#i wonder what his id looks like does it fold does it roll down

[albonium]

[offbrandkyoya]

90 horn dog

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cw: slight nsfw

You laugh and glance at your boyfriend, who’s already looking at you with a pouty face. You shake your head in disapproval. He rolls his eyes then leans to your ear, “You liked that.” You gasp with a flushed face. You smack his head and he starts to laugh. “Not funny!” “It is.” “No!” Scaramouche smiles and you only turn your head away. “I’m not talking to you.” You say with folded arms. “Oh really?”

Scaramouche moves closer and you feel his hand rub your back. You’re still not looking at him but your face is really red. He plants a kiss on your cheek as his hand moves downwards. He tugs on your shirt before moving down to your legs. You shiver and his hand moves back up and stays firm on your-

“Yn.” You scream and not only push your boyfriend away, you punch him, in the face. You ignore his groans as you stand straight, looking like you just witnessed someone die. It was Albedo and Kaeya, who were now very concerned at what just happened. “A-Albedo! Kaeya!” Kaeya eyes your boyfriend, who was hunched over and holding his nose for dear life. “I’m sorry for…uh…scaring you…” Albedo says, feeling a bit scared.

You laugh nervously. “It’s fine! Nothing was happening! Nothing!” You switched the conversation quickly once you notice the two guys holding hands. You applaud, “Congrats on making up!” Albedo blushes with a small smile. “Thank you. I feel a bit more relaxed.” “That’s good.” Albedo opens his mouth but Scaramouche interrupts him. “Yn.” He calls your name in a deep voice. You jump but refuse to look at him. “What?” “I’m bleeding.” “WHAT?!”

Instantly, you turn your head to him and sure enough, blood is dripping down his nose. You panic and hold his face, squishing it a little. “Im so sorry! I didn’t think I hit you that hard!” Kaeya places a hand on his hip. “Why’d you hit him anyway?” “Because he-“ Memories of what happened a few minutes ago surfaced and you start feeling weak. “…he made me mad.” You mumble. “When doesn’t he make you mad?” Venti and Heizou joined the conversation. Heizou immediately laughs upon seeing Scaramouche’s condition.

“Holy shit! What’d you do?!” Scaramouche rolls his eyes. You spark up and push your boyfriend into Ventis arms. “Venti! Good timing! Can you pretty please take care of him? I can’t leave my stand.” Venti shrugs, “Sure. Not like I have a choice.” He drags your boyfriend to the nearest bathroom and you let out a sigh of relief. You look at Albedo. “What did you want to tell me?” “Oh right. My sister might be coming and if she does, I was wondering if you can also look after my stand so I can hang out with her. Is that okay?” You squeal and cover your mouth in excitement. “I can finally meet your sister?! Of course I’d look after your painting! Id guard it with my entire life!” You salute.

He laughs, “Thank you.” He pulls on Kaeya’s arm and they leave to Albedos artwork. Heizou crosses his arms and leans his shoulder onto yours. “So, why are you pissed at Scaramouche?” You blush, “I’m not!” “Then why’d you punch him?” “B-Because!” Heizou smirks, “You told us you got mad but now you’re saying you weren’t?” You sigh and he noticed your uneasiness. “What is it, Yn?”

You bite your lip before saying, “I chickened out.” Heizou tilts his head, “About what?” You close your eyes tight as you think not seeing him would make this situation better. “Scara, wants to go further. Further than kissing…” “Oh.” Heizou straightens himself properly. “You don’t want to?” “I-I don’t know. A part of me likes it but a part of me is also scared…” Heizou nods, “It’s okay to feel that way. It’s your guys first time right?” You nod. “Yn, Scaramouche loves you like a lot. I’m sure he’ll understand if you tell him how you feel.” “You think so?” “I know so.”

You smile at your friend. “Thanks.” Heizou ruffles your hair. “Of course.” You notice Venti come back but not with Scaramouche so you decide to go see him. “Can you look after my stand?” Heizou nods. “Sure.” “Thank you!” You head towards the men’s bathroom with ease. Opening the door, you see Scaramouche checking himself out in the mirror. He was mostly checking to see if his nose wasn’t broken.

You start to feel guilty and head in. “Scara?” He turns around quickly at hearing your voice. “Yn. What’re you doing here?” “You didn’t come with Venti.” You stand next to him and place a hand on his cheek. “I’m really sorry for punching you.” “It’s okay.” “Does it hurt?” “No, not that much.” You frown and he only smiles. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.” He says and you look at him wide eyed. “Don’t say that.” You respond.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I was…” You put your hand down and cling onto your shirt. “I was scared, I guess. I know we talked about it before but that was all jokes and now it felt serious and I didn’t know how to react.” You look down, ashamed. “I’m sorry. That’s a weird reason.” You continue and he pats your head. “It’s not. I got ahead of myself, that’s all.” You look at him with watery eyes. “You’re really not mad?” Scaramouche chuckles. “No, I’m not mad.” You smile a little and hold his face. “I still feel bad about punching you.” “You should be. It hurt.”

You pout and squish his face. “I’m sorry.” You say in a baby voice. He eyes you and you let go with a laugh. “You know what’ll make the pain go away?” “What?” He smirks, “A kiss.” You blush then sigh, “You cheeky man.” You hold his face once more and kiss him. He places a hand on your hip while the other is behind your head. You guys pull away and you rest your head on his chest. “I love you.” You tell him. “I love you too.” You let go and hold his hand. “Let’s get out of here. It’s gross being in the bathroom.” “Truly.”

Heizou awaits your arrival by your painting. He’s not going to lie, this was pretty boring. He loves you and supports you but his legs are hurting from walking around so much. Especially knowing he can’t be with Kazuha.

‘Speak of the devil..’ Kazuha makes his way towards him. “Where’s Yn?” He asks and Heizou tilts his head to the direction you left. “Bathroom.” “I see.” Kazuha goes to study your painting while Heizou watches him. Kazuha would sneak glances at him and it was vey very obvious. It almost made Heizou laugh.

Suddenly, Heizou stands right next to him, leans down to his ear, and whispers, “Wanna do it?” Kazuha’s face burns and fully looks at him. “Uh…I…” Heizou smirks at him while Kazuha processes what he should do. “Sure.” Heizou smiles more and grabs his hand, leading him to the exit.

By the time you and Scaramouche return, Venti stood by your painting. You gasped and stomp your way to the man. “Where’s Heizou?!” “Don’t know.” You groan, “He had ONE job!” “Yn!” The three of you turn to the front and see Aether, Xiao, and Lumine making their way. “Aether!” You beam. “You’re finally here!” Aether nods. “Sorry it took us so long.” You shake your head. “It’s cool!” Then you face Lumine. “I didn’t know you were coming!” “Of course!” She laughs then she spots Scaramouche. “Well if it isn’t THE Scaramouche! Yn’s hot boyfriend!”

He blushes a little. “Uh, hello…” Lumine walks around him in a circle, observing his body structure and appearance. You blush as well, embarrassed by her actions. Lumine places a hand on your shoulder. “He’s cool.” “How did any of that help?” Aether asked his twin. “Because I just know! I may be a lesbian but I know a hot guy when I see one!” She then giggles, “Luckily you don’t have that problem.” Aether blushes really hard before kicking his sisters legs. “OW! WHAT DID I DO?!” “EVERYTHING.”

Xiao chuckles a little and Aether pouts. “That’s not funny!” “A little but I appreciate you thinking I’m hot.” “ENOUGH.” Scaramouche narrows his eyes at them. “Your friends are weirdos.” You raise a brow, “They’re your friends too?” “But you met them first.” “Okay die.” While the twins fight, Xiao asks the rest of you, “Where’s Heizou and Kazuha?”

Venti shrugs. “We don’t know.” “Wait,” You cross your arms. “Kazuhas not here too? Is there a party I don’t know about?” Xiao shakes his head. “No, I haven’t seen him.” Scaramouche looks the side. “Two guys disappear out of nowhere at the same time. What could that mean?” You blink, “That’s what we’re trying to figure out, Scara.” “You’re stupid.” “What did I do?!”

- yes you went into the men’s bathroom #idgaf

- ughhhhhhhhh the only way this is taking so long then it should is because I don’t want you guys to read long ass posts so I’m cutting it and stuff

- I feel bad when I just yap a lot and so it might seem weird when I end the chp sometimes 😭

- Dw next smau I’ll try to fix this writing structure :3

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[amberthefantasy]

Nitimur in Vetitum

chapter eight: nupitae (wedding)

"On November 28th 43 BCE Livia Drusilla married her first husband, Tiberius Claudius Nero, by all accounts it was also the first time she met Octavian Caesar." -The Life of Livia by Adelaide Lyons

11th Day Before the Kalends of September (22nd August)

Lucretia rolled her neck back and stretched her fingers. The half finished tunic on the loom before her was almost taunting. She'd promised Gaius that she would make him a new tunic to commemorate his ascension to Consul. What she hadn't mentioned is she hadn't made any new clothes since she made one for her father after he was named Dictator... two years ago. It wasn't that she had forgotten how to weave, it was that her hands didn't like doing it anymore. 

For the past day she'd been attempting to weave the tunic from some dyed wool that she'd purchased at market, but her body didn't want to and now she was hurting and tired. "Lucretia?" Octavia's voice rang through the house.

"In here!" Lucretia called back, standing as she did. When Octavia entered the room Lucretia walked over to kiss her cheek. Her cousin was heavily pregnant, Lucretia noted. "It's been too long my dear." The two cousins hadn't seen each other very often over the past year. Octavia was three years older, married and had friends of her own. It was no wonder she preferred to spend time with them and her mother, who Gaius had told Lucretia was beginning to show her age. 

"It truly has," Octavia smiled, "you must come with Scribonia and I to market one day."

Lucretia smiled stiffly and motioned for Octavia to take a seat, "maybe, I am quite busy."

Octavia raised an eyebrow, "you just don't like her," she accused. It was true, Lucretia didn't like the wife of Publius Scipio, she was always asking after Gaius, and the one time they'd been in a room together she'd been falling all over him. "Oh, you're jealous."

Lucretia blinked, "what would I be jealous of? We are both married and--"

"--don't play the fool. I see how you both look at Gaius." Octavia rolled her eyes at Lucretia who slipped onto the seat next to her.

"Our brother is free to be with any woman he pleases." Lucretia said sharply.

"But you want it to be you?" Octavia asked.

"It does not matter. Gaius and I have more important worries. We all do." Octavia sighed at that.

"Yes we do... any more plans I need to know about?" Ah yes, Octavia was still slightly annoyed that Gaius hadn't told her about his bid for Consul before he'd made it.

"None that I know of, but I'll be sure to keep you involved." The two cousins smiled at each other.

--

Ides of September (13th September)

Agrippa ran his hand through Lucretia's hair. "So beautiful," he murmured.

"So handsome," she responded. He laughed and kissed down her neck.

The sound of a door closing cut them short. Pulling apart to see Gaius walking into the atrium. His lips were pursed and eyebrows furrowed. Agrippa sighed. Well, that stopped anything else happening today.

"What happened?" Agrippa asked.

"Lepidus has joined Antonius," Gaius spat.

"Joined?" Lucretia hissed.

"Yes, their armies are now one and Rome is outnumbered by thousands."

Agrippa stood up and began to pace, joining Gaius in his own back and forward. "So... what's the plan?" Lucretia asked.

Gaius paused, "I don't have one. I wouldn't be here if I did." He snapped. Lucretia blinked at him.

"Well. Give me a moment." Lucretia responded in a similarly harsh tone. Gaius sighed and glanced at Agrippa who shrugged. Lucretia stared off for a moment, thinking.

"We have to bring Antonius back into the fold or he will forever remain a threat. Reach out to him, personally, offer amnesty," Lucretia said after a moment.

"Amnesty..." Gaius said incredulously, "we almost killed each other."

"And we are running out of money. He must be as well." Lucretia raised a brow.

"We are?" Agrippa asked, looking at Gaius again who winced.

"Somewhat," he admitted. Agrippa rolled his head back. 

"Send a letter. Offer friendship. And wait." Lucretia said firmly. Gaius looked into her eyes for a moment then nodded.

"I'm trusting you on this Lucretia. Don't be wrong."

--

Marcus Antonius.

I, Gaius Julius Caesar, as Consul of Rome hereby offer you amnesty on the condition that you assist me in removing the Assassins from their place in the east. Reply to this letter with your terms and I will consider them

Gaius Julius Caesar, Consul of Rome.

Senatus Populusque Romanus.

Gaius Julius.

Marcus Lepidus and myself are willing to speak peace with you.

Our terms are simple. I will take the governorship of the provinces of Cisalpine and Transalpine Gaul. And Greece and the East when the traitors have been dealt with. Lepidus will receive Narbonensis and Spain. 

You will gain control of Africa, Sardinia and Sicily.

If these terms are amenable to you. Please inform us at the earliest possible time.

Marcus Antonius.

Marcus Antonius.

Join me in the forests near Bononia on the VIII Day Before the Kalends of December.

Gaius Julius Caesar, Consul of Rome.

Senatus Populusque Romanus.

Gaius Julius.

I will see you in the forests.

Marcus Antonius

--

6th Day Before the Kalends of December (26th November)

GAIVS IVLIVS CAESAR. Boninia, Italia.

Gaius looked around as he and Agrippa rode their horses through the trees. The forest was dark but he could see little clearing with tents scattered throughout the trees. "It's the middle of fucking nowhere," Agrippa said, annoyed.

Gaius rolled his eyes, "it's a secret meeting. That’s the point."

Agrippa grumbled under his breath as they came to a stop and dismounted near the soldiers who were guarding the largest clearing. Gaius pulled his gladius out of its sheath and handed it to one of the men.

They passed some of the guards and headed up the small hill. "They could be waiting inside and we wouldn’t stand a chance. That’s the way I’d do it. Get us out here on our own and finish it," Agrippa looked around suspiciously. Gaius chuckled slightly.

"Yes. That is the way you’d do it. I think they’ll use us to get what they want, and then get rid of us afterwards," Gaius paused and turned to Agrippa. "That's the way I'd do it." He frowned sarcastically.

Agrippa pursed his lips, "alright then." Gaius chuckled again and the two continued up the hill. As they went to pass the final two soldiers one placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him and Gaius stepped closer. "Gaius Julius Caesar," he said softly. The soldier released him and let him continue on.

"Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa," Agrippa said behind him.

--

"Marcus Antonius," Gaius called as he pushed aside a partition to enter the smaller back area where the two other generals sat. He opened his arms wide as saw Agrippa smirk slightly in his peripheral vision.

"You’re two days late," Antonius said sharply.

"Oh, at least," Gaius smirked. Antonius stood with a chuckle and the two greeted each other with a grasp and a kiss. "Lepidus," Gaius greeted the other general who was lying on a klinai , eyes closed.

"Gaius. What a pleasure to see you," the sarcasm dripping from his voice was palpable.

Antonius retook his seat. And Gaius chuckled as he took the spare one across from him. He leant down and placed his arms over his stomach. "I agree to all your terms. You can have Egypt and the East. You can have all the rest and I’ll take fucking Africa, thank you very much."

Antonius glanced at Lepidus who Gaius saw raise his brows in shock. "Next… I’m right out of money," Gaius admitted as he flipped his feet onto the table. Lepidus sat up slowly. "We’re going to need eight hundred million, at least, to start a war and see it through."

Lepidus leant forward to grab a nut, "Why do we need to start a war?--" he smashed the nut-- "Brutus and Cassius have run away."

"We can't just leave them sitting in Greece with a big fucking army," Gaius snapped.

"It was your father they killed. You can avenge him."

Gaius felt a spark of anger shoot through him and he leant closer to Lepidus. "Julius Caesar was my father and I will avenge him." They stared into each other's eyes for a moment.

"What are you suggesting?" Antonius' voice cut through their staring.

Gaius pulled away, grabbing a grape as he went. "I’m suggesting that we think about the richest senators and knights in Rome. All the people behind the murder of Caesar. Anyone still backing Brutus and Cassius. Anyone who supports the Republic—" he smirked- "then we butcher them and seize all their assets." He popped the grape into his mouth. "On some legal pretext," he added as an afterthought.

"That would be at least a hundred senators, and what? a thousand knights?" Antonius said.

"Mm, nearer two." Lepidus began to laugh and motioned towards Gaius. Gaius smirked back.

Antonius leant back in his seat with a considering expression. "You can’t be taking this seriously? This is insane." Lepidus said when he saw Antonius' expression.

Gaius took his feet off the table, "I’ve started a list."

"So... how are you going to tell Lucretia you're betrothed?" Agrippa asked. Gaius sighed.

--

Two Days Later- 4th Day Before the Kalends of December (28th November)

LUCRETIA IULIA CAESARIS. Rome, Italia.

Lucretia glanced at Gaius out of the corner of her eye. They were laying in her bed, a position they'd been in a number of times in the last day. Since Gaius had told her he'd betrothed himself to Antonius' step-daughter as part of the treaty. 

"Another fucking wedding. I've always hated them," Lucretia said.

"You're lucky to be invited," Gaius responded with a sigh.

"Not as lucky as you," she teased back.

Gaius laughed and grabbed Lucretia by the waist, pulling her close. They kissed deeply for a moment before the sound of a door opening made them jerk back. "When’s your husband coming home?" 

"Lucretia? Lucretia?" Octavia's voice floated closer. Gaius rolled off and pulled the blanket over his head just as she entered the room.

"Octavia. Cousin. I wasn’t expecting you so soon," Lucretia said. Octavia raised a brow as her eyes took in Lucretia's half covered form and the lump beside her.

"Neither was our brother, I see," she said. Octavia grabbed the sheet and pulled it off Gaius' face. "I hope you’re wearing a toga today."

Gaius clicked his tongue, "Livius is very informal."

"Don't be ridiculous," Octavia snapped.

"You are very lucky to be invited," Lucretia teased. Gaius and Octavia stared at each other for a moment before he clicked his teeth again and began to get up, "Okay, fine. I’ll go home and change."

Gaius stood, taking a blanket with him as he left. When he reached the doorway, Gaius paused and dropped the blanket with a smirk. Lucretia tried to contain the smile and chuckle that forced its way up her throat.

Octavia turned back to Lucretia with a scowl, "how long has this been going on?"

Lucretia blushed, "Octavia… you know we’ve always liked each other. Even when we were children, remember? Our mothers would always have us play together."

"What I know is, my brother is engaged to Clodia Pulchra, and you’re married to Silvius Fabius," Octavia said in a tone that suggested she didn't care about anything else.

"I... I know," Lucretia said softly.

"I’ll wait for you in the atrium."

--

Lucretia smiled at Gaius and Agrippa as they joined them near the entrance to the house. "Hello Lucretia," Agrippa muttered, eyebrows pulling in when he saw the sadness in her eyes when she looked at Gaius. He placed a hand on her shoulder in comfort and she smiled. "Let's go!" Silvius' voice called from behind them and the party of Lucretia, Agrippa, Gaius, Octavia and Scribonia turned to enter.

They pushed through to the front, Gaius and Agrippa pushing people out of the way for the women. Lucretia caught sight of a pig being led into the room. "It’s always a mistake to go with a pig. Far too intelligent," Agrippa muttered to them.

Just then Lucretia caught sight of someone walking down the stairs. Livia. She was dressed in the traditional white and gold dress with a bright yellow veil covering her face. As she walked forward Lucretia saw Gaius shift slightly. "Welcome, friends, to the wedding of Tiberius Claudius Nero and Livia Drusilla. Great Juno, Goddess of Marriage and Fertility--" Cicero began, and the pig interrupted him by beginning to squeal as it was pulled down-- "accept this gift of life…"

"They can sort of sense what’s coming," Agrippa said. "Pigs." Lucretia understood now. He was talking to Gaius not only about the pig, but about the men. The men in the list they'd compiled of their enemies. Many would sense something was coming. The pig's squeal was cut off as it bled out.

"Livia Drusilla, are you ready?" Cicero asked.

"Yes," Livia's soft voice came from under the vale.

"Tiberius Claudius Nero, do you agree?" Lucretia finally looked at the man Livia was marrying. He was a Senator, but Lucretia didn't know anything else about him. "I do," he said.

"Then she is yours," Cicero said with a wave of his hands as his wife placed the newly married couple's hands together. Cheers erupted and Lucretia saw Gaius slowly begin the clap too.

--

Lucretia rolled her neck as she stretched out on the klinai . Octavia and Scribonia were gossiping about something. Gaius, Agrippa and herself sat in silence. Watching. Listening to snippets of conversation as people passed by. "Look at them, Agrippa. Old, fat, lazy, complacent," Gaius said in disgust, looking over at the Senator's near the bride.

"My worry is how to do it. Killing over two thousand men will take the best part of a legion going into the city at once," Agrippa said softly. Gaius and Lucretia both hummed in agreement. "It’s impossible at night, streets are rammed with wagons. It’s impossible in the daylight, streets are jammed with people."

Gaius considered for a moment, "we’ll put a price on their heads. A big one."

Lucretia and Agrippa looked at eachother, then back to Gaius. "Their own slaves will betray them. Their wives. Their neighbours. They’ll be torn apart. All we have to do is block the city gates." The three conspirators smirked at each other.

Gaius looked back to the other Senators. Lucretia followed his eyes and saw Livia watching him too. "If Livia keeps staring at you, even her husband might notice," Scribonia's voice cut in. 

Gaius looked back at them, then he glanced up. "I want a house like this."

"Well, you can have this one soon," Lucretia said.

"I like Livius," Gaius said softly. 

Agrippa's eyes snapped to him, "you were there. They want him on the list."

"I’ll give them Cicero instead."

"Cicero?" Lucretia asked, Gaius hummed. "He’s backed us from the start. I like him."

Gaius looked at Lucretia, "I'll get Livius taken off in return."

"No, not Livius. You’ll never save him," Agrippa said definitively.

Lucretia saw Livius stand and leave the room. Gaius saw him too and took a final drink from his cup before standing too, "I can try."

Lucretia and Agrippa locked eyes and both sighed.

--

Lucretia watched people move around from her new spot near the wall. A place where she was able to see everyone and everything. She spotted Gaius reentering the room. His eyes instantly sought her out and he walked over to her. "Scribonia told me you're fucking Cicero's wife. And her."

Gaius looked at Lucretia and sighed, "it's nothing--"

"--I don't care if you fuck other women Gaius," Lucretia cut him off, "I'm fucking Agrippa too. I would just like to know."

