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dustofbrokenheart · 3 years

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The Lost Boys: Take-Out Intrigue Part 1

Part One | Part Two

Marko x Reader

Word Count: 2,400

Warnings: racial slurs, some gore

Summary: You catch Marko’s eye while he’s waiting on an order. (Since my blatant favoritism towards Dwayne was called out, I’m trying something new!)

“Nin hao ma,” Marko called out as he entered the small restaurant.

The familiar scents of garlic, rice vinegar, and sesame oil wafted out from the kitchen in the back. Marko personally preferred the take-out joint down the block but it was David’s night to choose so he didn’t complain. Much.

The older woman at the counter bowed her head slightly with a smile. He wasn’t a regular but he was there enough that she recognized him. “Hao, hao.”

Mandarin was fluent but these owners spoke Cantonese which he wasn’t as familiar with. He supposed he could take time to learn but he’d been occupied with spray painting and the birds for the past few years. That didn’t leave much time, or desire, to pick up something else. Pleasantries out of the way, he switched back to English. His

“Let me get three orders of the sweet and sour pork, one sweet and sour shrimp, four chow mein, one lo mein, and one fried rice.” After a second of thought he added, “Oh, and some egg rolls.”

The owner wrote it all down quickly and waved the paper slip in between her fingers. “Wait here.”

She disappeared to the kitchen, leaving Marko by himself to admire the scrolls of art that hung on the wall.

In the back, she calmly walked over to where you were hunched over an open textbook, frantically taking notes. It was noisy in the kitchen so you didn’t notice her until she cuffed you on the back of the head.

“Oww!”

“Time to work. Keep an eye on the customer out front,” she nagged in Cantonese.

“Fine, fine. I’m going.” You held your hands up in surrender. But you snagged you stuff when she wasn’t looking and hoofed it to the register before she could chastise you again.

You stood at the register and it was impossible to miss the customer. He had a riotous mass of blonde curls pulled back into a ponytail and wore a patched-up jacket that was simultaneously too busy to look at and too interesting to look away from. He must have felt your gaze because he suddenly shifted his focus from the calligraphy on the walls and stared you straight in the eye.

You held your breath and after a few seconds, his face relaxed and he smiled at you. The smile only added to his attractiveness but you instinctively knew that he wasn’t as sweet as it would lead you to believe.

“You’re new,” he commented.

“Y-yeah. I mean, no,” you sputtered. That was embarrassing. You’d never struggled to speak with a customer before. The fact that he stared without blinking made it worse.

He merely hid his smile behind the fingerless gloves and stuck a thumb in his mouth. A possible oral fixation—? You stopped that thought dead in it’s tracks. It was highly inappropriate to think of a paying customer that way. His actions were none of your business.

You cleared your throat in an attempt to start over. “Actually, my family has known the owners forever. But yes, I’ve only been working here for a few months.”

“I don’t remember seeing you,” he said crowding you despite the fact that there was a register between the two of you. “What’s your name?”

You weren’t sure why, but you felt the need to defend yourself to him. Which was ridiculous. You talked with chatty customers all the time, no problem.

“My name is Y/N. I always take the busy shifts since my English is better. This is the first time I’ve stayed later than the dinner rush.”

That answer must’ve settled something for him because he took at thumb out of his mouth and gave you the first genuine smile you’d seen thus far. In turn, you smiled back and the mood in the room calmed.

His attention went back to the calligraphy and you opened your textbook to the spot you left off at. Everything was quiet. “So…you like calligraphy?” he questioned.

The next fifteen minutes passed quickly as he got you talking about the restaurant’s décor. He was especially absorbed by the painting of a fiery-scaled eastern dragon, which you also liked. But your favorite was the Chinese phoenix on the opposite wall.

“Did you know the fenghuang is a lucky omen? They’re the bird of all birds in traditional mythology.”

That seemed to intrigue him. “The bird of all birds, huh?”

You latched on to the tone in his voice. “Do you like birds?”

He toed the tip of his worn boot into the linoleum floor. Laughed a little. “Yeah. You could say that.”

