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flowerwrites06 · 3 years

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break my mind’s eye IV — jjk

Plot: Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.

Pairing(s): Druglord!Jungkook x Fashion Designer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 7k+

Genre: Mafia | Angst/Smut/Fluff

Tags & Warnings (for entire series): drug dealing, marriage through trickery, explicit smut, drug use, dubious consent, prostitution, miscarriage, lots of manipulation, impregnation through manipulation

Three days passed since their reconciliation and it felt as if the layer of ice around them finally melted into a somewhat comforting warmth. Mornings rose with an innocent conversation on their jobs except Jungkook tried to keep things discreet while they were eating. Nights ended in peaceful slumber, on the few occasions where Belle would sleep on his chest or Jungkook hugged her from behind.

The heavy pit in her stomach elated soon after a couple of decent sleeps. Especially now that the designing process for the Spring Line was almost over. Madame Saitos’ dresses were incredibly rare because each piece of clothing was handmade save for a few trips on the sewing machine. Which is why the designing process comes with a time restraint to ensure that the most raw ideas spewed onto the paper. Of course tweaks here and there would always be required but that time limit created some of Saito’s most prestigious fashion museum worthy designs.

Since Belle designed around half of the finalized line, she would handmake her own designs and the news alone could keep her happy for the rest of the year. After losing an opportunity to see her designs on the runway a tear almost jerked in her eye getting that chance again.

Secretly though her favourite design she made this month was the satin white suit for her ever fashionably selective ‘boyfriend’. Belle saw the kind of suits in his wardrobe, burgundy velvet, black with golden vectors, silk deep blue and over half of them were Saitos’ original designs. She knew that this suit had to match the standard of his entire wardrobe.

This morning Belle stood in front of an ironing board, briefly smoothing out the textures of the newly designed trouser ensuring that minimal pressure was placed. Glasses slightly slipped down her nose with her hair in a loose bun. Her body draped in a fitted black long sleeve tucked into a khaki green midi skirt and a short scarf tied around her neck.

The woman had enough time out of her work schedule to showcase the suit himself. Especially since ‘Jeon Jungkook preferred private deliveries’ as Saito would say with a playful roll of her eyes.

From what she observed Jungkook came back to the mansion for a lunch time refresh and almost right on the minute, the sound of a car stopping rung in her ears. Something fluttered in her heart knowing whose footsteps grew louder as the corner of her lips curled up when the familiar male showed himself, a small smile directed towards her.

Jungkook muttered a few words about the car to one of the guards before walking towards her while the pants now laid out on the ironing board neatly. “You’re working at home?” Hands dug into his pockets, eyes flickered down to the soft white pants.

Belle smiled with a bright glint in her gaze before turning around and grabbing the open box. “I wanted to give it you properly but—” Partially bandaged fingers hovered over the fabric of the freshly ironed jacket folded with care inside the box. “Do you want to try it?”

Something jolted inside him seeing the woman look over at him that he couldn’t quite describe in any sentence. But he nodded nonetheless. Shrugging off his own blazer, Jungkook kept a close eye on the graceful way she brought the long back suit out displaying it in front of him first. The corners of his lips instantly curled seeing the familiar winged design on the back, similar color to the whole suit except it had a sheen like texture that glistened when brought into the light. A design that resembled one animal he admired the most next to dogs. “Phoenix wings?”

The girl nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah. It’s the first time I’m making a suit for you so–I wanted it to be personal.”

Her voice had turned so sweet in the past few days that Jungkook could melt by the sound at this point.

Belle walked closer and draped the blazer around him, letting his arms into the sleeves before it perfectly lay on his shoulders. As distracting as the measuring session was the woman managed to make the fitting as close as possible. “Is it comfortable?” When the male agreed, she felt a sense of accomplishment burst through her. Saito had her make and mend suits all the time when she was not named a ‘designer’ but somehow knowing this one was done well allowed for a tiny celebration in her belly.

Jungkook watched her beautiful eyes light up, that strange jolt sparking inside him again which he ignored for the time being. “I want to give you something too.” He glanced down at the magnificent blazer before looking up at her.

“What is it?” Belle watched him carefully shrug off the suit so the entire outfit could be placed neatly for the event it’s meant for.

Gentle hand wrapped around hers, Jungkook led her upstairs to their shared bedroom.

Once they reached the area Belle was made to wait on the bed while the male rushed into the walk-in wardrobe. The only thing she could make out properly were the sounds of rummaging through clothes and slight slamming of something wooden. Then his figure appeared again holding a small deep red velvet box in his hand. As soon as her eyes reached the object, her heart hammered before her mind could even catch up. It didn’t take an expert to assume what might lay inside the box as she had seen many like it for one particular occasion.

“I know it looks daunting.” Jungkook reassured as if sensing the thoughts rushing inside her mind. “A lot of deals tend to have paper contracts which we will get at some point.” He padded closer before kneeling down completely in front of her while she sat on the edge, his arms brushing against her knees. “But for now—I want to give you this. As a promise that I’ll never pull the rug from under you…ever. This agreement is as solid as the pillars of this mansion. Nothing will ever happen to it.”

Like a thin paper ripped out from her eyes Belle faced her true reality staring down at the now open box, showcasing a glimmering diamond ring. Growing up the woman had been one of those people who believed marriage was a sacred bond. A promise that two people would stay loyally and happily together till the end of their comforting days. Jungkook showed no sign of being disloyal nor did Belle feel any deep sense of unhappiness in these few days. Looking at the truth behind the veil seemed naïve in this situation knowing it would only make their ordeal miserable all over again. She couldn’t afford to be miserable now. Taehyung was getting better, taking his medicine and moving to become a better man and she had to stay strong to ensure that happened. He deserved to come out happier from all this just as much as she did.

So she smiled down at the male seeing a comforting shine in the ring now. Perhaps a sign of hope rather than some sensationalized sacred bond. “Which finger should I put it on?”

Jungkook chuckled, pulling the ring out and gently taking her left hand. In no manner of hesitation the ring was softly placed on her fourth finger fitted to near perfection. “I borrowed one of your rings to get the fit.”

“It’s beautiful.” She whispered. Her hand absentmindedly reached out to caress the skin under his white collar feeling a slight warmth. Leaning in, Belle pressed a tender kiss just on the corner of his lips before pulling away.

His breath choked in his damn throat feeling her soft lips; his hands almost wanting to caress every inch of her skin and forget about the rest of the days’ work. Though Jungkook respected that Belle understood they couldn’t. No matter how amazing the idea sounded. He merely let out a slightly shaky sigh before giving the beauty a smile. Unfortunately he had to look back at the watch knowing there was a meeting looming in the next half hour almost leaving an empty feeling in his gut. “I have to go back to work.”

Belle nodded, snapping herself back to reality. “I have to go too.”

Hesitantly unlocking their joined hands they both went to their separate locations for the rest of the work-day.

Another two days went by in a blissful rush as Jungkook and Belle grew friendlier towards each other to the point where they would even share laughter through jokes from work or childhood life. Belle found out that his mother worked at a magazine company in Beijing while his father ran the investment companies in the US. They were very hands-off parents when he was growing up so his aunt practically adopted and raised him which is why his personality differed greatly from his father. Though his tactics in this business were heavily influenced by him.

Jungkook discovered her parents had been more fond of a son than a daughter so she had to jump through a lot more hoops to be good in their eyes. Eventually it never worked, Taehyung took care of her most of her life so far. That is until her parents were killed in an accidental explosion at their place of work which led to her older brothers’ downfall. Belle’s uncle and aunt tried to take care of him from time to time while she worked at the boutique until at some point they grew tired of babysitting a drug addict.

The two never really had a person to truly share mixed feelings about their upbringing. Even if Belle had Taehyung, he would always somehow reel back and tell her that their parents loved them both equally. Which she knew fully well was not true no matter how much it felt comforting to believe it.

Though the deep conversations usually faded back into playful serenity again now more comfortable with each other’s presence than ever before.

In came the day of the garden party.

Belle dressed herself in a baby blue midi dress, the overlay adorned with the same colored flowers on a sheer material trailing down to touch her knees, crème colored hat to finish it off. The second event she was going to with Jungkook but this time no sense of dread passed through her nor any stress. In fact the woman wanted to see Jungkooks’ aunt wearing the gorgeous dress she chose for the occasion. And Jungkook wearing his own custom made suit.

A similar routine where she walked down the stairs while the white-suited male gave some instructions to the guards possibly about keeping an eye on the mansion while they were away. Then he turned to face her once she reached the center of the living room, a soft smile immediately tugging at the corner of her lips.

The extremely aware corner of her mind now buried itself under all the elation developed through the past few days. Some part already knew that this was a ruse. Jungkook was successfully gaining everything he asked for without barely lifting a finger and Belle truly had no valid choice to disagree. Though if that thought swirled around in her head for too long, it would start aching and this whole experience could fade into torture again.

Perhaps there was a comfort in pretending that his hand intertwined with hers radiated comfort rather than entrapment. The guards bowing to them and leading them into the car showed a sign of protection rather than no means of escape. Jungkook might think the woman a pawn but that did not mean she was one.

From where she sat in the car shoulder pressed to him and hands still linked, Belle imagined herself to sit at the far end of the chess board rather than the front as a mere pawn.

Once they reached the garden party the couple was welcomed with a vibrant burst of nature, people in colorful dress and bright suits floating through the bushes like pixies. Occasionally a photographer or two flashed their camera towards them but hardly anything intimidating like the previous event. Eyes almost immediately flickered over to them when they walked out of the car. Holding Jungkooks’ hand actually provided some kind of comfort knowing she was not alone and exposed to all these people.

Bushes shaped to represent different safari animals, crowds of pink, white and red roses all around coupled with fragrant jasmines and chrysanthemums. The garden looked almost endless from the sides. Belle noticed the large cherry and peach blossoms, little petals falling gracefully and a gorgeous mansion to pull the whole picture together. The building adorned a taupe sandstone with golden detailing similar to Jungkooks’ estate except aged a bit more.

“Darlings!” Boyoungs’ voice rung in her ears as the woman bounced towards the couple wearing a royal purple midi dress with some matching wrist gloves and a floral hat to top it off. Purple tinted lips stretched out in a bright smile, hugging the both of them with the same enthusiasm.

The older female led them to the main table where her husband sat with a few other family friends who welcomed her with an intrigued smile. Sitting under the shade of the laced line umbrella provided some cool away from the warm sun while they were served tea.

Boyoungs’ eyes immediately flickered towards the shining diamond around Belle’s finger and a small gasp caught in her throat. “Oh you proposed!” Her announcement ripped through the entire group and onto a few others outside of the umbrella as a rush of cheer passed on like a infection.

Belle merely smiled with her gaze fixed on the rose tea while Jungkook chuckled nervously. She hoped they would not ask for a romantic proposal story but they all seemed to just pat the young male on the back. Some of the ladies asked what kind of cut it was which the girl gave an answer from observation. It didn’t take long for her to realize that most of these people were probably arranged to marry. So the idea of any romantic story would be useless to them even though Belle and Jungkook were supposed to be a ‘love’ marriage.

Somehow the lack of her own froufrou story made it easier and harder to sit at the table. Belle politely listened to stories of awkward marriage arrangement along with an attempt to sound less hostile towards each other. For a minute she prided in being so good at pretending that her marriage was happy and full of light.

Though the pretense became exhausting really quickly. Her posture began to falter as her rose tea reached the end of its fill and the shade from the sun created cloud over her mind.

“Excuse me.” Belle spoke as gently as she could to the crowd. “I’m going to take a stroll.” She smiled getting up from the chair, chest feeling a little constricted.

Jungkook watched her in slight concern when she excused herself. Truthfully nothing about this conversation comforted him either. The whole idea of marriage, especially one that came from a business arrangement didn’t spark happy stories and it was a situation that some attendees at the table could relate to. The only thing he could do as a sign of comfort was touch her hand lightly which she squeezed in response before he watched her walk deeper into the gardens.

A couple of minutes passed and Jungkook grew tired of the conversations bubbling between his family friends so his eyes wandered to other attendees. Eventually his eyes set on one particular male, simple black suit with a silver necklace around his neck and blue lens glasses over his eyes.

Excusing himself from the table politely, he walked over to where the other male had been examining the jasmines. A few colorful pixies rolled in front of him and giggled when he gave them way until finally he was able to come close to a more reassuring face. Well second most reassuring to the one that just glazed through the gardens on her own.

“Didn’t know you were so fond of nature.” Jungkook smirked standing next to him.

“Well a lot of my supplies come from plants.” He shrugged, eyes merely scanning over the flowers and trees not really focusing on anything in particular.

“Technically they’re my supplies but sure.” He dug his hands into his jacket pockets, attention trailing and silently searching for a familiar blue dress. “Anything to report?” It was a regular, almost absentminded question at this point whenever he saw the male since he was responsible for most of the sells around this area.

Hoseok took a generous sip of tea before wincing as he stared at the decorative cup. “Rose tea tastes like piss.” He cleared his throat, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “Everything’s fine so far. Clients are rolling in payments from all corners, some even paid in advance to ensure secrecy.” He placed the tea cup on one of the vacant tables before looking out in the gardens again. “Except a few regulars like Kim Taehyung still hasn’t paid.”

“I told he already paid all his previous payments.” Jungkook shook his head, brows furrowing.

“What about the one the five days ago?”

The younger male had to connect the dots for a few seconds as his forehead knitted. “Five days ago? He’s been in rehab for almost a fortnight.”

Hoseok shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it’s working. I remember all my sells.” He rolled his eyes a little. “Well I kinda just give it to Taehyung instead of sell.”

“You do know I could kill you for doing things like that, right?” Anger bubbled right up to his throat except not directed towards Hoseok.

“Hey you’re the one who told me to give younger clients a break.” He defended.

“I know.” Jungkook had the strong urge to tell him that Taehyung already paid the biggest price of all strolling around the cherry blossoms. “Don’t sell it to him anymore.” He ordered simply.

“What?”

“If he asks again, send him to me. Don’t give him anything.” He seethed the last word spotting Belle now as a bright suited man walked up to her. It didn’t take long for him to recognize the familiar face even from this distance.

Hoseok stared at the male quizzically. No client ever received this kind of special treatment even to send some kind of a message. Hell if he wanted to send a message, Taehyung would have been dead in a ditch somewhere for police to scrap him off. Yet Jungkook wanted to keep the man alive for some reason. “Why—”

“Just…” Jungkook sighed trying to push his frustrations even though he wanted to explode right there and then. “…Just do as I say.” Eyes flickered back over to Belle again who was now conversing and smiling with the man causing a small twinge in his chest. “I’m trusting you to do this for me, Hobi. Alright?”

The older male still looked utterly confused but nodded nonetheless. “Of course, man. You’re the boss.” He pressed his lips together. “Now can you tell where they put the whiskey?”

Jungkook glanced around the party before leaning into him. “Ask the server with the blue flower on his breast pocket. They usually bring in secret batches for more important guests. The password is periwinkle.”

“Is that some kind of fancy slang for penis?” Hoseok winced.

He stammered already imagining Belles’ reaction to that statement being far more dramatic than his. “It’s a shade of—just go.” Jungkook couldn’t help but roll his eyes a little as the male rushed to find his source of sanctuary.

Boyoung was definitely on par with the seasoning of fashion since a garden party was the absolute perfect way to create inspiration for spring design. Granted this years’ line finished in its designing process, there was no reason not to take in the sheer amount of beauty. How ethereal would those peach blossoms look on a silk kimono or chrysanthemum detailing on a wedding dress. So many colours and designs all around her Belle had the strong urge to twirl like a little child in pure happiness.

But to keep up a decent appearance she merely smiled watching the cherry blossoms fall gracefully down to the ground. Hand held out the woman managed to have one land on her palm. That was when a voice spoke from behind her.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

She turned around to see a man with a wisteria shaded suit and a charming plump lipped smile. His chocolate brown hair parted to the side with eyes that expressed both kindness mixed into a little intimidation. “It is.” Belle smiled at the male before glancing back at the scenery again.

He took a small step forward. “I’m Kim Seokjin.” He stated holding his hand out which the woman accepted kindly after a moments’ hesitation. “The owner of the Sangria House.”

Belle only heard a few rumors about the Sangria House much like a person who evaluated life in a brothel based on assumptions and fiction stories. From what she knew, it had the mixture of a teahouse and a brothel but that was pretty much everything. Either way she smiled knowingly trying to be polite even though the girl had no intention in admiring a neatly dressed pimp too much. “Kim Belle. Nice to meet you.”

“With the murmurs I’m hearing, it seems Kim will be turning to Jeon very soon.” Seokjin smirked, glancing over his shoulder towards the flowing pixies all over the garden.

The woman tried to maintain the smile despite her prior momentary peace in the garden now being diminished. “Maybe not that soon.” She mumbled.

“Why do you say that?”

Her heart leaped slightly, the sudden urge to just spew out her whole situation in hopes that Seokjin would never be in her line of sight again. But the woman knew better to keep quiet especially since these attendees would probably not be that helpful nor would they find her ordeal abnormal. “I have a lot of other responsibilities right now.”

“Ah yes the new and coming designer for Saito.” Seokjin nodded, gaze lowered to his feet for a moment before looking over at her again.

Belle smiled politely feeling a sense of pride towards her workplace. Saitos’ outfits were rare so it was hard hearing about them from just anyone. Except from the way this man held himself and the reputation of the Sangria House, she knew Seokjin was not just anyone.

“You know, I had been wanting to order a few new dresses from Madame Saito as a refreshed décor for my angels.” Seokjins’ request lingered in the light breezy garden. “Maybe I could personally order you as my designer.”

A chill rushed down her spine either from the breeze or the fact he said ‘my designer’. Still the woman sighed lightly and smiled. The opportunity to create a contact was a literal dream come true. But the man did not know her designs nor did he see how she worked. Which gave the unsettling assumption that Seokjin was asking on his mere personal interest just by looking at and talking to her.

“Darling!”

Belle heard a familiar voice call out as a flash of white strolled towards the two of them. Immediately a more genuine smile tugged at her lips when Jungkook stood, arm gently wrapped around her waist.

“Mr. Jeon.”

“Mr. Kim.” Jungkook’s fingers gripped at her dress for a second before smoothing it down. “I hope you don’t mind if I whisk away my lady for a minute.” It wasn’t really a question from the sound of his tone and when he was already pulling her away.

“Think about my offer, Ms. Kim.” Seokjin smirked.

Belle could only get the chance to nod before she felt herself being led off towards the mansion.

“Bit of a rushed interaction.” Belle remarked as they walked into the majestic building Jeon Boyoung called her home. Instead of crème, the mansion adorned a dark wooden interior with antique hand-painted portraits of what she assumed were ancestors of the Jeon family including a modern one of Jungkooks’ extended family. The large painting was the first thing people saw when they walked in, Jungkooks’ aunt and father sitting on chairs while their spouses and children stood on the far ends.

She could easily see the mixture between Jungkooks’ parents from his mothers’ soft round eyes and small pouty lips to his fathers’ sharp jaw and intimidating brows.

“You looked like you needed a bit of rescuing.” Jungkook replied simply with a shrug following her gaze up to the portrait.

“Oh yeah he was definitely ‘talking’ me to death.” Sarcasm seeped through her tone as she walked forward towards the wide entry hall having the strong urge to scream and see if there was an echo.

“Believe me that’s his superpower.” He tried to explain as well as keeping up with her slightly excited exploration. “Seokjin got his company to the highest ranks of the elite through his eloquence. Hell he even convinced me to invest.”

“So you invest in brothels.” Belle turned around to face him now, not really caring what he did in his work since it all could be listed down into a category of inappropriate. “Did you get good discounts?”

Jungkook chuckled. “Sangria House is not just a brothel.”

“Yes yes don’t think a girl working alone in the city hasn’t heard that before on the streets.” She raised a brow. “Let me guess…it’s a respected establishment with highly trained employees who get paid a fair wage. Did I forget to mention the highest bidder gets to take away a novices’ virginity? And the fair wage only exists if you’re a full-fledged angel. Oh and they get to wear pretty dresses.” Belle gave him an advertisement happy smile before walking carefully backwards.

“You’re telling me you’ve been recruited into Sangria House before?”

Belle shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m sure every person who looked unemployed enough has.”

Jungkook kept glancing behind her to check if it was safe enough to be walking like that. “Guess fate wanted you to come to this place one way or another.” He smiled.

“Ah so you did get a few investor gifts.” She turned back around walking towards the flight of stairs. “What were they like?”

His eyes trailed down her body when she bounced up the stairs feeling a quick tremble. “I’ve experienced better.” Jungkook quickly caught up to the woman and grabbed onto her hand to keep her close to him for a few more moments.

Belle smirked up at him trying to back away cheekily before her back hit the wall. “I think he had a good offer.” She muttered averting her gaze a little.

“Really?” He tilted his head placing his palm on the wall next to her head. “Do you have to wear a pretty dress to come with it?”

She playfully slapped his chest. “Not that kind of offer.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but admire her every little movement as if he would lose her if he missed a second.

“He wants me to design some dresses for his angels.”

“Are you going to agree?”

Belle shrugged soothing the place she slapped lightly. “He’s ordered from Saitos’ before so—should be a good contact.”

Jungkook only hummed in response.

“What?” The corners of her lips curled up already sensing what made the man look so uncomfortable at the prospect.

“Nothing…”

“Alright, I’ll just go back and talk to him again.”

Before Belle could prance down the stairs, Jungkook hooked his arm around her waist and pressed her back against the wall. One free arm leaned next to her head while he leaned down with a small smirk. “Everyone’s been talking to you today.” He brushed away the loose hair from her face before his arm wrapped around her again, making sure no space escaped between their bodies. “Maybe I just want you to myself for a minute.”

“I am an independent woman, Mr. Jeon.” She teased with a faint smirk. “You’re going to have to ask nicely.”

Jungkook smiled as she played with his sharp collars. “May I—please have you all to myself for a minute, Ms. Kim?”

Belle hummed, taking her hat off and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Just for a minute.” She acknowledged in a whisper.

All he needed was her say and his lips magnetized onto hers, tasting the brownie she nibbled on earlier. Palms rubbed over the soft fabric of her blue dress to her bare arms and the back of her neck, sliding down to where he could feel the curve of her plush peach. Almost a week had passed since they last touched each other in this manner but Jungkook burned up so much, he could surpass a furnace. Kisses trailed down to her jawline.

Pausing on a soft patch of skin on her neck he bit onto it humming in satisfaction when she gasped lightly. Jungkook could listen to those sounds on a record player if he ever wanted to find peace when she was away. He couldn’t help her squeeze her whole body a little to ensure that this wasn’t all a dream. But the heat radiating together told no lie.

Soon frustration seeped in as the clothing around her felt too restricting causing his hand to sneak under the skirt of her dress. A satisfied sigh brushed against her lips feeling how warm her bare skin felt against his own almost lulling to a transient relaxation. Like nothing could go wrong at this moment.

“We can’t do that under a minute.” Belle giggled, noses nudging against each other as they intoxicated themselves in each other’s breathy laughter.

“I just missed touching you.” Jungkook whispered feeling his mind far too blurry to care about putting up a wall and sounded more calm about this situation. He loved feeling her against his skin. So much so that he had rub his hand up her hips, torso and breast after sneaking out of her skirt. Every crevice drove him insane.

Her core pooled at the firm brush against her body, lightly touching her nipple before he gently grabbed her by the neck. Eyes closed unable to focus on anything else in the hallway even if she tried, her lips practically parting on its own for Jungkooks’ tongue to explore her mouth once again.

“Jungkook! Belle! Aunt Boyoungs’ calling!”

Jungkook groaned under his throat making Belle chuckle at how desperate he got from a few naughty touches in their momentary privacy.

Fixing her dress to make it look proper again, the couple walked out holding hands towards the party with a new air of joy around them.

Patience had always been one of this strong suits. A trait many men of his stature lacked so when he excelled at it, respect for him shot up through the roof. So why was it that he could not keep his hands to himself whenever Belle so much as stood next to him? Merely a day passed since the garden party and Jungkook had already kissed every part of her face whenever he got his chance in the morning.

It didn’t help that the woman had a talent in noticing when someone was literally trembling to feel more of her. She got ready wearing nothing but a thin, satin robe causing her slightly plump thighs to peek out of the clothing. The man had to physically turn his head away so he could focus on putting his tie on without looking like a toddler doing it for the first time. Even then he still pecked her temple and cheek when he stood behind her.

Even when she finally left for her work, her small goodbye kiss lingered on his lips for most of the afternoon which meant he had to space out for a few seconds during meetings before finally answering any questions or making any demands.

Then a call rung in his phone while he sat in a car on his way for a check-in at the warehouse.

Hoseoks’ name appeared on the screen.

Heart sinking down to an abyss, Jungkook answered the phone. “What is it?”

A sigh passed from the other side of the phone. “He came back again. I’ve sent him to you now. He’s on the way to the mansion.” Hoseok sounded just about as helpless as Jungkook felt when the two quickly ended the call not wanting to waste any more time.

Postponing the check-in, the driver took him straight back to the mansion a little quicker than he was legally allowed to but they reached before Jungkook could groan in frustration. He wanted to get the whole situation over and done with. Dealing with client was already frustration as it were on a normal day but now more than ever he wished he didn’t throw away his pack of cigarettes already.

Not that it was his fault anyway since Taehyung decided to ruin the entire deal in less than a month.

Once inside the mansion Jungkook saw the hooded man on his knees with four guards surrounding him in front of the dormant fireplace. Shrugging off his blazer he slammed it down onto the floor before stomping over to him. He spotted the mans’ blood shot eyes and chapped lips, skin glistening in sweat. When he finally stood before him, a deafening silence lingered in the air.

This was what would have happened. Taehyung on his knees ready to accept his bloody fate for taking advantage of his long trained patience. The man had the shaking urge to continue with that plan. It almost worked until he remembered the soft linger on his lips again. “How long have you been taking it?” He asked in a grim tone.

Taehyung hung his head, lips pursing together.

“I asked you a question.” Jungkook spoke through gritted teeth, feeling his final nerve being tugged at.

“Couple of days.”

“A week is not a ‘couple of days’” His fingers curled up into tight fists. “And you had the gall to ask for more? Did you even finish it all?”

“I—I didn’t ask for that much.” His voice was meek under his breath.

Jungkook scoffed turning around for a moment to catch his fiery heaving. “You didn’t ask for that much.” He repeated the statement in his own mind and felt the lava flooding past his control. When it reached the peak of the volcano, one of his fists swung across Taehyung’s face, a crunch sound touching his ears.

The male cowered on the floor, hands over his nose as blood trickled through his fingers and his eyes looked more bloodshot than before.

“This isn’t a buy and sell anymore, Taehyung!” His voice echoed throughout the walls of the mansion. “Do you even realize your little sister lives here now? Because of you!” Jungkook spat watching Taehyung struggle to get himself back up again. “You think she’s here just so you can continue scrapping drugs for free?!”

“You’re the one who made the deal in the first place!” He shrieked through his hands.

Jungkook grabbed at his hair, forcing him to look up at the male. Blood drenched him from his nose down his neck but it only angered the man further. “I only made the deal because I thought you’d do anything to make sure your sister was safe. Even if it meant facing the real world without anything numbing you out.”

“Jungkook…” He heard a familiar murmur from behind him almost making his stomach jump up to his throat. Before he could turn back to see, the floral dressed figure already padded closer to the scene, eyes flooding with tears.

Despite the ache in his heart, the male still let go of Taehyung roughly to limp back onto the floor. “Tell her.” A growl sneaked within his voice. “I want you to tell her what you did.” He gestured towards the woman.

Belle hesitantly walked and knelt down in front of her brother as he tried to get up again. Her hands held onto his shoulders just until he was on his knees as well. A sob caught in her throat seeing the blood smeared on her older brothers’ face. His blood drenched hands attempted to hold her somehow but only ended up staining her skin and some of the lighter flowers on her black background dress. “What happened?” She whispered.

Taehyung lowered his head, biting down his bottom lip to conceal a small sob.

“Tae—” A little annoyance flew straight to her head thinning her patience to near nothingness but to be the cool headed one in the volcanic pit made from the living room, she kept her voice calm. “Tae, please answer me.”

“I couldn’t—” He sniffled, gripping onto her arms. “I couldn’t do it.”

She pressed her lips together as the tears jerked out of her, streaming down her light berry colored cheeks. Immediately the woman shook her head before wiping them away. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” Jungkook argued. “He had a responsibility.”

“And you made a promise.” Belle met his gaze with a subtle tremble in her tone, getting off the floor. “Addiction isn’t just going to go away.” Her voice rung soft in his ears as she padded closer to Jungkook instantly melting away most of his fury. “You could’ve done the absolute worst to me, it was still going to take time.”

His eyes twitched a little feeling the ache on his knuckles a little too prominently, desperately wishing he took a small puff of a cigarette prior to this meeting. Jungkook glared back at Taehyung who already looked like he was going to pass out from the one punch before he looked at Belle. Everything felt so much better in these few days. He saw her smiling more often and playing around that now watching her face drenched in tears and her neck streaked with blood made his chest clench in immense pain. “He’s going to stay here from now on.” He declared struggling to keep his voice steady. “We’ll have nurses and guards looking after him until he gets better. There’s no chance of him sneaking out anywhere.”

Belle watched the male gesture towards his guards who grabbed Taehyung firmly and led him towards another room through the hall next to the bar. Silence plunged back into the room as the woman tried to meet Jungkooks’ gaze again. Even if she tried to form them, no words managed come out of her. She did not know whether to be thankful or just more exhausted about this whole ordeal; the ring around her finger now felt heavier than ever.

Jungkook walked towards the bar. With a loud sigh, the male practically threw a glass onto the table before roughly pouring some golden liquid to the brim and taking a generous swig.

In small hesitant steps she stood behind the counter. Grabbing a cloth and drenching it under a tap, Belle wiped off any residue of blood on her neck and arm.

“How’re you so calm about this?” Jungkook asked solemnly.

Who knew that simple question could cause a thick lump in her throat. “I’m not calm.” Fresh tears gathered at the brim of her eyes while she cleaned out the towel again. “I’m just tired.” She sniffled feeling an invisible but heavy weight on her shoulders that she couldn’t get rid of even if she wanted to. “Really tired.”

Jungkook watched her from over his shoulder trying to drink another sip to get rid of that ache in his chest again. A few maids walked out of Taehyungs’ new room with some old sheets and bloody cloth, bowing to the two of them quickly before excusing themselves. Once the room only consisted of them, he pulled out another empty glass.

“I don’t drink.” Belle muttered, standing next to the male in front of the counter.

He turned back towards the small fridge behind them and reached inside for a plastic bottle with some red liquid inside. “You like cranberry juice?”

She nodded after a moment’s hesitation. The right corner of her lip twitched a little as Jungkook filled her glass up halfway. “Thank you.” She whispered, gently holding the crystal before taking a shy sip.

Jungkook sighed leaning on his elbows against the table, eyes scanning the now empty living room. “I’m really tired too.” He murmured. “It’s not really 9 to 5 job like it looks, you have to—mold it with your personal life and let it run you until finally…” He held up his glass. “This kills you… Fun old life, isn’t it? Violence, alcohol and—”

“Sex.”

“Not really getting much of that lately.”

“Don’t expect it tonight either.” Belle took a more generous sip. “Maybe next time beat people up in a warehouse like all the normal crime lords.” She gestured towards the empty space in the living room. “That was the second time.”

He looked at the empty space again with an added annoyance before hanging his head, scoffing. “You couldn’t have told me that earlier?”

She had a tiny smirk curled up her lips before leaning to press a warm kiss on his cheek. “That’s what you get for punching my brother.” She whispered. “Too bad though.” Belle looked down at her outfit. “I really wanted to show you something.”

Jungkooks’ eyes immediately trailed down her form again, fingers twitching. “Showing me something isn’t technically sex.”

“Nice try.” Belle patted his back before leaving him in own heated mess to go upstairs. “Good night, Mr. Jeon.”

Once again he was left watching the beauty walk away from him and all he could do was take in every inch of her body and every strand of her hair until it drove him mad. If the alcohol didn’t kill him, she might just.

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#jungkook #jungkook imagines #bts imagines #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #bts mafia au #jungkook mafia au

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thewritewolf · 3 years

Text

Mari Christmas And A Happy New Adrien

Summary:

Lost in the aftermath of Hawkmoth's defeat, Adrien loses complete track of time and before he knows it, the holiday season is upon him. Will a Christmas visit to his girlfriend's house be just what he needs to move on?

Hello and welcome to my piece for the @mlsecretsanta event! My giftee, @lesslinette, asked for among other things, Adrienette, family bonding, fluff and just a bit of hurt/comfort and I aimed to please!

I had to do a good amount of research into French and Chinese Christmas traditions (including interviewing my long-suffering French friend - thanks @emsylcatac!), so hopefully I didn't get anything *too* wrong.

Read on Ao3

Enjoy!

Marinette 💖: You still up?

Adrien: Yeah Still not sleeping great House was always too quiet Never thought it could get more quiet tho lol Whats up?

Marinette 💖: :( Just wondering what u were doing 4 xmas Since You know

Adrien: Since father went to jail and mom died again? Haven’t thought about it Guess ive still got time to figure it out

Marinette 💖: … ..Its the 23rd of Dec Like 2am Not a lot of time left

Adrien: oh Guess uh Stay at home?