Gaius smiled softly, "I'll be sure to inform you of every woman I fuck dear sister." Lucretia rolled her eyes. Just then Publilia, Cicero's wife passed by and glanced at Gaius. He looked after her, then to Lucretia. 

"Go. Enjoy yourself. We have forever. She is but a fleeting moment." Lucretia hissed. Gaius smiled and followed the other woman up the stairs. Lucretia caught sight of Livia following him. That would be interesting. Agrippa joined her a moment later.

"I should have told you," he muttered.

"Yes." Lucretia agreed. "But I know now, and well... since Gaius has taken company with another..."

Agrippa smirked at Lucretia and looked her up and down. "Yes, we're so alone..." 

"Lucretia!" Octavia called. She sighed and turned to her cousin. "Where is my brother?"

"Upstairs." Lucretia nodded to the direction he'd gone and Octavia scowled. "It's fine. Cicero doesn't care." Octavia pursed her lips a bit and nodded.

Soon Scribonia joined them too, muttering something about Livia and rudeness that Lucretia didn't pay attention to. Still watching the stairs for Gaius to reappear and when he did, she instantly walked in his direction. Octavia was faster though and she reached their brother first.

"Your affair with Cicero’s wife is indiscreet and unseemly. It will damage you. That’s before we talk about Lucretia. Do you want to be taken seriously or not? Grow up." Octavia snapped before she spun and walked away. 

Agrippa and Gaius locked eyes and smirked. "You were right. I can’t save Livius," Gaius said after a moment.

--

LIVIA DRUSILLA. a few minutes earlier.

Livia paused as she reached the top of the stairs. She didn't know exactly why she had followed the young Consul, all she knew was that she hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her since she'd first seen him. The sound of moaning made her narrow her eyes and continue forward. When she reached the partition that blocked off the bed from the hall she paused again before pulling the fabric aside. Gaius was sitting on the bed head rolling back as Publilia kneeled before him. Gaius rolled his head back and locked eyes with Livia, her eyes widened slightly when he let out an exaggerated moan and bucked his hips forward slightly. Livia felt her breathing speed up as she watched. After a few seconds she let out a soft gasp and stepped back, flipping the partition back into place. Livia leaned against the wall, letting her head press into it as she tried to steady her breathing.

After a few more moments the fabric was moved aside again as Publilia, who was still fixing her hair, stepped out from behind it. She paused for a moment when she saw Livia and then continued on. Gaius Julius soon followed the woman out. He stopped in front of Livia and they locked eyes, a shiver ran down Livia's spine as he turned to walk away. "She's Cicero's wife."

Gaius Julius paused, "yes." He turned back halfway.

"I thought Cicero was your friend," Livia said.

Gaius Julius turned completely, "he is." He began to fix the bracer on his wrist as he stepped closer to her. "He married her because her family’s rich. That’s why everybody gets married. Money, power, family. They’re the only things that matter." He came to a stop right in front of her. Their faces were closer enough that Livia could feel his breath as he spoke. 

Livia hummed. "To the son of a moneylender I’m sure that’s true," she said softly as she leaned closer.

"Grandson," Gaius Julius corrected as his eyes flicked down to Livia's lips. He leant in completely and captured her lips in a kiss. Livia kissed back, their mouths opening as she deepened the kiss and their tongues slipped into each other's mouths. Livia reached her hand up to place it on his neck. After a few seconds of kissing Livia began to slip her hand up Gaius Julius' leg. He pulled back and let out a breathy moan. Livia grippied him through his tunic and Gaius Julius groaned.

"That's my bed," Livia said. She released him and Gaius Julius pulled back. He let out a soft laugh, breathing heavily as he stared at her. Eventually he smirked and walked away.

Livia smiled slightly. Then what she'd just done fully hit her and she leant back against the wall with a gasp and a smile.

NiV masterlist / full masterlist

[daycare-vore-off]

🌶🟣: raising my own sassy eyebrow at him I couldn't help the smile, Rascal he is. Wonder if he's going to use it as bait later.. not interrupting him I started to follow as I remember hearing about lunar while I was in his stomach. "I'll have to be sure to thank him" I'll take care of the sweater until then.

Wait he knitts!! I couldn't help the happy swing of my tail or the ruffle of my feathers not that they actually ruffled being weighed down with his mix drink of saliva. I personally can't get the hang of knitting it hurts my wrist more then crocheting does. But God knows the mountain of yarn I own.

Wait focus he's talking! The hallway did looked up kept which with everyone here I didn't expect anything less, they really take good care of this sections. "Noted" I will have to take my cloths there after my clean up.

Rolling my eyes at the employee part. Lucky bastards get a good set up and leave cuz there chicken? "They sound like scarty cats" i wanted to say the valugar word version but im not keen on being that curd to a place so welcoming.

oh wait eclipses, and lunar stay here too. I knew mango did, that's really cool! I mean I knew they had to stay somewhere but it's nice they get there own place, fazz Corp or what ever I know isn't the nicest. Hold so where does glitch live? In the Arcade sections?

Before I could ask he left, I'll just ask when he gets back. "Alright glitchy"

Turning back to the apartment I mentally grumbled how it was much nicer then my own. And the stupid butt heads didn't even have to worry about driving like come on! Ide snoop more in the room later but for now I need to wash.

Granted it was nice to smell like one of my favorite fruits. I never liked pina coladas fully, I mean I drank em for sure. And I love the fruit separately, coconuts were my favorite! But never like the drink as much as you think a coconut fan should. Though it was still a wonderful scent.

Carefully gathering the uniform I went into the bathroom to take care of myself. Afterwords after carefully washing my new necklace and drying it with a soft washcloth I noted how I still smelt like glitch..damn did they make the scent strong. Like dude I've made cold press soaps before and this is quality stuff if it sticks like this. Color me impress.

Fixing myself up I did find styling gel, I didn't dare touch the tooth brush I saw. My wings no longer there having dispelled them. Out in the dorm I saw a full length mirror next to the closet. "Heh people would think I actually work here" my expression soften as I took in my attire.. I did miss working with children.

I'm forgetting something.. right right cloths. Humming softly to myself a note slipping out every so often. It was a soft soothing, melody. I followed where glitch had said, glad it was just down the hall cuz at times my direction sense is horrid. Doing the adjustments for a small load I started it all up.

My arms adjusted a bit still not used to sharing my appearance, it was nice..this all been just really, really nice.

*there are footsteps with jingling bells that stop behind you,Eclipse and Glitch don't wear bell and the shadow that's cast isn't tall enough to be Sun or Moon, so that just leaves-*

🔵🌕⚪:Hello! *He's holding a folded rainbow colored sweater in his arms while smiling at you cheerfully* Glitchy told me you needed to borrow one of my sweaters so I chose one of my favorites.

He got into a fight with the mean suited people so I brought one for you instead of him while they busy were fighting about....*he pauses, looking a little confused*

well I don't really know what they were fighting about just that they were really angry at each other. *He goes back to smiling, rocking back and forth on his heels, waiting for you to take the sweater*

*seems you may need to wait a bit longer to ask Glitch those questions...or you could ask Lunar*

[thebattleofstarcourt]

༉‧₊˚✧ paradox

eddie munson x cheerleader!reader

summary: you might be a cheerleader with a bit of a mean streak, but you’re not an idiot. you knew eddie munson isn’t a satanic cult leader, or that he killed chrissy cunningham. and for some reason, you couldn’t leave high school without telling him that.

warnings: reader has no specified race, ethinicity, or gender id. however, they are implied to be affected by misogyny.

a/n: requests r open !!!!

“tonni, do you seriously not know how to fold a shirt?” you said, staring at the wadded-up polo in her hands. being the only two cheerleaders who actually showed up to volunteer at the school after the earthquake, you were naturally paired together at the folding station. this was despite the fact that you could barely stand her.

tonni was one of the few girls you’ve met who’s stupidity unintentionally makes her meaner. she’s rarely ever consciously malicious – save for the time she egged ryan jenkin’s car for standing her up at prom – but her knack for gossip and her talent for the dramatics makes her someone who you can only stand for short periods at a time before she becomes unbearingly annoying.

combine that with the fact that your ‘84 cavalier you spent the last year saving up for fell into the ground a couple months ago, and your resolve was paper thin.

“my mom usually folds mine!” she protested, a permed curl getting stuck in her lipgloss as she pouted. “i can’t believe she dragged me to this without me knowing a damn thing. it’s so humilating.”

“i highly doubt the families whose houses just got ripped open by an earthquake care about how stupid you look.” you said.

“whatever.” she huffed. “this just means we’re nicer people. you wanna know who i saw walking out of deb’s wearing brand new acid-wash jordache’s?”

“not really,” you admitted. 

“fucking stacey.” she growled, completely ignoring your protests. “you know what she said the other day? she said chrissy didn’t have what it takes to be captain. like, oh my god she died, like, a week ago.”

“two months.” you corrected.

“i think she’s just jealous,” she said, as if she wasn’t too. “like, i wanted to be cheer captain too, but i’m not gonna disparage the dead just ‘cause! plus, we all know you would’ve been head cheerleader, anyways. the whole swim team has the hots for you, and they’re way hotter than the basketball players.”

“god, just shut up.” you said, rolling your eyes. the only thing that tonni ever did intentionally was throw herself constant pity parties. “your whining is giving me a fucking headache.”

your voice was just stern enough to simultaneously scare tonni to silence while alerting ms. kelley – one of the supervisors who was overlooking the stations – of a commotion. 

“is something wrong over here?” she asked, causing tonni’s eyes to beam. 

“oh no, we were just teasing each other.” she laughed, knocking her elbow with yours. “although, we were wondering if there was any way we could switch stations for the day?” she asked, looking down at the clothes in front of her. “i think i’d be much better an making pb-and-j’s than folding laundry.”

the older woman smiled. “of course, i’m sure we can find somewhere else to stick the two of you.”

“actually, i’m allergic to peanuts.” you lied. “so i’m gonna stay here.”

“since when – ”

“oh, of course! tonni you can switch with,” she turned around, brown eyes scanning over the room intently. “eddie!” she said, motioning the boy over, 

the boy in question – eddie munson, fresh from hiding and doing his best to ride the high of being a free man – slummed over, profusely avoiding eye contact with his two classmates in front of him.

“eddie, could you switch stations with tonni?” ms kelley asked him. he gave a silent nod.

“hold on,” tonni said, lowering her voice to a pathetic attempt at a whisper, “you can’t stick her with him.” she pointed between the both of you. “we’re cheerleaders, ms. kelley. you know what he does to cheerleaders.”

she sighed, in all her guidance counselor glory. “considering the fact his charges were dropped, i think she’ll be fine.”

tonni’s smile was replaced with a displeased frown. she looked back at you for support as you rolled your eyes, beyond finished with her dramatics.

“fine,” she huffs again, walking towards the kitchen. “but just so you know, the blood’s on your hands, ms kelley!”

“i’ll take the risk.” ms. kelley said, giving eddie and you a court nod before walking away.

“she’s so fucking stupid,” you mumbled under your breath.  

eddie plainly joined the spot next to you, doing his best to ignore your prescnse entirely as he began working through the massive pile of laundry tonni neglected to fold.

following suit, you began working through a new basket steve harrington dropped off a little bit ago. at the top sat a pair of dingy white boxer briefs, looking worned out to death. apprehensively, you picked one pair up by the waistband and held it under the ceiling lights. dozens of indiscernrable wet patches littered the garment, and you dropped it back on the table in disgust.

“jesus fuckin’ christ.”

eddie, who was failing at making it seem like he was ignoring you, scrunched his nose and dragged the briefs to the garbage can next to the table with the back of his hand. “gross.” he said, wiping the back of his hand on his jeans. 

you mumbled a quiet thank you before the two of you fell back into a shrewd silence. despite this, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him regardless. and every third time or so, his gaze would skip from the clothes in front of him, to you, back to the clothes in front of him. 

the cycle continued for the next thirty minutes, trying to egg him on so this wouldn’t be as violently uncomfortable as it was, but to no avail. his nervous energy radiated off of him like a wildfire; vibrations of tension rippled through the woobly fold-up tables like the earthquake that brought them here in the first place.

you couldn’t blame him, you guess. considering he saw someone die, was falsely accused of murder, hid from cops and rabid mobs for a week until the earthquake shattered his friend’s kneecap, when he ultimately blew his cover to carry him to the hospital.

especially since you’ve eaten lunch with the people that led said mobs for the past four years.

but then again, maybe the discomfort was partially on you as well. a conjunction of words have been lingering in the back of your throat as soon as he walked over to you, and you were just itching to get them out. but with graduation a few months away, a part of you didn’t want to risk disrupting the little amount of peace he had left in this town.

so, you waited it out some more, and he continued playing the metaphorical game you accidentally challenged him to. and even though he struggled with the pressure your gaze held him under, it was ultimately you that cracked.

“i don’t think you killed chrissy.” you told him, finally looking away.

eddie paused for a moment, letting your words and all their implications sink in. despite what you considered to be your best efforts, the fire around him was just as lively as ever. 

it’s not like you ever did anything to eddie personally. but your differing status in the current social status of hawkins was enough to terrify him to the core, but he didn’t want to show that. he didn’t spend years of building up immunity from the bullying by the jocks and the populars just to sink back to rock bottom.

so instead he stiffens, hardening his exterior as seamlessly as he can. . “i think that the investigation kind of proved that.”

“well, no shit,” you said, “i’m not taking about that. i’m saying i never thought you did.”

“no shit.” he repeated.

you huffed, annoyed with his short responses. “look, she told me she was getting pot from you that thursday. at first i thought she was fucking with me, ‘cause she’s chrissy fucking cunningham. she’s holier than the virgin mary.”

“okay?” he asked, confused as to what you were talking about.

“what i’m trying to say is,” you put down the jeans you were holding before and turning towards him. “she’s kind of a square sometimes, but she wasn’t clueless, ya’know? and after i thought about it some more, i realized she wasn’t kidding. the past weeks leading up to the game she’d been acting super weird; she was paranoid as shit, always looking around like someone was watching her.” you sighed. “i tried telling jason that when he was on his whole witch hunt, but he just thought i was lying. saying all this awful shit about how i’m a slut that was being ‘led by the devil.’”

“that’s…” he started, trying to find the words – something he’d been struggling with since chrissy. “something.”

“it was fucked up,” you said, “but it kind of opened my eyes to some shit.”

eddie doesn't know why you're telling him this, and at this point, you don’t really know either. after everything eddie has gone through, he deserves to lose his trust in humanity. he deserves to have walls as tall as skyscrapers built around his heart, protecting him of any false shred of hope that people could actually think he was a decent human.

he wants to be the kind of realist that pushes people away, but he never was. because of people like chrissy and steve he now knows physical proof that these people that he’s villainized in his head for years can be good and kind. and fuck him for wanting some more of that.

“about what?” he asked finally, because he really wants to know.

“you, mostly.” you admitted. “but also kind of … everything?” you fiddled with the hem of the shirt you were folding in between your fingers, remembering the events of that night. how jason, someone you’d known since kindergarten, looked you in the eyes and spit at your feet liek you were nothing. “i guess i figured if someone who was my friend thought shit about me that wasn’t true, then they could do the same for you.”

“that’s why you knew i didn’t do it?” he asked, even though you already said your answer.

“yeah,” you said. “that and i didn’t really buy into the whole satanic cult leader thing.”

“yeah, well,” he said while letting out a shaky breath. “guess i’m not the type to match people’s expectations.”

“but you aren’t, either.” he added on. “i kind of thought you were –”

“a bitch?” you finished.

“no!” he said, shaking his head profusely. “not really, i mean. you’re just kind of… i don’t know,” he sighed putting his head in his hands.

“it’s okay,” you assured. “i’m not offended. you’re not the first person to think that of me.”

“ah,” he said, understanding truly were you were coming from know. “so we’re both victims of small-town presumption, huh?”

“except mine is at least half-true,” you said. “but i’m, ya’know, trying to work on it. being less of a bitch to people. ‘s kind of why i’m here in the first place.”

“talking to me or doing community service?”

“both.”

“well, folding clothes for people who’s homes just got ate by the earth is a great start on the path to humility.” he joked. “but, uh,for what it’s worth, i don’t think you are one. a little scary? sure, no question. i mean, i was less intimidated being interrogated by a cop who just escaped a soviet prison than when you were glaring at me earlier.”

“i was trying to figure out a way to tell you that i didn’t think you were sociopathic murderer. sorry for overthinking it a little.”

“well, uh, to tell you the truth, it actually means a lot you think that. it’s nice to know that there’s one less person in this town that thinks horrible of me.”

“same here.”

༉‧₊˚✧

“jesus.” eddie shook his head, mulling over the story you had just told him about the time roy daniels told the whole basketball team that you gave the entire football team head so you’d be head cheerleader. “i don’t think you give yourself enough credit, ‘cause if everyone started treating me like i was some succubus, i’d go batshit.”

“a what?”

“succubus.” he clarified, his face flushing slightly. “it's, um, a mythological sex demon.”

“wow,” you laughed, and eddie realizes it’s the first flux of emotion you’ve shown since he’s come over. “ya know, for super senior, you’re kind of a nerd.”

“yeah,” he said, flashing a tight-lipped grin. “i’m a bit of a paradox.”

“no shit,” you said. 

“eddie!” a short-haired girl called out, running up to the table erratically. she quickly looked at you. “oh shit sorry, um hi?”

“um, hi.” you said.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to interrupt you! im eddie’s friend, robin.”

“i’m –”

“oh, i know who you are.” she said as an impressively fast pace. “not in, like, a creepy way or anything! i’m, uh, in band. and you’re the one who does all the flips and stuff during the games.”

“yeah, that’s me.”

“buckley! munson! quit yapping. we’re like twenty minutes late to henderson’s thing we gotta go!” steve harrington said, approaching the trio.

“ugh.” she moaned. “i’ll tell you in the car.”

“i’ll meet you there,” he said, nudging your shoulder.

“it was nice meeting you, robin.” you said, giving her a tight-lipped smile. you hoped it didn’t look as uncomfortable as it felt.

“you too!” she yelled back, waving over her shoulder as caught up with steve.

he turned back to face you. “guess i’m off. you’ll have to finish this load without me.”

“i’ll manage.” you said, and he smiled, sweet and genuinely. the kind of smile that used to give you butterflies in middle school.

“it was, um…” you gulped, watching him begin to walk away from you. “it was nice meeting you too, eddie.” you said. 

“golly jee!” he chirped, putting his hand on his heart. “i'm honored! I know that must’ve been hard for you.”

you rolled your eyes. “it was payback for putting up with me all day. it must've been hard hanging out with a cheerleader and not gutting her open.” 

he stared at you for a moment, mouth gaped. and then, he broke out into a fit of laughter.

“too soon?” you asked, scrunching your nose.

“not at all,” he cleared his throat. “in fact, that was probably the best thing anyone has said to me over the past two months.”

“even harrington?” you asked, and he laughed again. “i mean, no offense, but you are literally the last person i would ever imagine carpooling with steve harrington. and vice-versa.”

“he’s alright,” eddie shrugged. “way less cool than he was in high school.”

“guess that makes sense then,” you said. 

assuming he was leaving, you went back to folding the last of the laundry for the day. eddie, on the other hand, stood in front of you, twisting the ring on his pointer finger in thought. he turned around towards the exit, then back at you before speaking up again. “you know, and of course you don’t have to or anything, but if you want, and your friends are being dicks and starting mobs again,” he said, “then you could always hang out with us.”

“you sure you’re not scared of me anymore?” you asked.

“oh no i totally am,” he said, “but maybe increased exposure will nullify me.” 

“i don’t know,” you pretended you had no idea what ferocity was getting into you at that moment, even though you did. (1) all your friends are either dead, suck, or both, (2) you haven’t had sex in six months, and (3) the way eddie’s loose curls framed his how have you not noticed he was hot before face. 

“i mean, that actually sounds like fun.” you continued, “but, at least to me, it seems like the more direct way to approach your problem is to hang out with me one-on-one, right?”

eddie audibly choked, obviously caught off guard at your rapid tonal 180 in the conversation. you cracked a devilish smile. 

and, oh god as if eddie didn't think you were pretty before (which he did, because although he was respectful, he at least had eyes), seeing you smile like that threw him for a loop.

“one-on-one?” he asked, clarifying.

“yeah, maybe like a movie or something.”

“like a –” the sound of a car honking cut him off, proceeding a faint shout of “munson get your ass in the car!”

“yeah,” you said. “unless that’s too scary for a dungeon master.”

his cheeks flushed a bright shade of red. he coughed again, trying to pretend like the sound of your voice dipping into that octave doesn’t make him hard. “oh, that’s absolutely fucking terrifying. but luckily i’m kind of insane, so …”

“meet me at hawk at 7 tomorrow.” you said. “they’re showing castle in the sky.”

and even though eddie has absolutely no interest in watching an animated romance movie made for children, he agrees regardless. “see you then.”

༉‧₊˚✧

“fuckin’ finally,” steve groaned, watching eddie through the rearview mirror. he rolled his window down and poked his head out. “munson, if you don’t get your ass in the goddamn car in the next ten seconds you’re walking for the rest of the year!”

“sorry!” eddie said, throwing himself into the backseat. “you’ll never guess what just fuckin’ happened.”

“you folded socks with the captain of the cheer team?” robin turned around from the front seat.

“yes,” eddie said, “but also –”

“they didn’t say shit to you, right?” steve asked. “‘cause you know if they do that’s libel.”

“defamation,” robin corrected. “libel is written.”

“no one likes a know-it-all, rob.”

“you dated a reporter for a year!”

“no, they didn’t say shit to me,” eddie said. “in fact, they asked me on a date.” 

the car came to an abrupt stop as robin’s jaw fell open in shock. steve quickly pulled over to the curb and turned around.

“they what?”

“are you serious?”

“so fuckin’ serious.” eddie grinned. “we’re going to see a movie tomorrow.”

“okay, wait,” robin shook her head, “so they don’t think you’re, ya’know, a murderer?”

“no!” eddie said, smiling wide.

“holy shit, man,” steve said. “that’s big. real big. i mean, have you ever even gone on a date before?”

“okay, fuck you, harrington” eddie rolled his eyes. “i’m not some fifteen-year-old virgin. you know how many people got ‘fuck a guitarist’ on their bucket lists?”

“ew!” robin groaned.

steve ignored her. “that doesn’t mean you’ve been on a date.” 

