letters to the batman!

[ID: a full body panel of Batman. He's leaning against something that's concealed by his body and has one of his knees lifted and bent while the other leg is slightly extended out. His arm is extended in front of him and he's holding the edge of his cape to cause it to be draped out like a curtain behind Batman. In his other hand, he's holding a letter and he's looking down slightly to read it. Behind him is a yellow circle that's reminiscent of a sun as orange beams of light extend from it. END ID]

New Ralph Penbury fic…. This is only chapter one. More to follow!

The Hat Shop Girl

Inexperienced!Ralph Penbury x Fem!Reader/AFAB!Reader

Summary: You were working as a clerk in a hat shop when Ralph Penbury walked into your life. Nothing was ever the same.

Tags: Under 18 - DO NOT READ PLEASE, Eventual smut, slow burn, class differences, fantasies, implied/references to drug use, sexual inexperience, first kiss, first French kiss, vaginal fingering, nipple play, PIV sex, blow jobs, cream pie.

Read the story on AO3 — LINK HERE

DO NOT REPOST MY STUFF TO ANY OTHER SITE PLEASE.

***********************

CHAPTER ONE: THE BOY WITH THE SUNSHINE SMILE

“Good grief! You don’t mean that she’s actually tricked me into purchasing my own hat?” the man’s brown eyes got bigger in his incredulity.

“I’m afraid so, sir,” you whispered quietly. “This hat is yours? Your name is on the band inside,” you showed him the inside of the boater that you were holding out to him, “‘R. Penbury’? That is you, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he blushed beautifully in his humiliation, his brilliant smile gone. You couldn’t help but feel for him. He wasn’t the brightest bulb, but he had shone just the same. When he had first entered the shop, he was all smiles, eagerness, and jolly good times. He had tried several different styles of hats, showing increasing enthusiasm for each one that was brought to him. He had been especially impressed with the styles and materials that you had designed, describing them as ‘wizard’, although you hadn’t mentioned that personal point to him. You had been flattered by his candid positive reactions.

Your boss, on the other hand, just wanted him to buy all the damn hats and be done with it. You were bringing out his twenty-third selection to him when she pulled you aside and said: “God, he’s insufferably stupid. More money than brains, that one.” She paused, an evil glint in her eye. “Do you know? I bet I can sell him his own hat back to him and he would never notice.” So she did; she wrapped his straw hat which he had discarded when trying on the new styles in a hat box and brought it out, flourishing it as though it were the perfect answer to sir’s troubled soul, the very thing that sir was looking for, and would sir care to try?

And sir did. And he said it was perfect. When he said to put it with everything else he was purchasing, your boss gave you an avaricious grin and wink as she smoothly carried it off to the growing stack of other selections he had made, expecting a little extra in the till at the end of the day from that trick.

But you couldn’t live with that. While she cooed over him again about one of the more expensive hats and would sir care for a handkerchief to match? You stole the hat back and timed it so that when Elvira went to the back to fetch another, you pulled him aside to share the bad news.

He was sweet, a true innocent, and there was a motherly side of you that leapt up to protect him from harm - including that of your own opportunistic boss, the owner of the haberdashery shop you were employed in. At least, the one you were still employed in. By preventing your boss from taking advantage of this poor man, you may not have a situation to report back to in the morning.

But Elvira, or Evil-virus, the nickname given to her in secret by you and the other clerks who worked under her iron fist, was living up to her nasty reputation and you weren’t going to take it any longer. “I should have applied for a job at Selfridges,” you muttered, more to yourself rather than the humiliated man beside you.

You heard him sniff and saw his terrified indecision. “Don’t worry. We’ll pretend that she’s gotten away with it. I’m the one who will tally everything up, sir. I won’t charge you for it. Promise. I won’t let her do this to you. Alright?”

He smiled through eyes that welled up. “I’ve been a ruddy fool, haven’t I?” he said, his voice shaky. “I expect you will all have a jolly laugh about it after I go.”

“I won’t be laughing, sir,” you said. You were angry. Angry that this terrible excuse of a human being would take advantage of a man made of starbursts and sunshine. “I’ll be looking for other employment, but I won’t be laughing.”

“D’you know what?” he said, donning his hat and setting it at a jaunty angle in the mirror, “I’m going to reward you for your kindness.” At that moment, Elvira came out of the back with the next hat in hand. Mr. Penbury straightened his spine and said to her: “Never mind, my good woman. I’ve changed my mind about your shop. Sell me my own hat, will you? Well, I’ll be certain to inform all in my considerable social circle not to bother with this place.”

Elvira’s face dropped and she stared daggers at you. You swallowed hard, expecting a vicious private word once the gentleman had gone, purchasing nothing. Elvira’s smile recovered seconds later but Mr. Penbury brooked no arguments, further machinations from the woman, and he certainly wasn’t about to allow her to abuse you - even with so much as a look - right in front of him.

“Now don’t bother blaming your clerk here,” he said, “She’s got moxie. Honesty is the best policy after all and I’ll be damned,” the word spoken with emphasis and care, as if the man never swore in his life unless he truly meant it, “if you think for one minute I’m going to leave her here to be reprimanded for doing the right thing.”

Turning to you, he said, “Retrieve your belongings, my dear. You’re coming with me. Let us leave this horrid woman to her horrid ways in her horrid little shop.”

You blinked at him in amazement, jaw dropped, wondering if this was a dream, or a trick, or a hallucination. His smile and encouraging nod to you reinforced his statement; he had meant what he had said. You went to the back, gathering your coat, hat, and handbag and, with a last look around the place, you left. You were going to be sacked either way, so you may as well go off with a man who could at least prevent you from having a strip taken off of you by your boss.

Out on the pavement, he turned to you with another burst of smiling energy. “I heard you mention Selfridges and I happen to know the chap who’s one of the floor managers. What luck, eh? He’s set to join us at a party at our country estate tomorrow. Would you care to go? I could make the introductions and you could have some champagne and we’ll all celebrate your new position!”

You were utterly gobsmacked. “Sir? Are you joking?” You had to ask because not only was he too good to be true with his tailored suit, bright face and gorgeous brown eyes, this was too similar to dreams that you had had about being swept away by a handsome, wealthy man who could make all your dreams come true. Not that you were a gold digger. No, not you. But you had been an adult in the world long enough to know that money may not buy happiness, but it could purchase a close cousin or two.

“Why, no.” He looked a little offended.

You quickly added: “I only ask, sir, because I’ve never met anyone quite like you. You don’t seem real, really.”

“I don’t?”

His eyes were killing you. He didn’t see himself as others did, that much was obvious. “No,” you laughed, “you’re like a dream. Like you’re some knight come to rescue me and I’m secretly some queen or sommat.”

His grin spread ear to ear. He held his arm out to you. “Then let me guide you to my motor and on to my castle, your majesty. I plan on treating you like a queen for the favor you’ve done for me today.” His arm was warm and strong and it seemed more and more as if he was that knight from your fantasies.

He strolled with you on his arm openly down the street, the two of you creating such an odd pair: a dapper man-about-town with a woman who was obviously a shopgirl on her day off. But he didn’t seem to notice. He kept giving you proud glances as you walked along until suddenly, stopping next to a rather impressive Rolls Royce, he announced: “And here we are! Your chariot, my queen.” A liveried driver came out from the front of the vehicle and opened the rear door for both of you.

Your head swam. This had to be a dream. You tried to relax into the soft buttery leather seat, Mr. Penbury next to you, his straw hat on his knee as he regaled you with the plans for the party on the weekend as the vehicle smoothly pulled away from the kerb. It was no use. All you could think was that you really shouldn’t be there. You weren’t of his class and it showed. Lord only knew what the chauffeur thought of you. Probably thinks I’m some chippy, you thought. Mr. Penbury, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind one bit.

As Mr. Penbury spoke, you realized that he really just floated along in life without any concern or stress at all. He didn’t have to worry where his next meal was coming from. He didn’t have to worry about the worn appearance of his clothing and whether anyone else would spot it. He never had to make do with the bread and butter in the larder because his pay packet wouldn’t arrive for another two days. You, on the other hand, well… your bills were always paid, but you were living close to skint; Mr. Penbury had never had the experience. The gulf between the two of you widened that much farther.

Yet for all his wealth and privilege, he didn’t seem selfish at all, which is a realization that gave you pause. All the wealthy folks you had met in your life - including the Hollingsworths that your parents had worked for - they had always been too busy with themselves to worry about any other human being. They sat in high judgment of people like you and people who were poorer than you. To them, you were nothing more than ‘the help’, there to make their lives easier without a thought to how much more difficult they were making your life. There was no self-awareness on their part. There was nothing but the next thing that would keep them amused, comfortable, and insulated against the cruelties they were happy to inflict on others.

Mr. Penbury wasn’t anything like that - or so he seemed. Sure, he was ignorant of the day-to-day details of your life including the insecurity of shelter and food that you fought off on a daily basis, but he seemed aware that poorer people existed and - miracle of miracles - actually seemed to acknowledge that you yourself were actually a person.

He was interested in music - specifically jazz - which you also loved and his eyes lit up even more when you told him about an American cousin you had that would send you phonograph records from artists you couldn’t find in England.

“Oh you must bring your collection to the party!” He instantly gave his driver a command to take them to your place. You supplied your address and off you both went, Mr. Penbury simply beaming at you. “You really are the mutt’s nuts, aren’t you?”

He clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh! Was that rude?” He laughed freely. “I’m sorry. I just get so excited.”

“I can see that,” you said, smiling. “I’ll be glad to bring my meager collection.”

“And a change of clothes! Bring your party dresses. And your dancing shoes!” he said. You shook your head at him, unable to tell him that you didn’t really own party dresses (plural) nor did you own dancing shoes. You did, however, own one dress you were quite proud of and you set your mind to bring that one. You only hoped it would be nice enough to get a new job, but not too prudish not to have fun in. Mr. Penbury would probably fancy it if you showed up in sackcloth and sandals on your feet. Lord knows what the manager at Selfridges would fancy.

It didn’t take you long to arrive at your home, a seven storey structure in a more modest part of Spitalfields. It struck you what Mr. Penbury had just said. “Wait,” you said when the car stopped. “What did you mean by ‘bring a change of clothes’, sir?”

“Oh,” he stammered, blushing suddenly, “I only meant- I mean- If you weren’t going to be working at that horrid shop anymore…. Why don’t you just spend the weekend? Or the week? You don’t have to start at Selfridges straight away, do you? You could just… have a bit of fun first?”

Fun. You haven’t had any of that in years. You’d almost forgotten what it was like. And you didn’t have a position to return to anymore, did you? You had paid all your bills for the week so, why not? Why not go and have some fun with this ball of absolute joy? He was looking at you expectantly, seemingly ashamed of his forwardness. It was your turn to smile at him.

“That sounds wizard,” you said. His excitement warmed your heart and you went in to gather your things for a weekend you weren’t sure you were going to remember, but one you knew you would never forget.

CHAPTER TWO: The Whirlwind Twins LINK HERE

***********

Tagged People: @h-ness1944 / @crazyjenny8675309 / emma77645 / @hahahafucku

break my mind’s eye V — 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

Parts: Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Special 

Word Count: 9k+

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 

The new routine of embedding her older brother into their lives again became somewhat casual in a fortnight. Though the presence of their ‘guest’ now created a significant rift between the new couple especially when it came to certain less than elegant activities. Not that they did not try of course.

One week into the modified living condition, Jungkook and Belle had been chatting at the bar which now mysteriously had an abnormally good stock of fruit juice compared to actual alcohol. A few instances where the drug lord would pull out a glass of cloudy apple juice creating some suspicious looks from his clients. Apparently Master Jeon was now going on a cleanse from alcohol for a while to prolong his rule over the empire.

The innocent conversation turned to absentminded touches, fingers intertwining and standing dangerously close together so Jungkook could smell her coconut shampoo. One peck turned to a deeper kiss and completely by mistake, Belle jumped on the counter with her now slightly favourite crime lord between her legs, his rough hand sneaking underneath her skirt and his lips nibbling on her neck.

Of course this was the perfect time for Taehyung to decide for a walk finding a criminal fooling around with his little sister while she giggled.

Belle practically flew off the counter almost twisting Jungkooks’ hand and simply put, the two decided to keep it more on the down low next time.

Another week passed and the cartel had been going through some brewing tension with the authorities after a new mayor was elected. Which meant Jungkook barely showed up in the bedroom to sleep and when he did come to the bedroom, it was to work more at the study table.

Belle on the other hand now sat in the designing level of Madame Saito with her large glasses, a red sweater dress to match the confusing mixture of cool and warm. Long hair tied up in a loose bun that lobbed to the side a little when she lowered her head to focus on the little details of the blue hydrangea pattern across white silk.

She approved Seokjins’ offer of becoming his designer for the Sangria House so they could conjoin the Spring Line with the angels’ attire. As much as it ignited a tiny hint of suspicion on the owners’ intentions, Saito advised that it was a powerful business decision. Being a designer of one of the biggest establishments in the city could boost her reputation as a sole businesswoman. Instead of just being Jeon Jungkooks’ fiancée or Saitos’ protégé.

Most of the Spring Line designs were already displayed on mannequins behind her, few of them approved for the runway while others still needed more detailing.

Her thumb already pricked a few times but she grew a good resistance for it at this point carefully creating gradients on the embroidered flowers. Belle quickly learned the importance of clothes in the Sangria House. Even though it was kind of ironic considering the type of establishment.

Angels wearing white fabric were meant to be the ones still in ‘training’, red meant available for entertainment both casual or carnal, lavender represented angels who were trained in more daring acts for entertainment especially ones that were erotic. Then there were the gold angels; extremely qualified in all kinds of entertainment but were already ‘taken’. They were married to someone but still had to entertain customers for a living income. If a customer wanted to spend more intimate time with this angel, it would take the price of a mansion which only one or two clients have ever really paid.

After hearing all this, Belle felt a little silly just calling it a brothel considering how much detail went into orchestrating the whole system down to their clothes.

“Belle!”

Her hand immediately stilled staring up at the figure in a vibrant yellow pantsuit walking towards the working table.

Saitos’ eyes flickered down to the sewing pattern, a smile creeping on her red lips. “I thought you said you weren’t good at embroidery.”

The younger female chuckled nervously poking the needle into the fabric. “Not as good as how you do it.”

“I was forced to sew since I was seven.” She laughed. “Don’t let my younger self being oppressed by toxic femininity stop you from believing you can’t do it now.” She joked, patting her shoulder lightly with her gaze focused on the pattern. “All you need to do is just cut out little loose threads.” Finger gently pointed towards the little threads poking out of the design. “Always make sure it’s smooth. Sometimes when a few parts are imperfect, you can add little extra pieces over top that match the shade of the embroidery design.”

Belle nodded, eyes following wherever Saitos’ finger moved.

Then the senior designer stopped herself. “Oh! Mrs. Jeon is waiting downstairs, she has some news about your engagement.” She straightened up, fixing her blazer before gesturing over to the stairs.

Her words took a moment to sink into her mind before she pulled the hair band out of her bun and tried to make it look presentable again. Glasses placed carefully on the table while the work in progress now supervised by Saito.

Almost rushing down the stairs, Belle came face to face with the woman who wore a body hugging lavender midi skirt and a matching blazer. A smile quickly stretched across her red lips as Boyoung held onto her hands excitedly.

“I’m sorry to disturb you during work but I got too excited.” She giggled, holding up her left hand to admire the ring wrapped around it as if she had never seen it before. “It’s about the wedding.”

Heart raced against her ribcages but Belle tried to keep her expressions calm. “What—what about the wedding?”

“The date, of course!” Boyoung laughed, swinging their arms again. “See we have been saving for Jungkooks’ wedding since his nineteenth birthday. Twenty one is the traditional age to marry in our family.”

Explained the constant suitors Jungkook had to tolerate. Something Belle could relate to. Her parents had been talking about her marriage since she was thirteen because it was a good way for them to gain money. Or to get rid of her. Either way she found herself having one big thing in common with the man. “That’s very nice of you.” Nice was not the proper word Belle wanted to use but Boyoung had proved to the nicest person she met in this new world. She was not going to ruin that safety.

She nodded in acknowledgement. “Since we have more than enough money saved up for the event. I wanted to tell you that we could have the wedding in a month.”

Blood chilled in her whole body struggling to keep her smile up to such a point where it was just her lips curled up while her eyes widened a little. “A month?” She chuckled nervously.

“I know it seems a little quick…” Boyoung admitted while lowering her head for a split second.

Quick was one way to describe a thousand crates dropping right on top of you while you were just working on a pretty dress.

“But it’s good to keep up with tradition.” She nodded mostly to herself, quickly giving her a bright smile like she forced it out of her after a mental pep talk. “And you two already love for each other so it shouldn’t be too hard to fathom.”

Love.

That fucking word again. Everything just came crashing back to her as the ring felt like it was suffocating her finger until it fell off. This wasn’t real, this wasn’t real… those three words swirled around in her mind as she watched the joyful smile adorn Jungkooks’ aunt. It was a game…a deal to protect her family and her own life.

Strange how the two were thinking about the same thing but one had a grey cloud and the other had sunshine.

“Of course.” Belle smiled again a little weakly but the older females’ excitement seemed to mask any suspicion. Admittedly, sparks of interest did fly between the fresh new pair but truthfully it never moved deeper than a sexual attraction. They stopped being rude to each other and grew quite successful in pretending to be a happy engaged couple. Behind closed doors, there were smiles, maybe a little flutter in her belly whenever she saw him but—love?

No.

Love was sacrificing her entire chance at a proper relationship with a happy marriage and children so she could protect Taehyung. What Belle and Jungkook had was not love itself but a consequence of loving someone far too much to lose them.

