michael says, and starts to steer Jeremy in another direction. “I can't promise for Gavin, though!”

“Michael!”

Jeremy ends up hunkered down in a warehouse with Ryan, both of them sitting on the floor leaning up against crates as the comms crackle in their ears. There's a deal going down in the next building over, and they're simply there as backup in case it screws up, but it seems to be going smoothly so far.

Ryan idles plays with the slide of his pistol, snapping it back and running his hand over the barrel in a very distracting manner. Jeremy keeps glancing over at him, only a couple metres away, doused in shadow.

“I thought you always wore a mask,” Jeremy says. Ryan 'hm?'s and looks up at him.

“Police footage. You're always wearing the mask,” Jeremy explains, and Ryan glances back down at his pistol.

“I wear it,” he says.

“Yeah, but, like, I thought you wore it all the time.”

Ryan shrugs and brings a knee up to rest his elbow on it, letting the pistol lay on his thigh.

“The paint's easier,” he says. “Doesn't get as hot.”

“I thought you were famous,” Jeremy says. “Aren't you, like, wanted in five states?”

“Seven,” Ryan corrects, tossing the pistol up and flipping it cleanly in mid-air. “And not anymore. Gavin cleared my rap sheets.”

“Huh.” Jeremy leans his head back against the crate and looks up at the dusty rafters. “Why doesn't he do that for all of us?”

“We keep getting new ones,” Ryan replies. “No point in wiping them all the time.”

“But you're special?” Jeremy teases.

Ryan glances at him and then back to the pistol. He doesn't answer, and Jeremy lets the subject drop. He's sure Ryan has a good reason.

“Hey, V, pass the charges,” Jeremy says, holding out a hand and waiting for something to drop into it while he wires up C4 with the other. Ryan hesitates and Jeremy glances up, making grabby fingers with his hand.

“V?” He asks, and Ryan meets his eyes, his paint especially eerie in the faint yellow lighting of the docks.

“Ryan,” he says, and Jeremy pretends not to understand why he's saying that.

“Call me Ryan,” Ryan continues, carefully pressing a detonation charge into Jeremy's hand.

“Okay. Ryan,” Jeremy says, testing the name out on his tongue and smiling at him. Ryan smiles back a touch shyly and Jeremy looks away before he can start to flush.

The drug ship goes up in a big, beautiful explosion and Jeremy can't help but notice how nice the reflection looks in Ryan's eyes, and then the nervous twitch of Ryan's lips when he glances down at Jeremy and there's a tense, loaded moment before sirens rise from the city and they have to go.

Ryan's arm curls around Jeremy's shoulder moments before he slams them to the floor, half-covering Jeremy's body with his own as shooting breaks out across the bar – opposite them Jack grabs a handful of Gavin's shirt and hauls him down to the floor with her and they all cower as bullets tear through the wooden counter.

For once it's a shootout that's nothing to do with them, but it would still probably be pretty fucking wise for them to scram.

“Fire door,” Ryan whispers into Jeremy's ear, his chest pressed to Jeremy's shoulder blades. Jeremy nods and looks up at Gavin, who jerks his head towards the fire exit as well and together they all make a silent agreement to head for it. Ryan slides his hand down the back of Jeremy's jeans and pulls out his gun – Jeremy would complain but the brush of Ryan's knuckles against his lower back makes him shudder and Ryan definitely felt that.

Jack takes out her own gun and nods at Ryan and suddenly Ryan's hauling Jeremy up by the back of his collar as Jack does the same with Gavin, pushing them both in the direction of the fire exit as they stand and shoot back.

Jeremy kicks open the door and Gavin spills out behind him, helping him hold it open as Jack and Ryan twist to sprint out, bullets flying over their heads. They stumble into the sand and the door shuts heavy behind them, the small glass window shattering in a shower of shards.

Gavin pulls on Jeremy's sleeve and Jeremy follows him down to the shore, all four of them running along the waves – behind them Jack and Ryan laugh breathlessly about something, and when Jeremy glances back he sees a smear of blood on Ryan's palm and more on the hem of Jack's shorts, but neither of them seems seriously hurt.

They all burst into the beach car park and Jack immediately leads them to the motorbike bay, shooting off the metal chain locking it to a stand and hotwiring it as Jeremy does the same with another bike.

A cop car races by on the motorway and on instinct Jeremy ducks, but then he realises it's going for the bar, not them, and he quickly swings a leg over the bike and starts it up. Jack does the same and beyond her Gavin straddles another bike, saluting them with two fingers before revving up and swerving away.

