#brick wall colour ideas

[kingkatsuki]

You knew all too well how dangerous it was to cross over the border into Shishitoren territory. You'd heard enough stories from the boys of Furin to know what a terrible, terrible idea it was. But the Furin jacket that you wore was like a protective shield around you, giving you the confidence to push the boundaries— and somehow you didn't think that you would run in to the number two in command, Togame Jou.

Thank you to @zorosprincess for the request. I had a lot of fun writing this one.

Pairing: Togame Jou x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, CNC, public sex, exhibitionism, marking, dirty talk, degradation, praise, rough sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, cumshots, not proofread.

Word Count: 4.2k.

The sun still burns bright as the sky changes from blue to a mix of yellow and orange, casting a majestic glow over the town as it nears sunset. You turn the corner as you step beneath the bridge at the edge of town, wrapping your jacket a little tighter around you as the breeze from the alley licks at your exposed thighs. 

“You lost, little lamb?” You hear a voice as you stand by the illuminated vending machine, turning around to see Togame standing before you. His hands were shoved into his Shishitoren jacket and colourful lenses sat on the bridge of his nose, disguising his true intentions.

“You can’t be wearing those colours on this side.” Togame looked down at the Furin jacket you were wearing over your pretty sundress with disgust, “Your little Furin boyfriend should’a told you that.”

He approached like a lion honing in on its kill, ravenous and desperate to feast as he backed you into a corner like skittish prey. Your back met rough brick as he towered over you, sandals clinking against the uneven cobbles before he leaned down to catch your gaze. 

Everyone knew if Furin stepped onto Shishitoren territory they were fair game— and that rule extended to you too. 

“You know about the pact, sweetheart.” He murmured, warm breath fanning against your face as you looked up at him like a terrified sheep who had just walked into a lion’s den.

“So I’ll just be going then.” You tried to steady your words like Kaji had taught you, so no one would know that you were scared. But how couldn’t you be frightened as Togame Jou gazed down at you through tinted sunglasses as though he wanted to devour you whole.

With confidence in your actions, you decided to move, sweaty palms pushed yourself away from the wall as you began to make your leave. Slipping around Togame as you tried to speed up, pretty sandals sounding against stone, but it was no match for him. 

“Hey, hey,” He reached out to stop you, a muscular arm weaving around your shoulders as he pulled you towards him. Your back pressed firm against his chest as his lips brushed the shell of your ear, “What’s the rush, sweetheart?” 

He inhaled deeply, breathing in the saccharine scent of you as he tightened his grip with silent possession, “You already broke the rule, and it's not like you can take it back. So we might as well make the most of it hm?”

He reached up with his free hand to grab your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head in his direction as his lips hovered over yours. His warm breath stroked your skin as you found yourself leaning into his touch. 

“And it’s not like I can just send you on your way back without punishment—” He cooed, “What kind of image would that set for your little Furin boys.”

Togame squeezed your cheeks together as your lips curled into a pout, leaning forward to press an uncharacteristically soft, lingering kiss against them. He spoke so slowly, and articulately it had your cunt betraying your mind as your hole clenched around nothing.

“I think I’ll have to make an example of you,” Togame continued, one of his large palms moved to cup your breast beneath the pretty sundress you were wearing. Moulding it beneath splayed fingers as he dipped into the plush of it, dragging a pretty whine from between your parted lips, “So they all know not to mess with Shisitoren.”

The thin strip of no man’s land between Shishitoren and Furin turf seemed to be the only safe place for miles, and yet somehow you’d decided to slip a toe over the line to find yourself being looked at as prey.

“You understand, don’t you sweetheart?” He continued, hands bunched into his jacket pockets as he sauntered closer. The clack of his sandals against the ground echoed through the air, “It ain’t personal.”

You found it hard to believe. The gang warfare between Shishitoren and Furin seemed to be deep-rooted in hatred, woven from years of deflecting members and infiltration. The latter had built huge distrust on both sides, and it wasn’t peculiar for Togame to think that Furin might stoop as low as sending in a pretty piece of skirt to try and bridge the divide. 

“So, I’ll just be leaving then.” You watched as he pulled his sunglasses up to settle on top of his messy black hair, revealing emerald eyes that helped you try to gauge his reaction as you watched his cheeks curl into a grin. 

“Ah, now you see I can’t let you do that,” Togame tutted, “You ain’t supposed to be on this side of town, so you can’t just say sorry and be on your way—”

“I’ll go back to the right side,” You smiled, “No one needs to know.”

“But what if you get lost leavin'?” He sneered, his chapped lips grazing the shell of your ear as you felt your breath hitch in your throat, “Ain’t no telling what kinda sick, nasty creeps could be out looking for a pretty little Furin princess.”

“It’s lucky I found you, huh? If it had been Choji it would've been way worse,” He cooed leaning down towards you, “Although, I guess that could make you think it’s okay—”

“Please,” You whimpered when you felt his hands slip lower, dragging down from your hips to smooth over your skirt, fingertips dancing beneath the hem as he brushed the naked skin on your thighs, “No one needs to know.”

“You gonna keep this our dirty little secret?” He snorted, dragging his knuckles along your inner thighs as your skirt began to bunch at his wrists, almost leaving you exposed you decided to follow pure instinct as you moved to leave, "You know I can't let you do that— because where would we be without rules?"

Your body jerked to the side to try and slip beneath his arms, but Togame was quicker. There was a reason that Choji had picked him as his number two in command, and it wasn’t just the fact that they were friends. He was a fierce fighter, with sharp reflexes, his hands were quick to subdue you. Curling around your middle as he pulled you back towards him, forcing your chest against the wall as you thrashed in his arms, teeth bared as he pressed his cheek against yours and your face smashed against the wall. 

“Now where do you think you’re going?” He sneered, “I thought we were getting along.”

You gasped as he pressed the full length of his body against yours, his bulge pressed against the small of your back as he nuzzled your cheek. 

“I was being so nice considering you’re the one breaking the rules.” Togame sighed wistfully, “And you had to go and ruin it.”

He was far rougher this time, his hands sliding down your body to hike your skirt up around your waist. The sudden movement had your breath hitching in your throat as you felt the cool evening air hit your exposed skin.

“You always wear these slutty panties, sweetheart?” He scoffed, “I bet this is the real reason you crossed into our territory huh?”

“W-what?” You gasped in shock at the insinuation, eyes wide. 

“You wanted this to happen, didn’t you?” 

“No, I would never,” You choked back a sob, feeling it lodge at the back of your throat as you tried to blink back the tears that threatened to spill from your waterline, "It was an accident, I promise."

Togame’s fingers slipped between your thighs to stroke against the satin, gliding across the fabric as he pressed against your crotch. His lips curled into a satisfied grin at how wet you felt beneath his fingers, pressing down on your slit as he felt you writhe into his touch as your body sought more friction. 

“You’re awful wet for someone begging to leave.” Togame grins as the calloused pads of his fingers brush through your folds, feeling your wetness stick to his fingers as he deliberately strokes against your clit. The sudden movement has your hips jerking roughly as you accidentally press yourself against the bulge beneath his sweats, "You sure it was an accident?"

He’s rough when he curls his fingers in your panties, tugging them down your hips as they begin to fall when they reach your knees, exposing your slit completely as he holds a cheek to spread you open for him, whistling lowly as he takes in just how wet and puffy you are for him. 

“Furin girls really have got such pretty pussies, huh?” He coos, his tone steeped in jealousy, “No wonder they’re all so protective of you."

You hear Togame shuffle behind you as he eases his sweats down just enough to free his aching cock, the length hot and heavy in his palm as he gives himself a solid pump. Twisting his palm over the head to smear his pre along it before taking hold at the base, easing his hips forward as he brushes the swollen tip through your messy folds. 

He groaned when he felt the blunt head collide with your fluttering entrance, catching against it before pulling back. Almost slipping inside over and over as you found yourself spreading your thighs further apart to give him more space, pressing yourself back on his cock as you coaxed him in.

“Fuck,” Togame groaned as he rut his hips forward, feeling your cunt pulse against him as his swollen tip nudged your clit instead, causing you to cry out as you flailed against him in a debauched mess for him. 

His grip on your ass became harsher as his calloused fingers made the supple flesh divot beneath them, prising you open for him as he leaned back to direct himself inside your velvety walls. Groaning at the way your cunt immediately began to throb and clench around him when he met the first ring of muscle as you tried to pull him deeper, feeling the ache of the stretch begin to flow through you. Your body betrayed you as your cunt drooled with slick, more than wet enough to take every inch of him with minimal prep as he felt you engulf him. 

“Actin’ real slutty for someone that doesn’t want it.” He cooed, giving an experimental rut of his hips as your cunt eagerly took more of him in, your warmth engulfing him whole as he bottomed out. His heady balls were snug against your clit as he stilled for a moment to cherish the way your walls squeezed him, accommodating to his size as you whimpered softly. 

“God, you’re so fuckin’ perfect.” Togame drawled as he began to pull himself from your heat, unsheathing his cock as he shamelessly looked down to see the messy sheen you’d left against him, “Takin’ me so well.”

You don’t expect him to be so rough when he properly thrusts inside you for the first time, stealing the air from your lungs as he gives you everything with a husky grunt. Forcing your body harder against the rough brick as you cry out, louder than intended as his lips graze your ear. 

“Better be quiet unless you want someone to hear,” He sneers, chuckling when you do the opposite when he gives another harsh thrust, “Is that so? You want people to hear you being fucked on Shishitoren cock? What would Umemiya say?”

Your face scrapes against the brick from the ferocity of his movements, before you have a chance to brace your hands to prevent it. But the pain is surpassed by the way his cock bullies its way deeper, his blunt tip carving you into the shape of him while he presses himself deep against your cervix. 

Togame makes it difficult to think, as all you can do is stand there and take everything he forces upon you as he maintains a deliberately slow, rough pace. As though you’re not both standing out in the open— where anyone could happen upon you and catch you in such a precarious position and the thought has your cunt clenching deliberately around his cock as you try to decide whether that would make things better or worse. 

“Oh?” He feels the pressure as his lips press against the shell of your ear, “You like that, huh? You like being fucked by Shishitoren cock?” 

You found yourself submitting to him, resigning control as you let all the pent-up tension that had ebbed away at you go. The incessant pleasure coursing through your veins was beginning to consume you whole as Togame pulled the reigns, watching as you allowed yourself to give into your most sinful desires. 

“Bet those Furin boys don’t make you feel this good, do they?” He continues driving his hips forward, the crude sound of skin against skin echoing in the desolate alley, “Gonna have you wandering back into ‘toren territory more often.”

Togame felt your body begin to shake from the pleasure that sought to consume you whole, his tongue stroked against the shell of your ear as he smoothed his palms along your sides. Moving forward as he changed the angle slightly before pressing his lips to your parted ones, your jaw hanging open as silent gasps racked through your body. Your head moving in tandem with his thrusts as he fucked into you hard.

"You gonna tell me who's jacket this is, or do I have to keep guessing?" There was a fierce snarl behind his tone that sent shockwaves directly to your clit.

You couldn’t speak, even if you had wanted to. The only sounds that left your lips were debauched whimpers and whines as he used you for his pleasure. Hot, wet tears began to prickle at your waterline. Clumping into your thick lashes before trickling down your cheeks, leaving messy lines of mascara in their wake.

“Aww, you cryin’?” Togame cooed, but there was no sincerity in his tone as he nosed one of the tear stains that marked your cheeks.

“I wonder what they’d say if they found out their pretty little Furin girl was being split open on my cock?” Togame pressed, his hand slipping around your body to press against the top of your mound, slender fingers seeking out your puffy clit, “You gonna tell them how much you liked it?” 

“Answer me.”

“I— W-what?” You’re breathless, trying to remember the basic human need to function as he drives into you with precision, his hips knock persistently against the swell of your ass and certain to leave bruises as you bite back another whine. 

“You gonna let Sakura know what his pretty little princess was doing on Shishitoren turf?”

“No— I wouldn’t, I won’t—”

“What do you think they’ll say when I send you back to Furin fucked into the shape of my cock with my cum spilling down your thighs?” He snorted, “And you’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

You mewled at his question, your cunt answering for you as it clenched around him hard. The sensation had Togame grinning against your cheek as his teeth grazed your sensitive skin, keeping his rough pace as all you could do was stand there and take it. Your thighs shook from the awkward position as they threatened to give way, not that it would matter when you were pinned between the wall and Togame, completely at his mercy. 

He made it difficult to think, consumed with pleasure as Togame fucked himself into your pliant hole. Battering your insides with each churn of his hips that drew more sultry noises from the back of your throat. Reaching one of his palms up to press it against your mouth as his lips moved back to press against your ear, feeling the same smug grin on his face as he tried to silence you. 

“As much as I love all the pretty sounds you’re makin’ sweetheart, I ain’t someone who shares.” His voice held a predatory husk as he began to curl his hips, deliberately dragging the underside of his cock against the same spot inside you that would have you coming undone hard and fast as he sought to feel you cum on his cock, “Keep it down.”

You couldn’t, even if you tried. The thought of being caught horrified you, but the feeling of his cock dragging against your velvety walls so deliciously has you lightheaded, making it impossible to think as all you could do was stand there and take everything he had to give.

It was embarrassing how much you were enjoying this. Practically humiliated as you let the second in command of Shishitoren use you how he pleased, your body responding to him as your cunt continued to drool around his cock. Leaving creamy rings of slick around the base of him that matted into his pubic hair and smeared against your ass with every thrust. 

Togame reached up to palm one of your tits above your sundress, kneading the supple skin as you cried out for him. Smirking at your reaction as he pushed the material down before watching your tits spill free, grabbing a handful as his fingers dipped into the plush of them. Leaning down to mouth at your neck, biting at the supple skin just beneath your pulse point before sucking hard, fully intent on leaving his mark. 

“Don’t leave any marks.” You whimpered, feeling his fingers twist your taut nipples as you cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. 

“I think it might be too late for that—” Exhaling in satisfaction when he pulled back to admire his work, a dark patch beginning to bloom against your skin as he nosed the back of your ear, “They’ll all get to see what a slut you are.”

You tried to splay your hands against the brick wall to stop your face from grazing the rough cobble as your forehead knocked against it with the change of position. Causing Togame to groan behind you when he felt you push back against his cock, moving his hands up to squeeze your hips as he bent his knees for more leverage. Pushing himself into you over and over again, making you cry out for him. 

“Come on, pretty girl,” He cooed, “I know you’re close. I can feel you.” 

He was right, you were. The coil inside you was so tight it was almost painful, the pent-up tension hot and heavy as the dam inside you threatened to burst. Catching you off guard as Togame slid a hand between the apex of your thighs to search for your needy clit, catching it between his index and middle fingers as he began to swirl it from side to side as you dangled on the precipice of your climax. 

“Wanna feel you cum all over my cock.” He urged you, deliberately focusing his thrusts on the same spot that had you clenching around him, fingers working your clit as you whimpered, “Come on, show me how pretty you look when you’re creaming.”

It was all too much, too intense as your eyes rolled back into your skull. Your lips smeared gloss against his palm as you cried out in pleasure as you found your end, coming undone as your cunt began to convulse around him. 

“Oh fuck, good girl—” He grunted, continuing to fuck you through your climax as he felt your walls desperately trying to milk him of his release. 

You couldn’t control your body as your legs began to shake, drool spilt from your lips and into Togame’s palm as he pressed your head back against his shoulder. Bouncing you on his cock as he used you for his own pleasure, his fingers still persistent on your abused clit as you tried to fight the feeling of another climax being stolen from you as Togame was unrelenting. 

“God, you’re a fuckin’ mess, sweetheart.” He sneered, throwing his head back in a laugh as he forced you down on his cock. 

Your tits bounced with each sloppy movement as he used you for his own need, your mind completely shrouded by debauched pleasure as Togame worked you towards another orgasm. 

“You got tighter when you came,” Togame mused, his lips brushing your neck as he bent his legs to change the angle of his thrusts. 

His voice was like the sweetest ambrosia as it sent shockwaves directly to your needy clit, reaching your hand down to press messy circles against it to try and alleviate the tension that knotted in your pelvis. 

“You greedy thing,” He scoffed, watching as you teased your clit, “I haven’t even cum once and here you are trying to get yourself off again— I guess you really did cross the boundary to get this tight little pussy bred huh?”

Togame spoke so slowly, the soft timber only aided in your pleasure as you felt your body respond to the sound. Clenching around him in a feeble attempt to steal his spunk as you began to quiver, your second orgasm surging through as your fingers rubbed your clit raw. Desperately trying to chase that same high that had you crying out his name as he pressed a palm to your sternum to stop you from knocking yourself out on the wall. His hand moved higher to stroke along the column of your throat before he splayed a palm over your mouth to quieten the desperate, lewd noises that poured out of you from his movements. 

“Jesus,” He tossed his head back in a laugh, “if I’d known this was what Furin pussy felt like I’d have crossed the boundary myself.” 

Togame barely managed a few more deep languid thrusts before he was spilling his release inside you with a guttural grunt, his heavy balls pumping rope after rope as he filled you with his warm spunk. Groaning as he pulled back suddenly, unsheathing his cock from your greedy hole as he began to fist himself roughly. Jerking out the final few pumps of cum all over the back of the Furin jacket that you were wearing as he painted it with his release. Leaning forward to tap the swollen tip of his cock against the fabric as he coaxed out the final few beads of his cum before dragging his length against it to coat it in your slick too.

It was ruined — like you. 

“That’s it,” He groaned lowly, “My good girl.” 

You let out a desperate whine when you felt Togame pull back, your hands splayed against the wall to keep yourself upright as he unabashedly spread your cheeks open to watch your fluttering walls push some of his spend from deep inside your tight heat. 

“You really are a mess.” He chuckled, letting his thumb swipe through the slick between your thighs before he gathered some of his cum on the pads of his fingers. Scooping it up he pushed it back inside your abused hole, causing you to cry out for him as you felt him press down on that sweet spot inside you. 

“Stop teasing me.” You whined, shimmying your ass back into him, “You made me a mess! The jacket is ruined—”

“Hey,” Togame gave your ass a playful smack, “Shouldn’t have worn it if you didn’t want me to cum all over it, sweetheart. You can take it off now by the way — where did you even get it?” 

You were already still surrounded in the lusty haze of euphoria that you couldn’t even process Togame’s questions, so unused to him talking so much and so quickly after sex as you tried to even out your breathing. 

“I had to find something,” You smiled, turning your head to the side as you leaned towards him to press his lips against your cheek, “I didn’t think I’d be able to convince you to do that.”

“Why because I have such a hard time being mean to you?” He smiled, nosing the apple of your cheek. 

“No,” You snorted, “Because you’re lazy.”

“Wow.” Togame deadpanned, “This lazy guy stayed in perfect character and had you creaming twice and that’s all you’ve got to say?”

“This lazy guy,” You turned to poke him in the chest as Togame took the opportunity to poke one of your exposed breasts in retaliation, “Is gonna have to clean this jacket now.”

“Ain’t no way I can be seen cleaning a Furin jacket, pretty girl.” He scoffed, “Just give it back like that.” 

You gave him a pointed look as you pulled your sundress back up over your breasts, adjusting yourself so you were more presentable before Togame reached out to cup your jaw. Tilting your head slightly he noticed the graze against your cheek from where you’d pressed it against the brick wall.

“Shit, baby— I hurt you?” It was more of a question than a statement, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss against your sore cheek.

“Nah, I liked it.” You smiled at him as you leaned into his touch, reaching out to hold onto the opening of his Shishitoren jacket, “We should do something like this again.”

“Maybe,” He hummed before stealing another kiss, “But first you’re takin’ that jacket off and I’m fucking you in mine.”

[yuzupurpletaro]

Two years ago during lockdown, I spent my time creating Aziraphale's bookshop using cardboard and various other random materials I had lying around, creating this piece which I could slot into my bookshelf (now it sits next to my growing collection of @neil-gaiman works).

In celebration of Good Omens Season 2, I decided to post pictures of the completed project and the process here! It's my first time posting on tumblr, so forgive me if I'm a bit green.

Details and process below!

Before we ever got to see what was on the bookshop's upper floor, I imagined a bedroom, perhaps lived-in. Maybe a certain demon had moved in, along with their plants?

The teeny pride flag in the window is one of the subtle ways I sneak in a celebration of pride into my room, away from homophobic prying eyes.

My favourite details! I printed out both signs on Aziraphale's door, the images of which I believe I got from fans that posted them online.

Due to poor planning on my part, I started making this flower shop as well before I knew how it would fit in with the bookshop. In the end, they remained separate pieces. There was even a mini chalkboard sign for the flowershop, which I have no idea where it has disappeared to now.

It all started out in August 2020, when I put pencil to paper. Initially I wanted to create a street view, with the bookshop and flower shop on either sides. But honestly my brain was too small to figure out how that worked, so it didn't happen.

The most fun part was folding the tiny paper books. The least fun? Cutting rectangles out of cardboard and painstakingly gluing them down to resemble bricks.

Painting was alright, but on closer examination, the walls were all of different colours due to my inconsistent paint mixing. To ensure that what was essentially a cardboard façade of the bookshop could stand on its own, I created a pavement with added flowering shrubs and a lamp post. The street sign on the lamp post says 'Garden of Eden', which I now know should have been Whickber Street :)

And that's it! I believe I spent ~62 hours working on and off on it, and it certainly kept my lockdown blues at bay.

Can I hear a wahoo?

[bits-and-babs]

𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Other Joel Fics: Atta Girl [10.2K], PlayBoy [3K]

Summary: A betrayal causes both you and Joel to fight for your life.

Word Count: 5.1K!

CW: In order: Horror themes. Bodies. Gory imagery, fighting infected. Wearing Joel’s clothes. Fluffiest, softest, sappiest, most tooth rotting smut. Orgasm denial. Fingering. I have been a fan of the game for YEARS, given it is the first episode of TLOU TV I am basing most of Joel’s character off game Joel. Gif credit unknown.

Tease: “… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers.

The static firework-like display of spores ejecting from the corpse slumped against the opposite wall had captured your attention despite the delicate situation you found yourself in. The tendrils of fungus creep up the walls, painting them with streaks of muted peaches and reds, not unlike human flesh. It bursts from the fruiting body as violently as a bomb going off. You suppose that’s what it is, a bomb detonating slowly, killing those that breathe in the cordyceps spores.

Your gas mask sits tight on your face, digging into the skin of your nose to effectively create an airtight seal to prevent the malignant disease from entering your lungs and turning you from the inside out. Even through the dirtied visor of your mask, you can see that the corpse has fused to the ground and wall it was once sat up against, calcifying to the brick and plaster. It’s reaching its final stages of the infection: complete takeover, encroaching upon any space it can find. You didn’t doubt that in 6 months it would fill the whole room.

Despite the crawling sensation that itches across your skin at the idea of fungus creeping from your body in the cover of darkness, you couldn’t deny the morbid beauty of the scene before you. It oddly reminds you of different breeds of coral, like the kind that clings to the Great Barrier Reef. There are tan-coloured, fan-like protrusions, long strands of crimson and tubal fungi that bust directly from the chest of the deceased. Silvery dust spores glisten under the beam of your flashlight, giving the abandoned house you had entered an almost glittery effect.

“Oi. C’mon.” Your smuggling partner's Texan typically cold baritone cuts through the uneasy hush in the room. “We stand in this shithole any longer and we’ll be ambushed.”

Peering up from the putrefied body, you find Joel Miller gazing back at you, jerking his head to the door in a silent order to urge you out of the rotten room. Stepping away from the body, you walk towards the exit.

“How much longer?” You ask, studying his weary expression. The two of you had been travelling for hours, on red alert for infected or human danger alike. Outside of the quarantine zone was a death trap, and Joel always insisted you both never get too comfortable. Always be cautious.

“Half an hour tops,” Joel rumbles, holding the door open as you step through. His hands smear it with blood as you walk by, the ghost of his fingerprints leaving ribbons of crimson against the surface.

The blood had belonged to a medicine dealer called Cain. Joel had been working for him, the two of you smuggling the precious supplies into the quarantine zones in return for ration cards and weapons. You and Joel must have made ten, hell, fifteen runs for this crooked fuck, only for Cain to send the two of you on a dodgy mission. You’d both been jumped by the middlemen who were meant to hand off the medicine- when under duress, they admitted to ‘just following orders’.