With that thought, her pounding heart hardened. This was all for the best. The deal is simple. Marry Jungkook and be the perfect wife while Taehyung is given all the resources to recover back to a better version of himself again. What was the point of worrying so much about marriage anyway? Her career showed so much potential, Belle probably would have ended up a single business woman like Saito.

To put it more accurately, this deal was perfect. No one pressured her about marriage, Taehyung was healing and her career moved smoothly.

“So we’ll do it at my mansion then, yes?”

Boyoungs’ voice breaking into the barrier of her thoughts pulled Belle back into reality and she instinctively gave the older another grin. “Yes…your mansion is beautiful, Mrs. Jeon.” She nodded. “It’s the—perfect place for a wedding.” Perfection seemed to be all she could gain at this point.

“You’ve made a desperate aunt very happy.” She joked, patting her cheek. “Now I’ve kept you away from work long enough, we’ll talk soon.”

Belle led the woman across the boutique to the exit where her car awaited, allowing the cool air to ease some of her slightly heated anxiety.

She stood politely in front of the vehicle watching Boyoung climb inside before the driver closed it gently. Though her attention flickered over to something moving on the other side of the street where the park was. Usually filled with children running around, people jogging but her focus directed more towards the bushes fencing the area.

For a quick moment a more sensible side assumed it may have been an animal of some sort merely rustling between the branches.

Though the side that was fully aware of the new gaze on her after the engagement knew better. Animals did not wear black coats neither did they hold cameras pointing right in her direction while trying to look inconspicuous in nature.

At some point Belle suspected the photographer saw her looking into the camera because she saw the figure rush to keep themselves hidden again.

Sighing, the girl gave one quick smile to Boyoung before the car drove away and she tried to fix her attention on her work again.

-

Coffee stained papers flipped and dropped either on the other side of the crowded table or on the floor. Phone rung at some corner constantly while not a single employee had a minute without running around somewhere leaving Namjoon s’ head spinning. On his right were a pile of cases he should be doing according to the captain who insisted that vandals and petty theft was more his specialty. Granted the man could not blame her considering his biggest undercover case went downhill with no leads whatsoever leaving him to be the runt of his precinct for the past year.

He kept a decent aura of respect however, no one really wanted to piss off someone who had been personally trained to cut off important parts in a body.

Taking a sip of his possible fifth cup of coffee, his pile of useless cases forgotten on the side while he stared at the recent pictures sent to him. A few years had already passed with this growing ambition towards finding out how to expose the mystery that was the Jeon Cartel. Apparently each associate took some kind of tight fucking oath which prevented anyone from uttering a single secret about them.

The infamous Jeon Jungkook was a master of words. The golden elite of their city. Contributed to around half of the buildings in the city and factories overseas. Donated near millions of dollars to medical and disaster care.

Namjoon had to admit he was good at what he did. That is until the first drug scandal. One of the factories that Jungkook owned was caught manufacturing cocaine and distributing it to Osaka and Hong Kong. Though quickly swept under the rug when the man had two hospitals built under the guise that it was Jungkooks’ personal apology to the city. His undercover mission which he worked on for months destroyed in two days.

Now the man was left with looking at any recent changes. Anything that so much as leaned the slightest towards suspicion caused his ears to prick up and his eyes peeled.

“You know Pornhub exists, right?” Yoongi spoke in his usual gruff tone, sipping on his espresso while watching over Namjoon s’ shoulder at the pictures he was looking at.

The younger male rolled his eyes continuing to observe the photos taken three days ago. A woman wearing a striking red dress conversing and smiling with the second most powerful lady in the city. “It’s Kim Belle.” Namjoon remembered the name on the newspaper article in front of him. “Seems Jeon Jungkook is getting engaged.” He sighed, brows furrowing slightly.

“Okay…” He nodded walking over to his desk right in front of Namjoon s’ desk. “And that’s our problem because…”

“Well it doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s marriage, it almost never makes sense.” Yoongi leaned back on his chair.

Namjoon moved in to try and keep his voice down since anyone who so much as heard him talk about Jungkook started writing out complaints to the captain. “But why now? He’s been an eligible bachelor for years and all of a sudden, an engagement?”

The older male tried to suppress rolling his eyes. “Probably an arranged marriage then.” He shrugged.

“To a fashion designer?” He winced. “What the hell is he going to gain by marrying a fashion designer?”

“Free suits for a life time?” Yoongi smirked but immediately sighed seeing the warning look on Namjoon s’ face. The man had clearly dedicated his entire livelihood to exposing Jungkook which was something he could never understand. He spent most of his days going undercover and being damn good at it too, exposing all kinds of rings. The Jeon Cartel, on the other hand was a hard ice wall to crack. “Look…you’ve been at this for a long time. At this point if you so much as mention Jungkook, the captains’ just going to let you go on the grounds of insanity.”

“But something isn’t right.” Namjoon emphasized desperately wanting anyone to see under that perfect young man façade Jungkook harbored. “You don’t just get engaged to some random girl, that’s social suicide.”

“Social suicide? This isn’t fucking high school.”

“You know what I mean.”

The two men stayed silent letting the ambient noise plunge through their personal atmosphere.

Yoongi mulled over his thoughts for a moment, watching Namjoon look down at the pictures with a defeated sigh. He understood the passion behind exposing someone who was doing a harmful thing under the guise of righteousness. So many powerful heads still needed to be exposed, unfortunately Jungkook was only a newer one. “Let me see the file.” He curled his fingers in and took the thick file onto his own desk when Namjoon handed it to him.

His gaze fixated on the picture of the woman, who looked around about Jungkooks’ age except with a softness to her as opposed to the other mans’ mischief. There were a couple of news articles that Namjoon collected with that same face plastered all over. A couple of them were positive while others were out to scandalize one way or another no matter how stupid it sounded. “So you’ve never seen her with him before?”

Namjoon shook his head. “Not until a little too recently. It’s like she just appeared out of thin air.”

Flipping through the photos, Yoongi came across one where she wore a brown-ish bodycon dress walking into an establishment. “This is a rehabilitation clinic.” His brows furrowed, interest now piqued a little too much for his own liking.

“You think she’s an addict?”

“Hard to tell. Could be anything.” He muttered, eyes on the picture as he took a sip of his now cooled down espresso. “Maybe she’s visiting.”

“There has to be something weird about this, right?” Namjoon gestured towards the file.

Crime lords taking in beautiful, young wives for no reason was not an uncommon trait but usually those leaders would have a reputation of that sort. Jungkook had been a bachelor from what they knew and rarely found himself in any kind of sex or romantic scandal. Something was going on but much like everything else with this man, it was hard to tell what exactly. “Okay don’t tell anyone I said this.” Yoongi almost whispered now leaning in. “But we have a possible drug bust…thanks to our new mayor, we’ve been getting orders left and right to fish out dens.” He stopped himself for a moment letting a trainee walk past them before speaking again. “The one we’re looking at tonight—few of us suspect that it could belong to Jeon.”

Namjoon shifted in his seat as his heart leaped right up to his throat. Finally those words were coming out of someone else’s mouth instead him saying the same thing like a broken record. More people were seeing the truth. “Where is it?”

Yoongi gave him a warning look now. “Joon…”

“Come on, I’m not gonna follow you.”

“Yeah but this is still a secret bust, alright? Even some of the seniors don’t know about it.” His eyes flickered over to the sides where the older officers were sipping coffee at their desks looking at their computer. About two of them actually reading cases while others watching porn. “The mayor wants a full clean-up.” Yoongi whispered again. “And I mean—full.”

“Meaning…” He pointed to his desk but referred to the whole precinct and Yoongi nodded.

“All our jobs are on the line.” He muttered. “Even the captain…but—this could help us be on the mayor’s good side since they’re trusting us already.”

A light hint of excitement tingled down his spine knowing there was a lead now. While Namjoon would have wanted to accompany the team, the older male had the right idea. The captain did not trust him in this mission. He needed to be subtle if he was ever going to feel the satisfaction of seeing Jeon Jungkook behind bars.

-

Golden rays peeked through the curtains as Belle walked to the vanity with nothing but a crème silk slip and a white robe over top.

The couple along with Taehyung were invited to the Sangria House to celebrate their new business partnership. Apparently the best angels would be readied for their entertainment in the night. Something Belle was not sure she was going to enjoy.

Either way it was always good to look as presentable as possible. The dress code stated that white, red, lavender or gold were not allowed in the establishment for obvious reasons Belle understood now. So with the thought in mind she opted for a deep green velvet dress, a slit for one of her thighs to peek through and one loose strap sleeve that hung off her shoulder smoothly.

The gorgeous dress lay neatly on the large ottoman in the center of the walk-in wardrobe while the woman curled a few undone pieces of her hair.

Deep peach lips and a simple terracotta shaded eye look, Belle briskly made her way downstairs to see how Taehyung was doing with getting ready.

Her older brother had been extremely reluctant in coming to the event but she suggested it would be good to do something other than sitting around. Maybe getting his mind off of any messiness even for a few hours. Still hesitant he silently agreed but Belle had a nagging feeling he was still napping.

Down the stairs as her curls bounced a little in the process, Nana smiled and rushed over to her.

“He’s fine, mistress.” She quickly reassured as they both stopped near the entrance archway.

Belle let out light sigh before chuckling, head lowered for a moment. “Is the suit okay?”

“Very handsome.” She nodded in acknowledgement. “You should be dressed too.”

The younger female hummed before hearing a few voices back and forth as if in argument. Brows furrowed, Belle walked to the other side of the mansion where the second living room was while Nana continued on with her work.

The area was empty but she still heard angered voices coming from the left room. The second living room led two areas. It had a similar design to the first one except instead of a bar, there was another fireplace. Past the couches in the center led to an open archway towards the kitchen on the right while the left was closed; Jungkooks’ home office.

Curiosity and slight concern seeping through her entire body, Belle walked towards the door which in mere minutes opened harshly. A clear air of smoke flowed out into the second living room touching her nostrils and making her wince.

The once angry looking men immediately stopped in their tracks for a moment before waving off the smoke and bowing. “Excuse us, mistress.” One of the older ones acknowledged as they took turns walking past her to the exit. Jongho and another guard led them properly to the door but the womans’ gaze was more on the figure sitting at the chair, rubbing his face.

Entering the office, she closed the door behind her.

His slightly reddened eyes flickered to meet her gaze before lowering his head. “Belle—” Jungkook sniffled, fingers running through messy hair. White shirt a little crumpled, almost half unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It became a usual sight for the man ever since this new election. “Sorry…I don’t usually yell.” He sighed attempting to messily fix up the papers.

Staying silent, feet padded closer to the table and gently took the paperwork in her hands, stacking them neatly with a tap on the edge before placing them back on the surface. “I know. You haven’t slept.”

“Park Chul clearly isn’t planning on sleeping.” Jungkook almost seethed just mentioning the mayors’ name.

Belle moved to stand behind him, hands on his shoulders lightly squeezed the knotted muscles. “That doesn’t mean you stop taking care of yourself.”

He let out a drawling hum, throwing his head back. “You can take care of me.” A soft smile tugged at his lips as her vanilla scented perfume graced his nostrils. For hours Jungkook had been forced to tolerate the tobacco, weed and alcohol, it felt nice to have someone pleasant around him again.

“What if I’m not here?” Another million dollar question that silenced them both for a few minutes. Even the woman grew uncomfortable at how heavy those words were. Their deal was perfect. But what about twenty years from now? Fifty years? What if Jungkook being married didn’t matter anymore?

“You’ll always be here…won’t you?” He stared up at her.

Belle stopped massaging him at this point, mind crowding with unwanted thoughts and unanswered questions. Too much to think about in such little time. “I made a promise.” She smiled. “I’m gonna keep it.” Seemed the best reply in the pile of things she truly wanted to say to him except there was no time to worry themselves over delicate details.

Jungkook chuckled a little under his breath as the vanilla scented goddess now moved to sit on the table in front of him. “Shouldn’t you be dressed by now?”

“I could ask you the same question, Mr. Jeon.” Her eyes flickered up and down his body.

Fingers accidentally pushed her robe aside to let those soft thighs peek out in display, the feeling of it under his pads allowed for a sense of relief to wash any stress down. All she had to do was sit here and Jungkook felt instantly revived. Even the scent of alcohol and tobacco faded away with her presence bringing him nothing but light bliss. “I like this outfit.” He smirked, hand tracing down her leg so it sat on the arm rest, slightly caging him in much to his pleasure.

Belle smiled placing her other leg on the left arm rest giving him a small peek of her satin black panties. “Do you want me to wear this outfit?” She purposely softened her voice.

The sweet sound tingled down his spine, head turning to kiss the inside of her thigh.

Eyes closed feeling each kiss lurking closer to the thin barrier hiding the womans’ core. Leaning back a little, she buried her fingers gently in his thick hair. Grip tightened when Jungkooks’ lips finally pressed against her panties. “We don’t have time for that.” She spoke breathlessly.

“We’ll make time.” His voice rasped.

She felt her panties being pushed to the side, exposing her core to his hot breath before his tongue licked a stripe up from her slit to her little nub. Legs jerked a little almost locking her thighs together but one of his hands kept one of them still. Tongue lapped on her throbbing clit making it hard to keep herself steady without knocking over the desktop computer behind her; light moans melted out of her like a long unsung melody. A little hesitant but she had to sing it regardless. “Dai—”

Her voice made his heart flutter immediately concealed with a light groan that vibrated against her core. Lips wrapped around the sweet bundle of sensitivity and suckled, relishing in the feeling her plump thighs pressing against his ears.

Belle almost lost her balance as she pushed the keyboard away to the side. The familiar warmth constricted around her lower belly now welcomed itself, moans fading into desperate whimpers to reach her orgasm.

Feeling her hips jerk against his mouth, Jungkook breathed out through his nose not leaving a single break as he pushed her to her release. Clit throbbing between his lips, he shook his head.

The rough pressure torturing her bud as she drowned in the warm explosion seeping through every vein, body trembled in bliss. When Belle felt his tongue still moving causing her to jump a little from the sensivity as she pushed his face away softly. “No more.” She giggled, still trying to catch her breath.

Jungkook kissed it once more with a cheeky smile before standing up.

She wiped off the glisten on his chin with the fabric of her robe and pressed a light kiss on his lips. “What about you?” Her hands pulling at his belt but he held onto them.

“It’s okay.” He whispered, giving her a reassuring smile. “I just needed a little treat.”

Belle slapped his chest softly not able to get rid of the blissful smile gracing her features. “We should get dressed now.” She muttered even though their hands were still slowly caressing each other.

“We should.” Jungkook pushed away the loose curl over her eye.

Whether it was the ecstasy still flowing through her or a genuine feeling from within, the woman found herself in complete comfort under his touch. Maybe something more than just sexual attraction. Not that it could ever be anyway, there was no real use in true feelings for something false. Despite the thought in mind Belle smiled up at her clever captor turned fiancée and felt tingles run down her spine at a mere kiss on her cheek.

-

Sangria House reeked of luxury from its royal purple and gold tapestries, crystal lamps with warm lighting, scent of wine mixed into vanilla while the inside adorned with colorful angels entertaining their patrons. Since the house colors were not allowed to be worn by visitors, many of them opted for the classic black which made Belles’ deep green velvet dress stand out a lot more than she expected.

Arm hooked onto Jungkooks’ while Taehyung walked with them on her left, the three were welcomed by an angel with white attire. She bowed, smile gracing her features before leading them past the main lobby of entertainment where a few angels in white played instruments on the small stage.

Upon observing, a lot of the members in the lobby only wore white while some red ones sat in a few corners.

Belle assumed the higher ranking ones would have more private sessions or maybe there were certain times where each angel arrived. So many things still left unanswered for the workings of the Sangria House but it did not change the fact, it was a quick profit hungry establishment exploiting vulnerable young people who were desperate for a living.

The young angel slid open a door to an empty private room. Table full of light snacks and three cushions for them to sit on. “Mistress Angel and Master Jimin will see you shortly.” She bowed again until her knees touched the floor waiting for them to enter the room so she could leave respectfully.

Jungkook sat in the middle while Belle and Taehyung took each side waiting patiently in a small period of silence.

“Was bringing me to a brothel really necessary?” He glared more at Jungkook even though Belle was the one who received the invitation and accepted it for the business deal.

“If it were the brothel, I would’ve been groped at least a good three times by now.” The woman replied simply knowing this establishment in particular had extremely strict rules and a different crowd of clients.

The comment silenced her brother almost instantly.

Mere minutes passed and the door slid open again bursting with bright colors. A woman with long brown hair wearing a gold georgette dress with a matching overcoat giving her the look of royalty. In a similar fashion, a grey haired male stood beside her wearing a similar design except silk lavender. Walking closer to the table, they both bowed down to their patrons adorning those award winning smiles.

Taehyung felt like something clipped his tongue when saw the angels. The ones in white were pretty but this house owner had some real gems hidden under his sleeve. Especially the lady in gold who perched herself next to him, smiling like a princess from a fairytale that the man seemed rude smile a little back.

“Welcome to the Sangria House. On behalf of Mr. Kim, we’d like to thank you for accepting this momentous partnership, Madame Belle.” She smiled at her and gave a little bow of acknowledgement. “Jimin and I will be your hosts for this evening.”

Jungkook smiled kindly and the chatting began quite smoothly since the angels were extremely talented in holding an air of entertainment. Especially these ones. Getting a lavender and a gold coated angel were not regular feats and only done if the patron was an important one to impress. The last time he saw two of these angels together in one room was when he was first anointed leader of the Cartel but it was all paid by his father and mother. Belle checked that box without any aid. He would be jealous but a jolt of pride burst through him without knowing.

“Your name is Angel?” Taehyung asked, expression softened so much he could resemble a cloud.