“how could he not be a virgin and not gone on a – ” robin said, stopping herself before she answered her own question. she looked at eddie in disgust. “you are so gross.”

“is it really that much different?” he asked.

“what movie are you seeing?”

“... castle in the sky.”

robin stuffled her laughter behind her hands while steve signed and started up his car again.

“holy shit,” eddie said, his eyes widening at his realization. “i need a new shirt.”

[ofallthingsnasty]

hi! id like to request for the event

“but what if I choose to leave?” (with yandere giran or something dark)

went with giran 💕 nothing but love for our sleazy old man

tw. fem reader, implied drugging, inappropriate quirk usage, yandere

MILESTONE CHARACTER INTERACTION EVENT

"'Choose to leave'? Sweetheart, you're acting like I'm keepin' you here against your will.” His eyes light up alongside the cigarette between his fingers as he takes a drag, perched behind his desk without a care in the world.

As always, he’s mocking you. That little smile as he pushes the smoke through the gap of his teeth, the curl of his lips when he opens his mouth afterward to say something, the light in his eyes as he looks at you over the edge of his glasses - he isn’t taking you seriously and it immediately makes anger flare up in your chest, hot and sharp. “Really wonder where you’re getting all these silly ideas from, woman”, he says and laughs a little at his own words. “Reading too much, are you?”

"I don’t think this is funny.” And you don’t. You can’t quite remember the last time you slept at your own apartment, hell, the last time you went to work. What day is it? How long have you been with him? At least a couple of days, maybe more than a week? It's dizzying and you feel like you have been here before - everything is weirdly familiar but you can't place your finger on it. You aren’t even wearing your own clothes, he put you in something scratchy, garishly colored number you’ve never seen in your life. You stare at each other for a second, his smile suddenly a little strained behind the smoke. He shakes his head at his desk, clicking his tongue in disbelief before making a sweeping gesture with his right hand. He’s looking for excuses, you just know it.

"You worry too much", he murmurs and subtly rolls his eyes as if you aren't standing right in front of him, as if you aren't genuinely distressed underneath your sharp voice. 

"Do I?", you shoot back and cross your arms over your chest. He knows exactly what you mean, he knows exactly what he’s doing to you - only you aren’t too sure of it. Something is off and only he can be the source.  Giran scoffs.  “Always so dramatic, you’re gonna make my heart give out one of these days”, he says and takes a long drag from his cigarette before tipping the ash off.

"You're avoiding my question", you snap back, not backing down now. 

“Alright, alright. If it irks you that much, go. Can’t believe it’s too much of me to want to have you around for a little while. ”, he says and throws his hands up in defeat, both defensive and dismissive. He stumps out the cigarette with a little too much force and scratches his chin in contemplation, clearly not done yet. "But at least give your old man a kiss before you go home. Don't like it when you stay mad at me, you know that." The demand is so off-color it makes you physically recoil.

"Are you serious?"

"Does it hurt you?", he shoots back,  "Never said you couldn't leave, darling. Don't be like that now, hm?" “You’ll be lucky if I ever come back after this”, you say and you mean it. You’re so mad at him it takes everything you have not to strangle him right here, right now. He laughs. Again. “Aw, you’re just angry with me now. ‘Said that the last time, too.”

Your brow twitches. “I-”, you want to protest, want to slap that sly smile off his face but he is right. You did come crawling back after your last big fight, although you only remember it now that he’s mentioning it. How long has it been? You don’t even remember why you had fought.

One knowing look and you fold like a wet paper bag, ashamed and ridiculed. You feel like a child caught in a lie, small and pathetic. “See? Always so quick to fire, aren’t you?”, he smiles and gets up. You barely manage a step back before he’s right in front of you, his hand reaching for your face, a gesture you know all too well. He sighs.

The telltale clink of metal on metal jingles away at your cheek as he caresses it and you can’t stop yourself from sinking a little into his touch. He can be so good to you, but something is off - you need some distance, some time to think-

Everything turns hazy.

Your anger subsides with the sensation and you have to keep your head from lulling into his hand with all its weight. It’s nice, calming and completely makes you lose track of the whirlwind of thoughts that had made your mind spin just seconds earlier. Giran smiles down at you, warm and reassuring.

"Keeping you? Ridiculous...", he murmurs, his voice soft and eyes dark. "I’m not doing anything, darling.” You hum in response, still wrapped in cotton and more focused on his necklace than anything else. When he pulls his hand away you have half a mind not to chase it but he quickly placates you with an arm around your shoulders and a kiss to your temple. He smells like smoke and coffee and something sweet and you melt into his touch. It feels nice. Nice and safe.

"C'mon, sit down and have a drink with me", he laughs as your head swims and you can only manage to give him a loopy smile in response. “I certainly need one.”

[yeojaa]

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud.  Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or:  Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing.  tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  slice of life fluff, light smut.  explicit (but only at the end). 

tags / warnings.  mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc.  7.6k.

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​, @papillonsgf​, and @yeoldontknow​​ 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note.  i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this.  it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless.  as always, feedback means a lot! 

You and forethought aren’t close friends.  You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree.  You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is.  Careful consideration?  Thoughtful patience?  None of that exists for you.  At least, not when you really, really want something. 

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.  

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this.  Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid.  By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.  

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment.  Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to.  When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed.  (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right? 

“Everyone’s fully booked.”  The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial.  (You don’t blame her.)  By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal.  You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue.  “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice?  Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable.  Well-known.  Considered one of the best in the city.  Surely their apprentice would be fine.  Just less seasoned, not as experienced. 

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter.  “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall.  “Last room on the left.  His name’s Jungkook.  His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.”  It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves.  Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told. 

“Jungkook?”  There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight.  (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.)  It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else. 

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting:  one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits.  Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine.  A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall;  one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it.  There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath.  All in all, very homey.  Reminiscent of your own apartment.) 

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space.  “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples. 

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for.  Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.  

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe.  It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin.  “Are you okay?”  He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way.  Good for him, but worse for you. 

He’s so cute.  Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.”  You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete.  “Um— I was told you might have some time?  For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering?  You’re never shy.  Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess.  People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!”  Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder.  He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway.  “Yeah, I’ve got time.  Come in.”  Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek;  the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip;  each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks.  “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no.  You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook?  He was that.  In spades. 

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”  He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table.  It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display.  “I’ve got a pretty big selection.” 

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him.  This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation. 

“So—”  He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen.  You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt.  It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion;  it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles.  He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling.  The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity.  “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.”  It really is.  You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink.  “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question.  Of course it did.  It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally.  “Like crazy, but it was worth it.  This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—”  He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.  

“A piece of cake?”  You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you.  (It doesn’t.  You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap.  “Do any of these interest you?”  He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash.  There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf).  They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.”  It catches your eye more than the others have.  Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines.  A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do.  “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.”  He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled;  you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion.  A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen.  “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy.  Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no.  You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.  

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though.  You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it.  You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life.  There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,”  you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.  

“Do you have your ID?”  You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form.  “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come. 

Alone, the nerves set in.  You’re actually doing this.  Getting a tattoo.  Putting something permanent on your body.  It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap.  Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come.  (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.) 

(But had you really made up your mind?  Was this going to be it?  It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise.  It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!”  Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope.  You eye it curiously.  “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”  

He’s really thought of everything.  Or the shop has.  Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?”  It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand.  (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.) 

You hadn’t thought about that.  You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away.  “My arm?”

“Upper?  Forearm?”  There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative.  He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you. 

“Tricep area, I think?  Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.”  Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same.  “I’m kidding.  That was cheesy.  But I’m sure it’ll look fine.  We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?” 

“That sounds good.”  A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement. 

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake:  wearing a turtleneck.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like.  Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon?  Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)? 

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule.  Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside.  Whatever you’d prefer.” 

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill.  You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.  

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way?  He was probably desensitized.)  

“It’s fine.”  You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly.  Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though.  Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater.  It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath.  Two. 

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him.  “All right.  Let’s do this.” 

“So, which arm?”  He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.  

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello. 

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers.  You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.”  It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror.  “It’s so pretty.” 

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face.  “Thanks.”  He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful.  “What do you think?”

“This is it.  Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool.  As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee. 

“All right.  We’ll shave you down and get started.  You like the colours, right?”  Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart.  It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes.  (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.)  He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him.  “Hop on up.  Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace.  It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.  

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?”  You’d misheard that, right? 

“Your skin.  You’re sparkling.”  He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.  

“Oh.”  Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly.  “It’s my soap.” 

“Sparkle soap?”  Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure.  He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before.  (Which, fair.) 

“It’s this specialty holiday soap.  It has pigment in it.” 

“That’s cool.”  He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm.  “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree.  It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does.  Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot.  “Thanks.” 

“Was that weird?  I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.” 

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.  

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle.  “Ready?” 

Honestly, you’re not sure.  Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog.  Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue.  “I think so.” 

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee. 

“All right—”“  The incessant buzzing stops.  Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel.  “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you.  Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.) 

“Can I see?”  You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face. 

“Yeah, go ahead.  Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right.  You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet.  It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you. 

“Careful!”  It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.  

“Sorry, sorry.”  You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede.  Everything straightens out quickly enough.  “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?”  He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall.  “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art.  “I’m fine.”  That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.”  The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open.  Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words,  “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention.  It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours.  It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.  

“You like?”  

“I love.”  You’d stare at it for hours, if you could.  Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie.  “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head.  Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose.  Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into.  “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one.  It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink.  (You half expect him not to answer;  you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.) 

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.  

“So, what’re you thinking?”  

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking.  Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history.  You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece.  “A sleeve?”

That surprises him.  His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously.  “Like, a full sleeve?”  It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable.  “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high.  “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,”  he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea.  “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.”  He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up.  For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing.  (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.)  “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan.  It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there.  He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.  

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”  

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions.  It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin.  A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep.  Another takes up the entirety of your forearm.  There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi.  It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.  

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch.  You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.”  Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap.  “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers.  Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat.  He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up.  Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.  

“You mean we did it,”  you return, giddy like a child.  

“Ah, right.”  The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled.  “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey!  Screw you!”  You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.  

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more.  It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head.  Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow.  You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm.  That in itself had hurt like a biiitch;  you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?”  He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to.  It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.  

“Yes, you are.”  You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares.  This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together.  (Not that you’d complain.  You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful.  “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration.  “You wouldn’t dare.”  You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.  

“Wouldn’t I?  I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”  

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed?  You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation.  Had he mentioned it previously?  Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain?  No, you would’ve remembered that.  You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.”  How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea.  You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway.  Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago.  (God, your memory is good.  If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.)  “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.  

“Gonna miss me?”  

Would it be inappropriate to say yes?  Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question.  You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).  

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own.  “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,”  he answers, offering honesty to your reticence.  “You can still send me funny photos though.”  

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile.  “I guess you’re right.  Will you still be tattooing?”  It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know.  You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.”  Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin.  “Actually, where I got most of mine done.”  You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith.  He’s finally come full circle.  You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.  

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to.  It wouldn’t feel right otherwise.  “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,”  he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair.  It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn.  “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,”  you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder.  You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go.  It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk.  “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”  

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you.  It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available.  (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.)  “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black.  You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.  

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?”  He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to.  (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?)  “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended.  “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”  

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you.  “Hey, I don’t judge.  You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there.  Used your own impulsive history against you.  “I would never.”  

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what?  Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.  “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him.  “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth.  There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up.  You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”  

“Really?”  You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face.  “Then why don’t you have one?”  He has a million others as it is:  a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs.  (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)  

“And hide all this?”  One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home.  “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual.  “But I’m cuter.  It’d be a shame if it were me.  You…”  The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean.  (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.)  “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”  

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him. 

“I’m kidding.”  You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries.  A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke.  “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them?  Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was.  Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met.  It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?”  The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.  

Were you?  You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really?  You can’t?”  You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it.  But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously.  It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears.  “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”  

Had he?  Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall.  Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of;  accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff).  Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought.  You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,”  you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.  

“I think you’re cute,”  he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff.  The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week.  The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb.  (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer.  “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.”  Where the confidence comes from, who knows.  You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering.  It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits. 

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go. 

Then he does the last thing you expect:  shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.  

(His lips are so soft.  A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate.  Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him.  French fries and beer and his Chapstick.) 

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.) 

“You just kissed me.”  It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.  

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.”  Speaking the words into existence feels bad;  you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.  

“I am.”  At least he’s realistic.  It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay. 

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose. 

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.  

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next.  (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass.  Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers.  An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,”  the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials.  You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation. 

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof.  The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin.  You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous.  It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left. 

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed.  He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders.  You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,”  he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity.  It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,”  you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped.  You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was.  As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though.  You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow.  He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?”  You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder.  Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again.  (You’re proud of that.  It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”  

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine.  You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness.  Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad.  Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around.  It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper.  He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror.  “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals.  Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care.  Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre.  You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life.  It means so much - like progressing to the next level.  

Which, you suppose it is.  This is a fresh start for you.  A new beginning in a new city.  

“Proud of you,”  he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips.  He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.  

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago.  A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,”  you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.  

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual.  “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that.  You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome.  From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.  

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this:  a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had;  to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.  

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that.  Made it worth it in ways you had never considered.  Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?”  He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself.  It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.  

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.”  The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?”  You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets.  It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that.  He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.  

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised.  “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?”  Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job? 

(It truthfully could be.  You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.”  All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine.  “You don’t like when I admire my own work?”  Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit.  The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need.  (Because you really do need it.  You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.)  It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once. 

“Kook,”  you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.”  He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin.  They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas.  A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care.  Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits.  When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”  

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt.  “I’ve missed this,”  he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.  

“Missed you too,”  you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.  

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​​ @snackhobi​​​​ @codeinebelle​ @xjoonchildx​

[leossmoonn]

Dear Y/n

masterlist

pairing - carl gallagher x fem!reader

type - fluff

note  / request - “OMFG FINALLY SOMEONE WRITES FOR RECENT CARL GALLAGHER. Can we get one where the reader is Kev and V’s daughter so they grew up together. And maybe Carl is her secret admirer” so i made debbie and you seniors and carl a junior since he is technically a year younger than debbie. so let’s pretend that debbie stayed in school and carl never went to military school lol, just for the sake of this imagine. enjoy!

summary - you find a note in your locker from a secret admirer and try to figure it out who is your secret admirer

warnings - language

————

*gif isn't mine*

“Hey, girl!” Debbie exclaimed. You looked up from your phone, smiling as you spotted your friend. 

“Hey,” you smiled while walking up to her. Your attention when to Franny, who was sitting in her stroller. You crouched down and smiled at the baby. 

“Hi, baby. How are you? Do you like going to school with Mommy? You know, some day you’ll be going to school. I’ll be an adult and with kids, too!” You babbled to the baby. Franny squealed and held her hands up to you. You giggled, bopping her nose before going up back to talk to Debbie. 

“You’re really good with her,” Debbie complimented.  

“Thanks, kids kinda like me,” you giggled. 

Debbie rolled her eyes, “Yeah, we know. Anyways, can we hang at your house?” 

You two started walking to your guys’s lockers. “Sure. I have to babysit Jems and Ames, though. Mom and Dad don’t get off work until like, midnight.”

Debbie nodded. “Franny can play with them.”

“Sounds good,” you nodded. You unlocked your locker, a piece of paper falling out. 

“What’s that?” Debbie asked.

“I don't know,” you muttered, furrowing your brows. You picked up the paper, unfolding it. Your eyes widened as you saw its contents. It read:

Dear Y/n,

I thought your outfit looked really good. Not that your outfits don’t always look good, but today’s my favorite. I really like your jeans and your red shirt. Red really looks good with your eyes. 

From,

Secret Admirer

Debbie read the note with you, laughing as she got to the end. “You have a secret admirer!”

You smiled, “Yeah. This is cute. I wonder who it’s from.”

“Maybe it’s from Dean Kepner,” Debbie said, nudging your shoulder teasingly. 

You rolled your eyes, “That is the funniest shit I have ever heard.”

“Well, what if it is! I noticed him staring at your shirt today,” Debbie said.

You scoffed, “Yeah, more like staring at my tits. This note said nothing about my  tits. It’s probably not him. Plus, I’m pretty sure Dean can’t make compound sentences. He’s worse at speaking than Ames and Jems, and they’re 3 years old.

Debbie chuckled, “True. Well, we should try to figure it out.”

“Eh. It's probably some jackass who wants to get in my head, and then embarrass me because I thought someone liked me,” you said. 

“Be more optimistic!” Debbie exclaimed. 

“Hm, I will if I get a second note. Let’s go, Jems and Ames are expecting me to pick them up from daycare,” you said. You grabbed a few textbooks and shut your locker. “Is Carl coming home with us?” You asked. 

“I think so,” Debbie said. “Alright. Where is he?” You asked. 

“Probably making out with some slut in the bathrooms,” Debbie said.

“Probably,” you snorted.

You and Debbie walked to the nearest bathroom, peeking behind the corner to see if you could hear any noise. Surprisingly, it was quiet. 

“What are you guys doing?” 

You both jumped, turning around and seeing a confused Carl behind you. 

Carl was Debbie’s little brother. They were both Gallagher’s. They were children of the alcoholic and drug addict Frank and Monica. They lived on the South Side of Chicago, which was where you also lived. 

You were Y/n Ball. Daughter of Veronica Fisher and Kevin Ball. You had lived next to the Gallagher’s all your life. You were their best friend. Well, their only best friend, really. Your mom and their older sister, Fiona, had been friends since forever. You had been born around the same time as Debbie, who was the third oldest out of the 6 Gallagher children, so you two have been basically best friends since birth. Carl was also one of the Gallagher kids you were also the close with, too, him being just a year younger than you. You three had basically grown up together, so being best friends was pretty natural. 

“We were seeing if you were fucking anyone,” Debbie answered. 

Carl scrunched his face up in disgust. “I don’t do that.”

You laughed, “Sure you don’t. C’mon, C-Dog, I gotta pick up the little missies.”

“Alright, Y/n/n,” Carl smiled at the nickname you had given him ever since you two had gotten closer. 

You two hadn’t always been close before. Debbie and you were by far the closest, with being in the same grade and all. You and Carl hung out a lot, but it wasn’t really until he started high school when you two actually hung out one-on-one. He had come to you for relationship advice when he was dating this one girl, Dominique, who turned out to be a horrible person. You two have since bonded about your past, failed relationships, and how shitty life is. 

Since getting closer with him, you had kind of developed a little crush on him. He had always been cute, but when puberty hit him, he became really hot, really quick. You never showed any other feelings for him than platonic, though. You didn’t want to deal with all the drama that it would bring between you and your families. 

“Stop eye-fucking each other, please,” Debbie groaned, walking away from you two.

You rolled your eyes, “Like you should talk. Every guy you meet you imagine sleeping with them.”

“Not true!” Debbie defended herself. 

“Yeah, right. That’s why you have a baby,” Carl joked. 

“You guys are so mean,” Debbie muttered. 

“That one was pretty mean, but at least it didn’t come from me,” you smiled. 

“Yeah, it came from the asshole who got circumcised for a girl,” Debbie laughed. 

You laughed with her, Carl rolling his eyes and blushing. He looked to you and noticed a piece of paper peeking out from your jeans. 

“What's that?” He asked and pointed.

“Oh, it’s a note that someone gave me,” you said. You took it out and gave it to Carl. He opened it and read it. 

“This is nice,” he said. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty cute,” you agreed. He handed you the note back. “Who do you think it is?”

“I don’t know, honestly. I’m kind of thinking it’s a joke, so I wanna wait till I get another one,” you said, folding it back into your pocket. 

“I think it’s Dean Kepner,” Debbie stated.  You rolled your eyes, “Yeah, you're the only one.”

“Is that the popular football guy? In your grade?” Carl asked. 

“Yep. He’s so hot,” Debbie sighed dreamily. 

“I don’t think so,” you stated.

Carl looked at you and nodded. “Yeah, I heard he does hard drugs.”

“Yeah, another reason why I don’t fuck with him. I mean, I have a beer every other night, but never am I gonna do drugs. That shit messes you up,” you sighed. 

“Yeah, we know. We had Monica as our mother,” Debbie said. 

You chuckled, walking over to your car. You got in the driver seat, Carl sitting in the passengers. Debbie usually sat there, but since she has a baby, you told her it wasn’t safe to put Franny in the passenger seat, especially since if the even of an accident, the airbag goes off and hurts Franny. 

You drove to daycare, humming songs from the radio while doing so. While you were driving, Carl couldn’t help but stare between your face and the note in your pocket. You didn’t know, but the person who wrote you the note was him. 

Carl was usually pretty confident and outgoing. All of his family like that. You had to do that to survive the South Side. But when it came to you, he was like jello. He didn’t know how to act, speak, whether he could look at you two seconds longer than normal. You never noticed his behaviour change, though. To you, he was always quiet and low-key. He was thankful that he never questioned why he was so quiet around you, especially since he was a loud, annoying kid when he was younger. 

With these notes, he would be able to say what he was afraid to say to your face. He didn’t want to face rejection, especially by the pretty senior girl that had lived next to him since the day he was born. It would be awkward if you did reject him, so he just kept quiet until maybe he worked up the courage to ask you out depending on wether you liked the notes or not. 

You parked in a handicap parking spot. “Alright, one of you wanna go and help me get Ames and Jems?” You asked. 

“Carl, can you do it, I wanna stay with Franny,” Debbie said.

“Yeah, sure,” Carl nodded. He got out of the car with you, walking into the daycare. 

You walked up to front desk. “Hi, I’m here for Amy and Jemma Ball. I'm their older sister, Y/n,” you said.

“Alright, can I see ID?” The woman asked. 

You nodded and got your wallet out of your back pocket. You handed her your ID. She handed it back to you. 

“Alright, go ahead and head in,” she said.

“Thank you,” you smiled. 

She hummed a ‘you’re welcome’ as you and Carl went into the play room. 

“Why do you have to give her your ID?” Carl asked. 

“I think it’s because she’s new, and also I didn’t drop them off this morning. They wanna make sure no one kidnaps children,” you explained. 

Carl nodded. “Ah, makes sense.”

“Yeah, the usual woman here, Julie, moved to Florida. She always gave me and the girls a mint when we left, and never asked for my ID,” you said.

“Wow, she sounds cool,” Carl said. 

“Yep, she was,” you smiled. 