He opened his mouth to say more but at that moment you were called to bag up his order. A little reluctant, you excused yourself and went to kitchen. The food was already portioned into their respective white cartons, the top flaps folded in neatly.

Opening up the plastic bag, you quickly arranged the cartons inside and tied a with a small, snug knot at the top. Stapling the receipt to the bag, you drew a smiley face on it with a blue-ink pen. The smile came out a little lopsided but you left it alone, afraid it might turn out worse if you tried to fix it.

You lingered near the door, twisting the plastic in your hands. For some reason, you would be disappointed to see him leave. Which was crazy as you’d only talked for a few brief minutes. Judging by the size of the order, the poor guy probably needed to leave so he could bring other people their dinner too.

Resigned, and uncomfortable with that feeling, you went back out to the register. You made sure to use your most polite voice as you rang him up. The exchange happened normally and he dug a wad of dollars bills from his back pocket. It made you cringe to see the money so wrinkled and spotted with an unknown stain, but you kept your reaction to yourself.

“Have a nice night,” you wished him as you tried to hand him his change.

He waved it off with a shake of his head that sent his curls bouncing. “Nah, keep it.”

And that was it. He turned to leave, swinging the plastic bag at his side with every step. There was no hesitation on his part and you sighed. Clearly, your interest was one-sided.

Logically, you knew shouldn’t take it personal, but emotionally, you couldn’t shake the feeling of rejection. Remembering that you were in the middle of reading, you went to open your notes again. You flipped through the pages slowly, your heart not in it.

Outside of the small restaurant, the red neon open sign casted hazy lighting on the cracked cement sidewalk. Marko hovered just far enough from the door that you couldn’t see him. He snickered.

Your disappointed sighs had followed him as soon as he turned his back on you to leave and he had to be honest—it delighted him. Good to know that you were attracted to him. He certainly liked you.

Santa Carla was full of interesting people, alive, undead, or otherwise, so it was hard to catch his attention. But as soon as you started spouting off about mythical Chinese phoenixes, he was hooked. Yes, he was into birds, screw you, but he’d never heard that story before.

He supposed you could’ve been talking out of your ass but he didn’t get that vibe from what he had seen. Your eyes lit up when you talked about the image so he bet that you truly did admire it. Your voice was steady for the first time in the encounter, meaning that you were comfortable saying those things, had probably told them to other ears dozens of times.

So, yes, you could be making it up. If you were, he’d be the first to admire your skills. But you seemed too straight and narrow for that. After all, you were actually studying at work. What kind of person did that?

The tantalizing combination of authenticity and passion for your Eastern mythology made him want to talk to you again. That way he could pick your brains more and maybe, if he was lucky, make you stutter again. Still, he wasn’t going to walk back in there like a sap. Not after he just left.

“Hey!”

His ears twitched and he finally got a look at the guy he’d been watching stagger down the sidewalk the entire time he’d been outside. He chose not to saying anything figuring the human would keep talking anyway, which he did.

“You get that food from here?” The human pointed to the restaurant with his thumb.

Marko nodded, biting on his thumb.

“These chinks, or japs, or whatever any good?”

Marko’s eyes that had been taking in the guy’s appearance the entire time paused in the bird pin he had on his cap. It was yellow orange. Similar shade to the fenghuang’s wings. He took his thumb out of his mouth, his slick fangs descending to bite into his bottom lip.

The ass hadn’t even noticed, still talking and seemingly some kind of inebriated. Fine by Marko. He liked surprising people.

His clawed hand shot out faster than the human eye could track and plunged into the guy’s chest. A hole was torn clean through. The blood and heart organ felt warm and wet as it stuck to his fingers. “I don’t think you need to worry about that you prick.”

The hole was much more pronounced and blood began spilling out. In the light of the moon, the blood looked black instead of red. The about-to-be-dead offender’s jacket absorbed some of the liquid but the rate at which it poured out was too much for the fabric to soak it all up. It wouldn’t be long until he was officially dead.