Angel giggled under her breath while serving his tea. “It’s a little strange.” She placed the teapot down glancing over at Jimin who was chatting along with Belle while Jungkook listened to her. “We were called faeries before but—Mr. Kim changed it after I was given the gold coat.” She gestured to her outfit.

Taehyungs’ brows furrowed looking down at her dress hoping the princess would explain why the change in her outfit was so important. Instead the criminal sitting in the middle began speaking.

“When an angel is given the gold coat, it signifies that she’s take—” Jungkook cleared his throat. “Apologies…she’s married.”

The princess nodded with a reassuring smile.

“Married.” Taehyung breathed out, feeling like a grey cloud engulfed him into a cold hug. Of all the things…of all the angels he had to melt in front of the one who was married.

Belles’ smile disappeared hearing Jungkooks’ correction. The smallest tiniest detail managed to snap a nerve that had been long hidden with her own pride and stubborn strength. He was wrong. Angel was taken. No real, true spouse would continue to let their wife be used as a sensual commodity for extra cash and this gold angel definitely brought in a lot from what she learnt. No real, true husband would manipulate someone and threaten her family just to keep up a good appearance as a married elite. This was far from being married. Marriage was something else entirely and these suited pigs would not ever understand the meaning. It was a business transaction. Her body deflated a little feeling that nudge of anxiety once again bubbling up but she quickly gave Jimin a kind smile.

Jimin knew fake smiles from a mile away but it did not take an expert to realize Mr. Jeons’ comment changed something in the gorgeous designer. Though he had to admit, she was good at holding one like she had been giving conveniently fake smiles for a while. He did not know if he should be impressed or terrified. Either way it seemed the perfect to initiate the next stage of the evening that Seokjin planned out for them. He gently touched Angels’ arm to give her the signal before speaking once everything was quiet. “Mr. Kim has private sessions booked for each of you. I will be taking Madame Belle to another room and Mr. Jeon is expected in a meeting with Mr. Kim.”

It might have sounded like Jungkook was forced to work while relaxing but he never really delved into the antics of the Sangria House. When he was a bit younger and curious, he did book a red angel occasionally but now nothing really compared to what he already had. Though something he did not like was Jimin offering his hand to Belle. “You don’t have to do that.” He muttered to the woman.

“It’s okay.” Belle spoke a little coldly, accepting Jimins’ hand as they walked out of the room.

Another angel wearing white walked into the room to escort Jungkook to wherever he needed to go but Taehyung did not really care where. All he could focus on was the fact he could now be alone with the gold princess. “Can I ask who you’re…married to?”

Angel smiled. “No one really asks. They like keeping my truth as far away from the confines of this room to make their evening more enjoyable.”

“What if I don’t want to do that?”

“Then you’d be the first.” She took a polite sip of her tea. “Is there something in particular you wanted me to do?”

“No!” Taehyung cleared his throat, cheeks heating up. “Uh—no, I—Talking is fine. I haven’t…spoken to anyone new in a long time.” He chuckled mostly to himself. Most of the friends he had left him in the dust the more he found his comfort in other things. He talked to Hoseok a lot but only when a transaction was involved, the nurses were anything but just highly paid nannies and Belle had a life of her own to lead. Sitting in this room now with the soft-spoken princess, he quickly felt how lonely he truly was.

“Am I doing a good job?” She giggled seeing the little sags under his eyes that resembled she saw in the mirror this morning.

He nodded without hesitation. Her mere presence seemed to bring a warmth in his belly, reassuring him that he was not lonely. That everything was okay even just for a moment.

-

The room Belle was escorted into had a similar structure to the previous one except instead of plain walls, there were cherry blossom designs giving the area a subtle pinkish hue. She walked inside and sat down on the cushion this time sitting in the middle while Jimin perched himself on the other side so they faced each other. “So…why the private session?”

Jimins’ eyes flickered up to the female while he served the tea before smiling. “Mr. Kim wanted each of you to fully enjoy the services we can provide.”

Her heart bounced a little at his words. “Ser—Services?” She breathed out a small chuckle. “What kind of services?”

The lavender adorned male could not help but giggle at her adorable reaction. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything unless you ask me to.”

“What if you don’t want to do what I ask?” Belle tilted her head. Not on her life would she ask Jimin or anyone to do anything disgusting for her own benefit but she was curious just how put together this establishment actually was.

He smiled. “It is my job to make you happy, Madame Belle.”

Clearly not that put together. “It would make me happy if you just called me Belle. ‘Madame’ is only used for senior designers.”

Jimin bowed. “Apologies—Belle. I looked at the designs you sent in for the House…you could be a senior designer if you wanted.”

Belle giggled lightly trying not to look too proud of herself since as Jimin said, it was his job to make her happy. “Thank you. Let me know if you want me to change anything.”

“That’s not really my decision but I think it’s perfect just the way it is.” He shrugged. A small moment of comfortable silence passed through them before Jimin spoke again with a careful thought. “Forgive me for asking, Belle…but–I saw you were very upset hearing Mr. Jeons’ comment.” Every word sounded so carefully calculated Belle wished she could speak like that in front of strangers. “Part of the responsibilities in Sangria House is to detect signs of…domestic disturbances. Our patrons tend be loose tongued which helps us find out if there is anyone who needs help getting away from something like that.”

“Oh—” She tried her best to hide how much her heart almost cracked her ribcages when it leaped in both fear and a strange excitement. “You don’t have to worry about all that.” Belle shook her head with a smile. Though a small lump still grew in her throat at how Jimin spoke his concerns despite barely knowing her. “Sangria House tracks domestic disturbances?”

Jimin nodded, smile softly adorning his ethereal features. “Most of our angels are from toxic environments.” He took a breath to say something as he glanced behind him. Then he leaned in with a smaller voice. “Angel…the golden lady used to be the mistress of a powerful club owner. I—I was the one who found the signs after a private session.”

Belle swallowed down the painful lump. “Who did she marry then?”

He sighed. “Since the man was so influential, he wouldn’t just let anyone marry her.” Jimin shook his head. “So—Mr. Kim offered his hand. Well…Angel trained five times as intense compared to the other angels so her status as a gold member would be valid.”

What little hope Belle had of the Sangria House being somewhere of help quickly dwindled down back to her original opinion. Angel moved from one controlling person to another. Maybe Seokjin was not an abuser of any sort but it did not change the fact she became a commodity just so she could be free from abuse. A ‘better’ life but did that make it a good life?

Though Jimin looked quite convinced that this was a righteous path for the House.

He could not exactly be miserable about it like she was since he had to actually live through all these routines and schemes.

Same way Belle couldn’t be upset about her deal with Jungkook otherwise it could make her insane with misery. Every time the small hint of reality hit her, she felt like her whole body was drowning in it all. Something so wrong damaged the entire structure of her future. If soulmates existed Belles’ would be left waiting or they would run to someone else they were not truly meant for.

“I’m sorry…I was supposed to entertain you, not make you feel awful.” Jimin chuckled nervously, shifting in his seat.

“No, no—” She shook her head smiling at him more genuinely this time. Her hand unintentionally slid closer to his as a way to comfort the angel. “Please, I—like talking about these things sometimes. It feels—real.” Her genuine smile faded into something a little sad but it still rang with truth. “I need a lot of real in my life right now.”

Jimin hummed in acknowledgement, one of his fingers lightly tapping against her hand. “Well if you ever want to visit again this House will always be open to you.”

Regardless of what she thought about this place, that was the first time anyone ever gave her words of comfort since the ‘engagement’. “Thank you, Jimin.”

-

“We’ve been in casual dealings for a long time now, Mr. Jeon.” Seokjin walked towards his desk after bringing out a wooden box from his shelf and placing it on the dark wooden surface. The lighting in the office had been a lot more dim with rarely any heavy decorations save for a few plants. This place clearly was only meant for business. “But I feel this new project may be able to solidify a stronger partnership between the two of our entities.” He tapped the closed box.

Jungkook sat on the chair in front of the desk, eyes fixated on the box before flickering up to the older male. “We don’t—share the same supplies, I’m afraid, Mr. Kim.” He shook his head a smirk lightly playing on his lips.

Seokjin chuckled settling down on the chair. He flicked the gold latches on the box and pushed the lid open before sliding it towards the young lord. “I believe you do share a similar interest for this kind of product.”

Giving the house owner a look of apprehension, he slowly leaned in and peeked into the box where he saw an indigo shaded stick almost resembling a cinnamon stick. On the left was a small bag of the same colored powder and then a liquid version in a vial. “What is this supposed to be?”

“There isn’t a name for it yet.” He shrugged. “But from I’ve asked a few of my white coats to try this product out and see the effects.”

Jungkook picked up the liquified version to examine it closer, little pink glitters seemed to shine through in the light making it look like some potion from the ancient times. “And? What were the results?”

“At first the usual, loss of inhibition maybe a little sense—then…we have increased sex drive, high performance and concentration ability, pain relief and for some people, a serious case of the giggles.” Seokjin rested his elbows on the table with his fingers intertwined with one another.

“Side effects?” He met the older males’ gaze, placing the vial back in the box.

“Didn’t think you were kind of man to worry about that.” He smirked.

“I didn’t get this kind of success by selling bad drugs, Seokjin.” Jungkook smiled with a slight bitter hint.

Seokjin sighed before nodding. “Of course—unfortunately, this drug is new and not exactly made by creators of your Cartels’ stature. Side effects included heavy addiction, loss of coordination, extreme mood swings, excessive coughing with blood traces, insomnia, sensitivity to light and cold and nightmares.”

“So nothing then?” He joked, raising a brow. “It’s going to take work to ensure at least lessening those side effects by half.”

“I take it that’s a yes on the partnership.” The corner of his lip twitched up a little.

Many club owners usually turned to him and his manufacturers for new and improved drugs that surpassed the traditional ones. Though in Jungkooks’ opinion, the originals always sold the most because they were effective for years. Except brothel or teahouse owners never really dabbled into the interest of his line of work. “Why the interest in this new field?”

Seokjin smiled leaning back on his chair. “I’m a businessman, Jungkook. There’s no field I don’t want to get into. It has been an interest of mine for years since many herbs and substances have yet to be discovered. Don’t you ever wonder if there was something out there in the world that could bring you more profit…more glory than your predecessor?”

Jungkook sat silent as the question lingered in the air for a few moments. Being so young and handed the cartel without his fathers’ death caused a disagreement amongst many associates. Despite the fear harbored by whoever crossed his path, the young man was always on the path to better himself in proving that he was the most capable and most influential. There was no room to be soft or complacent in this business.

“Also the lack of knowledge for this product may prevent any…mishaps from our new beloved mayor.”

Those clever words made his ears prick up quicker than he liked. A substance with similar effects to the originals but the look of none of them. If they succeed in perfecting it then maybe it would make being discreet that much easier. “I’ll talk about it with my manufacturers.” He spoke trying to be as emotionless as possible. But the prospect of his vulnerable mess of a cartel getting some security was soothing.

-

The sessions and a productive meeting flowed through deep into the dark night until the three were escorted back to their car.

Belle kept her eyes out on the window feeling a light emptiness gut after an angel walked into the room and told their session came to an end. Perhaps it was Jimins’ immense talent in luring his patrons. Whatever it was she had no interest in talking to the men in the car. She felt like her whole being was ripped apart, now she needed a few moments of deep silence to stitch herself back up.

Truthfully the girl did not say anything too detailed to the lavender angel but she never needed to. Somehow he had the talent of seeing her story with a few hints. That alone made her even more reluctant to uttering a single word to her brother or her makeshift fiancée.

Jungkook peeked from the rearview mirror at the woman looking out the window wondering what happened in the private session. Even as they met again in the lobby, Belle had a cold sheet over her to a point where he could feel the chill.

-

When they arrived to the mansion, Taehyung shyly suggested that they should visit the house more often which Belle agreed to with a slightly exhausted smile.

“You looked beautiful tonight.” Jungkook commented watching Belle take off her earrings and necklace, placing them in a black box.

“Thank you.” She replied under her breath, unpinning some parts of her hair relieving the light headache that ensued. Stop acting miserable, Belle told herself. It would only make it worse—her chest could not clench all her life. Her gaze still focused on the vanity, she pushed all her curls over her shoulder. “Could you unzip me?” Belle asked coyly. The woman had all capabilities of unzipping her own dress.

Shrugging the soft shirt off his shoulders, Jungkook padded towards the beauty and stood behind her. Eyes flickered to her reflection in the mirror watching her glow in the golden lights of the vanity. Hands carefully held onto the zip and pulled down tantalizing slow, wanting to stand this close to her as long as possible. The scent of her perfume blessed his nostrils, he had to lean down and nudge his nose against her hair.

Belle couldn’t help but close her eyes, chest rising and falling. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. Why did something fake feel so good then? His slightly rough fingers sneaking through the slit of her unzipped dress tracing up her back making her shiver a little. She shrugged off the one sleeve keeping her clothing hanging, nipples now peeking out from the green velvet.

Jungkook kept his gaze on the reflection as his hand reached out to push down the fabric so her gorgeous breasts could be full display. Fingers brushed up her chest before wrapping around her neck and turning her head up, lips devouring hers. Tongue pushed through her teeth not wasting any time exploring every corner of her mouth.

She sneaked through the slit of her dress and rolled her panties down to her thighs. Sneaking her hand behind her, Belle palmed the tightening bulge in his pants feeling him groan into her mouth which only made her moan back. Nothing fake should ever feel this good.

Losing all his sense and patience, he pulled her dress to see her beautiful ass in bare display as she bent over slightly on the table. Jungkook unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down watching Belle cheekily sway that gorgeous peach. No one should be this irresistible. One little tiny move from the woman had his head floating in the clouds. Nails dug into her skin, fingers wrapping around his cock before teasing her slit.

As much as Belle loved his tongue, feeling his hardened tip had her body tingling for more. Heated arousal leaked out of her awaiting core while she pressed her ass against his member silently asking to hurry.

“Did Jimin see this?” He slapped his cock against one ass cheek making the woman hum.

She shook her head looking at him through the mirror. “Only you.” Voice came in a whisper that leaked of a little desperation.

“Only me.” Jungkook muttered, giving her an almost borderline sinister smirk. Hands grabbed at her hips as he stuffed his cock into her pussy without a single warning.

Belle lightly groaned under her breath, nails scratching against the surface of the table. Her wet core swallowed his entire member with a light ache but it quickly faded into a warm filling that she craved for too long.

“Say it again.” He demanded.

She glanced over her shoulder for a second trying to hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “Only you.” A harsh thrust from behind had Belle’s body trembling in the best way possible.

“Again.” His voice grew breathless, each thrust snapping with rough need.

“Only you.” Belle moaned out feeling the tip of his cock rubbing against the sweet spot. Arms around her body, chest pressing against her back making his shaft hit deeper and slower pushing through his deprived orgasm. “Only—” She gasped when she felt her sensitive spot get tortured, her legs momentarily losing balance from the sensation.

“Fuck, baby—” He cursed in a breathy mumble, face buried in her hair as his orgasm raced closer.

“Master Jeon!” A yell echoed upstairs but Jungkook merely groaned at the horrible timing.

Pushing Belle down further, he rammed into her like an animal. All the makeup and skincare products stumbled and fell over the shaking table.

“Master Jeon!”

Each time the yell echoed, his thrusts grew more vicious. Her skin burned from the friction against the table surface while her limbs lost all ability to have any control of their own. Belle still could not control the small smile on her face. The feeling of her body completely submitting to the beast fucking her from behind brought a new rush of adrenaline.

Jungkook grabbed onto a chunk of her hair relishing in her little moans being drowned out by the impact against the contents of the table.

Loud knocking on their bedroom door interrupted their heated air for a second.

“Baby, don’t stop please…” Belle whimpered feeling her release reach tipping point.

That nickname again made his thrusts sloppy as the warm heaviness in his lower belly reached its uncontrollable, quickly pulling out of her. Juice spluttered all over her ass and back making her look like a sinful piece of art.

Her legs felt like pure jelly as the jolt of overwhelming pleasure clouded every other thought ever constructed in her mind. When she almost stumbled, Jungkook held her gently.

“Master Jeon! It’s an emergency!”

Jungkook groaned under her breath.

“It’s okay, go.” She whispered patting his arm.

Reluctantly letting go of the beauty and zipping himself back up, he stomped towards the door and almost pulled it off its hinges. Much to his increased frustration one of his sweaty associates stood on the other side of the door. “What could possibly be so important that you had to disturb my private time?” He glanced back at the walk-in wardrobe to see Belle completely getting rid of her clothing.

“S-sir the—” He stammered giving Jungkook the urge to strangle him right there and then.

“Speak or I cut your throat.”

“The den, sir.” He shivered. “One of our dens...police did a raid, we lost of our twenty percent supplies…sir.”

Jungkook narrowed his gaze at the older male feeling the deep warm bliss now cut through by his harsh reality. They actually fucking did it. Ever since that scandal, not a single soul in the police force dared to take them down but now suddenly someone decided to play hero in front of this new mayor. “You’re the one who supposed to keep the den under guard.”

The male gulped down hard. “I—I had to get out of there.”

“You should’ve died with it.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Sorry…” God he fucking hated that word. What did it ever solve? Jungkook nodded, rubbing the back of his neck walking over to the study table. Pulling out his gun he pointed it at the mans’ left leg and took a shot. Then another on his right leg.

He limped down screaming in agony while the drug lord merely stared him down in disgust.

“Jungkook!” Belle called out, heart jumping to her throat at the sound of gunshots. Her body now adorned a thick robe which she hugged close to herself. He looked back over his shoulder to meet her gaze, eyes reddened once again with anger and maybe a hint of distress. “Don’t…”

His entire body wanted to melt into hers for the rest of the night. Maybe it would make him forget all his problems for a while but he couldn’t. The mayor worked day and night trying to get one step ahead of him and now they were. Jungkook couldn’t let this happen. He had to send a message. A damn good one. “Go to sleep, okay? Close your ears if you have to.” He whispered.