You walked into the room, spotting Jemma and Amy immediately. They spotted you two, smiling and running up to you. 

“Hi, babes!” You exclaimed, crouching down and catching them in your arms. 

“Hi, Y/n!” They both squealed. 

“Ready to go home?” You asked. 

They both nodded. 

“Alright. Let me go get your stuff, hang out with Uncle Carl for a few minutes, okay?” You said. 

“Okay,” Jemma said.

You walked over to their cubby, grabbing their baby bags. You went back over to Carl, taking a hold of both of the girls’s hands. 

“Let’s go, babes,” you said. 

“I’m hungry!” Amy exclaimed. 

“I’ll get you a snack when we get home, alright?” You asked. 

Amy nodded, smiling excitedly. You smiled at her, looking up to see Carl opening the door for you. 

“Thanks,” you smiled at him. 

“No problem,” he nodded and followed behind you. You put the girls in the backseat with Debbie, unloading their bags in the trunk. You got in the front seat, starting the car. 

“Do you want to be dropped off at your house or stay with us at my place?” You asked Carl. 

“I'll hang with you guys,” Carl said. 

You nodded, “Sounds good.”

You drove back home, parking the car on the side. You unlocked the front door, immediately dropping all the bags you had. You slumped on the couch, taking a breather. 

“Can we have a snack?” Jemma asked. 

“Oh, yeah, right,” you said, getting up. “You guys want some fruit snacks?” “Yeah!” Amy exclaimed. 

You nodded, going to the pantry and getting two packs of fruit snacks for each of them. You led them back to the couch, turning on the tv. 

“Watch TV with Franny, okay? Sissy has to do homework,” you said. 

The twins nodded, looking at Paw Patrol, which was what was playing. You went to the kitchen table, unloading your backpack. 

“You’re really good at taking care of them,” Carl said, sitting next to you. 

You smiled, “Thanks. Mom and Dad do a lot, but since they are a little older and so am I, they let me have more responsibility. They have to work and stuff to make sure we can afford everything. I’d like to say I’m an expert at taking care of Amy and Jemma.”

Carl chuckled, “Yeah, I couldn’t imagine taking care of a kid.”

“Well, you have been taking care of Liam since he was born, right?” You asked. 

Carl shrugged, “I guess.”

“Taking care of kids is easy if you like them,” you shrugged. 

“Makes sense,” he said.

You hummed. 

“So, are you waiting for another note?” Carl asked. 

“Hm, kind of, yeah. I would be lying if I didn’t say I hoped this will turn into some cute, romantic love story with someone,” you chuckled. 

Carl blushed a little, focusing on his own homework. “Yeah, that’d be nice. 

————

“Yeah, Mom, I got it. No problem, see you later,” you said, hanging up the call. You sighed, walking slowly to your locker. 

Your mom had just called you to come to the Alibi to help out since business was buzzing. Word was, Frank was up to one of his schemes again and got the Alibi full and drunk. You couldn’t wait to deal with perky, 50 year-old men catcalling you. You were wearing a sweatshirt, too, which you knew would make it worse since the men always would try to have you take it off, and never stopped pushing. Luckily, you had pepper spray with you at all times so if someone ever got too much, you wouldn’t hesitate to spray them. 

You opened your locker, putting away a few binders when you noticed another note. You grabbed it, unfolding it with a hint of excitement. You would be lying if you said you hadn't been looking forward to this all day. 

You opened the note, smiling widely as its contents. 

Dear Y/n,

Your makeup looks amazing today. You’re really talented with the eyeliner and stuff. Oh, and your lipstick matches really well with your outfit, too.

From,  Secret Admirer

“Another note, huh?” Debbie said, approaching you. 

You smiled and nodded. “Yep.”

“What's that?” Carl asked. 

“Another note from Y/n’s admirer,” Debbie smiled. 

Carl flushed a little. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “I hope this is for real. I want to meet this person.”

“Maybe you will,” Carl said. You looked to him, a worried expression settling on your face. 

“You okay, C-Dog?” You asked. 

“Yeah. I’m gonna catch the bus. See you guys later,” he said, walking off quickly. 

You furrowed your brows. “What's got his dick in a twist?”

“I have no idea. Maybe he likes you,” Debbie smirked. 

Your heart fluttered a little at the thought of him liking you. Debbie knew you liked Carl, so maybe she was fucking with you, but you had to ask to be sure. 

“Does he?” 

“I think,” Debbie said. 

“Oh,” you muttered. “Cool,” you smiled. 

You weren’t going to confront him just yet, but you prayed to God your secret admirer was Carl. 

————

“Hey, there’s something for you in the mail,” Veronica said. 

You furrowed your brows. “Who’s it from?”

“It doesn’t have a name,” Veronica said, hanging you an envelope. “It just has your name on it.”

“Huh,” you said, taking the envelope. You tore it open, your eyes widening as you saw another note it in. 

“What is it?” Kevin asked. 

“A note,” you said. “From my secret admirer.”

“You have a secret admirer! Wow,” Kevin said. 

“Yeah,” you chuckled. You sat on the couch, opening the note. 

Dear Y/n,

I thought you looked really pretty today. I hope you don’t find it weird I mailed this to your house, I actually live close to you, so I saw you crossing the street today. Anyways, I just thought I would let you know you look pretty. 

From, 

Secret Admirer

You found yourself giggling, setting the note down. Even though you were flattered, you found it a little weird this person knew where you lived, even if they supposedly lived near. You didn’t know why they couldn’t just tell you all these things in person. 

“What does it say?” Veronica asked.

“The note calls me pretty,” you said, putting it back in its envelope. 

“Hm, well, whoever this is isn’t wrong,” Veronica grinned. “Do you have any idea who it is?”

You sighed, “Nope. It says they live close to me, though.”

“Maybe it’s one of the Gallagher’s,” Kevin suggested. 

Your eyes went wide, remembering what Debbie had said to a few days ago when you got the second note. You shook your head, though. Carl was out with his friends right now, you had just left his house, too, and there was no sign of him. 

“Nah, no offence to them, none of them are this romantic or anything. Well, except Ian, but he’s gay,” you said. 

“Maybe ask about it, though? All of our other neighbours are old men, and that does not look like old man handwriting,” Veronica said. 

“Maybe I will. I mean, Debbie said Carl liked me, and when I got the second note, Carl was acting all weird and shit,” you said.

Veronica eyes widened. “Carl?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I don’t care if it's him, though, it'd be kind of weird.”

Veronica sat down on the couch next to you. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Kind of,” you said sheepishly. 

“Well, I think you should ask him about it. If he says no, then don’t mention your feelings for him. If he says yes the notes are from him, then confess,” Veronica said.

“Should I do that?” You asked. 

“I think so, baby. Carl’s a good kid, especially with you around. I wouldn’t have a problem with you two dating.”

You smiled, “Thanks, Mom. I’ll go to his place tomorrow.”

“My baby is about to get a boyfriend!” Kevin whooped. “If he hurts you, I will kill him.”

You chuckled, “Thanks, Dad.”

————

You walked into the Gallagher’s house, spotting Fiona in the kitchen.

“Hey, Fi,” you smiled. 

“Hey, Y/n! Are you here fo Debbie? She went out,” Fiona said.

“No, actually. I’m here for Carl,” you said.

“Oh, okay. Well, he’s upstairs,” Fiona said.

“Thanks, Fi,” you smiled and made your way up to Carl’s room. You saw that the door was wide open.

You went in, not seeing Carl anywhere.

Where is he? You thought.

You went around his room, walking around the room. His room was ridiculously messy. Clothes everywhere, food and plates all over the dresser, weird liquid on the floor. You chuckled to yourself as you had to step over the puddle. 

“Boys are horrific,” you muttered to yourself. 

You went to the desk, sitting down in the desk chair. You looked around on the desk, seeing court date papers, old homework, and cigarette boxes. As you looked more to your right, something had caught your eye. There was a paper with your name on it on the back. 

You picked it up hesitantly, slowly unfolding it. Your eyes widened as you saw the words “Dear Y/n”. You knew you shouldn't, but you went ahead and read it anyways. You just wanted to make sure you were correct of your suspicions. 

Dear Y/n,

After these few weeks, I have decided to try and be brave and go up to ask you out. I think you’re really pretty and you’re so funny and nice. I’ve liked you since I started high school, and even if I get rejected, I know I would regret not trying to ask you out. So, I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date?

From, 

Secret Admirer, aka Carl (Gallagher)

“Y/n?” You snapped your head back, seeing Carl in a towel. Your eyes quickly ran past his chest, seeing the toned muscles in his arms and stomach. You eyes went up to his face, lingering on his lips. You then went up to his eyes, seeing them wide and filled with wonder. 

“Sorry, I’ll, uh, go,” you muttered and stood up, leaving the note on the desk. 

“What?” Carl asked. He was beyond confused, but when he saw you and the note, he put the pieces together. As you went to walk out of his room, he grabbed your arm, pulling you back gently so you two were face-to-face.  

“Did read the note?” He asked.

You looked up at him sheepishly, “Yeah, I’m sorry for invading your privacy.”

Carl sighed, “It’s alright. I’m, uh, sorry if I wasn't who you were expecting or anything. I know I’m probably not the person you like or anything, but I just wanted to try and see if you liked me. Ian and Lip said that was a cute idea, the notes.”

Your eyes lit up with he voiced his concerns. Your lips upturned into a smile, your eyes staring into his. 

“Carl, I like you, too,” you said. 

Carl’s eyes widened. “Wha-what?”

You took his hands in yours. “It was a cute idea. And I’ve liked you for the last 3 years, too. I was hoping it was you, actually.”

Carl blushed, a big smile appearing on his face. “Really?” “Yep,” you nodded. 

“Awesome!” Carl chuckled. “So, do you want to go on a date with me?”

“Yeah, I’d love to,” you smiled. 

“Cool,” he smiled. “Well, I need to get dressed. You can stay and watch if you want,” he smirked. 

You giggled at his words. “Don’t mind if I do.”

————

this was trash i am sorry

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@kaitieskidmore1​

[nanamikentoslutt]

Hey I really like your writing so far! I saw you were open to asks and I was wondering if you could write one about Jean for me 🥺 Id love one where we lose our virginity together if that’s okay for you! I know he is a secret sweetheart with a horse cock!

OMG! Thank you so much, this is my first ever ask!! I hope you like it :) also I agree there is no doubt Jean has a horsecock 🥵

Word count is 2.9k sorry I got carried away lol

THIS IS 18+

Warnings; Oral, vaginal sex, fluff, smut

Jean x Fem!reader

“Shh, we have to be quiet, y/n.”

Jean giggles, pulling you into the sleeping quarters, vacant from the rest of the scouts being occupied either on duty or in the mess hall. He grabs you inside and pulls you close to him, eagerly kissing your lit up face which had turned red from all the laughing you two had been doing on your way there. He cupped your face in both hands, moving your lips together through a smile he slowly started to pace backwards further into the room, you eagerly followed, your bodies both moving in perfect unison with one another as you were excited to finally have your alone time with Jean.

You had been dating for a few months now and only became official within the last week or so, your fellow comrades teasing you both for not recognising everyone knew you were made for each other even before you guys did. You and Jean took it slow the first few weeks, getting to know each other but soon enough your primal instincts kicked in and whenever you got a moment alone you’d be all over each other. Jean found himself sneaking you into empty equipment rooms just to hungrily devour you, running his hands up your body with no sense of true direction, just desperate to feel your body on his. You also felt the same sense of urgency to feel Jean’s touch, his tall, broad frame wrapping himself around you as you would desperately rub between his thigh, working yourself up as your clumsy and greedy kisses turned your heated equipment room meetings into olympic style make-out sessions. You were both so desperate for each other and the pace at which you kept it was not only because of that, but mainly because you two never had time for this sort of stuff. With training and expeditions, as well as living and sleeping in a room with 20 other people, you never had the time, or more importantly you never had the privacy. Jean had no issue kissing or cuddling you in front of the other scouts, occasionally slipping his hand under the covers to rub your clothed cunt, watching you try and keep composed while mid conversation with Sasha. Jean loved to tease you like that. Seeing your innocent face start to grow hot with excitement and a hint of embarrassment. Jean would rub just deep enough that you started to get wet beneath your clothes but not fast enough so you’d actually cum in front of your friends, he knew not to take it that far, however many times he’d thought about that exact scenario when alone, rubbing his cock in a toilet stall somewhere.

Through your cautious acts and sneaky behaviour, you and Jean had done almost everything together you possibly could, except the big one. You’d never taken it far enough to actually fuck. That was something you both knew you wanted done right. Being a virgin you personally never felt too much sentiment towards “virginity” however after meeting Jean and falling in love with that big idiot you knew that even if it was something you’d feel indifferent about, you wanted it to be special, because it was with him. And Jean felt the same, he would act cocky in front of everyone when showing you off but deep down he was in love with you and being a virgin himself he held sex as something sacred. Jean liked to joke with Connie about how long he could go and how all the girls from his village called him “horse” for a reason. Connie would usually be skeptical about Jean’s big talk but after he landed you he considered he might not be a liar after all. You were good and kind to all the scouts and that's what everyone loved about you, but Jean was first hooked by the way you looked, he couldn’t deny confessing this to you once you’d been together for a while. He’d admit it was the way your hair flew past your neck when you used the ODM gear, embarrassingly crashing a few times from getting lost in a trance. Jean was fawning over you from the moment you two met, he’d stay awake at night going over each and every one of the small conversations you’d had that day, deciphering whether or not he’d come off too bold or too rash. Wanting to impress you but not wanting to scare you away. 

Whatever it was that drew you to him was now the reason you two were pouncing on each other in the sleeping quarters. Your body follows Jeans as he slightly hunched over to accommodate your height and softly hold your face in his. The feeling of excitement exuding your body as your now wet lips crashed into each other, your heads occasionally moving from left to right to switch up the position of the kiss. Placing both hands on his chest you lightly push back to look up at him,

“I heard Captain Levi is holding a meeting in the mess hall…”

You say, a grin on your face that Jean is now trying to read, unsure of what you’re getting at. His half lidded eyes look down to your face, his lips slightly plump from where you’d both been so aggressive.

“Yeah, I don’t wanna go to that,” Jean pulls you back into him and starts moving his lips down your neck, his hands wrapped around your waist. You roll your eyes to yourself at your completely clueless boyfriend.

“Jean, I said the Captain is holding a meeting, meaning…”

The penny finally drops, Jean takes his wet mouth off your neck to look at you, his eyes widening.

“Meaning we have about thirty-five extra minutes?”

He smiles down at you, looking at his devious girlfriend with pure lust and motivation. Thinking about how you’d taken the time out to plan this particular meeting with Jean made his cock start to twitch, knowing how badly you wanted him only made him want you more, which was truly saying something.

“Yes, thirty-five or so minutes… Do you think that’s enough time for us to…”

Your voice trails off as Jean continues sucking on your neck, leaving little marks that make you whimper into him. His hefty palms running up and down the curves of your body. He caresses your ass in both hands and gives them a slight squeeze, keeping them there he leaves a trail of kisses from your neck moving down your chest, then navel and now on his knees looking up at you he worships your cunt over your uniform. Giving little pecks around your hips, lovingly rubbing his hands behind the back of your thighs.

“Come on baby, let’s take these off shall we?”

Getting flustered under Jean’s touch, you nod and let out a “mhmm” gesturing for him to remove the bottom half of your uniform.

He does so carefully, putting one hand out towards yours to help you step out of your trousers, moving the discarded piece of clothing to the side with your foot. Inspecting the wet patch that had now formed in your underwear, Jean grazed his lips over the fabric, causing you to whimper out his name. Not being able to wait any longer he used two fingers from either hand to pull the hem of your underwear all the way down, you cock your leg and allow him to place them to the side. Your now glistening pussy in eye view for Jean he soaks your body in. Putting both hands on either side of your thighs and grabbing the fat gingerly, eyes wide on your beautiful folds.

“Fuck…” He breathes over you, breath fanning your cunt. “Look at my pretty girl getting so wet for me.”

You bite your lower lip at the sensation of Jean calling you a pretty girl, always making you blush no matter how many times he’d tell you. You run your hands through his hair as he starts to slip his wet tongue between your slick, moving up and down in a slow motion a few times before coming to find your sensitive spot. Your grip on his hair starts to tighten as he circles your clit, compelling you to give out a low groan. Jean loved every inch of you but could spend hours just lapping up your cum his mouth, worshipping your delicate little cunt. Seeing how aroused just his tongue could make you made him pull his hand down his trousers to give some relief to his aching cock,grabbing the tip and slowly jerking himself underneath his clothes while the other hands keeps you in place for his now sped up tongue on your swollen bud. 

Your moans help direct him into your core as he quickens the pace on his soaked muscle. Knowing exactly what you want and what you sound like when you’re close, Jean can feel you’re almost there. Your hands desperately grabbing and pulling at his hair while his head bobs up and down on your cunt, he takes his hand away from his cock to slip two of his digits inside your wanting hole. 

“Fuck, Jean…” 

You let out, being unable to keep your balance on the ground but his heavy capable hand keeping you in place. He curls his fingers to hit you in just the right spot, your body hunching over slightly you can feel the warm knot inside you begin to expel, out of nowhere your orgasm comes and a warm sensation runs to your head as Jean continues to finger fuck you with his mouth over your clit. He recognises the familiar reaction of your walls clenching in on him and moves his tongue down to lap up your juices.

“Fuck baby, did that feel good?”

Your cheeks now flustered and your neck damp from the sweat you’d worked up, you breathlessly nod, “Mmm, it felt so good, so good..”

Jean stands up, licking your cum from his fingers and using his thumb to wipe the corner of his mouth. He holds your trembling body in his, moving his hands down below your ass he hoists you up onto him and carries you over to the bed. Gently resting you on your back he comes up to the side of you and gives you a deep kiss. Slowly unbuttoning your shirt as he rests his head lazily on his hand, looking down at you he purrs “We don’t usually have this much time…” His fingers now on the final button, opening your shirt and revealing your bra, he unclasps the front and you adjust to help him take it off, now completely naked. 

His gentle fingers run up and down your torso as he looms over you, causing goosebumps along his trail.

“Baby…” Jean whispers in your ear. “Do you want to?”

Without having to say, you already knew what he meant. You thought about it for a brief moment, thinking about how you’d never get another chance like this for a while and how even though this wasn’t the picture perfect place for losing your virginity, you hadn’t bought into those kinds of fantasies anyway. You knew what you wanted, it was what you’d wanted for weeks, you wanted Jean to be the first to fuck you.

“I’m ready, if you are?”

You ask, propping yourself up on your elbows to give yourself a better view of Jean’s face.

“Oh, I’ve been ready baby.”

Jean teases, grabbing onto your side to pull you in closer to him. You roll your eyes at him and laugh at his usual overconfident remark. Smiling into a kiss he pulls his shirt off and while still connected to your lips he moves his body off the bed to hastily remove his pants, not wanting to let go of your face on his he clumsily stumbled whilst getting the last leg of his trousers off his ankle.

Grabbing your hips and pulling you to the edge of the bed he glances down at your perfect body, getting lost in the thought of how someone like him could ever end up with someone like you and how lucky he was. His thoughts were soon clouded by the image of your sloppy cunt, your soft, sweet face below him, ready for him to take you. 

Jean was taking in the sight of you beneath him, his thick, long member hard and leaking precum over the tip was almost painful. He lowered himself down onto your body and your legs naturally fell over his shoulders. Grabbing the tip of his cock you looked down and for the first time, you got nervous. You’d seen Jean’s cock before and knew exactly how big it was, but now you were nervous about it fitting inside you, you didn’t want to put him off by telling him just how scared you were so you flung your arms around him and landed your soft lips on his. Jean was rubbing the tip up and down your cunt, the sensation of your slick arousal was driving him insane, he wanted nothing more than to pin your legs back and have at you, but he was tensing hard enough to stop himself.

“You’re so wet for me baby, let’s just take it slow.”

You nod and slide your hands to cup his face. His tip finding its way to your entrance he slowly pushes himself inside and lets out a deep moan, clenching his eyes together.

Your walls instinctively tense up and you’re quick to grab Jean’s shoulders and use them for support. The stretching of your little cunt was getting slightly painful as your eyes started to water. From what feels like forever, his cock is still sliding inside, not even halfway yet, how fucking long was he?

“Fuck, Jean… fuck… just fuck me.”

You cry out as a desperate plea to get Jean to speed up. 

Opening his eyes he looks down to see your tensed face, he listens to your orders and picks up the speed. Jean felt bad for feeling so good, your tight pussy clamping down on his cock. His thrusts keeping an even pace, he comes down to suck and lick the groove of your neck, your voice cracks as you try and let out a “Yes, fuck, yes, yes…”

Seeing your face now turn from whimpering to bliss he smiles at his perfect little baby and straightens his back to put your legs on his chest. 

Thrusting in and out of your pussy, your cum coats jean’s thick and heavy cock, your moans sounding like sweet music to his ears. Holding your legs he passionately kisses the side of your calf. He pulls his hand down to your chin and holds it in place,

“Hey, look at me. I want you to look at me.”

Your head is foggy and vision slightly blurred but the sound of Jean’s loving voice brings you back to reality, you open your eyes and look directly at him, nothing but the sound of his skin on yours.

“Y/n, I love you.”

Your hand coming up to his on your chin, your eyes widen. You’d never heard him say that before and you just realised you’d never said it either. Which was crazy because without hesitation you knew how you felt when Jean said that,

“I love you too, Jean.”

Jean’s face softened, he looked down at you and smothered your face and neck with kisses that made your eyes roll to the back of your head. The sensation of Jean’s throbbing cock entering and exiting you as well as the attention he was now giving your upper half was driving you insane. The warm feeling returned to your stomach and a new sensation was flooding your insides, you felt like you were going to cum but you were sure you were going to piss yourself.

“Fuck, Jean, I think I’m gonna cum.”

Seeing how crazy his cock was driving you took him over the edge, seeing you all fucked out and in bliss over the fullness of him was just enough to bring him to climax.

“That’s it, fucking cum with me baby, cum on my cock.”

Getting faster you wrap your legs around his torso and let out a loud moan, your eyes wide and back arching you feel your wet cunt thump all over his cock, and just like that Jean wraps his arms around you and groans in your ear, breathy and low, his cock twitches inside of you. His cum empties in your tight hole as he catches his breath around you.