It hadn’t taken you both long to find Cain and took even less time to dispatch him. Joel had taken his time and, as always, you turned your back on the shrieks of agony as Joel delivered justice. Though he had been particularly brutal this time around, the crunching of bones and cartilage was loud enough to be heard over the dying screams.

Said cries of pain and the extended period of torture had drawn the attention of several Runners and Clickers. They’d overrun the smuggling tunnels somehow, obstructing your return to the quarantine zone and safety. It had been the fight of your life, and the two of you were damn near out of ammunition and energy to battle the waves of infected.

“You okay?” You croak, almost afraid to speak into the silence between the two of you as you stumble through the darkness, navigating using only the dying light of Joel’s torch. A small reprieve from the onslaught of runners.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his eyes drifting over in your direction. “Wanna get home. Think I hurt my ankle back there, fighting the clicker.” If it hurts enough to admit it, it must be bad. Yet Joel maintains a strong pace, refusing to allow the pain to slow him down. He was stubborn like that, the two of you always arguing about his thick-headed disposition.

You nod in silence, eyes on the floor and focusing on not tripping over loose bricks despite running this smuggling tunnel with Joel for years. It was probably so familiar that you could walk it blindfolded. The walls of this small passage had seen the slow and subtle changes in the dynamics of your relationship.

It had seen the beginnings of your partnership and witnessed you constantly vying for Joel’s approval to extend the coalition you had fought so hard to convince him for. The cracks in the walls had observed the slow-growing kinship between the two of you, jokes told and three-sentence conversations shared. The shards of glass swept into the corners of the floor had heard the difficulty you both had continuing those discussions after you had stupidly gotten drunk on this old whiskey Joel had found, kissing him in the early hours of the morning when he finally carried you to bed.

That was a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. Like a child unable to look into his mother's eyes when telling a lie.

Grabbing ahold of the cold handle of the metal door ahead of you, you force it down to open it. The door jams on the opposite side, not moving despite putting all of your weight behind it to the point the edges of the handgrip leave a rectangular imprint in your palm.

“Joel?” You call him, “Gonna need you to open this.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, the same way he always has. He steps forward, the soles of his boots scuffing the floor as he approaches.

Joel shifts his shoulder against the flat of the door, hooking the handle downwards with his calloused, bloody palm and uses his strength to push against the blockage. The hinges of the door strain under the pressure, squealing in the silence as Joel grits his teeth.

He grunts loudly, heaving the door so the obstruction falls away from the entrance, clattering to the floor with a racket that ricochets off the wall. It echoes all the way down the corridor. You freeze, the deafening sound causing the hair on your forearms to stand on end.

The chill on your skin only intensifies with the blood-curdling groans that sound from the blackness.

“Fuck-“ you stammer, Joel’s hand quick to settle between your shoulder blades to push you forward through the open door. Adrenaline courses through you like a live wire, singeing your extremities and curdling your stomach as Joel forces his way through the door and pulls the pipe from his backpack.

Amongst the panic, you still manage to note that a metal storage unit that had once been set against the wall had been tipped on its side, forcing the door shut. Joel had used it just this morning to grab ammo before heading out for the medicine drop. Someone had forced it over- didn’t take a genius to figure out who.

“Gonna have to run,” Joel pushes you forward, causing your feet to stumble as you desperately grasp for your rudimentary shiv. It slices your fingers open as you grab for it in the darkness, terror pushing your body forward in a sprint. You can hear the thudding of Joel’s boots just behind you, and the screams and wails of the infected as you chase you down the tight corridors.

It feels as though seconds and hours pass simultaneously, your lungs burning as you suck in gasps of air through your gas mask. Your muscles are seizing, cramping up and your fingers sting with the cuts that you sustained from your blade. Over the all-encompassing sound of shrieking from the creatures and your sharp, shakey inhale, you can hear Joel urging you forwards. “Go Go Go! You got it darlin’ keep goi-“

It hits you like a runaway freight train at top speed. Thundering into you, a Clicker knocks you from your feet with an utterly horrifying scream. Pain shoots up your ribcage as you slam into the uneven floor, a discarded glass bottle shattering beneath your body and cutting into you. You’re scrabbling with the beast, its nails digging into your flesh as you stab blindly at its shoulder, your other palm on its sternum to hold it away from your throat while you scream for Joel.

“Joel, fuck!” You sob in fear, the clickers jaws gnashing at your exposed jugular, growling and snapping. In the pitch blackness, you can smell the damp, mouldy scent weeping from the fungus on its skin, the metallic, bloody twang of human meat on its tongue that wafts over your face as it heaves its breath onto you.

Your biceps scream under the strain of its weight as you feel the fungal growths on its face lightly brush at your throat as the creature goes in for the kill. Just as you feel its teeth skim your flesh, a sickening crunch sounds, and a hot splatter of viscous blood drenches your face as Joel removes the blade of the shiv he had plunged into its skull.

“Fuck, y’alright?” His gruff voice shouts over the din the approaching runners make from down the hall. He doesn’t really give you the chance to answer him, grabbing ahold of your hand and wrenching you out from underneath the limp body of the Clicker before pulling you along in a sprint.

You sob with relief as you both turn the corner to the exit. Joel wastes no time, running ahead to force the door open so it’s ready when you approach. It swings open so easily as if it senses your desperation, and you launch yourself into the safety of the building that serves as an entrance to the tunnel. Joel isn’t far behind, slamming the door shut on the hoard and bolting it shut with a thick wooden plank that you’d both been using as a stopper.

The room swims, the image of the door swirling in your vision as you lean your back against the wall, taking deep, heaving breaths in what both was an attempt to feed oxygen back to your lungs and also to alert your body to the fact you were alive.

You barely have a moment to thank God when Joel is on you in an instant.

“Good Christ,” he heaves his gas mask off his face, blood-soaked palms taking ahold of your chin as his deep, earthy irises flit over you, searching for damage with a panicked expression. You note it’s the longest he’s looked at you in weeks. “Sure you’re okay? Jesus fuck, I thought-“

He’s twisting your head from side to side, checking your throat for bites. The infected are pounding on the secured metal door, but the noise is drowned out, faded as you watch Joel tend to you. You like him this close, you can see the freckles under his eyes. You’re not sure whether it’s the adrenaline of survival or if there was a crack in your mask and the spores had driven you crazy, but you are almost certain that Andromeda lies somewhere within the constellation of the minute spots of melanin.

“Joel,” you whisper, breathless for a whole other reason than the fact you just fought for your life, “Joel, I’m okay.”

You watch your partner hesitate for a moment, checking over you one last time before setting his lips in a firm line, his panicked eyes growing protective in an instant. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that again. Y’hear?”

Cross-legged in Joel’s bathtub, hours after escaping the tunnels, you use rainwater and a sponge to scrub the Clicker blood from your skin. Even now, years after the outbreak, you found yourself silently pining to the walls in the bathroom for hot, running water. They were no genie, and never responded to your wishes, but your wordless complaints often made you feel better as you scrubbed cold water over your body.

The droplets are tinted maroon as they run down your legs, seeping down the drain beneath you as you meticulously work each disgusting patch of blood from your skin. Despite telling Joel that the Clicker hadn’t bitten you, it still came as a palpable relief to scrub away the grime and not see a single mark in the crescent shape of teeth anywhere.

You did, however, have some brutal cuts across your ribs from falling into the glass bottle in the tunnel. They’re like lightning slashes, open and sore as you run a fresh washcloth over the wounds. At the very least, they were superficial and didn’t need stitches. The last thing you needed was to be burdensome right now.

Stepping out of the bath, you wrap yourself in a towel, scrubbing at your face with your sore hands. At least the slices on your fingers from your blade had stopped weeping blood. You’re sore, and mildly damaged, but otherwise alive. Alive. The proof is in the reflection that stares back at you when you glance in the bathroom mirror. Though- you certainly look as though you had just stared death in the face.

You open the door of the bathroom slowly, tentatively stepping into Joel’s bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, slowly easing his boot from his sore ankle with a hiss of complaint. It does look painful, swelling until the definition in the bone was encroached upon by inflammation, and you have no doubt it’s been throbbing with pain inside his boot the entire journey back home.

“I think you’ll need to take a break for a while,” you gently urge Joel from your place in the doorway, who nods simply in return. Yes, he was stubborn, sometimes downright pigheaded, but he would never be stupid enough to go outside hindered by an injury. There were more than enough ration cards to tide you both over until Joel was fit enough to do another run safely.

“You can- uh, grab some’a my clothes from my closet, if you need,” he rumbles, moving to untie the boot on his other foot and avoiding your gaze. “Don’t want you to have’ta put your clothes back on. They’re covered in clicker brains.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper, despite the shiver of disgust that runs down your spine. Slowly padding your bare feet across his wooden floor, you approach his closet. All of the shirts and flannels he owns are thread-bare, soft to the touch from wear. You grasp at a grey and black flannel, dropping the towel to the floor as you pull the comfortable clothing over your head.

Joel is silent, his back turned to you as you dress. Perhaps it’s from years of knowing him, or it’s seeing how tight the muscles of his back are through the fabric of his shirt, but you know something is amiss. The discontent rolls off him in waves.

Wordlessly, you climb onto the mattress, approaching Joel from behind. He seems to tense up further, even if momentarily before his muscles ease again. You stay seated firmly behind him, just outside of his peripheral vision as you attempt to breach the topic of conversation in a way that the stubborn mule of a man won’t shut down.

“Is it the pain?” You ask delicately, voice soft as a feather as you watch him feel his swollen ankle with the tips of his fingers.

“No. No, it ain’t, I just-“ he exhales sharply, as though he’s urging the words from his mouth, expelling them from his lungs. “No I just really thought that I’d lost you for a minute there, ‘n’ I just…” He trails off, leaving the unspoken words to admit what he couldn’t.

That he couldn’t bear to lose you.

You nod slowly, despite knowing he can’t see you, as the realisation sets in. He cares about you more than he shows, more than he lets on.

Softly, you lay your palm against his back, between his shoulder blades. In the low light of the bedroom, Joel’s silver hairs gleam as he turns his head around to look at you. You feel his nerves before you see them, feel the shaky exhale he lets out against your hand.

“I’m still here,” you whisper to him, capturing his gaze as you attempt to bring him down from the fear that must have seized him. You drag your palm down his back slowly, and in turn, he leans his body towards you at an achingly slow pace. Your stomach is doing somersaults thanks to the way he gazes at you, watching the nervous trail of your tongue over your lower lip.

“I know,” he answers back, his gruff voice so much softer sounding in this fragile moment. He inches towards you, and you can see the fine creases in the edges of his eyes, the constellations of his freckles even in the limited lighting. “I know I just-… Wanna feel it.”

It’s almost as though there’s a static moment, fizzling in the air as the tip of his nose brushes yours. He parts his lips softly, ghosting them over your own in a touch CW that’s barely there but sets your blood ablaze. His breath, exhaled through his nose, tickles your red-hot cheeks and you grip onto his t-shirt until your knuckles turn white. You wait for the plunge, for the powder keg of your heart lodged between your ribs to burst with his kiss.

Cautiously, Joel touches his lips to yours in a kiss that sparks up your spine. His lips are slightly chapped, his moustache and beard scraping gently against your skin as you lean into the kiss, letting out a soft moan of relief.

Your fingertips are tingling as you brush them up Joel’s neck, cupping his face to hold him there. He’s so gentle with you, like he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in his hands. Joel has lived the past 20 years surviving, trying so desperately to stay alive. You’re not sure what that meant for him- the horrid things he had to do- but in this moment he’s so delicate with you, his knuckles brushing across your jaw as if those same fingers hadn’t squeezed triggers for two decades.

Working your own fingers into his curls, you feel the vibrations of Joel’s moans against your lips. It isn’t overtly sexual, it’s as though it’s a sound of comfort- of appreciation for being shown some tenderness. He responds to your touches by tracing his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer.

“Joel,” you whisper against his open mouth. He’s panting softly, hands moving to your hips to hold you in place like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Joel, lay back.”

“… Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile spreading against your lips. You find yourself relieved he didn’t argue, finding this nerve-wracking enough. It’s as though the two of you are inexperienced teenagers, fumbling with each other and fighting the butterflies in your guts. As brutal as the world you both fought to survive in was, there’s an innocence settling between you, nervous laughs shared as Joel lays back slowly against the pillows.

He gazes back at you as the crown of his head settles, holding his breath as he awaits your next move. Swallowing thickly, you watch Joel’s hand slowly reach for your knee. He swirls his thumb in uneven circles over your patella, gently coaxing you out of your shell. “You good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You whisper breathlessly, the soft and innocent touch leaving tingles in its wake. “Yeah ‘m fine.”

Joel, the hardened bastard that he is, doesn’t give much away. However, you see the edge of his lips lilt upwards at your less-than-convincing answer sliding his palm up the bare skin of your thighs. His hands are warm, calloused from hauling ass across the country and slicing open Clicker throats to protect you.

Swallowing thickly, you loop your thigh over his hip to straddle his waist. He watches you, his dark lashes dipping low as he witnesses you seat yourself across his abdomen. As you sit, the leather of Joel’s belt bites into the soft skin of your flesh.

“… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers. It’s less of a question than it is a statement, those dark, mahogany eyes gazing up at you with a knowing expression. It’s intimidating, and you find yourself unable to answer with anything other than a slow shake of your head.

Joel responds with a low chuckle, tutting slightly as he brushes his palms further up your legs. They disappear under the worn fabric of his flannel, settling against your hip bones as his fingertips brush the curve of your bare ass.

Ever the gentleman, Joel stills his movements there and awaits your next orders, his eyelids heavy. You let a shaky breath escape your lips despite trying so hard to appear cool and collected, and you can practically feel the amusement emanating from the man beneath you.

Taking control, you trace the hem of Joel’s shirt and ease your fingers beneath it. Again, he’s warm to the touch, a human bonfire. It reminds you of the same level of comfort, the heat of the flames licking the skin of your cheeks in the cold autumnal air and providing relief from the numbing chill.

You don’t rush this, dragging the shirt from his body achingly slowly. Scars litter Joel’s skin, silver against the melanin. Sometimes large, wide and brutal across his ribs, others small and circular, barely noticeable. You notice them. You love them all.

Joel lifts his arms for you to raise the fabric over his head, and you reward him by pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. He hums softly at the gentle touches of your lips, his fingertips squeezing into the soft flesh of your hips. You’re almost certain he can feel the way you’re smiling.

“Mhm, Darlin’” he grumbles softly, using his hold on you to slowly grind your hips down over the soft flesh of his stomach, angled perfectly. It causes you both to stutter to a halt, your own pause caused by the spark of arousal that blooms through your abdomen at the friction to your clit.

Joel slowly uses one of his hands to grab the back of his flannel that you wear, sitting you up. His irises are inky black as he looks up at you, startling you into submission. Stoic, he says nothing, but looks pointedly down at his stomach to divert your attention. Uncertain, you follow his gaze.

It’s utterly mortifying. Across the tanned, freckled skin of his stomach is a silvery-pink scar. Following the same direction, a wet steak of your slick traces where Joel had pushed your hips down onto him. Shock and humiliation flood you all at once.

“Oh my God, Jo-! I’m so sorry-,” you stammer quickly, but Joel is grabbing ahold of the collar of his flannel with both hands, using very little of his impressive strength to pop the buttons on the stupid thing. The buttons go flying, rattling as they roll across the wooden floor and banging as they ping off the wardrobe. He exposes your breasts to his eyes, drinking in the view like he does whenever he sees a beautiful sunset while smuggling across the state. He stops and stares and takes it all in, just like he does with you.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” he insists, not allowing you to feel embarrassed a moment longer as he uses his grip once again to push your hips against him. Perhaps it’s the shock of his unfiltered satisfaction, or the arousal he draws from you once again, but you don’t find yourself fighting with him. Instead, you lean your head back as he directs your body exactly where he wants it, pushing your cunt against him and drawing delicious swirls of pleasure throughout your abdomen.

“That’s it Darlin’. Just relax,” he murmurs, clearly pleased as you begin to match his movements by rolling your hips along with his touch. Your palms rest against his muscular pectorals, nails digging in whenever he catches your clit just right. Sometimes he hisses in pain, sometimes he groans in delight.

The muscles of your thighs clench against his waist as the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing. Your jaw is slack, your mouth falling open as you crease your brows together and feel the surge.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel curse, the gravel of his voice tipping you ever closer, “I can feel your pulse.” He sounds incredulous.

“D-Don’t-“ you gasp, teetering on the edge of an utterly devastating orgasm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on that feeling that barely holds the seams of your soul together when he shocks you completely, using his strength to lift your hips from him just as your release bubbles up.

A sound of utter anguish reaches your ears, and it takes a moment for the pulse of your heart in your ears to subside before you realise it came from you. Joel is chuckling, kissing your trembling hands in an uncharacteristically soft move. Though- you suppose all of this is out of character.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises you gently, in an almost mocking tone. He’s enjoying seeing you fall to pieces for him, even if it is just because you look so pretty over him. “I want you to look at me. Want to see it in your eyes when you cum.”

“Joel,” you wail, in utter disbelief as he shakes his head at your complaint. He’s not listening. Instead, he draws tight circles on the inside of your thigh. His touch is wet, your slick drenching the inside of your legs and showing how desperate you are if your impassioned whining wasn’t enough to convince him of your need to come undone.

“Listen here, Darlin,” he orders in that same tone he uses when on supply runs, the kind that makes you warm and fuzzy, “I ain’t gonna ask you to do nothin’ for me. Want you to feel good. The least you can give me is that pretty face.”

You swallow again, like you’re parched and only he can quench your desperation. Silently, in bitter defeat, you resign to a nod.

“Yeah?” He urges, wanting to hear you say it.

“Yeah,” you choke out.

“Good girl.”

Again, you moan out like you’re in pain, Joel rewarding your vulnerability by slowly slipping two fingers into your drenched cunt. You’re so worked up, so slick he doesn’t need to open you up. Your cunt takes the intrusion of his digits greedily, and your thighs begin to shake at the intense relief it grants you.

Agonisingly slowly, Joel eases his fingers out of you before plunging them back in. He doesn’t need to go fast, the drawn-out drags of his fingertips against the walls of your cunt enough to work up your arousal, but you know that he’s setting this pace to watch the micro-expressions on your face.

Your brows pinch together, and your lips form subtle shapes that indicate his technique is working. He’s watching your pupils dilate, your nostrils flare as you inhale sharply when he touches that spot inside you that makes your vision go fuzzy.

“Joel,” you wheeze, the dexterity of his fingers driving you very quickly to the precipice of something soul-shattering. The pads of his finger focus on that spot that makes your body tremble, and you’re sobbing above him, tears streaking your face. “Oh God, Joel, I can’t last-“

“It’s okay,” he urges you, so calm that he almost appears lazy as he curls his fingers inside you. “You know what to do.”

The bastard hurls you over the edge of the cliff he’s built for you, pushing the pad of his thumb against your clit. The most intense burst of pleasure explodes beneath your skin, streaming through your blood vessels as your body crumbles inwards. You’re not sure if he’s even circling your clit, if he’s moving his fingers because it’s so visceral that you can’t see, can’t hear, don’t experience anything other than the liquid heat that drips through you.

When you come to, Joel is humming softly, stroking his palm over the back of your head and easing you down from the clouds he sent you to with a gentle touch. You’re lying across his chest, his arms seemingly having pulled you against him during your blinding relief. You’re sticky with sweat, as though you’re coated in honey.

Joel smells like the apocalypse. Like earth and mud that has been wet with rain. The sharp smell of gunpowder clings to his skin, having coated the shirt he wore only minutes before. There’s the musk of his sweat, the tang that sticks to his skin despite the rain that you had walked home in after leaving the tunnels. It had washed away the smell of the blood and the grime but left every part of Joel.

“Oh fuck,” you choke out, and Joel can’t help but chuckle at the way you sound so fucked out. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple as he soothes your aching muscles from their contractions.

The rise and fall of his chest ease you down from your heightened state of shock, and your partner slowly peels the destroyed flannel from your skin. The thin bed sheets float across your body to give you some privacy, Joel wanting you to feel comfortable and respected despite him utterly destroying you literally moments before.

“That good, mhmm?” It’s said with Joel’s typically flat intonation, but you know he’s amused.

“Shut up Joel,” you whisper, still breathless. God, had he just stolen the air from your lungs? It’s as though every functioning part of your body has stalled, taken up entirely with bliss.

“Hell, you’re stubborn,” he mumbles, and it’s like he puts a spark up your ass, body jolting into action.

“Excuse me?! I’m stubborn-?!”

END

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[slowd1ving]

Hey I could request for a Daniel Park who has a crush on Male! Reader ( fluff please )

27,000 WON ゜・DANIEL PARK

Armed with nothing but a headache and the fit of a wayward uncle, it's perhaps not your proudest moment. But it's a moment nonetheless: one the cashier in this stupid convenience store locks away in his pounding heart. aka first meetings with this guy /// anon this is more crack than fluff I'm sorry ..my idea of fluff is getting a free umbrella from a fumbling cashier because it's raining, I swear it sounded better and fluffier planned pairing: daniel park + male student reader warnings: mentions of alcohol, convenience store weirdo #1 + #2, tiny bit of violence, not a warning but shy daniel (in both bodies), more reader-centric than anything, pre training arc wc: 2.2k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Without an umbrella, Seoul was a miserable place tonight. Anyone else might’ve appreciated the dense shimmer of rain streaked neon with this fluorescent city, but your head throbbed miserably with the urban cacophony. Fuck. It was pointless stumbling out onto the grey asphalt when you were in such a shit mood. People swarmed and jostled, and you might’ve stepped on a foot or two as you leaned against the rough, corrugated shutters of a closed shop: barely holding on to both your sanity and your consciousness. 

Ironically, it was the detestable luminescent rods that saved you, beckoning your damp body towards a 24-hour convenience store. Warily, you peered at the cold lights—and they winked back. Winked, for their clinical flickering suggested sentience, or at least, some sort of quest window that was your beacon for safety from the downpour. 

Located on the very corner overlooking an alleyway, it really wasn’t very surprising that it was a magnet for trouble too—if you objectively looked back on the situation. Dark, dingy, smelly—all were generous, polite adjectives you’d use to describe the surroundings. 

You dodged the businessman puking up his guts on the off-white wall with a strained smile and a pained twitch in your eye. An abandoned soju bottle sloshed onto your shoes from his wobbling, and your day (night) became worse. Immediately. Biblically, your irritation surged to such unprecedented levels that he might’ve turned into a pillar of salt had you even an ounce of psychic talent.

Still, you stepped across the threshold smelling faintly of pollution and alcohol, but you were finally in one of Korea’s sanctuaries. Albeit soaked, shivering, and possibly seething with annoyance. The triple S threat of all bad days. 

“Shit,” you cursed as your phone rang in your pocket. Desperately juggling the two bottles of barley tea and a lychee ice cream onto the top of a freshly polished shelf, you scrambled for the device and swiped it multiple times with wet fingers. Stupid, stupid phone, you thought as it creaked in your incensed grasp. Answer the fucking call, damn it. 

The caller ID was as followed: stupid sod. The person on the other end? Well. 

“Where’d you go? The weather was supposed to be rainy all through the night, and you really went for a walk?” The voice on the other end of the line was just as irritating as ever. Nasally, too, like if a short dog suddenly started barking with a French accent. Your head throbbed just trying to imagine it, but you did suppose your younger sister was a migraine and a half. 

“Hungry,” you muttered. The brick-red plastic basket at the entrance clattered against the linoleum floor as you pulled it out single-handedly, but still you tried to keep your voice down during these witching hours. Those two barley teas bounced against crimson when you swiped the goods into your mode of carrying, and you thoughtfully threw two blue, cardboard packets of paracetamol into there too. Now, you were just missing some yellow to complete the haphazard primary colour wheel you cradled. 

“What? Can’t hear you.” Your eye twitched at her admission, and you just knew she was squinting at her phone with an open mouth as if she could simply inhale the frequencies instead. 

“—yeah I don’t have my ID, but you could let it slide, right?”