Marinette 💖: Adrien Its been like two months Youve been going crazy in there Youll just be stuck in there all by yourself Why don’t you come over?

Adrien: I don’t know… I don’t want to bring anyone down Or ruin anyone’s christmas

Marinette 💖: Adrien ‘Kindest Boy in Paris’ Agreste

Adrien: Oh no she used my middle name

Marinette 💖: You are coming over tomorrow And letting me pamper you And letting my family - your REAL family - love you And that is the end of that ...Is that okay with you?

Adrien: Whatever you say ma’am

Marinette 💖: Good Be here no later than fifteen hundred Let me know if I need to pick you up

Adrien: Will do

Adrien laid back down, his face lit up only by the glow of his phone and the only noise in the room being Plagg’s snoring. Putting his phone to sleep, he turned over, closed his eyes, and honestly smiled for what felt like the first time in a long time.

---------------------

Adrien reached the door to his girlfriend’s house with a gift under one arm, an envelope in his pocket, and a weak smile on his face. The latter wasn’t because of a lack of feeling on his part - the exact opposite, actually.

It had been hard to go to sleep after their conversation that night, a swirl of mixed emotions keeping him from getting the rest that he craved. Last night wasn’t much better and he was left exhausted. He’d even been half tempted to call and say that he couldn’t make it, but somehow that only made him feel worse.

So here he was. He’d shambled his way to the car, driven himself there through blurry eyes and frequent yawns, and turned the doorknob. Maybe they’d understand if he just dropped off the present and headed home.

Well, maybe not home, but just where he lived.

The instant the door opened, a wave of hot air buffeted him. Not only did it warm his freezing face, it brought all sorts of wonderful smells on it. There were the expected scents - baked potatoes, salmon, chicken. But then was something else, something a little harder to place.

After puzzling over it for a moment, he shook his head and stepped into the house. No sooner had he closed the door behind him than he heard some voices calling out from deeper inside.

“Wait, was that the door? The family wasn’t supposed to be over until tomorrow, weren’t they?”

“Tom, that has to be Adrien!”

There was excitement in Sabine’s voice that warmed his heart, but not quite as much as when he’d taken a couple steps into the house and was blindsided by Marinette bursting out of the living room to wrap him in a hug.

“Worried I might not show?” Adrien whispered after they parted from their kiss.

“Not even for a moment, chaton.” She smiled up at him before her eyes wandered down to his arms, a suspicious look on her face when she saw the one present. “Looks like you showed some restraint this year.”

“Of course!” At her continued doubting look, he added. “Come on, I’m perfectly capable of giving reasonable gifts.”

“Last year you tried to give me my favorite restaurant.”

“But I didn’t!”

“Only because I hid your checkbook and credit cards!”

Adrien snorted. “Details.”

Rolling her eyes, Marinette tugged on his coat sleeve. “Follow me, you ridiculous man. You can put your gifts under the tree, we’ll open them tomorrow.”

She led him into the living room, where their Christmas tree had been set up in all its glory. There were red paper chains wrapped all around it and a huge variety of homemade ornaments - including a few that he’d made in years past. Ever since he and Marinette had started dating, he’d been welcomed into their household with open arms. And even before that, they’d been nothing but kind to him.

His eyes poured over the tree, looking for one specific ornament. It didn’t take him long to find it - with its poor quality, it stood out among the beautiful glass orbs and painted baubles. His fingers brushed over the patches of glitter, a nostalgic smile spreading across his face as he took in the patterns of melted wax inside it. His first ornament. They’d barely been dating a few months when he’d made that one.

Had it really been four years already?

Arms wrapped around him from the side and he looked down at Marinette’s chin resting on his shoulder, peering up at him with big blue eyes.

“What’re you thinking about, hot stuff?”

“Old memories, that’s all.”

“Hmm…” She leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “You just about ready to make some new ones?”

“With you? Always.”

“You two want to come in and help us finish cooking dinner?” They both jumped when Sabine’s voice reached them.

Blushing, Marinette reluctantly let Adrien go and headed toward the kitchen. “Coming, maman!”

------------------

A few hours later and the four of them were seated around the dining room table. Some things had been moved around from what Adrien remembered from the usual arrangement, and a long table had been set up. Most of the spaces were empty - with the four of them, only about a third of the table was occupied. But while the chairs were mostly left bare, the table was not.

Even though he had helped make some of it, Adrien was still amazed at how good the food all looked when laid out on the table like this.

Most of it was pretty traditional, at least from what he knew. A lot of the time his experience with Christmas dinners were meals allowed to grow cold until he gave up on his father showing. But the roasted chicken was still steaming when they cut into it, the smoked salmon and toast still holding the heat of the oven on them. Add in the gratin dauphinois and this was just about the ideal Christmas dinner he could imagine.

Naturally, it got even better with Sabine’s contribution - spring rolls.

As Adrien shoveled them onto his plate, he asked Sabine, “Is this the only Chinese dish for today, maman?”

“Just you wait, dear.” She smiled over her plate. “Today was Tom’s turn to make dinner. Tomorrow will be mine and you’ll definitely have your fill then.”

“I can’t wait!” Adrien took some of the chestnut sauce to pour over his chicken. Which reminded him… He glanced nervously toward the oven. “I don’t suppose you made foie gras, did you?”

Marinette made a face and shivered.

Tom quickly shook his head. “Oh no, son. Back when Marinette was… what? Eight, nine? She found out how it was made and made us promise to never have it again.”

“Eleven years later and we haven’t broken that promise yet,” Sabine finished. “There are plenty of other foods in the world.”

“That’s good.” Adrien breathed a sigh of relief. “It always made me uncomfortable when my father ordered it.”

“Ordered, dear?” Sabine gave him a confused look.

“Oh, we never really cooked our own dinners.”

Tom’s jaw dropped. “Not even Christmas dinner?”

“Nope. Sometimes he’d have to order the dinner prepared the day before and then we’d reheat it the day of, since no one wanted to come into work on Christmas day, you know?”

“I see…” Tom shared a look with Sabine, but the meaning was lost on Adrien. “Well, you make sure you have your fill, son! We’ll be making more for tomorrow, so this is all for us.”

“Thanks,” Adrien said with a grateful smile.

The conversation meandered and for the most part Adrien was just content to listen in, drinking in the company after spending so much of his time recently just by himself. Well, mostly by himself. Marinette would visit whenever she could get the time between college classes and internships. Nino and Alya were more elusive, if only because they were outside the city so often these days.

But there was one person who was his constant companion, Adrien thought with a smile as he peeked into the breast pocket of his T-shirt…

...Only to see that it was empty. Maybe he’d gone to visit Tikki and the kwamis of the miracle box? Adrien was drawn out of his thoughts when Sabine directed a question at him.

“Are you ready for the pre-dessert snacks, dear?”

“Oh! Sure, yeah. What do you have?”

“You’ll love it!” Tom excitedly got up and hustled over to the kitchen, Sabine right behind him. He raised his voice to be heard as he went to the room next door. “We know how much you love camembert so…”

Adrien’s eyes widened. They didn’t…

Tom returned with a platter of cheeses in his hands and a frown on his lips.

“Something wrong, papa?” Marinette’s eyes glanced between Tom and the cheese platter.

“No, no… its just… I could have sworn I bought more cheese than this. And I was so sure that I had purchased camembert.” He rubbed his chin. “Ah well, there is more than enough for the three of us anyway.”

While Sabine set down a large bowl of salad in the middle of the table, Adrien glanced at Marinette. At his side, Marinette was biting her lips and pointedly staring into the middle distance, trying her hardest not to laugh. For his part, Adrien was frustrated that he couldn’t go anywhere without Plagg making a noticeable dent in the food supply.

His annoyance with Plagg was so great he almost didn’t enjoy the Yule Log that Tom had made for dessert. Almost, but not quite.

Once they were done with dinner, they cleared the table.

“So, how’d you like the meal?” Marinette asked as she dried off the dishes while Adrien washed them.

“Definitely better hot. And homemade.”

Marinette chuckled. “I’m glad the bar was so high for us. Really makes us feel like we accomplished something here.”

“How about…” Adrien bit down on his lips and narrowed his eyes in thought. “It was the most delicious meal I’ve had in months.”

“Ooo, now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Years even.”

“Good, good, go on.”

“I had never known food could taste so delicious until you graced me with your heavenly meals.”

Marinette’s eyes gleamed with restrained laughter, the hint of a barely contained smile ruining her deadpan. “Glad I could finally weasel how you really feel out of you.”

“Yeah you’re pretty good at that, aren’t you?” Hands still in the sink’s soapy water, he leaned over and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“No fooling around now, we still have to help put up the last decorations before we relax for the night.”

“What sort of decorations?”

“Paper lanterns and paper chains. That sort of thing.” At Adrien’s politely confused look, she added, “It’ll help make mom’s side of the family feel welcome. Plus they look pretty cool.”

“Well what are we waiting for then? Let’s kick this into overdrive!”

Adrien suddenly worked in a flurry, Marinette scream laughing as she got splashed with some of the water thrown up by his breakneck pace. Marinette could barely keep up between her giggling, but she somehow managed.

With the last fork, plate, and glass sparkling clean and put away, Marinette shook her head and dabbed at her slightly damp shirt with a fresh towel.

“You’re a dork, you know that?”

“So my girlfriend tells me.”

Adrien relished the sometimes quiet, sometimes loud evening he spent with the Dupain-Chengs. When he went upstairs and cuddled Marinette in the cozy darkness, Adrien felt only excitement for the next day

----------------

Morning came swiftly, but Adrien rose to meet the dawn’s first light with a smile on his lips and a spring in his step. Marinette was… a little less eager, but he managed to coax her out of the bed, eventually.

When they finally got down the stairs and made it to the kitchen, Sabine’s eyes widened and she even froze in the middle of folding one of her dumplings.

“Marinette? I’m surprised to see you up so early.”

Bleary eyed, her daughter simply jabbed a finger toward Adrien and grunted. Adrien rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled.

“I knew you’d be a good influence on her, sweetie.” Sabine patted his cheek with a warm smile. “Now, once you’ve had some breakfast I’d really appreciate some help out here. From you especially, Marinette, since you know exactly how to do it the way I like it.”

“Can’t Tom help?” Adrien made some toast for him and Marinette, doing his best to stay out of Sabine’s way. “Not that I’m not willing to lend a hand, but he’s got to be pretty good at it after all this time, right?”

Sabine laughed and even Marinette cracked a smile. “You’d think so, but no. The man can make almost any dessert known to French mankind, but I’ve yet to see him finish one spring roll or dumpling in all our years of marriage. Just about the only thing I’m trusting him with today is the roasted pork.”

“Not even the cheese plate?” Adrien asked, tongue in cheek. To his surprise, Sabine shook her head gravely.

“We don’t make one for Christmas day. After all, everyone that is going to be here is from my side of the family and we’re all lactose intolerant.”

“Oh.” Adrien glanced at Marinette, who shrugged.

“I got lucky and got papa’s tolerance for it, I guess.”

“Huh… well, can I help?”

A few hours passed, most of which Adrien spent doing vital but unskilled cooking like stirring and kneading. Although they did let him try to fold a few dumplings. It ended up nowhere near as well done as Marinette’s, but she still gave him a kiss on the cheek for the good effort. From what he gathered, Tom had never even managed to get it to stay together.

They had just put the last batch in the oven when they heard a knock at the door, Sabine quickly taking off her apron as she rushed to answer it.

Adrien’s ears perked up when he heard a conversation in Chinese start up, but between him being a little rusty and them speaking so fast, he couldn’t pick out much.

A few moments later, Sabine walked back into the room with an older Chinese couple. Marinette pulled him towards them. Sabine put a hand on Adrien’s shoulder and introduced them.

“Adrien, these are my parents. My mother, Ling,” she said, gesturing towards the grey-haired woman currently hugging Marinette. “And my father, Zheng.”

The older man’s grey eyes sparkled with excitement as he held out a red envelope for Adrien, who just now noticed that Marinette had also been given one. He froze, eyes widening. Was he supposed to have gotten them something too? He hadn’t realized that anyone would be getting him anything, except maybe Marinette. There was a moment where he was about to decline but he took a shot in the dark and accepted.

The moment his hand touched the envelope, Zheng spoke in Mandarin, “Best wishes for the New Year!”

“Thank you very much!” Adrien replied automatically in the same language. While the finer points might escape him, Adrien was fluent in niceties.

Zheng’s eyes widened before he nodded sagely to himself. “Ahh, I see you’ve picked up some Mandarin from my daughter, yes?”

“Oh, no, sir. I’ve been studying since I was fourteen.”

Once again, Zheng’s eyes widened before he chuckled and looked knowingly at Marinette. “This one is definitely a keeper! I approve.”

Marinette’s cheeks were almost as red as the envelope, but she still smiled.

The bright, enticing red of the envelope made him want nothing more than to open it right then and there. But Adrien took a nod from Marinette, who had very pointedly left it sealed even as she refused to set it down. He chose to follow her lead as they all made their way to the living room.

While the Dupain-Cheng parents and the Cheng parents were getting settled there, Marinette volunteered them to go make some tea. Once they were in the kitchen and out of earshot of the new arrivals, Adrien held up his envelope with a raised eyebrow and curious look.

“You can go ahead and look at it now, it’s just not polite to do it right when you get it.” She carefully unsealed the envelope. “It's this Chinese tradition - good luck money for the new year, you know?”

Adrien followed her lead and found one ten, one twenty, and one fifty euro note inside. Glancing over, it seemed Marinette got the same. He was half tempted to just give her his euros since he didn’t have any need for it, but decided that might be tacky. If she would even take them at all. After stashing the envelopes away in a kitchen drawer, they came back with tea for everyone.

Over the next few hours, more and more family members funneled into the house. Adrien, used to seeing maybe four people during the holiday season, thought the room would be close to bursting after the first aunt arrived with husband and two kids in tow. But then came the uncle and his family, then the second aunt with her boyfriend and by the end of it fifteen people were packed into the living room. For some reason apples in boxes became involved? Adrien thought that was a pun but that was more his pun sense than his linguistic skill.

Before anyone could get too settled in, they finally got to opening presents. Despite his fears from the red envelope, no one else seemed to have gotten Adrien anything.

At least, none of the extended family had. The Dupain-Cheng family, however…

“Here you go, dear.” While the rest of the room was chattering among themselves, Sabine placed a package about as big as a shoebox on Adrien’s lap. Before he could react to it, Marinette had shoved a bag stuffed with packing paper.

“Let me go get your-”

Adrien felt a tug on his arm and looked down at Marinette seated beside him. “Open your gifts first and then we’ll open the ones you got us.”

“Okay, okay.” Adrien looked at the box on his lap and tore it open. He tilted his head in confusion as he lifted the fabric that he found there out of the box. His eyes widened when he realized it was an apron with ‘Kiss the Chef’ on it.

“Its for when you come over to cook with us!” Tom beamed down at him proudly. “Now you don’t need to borrow our aprons any more - you’ll have one of your very own!”

Adrien felt his eyes get misty and he bit his lips to keep himself from crying. After a few moments of pulling himself together, he managed to say, “Thank you, guys. I’m really looking forward to wearing it!”

“Speaking of…” Marinette prodded the bag she left with him.

“Right, right.”

Adrien removed the paper and pulled out what turned out to be a sweater, cream colored and decorated with mistletoes and black cats in red scarves. It felt amazingly soft as he slipped it on over his head, embraced in a warm hug that - he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a deep breath - yes, smelled exactly like Marinette. For now at least.

“Do you like it?” Instead of replying, Adrien wrapped his arms around Marinette and pulled her close to him, nuzzling his nose against her neck. Giggling, she smacked his arms lightly. “I’ll take that as a yes, now let go!”

After he pulled his arms back, he stood up and stepped between the Cheng family members and made it to the tree before heading back to the little corner of the living room that they had claimed. He passed the envelope to Tom and the box to Marinette.

“A… gift card for an appliance store?” Tom said, his brow furrowing.

“I wanted to get you an actual new stove because you’re always upset at it,” Adrien explained in a rush, feeling embarrassed that his gift felt so… impersonal compared to theirs. “But when I went to the store I had no idea what actually made a good stove and searching it up on the internet only made it more confusing and… yeah,” he finished lamely.”

He glanced up at them and felt better to see them smiling back.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Adrien! Thank you, we’ll make good use of this.”

Beside him, Marinette began opening her gift, which Adrien was much more excited for. Not because he had spent any less for it, but because that at least he knew exactly what to get.

He knew he’d done good when she gasped as she pulled out the expensive fabric she’d once stared at longingly from the otherside of a store’s window in Paris. Which, of course, meant that he was also expecting the smack on his arm from her as well.

“Adrien! This is expensive! You definitely shouldn’t have bought this.”

“Actually, you’ll remember that I get to spoil you exactly three times a year - birthdays, Valentine’s, and Christmas.” He gave her the most innocent look he could manage. “So you like it then?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know I absolutely love it, you cat.”

“Then that’s great!” He continued with the overly chipper and oblivious tone, knowing how much it bugged her. He rubbed his hands together. “So… when’s dinner?”

-----------

After a Christmas dinner packed with Chinese dishes, they slowly returned to the living room.

Adrien sat in a corner of the room, taking in the warm and inviting atmosphere, the excitement and energy of so many people gathered together in such a small space.

Holding Marinette close, Adrien felt like he was part of a real family for the first time in a long time.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrienette #Love Square #Tom Dupain #Sabine Cheng #ml secret santa exchange #my writing #Mari Christmas and a Happy New Adrien

206 notes · View notes

theasstour · 4 years

Photo

𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 | 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟏𝟎.𝟒𝐊 𝐍𝐁: 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞

A/N: IT’S FINALLY HERE 🐚🌊✨ Lightkeeper!Harry is here and I’m BEYOND excited to show you lot this concept I’ve been thinking about quite literally everyday for MONTHS now! I love this story with my entire heart, and I really hope it resonates with some of you and that you fall completely in love with lightkeeper!harry and ST like I have 🥺 Love you! Enjoy! x

Thursday, 11 June

The universe would always balance itself out, Y/N McKay was aware of this. She was aware that if she had faith and believed everything happens for a reason, it would make the tough times of her life easier to mentally handle. If she did good, the universe would work to give it back to her in some other form. However, that didn’t mean that when something dreadful did happen it wouldn’t affect her, and she wouldn’t feel hopeless. Because she did. Very much so.

Most of her life she had lived in a constant state of harmony. She was neither displeased nor satisfied with the life she was leading because it kept her out of trouble; it kept her safe. Her entire life she had lived in peace in Winchester, a fairly prissy town in the middle of Hampshire county in England. Her father owned a business of sorts, Y/N had never gotten the details of it or how he’d gotten where he was, but all she knew was he inherited it from his father and it was expected to be handed down generation after generation in the McKay family. However, Y/N was an only child and neither her mum nor her dad thought she’d be fit to run the business when the time came.

“Nothing personal, darling,” her mother had said when it was brought up during a dinner when Y/N was still in sixth form. “You just don’t have the brains for it.”

“What your mother means to say,” Y/N’s father went on. “You’re so intelligent in your own way, running the business won’t make you happy.”

They always called it that. The business. They never told her what it was about or explained when she asked questions about it. Not that she expected her dad to be a drug lord, but it would’ve been nice to be let in on something. It would’ve been nice to be given the opportunity to feel of enough importance to someone to know special things.

Y/N looked out the window of the train, the Cornish coast stretching out as far as the eye could see, the sun not yet hanging high enough on the sky to make it dreadful to walk outside in her black oversized smock dress. The book in her lap was still open, though she’d read the same page over and over and over again, not being able to concentrate for long enough to remember what happened at the top of the piece of paper. Everything was fuzzy and she had too much to think about; too much to consider.

The last 24 hours had been the worst of her life. Yesterday had turned everything upside down and she hated it. However, thinking the universe would balance itself out and work in her favour, she was also aware that the reason her life needed help to be smoothed out by higher powers in the first place, was because it was in imbalance. Something was off. Something had thrown it off. But she forced herself to stay hopeful, knowing that if she lost that little flicker of hope in what seemed like an endless night, it’d be next to impossible to find her way back to peacefulness.

She glanced down at the book in her lap and was about to start reading again, not liking it when she had to put the book away in the middle of a chapter. She wasn’t given the opportunity as the overhead speakers sounded their soft alarm, and next second, a woman was speaking.

“Next stop is St Ives. Doors will open on the right-hand side.”

The nerves Y/N had felt in the pit of her stomach came back again, this time with more intensity than the last few. Though she realised what she was doing that morning when she boarded her train for Reading, and then again when she stepped on the train for St Erth, and yet again when she sat down on the train towards St Ives, this time it felt worse than all those times before. This was it. She was here.

She had no idea why she chose St Ives out of all places in Cornwall – in the world even –, why here of all places? Even years later, she could never seem to remember the exact moment when she chose that coastal town, or why it had appealed to her at all. Maybe it was the fact that it had a beach, or that it wasn’t particularly populated, or that there was no way anyone she had ever known would be there. The most important part however, and maybe the only reason why she chose St Ives, was because it was far away from Winchester. It was far away from her family, from her ex, and everything she associated with that town and everyone living in it.

She put The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall away in her purse, slinging her purse over her head to rest across her chest before she reached up and took her old leather bag down from the overhead compartment. This was the only one she would risk bringing as it used to be her father’s back in the day, but he never used it anymore and wouldn’t suspect it being gone. Placing the strap on her shoulder, she walked off to the closest door, apologising when she jabbed someone with her bag on the way out.

Stepping off, Y/N instantly regretted wearing a long-sleeved dress. Though she was under the protection of the roof above the platform, the heat was still almost insufferable. It got her wondering if this was just a normal day in the very South of England or if it was an exceptionally hot one. She prayed for the latter.

She walked out of the station, staying in the cool shade for a few minutes longer as she typed in the address of the inn she was staying at. Not really knowing how public transit worked here yet, she didn’t want to risk taking the wrong bus or asking a tourist for directions to a place they’d never heard of. Instead, she put her EarPods in and went on her merry way. The second she stepped out into the sun, she was once again reminded of why she’d never wear that black dress again that summer.

The Roaming Crab Inn was on The Terrace, the road along the coast of St Ives, holding dozens of hotels and other places to stay during a visit. Y/N didn’t know why she’d chosen this exact inn, or how she’d even happened upon it. It might’ve had something to do with the picture of the old lady grinning from ear to ear on the inn’s website. A picture that was so lovely and so warm that, in the midst of everything Y/N was going through right then, it made her tear up.

She stepped into the inn, placing her sunglasses on the top of her head, and made sure her hair looked alright before walking a bit further inside. Cherry wooden panels lined the floors, walls, and ceiling, a reception desk in the same style attached to the wall to the right. Pictures of all kinds of people hung on the walls. Y/N suspected it might be locals as well as dear guests who had come and gone over the years. No lights were on as the sharp afternoon sun was sufficient in keeping the lobby just bright enough o that electricity wasn’t needed. Fake green vines hung along the ceiling and walls, as well as from different pots on the fireplace to the right that didn’t seem to be in use. Still, two old recliners stood beside it, tempting to sit down and drown in, to escape a turbulent life.

To the left was a staircase leading up to the other landings, and though Y/N hadn’t stepped foot on it yet, she already knew it creaked. This entire house seemed more like a cottage you’d find in the middle of the country, not on the coast of South England. She slowly started making her way over to the reception, and that was when she noticed the back door. Behind the desk was an old, white windowed door, a little smaller in height but a little wider in breadth than normal doors – like the entrance. It was open, leading the way out into a back garden that seemed to be both small and surrounded by the neighbouring houses on all sides. The wooden fence was covered in vines, flowers of all kinds poking out amongst them and on the ground around. The stone paved patio seemed to be old and uneven, there was a set of bistro metal chairs in all the colours of the rainbow along with a white table to match them.

A gang of old ladies sat around the table, chattering amongst themselves and occasionally laughing, all holding a different knitting project each. Y/N hated the thought of disturbing them, but she also just wanted to check in and go up to her room; maybe even go for a walk to take a look around the place she’d be in for the next few weeks.

She reached for the bell, hitting it lightly as to not make it sound urgent and intrusive. A small yelp was heard from the back garden and then the sound of the metal chair scraping against the stone patio. As she heard the footsteps get closer, Y/N glanced around, taking in the interior of the inn undisturbed one more. As someone appeared in the doorway and their eyes met, the old lady who stood there gave Y/N that warm smile of hers she’d seen online the night before.

“Hello, dear!” she chirped, placing her glasses on the bridge of her nose and walking over to the computer on her side of the desk. “How are you?”

“I’m good, thank you. And yourself?”

The old lady smiled, her eyes almost disappearing behind her high cheekbones. Her long white hair was fastened in a bun at the back of her head, the rest of her dressed in a pair of white trousers and a tunic with some bird print on it.

“I’m wonderful. What’s your name then, lovely?”

“Y/N McKay.”

“Ahh,” she said. “You’re the one who booked your stay last night.”

“That’s me, yeah,” Y/N chuckled, brushing some hair behind her ear.

“Till August 10th.”

“Yes.”

“Right then, Y/N,” the lady said, taking a key hanging from the wall beside her and taking her glasses off, smiling the entire time. “Let me show you to your room.”

The two walked up to the second floor, taking a right as they arrived and the inn-keeper unlocked the door. The innkeeper kept the door open for Y/N, letting her walk in first. Though the floor and ceiling were similar to the wooden panels of the lobby, the walls were white. Against the same wall that the door came to rest against stood an old blue dresser, and a fake flower in an elegant vase that seemed to be just one of the many flowers in the room. The double bed stood to the far left wall, white sheets covering it and looking so lush that it took everything in Y/N not to sprint over and throw herself onto it. There was a desk as well as a recliner, and a window on the opposite wall overlooking the ocean that was just about a minute’s walk from here.

“The bathroom is over there,” the innkeeper said, pointing at a door beside the staircase. “You share it with the other guests on the same floor as you, alright?”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Y/N admitted, genuinely meaning it as well. She didn’t see the problem with that in the least.

“I’m mostly downstairs or in the next house over, which is mine,” she continued. “So if there’s ever anything you think I could help you with, do pop by.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, my goodness,” she suddenly exclaimed, walking over to Y/N. “I’ve completely forgotten to introduce myself. I’m Bessie.” Bessie smiled at Y/N again, making the latter almost want to cry for the umpteenth time that day. “And I really hope you enjoy your stay here in St Ives.”

With that, the innkeeper left Y/N to herself. Y/N let her bag and purse fall to the floor before she dragged the chair by the desk over to the window. She opened it and just stared out across the beach and sea outside. Seagulls were howling overhead, waves were crashing against shore, and the familiar salty scent of the presence of the ocean lingered in the air constantly. It was like one of those trips she’d taken with her parents every summer, a new place every year, always by the coast. Her favourite might’ve been their vacation in Bali. It was gorgeous beyond comprehension, in a way no other place she’d ever been could come close to. But she was aware she’d never go on another trip with her parents again. Not after everything that happened the night before.

Now she couldn’t rely on them any longer. She was on her own. She had no idea what she was going to do, no idea what lay ahead of her. As she at on the chair looking out over St Ives, the town she’d spend her summer in, she realised she’d never felt more forlorn.

St Ives is a coastal town located in the very south-west of the southernmost county in England, Cornwall. It is known for its surf beaches – most well-known being Porthmeor – and its many art galleries and restaurants. Tate St Ives is a gallery at the seafront and has rotating modern art exhibitions, focusing primarily on British artists. The Barbara Hepworth Museum and Sculpture Garden is located in the modernist artist’s former studio, displaying her bronzes and other works.Y/N, having grown up in a fairly posh family with exquisite and particular taste, knew a thing or two about art.

She always had her purse on her, and in it she’d keep all the essentials for going out and about. Hand sanitiser, Kleenex, band-aids, pads, keys, a portable charger, and the book she was currently reading. The Well of Loneliness lay in her purse as she strolled around, a St Ives guide book in her hand that she’d bought at one of the local stores on what must’ve been their high street.

First and foremost, she wanted to do some sightseeing. She’d be here for a long time, so she might as well get acquainted with the town she’d stay in and learn its ins and outs. There is this part of St Ives called The Island, that isn’t at all an island, but it is just called that. The Island is the imposing headland that juts out into the seat from the spit of land that separates the harbour and Porthmeor beach – the most popular and most central beach in the town. In ancient times it was a promontory fort, but these days it’s probably better known as a location of the tiny chapel of St Nicholas. Walking to The Island, Y/N took in the incredible views of the ocean surrounding her, and the beach – The Townas - beside her that was cramped between The Island and Godrevy Point on the other side.

To her left was what looked to be Hellesveor Cliff, and at the very point of it, on the top of what must’ve been the most haunting cliff Y/N had ever seen, stood a lighthouse. Looking in her guide book, it didn’t say much about the lighthouse except the care of it had been passed down generation after generation by the family currently living there. It was at the very edge of St Ives, farther out than Godrevy Point. It made it so Porthmeor, St Ives, and The Townas were all guarded by these two points, the St Ives Lighthouse watching over its town and the far coast around.

Continuing on her walk, she strolled down the Down-a-long, which is the old, lower part of St Ives built on the narrow ridge of land that separated The Island to the rest of the town. This part of town is the archetypal image of St Ives with its jumble of cobble streets lined with whitewashed, old cottages, some seeming to fall apart and others in better condition. Y/N thought the street names were equally evocative and unique, some of her favourites being Salubrious Place, Teetotal Street, and The Digney. Though it said in her catalogue that fishermen used to live in the Down-a-long before, next to none lived there now as most of it was occupied by galleries, cafes, and little shows that one can shake a stick at. As she strolled through Fore Street, the main shopping street in St Ives, she walked by a vintage shop – Vintage Divine – and jotted it down on her phone.

All her life, Y/N had always loved everything vintage. She liked the thought of owning something that had once been part of someone else’s life, that had made them happy enough they wanted to hand it on and give someone else that same happiness they’d experienced. Though neither her mum, her dad, or her ex-boyfriend liked her obsession with vintage and stuff owned by others before her, their disinterest had never stopped her from going to markets or stores. However, she never bought anything unless she knew she could hide it. Now, she thought, that didn’t have to be a problem.

A few years back when she started to realise her obsession with old stuff, furniture, clothing, and books owned by others before her, she read an article online. The article had suggested that people are attracted to vintage pieces because they offer an escape. Wearing these garments, holding these ornaments, touching furniture from another time is a way to experience a different life. A life that isn’t your own and that was lived before hers or parallel to hers. Shopping vintage then created an exciting search for something special and creative, something a normal shopping trip could never give her. It was weird how much she was looking forward to going through that shop, Y/N realised, but she couldn’t wait to explore and take items home with her. Not that she expected she’d be welcomed home to Winchester anytime soon, but she chose not to think about that too much.

Fore Street was a narrow and cobblestone-clad street with people milling about trying to find a decent place for lunch. Stone cottages lined both sides of the street, either a neutral colour like white, a dull yellow, beige, light blue, or just plain, grey stone. Y/N enjoyed walking among these houses. It was a quiet town, peace seemed to be permanently settled between the cramped streets and tiny houses. Though Winchester wasn’t London with its tall buildings and never-ending bustle, St Ives was even smaller than her hometown, which made it that much more appealing to her. There was a sense of relaxation in the mere atmosphere around her that massaged the tension out of her shoulders and straightened her hunched back.

The door to the Seafood Café she was about to walk by burst open. A couple of people standing around jumped at the commotion, as did Y/N. Dressed in high-waisted loose fitted denim jeans, a white tee shirt tucked into them, a pair of orange worn down Vans, and brown curls in a dishevelled mess, the man who caused the ruckus didn’t seem to notice everyone’s attention being on him. He halted a bit as he came outside before he walked left. Y/N stopped moving, the sudden interruption in her peaceful stroll taking her off guard. The man suddenly started straight for Y/N, his head bent, eyes on the cobblestone before him. He didn’t seem to notice where he was going, not looking up in the direction he was heading. So, when he saw Y/N’s shadow, that’s when he glanced up. Their eyes met just a second before he managed to stop, preventing them from crashing into one another.

“Oh!” he erupted, voice crescendoing. He blinked twice, eyes settling on her for a few seconds before he said a quick, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I should’ve moved out of the way,” Y/N assured him, about to step to the side when she noticed his lips moving again. No words came out, though. She stood there for a few seconds, just watching his jaw and lips work, not seeming to find his words.

“Have a good day,” she went on, trying to step out of the way when the man blurted out, “Please, miss.”

She looked at him again, about to narrow her eyes when she saw a troubled expression on his face. His eyes were a little wide and he glanced over his shoulder before meeting her eyes again. The door to Seafood Café opened again, a woman and a younger girl stepping out.

“Please,” he repeated, voice low. “Go along.”

Y/N frowned. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll owe you my entire life if you just play along for a minute or two, yeah?”

She cocked her head some to the side. “I don’t know what you mean, sir. I should-“

“-I don’t usually do this- I mean, I never do, I’ve never done this before – ever -, but-but they think I have a girlfriend and I don’t. Please-“

“-Harry!”

The man – who Y/N could only assume to be Harry - turned around to face a tiny Filipina woman and an even smaller girl beside her, who looked to be no older than ten. The two looked Y/N over, eyes scanning her from head to toe. Y/N felt like she was under a magnifying glass.