The shock registered late and by the time the human looked down, Marko had already pulled his hand out and was sucking at the blood. He laughed at the other’s confused expression. The last thing the guy saw was Marko giggling and playfully waving his fingers.

The corpse sagged to the ground and Marko wrenched it up by one of the arms. He must’ve used too much force because he heard the shoulder pop off out of its socket.

He shrugged, not really bothered. No one else was out on the streets at this time. Especially not during a weekday. Getting rid of the body would be easy. Strengthening his hold, he flew into the night sky to dump the body where it would never be found.

When he came back, the white bag of Chinese take-out was sitting exactly where he left it. Excellent. Bending down to rip off the receipt, he pinned his new yellow orange bird pin to it. There was a small speck of blood on the glossed paint near the small bird’s wing that he licked clean.

He didn’t mind scarring you, but he didn’t want you so freaked out that you went to the cops. That would make things a little messy and make David pissy.

Following his nose, he wandered over the car that smelled of you. A quick glance through the driver’s window showed a stack of other notebooks and…a ridiculously bedazzled charm dangling from the rear-view mirror. It made him raise his brow, but he decided he liked it.

Mythological creatures, bedazzled charms…he couldn’t wait to find out more about you.

He arranged the paper backed pin under the windshield wiper to keep it from falling or blowing away. Marko prided himself on giving gifts and he wished he could be there to see you find it, but he’d been gone long enough. The boys were already going to give him hell for it. And he was getting hungry, too.

Besides, he knew where you worked. He’d find you again when he had more time.

Revving the bike, he raced down the road, the plastic bag quivering where it hung from his handle bars.

---XXX---

“See you later, Auntie,” you called out. A bell jingled as you pushed the front door open. You weren’t used to working this late and were long past due for sleep.

“Bye bye, drive home safe,” she said in Cantonese, the gruffness failing to mask her fondness for you.

Being in the restaurant all night, the crisp air outside was a nice reprieve. You loved the food, you really did, but oil could be headache inducing after a while. There was a slight breeze, too, that refreshed you with its invisible caress.

Most of the other businesses in this area were closed by now, leaving the streets dim and vacant. Luckily, there was a streetlight by your car so you didn’t have to walk in the dark. There was no such thing as being too safe in Santa Carla.

You shifted your things so you could get the keys and stopped in your tracks when you noticed a small piece of paper on the windshield. You looked around, not seeing anything else out of the ordinary. Still, you couldn’t shake the wariness.

Was it a ticket? A threat? A piece of trash that just blew into the window?

Creeping forward, you recognized the smiley face you had drawn earlier. What the—? When you were close enough to snatch it, you realized there was something weighing down the corner of the flimsy paper. A pin.

You angled it toward the streetlight, unsure what it was. An orange, no, golden orange bird gleamed in the light. Its wings spread wide and were smooth under the pads of your fingers.

Warmth spread through your chest. There wasn’t a message on the receipt, but the smiley face gave it away. This could only have been from that customer with the curls and jacket. Had he been wearing it inside? You couldn’t remember.

Clutching the pin, you sat in the driver’s seat. The car ran idle for a bit and you fiddled with the back of the pin. There was plenty of space on your bare jacket to place it wherever you wished. With the delicate gift attached securely to the jacket, you backed out of the parking spot, a smile on your face the entire way home.

Hopefully, he stopped by again soon.

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My first time writing for Marko! Thumbs up or thumbs down?

Regardless, East Asian (and any) racism isn’t cool peeps. Let’s do better :)

#the lost boys #the lost boys marko #the lost boys x reader #imagines #marko the lost boys

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theolddarkmachine · 4 years

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Imaginary- Chapter Nine

Midoriya Izuku’s life was turned upside by fate.

Eri’s life was turned upside down by circumstance.

And Bakugou Katsuki is about to learn that even imaginary friends need to grow up.

Also on AO3

A/N: Woah, we’re at like, the pseudo halfway mark! well actual half if you count that theres gonna be 18 chapters + an epilogue lol Anyway, apologies if it seems like nothing really happens in this chapter. I’m buzzing for what’s to come, but alas, gotta make those bridging chapters first 😖

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Izuku felt weightless as he walked through the front door, casting his gaze quickly around his surroundings in search of Eri and Bakugou. It was a strange feeling, almost like he was floating as he kicked his work boots off at the front door and tugged at the zipper on his vest.