Now limp but still inside you, Jean places a small and delicate kiss on your forehead. Seeing your completely fucked out face he pulls you up and moves around the bed so your head is rested on his chest. 

You both breathe in the air around you and take in what had just happened. Jean pulls your chin up with his thumb so you’re looking up at him,

“I do love you y/n, you know?”

Your tired eyes beam up at him and your mouth grows into a smile.

“I love you too, Jean.”

You still had a few minutes left before you had to put your clothes back on and get back out to your friends. So with the little time you had you remained in each other’s arms, just happy to be close.

[merrybandofmurderers]

[ID: banner reading Work in Progress Wednesday in white cursive font on a smudged turquoise, yellow, and gray background /END ID]

@mrs-theirin once again beat me >;p here's a snippet of the book club chapter from the pavellan fic

It was perhaps his greatest shame, but Dorian eventually surrendered to Cassandra’s literary demands. Whenever he wasn’t in the field, she subjected him to regular meetings for her beloved book series. Cole, inexplicably, joined them; apparently spirits could read, though Dorian couldn’t guess what about the story appealed to him.

Personally, Dorian was certain the books were slowly sapping away his intelligence, but they were oddly addictive. Messy in the way that was hard to look away from. In any case, it wasn’t a terrible way to spend time—though Dorian wouldn’t admit that even under pain of death.

“You’ve been abnormally quiet, Dorian,” Cassandra said.

Before Dorian could reply, Cole chimed in, “Thoughts folded over, layers and layers, a labyrinth of lips—”

“You’re holding your book upside down, Cole,” Dorian interrupted loudly.

“Oh. Thank you.”

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. As usual, the three of them had convened in Cassandra’s quarters above the armory, and as usual, Dorian wondered if this would be the time he finally snapped and murdered one of them.

Cassandra cleared her throat. “As I was saying. Dorian?”

“It’s fine, Cassandra.” He took a sip of his wine. “Now, the last chapter—”

“The thief is in love with Officer Jerren,” Cole said.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But Varric—”

“No spoilers!” Cassandra snapped, clutching the book to her chest.

“Officer Jerren doesn’t love her back.”

“Cole,” Dorian said slowly, “you remember you agreed not to read ahead through Varric’s thoughts.”

He pouted, brushing the edge of pages. “I want them to be happy.”

“They’re not real, Cole.”

Cole looked at him from under the brim of his hat. “You are.”

“What?”

“The Inquisitor has been less irritable of late,” Cassandra said, undeterred. “But you’re sullen.”

Dorian narrowed his eyes. “Why does it sound like you’re insinuating something?”

“I’m just curious if you actually made up or not.”

“Made—we weren’t fighting!”

“Well, something was making him unpleasant—”

“He’s always unpleasant to you—”

“[COLE DIALOGUE]”

“Cole—”

“What—” Cassandra started.

“—please.”

“Iron Bull?” Cassandra asked. “But I thought—” Her mouth snapped shut.

“Thought what?” Dorian demanded.

She squinted at him. “Then why was the Inquisitor being unpleasant?”

Cole’s mouth opened, and Dorian grabbed the hem of his ridiculous hat and pulled it down over his face. “Lavellan does not need you spreading his personal feelings around without his consent!”

“They’re deep,” Cole said, readjusting his hat. “Like roots reaching into the earth. It’s hard to see past the mark, but they’re very loud.”

“Is that why you are being unpleasant now?” she asked.

“Excuse you, but I am always the most pleasant of company—”

“Yes,” Cole said.

“Cole! I am going to feed your hat to Leliana’s ravens if you don’t stop that.”

“Ravens don’t eat hats.” His head tilted. “Do they?”

“No,” Cassandra assured him before turning her sights back on Dorian. “He’s really with Iron Bull?”

Dorian bristled. “Don’t ask me! What they get up to is none of my business.”

Cassandra looked extremely dubious. “I just thought, well, that the two of you were… close.”

“We are close.” He sniffed. “We’re friends.”

Cassandra muttered something into her wine glass, then said, “Have you talked to the Inquisitor about it?”

“Why no, it hadn’t occurred to me—” he scoffed “—of course we’ve talked, what kind of question is that?”

“A reasonable one, I think, considering the betting pool Varric’s had going since you arrived.”

“About me and the Inquisitor? Venhedis but that man will take bets for anything.”

tagging @gaysolavellan, @fade-and-loathing-in-thedas, @midnightprelude, @calicostorms, @transfenris-truther

[nyctolovian]

Summary: Where Jon and Martin get to grow old together and live out the rest of their lives in a village. Told from the POV of a 7-year-old girl, Trish, who just moved in next door.

Written in preparation for the emotional trainwreck that would be the finale of TMA :”)

Trish peeked out from behind the bushes to look at the cottage. She was new in the neighbourhood, but she had already heard all sorts of stories about it from the other kids she played with. There was a ghost in there, or a wizard, and anyone who stepped foot into its boundaries would be cursed and get kidnapped by a giant clown with claws for hands. 

If you asked Trish, she’d tell you she didn’t believe in stupid fairytales and ghost stories like this. While the other kids still believed in Santa Claus, she already knew that it was just her parents sneaking treats into her Christmas socks. There was no way there was some sort of cursed monster living at the bottom of the hill.

Still, as she stood outside it’s fences, wiping her sweaty palms against her skirt, she gulped nervously. The way the other kids acted as they told her to get the ball because “you were the one who kicked it there!” still scared her. What if there was a bad guy in the house? She was only seven! What could she do?

She ran through several possible scenarios. She’d run. If she couldn’t, she’d kick the bad guy as hard as she could; her aunt had always said she had a good kick. If not, she’ll bite as hard as she can. Or she could–

“Excuse me. What are you doing in front of my house?” came a low voice.

Trish leapt backwards in fright with a squeak. 

Standing behind her was an old man with a stubble in a long yellow dress (woman?), carrying several bags of groceries on her left arm. With her other hand, she wielded a cane. There were pale scars all over her dark skin and Trish wondered if this old lady might have been a pirate. Her dark eyes seemed to stare into Trish's soul as her lips were set in a downwards curl. Her eyebrows were thick and tightly knitted in a permanent-looking scowl. She reminded Trish of Mdm Taylor from school, except older and grumpier.

"I… Uh, I…" Trish shifted from foot to foot, her palms growing even sweatier. "I… My ball…" She pointed towards the ball in the lawn. 

The woman with the beard followed her gaze to the bright pink ball beside the front door. "Ah," she said, sighing loudly. She walked to the front gate.

With her hands full, she had to fumble with the latch for a good minute before pushing the gate open. "There we are," she said. "Get your ball."

Trish blinked. It was that easy? 

She ran past the lady with the beard and picked up her ball. She hugged it close to her chest and looked back up at the old lady, half-expecting her to declare that there was a price for taking the ball back, or that she was trapped here forever. 

However, instead the old lady just hobbled through the gate. Some of her grocery bags got caught between the gate and she let out a groan. Trish's eyes darted between the old lady and the bags before she placed her ball back down, stepped forward and took some of the groceries from the lady with the beard. 

"Oh, um," she said. "Thank you."

"It's okay," Trish replied, lifting the bags and walking towards the front door of the cottage. "I help my Ma take the groceries all the time."

The lady with the beard followed after and reached into the pockets of her dress (which were very deep pockets, Trish enviously noticed). As soon as she unlocked the door, Trish lugged the grocery bags into the house. 

It was a clean house, and it smelled a lot like her Gramma's house. Old people smell, she reckoned. 

"Where's your kitchen?" 

"Over here."

Trish followed after her into the kitchen and she placed the groceries down where she was told. 

"What's your name?" the old lady asked.

Trish froze. Her mother told her not to trust strangers and not to tell strangers her name. But perhaps she had already broken some of the rules since she just walked into a stranger's house. But she wasn't kidnapped yet so it was probably safe.

"I'm Trish."

"Ah, thank you so much, Trish. You have been of tremendous help." The lady with the beard began to pack her groceries away. "Usually, my husband would help me with all this."

"What happened to your husband?"

"He's in the hospital."

Trish gasped.

"He's going to be fine. Don't worry. It's just his knee. He'll be back in a week."

"Phew!" Trish dragged her hand across her forehead. "That's good. What's your name by the way?"

"Oh. My name's Jon."

"Jon?!" Trish shouted. "But that's a boy's name!"

The old lady looked confused. "I… yes? It is a masculine name, I suppose?"

"Are you a boy?"

Jon's eyes widened. "I see. Well… I'm neither a boy or a girl. But I am a he. As in, um, for example, 'his name is Jon and he likes eating peaches.'" 

"How are you both not a boy or a girl though?"

Jon frowned in thought. "I just am. It just happens sometimes for people. Some people aren't a boy or a girl."

"Then, what are you?"

Jon frowned. "I'm nonbinary."

"Non…"

"Non-bi-na-ry," Jon repeated, slower, and Trish followed after. He smiled. "It can be a difficult word to pronounce."

"It's not that hard. I can do it," Trish said, rolling her eyes. Adults always made it seem like everything was too hard for her to do. "Nonbinary! See!"

Jon smiled. It was a small one, but Trish spotted it anyway. 

She puffed up her chest and announced, “I need to go now. Bye bye!"

"Bye," Jon replied, waving his hand.

On the way out, Trish picked up her ball and made sure to close the doors behind her.

***

When Trish next spotted Jon, she was at the market with her father. As soon as she sees him, she tugs her dad's shirt and whispers loudly, "That's Jon at the fruit place. He lives in the cottage at the bottom of the hill."

Her father hummed absently as he picked out the vegetables. "Why don't you go say hi, sweetheart?"

With a nod, Trish headed over to the fruit stand where Jon was. He spotted her before she reached him and gave her a little wave. Today, he is in a button-up shirt and black pants.

"Hello, Trish," he greeted. "Helping your mother out?"

"Nope. My Da's shopping this time." She points to her father, who was still engrossed in examining the vegetables. She peered into Jon's basket and saw that in it, there were apples, mangoes and peaches. "Is your husband back yet?"

"Hm? Yes, he is. But he's resting at home. The surgery did a number on him."

"Surgery?!" Trish screeched. Jon winced at the shout and she muttered an apology.

Forgivingly, Jon shook his head. "Sometimes, when you get old, your joints will get a bit painful so the doctors have to replace it with an implant. He's on the road to recovery now so no worries."

“Implant…?”

Jon took time to explain what that meant. Trish had a million questions swirling around her head and she continued to press him for answers. Unlike a lot of adults, Jon took time to answer her questions to the best of his abilities. 

Trish was about to ask how on earth someone can survive being cut open by another person when someone interrupted them. "Retired to teach primary school children, eh, Jon?" the fruit seller said, folding her arms. "Didn't know you were taking in new students."

Jon scowled. "You know full well—"

"Enough of you," the fruit seller brushed him aside in favour of leaning over her counter to look at Trish. "Heya, pipsqueak. Haven't seen you before."

"I’m not his student… My Ma and Da and me moved in last last week. My Da's there," she said, pointing.

It was also then that her father seemed to have settled the payment for vegetables and came over. “Trish, there you are. Where’s your friend? I thought you went to talk to him.”

Trish tugged Jon’s shirt. “Here.”

Da's eyes widened. “Oh! You’re Jon?” He quickly schooled his expression into a friendly smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that. The way she talked about you… I just thought she was talking about her classmate so I was…”

“Expecting a seven-year-old and not a seventy-year-old,” Jon replied, raising an eyebrow. “That’s understandable. I’m Jonathan Blackwood-Sims. Nice to meet you.” 

“Nathan Fujisaki. I’m Trish’s dad. Nice to meet you too.”

Jon’s phone began to ring and his brow furrowed. “Apologies,” he muttered as he placed his grocery bag on the stand before fumbling out his phone. He frowned as soon as he saw the caller-ID and picked it up immediately. “Martin, what’s wrong?” His eyes darted from side to side before he cupped a hand over the receiver and turned away from the rest of them to whisper into the phone.

“His husband,” the fruit seller said. “The two of them fuss over each other a lot.”

"Is that so?"

The fruit seller's eyes lit up with glee at the opportunity to gossip a little. "Yeah. When they first moved in, I was, like, 15? It's a lot better now but back then, the two of them were hardly ever apart. He taught me for a year, you know? And I don't know what arrangement they had with the school but they were practically glued to the hip anytime outside of class."

"So he is a teacher!" Trish exclaimed. "He reminded me of Mdm Taylor so I thought he might be a teacher."

"Yeah, he does have that vibe about him, doesn't he?" the fruit seller said. "Cross about everything and anything. He had that even when he was my teacher. And he was pretty scary back in the day too. Nothing seemed to get past him."

"If you truly believed that, you would know better than to gossip about me," Jon countered as he returned to pick up his grocery bag. 

"How is he?" Trish asked.

Jon winced. "It's… better now. But I should head back as soon as I can." He began to make his move and said, "Take care."

"Would you like a lift?" Da offered. "It's on the way."

"I…" Jon glanced down at his cane before he let out a sigh. "Yes, please. I would appreciate that."

It didn't take very long to fetch Jon to his house. Da gave Jon his contact number in case he and his husband needed any help. Jon stared openly, expression unreadable for a moment, before he gave a brief nod and rushed into the house.

On the way home, Da was frowning. "He seems familiar…" he muttered when Trish asked. "Like I've seen him somewhere before."

***

Stupid Da. Stupid Ma. 

They weren't listening to her. In a fit of anger, she ran out of the house and to the first place she could think of. It wasn't fair, she thought. Trish's lower lip wobbled as she curled harder into herself. 

Suddenly, the door to the cottage at the bottom of the hill opened. A large old man with a thick beard wearing a pair of boxers and a singlet emerged and his eyes fell upon the small girl who had squished herself into a corner of the porch. "Oh my god!" squeaked the old man. "Wh-What are you doing out here? Where are your parents?"

Trish glared up through the tears in her eyes. "You're not Jon," she said, her voice rough from crying.

 "Oh, he's… he's out right now," the man said, smiling apologetically. "Would you like to come in and wait for him? Or, uh, or not. We can wait for him outside."

Trish nodded.

"Feel free to sit in the chair there.”

Trish shook her head. 

“Okay. Would you like something to drink then? We have tea, and milk."

"Milk."

With a gentle smile, the man went back into the house and came out, dressed in a knee-length skirt and a loose shirt. He had also brought out a cup of milk, which he placed in Trish's hand. He went back inside for a moment, before returning with a piping hot cup of tea for himself.

The man limped over to a rocking chair and sat down heavily with a sigh. As he placed his own cup down on the table beside himself, Trish noticed the massive scar on his left leg that ran from his mid-calf up to his knee. "Are you Jon's husband?" she asked. "Martin?"

The man's eyes practically lit up. "Oh yes!" He drummed his fingers against his belly delightfully. "I'm guessing that you're Trish then?"

She nodded.

"Jon's told me a bit about you," he said.

"Are you also non… nonbinary," she said the word slowly to make sure she got it right.

From the look of it, she had because Martin smiled again. "Nope. I'm a man. Just one who finds skirts incredibly comfortable."

"I don't like skirts," Trish said frankly. "They're too wooshy and swishy."

"Perfectly understandable." Martin nodded. 

"Where's Jon?"

"He's doing groceries."

Trish stuck her lower lip out. "He's always doing groceries."

Something between a laugh and a sigh escaped Martin's chest. "He is, isn't he? My poor husband just can't sit still. He has to go to the market once a day or he'll get cranky. Or crankier than usual."

Trish nodded as she took a sip from her cup. 

"So, what are you doing here?"

Trish lowered her cup. "I don't know."

"Did something happen to make you cry?" Martin asked.

Curling in harder into herself, she muttered, "I'm not telling."

"Oh, um… Sure."

"Does it hurt?"

"Hm?" Martin followed her gaze to his knee. "Oh, you mean my knee? It was hurting really badly before I went to the hospital. I mean, it's still hurting a bit now because I'm recovering so I take a bit of painkiller to deal with that. It'll get better soon."

"Does it hurt when they do it on you?"

"Mm… not really? They give you an injection that makes you sleep through the entire surgery. It's kind of when you wake up that you start feeling the pain."

Trish frowned. It sounded a bit unrealistic. How could you sleep through being cut open? She didn’t get the opportunity to ask Martin anything though because, in the distance, a small figure could be seen hobbling towards the house. Martin immediately straightened up. "There he is," he said, before waving. 

Trish followed suit with a big wave of her own, putting her entire arm into it. 

“You have a little visitor,” Martin said as soon as Jon stepped past the gate.

“I can see that very well,” Jon said, rolling his eyes. He made a small detour to their side of the porch to give Martin’s forehead a kiss. Then, he looked at Trish and probably noticed her red-rimmed eyes. "Did something happen?"

Trish frowned. "Ma and Da won't let me have a birthday party. They said it's a waste of time and I'll forget it anyway."

"Oh…" Jon pursed his lips. "Do they know you're here now?"

"No. And I don't want them to."

"They must be worried sick," Martin remarked with a small frown. 

Shrinking into herself, Trish muttered sourly, "Let them."

“I know you’re angry at them and you don’t want to see them right now but it is quite  unkind to cause them needless worry,” Jon reasoned gently. “I shall give them a call, okay? Just to let them know you’re here. I promise I’ll let you stay here until you’re ready to talk to them again. But you wouldn't want them to think you're in danger, right?”

Trish pouted hard, but eventually nodded.

“Right,” Jon said with a nod before heading into the house. He came back out after about 5 minutes with some cut fruits. “We have permission for you to stay until dinner,” he said as he sat down in the other chair with a low grunt. “Now, I hope you didn’t have to suffer Martin’s nagging for too long while I was away.”

“Nagging?!” Martin shot back with an offended voice. “And don’t you think I suffer when you insist on leaving a trail of cups all over the house? Do you think you’re Gretel or something?”

“Actually,” Jon said, knowing full well what he was doing, “Hansel was the one who left the trails.”

Martin groaned comically and Trish giggled a little.

***

“You know what?” Trish yelled as she threw the door open. From the kitchen, Martin made a weird squeaky noise.

“It would be polite to knock. Martin’s already got a weak enough heart already,” Jon chided as he stood up from his sofa and went to the entrance. 

“Oh… Um...” She gently closed the door again before knocking. Then, she patiently waited as the sound of Jon’s shuffling slippers got closer.

“Trish,” Jon said exasperatedly as he opened the door. “You don’t have to close the door again if you’re already inside. We know you’re here.”

“Oh, okay,” Trish said, walking in.

Martin came into view and he was laughing a little. “God, you sound like such a curmudgeon.”

Frowning, Trish asked, “Cur…?”

“A grumpy old person,” Martin explained. “You know, like Jon.”

Teasingly, Jon poked Martin’s rib. “Oh yeah? Is that resentment in your voice, Mr Blackwood-Sims?”

Martin grabbed the offending hand. “Oh, absolutely not. You’re my curmudgeon. I’m not resenting you anytime soon.”

“Sap,” Jon muttered, covering his mouth with his hand, but that did nothing to hide the smile in his voice.

Trish rolled her eyes. “Aaaaanyway,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “I’m here to announce something.”

“Yes, yes, announce away,” Jon said.

But he was making goo-goo eyes at Martin so Trish decided she’d leave the very important announcement of her birthday party for another day.

***

Having chicken pox and being forced to stay in her room for an entire week was already bad enough. But then, it just had to be on the week of her birthday. What’s worse was that Trish had gone and scratched at her skin, and even though it was healed, she had some scars on her arms and face. And she really did not appreciate scars as a birthday present.

Ma chided her for not listening and handed her a bottle of cream to apply over the scars. “If you properly apply it, then maybe it’ll get rid of those scars,” she said.

Not wanting any of the scars to remain, Trish religiously applied the cream every night. But they didn’t seem to be going away anytime soon.

“It isn’t the end of the world if it does leave scars anyway. Look at the both of us! We have scars and we’re doing fine,” Jon comforted her, which wasn’t very comforting.

“It’s okay if you two have scars. You’re old people anyway,” Trish said, popping one of Martin’s freshly baked cookies into her mouth.

“Ouch!” Martin said, sitting down beside Jon at the dining table. “That’s a bit mean, Trish.”

Wincing, she muttered, “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Jon said. He peered over at her arm. "I think it's fading. It's just a bit slow so be patient with it."

Trish nodded. However, even as she sat there talking with them, her index finger kept returning to rub over the most prominent scar on her forearm. The tiny bump of the scar annoyed her and she wished she could tear it out, but she knew that would likely only make the scar worse.

"You know, Trish," Martin said, "it's normal for kids to get scars. We all get scars from at your age too."

"Jon too?"

"I…" Jon frowned. "I don't recall much of when I was young unfortunately."

"How come?"

"Complicated stuff," Jon said, making a vague gesture. "It'd be too long a story to explain."

"Well," Martin interjected, "he doesn't remember his. But I do." He lifted his arm to show the pale jagged patch on his elbow. "This one I got from when I fell off a tree outside my house. I got a kite snagged onto the branches so I had to get it down. It's a bit faded now actually." 

"Yeah, but that's a cool scar. Mine is just from stupid chicken pox," Trish grumbled. Then, she lifted her head. "What about those though? The dot-dot ones both you and Jon have? They're not from chicken pox too, right? They're really big."

"Oh, these?" Martin said, running his hand over the pockmark scars on his face and arms. 

"Yeah. How did the both of you get it? It looks really bad…" Trish frowned. "What kind is it?"

"Um… yeah," Jon said. "It... It was a… bad disease."

Martin sighed. "It was an office-wide infection. From when Jon and I worked in the same place." He then switched the subject by showing a long scar he had on his finger. "Oh, Trish, look at this one. Guess how I got this one? It was kind of dumb. I got it when I was, I think, 5 years old? I stuck my finger into the fan."

Trish scrunched her face. "Why did you do that?!" she shouted. "What if it got chopped off?"

"I don't know to be honest. I was five, Trish. I wasn't a very smart five-year-old."

"Five-year-olds generally aren't very smart," she assured Martin, who threw his head back and laughed.

They continued to talk about scars and dumb injuries for the rest of the afternoon. And by the time Trish went home, she realised that even if the scars remained in the end, she wouldn't be that upset. 

***

As Martin’s knee got better, he began to join Jon’s grocery trips more often. The marketplace got a little bit more noisy on the days Martin went with Jon. 

Firstly, Martin and the fruit seller seemed to have this bit that involved making fun of Jon, even though Trish didn’t necessarily understand most of the jokes. (For some reason, Martin likes to make fun of Jon for liking peaches.)

