#I can’t handle that his cologne is Dior

[f3ralbadomens]

Some favs of Noah recently

[ashiemochi]

hello bb idk if you take requests but i just CAN’T get a tipsy older Leon (maybe early 30’s) (ik that’s not olddd but as a 22 yr old it’s older than me lol) just his slightly unbuttoned shirt and his NICE ASS HAIR calling you “sweetheart” n shit being all flirty and TEASING YOUUU 😭 idk im not talented when it comes to writing :’)

IFHAHA this absolutely screams ID leon bRO- (wrote this on phone </3) aaaa man's 30 here and EVERYTHING IS CONSENSUAL bc reader is of legal age and tipsy leon is hot and stupid.

like i see it happening when you and some DSO agents went out to celebrate a little for succeeding in a tough mission. You'd be just vibing at the bar, drinking your margarita and munching on the peanuts when you felt eyes staring at you from behind.

glancing over your shoulder, your eyes made contact with Leon's who sat at one of the tables with the other drunken agents. A small tilted grin was plastered on his face, sharp blue eyes already stripping you down, making you feel intimidated at the intensity. He noticed you catching him staring and his smile widened, bringing his drink up to his lips , eyes still on you. And he winked.

Feeling shy, you gave him a small smile, returning your focus on your own drink, your cheeks reddening for other reasons than alcohol. Leon was a charmer, that's one thing (of many) for sure.

You could practically feel his presence nearing, his dior cologne filling up your nose and bringing warmth to all the right places.

"hey, sweetheart," Leon greeted with a smile, a slight slur in his voice as he slipped to sit next to you, "I couldn't help but notice you sitting all pretty and alone."

His navy blue button up shirt was slightly unbuttoned, revealing those majestic collarbones and a faint line between his pecs (man tiddies hihi). It didn't help that he had his sleeves rolled up to his forearm, showing off those great arms of his. His hair was as luscious ad ever, if not a bit messy but in a 'holy fucking fuck he's hotter' way.

You returned the smile, crossing your arms in front of you, "Really? what gave it away?"

"Just a hunch, sexy," He winked, waving to the bartender for a refill for the both of you and you blushed.

Sexy. that was new.

"you waitin' on someone?" Leon questioned, his knees barely grazing yours and he seemed content with the contact, clearly testing the waters. The bartender set down two drinks and you took yours, fingers coyly toying with the cherry on the toothpick.

"you could say that," You answered, shrugging slightly, "he left to talk with the other guys. I think he's drunk somewhere by now."

Leon huffed, seemingly in disbelief a guy would leave someone as breathtaking as you alone just to hang out with the others. He flashed you a grin before he took a sip of his whiskey.

"his loss."

you watched in awe and slight worry as he downed his glass, his Adam's apple bopping just right.

"careful not to get too drunk," You warned lightheartedly, "don't wanna make your lady at home miss you too much."

He scoffed with a tilted smirk, setting down his empty glass before gently putting his hand on your exposed thigh, "I don't have anyone waiting at home, but we can change that tonight, hm?"

Tingles ran down your spine at the sultry tone and you fought back the urge to laugh at how drunk he's gotten. Leon can handle his alcohol very well, but you assumed since the DSO is letting him have his 2 week vacation, he was bound to go loose.

"sorry, agent Kennedy," You chuckled before showing your hand, most specifically the silver ring on your middle finger, "but i already belong to someone else."

his eyes widened, taking in the sight of this ring, "damn..." He trailed away, the hand on your thigh growing a bit heavy but it stayed there, "well, who's the lucky guy? don't tell me he's the one who left you hangin'."

your smile widened at the irony, slipping your hand onto his to lift it up to his face, showing him the matching ring he wore on his middle finger, "You are."

His lips parted, as if now realizing the ring he wore, his tipsy mind remembering. "Oh fuck, I'm the lucky guy."

You giggled, trailing your fingers down his palm, gently grasping his hand in yours, "3 months and counting."

His smile returned and you could see in-love glint in his eyes appearing, his sober self coming through as he brought his other hand to cup your neck, thumb caressing your jawline "Didn't know i was married to an angel."

okay not fully sober.

you laughed, leaning into his touch before bringing him closer, planting your lips on his. Leon hummed, pleased as his hand trailed down your sides to squeeze your hip. You pulled away only to find him chasing your lips and you pressed your index finger against his lips.

his brows furrowed at you, glancing down at your finger then back at you with a raised brow.

"slow down, cowboy." You giggled, clicking your tongue, "these are promise rings."

Leon grinned, letting go of your hand to pick you up, enticing a squeaked gasp from you as he sat you down on his lap, leaning back against the bar as he gazed up at you with such loving eyes.

"better hurry up and make you my wife then." He whispered and it was your turn to be surprised, eyes widening.

"Really? you'd marry me?" You asked, trying to ask sober him and not 'i forgot i was taken and flirted with my girlfriend' him.

Leon smiled, tugging you down to brush his lips against yours, not quiet kissing you yet.

"till death do us part."

then his lips sealed with yours.

Boy oh boy was he gonna be getting the greatest head of his life and the shittiest hangover in the morning.

