27 May 2020

Prompt: Choking

Character/Pairing: GO

Rating: M / PG-16 / Adult

Notes: *quietly slips this in here like it's Tuesday and she hasn't been completely abducted by Nook Inc* Look for a double (or triple – let's be optimistic!) update today to catch me up. There's four prompts after this and….oh. Four days to do 'em in. Eh I might still go for another update later today.

Anyway, DLM AU. Don't…don't even ask. I have no fucking clue. xD (There's willies and references to botched blowjobs in this one, but nothing, y'know…active.)

Marinette could feel her skin crawling as she followed Luka into the seedy joint in a seedier part of town that she never would have visited during her living days. The place reeked of smoke – tobacco and otherwise – and cheap booze, and between the shouting, the pulse of the music pumping too loud through the speakers, and the smells assaulting her from every angle it was enough to make her head spin. Still, this was where their post-its had said their reaps would occur, so this was where they were. Luka didn't seem much bothered by it, she couldn't help but notice as she followed him to the bar, though she figured he was probably used to this kind of scene. Either this was the sort of scene he'd played (not frequented, because somehow she couldn't picture Luka a patron of a dive like this) or he'd reaped enough poor bastards in joints like this post-death. Either way, he walked up to the bar like he owned the place, immediately catching the bartender's attention and ordering their drinks with a familiarity and authority she had never possessed outside of a fashion house (and sometimes even then).

Alya had always been the one to approach the bar, before. She'd never really had the confidence to either catch the bartender's attention or fend off the unwanted attention from other patrons, so that had been Alya's job on any given Girl's Night.

"Anything stick out?" Luka asked once the order was placed. He turned around, leaning back against the bar as he fished another cigarette out of his pocket. It shouldn't have bothered her – nearly everyone in there was smoking, so what was one more in light of that? – but she still found her lip curling back in distaste.

"Why do you do that?" she asked before she could stop herself. He raised his eyebrows, turning to her with a confused expression, and suddenly the smoke was right in her face and making her cough. She covered her mouth and looked away, wincing before she turned back to him. "…sorry. That…sorry. It's none of my business."

"Why do I do what?" he asked, and she realized he honestly had no idea what she was talking about. The bartender tapped two glasses on the counter behind them, and Luka gave him a quick nod before looking back at her. She frowned, fidgeting uncomfortably before she gestured towards his cigarette.

"…smoke," she said. "I mean, it's not like you can be addicted, right? Or…oh my God. Can we get addicted? Are there junkie reapers? Is that a thing?"

He blinked at her for a moment, and she half expected him to yell at her – or at least say something scathing and rude, much like he'd done to Théo on plenty of occasions already. Instead, she was surprised when he…laughed.

…she liked his laugh. It was nice.

"No, there aren't junkie reapers," he said. Her eyebrows furrowed as he absently reached behind him, snuffing out the cigarette in an ash tray and leaving it there. "Though I've heard about a reaper in the States that certainly tries. We all have our ways of coping with death, Marinette. I guess that one just kind of became mine? I don't know. I never used to smoke. Does it…does it bother you?"

She fidgeted again, and she could feel her face warming under his stare. There was no judgment in his eyes, no reproach. Just…an idle curiosity. Like it bothered him if his smoking bothered her, but that idea was crazy, right? Why the hell should he care? Why should she?

"It's…I mean, it's none of my business, is it? I was…just…curious," she finished, lamely. She looked out over the crowd, wondering who among them was C. Ruth. She chewed on her lip a moment, considering. "I mean…I never smoked. I dated a guy who smoked once. Well…one date. It wasn't a very good one, and when he kissed me at the end of the night it tasted like ashes and regret."

She was still watching the crowd, but in her mind she was back six or seven years, trying to say goodnight to a boy who wouldn't take no for an answer. She hadn't wanted to go on that date in the first place, but Alya had insisted it would be good for her. That she needed it. She'd had a miserable time, and at the end of the night he'd shoved her against the back wall of the bakery as he shoved his tongue down her throat. As humiliating as it was, she had been glad her father had heard the tussle, assumed it was the raccoons getting in the garbage again, and had come out with a broom to chase them off. She was still certain the only thing that had kept Tom Dupain from killing that boy was the tears she hadn't been able to stop at his sudden appearance.