“I'll go make sure he doesn't crash,” Jack says with a roll of her eyes, hunching over and gunning her engine to catch up to Gavin.

Just as Jeremy gets the bike in gear Ryan gets on behind him, pressed up hot to his back with his chin on Jeremy's shoulder as he tucks the gun back into Jeremy's jeans. His fingers linger around Jeremy's lower back again and he chuckles quietly at Jeremy's sharp inhale.

“Your place?” He asks, placing his hands on Jeremy's hips and squeezing slowly. Jeremy shivers at the low, rumbling pitch of Ryan's voice, deep and intimate against the sensitive skin of his ear.

Jeremy nods and Ryan secures himself better to Jeremy's body as Jeremy backs out, straightening the bike out before driving up to join the motorway. Ryan noses at the back of his head and Jeremy suddenly accelerates, revving up the engine and zooming onto the road amongst the streaks of car headlights. Ryan laughs breathlessly, delightedly behind him and Jeremy grins to himself.

They barely manage to get their shoes off before Ryan's manhandling Jeremy to the sofa, sitting him firmly down and sinking to his knees between Jeremy's spread legs. He smirks and Jeremy groans, leaning in for a hard kiss that Ryan gives easily, biting at Jeremy's lower lip and paint smudging bitterly over Jeremy's tongue.

Ryan breaks away and grins as he runs his hands up Jeremy's thighs, shouldering between them to dip down and press his nose and mouth to Jeremy's rapidly forming erection and god Jeremy only just resists the urge to buck up into his face. He groans and gently threads a hand into Ryan's hair – with Ryan's nod as permission Jeremy curls his fingers to grip, not pulling or pushing but definitely holding on.

The white light of the living room glints in Ryan's eyes and he backs away to unzip Jeremy, pushing open his fly and tugging him out of his briefs, slowly dragging his hand up and down with his eyes glued to Jeremy's face. Jeremy groans and twitches involuntarily in Ryan's hand, sitting up a little more to see better as Ryan flicks his thumb over the slit.

Ryan merely presses the leaking head to his lips with a smile, catching Jeremy's eyes before he opens his mouth and starts to sink down, jaw dropping open to accommodate the head. Jeremy moans and tightens his grip in Ryan's hair, panting harshly while Ryan works more into his mouth, slowly pulling up to reveal the spit-slicked length and sweep his tongue over the sensitive vein underneath. He wraps his hand more firmly around Jeremy's base and licks all the way back up to the head and goes down on him again, lips stretched wide around the girth.

Jeremy tilts his head back against the sofa as Ryan blows him, sinking down far enough to meet his fingers and humming on the slide up. With an effort, Jeremy straightens his neck again to watch, grunting encouragingly when Ryan starts bobbing, eyes closing and throat relaxing every time Jeremy pushes up against it.

“God, fuck, Ryan, your mouth,” Jeremy gasps, experimentally pulling on Ryan's hair. It earns him a pleased moan that shudders all through Jeremy and makes his toes curl in the carpet. There's still adrenaline pumping lazily through his veins, making everything more sensitive and tingly and Ryan's mouth is hot and wet around him, spit leaking down to dribble over his fingers and leaking out of the corners of his mouth.

Ryan pulls off for a breather and glances up at Jeremy while he pants, jerking him slowly and grinning at Jeremy's choked groan. He sinks back down easily, and this time when Jeremy nudges at his throat he just rises up on his knees and angles a little and then Jeremy's sliding into his throat, the sensation tearing a moan out of him. Ryan hums again and resumes his bobbing, this time letting Jeremy slip into his throat on every thrust and god, Jeremy's not going to fucking make it. Ryan's other hand drops from Jeremy's thigh and Jeremy leans forward a little to see it slip into Ryan's own jeans and that's a whole other level of hot Jeremy wasn't prepared for and he has to sink back into the cushions.

He can't see Ryan's crotch from here but just the knowledge that's he jerking himself off while blowing Jeremy is insanely arousing and Jeremy twitches in his hot throat, pulls him up a little roughly and drags him back down – Ryan lets him, goes a bit more slack so Jeremy can slowly fuck his mouth and his breath huffs out hard over Jeremy's crotch, his eyes fluttering open and locking onto Jeremy's.

Jeremy pushes into his throat again and Ryan's eyes water, shutting again as he shudders and moans thickly around Jeremy's cock. Ryan sucks harder, now, tracing up over the underside with his tongue and sealing his lips more firmly around the shaft, swallowing when Jeremy's in his throat and drooling otherwise, spit dripping down to his chin.