Cool air finds his torso where his shirt sticks to his stomach from the humid summer afternoon as he flaps the edges of the vest. Sighing at the blessed coolness, Izuku steps further into the hall and tilts his head into the kitchen.

Empty of either Bakugou or Eri, it’s filled with the fading twilight of the evening that casts long shadows across the floor.

Turning away from the kitchen, he continues forward as he takes off his hat and sweeps a hand through his slightly damp curls in an attempt to breathe some life into them.

“Hello?” He says, almost timid, as he looks into the entry of the living room only to be met by the quiet hum of the TV that’s still on. A brief passing moment of dread shocks through Izuku at the stillness that fills the home before it’s beat back by a sudden loud exclamation.

“C’mon, shrimp, show some mercy!” Bakugou’s voice carries down the stairs, quickly chased by Eri’s trademark laugh that’s reserved specifically when she’s beating someone ruthlessly at a board game.

A smile, wide a bright, tugs his lips upwards as he takes the stairs two steps at a time, all the while clutching his sweaty hat in his hand. Quietly crossing the space between the staircase and Eri’s wide open door, Izuku leans his shoulder against the doorframe.

Just within the room, Bakugou sits on the floor with his back to the door, legs crossed, elbow pushed into his thigh, and forehead pressed into the palm of his hand in utter defeat. Across from him, Eri’s face is lit with pure glee as she proudly looks down at the Monopoly board between them.

It’s a scene that Izuku is all too familiar with, and something about it traps his greeting in his throat as lightning seems to strike at the center of his chest.

“How is a four year old so good with money?” Bakugou grumbles with the same world weary sigh of someone who has been defeated many, many times.

Eri’s high giggle seems to confirm this as she starts to reset the board without any regard to her opponents pain. Izuku watches as Bakugou turns his head in his hand just enough to fix Eri with a look.

“You sure you aren’t cheating?” The blonde asks, voice full of teasing question. Eri laughs again as she shakes her head quickly, eyes still stuck on the board as she moves dog and battleship back to GO.

“No, it’s just her super power,” Izuku answers, finally pushing his words through the crackling pop at his sternum. His words force a rigid line across Bakugou’s shoulders as Eri’s head snaps up.

“Daddy Izuku!” She cries as she pushes herself up off the ground and runs toward him. Catching her as she launched forward, Izuku pulls her up into his arms and gives her a squeeze that makes her giggle. Bakugou turns over his shoulder to look up at them, eyes slightly wide before he pushes himself up mechanically.

“Were you good for Mr. Bakugou?” He asks, eyes fixated on the blonde as he blanches at the name before fixing Izuku with a glare that makes his heart stutter.

“Me and Kacchan were playing games!” Eri replies happily, as if that’s an answer. It forces a scoff between Bakugou’s teeth.

“If her kicking my ass really counts as playing,” he mutters, rolling his eyes in a way that makes Izuku laugh. The strange, light feeling zipping through his chest rolls lower, finding a home in his stomach as Bakugou offers Eri a small secretive smile.

It captures him then, snatching his breath from his lungs as he traces the exact curve of Bakugou’s mouth. He notes that there’s a small scar at the corner of his bottom lip.

“You get that wreck cleared up?” Bakugou asks, the words shaking Izuku as his vision clears, gaze snapping up to find himself the focus of the blonde’s attention.

Swallowing thickly, he nods.

“Thank you for watching her,” Izuku rasps, throat suddenly dry as Bakugou moves ever so slightly closer. Dragging his stare away from Izuku’s, Bakugou paints him in ruby as he drags his gaze downward, pausing briefly at his mouth before moving down to his chest. A mischievous smirk quirks his mouth into a crooked slant.

“And thank you for your service, Officer Deku,” he says, tone filling with a challenging tease that makes Izuku go lightheaded.