Then, Martin had what Jon called “itchy fingers'', which meant that Martin liked touching things he wasn’t supposed to. There was this one time when Martin had decided to poke something pink on the side of a carton, which turned out to be used gum. “You’d think you’d grow out of touching things unnecessarily, Martin,” Jon reprimanded as he dragged his husband to the toilet to wash his hands.

Trish just thought they were quite funny.

Sometimes, she would be with Da for groceries when she bumped into them. On those days, Da would talk to them about grown-up stuff that Trish had no hope of understanding. But it was fine since, with Martin at the front seat most of the time, this meant that Trish can lean to her side and whisper to Jon.

Sometimes, Trish would see Jon and Martin walking around together in the neighbourhood. More often than not, Martin joined Jon on his daily trips to the market, and they would slowly walk hand-in-hand. It was during those times that Jon most often had a smile on his face, and at times bursting into uproarious laughter.

Sometimes, Trish would dash over to greet them. People often told Trish that she was a bit too chatty for her own good. But around those two, she felt that maybe it was alright to talk a bit more because Martin would always smile warmly at Trish as she talked about the frog she found on the side of the road or about her stupid homework assignment. Jon, on the other hand, often had something to add to whatever Trish was saying, be it with questions or a weird trivia of his own. 

Of course, there were days where Trish was far too busy to call out to them. It was highly impractical to rush out to them during a game of Hide-and-Seek.

Sometimes though, the two of them would walk especially close to each other, and they’d be whispering, or at least, one of them would be. There were times when Martin looked greyer than usual, and his gaze would be distant even as he ran his fingers along railings, fences, or any surface available. Other times, Jon would look rattled, his eyes darting about and breaths shallow. The non-cane-wielding hand would not be holding Martin’s on those days, instead, it would be tracing the scar over his neck, or twisting his hair in a quiet frenzy.

And then, sometimes, they would sit together on the park bench, holding hands and whispering and chuckling to themselves.

Those were the days when Trish knew better than to disturb them.

[milkybonya]

sticky situation

warnings: food mentions

Pairing: office worker!Doyoung x neighbour/co-worker!(gender neutral)reader

word count: 1-2k ?

Summary: you have a crush on Doyoung, your neighbour who lives three floors above you, but you’re too shy to confront him, so you leave sticky notes on his door. Desperate to find out who’s been leaving notes on his door but not wanting to approach you in case you don’t want him to, Doyoung patiently waits until you step forward first. With the help of Jungwoo, your co-worker and best friend (who sadly has a one-sided crush on you), you’re able to get out of this sticky situation.

what i listened to while writing: We Still (Be With U) - Astro

[a/n]: the synopsis is long and this is a mess and the ending is in need of a part 2 but i had fun writing this so i hope you’ll enjoy -- this is not properly edited because i’m sleepy but wanted to post this asap so pls forgive me ily

When you first saw him at the office, you didn’t think much other than wow, this guy is kind of handsome. After that, you moved on and continued with your day. It was when you saw him moving into your complex when you started to think that maybe this was fate. 

The way he looked so neat at work with his hair parted comma style, his suit well-ironed and his watch glistening under the florescent lights perfectly contrasted with the way he looked when he moved in: hair a fluffy mess, baggy sweater sitting awkwardly on top of his sweatpants, mismatched socks peeking out of his sneakers.

He was so cute. He was so perfect. And you didn’t even know his name... until you read it from his office ID card but still... you had fallen for an almost-stranger and you were feeling helpless..

“You know those messages written in marker on the bathroom stalls? Do you ever just wonder who writes those?” your friend, Jungwoo, asked, bending down to sit in the chair across from you.

“Why?” you asked, sipping your drink through your reusable straw.

“There were just a bunch of those in the bathroom and it made me wonder... who brings a marker to the washroom and who writes those things?”

You felt like a lightbulb went off in your head, and it was probably visible in your expression.

“What’s up?” Jungwoo asked, being the one to take a sip from their drink this time.

“I’ve got an idea...”

Doyoung left the house each morning at 7:45am sharp. You knew this because you happened to be outside of your unit, watering some of your hanging plants in the morning when Doyoung would rush by with a quiet “excuse me”.

He returned home at around 6:30pm each evening. This routine would happen each day except for the weekends. On Saturdays he would go for an early morning run at 7am, and on Sundays, he wouldn’t leave the house until 5pm to go for another run.

You had his timetable memorized, which means you knew when to place the sticky notes on his door while avoiding being caught by him.

Did I mention that your plan was to place sticky notes on his door?

Your friend’s thoughts about bathroom stalls made you think that even if you couldn’t confess your feelings to Doyoung directly or even befriend him in any way because of how shy you were, you could at least leave messages on his door to brighten his day.

When you went home, you went through the stationary you had and picked out your favourite sticky notes and a pen that you would only use for this purpose.

“good evening! enjoy your evening run~” you wrote, since it was 4pm on a Sunday and you knew that he would soon leave for his run.

You quickly got up with the sticky note in your hand and crept up the stairs to the third floor where Doyoung lived. Looking left then right and confirming that no one could see you, you gently pressed the sticky note against his front door, rubbing it with your thumb to make sure it wouldn’t fall off.

Standing back to make sure it would be at his eye level, you then ran downstairs to your floor and peeked up through the space in-between the stairs. A few minutes later, the door to Doyoung’s unit opened and he stepped out, turning to close and lock the door behind him. He paused, though, reading your note on his door.

Looking around, he tried to find who had placed it there, but there was no one on his floor. So he gently removed it, folded it and placed it in his pocket, not wanting to lose it. When he started to jog down the stairs, you quickly opened the door to your own unit and went inside, not wanting to get caught. Through the peephole, you watched Doyoung run past with the trace of a smile on his face, and it made you happy.

You considered going up to place another sticky note on his door for him to see when he got back, but you thought that would be too much, so you decided to just leave it at that for today.

-

The next day, you rolled out of bed at seven and despite not being able to see clearly since your face was puffy, you walked to your desk to pick up your sticky notes and pen.

Thinking of what to write, you decided on a simple "have a nice day and a good start to the week!" except because you were so sleepy, you wrote 'day' as 'daay' and 'week' as 'weak' so the sticky note was a bit messy.

Not wanting Doyoung to think you couldn't spell or were too lazy to try again, you scrapped that note and rewrote it on another sheet.

Pulling on a hoodie, you quickly washed your face before stumbling upstairs to stick it on his door. You then managed to eat breakfast before it was 7:45am and you snuck outside to see Doyoung's reaction to the sticky note this time.

When he walked out, you fell back against the door seeing his neatly styled hair and his freshly ironed suit hanging off his frame. His skin was glowing under the early rays of the sun, and his smile when he looked at your note was enough to make you grasp at your fastly beating heart for dear life.

Again, he folded the note and placed it in his pocket before he rushed downstairs and you had to quickly enter your unit to avoid being caught.

-

At work, your manager asked you to take some documents down to the PR team. When your Jungwoo, who worked at the office with you, overhead this, he texted you.

[y/n]!!! Doyoung works for the PR team! use this chance to do something!

You had told your friend about your crush on Doyoung and boy were you grateful that you did.

Taking the documents from your manager, you walked out into the hallway and stopped there to think.

Did he like coffee? You'd never seen him leave with one in his hand when he left his house.. Maybe he bought one at work? Would it be okay for you to buy one and leave it at his desk?

You decided to text Jungwoo for help.

does Doyoung like coffee?? would it be ok if i got him some?

everyone in this crappy office likes coffee! it's the only way we can survive!

With that, you set off to the company café to buy a drink for Doyoung. Then, in the elevator on the way to his floor, you took out a pack of sticky notes which you had stashed in your pockets and a pen to write a message.

"do you like coffee? i hope you do.. enjoy this and have a good day!" you wrote, sticking it onto the side of the cup.

You stared at it in satisfaction before the silver elevator doors opened and you left to find the PR room. When you found it, you decided you were going to drop off Doyoung's coffee first, but there was just one problem.

You had no clue where his spot was. And Doyoung was nowhere to be seen.

And what would people think when they saw you drop off a coffee for him after asking where he sat? Would they think you're his s/o? Would they ask him about it? Just the thought of Doyoung being bothered by people asking questions because of your mistake made you--your phone vibrated in your pocket. You unlocked it to find an unread message from Jungwoo.

psst. he sits in front of the manager, on the manager's left side. ur welcome.

Thank heavens for sticky notes and best friends.

After finding the manager, which was easy just by the way they sat and the mood that everyone around them showed on their faces, you casually walked towards them while dropping Doyoung's coffee off on his desk and facing the sticky note side towards his computer so no one could see or read it.

Then you gave the manager the documents and got the hell out of there.

On your way out and in your hurry, you brushed shoulders against someone and immediately turned to apologize.

"It's okay," Doyoung said with a smile, continuing to walk off to his spot.

You had just brushed shoulders with Doyoung... Doyoung?!

You ran to the elevators before he would have any chance of discovering that you left the coffee at his desk.

-

Once he was at his desk, Doyoung sat down with a sigh, stretching out his limbs before sitting tall and straight again. His hands moved to his keyboard to begin typing, but froze after seeing a cup of coffee in front of him.

Had he told someone that he had been craving an Americano?

He didn't recall doing this.

Who had placed it there? He looked around but no one made any eye contact.

After asking the person working next to him about it, who said they had no clue, he just decided to drink it.

As he did, his fingers felt a piece of paper on the cup. Turning it around in his hand, he found a sticky note with a cheerful message written on it.

"do you like coffee? i hope you do.. enjoy this and have a good day!"

What was this familiar tone of writing? Could it be..

He pulled out the folded note from his pocket that had been on his front door that morning, unfolded it and held it next to the note on the cup.

The handwriting was a perfect match.

-

6pm, the time read. You moved your fingers faster against your keyboard. You only had half an hour before Doyoung would get home and you were still cooped up in the office. It had been your own fault -- you kept imagining what Doyoung's reaction to the coffee had been. Did he hate it and throw it out? Did it make him feel sick because he has a coffee allergy?

"[y/n]."

You hummed as you looked up from your desk to face Jungwoo.

"Go home. I'll finish up the rest of our task for the both of us," Jungwoo said with a small smile.

"Really?" you asked in disbelief.

"Yeah!"

"I owe you!" you replied, grabbing your coat before leaving the office.

"Big time," Jungwoo said.

-

6:25pm, you made it home. You were wet from the rain and dried off your hands so you could write the next note.

"how was your monday? i hope it was productive and not too tiring. enjoy a good rest!"

As you were about to peel it off, you noticed a bag of candy that you had left on your desk. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to leave one for Doyoung..

In the few minutes that you had left, you taped a candy to the note and left your unit in a rush to tape the note to Doyoung's door. You made it downstairs and into your unit just as Doyoung entered the complex and began to walk upstairs.

When he passed your unit, you quietly stepped out so you could see his reaction. He smiled immediately when he saw the familiar writing on his door, and turned the candy around in his hand before unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and savoured the flavour, and your heart bursted into a million butterflies just watching him smile from above you.

He pocketed the note and looked around then down. He would've seen you if you hadn't been quick-witted and quickly hidden yourself.

"Whoever you are, if you're still nearby, I just wanted to say thank you.." Doyoung said quietly before opening the door to his unit. It beeped as it locked behind him.

-

Since that day, you left a note on Doyoung's door twice a day, even on weekends. Each time, Doyoung would pocket the note with a smile, and you were beginning to wonder what he did with them afterwards.

You started to leave little gifts for him along with the notes by taping flowers or candy to his door. Seeing his reaction made you happy, and the times he'd adorably walk up to the door with his eyes squeezed shut as he wondered if a new note would be awaiting to then open his eyes and grin as he saw it there... it all filled your days with so much happiness.

You were just an office worker before Doyoung, living every day like the rest. Now, you were so happy. Your secret admirer persona made you happy.. until you weren't so secret anymore.

Doyoung was desperate to find out who you were.

He had found himself getting excited from your notes, his heart fluttering as he traced the lettering with his fingers despite not having the slightest clue about who left these notes. He felt like he was pathetic for feeling this way.

Doyoung had figured out your routine and what times you would place the notes on his door, so he decided he would head out to work just a little earlier one morning. As he crept towards the metal railing across from his unit to peek down at the stairs, he saw you leave your unit and walk upstairs.

Did this mean you were the person leaving notes at his door? Or were you just coming upstairs for a different reason?

He purposely stomped around upstairs, making noise to see what your reaction would be. You froze in response, looked up to see the door to Doyoung's unit open, and fled back to your own unit.

Doyoung had a feeling that he had found you.

You waited for exactly ten minutes before deciding that it was safe to leave. Perhaps Doyoung just felt the need to get some air a little earlier this morning.

When you closed your door behind you, your hand brushed against a thing piece of paper that felt to the ground after you touched it. After you picked it up, you notice there was writing on it.

"have i found the source of my daily happiness? thank you for leaving notes for me.."

You were so in awe that you had to read it a few times over to understand that it was real. Your crush. Had called you 'the source of his daily happiness'. You. A source of happiness.

It made you so happy that you jumped up, stomping your feet against the ground. Doyoung, who was quietly watching from upstairs, smiled to himself seeing your reaction.

Don't worry, Doyoung still didn't know what you looked like. All he could see was the top of your head and your back, and he purposely kept it that way because he had a feeling you didn't want him to find out who you were. I mean, the anonymous sticky notes kind of gave that away.

But now he knew where your door was, and nothing could stop him from leaving notes for you, too.

Doyoung would always leave a note on your door before you left one on his. In the mornings, he'd sometimes even leave you sandwiches or snacks, writing that he'd had some extra breakfast foods lying around snd wanted to share some.

He was lying, though.

He'd gone out of his way, googling the most popular breakfast snacks and attempting to make the sandwich three times before he got it to look just right.

At work, the two of you never saw each other, and if you ever saw Doyoung walking towards you, you'd immediately hide out of sight. Doyoung still didn't know you worked in the same place as him. He only knew you as a neighbour, and you preferred it that way.

What if he'd think lowly of you when he discovered that you were still just an intern almost reaching the end of your internship and unsure if you would actually be hired? You couldn't risk it.

This sticky note situation continued on for weeks until your friend, Jungwoo, decided he'd had enough.

"[y/n], this needs to stop."

"What needs to stop?" you asked him, washing the dishes in your kitchen while Jungwoo sat on your couch.

"This secret admirer thing. It's been weeks and he clearly likes you."

"Clearly? Where? How?" you asked, throwing down the dish towel and turning around to face him.

"He's been leaving notes for you, too. He knows all your favourite snacks now and always buys them for you. Would just a friend do any of this?"

"Yeah, you," you said, sticking your tongue out at him.

"I also have a crush on you, you dummy, so I'd know how people with crushes on you act," Jungwoo muttered.

"What?" you asked, walking towards where he was sitting.

"Nothing. I said I've heard the rumours circulating around Doyoung and his coworkers that Doyoung likes someone and I'm pretty sure it's you," Jungwoo said, laying back and placing his hands behind his head.

"How are you so sure it's me?" you asked, sitting next to him.

"Because as I was grabbing coffee from the break room on their floor, I heard it all. One of Doyoung's coworkers was talking about how Doyoung has gone insane and has fallen for someone who sticks hand written notes on his door. He doesn't even know what this person looks like but he talks about them in the office during breaks all the time."

"You heard this? Actually?" you ask. You can feel the blood in your body rushing to your face as your heart pumps quickly. Doyoung... in love.. with you?

"I swear I heard this. I'm your friend, why would I lie?" Jungwoo pointed out, spitting out the word friend as though it was poison.

"So what do I do?"

"Set up a date and meet him!"

"Just...like that?"

"Yes."

"I can't," you sighed, burying your face in your hands.

"I haven't spoken to him. Just imagining it makes me want to hide under my bed... Me... speaking to Doyoung while on a date? Us looking at each other and..."

"[y/n]! Come on! You are going on a date with Doyoung and that's that. And I'll be here to help you."

You smiled at Jungwoo who smiled back, feeling a bittersweet ache in his heart.

-

The next morning, after reading Doyoung’s sticky note on your door which wished you a good day, you walked up to his unit with a special sticky note in your hand. Taking a deep breath, you stuck it to his door and rushed down. This time, you didn’t stand outside and wait to see his reaction. You headed in and pressed your back against the door.

Your heart was racing.

“i hope you also have a wonderful day, Doyoung! this day will come to an end soon, but there is still tomorrow~ would you like to spend your tomorrow with me? you can knock on my door whenever you’re ready. if you don’t knock, i’ll understand that you’re busy or didn’t want to come :)”

This note was scandalous in your mind, but Jungwoo insisted that you write it like that. To you, it sounded like you were cornering Doyoung into spending a day with you, because he’d pretty much be the bad guy if he said no to this.

Your stomach felt like a black hole, and slowly slid down to the floor. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you decided that you would call in sick. You did not want to go to work today.

Okay, let’s use this day to prepare for tomorrow. What are we even going to do? What will I wear?

Like the adorable soul you are, you searched google for the top places to take someone on a date near you. Some cool things showed up like museums, art galleries, but you decided that they wouldn’t be so good. In places like that, your focus would move to the art, and you wouldn’t want Doyoung to feel left out. So instead, you found a cute café.

Though your heart was already racing at the thought of talking to Doyoung face to face, you decided that was what you had to do. You have to get to know him. That’s what Jungwoo told you.

Next, you moved to the closet to pick out some clothes. Nothing too tight that would make you feel more anxious than you already were, but not something too casual. Once you found what you were looking for, you laid it out on your couch.

For the rest of the day, you binged romance dramas and movies in hopes that you would be inspired and learn a thing or too. Whether or not they’d work, you’d find out tomorrow.

Once Doyoung stepped out of his unit and reached for the familiar sticky note left on his door, he was preparing himself for another message of good luck, something short and sweet to give him energy to start his day with.

He was not expecting to be asked out on a date in such a cute way.

Despite the air being slightly frosty, he felt his face getting warm and he crouched down out of excitement. How was he going to work today knowing that he was going to meet you tomorrow? This wouldn’t work. He had to call in sick.

When Jungwoo found out that both you and Doyoung had called in sick that day, he knew that your plan was going to be a success.

-

Somehow, you made it to the next day. You had barely slept, your heart had been racing for the past 24 hours and you were not ready. 

Your phone vibrated.

[y/n], this is a once in a lifetime chance. even if it doesn’t go well, at least u will have gone on a date with Doyoung!!!

Jungwoo’s message was enough to get you out of bed and in the bathroom to wash up. You changed into your outfit for the day, got some breakfast in you and waited.

Waited.

This was the worst part.

Maybe you should have given Doyoung a time, but you didn’t want to bother him in case he was sleeping in on this Saturday morning. Just in case, even though you already knew his daily shedule.

Doyoung had not slept a wink last night either. He got up early and headed for a local flower shop to pick something up for you. He wasn’t even sure you liked flowers, but assumed you did, since you often taped flowers to your sticky notes when you left them on his door.

“May I ask what occasion this is for?” the worker asked Doyoung.

“Ah... a first date?” Doyoung croaked out shyly.

“Do you know this person or is it the first time?”

“I guess you could say... I know them.”

Doyoung laughed nervously.

Once he purchased the flowers, he happily walked to your shared complex and up to his unit where he made sure he looked okay, grabbed everything he needed, and then stepped outside.

This was it. 

He was going to see you for the first time. Finally he would be able to put a face to all of those cute sticky notes.

His legs were shaking as he walked downstairs to your floor and he almost dropped the flowers. Taking a deep breath, he walked up to your door and carefully knocked.

As soon as you heard those knocks, you jumped up and ran to the door. Then you waited a few seconds, not wanting to make it seem as though you were desperately waiting for him (even though you kind of were). 

Clearing your throat and standing up straight, you slowly opened the door.

You were kind of freaking out. Only kind of. Just a little bit.

This man had showed up to your doorstep with flowers in his hands. Your crush. Doyoung. Was at your door. With flowers in his hands.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Doyoung said, holding out the flowers to you.

“Nice... to meet you too. I’m [y/n],” you said, taking the flowers from him.

Doyoung nervously rubbed his palms against his thighs, looking around.

“I always wondered how you knew my name but I didn’t know yours,” he said with a laugh.

“Ah, we work in the same building! I’ve seen you with your ID card around your neck-”

Oh no. Did you just sound like a creep? 

You covered your mouth and quietly apologized, but Doyoung shook his head and grinned.

“Don’t apologize, I’m upset I didn’t notice you sooner! We work in the same company and I didn’t know? How disappointing... I’m glad I know now, though.”

Your heart melted more with each second that he was smiling. At you.

The two of you stood there quietly for a few moments, avoiding eye contact until Doyoung asked you what your plans for the day were.

“Hm? Oh! I’m sorry, I completely forgot. I was thinking we could go to a café, would that be okay?” you asked. Doyoung nodded.

“Let me put these flowers in my house so they won’t get ruined, give me one second,” you told him, quickly rushing inside to place them on your coffee table before rushing back.

“Let’s go!” Doyoung said cheerfully, letting you lead the way.

“It’s only a five-minute walk, so it shouldn’t be too far!” you said, walking down the steps to the main street.

“That sounds good! It’s nice to get some fresh air sinceI’m usually indoors,” Doyoung says.

“Same.”

“Right, since we both work in the office,” Doyoung said with a quiet laugh.

As you approached the café, you started to feel less and less nervous. Doyoung was able to keep the conversation flowing naturally, despite him also being anxious that he might mess things up. You learned that he was actually a person who liked liked to sleep in all the time but after being late to work several times and being scolded for it, he decided to set up a strict schedule for himself.

“Ah, here’s the café!” you said, pointing to the bright yellow and blue building.

“Wow, it’s so colourful,” Doyoung exclaimed, holding the door open for you.

When you stepped inside, the place was buzzing with people. It seemed like you’d found a hot spot.

“So do you always know where the good places are?” Doyoung asked, walking to the bright pink, glittery counter with you.

“No, I just happened to find this place!” you admitted.

Doyoung ordered a caramel coffee, which was apparently his favourite, with a mango dessert. After you also ordered, you found a cozy spot back in the corner of the café which wasn’t as loud.

The two of you talked for two hours there and time flew by. You learned about Doyoung’s love for singing, and as he practically serenaded you in that corner, you melted just like the whipped topping of your drink.