“Ryan, I'm – fuck, I'm close,” Jeremy pants, urgently tugging at Ryan's hair but Ryan stays down and blinks up at him and Jeremy's gone, groaning as he comes straight into Ryan's mouth. His eyes slam shut and he leans back into the sofa as he shudders, gasping out Ryan's name all the while. And Ryan fucking swallows, too, sucks noisily to do so and Jeremy's long finished when Ryan finally pulls off, muffling a moan against the slick head of Jeremy's dick and shuddering again.

“Fuck, let me – let me,” Jeremy babbles, grasping for Ryan's shoulders and leaning forward to reach down, but Ryan's already pushing his hands away, wiping his mouth and chin on his shirt and leaning up to kiss Jeremy.

“Wanna – Wanna get you off, too,” Jeremy murmurs, reaching down again but Ryan pushes him firmly back, hands on Jeremy's hips.

“Don't worry about it,” he says, and Jeremy notes that his fingers – the ones that weren't on Jeremy - are wet, shiny and slick in the light of the living room. And Ryan's flushed under him, a new laziness to his kissing and Jeremy decides to drop the matter – if Ryan doesn't want him to touch him, he won't. Although he feels a little bad about not reciprocating, and kisses him all the deeper to try and make up for it.

And after their breathing evens out, after Ryan's bitten Jeremy's lower lip to swollen and kissed him to boneless, he finally pulls away, spit-slick lips still brushing against Jeremy's. The angle he's leaning at is terrible for Jeremy's back but he can't really bring himself to care right now.

“Can I use your shower?” Ryan asks, his voice hoarse and raspy and Jeremy flushes hot all over. “Still got the bar on me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jeremy says, nodding. Ryan grins and presses another wet kiss to his mouth before backing away and pushing himself up to standing with a hand on Jeremy's knee.

“You can stay over, if you want,” Jeremy blurts out, and Ryan's eyes drop away, hesitant.

“Not – we don't – I have a guest bedroom,” Jeremy adds. “You can sleep here if – if it's too much bother to go back home.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ryan says, agrees with a small smile.

In the morning Ryan leaves him a plate of cooked breakfast and a slip of paper with a number on it – not his crew phone number, it must be his personal number – and Jeremy grins stupidly to himself and laughs even though there's no one there to hear him.

“No, use Michael's car!”

“Why mine?! You'll destroy it!”

“No I won't, boi, you can trust me!”

“Gavin you crashed my Bati yesterday.”

“No I didn't, Jack, that truck drove into me.”

“Yeah, because you were going sixty the wrong way down a one-way street.”

“Shut up, Ryan. I still say we use Michael's car.”

The crew collapses into bickering – and mostly ganging up on Gavin – and Jeremy takes a long, long drink of Red Bull while Geoff very clearly and very loudly lays out all of Gavin's recent vehicle offences, from the trashed skateboard to the dented pickup. Ryan nudges Jeremy's arm and offers him a croissant with a raised eyebrow – Jeremy gladly takes it and stuff the entire warm pastry into his mouth to make Ryan laugh.

“Use Michael's!”

“Use your own!”

“...I can't.”

“Why?”

“...it's in the shop.”

“Gavin!”

The argument devolves into petty insults and laughter and Jeremy even joins in, teaming up with Geoff and then promptly being accused by Gavin and Michael of being a complete kissass. An accusation he merely waves off with a flap of his hand and an imperious frown.

Beside him, Ryan steals two more doughnuts from the box and starts munching on them, crumbs sticking around his mouth. The paint smudges when he wipes them off but Jeremy's a little transfixed at what the fuck he just witnessed. Ryan winks at him and offers a doughnut but Jeremy declines. Ryan shrugs and takes a bite of it himself, downing it with his soda.

Jeremy glances between the quarrelling crew and to Ryan and thinks back to what statement sparked this entire debate. Very specifically, whose statement.

Yeah, we can use Gavin's car for that.

“You sneaky fuck,” he hisses, and no one hears him but Ryan, who grins smugly and stuffs more pastry into his mouth. He's polished off about seven doughnuts since he set off the crew – the sneaky fuck, this was his entire plan. He's turned the crew on themselves to steal the fucking pastry box.

Jeremy's a little impressed at the cat-burglary - as Ryan would say - and a lot horrified at how much sugar Ryan's shovelling into his mouth. Michael wasn't fucking lying when he said Ryan was a trash bin.