Belle took a breath to say something but nothing came out so she sucked in her bottom lip, watching him close the door so all she could do was hear it all. The man screamed, sounds something crashing and choking. Feet backed away until her body plopped down sitting on the edge of the bed. This was his job, she knew that. But it all went back to what Jungkook was truly capable of. Why taking his deals were so important. Every sound reminded Belle of how it could be Taehyung going through the same fate. Maybe one day when the drug-lord grew tired of the same face, she would be on her knees allowing him to seal her fate just as he took control of it.

So she took his advice and pressed her hands against her ears tightly hoping to block the reality she was trying so hard to suppress.

<< PREV CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER >> 

Impulse: El Ojo (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: Top of your class, the DEA have sent you to Colombia to be the poster child for their new ‘placement program’. You’re thrown in at the deep end into the drug war. With Agent Peña as your mentor, what could possibly go wrong? 

Warnings: swearing, injury to reader, alcohol and drug abuse, threatening with guns, brief mentions of torture, description of injury and blood, unwanted touching, flirting, bad thought processes (addiction). PINK SHIRT 

Word Count: 5k 

A/N: Had a little change of plan last week, this is now the final chapter of this series. I am so sad to end it now, I’ve loved writing this so much. My first time writing for Narcos so thank you so much for all the support y’all I’ve given me with this. I love you all. I hope you enjoy this chapter!! 

<-- Previous Chapter // Masterlist //  Next Chapter -->

--

You were on a winning streak. Since you’d found the list of sicarios and matched that up with the more current information, you’d presented it to Carrillo and surprisingly he was on board. With his help, you had brought down five, admittedly low level but increasingly more valuable, sicarios. If you didn’t think about the torture and abuse each of them undertook once captured, used to break them into more telling more information, you could say you were doing a good job. Escobar’s organisation was shaking. You were coming for him. 

You and Steve leant against a wall, soaking up the sunshine chatting amongst yourselves when you saw Javier arrive. You hadn’t expected him to come at all, having disappeared without a word early on in the morning. He parked his truck close by, walking over to you and Steve with his vest in hand. You grinned and jabbed Steve when you saw the shirt Javi was wearing. 

The pink shirt had been a long-standing joke since you’d found it in his closet a few months ago. He had many colourful shirts, was known for them, but the pink one always seemed like another level. You and Steve teased him about it constantly, though you had to admit it did look good on him now. Javi scowled when he saw you and Steve’s mischievous grins, immediately realising his mistake. 

“I know you get called the Whore of Bogata but you don’t need to dress like it! Jesus christ Javi!” You fanned yourself with your hand, grinning at him, “really I’m going to need a minute,” Javi flipped you off as you laughed hard.  

“Shut up, I look great,” He grumbled. 

“Just thinking about the poor flamingo you rinsed for that colour,” Steve joined in the teasing, shaking his head sadly. 

“You are just jealous you could never pull this colour off,” Javi said smugly. You laughed.

“Maybe you shouldn’t come out today, could be quite distracting,” You said, pretending to be thoughtful. Javi’s frowned, only making you and Steve laugh more, “Aw don’t get pissy, Baby. We love you really” You teased him in a mocking voice, pouting at him. “You and your flamboyant choices,” You ruffled his hair up as you passed him. He tried to duck out the way but you caught him. He shoved you away, muttering expletives under his breath. You skipped a few paces out of his reach, flipped him off. 

“L/n!” Somebody called your name across the street, one of the technicians you’d been talking to before Javier arrived. You left Steve and Javier to talk. 

The technician explained the problem again, showing you the options for moving forward. It was quite common that things would go wrong before any kind of mission. Today was no different, the technicians had lost a signal and were now not sure that the address you had swarmed was correct.  

You chewed your nails while you thought. You could risk getting the wrong house, letting the sicarios know you were on to them and you’d lose them again. You could come back another day, but risk losing them again. Or you could ransack some innocent person's house and have Carrillo on your ass for ruining his reputation in the one week he’d left you in charge. 

 If you messed this up it would mean your stronghold would be lost. There would be time for them to work out what was going on and move everything again. 

At a loss, you excused yourself needing to take a break and a few minutes alone to think without soldiers trying to put in their two cents. 

As your work life had become more stressful over the last months. You had found some relief in, ironically, coke. It wasn’t a habit you were trying to form, but you had learnt just what good taking just a little bit could do for you. It quietened down your worried brain and made you simultaneously more aware of everything. You were better when you were just a little bit high.  

You had started keeping a small amount in your pocket. Hidden in a small sewing tin in your jacket pocket, you had started keeping a little coke on you especially for moments like this. You could take it, have a breather, and come back with a solution. It was fine. Nobody would know. 

You’d spotted a cafe across the road, and hoped they had a restroom. You gave an excuse to the soldier you’d been talking to and walked across the street.

“Oi Rookie!” Javi called as he noticed you walk past on the opposite side of the street. “Where are you going?” 

“Going to the bathroom. Women’s issues,” You called back, Javi and Steve grimaced. That was always the best excuse.

While you wouldn’t do it at the compound you didn’t have any reservation here. You’d been itching for a hit all morning and there was only so much more you could take. You walked into the cafe, asked for the direction of the restroom, and locked the door behind you once you were inside. Small, dark and stinking of pee, it was not the best place but hygiene wasn’t particularly an issue you were worried about. 

You tipped a small amount from the box onto the sink counter, lined it up with a card from your pocket, bent down and took it up your nose. You grimaced, while it had burnt your nose somewhat it still stung. But it was worth it when the feeling began to kick in. You smiled at your reflection and double-checked your appearance in the mirror, wiping your nose. Nobody could ever tell. 

As usual, the drug kicked your brain into gear again and everything fell into place. The raid went brilliantly, by pure coincidence you’d bagged two sicarios in one as your original target had invited your next round for dinner with his new girlfriend. Your plan well into the swing of things now, much to everyone’s surprise. 

—

Like every weekend for the last three months, you were going out. The line between enemies and friends was long since blurred, hanging out with ‘Isabela’s’ friends was not an issue. Most of the time you weren’t even trying to get anything from them, you’d got what you needed months ago. As fun as Javier and Steve were, it was much more enjoyable to hang out with people your age. And they wouldn’t give you cocaine, María had it on tap. 

You were dressed up, recently treating yourself to a new outfit as a job well done. A black off the shoulder top, covered in lace, and a little black mini skirt. You felt sexy, you were going to have a very good night. 

“Rookie!” Javier called out to you as he came out of the apartment building. You were standing outside waiting for a taxi, smoking a cigarette.

“Javi, baby, you’re looking slick! Where are you going?” You checked him out. He wore his signature tight blue jeans and an equally tight black shirt that was almost bursting at the seams. He looked incredible, as he always did. 

You were thankful that things had gone back to normal between you and Javier. The awkward stepping around each other had gone, you weren’t jealous. You acknowledged you would probably always like him a little more than was professional but that had fallen into a fun flirty banter that more than anything just wound Steve up.

You found yourself calling him Baby more than his name, it’d started as a joke to get back at him for always calling you Rookie but now it was so commonplace people had stopped picking you up on it if it slipped out while you were working.  

It was fun. You cared for each other, that was clear to even a blind man, but there was no romanticism to the relationship anymore. There was no need. It wasn’t good for either of you. You’d found a comfortable rhythm and were going to stick to it. 

“Out,” He shrugged, “That’s a new top,”

“You noticed?” 

 “Course, can’t keep my eyes off you,” He purred, happily playing along with your game. 

“Thought you’d be more interested in the skirt,” 

“Will you two quit it?” Steve’s voice interrupted your flirting as he walked down the stairs. You barked in laughter. 

“Steve! So it’s a boys night I see? Where was my invite?” 

“Figured you’d have your own plans,” Steve said. 

“And you are correct Murphy but it’s always polite to ask,”

 “Next time,” He assured you. “Where are you going tonight?” 

“I don’t know. Some club, El Ojo or something?” You shrugged, “Seeing as this is maybe Isabela’s last time out I am going to go out with a bang, literally,” You raised an eyebrow, insinuation of your worlds made Steve roll his eyes. 

You were hoping within the next few weeks to be able to close in on some higher level sicarios and associates to Escobar. Drawing the noose in slowly so he wouldn’t notice until it’d choked him. That meant your position as Isabela was going to have to come to an end to keep you safe from your own program. You’d discussed it at length with Peña and Murphy, while you didn’t agree you had to listen to them. They were still your superiors after all, no matter how close friends you were. 

“If you told past you you were going to willingly sleep with a Narco I think you would have passed out,” Steve laughed. 

“I’m a changed woman Murphy, what can I say,” You smirked, “Imagine what I’ll be like by the end of the year,” 

“God help us,” Javier shook his head, a smirk plastered on his face. You laughed and stubbed out your cigarette with your shoe as your taxi pulled around the corner. 

“Here’s my ride. Have a good night, boys. I will be back in the morning,”

 —

El Ojo was just as María had told you. Modern and smoke-filled, people were filling every inch of the space. You walked in and couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face. This was exactly what you needed. Crowds were anonymous, nobody cared who you were or what you were doing. Everyone was just there for one reason, to have a good time. 

You ordered a drink at the bar, flirting with the man next to you briefly before taking the drink and finding your friends. As usual, they were up in the VIP area, courtesy of the Parreño name. You walked up and were let inside the cordoned-off area to find Diego stood up on his seat, wild-eyed, shouting about something. It wasn’t until you got closer that you heard what he was saying. 

“I’m telling you Isabela is lying!” He shouted above the music. 

“What’s going on?” You asked. None of the ten people surrounding the booth noticed your approach, their eyes shifting awkwardly when they saw you. 

“You! You’re a liar!” Diego pointed down at you, hatred burning behind his eyes. 

“What is going on?” You asked again. You looked around for María, she was usually the one to step between you and Diego, but she was nowhere to be seen. This was not the kind of conversation you’d wanted for this evening. 

“You were the only one to survive that raid at Carlos’,” He continued, jumping off the couch to your level,  “That fucking maniac Carrillo killed everyone but you! You’re working with them, aren’t you?” 

“You’ve lost it,” You rolled your eyes, “Completely lost it,”

“You don’t deny it!” He yelled. You gulped, trying not to look scared of the man but the rage in his eyes was shaking you. You stepped backwards as he advanced toward you

“You’re insane!” You laughed in his face, “I’m not a fucking spy, especially not for Carrillo,” 

“Bullshit,” He spat, Suddenly he pulled a gun from his back, waving it in your face. People shouted and screamed around you, scattering as the metal glinted in the light. Your eyes remained on his, not saying a word as he pressed the barrel into your neck. You didn’t move, barely breathing, “You’re a fucking rat,” He growled.

“Diego!” Finally, María stepped in, running over when she heard the commotion. “Stop it, put it away. Idiot,” She pulled the gun from his hand, standing firmly between you and him. “Ignore him. He’s paranoid. Someone’s leaking information and he thinks it's you because he’s a jealous asshole,” Maria explained, swiftly pushing him backwards until he sat back in the booth again, “How fucking ridiculous would that be? You? A spy!” 

“Insane,”  You agreed through a clenched jaw. Diego continued to glare at you dangerously, leaning over to whisper something to a friend. 

“I swear if we get banned from this club because of you Diego I am leaving you,” María said angrily, “Come on, I want to party,” She linked her arm through you, not caring that you were still in shock from having a gun held to you, and dragged you to the bar.

Fortunately, copious amounts of vodka and tequila were great for calming your nerves. In a few hours, you had nearly forgotten the entire ordeal. You couldn’t think about anything more than the music ringing in your ears and how good it felt dancing on the stranger behind you. 

After a while, María pulled you back up to the booth where Diego and his friends were still sitting. You did your best to ignore him, chatting to one of the girls at the table instead. You laughed and did a few lines, generally relaxing into the evening. So relaxed you didn’t notice the newest member of the group until he finally addressed you.

“Don’t I know you?” You looked over and panic spread over you like a bucket of ice water over your head sobering you almost instantly. He did know you. The man before you was the first man you had arrested, almost six months ago. He must have been bailed out for jail. 

“No,” You answered confidently. You didn’t lie. You didn’t know him, not really.

“Gabriel, sit down!” María cheered, “Isabela this is my cousin, Gabriel. Gabriel, Isabela,” She introduced you. Her cousin. Of course. You smiled politely, praying the dim lights would hide the nervous sweat that had overtaken you. 

Gabriel looked confused but didn’t say anything if he did recognise you. Not that that would matter anyway, as soon as he spoke to Diego his memory would no doubt be jogged. If he found out you were a DEA agent you would be dead. You had to leave.

“Here take my seat, I’ve got to get some air for a minute,” You stood up, letting him take your place next to Maria. You caught Diego’s suspicious look as you walked past, spotting the nearest exit door. 

Your hands were shaking, your body not sure what to do with itself. The cocaine and alcohol said to go back inside and take them all out. What was left of your rational brain was consumed by fear and kept you outside. It was bad enough if someone like Senator Parreño had suspicions about you but Diego? Gabriel? Diego had already shown he wasn’t afraid to threaten you in public. Of the two of them joined heads they would connect the dots and your cover would be blown wide open. So would you, you thought morbidly. Coke and anger never mixed well. 

You took breathes of the warm summer air, leaning against the wall of the club as you tried to calm yourself down. You shouldn’t have taken the last shot, now verging over the edge of blacking out; your vision was spotty, sound not registering properly and your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. 

You wondered if Steve and Javi were nearby, the fresh air having the opposite effect than you’d wanted. You would blackout and you were going to need help to get home if you did. But you didn’t recall either of the men telling you where they were going, they could be anywhere in the city. 

Stumped for the moment, you decided to wait it out, lighting a cigarette hoping that might help sober you up. You pulled the packet from your purse

“Need a light?” A man appeared next to you, lighter in hand. You nodded and he flicked the flame up, you bent over and lit your cigarette between your teeth. 

“Thanks,” You mumbled, turning away from him, hoping he would leave. He didn’t. Instead, the man continued to stare at you, following you into your personal space as you shuffled away from him. 

“Can I help you?” You snapped, immediately getting a bad feeling about him. You crossed your arms over your chest, frowning at him. 

“No need for that tone baby. Come on, I wanna talk to you,” He purred. His eyes dipped to your cleavage, a lustful look in his eyes. 

“I’m not interested,” You said, stepping backwards away from the man. He seemingly didn’t hear you, continuing to get into your personal space, arms reaching out to grab your hips. 

“You were interested earlier. Come on, baby,” He purred, pulling you close to him, pressing his hips against yours. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You yelled, pushing him off hard enough to make him stumble backwards. 

“Fucking bitch,” He growled. 

If you were sober the situation would have a very swift end. You would punch him square in the face and he would leave you alone, scuttling away with a broken jaw and a shattered ego. However, you were not in a state to do that now. He had the upper hand. All you could do was run, hoping once you were back amongst people he wouldn’t attack you. You looked up the alley, the open street was just a few feet away. 

You bolted.

Unfortunately just as you didn’t have enough coordination to punch the man, you didn’t have enough to run in heels on the uneven floor. Not even ten foot away your legs wobble, heels falling into a pothole sending you forward. You fell into a dumpster, head hitting the corner of the metal with a thud. You yelped, vision going black for a moment as you lay on the concrete. 

“Hey hey hey,” A man ran over, instantly scaring the man off of you. He knelt by your side and helped you up from where you’d fallen. You groaned and pushed yourself up, head throbbing harshly, warm liquid trickling down your face. Your world was spinning even with your eyes closed. “Y/n, Fuck are you okay?”

“Get off me!” You exclaimed, trying to push the stranger off, not that your shaking arms were very effective. 

“Y/n hey it’s me, you’re okay!” You looked up and saw Steve through a haze of blurred vision. You squinted as something dripped over your eye. Steve then saw the cut to your head, “Oh shit,” Your eyes are glassy and blown out, you mumbled something to him and pushed yourself out of his reach again, wobbling and tipping backwards. He caught you before you hit the floor again. “Y/n what are you doing out here? Weren’t you with your friends?”

“Her brother was the first guy,” You said, your speech slurred so much Steve barely understood what you were saying.

“Rookie, you’re not making sense. What are you on about?” 

“I’m so fucked,” You sighed, letting your head rollback. You giggled as the world spun. 

“Yeah, I can tell, come on let’s get you home,” Steve stood up, holding his hands out to you and pulled you up to standing again. 

“Where’s Peña?” You asked. 

“At the bar,” 

“I want to go talk to him, let’s go talk to him!” You exclaimed. You began to walk in the opposite direction, dragging Steve along by the arm. He pulled you back with ease. 

“You can talk to him in the morning, we’re going home,” He insisted.

“But I have to tell him about the brother he’s going -,” Your rambling was interrupted as you threw up, barely missing Steve’s leg. He grimaced and jumped out of the way, “I have to talk to him,” You said quietly once you were done. 

“Tomorrow, Kid,” He repeated himself.

You pouted, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes but you didn’t fight him. Despite how drunk you were you knew that going home would realistically be the best course of action right now. You could barely string a sentence together let alone get anything important out coherently.

Steve got you into a taxi, luckily the driver paid no attention to the blood dripping down your face. You were falling asleep on his shoulder as you pulled up to the apartment, Steve pulled you out of the car and up the stairs to the apartment. Only when he opened the door, he was met by Javier and Vanessa also on their way inside.

“Woah!” Javier instantly turned his full attention to you when he saw the state you were in, hanging onto Steve’s sleeve, “What happened?” 

“Some guy tried to touch her up, she hit her head, I’ve got it covered,” Steve explained.

“Hey Baby,” You grinned, obviously giving Javi a once over. 

“She doesn’t look alright,” Vanessa commented, “Did she just call you baby?”