But while they took her in, Y/N’s thoughts wandered to the words the man beside her had said only a few seconds earlier. “They think I have a girlfriend and I don’t.” Was he… was he saying what Y/N thought he was saying? She glanced at him, seeing him draw a shaky breath and meet her eyes, waiting for her to make the next move it seemed. Everything that had happened in the last minute confused her. She didn’t know this man, didn’t know what he’d told these two women or why. She was also well aware that by just walking away she wouldn’t need to worry about him any longer; his problems weren’t hers. This seemed messy, confusing, and a little risky.

Usually, she wouldn’t want any part of it. The Y/N she was yesterday wouldn’t have considered this. She would’ve looked at the man apologetically before excusing herself and walking off, leaving him to figure out whatever lie he’d told these two on his own. But Y/N had changed. Or… at least that’s what she wanted to believe… Fine, she wanted to change, and maybe this was a place to start.

Harry sighed, turning around to face the two he had tried to get away from, shoulders sinking as he met their eyes. The defeat was evident in his body language; he was about to give up and just tell them that he didn’t have a girlfriend. That’s what finally did it, seeing how it took absolutely everything out of him to tell them the following. “Jasmine, I’m sorry, I need to tell you-“

“-It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Y/N interrupted him, smiling as she stepped out from behind Harry. Though she had seriously considered helping him, it still surprised her when she actually heard the words coming out of her mouth. Her heart was beating about as fast as it had that morning when she’d left Hampshire.

Harry looked at her, mouth falling open, obviously shocked by her willingness to help him. It took him a few seconds to gather himself, but once he did, he looked back at the two they were trying to convince with a bright smile on his face.

“What did you have to tell me, Harry?” the older woman asked.

“That, uhh…” He looked at Y/N again before glancing at who she could only assume to be Jasmine. “Jessa, this is my girlfriend.”

Jasmine raised her eyebrows, eyes lighting up suddenly. The girl beside her stood there fidgeting with the hem of her top, looking Y/N up and down still.

“Hi,” Y/N said, stepping forward and reaching her hand out for Jasmine. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Jasmine said, a smile coming to rest on her round face as they let go of the others’ hand. “Harry, you said her name was unusual.”

“That… I-“ Harry stopped himself.

Y/N’s lips parted, unsure how to react to that.

“That’s why you didn’t want to tell us her name, since it was so unusual. Y/N isn’t unusual.”

Y/N chuckled a little, looking at Harry whose whole face was a shade of red she’d never seen before. He glanced around him, meeting her gaze before quickly looking to the ground, scratching at his neck.

“You thought my name was weird?” She was well aware Harry hadn’t known her name until that point, let alone had any time to form an opinion on it. But regardless, she found it funny how he’d refused to give them his pretend girlfriend’s name by telling them it was an unusual one, as if they’d laugh at it.

“I didn’t-“ Harry sighed. “It wasn’t like I was embarrassed I just…” He trailed off, motioning with his hands, but Y/N had no idea what that meant. She didn’t take it to heart, though, knowing it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with his cover-up story.

“He has such a way with words,” Jasmine said, clicking her tongue at him. “Anyway, I’m Jasmine, but just call me Jessa. Harry’s stepmother.”

“And I’m Grace.” The little one stepped forward, grinning from ear to ear. The small one had the same roundness to her face as the woman beside her, as well as the same flat nose and almond shaped eyes like Jessa’s. “Harry’s kept you a secret.”

“Gracie, I haven’t kept her a secret as much as I’ve kept her away,” Harry said. “You’re gonna scare her.”

“We won’t scare her!” Jessa exclaimed. “It’s your girlfriend, Harry! We will be nice.”

“Somehow doubt that.” Harry turned to Y/N, turning his back to his step mum and what must be his half-sister. “They like to interrogate, especially Jasmine.”

“You villainise us,” Jessa said, walking closer to them and taking Y/N’s hand between hers. It took her off guard and she almost pulled her hand away, the feel of someone’s skin voluntarily touching hers felt weird.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Harry continued, ignoring Jessa. There was an apology in his eyes that he didn’t voice. Or at least that’s what Y/N thought she saw anyway. “They’ll make it hard to enjoy yourself.”

Jessa reached over and pinched Harry’s exposed forearm. He flinched away from her, glaring as he stepped back a few paces.

“Now you’re being rude.”

“I don’t want you lot to make her uncomfortable with all your questions,” Harry said, a frown etched in his forehead. He hadn’t met Y/N’s eyes directly ever since they almost walked into one another. “Besides, she’s…” Harry’s eyes fell to the guide in Y/N’s hand. “She’s sightseeing.”

Y/N smiled at Jessa and Grace, showing them the small book she was carrying with her. “I’ve just been to the Island. The view from there is fantastic.”

“Harry, the view from the Island is nothing. Have you shown her yet?”

“Jessa, it’s… she’s just…”

Finally, he looked at her, not knowing what to say that would make his stepmother give it a rest. Y/N could understand why she asked so many questions, she was just eager to get to know someone who she thought was Harry’s new partner.

“I arrived this morning,” Y/N answered, smiling at Jasmine. “We haven’t had the time to meet up properly, so in the meantime I’ve just been walking around.”

“Where’s your luggage?”

“At the Inn. The Roaming Crab.”

Jessa’s eyes went wide, looking at Harry disapprovingly again. “She’s not even staying with you? What kind of boyfriend are you?”

“She could stay at our house,” Grace said, eyes on the space that separated Y/N and Harry before she met Y/N’s eyes.

“It’s not that… It’s not like that, I-“ Harry stopped himself, dragging his hand over his face that had been bright red ever since this whole spectacle started. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“Am I?” Jessa crossed her arms.

“Yes… I-“ Harry stuttered and though Y/N hadn’t known this man for very long, she could tell he found it hard to find his words in stressful situations.

“We didn’t want to overwhelm each other. We haven’t stayed together for a long period of time before, this would be the first, so I’m staying at the Inn so we won’t get tired of each other too quickly.” Y/N hoped she sounded confident and truthful; she wouldn’t want to blow this for Harry already. After all, she had no idea how long he’d need this pretend girlfriend lie for.

A frown appeared between Jasmine’s brows and it dawned on Y/N that she must’ve said something wrong just now. Panic rose to her chest, but Harry cleared his throat.

“Except for that trip to Exeter last month, but that was only a single weekend. Now she’s here for…” He narrowed his eyes, as if the answer was at the tip of his tongue but Y/N knew she was the only one with an answer to that.

“August 12th,” she said, Jessa letting go of a small squeal at the sound of it. “Dunno how many weeks that’ll be, but I’m-“

“-That’s fantastic! You need to come to Gracie’s birthday next weekend.”

Harry stuttered a little, Jessa’s enthusiasm making him nervous, Y/N thought. “Nanay-“

“-She’s going to love that, won’t you, Gracie?”

Grace nodded her head, grinning up at Y/N. “You can put pretty stuff on my eyelids.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows some and Jessa laughed. “Eyeshadow.”

“Oh! Well, I don’t have loads of that since I’m no good with make-up, but I do have nice jewellery.” Y/N picked at the one she was wearing just then, a gold necklace she’d gotten for her birthday the year before.

Grace’s smile didn’t fade one bit at that. In fact, it only seemed to get a little bigger at the sight of Y/N’s pretty necklace. The girl didn’t say anything, but she swayed from side to side, looking excitedly up at her brother’s supposed new girlfriend.

“You’re coming then?” Jessa asked, looking so happy she might burst, and it hurt Y/N that she probably wouldn’t.

“Jessa, we have barely had time to catch up, let her breathe,” Harry pleaded and Jessa waved her hands at them.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, Y/N. It’s just…” Jasmine’s eyes fell on Harry standing beside Y/N, her eyes glistening. “It’s just so nice to know Harry’s not alone anymore.”

“I’ve never been alone, nanay.”

Jessa shook her head, sighing heavily. “Alright, we’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. You’ll probably want some time to yourselves to just walk around. Has she been to the lighthouse, Harry? Take her there.”

Harry sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. “Nay-“

“-Fine, we’ll leave. It was so nice to finally meet you, Y/N.”

“You too, Jessa. And you, Grace.”

Grace gave a wave before Jessa took her hand and the two walked away, probably on their way home or whatever other plans they had. Y/N watched them for a few before turning to Harry. His blush had calmed down a little, but a bead of sweat had appeared at his cupid’s bow. If it was because of nerves or the weather, she did not know, but she was not about to ask him that.

Upon closer inspection and now that they didn’t have Harry’s stepmum and sister watching over them, Y/N could finally study the man she rescued for a total of five minutes. Green eyes that reminded her of the moors she’d spend time running through each summer, a slight stubble along his soft jawline, nose a little too big for his face, and a slight dimple in each cheek even though he wasn’t smiling fully yet. She wondered what they’d look like if he actually grinned.

“Hi,” she said, reaching her hand out. “Y/N.”

Harry chuckled softly, taking her hand, eyes staying on the place they were touching each other. “Harry.”

“I’m glad I could be of some help, Harry.”

A crooked smile reached his lips as his eyes fell to the ground and he stepped away, letting his hand fall to hit his thigh. He glanced up at her. “Thank you for that. They say they’re worried, but they’re really just nosey.”

Y/N grimaced a little, making a breathy laugh escape Harry’s lips. “Is your life more interesting than theirs?”

“Not in the least. I lead the most boring existence in the most boring town in the United Kingdom.”

She chuckled, reaching for her necklace. “Not sure you can claim that title, my life’s pretty up there as well.”

Harry tried to shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans, but the arms of his denim jacket wrapped around his waist were in the way. “Oh?”

“Blimey, I won’t keep you if you’ve got things to do. You look like a busy man.”

Harry stared at the watch on his wrist and bit his bottom lip, looking up at her through his thick set of dark eyelashes. “Yeah, I gotta be on my way actually.”

She gave him a smile, getting one in return.

“Listen, thank you so much for that. I just needed to get them off my back. You don’t actually have to come to Gracie’s birthday party, Jessa just loves when she gets to interrogate people. Her favourite sport is discussing gossip.”

Y/N laughed. “You burn a lot of calories doing that.”

Harry chuckled, scratching at his neck as his eyes fell to her neck and then shoulder. “Anyway, I don’t know how to repay you. If you’re here till August, I guess I’ll see you around.”

For some reason, Harry not really knowing what to say was funny to Y/N. It wasn’t like he owed her anything or the other way around. She’d just helped him out and now they could part ways. Easy as that.

“You don’t have to repay me, I’m glad I could help,” she smiled. “I’ll try and stay out of your way if I see you out and about. You know, to avoid the awkward conversation of telling them we’re not actually together.”

Harry’s lips tipped upward. “Right, thanks.”

“Now, since I’m talking to you,” she said, opening the catalogue again. “Where’s the Tate Gallery?”

Harry turned around, pointing up Fore Street from where they stood. “When you reach Bunkers Hill, you follow that all the way up to Back Road, then you just walk along The Digney and it’ll be on your right-hand side.”

“Thank you so much.”

“No, thank you. I… It was too much-“

“-I’m serious when I say I’m glad I could help, don’t worry about it.” She shot him one last smile before giving him a wave. “Bye, Harry.”

“Bye,” he said, giving her a short nod before she focused her attention back on her surroundings. She needed to catch the street names and get her walk to the Tate on the first try because she could really not be asked to walk back and whip her phone out. After all, Harry just helped her so it was going to be easy to just follow his navigation and get there.

As she strolled along the gallery and the rest of St Ives that day, she couldn’t help but think about that little encounter earlier. She wondered what happened after that, if Jessa and Grace demanded more information from Harry or if he told them how it was all a lie. Putting it all aside, she focused on her trip instead. She’d never meet that family again, but she really hoped everything worked out for them regardless. The last thing she needed was for this summer to be about anything but her and what she really wanted in life. She didn’t need distractions. Her whole life up until now had been a distraction.

Friday, 12 June

Being in south England and not taking advantage of the amazing beaches this part of the country offered, was maybe on the same wrongdoing scale as committing a serious crime. Y/N had gotten dressed that morning and headed straight downstairs to eat breakfast in the tiny dining hall of the Inn. It was positioned in what must’ve originally been the living room in the house, four tables placed in there with two chairs placed by each of them. The dining room had the same layout as the entrance to the Inn; wooden panels all over, flowers and plants everywhere along with pictures and candles to top it off.

When she walked downstairs, Bessie was quick to jump up from where she was sitting in her small back garden, meeting Y/N with a warm beam on her face. When Bessie asked Y/N if she’d like a meat, vegetarian, or vegan full English, Y/N startled herself by replying vegetarian. She hadn’t grown up vegetarian, but in all her life, she’d never had a purely vegetarian meal. So, instead of correcting herself, she let Bessie make her that vegetarian breakfast. The thought of eating something she hadn’t before didn’t make her anxious as she thought it would’ve, but she was rather excited about the whole thing.

Bessie came out with the tray, setting it down before Y/N and asked her if she would mind Bessie’s company. With a quick reply encouraging the old lady to sit down, Bessie ran – or walked as fast as her short legs could take her – outside and returned with her knitting. Y/N had been alone pretty much all day the day before nd she had anticipated being alone all day today as well, so she rather enjoyed Bessie’s company. She had never really envisioned this to be part of her trip to Cornwall – an old lady with her grey hair put neatly in a bun with two knitting needles holding it up, wearing a long bohemian dress and glasses perched on the end of her nose, talking her ear off and Y/N having an immense amount of fun in the process.

The sea and seagulls sounded from inside the Inn, but as Y/N put her bathing suit and summer dress on, on her way down towards the beach, the costal sounds only intensified. The salt in the air clung to her skin and the smell of seaweed got more prominent the closer she got to the ocean. She put her stuff down and brought The Well of Loneliness out again, wanting to finish the book that day because she really wanted to know how it all ended. She wasn’t sure how much time went by as she laid there, completely captivated by the world Radclyffe Hall had created within the book.

It wasn’t that Y/N particularly enjoyed the book. No, it wasn’t that. It was endlessly long and detailed, for absolutely no purpose. The writing wasn’t particularly memorable; one wouldn’t remember it for its evocative and imaginative characteristics, nor for Hall’s ability to tell instead of show. Over the years she’d studied English in college, Y/N knew that a writer should be able to balance those two out; show some, tell some. But that concept was lost on Hall. No, Y/N didn’t like The Well of Loneliness for its writing, not even the plot.

She liked the book because of the plea embedded in it. The plea for LGBT people to be treated as human; that they were normal and not a disease. Why did they have to be other? They didn’t choose this life so why were they to be punished for it by being treated differently? By being illegal? The Well of Loneliness was published around the same time Orlando by Virginia Woolf, who was one of Y/N’s favourite authors ever. Though these two books touched on similar themes of identity, where Orlando shrouded the issue of mysticism, The Well dared to discuss sexual identity openly. Y/N commended Radclyffe Hall for that.

However much Y/N sympathised with Hall and the main character, Stephen, she couldn’t help but laugh at the hypocrisy in the book. While it attempted to strive for acceptance of one minority, it also emanated an underlying attitude of snobbishness and chauvinism towards other minorities at the same time, which made no sense to Y/N. Then again, it was the 1920s, so she guessed she couldn’t really ask for anything else from a rich white person at the time.

Having finally finished the book, Y/N asked someone nearby if they could watch her things while she took a dip. There was a blonde bloke around her age and another bloke with blue hair, sitting not too far off, and when she asked if they could keep an eye on her stuff, they promised they would.

Y/N took her time swimming, trying to remember the last time she’d been on a beach where the public were allowed. It was odd seeing so many around her, but she liked it. She liked the sound of others around her. Silence was good, but in the disturbance of human noise was the reassurance of rescue. The promise that you might be lonely, but you are never alone.

Walking back up to her picnic blanket, Y/N thanked the two men before lying back down, soaking up the sun. She hadn’t been aware she’d already been at the beach for a few hours until she realised her stomach was rumbling. So, packing her stuff together and making sure her hair was somewhat dry, she walked around to see if there were any places she could sit down. The only place on Porthminster Beach was the café with the same name, and by the looks of it, it was completely full. Since Bessie had served Y/N some breakfast, she must have something for lunch as well.

Walking back the 5 minute to the hotel, Bessie jumped up from her place in the back garden, sitting back there with two other ladies and knitting like they’d done the day before.

“Hello, dear, you had a good trip to the beach?”

Y/N couldn’t help but feel completely at ease in this old woman’s company. “Yes, I did. A bit hungry, though, do you have something I could eat, possibly?”

“Of course! What do you fancy?”

“Oh, a toastie’s fine.”

“Vegetarian?”

For some reason, the fact Bessie remembered Y/N’s preference from this morning made her smile. “Yes,” she said without thinking.

“Right, just sit down and I’ll come by with your lunch, my lovely.”

“Thank you so much, Bessie.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Y/N sat down, bringing her phone out as she hadn’t checked it properly in a few hours. She wasn’t sure what she expected, to be fair. There was no one from home who would want to contact her, and if they were to, they would rather look around Winchester than call. In their minds, she couldn’t have run far. Regardless, the mere fact they hadn’t even called her made something inside her sink a little. It felt awful knowing how little she meant to them all along. So little that they wouldn’t even pick up the phone and save her a call or a text.

“Here, my dear,” Bessie said, putting down a tray before Y/N. “I’m gonna pop outside to my little knitting club, if that’s fine by you. Just come on out if you don’t have anything else to do after this, yeah?”

“Thank you so much,” Y/N said and Bessie smiled at her before she disappeared outside again.

Turning her attention to her food, Y/N started thinking about what she could do the rest of the day. She could walk some more around town, she’d seen bigger parts of it yesterday, but there were always corners of a town that needed discovering. Once she was about halfway through her toastie, hasty footsteps sounded from the lobby and a somewhat familiar figure appeared. He stopped a bit on his way towards the reception desk, as if he didn’t want to be a bother to Bessie of some kind by asking for assistance. Bessie appeared a few seconds later, grinning from ear to ear as usual.

“Hello, Harry love.”

“Hi, Bess. I…” he stopped himself, running his hands up and down the sides of his white and grey striped cotton-blend trousers, a navy blue tee shirt tucked into it and a pair of white Vans on his feet. “I just wanted to come check again.”

“For the third time.”

“Yeah, well…” He did a quick shrug. “I just wanted to check.”

“She’s here.” Bessie gestured to Harry’s right and when he looked that way, his eyes immediately found Y/N’s. She didn’t think she’d ever see him again. However, a summer in a small coastal town would make that very hard. She’d try her hardest to stay out of Harry’s way, as well as his family’s, so she wouldn’t make things awkward. She would have escaped to a town a little further south or on the other side of Cornwall, but she was settled in now and she’d already paid for her whole stay.

Though she’d promised to keep away from him to prevent any unpleasant situations, Harry hadn’t made her the same promise. And here he was. For some reason. He seemed both taken off guard to see her sitting there as well as relieved he’d finally caught her. A sigh left him, slumping his tense shoulders a little before he thanked Bessie quickly and walked to Y/N.

“Is it,” he started as he made his way over. “Is it okay if I sit down?”

Y/N nodded her head while swallowing, gesturing with her hand at the chair opposite hers. “Yes, go ahead,” she said when her mouth was free to.

“Cheers.” Harry sat down, slid a little closer to the table and rested his hands between his legs as he leaned back against the back of the chair.

The two fell into silence for a little while, Y/N watching as Harry’s eyes fixed on the small bouquet of flowers in the tiny vase placed in the middle of the round table. Yes, she loved company, but Harry’s had taken her a little by surprise and she was eager to know why he’d come looking for her. She didn’t want to try and draw a conclusion herself without hearing his reasoning first, knowing that whatever she came up with wouldn’t be correct anyway. Instead, she put her toastie back on her plate and focused her attention on Harry, who had yet to say anything. From the way he was biting the inside of his lip, she assumed he was mulling over the right thing to say. It didn’t seem to ever come when finally, he opened his mouth.

“First, I just want to say sorry for yesterday,” he said, meeting her eyes, but quickly looking to her shoulder. “It was proper daft. I was desperate and I panicked, and you were right there.” He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for putting you in that position.”

Y/N just gave him a smile. “You don’t have to apologise, I’m glad I could help.”

“And I appreciate you helping me out, I really do, but… here’s the thing…” He cleared his throat. “Jessa and Gracie are right about losing their minds of this.”

Y/N chuckled. “Oh?”

“Yeah, they called and texted all last night and this morning, saying how nice it was to meet you, that I need to bring you to Grace’s birthday next Saturday,” Harry said. “And it makes me wonder if it was even worth it yesterday. I still appreciate what you did, and this is all my fault, but I think…” He trailed off again, scratching at the back of his neck. “Look, I’m doing a naff job of explaining this.”

Sipping her juice, Y/N just smiled at him till she put her glass down. “Take your time.”

He took a deep breath. “Think I might tell them it’s all fake. I don’t have a partner and that’s fine.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, being single is fine.”

“Only thing that’s stopping me is the fact that Jasmine will be crushed. Ever since my dad died, she’s been so worried about me living alone in the lighthouse.”

There was so much to unpack in that sentence that Y/N felt herself retract a little, scanning his face for what the appropriate reaction to that would be. Harry must’ve noticed her silence so he glanced at her face, eyes going wide.

“Oh! Don’t feel like you-“

“-I’m sorry about your dad.”

“No, that’s okay, he hasn’t been with us for two years now,” Harry went on. “That was a real mood killer. Bringing up my dead father with someone I barely know.”

Y/N smiled. “Think you fake breaking up with me was a great mood killer before that was even brought up.”

Harry smiled a little at that, those deep dimples just barely gracing his cheeks. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” She wiped at her mouth with the napkin, brows slowly coming into a frown. “You said something about a lighthouse… do you live there?”

“In the lighthouse?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I’m the lighthouse keeper.”

Her frown deepened a little.

“What?”

“I didn’t think those existed anymore.”

“What, lighthouses?” Harry’s smile widened, amusement tracing his pink lips.

“No, lighthouse keepers.”

He shrugged. “Here’s a living, breathing example of one.”

She couldn’t help her laughter. “Fine, I take it back. I don’t really think about lighthouses enough to give their keepers much of a thought either.”

“Too bad.”

Y/N just shook her head some, noticing a slight redness to Harry’s cheeks that hadn’t been there a few seconds earlier. “You were saying about Jessa.”

“She’s worried about me living alone in the lighthouse. Says I’ll be lonely and that she thinks about me sitting up there crying my eyes out or summat.”

“Do you? Cry your eyes out?”

“No, I like having my own space. I like living there alone. She’s just being a protective stepmum, looking out for me and all that. Like, yes, I’m still sad Dad is dead, but it wasn’t like he lived with me in the lighthouse anyway. He lived with Jasmine and Grace.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “She doesn’t want you to be alone ‘cause she thinks you don’t want to be.”

“Exactly,” Harry said, pausing a bit before mumbling something that sounded like, “That’s why I’ve told them for a few months now that I have a girlfriend.”

She narrowed her eyes some.

“To get them off my back, innit? I don’t want them to think I’m miserable, ‘cause I’m not. But when I told them I had a girlfriend, they got so happy, yeah? I just tried to be as vague as possible, didn’t give them a name and they didn’t ask, assuming I wanted to keep her secret. Jessa hasn’t bugged me about this in weeks… Until yesterday.”

Y/N started piecing everything together. “That’s why you stormed out of the restaurant.”

He nodded. “And ran into you.”

Y/N couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “The idea of just telling them I was your fake girlfriend just fell into your head once you saw me?”

Harry chuckled and shifted his gaze away from her, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah. I never do stuff like that. I hate uncertainty, so trusting you yesterday when I didn’t know if you’d play along… well, it took five years of my life.”

She laughed. “If I hadn’t then the whole lie would’ve been obvious to Jessa and Grace.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help then,” Y/N said, really meaning it as well.

“Yeah, and thank you so much for doing so. It really helped me out… if you look away from Jasmine texting me five times today alone to organise a dinner with you and all of us.”

They both laughed a little at that and when Y/N glanced at Harry again, he was looking down at his hands in his lap. After a brief pause, he met her eyes again.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this, and thank you for helping me. I’ll tell them everything now, I don’t want you to have to hide while you’re here for two months.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

For the next few seconds, they looked at one another in silence. Y/N thought back to the moment she’d seen Harry, how it might’ve taken her a few seconds to catch on, but her main instinct had been to help him. She thought of the gratitude on Harry’s face when she played along, how she hoped he one day would find an actual girlfriend that would have just as big of an impact on Jessa and Grace as it seemed she herself had. She was about to tell Harry this when the sound of footsteps sounded from the lobby again.

A woman Bessie’s age walked in, a bag slung over her shoulder and sunglasses in her short black hair. As she stepped inside, she spotted Harry and Y/N sitting together and her mouth fell open, a grin coming to rest on her wrinkling face.

“Bessie, you didn’t tell me these two were going to be here,” the old woman said, walking into the dining area. Bessie stepped out from behind the wall that hid the reception desk from the dining hall. At that, Y/N’s stomach dropped. Bessie must’ve heard their entire conversation. By the look on Harry’s face, he was going through a similar near-death experience to the one Y/N was currently enduring.

“Hi, Mrs Rose,” Harry said, no one seemed to notice the slight tremor to his voice.

“Harry and his new girlfriend,” Mrs Rose said, looking between them. “You know, you lot are the talk of the town.”

“We are?” Harry asked, the surprise in his voice so evident it made the older women laugh.

“Yes, of course! Jasmine told everyone!” Mrs Rose continued, looking to Bessie who was already nodding her head.

“Not everyone, but she told her friends, and you know how people like to gossip around here, don’t you, Harry?” Bessie gave him a smile and Harry smiled back, though it did not reach his eyes. “Anyway, Florence, this is Y/N. Y/N, Florence.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Y/N said, grinning at Florence who stuck her hand out. The two shook hands as Florence beamed back at Y/N. “So, the whole town knows?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case,” Florence said, turning to Bessie who made a noise of agreement. “Jessa can talk about everything and anything for hours, but if her stepson gets a girlfriend? That’s the news of the century and she will not shut up.”

“How lovely,” Y/N said, not really knowing what else was appropriate in this setting as Harry hadn’t opened his mouth once to say anything.

“It’s a little less lonesome up in that lighthouse now, hm?”

“Oh, uhm…” Harry looked at Y/N and then back at Florence, his words having completely escaped him. Y/N was about to come to Harry’s rescue when Bessie took them both by surprise.

“They stayed here tonight,” Bessie explained and Florence looked at her with a furrow between her brows.

“Why on earth would they do that? Harry’s got a perfectly nice place by the lighthouse.”

“Who are we to question the decisions of our youth?” Bessie linked arms with Florence. “Let’s go outside, Flo dear. Leave the lovebirds to be by themselves.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs Rose,” Y/N called after them.

“And you, Y/N!”

The second the two ladies were out of sight, Harry and Y/N shared a wide-eyed look, both of their panic equal it seemed. Y/N took a sip of her juice, somehow thinking it would calm her down. It did not.

“Jasmine told everyone,” Harry said, voice a whisper so no one walking by or sitting in the back garden would hear them. “She told everyone.”

“She can’t have… right?”

“You underestimate Jessa. If she was kidnapped and put in a gag, she’d be able to talk through it and move her jaw and teeth in a way that would obliterate said gag.” Harry ran a hand over his face. “She’s very chatty.”

“You’ve painted a vivid picture.”

Harry sighed, leg bouncing and eyes distant as he seemed to be racking his brain for a solution to the situation they were finding themselves in. “I was gonna tell Jessa it was a lie. I was gonna tell-“

“-You still can.”

“But everyone knows now. It’ll be well embarrassing for us when we have to tell people on the street that ‘oh yeah, that ol’ thing, we only pretended to be a couple so people wouldn’t be all up in Harry’s business,’ I somehow don’t see that going down well.”

“Then there’s only one thing we can do?”

“What’s that?”

“We pretend to be a couple.”

He stared at her, his facial expression very neutral, and though Y/N didn’t know him well enough yet, she did think she could decipher when he was displeased and when he was not. He seemed to be mulling it over, wanting for her to elaborate before he made a final decision.

“Everyone knows, I’m leaving in August, we can just say we broke up when August comes around.”

Harry nodded, thinking for a moment before he asked, “What will people say when they see us separated on the street then? Like, we’re not seen together.”

“People need to spend some time apart; it’s exhausting to be around another person 24/7.”

Harry nodded again, contemplating their predicament. “There’s always a lot of parties around here during summer. You don’t have to tag along, but you might have to if Jessa’s gonna be there.”

“I don’t mind,” Y/N admitted, shrugging her shoulders some. “I don’t have anything to do all summer, anyway. Might as well be in a fake relationship with a bloke I barely know and help him all I can.”

This made a breathy chuckle leave Harry’s lips and he held her gaze some before having it fall to his folded hands. “Well…” he said, suddenly reaching his hand across the table. “I’m Harry Edward Styles.”

Y/N laughed but took Harry’s hand, shaking it lightly. “Pleased to meet you, Harry. I’m Y/N Bernadette Angelica McKay.”

Harry whistled under his breath. “Mouthful.”

“What happens when you’re brought up in a posh family.”

Harry smiled at that and sat back in his chair. “I guess… I-I guess we should talk about how we got together and all that.”

“Yeah, make a story so it sounds more believable.”

“It’ll help if we have the same story, yes.”

She couldn’t help her laughter again, but it was cut short as Harry’s phone in his pocket started ringing. He sighed, taking it out and looking at it before putting it back down.

“Look, I gotta go.”

“Oh.” Y/N, having thought they were going to plan their fake dating history, blinked in confusion when Harry stood from his chair and looked at her apologetically. “We’ll see each other at some point.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, walking off toward the back garden, calling Bessie’s name as he did. They exchanged some words Y/N couldn’t hear and Harry disappeared into the kitchen for a minute before resurfacing again. Standing in the lobby, he looked at Y/N through the doorway leading into the dining area, mouth opening and closing as he tried to come up with something to say.

She just gave him a smile, hoping he understood that she just wanted him to take his time. It took one more sigh and a little staring contest before Harry finally found his words.

“You know where to find me, my house is the very tall, pointy one on the outskirts of town.”

She chuckled, watching as he walked out of the front door and down the street. Y/N found her bag, putting it on her shoulder as she got her lunch tray and sat it in the kitchen as she’d done after her breakfast that morning. On her way upstairs, Y/N turned as she reached the front door that was left open to welcome guests. Stepping into the doorway, she looked out over St Ives.

Seagulls were still screaming overhead, the sound of people down by the beach hung in the air all throughout the day, it smelled of seafood and summer, and just beyond the small town, on a tiny hilltop and on the very tip of a cliff, stood a lighthouse. A white lighthouse that rose high above the whole coast around it, protecting everyone. Locals, foreigners, and sailors. And it was operated and taken care of by the bloke Y/N was going to spend her entire summer in a fake relationship with. It didn’t seem real, and yet, that was exactly what it was. She didn’t have Harry’s number and knew next to nothing about him, but – as he put it – he lived in the very tall, pointy house on the outskirts of town. It was impossible to miss it. She could find her way to him, even in the dark.

The lighthouse keeper, Y/N thought to herself as she took in the lighthouse again through the window of her room once she walked upstairs. I have to pretend to be in love with a lighthouse keeper. And somehow, Y/N realised when looking back on that particular summer, that wasn’t the weirdest thing that would happen to her in St Ives.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 2 August, 9PM GMT!

Huge thanks to my AMAZING beta readers! 🌊 @aileenacoustic 🌊 @bopbopstyles 🌊 @fromyourstrulyh 🌊 @harrys-creature 🌊 @honeydearly 🌊 @juliassgem 🌊 @summerfeelng 🌊 @sunflower--styles 🌊 @withallthelove-a 🌊

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #het fic #1dff #PLS DO COME CHAT WHEN YOU'RE DONE READING I LOVE YOU SO MUCH :DDDDDDD

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ifmywishescametrue · 3 years

Note

hnnng, could you please do either “you’re sick and you need to rest” or “you could’ve died” for stevetony? Worrying about an SO is a soft spot for me🥺

thank you for sending me this prompt! hope you like it :) (warning for mentions of torture, btw, but nothing graphic)

In that cave in Afghanistan, Tony keeps seeing flashes of things. Moments from life before all of this come to him in between the shocks of electricity when his head is forced underwater, while he’s sputtering and gasping for breath and can’t understand the words being screamed at him.

He sees Steve more than anything. Sees blue eyes and a bright smile and if he tries hard enough he can almost hear the laugh that comes with it. Sometimes it’s that first day again, with roaming hands and a rush to get off in the bathroom of some party he didn’t want to be at, followed by an easy grin and the promise to do that again sometime. He sees Steve on his couch surrounded by take out containers and the reassurance that absolutely none of it counted as a date. Morning pancakes that supposedly meant nothing, and Steve sneaking under the desk in his office. Pencil scratches on sketch pads that used to wake him up, cold feet pressed against his calves, his favorite muffins from that bakery downtown that used to just appear out of nowhere when he was having a bad day, and the way that Steve would never admit that it was him doing it.

It’s that last night he remembers the most. He can almost hear the words whispered in the dead of night and remembers the ones he held back, because Tony has never known how to be completely honest. He didn’t know how to say that this casual friends with benefits things was starting to feel less like friends and more like love, but when he lays down with his aching chest and bleeding fingers on the poor excuse for a cot at night, he wishes more than anything that he could have found the words before.