“What?” He hears himself ask, vision helplessly filled with the blonde. Thrusting a finger forward, Bakugou points at the space above Izuku’s heart.

“Your name tag,” is all he says, matter-of-fact.

Looking down slowly, Izuku tracks the back of Bakugou’s hand before following the line of his finger to where it points at the plastic bar proclaiming his name.

“What?” He asks again as he stares at the white characters that stand against the black backdrop.

Bakugou laughs, moving quickly to flick him in the nose. Gasping with surprise, Izuku snaps his head up.

“Made ya look,” Bakugou says, mouth wrapped around a shit eating grin.

Heat collects at the high points of Izuku’s cheekbones as he stares with open wander at the man before him, mouth opening and closing around things he doesn’t know how to say.

“Kacchan!” Eri admonishes, fixing Bakugou with her stern look as she crosses her arms across her chest. His laugh pitches higher as he shakes his head slightly.

“Alright, squirt, I’ll leave your dad alone,” he says, raising his arms high above his head in a stretch. It raises the edge of his shirt just enough to reveal a strip of tan skin and golden hair before he drops his arms back down as Izuku swallows again.

“I should get going anyway.”

Fixing his stare on Izuku once more, he quirks his brow up, the edge of his mouth lifting as if in knowing before he moves closer. Bright, tart panic fills his mouth as he steps aside, just barely too slow as their shoulders brush.

“Goodnight, Deku,” Bakugou chuckles, hitting Izuku with the full brunt of his smile. It’s all sharp edges and challenge, and Izuku wonders silently what it tastes like.

“Night, Kacchan,” he replies, breathless and quiet. So much so that he briefly questions if he’s been heard until he sees the pink shade that paints across Bakugou’s face. Warmth dances through Izuku, tracing his bones and tracking his veins as he watches his mouth twist into a look of surprise. It only lasts for a breath before Bakugou tsks loudly and turns over his shoulder to stomp down the stairs. Seconds later, he hears the sound of the front door as it pulls shut loudly behind him.

Turning his attention from the hall and to Eri, he watches as she opens her mouth, releasing the loud blare of a horn.

Startling awake with his heart pounding wildly in his throat, Izuku stares up at the stripe of golden sunlight that cuts across his ceiling as his mind reels against the sudden change from the memory.

It had been a couple of weeks since that day, and since, Bakugou had wormed his way into their lives almost seamlessly. There when Izuku needed, the three of them had fallen into a routine so well maintained, he almost couldn’t remember how they’d managed before him.

If he were a pious man, Izuku might think Bakugou was sent by some higher power as a bit of a guardian angel.

That being said, he wasn’t, and Bakugou was far from angelic, but the sentiment still stood.

After a minute of introspection set to the tune of his alarm, Izuku finally rolls over, giving it a hearty smack and silencing it. Letting his hand lazily fall from the plastic clock, his eyes widen as he sees the bright numbers before him as they proudly proclaim that it was 9:01am.

It’s the latest he’s slept since entering the academy.

The loud creak of his door swinging open shatters his questioning thoughts as to how his alarm was changed as he turns quickly to face the doorway.

Standing at the entrance, Eri holds a tray as a look of concentration twists across her features.

“Eri?” Izuku says, making a move to get up and help her only to be stopped by her disapproving look.

Settling back against his pillows, he watches as Eri moves ever so slowly, waddling toward his bedside with her eyebrows furrowed.

Izuku watches, noting that her hair is pulled back in a low braid, and she’s wearing her favorite yellow dress.

Finally making it to his nightstand, Eri sets the tray on his nightstand with a smile.

“There!” She says cheerfully, fixing her toothy grin on him as she folds her hands behind her back. Looking at the tray, Izuku sees a small stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, two thick slices of bacon, and a steaming cup of black coffee. The loud gargle of his stomach rocks through the room at the sight.

“This looks amazing, Eri!” Izuku says, watching as her grin grows impossibly wide. “Did you do this all by yourself?”

“Nope, you always say no cooking without help!” She says proudly.