As he walked you home, Doyoung felt himself itching to hold your hand. It had only been the first date, but the two of you had clicked so well. He held himself back though, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. 

Once he had safely dropped you off at your unit, he practically flew up the steps with how giddy he was feeling. He decided that he would walk with you to work from now on, share his lunch breaks with you and get to know you better. Maybe you’d even join him on his weekend runs?

[s1utspeare]

@staidwaters asked for Li Cu and “selcouth” (in reference to this post; send me a prompt!), and since someone ELSE requested selcouth for a character I gave you an extra word lmao. THANK U SO MUCH FOR THE PROMPT!!! I LOVE U!

Also I will put these in a whole collection on ao3 at some point lol. 

selcouth—unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet wonderful hiraeth—a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home with maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

There’s a time, when he returns, when he realizes he doesn’t know where home is. 

Objectively, of course, he knows where he lives. He knows that there’s an apartment with his father in it and his bed and clothes and things are there, but that’s different. It never quite was a home, but it really isn’t anymore, because it’s just… it’s so small. He’s spent weeks with the stars as his ceiling, even more looking at the same four walls of his room in the Wang compound, so an apartment with beat-up furniture and storage closet that was never used for storing things isn’t that much different from any other apartment he could be in. 

He tries going to Su Wan’s first. Part of him wants to because he missed Su Wan, but it’s mostly because he didn’t know for weeks if his best friend was dead or alive, so when he wakes up in the middle of the night with a short, sharp gasp, all he has to do is listen, and he can hear Su Wan breathing next to him in the bed. Also, Su Wan will cuddle him whether Li Cu wants him to or not, so that’s nice. 

It doesn’t last, though, because every morning he has to go downstairs and say hi to Su Wan’s parents, and Su Wan’s parents tolerate him, but they don’t really like him, and they really don’t like him now, after he filled their garage with packages and dragged Su Wan off into the desert. Also, sometimes he doesn’t want to be cuddled because that’s like arms pinning him to the ground and it takes all his willpower not to punch a sleeping Su Wan in the face, but to instead lie stiff as a board until morning. 

So he packs up his stuff and moves to Hao-ge’s, which is different, but not exactly better. Hao-ge is dealing with his own grief, his own loss, and Li Cu feels in the way of all that fury and rage. He knows, logically, that Hao-ge doesn’t blame him anymore, but he can still see Hao-ge’s face, streaked with tears, his fist pulled back, his voice strangled with anger and pain. Li Cu’s leg throbs. 

He stays for three days, just to be polite. He watches their shop while Hao-ge goes out of town to visit some relatives, to figure out what they’re going to do with his grandmother’s things. He knows Hao-ge is probably going to sell the store. It’s not just because he doesn’t want to run it; he honestly can’t, financially. Hao-ge’s not ready to let it go, quite yet, so when he gets back, Li Cu lets him have the space back, to trace over and memorize the corners of his home before he has to leave, makes a mental note to bring Su Wan over to help him pack, to keep him distracted. He didn’t sleep well at Hao-ge’s anyway, especially when he was gone. It was too quiet then. 

He can’t couch surf, after that. All the rest of his friends are dead. 

He uses some of the stupid money that Wu Xie paid him at the very beginning—and it’s really not even enough, Wu Xie should be putting him through college—to rent a hotel room for a couple nights. That’s nice at first. He has his own space, a big shower, cable tv. But he doesn’t know it, his body can’t relax in an unfamiliar room with big, wide windows and only one lock. He spends two sleepless nights lying on his back, on his side, on his stomach, pacing the carpet. He gives up after night two, when everything’s hazy and dull in the back of his head, and checks out. 

He spends the afternoon wandering around the city, toeing past the restaurants and coffee shops and arcades that he used to hang out in, the soccer fields and schools and parks he passed every day. There’s the manhole cover that broke and the city’s never gotten around to fix it, so there are perpetual orange cones around it in a cult-like circle—no, no, don’t think about cults, cones can’t have cults, it’s just a circle, Li Cu, come on—and there’s the statue of a dog near the center of the park near his house and he likes dogs, even more when they’re—not attacking him, they didn’t attack him, the dust of Wu Xie’s grandfather is ground into your bloodstream—and there’s the library that he and Shen Qiong used to go to for story time when they were really young—and now she’s young forever, a bullet in her brain between her eyes she died angry with you she died alone she died at the hands of her family—and eventually he’s on the soccer field and he’s lying flat on his back in the grass but there’s too much light and he can’t see the stars. 

He can’t see the stars. 

He can’t fall asleep if he can’t see the stars. If he can’t see the stars maybe he’s underground again, maybe—

“Kid, you can’t sleep there.” 

He lifts his head, wearily. It aches, heavy on his neck. It got dark at some point, except not right now, because there’s a police officer shining his flashlight into his eyes, and he squints into it. 

“Come on,” the officer says, “Go home.” 

Li Cu laughs and flops back onto the grass. The police officer mutters something that sounds like a swear word under his breath and comes through the gate, marching over to Li Cu and hauling him, albeit gently, off of the turf. 

“You been drinking?” the officer asks. Li Cu shakes his head. “Can’t smell any on you.” The man scoffs. “Jeez, kid, no offense, but you look terrible.”

Li Cu just blinks at him. He’s really tired, actually. 

The officer sighs. “Come on, I’ll drive you home. You got an ID?” 

Li Cu remembers that his ID is in his wallet which is in the pocket of his backpack and he knows it’s there because he had to use it to pay for the hotel.

 He hands the entire thing to the officer, who sorts through it, glancing at Li Cu every so often in concern, and clicking his tongue contentedly when he finds what he’s looking for. 

“Alright,” he says, “Let’s get you home.”

Li Cu’s glad this officer knows where his home is, because Li Cu has no idea.

Never mind. Li Cu is pretty sure this isn’t his house. 

The police officer rings the doorbell, and unfamiliar chime. A loud, deep voice inside says, “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” and then the door is flying open, and a large man with wild hair is staring down at them. 

Li Cu frowns because he has no idea who this guy is. 

The guy seems to know him, though, because he rolls his eyes, turns back into the house and shouts, “TIANZHEN!” 

Li Cu winces, cause his head kind of hurts now, and that was not helpful. 

The man turns back to look at them. “What did he do?” 

“Uh,” the officer says, because he’s shorter than Li Cu, actually, so he must be feeling very intimidated by this large man, “He was sleeping on the soccer field at the high school.” 

The door man snorts. “Of course he was.” He folds his arms, leaning against the doorframe, looks Li Cu over. “Yeah, you look like a mess, Ya Li.” 

“Wha?” Li Cu says, because that’s weird, that this strange giant man with large arms is calling him Ya Li. 

“That’s what Xiao Wan called you, right?” the man asks. “Su Wan? Your best friend?” 

Li Cu gapes. “How do you know Su Wan?” He backs up a step. “Is someone stalking me again?” 

The police officer looks very alarmed at that. “Again?” 

“He’s joking,” the Person-Who-Calls-Him-Ya-Li says, “No one’s stalking him. His friends came to me for help a while back, but he wasn’t with them.” 

The police officer does not seem convinced, but at that moment, a familiar face appears in the doorway behind the Person-Who-Calls-Him-Ya-Li. 

“Wu Xie?” Li Cu asks.  

Wu Xie looks just as surprised as Li Cu is. “What did he do?”

“Nothing,” the officer says, “He was trying to sleep on the soccer field. Which is actually illegal. So I brought him home.” He frowns. “This is his home, right?” 

“I don’t know,” Li Cu says. 

“Yes,” Wu Xie says quickly. “Yes, you brought him to the right place. Sorry, he’s been a little out of it lately. Stress at school, you know. Not sleeping very well.” 

“How’d you know that?” Li Cu asks in surprise, because as far as he can remember, he hasn’t seen Wu Xie since before the Wang compound. There’s a fuzzy memory of an apology, of being carried, but after he’d been thrown out the window, he woke up on a train. 

He glares at the windows to the side of the house. He does not trust them. 

Wu Xie gathers him by the shoulders and pulls him through the doorway. “Thank you, officer. I’ll make sure that it doesn’t happen again.” 

“Okay…” the police officer says. “Um. Get some rest, kid.” 

“Mmm hmm,” Li Cu mumbles, even though he knows that probably won’t happen, and Wu Xie shuts the door. 

“What’s the matter with you?” he asks. “You’re supposed to be at home.” 

“I dunno where it is,” Li Cu says. He yawns, widely. How long has it been since he slept? He has no idea. 

“You don’t know where your house is?” Wu Xie says slowly, like he’s trying to figure something out. He’ll be able to do it. Wu Xie has a Big Brain. 

“My house is where my house is,” Li Cu says vaguely. “I dunno where’s home.” 

Wu Xie goes silent for a moment. “I see.” 

Li Cu blinks himself into less of a stupor, figures out where his hands went (they were on the end of his arms). “I’ll go back there, I guess. Sorry.” 

“No, no, wait,” Wu Xie says, which is funny, because Li Cu hasn’t moved. “It’s late. You’re… really tired. We have a couch.” 

“Good for you,” Li Cu congratulates him. 

Wu Xie closes his eyes for a second, gritting his teeth. “The couch is for you.” 

“You’re giving me a couch?” 

“Oh my god,” Wu Xie says. 

The Person-Who-Calls-Him-Ya-Li laughs. “You sure chose a good one, Tianzhen.” 

“Shut up, Pangzi,” Wu Xie mutters, because apparently he is this Tianzhen person. 

“Make him take a nap for an hour,” Pangzi says, wandering off down the hall. “Then dinner’ll be ready.” 

“We had dinner earlier,” Wu Xie calls after him. 

Pangzi stops, looks at Wu Xie pointedly. “Nope. Dinner. In an hour. So the kid can join us.” 

“Oh,” Wu Xie says. “Oh, right. Yeah. Dinner.” 

Li Cu might puzzle through this if he were more awake, but he’s really not. “What?” 

Wu Xie sighs at him. Li Cu should really stop making him do that. “Alright,” he says, “Come with me.” 

Li Cu dutifully follows Wu Xie down the hallway, because he’s followed Wu Xie into worse places. 

They come out into a wide-open room, full of books and random vases and boxes of papers and bits and bobs. Sure enough, there’s a couch there, and Wu Xie steers Li Cu over to it, pushing against his shoulders gently to make him sit. The couch is pretty soft, a well-worn type of feel to it, like someone has sat here every day for years and years and filled it full of memories. 

“I’m not going to ask if you need to be hom—back at your place, because I really doubt it,” Wu Xie tells him. His voice is coming from below Li Cu’s ears, so Li Cu looks down to see Wu Xie pulling off one of his boots, so Li Cu flops over his knees to pull of the other one, but his fingers get tangled in the laces, and he gives up and lets Wu Xie do it.

Wu Xie sighs at him. He takes Li Cu’s backpack and puts it next to the coffee table, where Li Cu can see it. He appreciates that. It’s good to know where things are. If you know where your things are, you can’t lose them. If you know where snakes are, they can’t bite you. If you know where Wu Xie is, you don’t have to miss him. 

“Lie down,” Wu Xie says softly, and the couch really is comfortable, so Li Cu tentatively pulls his legs up and sets his head down and gazes at the lamp next to an armchair. 

Wu Xie drags the throw blanket from the back of the couch and settles it around Li Cu’s body, which might be a little overkill, because Li Cu isn’t going to be here that long, he’s just going to rest for a moment, and then he’ll leave. Then he’ll get out of Wu Xie’s way. He’ll go back. Just a few minutes. 

Wu Xie straightens up, grunting a little bit, and Li Cu almost says, don’t go, but he bites his tongue.  He can’t ask that much of Wu Xie. Wu Xie’s already giving him a couch. 

But then, Wu Xie doesn’t leave. He goes over to the armchair, picks up the notebook lying tent-style over its arm, flips through it. Someone’s glasses are on the end table, and that someone turns out to be Wu Xie, because they go on his nose as he takes in whatever the journal says, chewing the inside of his cheek absently and tapping a pattern out on his knee. 

Li Cu blinks, slowly. Wu Xie is warm and marvelous, he thinks. He’s fading into a soft glow, backlit by a warm light that reminds Li Cu of something, something good, something he thought he lost, but maybe not. Maybe not. 

He falls asleep and dreams he’s home.

[dcbbw]

Would you ever 📝 AU Romance. Riley having a pregnancy scare or how would Liam would react?

@gkittylove99!!! THIS ASK! THIS.ASK. I have to thank my pre-readers and idea bouncers @sirbeepsalot, @burnsoslow, and @ao719. And to all the folks I sent random snippets to, thank you for not thinking I was crazy!

Warnings for this full-blown fic: Slightly NSFW, Frank discussion of pregnancy termination

I awaken to feel Liam’s weight pressed against my back. His palms cover the backs of my hands as his cock sits in my center, throbbing and twitching.

“Are you awake yet?” His breath, warm and stale, tickles the back of my neck.

I respond by arching my hips upwards; I feel his groin  grind against me as he alternates his thrusts between teasingly slow and hard and rough. His teeth scrape my skin between groans of: “Throw that pussy at me,” and “You like how this dick feels?”

The head of his cock is pressed against my spot and I cry out as I release over his shaft; the pillow muffles it. Shortly thereafter, I feel his orgasm splashing against my still clenching walls. He pulls out and rolls over onto his back.

We start every morning with some form of sex. Sometimes it’s oral for me, a blowjob in front of the bedroom mirror for him, or intercourse. It’s always vanilla; we save the kinky for the nighttime.

I stay laying on my stomach; I have been tired lately. And unfocused. I think I need vitamins, maybe an iron supplement. Liam’s voice rouses me, and I turn my head to look at him.

“You need to get up, Riley. It’s time for your shower.”

“I don’t feel good,” I say.

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you have a cold?”

I shake my head. “I just don’t feel good.”

He gives me an odd look before speaking. “I’ll make you some tea and arrange to telework today.”

And then he rises naked from the bed, leaving me alone in the room.

One Week Later

It’s Wednesday, and I am in the office. Chase and Penelope have gone to make the Starbucks run before staff meeting. I didn’t order anything; I am still queasy and it’s strongest in the morning. I feel even more rundown, and there is some heartburn. I am booting up my laptop when my desk phone rings. It’s Lynn, my boss.

“Hey! Come back here and talk to me,” she requests in her signature cheery tone.

I tell her to give me two minutes and hang up. The phone rings again. “Need me to bring you anything?” I answer, sure it’s her again. But it’s Liam.

“Don’t order a car this evening. My car will pick you up at 4:30.”

I stare stupidly at my screen. “Why?”

“You’ll find out.” And the call is disconnected.

I feel uncertainty twist my already roiling stomach as I head into Lynn’s cubicle. She looks up at me, a bright smile on her face. Her hair is in loose waves and falls just past her shoulders; her skin is clear with a rosy glow.

“You look great!” I compliment her. “How do you feel?”

Lynn is entering her fifth month of pregnancy. It’s her fourth; she’s carrying twins.

“Thanks! I feel like I’m hauling around a pod of whales. Sperm whales,” she giggles at her pun.

I offer her a weak smile as I sit in the only empty chair in her cubicle. She frowns slightly. “Was that HR offensive?” She waves her hand dismissively. “I don’t know and too fat to care.”

I shake my head slightly. “You’re fine.”

She begins to dig into a styrofoam container that holds her breakfast: corned beef hash, sausage links, grits, potatoes, toast, and sunny-side up eggs. The sights and smells turn my stomach even more. As she eats, Lynn prattles about her weekend, possibly hiring a new person to help Coco in IT, and maybe putting together an employee handbook.

I say nothing because if I open my mouth, the water and yogurt I had earlier may come up. Noticing my silence, Lynn looks up me; her eyes are critical as she studies me.

“Riley, are you okay? You look … listless.”

“I’m fine!” I force myself to respond cheerfully. “Just a little tired.”

One of her hands rests lightly against her burgeoning belly; the other firmly grips her fork as she drags it through hash, grits, and egg yolk. “Go home. Get some rest for the remainder of the week.”

“I’m fine,” I protest.

“Then go home and get even better. Answer a couple of emails, take a call and you won’t have to use your leave.” She speaks around mouthfuls of food.

My eyes fall to her belly. “Do you have names for the babies yet?”

“Peanut butter and Jelly.” She sees my surprised expression. “There’s a story there, but it’s definitely NSFW. I’m not dealing with HR today.”

She waves her hand at me in a “shoo” motion. “Go home! See you Monday.”

I rise from the chair and make my way slowly back to my desk. I shut down the laptop. I pick up my desk phone and call Liam.

“What?” His tone is curt. I wonder if he’s busy or doesn’t want to hear from me.

“I’m leaving work now. I’m off until Monday.”

A pause before he speaks. I hear papers being shuffled and him typing on his keyboard. “Call the car, go to the penthouse. Shower. Don’t answer the door for anyone, don’t be a Nosy Parker, and I’ll be there shortly.”

And he hangs up.

Once inside the penthouse, I wander around before I shower. It’s rare Liam leaves me alone here; I find it feels strange without his presence. The quiet sounds different, the sun slants through the windows at an altered angle. The stovetop and counters gleam in the bright kitchen; usually both are filled with pots and pans and food in various stages of preparation. I open the refrigerator; there is a platter of homemade meatballs, perfectly rolled and shaped and filled with onions and peppers, ready to be cooked for our dinner tonight. I wonder what else we’ll have.

As I cross back through the living room, I look up at the staircase; only when Liam requests me in his study do I venture into the upper level of the penthouse. There’s a study, home gym, full bathroom, guest room, and the only ingress/egress to the outdoor space upstairs.

I keep walking until I reach the bedroom. I pass Liam’s chest of drawers and frown; one of the drawers isn’t fully closed. I set my phone on top of the furniture and place my palm against the gleaming wood to push it close, but I hesitate. I wonder what’s inside. I look around, even though I know I am the only person in the house.

I’m going to be a Nosy Parker.

I pull the drawer open cautiously and peer inside: neatly folded stacks of boxer shorts in white and black greet me. Next to them are wife beaters, also in white and black, and short-sleeved undershirts in white. There is a wooden tray on the right-hand side of the drawer; it’s mostly cufflinks and tie clips, but I see two photographs, face down. I look at them curiously; just as my fingers reach out to touch them, my phone rings.

I jump and let out a small yell before pushing the drawer shut and looking at my caller ID. I don’t recognize the number; I toss the phone onto the bed before stripping and entering the shower. By the time Liam arrives home, I am wearing his robe and wrapped in a blanket on the living room sofa. There is a talk show on the television. He stands in the doorway looking at me, carrying a brown paper bag. It smells delicious.

And I am now starving.

His eyes look me over as he passes me the food; it’s a grilled cheese sandwich and cup of tomato soup with basil. I look at him gratefully before I bite ravenously into the gooey, melted cheese and hot buttered bread. The cheese melts against my tongue; a droplet of butter rolls from my lower lip down my chin.

Liam sits next to me; he turns the television off.

“You’re feeling better?”

I am drinking savory soup directly from the container. “I’m still tired, but my nausea has passed.”

He nods thoughtfully. “You haven’t used your supplies this month, Riley.”

The sandwich is at my lips, but my mouth does not open. I’m trying to calculate the last time I had my period. Liam watches me for a few seconds before speaking.

“You’re 10 days late, Riley.”

I stare at him, struggling to come to terms with what this meant. Or could mean. Even the most regular women were sometimes late due to hormones or something.

But I was sick in the mornings. I was fatigued constantly.

The image of Lynn’s hand on her pregnant belly flashes through my mind.

I set my food down; my mouth is suddenly dry. “What … what if I am?”

“Pregnant?” Liam asks as he stands, then makes his way to the television set. He stands there, arms folded across his chest. His burgundy tie is blood against the crisp, white shirt he wears.

I nod slowly.

“You’ll get rid of it.” His tone is calm, matter-of-fact.

A coldness spreads from my belly to chill my entire body. I feel goosebumps rise on my skin. “No,” I whisper. “IF I am, it’s my body!”

“But my child. I don’t want children, Riley.”

“Then you should’ve taken better precautions!” I yell as I stand and get in his face. The robe falls open. I am naked beneath it, but Liam isn’t looking at my body.

“YOU said you were on birth control!” His voices thunders throughout the apartment. He takes a deep breath as he composes himself.

“However, I should have ensured that no … accidents could occur. I’ll be rectifying that situation.”

My eyes search his. He returns my gaze, his eyes steady. How could he be so callous, so cold towards a possible life he helped create?

“I’m not getting rid of our baby. This isn’t something you can throw money at to make it go away, Liam!”

He looks at me incredulously. “It’s a BABY! I will ALWAYS BE THROWING MONEY AT IT!” He shakes his head. “Best to make a one-time payment and be done with it.” He looks at me with hard, dark eyes. “And you either get rid of it or give it up. Those are your only options, Riley. You can’t have us both.”

He steps around me, headed for the stairway that leads upstairs. “Finish your food before it gets cold.”

The heels of his shoes tap against hardwood as he jogs up the stairs. And I am alone.

All alone.

I look around and my glance falls on my lunch. I gather it and take it into the kitchen; I watch red liquid splash against the stainless steel of the sink as I pour the soup out. I wrap the sandwich in its paper, put it back inside its bag, and ball the whole thing up before tossing it in the trash.

Back in the living room, I straighten the sofa cushions and fold my blanket; I carry the blanket with me to the bedroom. I place it back inside the closet; I look at my clothing. Clothing that Liam bought. My fingertips run across the various fabrics: silk, wool, cotton; it causes the hangers to tinkle against each other.

I am standing at the window, the robe belted tightly around my waist, when I hear Liam’s voice behind me. He says I have a doctor’s appointment Friday morning to determine if I am indeed pregnant. I say nothing as my eyes stay fixed on sunlight glinting off the East River, barely visible behind buildings of stone and steel.

I feel him behind me; I smell his cologne and hear his breathing. I feel tears prick my eyes.

“Why do you hate me so much?” I whisper.

“I don’t,” he answers softly.

His arms come around my waist and I feel his face drop into my hair. Then he steps away. “Dinner in an hour.”

“I’m not hungry.”

His footsteps pause. “You should eat.” And then he is gone.

That night, we do not have sex, but we do the next morning. We then spend the remainder of the day avoiding each other and not speaking.

I sit on his ridiculously oversized bed, chin resting on my knees, wondering what I will do if I am pregnant. I have my job; I have the alimony from Maxwell. I would need to find a bigger apartment, a two-bedroom at least.