So he builds the suit and practices the right thing to say for when he makes it out. If he makes it out. If this ridiculous plan of his doesn’t result in him dying somewhere in the middle of the desert, just another body added to the pile of deaths he’s caused.

He almost doesn’t believe it when he lives. His knees hit the scorching sand, and Rhodey’s arms are right there, and still all he can think about is whether or not Steve mourned at all when they all thought he was dead.

In the plane, after the hospital at the army base and all the IV lines to fix the three months of dehydration and malnutrition, he works up the nerve to ask about it.

“Steve,” he starts, voice hoarse enough that he pauses to clear his throat, unwilling to sound so affected. “Is he - did he -” He stops, settling for asking, “Have you talked to him?”

Rhodey leans forward on his elbows, closing some of the distance that the aisle between them created. He pulls out his phone and taps for a moment before turning the screen to face Tony. Steve’s name is at the top, and Rhodey scrolls through the string of messages with enough speed that Tony can’t actually read any of them, but he gets the point anyway.

“This is just the last couple of weeks,” Rhodey says. “Never stopped asking for updates, especially when we found you. Called so much I told him I was going to put a virus on his phone to redirect him to random strangers if he kept it up. He didn’t listen.”

Tony swallows around the lump in his throat and looks away towards the window.

“We weren’t supposed to be anything,” Tony murmurs, watching the way the sky is fading from orange into blue, clouds obscuring the ocean below them. It’s still a few more hours until California, where he hopes that Steve is still waiting for him. “We said it was nothing.”

Rhodey hums, both noncommittal and suggestive at the same time, and Tony turns his head back to look at him. “What?”

Rhodey shrugs, “I didn’t say anything.”

“But you want to.”

“I don’t spill secrets that aren’t mine to tell.”

Tony’s brow furrows. “What does that even mean?”

“It means he’ll be there when we land, and if you try to pretend that it’s still nothing, I’m putting your ass back on the plane until you find your common sense somewhere.”

Tony bites his lip and shakes his head, staring down at his hands, “I wasn’t going to pretend. I just - I didn’t know if he cared anymore. It’s been a few months, and we weren’t… There was never a promise for commitment. He could’ve found somebody else. Anyone else.”

Rhodey gives him a look, that fondly exasperated one he does so well. “Nice to know you’re still a dumbass.”

It startles a laugh from and makes his abused lungs twinge, but it feels good to laugh again. “Takes more than a few months to knock the dumbass out of me.”

The topic falls away after that, because Tony can’t say what he feels, and Rhodey knows anyway. He switches the conversation over to the start of the baseball season that Tony missed, complaining about the Phillies like Tony’s heard every year since he was fifteen. It’s easy and passes the time until Tony ends up falling asleep for the rest of the flight.

His muscles are stiff and uncomfortable when he wakes with a start a couple of hours later, heart racing and on edge when he doesn’t immediately recognize his surroundings. Rhodey puts a hand on his knee, and Tony jumps initially before calming. It makes Rhodey’s eyes turn sad for a moment, then it’s hidden away again.

“Come on,” Rhodey says softly, gripping Tony by the elbow of his good arm to help him up. “We’re here.”

There’s still a slight limp in his step when he walks off the plane from bruises and scars that are still healing. He sees Pepper first, with her red hair shining in the sun, but his gaze gets stuck on the person next to her.

Steve straightens from where he’s leaning against the black car, and Tony wishes he was in better condition so he could run to him. It would have been romantic, he thinks, like something out of one of those movies he’d never even seen before Steve came into his life. There would have been some grand, sweep-him-off-his-feet moment with declarations and pretty words and violins coming from somewhere.

Instead Steve meets him halfway, with a quivering chin like he might start to cry. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his hair is too long, and his five o’clock shadow is almost an actual beard now.

He’s the best thing Tony’s ever seen.

“Hey,” Tony says, because he can’t remember a single one of those things he planned before.

Steve smiles, and it’s only a little shaky, “Hey yourself.”

Rhodey and Pepper disappear with the shutting of the car door, leaving the two of them standing there in the middle of the empty runway. Steve takes the first step, but Tony takes the second, and then Steve’s chest is beneath his cheek, and his arms are around his shoulders.

Tony holds on to him like a lifeline, fingers clutched in his t-shirt, and he can feel the warmth of him seeping into his skin. Steve’s hands are all over, as if checking to make sure he’s all actually there and in one piece.

Steve steps back a little, a small frown on his face. He reaches his hand up to Tony’s chest, and Tony tenses at the first light press against the reactor case.

“What…” Steve trails off, eyes flickering between Tony’s chest and his face, and Tony undoes two of the buttons on his shirt to show him.

The scars around it are marred and red, with raised edges that serve to make it look even worse than it is. Steve makes a sound like a choked back sob, and Tony grabs his wrist to put his hand on the reactor. It’s a little terrifying to let him touch it, but if there’s anyone he knows would never hurt him, it’s Steve.

“It’s okay,” Tony murmurs. “It keeps me alive.”

“You could’ve died,” Steve whispers, fingers spreading out over the light of the reactor. “I thought you - I didn’t want to think it, but it was hard not to. Rhodey kept saying that you wouldn’t let yourself go out like that. You’d be all or nothing, and it wasn’t big enough. And Pepper, well, she basically said exactly what did happen. That you’d find a way out. I tried to believe it, too, but I just kept thinking that you could be gone, and we’d never - I’d never get the chance to make this real.”

Tony looks up at him, breath catching in his throat. “I thought about you every day, you know. I almost told you how I felt about you on that last night. Came so close to saying it, but I just -”

“I know,” Steve says, and with his other hand he cups Tony’s cheek. “You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

“Yeah?”

Steve nods, leaning in closer, and his lips brush against Tony’s when he says, “Yeah, sweetheart, I know.”

#stevetony #prompts #i literally love you for sending me this #asks #my writing #my fic #stony #superhusbands

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geminijoonie · 4 years

Text

Take care of you

Summary: “No I’m a surprise,” you say sounding all sassy and smiling where your cheeks fluff up and you look like a pufferfish and it always gets Namjoon. His eyes are crescents, dimples peeking from his cheeks.

“What would they say if they saw the big bad Kim Namjoon like this?” you ask raising your brow not as good as Namjoon but it gets the job done.

note: Hello, I am back after months with this piece. Feedback is always appreciated! Thank you for reading.

➡Mafia!Namjoon x reader

➡Warnings: 18+, Mentions of sex, reader’s family not letting her eat

Namjoon hates parties. Sure he’s the CEO, of one of the biggest crime syndicates in the world, the biggest and most feared in South Korea so he could have sent his associates or one of his brothers to attend this party but he was there for a very specific reason. Y O U.

With a frontal name of BigHit Inc., run by the most fearsome mafia BTS behind it, the most fierce crime lords and not by the old fashioned guns and murders way well, that sometimes yes, but mostly financial crimes, stealing money and intellectual property theft done so well they’ve been thriving the last few decades when their fathers, mafia bosses, seven families joined hands together to be sworn allies promising to take down and gain power over the corrupt government. Now run by their sons seven men, most of them educated in Ivy League schools. 5 of them even hold dual degrees, their leader Kim Namjoon or RM even holds a fucking Ph.D. A born genius, his IQ only amplifying his true potential. His members' capabilities, work ethic complimenting the jobs they pull off together as a team. This team was perfect and solid in all ways made to rule. As if fate had brought them together.

The party was boring as usual. All of the crime lords and mafia bosses with their families were here. It reminded Namjoon of the party, similar to this where he first laid his eyes on you. His gaze traveling from the bar section of the huge ballroom towards you at the opposite end where you were forced to make small talk. You stared back at him with the same intensity. Your eyes catching his gaze, latching onto his dragon eyes drowning in those dark orbs that stared at you. You weren’t afraid, not even intimated. No sign of a blush. You weren’t swooning like those other girls. You simply stared back at him equally fierce taking his presence in. Your own doe-like eyes even if not as sharp as his, held enough power to not only draw the attention of the most powerful, eligible bachelor, most feared CEO of an empire himself but also spark something in him. And ever since then your life and these parties have been different. You solely come here to see him. And the same for him. To see you.

What Namjoon and you shared was special. With your family owning amalgamation of big companies, reputable among the mafia bosses and crews it came with lots of curfews for you the heiress to your father. You were an asset. One that would be traded someday. To a man that would be chosen for you, based on his family, money and what value he can derive for your father and his business. And you shall be his dutiful wife, produce an heir and then wait for death inside some mansion. This was your fear. You were disgusted whenever any thoughts of how your future would be like crossed your mind. Amidst all the chaos, uncertainty and lack of control in your own life, you met Namjoon, your Joon. The man changed your entire perspective on love, intimacy and boy he had you pining for him even yearning. But what you didn’t realize is he was yours since he saw you for the first time two months ago.

Namjoon’s at his usual spot. By the bar. Waiting for you. With a drink in his hand. There was no way he could take you on dates given your family. The curfews. And that bullshit about what girls and women can and cannot do. He hated the way women were treated. He was lucky that his father was not as stupid as the others. He made sure that his sister was sent away to Switzerland to study, and live her life the way she wants to like any normal girl. And she was happy and so was his mother who lived in Japan with her own small business, even enjoying life. He hoped one day he can go away somewhere with you. Away from all this. Take you on dates. Hold your hand while he walks next to you. Kiss your cheeks whenever he wanted to. Make you giggle with all the cheesy compliments and then make out till his heart's content. Right now he had to settle for stealing glances in between. Carefully brushing his hand whenever he walked near you. This is all the affection or physical contact he’d get. On a good day, when people at the party would be preoccupied with taking some political party member down or something like that Namjoon would sneak you out to the roof, or to the parking lot inside his car to steal kisses. Heated kisses. Passionate kisses. One where he’d drag your soft lips between his teeth just to hear that moan. Running his hands all over your body while you clutched his torso, held on to his pecs and squeezed his biceps for dear life gasping for air. His plump lips swollen, his shirt buttons open, neck and collarbones littered with hickeys and marks you’d leave every time you had one of your little adventures. Namjoon would give anything to mark you just one small hickey but he couldn’t and he won’t risk your family finding you out. You have stylists and beauty consultants that will scan every inch of your body and he couldn’t afford to get you in trouble. So he holds back and tells himself that he’ll wait for the day, that one day you’ll be his.

All these thoughts suddenly clouding his mind made him feel so empty his forehead sweaty. He decided to step out to the balcony a little disappointed that he’s not seen you yet. He made sure your family was invited. He knows you’ll be there with them as your parents like to show you off like some diamond jewelry piece or an ornament they possess. The thought of you being married to someone else makes Namjoon’s blood boil. And even at these parties the way the other men scan your body, while you’re in your tight-fitting dresses draping your body perfectly makes him want to take his gun out and shoot them all. He looks over to the night sky sighing and drinking his third glass of scotch. Namjoon suddenly feels a pair of hands right above his navel and he’s ready to smack that person but he hears your voice and jolts instead trying to turn.

“Boo!”

“Were you supposed to meet me here?” Namjoon asks with a grin, lifting a brow as if he didn’t just get scared and pulls your wrist around his waist towards his back so he can hug you.

“No I’m a surprise,” you say sounding all sassy and smiling where your cheeks fluff up and you look like a pufferfish and it always gets Namjoon. His eyes are crescents, dimples peeking from his cheeks.

“What would they say if they saw the big bad Kim Namjoon like this?” you ask raising your brow not as good as Namjoon but it gets the job done.

“If I didn’t hear your voice, but only felt hands and if it weren’t you, they’d be dead princess” he responds voice deep and low holding that timber, his the last four words whispered into your ear. His breath making you feel ticklish so you giggle. He looks around to check if any eyes were on him and then, quickly pulls you into a hug. You smell divine as usual. Namjoon dips lower and places his chin near your neck. He loves it. The smell of your perfume, your shampoo combined with your own sweet natural scent. Makes him feel like some kind of animal, primal instincts kicking in and he knows if he keeps his head there he’s a goner. But what he feels now is different than usual. Your body is warmer to his touch. He’s used to how you normally feel. And right now you feel warm, your skin hot when he slots his fingers on your forehead brushing your hair to the side.

“Looks like you’re running a fever are you okay princess?” he asks his voice suddenly all serious, brows furrowed his gaze boring to where his hands meet your skin. You want to say that you’re okay, but you’re not. You feel sore everywhere. Your legs hurt from wearing heels. Your dress is too tight and you’re hating the way it feels all over your body. It’s making you feel uncomfortable. The material just feeling torturous against your feverish skin. You haven’t had proper meals because your family starved you so don’t look bloated for today’s event. They wouldn’t even feed you when you were sick. You threw up twice but they still made you come here. You need an IV probably. You thought you’d text Namjoon but since they were going to make you attend this party anyways might as well be here and get some serotonin from seeing him. You were always trained to say you’re okay. Making yourself seem strong. Your needs were never to be put first. But right now the way Namjoon looks at you, with so much care and concern makes your heart ache so you give in, tell him and you just want to sit down because you don’t know when your dizziness will be back. You want to cry because you’re so annoyed and irritated your brain a mess.

“No” you squeak out. You eyes now glossy and Namjoon’s heart just breaks at that. Only after a few seconds does he realize how your face gives away the exhaustion after he looked at it a little longer. The bags under your eyes can be seen. Even if the concealer did a good job of hiding the dark circles Namjoon can see how truly tired and exhausted you must be feeling. Your cheeks more hollow. Your posture barely making you stand straight or still. Fidgety. Weak. You lean into his arms. Your forehead meets his shoulder. His black blazer feels so soft. You sigh. you want to just stay there. Namjoon carefully pulls you off him while he cups your cheek and tells you that you both should move somewhere more private. You nod and sneak out of the room. Thankfully the party today was at a hotel, one of Seoul’s biggest and Namjoon makes some calls while you’re walking his hands securing you by his side while you make your way out. Namjoon notices how it’s hard for you to match his stride today. Even though the man is 70% legs you usually keep up with him by walking faster or leaping. But today you’re barely able to keep up with his slowest smallest strides. You walk for what feels like an hour but it’s just been two minutes. You’re back at the reception lobby and you see someone guide you and Namjoon to the elevator. The next thing you know you’re in a hotel room.

Namjoon leads you towards the bed once you’re in the room and the door is locked. A few seconds later you hear rustling and you know they’re the guards placed outside the door for security. You sit on the bed your legs finally catching a break from carrying you and the stupid dress around with those stupid heels. You loved wearing heels but not today sis. In your hazy state you try to pull them off only that you forgot to remove the strap first through the small metal buckle. The dress making it a struggle to bend over and reach for the straps. Namjoon sees your struggle and can’t help but let out a small giggle. You look up at him with those doe eyes, confused and there it goes his heart sinks again. He makes way his towards you, leans down on both his knees. He gently takes your right foot into his palm and with the other hand makes quick work to get you out of your heels. Within seconds he was able to accomplish what you were trying so hard to do. And with one of your problems gone, you just fall back onto the plush bed all grace forgotten. Once the head hits the soft cloud-like mattress you let out a sigh of happiness and then a groan. Your feet are still hanging downwards to the floor, your back was on the bed arched so you can rest your head down. But more comfortable than standing or walking right now but you’ll take it. Too tired to move you give up fatigue finally settling in.

“Move up sweetheart you’ll hurt your back” you hear Namjoon say but you have no energy. You don’t even respond sleep already taking over you. Especially now that you were safe, away from those eyes, your parents probably thought you’ll be talking to some guy impressing someone but little did they know you’d be here a few floors above the party with Joon. You don’t know what to call your little arrangement or these little sneaking out sessions are. You don’t know what Namjoon is to you. The two of you haven’t talked about it. It’s weird because you’ve talked about fate, why Namjoon hates seafood and how much you love the rain, the fraud patterns in his business but never about what Namjoon is to you. Not that you need a label, and not that maybe calling him your boyfriend would be a label like that, you’d actually like it. All you know is Namjoon likes you, for sure I mean he wouldn’t be kissing you like a starved man, you shoving your tongue down his throat or else. You know you love him but you don’t know if he loves you yet. It’s too much to ask for. Given the circumstances. You’re just glad you found him. And whatever moments you’ll get to share you’ll cherish them now and forever. You start thinking about all these moments while sleep pulled you in completely and you don’t hear Namjoon call your name again. You don’t hear him trying to wake you up. You don’t feel his hands cupping your cheek. You sure as hell don’t even feel his lips peck yours which is the first time in a while now. You don’t feel him undo some buttons and zips to get you off that dress. You don’t even feel the way he tucks you in.

All you now know is you wake up in a blanket nest. Soft blankets against your cheek, your hands, your legs. You sigh at this feeling smiling to yourself. You’re moving and stretching. Feeling like a new person. You’re fully awake now even though you haven’t opened your eyes and that’s when you hear him

“Can you hear me now sleepy head?” you know he’s only teasing you but you pout before opening your eyes to see him at the other side of the room with an amused smile.

“New person who dis” you reply only making him laugh. Namjoon’s shirtless. He’s wearing his dress pants, his blazer hung at the corner neatly next to your dress. And that’s when you realize you’re wearing his shirt while you napped.

“What time is it” you ask yawning. and when Namjoon says you register you’ve napped for three full hours. He makes his way towards you. He slowly climbs on the bed stretching his arm out for you and you waste no time in jumping to his embrace with your new-found energy. Namjoons smiling at that. He can never get used to how perfectly you fit against him. He’s the one sighing in comfort now. Sometimes Namjoon can’t tell if you know that he loves you or not. The way you make him feel. The way you make him crave your heart.

You peek up from his shoulder to look at him, his eyes never leaving you.

“Hi” you whisper smiling at him

“Hii” he replies back matching your hushed tone dimples on display and you can’t help but poke them. From here you can see how versatile Namjoon is. His expressions outside the usual are deadly. His sharp dragon eyes, jutted jaw, furrowed brows he looks dangerous and lethal. But now all you see is a soft dimpled giant with the cutest button nose and crescent eyes. His eyes hold so much warmth.

He gently cards fingers through your hair asking if your feeling better to which you nod. You reach up to peck his lips. And once you slot your lips onto his plush and soft ones you want more. You move your hand to the back of his head lightly carding your fingers through his hair spurring him on. Namjoon takes this incentive and slots his lips back to yours. You look so damn good in his shirt and now his mind is going crazy. Thoughts racing. He tilts your head so he can angle himself better. Little sucks and swipes of his tongue against your lips and mouth have your knees weak. He knows how to claim his jackpot already knows what makes you react and what you like. One hand reached down to knead your ass. You moan against his mouth breathless as you take him in. Lips swollen, luscious and glossy. Your eyes are unrelenting. And he decided it is at this moment, he has to tell you. He fears the worst will happen. That you’ll say no. And he might never get to see you again. Ever. But the way your body molds in his arms, the way you only always react to him, the way you make his heart always beat faster.

“Y/N I really re-really like you” there it was. That slight stutter. To Namjoon each second felt like a minute now but your eyes become wide and yoU smile a million-watt smile a second later. His hopes are back up. A warm feeling in his chest. Like a lightbulb inside him was lit. You can see him glowing. Now that the weight of his worries is halved. You cup his cheeks. And he thaws in your affection.

“I like you too Joon” you say voice barely above a whisper. You feel like a teenager confessing to her crush. You cheeks are painted red and Namjoon hasn’t seen a beautiful sight before. And now it’s actually your turn to get something off your chest.

“Heck I might even love you Kim Namjoon what are you doing to me” you say before you can think more and it has Namjoon visibly gasping and he pulls you in for another kiss. This time softer. Truly holding you against him. The way you belong to him. And the way he belongs to you. No more unsaid words. No more doubts.

“fuck baby girl be mine I love you too” he whispers inbetween kisses. You want to say something back but his lips are back on yours, molding them, tongue exploring. Leaving kisses at the corner of your mouth. On your chin. Your jaw. Slowly making its way down to your neck. You’re already so far gone you’re a whiny mess. Your body jolting backwards each time his lips touch the skin on your neck. fuck, you were so sensitive and that had his mind filled with filth. Moans dripping when he sucks and licks so gently. Your hand on his pecs, gripping his biceps or at the nape of his neck. Gentle touches, gets him so riled up and you know it. Moments with you like this lets him break his facade. Dive into his desires.

“So sensitive for me” Namjoon mutters to himself continuing his ministrations. One hand at the back supporting you, holding you strong. Another rubbing circles at your stomach for a few seconds, then holding you by the shoulder the next few seconds or groping your breasts softly making you whimper and suck in breaths.

Only when he slips his hand under his shirt on you does he realize the added warmth to your skin is from your fever reminding him of exhausted state and whatever you have going on will only make it worse if you don’t get to rest. Namjoon feels how flaccid and sunken your tummy feels. Not the way it usually does. He can easily notice all the inches you’ve lost. And suddenly there’s a change of energy.

“Those assholes, fuck princess let me take care of you” he says letting you go. His eyes have already changed. The hurt and anger you could see in them made a shiver run up your spine. You can never get used to his eyes. The anger he is actually capable of. He’s always so kind, gentle and sweet to you but that’s just one side. Within minutes there’s food at your room. Everything that you like is here. Gimbap but with extra cheese. Kimchi-jigae with egg-fried rice rather than normal rice because you like it that way and even some dessert. This man really put in everything he knew about you. You looked at him with so much adoration it only made his face turn red while he looked down and scratched the back of his head. Kim Namjoon was shy right now all dimples and smiling. You giggled and pulled him towards you so the two of you can enjoy this meal. You don’t know when your phone will start blowing up. You don’t know when you’ll have to leave, go away from Joon, his warmth, his comfort and his solace. So you take in this moment with everything it has to offer. Grateful that even the few minutes you spent awake with this man made you feel loved to the extent where you're always at a loss of words.

divider: @graph1cs

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geniusgub · 4 years

Text

don’t leave me//spencer reid

600 follower celebration!! my first one shot in months because ive been so consumed with north. enjoy!!

also I didn’t edit this at all and worked on it for like five hours straight so excuse the mistakes plz and thx

genre: so much angst

pairing: spencer reid x female oc

warnings: drugs, withdrawal, overdose

word count: 5.2k

It isn’t hard to tell when something is wrong with Spencer.

Spencer is generally a sweet, patient, and quick-thinking person, especially at work. I joined the BAU when Elle Greenaway departed from the bureau and left a spot open for a profiler. Spencer didn’t seem to take well to the change in the team dynamic and it seemed like he shut down whenever I was around him. He didn’t talk to me much at all and when he did, it was strictly business. No banter about personal lives occurred between us like it did between Spencer and, well, the rest of the team. I chalked it up to an anxiety over change and I respected that. I gave him the time to warm up to me and thankfully, after a while, he seemed to take a liking to me.

Penelope Garcia is the queen of stirring up drama and once Spencer and I started to bond over our geeky tendencies, like using Doctor Who as a comfort show, and always searching for nerdy apparel in stores, she had no problem stirring the pot. To my understanding, she watched Spencer and I play cards together on the jet one day (on one of the rare days she came in the field with us) and then told Emily that we must be in love with each other. Emily told JJ, JJ told Morgan, Morgan told Hotch, and Hotch told Gideon. Suddenly the whole team became convinced that Spencer and I were madly in love and it only took about ten minutes.

I would never admit it, not yet at least, but Penelope was dead on. Once Spencer and I talked more and spent time together outside of work, I fell hard and fast for him. He truly is unlike any other man in the world. He has no problem with staying at home for a night, in fact, he prefers it. He likes to open the windows when it’s raining to hear the noises of the water making contact with his fire escape. He wants to stay up with me until the middle of the night just so we can make sure we finish every Harry Potter movie on binge days. It’s hard not to fall in love with Spencer Reid. He makes it so easy. Of course, he’s oblivious and his brain is filled with thoughts of self-doubt and inferiority in the looks department, but I don’t need or want him to look like a model. He’s all I need.

But one day, all of this stops. It wasn’t hard to tell that something was wrong with Spencer. It wasn’t a secret that a piece of Spencer’s soul was left in the grave he dug for himself under the watch of Tobias Hankle. It wasn’t a secret that Spencer struggled immensely upon returning home and having light withdrawal symptoms. I tried my best to help him, making trips to his apartment to bring him anything he might need while he was on his mandatory two weeks leave. But he would also give me an unconvincing smile and push me right out the door. He never let me spend more than five minutes inside his apartment. I never saw him sweat, or vomit, or shake, or yawn. I never saw his pupils dilate.

When he returns to work, a bit too soon for my liking, that’s when I start to notice the withdrawal symptoms. And for a little while, I’m okay with it. Withdrawal, although painful and torturous, is a step in the right direction. The drugs are making their way out of Spencer’s system and he is detoxing. I pay extra attention to him to ensure his safety, but nobody else on the team seems to give Spencer any care. They surely get pissed off when he snaps at them and sweats all over the case files and is far too nasty with possible witnesses. Nobody, besides me, gives his attitude any slack. But I continue to keep a close eye on him during the case.

Keeping a close eye, however, reveals to me that Spencer’s withdrawal symptoms continuously disappear and then reappear during the three days we are away. I don’t need Spencer’s level of genius to figure out what is going on.

My heart pounds against my chest when Spencer goes running of the jet the moment it touches down in DC. Not a single pair of eyes follow Spencer’s movements but my own. The others on the team just stand to pull their bags out of the overhead bins. They’re chatting about whether they should go out for drinks or to a restaurant for dinner but they’re not chatting about their friend who clearly has a problem. But I love Spencer more than anything and seeing him struggle makes me hurt inside. Once I retrieve my own carry on and go-bag, I drive straight to Spencer’s apartment. I ignore my fellow team members when they ask me if I want to join them for dinner.

“Spencer?” I knock on his front door and rock back and forth on my feet, waiting for some type of response from him. I saw his car outside and I know he’s here and if he doesn’t open the door within ten more seconds then I’m going to kick it down.

Thankfully, I don’t need to risk breaking the heel of my shoe today because the door swings open a second later. Spencer stands before me, looking the most disheveled I’ve ever seen him. His shirt is untucked, his pants are wrinkly, his hair is half curly from his excess sweating, and he isn’t even wearing socks or shoes. His long sleeve shirt makes my heart drop to my stomach.

“Olive?” His voice cracks when he speaks. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to-” I choke on the words I truly want to say and suddenly I’m pushing back tears. I try to swallow the lump in my throat and give him a smile. “I’m gonna make you dinner! The team is going out together but I’m in the mood to stay in after that horrible case.”

“Uh,” Spencer glances behind him and then whips back to me, “I’m actually really tired and I just wanna sleep. So thanks for coming by-”

My hands fly out when Spencer tries to close the door in my face. I’ve underestimated his strength up until now because I have to use all of my strength to keep him from pushing me out. But Spencer isn’t able to keep up his strength much longer and concedes, letting the door fly backward and unintentionally letting me inside. I drop my bags to the floor, eyes locking with Spencer’s and watching a fire light in them.

“Spencer,” my voice is still far too weak for my liking, “I’m not leaving.”

Spencer scoffs, slamming the door shut, just barely grazing my shoulder as it passes me. “Yeah, well, I want you to.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Spencer’s jaw tightens and his hands ball into fists at his side. He’s trying to stand tall and strong in front of me but he’s starting to crack by the millisecond. His chest heaves when he tries to choke back his tears and his eyelids start to flutter. If I wasn’t sure of the situation before I stepped inside, it surely has been confirmed right now. Spencer opens his mouth to speak and his chin trembles. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“Absolutely not,” I step closer to him but he steps backward, not allowing me to diminish the distance between us. “Spencer, please. Let me help you.”

His head drops, his shoulders caving in. “I don’t need help,” With his eyes on his feet and no longer on me, I take the opportunity to grab his arm. He tries to jerk away from me the second my fingertips brush the fabric of his shirt but I told him as tightly as I can. He whimpers in my hold and his crack start to get wider and wider. “Olive, please.”

“Just let me see, Spence,” I’m already begging and I’m already crying. “Let me see. Let me help. I’m here for you.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head away from me, his first tears dripping down his cheeks. He stops trying to escape my hold and just cries, his clothes clutched in his hands. It’s not an invitation whatsoever but I take it as one, rolling up Spencer’s sleeve past his elbow. The crook of his elbow is covered in track marks, some fading and some bright red and bloody. It takes every ounce of my energy not to break down right then and there as my worst fear comes true. But Spencer breaks down when his biggest secret is revealed, his knees giving out and his body tumbling to the floor. I follow him down, cradling him in my arms as he sobs into my chest. I shush him and stroke his hair, rocking him back and forth, like a child, to calm him down.

“It’s okay, Spencer, shh,” I coo, my fingertips coated in sweat as I coax my fingers through his knotty locks. “Everything is gonna be okay, my love. I’m here and I’m gonna help you.”

“No.”

“Yes. Spencer, look at me,” I don’t give him the option of where to bring his gaze to. I grab his cheeks and force his gaze up, his eyes bloodshot and his face soaking wet. “You can’t keep doing drugs. You’ll lose everything, you know that. You’ll lose your job, you’ll lose me, you’ll lose your life, you’ll-”

“I’ll lose you?” He’s never sounded more like a child than he does now. He’s whimpering and whining and crying out and clinging to me as tight as he can.

I give the hardest answer yet and I feel my heart break in my chest. “Yes, Spencer, I’ll leave. I can’t-”

Spencer starts to scramble to his knees, legs wobbling under his weight. “You can’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. I love you, Olive. Don’t leave.”

I know it’s the drugs talking but it doesn’t make the confession hurt any less. The confession is what I’ve waited so damn long to hear. But it’s wrong right now. Admitting my love will do nothing but hurt both of us. Spencer isn’t in a good state of mind right now. He probably won’t even remember that he hastily confessed his love while trying to convince me not to leave him. I find myself forcing down tears yet again.

“I won’t leave you if you get clean,” I brush back his hair again and this time, it slicks back with sweat. “You can’t keep living your life like this, shooting up in bathrooms and hiding from your friends. Get some help and get clean. I can’t sit back and watch you destroy your life, a life that you worked so damn hard to get.”

Spencer collapses under his own weight, no longer able to sit up on his knees. He falls onto all fours, his head hanging between his shoulders and his tears falling onto the carpet. “I can’t do it. It’s so painful to stop. I need it to be happy. I need it to escape.”

I smooth my hands over his shoulders and where other people would probably feel tensed up muscles, I feel relaxed muscles as Spencer melts into my embrace. “Then let me take you to the hospital. They can help make the detox less painful. They can give you medication and you can get counseling and I’ll be there for as long as I’m allowed to be.”

“No, none of that. Here. I wanna do it here.” Spencer lifts his head, sniffling and huffing through his tears. “I’ll do it alone. Please leave. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Absolutely not,” I rise to my feet and lean down to help Spencer to his feet, baring all of his weight on my shoulders as we trudge towards his bedroom. “I’m not leaving you like this. I’m gonna call Hotch and get time off for both of us.”

Spencer lets out his millionth whimper of the night when he falls onto the bed, immediately curling up on his side and squeezing his eyes shut. “Please. Go.”

I kneel beside the bed, bringing my hand to his cheek and stroking his soft skin gently. The simple motion actually seems to calm him for a millisecond before he starts to shake, clearly being hit with an onslaught of chills from his inevitable fever. So I tug the blanket over his body and tuck him in, pressing my lips to his forehead. “I’m not gonna abandon you, Spencer. I’m gonna help you through this and you’re gonna return to your happier, drug-free self. You’ll feel better soon. I promise.”

I stayed true to my promise. I didn’t leave Spencer alone for a single second while he suffered through withdrawal. I washed his vomit and sweat-soaked sheets. I wiped his tears and held him when he cried. I dragged him from room to room when he didn’t have the energy to carry his own weight. I cooked him food on the rare occasions that he was actually hungry. I whispered sweet nothings in his ear when he needed the reassurance that someone actually cares. I located his stash of needles and excess vials and threw them in the dumpster outside, not even wanting to risk leaving them in a trashcan in the apartment. There is no doubt in my mind that Spencer wouldn’t have gotten through this without me. I was harsh with him when he begged for ‘just one more hit’ and I held him when he woke up screaming in the middle of the night. There is no doubt in my mind that Spencer would have given in to his cravings and started this mess all over again.

After two weeks, Spencer starts to get better. He is able to walk without assistance and he can eat two meals a day without throwing it up ten minutes later. It’s a relief and the sun finally starts to shine through the clouds that had been lingering for too long. He still needed at least another week off of work to work up his strength and catch up on sleep in order to not look like the living dead and Hotch starts to get suspicious of such an extended time off. I tell him not to ask and for some reason, he listens. Maybe he just knows and is glad that someone else dealt with Spencer at his lowest point. Yeah, that’s probably it.

After three weeks and a promising night where Spencer makes me dinner for the first time in weeks, we return to work. The team is happy to see us and they don’t question why we were both gone for so long. But I’m almost positive it’s the same reason that Hotch didn’t question the time off.

I made sure to visit Spencer in his hotel room and I always, somehow, made sure that he was never in a room alone. One night of being alone could make him spiral and that is the last thing he needs. So if he was in a room alone then I would sneak out of mine and sleep with him. It seemed like he started to enjoy sleeping in the same bed as me, opting to cuddle me close to his chest instead of turning his back to me. His confession always seemed to echo in my mind when he would kiss my head or squeeze my waist but it was just the drugs talking. He didn’t mean it.