“Hungry,” you enunciated, clearly, for the dear sister struggling to hear a single word. “You happy? I’ll be back in twenty so just don’t burn the house down. And clean out your ears—I don’t want to give the poor guy working the graveyard shift a headache by talking loudly, especially since you’re a banshee on speaker.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she dismissed. “Get me those chips—those ketchup ones—and those peach candies. The knockoff ones, you know which ones.”

“With whose money? Get them yourself, you lazy bum,” you sighed exasperatedly. You were on, what, your last twenty thousand won? In this economy, too.  

“—what do you mean you can’t just let it slide? Hey! I look over 21, don’t I? C’mon man, don’t make this difficult.” There were snippets of conversation threading along into the spool of your own, and your eyes flicked upwards. One poor cashier in his green vest, hands clasped like God would possibly rescue him from this situation if he was pious enough. The other had an obnoxiously fake leather jacket draped over him—a wannabe thug if you ever saw one. 

“I sent you some, you broke shit. Like, you literally have a job, so there’s no need to be so stingy. Get me some lemon tea too,” she groaned. Her syllables dragged out abrasively, but you were more focused on the conversation unfolding in reality rather than how much you hated her voice. 

“I’m sorry, I really—I legally can’t sell you these products if you don’t produce a valid ID.” The clerk had guts, you had to admit. His voice cracked just twice in his answer, and though he was about half the size of the guy blocking the lottery ticket view, his shaking fists clenched and unclenched. You liked the look in his eyes: determined to stand on principle, even if it was just to some guy high off a power trip. 

“Okay, sure. Uhh, I might be back in forty. I just need to do something.” Words, as fickle as they were, drifted into nothingness while your eyes communicated your intentions. It was a pity you didn’t want to see her irritating face—you would’ve pressed the video call on Kakaotalk just so she could get front row seats to a beatdown. To be clear, the harrasser’s beatdown, not the harrassee’s. 

“Hey. What’s that supposed to mean? Hyung? Fuck, not this— don’t you dare hang up, we’ve literally got our first day tom—”

“Gross.” You made a face as you finally pressed the red button; she should’ve known you’d simply leave the call sooner if she used that term. Cooties. Idiot cooties. Dropping the phone into your pocket and her cavity-inducing requests (plus some cup noodles for your grumbling stomach), you set the basket a safe distance away before eyeing the cashier. 

You were quite the expert in miming and clownish arts, if you said so yourself. His face turned everything from unsettled to confused to hesitant in the span of two and a half seconds: pointing first at yourself emphatically; then to the man’s back as he stood waving his arms about; and finally making a fist and clenching it, all to really emphasise your point. Me. Him. I punch. 

You don’t know if he took it as a joke. You hoped he didn’t, but his eyebrows crinkled and uncrinkled like he was trying to figure you out. 

However, he didn’t exactly have the luxury of piecing together the implications. Not when the man became dangerously more incensed as he was asked to leave, and certainly not when he was about to grab the poor employee’s vest with those nasty hands of his. 

Gross. 

There was no time to hesitate and plead the heavens for forgiveness. 

“Hey man, there’s no need to be a dick to workers,” you gritted out, gripping both his arms in an ironclad grip that miraculously relieved some of your tension headache. Like some damn stress ball, except this was not satisfying at all as you felt the hair on his forearms shift together. Ew. Ewww. 

“Who the fuck are you?” His words sounded garbled, temples throbbing while you glared down at him. Get out. It was enough of a pain to move fast, let alone come up with an answer that didn’t sound corny. In a soaked hoodie, slippers and tracksuit bottoms, there was little you could say that wouldn’t make you stay up at night in embarrassment later on. 

“Shut up,” you instead bade, since you looked like an uncle in this particular outfit. Might as well give out life advice. “Don’t give yourself liver and lung problems, kid.”

The cashier’s lips might’ve twitched in that moment, and your own suppressed the agonising grimace that convulsed through your face. Fuck. Why was a high school student giving life advice to this dropout?

“Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?” He began rocking his body to build momentum and twist free—and twist he did. Through the air and right into shiny, slippery linoleum after he canted his hips sideways for a weak punch. And you threw him, plain and simple: collar grasped tight in your aching fists. 

Success. You did not hit anyone! And neither did you accidentally wreck any of these painstaking displays! You would not get chewed out with a slipper curve-balling straight at your head tomorrow!

“Are you—” the cashier began, but you gestured ‘wait’ with a splayed hand as you stared down at the half-conscious man at your feet sheepishly. Was he… alright? Any more of a brain shake and he could end up more stupid than he was five minutes ago, because how the hell would some random shopkeeper join the National Assembly and change the law? Just so this buffoon could buy drinks without an ID. 

“Hold on,” you muttered with a dented pride and some shame. “Let me just—”

You hoisted the guy’s cheap leather-jacketed arm around your shoulder and dragged his wobbling body out, too repulsed by the stench emanating from him to pay heed to his nonsensical babble. There. Now the businessman holed up outside by the bin would have a buddy for company. For good measure, you tossed a powerful mango body spray into the red basket to douse yourself with promptly. 

Awkwardly, you placed the miscellany onto the little table the thug had bracketed off—only this time the cashier’s opponent was some guy trying desperately to not wilt away on his feet. 

“Um. Sorry about that—” The apology was muffled through your hand dragging across your face—peeking through your middle and index finger at the guy in front of you. Pinned to his vest was a nametag you hadn’t spotted earlier: Daniel Park, noted in size 15 Latin characters and rounded hangul alike. “—Daniel Park.”

Gosh, you even bowed. “Please forget what I said to that guy, for my dignity.”

“Sure.” Once his voice had stopped shaking, it really was quite pleasant to the ears—though it currently shook with barely suppressed laughter. He scanned your items with a tiny, tiny smile. “Thanks for that. I might’ve gotten punched if you hadn’t been there.”

“Real pricks out here,” you grumbled. “No sense of shame or anything.”

“Ah,” he quivered for a brief moment, and you felt your ears heat with just how much you sounded like an ahjussi. 

“Forget I said that too,” you muttered mournfully: five stages of grief beginning and ending within you. “I promise I’m not that old.”

Plastic rustled as he pushed the bag towards you: “Twenty-seven thousand won.” And with it, a cheap polka-dot folding umbrella was also pushed your way with a self-conscious smile. You froze, and he floundered. 

“As a thank—as a thank you,” he waved, panicked. 

“Well, thanks.” You honestly were a little dumbfounded at this sudden good fortune. Maybe you’d get struck by lightning on the way home—you were tall enough that it could probably serve as a conducting rod if you tried hard enough. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

Just like that you were gone. Back into the neon rain of Seoul you walked, though this time it wasn’t as bad with a pattern over your head and acerbic ice wedged between a sheepish pout. 

・゜・

With a barely suppressed yawn, you stood loudly and proudly (silently and exhaustedly) before your new class. They looked like any other crowd of teenagers: gum surreptitiously being chewed, sneakers squeaking right against vinyl flooring, and a barrage of interesting fashion choices as befitted this department. Back to your own name, you introduced yourself while thinking of about a million other things you could’ve been doing. 

Speaking of your new classmates, they may have been looking at you with curiosity, but there was one particular guy who looked like he’d seen a ghost. Another pretty-boy you’d never done business with, but somehow—for some damn reason—he was staring like you’d shot a horse in front of him. Staring like he was the shot horse. Seriously. Paracetamol was limited in how far it could cure a headache. 

Your gaze met his, and he flinched. Who’s this guy?

Fuck. 

Daniel Park was done for. As you looked at him, he could feel his heart threaten to explode and spatter this whole classroom with veins and sanguine matter. Still wearing that same hoodie, still grinning lazily, and still sporting that confident expression like you could handle anything. His pen creaked in his tight grasp. 

By all heavens, this man was flushed red as soon as your unimpressed gaze met his—pink and suppressing the urge to hide his steaming face in his hands. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

・゜・

“Daniel, why the hell is your face so red?”

‘Are you sick?’

“He’s basically the healthiest out of all of us. Can’t be illness.”

“Okay so you agree it’s unusual then?”

“How odd. Maybe he’s come down with a fever.”

[luvulyy]

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍.

𝖹𝖴𝖪𝖮 𝖷 𝖬𝖠𝖫𝖤 𝖱𝖤𝖠𝖣𝖤𝖱

WARNINGS: EXPLICIT SMOKING WEED

The feeling of Zuko's feet and legs tangled up in yours was the best sensation you had ever experienced.

Though that might be the weed speaking. You didn't think you would have believed he was this close to you if you both were sober.

The others were camped up in the far end of the Air Nomad temple. It was a bright night, the moon high in the sky was your only company as the embers of your campfire spluttered. When Zuko had emerged to the part of the ruins you often occupied on sleepless nice you'd quickly known what he was seeking.

A reprieve from silent four walls. A comfort only your company could give him. Plus it didnt hurt that he knew exactly how you tended to spend evenings like this, lazily smoking and admiring the stars.

There had been little words exchanged as Zuko joined your place sitting against the ruined walls, there wasn't any need to. Maybe you were afraid it would break the moment, silent and serene as the night chill swirled around you.

The closest you got to speaking was Zuko's nod of gratitude when you first offered him the joint.

The silence was short lived however, shattered when Zuko's body began to shake with the force of coughing. You instinctively began to rub his back, ignoring how much you enjoyed the sensation. It came far too casually, the urge to just continuously stroke your hand up and down his back.

As the coughs eased Zuko spluttered into his fist. 'Fuck, how can you stand that shit. My throat burns.'

You chuckled lowly, still not removing your hand. 'Mad talk from the firebender.'

Zuko tsked under his breath and finally passed it back, not meeting your eyes. You pulled deeply, enjoying the warm sensation that travelled through your body. You let your head lull back against the cold bricks, eyes lazily drawn to Zuko.

They always were, high or not. Not that you'd ever consider acting on your feelings.

Still, that didn't stop you when you finally moved your hand, instead travelling up to throw an arm across his shoulders. You pulled him into your side gently, only offering 'It's cold and you're hot, don't blame me' as explanation.

You ignored the blush that bloomed on his cheeks, and feigned ignorance when Zuko snuggled in the slightest amount.

As you returned the joint to him your eyes met and electricity flushed down your spine. It was impossible not to drown in his amber eyes, they were all you could see. They almost seemed to sparkle, rivalling the celestial view framing him. The slight red tinging his waterline complimented his usual colour scheme.

He was even more adorable than usual like this, relaxing into the high and your touch. Seeing him not entirely strung for once was nice. Endearing.

With another hit Zuko relaxed even further, melting into your side. As his head resting softly began against you you could've sworn your heart skipped a beat.

You could feel the line between you starting to blur. It was nothing new, there were times during the day you contemplated it. Times he looked at you with an indecipherable expression. With something you hoped was the affection you were also harbouring deep down.

You watched as Zuko went for a second pull and didn't get stop him. Maybe you were a little biased. Something you instantly regretted as he was hit with yet another wave of coughing. The two of you had no choice but to wait it out, silent until he stifled them to an occasional occurrence.

Zuko's eyes fell to you, tracing your face in true out of it fashion. 'How do you do this without dying? It's actually so unfair. Favouritism.'

You snorted in what you were sure was an attractive manner. Then paused as an idea came to you.

'Here, how bout we try something, might help you with the coughing.' You offered, face slack as to not give anything away.

The future fire lord simply raised an eyebrow sceptically. 'When has an idea of yours ever done us good?'

'You trust me?' You shot back, feeling emboldened by the high and atmosphere.

Zuko still looked unsure but nodded.

You tried to swallow your anxieties. This could either go very good or very wrong.

You inhaled deeply, eyes not leaving his. Then gestured for him to come closer, which he wordlessly obeyed. You turned your head, he was now so much closer than you'd expected. You drank in every beautiful detail of his face, so soft yet handsome in every way.

'Open?' You whispered lowly, holding the smoke in your lungs. Zuko's eyes widened slightly as he caught on, but he still did as told. You inched slightly closer, lips almost touching, then gently exhaled the puff into his mouth.

Zuko mimicked your deep breath in and blinked cutely when the inevitable wave of coughing never came. He seemed at a loss for words.

'That alright?' You pressed, body tense in anticipation. You really had no idea how he would react.

Yet all you got was a shrug as the firebender resumed his position using you as support. 'I'm not coughing my guts up, which is a start. What was that anyway?'

'Shotgunning.' You replied simply, playing it off as something casual and definitely didn't make your heart beat faster. You took another pull just to distract yourself, occupy your mind with something other than replaying the tantalising memory of his lips right next to yours.

You sat in silence for a minute, enjoying the ease his presence brought you. The fire crackled lazily but you made no motion to tend to it, instead Zuko lazily flicked his wrist and it roured back to life. You were admiring the flames dance when he spoke.

'Can we do it again?'

You froze like a deer in headlights. The courage you'd mustered earlier was nowhere to be found. But the buzz at the edge of your senses eased you. And the pink lingering on his cheeks was equally encouraging.

'If you're sure...' You offered softly, leaving things to Zuko. You didnt want to pressure him, didnt want to leave any chance of misreading where things were going.

Zuko shifted so his face was opposite yours again, eyes perfectly focused on yours. He shifted slightly so his forehead was pressing gently against yours. It was so gentle and intimate it took everything you had to resist holding him.

'I'm sure.' He whispered back, and the crystal clear question in his eyes left nothing unanswered.

You took another pull, and returned your lips to a hair's breath away from his. Pausing for a second to enjoy the moment, the warmth radiating from his presence, his closeness.

Then you exhaled. You moved impossibly closer to aim for his mouth, at the same time he raised his head to meet yours.

And somewhere along the way his lips found yours.

They were just as soft as you'd imagined, pressing against you with adorable shyness yet eager. Your breaths mingled and smoke danced between you. He tasted of weed and cold night air and it was the best thing you'd ever tasted. It was addictive, better than any drug.

As Zuko's grip found your collar and pulled you impossibly closer, you got a feeling that the shotgunning wasn't going to be a one time thing. Or the kissing.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

You Make Me Wanna 1

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, best friend's dad trope other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You stumble through the open doors into the cool night air. The sweat on your skin chills you as your warmth melds with the evening temperature. The pulse of the club thrums through you as it follows you out, barely contained by the walls. 

You glance at the bouncer as you pass. He’s uninterested as he peers into the shadows across the street. You pull at the front of your shirt, airing it out as the heat of alcohol nips in your cheeks. You’re not in too deep. Three vodkas and water between to even it out. 

You sigh and lean against the brick, pushing your head back as you let your eyes close. There’s a tick in your cheek as you cross your arms. For all her nagging for you to come with her, Faye hadn’t been much of a wing woman. Maybe that’s what she’d expected of you. You don’t know, you just came to dance off the long week. 

Before you came out, you couldn’t separate her from the guy she was batting her lashes at. She swore before you came that she wasn’t looking to hook-up. Not again. Last time was just too weird. And you agreed, last time was the final straw. You’re done with those awkward encounters. 

You open your eyes and set your head straight. You would think she would be a lot more cautious. Considering where she came from. Or maybe that’s why she’s so reckless. She’s a bit too old for teenage rebellion. 

You stand and roll your shoulders. You’ll go back in and entice her away from that creep with a shot. You’re going home together. Just like she promised. 

“How did I know you’d be here?” The deep rumble has your ankle bending as you take a step, your clunk heel turning sideways. You know that voice, all too well. Fuck. “Where is she?” 

You face Walter as he marches up on you. Better known to you and all Faye’s cohort as ‘Mr. Marshall’. The no-nonsense detective who never has a good word or a smile for anyone. You’d hate to have a father like him. He makes you thankful you don’t have one. 

“Inside,” you shrug and go to spin away. 

“You just left her in there?” He snarls as he closes in from behind. 

“I’m going back in--” 

He grabs you and spins you to face him, his large hand tight around your arm. Despite the new strands of grey in his curls, illuminated by the lights of the marque, and the fine lines around his eyes, he’s still an imposing man. And strong. You wiggle, trying to tug away from his grasp. 

“Eh,” one of the bouncers calls over, “let her go.” 

He huffs but does as he’s told. He doesn’t want a scene, not that he couldn’t flip his badge out and swing his weight around. He never seems to shy away from that. 

“I came out to get some air. I didn’t leave her--” 

“No, but you brought her here,” he looks up, “that’s more than enough.” 

“I came here with her, I didn’t bring her here--” 

“Whatever. This shit might fly with your deadbeat mother but it won’t get far with me. Faye never started sneaking out until you came around--” 

You scoff, “she’s twenty-one. She’s an adult. And trust me, she was doing a lot before I ever met her.” 

“Take me to her,” he growls, “now.” 

You roll your eyes and the rumble stays in his throat. You wave him off and pivot on your heel. You clop forward and show your stamped wrist to the bouncer. They stop Walter and he sighs. You don’t wait for him as he stops and shuffles around. You don’t look back, knowing his badge will gain him easy entry. 

He catches up with you as spectrum of blues and purples haze over you from the coloured bulbs. He presses close as drunken clubgoers crowd around you. You search along the bar where you last saw Faye. 

“She was with some guy--” 

“Some guy?” He blusters, “are you serious?” 

You take out your phone and key in a message to her. You hit send and pop your head back up, scanning the writhing bodies. You don’t want to stay here with Walter, you can feel his anger roiling off of him. It would be better if you could find Faye first and sneak out of there. 

“I’ll check the ladies,” you offer. 

He doesn’t say a word. You set off towards the bathroom and sense him behind you, following you. Great. He trails you all the way down the hallway and only stops outside the black door. You push inside, doubting you’ll find Faye but all too happy to get space from that overbearing grump. 

You don’t bother checking the shoes under the stalls or the other faces in the mirror. You take out your gloss and redo your lips. You fix the collar on your cropped polo and turn to check the curve of your ass in your leggings. You look good even if your eyes are bit glassy. 

You look at your phone again. No answer. You can’t hide in here forever and you somehow don’t think a sign will stop Walter forever. The vodka fills you with doubt. You wish you were sober. 

You drag yourself back through the door and shrug at Walter as he meets you with a furrowed brow. 

“Not in there,” you say, “she’s probably dancing--” 

“You know, you won’t get far in life spending all your time in pits like this. You should go to school, grow up.” 

You ignore him. You’ve heard a million lectures from him, usually aimed at his daughter, but you don’t have to listen to him. He isn’t your father. He doesn’t know shit about you even if he’s profiled you as a bad egg. 

Your phone buzzes and you stop at the end of the hallways. His arm hits yours and you squint at the screen. He leans in, reading over your shoulder. 

“Shit!” He snarls sharply. 

The drunken message makes you cringe, ‘see u 2morrow. Got a hottie wit a botty.’ 

“Come on,” he grabs your elbow again. This time there’s no escape as he marches you across the cramped dancefloor. 

“Walt-- Mr. Marshall, what are you doing--” 

“Finding my goddamn daughter.” 

“But--” 

“But nothing. This is your fault. You’re not going anywhere until she’s home,” he sneers as you stumble in time with his long strides. “Then I never wanna see your face again.” 

[sultrybaby]

Nothing Compares To Being In Love With You (S.G)

(pics are not mine. credit to rightful owners. divider also from pinterest)

summary🦢 In which a cluster of old letters stand as the only testament of gojo's love for you, from birth to (quite literally) death.

genre 🦢 romance, angst, some fluff

pairing (s) 🦢 gojo x reader | reader x naoya zenin

warnings 🦢 reader/main character death, MAJOR ANGST obviously, not exactly forbidden love but more unfortunate circumstances, domestic abuse, mentions of bleeding and punching (no actual description of the abuse this is unrelated bleeding and punching), excessive use of the word sin in one of the monologues, mentions of glass, naoya zenin sucks, letters are from gojo's pov which might be hard to follow I am not sure. Gojo is down bad.

DO NOT ROMANTICIZE ABUSE. THIS FIC (AND ME) DOES NOT CONDONE ROMANTICIZATION OF ABUSE AND IF U ARE LOOKING FOR FICS THAT DO (WHICH IS SICK) THIS IS NOT THE FIC FOR U AND ALSO PLS BLOCK ME CUZ EW.

a/n: this was supposed to be an enhypen fanfic but then I changed my mind. I'm honestly just shocked I actually finished this. Hopefully this idea has manifested to be as good as it seemed in my head and isn't confusing to follow. ENJOY BESTIESSSSS.

🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢

"So apparently, this house belonged to a young bachelor once," explained Mary to her all-too-curious daughter eveline, who sat wide-eyed like a little lamb on the floor of the new house the family had just moved into.

'Really?"

"Yes, baby," Mary chuckled, running her fingers through eveline's (or evie, as they lovingly call her) hair to brush the strands away from her face.

"Where is he now?"

"Oh I don't know sweetheart," Mary sighed, lightly amused at the disappointment on evie's face.

"But maybe there are some clues around the house! If you ever get the time,  you should explore. Who knows, you might find something…"

Evie's eyes twinkled in excitement at the prospect of having an adventure in this foreign pile of bricks that she now had to learn to call home. Perhaps this will create a sense of oneship with the house.

Determined to uncover the secrets of the mysterious young bachelor, little evie started on her mission to unearth every corner of the building. After toppling boxes, crawling through crevices, and occasionally bumping her head on random walls, evie finally uncovered a rather absurd looking block.

And that is the story of how Mary was gifted this curious looking box by her exhausted daughter, waddling excitedly to show her the discovery.

The box had an old-fashioned grace to it. It was clearly disintegrating; cheap, fading, yellowed white  paint hung off the corners, all dried up, waiting to be chipped off. It seemed as if there was some kind of locking mechanism in the front of the box which has long been broken. All it took was a simple motion for the mouth of the box to open wide, revealing a neatly stacked set of what one could assume were letters.

The first letter was different to the others. While the rest were prettily folded, this one had a texture much more rough- as if it had been crushed and then straightened again. And on it, in extremely feathery ink, was written,

Dear ____,

You are the sun and the stars and the rose and the beautiful sky. You are made of the serenity of heaven and the tempting evil of hell. You are everything created to be beautiful, and you also make anything beautiful by association. Every day and every night, in light, in darkness, in life, and even now in death, you make me realize why Orpheus would go to the deadly underworld just to get Eurydice back. I understand his pain and longing.

I know we parted ways hurtfully and there is no action I regret more. And in my attempt to tell myself I hated you, I failed in my life's purpose- to truly let you know how much I loved you.

This is a memoir of the love I lost, a love that was but a bubble in air- shining briefly with all the most beautiful colours, then popping abruptly. And this is just an attempt at preserving some of that wonder and beauty so that when my heart aches a bit too much, I can cry to the essence of your soul (which is funny, because you are too much, too great, to be put into words).

Lovingly,

Yours yesterday, today, and forevermore,

Satoru Gojo.

A love story- a tragic one, was etched in the letters following. In that little white box was the history of Gojo Satoru's love for this mysterious woman to whom he had devoted his heart entirely.

And so Mary started reading…

Dear ____

Today I decided that I would start attempting to put into words my love for you. In these scraps of paper lie not the true extent of my love- that would be impossible to boil down to mere letters- but just enough for my heart to no longer feel as if it is at the brink of explosion from the pain of carrying the weight of my love for you.

The first time I saw you was when I was rushing to work. What started off as a normal day turned into an irreplaceable, unforgettable memory when I heard an angelic voice bantering with a baker.

"Jesus Antonio a damned second grader could bake better bread in their sleep- it’s not worth more than a dollar a loaf. So I ain't paying any more than that"

I felt compelled by fate to turn around and figure out who was truly the source of this wildly amusing diatribe.

Saying that my eyes were unprepared to capture the beauty I was about to witness would be an understatement. I found myself unable to move, nailed to the ground as I took in the sheer magnificence of your existence. And then I blinked. And you were gone.

I remember shaking my head wildly to see where the angel had disappeared off to, and my heart sighed in relief as I saw your unmistakable figure walk with a triumphant smirk and a loaf of bread that you surely had not paid more than a dollar for.

Today marks the second year since we've known each other. Every day since I have carried the burden of my love with utmost pleasure, because loving you is the greatest experience of my life. Nothing compares to being in love with you. But every so often when I stare at you, hoping the longing in my heart doesn't show in my eyes, I wish you were mine.

Yours forevermore,

Gojo.

Dear ___

The first time we ever talked was in the same bakery I first saw you in, although I will admit it is not as much of a coincidence as it may seem. For every day since I saw you, I wandered around the bakery, hoping to catch a glimpse of your hair again.