“It’s a long story,” Javi dismissed the comment. “She doesn’t look okay,”

“I’ve got it covered. I’ll get her to throw up and get some water to sober her up,” Steve said, “We’ll be okay, won’t we Rook?”

“Fine and dandy!” You grinned.

“If you’re sure,” Javi said hesitantly. You were gone, hanging onto Steve’s arm to hold yourself up. Your eyes were blown out and blank, if you remembered anything in the morning it would be a miracle. His first reaction was to help you, not sure Steve could handle you alone. Steve wasn’t exactly sober himself, sinking a good few beers with Javier in the bar before he’d left. However, his decision was made for him as you and Steve began walking up the stairs, Vanessa’s hands were back on him and any worry was squashed as she dragged him into his apartment.

Upstairs, Steve took you into his apartment. He took you to the bathroom, sat you on top of the toilet and rooted around the medicine cabinet to find some cleaning supplies so he could patch up your bleeding head. 

“Connie’s probably got something in here,” He rooted through the cabinet. Connie had gone back to Miami for the week to see her family, inconveniently right when her skills were needed. Steve’s tipsy attempt at first aid would have to do,“Ah-ha! Here we go, clean that cut out with this,”

“Ow!” You whined, flinching away from him quickly when he showed you the antiseptic bottle. 

“I didn’t touch you,” Steve chuckled, “Hold still,” Carefully he poured the liquid over a cotton ball, took hold of your face in the other hand and dabbed the cotton on your cut. 

“Ow! Steve that fucking hurt,” You complained, flinching away from him as the alcohol stung the wound on your head. You frowned at him, tearing up a little. 

“Don’t be a baby,” 

“I am a baby!” You exclaimed. Steve grabbed hold of you again, he needed to clean the wound if it was going to heal properly. You whined and hissed at him but eventually, it was clear. 

“Look, all done, got the grit out,”

“Thanks, Steve,” You kissed his cheek quickly. 

“You’re welcome,” He laughed awkwardly. “Come on, you can’t sleep on my toilet. Bedtime,”

“You’re not my type,” You scrunched your nose and leant away from him. 

 “Ouch way to break my heart Rook,” Steve chuckled, “No, you’re going to your own bed, by yourself,”

“It's so far away!” You whined. 

“It's across the hall!” He copied your tone making you laugh. 

Steve pulled you up from the toilet and managed to wrangle you across the hall. Half asleep, leaning into Steve before you even got inside the apartment, you fell into bed without protest. Steve pulled off your shoes, throwing them on the ground before stumbling back to his apartment to collapse in his bed. 

—

Waking up in your apartment unsure of how you got there, was a strange feeling. What was even stranger was the harsh throbbing on your head. You blindly brought a hand to the sight, recoiling instantly as you touched something sore. You sat up, slowly opening your eyes to the daylight and looked at your reflection in the mirror opposite your bed. 

You groaned when you saw the gash on your forehead. Dried blood sat in the creases of your neck, and underside of your jaw as well as being crusted into your hair. You tried to remember how you’d gotten the injury but came up blank. You couldn’t remember anything from the night before. Not unusual for your almost nihilistic habits, but it was concerning given the infliction. 

You looked at the clock. 9 am. You’d slept in. Since you were up you decided to clean yourself up. You padded to your bathroom, wincing at the harsh light inside and the grinding sound of the extractor fan. You filled the sink with warm water and gently cleaned the blood from your face with a cloth, only once stopping to throw up into the toilet. 

You showered, hot steam help clear your brain fog but not helping the cut on your forehead which now stung immensely. But that wasn’t the feeling you were concentrating on. 

A new kind of hunger, one you weren’t yet familiar with had settled in on the back of your tongue. A repeating idea chanting over and over in your head. It had partly been cocaine’s fault you’d got into this mess, but it would get you out of this hangover now. 

You remembered you had some in your jacket pocket from the day before, leftover. Once you’d thought about it there was no stopping you. You didn’t have to take it all, you could stop yourself if you wanted. You pulled the tin out from your coat, sit it down on your dressing table while you pulled on some clothes. 

 You sat back at the dressing-table again once you were done and stared at the box. You’d not done it here more than once or twice. Never by yourself. Something about being at home with it made you feel guilty, possibly because you were surrounded by your friends who also happened to be DEA agents who would kill you if they found the stuff in the building. 

You picked up the box, contemplating it. You could get something done if you took it. Wouldn’t have to sit in your hungover state and wallow in self-pity until the headache left. You could go for a walk. Do nice things. Taking the cocaine would bring you nice things, as it always did. 

You opened it. 

“Morning,” Javier’s voice inside your apartment suddenly startled you, causing you to spill the contents of your box all over your dressing table. 

“Fuck,” You swore out loud. 

“Okay in there?” You regretted giving him a key. You did not need the interruption. His voice snapped you back to reality. You decided you didn’t have time, or rather not wanting to be caught red-handed, you decided to leave it and greet your surprise guest. 

“Good morning,” You said brightly, opening and closing your bedroom door tightly behind you. Javier was standing in the middle of your living room, a book in hand flicking through it. He discarded it back to the coffee table where he’d found it when you appeared. 

“Just wanted to check you were alright, you looked rough last night,” Javi said, “that cut looks sore,”

“It stings but it’ll be ok in a few days,” You shrugged. Javi looked at you strangely, “Did you come up here for something?” You asked. 

“You don’t remember what today is?” He asked. You frowned and thought for a moment. 

“It’s your birthday?” You asked slowly. 

“No,”

“It’s my birthday?”

“I don’t know when you’re birthday is,” 

“Javi I’ve obviously forgotten please just tell me,” You pleaded. 

“Searchblok, you and Steve swapped. Remember?”

“Shit!” You exclaimed. How could you have forgotten?! You scrambled back into your room to get changed, boxer shorts and a hole-ridden t-shirt wouldn’t cut it. 

“I should write you up for the mess you were in last night,” He called through the door as you rushed to get dressed, pulling on the nearest jeans on your floor. That’s not the only thing you should write me up for, you thought looking at the cocaine on your dressing table.

“I should write you up for sleeping with hookers,” You said back.

“Nowhere in my contract does it say I can’t! You however have a reckless behaviour clause,” He said. Your heart stopped at that, opening the door quickly to pop your head out.

“Javi-“

“I’m joking Rook, don’t worry!” Javier laughed. You rolled your eyes and shut the door again, pulling on a fresh shirt. A few seconds later you stepped out, buttoning the last of the clasps on your shirt. “I was worried about you but you’re fine so we’ll forget it ever happened,” 

“Thanks, Baby,” You grinned at him. Javi rolled his eyes.

“You need to stop that though,” 

 “You love it,” You teased him. He didn’t reply, turning on his heel and walking out. You hesitated for a moment, glancing back at your bedroom door. The coke was still lined up in there, calling to you. It would only take a few seconds to do it and get rid of your hangover for a few hours.

“Rookie, hurry up!” Javi called you from the hallway, audibly impatient. You decided against it, grabbing your keys and a jacket and running to catch up with him. He was already waiting by the truck by the time you got downstairs. “Did anything interesting happen last night, then?” Javi asked. You tried to think for a moment, you remembered something important had happened, something you’d wanted to tell him last night but you couldn’t remember what. You shrugged.

“Apart from getting this,” You gestured to the injury to your forehead, “I can’t remember. There was something but I don’t know,” 

“Can’t have been very important then,” Javi added. You shrugged and shook your head. 

“Guess not,” 

Next Chapter  -->

--

Finally we’ve come full circle, I am so sad it’s over I have absolutely loved writing this series. Again I want to say a massive thank you to everyone’s that read the series, it means more than you could imagine. I love you all. I’m going to have a cry and make a start on all the other things I’ve been neglecting to write this.

The ending is already written and posted so if you haven’t read it go enjoy :))

tag list: @beskar-falcon  @peterssweetpea @beskarbabs @all-hallows-evie @harrys-stan @wille-zarr @danniburgh @rentheisopod @urbankaite2 @whataloadofmalarkey @ahsofka @yeetus-my-feetus @sara-alonso @xiao-lusi @all-good-things-have-an-ending @eternallyvenus @ajeff855 @mayangel19 @1950schick @pedrosmustache @wantingtobekorra @balmasedas @angelsunflxwer @brujademente​ @kingsmanandqueens​ @igotissueswithfictionalmen​

Lover’s Nightmare

[Jung Wooyoung]

🎃 Love/Hate - Cameron Sanderson 🎃

Murderer/Serial Killer!Jung Wooyoung

Short One-Shot/Drabble

WARNING(S): Implied descriptions of blood, Minor Cursing

Jung Wooyoung was the epitome of sweet temptation and impish desires wrapped up in a pleasant daydream.

A man who was known by many as a social butterfly who had the most unusual connections and a typical reputation of being the eyecandy of many hopeless romantics. Despite these attempts to connect with everyone, an air of mystery always followed Wooyoung wherever he went. It wasn’t troublesome, but given his social nature, it was quite peculiar.

Or perhaps, that was you reading too much into his character.

It was one of the many mysteries that surrounded Wooyoung for you always remained focused on work and school. Experiencing romance had always fallen low on the list of priorities in life for you. You never complained nor felt guilty for being straightforward with your intentions. You were simply a college student drowning in student debt and working a basic part-time job that barely gave you enough hours to cover for basic necessities. Romance wasn’t exactly in your schedule.

Wooyoung’s care-free nature and your disciplined front clashed, but here you were; taking the dive and being blinded by Wooyoung’s affection.

His smile, sweet as the sugar mixed in a stolen spoonful of cookie dough and warm like the sunshine in the early morning hours never failed to bring about a spur of butterflies in your stomach each and every time you were able to catch a glimpse of it. His playfulness was contagious, always succeeding in distracting you from the stressfulness of life. Couple that smile with his melodic laughter and you were completely smittened—blinded even, in the illusion of love that the two of you managed to create over a short period of time. Oh, how foolish you were to let your guard down the moment you deemed it was safe to do so. Perhaps that’s when your unfortunate fate was sealed.

Perhaps, it was the moment you fell in love with Jung Wooyoung. For that feeling of your heart swelling with admiration and desire was all that was needed to keep you from noticing the dark future that awaited you.

You were convinced, however, like the lovestruck fool that you were, that this was all some nightmare that you were stuck in. A bad dream that will end the moment you take your final breath and ultimately wake up with Wooyoung’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist, protecting you from the little monsters that roam at night and terrorize those in dreamland.

Yet, here you were instead, staring up at the same face that you fell in love with as he loomed over you with the moonlight illuminating his figure as if he is some fallen angel waiting for that very moment you hoped would reveal a better fate.

The air, as thick as it was with the scent of iron, was cool. It was the only thing that brought you comfort as the feeling of life in your body seeped away. The wound to your side throbbed violently with each passing moment, but you couldn’t manage to put enough pressure on it and therefore, left your body to lay on the concrete, waiting patiently for Wooyoung to cut the last thread you were desperately hanging on to.

“Sweetheart,” Wooyoung hummed as he crouched down.

Your chapped lips remained tightly pressed together, not daring to say anything to the man you once called your lover.

“You were so close,” he sighed as his hand reached out for one of your own. His fingers grazed the inside of your cold palm. “Just a few more steps and you would have been free.”

You swallowed the hard lump that had formed in your throat as you glared at the man above you.

“Fuck you, Jung Wooyoung,” you cursed.

No words left Wooyoung’s mouth. All he gave in response was a simple shrug of the shoulders before he sat down right next to you. He broke his gaze away from your piercing one and glanced up at the night sky above you two.

“It won’t be long now, [Name],” he chuckled softly. “You still have a few hours before Halloween ends and then maybe, you’ll be able to escape your little nightmare.”

A little nightmare. That’s all this is, after all, you thought as you sucked in a shaky breath. Like the fool you were, you still tried to convince yourself just that. However, it felt like time was not on your side as each breath you took seemed to take every bit of energy you had. Your heart refused to speed up its tempo, dragging every beat out for as long as it can. Eventually, you turned your own eyes up towards the sky in an attempt to bury the bitterness that clouded your mind deep down in your soul. This is it, you thought, staring at the moon above. I’ll die with the moon as my only witness.

Only silence came as an answer as Wooyoung turned to look back at your sprawled figure. The rosy hue that once decorated your warm cheeks now formed a bloody puddle underneath your body. Your breath, often wasted in muttered curses directed towards your assignments and work, was now shallow— almost too shallow for Wooyoung’s liking.

“It’ll be okay,” Wooyoung murmured softly as he brushed a few stray strands of hair off your sweat-covered forehead.

“I’ll wake you up a little later. Just sleep this bad dream away for now.”

Death Valley

Where the dreams of our opponents come to die.

Where Dr. Callais, the chair of the department, chose to have me meet him to discuss my return to LSU. It would not be where my dreams died, of that I was resolute. I knew that my brothers, Alexander, and Beau had covered bases and made sure that my sudden disappearance had been explained sufficiently to allow me to return to some semblance of normalcy. Now I just had to close the deal.

I had driven up from Darrow to my old Victorian mansion in Baton Rouge the night before. Now as I slid behind the wheel of my Land Rover, my fingers flexing as they started to grip the steering wheel, there was a mix of excitement and fear that began to swirl within me. Another step forward was getting ready to take place. This one I had to do on my own. I knew I could do it, but that didn’t mean that my heart didn’t pound a little.

The engine roared to life and I backed out of the garage and then out onto my street before heading to campus. The closer I got, the more sure I felt. A cocky smirk formed on my face, this was home turf. Death Valley. There was something a bit ironic after the last year, but somehow fitting as well. Here I go...off to the Valley of Death, a smirk on my blood red lips as I do.

My timing was perfect as I swung the Land Rover into the parking lot just a few seconds behind Dwayne. We ended up parking nose to nose up in the front row, both of us smiling. We were colleagues, but we were also friends. Years of working together had given us quite a bond. I had heard through my brothers that he had asked repeatedly about my welfare. It was because of this that my nerves weren’t worse than they were.

“Melania!” Dwayne’s thick Cajun accent greeted me as I exited my vehicle and approached him. His face was lit up with a broad smile that made his dark brown eyes sparkle in the bright Louisiana summer sunshine. “Dwayne, it is good to see you! I’m sorry it took me so long.” Maybe I should have called him Dr. Callais, kept it more formal, but I wasn’t in the mood. Too many years had passed between us, and keeping it more personal benefited me for now. I was going to use our friendship to my advantage, and I was not going to apologize for it. After the last six months in Serbia and then the Caribbean, I was not about to apologize for anything.

A tight hug of friendship and familiarity was exchanged and then a suggestion was made to go talk and watch Mike; like I was ever going to turn down watching him. As we walked over to the enclosure we chatted about life, not yet touching on the reason that I was there. This helped to ease the nerves that had risen within me, and by the time we had reached Mike’s enclosure, I was relaxed completely and Dr. Melania LaVeau was in full effect. It seemed the last name change had been explained to Dwayne, I had been adopted by the Meyers and had decided to change my name to that of my birth family. It wasn’t exactly a lie.

As we stood overlooking Mike’s enclosure the discussion turned to my returning. Dwayne turned his head towards me and those deep Cajun eyes met mine. His voice changed, the true drawl of his back bayou accent heard in force. “Are you ready? Can you do this?”

I knew why he was asking. I knew the care and concern behind his eyes, I could hear it in his voice, and it lingered in the air between us for a moment before I answered. In that minute, I turned and looked down at Mike who was stalking around his enclosure. There was an elegance to his predatorial moves and the way he is taking survey of his domain. I remember when Mike V passed and we brought Mike VI in, he was hesitant and skittish at first. Now he was the king of his castle. I understood that.

My head turned back to look at Dwayne and one corner of my mouth raised. “Have you ever known me to run? Do you really think another class of Freshman scares me all that much?” I raised one brow and smirked at him. Ambrose had taught me the “art of the glare” well over the years and I knew perfectly how to employ it when needed, and had. Dwayne laughed and those eyes of his sparkled. “Just don’t throw artifacts at them as a “head’s up” if they start to doze off. I don’t know if I can take that heart attack this year after last spring.” Now we both laughed as he tried to peg me with a serious look. So I might have a slight reputation for being my “father’s daughter”. Phillipe Meyers was known for losing his temper; I just liked keeping students on their toes. So far I’d only hit one student and that was because neither of us realized how bad his depth perception was.

“Fine!” I drew the word out far longer than I needed to and added a dramatic eye roll for extra effect. “I will try to refrain from terrorizing and traumatizing the incoming class of budding earth movers.” I smirked and he chuckled.

It turned out, I didn’t need to be a hardass. I didn’t need to do any kind of maneuvering. I’d proven myself to the school and to the man who held the sway on whether I got to walk back into the classroom or not. The rest of our conversation on the coming year, the tiger we both loved, and the school that was part of our very soul, was light and friendly. We’d see each other in a few weeks and life would start it’s return to some form of normalcy. As normal as my life would ever be again, but I was okay with that.

As we walked back to the parking lot, my step was more cocky, my posture the same as it had been when I walked into the boardroom, and there was a confident expression back on my face. I was in my element. I was reclaiming all I feared I was going to lose. Now I would fight like hell to make sure that I kept it. ***The only way I’m leavin’ is dead. That’s the state of my head!***

@talamasca74

For You, I Will Cross Any Waters

Fandom: Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Pairing: Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain Cheng

@art-the-f-up sorry this comes a lot late!

I live! Okay, well, I know you guys know I live given I updated United as well as started with a Lukanette shot anddddd this fic is to blame for the Lukanette one, I swear! You will see why in the next chapter. Also, this is the chapter where the story finally develops — aka, where I diverge from the plot list for Ladynoir July 2020 as well. I wanted to put this along with Day 6 prompt, but the chapter got twice the usual length and seemed so awkward that I now have one finished and one half written chapter now xD

Thanks for bearing with me, hope you guys enjoy! <3

Chapter 6: Meeting the Future Bride

A beautiful melody echoed through the wide room. As the final chord was struck, the door opened.