One month clean and Spencer seemed to be doing amazing. He boasted about how he deleted his drug dealer’s number from his phone and how he would eat meals without me reminding him to and how he could be on his feet for more than twenty minutes without being winded and needing to sit. I don’t think I had ever felt so proud of a human being until I shoved all my pride onto Spencer. Sure, he didn’t necessarily want to get the help that I gave him, but he went along with it and it’s a joy to see him return to his old happy-go-lucky self.

But then the team gets called into a meeting. The phonecall wakes me up in the middle of the night and sends me rushing to get dressed in something other than pajamas, but I just wind up putting on new sweats. I rush out the door and to the vacant building, throwing my holster on my hip and riding the elevator up. I blurt out a load of apologies for y lateness as I stumble into the conference room and realize I’m the last two arrive.

“Aww,” Morgan coos sarcastically as I sit down beside him, “it was so nice if you to get dressed up for us!”

“I swear to god,” I hiss, but he knows I’m just teasing, “if you don’t shut up right now then I’ll-”

“Okay,” Hotch shuts me up far too easily, standing at the front of the table with his arms crossed, “we’re all here. Let’s start.”

“Is this a new case?” Emily wonders, eyes darting between Hotch and the table that is usually filled with case files.

“No,” he sighs and looks down at his feet, and this is probably the most emotion I’ve ever seen from him before. “Tonight-”

“Wait,” I sit up and glance around, suddenly alarmed, “We’re not all here. Spencer isn’t here.”

Hotch holds his hands up to me in his second way of telling me to shut up. “I know that. He already knows what I’m about to tell you all.” This does absolutely nothing to erase the red flags in my mind. “I know we all struggled with our last case, and Gideon struggled the most, for obvious reasons. Tonight, Spencer went to his cabin to check on him. It turns out that Gideon had left a note for Spencer to say goodbye and he has sent in his resignation. He has officially left the BAU.”

Okay, listen, I barely knew the man. I haven’t been on this team for too long and Gideon favored talking to Hotch and Spencer. He didn’t interact with me much at all, except to correct me, so I’m not too torn up about his departure. Yes, he just created a huge hole that needs to be filled but that’s not my main concern. Spencer is. He isn’t here and he just learned that the man who has been his father figure for years just abandoned him in the same way that his father did when he was a child. Nobody should be alone at a time like this, and Spencer especially shouldn’t.

JJ is the first to ask a question but I don’t even hear it. Hotch answers and Emily follows and then Penelope is squealing and Morgan shouts over everyone and it’s far too crazy. I just need to know that Spencer is okay. He is the only thing I care about. He made so much amazing progress and he absolutely can’t erase that.

“I need to go.” I blurt out suddenly, standing from the round table and rushing out of the building. I call Spencer relentlessly and get no answer. I go straight to voicemail every time. I slam on my gas pedal.

I don’t lock my car and I barely remember to close my door before I’m bounding up the stairs and to his apartment. I couldn’t care less about the other residents who are probably fast asleep by now. I bang on Spencer’s door, shouting his name once, twice, three times, and get nothing. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

“Spencer! Come on, open up!” I cry out, jiggling the handle and hoping it’s unlocked. “Please! Let me in!” The energy radiating from the apartment makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I take two steps back and breathe in a deep breath, preparing me for whatever could be on the other side of this stupid door. I’ll never be ready to see what I know is waiting for me. I lift my foot up and slam it against the door, the lock snapping and allowing the door to fly open. I burst inside, shouting Spencer’s name frantically as my eyes search desperately for his adorable curls and his soft cardigans.

It takes me no more than thirty seconds of frantic running to find Spencer. When I do, I wish desperately that I hadn’t.

His body is slumped against the bathtub, head hanging backward and his mouth wide open. His shirt is off and a rubber band is still tied around his bicep. The bathroom wreaks of vomit and there’s a needle in the sink and a broken vial on the floor. He looks haunting similar to the crime scenes we observe every day.

I drop to my knees in front of him and grab onto his cheeks, lifting his head up. “Spencer?” My sobs are uncontrollable as my thumbs stroke his freezing cold skin, searching for some sort of life. “Come on, baby,” I resist the urge to shake his head in my hands. “Spence, please, wake up!”

I wait for another second. I get nothing. No eyelids fluttering. No sniffles. No coughing. No vomiting. No screaming. No crying. Nothing. There’s nothing left.

Working through my sobs, I reach into my backpack and fish out the little box I’m searching for. I set it aside momentarily and try to gather Spencer in my arms as best as I can, pushing and dragging him until he is laying on his back in the most comfortable way his lanky body will allow in the cramped bathroom. Gosh, if only Spencer was conscious. He would be freaking out about being on the bathroom floor.

I pull out the nasal spray and administer the Narcan into Spencer’s nostril, tossing it aside and then rolling Spencer onto his side. I don’t dare to tear my eyes away from him, even as I fish my phone out of my backpack and call 911. I babble on about there being a federal agent down and how I’m a federal agent who administered a dose of Narcan and how someone needs to help Spencer now but it all seems like a foreign language to me. Nothing is right anymore. The operator tells me someone will be there soon and to stay on the line, so I set my phone down and lean closer to Spencer.

“Spence?” I wait for a reaction. “Sweetheart, come on, don’t do this to me,” my tears fall onto the floor and create a puddle beside his hands. My trembling hand reaches out to push his hair back, admiring the way his locks curl around my fingers. I admire the way for eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks and how beautiful his lips look. I wish I kissed him when I had the chance. Now I might never get the chance to be with him. The thought makes me cry harder and I double over in agony, crying out for the love that I will never get to have and for the life I will never get to live. I should have told him I loved him when he said it first. How could I be so stupid?

I have no recollection of the paramedics arriving. Being pulled away, kicking and screaming Spencer’s name, is a complete blur of smeared lines and flashes of light. I do what I can to erase the image of Spencer being carried out on a stretcher, his rubberbanded arm dangling off the side, and into an ambulance. I clutch Spencer’s hand and shut out the words of the paramedics as the ambulance speeds to the hospital. I barely even recall being plopped in a waiting room and being told to await further instructions.

I slide down the wall and tuck my head between my knees, hoping that being bent over will minimize the volume of my cries. But it doesn’t and sobs take over my body, leaving me shaking and quivering. If Spencer were with me, he would hold my hand and quietly tell me how many germs are on this floor and statistics on how easy it is to catch and infection in a hospital. He would talk to distract me from the horrible situation going down. But he’s not here and I’m alone and there’s nothing I can do to help.

“Olive?” I ignore Hotch’s voice when I hear it. I pay no attention to his softer than usual tone and I don’t dignify his presence by acknowledging it. I keep my head down and clutched between my knees and try to quiet my cries. Hotch crouches down beside me and tells me how he was notified of the situation and how the team is on the way but I ignore him. He never cared about Spencer before so why should he now?

True to his word, the rest of the team has arrived at the hospital within ten minutes. They form a circle in front of me and bounce around questions about what happened. Is he alive? How much did he take? What did he take? Where is he now? They never address me directly and just keep shooting questions around and receive no answers. It’s exhausting to listen to. I’m exhausted.

“Hey, Olive?” Penelope crunches next to me in the same way Hotch did, placing her hand on my shoulder. I shake it off. She pauses before speaking again. “Could you tell us what happened?”

For the first time, I lift my head. Everyone is in their pajamas and looking just a little less distressed than me. I’m sure I look horrendous. I surely feel horrendous. I’ve never felt worse in my life. I’ve never loved a person so much just to have them ripped out of my life. If Spencer doesn’t recover from this, I know I never will.

“He,” I lift my hands to wipe my cheeks but stop mid-air, wondering just how many germs are on my skin, “overdosed. To my knowledge, he’s been clean for a month and-and-” my lips quiver again, “I guess Gideon leaving was too much for him to handle. He thought he needed drugs to make him feel better.”

JJ leans into Emily’s side, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. “Why didn’t he just call one of us instead of going straight to drugs? We all would have dropped what we were doing and gone to help him.”

The absolutely idiotic statement sets me on fire. I clamber to my feet, sadness replaced with anger within a millisecond. “Really? Would you have?”

JJ furrows her eyebrows and looks to the team for more support. “Of course. Spencer is one of my best friends.”

“We all would have helped him,” Morgan adds.

“Oh, really?” I sneer at them. “Were you there to help him last month when he was detoxing? Did any of you come to see why Spencer and I took three weeks off from work without warning? No! None of you texted or called or visited like real friends do. Did you even care that he obviously had a drug problem? Did any of you notice?”

Emily scoffs at the accusation, her anger starting to rise to mine. “Of course we did! I even asked him about it once and-”

“Once!” I let out the most sarcastic laugh that has ever dripped from my lips. Sleeping patients be damned, I will let out my anger at these inferior ‘friends’ and tell them the truth they need to hear. “You asked him once? Well, I spent three weeks living at his apartment, cooking, cleaning, holding him, reassuring him that he would be okay. And all you did was ask him about it once?” The realization is starting to set in on their faces that maybe this issue is bigger than they thought. “He needed real help and support from his friends, and yeah, he had me but he would have done a lot better if he had all of his closest friends supporting him.” They all fall silent, as they should. They stare at me and each other and everyone cries over their friend who they should have helped.

“Olive,” Hotch murmurs, “when you gave him the Narcan, did he wake up?”

This prompts more tears. “No.”

“Spencer Reid?”

I whip around as fast as I can at the sound of a doctor approaching, leaving the team in the dust to approach him. “Hi, yeah, I’m here for Spencer Reid. I’m his emergency contact.”

The doctor smiles at me and he waves me along, leading me away from the blabbering BAU and towards a room. “So,” the doctor says, “he’s extremely lucky. You administered the Narcan just in time. A few more minutes and Mr. Reid probably wouldn’t have made it.” I barely pay attention to the looming fear of Spencer’s death. If I hadn’t gone running out of the team meeting, Spencer would have died. “We’ve given him the proper medication, he’s in this room, and he should be waking up soon. When he’s feeling better, we can talk about proper treatment and recovery for Mr. Reid.”

I thought that maybe I cried all the tears my body could handle but that is proven wrong. He’s going to be okay. Going through detox again will be hell but now he can get professional help. He’s going to be okay.

I step into Spencer’s room. The sight of him lying in the bed is reminiscent of him lying on the bathroom floor and it makes my head pounds and my heart break. His elbow is bandaged up so his track marks are hidden and his hair is a matted down mess. But even lying there, helpless and in pain, he still looks like the man I fell in love with. The man who learned to braid hair and actually drove a car a few times and went shopping with me just to make me happy. He’s a shell of the man I love but he’s there and I know we will meet again soon.

Spencer starts to stir a moment later, tossing his head side to side gently. I creep over and slide my hand in his, squeezing softly. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet but there are tears streaming down his cheeks, soaking the top hem of his hospital gown. His hand tightens around mine and suddenly, my cheeks match his.

“Hi, sweetheart,” I breathe out, bringing our hands up to my lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles, “you’re okay. Everything is gonna be okay.”

Spencer lets out a high pitched moan, his head rolling over to face me. “I’m sorry,” he slurs out. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you didn’t mean it, Spence. I’m not mad. Just relax. I’ll be right here,” without letting go of his hand, I reach over and push a chair against the side of the bed. “Get some rest.”

“You won’t leave me?”

“No, Spence. I’m never gonna leave you.”

#nikos writing #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x oc

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not-freyja · 4 years

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2019 T’hy’la Fics of the Year

According to Kudos on Ao3. In the Interest of fairness, winners of previous years were excluded.

1. And Then I Let It Go by kianspo

Post-Star Trek Beyond. The crew of the Enterprise gets a breather while they are waiting for their new ship. Jim uses the time to do something he had sworn he would never do.

2. Vulcans are Fangirls Too by jouissant

Kirk is a secret astrophysics genius who publishes under a pseudonym; Spock sends him fanmail. Shenanigans ensue.

Less fluffy than the title might imply, but a feel-good story nonetheless.

3. This Is How You Remind Me by kianspo

Jim invites Spock to his high school reunion for moral support.

4. Take This Sinking Boat (And Point It Home) by sinestrated

In which Spock pines, Jim isn’t stupid (except he kind of is), and Christopher Pike has had enough of this bullshit.

5. Something Smart to Do by kianspo

In which Jim finds himself fake-married to his first officer every other month. It's not his fault. Mostly. Dowries and Klingons are involved. Starfleet is decidedly not amused.

6. cast out fear by s0mmerspr0ssen

Kirk saves Vulcan from Nero at high cost to himself. It falls to Spock to pick up the pieces.

7. The Lotus Eaters by aldora89

Stranded on the planet Sigma Nox while searching for a missing away team, Spock and Kirk find themselves pitted against a disturbing native life form. With the captain out of commission on a regular basis and Spock struggling to preserve his stoicism, staying alive is difficult enough – but when a slim chance for escape surfaces, their resolve is truly put to the test. Together they must fight for survival in the heart of an alien jungle, and in the process, uncover the mystery of the planet’s past.

8. The Handmaid of Genius by ladyblahblah

When the replicators go offline, Jim reacts unexpectedly.

9. Asymptote by tahariel

Anticipation was not an emotion Spock had intended to allow himself to feel; yet, it made itself known despite him, and that it was never satisfied made it harder to suppress, each time the Captain walked past or stood near and conscientiously avoided even the brush of their sleeves.

10. AT THE SAME STARS by spicyshimmy

First Officer Spock of the USS Enterprise is part of the away team that discovers the survivors of Tarsus IV. Captain Pike assigns him to the curious case of James Tiberius Kirk, who steals one of Spock's sweaters. There were no sufficient Vulcan poetics to describe the emptiness of the colony as it was found on the morning of stardate 2249.43. The fully-completed residential sector was neither ugly nor beautiful but simply remote; a hollow landscape of metal alloys and sensible architecture, with determined vegetation growing alongside the support beams. They did not flower.

11. Measure of Happiness by writeonclara

When Spock chose Starfleet over the Vulcan Science Academy, he had not anticipated cohabiting with the most illogical, irrational, emotional human he ever met.

On the flip side, Jim never asked for a Vulcan chaperone, especially one as snotty as Spock, son of Sarek.

A Starfleet Academy AU in which Spock adapts to human life, Jim learns very, very quickly never to play a prank on a Vulcan, and there are far too many people after Jim Kirk's life.

12. Hurricane by sinestrated

Five times Winona Kirk was a badass mom, and one time she realized she’d raised an equally badass son.

13. The Third Wheel by littlebirdtold

Academy AU. In which Cadet Kirk constantly crashes Cadet Uhura's dates with Commander Spock and monopolizes his attention.

14. A Logical Match by walkandtalk

The elders of New Vulcan decide to resurrect an ancient custom, and suddenly Jim must help find his First Officer an honorable Vulcan husband.

15. You Lied by ksalterego

Spock bought into that whole stupid Vulcan practice of being secretive about shit (sexual practices) that had the potential to fucking kill him. So Kirk may have lied - well, implied, actually - to get into Spock's pants save Spock's life.

16. So Much for Gravity by Regann

The last thing Jim wants is telepathic proof that Spock hates him, even though that's exactly what he gets. It's just one more thing Jim needs to figure out on his bumpy road to a destiny he doesn't even know if he believes in.

17. not once but always by estelares

The Day Jim Kirk Died And Was Revived is also, perhaps more famously, remembered as The Day Spock Lost His Proverbial Marbles and nearly killed a superhuman who had fucking regenerative blood, for crying out loud.

18. My Golden Sun / Kin-Kur Las’hark T’nash-Veh by giddytf2

When Jim feels the first gush of slick soaking down the inner seam of his pants, he shuts his eyes and turns his face away from Spock towards the mottled-stone wall of their solitary cell. Spock is staring at him. Spock has no idea what's just happened, what's just begun. Spock has no idea that their situation is about to get so much worse.

Fuck, Jim thinks, curling up into a ball of bruises and ragged gold, his arms quivering and clutching his bent legs. Fuck my life for being a goddamn Omega.

(Or, a Star Trek: AOS story post-Into Darkness in a universe where both Alpha/Beta/Omega gender dynamics and pon'farr exist, with Jim being an Omega going into heat and Spock experiencing his first pon'farr while trapped in a cell with Jim. Oh my.

19. THE SUM OF BOTH OF US by spicyshimmy

Jim Kirk is nine when a massacre on Tarsus IV leaves him without a family and without a home. Spock is twelve when a strange boy in the desert saves his sehlat. Families aren't born; they're made. The look in mother’s eyes at his correction remained a mystery long after the colors of the night sky and the complex patterns of distant nebulae had become translatable by means of distinct and relatively straightforward equations.

20. Leave No Soul Behind by whochick

If you're Starfleet, you spend your whole life wishing you never see an EPAS uniform right up until the moment they become your only hope. Whether you're dying a slow, cold death in space, or a long painful one on some godforsaken planet, they're going to come for you. So count your last breaths, son, and hold on tight. They leave no soul behind.

#fic rec #top 20 #t'hy'la #spirk #spirk fic #space husbands

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anotherhamiltonblog · 4 years

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Stick Together.

Collin Hoskins x Reader one shot!

Prompt Request from HERE: Situation Comforting the other Sentence “I just want to let you know that I love you. A lot. Never forget that.”

Warnings: Sadness, heartbreak, blood, cursing, miscarriage, happy ending.

Word Count: 1.985

Staring ahead, Collin never thought he would ever feel this… sad. This heartbroken. The one girl he loved more than anything was alive, she survived. Recovering, but how could be bring himself to put a smile back on her face? The news they received had been one that neither one of them was prepared to hear. He wasn’t even sure what to say, he didn’t blame Y/N. It wasn’t her fault, yet Y/N still blamed herself for something that was out of her control.

One Month Earlier:

Y/N’s POV:

“Alright, alright!” Miles yelled out as the group stood around at the fourth of July barbeque Miles was having at his house. With Ashley pregnant, the thought it was better to do something at home. “Get some Collin ma maaan!”

Laughing, Y/N pushed Collin away from the kiss and flipped Miles off. “Go be with your wife! PLEASE AND THANK YOU!” she laughed and wrapped an arm around her boyfriend. “Your friend is very irritating.”

Snorting, Collin looked over to Miles who was tending to his wife’s every need. The women didn’t have to do anything. “Yeah, he’s a good guy though.”

With one more kiss, he went back to manning the grill and Y/N went to get the other food ready. Seeing they needed more ice, Y/N went inside the house and looked in the freezer.

“shit…”

Walking to the door that led to the backyard, she grinned at her friends. “Hey! I’m gonna rush over to the store real quick! We’re out of ice.” She called to them and waved her hand when Miles asked if she wanted him to go.

“Be careful! OK?” Collin yelled out and Y/N laughed nodding.

“I will… love you!” she blew him a kiss and moved to grab her purse from the counter.

Walking out of the house, she pulled her hair up and used a hair clip to hold it up. The July sun coming down strong and the last thing Y/N wanted was her hair at her neck.

Arriving at the store, Y/N entered and waved to the man sitting behind the desk. “Not gonna celebrate?” she asked him with a grin, moving to the back where the freezer of Ice was.

“No… taking care of the store today!” was his reply and Y/N just laughed.

“Well, I’ll bring you a plate of food. How does that sound Mr. Jones?”

“You are too sweet Y/N. Thank you.” Was his reply.

The sound of the store bell chimed, and Y/N didn’t mind it, she kept looking for those stupid candies that Ashley liked so much. ‘Pregnant women…’ Y/N thought with a soft giggle and shook her head.

By the time she had two bags of ice and a bunch of Laffy Taffy, she moved to the front of the store. “Mr. Brown, do you still-“

BANG

“NO!”

“DUDE WHAT DID YOU DO!”

“IDIOT! YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO ACTUALLY USE THE GUN!”

“SHE APPEARED OUT OF NO WHERE!”

“SHIT! RUN!”

Y/N fell back too the ground, everything she had been holding now forgotten on the floor alongside her.

The voices around her becoming muffled as she felt an unbearable pain in her stomach. It was a hot, glowing pain. She could barley keep her eyes opened as she laid there. Mr. Jones calling out to her, Y/N catching glimpse and pieces of his words.

“Y/N…. ok…. You’ll…. Hospital…”

Not remembering much after that.

Collin’s POV:

We heard the gunshot and looked at each other. “Yo.. Ashley!” Collin yelled out to the women who was inside the house. “Is Y/N back yet?” he asked nearing the house.

“No... not yet…” Ashley too looked nervous.

Dashing out the house, hearing Ashley yell to Miles to go with him. The two men rushed to the store. Seeing three guys rush out, each with a gun and a mask covering their face.

“no…” Collin whispered and ran faster.

Bursting through the door of the store, the first thing Collin saw was Mr. Jones talking rapidly on the phone asking for an ambulance, explaining that there was a girl shot.

That’s when Collin saw her, on the floor soaked in her own blood with the ice and candy sprawled around her.

“Y/N… stay awake ok? You’ll be fine! The ambulance is coming to take you to the hospital!” Mr. Jones called to the girl and Collin rushed over to her.

Miles entering a little bit after him, Collin barely noticed as all he saw was Y/N laying there. “Wake up baby… come on.” he whispered and put pressure on the bullet wound, grabbing the cloth that Miles handed him to cover it.

By the time the ambulance arrived, Collin was allowed into the back with Y/N as long as he wasn’t in the way.

“Ten minutes to the hospital!” the driver called back to the EMTs and all they could do was keep an eye on her vitals and keep her alive.

“You can talk to her…” one of them told Collin who nodded and got closer to his girl.

“Hey baby girl… please stay alive for me. I can’t lose you…” he whispered to her and looked down at her with eyes filled with tears. “I love you… OK? I just want to let you know that I love you. A lot. Never forget that.” He added.

“I… I love yo-“ but she couldn’t continue and Collin moved out of the way when Y/N flatlined, the EMTs had to take over.

Thankfully they arrived at the hospital as they brought her back and had a heartbeat. Collin was a mess as he tried to follow them into the emergency room.

“Sir! Please! You have to wait in the waiting room!” A nurse told him and had to push him back. “SIR! Let the doctors do their job!” she tried to reason with him but Collin couldn’t hear he wanted to see his girl. Make sure she was ok.

“Collin!” Miles voice broke him from his inner thoughts, turning to see his best friend. The two met in a hug and Miles brought the man over to the waiting room.

Seconds turned to minutes that turned to hours. He just wanted to know how Y/N was. Where was she? Why hasn’t anyone come to get him yet?

“Yo, is someone gonna give us any fucking information on our girl?” Miles stood up yelling, only calming when Ashley placed a hand on his arm.

Collin got up and went to the nursed station. “Excuse me… I would like to know how Y/N L/N is doing? She came in with the ambulance with a gunshot wound.” He asked the nurse, voice of pure exhaustion.

As she typed away on the computer, she glanced up at the man. “What are you of hers?” she asked.

“Her fiancé.” He simply said, and the nurse nodded.

Being told to wait, she got up to go grab the doctor.

“Her surgery just ended.” He told his friends and paced around.

By the time the doctor came and told them Y/N was going to be ok, that she was just sleeping and under a lot of medication for the pain. He looked at Collin.

“Were you aware that, Ms. L/N was with child?” the doctor asked, a sad look in his eyes. When Collin shook his head, the doctor sighed. “I’m sorry… but the fetus… there was nothing we could do.” With that he left and Collin looked at his friends.

“Oh… Collin..” Ashley stepped forward.

Shaking his head, Collin rushed out of the hospital and started punching the wall outside. Miles had to rush over to him and pull him away, but Collin couldn’t hear anything his friend was saying. His mind was on his girl and the baby he didn’t even know about. The baby who never even had a chance to survive.

Being led back inside, Collin was taken to a room to have his hand looked at and wrapped. Knuckles bloody and the skin was broken and bleeding from the assault on the brick wall.

By the time he was allowed to see Y/N, Collin sat beside her bed and held her hand. Trying to keep it together for the two of them.

“Collin…” a shaky voice called out to him, causing the man to sit up quickly and see that he had fallen asleep in the chair and it was morning already.

“Hey sweety… you’ll be ok. Don’t move… do you remember what happened?” he asked her as he pressed the button to call the nurse. Not wanting to leave her side.

“I… I was shot.” She managed to get out and coughed, only to cry out in pain.

A nurse soon entered and went to fix the IV drip, saying she would give a little more for the pain.

The next few days, Collin, Miles and Ashley took turns being with Y/N at the hospital. By the time came they were allowed to go home, Y/N looked at Collin confused as to why the doctor was telling her about the bleeding and spotting and what to expect.

“What… but I wasn’t-“ Collin cut her off by grabbing her hand.

“You… it looks like you were pregnant babygirl… Around three months.” He whispered and placed a hand on her cheek, thumb brushing a tear that made its way from her eye and down her cheek.

“It’s not your fault… OK? The gunshot… it…” but he didn’t know what to say. Only wrap his arms around her body and kissed the top of her head. Allowing her to cry into his chest.

“You can leave whenever you want. The paperwork has been taken care of. Just make sure she takes it easy.” The doctor told Collin who nodded and went back to cradling his girl in his arms.

“How… how can you mourn someone you never even knew existed?” Y/N voice broke his train of thoughts. “I didn’t even… I thought I might be… there was tests at home for me to take… but.” She glanced up at Collin who was frowning.

“Like I said, it’s not your fault. OK?” he tilted his head as he looked down at Y/N. “We still have so much time to have a family. SO many milestones to reach together.” He added and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Present Time:

That’s how the couple became stronger. Though Collin could see her moments of sadness every now and again. Hand placed on her stomach where a small bump should have been.

Taping the box up, Collin got up and wrapped his arms around Y/N. “You ok, princess?” he asked softly. The two in the process of getting ready to move from their town to the city.

Collin had been accepted in UCLA and Y/N had gotten a job at one of the nicest hotels in the city there. The two were moving up in life. Not that Miles was very happy, but after what had happened so close to his home. Both Miles and Ashley were looking into moving out with them soon. In the end they were like family, both Y/N and Collin also had to be around for the birth of their godson.

“I will be ok. I promise.” She assured her boyfriend and turned around to face him. “I love you.” She smiled and giggled when Collin pressed their foreheads together. “Come on… lets finish packing up.” She pushed him away, only to laugh when Y/N was pulled back in and the two shared a kiss.

“We’re gonna be ok, babygirl.” He assured her and she nodded in agreement, the two kissing once again before going to finish packing up the home they had been sharing. Ready for the big move.

“Yeah… we are.” She said softly, looking down to the engagement ring on her left hand and smiled before going back to packing.

#collin hoskins x reader #Collins hoskins x reader #collin hoskins #daveed diggs #daveed #daveed x reader #daveed diggs x reader #daveed diggs x ofc #daveed diggs x yn #blindspotting

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mccnyoongi · 5 years

Text

buttercup ⇢ pt one

⇢ pairing: yoongi x fem!reader

⇢ genre: smut + slight angst

⇢ au: college!au, fwb!au, stoner!yoongi, assholeish!yoongi, fuckboyish!yoongi fwb to lovers trope

⇢ word count: 6k+

⇢ warnings: smut, honestly mostly porn, unprotected sex, recreational use of drugs & alcohol, dirty talk, praise, degradation, ridiculously excessive use of pet names, fingering, dom!Yoongi, unprotected sex, slight dumbification (whoops), hair pulling, creampie??, oral (f receiving), pussy slaping, reader has a thing for Yoongi’s hands because who doesn’t, reader and yoongi are both sarcastic and oblivious, this part is basically pwp.

⇢ synopsis: Min Yoongi wears leather jackets, fucks you like he hates you, spends most of his days on the wrong side of a blunt, and calls you the sweetest names when no one else is around. And you definitely aren’t falling in love with him.

⇢ author’s note: so yes, buttercup is being cut up into two parts thanks to a lot of my life getting uprooted this week!!! ill spare you the details but everything is really chaotic rn so im sorry this isnt exactly what i promised :( thank u for all the insane amont of love ive gotten so far. this is a pretty um... filthy piece of writing skfjsd and it’s definitely not perfect and id love to get better with everything i put out on here but i hope u guys enoy ily xx

If there was a magic lantern hidden somewhere on the campus of this university, you’d find it and your first wish would be to make it so that no one found out about this whole illicit affair you’ve been having with Min Yoongi. The secrecy was fun, sexy like you guys had a whole Mr. and Mrs. Smith thing going on. Or something. Your second wish would be to make his dick vibrate.

But then he just had to go and go down on you in a bathroom during a party at the Beta Tau Rho house, not even a month into the fall semester, knowing you wouldn’t be able to be quiet or subtle at all. And he was so smug about it too, the fucker.

You can still feel the embarrassment buzzing under the surface of your cheeks from when you walked out that bathroom door and a dozen frat boys and mutual friends of yours and Yoongi’s were out there, waiting for the two of you to emerge and giving you a round of applause when you did. Yoongi had just laughed and rolled his eyes before leading you to the kitchen to get the pair of you some drinks. He’s always been particularly good at brushing that shit off of his shoulder. You aren’t, but you’re pretty good at pretending.

Maybe you should have ended it all that night. Of course, you didn’t. You figured, hey, you’re young and in school so fuck making good decisions. Of course, the fact that no other guy has ever been able to dick you down nearly as well as Min Yoongi can is probably a huge contributing factor.

Sure he might be grumpy, and sarcastic, and he tries way too hard to look cool and nonchalant, but he’s also the first guy to ever make you squirt. And you’re pretty sure that the way he waxes poetic about your pussy would make even Shakespeare swoon. So maybe the pros outweigh the cons, but only just.

“I can’t believe you’ve been getting Yoongi dick for almost three full months and haven’t divulged every single detail and vein to me, you cold, uncaring bitch-” Jimin’s voice is far too loud for the student-run coffee shop the two of you regulared every Sunday; a tradition that Jimin always insisted upon. He loves his traditions almost as much as he loves destroying any personal boundaries between the two of you.

“Keep going Park, see if I ever buy your coffee again.”

“Don’t change the subject,” You can’t say you’re surprised that Jimin is reacting like this. Self-proclaimed ‘disaster bisexual,’ Jimin was one of the very first friends you made back when you were a shy, barely functioning freshman.

He actually introduced you to all his frat brothers, and a large number of the people you now call your friends. Including Yoongi, whose dick seems to be a reoccurring topic between you and… most people you know. Even if they weren’t at that dumb party, Jungkook made sure that every living being that stepped onto campus was aware of the newly found out fuckbuddies.

“We don’t keep anything from each other, Y/N,” He’s whining over his coffee now, full lips perched in that pretty pout that he regularly uses to his advantage. “I even told you about that time I puked on Namjoon’s dick in our second year!”

“Mmm, and I wish you hadn’t told me, Minnie-” The visual still haunts you, but Jimin has never had any predilections when it came to oversharing, especially not with people who have the misfortune of being his best friends. “‘Sides, I didn’t figure it was important, the whole Yoongi thing-”

“His dick, you mean.”

“Because it’s not like we’re getting married,” You carefully ignore him, a useful habit you’ve picked up three years into being his friend. “Just sex, remember?”

“So fucking what? You told me how you sucked Jeon’s cock in a movie theatre less than twelve hours after it happened-” You take a large gulp of your own iced coffee to busy yourself when the shameful memory is brought up. Not shameful because of the promiscuity of the act, no you’re an adult, thank you very much, but rather because of the boy you performed them on. Jeon Jungkook is now more of an annoying younger brother to you than anything. Not to mention he’s got a giant mouth that couldn’t keep a secret even if it killed him.

“Jesus you could’ve picked any other example-” You groan out as Jimin smirked, receiving the exact reaction from you he wanted. You think you’d have learned by now. “I’m sorry, okay? You big baby.”

“Hey, you’re on thin ice,” He points an accusatory finger at you and you have to fight the urge to smack it out of your face. “Now you have to make it up to me.”

You sigh- Jimin can really be exhausting when you’re only half a medium coffee in. “And how do you expect me to do that, Park.”

“Dick details, fucking obviously,” He says it like you’re a moron for even asking. And maybe you are. “Well details in general, I guess. You know, the basics; length, girth, does he make you call him daddy, is he good- I mean he must be un-fucking-real if you’ve been bouncing on it for three goddamn months, you whore.”

“I’m not giving you measurements, Jimin, I’ve yet to take a tape measure to it- and stop assuming everyone has a daddy kink just ‘cause you do.”

“Okay, vanilla bitch. You’re lucky I already know he’s got a monster cock from that time he streaked at that post-mid-term party next year.”

“Then why’d you even ask?”

“To see if you’d tell me the truth. It was a test and you failed.”

“I may be a college student but you’re gonna have to threaten me with a little more than a failing grade to spook me,” You roll your eyes playfully- there’s no real threat in his words, there never is.

“You’re right, I’m sure you’d much rather be punished by Yoongi, huh?”

..............................................................................

Watching Yoongi roll a joint, his long, slender and experienced fingers moving quickly and deftly, has always had this near hypnotizing-like effect on you. His apartment smells like weed, the scent never surprising and would almost be overwhelming if you weren’t so used to it by now. The sight alone is almost enough to make you wet. But you’re stronger than that- except for when you’re not.