[lalainajanes]

This completes column #2 on my bingo card, the square was “Eager Backstage Groupie”

Another Shot of Courage

 Saturday, May 1st, 8:16 AM

Caroline wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, in the little black dress she'd worn to Kat's birthday party, with a headache and a foul-tasting mouth. She's sprawled in the middle of a very large mattress, so the first thing Caroline does is explore. She stretches her arms out tentatively, expecting to poke someone (hopefully an unobjectionable someone) awake.

She appears to be alone, and Caroline relaxes into the fluffy pillows. She wiggles experimentally, satisfied when her bra and underwear dig into uncomfortable areas and gives in to the temptation to burrow under the duvet.

She just needs a minute to regret her life choices before she confronts them. Caroline sighs, stretches, and her fuzzy head begins to clear, memories sharpening.

And yikes.

Can she stay in her self-made blanket fort forever? A lot of her conduct last night had been highly irrational, some of it downright hypocritical. She is a public relations professional, highly sought after. Her clients pay many pretty pennies for her services.

Had she seriously mauled Klaus Mikaelson in one of the trendiest clubs in LA?

Caroline tugs down the blanket, intent on confirming her suspicions, allowing her to look around and study the room with new eyes.

There's a brick fireplace at the end of the bed, a wide armchair in front of it – not particularly revealing. Her eyes flick to the left. There's nothing, but dark curtains pulled tight over a wall of windows.

When she looks to the right, there's a smoking gun. Well, kind of. It's a drafting table, an easel, and shelves featuring paintbrushes, haphazardly stacked sketchbooks, and a bunch of other things that Caroline doesn't currently have the brainpower to identify.

She considers slipping out of bed and checking to see if those curtains cover any kind of door. She thinks it's logical to assume so. She's only been to Klaus' home a few times, tries to insist they meet at her office. She's never ventured far beyond the kitchen and living rooms, but it's a Spanish-style bungalow on a sprawling lot. Why wouldn't he have a walk out into the yard from his bedroom?

She discards the idea with some regret. Running away without a word is a coward's move and would probably backfire. Klaus is still her client, whatever psychosis had gripped Caroline last night, and it's not like she could dump him via email at this point. He's got a huge movie coming in three weeks, and they're flying to London tomorrow to begin the premiere tour. She could probably pass it on to another publicist, but she'd still be on the hook, would have to coordinate her plans long-distance.

Selfishly, Caroline hopes that's not necessary. She'd hate for someone else to reap the benefits of her hard work.

She heaves herself into a sitting position, wincing when her head throbs. Her stomach seems solid, with no hint of queasiness, so that's a plus. Caroline tosses the covers aside, shifts until her legs slide over the side of the bed. She catches a glimpse of herself in a mirror through the open closet door and cringes.

She'd done an excellent smoky eye last night, and it's migrated all over her face. She doesn't even want to consider how long it's going to take to detangle her hair. She decides she can wait a bit to hunt down Klaus, stepping forward and twisting the knob on the closed door. "Jackpot," Caroline mutters, walking into Klaus' bathroom. There's a stack of towels on the counter, and she figures it won't hurt to take a shower.

She'd had her tongue in his mouth and had apparently kicked him out of his bed, so what's one more presumption?

Friday, April 30th, 10:47 PM

In the VIP lounge Kat had rented, elevated above the main dance floor, Caroline waves away a shot of tequila. She'd had one during the birthday toast, wine at dinner. Had just ordered an overpriced cocktail. She's pleasantly tipsy but needs to pace herself because she can't get too drunk tonight.

Besides, Caroline and tequila have a complicated relationship.

Kat boos her, a few of the other girls joining in. Caroline laughs, "I know, I'm boring. I have a million things to do tomorrow to make sure I'm ready to live out of a suitcase for weeks."

Katherine scoffs, "Just make Klaus buy you anything you forget. What good is a guy who's hot for you and makes big fat superhero movie paychecks if he won't buy you pretty things?"

They've discussed this a bajillion times. Caroline has actually run away from this exact conversation, shouting nonsense syllables, with her fingers jammed in her ear, as if she and Katherine still fight over Barbies and who gets to wear dress-up trunk's best princess dress.

Caroline still can't resist arguing – it's a character flaw. "He's my client. That's it."

"Oh, please. Men in this town bone their clients all the time."

"That doesn't make it okay!"

Usually, this is the part where Katherine tries to convince her that Klaus is dying to be boned – her words, not Caroline's – but she gets distracted, squinting across the bar. Kat's lips curl, expression growing sly, "It appears my argument is moot."

Um, what? Katherine's literally never backed down from an argument in the twenty-plus years they've been friends. Puzzled, Caroline turns, trying to see what caught Kat's attention.

The club features several VIP lounges, each located at the top of a short staircase and decorated with wide velvet sofas and crystal chandeliers. There's an attendant who keeps booze and food flowing. It's clever – the sofas are inviting and squishy, tend to force people close together. The chandeliers ensure that anyone who happens to take a picture can get a decent shot, and the free flow of liquor has lowered the inhibitions of at least half a dozen celebrities, resulting in photos that send the gossip blogs into a tizzy as soon as they hit the internet.