Jeremy scratches his chin as he looks in his fridge, wondering what the fuck to cook tonight. He hasn't got much – he should really go grocery shopping, but a Friday night isn't really the time and he doesn't want to deal with the traffic if he can wait until tomorrow.

He pulls out a bowl of peppers he cut up earlier this week and sets them on the counter, grabs the bag of potatoes in the fridge. Looks like it's salad tonight, made of whatever shit Jeremy's got left in his fridge before it goes bad.

There's a knock on his door shortly after he closes the fridge, while he's washing his hands. He dries them on the towel and doesn't bother rolling down his sleeves down before walking over to get the door, grabbing a pistol on the way and tucking it into the back of his jeans.

He opens the door to reveal Ryan, no face paint and no blood-stained clothes, and Jeremy takes a moment to absorb him, from the nice jeans to the dark purple shirt that stretches over his shoulders to the smart silver watch on his left wrist – Jeremy recognises that from the jewellery store they robbed last week.

“Hey,” Jeremy says, stepping back a little to invite Ryan in. Instead, Ryan just steps up and leans against the doorframe, raking his eyes over Jeremy, who suddenly feels a little underdressed in baggy jeans and a faded Henley.

“Hey,” Ryan replies, crossing his arms over his chest. Jeremy has to force himself not to stare at all the attractive skin his rolled-up sleeves reveal. “You busy?”

“Busy doin' nothing,” Jeremy says. “Why?”

“Do you want to go for dinner?” Ryan asks, a little rushed.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah. Like – a date,” Ryan says, quieter this time, and Jeremy flounders for his composure. Ryan's smile falters and Jeremy starts nodding, unable to find the words quite yet but he definitely wants to say yes – he just doesn't want to sound like a total dork while doing so.

“I'd love to,” he settles on, grinning wide when Ryan's face lights up. “Are you – now?”

“Well, yeah,” Ryan says with a shrug. “Don't – Don't have to do it now, but - “

“No, no, now is fine,” Jeremy says, steps back more to invite Ryan in with a gesture. “Let me get changed?”

Ryan nods and lets Jeremy lead him to the sofa to wait – the same sofa he blew Jeremy on not four weeks ago, and the memory burns hot in Jeremy's mind. Since then they haven't done anything else, but they've started texting on a near daily basis, a little flirting but mostly just friendly chatting, and in real life there's been nothing more than faintly suggestive touches or glances. It's been nice, not stumbling headfirst into each other, as much as Jeremy is all for that method when it comes to Ryan, but he also likes being friends with the guy, as close to him as he is to Michael and Gavin now.

Jeremy opens his closet and almost immediately groans because he has nothing that would look good on him as Ryan's clothes do on him. Fuck Ryan and his stunning good looks. And body. And basically everything.

He guesses that Ryan's going for a slightly fancier place, picks out his nicest jeans and a plain blue button-down, shrugs a thin leather jacket on over it because that's how fancy he can get with what he has – he almost regrets not owning a suit, and then swiftly remembers he hates suits and plucks his sunglasses off the table even though it's night.

When he emerges into the living room, Ryan's on his phone, tapping away at something on it and pulling a little at his collar – Jeremy makes his footsteps louder and Ryan looks up, gasps softly at what he sees.

“You look – great,” he says, standing up and pocketing his phone in one move.

“Shut up, just 'cause you look like a GQ model,” Jeremy mumbles, smiling anyway as he shoves on his boots. Ryan flushes faintly at the compliment and Jeremy quickly goes to wash his hands.

“I still think you look amazing,” Ryan says when Jeremy returns to his side. Jeremy laughs and Ryan leans down to kiss him, his fingers curling around Jeremy's leather-clad shoulder and a restrained eagerness to his movements. Jeremy sighs and rests a hand on Ryan's hip, places the other over Ryan's scruffy jaw to tilt him a little.

“Wanted to do that for weeks,” Ryan says when he pulls away, panting quietly and his cheeks tinged pink.

“Well, why didn't you?” Jeremy asks, as if he hasn't had the same impulse and probably the same reason for repressing it.

“I don't think Geoff would take kindly to me interrupting meetings like that,” Ryan whispers, pressing another kiss to Jeremy's open mouth.

“Eh, fuck Geoff,” Jeremy says, and their laughter breaks them apart.