Sexy hands aside, but unfortunately not on you, you’re thankful for his cannabis-related expertise because a) you can’t roll one yourself to save your life and b) despite normally reserving your consumption habits for parties, you feel like you deserve a fat one after the week you’ve had. What with, you know, the stress of having every student on campus knowing about yours and Yoongi’s torrid affair, thanks to fucking Jeon Jungkook. Brat. Plus incessant goading from both Jimin and your roommate, Irene- equally angry as Jimin about your worst kept secret- has only made you sink further into your insecure and paranoid thoughts.

The weed would help, you’d told yourself when your phone pinged with that much anticipated what’re u up 2? late night text from the raven-haired devil himself. Yep, it was the weed, the comforting blanket of getting high. And had nothing to do with the boy that was offering them. Not even his fat cock or magnetic pull he seemed to have on you.

“Alright, dove,” He says from his spot on his worn-out single-dorm couch- the names don’t tend to surprise you the way they used to. You kinda figured that the affection-starved Yoongi had just you know… gotten comfortable with the girl he had been fucking for the last couple of months. No big deal. Sure they made your heart swell and your panties dampen, but then it could be looked at as a positive.

He looks up at you from his spot on the couch, where he’s uncomfortably hunched over the table as he works and notices how you’re looking rather spaced out- not entirely rare for you. He’s used to the hundred-mile stare you tend to adopt when deep in thought, though it’s considerably less common for a sober you.

“Dove?” Nothing. “Y/N?” It’s the use of your actual name from his lips that finally grabs your attention. You finally turn your head to look at him, the glaze of deep thought finally leaving your eyes. An eyebrow quirks to let him know you’ve heard him, but his gaze remains piercing and unwavering on yours. “You need to stop worrying so much, dove.”

“That’s what the weed is for, Yoongs.”

“The weed? You’re just here so I can smoke you out then, huh? No ulterior motives, hm?” His tone is as dry and sarcastic as ever, qualities he had quickly become known for around campus. He shurgs “Fine. Just here to sesh. C’mere then.”

You scoot closer to his side of the couch, not even thinking twice before listening to him. His tongue is tantalizing as he licks the rolling paper, even if he doesn’t mean it to be. He’s almost always tantalizing to you.

“Don’t be grumpy. You invited me over,” Your words are softer than you meant, but your proximity to him makes you feel stilted. He was right, you really needed a smoke, more on edge than ever.

“Well, technically,” He starts, unlit, perfectly rolled joint now perched between his lips. He grabs at your legs before continued so that you were resting sideways on the black couch, legs strewn over legs, thighs touching thighs. “I invited the best pussy on campus over.” You crinkle your nose at his bluntness.

“Yoongi-” You scold indignantly and pinch at a well-toned bicep. “Don’t be an asshole, you asshole.” He grins despite the insult like he’d expected it. Or he’s revelling in it.

“You know I’m just fucking around, angel,” His arm tucks around your waist comfortably, pulling you even closer. “Tryna chill you out. I can tell when you’re all strung out. I know how you,” He pokes you in the middle of the forehead, still grinning, as you pout from being called strung out. “Tick.”

He really does, doesn't he? The thought is mildly terrifying, and you think that Yoongi might be too smart or his own good sometimes. When he’s not smoking himself into another dimension, that is.

He leans back into his seat, uncurling from around you to finally light up. A few sparks later and the room is fogging up with overly pungent smoke- the cheap smell makes you think that he probably bought it off of Hobi, too lazy to go any further off-campus than his own block of apartments to one of the nice but relatively affordable dispensaries. You crinkle your nose at the scent, grateful he’s too distracted to notice since he’d probably just tease you for liking the fancy shit more. At least you trust Hobi, and he lives only two buildings down from Yoongi. Truly an age of convenience.

A few passes, tokes, whatevers later, and you’re feeling substantially... floaty. You’ve completely relaxed, choosing to lie down rather than put the effort into sitting up, though your legs are still thrown across your equally high counterpart’s. What’s left of the roach is left to burn in one of many strategically placed ashtrays around the apartment, this one being on the living room table.

Yoongi has barely moved in the past while, head resting lazily on the back of the couch, black hair messy and his neck- which is somehow handsome to you- stretched out, and hands resting against your bare knees. You’ve barely paid him any mind, the silence nothing but comforting and easy.

Which is why you can’t help but jolt just a little in surprise when those hands, the hypnotizing ones you’re so obsessed with suddenly start creeping up your legs, halfway up your thighs, carefully kneading the supple flesh he finds there. He chuckles at your reaction, finally picking his up his head to watch you through heavy-lidded eyes. “Bet you’re extra sensitive right now, huh petal?” He doesn’t have to bet because he knows it’s true, knows how needy you get when you’ve smoked. And he loves it- it’s why he never makes you pay for any of the times he smokes you out.

“Fuck off,” You whine at his light-hearted teasing, but Yoongi just giggles- he fucking giggles- in response, hands still travelling the expanse of your thighs.

“Be nice,” His words are still jovial, but there’s a gruffness behind them that sends a shiver down your spine, despite the relative stuffiness of his living room.

“I am nice, you’re just a dick,” You pout- childish, but you can’t quite come up with anything more clever at the moment. The jab may be weaker than your usual quips, but Yoongi seems to have decided it’s enough to warrant a punishment of sorts, as he sends a quick slap onto your thigh. It’s certainly not the harshest hit you’ve received from him, it’s more playful than anything, but it’s enough to make you whine, not even noticing when your own hands jump down to grab at him and your now sore flesh.

His eyes take on a new sort of darkness, beyond the dilated pupils from the high he’s in the middle of as he grabs at your wrists, any assault you had planned halting in its tracks. His large hands that you’ve drooled over- figuratively and literally- many a time are big enough that he only needs one of them to hold both of yours steady. He uses his grip on you to yank you back up to a sitting position, where your noses almost touch and you can feel his breath fan across your lips.

“I told you, I know how you tick,” He lets his tongue swipe out to wet his lips, the act distracts you and makes you mimic it with your own tongue and lips. The smirk he gives you is all at once wicked and panty dampening. “Which means I know you like it when I’m mean. I know you like when I treat you like this, like my little slut,” The word makes you draw in a breath as your face reddens in humiliation and tension. “And- and I know you’re probably soaking through your panties right now, all over my couch. Making a fucking mess.”

It infuriates you to no end how right he is as your breaths come out shaky and uneven as you feel your pussy flutter around nothing beneath your shorts and panties.

“Aren’t you?” His tone doesn’t leave room for playfulness anymore, and you’re nodding dumbly before you can give it a second thought. “Good girl.”

He doesn’t give you any time to bask in the praise before he’s leaning in to capture your lips in a searing and sloppy kiss. He’s domineering even in the way he kisses you, teeth biting and tongue sweeping into your own mouth as he revels in the small sounds that escape you. His hands leave your wrists, freeing them so you can grip onto raven locks with a newly freed hand as his own wrap around your waist.

Every sense is filled with him, and it is all at once comforting and exhilarating.

He tugs and roughly manhandles you so that you’re properly astride his denim-covered thighs, your lips never untangling in the process. When your lips finally do come apart, it’s with a lewd sound and a gasp from your mouth. He’s still smirking.

“Gonna fuck you so good petal,” Yoongi has always been so blunt and unforgiving, whether in bed or out and it had been one of the things that first attracted you to him, besides his obvious good looks.

Before the two of you had even gotten together, when you were friends who didn’t fuck on the regular, you had even mustered up the courage to touch yourself to the thought of him speaking to you like this- your own fingers circling your clit and delving into yourself without abandon. You had only been able to imagine up a fraction of his sexual prowess.

Like the time only a few weeks ago you admitted to him in a foggy haze, high than you think you’d ever been. how you’d brought yourself to climax with images and soundbites of him flitting through your head. He’d immediately made you put on a show for him- recreating those nights, but this time with him sitting feet away from you and ignoring your pleas for him to touch you.

Right now, however, the only things keeping you grounded in reality is the feeling of the muscles in his thighs flexing beneath you, though nowhere near where you truly ache to be touched, and one of his hands brutishly tangled in your hair, pulling harshly so he can have easy access to your neck. Plush lips start soft, kissing and licking at the skin there, before his teeth join in, biting and sucking like he loves the taste of you (because he does).

“Y-yoongi-” You’re trying to keep the whimpers at bay, like maybe if you stop yourself from seeming so turned on so fast it’ll get him to fuck you faster. “C’mon, just fuck me already.”

“So demanding for such a needy bitch,” He has you squirming on his lap and you don’t know why you thought you had any power over him left. “Have you forgotten your place? Can’t think of anything else but getting fucked, huh?”

You nod in agreement, but find out he must want a verbal response when you’re met with a sharp spank to your ass that has you squealing and bucking into his lap. “Yeah, yeah Yoongi ‘m sorry, just need it.”

“I know, baby, I know, you can’t even help it when you get all messy like this, I know,” You can’t decide whether his words are sweet or patronizing when he coos at you like that, but either way he’s got you another pair of panties.

“Need you to fix it, Yoongs,” All pride is out the window when he’s got you like this, and you love pleading with him to give you what you want almost as much as likes making you beg.

“I will,” He gives you one more harsh bite to the junction of your neck and your shoulder that you know will blossom into a bruise just in time for your 10 AM class tomorrow and you hiss at the mingling of pain and pleasure. “Now fucking get up,” He pats lightly at your thigh twice at the order.

You’re in no position to disobey, and you know from experience that not listening to him will end up with a sore ass and no release in sight. You stand up on shaky, doe-like legs and he grins at the sight of you. He stands up with you, his lean form and strong stance making him look taller than he really is. Then his long fingers are pulling at what little clothing you have, stripping you of both your tank top and your shorts and your bra isn’t far behind. Soon you’re clad only in your panties while he’s still fully clothed in black form-fitting jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Thankfully he leaves his cliche, but devastatingly sexy leather jacket at the door.

He doesn’t make any move to undress at all and you hope to god he will eventually- you love seeing his honey-coloured skin covered in a thin layer of sweat as he fucks you into oblivion. But for now, he stays fully clothed and he roughly pulls you by your upper arm until he can bend you over the arm of the couch, panty-covered ass high and perfectly on display for him.

“God, you’re fucking dripping,” He taunts, fingers running over your pussy through the thin cotton, making you whine into the rough cushion your face is resting on. “All this from almost nothing, huh? You’re such a fucking slut for me, shit.” He sounds genuinely amazed by you and when you uncomfortably crane your neck back to get a good look at him you let out a proper moan. He must have stripped his shirt off when you weren’t facing him, because his chest is bare for you to gaze at, or you would gaze at it if you weren’t distracted by the hand that isn’t on you, which is lazily working over his cock, rock hard and aching through his jeans.

He smirks when he notices what’s grabbed your attention, knowing you’re only moments away from quite literally drooling on his pillows. “Is this what you want? Hm?”

“Ye-yeah your cock, Yoongi, need your cock,” Your face burns red and blood burns hot as the crude words leave your mouth.

“And you’ll fucking get it, dove,” The cute name contrasts the second harsh spank he lands on your ass and you moan at the delicious sting.

You think that he must be about to tear your panties off and sink into you, but that would be too predictable and Yoongi loves to keep you on your toes. Instead, he disappears from your line of sight, a dull thump coming from the hardwood as he drops to his knees, feline gaze now level with your cunt.

“Yoongi-” You’re whining again, and you even have to hold yourself back from stomping your foot childishly because, god, you just need him to do something.

And then he finally does- he licks a thick stripe, right from your clit to your entrance, still over your panties, and you gasp in surprise. He does it again, twice, three, four times until your hips are bucking and you’re whining because you need more, you need him to actually touch you and not be a giant fucking tease for once in his life.

“Be fucking patient,” He hisses out, but at least he’s finally rolling your underwear down your legs to toss them somewhere across the room. “Or I swear to god, I’ll hold you down just like this so you can’t even squirm while I get myself off all over your messy cunt,” His hand is running up and down your bare pussy as he speaks, spreading the wetness around, to your clit and your thighs and your ass and then back again. “And then I’ll send you home without touching you or cleaning you up, so you’ll have to take the subway home covered in my come and fucking trembling. So be fucking good.” At the last word, he lands a mean slap against your gushing cunt and you let out an embarrassing squeak.

“Shit-fuck- Yoongi, please, just-” You stutter through your words, needing to get them out, though you don’t know why. “I’ll be good, okay? ‘M your good girl, I am, promise, I’ll be good.”

He doesn’t respond, at least not verbally. But you have to assume he’s happy with your desperate response when he finally delves into your pussy like a man starved, tongue licking into you, the muscle sending spasms up and down your legs. You have to muffle your moans by biting into a pillow, not needing another altercation with his neighbours, but you want nothing more than to yell his name as loud as you can until your voice goes hoarse when he shakes his head from side to side, tongue still buried inside of you and one of his hands now roughly circling your clit.

It’s too much, but it’s not nearly enough. It’s when he switches positions between his hand and mouth that you think you might explode; his mouth latches onto your clit, tongue circling and playing with it and two fingers fucking into you, preparing you for the impressive girth of his own cock.

Your teeth let go of the strong grip it has so you can warn him of your impending orgasm. “Yoongi- gonna come-” You manage to choke out between barely quieted moans.

You know that he wouldn’t be able to respond if he was still suckling on your clit, but you still whine and wiggle your hips as he pulls away, earning you yet another spank to your rear, where you can only assume a nice handprint is forming. “Yeah? Want you to come all over my face, like a good messy whore- gotta come for me before I can fuck you like you need.”

When his mouth finds your swollen clit again, you can’t help it as your orgasm barrels through you almost violently, every muscle tensing and fingers grasping at whatever they can find, neighbour’s delicate sensibilities forgotten as you moan out Yoongi’s name. He licks you through it, fingers no longer pistoning into you. When the last of the tremors have faded he finally pulls away, using his clean hand to wipe your mess off of his chin, though it hardly cleans him.

“Good fucking girl,” The roughness with which he was grinding his still covered bulge into your now sopping wet center would be impossible to ignore even if your head weren’t a million miles away. But for now, everything is Yoongi, every single scent is filled with him and you think that that might be making your head even fuzzier than the drugs coursing through your system, but you’re too far gone to be sure. Or to even care.

Because all you can think about is his mouth-watering hands kneading at the slightly pinkened skin of your ass, his mouth-watering cock rutting against you and his mouth-watering, well, mouth pressing wet kisses and occasional bites up and down your spine. “Yoongi,” You meant to speak with at least a little more conviction, but his name comes out as little more than a mumble.

“Hm,” He hums against your skin and even those slight vibrations reverberate straight to your heart, which starts beating faster at the thought of what’s to come. “What, is my babygirl still needy?”

The use of the word my in front of the affectionate name makes your heart jump, but you don’t even have time to scold yourself for thinking with your post-orgasmic pussy before he continues talking with that sinful mouth of him. “Such a greedy, desperate girl, won’t be happy ‘til you’re stuffed full of my fat cock,” His words have you whining and grinding back against him, where you don’t have to look to know you’re leaving a stain on his favourite jeans. If you’re unlucky- or lucky depending on your mood- he’ll make you clean it up with your tongue as further delicious torture.

But smoking makes Yoongi needy too, no matter how much he teases you for the effect it has on you, and he can’t wait much longer, not with his cock so hard he was a razor blades’ edge from losing his mind. He needs to be inside you as much as you need him.

Which is why you don’t doubt him for a second when he’s murmuring things about how he’s ‘gonna fuck you so good, gonna fuck you stupid,’ and you can only respond with even quieter whispers of ‘I knows’ and ‘pleases’ as he strips himself oh the rest of his clothes, hissing from oversensitivity as his cock makes contact with the air. It’s wonderfully overwhelming and he’s not even fucking you yet.

You can’t even explain how grateful you are when Yoongi turns you around because you love just seeing his cock. You’ve never been one to describe guys’ dicks as pretty before- except that TA you managed to fuck before Jimin sunk his claws into him, Kim Seokjin, because, well, you’re not blind. But Yoongi’s dick is gorgeous. It’s not the biggest thing you’ve ever seen, and it doesn’t have to be, not when it’s girthy enough to make you salivate with a curve that points to the heavens. Gorgeous.

He’s pulling you on top of him so he can sit back down and you’re back to straddling him, and you don’t complain because you know he’s tired both from the pot and crouching on his haunches for access to your center not two minutes ago. Plus he loves when you ride him, breasts bouncing in his face, wetness making a mess out of his lap and full access of your entire body for both his hands and lips.

“Need you to bounce on my fat cock before I fucking explode, baby,” And you’d have to be some sort of a madwoman to deny him.

“Need it too, Yoongs,” You don’t know why you feel the need to remind how desperate you are for him, surely he can feel it, your swollen pussy resting only centimetres above his throbbing length. “Can’t think of anything else.”

“I know,” He’s rubbing the angry red tip against your sopping folds, tinges of overstimulation making you jolt. Or you would jolt if his hands weren’t heavy on your waist, keeping you steady so you couldn’t a) get away from his cock or b) properly sink down onto it. “So pathetic and perfect for me like this, all cock drunk and fucked out and I haven’t even fucked you yet, huh?”

You nod frantically, and you can’t even find the energy to be embarrassed when a hand comes up to pet your hair with a condescending ‘awe’ as he pouts at you. You bat his hand away with a whine and furrowed eyebrows, but all that gets you is his hand tangled in your hair, yanking sharply in retaliation. “Careful, slut, or you won’t be coming for the next week-”

“Please, Yoongi-” You don’t let him finish, knowing from experience to always take his threats seriously. “I’m sorry, I’m fucking sorry, okay just please-”

You cut yourself off with a high pitched, tea kettle-like squeak as he uses his hands on you as leverage to have you sink down onto his cock in one fell swoop. “Shit, god, you’re always so fucking tight around me, fuck me.”

I am, is what you wish you were coherent enough to snark back with, but you’re sure no one would blame you if they could feel what you feel right now. And what you’re feeling right now is how well Yoongi feels inside of you, like no cock you’ve ever had. Every ridge and vein on his cock fills you up to the fucking brim, no room left for a pinky or a thought that has to do with anything other than Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.

And then he starts with those devilish moments of his hip, fucking into you shallowly and slowly to start and it’s all Yoongi’s dick.

“Fucking bounce on it, dove. Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how much you need it,” He speaks through gritted teeth, each word a struggle as he tries not to fuck into you without thought. And it’s with the satisfaction you get knowing he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him that you find the strength to do as he says.

With quivering thighs, you push up and off of his cock, the two of you sharing a harmonious groan at the feeling, foreheads pressed against each other, skin sweaty. And this all just in the calm before the storm.

It’s not long before the both of you are moving frantically, mere seconds, really. It’s intense and all-encompassing, as you grind and roll your hips, cock deeper than you knew to be possible, and his bucking his own hips into you roughly, no doubt as deeply in some sort of euphoria as you are. His hands are everywhere and so are his lips. He sucks marks into your tits and gropes your ass, controlling your movements to the best of his abilities.

All of that, plus your clit grinding against his pelvic bone every other second and your head just might be in another universe.

Yoongi’s words are swirling around in your head, though you’re not properly taking any of it in- his velvety voice goes on about how wet you are, how tight you are, how you’re a good girl and it’s all another instrument in your downfall. You’ve never been much for heights but being with Yoongi feels like something akin to what you assume bungee jumping is like, and you’re just about at that point where your cord runs out of length and your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach.

“Tell me you’re fucking close, baby, c’mon,” This is as close to pleading as you can ever get Yoongi but you’re still swimming in pride. He brings a hand off of your ass to cup your cheek, brushing away your now mussed hair and a single stray tear and you drink in the look in his eyes, dark red-rimmed and needing. “Gonna fill you up with my come, just like I know you like, my perfect little cumslut, fuck, just need you to come first, yeah? All over my fucking cock.”

And with a particularly hard grasp at your ass, bringing you to grind your clit against him again, you’re gone. It’s considerably less intense than the previous one, as many second orgasms are, but your head is still spinning and you think you might have drooled a little, but you don’t mind and you know Yoongi doesn’t. Your attempts to stifle your moans are unsuccessful as the name of the man attached to your favourite cock falls from your lips like a mantra.

And where your orgasm is, Yoongi is rarely far behind- he loves seeing you fall apart around him, because of him and you always clench so fucking hard around him in the peak of your pleasure how could he fucking not. He’s grunting, moaning, damn near growling as he spurts his own release as deep into you as he possibly can, coating every inch of your delectable pussy, vague mumbles of how he’s filling you up, just like you’re meant to be that you can just barely hear.

Shakey breaths hit each of your faces as you come down, now still and worn out. Your chests move up and down and you don’t know when you’ve buried your face into the crook of his neck, but the warmth and smell are more comforting than any hit you’ve ever taken off of one of his blunts.

“Shit, buttercup,” He chuckles, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and where you’ve tucked yourself He runs a hand through his sweaty black locks, the other hand locked around your waist. “I don’t know how we’re gonna move without making this couch fucking disgusting.” Mood killer.

“Don’t give a shit.”

“Yeah, but I do. Especially if Joon or Hobi someone finds it and makes a big fucking deal out of it, like no other guy in his twenties has some come stained furniture.”

You pull back from the spot you wish he’d just let you fall asleep in so he can see your pout. He can’t find the sight of you… adorable? Your hair matted, bruises, courtesy of yours truly littering your tits and chest, a thin sheen of sweat making your skin glow and bottom lip jutted out exactly enough to be overexaggerated and so fucking adorable.

At that moment he’s glad that about three weeks ago the two of you had started to break the unspoken no sleeping over after sex rule because he just wants to clean you up and feel you curl yourself around him like you like to.

You don’t know what time it is, just that it’s late and that it doesn't matter, because this was certainly time well spent. You wonder how much sleep you’ve given up in lieu of Yoongi’s pretty dick. Of course, it does matter... because you have a 9 am class tomorrow morning that you can’t miss, but that’s for future you to worry about. For now, it’s time to try to get up without defiling this Ikea couch (you failed miserably and giggled about it while Yoongi groaned in mock pain), burn out just one more joint, steal some clothes for bed and some snacks from his fridge, and pass the fuck out on his bed, which you think is way better than yours, but that has nothing to do with the boy in it or his comforting warmth and smell.

..............................................................................

Past you is a dumb bitch. Also maybe current you. Point being, you hate you, because you’re sore and stiff and ten minutes late to your dumb 9 am class and it’s all Yoongi’s fucking fault. You texted him this much, calling him a ‘little bitch boy’ for not even waking you up to make you a cup of coffee with his fancy instant coffee machine before you left. He hasn’t responded yet because holy fuck does that guy sleep like a rock. A really cute, cuddly, sex-god rock.

But, as usual, Jimin came in clutch, handing you off a coffee as your paths crossed on campus, each of you heading to your respective classes. He gave you a one-armed-too-tight hug and a comment on how you have that very glamourous ‘I got fucked by Min Fucking Yoongi last night and you didn’t so I’m better than you look.’ You tried to take it as a compliment as you thanked him for the coffee. He gave you a cute kiss to your forehead that reminded you you could never even be annoyed at him for too long.

And now you’re in class. Headache from not getting enough sleep getting worse by the second while you tried not to think about what judgements people must be passing on you, with your sunglasses inside and hickeys you didn’t have time to cover up.

When your phone pings you assume it’s Jimin, with something slutty or sarcastic or both. But it’s not. It’s Yoongi- well, it’s what you have Yoongi’s number saved under, aka the drooling emoji three times over… You’re surprised he’s awake, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t have shit to do until the afternoon.

You have a fleeting thought that it could be a dick pic- yeah it’s a little early for that kind of dumb fuckboy behaviour, and you’d previously thought that too, but Kim Taehyung proved you wrong last year.

Yoongi isn’t a dick pic kind of guy anyway. No, he’s the guy that sends pictures of his hand around your throat that one night you let him take artsy photos of you two fucking on his film camera. The kind of guy that sends you audios of him jerking off and moaning your name that you listen to through your earphones in between classes because he knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. He’s the guy that drives you crazy because you can never quite predict what he’s gonna do next.

[9:23 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: you could have woken me you know dummy

[9:24 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: subways are gross in the morning

[9:25 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: i could have u know, driven u…

[9:26 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: cant really say no to u buttercup.

You don’t know why you’re heart’s beating so fast so you reprimand yourself for thinking with your pussy. Min motherfucking Yoongi is gonna be the death of you.

#bts smut #btswritingcafe #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #buttercup #bts fic #yoongi fic #bts fanfiction #bts oneshot #bts writing #def not my best work but u know JKFDHKJFHS

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roguestarsailor · 3 years

Text

One Day In December is such a good novel. I can’t believe I read the scorpio book recommendation and picked this up; whoever the astrologer person from the library is they really hit the mark. My god im literally sobbing. This is so goood!

Laurie and Jack have the most ordinary and mundane yet antsy and frustrating love story ever. I mean, this is a romcom so obviously they’ll end up together but the book spends like +300 pages making it seem impossible for that to happen! So many life moments that really shove them together but also tear them apart. So much unspoken tension!! So much unspoken truths!! so much to lose!! But as it near the ending and they’re both really figuring out their lives instead of finding distractions, or brushing aside feelings and red flags, and BOOM right in the feels. ahhh, i’ve never teared up for a love story before but I did for this! wow!!

“Might as well,” I grumbled. “My love life is official dead.”

Sarah screws up her finished-with fish-and-chip paper. “You’ve only got yourself to blame,” she says.

She’s referring to bus boy, of course. He’s reached near-mythical status now, and I’m on the very edge of giving up on him. Ten months is a long time to look for a complete stranger on the off-chance that they’ll be single, into me, and not an axe murderer. Sarah is of the vocal opinion that I need to move on, by which she means I need to find someone else before I turn into a nun. I know she’s right, but my heart isn’t ready to let him go yet. That feeling when we locked eyes--I’ve never had that before, ever.

i dog-eared this page because this is meeeeeeeeeeeee. not that ive ever had a love at first sight sighting in my entire life (but no one is gonna stop me from not making eye contact on public transport and hoping for the best!!). i love that Laurie is just as wistful; makes me feel better about myself (and makes me foolishly hopeful!!!) lol.

*spoilers*

Anyways, the time passage through this book was speedy; literally years pass as we read on. I was so anxious because its like long stretches of time passes and it literally takes years for them to officially get together. This is very different than other romcom books I’ve read since those generally is more quick to lead to the happy ending. And I guess it’s true. Love develops over time and at the same time, the time needed to *try* to get over someone but also figure yourself out as you age through your twenties. It’s never constantly spending time with someone either; its long stretches of time away from each other too. Most of the things that happen are really really mundane. It’s not grand, its not dramatic and its very quiet. Nobody makes quick decisions here and it’s so drawn out.

It’s like how working at a job you hate can just escape you and you end up staying for too long. This book covers both the career stalemate and the love portion--staying in a relationship because you’ve built it and its actively choosing to keep it going even though it obvious not going to last. Even when Sarah and Laurie have their fall out, a good distance between time passes and I think that’s very normal. Even when they reunite again, its quiet and just casual and they slowly work back up to being the bestest friends again. Laurie and Jack relationship’s was actively trying not to engage with one another and it really showed--but its not completely radio silence nor intense heated moments. It’s fleeting because they both recognize that if they got together they would hurt Sarah, and then eventually Oscar and probably themselves the mostly. It’s watching them seeing the other person be with someone else or moving through life at a different speed and feeling like they’re too late and then having their paths diverge even more and then connecting at realizing the feelings are still here, and then diverging again and coming again. Their relationship is the definition of missed opportunities!!! But I think this is the most accurate account of adult relationships I’ve ever read so far and its really refreshing.

^ my literal face as i read the last few pages

*personal thoughts*

This gave me a really good insight into the world of dating and relationships and love. I am so used to reading these big grand things happening that the universe allow these two people to meet and create this magic. There’s the hurdles to jump through but they get through in the end and its implied that because they have the biggest element, which is love, means that they will be ok. They might have friends who root for them, they have little mice and birds to help them, so many elements in a typical romcom universe that pushes these two together. But this book was different.

As Jack dates Sarah, we know they don’t fit well but they stick it out. They actively try to date and get to know each other so they spend months to years dating. And its not that Jack only thinks about Laurie but rather its always in the background. Laurie tried to stay out of the way and Jack does the same. It’s wild to think that someone you have an almost instant connection with might not actually be what you want and you have to actively see the reality of the situation and actively live your life. To figure out if what you have with that person can technically work--makes it clear that a relationship IS work. It’s not passionate and fire! it’s very small, its texting every day and slowly giving a piece of yourself to this person. And its inconvenient as hell!!! Even Laurie being with Oscar, and actually getting married and trying to make married life work for them was mundane and average. There was no point where there was a dramatic STOP THE WEDDING, or like screaming “I Love You’s” and such for Laurie and Jack. Nobody was the bad guy and did the bad thing that made people realize that they don’t belong together; none of that! Oscar never cheated or became problematic, even Jack realized that have casual relationships wasn’t for him; nothing dramatic like that at all. Nobody actively objected to Laurie/Oscar’s union and nobody was actively rooting to get Jack and Laurie together. It had to be them, as individuals, choosing each other which is so fucken sweet and such a good expectation to have regarding romance love. Even though it started as a chance love at first sight moment, it ended up being them actively choosing and actively seeking out their own happiness and idea of what they want in life and then declaring it, separately, to each other that made them work as a couple. well there was a bit of a fanfare at the end of the book but it was cute. It was normal people! finding love! for each other!! I love this so much!!!

Songs to include in this Playlist I am 1000% gonna made for this book: invisible strings by Taylor Swift, Enchanted by Taylor Swift, gold rush by Taylor Swift, Speak Now by Taylor Swift, Permanent by Kygo, In Your Eyes by The Weekend, Heat Waves by Glass Animals, Just For A Moment by Gryffin, Iselin, Comeback by Carly Rae Jepsen, Bleachers, Don’t Give Up On Love by Kygo, Losing It Over You by Matoma, Ayme

#amandabookthoughts #one day in december #love at first sight #josie silver #contemporary romance #na literature #love story

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flowerwrites06 · 3 years

Text

break my mind’s eye IX — jjk

Plot: Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.

Pairing(s): Druglord!Jungkook x Fashion Designer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 9k+

Genre: Mafia | Angst/Smut/Fluff

Three Months Later

In the deep quiet hour of the night, Belles’ stomach jolted her awake to a dark room. For a moment, when her bearings were not quite right, fear settled as if she transported to a strange place. Quickly turning her gaze there laid Jungkook with his back facing up and an arm around her torso. For the first time she let out a sigh of relief seeing the man’s face knowing that her location was at least familiar.

It became all too familiar now. Yoongi pretty much moved in as their own private medic despite his knowledge on medicine being phoned advice from an actual doctor. Belle did not protest however, having the male close by helped dealing with these past few months. Nausea every single morning, cramps in every single place that had the potential to do so while a lingering worry that she would have to see her child grow up in a world full of betrayal and pain.

Right now her stomach grumbled for a different reason. Looking down, Belle could slowly notice a more prominent swell poking out from her white cotton night gown with Jungkooks’ toned arm gently over it as if to shield it somehow. Once again she felt a rumble and the thought of chocolates brushed her mind.

“Jungkook…” Belle whispered, squeezing his arm a little. When the male didn’t respond she shook him softly. “Jungkook wake up.”

Jungkook shifted with a drawling hum under his breath, one eye opened momentarily before exhaustion pulled him in again and he closed it. “What is it?” He spoke into the pillow.

She slowly pushed herself to a sited position as his loose arm slid onto her thighs. “I want ice-cream.”

“What?” His brows furrowed automatically despite his eyes still comfortably shut.

“What you big boss men never heard of ice-cream?” Belle caressed his forearm which really only helped him fall asleep more.

With a light groan, Jungkook moved his arms to prop himself up enough for both his eyes to open and scan the room. Turning around he glanced over to check the time on the phone. “Baby, it’s 2 in the morning.” He mumbled attempting to meet her gaze but sleep was even more stubborn, most of his curls either sticking to his face or up to the ceiling.

Hand caressed over her swollen belly with a slight pout across her lips. “There’s late night ice-cream parlors.” Belle muttered under her breath without giving him a glance.

Jungkooks’ eyes immediately flickered down to where she affectionately brushed over her cute belly. Clearly it was not only her cravings he had been stirred awake to satisfy. Sighing, he forced himself to sit up properly as one of his hands attempted to brush his hair down. “Alright…”

Belle couldn’t help the accomplished smirk tugged at her lips as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed to walk to the wardrobe. Although the slight heaviness caused more of a waddle than a proper walk. “Make sure to wear your mask, it’s cold.” And their faces were all too recognizable nowadays especially after the wedding. Three months had already gone by but it made more relevant than ever in the media making it harder to keep this pregnancy as secret as possible.

He hummed in agreement tapping a name on his phone before pressing it to his ear. “Jongho, put in the address of the closest late night ice cream parlor in the sedan.” Jungkooks’ voice still rung raspy from sleep as his hand rubbed his eyes to make himself more alert.

“A-I’m sorry could you repeat that sir?” Jongho asked politely, stammering a little.

“The closest late night ice-cream parlor.” He enunciated his words as dramatically yet clearly as he could.

“An–an ice-cream parlor?”

“Yeah you never heard of an ice-cream parlor before?”

Jongho cleared his throat lightly. “Yes, sir sorry I’ll—I’ll bring the car in right away.”