When Caroline spots Klaus across the way, a redheaded model sprawled in his lap, she's immediately fuming.

"Looks like he got tired of waiting," Kat drawls. "Wanna reconsider the tequila?"

"Katherine. I love you. But zip it."

Katherine makes a face but leaves Caroline alone, turning to another one of their friends and asking a question. Caroline takes a deep breath, counts to ten.

She'd busted her ass to make him appear family-friendly enough to land the movie with the very PR-conscious studio that had netted him the big fat checks Katherine had just been crowing over. He's jeopardizing that on the eve of the most significant press tour of his career.

She looks over again, leaning forward. The redhead's moved away, she's sitting at Klaus' side, and they now appear to be merely engaged in conversation. Caroline does her best to think like a photographer – is there an angle that could make the scene look tawdry?

Probably not. So really, Klaus isn't jeopardizing anything.

Caroline's anger doesn't cool at the revelation.

She's so screwed.

She's on her feet before she decides to be, stalking down the stairs. She hears Katherine yelling borderline lewd encouragement at her back, but Caroline knows better than to take her advice.

She's marching over to diffuse, not inflame.

Hopefully.

Saturday, May 1st, 9:01 AM

She finds Klaus in his living room, asleep, his legs hanging awkwardly over the arm of a too-short couch, his torso twisted so awkwardly that Caroline's back twinges sympathetically. With the confirmation that she had stolen his bed, more of Caroline's irritation fades. The shower had helped, as had the bottle of water she'd guzzled and the three Tylenol she'd popped.

She takes a seat on his coffee table, setting down her second bottle of water. Caroline reaches out, shaking his shoulder gently. "Klaus," she murmurs when he begins to stir. "Wake up."

She could probably leave him to sleep. Klaus' stylist will handle most of his packing; he's borrowed a dizzying volume of outfits and accessories for Klaus to wear on this trip. The announcement won't come for another two weeks, but Klaus is shooting a Dior cologne ad once his press obligations wrap. The brand had requested he start wearing the newest line. Caroline had attended the last fitting, and she'd had a hard time keeping her blatant ogling under wraps.

Klaus looks good in ratty jeans, in a suit tailored to his measurements? Just about anyone attracted to men would have struggled not to appreciate the sight.

That's how Caroline had justified letting her emails pile up that afternoon.

She'd been a little worried about her control slipping on this trip, once they were alone in the hotel, and Klaus dropped the shiny, press-perfect façade he's learned to maintain. Caroline had designed that mask to appeal to the broadest possible audience. Doing interview prep has unfortunately only emphasized how much more she likes Klaus without it.

Klaus stretches, eyes fluttering open. "Good morning," he murmurs, voice husky with sleep. "I hope you slept better than I did."

Caroline winces, "Don’t you have a guest room or two you could have shoved me in?”

He smiles lazily, “You were quite insistent on touring my bedroom.”

Her eyes slam shut, face heating, “And that is why I don’t drink tequila unsupervised,” she grumbles.

He laughs, sitting up, his legs bracketing hers. He reaches for her water bottle and helps himself to a sip. Caroline leans back, fishing the Tylenol out of the pocket of the hoodie she’d stolen from his closet. She’d needed something bulkier to hide the fact she hadn’t been able to convince herself to strap her bra back on. “Do you want these?” she asks, rattling the bottle.

Klaus shakes his head, “I’m not hungover. I didn’t drink at all, and you stole that shot of tequila that was meant for me, remember?”

Ohhh no. She’d forgotten about that. She’d stolen his and the model’s.

Which, in hindsight, goes a long way to explaining what had happened after. Caroline’s problem with tequila is that once she starts, she has a hard time stopping. It heightens her usually non-existent impulsive streak, leads to sub-par decisions.

Occasionally, tequila does make her clothes fall off.

Caroline buries her hands in her face, wishing she hadn’t tied her hair back. She’s mortified, probably growing splotchy. “I am so sorry,” she mutters.

Klaus sighs, tries to tug her hands away. Caroline resists, tensing her muscles, wishes she’d gone with her first instinct and fled out the backdoor. He rests his hands on her knees, squeezing, voice dipping into coaxing tones. “No apology necessary. I’m not the least bit upset.”

Unfortunately, Caroline’s totally up to the task of being upset enough for the both of them.

Friday, April 30th, 10:53 PM

Once the attendant in Klaus VIP area confirms that he does know Caroline and lets her up the stairs, Klaus has managed to increase the distance between his body and the model’s. He seems pleased to see her, grabbing her hand and tugging her to sit next to him on the couch.

Close enough that they’re connected thigh to shoulder.

The model, whose name Caroline doesn’t particularly care about, is less welcoming. She glares daggers at Caroline’s hand, still enclosed in Klaus’. He makes polite introductions. “Genevieve, this is my publicist and very good friend, Caroline Forbes. Caroline, Genevieve. She’s a friend of Kol’s.”

Klaus’ younger brother is also an actor, still firmly in the throes of his wild child phase. Caroline finds him entertaining, despite her best intentions, but he’s known to delight in making her job more complicated. She glances around suspiciously, “Is Kol here?”