“Come on, I've got reservations,” Ryan says, pulling away and linking a hand with Jeremy's to lead him out. Jeremy revels in the thrill that sends up him and squeezes Ryan's hand simply because he can. Ryan squeezes back and Jeremy grins.

The restaurant is on Vespucci and their table is a floor above ground – Ryan deals with the talking while Jeremy admires the grand chandelier sparkling over the tables. Moments later he's whisked away, guided gently to the stairs by Ryan's hand on his back and they follow the waitress to the balcony.

There's heat lamps posted among the tables, paired with bright lights that glitter and glint off of jewellery and silverware. The clinking of champagne glasses accompanies the soft chattering around them, chimes of laughter mixed in with the sound.

Their table is tucked into the corner of the balcony, a clean white tablecloth draped over it with a delicate vase of pink flowers and a small candle in the middle. The waitress seats them with the menus and leaves them to decide with a polite smile.

“This place is fucking fancy,” Jeremy whispers, glancing up at Ryan. Ryan moves the flowers and the candle to the side so they can see each other, leaning in on his elbows as he peruses the menu.

“It also has the best burgers this side of the tracks,” Ryan murmurs, looking up at Jeremy. “We can leave if you want.”

“No – no, Ryan, I don't want to leave.” Jeremy hesitantly reaches out to place his hand on Ryan's and Ryan smiles, flips his hand to hold Jeremy's. “Best burgers?”

“That being said,” Ryan says, idly flipping the menu. “The desserts leave something to be desired.”

“We're on Seventh, right?” Jeremy asks. Ryan nods. “I know a gelato place nearby, we can get something there.”

Ryan smiles and squeezes his hand and Jeremy orders the cheeseburger and they steal each other's chips. It's amazing.

#ragehappy #jeremwood #fanfic #mine #trans ah #paint and metal

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jokers-sweethearts · 7 years

Text

Jared Leto Daughter Imagine: Packing

Synopsis: Jared is leaving LA to perform and his daughter is anything but discreet about hiding the fact she doesn't like it.

//////////

The alarm on Jared’s phone started buzzing, letting him know nap time was over and it was time to prepare for the trip. He pulled the covers over his head for a few moments, relishing in the comfort before the work. Eventually he got up, took a deep breath, and got ready. Hoping you’d come in soon to distract him.

Jared threw his gucci suitcase on his bed, unzipped it, and began throwing in random clothes he’d need while he was away. Some flannels, mars tees, beanies, camo pants the usual for him. He heard the light foot steps of his daughter approaching and cracked a small smile when she peaked her head through the door. He continued packing, fully aware of what was about to come.

You made your way to the bed and crawled in, taking his pillows to rest on. Pulling out your phone you mindlessly scrolled through instagram pretending you didn't have a care in the world.

Jared pulled a blanket off the end of the bed and threw it over his daughters head playfully. When she emerged out from under it she used it to snuggle more and she continued on her phone. He walked back and forth into his closet getting more stuff to pack.

The suitcase started to reach its max so you reached your foot inside and started pulling out items with tour toes. , keeping your eyes on the phone.

“Baby” Jared said with a laugh “Im gonna need that”.

His daughter stayed silent as he picked up the clothes her feet stole and put them back in the suitcase. He made one last trip into his closet to retrieve his checkered vans and upon return, even more items were taken out and thrown across the bed. His daughter still sitting silently.

Jared wasn’t mad, he couldn't be, every bone in his body loved it really. This was always her way of telling him she hated when he left. To him, being wanted was the best thing in the world. His daughter protesting him leaving meant that he did something right as a dad. Women in his life and friends could come and go, his brother and band mates could get mad at him, the media could scrutinize him, but his daughters love was always there. It’s what he wished he had with his dad and every time he saw his daughter display her affections, it was a big fuck you to the man who abandoned him. Even when she was mad at him herself her love was still constant and pure for him. How could he be mad when he had that?

“You know…” He began, lifting up the covers off her feet to tickle them. “You used to do the same thing when you were little”.

“mmmmhmmmm” you replied trying not to smile.

“Except you’d sit right next to the suitcase and every single thing I’d pit in you take it with both hands” he grabbed a flannel to demonstrate “and throw it with all your mite” he tossed it on top of his daughters head “then you’d sit your little body inside the suitcase”.

You pulled the flannel down and wrapped it up in your hands, keeping it close to your nose. It smelled like your dad and knowing he’d be gone soon, you wanted that feeling as much as possible. It was fun to joke around but the inevitable goodbyes were weighing heavy on you.