“Adrien, your Father wishes to meet you,” the woman at the door said in a monotone, causing the blond at the piano to turn his attention to her.

“Is it about yesterday, Nathalie?” He asked nonchalantly.

“He didn’t disclose the purpose of the meeting.”

Adrien sighed. “Fine, I will be down in five minutes.”

As Nathalie left, Adrien distractedly pressed the piano keys again. Suddenly, the top of his black piano moved a bit and acid green eyes morphed into the instrument, blinking at him. Adrien suppressed a bark of laughter before shaking his head lightly. Reaching over, he moved his hand over the shiny surface, causing the piano to purr a bit. Finally, he got hold of something firm, and plucked the black cat out of the piano.

The cat hissed a bit at the sudden interruption from its relaxation, letting out a small yowl as Adrien cuddled it in his arms. But as the blond stroked his fur, the yowling died down to give way for purring.

“Say, Plagg, you have a knack of spooking me out, don’t you?” Adrien chuckled, dodging his finger away from the cat’s reach as it tried to bite him.

“Whatever kid, I am angry that you disturbed my peaceful catnap,” the cat snarked.

“But you are liking the cuddles~~”

The feline chose not to reply, opting to cuddle closer to his owner.

As he stroked Plagg absentmindedly, Adrien quietly asked, “What do you think Father wants to talk about?”

“Would bet my entire cheese stash this is about last night’s shenanigans,” came the reply.

Adrien sighed and put the cat down, “Guess I brought this upon myself. Stay hidden while I am gone, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” Plagg said as he waved a dismissive paw in the air.

Shaking his head lightly, the blond walked out of his room in the direction of the atelier. The atelier where his father was waiting for him, probably to deliver to him another lecture on maturity and responsibility.

Reaching the grand doors, Adrien felt a bout of uneasiness pass over him. Years of subjugation to his father’s wishes had still left their impressions in adulthood. No matter how independent he wished to be, he sometimes couldn’t help but feel as if he was still held under Gabriel’s iron grip.

Knocking on the giant doors, the blond took a deep breath in, trying to calm his racing heart. A monotonous “Come in” came from the inside, prompting him to reach forward and enter the room.

Gabriel Agreste stood behind his desk, his eyes sifting through some random sketches. He spent a good moment or two at his task before turning his attention to Adrien, his neutral expression giving way to a slight frown.

“Hello, Father,” the blond greeted.

“Hello, Adrien. Can I have the pleasure of knowing where you were last night? For my reputation at the ball was severely compromised thanks to your frolicking,” Gabriel asked, cutting to the chase immediately.

Something in Adrien bristled. It had been a long time since his Father had had a proper conversation with him. Still, when they met again, the first thing the older Agreste cared about was Adrien’s whereabouts, and that too just because the Agreste reputation had been compromised?

Doing his best to not let his frustrations seep into his tone, Adrien replied in a cold monotone, “I was away from the ball, Father, to escape the clutches of all those high-class women who apparently were stickier than the stickiest glue we have.”

The older Agreste cocked an eyebrow as he held his chin thoughtfully, his mouth upturned in a slight smile. “Hmm, I guess you have got a point there, young man. Those ladies certainly didn’t care about your personal space, did they?”

The statement baffled Adrien. Was his Father actually agreeing with him for once?

Gabriel walked towards Adrien, clapping his hand on the younger Agreste’s shoulder as he proudly said, “Well, don’t worry son. You won’t have to encounter those ladies again.”

He turned his head up, looking in the direction of the doors before calling out, “Nathalie, please bring our guest in.”

The doors opened and someone walked in. Adrien turned around, only for his gaze to land on the strange new girl who stood in the atelier.

She wore a black satin evening dress with bell sleeves, overlaid in dark orange chiffon and black lace. The sweetheart neckline was a bit too deep for his liking. But what really unnerved the young man was the twinkle in her olive green eyes and the smile etched on her red-painted lips.

“Adrien, meet Ms. Lila Rossi. She has been eager to meet you since yesterday,” Gabriel informed.

“Um, hello?” Adrien greeted her, confused. “You have some news for me?”

He hoped against hope she hadn’t been present at yesterday’s ball, for that would only mean —

The young woman let out a shrill chuckle as she held his shoulder. “I now see what Monsieur Agreste meant by you being a ray of sunshine. Oh dear, I am your fiancée!”

On hearing her claim, Adrien immediately shrank away from her touch, “But—But I don’t even know you!”

He turned to his Father, eyes sparking in rage. “You said I could choose my bride!”

“And you refused that offer by running away, young man. That is no excuse to delay your wedding day.”

The young man tried hard not to grit his teeth at his Father’s words.

“As Adrien stated,” Gabriel turned to Lila, smiling, “You both don’t know each other. Then how about you young people solve that?” Gabriel suggested, heading for the door. “I have an important meeting I need to attend. Hope you two enjoy each other’s company.”

Saying what he needed to, the older Agreste left, leaving a shy Lila and a flabbergasted Adrien behind.

“So,” Lila spoke in a coy tone, “how about we go somewhere private and get to know each other?”

She subtly hooked her arm on his elbow, her fingers lightly trailing up his arms, causing him to cringe. “Somewhere like your ro—”

“The river side!” Adrien interrupted her, much to her chagrin. “The riverside’s a cool idea, Ms. Rossi. Fresh air with much needed quiet.”

And open space , he mentally added sourly.

Putting on his best grin as he approached the door, Adrien asked in a faux cheerful tone, “So, shall we go?”

Lila blinked stupidly for a moment, then broke into a coy smile of her own. “Sure, Adrien.”

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

“And my uncle was a student of the great Beethoven, oh! I wish I had learnt some piano from him before he passed away,” the brunette said in a simpering tone, dabbing at her eyes to wipe away the non-existent tears.

Beside her, Adrien plastered a sympathetic look on his face as he fought the urge to roll his eyes. In the fifteen minutes he had spent with her, this Rossi girl had just bragged on and on about her family and her charity work.

According to her, she personally knew many famous people around the globe. Surprisingly, even though he was an Agreste, Adrien had never heard someone mention the title Rossi in any influential circle, let alone specifically name Lila.

Though he had to commend her on one thing. The woman had a fabulous ability to weave false stories and lie through her teeth.

“Oh, Adrien,” Lila cooed, holding his arm in what was meant to be a soft gesture but certainly was not, causing him to lean back a bit, “I have been talking only about myself all this time. Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”

He nervously chuckled, rubbing at the nape of his neck in anxiety, “I—uh, you already know much about me, I am not someone unknown in the high-class, right? Uhm, how about you ask me yourself?”

The brunette held her chin in a thoughtful look, apparently thinking of some topic to converse on. Adrien took the beat of silence as a chance to gaze at the river that flowed beside him, his heart calming down a bit on seeing the sparkling waters. Thoughts about the masked beauty who lived underneath the surface helped his anxiety, too.

“Oh! I know what to ask!” Lila suddenly exclaimed, jerking him back to reality. “Is there anything about you that no one knows?”

“Something about me that no one knows?” the blond echoed her question.

“Yes,” she affirmed, leaning into his personal space and causing him to stagger back a little, “you know, since we are soon going to be married, there better be no secrets between us!”

He couldn’t help but stammer. “I, uh—”

Know what? I have a magical cheese-loving black cat who gives me the power to transform into Chat Noir and ALSO! I already have a love interest, a mermaid called Ladybug who is far more beautiful and truthful than you! And woe to me if I am going to tell you anything about this!

Pausing his internal thoughts, Adrien looked towards the river in an attempt to calm himself down. And then an answer came to him.

“Well, since you asked,” he turned to catch Lila’s attention, before looking back at the river again, “I have always felt connected to water.”

“Connected to… water?” Lila echoed his words, disbelief evident in her tone.

“Yes.” The man’s eyes sparkled as he walked to the riverbank and bent down, slightly gliding his hand on the water surface and bringing his wet hand to his eyes, immediately feeling a shiver of pleasure run down his spine. “I feel like the water’s calling out to me, asking me to be one with it.”

There was a pregnant silence between the two, before it was broken by the sound of stifled chuckles. Confused, Adrien turned his head to see the brunette holding a palm over her mouth to prevent laughter from escaping her.

“Did I say something funny, Miss Rossi?” the man asked, his cold tone poorly masking the offense he felt.

“Oh, I-I am sorry Adrien, but…” her voice trailed off as she stifled another laughter, before continuing, “Your thoughts match with the pests of the water.”

“And?” He prompted her, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

“Well—” the young woman looked at him as if he had asked her about why water existed. Coughing a bit to regain her composure, she continued, “—uhm, you are an Agres—”

“I know who I am and let me tell you, Lila Rossi, my Father’s name does not define my thoughts. I am an independent individual with my own thoughts and feelings, and even if they match with the mermaids or what you call the ‘pests of the water’; I am actually glad they do.”

Getting up, he reached towards Lila, his acidic green eyes causing her to stagger back a bit.

“I-I really didn’t mea-mean to off—” she stammered.

“Save it.”

Saying so, the blond walked off, leaving behind a shocked, yet fuming Rossi girl.

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

“Okay, so she’s just like your Father. And?” Plagg nonchalantly asked, pawing at the ball of yarn that Adrien had tossed to him and completely ignoring his human who laid in his bed, face buried in the pillows.

Adrien lifted his head and exclaimed, “She’s my fiancée, Plagg!”

And plopped his face back into the pillows, muffling his screams.

The cat sighed, pushing the yarn ball away and shaking his head remorsefully. He strutted over to the bed and jumped on his chosen’s back.

“You humans and your melodrama.”

“Whatever, it’s not like you have a secret love interest, you cheese monster,” came the muffled reply.

The cat bounced on the man’s back, before lightly scratching him with a claw and causing him to yelp. “Mind you, my love interest is your Bug’s guardian.”

Adrien turned his head to the side, glancing at his animal friend as a smirk adorned his face.

“Wasn’t Camembert the first and last love of your life?”

“Shush you,” Plagg nudged him on the face, causing the blond to giggle. “Now, if you have stopped moping about your currently messed up civilian life, what plans do you have for wooing your Lady fish tonight?”

Adrien blushed a bit, before his gaze turned to the piano that still stood in the middle of the room. He thought for a moment, then an idea dawned on him.

“I guess I have just the perfect plan, Plagg.”

Its october, any spoopy ideas for Ona and the mafia boys?

I SWEAR I WASN’T PLANNING ON TAKING THIS FUCKING LONG TO ANSWER YOU, BUT THIS LITTLE FICLET REFUSED TO GET WRITTEN. GAH!

But here you go :D it took a fluffy route, I’m so sorry. But enjoy these three idiots being disgustingly cute together. And the Jericho gang being awesome 👀

Also infinite thanks to @tinmiss1939 for helping me out and fixing mistakes :_) you rock, girl ❤️

The streets were full of people in all kinds of costumes, shouting and laughing while taking pictures, the kids going door to door with their candy bags ready and a joyful mood around everything and everyone.

Halloween was always an exciting holiday for everyone, costume or not.

This year Ona convinced Connor and Richard to find matching costumes and was actually delighted when they finally said yes. The plan for tonight was to go along with Cole into his ‘trick or treat’ journey with his friends and other parents, and when it was way past midnight, the three of them would go to the Manfred’s halloween party until the early hours of the day.

Ona was distracted of her thoughts when the roaring of an engine and a familiar song blasting loudly out of the car speakers appeared on her left. She squinted, trying to look who were causing such noises, only to find a grinning Connor with his sunglasses on and ready to jump out of a beautiful red cabrio car. Richard was on the wheel, smiling as he saw her. Ona noticed it was most certainly an old but in perfect condition model, certainly Richard’s. Her eyes widened when she saw the horse emblem on the grille. Was that Richard’s 1965 Ford Mustang?!

As Ona thought, Connor jumped out of the car but instead of walking he danced towards her, sliding his feet at the rhythm and choreography of Greased Lightning, even singing along, until he was right in front of Ona only to turn around and go back to the car to show off the leather jacket with the ‘T-Birds’ logo and letters in it.

Ona couldn’t help but laugh, covering her mouth with her hand even though she knew it was useless. Connor went back to her, grinning, and sneaked his arms around her waist. The music was lowered down as it jumped onto the next track.

“What’s up doll?” his grin was contagious and Ona couldn’t help but to reciprocate it.

She took his sunglasses off, finding his brown gaze smiling up at her.

“Hello, handsome.” He looked so different from his usual self, both him and Richard. Used to see them in the pristine suits and the perfectly ironed shirts, they were clad in t-shirts, dark jeans, boots and leather jackets. They even styled their hairs to go along with the Grease costume.

“Ready for a ride?” Connor’s plan of stealing a kiss was interrupted by a car horn.

“C’mooon, we’re gonna be late! And keep it PG-13!” Cole’s voice rose out above all the background noise and bursted their little bubble. Connor turned around, scowling, and saw Cole throwing himself back at the steering wheel while Richard easily prevented him from doing so. Ona snorted.

“He’s right, you know. The Williams are waiting for us and Cole told me he really wanted to show Alice his Link costume.” Ona unwrapped Connor’s arms from her waist and dragged him with her, giggling at his pout.

Richard opened the door for her, winking, and pushed it so it was wide enough for Ona to slip through. Connor jumped back in on the backseat, next to Cole who had the perfect example of a shit-eating grin. Connor mouthed “gremlin” at him, flicking his nose. Oblivious to what was happening behind her, Ona leaned towards Richard and gave him a quick peck on his cheek.

“Lookin’ good, daddy-o.” Ona exaggerated the accent, wiggling her brows, but it made Richard laugh anyways. His cheeks turned slightly red.

Richard checked the side mirror for incoming cars, as well as the rear mirror to see if Cole had his seatbelt on. Once everything was in order he revived the engine, it’s roar powerful enough to make people look at them. Richard took great pride on his collection of cars and the absolute perfect condition he had them all in, and since Ona suggested them to go treat or tricking in Grease costumes, he decided it would be good to take his old mustang out for a little walk.

“Did you actually rehearse this?” Ona knew Connor wasn’t one for spontaneity, always needing to have everything under control, but maybe today was different.

“No.”

“Yes.”

The three of them answered at the same time. Connor and Richard looked dumbfoundedly at Cole, wounded that he would spill such secrets.

“Oh my God, really? Ona laughed, turning slightly around so she could see him better.

“Yes they did, and I have a video.” 

“You did not–” Connor was tempted to strangle him right there.

“Papa has the video, tell him to show you later.”

Thank God they were stopped at a red light, because Richard turned around, slowly, and looking directly into Cole’s eyes he spoke in the most serious voice Ona has ever heard him.

“Tell me you didn’t record that particular thing.”

“In full HD.”

“You goddamn gremlin.”

Ona gasped. Richard never cursed or lost his perfect control unless he was very, very stressed out or just about to lose it. Now Ona was seriously curious about the incriminating videos.

“Richard! Don’t use such language in front of Cole!”

“See Rich? Listen to the teacher.” Cole was far too much of a smart-ass, but at any given opportunity of having the upper hand on his brothers, he would gladly take it.

“Don’t make me turn this car around.” Cole decided it was better to drop the subject. He really wanted to go trick or treating with Alice.

Ona looked at the sheer domesticity of this scene, how after getting rid of the masks and layers they wear for outsiders they were just a family with their bickering and brotherly fights, and she couldn’t help but smile and laugh.

“What’s so funny? Our dignity and reputation is at stake!” Connor whined, leaning forward to Ona’s seat. 

“Well, now I really want to see the videos since they are so top secret.”

“You’re cruel, sunshine.” Connor mumbled into her hair, sighing.

The rest of the ride went smoothly, enjoying the chilly air and the halloween spirit. They reached Alice’s house and Luther graciously allowed Richard to park the vintage car in the garage.  All Richard had to do was let Luther take Kara for a very short ride around the neighborhood.  

The Andersons, Ona and Alice watched Luther speed down the street with Kara’s musical laugh raising above the engine’s roar. Alice took Cole’s hand and ran to show him their ‘spooky’ decorations on their garden. Since they were both dressed as Zelda and Link, Kara made sure to carve a Ganondorf jack o lantern. Luther helped, of course, he had quite a good hand with crafts. 

The brothers and Ona followed the kids, marvelling on the beautiful kept garden. Ona observed how they both completely ignored the thriving rose bushes. Huh, curious. Cole and Alice kept talking, engrossed in a discussion about some story point about a game Ona didn’t remember the name. While watching over them, she felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around her waist. The smell of Richard’s cologne tickled her nose. 

“I didn’t have the opportunity to tell you how beautiful you look.” Ona blushed at the feel of his lips brushing against her ear. 

“You don’t look so bad yourself, stud.” Ona felt his smile on her neck. “I really dig the leather jacket.”

“You do?” Richard let go slightly of her waist, letting Ona turn around in his arms to face him. Connor could handle the kids for a sec.

“It gives you a bad boy look,” Ona stroked his arms, her hands going up to explore the expanse of his chest. The jacket fit just right, enhancing his broad shoulders. He was such a sight. “I really like it.”

Richard made a mental note to put on the other leather jacket he had buried inside his closet. He bought it on a whim but never had much opportunities to wear it. Now he had the perfect excuse to do so the next time they went to pick up Cole. 

Kara and Luther came back, ready to go out for a night of walking and collecting candy. Cole and Alice ran outside, screaming and jumping around excitedly. Kara quickly went after them, leaving Luther talking about the mustang’s attributes with Richard, and Ona and Connor following them behind. The chilly air of the night proved to be a great excuse for Ona to inch closer to Connor. He wordlessly took her hand in his, brushing his fingers first. They both knew how much this gesture meant, as Connor always had his walls up, so when she glanced up at him Ona saw his small smile while he looked out for Cole. Tonight he wouldn’t care about people looking at them as some parents recognised their children’s teacher, looking at him, and for the public to know about his private life. Tonight was about Cole, about going out and have fun for the first time in years. 