First I would wander around the area, walking up and down the road multiple times.

Then I started to stick to the stores right next to the bakery. I bought so many snow globes that I really didn't need, not to mention all those picture frames…

Finally, picking up the courage to meet you, I walked into the bakery. I waited around a bit, but eventually it became clear that you were not making an appearance. Dejected, I decided to get something anyway. I had come to the bakery after all.

"Excuse me, how much for kikufuku" I'd asked

"That's be $3 good sir"

It was as I pulled the notes from my wallet that I heard a familiar voice shrieking,

"ANTONIO HOW DARE YOU RIP OFF THIS GOOD MAN?"

To this day it might be my favourite statement of all time.

I turned around to meet your eyes. All was a blur and before I knew it I had a loaf of bread in my hand along with two of the three dollars I was about to hand in.

"..hello?"

I blinked myself back to reality as I saw you waving your palm good naturedly in front of my face.

"Oh h-hi…"

I saw you giggle, probably at the sight of my extremely flustered face. I could feel the heat absorbing all common sense from my brain.

"What's your name, sir?"

"Sato- Gojo…Gojo Satoru…" I breathed out, "and you?"

"____"

I don't think you will ever realize how much that day changed me. And that's okay. I don't want you to feel the anguish I do. I just want you to keep smiling and giggling as you love to. Oh, and chewing off Antonio's ears, of course.

Yours forevermore,

Gojo.

Dear ___

I know we're just friends, but sometimes when you show up at my door with a bag of sweets that you just happened to remember were my favourite, I wonder if there is something deeper; if there is any possibility that you could feel what I feel. And when you hand me the bag, I wonder if I was just imagining the way your touch lingered as our fingers grazed, if I was just imagining your gaze momentarily resting on mine with the same intensity with which I look and think of you.

I know we're just friends, but then why is it that every moment we spend apart from each other feels like my heart is getting ripped out piece by piece? And I know that you would never experience the anguish I do, but then as we spend hours and hours on the telephone talking and laughing about anything and everything, I can't help but wonder if you would do this just for a friend. I again let myself hope that maybe, maybe you felt at least a fraction of the deep devotion I felt for you. But I would never, ever mention it. For the thought of losing what we have now, of losing the ability to experience heaven even in such simple ways, brings me fear that gnaws at my heart and soul. So I hide my worries and my wishes as I keep listening to the sound of your voice through the telephone.

I know we're just friends but do friends have such deep understanding of each other to the point where your wish is nothing but my instinct?

I know we're just friends but are the lives of friends so deeply intertwined in each other that when you lie next to them you can't sense where you end and they begin? When you can't remember if you're in your house or theirs for that is how much time you spend in each other's lives. At what point of spending every day together does my life turn into yours. ____  I don't know how I can go on living without telling you how much you mean to me.

I know we're just friends, but sometimes I feel the line blurring away when we're drunk and unstable and tangled in each other, both of us holding the other for support. And as we messily fall onto the floor, giggling at our pathetic state, I take the moment to cradle you in my arms. In your drunken frenzy you place the softest of kisses on my cheek, only to fall asleep on my shoulder immediately after. When I'm staring at you longingly I can't help but wonder, what are we? What is this love, this gentleness, this warmth? Is this friendship? Is friendship supposed to be so overwhelming? The weight of these questions momentarily crush me, but it all fades away as I stare at your beautiful being, peacefully snoring on my shoulder. And in that moment, all my worries take the backseat, and all I care about is protecting this peace of yours. Whether I do that as a lover or a friend is not a matter to me.

Yours forevermore,

Gojo.

This might be the last time I speak of my love for you, for today you told me that you love me too. So I no longer have to express it in secret, but I can let you know wholeheartedly.

I will never forget the way your head rested against my shoulder, nose-deep in your book. And as I failed to look away from you, I didn’t realize that you had turned to look at me too. I will never forget the way your hand rested on my shoulder as you pulled yourself up to look me in the eye, while I sat there stupidly, mesmerized by the way you moved, so gentle, so light, so ethereal.

Most importantly, I will never forget the way you cupped my face, the subtlest of tears shining in your eyes, and told me, breath hitching at every note,

"Satoru I don't know what I'm feeling. I know I shouldn't be feeling this but I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if you do either. It would kill me to ruin our friendship but this anguish is killing me too and so I'm going to kiss you now and if you don’t like it feel free to punch me"

You leaned forward, and just before you kissed me you stole a glance at my face. And that was when I let go of all the restraints I had placed on my heart.

It was something in the way that our eyes locked;  the brilliant world built on the lies of our hearts crumbling as I cried on your lips in prayer. Maybe this was sin, but the tears I drank were proof that underneath all the chaos hid something real, and it was hidden for no reason but the fact that the world my god created was also made of the same kind of sin as her touch, unprepared to accept the beauty of it all. Damn the preachers, look at her face. Will not the angels sing in her name? If God hated sin so, why did he give her the same beauty as that of his mountains and oceans and the moon? We all are born of sin and sinners at the hour of our death, but I alone had the privilege of being absolved by sin.

I love you, ___. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Yours forevermore,

Satoru.

Dear ___

I know I said I wouldn’t write more of these since I don’t need to hide my love for you any longer but it turns out I'm incapable of stopping my expression of devotion towards you. I love you in ways that I want to etch down. I want to world to know how much I love you. Even after we're dead and gone, I want these words to stay there forever, because that is the nature of my love for you. Permanent. Everlasting.

I love the way your pretty little hands smooth over my tensed shoulders when I've had a long day. Your chest against my back, your hands enveloping me from behind, the way you whisper into my ear has me wishing for nothing more than the moment to last forever. I love you.

I love the way you kiss me. I love the way you cup my cheeks like a child before kissing them. I love the way you kiss my forehead, the way you kiss my nose, the way you kiss my upper lip, my chin, my shoulder, my eyes. Every bit of proof that an angel like you could ever love me has me in awe, in reverence of how simple it is for you to have me wrapped around your little finger. I love you.

I love the soft little touches that are so characteristic of the way you love. I love the way you fix my messy hair. I love the way you pull me closer during cold breezes, claiming it is to keep me warm. And I stand there in adoration of how cute you look as you hide yourself in the crook of my jacket. And I embrace you in my warmth as if I could never let you go. I love the way you absent mindedly play with my fingers. I love the way you link your arms with mine. I love the way you lean in close to wipe something from the corners of my mouth. I love all of it I love you.

I love it when you're so happy that you do a little dance. I love it when you're so nervous about sneaking away from an important meeting with your family members and running to me that you keep spacing out a little, making that really cute zoned out face of yours. I even love your beautiful diamond tears, even if I hate what it is that made you cry, when you're frustrated with all that your mother and father want from you. I love you I love you I love you.

I love you so much, ___. I can only hope that I remind you of it enough.

Love,

Satoru

"Mama that paper is pretty crumplyy- Mama are you ok?"

Dear ___

No.

It can't be.

I keep telling myself it can't be but your words cling to my skin, the cacophony of which psychedelically revolve around my soul.

It can't be It can't be It can't be

“'toru… we can’t do this anymore. It’s over. I'm getting married.”

 “Married? You’re joking, right? Did your parents finally find some guy who fits their impossibly high standards?”

 “This isn’t a joke, toru, They have found someone. He’s a good match. Someone stable, responsible. I’ve… agreed to it.”

“Wait… you agreed to it? So you’re just… going along with it? After everything we’ve been through? After us?”

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is. My family expects me to marry someone who can provide stability, someone they can rely on. You and I… we were just… a dream.”

“A dream? That’s what this was to you? A dream? And you’re just going to… throw it away?”

“Yes I mean… toru, look at you. You live life as if you’re still a kid, as if nothing really matters. You laugh everything off, even the serious things, and that’s— That’s not what I need! I need someone who can give me certainty. Someone who can give me a future.”

“Certainty? Is that all I am to you, just some silly guy who can’t give you a future? Because I would have. I would have done anything to make it work, and you know it.”

“No, Satoru, you wouldn’t have, You’d have tried for a while, but eventually, you’d get restless. That’s who you are—you go wherever you feel like going, with no thought for consequences, no… no sense of commitment. And I can’t live like that.”

“You don’t know that! You’re deciding all this for both of us. You’re… you’re running away, choosing some path that someone else picked out for you. How is that the stability you want? It’s just… it’s just giving up.”

“No, it’s not giving up! You don’t understand. This isn’t just about you or me. It’s about family, tradition… things that are bigger than both of us. You’re acting like a child who thinks love is all that matters. Well, it’s not. Not in my world.”

 “I see. So you’d rather marry a stranger than even give us a chance? Than let me try to be what you need?”

“Gojo… I love you. But love isn’t enough to change everything. I wish it were. But it’s not.”

“Maybe you don’t love me as much as you think, then.”

“Don’t… don’t say that, I’ll never stop loving you, but I need to let you go. And you…You need to let me go, too. It’ll be easier that way.”

“Easier? You’re not making anything easier, trust me. I’ll never forget you. I’ll always wonder what we could’ve been… but you’re right, aren’t you? I’m just too silly, too carefree to matter.”

Naoya Zenin. The heir of one of the biggest families in the nation. Rich, powerful, handsome. Perfect. He was perfect it seemed. And so were you.

But the anger in my heart doesn’t still. Maybe because I don’t want to accept the truth- that I truly was never enough for you.

Because I know that you are not that perfect. Because it was your imperfection that I fell in love with. And the imperfect you casted the imperfect me away because you were imperfect in a way that everyone loved and I was imperfect in a way no one could bear to see. You were imperfect in a way that could be fixed by getting you married (as your wretched family never failed to mention) while I was…unfixable.

Broken.

We were both broken shards, and in our interweaved misery I deluded myself into believing we came from the same piece of glass. When you bled on me I drank your suffering, living through my burning throat just to hold you up. But you were always meant to be great, and I was not. And I told myself that I made you, breathed you into creation. That you were nothing without me. That the time I spent crafting your wings made me something, as if you had not discarded them as soon as you could. Your apathy was cruelty, your fame a testimony to the different seas of being that we are. And as I hung from the broken bridge I built, you flourished.

But in those fluttering moments when our eyes meet, those intense seconds where two frail souls reach out their hands in memory of what once used to be, of what once was the truth, I see that broken woman again. It makes me realize that you were a gorgeous vase dropped on accident, while I was a pair of rose tinted glasses broken in frustration. You were crafted to be beautiful, temporarily set back by fate, while I would forever just be a memory of the lies we tell ourselves.

But a broken vase can never be put back together, and someday, the world would know that your greatness was just a house of cards; fated to be toppled over by the dying breath of the frail strands that tied our hearts together.

Yours,

Satoru.

Dear ___,

I was so sure I understood, so sure that I was the one who’d been wronged. All I saw was you walking away, slipping through my fingers, and it burned—I let it fill me with anger, as if I was the only one hurt by it all. I couldn’t see past my own pain to realize you were scared. You weren’t breaking up with me because you didn’t care, but because you were… trapped.

The Saddest of stories are always of the happiest of people; the ones whose heart lit up at the sight of the world. But the world was too cruel to some of them, and love is never enough to carry one through the ugliness of this world we live in. And soon enough comes a time when looking at a glass of water causes heartache, and every light is so blinding that it physically pains you to get out of bed, and when all that lingers is the feeling of cold numbness inside. By then love is all forgotten, holding no meaning. No amount of care or happiness can fix the damage caused by the seemingly harmless boredom. Boredom then turns to dissatisfaction, and dissatisfaction turns to hopelessness, and through all of this there are those who can put up the façade of a healthy life.

We never see them- or at least see them as they truly are. Sad, Bored, a little dead on the inside. It's not like they seem to be happy or cheerful either- just nothing out of the ordinary. But the ordinary deceives the mind, and we leave out those little moments when their face breaks and the tears slip and the bandaid falls of- not because the wound has healed, but because it has bled too much. And also because it is not the kind of wound that a bandaid can fix. But they ignore this, and keep sticking bandaids (sometimes loosely attaching the same one over) in hopes that it will one day work the way they expect. But this only causes the wound to turn toxic, until it turns numb. And you think this means it has healed, but it is only when it is slightly brushed against, and the unbearable pain jolts throughout, that you realize that its just gotten worse in silence.

I didn’t even think to ask if you were okay. I thought you were just cold, maybe even heartless, telling me you needed someone more stable, someone responsible. But now, I see that you were pleading for something I didn’t understand. You needed help, someone to see through what you couldn’t say. You needed someone who’d ask why you said those things, why you looked so… afraid. And I missed it. I didn’t stop to question why you had this sadness behind your words, this weight pressing on you. I was too focused on being right, on feeling betrayed, to see what was right in front of me.

I convinced myself that you just wanted a different life, something that didn’t involve me, when really, you were… struggling. I should have seen that the way you talked about him, about your 'future,' was hollow. I should have noticed how you’d say the word 'marriage' like it was a sentence, not a choice. And instead of asking you, instead of listening—I let myself believe you were leaving me for someone else, that you’d never loved me the way I loved you. I made it about me, when all you needed was someone who could see what you couldn’t say out loud.

And now, here I am, replaying every word, every conversation, and wondering why I didn’t ask the right questions, why I didn’t push just a little harder to know what was really going on. I was supposed to be the one who loved you. But instead of standing by you, instead of seeing your fear, I just… got angry. I made you feel like you were wrong for leaving me, when in reality, you were just trying to survive. You were terrified, and I was too wrapped up in my own feelings to realize you needed me.

So now I’m left here with nothing but regrets, wishing I had seen the truth, wishing I’d known enough to tell you I’d help, that you weren’t alone. And now… now it’s too late. And I’ll never forgive myself for that

If only you knew that I would have been there for you. When he hurt your body and your heart and mind, I would have been there. If I had known, an angel like you would not have suffered more than a mere second in the house of a tyrant. If I had known, you would be laughing in my arms instead of crying on his floor. If I had known, maybe you would still be here with me.

Naoya Zenin.

That monster. I always hated him, but I thought… I thought it was jealousy. Just me being petty. But now I see him, in my mind—the way he looked at her, the way he… possessed you, like you were some damn object. He never saw you, not the way you really were. No. To him, you were just something he could cage, something to crush under his control.

How could he do it? How could he look you in the eyes and destroy you? How could he even live with himself? You loved life; you loved people, loved him, once—God, that makes it worse. He didn’t deserve a second of your love. He didn’t even deserve to be in the same room as you, and yet he was the one… he was the one who had you, day after day. His hands, that sick, twisted mind—you suffered because of him. And he’ll never pay enough for what he’s done. No punishment, no hell is deep enough for him.

I should have seen it. All those times I got frustrated with you, thinking you were pulling away, that you were lying to me. But you weren't lying, were you? You were hiding it, hiding the pain… because you knew I wouldn’t understand. I’d always get so mad, so impatient, thinking you were just… playing games, trying to hurt me. But you weren't. You were crying for help, and I just walked away, time after time. I thought I was so… righteous, so hurt. I thought I deserved the truth, that I had the right to be angry.

But I didn’t see your pain, did I? I never stopped to look closer, to ask you if you were really okay. I didn’t see how you’d flinch when he’d call, how you’d go silent, like you were somewhere far away. You were in hell, and all I cared about was my own heart. I was supposed to protect you, and instead, I pushed you back into his arms. I let you go back to him, and now… now you're gone."

And there’s nothing I can do to bring you back. Nothing I can do to make up for the times I failed you, for not listening, for not… seeing. It’s too late. I lost you forever. And it’s my fault.

I'm sorry, love.

Yours forevermore,

Satoru.

Dear ___

Today I watched you buried. I couldn’t see your face, as I maintained my distance, not trusting myself to be able to bear to be next to the ones who allowed you to be hurt. Moreover, I refuse to believe that you are gone. You're in my heart, and you always will be.

But as the day descended into night, and the yard was empty for miles, I dared to come close.

And I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

I don't know when the hot tears started falling, mind blank as my knees thumped against the cold hard ground. And suddenly, all the agony clutched at my throat till I couldn't breathe, and I sobbed. I sobbed and bawled till I couldn’t feel my breath anymore. I needed the pain out of me but I didn't know how and in a vain attempt to ease the pain I punched and punched the ground as if it would cause you to come back to life again. As if it was the fault of the earth for taking you away from me. I cried hideously and clawed monstrously at the ground, but nothing changed. I rested my head on the grass in exhaustion, and thumped my head against the ground in anger as the tears kept falling. But even as I choked on the soil, nothing changed. I was still alone except for the company of the solitude taking pity on my pathetic state. I could feel the nothingness embrace me, comforting me, for I was truly alone in the world now, and I could feel it to my core.

And although my heart is numb and even as the bruises on my fingers from punching the floor bleed onto the page, I cannot stop myself from writing. I write and write and write because these letters are the only thing keeping you alive and I'm afraid if I stop then you will truly be gone and that can't be it can't be it can't.

 Because no matter where you are, my heart still beats for you. And despite the pain that follows the realization that yours no longer beats at all, I want to live forever. I want this simple heart of mine to thrum in your honor until the end of time. So that I can keep the feeling of being in love with you. So that I can, just for a moment, remember that I had the honour of being in love with you. Because nothing compares to being in love with you.

Yours yesterday, today, and forevermore,

Satoru.

a/n: hope you enjoyed. ive never written for jjk before and although ive watched the show and am familiar w the manga idk if this is ooc im sry. i have wanted to write for jjk for a while now tho so i am glad i did. i love angst if you couldnt tell btw.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Playboy || PG10 {3}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x fem!reader Summary: Pierre proves himself and makes promises. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut WC: 2.2k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four

Wind whipped through the gaping hole in the back of the Ferrari and you shivered from the cold, curling your knees up to your chest as Pierre drove back to the city. You expected him to take you home but he pulled into a far nicer apartment block and spiralled down the ramp to the underground carpark. 

Slipping out of the car and into the well-lit carpark you saw the full extent of the damage and shook your head at the new paint job that was needed. “I’m sorry,” you murmured as you ran your fingers over the worst chips and dents. 

A pair of hands came to rest on your hips and Pierre rested his chin on your shoulder as he looked at his car. “Don’t worry about it, insurance will cover it.”

“I was apologising to the car,” you said with a smirk but the move only served to split the cut on your cheek and fresh blood welled to the surface as you winced. “Do you have a first aid kit I can borrow?”

Pierre laced his fingers with yours and nodded as he led the way to his apartment. The elevator ride was quiet and you felt the tension rising as you idly played with the thick ring on his thumb. Looking away from the jewellery, you realised it was a mistake as you met his eyes and knew the feeling wasn’t one way, but the elevator was not the place to start what you had in mind.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Pierre all but groaned as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Like what?” you asked innocently, tilting your head to the side and peeking up through your lashes.

“Like I’m a playboy who will fuck you on the first date.” There was a sinkhole in the ocean of his irises and it was stealing all the colour from them the longer that he looked at you. He reached out and hit the button for the 12th floor again as if it would magically make the ride go faster. “I’m trying to prove a point and you’re making it hard.”

“Is there a rooftop here?” you asked as you thought of a solution.

“Yeah, for maintenance I think. Why?”

“Take me there first,” you urged and he frowned as he hit the button for the level above his. The elevator opened to a short hallway and you saw the stairs that led to a metal door so you tugged his hand and made your way outside, sticking a brick in the door to keep it from locking you out. “Lay down.”

“You can be quite bossy,” he chuckled but humoured you as he did as he was told, joining you on the cold concrete roof top. “What are we doing?”

“Stargazing,” you said as you turned to him, propping your head up on your hand. “It seems like a reasonable second date.”

“A second date already, hmm,” he smirked as you sat up and leaned over him with a matching smile.

“I think that officially means you aren’t a playboy.” You dipped your head down and he met you halfway, his large hands grabbing your waist to pull you onto his lap as he sat up and kissed you. 

“Very clever,” he murmured against your lips, making you smile more. 

“I’ve been known to have a few good ideas on occasion.”

He chuckled as his hands roamed your body, brushing along the hem of your dress and edging it up. “Any others you can think of?”

“One or two,” you breathed as his fingers slipped beneath the material. “But not here.”

There was a new urgency as you rose on unsteady feet and Pierre’s arm curled around your waist as if the distance to walk at your side was too far for his liking. After three quick presses of the elevator button and no instant result, he growled and you looked at the stairwell before kicking off your heels.

His laugh echoed off the concrete walls and he was quick to make chase as you raced ahead of him down the next floor where his keys were already in his hands and rushing to unlock the door. It crashed open as he turned and pulled you with him, your bodies sealing close together while your lips collided with a deep hunger. 

He blindly kicked the door shut behind and his large hands splayed across your ass before gripping tightly and using his strength to pick you up. A moan escaped you as your legs wrapped around his hips and you felt just how bad he wanted you.

“Wait.” Your eyebrows lifted at the order he gave as he sat you on his kitchen countertop, his chest rising and falling with quick pants.

“Wait?” you echoed in disbelief, the needy sound making him smirk. 

“You’re still hurt,” he reminded softly as he reached under the sink for his first aid kit before nudging your knees apart so he could step into the space. “Let me take care of you first.” He was gentle as he cleaned your cheek, the gauze turning pink with your blood, and he apologised when he opened the antiseptic wipe. “This might sting a bit.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

Curiosity filled his eyes as he dabbed the skin dry before putting a little butterfly stitch over the cut. “What happened?” he asked as he cradled your jaw in his hand to keep you from looking away.

“That’s something that would need to wait until at least the third date,” you said with a shake of your head. “I thought you were going to take care of me.”

A cocky smile played at his lips as you challenged him and his hands brushed your dress up over your hips as he dropped to his knees. “Oh, I’ll take care of you, Beautiful.”

The first aid kit was scattered across the kitchen floor where you had knocked it off the bench in the throes of your first orgasm. He had enjoyed taking his time with you laid out, writhing under the talent of his lips, his tongue, his teeth. 

The next victim was your dress, his impatience and strength breaking the zip in the frenzied need to remove all barriers between your bodies. Your hands had tugged his sweater over his head before pulling his shirt open, little white buttons popping off in all directions.

“Jesus,” you moaned as you ran your fingers down his body, feeling every hard ridge of muscle until you reached his jeans. “I knew you were going to be fit but fuck…”

He grinned proudly at the remark and took over removing him of the denim keeping you from reaching what you wanted. The thin pair of boxers did little to hide the length of him begging for freedom from the constricting material but before you could tug them down he was tugging you back into his arms and leading you to his bedroom.

“I’ll lose all my common sense if you touch me, beautiful, and then we will be in trouble,” he admitted as he laid you on his bed, kissing you before pulling back and rifling through his drawers for a condom.

You weren’t sure you were going to be able to feel your legs again anytime soon. The man was obsessed with making sure you were in a constant state of bliss and you were almost relieved when he couldn’t hold back his own release any longer. He had collapsed beside you with a deeply satisfied sigh before disposing of the condom so he could recover with you in his arms, your head on his chest. 

His fingers danced lazily across your hip, tracing invisible letters and shapes on your skin until he noticed the changes in texture, the slight bumps on an otherwise smooth surface. Lifting his head, he pushed the sheet away and spied the scars in the dim light. “What happened?” He had seen the scars that littered your knuckles and palms, victims of the job you did - but these were different. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, pulling the sheet back around your body as you sat up. “I should get going.”

“Stay,” he urged, but you were already leaving the room to find your underwear on the messy kitchen floor. “It was just a question.”

It was a question that there was no easy answer to. It was a question that opened the door for more questions, and they would surely lead to memories that were better off left in the recesses of your mind.

“It was just sex, Pierre,” you said as you felt him following you, “that doesn’t mean I have to bare my soul to you.”

You pulled your dress on but it hung open at the back so you grabbed his shirt and shoved your arms inside before he pulled you back into his arms and his lips pressed to your neck.

“It wasn’t just sex to me.” The quiet admission had your eyes closing and your head tipping back onto his shoulder. “Please, stay.”

“I can’t give you the answers you are after.”

“You already have.” He turned you in his arms and you could see the sadness swimming in the ocean of his eyes. “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Men make promises they can’t keep.”

“Not real men,” he said with a little laugh. “You’re probably thinking of those playboys.”

You rose on your toes and brushed your lips softly over his. “I don’t trust people very easily, but I’m trusting you. Please don't make me regret it.”