Klaus gestures vaguely to the dance floor. “Somewhere. He dragged me out to celebrate a pilot he booked, then disappeared.”

Hmm, that could lead to disaster. Caroline wonders if she should shoot his publicist a text as a professional courtesy.

Caroline smiles at Genevieve sharply, “So sweet of you to keep Klaus company.” It’s mean, but Caroline wonders if Genevieve has somehow heard about Klaus’ Dior deal through the grapevine. Maybe she’s aiming for a co-starring role – Caroline’s read the treatment for the commercial; it’s supposed to be streamy.

Oh, good lord, High School Caroline has somehow time traveled and taken over her body.

Genevieve pastes on an equally fake smile (at least Caroline’s not the only one regressing). Before she can snipe back, a silver tray is set in front of them, two shots resting on it. The attendant catches Caroline’s eye, “Can I get you anything, Miss?”

Klaus interrupts, squeezes her hand in an absent apology, “Sorry, there must be some mistake. I ordered a water.”

He’s contractually obligated to maintain a ridiculously chiseled body. Caroline’s got a reminder in her phone to order him a pile of celebratory spaghetti after his press obligations are officially over and he can relax for a few months.

The attendant’s eyes flit to Genevieve in confusion, “I…”

“I cancelled that,” she chirps, sliding her hand up Klaus’ arm. Genevieve leans in, tone lowering to what Caroline thinks is supposed to be a seductive level. “Figured we would toast.”

Caroline catches it because she’s practically plastered to Klaus’ other side. “Who toasts with tequila?” she asks. “Other than creeps at bars, I mean.”

Had Caroline not been well acquainted with Katherine Pierce, she might have been intimidated by Genevieve's attempt at a lethal glare.

Caroline stares back, reaching blindly for the first shot. She tosses it back, then the second, fighting the shudder that wants to wrack her frame through sheer willpower alone.

“Bitch,” Genevieve mutters, standing and flouncing away.

It’s petty, but Caroline savors her win.

Klaus is staring at her oddly, a touch concerned. “Maybe we should get you some water, love.”

Saturday, May 1st, 9:04 AM

“There were more shots when I got back to Kat’s party,” Caroline moans. “I’m going to kill her. She knows my weaknesses.”

“While I am reluctant to defend your irritating friend, she did seem rather intent on her fun. It was her birthday, wasn’t it?”

Caroline nods, “Yeah. And Kat’s always been firmly convinced that she should get to do whatever her little black heart desires on her birthday.”

“She did insist I ensure you get home safely. I’m afraid you were rather reluctant to supply your address.”

She sighs, finally dropping her hands. “Honestly, I just moved into a condo. I might not have remembered it.” That’s the less embarrassing option. It’s probably more likely that tequila drunk Caroline had crafted a plan to seduce Klaus, and step one entailed getting invited to his house. “I know you said not to apologize, but I obviously put you out. I’m supposed to babysit you, not the other way around.”

Klaus laughs, his knee nudging hers. “I haven’t needed that for ages, as you well know.”

He has a point – Caroline likely wouldn’t have agreed to take him on if he was still indulging in public drunkenness and paparazzi punching. When she’d first met with Klaus, it had been out of curiosity. She’d made a comfortable living from her client roster, did not need to take on the project of a difficult actor.

Klaus’ bad behavior had been a few years in the past, and he’d just come off a run of festival darlings and had produced a surprise hit sci-fi drama. He’d been frustrated by the doors that remained firmly shut to him, had laid his ambitions on the table.

Caroline had been intrigued. While she’s excellent at her job, but it’s always easier to work her magic with clients who are willing to dive into the work. Klaus’ talent was undeniable; she’d thought he could be a household name with the right opportunity. She’d agreed to take him on, and three years later, it’s paid off.

Caroline tugs the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over her hands, eyes on the frayed trim. “I was mad when I saw you last night, and that wasn’t fair. You’d set you were resting up for the press tour, but it’s not my business if you changed your mind.”

“Did you think I was resuming some bad habits?” Klaus asks. “I know that particular venue has a… reputation. Probably why Kol picked it.”

Caroline sneaks a glance at him, trying to gauge how he feels, but he’s not giving much away. “No, not really. I trust you. I wasn’t thinking super logically.”

She has to admit, at least to herself, that she’d been jealous. Caroline’s going to have to think about how deep that goes, if the feelings that had slapped her in the face last night will prevent their working relationship from being effective. What if Klaus meets someone? Will she be able to plant sneaky tidbits about how happy they are, scour the gossip blogs for rumors that could become issues?

“You? Not thinking logically? However could that be?”

She glares at him, though she knows his teasing is good-natured. “Some of it was the booze. I totally wouldn’t have hauled you onto the dance floor without it. And I wouldn’t have… well, you were there.”

She’s not up to list her transgressions. If Klaus hadn’t been drinking, then his memory of her wandering hands, her flirtatious comments, and heated invitations should be crystal clear. Caroline had been drunk, and she’s having a hard time not dwelling on the kiss – which, to be fair, Klaus had enthusiastically participated in – that she’d initiated.