As the night went on, Kara offered them all a warm cup of coffee from her thermos that they all eagerly accepted, specially Ona; the fabric of her skin-tight trousers and shirt wasn’t exactly thick. The pink jacket could only do so much and open red pumps weren’t exactly autumn ideal footwear. Ona was taken aback, though, by the faint taste of whiskey in it, really not thinking Kara was someone who occasionally drank or drank at all. Given her gentle and soft manners, it  was a surprise to find the burning sensation of the liquor there. Kara winked at her when she saw Ona’s surprised face, a tiny smile on her lips. Ona returned it.

Besides Kara’s coffee, Cole ran back to them more than once, giving Ona her favourite chocolate treats to quickly go back to the next house while slashing imaginary monsters with Alice. 

They quickly lost track of time, letting the kids run and play until they exhausted themselves. It was way past 9PM that Cole and Alice began to grow tired. The sugar rush only lasted so long and they stretched every last second of it until they were almost tempted to ask Luther to carry them. After walking back to the Williams home, Connor, Richard and Ona left Cole to their care, knowing how excited Alice and Cole were for tonight. Little did they know when they left, speeding up to the Manfred’s manor, that the kids had a night of candy and videogames planned.

Ona had only visited to the Manfred’s manor once, for a dinner event the brothers had to attend and brought her with them as their date. She still was not used to the avant garde opulence of the manor, and even less to how nice everyone was. It was Simon who opened the door to them, smiling in his ghostbusters costume. 

“I’m glad you could make it!” Simon stepped aside, letting them inside.

They could hear music beating loudly as they approached the door to the living room, people talking and laughing unaware of the new guests coming. Ona unconsciously straightened up, anxiety crawling up her body to settle on her guts. She couldn’t help but think about how most of the guests at this Halloween party were actual mobsters. Ona wasn’t stupid, she knew what she got herself into when the boys confessed their true professions after some incidents, but she still chose to welcome them in her life. It was still intimidating to think how all the people here were the sons and daughters of wealthy and important crime families. This was her life now. Besides, the Manfreds always treated her as if she was one of their own, being close friends with the Anderson boys and family. She felt at ease when Simon complimented her costume and proceeded to talk about the movie, being one of his all-time classics favourite.

North announced herself with a solid slap on Richard’s back, making him slightly stumble forward. She laughed loudly, proud of making this tower of a man stagger.

“I almost didn’t recognise you both! Who would have said we would live to see the day where you ditched the suits and ties and went bad boy for a day?” She winked at Ona. “I don’t know how you managed to convince them, but seeing how you are dressed, I think I may have an idea.”

The innuendo on her words made Ona blush and slightly stutter when she tried to mutter a response. She was not used to wear such skin-tight clothing, making her feel slightly exposed. Connor was the convincing one, begging her to wear the black outfit instead of the long skirt one.

“I see you ditched your costume to show your true self.” Connor crossed his arms, a smirk tugging his lips.

“Shush, mortal.” North righted the horns on her head, smirking like Connor. She was dressed as a devil with the wings and tail to go along. Oddly fitting.

They followed her outside where Markus and the rest of the gang were hanging out next to a small bonfire in the  garden. As the night went on and grew colder, the warmth of the flames proved to be a comforting heat, making most of them stay close to it. Richard was currently in a heated match of darts with Simon, their accuracy absolutely terrifying, while Connor sat down in one of the chairs talking with Markus about something trivial, Josh and Ona kept the fire going, the young teacher sharing her fair share of stories about jumping bonfires on her home town’s festivities. That knowledge made Connor stop mid-sentence to look at her, mouth slightly open, making, in turn, Markus laugh at the scandalised expression of his friend. Josh whistled, not believing the sweet and gentle teacher was capable of doing such risky, crazy things.

“There was a lot of alcohol involved. Ask my cousin Jordi about it.” Ona hid behind her cocktail.

As the night went on, everyone got drunker and tongues got looser. This translated into Markus going for the piano.  He looked at the Andersons with mischief in his eyes while he played the first notes of ‘You’re the one that I want’. This was no doubt North’s idea, watching delighted as Richard’s ears went red for what that song implied they wanted them to do. It was Connor who saved his brother from embarrassing himself, singing while going to where Ona was. He left his glass on a nearby table, extending his hand to her and winking. Drunk Connor meant carefree and silly Connor, and it made Ona giggle when he took off his leather jacket and moved to the rhythm. She played along, shrugging her own jacket off to let her shoulders bare. North cheered, encouraging them further. Connor couldn’t keep his hands off her, twirling her in his arms and pulling her back close to him. Ona let him lead, enjoying the open affection Connor was displaying. Ona laughed harder, breaking of character, when Connor shook his hips just like Travolta. Did he really rehearse this, somehow? Markus broke the magic of it all when he collapsed into tears and couldn’t play anymore, his belly hurting from laughing. He needed to find his forgotten glass to take a big gulp.

It went unsaid, but the Manfreds were very glad Ona had entered the Andersons’ lives. Seeing Richard smile and speak up more often, as he was doing now praising and congratulating Ona on her moves while candidly holding her waist in his hands, his lips on her ear, and Connor breaking down his self-imposed wall of indifference and coldness, leading to spontaneous jokes and silly, heartwarmingly moments, made them have a good feeling about their relationship. Even North, who had her reservations, quickly warmed up to Ona, seeing she was as inoffensive as a newborn kitten.

Speaking of which, she brought a box filled with hard plastic cups and ping pong balls.

They all quickly cleaned out a table, setting the cups and filling them with beer. After setting the rules and splitting into two teams, they began an unmatched battle. They both had a team member with incredible marksmanship, experienced players, calculating ones and finally, the ones who have no idea what are they doing but have lady luck on their side. 

After almost knocking over some expensive furniture in excitement whenever someone had to drink, they declared yet another tie and split into small groups again, some going out to the garden, others raiding the kitchen for very late snacks, while others crashed on the sofa or whatever surface they may find. Simon decided the floor was enough and passed out under one of the many tables, even managing to snatch a pillow before curling into it. Connor couldn’t find Richard or Ona. Frowning, he went on a search for them, going out to see Markus and North talking while North poked the almost dead fire with a stick. No sign of his partners. They weren’t in the kitchen either, thinking Ona may have had one of her cravings of sweet snacks. But nope, not there either. Now he was beginning to grow worried.

A quiet giggle came from behind the giraffe next to the bookshelves and spiral stairs. Connor followed the sound, finding Ona on Richard’s arms on the floor while he rested his back on the bookshelves, mindlessly playing with her snow-white curls, as she spoke. 

“Got room for one more?”  His lips tugged into a soft smile.

“Only if you prove to be a good heater. I’m cold.” Ona rubbed her cheek on Richard’s chest, rousing a chuckle while he let her get comfortable. She was like a spoiled house cat.

“I’m not a walking furnace like Rich here, but I can try. Scoot over.”

Ona ended up sandwiched between them, feeling their warm bodies next to hers. Richard kept his hands busy playfully poking at her curls and freckles, while Connor kept droning about some Halloween factoids—Richard wasn’t paying much attention, honestly.  Ona’s head rested on his shoulder, feeling suddenly completely drained from energy. The alcohol running inside her veins wasn’t helping. They were feeling a bit woozy too, so maybe it was time for them to go home and sleep it out. The next day could be spent in bed and not leaving the room for anything. Just a day for themselves. Richard sighed. That sounded good.

It was Markus who found them, quietly sneaking a picture and sending it to them for later. It was incredible how much they changed. For the better, he thought. 

“‘Sup, love birds.” His teasing voice made Connor shut up at once. Ona mumbled something and snuggled closer to Richard’s warmth. “I see she conked out.”

“Yeah, I think it’s time we get back home.” Connor looked at Ona, already asleep.

“I’ll get the car.” Richard was about to move to gently pick her up in his arms and go for his car keys, but Markus hand stopped him.

“Why don’t you just crash here for tonight? We got plenty of rooms and comfy beds besides the floor.” The three of them looked back at Simon. Richard waved his hand at Markus, as if dismissing his proposal.

“It’s okay, I can drive.” 

“How many drinks did you have tonight, Rich?” Markus raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

“Uuh… three?” Markus brow rose higher. “Okay no, four. No. Five. Yeah, five.” Richard frowned, staring at the floor, thinking. “You have a point.”

“I don’t doubt your driving skills for a moment. God knows that even with a bleeding wound and about to pass out you drive like a devil behind the wheel.” Richard chuckled, remembering the mess they had to escape and the actual mess on his car’s leather interior—and the bullet holes. “Just stay the night. You know you are safe here.”

“Thank you, Markus.” Connor took Markus’ hand as he helped him get up, while Richard managed to lift himself off the floor with Ona on his arms. 

They made it to the room, Markus disappearing to fetch them some pajamas while Connor gently woke Ona up so she could change and get ready to pass out again. Markus also brought water and painkillers for the morning, and North’s make-up remover with him, knowing how waking up like a trash panda wasn’t ideal. Markus let them rest, fist-bumping each twin and chuckling at Ona’s unintelligible words as she waved goodbye.

The house was quiet, the bed sheets soft and and fresh. Ona was already asleep again, curling closer into Richard’s chest as Connor spooned her from behind. 

The brothers had no nightmares that night.

All of You.

-Donghyuk x reader

-welp, this 1K drabble got outta hands. Friends to lovers. 

p.c: @ _Dong_ii

“Don’t you dare walk away from me.” His words cold and harsh, stilling even the light breeze toying with your hair and the air that was thickening fast with every second passing. Your steps near screeching to a halt, curiosity raging in your chest because beneath that brassy command, distress resonates with your soul. You spin on your heels to take a gander at the man, so handsome in every ways of the world, glowing under the soft moonlight and warmth of street lamps. Somewhere beneath the glaring eyes and gritted teeth, you could tell hurt was eating away at his heart. Hurt that even now, even as desperate as he was to stop you from leaving, Donghyuk refuses to admit to simply because he was Kim Donghyuk. He’s king of the campus and king doesn’t get hurt, at least not by you, not by someone that was so completely, utterly, painfully average. Watching him now, the way his eyes dancing about your body, wind-blown locks and redden cheeks, a bit of panic flashing in his eyes and though just momentarily, you know he hadn’t at all expected for you to protest. 