“I was so subtle when I was little” you smiled up at him clicking your phone off.

“Oh how things change” he said sarcastically tickling your feet again.

You kicked them away and under the covers. You dad began to gather the clothes your pulled up again and repack them. You knew he had to do it but like hell you were going to make it easy. You kicked the suitcase right off the bed. Showing him it was more than just teasing, you were upset.

Jared sighed after it landed on the floor. He picked it up and placed it back on the bed dropping the clothes in. He saw his daughters foot about to repeat the incident but he grabbed it stopping her.

“I know you’re not happy with me leaving”

“What gave it away” the smile melted from your face.

Jared felt that strange sensation in his chest only a father could get seeing his little girl unhappy. He pushed the suitcase to the end of the bed and took a seat next to her.

You knew the dad talk was coming so you rolled your eyes and turned to the side away from him.

“Oh no no no we’re not doing that” he said poking her side to make squirm a bit but she held her ground away from him. She was older now than the little girl who sat in the suitcase but he was still bigger. He put both hands on her waist and twirled her back to face him.

You couldn't keep your smile contained because he was doing exactly what you wanted. Focusing on you and not packing and leaving.

“I’ll be back soon. I always am. I think about you every second I’m away. You know that”.

“Doesn’t change the away part” you shot back.

Jared stayed silent, no matter what he said she was right. And he felt the same. He loved his job and his life. But if he could stop time and spend all time tickling those feet he wouldn't hesitate. But still he had a job to do as a dad, take care of her body and soul.

"It's just the job baby. I hate that it takes me away but it's what I do. Pays the bills, secures the future for you".

His daughter laid there ignoring everything he said unimpressed. Giving him those eyes that made him weak.

"Buys you pretty stuff....." he teased.

"Oh well I guess that’s not so bad" you smirked.

Jared reached his hands up to her face and tucked her hair behind her ears. He held her cheeks for a moment before he planted a kiss on her forehead.

"We okay then? Can I pack?" he said.

"Yeah.....still mad at you though" you said with a straight face.

Jared couldn't tell if his daughter was joking or not and he felt his heart sink a little bit. He held onto her just staring.

You noticed the changes in him and felt a bit bad.... you lifted your head up and gave him a nose boop.

He smiled in relief and gave her another kiss. He held onto her hands as he stood off the bed pulling her up with him.

"No let me rest, being your daughter is exhausting" you giggled.

"I'm sure you'll take over my room as usual while I'm away, rest then, help me pick out my outfits now".

"Well..." you pulled away from him and headed into his closet "you do get better press when I dress you".

..........

The morning came for Jared to leave. The sky was just turning blue around 5am preparing for the sun to rise. Jared loaded up the car with his packed bags and headed into his daughters room. Saving the best and worst for last. Seeing her being the best and saying goodbye the worst.

You were wrapped up and warm in your bed when you felt your dads hand on your shoulder. It barely woke you as he lifted you up out of bed and carried you princess style through the house. Feeling the familiar comfort of his bed you opened your eyes reluctantly, realizing it was time. He tucked you in so you were comfortable again and gave you butterfly kisses on your ear to get your full attention.

"Hug before I go" he said moving his arms under you to pull you into him.

You both held the hug longer than usual, having been reminded how hard the distance was yesterday. He placed a kiss on his daughters cheek, being hit hard that it'd be the last one for a while.

"No wild parties, don't be late for school, text me everyday, call me before bed you know the routine".

"I know".

Father and daughter lingered in the moment together before hearing his phone begin to vibrate. Time to go. Jared stood off the bed, an invisible force keeping him next to his child. The deeply rooted biological instinct not to leave her. He tried to think of something to help. Then it clicked. He took off the flannel he was wearing, the same one he tossed to her before, and handed it down.

You smiled warmly, fighting back the tears coming. Sadness that he was leaving and flattered that he'd do such a gesture.

"Bye daddy" you said. Calling him that only in certain moments, half hoping it'd affect him so much he'd call off the performance.

"Bye baby" he said beginning the long walk down to the car.

Before he shut the door he looked at her one last time, making sure she began to drift back to sleep before he left. The sight of his daughter in his bed, under his rood, only further told him he was doing the right thing. Giving her the life he never had. He left the house with the thought that always got in through being away.

The best part of leaving was coming home.

#imagines #jared leto x reader #jared leto imagine #jared leto fic #jared leto x oc #reader x jared leto #30 seconds to mars imagine #30stm imagine #thirty seconds to mars imagine #jaredleto x reader

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