Belle pushed the sleeves off her shoulder, letting the gown easily drop to the ground leaving her in the slight cold air. Eyes quickly settled on any piece of comfortable warm clothing she could find. Grey sweat pants, loose T-shirt and a soft pink hoodie which let her body relish back into the embrace of heat.

Jungkook walked into the wardrobe squinting in the bright light, pausing in his tracks for a moment as he watched Belle put on a pink mask that pleasantly matched her hoodie. The corner of his lips twitched up looking at how much more comfortable she looked, possibly even more than she did in the night gown. Rare it was to see Belle in such a relaxed state when the woman spent most of her days looking perfectly presentable.

Making his way to corner, he quickly pulled on some black sweatpants with a hoodie and mask while noticing Belle tapping on a moisturizer on her skin with her mask hugging the underside of her chin. “Trying to look pretty for the ice cream?” Jungkook mused.

“You saying I don’t look pretty already, Mr. Jeon?”

“Positively glowing.”

“You’re good at flattering, I’ll give you that.” Belle chuckled, exiting the wardrobe towards the main bedroom, her arms automatically hugging her stomach.

Jungkook couldn’t help but smile as he rushed over to her side, placing a hand on the small of her back.

Through the doors of the bedroom, Belle immediately say Nana pad over with the deep red blanket in her arms. “You’re already warmed up.” She chuckled before handing over the thick and small fabric. “It’s a little tradition thing but it was Jungkooks’ when he was a baby. Good to keep over the belly when you leave the house.”

Belle accepted the blanket with a smile, an odd tingle down her spin at the realization of how small Jungkook used to be. A little being full of wonder who smiled at random things before reality destroyed every remnant. “It might be colder outside who knows.” She tried to reassure the older woman somehow.

“Thank you.” Jungkook lightly squeezed her shoulder as they walked past the woman who bowed with a smile in response.

Jongho already stood at the edge of the entrance to the living room, bowing as soon as he saw the couple. “Your car is ready. The drive to the ice-cream parlor will be about fifteen minutes.” He announced though he still felt like this whole thing was part of some prank.

“Thank you, Jongho.” Belle grinned, almost skipping past the guard in glee.

“You know I’m the one driving to the parlor right?” Jungkook sassed, a brow jolting up.

“Well you’re the father, honey, it’s your job.” Belle walked towards the entrance as the guards opened them like some grandiose banquet.

Black sedan shone like a beetle under the moonlight when they reached outside. Crisp nightly air flowed through even their warm clothing except for the blanket Belle hugged around her belly.

Jungkook opened the door for the woman letting her climb in carefully before walking over to his side. It had been a while since he went on a drive for something so leisure and relaxed. He couldn’t help but feel a rush of content maybe even a little excitement at this spontaneous late night trip.

As he sat in the car reacquainting himself with all the controls, Jungkook noticed from the corners of his eye how delicately Belle placed the blanket over her belly as if she was tucking it goodnight.

Then they drove off.

Fifteen minutes stretched out a little longer than Jungkook expected but eventually they saw the pastel and neon lights in the shape of an ice-cream cone hit their area of vision.

Parking closest to the shop, Jungkook hurried over to Belles’ side and helped her walk out.

“I can still climb out of cars.” Belle giggled at how attention he was trying to be.

Jungkook held onto her hand while they walked into the parlor with their masks fully secured.

Bright lights touched their half-sleepy eyes while the blanket hung over her free arm. People continued on their normal conversations without turning their heads in recognition which brought a rush of relief in her body. No one knew about the pregnancy since Belle formed a talent in choosing outfits that hid the growing bump. Of course at some point it would get hard to conceal it.

Jungkook and Belle padded to the counter to choose their flavors. Her eyes and taste buds immediately leaned towards the chocolate while the male simply followed her lead. The man had not enjoyed ice-cream since he was a child when Nana would serve it to him when he was upset usually because both his parents were out to work. He figured chocolate was the best way to start up the taste in his mouth again.

Once the orders were done and they were served ice-cream in cups, they walked to one of the tables in the corner and sat across from each other.

Belle, once again placed the blanket over her belly in the same delicate fashion while her mouth practically watered watching the ice-cream just sit there waiting.

“People really come here at this hour just to have ice-cream?” Jungkook glanced at the couples and friends happily eating ice-cream at their tables as if time stood still within these walls.

She shrugged, scooping her first bite with the tiny neon green spatula. “It’s just fun, I guess. Every now and then to break the rules of regular schedule.” Bringing the spatula up to her mouth, Belle suckled on it letting the sweetness grace her tongue and soothe her cravings little by little.

Jungkook poked at his ice-cream, mostly watching the woman enjoy her order and already feeling full. “Have you done this before?”

“Once.” Belle mumbled. “When I first started at Saito, my boyfriend at the time got really drunk so I took him for ice-cream at 2 am to sober him up.” How strange it was speaking out a past self. Someone who she used to be. A person with her own decisions, who knew her own dreams and aspirations while working hard to gain them. She was a damn fighter.

He pressed his lips together for a moment, bitter taste on his tongue. “What happened between you two?”

“I started making more money than him and he didn’t like it.” Belle replied simply.

Jungkook hummed in a little wonder. “So he was weak.” He scooped up a decent bite, some of his dark curls hovering over his eyebrows.

“Yeah he was.” Belle had a small smile slowly playing on her lips. “Did you have anyone before me?”

He nodded in a slight nonchalant nature. “One. We were going out for about two months.”

“What happened?”

“She was a red angel in Sangria House.” Jungkook admitted. “Someone married her with a huge sum and I just wasn’t ready enough for the commitment at the time.”

“So you’ve never actually gone out with someone in a normal way.” She pointed the neon spoon towards the male before licking the remnants off of it. “Do you even know to how to?”

Jungkook chuckled before shaking his head. “Dating lesson wasn’t really part of my regime when growing up. Marriage and kids, yeah but anything to learn before that kind of got fuzzy.”

Belle tilted her head watching the way his expression turned a little faint, almost borderline sad. It was that burst of a moment where she realized that Jungkook never really had a real childhood or any sense of the matter. Growing up learning nothing but business and building legacy with no sense of true warm compassion and empathy created a good mob boss. Not a good family man. Her hand immediately rubbed over her plump belly once again silently reassuring the growing being that she was going to keep them safe from this mess. “I don’t want our child to feel fuzzy.”

“He won’t.” His tone grew serious now. “I promise he won’t be raised like I was.”

“He?” Belle grinned.

“Or she. Sorry my aunt kept saying ‘he’ on the phone, I think she’s infected me.” He scratched his brow.

“It’s okay. They are okay with girls, right?” Her heart almost jumped out of her chest when the thought crossed her mind.

“Daughters are treated just as well in our family, don’t worry.”

“That’s good. Cause I don’t want her to be raised like I was either.” It was bad enough Belle spent her whole childhood always being told she wasn’t good enough to be like her brother. But the thought of her possible daughter going through it sickened her to the core.

Jungkooks’ fingers absentmindedly played with the hem of Belle’s hoodie sleeve. Those same fingers traced to her own, intertwining them together in a light lock.

For a brief moment Belle forgot everything again. They were back in their fantasy bubble where things were warm and welcoming. Jungkook was a sweet man who did nothing but give her affection in ways no one had ever done. He dedicated so much of his time and energy to taking care of her.

His empire, on the other hand, still tried to tape itself back together while a wrecking ball slowly hurdled towards it.

As the murmurs died down, Yoongi creeped outside of his bedroom door through the dark hallway. Quiet and a little chilly as sock covered feet slowly pattered across the floor. Only sound he could catch was Nana carefully walking down the stairs with a big basket full of laundry. He had the strong urge to help the woman but it would make it ten times harder to sneak towards the second living room.

Time had been running out. Four months really stretched over the amount of time he was supposed to be inside working but Yoongi knew what he had to get. With Belles’ pregnancy, Jungkooks’ attention fizzled and moved rapidly from the career to his new building family which usually ended with him out of his office more than he should be.

Belle once again proved her power in the Jeon mansion when a simple ice-cream parlor date seemed to get the dangerous drug lord out of the house in minutes at ungodly hours of the night. Though Yoongi honestly was not completely sure whether it was a ruse or just a rare strike of luck that she had cravings at this perfect time.

Ears pricked up when he heard a light crash from the right, clothes flying in the air and the sound of skin slapping onto wood roughly. Yoongis heart jumped seeing the older woman fall at the end of the stairs. However before he could step forward to help, three guards already rushed over immediately to her side like a pack of medics.

They huddled over Nana while she tried to laugh it away. “Just a little clumsy.” Her eyes seemed to flicker up exactly where Yoongi was standing. Only for a split second where he wondered if it was simply a random action.

Though if he stripped himself of any piece of naivety he had then it might not have been a random action at all.

While the three guards were preoccupied, Yoongi padded over as casually but quickly as possible out of the main living room towards the second living room.

Not glance over his shoulder but his heart still pattered and yearned to turn around. He had to be quick.

Across the second living room, his feet sped up until Yoongi couldn’t even keep up with it anymore.

He stood in front of the door of Jungkooks’ office which is when he finally looked over his shoulder to see the place empty aside from the sounds of Nana being helped at the stairs. Fingers wrapped around the golden knob, twisting it slowly hoping it didn’t squeak.

Turning and turning until all the door could was be pushed open.

Yoongi sneaked through small gap, entering the dark office before closing the door behind him.

Once the door closed, there was nothing stopping him from rushing towards the table almost making the wood underneath his feet squeak. He stood at the table where Jungkook would usually sit, gaze frantically searching anything that looked remotely helpful to what they needed.

Rustling through the papers, Yoongi found handwritten letters confirming deals and hard-copy information on secret funding towards dens. Patting the pocket of his pajama pants, he felt his phone, pulling it out and taking a picture as steadily as possible despite his hands trembling under the pressure of getting caught. He was at the heart of the nest now. If the guards saw him snooping around here, he would be dead instantly.

In his attempt to reorganize everything back again, he stumbled across one letter that looked unfinished. Yoongi had his phone ready until his eyes finally caught who it was written to, in Jungkooks’ handwriting.

‘Dear Mother and Father…’

Brows furrowed, slowing his pace for a moment while his chest still rose and fell in the heat of the moment. When Yoongis’ mind began gain a more steady pattern he began to read.

‘I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that I got married recently. I want you to be one of the first to know that Belle is carrying my child. I apologize for being unable to tell you sooner. She’s doing really well, doctors appointment have been doing good.

The reason why I’m writing this letter is not only to inform you but to also carry out something I’ve been wanting for a long time.

When the baby is born, I’m stepping down. This world. Everything. I began a relationship with Belle hoping to make all of you happy by marrying the perfect woman. She was it. Unfortunately she was too perfect. I’ve grown fond of her.

Everything about her makes me feel calm and warm like I can be normal around her. I’m not even sure what is but it’s a good feeling from what I’ve experienced. My wife and child’s happiness need to come first. I want to grow a normal family with her.’

Yoongi felt like his hands were dirty reading the letter now. He was going to step down. Then that’s it, right? It was going to stop and maybe there could potentially be some form of normalcy in all their lives. He kept reading the few words left.

‘However protecting this empire before I’m gone also holds the utmost importance. In the remaining months of Belle’s pregnancy, I am devising a method that should get rid of our Park Chul situation once and for all…’

Heart moved back to its original speeding pace when there were no more words to explain just what Jungkook had planned. Yoongi almost crumpled the paper a little but quickly dropped it onto the table, taking a few more pictures before placing under the pile of extensive work.

His eyes flickered up to see a little light coming through the open gap and his stomach dropped, seeing Taehyung glance at the male and at the desk. Yoongi wrapped his fingers around a pen tightly not wanting to hurt him truly but they were so close. So close to getting this over and done with. Especially now that Jungkook had some plan to strike back at the one strong source they had to take him and his empire down.

“Kitchen. Now.” The younger male stated glancing over his shoulder to see anything oncoming.

Yoongi relaxed his grip on the pen and let out silent sigh of relief watching Taehyung walk away from the office and disappear to the side. He hurriedly tip-toed across the room looking back to see if he missed anything before sneaking through the gap again and closing the door.

When he looked over the guards seemed to be chatting in the center of the living room instead of peering towards the second living room for any disturbance. Yoongi could only hear their murmuring and light chuckling before blindly following Taehyung past the fireplace towards the door that led to the kitchen.

The kitchen had been modified significantly compared to the rest of the mansion which still had an vintage feel to it. White marble with subtle gold details shining in the dimmed warm lighting.

Taehyung padded over and stood at the kitchen island. Fingers tapping on the surface of the counter with a sigh passing his lips. “Okay look Angel already told me what’s going on.”

Yoongis’ brows furrowed. “Jesus Christ, is this an undercover mission or a party?” He kept his voice to a whisper, hands on his hips.

“Apparently Seokjin said there was no point in hiding it anymore now that Belle knew.” He shrugged although a confused expression still adorned his features. “Said if she’s involved, everything will fall into place.”

“So he’s playing Gandalf now too?” He retorted. “How much more is everyone gonna ask from Belle?”

Taehyungs’ heart dropped as the question lingered in the air, head hanging. That nagging feeling was slowly fading away but now it replaced with something so much more painful. A guilt of what cost had be paid for this recovery. He never truly paid for his debt. Belle did. “You’re going to help her out of here, right?”

“I’m trying.”

“That’s not a good enough answer.”

“I know it’s not.” Yoongi spoke through gritted teeth. “But it’s all I can give you right now.”

Taehyung nodded, body deflating a little despite the slight ray of hope that all this might change for the better. “Is there any way I can help?” Ever since this whole mess began, he had not been able to ensure his little sister that he had her back. Because he didn’t for a while. All his thoughts seemed meld into one hazy need to get rid of the pain he felt. Except that time the pain never identified itself. Taehyung knew why it hurt this time. He wanted his sister out of here, towards a better life just like she did for him.

Yoongi searched the mans’ expression turn into something a little more desperate. He succumbed to drowning in that same feeling. Nana’s honest words ringing in his ears. This is not just an undercover mission anymore. He hadn’t even been there for that long; not as long as Taehyung but god, he could feel it. That aching tug wanting to hold onto Belle and take her away from all the pain she didn’t deserve. That fucking burning anger at the people who used every piece of her patience and good heart only to rip it away from her permanently. It sickened him knowing the woman never wanted all this in the first place.

His hand tightened around his phone when a thought jolted in his mind. “Do you trust anyone in the Sangria House?” Yoongi asked.

Taehyung had no hesitation in any nerve of his body or part of his soul when he said: “Yes.”

A familiar outing now waltzing into the Sangria House early morning when the air was cool and the sun just almost took its highest point in the sky. Brunette hair flowed to the side as he walked across the pathway through the entrance door with everyone immediately recognizing his face.

However today Taehyung walked in a less relaxed demeanor than normal as a tiny object in his jacket pocket grew heavier, forcing him to walk slower. You’re doing this for Belle. He knew Angel told him the truth about everything but something about this still felt like he was diving into a pool where he could not see the end.

Into the private room he was lead, the white coat opened the door and Taehyung saw Angel standing in front of the table

Angels’ smiled immediately adorned her glowing features as Taehyung walked into the room. As soon as the white coat closed the door behind him, she broke all manner of rules and jumped on him, arms wrapping around his neck and face buried into the crook.

Whatever knotted nerves he had loosened when Angel embraced him, warmth radiating from her body onto his and the scent of vanilla gracing his nose. His own arms wrapped around her waist, nose nudging into her shoulder to take in more of her aroma and ease all troubles.

“I thought you weren’t coming back.” Angel murmured. A month had passed since his last visit and it was embarrassing to admit that she grew a little worried. After all the two were not really doing anything exciting other than talking. At some point people would get bored and move onto someone who would easily provide better services.

Taehyung hummed in near bliss, rubbing his hand up and down her back. “I’m sorry.” His voice muffled against the fabric of Angels’ dress.

She gently pulled away from the hug even though Taehyungs’ arms were still secure around her. “Don’t apologize. I just get worried.” Angel chuckled shyly. Another bright smile tugged at her lips now as she broke his embrace but held his hand, leading him over to the table where a colorful array of rice cakes on a plate rested. “They made more flavors this time because you liked it so much.”

Taehyung could hear the delight in her voice making his heart warm. For a moment, he wished this was just a casual visit as they sat down next to each other once again. “Thank you…” His voice merely came out in a whisper. “Angel—” He placed his hand over hers, caressing it softly. “There’s another reason why I’m here.”

Angel’s smile softened now, not so much as a frown but an kind expression to show she was listening in all seriousness. “What is it?”

“You’ve already helped me so much.” Taehyung wrapped his longer fingers around her small, soft hand turning his body around so he faced her completely. “I need you to help me just this once. For my sister.” He grinned. “Are the cameras on in here?”

“I asked Seokjin to turn it off.” She smiled shyly. “It’s—it’s so I could hug you without the guards barging in.”

Taehyung grinned leaning in, forehead pressed against hers. “I wish I could stay longer…I really do.” He whispered. “But we’re not going to be able to see each other for a while.”

“I know.” Angel whispered, voice shaking ever so slightly. “What do you need me to do?” There she was again with the award-winning smile ready to do whatever she was required no matter what the cost.

“Please—I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He shook his head. “Say no if you want to.”

Angel caressed his chest gently as a way to comfort him. “I’m always safe, Taehyung. Believe me, I’ve probably been safer than Belle this whole time.” Shining eyes met his gaze giving him a more faint but hundred times more genuine smile. “No one deserves to have their life taken away like that. I want to do this.”

Taehyung had a bitter taste on his tongue hearing those words. Belle had been less safe than members of the Sangria House. Her own made-up home and equally fake family could not keep her safer than Seokjin did with his angels. “Okay.” He whispered, reaching into jacket pocket and pulling the tiny object. He placed it on his open palm making the thing look absolutely miniscule.

A USB stick, dark almost matching the color of Taehyung’s jacket. Angel accepted it and placed it in the last place anyone was coming looking. If they did, it would end in a heap load of trouble. Once the object was in her hand, she stuffed it in between her breast until it lay securely in her bra but unseen.

He bit down the wide smirk tugging at his lips watching the USB stick traveling down the valley of her breasts, hiding in the forbidden area for safe keeping. “Was that to tease me?”

Angel giggled reaching out and caressing his cheek. “Maybe a little.” She scrunched her nose.

Taehyung absolutely melted at the adorable sight, taking the liberty of the shut cameras to lean in and press the quickest kiss on her lips. “I-I know it’s against the rules.” Before he could explain himself any further, he felt soft plush lips quieten him down again, his heart jumped out of his chest.

Quickly pulling away from the kiss, she bit down her bottom lip to hide her grin. “There’s no rules anymore between you and me. Just don’t take too long getting back, okay?”

He chuckled and nodded. “You know what to do?” Taehyungs’ eyes absentmindedly flickered down to her breast.

With all her usual elegant confidence, she smiled. “You and your sister will be safe soon.”

The air was thick with elegance and style, vibrant colors of yellow, sky blue and rose pink gracing every corner twinkling in diamonds. Growing up Belle watched in awe every fashion show or design video imagining her own name etched on the curtains for all the critics and admirers to see.

Belles’ own attire was simple, long white dress with long, layer frills that helped conceal the bump to the best of its ability. Worst case scenario people would think she let herself go but really the news should be coming soon considering a four month bump already proved to be difficult to hide no matter what the dress looked like.

Makeup artists actively moved about each model almost like machines while Belle checked every outfit was fitted to perfection.

Only thing that doused the fire of energy was the aching. Her back, limbs and belly kept sending either dull or sharp pains ever since this morning which caused Belle to have a less than enthusiastic demeanor while preparing for everything.

Boyoung explained that it was normal to have these aches during the fourth month of pregnancy so Belle let it be. Except now she wished she had time for a small appointment with the doctor just to check everything was okay.

“Madame Belle!”

Saito’s voice brought her back to reality while she was fixing a models’ earring. Belle turned over her shoulder to see the woman wearing a white attire as well to ensure colors did not clash with the actual designs. A grin tugged at the corners of her lips, kindly giving the model good luck before turning to see the older woman. “Am I allowed to be called that yet?”

“Sweetie, you deserved to be called that long before this fashion show.” Saito chuckled, rubbing her arm. “How’re you feeling?” She tilted her head searching the youngers’ expression.

Belle took a deep breath feeling a jolting ache on her back but she smiled nonetheless. “I’m okay. A little nervous.”

“Good. It’s good to be a little nervous. That means you care.” Saito squeezed her shoulder gently. “I’ll be here with you the whole time.”

“Thank you.” Belle’s eyes flickered to the side where she saw a familiar figure in a suit walk backstage with his gaze looking around for something. “Excuse me, Saito.” She muttered before moving past her towards Jungkook.

When Jungkook finally set his eyes on her, his expression softened and a smile tugged at his lips. “You ready?”

She nodded mimicking his smile absentmindedly. “You came, I thought you had meetings.”

Jungkook shrugged non-chalantly. “I’m their boss. They can wait.”

Belle chuckled lightly watching Taehyung make his way backstage but one person still missing. “Where’s Yoongi?”

“He’s at his seat already.” The man nodded to the side. Jungkooks’ hand almost automatically reached out to caress her belly gently before quickly pulling away. “I’ll—see you at the end of the show.” He smiled.

“Yeah…” She whispered, giving him a bright grin.

For a moment he thought to just turn on his heel and leave but he couldn’t resist. Leaning in, Jungkook chastely pressed his lips against hers. Slowly he stepped back pressing his lips together before walking away.

Belles’ smile disappeared as soon as Jungkook was out of sights. Maybe to him the kiss meant a sign of good luck for the show. To her, it was a kiss to say goodbye.

Fingers caressed the warrant like his first born child, brush of light cool air bringing even more relief than Namjoon already had. God how many years did he sacrifice his health, sleep and sanity to come to this moment? Where he had a car parked just outside the gates of the Jeon mansion awaiting the clear sign for them to enter.

Of course the captain had some reluctance in giving them the warrant but a direct order from the mayor had him quaking enough to give the approval.

Every nerve in his body tingled in anticipation, looking at the paper before staring at the majestic mansion. All that power was about to crumble down to the state it deserved to be in. Obsolete.

Granted the male was not naïve in thinking that this infiltration will end everything. The Jeon family had roots so deep in this city that it would take ripped out the entire land just to get rid of everything. But this was a first step to ensure the empire never grew too big for its own good.

Every King needed to lose their crown every now and then to learn that they were just a person underneath all that luxury and power. Easily breakable.

And Namjoon felt oh so pleased finally being able to break Jeon Jungkook in his tyrannous reign.

In a perfect pattern, that thought led to the gates finally opening with two police officers signaling to him that the coast was clear to enter.

“It’s time. Places, everyone!” Belle called out and all the models rushed over to the area they needed to come out from. Her own heart pounded faster at every second and another ache jolted in her abdomen now strong enough to make her wince. But she held her composure with all the strength could muster.

Then the first model walked out onto the runway and her stomach jumped knowing her path to any possible reputation as a designer now began its course.

Camera flashed even more violently than before as Belle caught a few happy murmurs from the crowd. She smiled before another searing burst of pain hit both her abdomen and back forcing her to stop for a moment to take deep breaths, her hand caressing her belly to somehow soothe it.

“Just bear with me for a minute, sweetheart.” She whispered to the belly as it seemed to getting more and more violent in its power.

Halfway through the show, Belle succumbed to leaning on anything close by with the constant pain but her smile stayed intact. She felt something uncomfortable between her legs as if a period came along without her knowing.

That was when worry sunk in. Before she could place any attention on it however, one of her models’ dress got snagged with the necklace. Belle almost could not catch her name being called but the woman quickly got herself back and rushed to separate them to ensure no thread was out of place.

“Belle?” Saitos’ hand hovered over her back with a worried expression on her face. “You okay?”

No. That was the initial answer that formulated in her mind as she once again leaned back on one of the vacant vanities. “I’m okay it’s just—a little sore.” The description had been underwhelming to describe whatever was happening to Belle. Her knees were losing all its power to hold her body up, even her hearing ability became a little muffled as if trying to conserve energy or to numb more of the pain.

Saito nodded though not looking completely convinced since she could see through the younger female on any occasion. Gaze flickered down to her belly before meeting hers again. “Tell me if you need to stop. It’s just a show, okay?” She briefly caressed her cheek before glancing over at the models coming in and out, trying to analyze the situation. “Two more outfits left then we’ll go to the doctor.” She muttered. “Alright?”

Belle took another deep breath, cheeks puffing out a little in the process but she nodded putting herself back on her feet again. “Alright.”

All the models made their way to the stage showing off a final viewing of all the outfits in all their glory and the crowd soared. Anyone who knew Belle could feel the success simply oozing from this show. The sheer extravagance yet simplicity with subtle connections to the beautiful expression of nature during spring time brought an impressed smile even on the harshest critics.

If only the designer herself could completely enjoy this achievement without her whole body being overwhelmed with discomfort and pain.

“You have to go out for a bow.” Saito explained gently as Belle tried her best to focus only on her breathing.

Aside from her muffled hearing, her whole body now burned like a furnace making Belle a little lightheaded. It’s almost done. It’s almost done. One more smile.

God, that was the last thing she wanted to think on her first successful fashion show.

Once again the woman nodded giving Saito a big smile which she returned before turning on her heel and walking to the stage. Step after the other carefully trying to keep her composure as best as she could.

Then all Belle saw was a bright white light, her hearing now resorted to a high-pitched drawled out beep making her think she was watching a muted video in front of her. Shaking fingers intertwined with one another, the girl stretched her exhausted lips into a wide grin. Heavy head lowered into the most decent form of a bow without her legs giving out.

Keep it in. Keep it in. She repeated to herself, trying to focus on her breathing while barely being able to hear anything.

Camera flashed and the crowds applause tried to push the barrier of mute suddenly formed in her ears. Belle could see the smiles however. That was all she needed. They liked it. They liked her designs. Her work paid off just like she always dreamed. That thought kept her standing on the stage in the best composure she could muster. Another bow given to each side ensuring they knew how grateful she was.

Maybe for a brief second, Belle forgot her whole body was warning of something in messages of deep ache and lack of orientation or balance.

Though it quickly came back for another reminder. This time more persistent. Belle felt like her belly was being jabbed by something sharp in such a ruthless manner, she worried she could collapse right here on the floor. Even her legs trembled and the discomforting feeling between her legs now almost felt wet like it soaked through her panties.

Belle kept her smile though it was trembling significantly before she backed away out of the stage, almost running but there was hardly any strength left for that anymore.

The white light now faded away and she was away from the stage, coming in backstage.

As if something snapped in her willpower when Belle felt her legs stumble onto the floor just past the closed curtains. Knees crashed against the wooden floor leaving a thud echoing across the room.

Both Saito and Taehyungs’ smiles disappeared watching the bright looking woman drop to her knees, only thing they could hear now was her agonized whimpering.

Saito sped towards her before anyone else truly gauge the situation, heels slamming onto the floor before her arm over the youngers’ shoulder as she almost fell on her side. “Belle?” She turned her around to see mascara coated tears dripping down Belle’s cheeks. “Belle what’s wrong? Tell me please.”

“It hurts…” Belle cried out, lips trembling and the drenched feeling between her legs leaking down the insides of her thighs and making her dress stick to her skin. “The baby…” She whispered before gasping.

For a few seconds her vision turned white making her whine shakily as her lower belly felt like it was being ripped apart with someone’s bare hands. Cold tears under her eyes, unable to close her legs from the sloppy sensation and the pungent smell of blood. Belle tried to look down but all she could catch was a glimpse of her white dress now glistening in deep red.

“You sick fuck get out of here!” Taehyung grabbed the reporter by the collars just after the flash of his camera. He had every nerve in his body to punch him until his nose fell to the floor but the sound of his sister sobbing made him stop.

Three guards immediately rushed in and carried the reporter off backstage while they tried to thrash around like a dirty insect.

Taehyung breathed heavily grimacing at the pig before looking at one of the guards who looked equally distressed. “Get Jeon here now.” He gestured.

Eyes shone in delight as Jungkook looked at the audience chatting away with an air of enthusiasm. He could almost see his wife climbing up this ladder of success. She deserved every bit of it especially since the man now saw the designs for himself. Growing up seeing Saitos’ designs, it was pleasing to see that the style may have changed but the quality never diminished.

A guard then walked over to him, reluctantly tapping him on the shoulder and leaning into his ear so his voice could be heard only to them in the crowd. “Sir it’s your wife… there’s been an incident.”

As soon as those words were muttered in his ear Jungkooks smile disappeared. He knew there were cameras around but nothing else seemed whirl around his mind except Belle. His body grew cold at those horrid words that he hoped would never come together.

Feet bolted, passing the guard to backstage even though his increasingly pounding heart made it hard to move faster.

Yoongis’ stomach and heart were already dancing in distress this whole night after getting a call from Namjoon that they would be infiltrating Jeon mansion tonight and then arresting him as soon as possible for the amount of concerning evidence. The police would be waiting for Jungkook to be taken away at his own home. It was a cruel fate in a normal context but for a man like Jeon Jungkook, it was what everyone knew he deserved.

However then the guard rushed in to whisper something in Jungkooks’ ear and without even the slightest warning or preparation, Jungkook stepped into a run backstage.

If his nerves were not in knots already, now they were just tangled up forever. Not asking for any kind of clarification, he simply followed the younger male in the same pace knowing only one thing and one thing alone could have Jungkook so worried to be in such a rush.

Once Jungkook arrived backstage, breathing heavily and sweat already forming on his neck, his stomach twisted at the sight in front of him.

Saito wrapped dark burgundy cloth around Belle’s waist area, his wife’s white dress tainted with red while the models either wept or just looked utterly worried.

Taehyung had a phone to his ear speaking through gritted teeth possibly to a doctor attempting to give instructions.

Jungkook rushed towards the woman, tears already burning behind his eyes just looking at her sobbing in complete pain. “What’s happening? What do we do?” He whispered. For the first time in his life, the man had fear seeping through his tone.

Belle gripped onto Saitos’ clothes feeling her vision blur although she wasn’t sure it was from the tears or the lack of her ache ceasing. Before she could get her bearings, something hooked under her back and knees. Her body lifted from the ground and cold rush flowed through her from the speed she was being moved in.

Then all Belle could see was black. Everything shut down almost as if she was lulled to a deep sleep.

Yoongi practically kicked the door down as they tried to get out the backdoor. He opted to drive before anyone else could, running to the driver’s seat of the black sedan waiting just in case paparazzi rushed in too thick at the entrance.

Saito and Taehyung ran out with Jungkook following close behind, carrying Belle as securely as he could despite his stomach lurching.

Taehyung opened the door while Saito moved to the other side and climbed in.

Jungkook tried to place Belle laying down on the car seat as gently as possible before climbing in at the same time Taehyung sat in the passenger seat.

Before they could even close their doors, Yoongi drove off definitely breaking a few speeding rules as he practically burst into the streets, tires screeching against the tar.

“Go to the J District, there’s a shortcut button there.” Jungkook nodded to the GPS, city lights passing across his face.

“This isn’t time for a road trip, Jungkook.” Yoongi seethed.

“We need to go to the private house and get our own medic.” He argued.

Taehyung pressed the button even though anger still burned in his body. “Why can’t we just go to a fucking hospital? It’ll be closer.”

“Hospitals are public places, alright? The minute one disloyal nurse gets a glimpse of any of us, the press will be outside in seconds.”

Yoongis’ grip around the steering wheel tightened so much, he could feel his pulse through his palm as his knuckles grew white. “I swear to god, Jeon. This isn’t one of your damn danger missions.” Something cracked inside him and the male couldn’t seem keep any of the usual composure he had around the power figure.

Jungkook sighed looking over at Belle who struggled to keep her consciousness while her blood soaked through his own shirt. “Just do it.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

“Taehyung, dear get a medic to the private home now so no time is wasted.” Saito broke into the tension with her gently yet firm voice while her slightly blood stained hand brushed through Belle’s hair. “If she doesn’t get treatment quickly, it might cause an infection.”

Yoongi glanced at the rearview mirror, his heart feeling empty not being able to see Belle from this line of vision but he increased his speed anyway taking a quick left.

“If anything happens to her, Jeon I’ll kill you, I swear to god.” Taehyungs’ eyes were reddened and glossy, a phone pressed to his ear again as he called for a private medic to go to the Jeons’ private house immediately.

Belle jolted awake for a moment seeing a grey ceiling and a blurry vision of a face looking down. Some voices spoke but they were heavily muffled. Then her body felt like it was being moved again. As if she was flying or levitating somehow through her locations. “Tae—” It was the only name she could breathe out.

A burst of bright warm lighting hit her exhausted eyes making her close them for a moment. It left her trying to get her hearing together but they were still difficult to pick up. She heard a familiar deep voice. Her big brothers’ voice. Most of them seemed familiar except one who from whatever she could catch had a calm demeanor.

Her vision cleared just for a second but Belle was welcomed with blood dripping from something thick around her waist. At least she thinks it was from her. It tainted the wooden floors nonetheless.

In a few more heartbeats, she felt a soft surface under her body and Belle fully melted into it without any hesitance.

Jungkook backed away reluctantly as the doctor leaned in to examine Belle. A tear threatening to escape at the brim of his right eye.