“I was there. I have no objections to anything that occurred last night, save perhaps wishing you’d been sober.” Her head snaps up, eyes widening in shock, and Klaus laughs incredulously. “Surely you must know of my interest in you, Caroline.”

She’s suspected, but she’s also well aware that Klaus has no shortage of offers. Last night is proof of that. Caroline has always assumed that take one of them, at some point, and his flirtatiousness with her would fade away. She’d dated an actor or two when she’d moved to LA after wrapping up college. Caroline had been working insane hours then, trying to claw her way past the other assistants at the agency where she’d worked. Her exes from that time period had been quick to move on once they realized she wasn’t willing to center her universe around them.

“Interest can be fleeting.”

“It’s been three years.”

“You never made a real move.”

Again, Klaus counters quickly. “You’d not have accepted, and then you’d likely have pawned me off on someone else.”

Yeah, he’s got a point there. “I’m your publicist.”

“I have no objection to mixing business with pleasure. If you do, I suppose I’m willing to suffer a less competent publicist.”

“I’m beginning to suspect you’ve been plotting.”

Klaus shrugs, entirely unrepentant. “Perhaps a bit. I’ve always been entirely honest with you, I merely prevented a situation that would lessen the time we spent together until such a time as you were ready to consider me in a romantic light.”

“That’s a lot of words to confess you’ve been trying to flirt me into submission while flashing your hot body at every opportunity,” Caroline grumbles.

Klaus’ smile widens, dimples now visible. “It seems to have worked. Assuming that you meant the things you said to me last night?”

“I…” she hadn’t been expecting him to ask her that directly. She should have been – Klaus is skilled at choosing the best way to catch someone off guard. Caroline glances away from him, eyes catching on the clock across the room. Crap. She has so much to do. “I have to go,” Caroline tells him, standing up.

His eyes narrow,  and his head tips to the side, like he’s searching for a sign of weakness. Both telltale indicators that Klaus is gearing up to argue. Caroline holds up a hand, “I know, okay? This looks like I’m running away, and technically I am, but this is not the time to begin that mixing you mentioned. We’ve both worked too hard to risk screwing up the next few weeks. Did you read your contract? The fines for non-compliance are no joke.”

“Now is not the time,” Klaus says slowly. “Meaning?”

“We table it now. I’m open to a discussion later.” Three weeks is plenty of time for her to sort out where she stands, right? Caroline never sleeps on flights anyway.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I want a timeline. I understand that you feel obligated to ensure this press tour goes smoothly, but you can only use it as an excuse until it’s over, love. I’m prepared to be persuasive.”

“What, do you want me to schedule something on your calendar? Maybe set an agenda?”

“No need to be so formal. Just agree to have dinner with me once we return. Here, if you’d like, so we don’t risk inflaming the tabloids before you’re ready.”

“You seem awfully sure that this is going to go a certain way. So eager to fire me?”

Klaus gets to his feet, and Caroline sucks in a nervous breath. Sitting across from each other, he’d been a reasonable distance away. Now, with both of them standing in the narrow gap between his couch and coffee table, if one of them breathes too deeply or shifts deliberately, they’ll be plastered together.

She’s tempted despite knowing she’s right about the timing.

Klaus rests his hand on her waist and turns them so Caroline could step back if she wanted to.

She stays where she is.

A tiny smile curls Klaus’ lips and his hand moves, pressing her closer. “As much as I enjoyed your more… explicit ramblings last night, I must confess my favorite revelation was when you confessed to just how long you’ve had them.”

Caroline, not for the first time, curses tequila’s wretched existence.

Wednesday, May 5th 2:20 PM

The meet and greets are going to kill her.

Caroline had thought they were a good idea when she’d poured through the itinerary the studio had sent over. Inviting popular bloggers, auctioning off tickets for charity, allowing fans to enter random draws – it’s great PR and provides the opportunity for viral moments, while also controlling the environment.

Caroline’s leaning against one of the walls, unnoticed, eyes on her client.

A lot of eyes are on her client, some of which irritate Caroline more than others. The two teenage girls, trailed by an exasperated dad, who’d both burst into tears when Klaus had smiled at them? Totally adorable. The nerdy college student who’d grilled Klaus about his character’s comic backstory? Kind of a pain, but Klaus had done his homework, and Caroline had been impressed.

And annoyed. Excessive preparation is very attractive and unhelpful at this juncture of the press tour. Caroline’s already begun to reconsider what they’d agreed to, wonders if knocking on his hotel room door on the last night would be such a bad thing.

That line of thinking might be overly influenced by the scene in front of her.

Klaus is speaking with a woman in an afternoon inappropriate silver dress. Caroline’s sorely tempted to have her escorted out by security. She’d slipped a key card into the back pocket of Klaus’ jeans within 90 seconds of meeting him.

He’s handed it back, said something that made her laugh. They’re still talking.

Klaus glances up, eyes landing on her immediately. Caroline hastily tries to soften her irritated expression lest he guesses its reason. Klaus smiles, subtly tips his water bottle in her direction. Silver Dress invades his personal space a little more.