I would not ask Liam for any child support, nor would I accept it if offered.

Friday morning, we are sitting in a doctor’s office. I fill out paperwork and give the receptionist my insurance information. Liam sits in a chair, an ankle resting on a thigh while he reads a magazine. When my name is called, he walks with me into the examination room.

The nurse is cheerful; she asks me questions that I answer in a dull tone.

No, I have never been pregnant before.

My period is now two weeks late.

The nausea is worse in the morning. I also have heartburn.

No pain.

Liam’s eyes stay fixed on me.

The nurse draws blood; I go to the bathroom to pee in a cup. And we wait.

The doctor comes in 20 minutes later. I am not pregnant. But she wants to do an ultrasound. I feel relief, sadness, and fear. I look at Liam, but his expression is stoic, giving nothing away. I agree to the ultrasound.

There is cool gel. Pictures of my insides show up on a screen. There are white spots on my right side.

I have gallstones; that is why I am nauseous and have heartburn and fatigue.

My surgery is scheduled for a month from Monday.

Liam asks if there is anything that can help relieve my discomfort for the next month. He inquires about foods and drinks to avoid. But he doesn’t look at the doctor when he asks his questions.

He is squatting in front of me, his thumb brushing my cheek while his eyes hold mine captive.

The doctor answers as she scribbles on paper: Ibuprofen to help with pain, and I need to limit my dairy, fats, grease, and fried foods.

At the reception desk, Liam pays the co-pay costs. The receptionist smiles at him. “Dr. Marion will see you Wednesday. Did you receive your paperwork?”

Liam nods, and tells her he will return it no later than Monday before he takes my hand as we walk to the elevator. I want to pull away because I don’t think he would be holding my hand if I were pregnant.

He won.

But I let my hand stay wrapped with his.

“Who’s Dr. Marion?” I ask.

“My urologist.”

“Is it a routine visit?”

I feel my stomach sour even though I haven’t eaten anything.

The elevator car arrives, and we board. He pushes the button to take us to the lobby. His eyes stay fixed on the metal doors as we begin our descent downstairs.

“I’m getting a vasectomy.”

And he says nothing else.

Tagging: @sirbeepsalot @jared2612 @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @hopefulmoonobject @amomentofsinclairity @ao719 @burnsoslow @bbrandy2002 @janezillow @marietrinmimi @annekebbphotography @merridithsmiscellany-blog @queenjilian @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @indiacater @forthebrokenheartedthings @kingliam2019 @bebepac @zaffrenotes @liyanin @liamxs-world @choiceslife @ac27dj @the-soot-sprite @gnatbrain @sanchita012 @anotherbeingsworld @atha68 @hopelessromanticmonie @amandablink @cmestrella @iaminlovewithtrr @cinnamonspongecake @lifeaskim @starrystarrytrouble @liamandneca @liamrhysstalker2020 @alyssalauren @queenrileyrose @ladyangel70 @yourmajesty09 @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @ritachacha @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @cordonianroyalty @superharriet

   #tw discussion of pregnancy termination #tw slightly ns*w #dcbbw answers #UnRomance AU ask #liam x riley #this isn’t Cordonia

[fourthwallhateclub]

Help me

Description: Emma is with Phoenix when she is kidnapped, can Bravo set aside their emotions in time to save her, or will they be too late...

A/N: I wrote some things like this over on Ao3 under “FourthWallHateClub”, this will eventually have a second part but with my ADHD I don’t know when that will happen 🙃 please feel free to send feedback on the fix, I know it’s shit but I live for shit so 🤭

@rebelreblogs

Emma's POV

Darkness... Floating... Silence... My eyes fluttered open and started to adjust to the light... where was I? The door slammed open,

"You're awake!" Was that... was that an Afghan accent? Then it all came back to hit me like a freight train...

48 hours before hand

"Sup Dalton." I said.

"Shut it Hayes." He said pissed off.

I turned to Mac with a questioning look, "Who pissed in his coffee?"

Mac smirked, "Don't take it personally, he's not pissed with you, he's pissed with Maddie. He was on his way to a football game with one of our old delta buddies when he got the call."

"It's..." I glanced at my watch, "1300 hours?"

"We we're gonna have a few beers!" Dalton groaned.

'More than a few.' I mouthed to Mac, he just coughed to stifle his laugh.

Matty walked in, tapping the glass creating a privacy screen, and clicked a button bringing an image up on screen. "Amir-Botzwat-Asharu."

"10 of clubs..." I breathed out in disbelief.

"International arms dealer, drug trafficker-"

"and grade-A prick." Jack stated matter-of-factly.

Mac snorted, "You can say that again."

"The guys been evading Phoenix since it was OPS, us personally for years, why are we concerned about him now?" I wondered.

"What's this got to do with us, CIA took over the case, why now?" Jack asked.

"If you’d let me talk, you’d know,” Matty said sarcastically, “He recently kidnapped and murdered an American. Phoenix have had him on our radar for a while now as you’re aware but the higher ups refused to green light the op to take him out, saying CIA had it handled. That all went to hell when their undercover agent was exposed, they shot him and put a bounty on everybody CIA affiliated."She said.

"We're on their SOS list Matty, we outrank some shitty little 'bounty' list." I said.

"Regardless, you, Dalton and MacGyver leave for the Middle East at 1600 this afternoon so you arrive at night, get your affairs in order because the big men upstairs say you don't leave till the jobs is done. You'll be properly briefed on the plane, but there are more pressing issues, you guys have up to date parachute qualifications right?"

"I don't like where this is going..." Jack mused.

"Me either..." Mac agreed.

"As much as I hate agreeing with you two shmucks, me three..." I said.

"Well whether you like it or not your jumping from that plane, there's no where for it to land where you'll keep your cover. Unless you want to walk 13 miles to where you'll be staying?" She challenged.

"WE'LL JUMP!!" We said in unison.

She smirked, "That's what I thought."

"Okay... where exactly are we going in the Middle East, and where are we staying?" I asked.

"You are going to Afghanistan."

"Fucking Trashcanistan?!? You've got to be kidding." Jack screeched.

Ah Dalton and his hatred for that place... he would get along with Uncle Sonny, man has a fear of bloody everything...

"SHIT!!" I yelled.

All heads snapped to me, "What's wrong Hayes?"

"Um... where exactly would we be staying?" I asked biting my lip.

"Navy base in J-"

I laughed nervously, "Would that be in J-Bad by any chance?"

"Yes, why?" Matty asked.

"We have a little problem..." I mumbled.

"And what would that be..." She mused, raising an eyebrow.

"My uh- my family was spun-up there a few weeks ago." I said.

"What do you mean Em?" Mac asked.

"I mean my family, is Bravo team. They are currently in the Middle East, and are stationed in J-Bad for the foreseeable future. What do we do?"

"I'm assuming that they were not among the people you told about your job?" Matty asked.

"No ma'am. Mac, Dalton, Bozer and Riley are the only ones who know..." I answered.

"You arrive at night anyway, you cover your tracks and stay as hidden as possible, don't talk to anyone and stay away from the sailors. Nobody is to know what you're doing there or who you are... to them you three are Black Rose, Hunter, and Eagle." Matty said.

"Yes ma'am."

"Well... get out of here."

We didn't need to be told twice, we were running out the door and to the squad room.

"What the fuck do I do?!?" I yelled as we entered the room.

"Want a hug?" Mac asked opening his arms. I nodded and walked into him tucking myself into his figure, "You'll be ok."

Jack's POV

"Wait! Is your dad the Jason Hayes, like Bravo 1, the legend?!?" I screeched.

"Uh- yeah.." Emma said pushing away from Mac and scratching her head.

"That explains a lot..."

"What do you mean?" She was confused.

"I mean, having worked with your father, I see where you get it from."

She laughed, "You are so old."

I gasped, "You mean we are so old. Mac and I worked together in the Army."

“No. You? You're old enough to be my dad. Mac? Is old enough to be my big brother." She laughed.

"Yeah, and we'll protect you like it too." I said hugging her shoulder.

"You won't have to do anything if my family spots me. I'll be on the first plane out of there and back home, complete with a tracker and navy seal protection detail. They'll never let me out of their fucking sight." She grumbled.

"You'll be ok. Let's get ready to rak out." I said.

"You're right."

I walked into my office and grabbed my rucksack and duffel. I met them back in the main room.

"List it Hayes."

She groaned, "Why???"

I smirked, "We're acting like the older brother and dad we are."

She rolled her eyes but spoke anyway, "I made sure my camping gear, fatigues and survival gear was in my bergan, along with Guns, ammo, knife and spare phones," we looked at her weirdly, "What? I'm sick of Mac breaking my shit. Dalton and I spend way to much fucking time at the Genius Bar creating new and inventive covers to explain what Mac does as is."

Mac raised his hands, "You got me."

She smirked, "I know I do, anyway, I grabbed my go-bag, passport and fake ID's."

"What's in your go-bag." I quizzed.

"Toiletries, Clothes, Cash, Raincoat, Matches, Lighter, Laptop, Flashlight, MRE's, water purification tablets, rope, duct tape, whistle, batteries, knife, and First aid kit. Why do we keep doing this?"

"Good, and we do it because we care." Mac said kissing her head.

“Ugh! Let's go." We headed out to Mac's truck and dumped our stuff in the back. She hopped in the back and we drove to Mac's place.

"Bozer!" Mac called.

"Sup guys." He said bro hugging Mac.

"We're heading out, I need you to take care of some stuff for us." Mac asked.

"Yeah ok, let me grab some paper." He said.

We walked into the kitchen and told him what we needed, Mac didn't need to worry because he lived with Bozer, so Em went first, "My rent is due first of the month, it auto pays but I need you to check on the seventh if I have mail just in case it didn't go through. I need mail collected on the 7th, 14th 21st, and 28th. Plants need to be watered but that can be done when you grab my mail, if anything happens there is a contact sheet folded in the draw of my desk, it'll tell you who to call, in what order. You good with that?"

"All good Em." He said with a smile.

"Thanks Boz."

"Your welcome, Jack anything you need." He questioned.

"I live next to Emma so same as her just no plants to water, if you could check on my place when you water Emma's plants that would be great, and there is a contact list in the box on top of the CD rack."

"Cool, I got it."

“Thanks Boz." Mac said walking back into the room with his bag.

"It's all cool man." He said.

We walked to the door before he called out, "Be safe, I want you back in one piece."

"We'll try Boz."

~Time skip brought to you by Sonny’s Bam-Bam~

We'd been briefed and where currently in our hammocks grabbing what sleep we could before we hit the ground running.

"Drop zone is up in 35."

"Let's go kids." I commanded with a laugh.

We packed up our hammocks and pulled on our jump suits. I strapped my duffel to the bottom of my bergan and grabbed my chute. Strapping my Bergan to my back I pulled the parachute over the top. I walked over to the ramp and waited for Mac and Em to join me.

"2 minutes to the drop zone"

"Ready ladies." I yelled over.

"We're coming." Mac laughed.

We attached to the central line and clipped in, we watched as the light turned on and the ramp lowered,

"5...4...3...2...1..."

The light turned green and we jumped. My drill instructors voice went through my head. Breathing Dalton... in for 2... hold for 4... out for 3... parachute in 3, 2, 1. Pull the cord. Release the parachute. Move your body vertical. Feet pointed down. Legs slightly apart. Hit the deck in 3...2...1. Land crouched. Bend knees and run forward 20 yards. Unclip and pull.

Emma and Mac landed next to me and we packed up our chutes.

"Base is roughly 1 click 228 degrees north east." I said.

"Comms up?" Mac asked.

"Yeah they are." Matty answered.

"Good." I said. "Let's go."

We moved our bergans to our fronts and held our duffel bags. We broke out into a jog eager to get out of the heat. Arriving at the 'base' we were met with our assigned CIA handler.

"Agent Jayden Riggs." He said offering his hand.

I shook it, "I'm Eagle, this is Hunter and she's Black Rose."

"Real names?" He asked.

"That's need to know." Emma answered.

“What do you mean, I'm your handler?"

"Look Riggs, we don't like spooks ok. We work alone, off our own intel. It's important our identities remain a secret." She answered shortly, that's my Hayes.

"Alright then, let's get you set up in cabins, Black Rose, you'll be separated from the men." He said as he started walking away.

"What?" I said.

"Gender sensitivity. Men and women are separated." He said like it was obvious.

"Yeah no, she stays with us. We don't care about gender sensitivity." Mac said before I could, reel in the big brother before you get yourself in trouble Mac.

"It's protoco-"

I cut him off, "Screw protocol, Black Rose stays with us."

"Of course." He relented.

He led us to a cabin as a humvee pulled up, out climbed 6 men and a dog, all in fatigues, before I could see anything else Emma pushed us into the cabin and slammed the door shut behind us as we collapsed onto the floor.

"What was that??"

"That! Was my family." She helped us up.

Jason's POV

We were on night patrol in a neighbouring town to J-bad, we'd been out for 6 hours and it was 0300. I decided it was time to head back.

"Let's move out."

We walked back to the humvee and climbed in. We'd been driving for about 15 minutes when we saw three figures drop from the sky.

"What the hell is that?" Sonny asked.

"I'll find out." I said keying my comms, "Havoc base this is Bravo 1, we've got three parachute jumpers coming towards base."

"Copy that Bravo 1, I'll find out." Blackburn answered, a few minutes later he keyed his coms again, "Stand down, their friendlies."

"What do you mean their 'friendlies'?"

"I'll find out."

I rolled my eyes, cryptic much. We watched as they landed about 5 clicks ahead of us and packed their chutes away, then started running towards base.

"We're not far out now. We'll talk when we get in." I said.

We got to the base gate and rolled through, getting out I saw three figures standing outside a cabin glance at us before one pushed the others into the cabin and slammed the door. Weird. After we dumped our gear in the shed. We walked into the team room where Eric and Mandy were waiting.

"Who were they?" I asked.

"Apparently they work for some government agency, they're following a lead on a case." Mandy said.

"Which agency?" Brock asked.

"I don't know guys. I don't know..." Eric said.

"Why did they jump Eric? Why not just land on the airstrip?" I quizzed.

"Apparently they're meant to be discreet. Nobody was supposed to know they're here." Mandy said.

"Well they did a crap job of that." Ray said.

"Actually Ray, you guys weren't meant to be out tonight, had base been on routine nobody would have seen them come in." Eric spoke.

"Well that's creepy." Clay said.

"What do we know about these guys Mandy?" I asked.

"Two guys, one girl actually." She stated hint of amusement in her tone.

"A girl?!?" Sonny yelled.

"What? Don't think women can do the same jobs as men? Or are you just worried she's going to outshine you." Lisa interrogated.

"No but if she gets snatched we'll be the ones collecting her." He grumbled.

"So? If she's snatched it's going to be for bad intel, and unfair conditions. Not because she's a woman." Lisa challenged.

"Enough! What do we know about them?" I yelled.

"Their handler couldn't tell me much, mainly because he didn't know a great deal. However, their code names are Black-Rose, Hunter and Eagle. Their handler doesn't know their real names and I suspect that's by design." Mandy spoke.

"Ok. First off those why do those code names ring a bell, Second what do we know about the organisation they work for?" Clay asked.

"Honestly? Nothing. None of my bosses know who or what they are and the further up I went the more I was told to stop digging." Mandy said.

"So what do we do?" Trent asked.

"We stay away. We don't talk to them, not only for your safety but for theirs too. You see them walking you say nothing, although I suspect given all the trouble they went to so they weren't seen while getting here, we won't be seeing an awful lot of them." Eric mused.

"Alright then." I said clapping my hands, "We need to sleep." I turned to Eric, "I trust if you find anymore information that could be of use you'll speak to us?"

"Of course." Eric said nodding curtly before walking out of the room.

[awhiskeyriver]

Id love to see some background from the scene from the Bet where Katniss stopped by Peetas apartment, and thought pantsless Madge was there for him, but from the POV of Madge and Gale after Katniss left. How quickly did Madge go “ohh she likes Peeta a lot” haha

I hope you enjoy! Thanks for the prompt :)

Unedited. Mistakes are mine.

                                                     +++

“You’re a bad influence, Gale Hawthorne,” I reprimanded with a poke to the center of his chest. He caught my hand, holding it there before rolling over onto his side to sling a heavy arm over my hip.

“You like it.”

“Maybe so,” I mused, laughing as he trailed ticklish kisses down my neck. “No more skipping class, though. I still don’t know how you convinced me not to go to my lecture…”

“You’re not?” he breathed against my skin, playfully. His hand slipped lower down my hip, finger teasing the material of my underwear. “Need me to refresh your memory?”

“I have no doubt you will.” I swatted his hand, twisting away from him as I rolled out of the bed. “Coffee first.”

“Bring me some?” he asked cheekily, stretching his arms out behind his head in a lazy move. I rolled my eyes, slipping my glasses onto my face before searching the room for my discarded sweater. 

It was a luxury having the apartment all to ourselves. With so many roommates, it wasn’t untypical for someone to always be around. Not that I minded it. One of my favorite parts about spending time at Gale’s place was the insanity that often ensued here. But, sometimes it was also fun to get a cup of coffee half naked before climbing back into your boyfriend's bed without having to worry about getting caught. 

I hummed absently to myself, basking in the early morning quietness, as the Keruig did its thing. The cups I’d gotten for Gale on my last visit to New York were sitting side by side in the cupboard and I reached up on my tiptoes to grab them. 

When rustling came from just outside the door though, it pulled me up short. I froze, cocking my head to the side a little as the shuffling continued. Like someone was pressed up against the door. I waited for a knock, wondering if it were possible Finnick or Peeta forgot their key, but nothing came. 

A package, maybe? 

I knew the apartment doors locked on their own, a passcode or buzz was needed to get in through the main doors, but perhaps someone else had let the mailman in and he was doing his rounds to each doorstep.

I grabbed my cup and replaced it with Gale’s, taking a sip as I shuffled over towards the door. 

When I opened it, I might’ve not known what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t another girl. Bent down towards the bottom of the door, she squatted awkwardly, trying not to expose herself in the skirt she donned. 

We both gasped in surprise, and she stumbled a little to regain her balance as I clutched my free hand to my heart. 

“Sorry,” I laughed, breathlessly. “I heard rustling outside the door and…” 

“It’s fine,” she said shortly, appearing flustered as she rose back up, smoothing out her clothing. She was adorable; dark skin and hair that matched, falling in delicate curls over her shoulders. Despite it barely being eight-thirty, she was wearing a full face of makeup and heeled boots. Good for her. I could barely manage to throw my hair up in a ponytail.

She fiddled with an envelope in her hands, and it hadn’t escaped my notice that Peeta’s name was neatly scripted across the back of it. Part of me had expected she was at the wrong apartment. That she lived one floor up, or down, and was searching for a spare key beneath the shoe mat, or something. But if she were here on purpose, it made the most sense that it was because of Peeta.

Judging by the way she had trouble meeting my gaze, I had a feeling she’d hoped to drop the letter of in secret. Not having expected to come face to face with anyone.   

“That for Peeta?” I asked, trying to ease her nerves by bringing it up first. I smiled friendly, as if the two of us shared a secret.

“Yeah…” she said slowly, eyes narrowing as they looked me over cautiously. 

“He’s not here right now,” I said, hoping the knowledge might put her at ease a little. Her skepticism read as though she might’ve thought I was also there for him, and I could see the betrayal in the way her glossed lips dipped at the ends. 

She started to twist towards her backpack, like she might take the letter with her. But if she did that, she might lose the nerve she’d built up to write it to him in the first place. Then what if she never gave it to him? What if he didn’t know about the admirer at all? She was so cute, so sweet looking. And after the rocky start of a year Peeta had had, something like this might’ve done him well. 

“I can give it to him, though,” I promised, and she faltered before reaching out to hand it to me quickly. 

I smiled, running my hand over it as her eyes averted down to the ground. It felt light. I might’ve mistook it for a completely empty envelope if it weren’t for the slight raise in the corner from a thin piece of paper, folded maybe.

“Who should I say it’s from?”

“He’ll know,” she said, turning on her heels towards the stairs. “Thanks. Bye.”

“Oh, okay. Bye,” I waved, surprised by the quick departure. I shut the door, eyebrows pinched as I re-looked over the back of the envelope. To: Peeta Mellark.

“Who was that?” Gale asked, coming from around the corner.

“Some girl,” I shrugged, placing the letter down on the counter for Peeta to find when he returned. Gale reached for it, and I slapped his hand away. “For Peeta.”

“What girl came here for Peeta?” 

“I was going to ask you the same. I thought maybe he had a girlfriend I didn’t know about.”

“Nope.”

“You don’t think she was a stalker, do you?” I asked, color draining. I’d heard the boys all talk about how sometimes girls went over the top and did some very weird things all because they were football players. Oh god, I hoped it wasn’t a lock of her hair or something. But if Peeta didn’t have a girlfriend, how did she know where he lived? And there was still the matter of how she got up here.

Gale snorted. 

“Was she hot?”

“Does that make her not a stalker?”

“Just asking,” he shrugged, and I smacked his arm.

“She was pretty. Gorgeous, really. Long curly hair, grey eyes. Isn’t that interesting? I’d love to see the punnett square that landed her with those.”

I was starting to wish that Peeta was home. My mind was racing with questions over the mysterious door girl.

“Wait.” Gale frowned. “Grey eyes?”

I nodded and he picked up his phone, scrolling through it a minute before showing me a picture of the girl at the door. “This chick?”

“Yes!” 

“Madge, don’t you ever look at Instagram?”

“No.” 

“That’s the bitch from the sorority.”

“Really? Wow.” I looked back at the letter. “Maybe it’s an apology note.”

It was Gale’s turn to smack my hand away from it.

“If I can’t look, neither can you. We should burn it or rip it up.”

“No.”

“She’s done enough damage. Best thing she can do for him is to leave him the hell alone.”

“Either way, it’s not for us to interfere with.”

He grunted, unimpressed with my answer. 

“Fuckin’ sorority girl. She’s ruining everything. Today was supposed to be hooky day and now it’s tainted.”

“Don’t be overdramatic,” I scoffed, taking a couple steps closer until my body was against his. He welcomed me in, wrapping an arm around the low of my back, and when I leaned in to lick the shell of his ear, I felt his body stiffen.

“I still want to have fun if you do…”

I gasped in surprise when he picked me up in one motion, practically throwing me over his shoulder on the way back to the bedroom.

“Our coffee,” I giggled.

“We’ll make more later.”