That had been her only date during her life. Her only kiss. She just…hadn't been interested, after.

She jumped when Luka laid a hand on her shoulder, and there was something…gentle…about his expression when she looked back at him. He dipped his head towards her, smiling slightly.

"So…are you concerned about the smoking because of my health or because you don't want me tasting like regret when you finally kiss me?" he asked, a somewhat teasing tone to his voice. Her eyes shot open, and she was fairly certain her face was on fire.

"I…I…that's not…you…you're already dead, dumbass! They won't kill you anyway!" she huffed. She immediately knew she had said the wrong thing when a grin curled his lips. There was something…serpentine about that grin. Enticing. Something she wasn't quite ready to place yet.

"…so you are planning on kissing me," he said, nodding, and she choked a little. His smile was more sincere as he looked back at the crowd, seeming pleased with his conclusion. Assumption. Whatever. "Good to know. I think I'd like that."

"You…I didn't say…ugh!" she screeched, burying her face in her palms. He had tossed his head back, laughing openly as he leaned back on the bar, and she blindly reached out to swipe at him. Maybe she had wondered what kissing him would be like, but he didn't need to know that! Besides, it's not like she'd ever act on it! She was…and he was…and it just wasn't a good idea, and…

"Come on, Todd – the closet's open!" a woman laughed as she passed in front of them, pulling a man along behind her.

"Oh, I'm coming, Claire Ruth," the man slurred, stumbling after her. They stopped short in front of them, Claire Ruth yanking who they could only assume was Todd Hastings in for a sloppy kiss. Their conversation momentarily forgotten, Luka and Marinette exchanged a look before they reached out, brushing their hands along the arms of the snogging couple, who never even noticed them. A moment later they were crashing into a closet in the back, where Luka and Marinette were unfortunately just close enough to hear just about everything below the loud music. When the souls of the couple appeared beside them moments later, Claire gawked at the closet before slapping Todd – or attempting to, as her hand just vanished in a swirl of mist that passed through his equally misty arm.

"You just choked me on your cock, jackass!" she shouted, and Marinette – who was trying to avoid Luka's questions by drinking the rum and coke he'd ordered her – promptly choked on her drink. Luka bit his lip and reached over, gently clapping her back.

"Yeah, well, who knocked the pool balls off the shelf? You choked me first, you bitch!" Todd snapped.

"See, this? This is why I have no intention of kissing anyone, smoker or no," Marinette said, putting her drink back on the bar. "Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting."

Luka snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest as he bent down, his mouth by her ear.

"I can promise you, Marinette, kissing me would be nothing like sucking off some drunk asshole in the supply closet of a dive bar whose floor would probably give you an STI," he whispered. She wasn't sure if he was joking or serious. Or both. She also wasn't sure why she found the idea – both of kissing him and…otherwise – so damn appealing. But before she could properly process what he'd told her, he was squeezing her middle and stepping away, moving to wrap an arm around the shoulders of their recently departed, who were still bickering. He led them away, chatting amicably about how hey, at least you went out with a bang, and it took another moment before she could clear her head enough to jog after him.

She never noticed the pack of cigarettes he'd abandoned on the bar.

Hours later, a disgruntled employee would open the supply closet to retrieve the broom to sweep up for the night. They would scream when they found the bodies of Claire and Todd, Todd with his head tipped back, skin blue, eyes wide and bulging, with the foam from a chemical tablet partially dissolved in his gaping mouth. His head would be thrown back against the shelf, the box with the tablets knocked over and spilling out on the top. Claire would be on her knees, his cock shoved violently down her throat, bits of hair pulled out where his hands had fisted during his death spasms, tears dried on her cheeks, eyes bulging, face also blue as she stared up at him.

The bar would be shut down for less than a day, the bodies squirrelled away by the local authorities, a quick clean done, and back open for business by the next night.