Ugh. It’s gonna be a long three weeks.

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 21

Previous: Codename Black Panther 

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x OFC

Genre: Secret AgentAU, Government AgentAU, Smut Lite

Rating: PG17

Word Count: 2.9K

Warnings: Swearing, Grinding, Making Out 

Summary: Lee Euna receives a startling message and goes to the one person she assumes will have the answers, or at least, an explanation. 

(uhhh didn’t know it was going to be this long)

The Final Notice

Present Day

           The note said they’d be meeting me face to face, but months have passed, and I am sitting here, waiting. Waiting for a sign, for another note, for someone to be sitting in my living room when I return home, for a dead rabbit to appear in my pasta pot, Jungkook to be taken for ransom, literally anything. And yet, nothing has happened. No note or call.

           I’ve increased surveillance on Taehyung, the only one who seems to connect some of these men, and by a stroke of pure genius, put a tracker on his car and Namjoon’s, as well as a few bugs in their apartment. There’s only so many times you can send flowers with a vague card, and a listening device embedded within the glass. Who gets rid of vases? Hopefully not these men.

           I’ve learned few things in my listening, namely that I am correct. The men are connected. Taehyung and Jimin are best friends and spend an innumerable number of hours together. They also spend time with Namjoon, who I think, if I’m correct, knows Hoseok. Hobi is a nickname for Hoseok, right? And if not, I’m fucked. They’ve added a new person to their discussion, someone they call Black Panther, who sounds like a right pain in the ass. All they do is bitch about how they’re constantly on call to deal with Black Panther’s mess, that Black Panther is getting in their way and in turn, ruining all plans. They speak in some code I don’t know, and I don’t know how to crack it. What I’m more startled by, is the fact that they continue to call this mystery person black panther, who calls a friend Black Panther? That’s like, cultural appropriation lite?

           It’s not, I’m kidding. It’s totally not.

           When I put it all the information together, Black Panther out of the equation because I have no idea who it is, it doesn’t amount to much. Names and addresses, a few yelp reviews, and nothing more. My gut is telling me there’s something here, something more than what Euna believes. Hoseok showing up in Genevieve’s photos, the trio going out to dinner, the mysterious note with the water mark, it has to add up to something. That and they keep mentioning the 7 of them, when the 7 of them are together, they’ll make sense of it, when the 7 of them are all clued in, they can handle Black Panther. Is Black Panther not their seventh member?

           The door to my office slams open, and a disgruntled Euna stomps in, lily white, tears cascading through her foundation.

           “Euna, what a sur-

           “Did you know about this?” She demands, shoving a picture in my face.

           “What?”

           “They know each other!” She yells.

           The photo, a polaroid, of Min Yoongi, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung and Kim Namjoon. I’ve never seen them all together, Euna was right, they are despicably pretty.

           “How in your world did you not figure out that they know each other?”

          “I-

          “They look pretty fucking chummy to me!”

           “Euna, please, sit, let’s chat,” I stand to get her a water, which she yanks out of my hand and tosses down her throat.

           “Have you been withholding information?” Her voice has simmered, the bubbles of discontent slowly rising to the surface but never popping.

           All I can do is sigh and shrug my shoulders. Lying is not going to work, she’s paying me enough to give her one of my unused eggs, the least I can do is be honest with her.  

           “That’s unfair, I could demand money back for your deception,” Euna says.

           “I have withheld information on the basis that I need more time to connect the dots,” I start. “This is season 1 of The Wire and I’m fucking McNulty asking for more time to put the wire up. These men, Euna,” I exhale again, “It’s not linear, I can’t just plot them and see the whole picture. It’s much more complicated than that.”

           “Explain,”

           “All of it?”

           “Yes, all of it, you think I want to fucking understand parts of it?” Valid question.

           “Fine. It starts sometime when Kim Namjoon was sixteen, I’m not sure what that something is, but that’s the beginning of it. He was a prodigy, renowned in mathematics and rhetoric, short listed for a Nobel Prize by fifteen. After Namjoon, it moves to you and Seokjin, which leads to you and Yoongi, Jun-Seo and Jimin. Finally, it all ends up at Taehyung and whatever happened there,” I glance at her, hoping she’ll tell me if the supposed abortion was from him or someone else. “Somehow Jung Hoseok winds up at Lee Enterprise’s Masquerade, and Kim Namjoon comes back into the picture as a friend of Jimin and Taehyung’s.”

           “Jung Hoseok has taken Kwan on a few dates,”

           “Are they still seeing each other?”

           “No. That’s all you’ve got?”

           “I’ve got more, but I’m not sure it’s going to help you understand this anymore than you already do.” I don’t move to open any files on my computer or pull up any surveillance, Euna doesn’t need that, that information won’t help her in any way understand what these men have in common.

           “Does this make sense to you?” She asks.

           “It’s all,” I sigh, “fits and starts.”

           “Why am I paying you?”