His smile made your heart skip a beat and when he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead you knew you weren’t going anywhere. You let his shirt fall back to the floor before brushing your dress straps off your shoulder, taking his hand and leading him right back where you started.

“So sex in your car is out of the question,” you giggled as you watched the playback of the dashcam. The man had a camera on the front, at the back and, more crucially, facing the driver so everyone could see exactly who it was that won the race. They would also see the heated kiss you shared after coming to a halt at the lookout. “A shame really, we look pretty good together.”

“I’m adventurous but not that adventurous,” Pierre admitted with an amused shake of his head. “You ready?”

Your finger hovered over the button to post the video, tagging D as well as the other Street Kings. “Long live the King,” you muttered as you hit it, uploading the file almost instantly. “No going back now.” Closing the laptop, you spun around in his gaming chair and looked up at Pierre. “Now what do we do?”

He glanced at his watch and saw it wasn’t even noon. “I know a place where we can kill a few hours.”

“The bedroom?”

He smirked and caged you in his chair, nudging your legs open with his knee. His oversized shirt you wore rode high up your thighs and his eyes lingered on the bare skin before he dragged them up your body to your face. “You don’t need to convince me, but I was thinking about something outside of the apartment.”

Less than an hour later you were pulling up at a racetrack on the outskirts of Nice, half a dozen cars already there.

“Hey Pretty Boy, how’s your girl running?” you greeted Charles as he stepped out of his Pista.

“Very well, thank you.” He looked between you and Pierre, his smile growing as when he saw the possessive arm curl around your waist. “Now you can finally stop calling me that.”

“Why would I do that? Pierre would have seen your mid-teen-crisis too. Plus, I have a better name for him now.”

“This should be good, let’s hear it,” Charles chuckled until you pressed your forefinger to your lips.

“Sorry, it’s not for innocent ears.”

Charles’ nose wrinkled with an idea of where it was heading and shook his head before leading the group inside. “Whose team are you going to race on?”

“What are we racing?” you asked as you walked past a line of Porsches but continued along to a few garages open.

“Not this time,” Pierre teased as he pointed to a smaller track you hadn’t noticed to the side. At the start line, Joris, Ilies and Arthur were already picking up their race suits and you cocked an eyebrow at the mode of racing chosen.

“Karts?”

“I thought you could race anything?” he challenged playfully. “It has an engine and four wheels.”

You cracked your knuckles and accepted the helmet and race suit he grabbed for you. “I suppose I could do with a warm up before the big race.”

“What race?” Charles asked with concern before looking at his friend. “You’re not getting yourself into trouble are you?”

Pierre couldn’t help sending a wink your way before he clapped Charles on the shoulder. “Relax, mate. I’ve got this.”

Click here for chapter four.

[volklana]

Glorious

Title Comes From This Song:

Request: I decided to combine these two-

-Could I please request a modern Sihtric who is clearly suffering from PTSD because let's be honest he would. And he keeps trying to push you away because he thinks he's too much to handle

-I'd love a fluffy first date Sihtric x reader fic. With all the creative freedom to you!

Warnings: Mentions PTSD and smoking

You leaned against the brick wall, trying your friend’s phone number only for it to once again ring out, and you sighed, hugging your top against your body to try fight back at the cold a bit. 

The club was going to be closing any minute now and you had no idea where your friend had gone to, and truth be told this wasn’t the first time she had done this to you. 

You put your phone back in your purse and weighed up your options, you could hang out in this ally (a side door off the club) another little while longer in the hopes she got back to you before the club closed, or you could admit defeat that she had gone home with some guy and hail yourself a cab home alone.

You tried her one more time, and this time you really did feel like crying.

You had only come out tonight for her, even though you had been really going through it lately, she had managed, as always, to guilt trip you into going out to the club, and now here you were alone and depressingly drunk and she was nowhere to be seen.

“Are you okay?” a voice suddenly called through the depths of your despair and you turned your head to find the most beautiful man you had ever seen propped up against the wall, leaning on one leg, inhaling a cigarette and looking at you with big worried eyes.

You shook your head sadly and he pushed himself away from the wall and came towards you.

“Do you need help?” he asked kindly and you shook your head softly but accepted the cigarette he offered you anyway, dipping your head towards the flame of his lighter to light it.

“My friend has abandoned me,” you offered as an explanation after you exhaled, “She always does this shit to me and yet I never learn.” 

“Sounds like a shitty friend,” he said truthfully, but sadly and you nodded because he was right.

“You got anyone else you can call?” he asked and you smiled at him, but shook your head.

“I’ll be okay, I’ll get a cab.”

“Is that safe? On your own?” he asked, looking into your eyes with concern and it was only then in that light that you realised he had two different coloured eyes, one a bright blue and the other a honey brown.

An expression you could not quite read crossed his face and you realised you had been staring, and you snapped to your senses “I’ll be okay,” you repeated once again but he didn’t look convinced.

“Sihtric!” a stern voice called from the doorway and he snapped to attention immediately, “Break time is over get your ass inside.”

The door slammed and Sihtric stomped his cigarette out. 

“I’ve gotta go,” he rushed “But I really wish you wouldn’t get a taxi alone,” he added “I would offer to walk you home but I gotta do the close up.”

You smiled, heart genuinely warmed by his concern and maybe it was the drink, or maybe it was because no one had shown genuine care for you in a long time, but you pushed up onto your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “You are a kind man Sihtric, but I will be fine.”

You both made your way towards the door and Sihtric reached for your arm, “I didn’t catch your name,” he rushed and you giggled “It’s y/n,” before you headed back upstairs to the dancefloor and he watched you go before he made his way back into the bar. But he repeated your name in his mind over and over again so he would not forget.

“And you just let her go?” Osferth asked, wiping down tables, while Sihtric was cleaning glasses.

“Ya didn’t even ask for her number?” Finan quirked his head up from where he was counting tills and Sihtric deadpanned.

“It wasn’t like that guys, she wasn’t even interested in me.”

And even if she was, he thought she is too good for me.

“No?” Osferth smirked, catching Finan’s eye “But you were interested in her!” 

“Oh shut up I don’t know why I even told you guys,” Sihtric snapped, his cheeks tinged red with embarrassment.

“We’re not open yet, love,” Finan said, startled to have found a shy figure in front of the bar when he emerged from the cellar with a crate of beer in hand.

“I know,�� you said shyly “But I was wondering if maybe Sihtric was here?”

Finan stopped in his tracks and a sad smile broke out across his face “He’s off today love, he won’t be back until tomorrow.”

You almost stood to attention and repositioned your bag on your shoulder as you rushed out “Okay, that’s no problem.”

“I could call him for you if you need him?” he offered and you shook your head profusely “No, no don’t bother him on his day off, it was honestly nothing. I’ll just be on my way.” 

“Wait. Woah, just hold on there a second,” he pleaded, coming around the bar and halting your departure “Maybe I could give him your number? Tell him you were looking for him?”

You felt suddenly embarrassed and foolish. Would he even remember who you were from the brief conversation you’d had a few nights ago. He was absolutely gorgeous; he must have girls queuing up to talk to him all the time. Damn was he even single?

But you suddenly realised Finan was still in front of you waiting for an answer and you nodded shyly “Sure,” and accepted the notepad and pen he handed you and scribbled your name and number, and you scarpered out before he you could change your mind it wasn’t until you left that a huge smile broke out across his face at the brackets beside your name (the girl from the ally)

Sihtric had barely hung up his leather jacket in the coat room when Finan burst in and scared him half to death. He chose not to make a big deal of the way he flinched so as not to embarrass him.

“Am I, or am I not your best friend?” he beamed and Sihtric looked at him dumbfounded.

“It’s a simple question, am I your best friend or not?”

“It depends on what you want.” Sihtric laughed.

“Ah but my friend it’s not a matter of what you can do for me, but rather what I can do for you,” he extended his hand and Sihtric locked in on the folded piece of paper in his hand.

“You only get this on the promise that you actually message her,” Sihtric nodded and unfolded the note, his heart beating a thousand beats a minute at your number.

He had searched the crowd for you every single night since your first encounter and he’d began to give up all hopes of finding you again.

He turned the crumpled piece of paper over and over in his hands on his break, trying to come up with what to say to you. Sihtric had never been confident with girls, he always fell easily, but could never fully open himself up to someone in case he got hurt, and he had spent his whole life being hurt.

He sent the message, a simple ‘Hey, this is Sihtric,’ and nearly vomited with anxiety.

“I’m so sorry, I’m not even sure what I was doing turning up like that yesterday,” you apologized and he couldn’t help the small smile and the way his heart fluttered “No, I’m so glad you did I was hoping I would bump into you again,” he replied honestly and you smiled in relief in your bed. 

You were surprised with how easily the conversation between you and Sihtric flowed, you were messaging non stop for days and then he called you unexpectedly on his walk home one night and you ended up talking way into the early hours of the morning. 

Days turned into a week or two, and you and Sihtrc never went a day without talking but thanks to his working evenings and weekends and your hectic job, it seemed impossible to plan a day to meet in person.

But soon calls were not enough and it turned into facetimes and you found yourself falling more and more for those eyes by the day.

Until you decided enough was enough and bit the bullet. 

“Are you working tonight?” you messaged as you were applying the finishing touches to your makeup. Your friend had once again begged you to come out, and this time you agreed, only with the hopes of seeing Sihtric again.

“I am love,” he replied sadly, “Did you want to call?”

You felt bad not replying, opting to hopefully surprise him when he saw you later. 

And his eyes nearly popped out of his head when you propped yourself up at the bar and asked for a drink.

“What are you doing here?” he beamed over the music and you swirled your straw around in your glass.

“My friend wanted to go out tonight, I think she’s got a new guy on the go.”

“And you?” he rushed, huge eyes taking in your club attire and his mouth went dry.

“I came here to meet a guy,” you teased and his heart fell into the pits of his stomach but he nodded quickly, hoping to mask his devastation. He didn’t.

“Sihtric,” you rushed, standing up and reaching for him “The guy I’ve come to meet is you!” You smiled up at him softly, realsing he had completely misunderstood you.

He looked to where your hand was in his and smiled shyly, twisting his hand to hold yours over the bar, and then brought your hand to his lips and placed a kiss there.

“Loverboy,” someone shouted and Sihtric sprang to attention “Could we get some shots over here?”

“I gotta-”

“Go- go!!” you urged laughing before making your way out onto the dancefloor. 

Sihtric kept his eyes trained on you all night, even though he was supposed to be working. He watched you beaming, smile contagious as you threw your hands up in the air, hair swishing to the beat and he was jealous. Jealous of everyone you danced with and jealous of how carefree you were, dancing as if nobody was looking. He realised with a gnawing feeling in his chest that you were free, truly free and it was a foreign concept to him. He was always on high alert, always awaiting the next danger, either real or perceived. 

He had always been like this. Clinging to the sidelines, watching from the safety of the shadows. Where he wouldn’t draw attention to himself, where he wouldn’t be perceived. 

You, on the other hand, you could let yourself be free, you let yourself live in the moment, not waiting for the next punch, the next fight or the next betrayal. He wondered briefly if his upbringing had been different, less violent, less hungry and less clinging to sheets in moldy apartments if he too could let himself go the way you did.  A deep sigh left his lips and he genuinely wondered if he could even have a place in your world, and then he felt selfish, maybe he should cut things off before he even tried to become part of your world, he would be a weight around your neck and he would never forgive himself if he was the reason you lost that sparkle in your eye. 

He jumped because Osferth was suddenly behind him and he hadn’t seen him approach, and he followed Sihtric’s  line of sight and smiled fondly when he saw you.

“I am under strict instructions to tell you that I am covering the rest of your shift and you are to go have fun.”

Sihtric whipped around and studied his young friend carefully, “But you never work the bar?”

“Tonight I do, so go and dance with your lady.” 

You watched in delight as Sihtric came out from behind the bar, and you fully expected him to make his way over to you but he walked right on past you towards the stairs and your stomach flopped a little. 

“The fuck is he doing?” Finan demanded and Osferth argued that he must be too nervous “Go after him. Please go after him,” he urged you from across the room and both of them silently cheered when you followed in his wake. 

You knew exactly where you would find him, out the side door smoking a cigarette and you were right.

“Did I make a mistake coming tonight?” you asked, voice small, “Sihtric we’ve been talking non stop. I just thought- I thought that you liked me,”

“I do,” he begged, turning to face you “I really like you. It’s me y/n,” he swallowed harshly and sighed, running his hands through his hair “I’m a lot okay? I’m carrying a lot of baggage, and I watched you tonight, look at you. You’re gorgeous.You’re a goddess and I will drag you down.” 

“So you’re bowing out before we’ve even tried?” you countered “You’d rather decide what I can handle for me instead of giving me the chance to make my own mind up?” 

He slumped against the wall, feeling like his heart was going to beat out of his chest, and you watched him in pain until you spoke again “Or are you bowing out first to try and protect yourself? It doesn’t hurt so much if you’re the one who decides it’s over first right?” 

Sihtric stopped breathing for a moment because he had never been read so clearly in all his life. You saw right through him.

“You don’t get it,” he said sadly “I can’t be carefree the way you are. I’m a lot to carry, I’m heavy and I’m- I think I’m fucked up, I’m different to everyone else.”

“Maybe I do get it,” you answered back “You’ve made up my story for me Sihtric but you don’t know the things I’ve come through to get to where I am right now, and I’m telling you this, you think you’re protecting your heart by shutting everyone out, but I promise you, you are only hurting yourself.” 

Sihtric considered you for a moment, eyes glassy before he blinked.

“You deserve someone- someone whole. Someone who hasn’t seen the things that I’ve seen, done the things that I’ve done. Don’t you get it? It’s not my heart I’m trying to protect, it’s yours. I don’t want to taint you with my darkness.” 

“Sihtric,” you cried, taking his hands in yours, delighted that he let you and didn’t pull away “I can’t even imagine what you’ve gone through to put up these walls and I’m not expecting you to just trust me, but can you trust that I am a big girl and I can handle a lot more than you think, and I would at least like to give us a try. Don’t you think we at least deserve to try?” 

Sihtric closed his eyes, head resting against the brick wall and you could feel his pulse, “I want to. I want to so fucking bad but I don’t know how to let you in,” he admitted. 

“Sihtric, look at me,” you pleaded and reluctantly he opened his eyes to meet yours “We don’t have to figure it all out tonight. All I ask is that you don’t push me away just because you’re scared?”

He nodded, eyes locked on yours “I’m sorry,” he told you gently, and you leaned up on your tiptoes to pull him into a hug.

“We haven’t even had a date yet and you’re already trying to get rid of me, that’s a new record, even for me.”

Sihtric laughed into your shoulder despite himself, and he released the breath he didn’t even know he was holding, feeling the tension leave his neck and shoulders.

“I did try to tell you I was a lot,” he countered and the two of you laughed, washing away the tension of the last few moments.

“Can I walk you home?” he offered after a few minutes in your embrace and you nodded.

“That was my plan all along,” you admitted and he smiled shyly. 

He just walked you home that night, refusing your offer to come up. Insisting that he at least take you on a proper date, after his embarrassing melt down at the club he felt he at least owed you that. You insisted on being on a call with him, his whole walk home so he wouldn’t be alone and he honestly didn’t know which gods to thank for sending you his way. 

“Will you finally tell me where we are going?” you begged, tugging on his hand and he smiled mischievously, “Can’t you just let me surprise you woman?” he teased and you fell in pace beside him happily.

He buzzed the doorbell of a studio apartment and you really had no idea where this boy was taking you, and as you stepped into the elevator he sensed you were going to ask him again, so he sighed and took your hand in his “We are almost there just be patient.”

The elevator doors opened and you stepped into what looked like an artist’s workshop/studio.

You took in the whole scene in front of you with childlike wonder before finally settling on Sihtric who was looking at you sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, before he made his way over to a workbench and picked up a little wicker basket with a picnic and a bottle of wine inside.

“You mentioned that you loved painting but never get the time to do it anymore, I figured we could have some wine and paint a little?” His cheeks were tinged pink and he looked so embarrassed “It seemed really romantic in my head, I guess-we can do something else if you want-”

-”Sihtric,” you cut him off, tears in your eyes as you made your way over and cupped his face “This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me,” you cried and the shy smile of relief that crept over his face was the cutest thing you had ever seen.

You had mentioned painting in passing weeks ago to Sihtric when he mentioned that he was an amateur photographer, but you had no idea that he would remember something as insignificant as that.

“Come on let me see?” he begged, and you swiped him away.

“My masterpiece is not complete yet,” you shooed him and he took another sip of his wine, you continued painting until a sudden flash pulled your attention and Sihtric was sat there with his camera in hand looking guilty. 

“I’m sorry,” he laughed “But you look so cute when you are concentrating, your little tongue poking out.”

You laughed shyly and applied the finishing touches before you sat back.

“Are you ready to see my masterpiece?” you laughed and he was out of his seat like a shot.

“Is that…Is that me?” he said flabbergasted “Y/n, I’m gonna cry, this is amazing!” 

“I tried my best to capture you. I fear it doesn’t do you justice though, you are more beautiful in person.”

Sihtric had to swallow a few times to genuinely gather himself unable to process the emotions he was feeling for you in the moment.

“Can I keep it?” he said so genuinely that you were rising to come stand beside him, “Sihtric,” you sighed reaching up to place a kiss to his cheek when he suddenly turned his face to capture your lips, hands flying up to cup your face, and you leaned into the kiss, kissing him back hungrily, and it was like a dam of wanting had burst open.

He backed you into an empty workbench, lifting you onto it and you locked your legs around his waist.

When your hands found your way into his hair he moaned suddenly into your mouth and you couldn’t help but capitalize on the moment, by running your other hand down to the waistband of his jeans and tugging at his belt as he attached his lips to your neck.

“Please,” he was begging, but he wasn’t even sure what he was begging for, more friction, more hair tugging just more of whatever you were willing to give him.

It had been months since anyone had touched him this way and he was afraid he wouldn’t last. Not when you made those precious sounds beneath him, or when you raked your nails along his back. His back that was marred with scars, but if you wanted to mark him he would wear those marks proudly.

He sucked on the soft skin of your neck as he moved inside you and your breathing quickened, he knew you were near.

“Let go. Let go for me,” he urged “I’ve got you.”

And you came around him with a cry, it was all he needed to let go himself.

Grunting from somewhere deep within his chest as he came apart.

You hissed when he pulled out and he went away to fetch some paper to clean up with.

“Gods, you are glorious,” he mused, as you sat up. brushing his fingers through your hair and tucking a strand behind your ear, you smiled at him hazily and he muttered “Just glorious,” again, before he dipped in to steal another kiss from your swollen lips.

Sihtric took your hand and led you through the flashing strobe lights and loud music.

He pulled you close and moved your body in time with his. Running his hands down your sides, grabbing your ass and grinding against you.

He knew his friends were watching but he didn’t care. All he cared about was you and you wanted to dance.

If you were able to nurse him through the nights he woke up screaming in terror, or anytime a loud or sudden noise startled him, he could do this for you.

And he was having fun, he couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so hard at your goofy and carefree dance moves.

The strobe lights above you made you look like nothing short of an angel and not for the first or last time, Sihtric thought you were glorious.

And he wished he could find the words to tell you that for the first time in years he felt weightless, carefree and safe, like you had taken a chisel and chipped away at all the heavy concrete blocks that were weighing him down, instead he settled on kissing you with all his might and he didn’t need to tell you.

You knew. 

Tagging:

@canyonmoon-2 @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @whitedarkmoonflower @thenameswinter99 @foxyanon

@acdassenza @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @gemini-mama

@troyottonick @alexagirlie

a-beaverhausen nebulamorada izzydlb knight-of-flowerss

justcuriousandbored

[cheolaholic]

ring of love; csc (03)

summary; agreeing to join vernon spectate an underground boxing match wasn't how you'd expect to spend your friday night. you also didn't expect to see seungcheol, someone you've lost contact with for years, become a part of the ring.

modern! au • boxer! au • hhu focused • multiple kinds of tropes • fluff, angst, smut

a/n; new chapter !! also added navigation and some lists to my profile where you can find right here <3 you can find my masterlist, idea/wip dump, a link to my ask box where you can send in thots, requests and even comments; alongside my ao3 ^^

hope you all enjoy this chapter and lmk if you can guess which korean web series one of the scenes are from 👀

hint: it involves a certain kpop group

it was the beginning of fall when your family moved to daegu.

though it wasn’t a big or dramatic move, since you’re moving from the big city to a smaller town in the same province, it was still big to you because it was your first moving experience.

you vividly remember watching the colored leaves fall from the branches and onto the pavement, being stepped on by pedestrians and you imagined they made those ‘crunch’ noises as depicted by the many cartoons you’ve watched.

you were only 5 years old.

“___, are you excited to see our new home?” your mother asked from the passenger seat, turning to see you kneeling on the backseat, admiring the outside view. you turned to her with a big smile, letting out an excited ‘mm!’.

smiling at your enthusiasm, your mother turned to your father who was driving; reaching out her hand and placing it over your father’s resting on the armrest of the car. “do you think she’ll like the place?”

intertwining his fingers with hers, your father gave your mother’s hand an assuring squeeze, “i’m sure she will,” he spoke, “if she doesn’t, we’ll just have to hope it grows on her.”

your mother laughs at your father’s statement; at the same time hoping that it wouldn’t come to that.

the car stops in front of a white double-story terrace house. the second floor had been extended into a balcony and you notice the few familiar plants from your previous house put on display. half of the wall on the outside of the second story was an exposed brick wall, which adds a little bit of red-orange aesthetic to the full white design of the house. the ground level had a black gate, with two front doors in the same colour with floor-to-ceiling tinted windows.

getting out of the car, you ran up to the gates, attempting to climb them before your mother rushed over and picked you up. “sweetie, that’s dangerous!” she pointed out, a frown on her face.

your father was at the boot of the car, stacking two of the many boxes together before making his way to the gates. “honey, the keys are in my back pocket, could you get it?” reaching out a hand into your father’s pocket and fishing out the keys. unlocking the gates and the front door, your mother placed you down on the ground to help your father with the boxes while you decide to explore the interior of the house.

running up the stairs to the second story of the house, there were three gray colored doors. being a curious child, of course you went through all three of them. you opened the first door that revealed the master bedroom, which of course is going to be occupied by your parents. the second door lead to a bathroom; and when you reached the third door - a pink sign was hung on the door with your name written on it.

pushing the door open, the first thing you noticed was a pink bed tucked nicely in one corner of the room. across it was a white study table with a few trinkets decorating the surface, followed by a wooden closet right next to it. at the foot of your bed stood a similar level bookshelf, filled with all your favorite books and coloring books; alongside some of your plush toys.

“do you like it, babygirl?” came your father’s voice from behind you. whirling around and flashing him a big smile, you excitedly nod your head as he crouched down to your level, giving your hair a ruffle.

“i’m glad you do.”

he then proceeded to pick you up and placed you over his shoulder, legs hanging over his shoulders. “daddy!” you squealed, giggling as he gave you a piggyback ride.

“honey! ___!” your mother called out, “come meet our neighbours!”

you stared down at the young boy from your father’s shoulder while he stared back up at you.

as your father sets you down from his shoulder, the roles switched; you’re now staring up at the boy while he stares down at you.

seeing how the staring contest would not end anytime soon, your mother placed her hands on your shoulders, introducing you to the young boy and the woman standing next to him who you deduced to be his mother.

“my, what an intense staring contest,” she chuckled. “we’re the lees’! that’s my husband, and this is ___, my daughter.”

“intense, indeed,” the woman chuckled. “we’re the chois’. it’s nice to meet you, ___. this boy here is seungcheol, my son. my husband’s out back dealing with the garden.”

she then looked down at seungcheol, lightly patting his shoulders, “cheol, did you bring what i asked you to?”

snapping out of the staring contest he was having with you, seungcheol handed you a paper bag which you accepted after getting a nod of confirmation from your mother. looking inside the bag, you see a container of brownies, a small ‘wah…’ leaving your lips.

“mom and i baked them last night! we hope you’ll like them!” seungcheol said with a big grin on his face.

placing a hand on your head, your mother smiles, “our little ___ will definitely like them. she has an incredible sweet tooth.”

“no, i do not!”

“___, sweetie,” your father spoke up, “you ate half a tub of ice cream in half an hour.”