Taehyung bit down the urge to sob looking at the amount of blood his baby sister shed on the floor. He looked around for some kind of cloth and found white hand towel with golden lettering. Grabbing the cloth, he crouched down to wipe off the trail of blood on the floor while his tears mixed in with it.

“We need to get some cleaner clothes on her.” The doctor stated looking over at Saito who quickly nodded.

“There’s some nightgowns in the cupboard.” Jungkook muttered, gesturing towards the white closet next to the vanity.

Saito shrugged her jacket off leaving her in her shirt tucked into her skirt as she opened the luxurious cupboard and pulled out the most breathable nightgown. Walking back to the bed, she climbed on the other side after pushing her shoes off.

The doctor took out some scissors and cut the middle of her dress so it could be ripped off easily since it was mostly ruined as it were. Saito helped the piece of clothing get shrugged off her shoulders.

Belle whined at the sudden cold feeling passing through her body. It definitely didn’t help since the blood began to stick to her skin.

Jungkook noticed the little sound and rushed to the fireplace, crouching down and switching it on to add more warmth to the room. His disoriented focus had to stare the running fire for a moment not able to gain any kind of patterned thinking. Shrugging his jacket off his shoulder, he threw it onto the chair to his side where his mother would usually read.

“May I have only one extra person in this room?” The doctor asked kindly.

Jungkook looked over his shoulder, snapping back to reality as Taehyung got up to his feet.

“I’ll take care of her.” Saito reassured the both of them.

Niether one of them opposed knowing there was really only one person who always took care of Belle without her having to give something in return.

Both males padded out of the room. Jungkook gave one final glance towards Belle before closing the door in front of him.

Once they reached the private home and Taehyung and Jungkook were preoccupied with getting Belle acquainted, Yoongi stopped at the entrance to shakily grab his phone. A light groan passed his lips when he couldn’t get his thoughts together to click the number. Eventually the memory came in and he typed the number in, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Yoongi we’re ready, where are you?” Namjoon muttered into the phone.

“Something’s happened, it’s Belle. We’re at the private home at J District. Get yourself fucking ready here now.” Yoongi quickly informed and hung the phone up, trying to delete the number on his phone as calmly as he could. His hand reached into his holster to feel the harsh object giving him some form of relief aside from the ache in his heart.

Walking into the private home, he saw Jungkook pacing around worriedly while Taehyung leaned back against the counter with his arms folded over his chest.

Yoongi found it so strange how a man of such power could look so vulnerable in front of him. It was the perfect time except he had a bitter taste on his tongue calling it ‘perfect’. To think it took Belle to go through an immense amount of pain for this to happen made him look more like the villain than the murderous druglord worried for his wife and heir.

It felt like eternity had passed and restarted again when Belle finally woke up without her vision being blurry or her hearing almost completely lost. The wet feeling between her legs now completely dry and even comfortably warm. Pain slowly subsided though there was still very faint ache that also slowly passed.

Reddened eyes flickered over to the side where she saw Saito listening to a man in a white suit talking to her in a soft murmur.

The expression on Saitos’ face only spoke concern or maybe pity.

“Saito?” Belle tried to speak but it came out in a raspy whisper, throat a little ticklish from how dry it was.

Saito looked over at the younger woman, sighing before meeting the doctors’ gaze. “I’ll tell her, you just inform the three men out there.” She gave him a reassuring nod.

“Of course.” The doctor agreed before opening the door and disappearing behind it.

Once it was just the two of them, Belle tried to shift in the bed to somehow sit up but the ache only increased making her wince.

“No no, stay still.” Saito quickly sat down on the edge of the bed, soothing her still swollen belly and held onto her hand.

“What—what happened? Where am I?” She looked around the strange bedroom before glancing down at her belly. “I–I can’t…” Belle placed a hand over her belly. “There was so much blood.” Her breath hitched in her throat.

“Belle…” Saito tried to keep her voice as calm as possible even though her heart dropped seeing the look of confusion and fear ridding the youngers’ face. “The doctor said your baby may have had a heart defect of some sort…” She gulped down. “It couldn’t survive, sweetie.” She tried to soothe her chest. “I’m sorry.”

Belle shook her head, feeling a burning behind her eyes. “No…no the–the doctors’ appointment—said everything—was fine.” She tried to breathe through her frantic sobs. “Why would they say it was fine?” She pulled herself up, wincing as tears collecting at the brim of her eyes. “Why would they say it was fine if there was a heart defect?”

Saito took a deep breath, squeezing her shoulders gently. “Sometimes they can’t catch it. These things are very difficult to predict, Belle.”

She had already been unconscious before now something else seemed to turn off inside her. As if the whole world did not crash or explode. But simply stopped working for the arrival of cruel fates’ plan.

Torturous amount of time passed before the doctor walked through the door with a solemn expression on his face giving none of them any sense of reassurance. Because there wasn’t any to give. He looked at all three of them who had stopped in their usual tracks to gaze at the older male. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon.” The doctor looked more at Jungkook now. “Your wife has had a miscarriage. I’ve cleaned everything up to ensure there was no infection but I do suggest that she go to a proper hospital for proper checkups.”

Jungkook looked completely frozen as the news lingered in the already thickened air. He backed away a little, balance on the edge of a study table of whatever it was the man didn’t care. Tears brimmed at his eyes trickling down his already flushed cheeks without a care in the world.

If Yoongi didn’t feel like a villain before, he did now.

Taehyung turned away to face the wall but he could still hear the light sobs passing his lips.

Yoongi faced the doctor and led him out of the home.

Out in the dark night, he smiled at the doctor giving him thanks as he opened his car door for him.

Once the doctor drove off onto the road, Yoonginoticed from the corners of his eye the figures moving around in the bushes around on his left and right. Blatantly the man turned to notice the dark uniforms even from the distance, their badges glimmering just a little in the light. On the right he heard the sound of metal moving.

It was time. This had to happen here and now or never.

Licking his lips he let out a deep sigh and walked back inside, once again, checking his holster before entering the house again.

Sound muffled to non-existence as the room seemed to get progressively smaller, walls hugging her still body. It ached everywhere. She could feel the burn and still smell the pungent stench of her own blood tainting the now soft, dry surface. Back cramped, lower belly so weakened as if it was punched a hundred times with spiked metal fists. Exhaustion clouded Belle’s mind, pulling this broken shell into a decent lull to slumber but her eyes stayed wide open. Unblinking. She stared at nothing and everything.

Mind finally accustomed itself to the new setting of the Jeons’ private home. Deep warm lighting from the lamps at each corner, dark wooden floors and a running fireplace facing the front of the bed. Belle remembered catching a glimpse of it when they carried her in here leaving a wet red trail on the floor as she was moved. Her body barely moved however, limbs burning but frozen at the same time. Belle told herself to try and wriggle her toes or move her fingers. Not a single nerve responded.

She had one thing in common with her mind now. Loneliness.

So strange to think that a being barely grown to be called a full human could place such a heavy weight on Belle’s head. The loss now brought this in this feeling of being alone. Belle was once two. Now she was one broken thing. Barely able to move or function.

The door clicked open but Belle still refused to move whether out of exhaustion or just lack of care. It didn’t matter what anyone said, that empty feeling was still there.

Saito stayed silent as long as she felt it was necessary. But the words seemed to fall out of her without control. “I really can’t say anything to make you feel better, honey. There’s no easy way to comfort someone who’s lost something that could’ve been.”

Persistently unmoving as the woman was, her eyes still flooded on its own accord, burning and liquid flowing onto the pillow. This wasn’t Belle’s fault. It wasn’t anyone fault. Nothing but fate once again showing how it never had it out for her in the first place.

That was the problem though, wasn’t it? Belle spent so much time praying for fate to do something right for her but it only gave her more pain. What was going to happen for the better if she just stood and smiled at all the suffering thrown her way? Fate gave her a fake marriage, forced her to fall in love with a man who only cared about his reputation. Fate allowed her to be impregnated against her will. Fate stood by while Belle lost the child she grew to love. The child she had envisioned to raise and protect was now gone.

“It’s a good thing.” Belle whispered, still not shifting from her position nor looking at Saito.

The older womans’ brows furrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

It had to stop. It had to stop now or never.

Belle pursed her lips together before swallowing down the lump in her throat, preparing the words that kept swirling in her mind for months. Begging to escape so she could be free. Finally she moved her head to meet Saitos’ gaze. Despite her weak nature, her eyes held firm onto hers to ensure that the woman heard and understood everything she was going to say.

“There’s something I need to tell you…about how Jungkook and I met.”

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alleiradayne · 3 years

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Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story…

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE

Long is our list of ghost stories laid to rest. But when the dark rider returns thirty years after his exorcism at the hands of the Winchesters, Sam, Dean, and I are faced with the possibility that we’ve been wrong about one thing.

Some urban legends never die.

Part IV - The Midnight Ride

Summary: The end of an era. Warnings/Tags: Some fluff, general elements of horror and fear, graveyards, brushes with death again... Characters/Pairings: First Person Female!Reader/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Word Count: 5,104

"You alright?"

Lost in thought, I had hardly heard Sam. But the warmth of his presence roused me from my stupor. I shook my head and rubbed the burn from my eyes as I spoke. "Yeah, I… I'm just exhausted. And this research isn't exactly entertaining."

Sam took a seat beside me at the small motel table and pulled his chair so close I might as well have sat in his lap. The warmth of one massive hand enveloped mine, and he set the other on my bouncing knee. That quake subsided beneath his touch, something no other person in my life had managed. But then a sudden awareness sent a shiver down my spine, and I scanned the motel room, searching. Sam, perceptive as ever, answered my unasked question. "Dean's in the shower. He'll be a while. We've got some time. To talk. Only if you—"

I didn't want to talk. At all. What I wanted betrayed every common sense I had. At that moment, I’d do whatever I could, use whatever magic at Sam’s disposal, make a deal with Rowena, anything to cleanse last night's stain of indelible memories from my mind. And yet, I knew those options were anything but. Between Sam’s apparent affection for me and Dean’s overprotective brotherly nature, neither would allow me to harm myself willingly just to get rid of a few nightmares.

But as I stared into Sam’s prismatic gaze, the desire to replace those memories, to shadow them with newer, happier moments, overpowered me.

No. I didn’t want to talk. So, instead, I kissed him.

Myriad descriptions, all vastly varied from one to the next, could never capture the feeling of Sam's lips on mine. I could regale you with comparison after comparison. But none of them would do him justice. Though the moment lasted but a breath, eons passed in that explosive connection where I knew and felt and lived a thousand lifetimes with him. I wanted to do nothing more in that breath than melt into him forever.

My tablet chirped, and the case loomed at the edge of my subconscious. All those imaginary lifetimes vanished as I parted from him, replaced by a cruel reality. Not that I'd squander a reality that consisted of Sam Winchester's love. Or his crooked grin and half-lidded gaze.

"Good talk."

Despite my sour mood, I laughed. "I'm glad we could come to an understanding."

His fingers slipped between mine as he spoke. "Thing is, I forgot… what I said about us last night. When I asked if you wanted to talk now, I meant about what happened to you."

"Oh." Well, shit.

I have never known a person wiser, more emotionally aware than Sam. And Dean often gave him a run for his money. But after all the years hunting together, Sam and I operated on an uncannily similar wavelength. The guy read me like an open book. And when I balked at recounting my harrowing journey beyond the veil, he understood without another word.

"Only if you want," he repeated with a reassuring squeeze of my thigh. "Otherwise, I wouldn't mind a little more of your…" he paused with a coy smirk as his eyes darted to my lips and back. "... preferred method of communication."

"I…" My tablet chirped once more, obliterating the one desire I'd felt in months. "Sam, I promise, we make it out of this case alive, I won't leave your bedroom for a week."

His smile widened as he said, "Only if we spend the following week in yours."

I kissed him again, a little harder, more insistent. Parted, I agreed. "Done."

My tablet chimed for the third time, and I turned to it at last. Sam pointed at the screen and said, "What's cockblocking me?"

Though I laughed, a furious sting prickled my cheeks at the thought of Sam's… I forced the imagery from my mind and decidedly focused on the tablet instead of his face. "I was emailing the curator at the museum. She just sent me some documents about Sleepy Hollow's history."

"Oh?" Sam mused. "Anything worthwhile?" He reached for his laptop, pulled it across the table, and flipped up the lid.

When I opened the attached documents, my heart sank. They merely verified much of what I'd already learned. "Sleepy Hollow was a part of the Tarrytown settlement, originally called North Tarrytown. Most of this information is just facts and history about the town. While the Ichabod Crane story is all rooted in it, the urban legends and folklore are only related so far as this jackass on a horse with no head."

"Not surprising," Sam stated.

"No,” I whined, “but it is a little disheartening that he has next to nothing to do with the town he haunts.”

Sam nodded, then said, “There might be more, though. Earlier this morning, I read that Washington Irving was born in Manhattan. He traveled for many years, but he eventually returned to New York and lived out the rest of his life in Sleepy Hollow. He's buried in that cemetery."

"I suppose," I replied, "but I was looking for something a little more concrete than the author lived and died here. Like actual people that Irving modeled his characters after. Or other legends. He traveled in Europe for quite some time. There's even a Scandanavian story, The Wild Hunt, that has the same throughline. A headless rider that lobs his head at people."

Sam piqued at that, eyes narrowed and head tilted. "But Ichabod Crane is the original telling of the story here. Right?"

I nodded. "Forgetting that it's a hodgepodge of cultural ghost stories, yes."

He laughed at that. "I haven’t read it since I was a kid.”

“Me neither,” I replied. “I only know bits and pieces.”

Dean burst from the bathroom at that, a towel wrapped around his head and one about his waist. “Ichabod Crane was a new school teacher in Sleepy Hollow. And he was hellbent on marrying a woman, Katrina, who was set to inherit her father's very wealthy farm estate.”

"Oh," I mused with a mocking smirk at Sam. "Sounds like we have an expert in our midst."

Dean waved me off as he dug through his bag at the end of the bed. "Sam knows it, too. Right?"

“Yeah," Sam started, "there was another suitor, though. Arthur Van Brunt. He went by Brom Bones Van Brunt.” He paused as he stood. “It’s kind of funny, really, this story reads like a high school drama. The lanky geeky nerd and the oafish jock fight over a girl. Except they never get into the physical altercation Brom wanted. He goaded Ichabod constantly, pulling pranks on him. But Ichabod never took the bait.”

I looked at my tablet, where a black and white photograph of a man stared back at me, then returned to them both. Dean withdrew a change of clothes from his bag, then headed back to the bathroom. Through the open door, he said, “So the story goes, Ichabod went to a party at the Van Tassel farm where he intended to woo and win over Katrina. Brom, instead, scares the living piss out of him with a bunch of ghost stories, one of which was the Headless Horseman.”

“Yeah, I remember that much,” I said. “And then he tried to propose to Katrina, but she shot him down.”

“Exactly,” Sam chimed. “I love how ambiguous the ending is here. Ichabod leaves the party all upset about Katrina. He gets on his horse, Gunpowder, who is very skittish, and heads home. But the Hessian shows up and chases him. Ichabod had just learned the legend, so he heads for the bridge near the Old Dutch Burying Ground. He knows the spirit can’t cross the bridge. Ichabod would have made a decent hunter.”

Dean’s laughter echoed from the bathroom, and he emerged dressed and hair coiffed. “I forgot how innocent this story is. He gets to the bridge and crosses it, but the Hessian hurls his freakin’ head at him before disappearing. The head domes Ichabod and knocks him off his horse. Nobody ever finds his body. Only his hat, Gunpowder’s wrecked saddle, and a randomly smashed pumpkin were found near the bridge.”

A thought bubbled up in the back of my mind and raced to my lips. “So that’s where the jack-o-lantern head comes from. What if… holy shit, what if it was just a prank gone wrong? What if Brom was playing another trick on him and accidentally killed Ichabod?”

Hesitation stalled them both as Sam and Dean regarded one another. Then Dean turned to me and asked, “That does not explain what the hell happened last night. No fucking way that was a prank.”

I hated it, but I knew he was right. “But then what the hell! I’m almost beginning to think it is a tulp—”

“It’s notta tulpa!” Sam shouted. Dean clamped a hand over his mouth, and his shoulders shook with uncontrollable laughter. Sam rounded on him and barked, “Shut up!”

“I can’t help it,” Dean managed through peeling laughter. “Your Arnold impression is improving.”

“C’mon, guys, we need to figure this out,” I groaned.

Dean settled through a deep breath, although his face remained far too red. Sam slumped into his seat again, his stare glazing over, unseeing. When he remained silent, Dean said, “Alright, let’s say they’re spirits. And it’s still this mess of combined ancient myths, ghost stories, and cultural legends. We’re still on the same page there, right?”

Sam and I nodded slowly. “After what happened last night, there’s no way they’re anything else.”

“If they’re spirits that haven’t moved on, we have to burn the bodies,” I stated.

“Or destroy an object that might be keeping them topside,” Dean added.

Scrambled thoughts rattled through my mind as I ran down a list of objects. I soon found myself lost in a warren of possibilities, and as I stared ahead at my tablet, equally dazed as Sam. An answer picked at the edge of my subconscious, like a half-remembered dream. No matter how hard I tried to grasp it, the thought slipped through my hand like water.

“None of it is real.”

From the corner of my eye, I glared at Sam. He remained still, his glassy far-off stare yet unfocused as he spoke. "It's all stories. They're all stories that are too much of a mess for a tulpa. So none of it is real. Whatever these spirits have latched onto, it's nothing from those stories."

With his words, the image on my tablet clarified as my mind focused. Understanding crept along my skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake. I stood then, spurred to my feet, and spoke. “The unmarked grave never mattered. It’s fake.”

Sam nodded. “There aren’t any bodies to burn because those bodies never existed to begin with.”

“It’s all fairy tales and make-believe bullshit,” Dean declared.

I looked first to Sam, then Dean, then back to my tablet, where an image of Washington Irving filled the screen. I turned the tablet to face them, and all at once, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Together, we spoke.

“Death of the author.”

Never in my entire life had I wished to be anywhere else more than at that very moment.

Three stark-white flashlights illuminated a grand headstone, memorialized by the town of Sleepy Hollow, for one Washington Irving. After so many years without care, overgrowth covered much of the base, and the stone desperately needed a washing. Beyond that, none of us made a single move to start the arduous process of digging five feet into the earth. We simply stood there, silent as the dead beneath our boots.

"Either of you uncomfortable with this?" Dean asked, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," Sam and I replied.

Dean started towards the headstone and said, "Good. Glad it's not just me. Something about this feels wrong."

"It's because we've never seen someone's spirit manifest as anything other than itself," Sam stated. "We're literally digging up a guy because his spirit might have transfigured into characters from his own story."

"Can spirits even do that?" I asked as I scanned the treeline of the graveyard. Though dense fog had choked the grounds last night, literal clouds suffocated the entire cemetery where we stood. "That seems like a lot of power for a single spirit."

Dean posted at the head of the grave. "Only one way to find out." He pocketed his flashlight and hefted his shovel. When he saw us still standing at the foot of the plot, he said, "I'm not digging this grave on my own."

Despite the need to end such a vengeful spirit, I had little motivation to help. Slower than necessary, I picked up my shovel and shuffled to the center of the plot. Sam stepped in behind me, shovel at the ready.

Dean raised his shovel to his waist. Before he moved further, a distant, indiscernible sound echoed through the woods. What was once visible of the nearby treeline no longer was. That thick fog filled the darkness, and I saw neither trees nor sky nor stars. I heard the sound again, too far to tell what it was, but not far enough to miss. My flashlight shook violently as I spun about, but I found nothing besides the Impala behind us.

I turned back to Dean just in time to watch as he plunged his shovel's blade into the dirt. Agonizingly slow, it descended each inch slower than the last. That distant sound echoed once more, ever so slightly closer. As though he conducted an orchestra, that sound crescendoed into an unbearable scream as Dean’ shovel descended until metal returned to the earth.

Earsplitting thunder exploded overhead, and instinct forced all three of us to our knees. That booming drum rolled, mutated until it rumbled through the ground. I knew that sound, too familiar with the feel reverberating through my feet. A fresh wave of icy dread coursed through my veins as those thundering hooves pounded the dirt.

Over the headstone, I pointed my flashlight as I stood. Terror incarnate barreled through the graveyard astride his deathly steed. Above his head, a readied missile sprouted flames as he raced towards us. Every instinct screamed to run. Fuck everything about the legend, the haunting, just get the hell out of there.

But I couldn't move. Frozen solid, I merely gripped my flashlight and shivered.

"Run!"

Dean's shove launched me into Sam's arms, kickstarting my senses. I sprinted for the Impala, desperate for her salvation. I reached it a beat behind Sam and Dean and dove into the backseat. The engine roared to life with a sharp snarl as Dean twisted the ignition. He wrenched down on the shifter, slammed on the gas, and I launched into the backrest as the car sped off in reverse.

"What are you doing?!" I screamed.

"What I should have done last night!" he barked.

I opened my mouth to demand a better answer but only managed to scream and gesticulate wildly. The Headless Horseman vaulted Washington Irving's headstone and, in one smooth motion, launched his flaming cannonball directly at the car.

The sickening crunch of iron on steel paled in comparison to Dean's wail of rage. He threw the wheel to the left, and I grasped onto the backrest as the car lurched, spinning about-face. The transmission groaned in protest as Dean threw the shifter into drive and slammed on the gas once more. With all her horses leaping down the road, the Impala raced into the night, and I flattened against the backseat.

"Mother fucking piece of shit ghost!" Dean bellowed. "Fucking hit my car with a god damned cannonball! I’ll kill you! Do you hear me?!"

“Dean, just watch where you’re going!” Sam shouted as he braced against the backrest and the frame of the car.

The speedometer slid past eighty, and I gripped the leather backrest, nails scoring the supple hide. Sweat coated my palms, and my heart railed against my chest. "Dean, what the hell are you doing! You're going to get us killed!"

The fork in the road appeared around the sharp corner, and Dean roared, "Just trust me!" as he took the paved road to the left.

One hundred. The blinding flash of a memory overpowered my senses. Nearly forgotten, the dull vision replayed in my mind, muted, as though it belonged to someone else. A car sped along a country road. A dog. Spinning, careening, crashing. I screamed as my seatbelt failed. Blood pooled in the cornstalks beneath a sky so blue.

"Try to follow me now, you son of a bitch!"

Dean's voice snapped me back to reality. Behind us, the Headless Horseman gained, and his whip gathered with a flick of his wrist. The vicious bones uncoiled, and another memory threatened to take me under once more. It seemed that death had its own wish for me and would not rest until it came true. Another flash of a fresh memory consumed my senses, dragged me down to my own personal hell. But then a light emerged amidst the darkness, warm and enveloping. I opened my eyes to find Sam holding my hand.

"Focus, Y/N. Stay with me, we're gonna get through this, I promise."

"There's the bridge!" Dean shouted as he pointed. The engine whined, straining under his insistent foot. He glared in his rearview mirror as he growled, "Let's race, motherfucker."

The Impala raced over the transition from asphalt to old stone and wood, rattling the car from nose to rear end. Sam’s fingers turned ghastly white in my grip, but he paid that no mind. His focus remained steady, wide eyes staring into mine. Though he tried to reassure me, the roar of the Impala swallowed his words, and they fell on deaf ears. Like a moth to the flame, I turned back to the Headless Horseman one last time.

The coiled whip unfurled laboriously, each bone rolling over the next and slower than the last. That crawl, that agonizingly painful creep blurred the liminal space between truth and myth’s fabrication until nothing but a swathe of gray smeared reality. My mind filled in that blank void, and I knew then that death had arrived to collect his escaped prisoner.

But the end never came. That infinite second ticked by, lost to the endless depths of space and time as the car breached the end of the bridge. I braced myself against Sam as he reached over the backrest for me. Dean stood both feet on the brake, and the car lurched forward as the tires seized, shredding on the asphalt. When the deafening roar of the Impala faded to its soothing idle, I eased my grip on Sam's arms, and he returned to his seat. Dean checked both of us before scrambling from the car, and we followed not a beat behind.

In the center of the bridge, the Headless Horseman and his nightmare steed hung in the air, suspended mid-gallop. A deep purple glow seeped through the grouted stone surrounding the horse, and beneath his hooves, the bricks quaked. Violent flashes of an eerie green mist lanced from the cracks in the centuries-old rock and lashed the rider’s raised arms to drag him from his horse. Wrenched free of the saddle, he crashed to the stone, his metal armor clattering with a sickening crunch. I winced, unsure of what I was witnessing, an unwitting and unwilling voyeur.

But I forced myself to keep looking. I had to. I had to see it through to the end, to know without a shadow of a doubt that we had indeed laid such a vengeful spirit to rest.

The Hessian launched into the air with a vicious twist of the mysterious green lashes. Gale winds swept over the bridge, filling my nose with burning brimstone, and then the horse burst into flames. He screamed his unholy cry, and I startled into Sam's arms. Though I continued to watch, I cowered into him, and he held me close without a word. The vile inferno consumed the horse in seconds, reducing him to a pile of ash.

The rider convulsed as though in pain, writhing and contorting so awkwardly to be free of his bonds. Metal twisted, grinding and scraping against itself in his bid for escape. I realized then that, in his death throes, the Headless Horseman would emit no other sound. He could not beg for forgiveness nor absolution. He could not plead for his continued existence nor one last moment on earth. No last words with a loved one. And for a minuscule second, I pitied him.

Lightning fractured the sky as the purple glow between the bricks focused in a circle encompassing the rider. As the edges brightened, the bricks inside slipped away into an endless darkness. I had seen nothing like it in all my years hunting. And as the green bonds lowered him towards the void, he thrashed, deeply aware of the end that approached.

A scream rent from my mouth as an arm of sinew and bone and rotted flesh burst from the black depths and grasped the rider's leg. Metal collapsed like tissue paper beneath the fierce grip, and bone crumpled to dust. Another arm lunged for his chest and cleaved his breastplate in two, embedding in his ribs. A third nearly ripped his arm from its socket, his forearm crushed, and a fourth pierced his thigh. Those horrifying limbs dragged the Headless Horseman to his doom, jailors imprisoning their captive.

Feet, legs, and torso succumbed to the darkness, and a defeated stillness settled his ruined body. At last, his arms and headless shoulders sank beneath the zenith, and The Headless Horseman was no more. Like so many grains of sand through an hourglass, the ashes of his steed followed him into the void.

A final flare of purple and green light surged as lightning illuminated the sky once more. Wind settled, and clouds parted to reveal a full, brilliant moon and a night sky full of glittering stars. At last, the void receded, and the bridge stood whole once more. The sounds of night creatures returned, and the clearing surrounding the bridge expanded as though it took a full, deep breath to hold, its first in thirty years.

Maybe, it knew. Just as I felt it in my bones, the trees, the stone, the tall grass, and the creek beneath the bridge all felt it down to their tiniest molecules. It was over. At long last, the Headless Horseman was no more.

For now.

A clattering of bones cut through the peaceful calm, and I flung my arms out ahead of Sam and Dean. Not that I would protect them from much of anything, what with nothing but my bare fists at the ready. Tension crept across my shoulders when I spotted the source of the sound, and the three of us scrambled backwards towards the car.

The bone whip rattled to a stop a few feet from us, perfectly coiled with its handle extended towards my boots. I regarded Sam first, then Dean, only to then turn back for the Impala's trunk with a scoff. A readied can of salt lay on top of the stockpile, and I grabbed it as I grumbled to myself.

"Unless something's keeping it topside.” I slammed the trunk shut. “Gimme a break. Of course, something was keeping it here," I continued to myself as I stomped back to Sam and Dean. I prodded the latter in the shoulder and asked, "How? How the hell did you know?"

Dean shook his head as he held his lighter in one hand and withdrew a motel matchbook from his pocket. "I didn't. I didn't know the bridge would work. And I didn't know the whip had anything to do with it. I just had a—"

"Remember the last time I had a hunch and convinced you to drive the Impala over a hundred?" Sam interjected.

Before Dean could respond, I spoke. "Speaking of which…" I paused as I finished pouring a generous amount of salt on the neat pile of bones and snapped the can shut. "Don't ever drive that fast again."

Dean’s brow shot to his hairline as his jaw dropped. He gestured to the bridge, looked to it, then turned to the pile of bones and gesticulated wildly at them. After he stuttered the beginning of a few statements, he blurted, "What was I supposed to do?!"

"Not one-oh-five, that's for damn sure!" I stated. "We could have died!"

"We would have if I hadn't—"

"Alright, that's enough!" Sam interjected. "I'm sorry I brought it up. Let's just put this son of a bitch away for good this time."

"Yes, sir," Dean agreed. "One salt and burn, coming right up."

The book of matches took the flame of Dean's lighter with a sharp hiss. A flick of his wrist sent the little ball of fire cascading to the ground, and in a single beat of my heart, red consumed the world in a crimson concussion.

The ring in my ears faded, and the blinding light dimmed, darkness settling around us once more. Flat on my back, I stared up at the shimmering night sky, beyond dazed. When I sat up, Sam’s hollow voice called from afar. But the moment his touch soothed my shoulders, a shock of clarity rushed through me, and I saw he knelt over me.

“Talk to me, Y/N,” he repeated. “You okay?”

I thought for a moment, taking inventory once again. No broken bones, no blood. Not even a hint of pain despite the lingering soreness from the previous night. “I… I think so. What happened?”

Dean strode into view, an ornately gilded box cradled in his hands. He set it on the ground at his feet, and then I spotted it. The whip lay intact where it had rolled to a stop earlier. Salt scorched black cowered beneath the pale white bones as though frightened of its failure to purify the whip. I pointed at it and repeated myself. “What the fuck just happened?!”

Sam spoke when Dean hesitated. “It looks like the whip is protected. Somehow. Whether the Headless Horseman did it or it’s part of his curse, I’m not sure. And it’s irrelevant anyway. We’ll have to find some other way to destroy it.”

“But then… What happened last time? With your dad?” I asked as I stood. Sam hopped to my side once more, his gentle strength lifting me to my feet.

Metal rasped on metal, and my attention snapped to Dean. His hand rested atop the box, the metal gears working with fine clicks and clanks. When he removed his hand, the lid lifted half an inch and hissed a violent release of pressure. Of its own accord, the lid then continued to rise, revealing rich black velvet. Darker than night, the fabric lined the entire box, and it absorbed the moonlight, much like the void that had taken the Headless Horseman. When Dean withdrew a similar thick velvet cloth from the box, he spoke. “John did put the Headless Horseman away thirty years ago.” He paused as he grasped the whip with the velvet. Gingerly, he eased it into the box, then spread the cloth over it. The heavy lid shut with a hollow thunk and the metal gears worked once more, sealing shut on its own. “But, he came back.”

“Because of the whip?” I asked.

Dean nodded as hefted the box and turned for the Impala. Sam and I followed, eager to be on our way. Given our cargo, I doubted Dean would want to stay another night in Sleepy Hollow. Resolved, I figured I’d at least steal a pillow for the ride back.

We followed as Sam said, “We’ll take it back to the Bunker and find another way to destroy it.”

“Otherwise…” My question drifted, lingering like an unwanted guest that had overstayed their welcome.

With a grunt, Dean shoved the box into the trunk. “Otherwise, the next unlucky bastard that touches this thing will become the Headless Horseman.”

The terrifying implication settled in the pit of my stomach. An indestructible weapon possessing unwitting people. And yet, I knew that dichotomy well. Old as time, that one. The immovable object, an inanimate manifestation of immortality, meets the unstoppable force, the perpetual stupidity of human curiosity.

“We need to get on the road,” Dean stated as he shut the trunk, then strode for the driver’s door. There, he cried a soft, short sob and spoke to the car. “Oh, Baby, look at you. We’ll get you home and cleaned up.” Then he ripped the cannonball free, wrenched the door open, and slid into the driver’s seat. The awkward crunch of ill-fitting metal joints damn near broke my heart. And not just for Dean, but for the Impala as well, for she had seen us through a most harrowing night yet again.

Sam leaned in beside me then and asked, “Mind if I sit with you?”

“I’d… I’d like that. Very much,” I replied as a sudden chill crept beneath my skin. “I don’t think I could handle the whole ride back by myself.”

He opened the door and gestured ahead. “I make a pretty good pillow.”

As he slid in beside me, I said, “I look forward to finding out.” The warmth of his entire body, so close to mine, pulled me in, a moon to her earth. His long arm draped over my shoulder, and I curled into him. For a brief moment, the case ceased to exist. Only my exhaustion reminded me that I had gone toe to toe with the Headless Horseman and, for the most part, won.

But then a familiar thought occurred to me, and my weary eyes snapped wide open. “It’s true, then.”

“What is?” Dean asked as he turned over the backrest.

My breath caught in my throat, unwilling to put into the universe my worst nightmare. But between Dean’s confident stare and Sam’s soft gaze, I’d never felt safer. Even in my darkest moments, the Winchesters would be there for me. I put my faith and confidence not only in them but in myself as well. No matter what happened next, I believed in us.

“What’s true, Y/N,” Sam asked.

I gave him my best smile and spoke.

“Some urban legends never die.”

Dean shook his head as he turned back to the wheel and twisted the key in the ignition. The Impala rattled as she started, exhausted as each of us. When she settled to idle, Dean looked at me in the rearview mirror and spoke.

“No. They live just long enough to meet us.”

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THE MIDNIGHT RIDE MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

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