           “Euna, you have given me an already impossible job, and then added more impossible tasks on top of that. I have found all of these men, I have addresses, I have occupations and locations of current employment for five out of seven. I’ve done a fucking good job on something that should truly be solved by a governing body, not a P.I. who bought thirty dollar’s worth of Indian food and ate it over five days because I couldn’t afford to buy more. I’ve used all my resources, called in favors, spied, tiptoed on the brink of impropriety in order to get you results. I’ve done a damn good job.”

           Glowering, her voice is impenetrable, “Then why can’t you find Min Yoongi?”

           “That man has erased himself from the internet, completely, from every website, every search, he’s just gone.” Exasperatedly, I throw my hands in the air as my voice rises. How many times can I explain this to her?

           “He’s alive though,” She counters.

           “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I can pinpoint him,” I grit my teeth and stand, pacing slowly around my office, her voice trailing behind me as I move.

           “He’s really,” She pauses, “Out of any of them, Y/N, he’s the one.”

           I run my hand through my hair before pulling at the strands and aggressively knotting it in a ponytail, the anger feeding into the heat of my body and I shed my sweatshirt. A sweatshirt, with a line drawing of a uterus, that my mother refused to buy me for my birthday so I spent $90 on it myself. I know Euna hates it, but it’s my office and I didn’t know she’d be popping in today in her Dior terrycloth jumpsuit. If I did, I would’ve at least put on a J.Crew sweatshirt and leggings that don’t have wax on them from making crayon art with the kids I used to nanny.  

           “I know, Euna. I know he’s important, I know he’s the one that got away, I know he’s the white whale of this whole investigation. But Euna, he-

           In the middle of my breath, the door opens again creating a space for Jungkook to saunter in. He’s parted his hair, a little off center, and hasn’t put in any product leaving the tendrils to fall softly framing his face. His locks are still long adjacent, and his left hand is using his sweater paw to hold a scalding beverage. His eyebrows are sloped, a genuine look of concern reflecting into my irises. The relief I feel cascading over me, of familiarity, of home, nearly bulldozes me into him.

           “Cricket, I brought you some,” His voice trails as he takes in my client. “Coffee.”

           “Oh thank god,” I whisper. Taking the cup from him, my eyes apologetic as I fall gracelessly into his open arms. The scent of his shampoo and cologne swirl in my nose, relaxing my senses. Nothing smells as sexy as Jungkook. No one looks as sexy as Jungkook does, no matter what he’s wearing, no matter the time of day or night. NSYNC put it best when they sang “god must’ve spent a little more time on you”, because whoever arranged the chromosomes and bone structure within Jungkook truly made a masterpiece. As the kids would say, he’s a whole ass meal. Jungkook keeps a hand splayed on my back while he turns back to Euna. He scans her up and down, no doubt assessing the level of danger she’s presenting.

           “Who are you?” Euna snaps.

           “This is my boyfriend, he was just dropping off some coffee,” I answer. The arm around his waist squeezes a little tighter, my head still resting against his chest.

           “Do I know you?” She wonders.

           “Me?” Jungkook asks.

           “Yes, you, who else?”

           He looks from me to her and back again, “Uh.” He shakes his head.

           “You look so familiar,” She eyes him cautiously, “You’re Korean?”

           “Uh, yeah,” His affirmation causes a twinkle in her eye, a recognition that if she wanted, she could use the powers at her fingertips to find his life story, overturn any

           “Hmm,” She scans him again. “Are you leaving?”

           “Oh, yeah sorry to interrupt,” Jungkook quickly glances at me, mouth moving to form SORRY as he scurries out the door. I hate when he leaves.

           “Don’t fall in love with Korean men, they’ll ruin your life,” Euna sits back down, tossing back some of her water before looking back at the photo.

           “Was something else left? A note maybe?” I hope this will move her back to the topic at hand, the photo in question and whomever left it, not my relationship.

           “Yes, there was,” She reaches into her purse and oh how I wish she had gloves on. The note reads like the last one I received, rhyming and all.

           “You’re looking too hard / We’ve been in plain sight / Stop looking for us / Or we’ll turn out your light,” I read. “Wow, premeditated violence.”

           “What the fuck does that mean?” Euna’s gone back to panic, eyes wild and cheeks red.

           “It means they’ve been in front of us this whole time, as in, we’ve overlooked them,” I clarify.

           “How could you have overlooked them?”

           “I’m not the only one, Euna, you have maybe overlooked them too. Maybe it’s a larger commentary on your persona in a relationship.”

           “My persona in a relationship? What would you know of that?”

           “I know what you’ve told me, and I know what I’ve seen through our interactions. No one is perfect,” I’m trying to soften this, but she’s truly living up to Dae-Seong in her blind rage.

           “Don’t try and compare your relationship to the heartache I have endured!”

           “Euna, I’m not,” The exasperation cannot be more pronounced as I roll my eyes and sigh heavily.

           “Your boyfriend, does what? How do you know he isn’t involved with these bastards?”

           “I don’t,” My honesty cuts her off, eyes widening slightly at my levelheaded response. Her pause gives me worry, what is she thinking?

           “Well, what do we do with these?” She shifts in the tension I’m brewing, I’m unsure what the solution is.