“daddyy!!”

you were 7 when your little crush on seungcheol began.

you were in the playground, swinging on the swingset with your bear plush in your lap when a group of boys approached you. “that’s our swing,” one of the boys spoke, arms crossed as they stared down at you.

you stopped swinging and looked at the group, “you can’t claim a swing. it’s a playground for everyone.” visibly upset by your response, the boys stepped closer so that they would tower over you. “well, this is our swing now. get off.”

“no.”

you could see the face of the boys turn red - from anger and embarrassment that you were refusing to follow their instructions. as they continued to stare down at you, one of them noticed your bear plush, snatching it out from your lap.

“hey!” you shouted, getting off the swing to try and get your plush back, “give him back!”

“nuh-uh,” the boy retorted, raising it up above his head so you can’t reach it, “that’s what you get for sitting on our swing!”

you then shove at the boy, crying out, “i said give him back!”

“back off, girlie!” another boy said, shoving you back with a harder force, causing you to fall back onto the ground of the playground.

as the boys walked away with your bear plush, leaving you to cry on the ground. they tossed it around, occasionally dropping it on the floor and purposefully stepping on the poor plush, later on acting as if they didn’t mean to do so. witnessing the boys’ treatment towards your plush,  you pulled your knees to your chest, hugging it as your cries grew louder.

“___?” a worried seungcheol called out.

crouching down in front of you, seungcheol places a hand on your head, gently petting it in an attempt to comfort you. “___, what happened? why are you crying? are you hurt anywhere?” you attempted to answer him. but, due to your crying, you had a hard time forming words, only letting out harsh pants and whimpers.

“easy there, ___,” seungcheol said softly, “take a deep breath, okay?”

when your crying calmed down, the older boy heard the laughters of the group of boys. turning his head towards their direction, he saw them taking turns throwing a plush bear at each other. seungcheol recognised the plush bear - it was the very same plush he had gifted you on your 7th birthday.

he then turned back to you, noticing that you were looking at the group with a frown on your face. pressing his thumb against your forehead, he gave you a gentle smile, “don’t frown like that, you’ll get wrinkles.”

turning back to the group, he let out a sigh, “they took your bear?”

you sniffled as you nod your head, wiping the snot from your nose with the sleeves of your hoodie. “do you want me to get it back for you?”

“p-please…”

nodding his head, seungcheol got back up on his feet, ruffling your hair before making his way towards the group of boys.

“hey, you rascals over there!” he called out.

you don’t know why, but you felt your heart race, a small blush forming on your face.

after seungcheol had gotten your bear plush back from the group of boys (mainly by scaring them off because imagine an older, taller boy approaching you with a scary look after talking to the girl whose bear you had snatched), he walked you back to your house.

as his parents were out working, it wasn’t unusual for seungcheol to spend some time at your place with your parents as he waited for his to return home. sitting beside you on the porch of the backyard of your back garden, seungcheol was eating a piece of brownie your mom had baked while you enjoyed a cone of vanilla ice cream.

“you need to learn to stand up for yourself, ___,” seungcheol spoke, placing the now empty plate next to him and looked at you. “but, i have you to protect me!” you responded with a smile on your face, earning a small laugh from the boy. “i know, ___. but, i can’t always be there for you.”

“d-does this mean you’re leaving me…?” you asked, tears welling up in your eyes. “oh, ___,” seungcheol said softly as he places a hand on your head, “that’s not what i mean. i meant it as in, there will be times where i can’t always be with you. you remind me of a puppy,” he chuckled. “maybe that can be a nickname for you, hmm?”

when your eyes light up and nod excitedly at the older boy, he lets out another laugh and ruffles your hair.

“alright then, pup.”

taglist (unable to tag a few ㅠㅠ)

@yoonclip @1004luvangel @catjunhui @mystikha @spk93 @tinkerbell460 @yoozuku @dnylwoo @christinewithluv @limbomoon @plutoxxxworld @i-give-up-1234 @m1ngyuc0re @yunloyal @leclercloverbot @bettybeako @billboard-singer @ocyeanicc @krupyadoorrahe @seobinnieshi @xcynthiaaa @k411z @disneyprincesshuri @sunnyapp @khxsh @staygenezy @loufi8iepuff @ursweetener @noisypapergalaxy @wonwootakemyheart @sugainpinksweater @leah-rose03 @thisisnotthelastofus @yearnoclock @kwonhoeshi @minhui896 @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @ru-lin @deobiforever @belladaises @cheoliekkuma @duskunt1ldawn @hyneyedfiz @marshmallowshouse @ak6ko @chwevernonlover @jejuboo-s @tsukinluv @atinytinaa @gyros-cum-sock @soupbinlily @jungwoos-luvr @ener-energy @watermelon-sugars-things @cyberpunkhwx @ddaengpotate @nightwingsrobbinhoods @chaerrylov3r @joshuaahong @wonussmile @uliceeeeeeee @wonwoo24 @shinetogether17 @simplejihoon @luvkpopp

[kingkatsuki]

Kaji finds you crying in an alley on one of his evening patrols, and it’s then that he realises just how hopeless he is when it comes to women— especially when he thinks they’re pretty.

Pairing: Kaji Ren x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, slight suggestive thoughts from Kaji, mostly comfort.

Word Count: 2k.

Kaji was not good in situations like these, averting his eyes as though he’d caught you doing something nefarious while he stood statuesque in place. He pauses his music to confirm that you’re actually crying, hearing the muted sobs tumble out from between your pretty lips with more clarity as Kaji tries to decide what to do next. He immediately regrets choosing this route for his scheduled Friday patrol, wondering why he hadn’t tried to take the path that didn’t fall under the only open izakaya in the area.

He’d expected to break up a bar fight tonight, or at the very least stop someone getting mugged. Or perhaps guide a drunken worker in the right direction home, like he’d done two weeks ago. But Kaji had not prepared himself for this— especially when he had no idea what to do in this situation. His pink sucker stills between the side of his gum and his teeth as he shoves both hands into his grey hoodie pocket— maybe he should text Kusumi or Enomoto, they’d be far better at this than him.

“Sorry,” You sniffled from your position on the ground, shifting your thighs slightly as you brought your knees up to your chest. Seemingly unbothered you were wearing a skirt as the fabric bunched around the tops of your thighs. And if Kaji was any less of a man he’d be able to get the perfect view of what colour panties you were wearing under it, “I’m not normally like this.”

Kaji frowned, cursing himself for having such depraved thoughts when you were in front of him crying. Despising the way his cock throbbed at the thought as he tried to think of something, anything more than what kind of panties you had on right now.

Why was he like this?

You didn’t seem to care as tears continued to spill down the sides of your face, your head poised towards the ground to try and hide yourself away as people continued walking down the rowdy street. Kaji couldn’t leave you like this— not when there were awful men out at night, and if they found you there’s absolutely no telling what they’d do.

And why the fuck were you alone?

“Can I call someone for you?” He shifted from foot to foot, standing awkwardly in front of you as you immediately looked up at him with pleading eyes, shaking your head no.

“Please, don’t—” Your friends had told you this would happen, and you should’ve listened, “There’s no one I wanna call right now.”

Then what the hell was he supposed to do? Kaji groaned internally, wondering if he’d at least be able to take you somewhere safe until you were ready to go home.

“I’ll be fine, really.” You managed to warble through a fresh hot stream of tears, but Kaji wasn’t so sure.

Shifting his sucker from one cheek to the other as the hard candy clinked against sharp canines, Kaji finally allowed himself to step forward. Thinking about leaning against the wall beside you before deciding against it, trying to appear as harmless as possible as he flopped down to the ground beside you. He spread his thighs in a feeble attempt to quell the throb of his chub beneath tight black skinny jeans as he rested his forearms on top of his knees.

He notices you visibly stiffen beside him, despite his attempts to appear as non-threatening as possible as he heaves a rough sigh. Tugging his silent headphones down around his neck he tries to think about what Hiragi would do in this situation, what he should say. Was it rude to call you dumb for being out in a dangerous part of town all by yourself this late? Probably, but he was right. Kaji decides on another question as he leans back against the cold brick wall.

“Why you cryin’?” It came out harsher than he’d intended, immediately noticing his mistake when you broke into a fresh sob beside him. A light hue of pink dusted against his cheeks at your reaction as he wished he had a tissue or something to offer you, deciding on the only thing left in his pockets as he shuffled to pull out a single strawberry chupa chups. Holding it out to you as he kept his eyes trained forward, lips smoothed into a firm line with his jaw locked.

He heard the pretty sound you made at his offering, a saccharine scoff that seemed to be more of an exhale as you reached out to take the lollipop from his outstretched hand. Your soft fingers grazed his as Kaji felt tiny sparks of electricity bloom upon contact, trying to ignore the heat that they raised against his skin as it shot through his veins like molten lava.

“Thanks,” You murmured, cradling the lollipop between your manicured fingers as you brought the side of your thumb up to your eyes to try and wipe away the pearly tears that clung to thick lashes and blurred your vision.

This is the closest he’s ever sat to a girl, Kaji thinks. The flowery scent of your perfume invades his nostrils and has him feeling lightheaded as he tries to ground himself against the cold brick. Glad he decided to sit down, as he’s certain any longer his legs might have given way.

“It’s stupid.” You murmur, sniffling as you begin to toy with the wrapper of the candy at the top of the stick. Pressing your nail beneath it as you twirled it between your smaller fingers, leaning your hands against bare thighs.

“Ain’t stupid if you’re cryin’ over it.” Kaji continues. Honestly, it probably is stupid— but he’s glad he’s managed to stop you being noisy for a moment at least. Even though the tears still continue to silently trickle down your cheeks, leaving messy lines of ruined make-up in their wake.

“My boyfriend just broke up with me,” You continued, “Or well, I just broke up with him— I don’t even know.”

Kaji groaned internally, he was right— it was stupid. It felt as though he’d started a ridiculous conversation with Umemiya that he couldn’t escape. Remembering the conversation he’d had with his leader a few weeks ago about a heartbreaking scene in one of his favourite K-dramas that had him sobbing for hours after.

“So what you doin’ out here?” He pressed, trying to push his apathy to the side. It was late and dark, and you were sitting out on the street like you had nowhere else to go.

Kaji didn’t have the first clue about love or romance, aside from the songs that would sometimes come up on shuffle or the shitty rom-coms that Sako used to make him watch.

“I dunno.” You shivered, and it was then Kaji noticed that you weren’t even wearing a jacket.

This was so annoying. He groaned internally for getting himself into this situation as he pulled his headphones off from around his neck, moving them to sit on either side of his knee for a moment as he reached out to tug his grey hoodie up and over his head. Tousling his hair with static as he pulled it off before handing it out towards you.

“What?” You turned your head towards him in surprise, “Oh, no— it’s okay. I can’t take that—”

“Just put it on,” Kaji growled, feeling the brisk evening air hit his bare arms as he leaned back against the wall. Giving him a slightly better angle to look at you without turning his head to the side.

“I don’t wanna ruin it,” You continued, shaking your head, “My make-up’s—”

“Just fuckin’ put it on.” He cut you off briskly with a harsh snap, shaking his head. He’d definitely had worse than a bit of spoiled makeup on his clothes, and he was positive that bloodstains were harder to remove than some lipstick or whatever it was Tsubaki-chan used.

That thought had Kaji’s thoughts wondering. He tried to think about what Tsubaki-chan wanted whenever he was sad, and his mind settled on something. Pulling out his phone to check the time as he saw Pothos should still be open for at least another thirty-five minutes— that should be long enough.

“Thank you.” You mumbled, moving to pull his hoodie up and over your head as Kaji took the opportunity to watch you again. You really were pretty, he wondered what could’ve happened to make a guy break up with you— because he was positive that if you were his girlfriend he wouldn’t want to let you go.

But women were more trouble than they’re worth— at least that’s what he’d overheard Seiryu say before. Moving his headphones back around the curve of his neck as Kaji sat beside you in silence, the rowdy bass of music from the nearby izakaya mingled with the chatter of its patrons the only sound with your muted sniffles.

Kaji was thankful you’d calmed down with little effort, but he wondered whether beating your ex-boyfriend to a pulp would’ve been easier.

“You shouldn’t cry over some guy.” He manages to force the words out, trying to provide his own kind of comfort.

“I didn't think he was just some guy, though,” You pouted gently, and it made Kaji’s eyes focus on the glittery gloss of your lips, “I really liked him.”

“Yeah, well clearly you deserve better.” He snapped, nose scrunched in irritation, “You’re too pretty to be cryin’ over some loser in an alleyway. Do you know how fuckin’ dangerous that is?”

Kaji caught himself after he’d said it, noticing his mistake as he willed the ground to swallow him whole. He’d just called you pretty—

He moved his lollipop back to the middle of his mouth, pressing the ball of candy against his tongue as he sucked hard. Trying to tame the frustration, anger and annoyance that burned inside him, reaching boiling point as he felt his heartbeat begin to lull.

“I know,” You mumbled sadly, “I should’ve just gone home, but I wasn’t ready to go just yet.”

“Okay, so don’t go home yet,” Kaji stretched his legs out in front of him to ease his muscles before he shifted to stand, moving a palm to brush off any dirt from his ass before he reached out to offer you the same hand, “You comin’ or what?”

You looked up at him through pretty lashes, and Kaji had to catch himself when your glistening eyes met his. Trying to ignore the incessant throb inside his chest as his heart rattled against its cage desperate to be set free as you reached out to take his hand. The same pulse of electricity ignited inside him as he wrapped his fingers around yours, using his grip to pull you up off the ground as you came to stand in front of him. Dangerously close to his face you gave him a shy, soft smile.

“Where we going?”

The feelings building inside him were only made worse when you moved to stand. From the way you were engulfed in his scent now to his oversized hoodie practically dwarfing your form as he tried to swallow the wetness from his sucker that puddled at the back of his throat.

“What? You got any better offers right now?” He snapped, before biting down on the lollipop inside his mouth. Crushing it beneath his teeth as he hated himself for how harsh he sounded, although you didn’t seem to mind.

“I guess not.” You laughed bitterly, a soft smile appearing on your face as Kaji tried to remember to breathe.

Kaji’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed thickly at the sight of you— You looked real pretty when you were smiling, even with dried makeup and tears caked against your cheeks. It made him want to be the one to make you smile like that again.

“You’ll see.” Kaji began to pull you through alleyways to try and avoid the rowdy crowds spilling out from the sole izakaya in the area on the busy Friday night as he made his way in the direction of Pothos.

Noticing that he was still holding your hand— and you hadn’t pulled away.

[laswells-ashtray]

A vague part 2 based on this.

On a funny note, I think 141 doing a mission that involves taking down some kind of warehouse and finding a child is funny.

Soap is for the briefest moment very deeply annoyed because he intended to blow the building up to fuck but this wee one is sniffling, and he has the saddest big eyes Soap has ever seen. They get the kid out and very quickly realise that they have no idea who he is or who his family is but these bastards are fighting to try and get this kid back so he's important.

They look into it [Laswell does] as the little boy, who the medic says looks to be about four, gets checked for any major injuries. He's a little bruised, too skinny and very obviously terrified but other than that, he's alright. If one could say that. Laswell figures out that this boy is important enough that people are looking for him and the 141 so she directs them to a pretty swanky property in America to stay in while they try and look for someone connected to the boy. It certainly isn't a safe house, far too nice but there's no use complaining about a good thing, is there?

As good as they like to think they are with kids, this boy is utterly petrified. Anytime they come near him, he flinches. They don't have the right things to look after them, and no one wants to leave to shop, knowing how aggressively they're being hunted down, so they try and make do. Keyword: try.

John is still in Captain mode; he knows he needs to protect his men most importantly, but he also can't let anything happen to the little one. The only time the boy shows the slightest hint of interest in him is when he has his hat on but the four-year-old isn't brave enough to try and touch it. He can see the tension in the man, and it very clearly scares him.

Simon's build seems to scare the boy, and it makes him feel guilty. He's so tall and in Soap's words "built like a brick shithouse" that he intimidates grown men so what good does a little one have. He walks into the living room one day behind the boy and the kid jumps and scampers off the minute he spots Simon behind him.

Johnny is just so angry at the thought of someone actively hunting down a child that he can't be near the boy because it leaves him seething. The thought of someone wanting this kid who's been separated from his family, who is so fucking scared in a way a child should never be has him wanting to punch a wall.

Gaz gets the closest to the boy but even that isn't much. The kid will take a glass of water from him if he's offered it but if he offers him a plate of food then the kid will just look between him and the bowl with a clear lack of trust until he gives up. Gaz is the one that notices that little bits of food disappear now and then so at least he eats something, but it doesn’t make any of the men feel better.

They think they're absolutely screwed until without warning Kate walks in one day with three big bags in hand. How did she get a key to unlock the door? Wait, nevermind.

One bag is full of different foods: turkey dinosaurs, microwave meals, snacks, juice boxes and muffins. They even think they see a tub with something homemade inside. The second bag has clean clothes for a kid of that age: socks, underwear, pajamas and even a nice little outfit he could go outside in. A first aid kid. And a plastic plate, toddler cutlery and a plastic cup with a cartoon design on it. The last bag is the one that surprises them the most. It has an unreasonably soft blanket inside of it, one with stars and planets on it. A colouring book and a small tub of crayons. A kid's book. And the one that surprises everyone the most, a little stuffed bear with a little hat on.

They can only stand in shock as she starts ordering them about. John and Simon put the food away, Johnny puts the clothes and other stuff away while Kate keeps the bag with the blanket to her side as she kneels in front of the boy, keeping Gaz by her side. "Hello, Eli."

Laswell managed to find out who the little boy was, of course, she did. His name is Eli Roberts, and both of his parents are dead. He has no living family, and they haven't been able to find any acquaintances they'd trust to take him in. Gaz can only stare as the little boy's Eli's lip trembles, and he throws himself into Kate's arms, bawling. The station chief is a natural, wrapping her arms around the four-year-old and picking him up. She holds him against her chest, and he keeps his tiny little hands clenched tightly in the fabric of her shirt.

Kate wastes no time in looking after the boy, instructing the boys to throw some garlic bread in the oven and toss one of the microwave meals in the microwave: spaghetti. When it's ready it goes on the kid-friendly plate, but Eli still won't touch it. Until Kate eats a little first, taking a bite of the bread and eating a forkful of spaghetti as the boy watches, then he slowly digs in and within a few minutes his plate is empty. For a second they all feel like idiots, of course, the boy wouldn't willingly trust any food they hand him without them giving him a reason to. The minute he’s finished eating, he’s plastered to Kate’s side, a little hand holding onto her pinky.  

She spends the day with them and by the end of it, Eli is showered and in clean pajamas. He's sitting on Kate's knee with the blanket over his shoulders, trusting Kate to hold his bear as he colouring in a page of his colouring book to the sounds of Zootopia in the background. John is the one who asks, he knows Kate has countless nieces and nephews, but he didn’t expect her to be this good with the boy. “Why’s it you he trusts?” She briefly stops running her fingers through Eli’s curls as she answers. “Because you’re all treating him like a recovering captive, I’m treating him like a toddler, John. He’s just a little boy, he doesn’t need you to walk on eggshells around him, he needs to watch Scooby-Doo and have a tantrum about cookies.” The mention of cookies has the boy’s head popping up in a way that has even Simon suppressing a soft laugh.

A year later they get invited to Thanksgiving at Laswell’s. John tries to argue that it’s an American holiday and Kate tells him to haul his English ass over to her house and bring his pack of dogs. For Johnny, Simon and Gaz it’s the first time they meet Sarah Laswell. What surprises them the most isn’t her tattoos, her age or her height. It isn’t even the fact that they very quickly realise that Kate’s wife is fucking loaded. No, it’s listening to her thundering footsteps as she chases after a five-year-old who’s giggling his little head off as she yells in mock annoyance. “Eli Laswell, you give me back that spatula right now or Mommy is gonna put you in the mashed potatoes and eat you all up.”

What surprises them all more is the look of utter adoration on Station Chief Laswell’s face as she watches her wife chase and threaten to eat their son.

[brokenpieces-72]

Task Force 141 gangster! X f!reader

Started with a Tagger

You can do this…you can do this… you’ve done this before… in a classroom…

You stood there in front of a bare brick wall holding a spray paint can and debating what to do. This was undercover, you wouldn’t get caught by cops, only the thugs in the area. You had the go ahead from the chief and inspector Graves was getting into just as much, if not more trouble than you would be. It was part of the plan. Go undercover, get close with the gang members, find their main boss and evidence of their crimes, and you might actually be taken seriously at the precinct! Simple, easy, nothing to worry about… except your cowardice goody two shoes attitude! It was just paint. You’d done this before. You just had to paint on their turf and they would come looking for you. Then everything was a piece of cake. Right?

You pulled up your scarf and raised the paint can again, ready to spray. Wait, had to shake it first. There was something you already had in mind to paint, ready to get started. You lower the paint can again. Maybe you should try a different spot? An alley would keep you hidden from your fellow officers, but it also meant you were in danger of any of the street gangs coming up and chasing you away. If you were fast enough to get away.

You set down the spray can and reached into your back pack, pulling out chalk and a notebook where you scribbled some ideas of what you would paint. Plot it out first, make symbols to better map where each colour and line will go. Chalk can wash off, build yourself up to it. You zipped up your brown leather coat and pulled down on your dark red beanie. One step at a time. A few symbols at a time, using your notebook as reference. Don’t worry about the gang. Just engaging in a hobby. One step at a time…. That’s what your father told you.

“You tryna summon somethin lass?” You heard someone ask behind you making you whip around. Casually, leaning against the wall wearing a leather jacket, old jeans and fingerless gloves was a man with a mohawk trying to light a cigarette. He looks up at you with his eyes, while still flicking the lighter.

“Uh…n-no…” you said. You knew who he was based on the description and police sketches they had on file. John MacTavish, or Soap. He’s a big name on the streets, second only to Simon Riley, the supposed leader of the gang. Now here you were faced to face with him. He’s known for roughing up officers, and giving them a hard time during general procedures. They didn’t have any evidence to convict him of anything, or at least not enough. Now here he was struggling with a lighter, and cursing under his breath.

“H-hang on.” You set down your things before digging into your bag and taking out your father’s old lighter. You stood in front of Soap and lit his smoke for him. He took a drag and blew it away from your face.

“Thank ya. So wha are ya doin?” He asks.

“Plotting.” You said, closing the light and shoving your hands in your pockets. Stay loose and relaxed, don’t act afraid, don’t give away the fact you’re trying to get him arrested.

“Plotting? Oh I see.” He gives you a sarcastic smile, waiting for you to go on.

“Yeah, I use the symbols and match them up to the sketch,” you say getting your notebook to show him. “That way I can make the painting without making too many mistakes, and don’t get the sizing wrong.”

John took the notebook and looks at it. He had to admit you were good.

“And ya decided ta do it on my turf?” He asked with a raised brow. You shifted where you were standing a bit.

“Y-yeah…so what? Free wall, free space.” You said shrugging with your hands in your pockets again. You made slight glances to either side of the alley, making sure no one else was around. John smirked at your attitude.

“Free wall… on my turf.” He pointed out again, before taking another drag. This time he blew it towards your face. You wince but try to hide it.

“You gonna do something about it?” You asked. Yeah great idea, offer yourself up to get beaten up and get him arrested for that… with how many broken bones? He chuckles at your taunt.

“Yer adorable ya know that?” He says. Before you could sputter a response he pushes off the wall, and steps closer to you. “Ya hungry?” He asks.

“What? Uhm… a little.” You said shrugging.

“Come on then.” He walks off further into the alley. At first you stand there watching him. Then he calls back, “Quit enjoying the view, come on.”

You grab your stuff and shove it into your backpack, and run after him, falling in stride next to him while you struggle with your backpack.

“You live round ere?” He asks. You nod. “John MacTavish by the way.” He says offering a hand to shake.

You shake it. “Y/N L/N.”

��L/N?” He repeats. Maybe you shouldn’t have given your full name. Or at least given a fake one. You nod. And he looks forward again, as if forgetting the whole word. “There’s a nice diner close by. Get you something to eat.”

“Th-thanks.” You said. Wasn’t expecting him to be this friendly. He takes you to the diner and sits you down, talking as if you were new friends. You hadn’t expected it to go this way. Though you weren’t sure you were in the woods yet.