“I did,” he replies with a nod, reaching toward the coffee mug, curiosity burning through him. “So who helped you out? Grandma?”

Shaking her head, Eri’s eyes brighten as she rocks back on her heels.

“Kacchan helped!” She exclaims loudly before reaching into her dress pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. Izuku can practically see her excitement thrumming through her as she holds it out to him. Taking it carefully, he sips at his coffee. The burn of it on his tongue and down his throat masks the sudden flip in his chest as he reads the childish handwriting.

Daddy Izuku,

Please be ready by 10 for surprises!

Love, Eri

“Surprises, huh?” He asks, mouth tilting with a grin as Eri nods and claps.

“Yep! So be there or be square!” She giggles before turning on her heel and running out of the room, leaving Izuku alone with his breakfast, the note, and his heart in his throat. It beats a steady rhythm as his eye traces over the light bleed of color at the corner of the page. Using his thumb to flip the folded paper open, he turns it over to the back.

Marker colors the back of the page, turning it bright. Gaze following the bold lines, he takes in the figures that were him and Eri, drawn in a far steadier hand than Eri’s own. Beside them, added in by Eri herself, is a blonde stick figure with pointed hair and Bakugou’s trademark scowl.

Stomach going light, Izuku puts down his coffee and note, careful to make sure the paper avoids any of the food on the tray as he eyes the clock. With just under an hour to finish and get ready, Izuku makes quick work of the meal, barely registering the delicious taste over his wandering thoughts that kept meandering down the stairs.

Finishing up, Izuku pushes himself out of bed and quickly covers the space between his bed and his dresser. Grabbing clothes and moving to the bathroom, Izuku makes quick work of brushing his teeth and shaving.

After pulling on a pair of dark jeans and a light blue henley, Izuku fluffs his hair in a small attempt to tame it.

Finally allowing himself to look in the mirror for a final look over, he’s met by someone who looks like a near stranger. If it wasn’t for the all too familiar twist of his wild green curls, he wouldn’t have believed that the person in the reflection with the too bright eyes was him.

Admonishing himself silently for the pink that stretches across his cheeks and makes his freckles stand starker against his skin, Izuku leaves the bathroom and heads downstairs.

The soft hush of voices greets him about halfway down, causing him to move slower, more quietly, as he makes it to the bottom and turns into the kitchen’s entryway.

Bakugou is knelt in front of Eri, dressed in his usual style of dark fitted shirt, jeans, and black and orange sneakers. It doesn’t quite coordinate with what she’s wearing, but they still look like a matching pair as Eri stares up at him in awe.

Izuku watches, swallowing down his laugh as she nod along with a very serious look on her face.

“Got it, shortstack?” Izuku hears Bakugou say.

“Aye, aye, Kacchan!” Eri replies with a small salute. Bakugou’s mouth twists, almost as if he’s biting at the corner of his mouth to stop his smile from going too wide as he drops a hand on her head.

“Good,” he says, giving her head a small pat as to not disturb her hair. Izuku feels his heart flip unceremoniously in his chest at the gesture. The mid morning sun gilds the kitchen, touching the duo with gold. It seems to catch in Bakugou’s hair, turning it lighter, and making his eyes glow.

Golden and ruby, he looks near indescribable.

His heart stutters again as Bakugou looks up.

“As expected of a nerd, 10am, right on the dot,” he says, pushing upward to stand and fixing him with that wicked smile that seems to cut straight through his chest.

Heat rolls around inside his ribcage, razing his insides as he unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

“Yeah,” Izuku replies lamely, kicking himself for the way his voice croaks. Clearing it loudly and trying his best to ignore the way Bakugou’s eyebrow twitches upward, he continues, “so, what’s my surprise?”

Smile going sharper, Bakugou turns to Eri, giving her a small nod. Returning the gesture, she steps closer to Izuku, holding her hand out to him.

“C’mon, Daddy Izuku!” She says happily. “We’ll show you!”

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#bakudeku #bkdk #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #yall would not believe the mental gymnastics i had to do #to figure out a way to work in the nicknames in a believable way lol

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