           “I can spend the afternoon trying to trace it, I can fingerprint the note and see what comes up, if anything,” I offer.

           “Will something?” A glimmer of hope, the worst emotion to ever contain or blossom in the human mind.

           “Probably not, whoever these men are, they are far too good to be caught doing whatever it is they’re doing.”

           “We need them all, all six,” Euna demands.

           “What do you want from them?” The thousandth time it leaves my lips, it’s complete insanity. This will never change.

           “What every woman wants,” She broods.

           “Euna, I don’t know what that is,” I’m sinking lower into my chair with every syllable.

           “Those who ask don’t get to know,” Abruptly she’s standing and leaving, belongings gathered in one hand, feet stomping heavily into the aged hardwood.

           Ah, another hint at her upbringing.

           I’m moving slowly through my apartment, Jungkook already sitting on the couch looking deeply cozy in his favorite grey sweats and a sweatshirt with a famous swoosh emblezaned across his chest. Dinner, pizza, is on its way, and a very large glass of prosecco sits waiting for me. I in turn am tossing off my bra, a sight Jungkook is audibly upset by, and coming to sit on the couch, in his embrace.

           “I couldn’t leave, she was mad, I was worried about you,” He tells me, his lips pressing to my forehead repeatedly. “I didn’t know if she was going to hurt you.”

           “About me? Bunny I’m okay, she doesn’t scare me, at least not physically,” I reply, my lips pressing against his neck in recognition of his vulnerability.

           “I didn’t know if she was going to hurt you,”

           “Bunny,” I sit up, turning my head to his.

           “Cricket,” His eyes move from mine to my lip, his thumb coming to swipe over the bitten cherry of my lower lip.

           “I love you, thank you for worrying about me,” I tell him, leaning in to kiss him, his soft, well moisturized lips making up for the bruised state of mine.

           “I love you too,” He hesitates, his lips starting to say something but stopping.

           “Jungkook?”

           “I also found, this,” He pulls out a note, the watermark distinguishable against the light.

           In black ink, a date and time is printed, and underneath:

Roses are red / Violets are blue / It’s time for us to meet / We’re ready, are you?

           “What does this mean?” Jungkook asks.

           “It means that, that I’m meeting with someone who may or may not want something from me, or maybe will hurt me. So just, be prepared.”

           “What’s the one promise you made me make when we first started dating?” He pulls me back into his embrace, but I catch the sadness in his eyes.

           “Aren’t we still in that honeymoon phase?” I want to lighten the mood and not focus on the way my heart is hurting. I never thought I would be the one concerned about not coming home, having Jungkook panicking over my safety.

          I don’t like it, like at all.

           “Absolutely, I think we’ll always be in that phase, but Y/N, please answer the question,” His arms tighten around my waist, another kiss to my temple, replaced by his soft cheek.

           “If you’re not coming home, tell me. If something is going to jeopardize you coming back to me, you have to let me know,” I quote myself.

           “So, if you are going to jeopardize your safety, Y/N, Cricket, my beloved, you gotta tell me. Let me follow you or drop a pin, or use Find My Friends so I can check up on you,” Jungkook rattles off all the apps with ease, a feat I find slightly concerning.

           “I don’t want you to –

           “No, no arguing.” His voice is curt, his words definite.

           “Okay,”

           “I love you, Cricks, and I don’t ever want to imagine anything happening to you.”

           “I know Bunny,” If I could burrow into him, I would. His embrace is my safe place, my weighted blanket after a panic attack, fuck during a panic attack.

          I have to come home to him. Whatever this note entails, it doesn’t matter. Torture me, harm me, beat me up, put me in the hospital, it doesn’t matter so long as when I wake up, or am lucky enough to walk away, I can come through that fucking front door to Jungkook.

           “You didn’t say it back,” He teases.

Rolling my eyes dramatically, squirming intentionally in his grasp so that I can lock eyes again, I sigh. “I love you too.”

           “Don’t act like that when you’d do the same to me!” He begins tickling me, and I feel beyond grateful for his duality.

           “Stop it! Stop it! You’re right, okay!”

           Giggling, his “I know,” is coupled with a kiss. He moves swiftly through my laughter to take my bottom lip between his teeth, tongue swiping over the indentations of his teeth before meeting mine. His hands, under my top and massaging my overheating flesh, pull me closer to him. I tug his locks as a moan escapes my lips, swallowed by his own groan as I reach my hand to palm him over his pants.

           “Cricket,” He groans.

           “Bunny,” I reply.

           He pulls away, pushing my torso down onto him, where my hips happily grind against him.

           “Lock and key?” He whispers, eyes refusing to close as he attempts to restrain himself from giving into the feeling of my heated core over his.

           “God we’re that couple now?” I stop my ministrations, staring at his features. How did I get so lucky?

           “Haven’t we always been?” He cocks an eyebrow, and I’m surprised he hasn’t mustered a ‘what’ to accompany the gesture.

           “I guess,” I roll my eyes, which he greets with a thrust of his hips.

           “Lock and key,” He repeats, hand behind my head, holding my gaze to his.

           “You and me,” I answer, the smile on my lips finding his again.

Next: Cricket & OT7