“So what’s a nice kid like you doing out ere tagging walls?” He asked, slouching in the booth seat across from you. You lowered your head faking shame, while also trying to think of a reason.

“Got rejected… keep getting rejected.” You said, rubbing your neck. “Galleries, shows, schools… work. Everyone sees me as just some, y’know, naive tagger. Just want to be taken seriously.”

“It takes time.” John said. You’ve heard that one before, too many times. You sat back and looked at him.

“It takes too long! I know what I’m doing! I know what I’m capable of! No one gives me a chance! I can prove myself, but how am I gonna do that if no one lets me!” You said. There was some repressed emotion behind that. You sigh and look down playing with your hands. Emotions weren’t very professional in the force. “Sorry… didn’t mean for that you come out.”

“I ge it.” John said sitting up. “You ave to keep searchin for those chances.”

“That’s what I’m doing.” You said.

“Good. If ya don finish yer work someone’ll think yer summonin somethin.” John teased. You smiled back. Soap told you to go to home and finish the spray paint tomorrow. In return you offered to buy him dinner tomorrow. Fair deal. Soap watched as you walked away, heading back to your apartment, before texting his boss.

Soap finds his boss, who’s sitting in an old beat up apartment crouching near the corner when Soap walks in. Soap stays quiet, not wanting to bother him.

“Quit yer skulking MacTavish.” said a low British voice. His boss turned his head slightly to ensure it was him.

“Wanted to giv ya some privacy sir.” John said stepping further into the room. Ghost stood up and turned to his right hand man. Soap leaned over to see a small cat licking at a small saucer.

“Your message was vague. What did ya find?” Ghost asked, stretching a little and wandering to the kitchen while removing his hoodie. Soap stepped over to the bar counter, sitting on of the stool while Ghost got them both a drink.

“Need to see Price.” John said, setting his phone on the table.

“Yeah I know that, what for? And since when do you tell me first? Not your dad.” Ghost comments, adjusting his balaclava to take a sip of his drink.

“Price woulda told ya anyways. Easier to tell ya first.” He sips his drink.

“Out with it.” Ghost orders.

“L/N.” Soap looks into his bosses dark eyes.

“They’re dead Soap.”

“Not all of em.” Soap says with a cheeky smirk. Ghost tilts his head intrigued. Soap opens his phone and shows him a photo of you he took while you were setting up in the alley. Ghost takes the phone, examining the photo.

“They’re a tagger Soap, wha of it.” Ghost says shrugging it off, and returning the phone.

“I wone tell Price than.” Soap responded, shrugging nonchalant. There’s quiet between them while Ghost considers the information. You could be useful. Laswell should already know, but Price hasn’t said anything about you. Your presence may be unknown to even Laswell which was certainly impressive.

“Tell Price.” Ghost says. Soap nods and holds up his drink. Ghost toasts him. Things were about to get interesting.

[heartseungs-archive]

chartreuse | l.dh

word count: 1.7k | genre: haechan x fem! reader, established relationship, slice of life, fluff | warnings: none

Green’s a good colour.

At least, that’s what Donghyuck thinks. It’s the colour of the trees in spring, and makes up the majority of the banknotes in his wallet.

It’s also the hue of envy, and it seems that most things he does these days are motivated more by the fear of losing out than motivation itself. Like how he obtained a perfect score on that lab project because his teacher said he couldn’t, or when he climbed that cobbled wall because his older brother did too.

That stunt gave him a sprained ankle, but the look on Minhyung’s face was worth it.

Green means Donghyuck’s world is going round, and that everything is right.

“I can’t believe you actually sold your car.”

“Why not? I barely drive anyways.”

He hands the keys to the man at the counter, a wiry twenty-something-year-old who looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in years. There’s a note of finality as the key descends into a jar full of other ones just like it.

He’s tempted to grab the jar and shake everything out until he finds his, but what’s done is done. The dense stack of bills that he’s handed feels cool in his palm. “Dinner’s on me,” he declares.

You’d be a fool to oppose, even if you think the boy opposite you is too hasty in everything he does. “I can’t believe you get a thousand dollars and start acting up.” Donghyuck just grins at your words, flicking his thumb over the notes as he quickly counts them and relishes the extra weight they add to his wallet.

It’s obnoxious, the way he does it, but at the same time in a way that’s so characteristically him. Which is why you don’t mind, waiting patiently at the garage door.

“Okay, done. Let’s go.” Donghyuck loops his arm through yours effortlessly, barely looking before pulling you along with him. The denim jacket he’s wearing is soft from how many washes he’s put it through, and you wonder if he’ll get a new one with the money he has.

Or maybe you’ll buy him one, with the tips you made from waitressing. You don’t know.

“Okay, hold on, give me a second- Donghyuck!” You burst into a fit of giggles as the boy pulls away from you for a few brief seconds, but you’re breathless. Each exhale you let out forms a puff of mist, temporarily clouding his features. His eyes dart down when you lick your lips, and you smile, barely visible in the poor lighting.

There are still traces of your lip gloss on Donghyuck’s lips, and you wipe them away absentmindedly with the tip of your thumb. Until he loops his fingers around your wrist, a silent request for you to follow him.

The both of you barely make it out of the convenience store, cheeks reddened from both the alcohol and the cold.

Iit isn’t the wisest idea for a university to make such indulgences readily available close to campus, but you’re grateful for it on nights like these. It seems Donghyuck’s patience runs even thinner than yours, however.

He’s insatiable as he backs you up against the cool brick wall of the dorm building and leans in, placing a searing kiss on your mouth. Donghyuck tastes like cider and artificial cherry, and the combination is enough to make your head spin.

When he finally pulls away to allow you some air, you loop your arms around his neck reflexively to draw him back in.

“Hey,” he mutters when he’s barely a finger’s breadth away from your face. “Hey to you too,” you reply, and this time, you can’t hide your grin. His eyes are like warm pools of honey as they look at you, imploring you to just melt into his embrace and forget everything around you. “I left marks on your jacket,” you say softly, inspecting the blue dye crusted under your fingernails. He casts a bemused glance at the collar of his jacket, with faint streaks that can be seen under the light, before placing another quick kiss on your lips, which have unconsciously settled into a pout.

“It’s fine. Everything will fade to the same colour soon enough.” His assurance is enough, and you extricate yourself from his grasp, making your way towards the glass doors.

“I’d love to continue this, but it’s fucking freezing out here,” you mutter, rubbing your hands together.

Donghyuck’s laugh escapes freely this time, loud and unrestrained.

Your job is methodical, and that’s what you like the most about it. Preparing the pastries to be put on display and preheating the coffee machine before opening, and then clearing the display counter and removing the coffee grounds once the clock hits six.

It’s like a book you’ve read a dozen times, already familiar with which events come in at which pages.

At six-fifteen, you grab the washcloth and squeeze bottle, moving around the tables. “We’re closed!” you remind when you hear the bell at the door ring sharply, not even looking up. Until a pair of black Vans appear in your peripheral vision, little yellow suns doodled on them with a waterproof marker.

“Oh, it’s you,” you realise, already hearing the complaint he has ready at your apparent lack of enthusiasm. You wipe your hands against your apron as you walk over to the fridge, grabbing a drink and placing it in his hands. His eyes immediately light up, glancing at you like a child being given a present.

“For me?” He asks, and you scoff lightly, nodding. Donghyuck takes a sip, but makes an expression of disdain right after, crinkling his nose. That earns him a swat on the back from you. Nevertheless, he holds on to the coffee, almost done with it by the time you turn off the lights in the cafe.

“Tired?” He asks, voice light but with an undercurrent of concern. You shake your head, and the answer seems to satisfy him. He strolls in front of you, humming a song that you recognise the melody of but not the title. It’s something that happens rather often, considering you hear Donghyuck sing more often than you listen to actual music.

“This is a different route home than usual,” you point out, speeding your footsteps up to match his pace. Donghyuck looks down at you, smiling. “I wanted to try something new.”

Something about that spontaneity and unpredictability is very distinctly him, and it reminds you that Donghyuck is a question you don’t have all the answers to yet. He’s the independent variable in your life, the sentence that seems strangely new in a chapter you know by heart.

You sneak your hands into his jacket pocket, but not subtly enough for Donghyuck to ignore. There’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, but he doesn’t comment on it as he intertwines his fingers with yours.

The jacket stretching across his shoulders is shiny black leather, the inside lined with velvet to protect from the autumnal wind. You wonder if the denim jackets are still sitting forgotten, in the back of his closet in the dorm buildings.

Four years is enough to change anyone sufficiently, and the discrepancy in his clothing preferences is just one of many.

“You should take a break, and close the cafe for a bit. We could go on a road trip,” Donghyuck suggests, hair mussed from the breeze.

“It’s my cafe, Donghyuck. I can’t just close it and go on a holiday, you know?” You reply, but the thought of it is nice. To drop everything and just disappear to somewhere where no one knows your name, other than the boy beside you.

You’ve been escaping with Donghyuck for a long time. Until it feels less like running away, and more like making a new home.

He smooths out the furrow between your eyebrows, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Don’t do that. You’ll get wrinkles.”

“We’re all going to get wrinkles one day. You included. I’m going to watch as your hair turns white,” you retort, but there’s little bite in it, especially when you think about what it implies. It seems Donghyuck has the same thoughts as you, because he remains silent, the corners of his lips tilted up higher than before.

“Besides, you don’t even have a car anymore. How are we going to go on a road trip?” You question, and Donghyuck shrugs nonchalantly. “We’ll figure that out somehow. Where would you want to go, though?”

He’s always adept at changing the topic, but you humour him anyways. “Somewhere in nature, with a lot of animals and pretty scenery and plants,” you start. Donghyuck pays careful attention to your words, storing them away. “And a lot of greenery. I like green,” you add, and he nods.

“Yeah, I know. Just in case you didn’t realise, all the clothes you buy me are green-”

You roll your eyes then, huffing slightly at his teasing. However, you can’t hide the quiet fondness in your features as you look at Donghyuck, a small smile on your face.

He likes seeing you happy. He’s liked it ever since your teacher made both of you seatmates in homeroom.

There are the small grins you offer him when you’re amused at a joke, or when you smile with your teeth while getting good news. The times when the corners stretch wide, however, and your eyes crinkle at the edges, are when you’re truly, undoubtedly full of joy.

And if you like green, then green’s a good colour.

If you like him, then…Donghyuck supposes he’s pretty alright too.

You’re Donghyuck’s green, and the only one he wants to walk with.

[ragzonacamrencruise]

What do you think of an Azutara idea where Azula gets sick and Katara takes care of her?

oooohhhhh it could go smthn like . . . . hmmm . . . okay hear meowt-

***

The time Azula spent in the mental institution only solidified her deteriorating physical condition. Katara knew, that if threatened, Azula could easily take her down with a single blow. But that doesn't hold true when she's literally a walking skeleton, with the constant threat of dismantling and falling in a pile of weak bones.

She won't admit it though. Her bloodcells are fighting for their lives and Katara could practically hear Azula's muscles screaming out in pain when she goes around and performs exceptionally hard katas in the name of training and keeping her body fit.

It's only been two months since Azula was finally allowed out of the institution after two excruciatingly long years of torture with mirrors and chains. She was in no shape to even sit up properly without help when she first arrived.

A weak immune system is only one of the many gifts the institution provided her, along with nail scratches on random places of her body and her unevenly cut hair.

Azula is a morning person, Katara soon comes to find. She wakes up every morning to meditate and practice her katas. She knows it wasn't a luxury she had in the institution so Azula was adamant on continuing it to get back in shape. And Katara was adamant on keeping an eye on her every morning so that she doesn't do anything stupid. Like collapsing on the floor after a spinning kick like she did two days ago, or something like that.

Azula's better now though. She's gained a little weight in these couple of months and is slowly reverting back to her old self again. Colour is back in her face and the barber did an excellent job by cutting her hair in way that the uneven chunks were no longer odd but in place with the rest of her hair precisely. She has her hair up in a top-knot, the rest of it falling freely down her shoulder with her signature strands of hair framing the sides of her face. She looks . . .

Katara struggles to find the exact word to describe Azula as she watches her meditate facing her in an open courtyard built for training and practice.

Different.

Katara settles on that.

Somedays, she even joins her when Azula trained. Simply because she feels the need to get closer to the firebender in case she falls or . . . something Katara wasn't sure about. She just needed to make sure, up close that the princess was okay.

Azula lets out a gentle sneeze and that immediately brings Katara out of her thoughts. She frowns when the firebender lets out a follow up sneeze, but this time stronger than it's predecessor. She sniffs a bit before resuming her disrupted meditation session.

"Your Highness . . ." Katara trails off, worried. She never calls Azula by her name in open spaces like this. She simply cannot when Azula's posture oozes regal elegance. But she's always 'Azula' in her head. Especially during their healing sessions behind closed doors where no one was allowed till the session gets over.

"What?" Azula says softly, still with her eyes closed. Her tone has a hint of annoyance at the disruption to her meditation again, but nothing more.

Katara's face is riddled with worry. "Are you catching a cold?"

Azula scowls. Katara's not sure how she can do that even with her eyes closed. "No. And even if I am, it's no concern of yours."

Katara eyes her suspiciously. These past two months have been hard. Katara's sole job was to break down Azula's walls brick by brick so that the princess would allow herself to be taken care of. Azula's been reluctant in letting Katara do it for her. But Katara, being Katara with her stubborn, adamant self, would take none of the firebender's protests. Azula had given up on day four.

Katara rises up from her seat at the edge of the courtyard to go and plop down right infront of the princess. She runs her eyes over the perfectly chiseled face, looking for anything out of place. However, she gets distracted once with the firebender's full lips, but she steadies her eyes and thoughts, to the task at hand. Focus, Katara . . .

She does find something disturbing, though. "You look pale." She notes. "Have you been eating well?"

If Azula's surprised by Katara's voice sounding so close to her, she doesn't show it on her face. She still has her eyes closed. "Shush! I'm trying to concentrate here, peasant."

Katara's been with Azula long enough to know that that word isn't derogatory anymore. The princess just likes to call her that. Especially after Katara mentioned to her once that she's the daughter of the Southern Water Tribe's chief and the princess just replied, 'I know' with a shrug.

Smiling to herself at the memory, Katara raises her hand to Azula's forehead, intent on checking her temperature. But before her hand could make contact with the pale skin, Azula's jet-like fingers shoot out to her wrist, stopping her ministrations suddenly with a precise grip.

Katara gasps softly at that.

Her eyes are still closed. How did she . . . ?

When she looks up, Azula's dazzling golden eyes are trained directly on her and she feels her face getting warm under the princess's gaze. Her body might be weak; but her eyes still haven't toned down from their sharpness yet. And the waterbender doubts that it ever will. It's still piercing and . . . warm.

No, hot is more like it.

"You should know by now, that invading a fire royalty's personal space without their explicit permission is a crime punishable by solitary confinement for 5 years."

Katara can do nothing but let her lips fall open and shift her eyes between the princess's golden ones, cuz she can't seem to focus on one, cuz they're too damn close.

Then, she finds mirth dancing in those golden orbs and she lets out a sharp breath. "You actually had me there for a second."

Azula lets Katara's wrist out of her grasp and the waterbender immediately misses the warmth the hand provided her with. "I can still have you there for a second. It won't take me a minute to call the guards and let you rot away for 5 years."

Katara's eyes narrow. "You wouldn't do that."

"Wanna bet?"

Katara's eyebrows fall together as she notices Azula's voice getting scratchy. She raises her hand again and this time, the princess lets her, golden orbs watching her intently. She places the back of her palm on her forehead, and then on her neck before letting out a gasp.

"You're burning up!"

"I'm a firebender, peasant. In case you haven't noticed."

Katara wants to face-palm. She really does. But she resists the urge. "Your Highness, you're sick. We need to get you to bed."

Azula's face takes up a 'what-the-fuck' look. "I'm not sick!"

"Yes, you are."

"Move away before I punch you in the face. I need to get back to my training and you're turning out to be a nuisance."

"Your Highness." Katara tries again.

Azula doesn't answer her, closing her eyes and about to rivert back to her meditation. The waterbender rolls her eyes before catching hold of Azula's wrist, tugging it gently. "Come on . . . You know you're sick!"

"Leave me alone."

"Let's go." Katara tugs at her hand again, making a move to stand up. "I'll have the chefs make you some nice, hot, chicken soup with lots of fire-flakes, just the way you like it. Come on."

"No."

"Princess . . ."

"No."

"You're sick!"

"I'm no- a- A- AACHOO!!"

Katara gives her a look and she knows Azula's aware of it, now that her eyes are open from the force of her sneeze. "Your Highness-"

Azula snatches her hand from Katara's grip. "No. No. NO. I'm not sick!"

"You know you are!"

"No, I'm not!!"

"AZULA!!"

The firebender looks at her, stunned. Katara's yell echoes all around the courtyard. Thankfully, no one is there to hear it. Even Katara's a little taken-aback by her own little outburst.

She acts fast, trying not to lose her advantage. "Let's go. Now!" She commands.

She catches hold of Azula's wrist again and this time, the princess follows the waterbender without a word as she makes her way to the royal kitchens.

...

Katara finds herself feeding Azula her soup.

The firebender's neatly tucked inside her bed, leaning against the headboard with the support of a soft pillow. Not a single word was exchanged between them since Katara's outburst in the courtyard that morning.

The servants who popped up to help feed Azula were quickly dismissed by the waterbender who was determined to do the job herself. She avoids Azula's eyes at all costs, as she knows very well that if she ever looks at them, she'll drown.

The princess on the other hand, has no such restrictions as she openly stares at Katara, just as she's feeding her spoonfuls of hot soup. Katara makes sure to blow on them for a bit before placing it on Azula's lips, in case it burns her.

It's silent between them. Katara's well aware of Azula's eyes on her, but she fights like her life depends on it to not look up, and she forces herself to focus on the task at hand.

When the contents of the bowl reduces to only a few more spoonfuls, Azula speaks softly.

"My father used to train me and Zuko."

Katara's hand stills just for a split second, before she resumes her task. She feeds Azula one more spoonful. The firebender swallows it after savouring the taste, then speaks again.

"Zuko and I were not allowed to eat before completing our meditation, katas, training and meditation again, in the morning."

Azula opens her mouth for another spoonful, gulps it down, then continues. "I remember when one day, I hadn't eaten any dinner the previous night as I was mad at Zuko for something stupid he did. So my stomach was growling even before we were through with the first meditation session that morning-" Katara feeds her and Azula drinks the soup hurriedly to complete her story. "I took a chance to ask father if he'll allow us to eat before training that day."

Katara scoops up the last spoonful from the bowl and places the edge of the spoon on Azula's lips as she happily opens her mouth to recieve it. The waterbender then places the empty bowl on the dinner tray kept beside the bed. She bends the water inside the glass on the same tray and turns to Azula. She makes water droplets touch the firebender's lips and around her mouth to clean any soup that might've found their way to her cheeks or chin.

"He told me to silence myself and not speak another word."

Katara frowns as she turns around to the tray again to pick up a hot towel.

"He used the same tone to say my name as you did this morning in the courtyard."

Katara's whole body stills halfway to Azula with the towel in her hand. A pang of guilt grips her heart as tears form in her eyes in a flash. She wills herself to say something. Anything. Apologize. But her throat chokes up and she's unable bring herself to even make a sound as she completes the remaining distance between them slowly to wipe around the lips of the firebender.

She feels Azula's stare on her and yet she busies herself with the task.

"I liked it."

Katara's eyes betray her as they snap up to Azula, wide with shock. The hand wiping Azula's mouth slows down before dropping down to brace themselves on Azula's chest.

"Not in a weird, masochistic way." Azula continues with a soft smile. "I liked it because, you used that same tone to make me do the complete opposite of what my father wanted me to do."

Hot tears leak out from Katara's eyes as they stay helplessly locked on Azula's gentle, golden ones.

"I liked it because, I understood that you genuinely care about my well being and no one has ever done that before. Not even my mother." Azula says, as she rubs the pad of her thumb to wipe the tear on Katara's cheek.

"I liked it because, it showed what my father thinks of me is absolutely immaterial."

Katara blinks, her thoughts racing.

"I liked it because, it made me realise," The princess whispers, fixing her strong gaze on the waterbender, "that I like you . . ."

Katara's eyes widen.

Her mind struggles to wrap the idea around.

Azula likes her.

Azula.

She lets the towel fall from her hand. She doesn't realise what she's doing until she feels Azula's warm breath and an even warmer smile against her lips, pulling her close by the hips.

Katara's hand comes up to hold the firebender's delicate face as she plants her lips on hers again.

And again.

And again.

Until her brain catches up with what she's doing, and the waterbender lets out a raspy little giggle against the full lips that she was distracted by this very morning, overwhelmed with feelings, suddenly shy to look at the princess. "You should be resting, Your Highness." She says, her eyes betraying her to gaze up into those golden pools.

Azula looks at her with such gentleness, Katara feels like she's gonna explode. "Stay with me?"

"Of course."

...

Zuko finds Katara walking into the general meeting room that evening for their daily sessions with the Earth Kingdom officials to negotiate repurcussion terms, with a stupid little smile on her face.

"Someone's in a good mood." He says, eyeing her curiously.

Katara throws him a radiant smile. "Is it that obviou- a- A- AACHOO!!! AACHOOOOO!!!!"

Zuko's brows fall together. "Katara?"

She looks at him with horror. "Oh, no-"

***

i love this prompt sooo much ahhhhhhhhhh

lemme know what you think omg!!!!

[sjsmith56]

A Better Man, Part 6 - Transformation

Summary: The renovation on Andrea’s house finally begins. As the transformation of Barnes Contracting gets underway, Mrs. Parker brings up regulatory aspects they have to follow. Bucky returns home to find Andrea in bed, sick, so he takes care of her and Lily.

Length: 5.9 K

Characters: Steve, Sam, Thor, Mrs. Parker, Bucky, Andrea, Winnifred.

Warnings: Steve being suspicious. Symptoms of mastitis discussed. Andrea feeling too sick to look after Lily and Bucky worries about her.

Author notes: Some changes are happening, both openly and behind the scenes. Is it foreshadowing? Maybe.

<<Part 5

Part 6

With the rest of the stolen inventory delivered, Bucky, Steve, and Sam began transforming Barnes Contracting into a legal renovation company.  While Bucky supervised the four men who moved the rest of Andrea's belongings into storage, he went up on the ladder to check the exterior brick façade, finding it in good condition.  The one set of windows with the crumbling caulk that allowed rainwater in was a singular occurrence and once those were replaced and finished properly the seal on that wall would be waterproof again.  He also called his roofing guy who went up his extra long ladder to inspect it and give him a quote on replacing it.  Then he called in the electrician he trusted the most to look at the electrical panel and the hodgepodge of copper and aluminum wiring in the house.  He came that day, shaking his head at the setup; agreeing it would all have to come out.  Like Bucky, he suggested trying to recycle the copper wiring but since he would charge for it suggested that one of Bucky guys should be assigned that task to keep costs down.

Bucky phoned in a request for an asbestos test on the house with the appointment set for the next day.  As rooms were cleared, he opened the ceilings up where the water stains were to look at the plumbing, confirming that several original parts of it was lead and would need to be replaced.  With his mother promising the funding he began tackling the building permit forms, filling out what needed to be done and the time frame he needed to do it.  By the end of the first day, he felt like he had accomplished a lot. 

With the house now empty of everything he was able to picture what he really wanted to do with it.  There were even some additions that he wanted like a small window alcove turned into a book nook with a window bench at the window; a perfect place to curl up with Lily to read to her.  Another book nook could be put in her room as he pictured it in a cream and rose-pink colour scheme.  There were several parts of the house that could accommodate a built-in storage or bookshelf unit.  As he stood in the living room then impulsively pulled back the old carpeting from one of the corners, he smiled at the original hardwood floors that were underneath.  No doubt there would be some areas that would be damaged, but he could always pull the old wood out of the upper floors to patch those areas, then redo the upper floors in newer materials to keep the main floor look intact. 

For the first time in a long time Bucky didn't feel anxious about his work.  He really wanted to do this and prove that he had what it took to be a general contractor on a legitimate job site, using honest tradespeople, and legally acquired supplies.  Even though he was doing it for Andrea and Lily, he was doing it for himself as well.  I'm really looking forward to this.  This is what I've always wanted to do. Locking up the house he returned home, where he enjoyed another quiet evening with Lily and Andrea, after one of her home cooked meals.

While Bucky spent the first day at the house Steve and Sam began assessing what they needed to do to drum up more renovation business.  Inviting Mrs. Parker into their office, because let's face it, she was an asset to their business, they threw some ideas around.

"We need to get signage," said Steve.  "Advertise that we're a contracting business in general, specializing in home renovations.  I know you just did your thing to get us off Google, but we have to get back on the search results."

"There are a few trade shows coming up soon," said Mrs. Parker.  "You could always rent a booth in them and have some photographs of a renovation in process then of the finished job.  You'll have to have a presence there for the whole day and it should be someone who knows the business, like you two.  I could arrange for the printing of some pamphlets and business cards to hand out.  The only problem is that your last renovation project was over a year ago and it went up in smoke because of arson so we don't have any photographs.  The house project is still in the beginning stages, but we should document the process for later advertising."

The sound of the phone ringing in the office took Mrs. Parker out for a moment, leaving the other two talking.

Steve shook his head, remembering that job.  "Yeah, he didn't have the money to pay us, but he did have insurance.  All that time working on it, and he torched it to get the money to pay us.  It didn't make sense.  What a waste of time and materials.  We did a good job on that place, too."

"Then he sold the property to a developer."  Sam grimaced.  "Didn't even invite us to be part of the rebuild."  He groaned.  "How many guys have building experience out of our workforce?"

Steve leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling.  "Five, maybe.  I think Clint has the most because he's been with us the longest, but most have no experience." 

Mrs. Parker returned, catching the last part of their conversation, to say it was a client from the other aspect of their business who needed them to hold a shipment.

"I told him we had to suspend that part of the business for a while," stated Mrs. Parker.  "I think Bucky will probably take the more experienced guys for the house renovation.  He wants to do it right.  One or both of you is going to have to run a construction boot camp for the others."

The two men grimaced as it was something they hadn't even considered before. 

"Do we even have enough tools for everyone?" asked Steve.  He didn't wait for an answer.  "Let's go get an idea of what our guys know.  Mrs. Parker, can you do your magic and come up with some business cards and a pamphlet for the business?  Use stock photos since we don't have a choice.  Maybe once we get some jobs under our belt, we can change those up.  Truth in advertising, right?"

They left her in charge of that part of their "rebranding" and headed for the warehouse where they were surprised by the sight of Thor, one of their bigger guys, who had only been with them for six months, in front of a mockup of an unfinished wall.  He was in the middle of demonstrating how to fasten drywall to a stud.  The others were gathered around him, listening in rapt silence as he performed the task, then handed the drill and a drywall screw to each one of them in turn.  Then he noticed Sam and Steve watching, grinning at them.

"I've done drywall before so I figured I would help these others learn it," he said.  "We're all in this together, right?"

"Right," said Steve as he approached.  "You worked construction?"

"Summers mostly, when I was in college," answered the big man.  Sam and Steve looked at each other.  Thor was in college? "I know what you're thinking.  How did a college guy end up in prison?  I helped a buddy out when he asked me to hold a hockey bag for him.  Said it was a surprise for his girlfriend.  Didn't know it contained a whole lot of heroin.  Got pulled over and charged with possession for the purpose of trafficking.  Had a shit lawyer but I kept my nose clean in the joint and got out early for good behaviour."  He looked apologetic.  "I'm sorry I didn't say that part when you gave me the job.  I don't want to be involved in drugs or the bad stuff in any way.  You guys were the only outfit that kept their noses relatively clean compared to the others.  I'm excited that you're going legit."

"Okay," said Steve, cautiously.  "What else do you know?"

"Basic plumbing, finishing, taping, mudding, kitchen installation."  He scratched his head as he scrunched his face up.  "Window installations, deck building, roofing, painting, flooring ... I've done most of it, except for electrical because you want an electrician for that and HVAC."

"Huh," grunted Sam.  "Okay, carry on, then.  We're just going to take an inventory of our tools and other equipment."

"Good idea," smiled Thor.  "I just grabbed this drill from the shelf.  Mrs. Parker gave me some petty cash to get drywall and some studs and screws to make this mockup.  Hope that was okay."

"Yeah, that was good thinking," said Steve, pulling at Sam's arm, until the latter man glared at him.  "Like Sam said, carry on."

As he went into one of the storage rooms where they kept tools Sam stopped him. 

"What were you pulling at me for?" he asked.  "He's doing a good job in there."

"He lied!" spat Steve.  "About college, about what he was in prison for, and about construction experience.  I interviewed him and he said nothing about any of that.  What else has he lied about?"

"What do you mean?

"What if he's undercover?  How did we end up on a task force's radar when we keep such a low profile?"  He pulled his cell phone out and called Mrs. Parker.  "Yeah, it's Steve calling.  Doesn't your call display say that?" He rolled his eyes.  "I'm sorry Mrs. Parker.  I didn't mean to get snippy with you.  Listen, do you still have that contact in the gang division?  Can you find out if Thor is an undercover cop?  Yes, Thor.  Did you know he went to college and that he was in prison for heroin trafficking and that he has considerable construction experience?  You did?  Why didn't you say anything?"  He paused for a long moment as even Sam heard her tell Steve off over the cell phone even though he didn't have it on speaker.  "My apologies.  You are an exemplary employee who certainly knows her job very well.  Thank you, Mrs. Parker."

He hung up and stood there breathing heavily for some time until Sam pushed him lightly in the arm.

"What did she say?"

"She runs an extensive check on everyone," he replied, looking into the distance.  "He's exactly what he says he is.  She asked him about it, and he admitted he didn't want anyone to think he was smarter than they were, and he was ashamed of being caught holding heroin."  He looked at Sam then.  "She knows that Natasha is a cop.  Recognized her.  She thinks we have a future together."

"How does she do that?" asked Sam.  "I swear that she's the one who tells Mrs. Barnes all of our secrets although she manages to worm it out of us anyways."

"Just be happy she's on our side," said Steve.  "Imagine if she worked for the cops."

They looked at each other for a moment then both of them shook their heads.  There was no way Mrs. Parker was an undercover cop.  She had been with them since just before George Barnes died, ten years before.  It was her expertise in computers that got them through some sticky situations plus she was efficient, generally pleasant and her nephew was also on their payroll, although he worked for the city.  Putting the thought out of their minds the two men began testing all their electrical tools, making sure they worked.  They also took an inventory of what they had, knowing that they had to look the part of successful contractors to make customers willing to hire them.

🪛🔨 🪚

By the end of the week, Bucky had the word from the asbestos guy that only the insulation in the attic and the flooring in the kitchen had asbestos in it.  As best they could tell there was none in the walls.  It was a big relief to him as it meant the abatement process would go quicker and be less invasive.  He booked the abatement guys for the following week and phoned the planning department to find out if his building permits had been approved yet.  He also contacted the roofing guy to book that job.  Until he had the permits in hand, he wasn't willing to do anything else that could jeopardize the project.  Instead, he went into the warehouse where the construction boot camp had been underway for the week.  After Steve told him about Thor's background, they put him and Clint in charge of getting the rest of the guys up to speed on their building skills.  Everything looked good to Bucky when he was there.

It was obvious that some of the guys were better than others at it.  After Luis sent a nail into his foot from the nail gun, and Steve took him to Dr. Banner, the doctor who usually treated people in their line of work, he insisted that everyone had to have steel toed boots immediately, blaming himself for not insisting on it to begin with.  Thank goodness Bucky was in the office at the time otherwise he would have been sick on the spot.  Two guys had already spent their last pay, so Bucky took them out to the work wear store, staying with them while they tried boots on.  He paid for them, as well as enough hard hats and tool belts for everyone, but made sure they knew the boots would be taken out of their next pay.  On his return Mrs. Parker appeared at his door.

"We need to talk," she said, closing the door behind her and sitting across from him.

"What about?" he asked. 

"Well, the only people officially on the payroll are you three, me, and Clint.  The others are paid cash under the table."

"Yeah," he replied, unsure where this was going. 

"If they're working at a job site, you can be sure that there may be some surprise inspections on your workforce.  Immigration is going to want to make sure they're legally entitled to work here, OHS is going to want to make sure they have the proper safety gear and training, and IRS might show up to make sure that your paperwork on them is all up to date.  They should have healthcare coverage as well in case they get injured on the job.  We have to get the others added officially to the payroll, so they need to fill out a bunch of forms.  They may have to provide background checks to satisfy certain insurance requirements.  They will also have to get bonded under the Federal Bonding Program to cover theft or other crimes which they may be tempted to commit at the job site."  He frowned.  "I can email you the details of why it's needed, but we should have it considering their backgrounds.  I mean, they're all ex-cons, right?  It's kind of a big deal in getting insurance coverage.  No one is going to hire you for a legitimate job if you don't have that."

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and rubbing his face with his hands.  Then he breathed in and out a few times. 

"Are you able to handle that?  You already do our payroll, right?"

"Yes, but doing it for five people is easy.  Doing it for 25, plus handling all the paperwork and I'm also busy getting our advertising needs set and answering the calls ....  Bucky, I am already swamped.  We need another person in the office."

"Part-time?" She shook her head.  "More than minimum wage?"  Mrs. Parker shrugged then nodded her head.  "Do you know anyone who can do this?"

"I have a person in mind," she admitted.  "She was sexually harassed at her other job and quit, as her official complaint went nowhere, so the guys have to know they can't come on to her or any woman that works for the company, for that matter."

"Fine, get her in here and I'll interview her just to make sure I'm satisfied she can do the job.  I'll have a meeting with everyone to warn them about proper behaviour in the workplace.  Is there anything else?"

"Just one thing," she smiled.  Bucky looked at her with trepidation, wondering what it could be.  "I think you're doing the right thing.  The side business was getting a bit complicated, and I've heard rumours that Hydra was pushing the smaller companies to join them or be shut down by them.  I know you don't want to be associated with them or go to the extremes they go to.  You're not that kind of man."

Her words surprised him.  She joined the company shortly before his dad died, as his mother had her hands full taking care of him.  After his death, they were both so impressed with her that his mother asked that Mrs. Parker take over the secretarial duties completely.  Her cheery nature and work skills had been greatly appreciated by all of them. 

"Thank you.  I just hope that we're able to turn this thing around," he said.  "If we don't, I may have no choice but to get back to the other line of work."

"You'll do it," she stated, as she got up from the seat.  "I have faith in you, Bucky.  All of you.  Even the guys, with their backgrounds, believe in you.  Many of them are happy that you're going legit.  They want you to succeed."

He gave her a slight smile then sat back in his chair again.  When he proposed stepping away from the illegal jobs they were doing, he had no idea that trying to do the right thing was going to be so complicated.  He just hoped that he could manage it.

The following day Bucky arrived at the office to the sight of a younger, dark-haired woman waiting in a chair.  He said good morning to Mrs. Parker then entered his office.  She followed him in, carrying some papers.

"The young lady out there is here for the other office job," she said, placing the papers on his desk.  "Her name is Hope Van Dyne and that's her resume.  Be nice."

"I'm always nice," he answered, as she walked out the door.  "My mother taught me well.  You know that."

He looked at the resume.  She worked at a legal competitor's business, but the owner was a pig.  Bucky wasn't surprised she quit over sexual harassment.  It appeared she had all of her qualifications in order, including experience in payroll, accounts payable and receivable, as well as experience in web site maintenance.  They would need a web site.  Maybe she and Mrs. Parker could create one together.  He called her in, just as two uniformed police officers walked in the door.

"Ms. Van Dyne, would you just wait in here a moment while I see what the officers want?" he asked. 

He closed his office door and approached them.

"Can I help you, officers?" he asked politely.

One of them looked at the other and shrugged then stepped back. 

"Um, are you the company that's working on the brownstone a few blocks from here?"

"Yes, we are," he asked.  "Is there a problem?"

"Oh, no, no problem.  One of our detectives said you were doing the renovations on it.  I just bought a flat in a converted brownstone not far from there, and it needs some work before I can move in.  I was wondering if you had the time to do it.  That brownstone must take up a lot of time."

Mrs. Parker smiled at him. 

"Sure, just let me call one of my colleagues to speak with you as I'm interviewing a potential employee right at the moment.  Mrs. Parker, could you call Steve out from the warehouse, please?"

"Right away, Mr. Barnes," she answered perkily, as she picked up the handset.  "Would that be Detective Romanoff who recommended us?"

"Yeah, she did," said the officer.  "Says you're a good bunch of guys.  We had someone from Sitwell Renovations have a look at it, and that guy was slimy as fu... as anything."

"Just so you know, we do have ex-convicts for employees, but they are all in the process of being bonded under the Federal Bonding Program," said Bucky.  "I can personally vouch for any of them.  We don't take anyone who has been convicted of a violent crime.  They're mostly family men who want to turn their lives around.  Will that be an issue for you?"

"No."  The officer shook his head.  "I think it's a good thing that you're giving them honest work.  I didn't know you were a contracting business, not having a sign or anything."

"Yeah, just never got around to it and we kind of operated by word of mouth to a select clientele but business is competitive and we're stepping up to increase our presence in the community," said Bucky.  Where did that come from?  Steve walked in.  "Here he is.  This is Steve Rogers, my second in command, so to speak.  This is Officer ...?"

"Benson," said the other man, offering Steve his hand.  "That's my partner, Porter."

Steve waved at him.  "Come on into my office and I'll get your information, and we can set up a time to view your property."

Bucky nodded at Officer Porter, then went into his office where Ms. Van Dyne was waiting.  She looked nervous so he sat and picked up her resume.

"This is all on the level?  It's not padded?"

"No, Mr. Barnes.  I'm good at my job.  I liked it until ...."

"You don't have to tell me details," he said.  "Unique Renovations is run by a worthless piece of slime.  We all know it, but he gets away with it because his dad has connections.  Has Mrs. Parker told you about our company?"

"She said you had a limited client base before and decided to shift your focus to general contracting and home and office renovations.  She also said you employ ex-convicts, but I know May and if she wasn't comfortable working with them, she would tell me.  I'm willing to give you my best so long as I'm treated properly."

"Well, I read them the riot act yesterday, because Mrs. Parker insisted I had to hire you, so I expect them to be gentlemen around you.  If they're not you tell me ... and tell Mrs. Parker.  She'll kick their backsides.  The job is yours if you want it.  I noticed you have experience in setting up websites.  We're looking to have one, since we operated by word of mouth before.  Would you be interested in handling that as well as your other duties that you and Mrs. Parker work out between you?"

"Absolutely," she exclaimed.  "The pay?"

He wrote down her hourly pay on a slip of paper, noting her vacation time and that health care was included, although that still had to be set up.  She smiled broadly and he stood up, offering her his hand to shake.

"Welcome to Barnes Contracting.  I'm going to show you around and then Mrs. Parker will get you to fill in the paperwork."

The tour went well, except for Scott becoming a little weird around Hope, even for him.  She didn't seem to mind him so much, as he didn't come close to being inappropriate.  In fact, he seemed quite taken by her.  By the time Bucky was done showing her around Steve had finished talking to Officer Benson and set up a time the next day to look at the flat for the estimate.  Boot camp continued with Steve and Sam doing their part, while Bucky was shown a mockup of their pamphlet and business cards that Mrs. Parker had worked on.  She ordered in lunch for everyone, and the three of them ate in his office while the guys ate in the warehouse, playing the radio loud.  After lunch, Bucky started sourcing what was needed for the brownstone renovation, using many of his legitimate contacts.   By the end of the day, he felt good about everything that was accomplished.  As everyone left, the three of them sat in Bucky's office, while he took a bottle of scotch out of a drawer and poured them each a drink. 

"This has been the weirdest week I can ever remember having," said Sam.  "From finding out about Natasha being a cop, switching to becoming a legitimate business, Thor being a college graduate and an experienced construction worker, and now getting our first referral."  He looked at Steve.  "When are you seeing Natasha again?"

"Tonight," he smiled.  "She's coming over.  When are you seeing Maria again?"

Sam grinned.  "Tonight.  She's coming over."

"Are you guys official?" asked Bucky, sipping from his glass.

They looked at each other.  "Haven't been out on an official date since we left them at the tapas bar," said Steve, grinning.  "Seen plenty of her though."

"Yeah, yeah, but how do you feel about her?"

"There's something there," admitted his friend, with Sam nodding his head in agreement.  "It's only been a week."  He looked at Bucky.  "What about you and Andrea?"

"Taking it slow.  I had an episode in front of her." 

Both Sam and Steve sat upright as Bucky told them the details. 

"She was cool with it?"  Bucky nodded.  Sam smiled kindly at him.  "That says a lot about the type of person she is.  I hope you two can make it work."

"Me too."  Bucky drained his glass.  "I'm headed home.  Can you two lock up?"

On the way home he thought of how he hadn't seen much of Andrea and Lily this week, except for when his mother came over for dinner.  He had headed out early and returned home late most days, but Andrea always had something ready for him to eat when he walked into the apartment.  As he passed an open florist's he stopped and ran inside, picking up a bouquet of flowers.  When he came out of the elevator and called out that he was home, there was silence.

"Andrea?" he called out again, leaving the flowers on the kitchen counter. 

He headed to her bedroom, knocking gently on the closed door, then opening it slowly.  She was on the bed, not moving, and for a moment he felt the icy cold knife of fear in his stomach.  Then he heard Lily fussing and went over to the crib where she was awake.  Taking her out of her sleeping bag he held her and approached the bed, sitting next to Andrea.

"Hey, wake up," he said gently.  "You, okay?"

"Bucky?" She turned towards him.  "Oh, I must have fallen asleep.  I don't feel good."

He put his free hand on her forehead.

"Sweetheart, you're burning up," he said.  "How long have you felt sick?"

"A while after you left.  I got a bad headache, then hot all over and just felt like I couldn't move.  What time is it?"

"After six," he answered.  "When did you last feed Lily?"

"I don't know, noon, maybe?  She must be so hungry."

Andrea started to cry.  Bucky stroked her forehead, trying to settle her.

"Hey, it's okay.  I'm here now.  I can feed her some of your milk that's in the freezer, right?  I'll just thaw it in lukewarm water then warm it up.  You stay here."

"She's probably wet, too," moaned Andrea as she tried to get up. 

"It's okay, I'll change her.  I'm going to call a doctor friend of mine, alright?"

Andrea laid back and nodded, too sick to speak.  Bucky turned on the light and laid Lily on the change table.  He didn't really know what he was doing but he had seen Andrea do it.  Looking closely at how the diaper was fastened before, he unfastened it and wiped Lily's bottom clean with a baby wipe.  Then he laid out the new diaper, sliding it on underneath, and doing it up.  It was a little loose, so he tightened the sticky tabs then put the baby girl's legs back into her sleeper.  Turning off the light he took Lily to the kitchen, holding her in one arm while he took one of the bottles of breast milk out of the freezer.  Washing his hands first was a challenge but he did it, then he filled a bowl with lukewarm water and put the bottle in it to thaw the milk.  Next, he called Dr. Banner, describing Andrea's symptoms. 

"Do you have a thermometer?" asked Banner.

"I don't know," answered Bucky, going back into the bedroom.  "Andrea?  Do you have a thermometer?"

"In the bathroom," she said wearily.  "It's the type that you place on the forehead."

He found it, turned it on and placed it against Andrea's forehead.  It read 102.3° which he passed on to Dr. Banner, who was quiet for a moment.

"Does she hurt all over?  Are her breasts hot, red, and swollen?"

He asked Andrea who answered yes to the first question, then she surprised him when she pulled her top up for Bucky to look.  Gingerly, he touched the skin visible above her bra, confirming that one breast was hot and swollen.  There was a reddish area on it. 

"It's mastitis," said Dr. Banner.  "She's going to need some antibiotics and pain killers.  She also needs to express milk or breastfeed for a few minutes to relieve the pressure, not a full feeding.  It's okay for the baby.  I can phone the prescription into a pharmacy, but you'll have to pick it up."

"Okay, do that," said Bucky, giving him the number of a pharmacy nearby.  "I'll call my mother to come sit with her while I pick it up."

After Bruce told him more that could be done for Andrea's symptoms, Bucky called his mother who did one better, stopping off herself to pick up the medication.  When she entered the apartment and saw him feeding Lily, she felt a burst of pride in her son.  She put the medication on the counter, took her coat off and placed it over a chair with her purse then held her hands out to him.

"Please, may I feed her?"

"She's almost done but I think she's still hungry as Andrea didn't feed her for a while," he said.  "She was so sick she was in a deep sleep."

"I remember those days," she smiled, as she cradled the little girl in her arms.  "What did Bruce say?"

"To give her the medication right away, get her to drink lots of fluids and to either breastfeed or express her milk to get it going again."  He blushed.  "I don't have to do that for her, do I?"

"I think she can manage that," smiled his mother.  "Why don't you give her the medications and see if she's up to trying to feed Lily for a few minutes.  If not, she can put an ice pack on it.  You could always massage it for her.  That helps as well."

"Ma, please, don't joke."

"I'm not," she chuckled.  "Your dad used to do it for me when I got it with you or your sister.  It's not a sexual thing.  You're just trying to relieve the pain."

Bucky grabbed the medication, taking it to Andrea, not wanting to hear about breasts from his mother.  After getting a glass of water from the bathroom he sat on the bed next to her, and read the medication instructions.  Taking a pill out he touched her arm, as her eyes were closed.

"Andrea, sweetie, I have the antibiotics," he said quietly.

"Where's Lily?" she asked, as she turned over.

"My mom's here.  She's feeding Lily."

He gave her the pill, then handed her the water, encouraging her to drink it all.  She handed the glass back and laid against the pillow looking up at him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For what?" he answered.  "You got sick, that's all.  You looked after me when I cut my knee.  I'm just returning the favour."  He put the thermometer on her forehead, happy to see her temperature had come down a couple of degrees since he gave her the painkillers before he fed Lily.  "The pills already did their thing with your temperature."

She smiled sadly.  "You're so nice."

"Thank you.  So are you.  I bought you flowers."

"You did?  Why?"

"Because I've had such long days, and you still made me something to eat every day.  No one's ever looked after me like that since I was a kid.  You make me feel special."

"You are special."

Taking her hand in his he stroked it, then raised it to his lips and kissed her fingers.  She didn't pull her hand away.  Swallowing, he released it, then leaned down and kissed her forehead.  A warm hand cupped his cheek as he pulled away a little.  Her eyes stared intently into his then went to his lips. 

"You're sick," he murmured, wanting to kiss her more than anything.

"I know, but I still want to.  It's not catching."

"Get better first."  He stroked her hair.  "I'm not going anywhere."

"Alright," she whispered.  "Will you bring Lily to me so I can nurse her?"

"Yeah.  I'll send my mom in while I make you some soup."

He got up, but Andrea took his hand, keeping him near the bed.

"Thank you for looking after me."

With a squeeze of her hand, he pulled away and left the room.  His mother had Lily on her shoulder, gently rubbing her back. 

"She wants to try to feed Lily for a few minutes, just to relieve the pressure.  I'm going to make her some soup."

When he came out of the pantry with a can and began looking for a pot, Winnifred stood near him.

"You're a good man, Bucky," she murmured.  "Someday, you'll be a good husband and father."

He smiled self-consciously and opened the can of soup as his mother took Lily into the bedroom.  Stirring it with a can of water, he tried to focus on that, but his mind kept going back to how natural it felt to take care of Andrea and Lily.  It just seemed like he knew what to do.  Leaving the soup to warm up at a lower temperature, he got a vase out, filled it with water and poured the little packet of plant food into it, using a wooden spoon to stir it up.  As he arranged the flowers in the vase, he pulled a red rose out of the bunch and placed it in a smaller single stem vase. 

Something had changed between them since he got home and realized she was sick.  Earlier in the week Andrea said she wanted to take it slow, and he respected that, but she also wanted to kiss him when he was sitting on the bed next to her.  Maybe it was the next step in their relationship.  But he wouldn't do anything until she felt better.  In the meantime, he liked taking care of his family.  That made him smile at the realization that they were his family now.  Perhaps that was the change he was sensing.  Taking care of them both had changed how he and Andrea thought of each other.  It was the best feeling in the world.

Part 7>>

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