“Or what, Donghyuk?” Your words not quite yet angry but no less harsh, perhaps even more so cold. “Just admit it, you have nothing over me, and you hate it. You hate me!” Words of challenge whisking away by the shrill wind of late night, punching his soul with all the irate twisting up your features. “You hate that you can’t control me! I mean, why else would you spend so much time on someone like me.” You send all the frustration and hurt flooding your heart with its poison back his way through your bloodshot eyes, sharp glares cutting deep. Those plush, soft lips parting yet no word escape for you had hit him where it hurt most. It was true, Donghyuk has nothing over you, nothing to make you fall to your knees and beg for mercy, and he absolutely despises it. Never before had he met a girl like you. A girl that had seemingly turned his world upside down, made him lost all his strength and all his ability to function like a normal human being, a girl that refused to listen to him no matter what he says or do. “That’s what I thought.” You declare smugly, soaking in all the glory of finally shutting up the king of campus. Who would’ve thought there was a day when the charming Donghyuk would be at lost for words. The man that seemingly always know what to say, when to whisper, and moments when he’d best let his body do all the talking would lose out to a girl like you. If that wasn’t ironic, you don’t know what is. You storm off once more and this time, he lets you go. You don’t dare look back even if curiosity was eating you alive as you round the corner back to your apartment. With each step putting more distant between your bodies, soul calming and heart no longer erratic, you wonder that was truly a victory for a strange sense of sorrow encasing your soul. A long bath, face mask, and the ceremonious lighting of that painfully expensive candle your sister had given you was all it took to wash your mind blank of recent event. The image of Donghyuk standing so lonely under the dimly lit night, solemn and hurt, no longer haunting your mind as you ease into your PJ. Though you know at some point in the near future, this night will come back to haunt your soul but not tonight. You had enough for the night and nothing will stop you from having a well deserve rest aside from one more episode of drama. Just one more episode, then you can leave all the pain to be dealt with tomorrow’s morn. Yet as with everything else in your life, things rarely work out the way you want them to and this very second, a thunderous string of knocks on your door was enough to distract you away from the promise land of comfort, just shy of achieving. And to think your roommate was out for the weekend, leaving you with nothing but solace and content silent, perfect for your heart to enjoy quality alone time. Another minute and your plan to ignore whoever was at the door failed too as the knock grew louder with each second.   “Jeez, I’m coming!” You grunt through your gritted teeth, frustration steeling in your chest as you peer through the peephole, ready to cuss out whoever, whatever it was dare disturbing your girl night in. Nothing could ever prepare you for the sight beholding, for the day when Donghyuk would be shuffling from foot to foot, nervous, waiting at your front door. Though bit more dishevel then when you had left him last, he was still so beautiful, stealing all the breaths out of your lungs and sending your heart into an erratic fit. This must be some sort of horrific nightmare, or perhaps the best kind of dream because there he stands, studying the shape of your doormat with his foot, sporting that longing looks, the one that had your heart doing tricks all the months. You rub your eyes, once then twice then three times and he was still there, bit distorted through the conical view through your peephole but still very much there. You stand there, neither opening nor ignoring but just watch, watch until his hand once more goes up yet before it could reach the hard surface of your door, a sigh of defeat reeling it back to whence it came from. One last glance at the number on your door, seemingly hoping that he had knocked on the wrong door but alas, it was apartment F103. With one last despondent sigh, Donghyuk turns on his heels, a pout on his lips that makes your heart aches. He looks far too much like a puppy with the pout on his lips and those sweet doe eyes drooping with sadness. So much so in fact that you had nearly let him walk away without saying a word, let him leave without answering that badgering question thrashing inside your heart. Panic ensues, you swing your door open with all the vigor of late night and on the brink of sleep, startling the poor man out of his reverie. “Donghyuk, wait! Don’t leave.” Setting aside all the prejudices and channeling all the doubts built up in your heart from the months spent with him laboring over books and endless exams, you call for him. You call for him because you need to know, need to once and for all assure yourself that you weren’t so foolish to hope that there’s much more to the campus king than just smooth words and great sex. “Y/n, hi…” The shock from the loud slam of your door was nothing compare to the shock ripping his heart apart hearing you call his name. Not muttering, not grunting it through a cuss, but just calling for him. He’s not entirely sure himself if the emotion painting a small grin on your lips was the one he was searching for, but for some reason it eases his constipated heart. “Hi.” You repeat dumbly, once more lost in the way something so simple as black jeans and white t-shirt feel so much like billion dollars laying over his body. “I- I’m sorry for bothering you this late.” Donghyuk too lost in his own world, never before seeing you so casual, not a bit of makeup to hide away your beauty from his eyes. Yet as his eyes trail down toward your body, the PJ so loosely hung, guilt rising in his heart. “I wasn’t sleeping or anything so, it’s not really any bother.” You lie, fearful the truth would send him right home. “W-what are you, I mean, why are you here?” “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He rushes out, hanging on the bit warmth playing with your sweet voice, so different from the you of just hours ago. He tries his best, a smile on his lips and all the sincerity his heart possesses dripping through his eyes yet your expression falters, dimming into something so dark he wants nothing more than to wrap you in his arms. “Donghyuk, just stop…” You sigh, unable to take any longer the blatant mockery. If he really thinks showing up at your doorstep would somehow magically help you open your legs, then he severely underestimated your hatred for being just another notch in someone’s belt. “No, not like that, I swear!” Hands reaching for yours yet Donghyuk not yet dare to touch you, instead, letting them rip away the black beanie covering his soft blond locks before carding through them frustratingly. “If not, then what?” Whether you had meant to or not, the question tumbles from your lips doubtful and crass, cutting a bit further into his heart. “I- I wanted to come and talk to you… Tell you my real feeling and to apologize for the way I acted.” He winces at the way frustration furrowing your brows and pulling a contemptuous sigh from your lips. He knows his reputation precedes him in ways he had never wanted for it to and he hates every bit of it.  “I’ve been acting like an idiot around you because I really do like you. A-and I don’t think it’s fair that you shut me down even before giving me a chance.” Eyes screwing shut, Donghyuk lets out all the exasperation of watching you laughing away, joking with other guys you barely know. Out too was all the resentment he felt patiently waiting for a chance, for you to look at him, to really see him yet all you ever did was being friendly because of your job. You saw him as nothing more than another dumb frat boy falling on your lap with grades grimmer than the state of his liver, just another tutoring job. “Have you been drinking?” Indignation coursing through his veins when you simply resort back to questioning his state of mind, even after he did his best to pour his heart out, to let on his insecurities. “No…” “You literally reek.” Leaning in close, you soak in the scent of hard liquor wafting from his parting lips, soak in too was the intoxicating scent of his cologne… and him. “I-  I…” He wants to protest, to tell you he was far from being buzz, let alone drunk yet how could he when all he could smell was you. Donghyuk is so lost, so, so far lost in the way you smell like spring’s field bursting with the most vibrant flowers. You smell like sunshine on a summer day and as refreshing as sweet honey tea, quenching his thirst. Unknowingly, completely uncontrollably he leans in too, focusing on the way your lips look so soft and inviting, not realizing at all that you were now staring at him. Your lips are like magnets drawing him in, stripping away all his self-control and nothing would satisfy his heart more than if you’d just let him have a small kiss. But before his dream could become reality, you hum a small cough, reeling the moonstruck man back to reality. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what came over me.” He lies, knowing full well what had just taken over his body, heart, and soul… It was you. “And I swear, it was just one shot. I- I needed it to gather up my wit and courage.” His voice trails off, realizing just how hot his cheeks had gotten and how embarrassing that was. “Wow, I feel so honored. Kim Donghyuk had to take shots to talk to me? Little old me?” You tease, though by the soft pout on his lips, it wasn’t too well received. “It was one shot, one!” Hands clasping together, he shakes his index, hoping that would somehow convince you even if his words had meant nothing thus far.  “Please don’t tease me… I circled your building like 3 times already, so I don’t know how much left of liquid courage I have in me.” Despondent and on the verge of giving up, Donghyuk prays his last ditch of effort would be enough to convince you, but his feet already gearing up to walk away. You stand there studying the man, with his eyes glue to his shuffling feet, fingers scratching at the rough material of his jeans as he awaits your answer. The storm within your heart only rage on harder the longer you let your eyes making friend with his handsome features, how suddenly he looks more like the guy you’d bring home to your parents rather than the raging, party animal you’ve heard, seen so much of. And somewhere deep within your soul, the wish lost to the stars long ago that he might be different reaches up and tugs a smile onto your lips. “Come in.” You sigh so softly Donghyuk could barely believe his ears, though his eyes already light up with all the hope that tonight will be the night he can finally lays his heart bare to you. “Really?!” Half expecting you to sweep him away with a broom, Donghyuk’s heart nearly leap out of his chest when your small invitation calls for him. “Yes, really. Figure someone like you wouldn’t like people whispering about your late night heart to heart session in a random hallway…” You sigh with a wave of your hand, standing aside to really let him know it wasn’t a trick. “Thank you…” The way you had said it, someone like him, his heart wrenches at the potential image you have of him but nonetheless, if tonight goes well, he might be able to have all the time in the world to change your mind.  “But, I honestly couldn’t care less about what anyone say if you give me a chance to talk to you, even if you reject me after this” He pauses at the door, flashing you that million dollars smile before gesturing for you to head in first. If you really being honest with yourself, Donghyuk already worn down half your defenses even before he had settled onto your couch. Along with that content smile on his lips, so dreamy and perfect, he might as well just take your heart right this second. “So…” After what felt like an eternity of silently staring at each other, then staring at every single object occupying your living room, you finally couldn’t take any further the lack of noise. “So…” He repeats dumbly, unable to process still that he was sitting in your living room, just mere inches away from you. “King Donghyuk has a crush on me, huh? Who would’ve thought?” You muse gently, pulling your knees to your chest, watching the man known not for being awkward being exactly that. “I- Can I be honest with you?” The sigh falling from his lips far from the mood and tone you were hoping for. It was forlorn, almost as if regrets slowly drowning him alive. He has you on the edge of your seat, anticipating his every word. You nod gently, humming encouragement for him to go forward and for the first time since you come to know Donghyuk, he lets a sadden smile graces his lips. “I actually hate being call that…” Dry laugh deafening against the silent of your apartment and his strife all the more telling now that it was just you and him. “Normally I’d just shrug it off, you know. No point in fighting it now when it had gone on this long. I’ve heard people call me that out of hatred, of envy, and even just pure lust. Yet something in the way you say it, I don’t know… It’s really heavy on my heart.” “I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Guilt rising in your heart listening to his words, the way his eyes so heavy with sorrow? Embarrassment? You weren’t sure what was running through his mind but it’s not what you wanted for anyone to feel, no one deserve to feel that way about themselves. “It’s okay, you didn’t know.” He gives you a smile of reassurance, yet it did nothing to ease your heart.  “When you look at me, when you call me that, I could feel your contempt, your disdain for everything you think I am, for this surface version of me.” The way the title that had been for so long attached to his name choking back, condescending and mocking, you could feel his soul withering a bit more, and to think hundreds of people go on each day calling him that… “I’m embarrassed, mortified even to be in front of you. Not to say that I don’t like the parties or being this “cool” guy.  With you, suddenly my ‘conquests’ meant nothing, the parties, this reputation… And you’re right, I have nothing over you, and I can’t make you fall for me or do what I want, but I don’t hate you. I could never. I used to think it was great being this person, being able to command the room and move mountains with just my words but now, I can barely look at myself in the mirror. I have no real connection with anyone and at the end of the day, I’m lonely.” A bitter chuckle falling from his heart and you felt your gut wrenching. “I’m so sorry, Donghyuk. I never knew I made you feel like that. I’m so, so sorry.” You want to hug him, hug him until all his broken pieces healed, hug him until there wasn’t any more hate for himself left in his heart, hug him until he knows you truly do like him. “It’s not your fault I feel this way, Y/n… I just want to have fun and enjoy myself, you know, without the label, without the name. I used to fight people on it, got tired after a while and it just stuck. And truthfully, I never wanted to control anyone, or manipulate anyone into doing my bidding. That isn’t me. I truly, honestly just want true friends, true love. I guess after awhile, I just give up and live this persona that was made for me.”  He shrugs as if his feeling means nothing, as if he wasn’t pouring his heart out or that sorrow isn’t weighing down that lovely smile. “Sorry for unloading on you like this. It’s not what I came here for…” “Hey, never apologize for having feelings. I can’t promise to always know what to say, but I’ll always listen.” For the first time since he settled into the comfort of your home, you let your fingers ghost over his, it was so brief, so gentle that Donghyuk thought it was merely a dream. Yet that smile on your lips, the way you ever so slightly scooting closer his way, it’s so much more than just a dream. “If you think I hate this part of you, why did you act like that around me?” “I really thought you liked having the popular guy giving you all his attention… Because I didn’t think you’d like the real dorky me.” His little confession has your heart doing tricks, stomach twisting in knots at how vulnerable, how sweet he is. “But, I do!” You lunge forward, steeling shock in his chest with your sudden burst of protest. Donghyuk only stammers in confusion when lean in so close, shoulder rubbing against his and he was once more shrouded in your amazing scent. “You do?” Surprise warming through his features, dispelling the forlorn gaze and mournful pout. A bashful grin adorably blooming on those soft lips and suddenly you’re so aware of just how close your body was to his. “I like how you remember that I have back to back session on Tuesday so you’d sneak a sandwich into my bag. Or how you commit to memory the insane way I like my tea, yet somehow never remember to bring your stupid calculator to every session.” You love the way a soft blush was rosy-ing his cheeks and you definitely adore how close his hand is to yours, pinkies gently touching each other. You could recall still the early days of your friendship, of constantly being caught off guard by how gentle and considerate the campus king was.  “I-, that calculator thing is on purpose… It’s stupid but I just like borrowing yours.” The sheepish smile and shy confession earned him a hard shove, though it was enough to brighten his mood exponentially. “I’m supposed to be praising you right now, brat. I don’t wanna continue anymore!” “No, no, I like this praise session. Please keep going, I swear I’ll shut up now!” Fingers to his lips, Donghyuk pretends to lock up his mouth before settling back into his seat, soft smile lingering still. “You remember the last time our session ended early?” Eagerly nodding as if he was in class, Donghyuk could never forget that evening, of having the luxury to share conversation with you for a whole hour straight. “You talk about dancing and I just remember thinking it’s amazing how passionate you are. You went on for days talking about these moves that I don’t even dare dream of ever doing. You were so carefree, laughing so hard you snorted and then choked on your drink. I treasure moments like those, when we’re just talking about absolutely nothing but everything.” A dreamy smile tug on his lips at the little reminder that there was always so much more to you and him. It wasn’t just tutor and student, or even just another frat boy trying to score a date. “Oh, and your seemingly useless facts! If you could remember that octopus has 3 hearts, why can’t you remember any of the things I taught you?! When are you ever going to need that fact?” “What?! It impressed you!” He protests when you swat at his chest. “Debatable” You scoff, not wanting to let on just how lost you are in his eyes and his smile or how natural it feels to have him so relax and comfortable on your couch. “It impressed you just a little bit. Admit that much!” Leaning forward, the way your eyes beaming with happiness and the smile that hadn’t left your lips embolden him to let his hands wrap around yours. “Fine, but just a tiny bit!” “Yes! That’s all I need!” Though the rowdy excitement raging in his heart had calmed itself, those hand so softly encasing yours never left, and you’re more than fine with that. “In all seriousness, I like the way the smallest thing could make you smile. The effort you put into your work, and when it had paid off, I was the first to know. There’s no describing how glad I was when you ran straight to the library just to show me that you aced your exam. I don’t know how much this matter to you but, I miss seeing your dumb moonstruck smile whenever I grade your works, and you think I wasn’t paying attention.” “Oh, you noticed…” He whispers timidly, gaze shying away from yours but by the way his hands squeezing yours so tightly, he notices too just how red your cheeks had gotten. “And even though I might not seem like it, I do like all of you, even the party, even king Donghyuk. There’s no reason why you can’t be both the cool, confident guy and then shy, soft when you need to be. If someone care about you, they would appreciate and love both side of you.” “If you really don’t care about my reputation, then how come you change the way you act around me?” There it was, the bit of hurt behind those harsh words he had barked at you, the bit of vulnerability every time you scoffed at another story of yet another rager. It surfaces once more, though this time raw and in plain sight. It’s not hiding behind a smirk or another careless shrug. It’s there for you to see and examine. “Because you changed the way you act around me! Suddenly I wasn’t dealing with sweet Donghyuk anymore. One second you were making sure I have enough to drink, that I’m not cold, and the next it was endless pickup lines and lustful jokes! I couldn’t even get in a word without being reminded of who you slept with and how great the party was. I was so certain that you felt at least a tiny tickle in your heart for me, but after your 180, I can’t even tell if you were the same person anymore let alone your feeling.” “I- I’m so sorry.” “Look, I’m not one to pass judgement on how anyone have fun or their sex life. I just didn’t want to be another conquest, another notch in your belt that mean absolutely nothing to you afterward. I know my own heart and I know I wanted so much more from you than just a one-night stand and a broken heart. I needed to save myself from falling so far into you that I’ll be left to pick up my own shattered pieces when you were done” Your heart feels like it was running million miles a second, tears brimming your lashes but the smile on his lips was so worth the breaths evading your lungs. “You have to understand that all these versions of you, at the end of the day, they’re all still you. They’re still just Kim Donghyuk because Kim Donghyuk is a complex human being with different emotions and different sides. He’s not just a party animal with a tongue, or dick that make girls cry. He’s not just this sensitive guy, or a dork that you think so unattractive either. He’s all of it, and that makes him worth the world. Don’t forsake part of you just to please others.” You hadn’t realized it at all but by the end of your heartfelt monologue, you had ripped your hands away from his, scaring the man into thinking he was crossing all the wrong boundaries. Yet the second you let your hands wrapped around his cheeks, cradling, letting your thumbs petting away the soft tears hot against his skin, his heart near flatline. Donghyuk stills himself under your touch, basking in the way you were almost, at the edge of being atop his laps, pulling him closer. “I never want to make you feel like I was only after your body. Not that there aren’t restless nights when all I could think about was how amazing you’d feel pin under me because I mean, have you look at yourself?” A chuckle crisps against the kiss he has just placed on your cheek, tugging you fully onto his lap now. You let your arms wind around his neck, basking in how warm and comforting he feels against your body. “I acted like an idiot because I thought that would win you over. Everyone kept telling me I needed to do more if I ever hope to win your heart so I foolishly let myself believe that only king Donghyuk could ever be worthy enough for you.” “I just need for you to be yourself. I know I’m selfish, but I want all of you, from the soft guy that make my heart flutter with his cuteness to the guy that make my body and soul ache late at night from just a teasing smirk. But most of all, I just want you to be comfortable around me.” “I don’t think that’s selfish at all… I just don’t want you to think I’m only being sweet to you because I have an agenda… Well, maybe I do, one, make you my girlfriend… But other than that, no hidden agenda.” Stammering his heart out, his cheeks once more sporting pink hues when you nuzzle into his arms, resting your head gently on his shoulder. Your arms snaking around his waist, constricting the bit of self-doubt and pain, fear of being reject right out of his soul. “I like you, Kim Donghyuk, all of you!” You whisper against the soft kiss you had just placed on his lips, bitter still from his shot of courage yet so sweet and free. “I like you too, Y/l/n Y/n!”

People Will Talk: Part 1

Summary: Atticus Gold and relative newcomer Belle French have developed a relationship no one in Storybrooke approves of, and people make their opinion known in small-minded, small-town fashion: he’s too old for her, and the pretty young librarian needs to find friends her own age. When Gold ends the relationship to protect Belle’s reputation, the town turns on him again. To make matters worse, his friends and family are mad at him, too. But as we all know, love wins in the end. Rating / Word Count: T / 2700 A/N: This is the Marie’s Three-Year Writing Anniversary Rumor/Assumed Fake Dating/Family AU that no one asked for. There’s a Snowing rescue, Alice Jones, Wish!Hook Killian Jones, Curious Archer, even a little Nealfire because this is my AU and I can if I want to. It’s my thank you gift for your support and friendship for these three years. Hope you enjoy!  A/N 2: Written for the May @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: Fake dating/arranged marriage AU  Thanks to @maplesyrupao3​ for your beta awesomeness!

ON AO3

“Is that egg?”

“Miss French!” Gold jumped, dropping the sponge he was using to scrub his front door. Soapy, slimy water dribbled down the front of his charcoal pinstripe suit.  

Belle bit her lip and frowned. She’d been Belle just last night when they were cuddling on the sofa in his den. She had even kissed him before she went home, a brief brush of his deliciously rough cheek with her lips, hovering as close to his mouth as she dared to come.

“I’m sorry!” She touched his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“No matter.” He shrugged and dabbed at the wet spots on his chest with his pocket square, as though having his house egged and washing the door in his finest apparel was an everyday occurrence.

Belle recognized the cut and sheen of his three-piece ensemble. Brioni, and tailored to fit him like a glove. When he’d been alive, her father had an entire walk-in closet filled with dozens like it and Italian hand-stitched shoes so shiny she could see her reflection in the gleaming leather.

“Here, let me.” She plucked the pocket square from Gold’s fingers and began patting it down the front of his suit, frowning at the orange-yellow streaks of egg yolk, half-cooked in the sizzling 90-degree heat. It was on the tip of her tongue to offer to buy him a new one, but a proud, self-made man like Gold would never accept or understand the gesture.

She drifted closer, swallowing a noise of delight as she ran the silk over the lean muscles of his chest. In the stifling summer heat, his alluring scent of tobacco, vanilla, and warm male skin wafted toward her. He stiffened when she reached his ribs, his posture rigid, his eyes looking straight ahead. When she snaked a trail downward toward his stomach, he closed his fingers around her wrist, stopping her from continuing. Sweat beaded on the stubble above his lips, and she had the crazy urge to rise on her tiptoes to lick it away. His thumb pressed into her wrist, and she wondered if he could feel the hammering of her pulse.

Breathless, Belle lifted her chin to meet his gaze; his honey brown irises wide and troubled. Like a spring, he released her and jerked away as though he’d been burned.

She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest, confused by his sudden withdrawal. “This is crazy,” she said, looking at the stained house. “We’re nowhere near Halloween. It’s not even October.” Outraged at the idea of someone egging Gold’s house, she gestured into the late July sunshine with a frown.

“Pranks know no season in Storybrooke,” he muttered with another shrug.

She sighed. She’d moved halfway across the world from Melbourne to Storybrooke about eight months ago and was still learning all the quirks of life in small-town America. Lord knew her parents tried to shield her from the worst of it, but her family’s high-profile shipping empire had made them the target of ridicule and speculation all her life. When Papa had been alive, the Australian tabloid paparazzi followed him everywhere. With her father’s death came the end of their interest in the life of Belle French. But here in a small town, everyone was famous, and news traveled around faster than lightning bugs in the wood.

Belle wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt and painted on a brave smile. The least she could do was help Gold clean up the mess. “Do you have another sponge?”

He gave her a passing glance, then went back to scrubbing the door. The sticky viscous substance had dried on the leaded glass pane in the oppressive heat, making the consistency as tacky as dried glue.

When her stomach rumbled, she pulled out her mobile phone. “If you’re not going to accept my help, I’m calling for takeout. Does Thai sound good, or would you prefer pizza? I wouldn’t say no to a garlic butter crust.”

There was a long moment of silence and he continued to rub at a stubborn spot beside the door knocker. “You needn’t have troubled yourself by stopping by,” he said at last.

Her empty stomach did an uncomfortable flip at his brusqueness. “But it’s Thursday,” she said with a teasing smile, trying to push past his formal tone. “And even if it wasn’t, it would be weird for me not to stop, especially when I see you outside. You’re on my way home. Now come on, I’m hungry.”

Belle owned a rambling Victorian only two blocks away from Gold’s, and the walk between her home and the library meant she passed his house twice a day, five to six days a week. The day they met he was standing on the porch cursing at knotted strands of Christmas lights. The decorations were a surprise for his son Neal. He lived in New York City and had made the last-minute decision to spend his the holidays at home instead of in Boston with friends. She’d stopped and offered to help Gold untangle the strings, and they’d struck up a conversation about Charles Dickens.

“You’re better with books than with people, Belle,” her father would say, patting her on the head with a laugh. Like the dutiful daughter she was, she took the advice to heart and learned to talk to people about books.

Unfortunately, no matter what she said today, Gold was doing an excellent job of impersonating a mime.

An uncomfortable cord of silence stretched taut between them. Belle’s hands started to tremble and sweat dripped down her back. Disappointed, she eased her phone back into her handbag. They always met up for carryout dinner on Thursday evenings, sometimes at her house, but mostly at his. Once in a while, they ventured out, but the best times were when they curled up on the couch barefoot for food and conversation. It was so simple and normal; a stark contrast to the silent, chef-prepared meals at the long dining room table she’d grown up with where you had to hike a mile down the table to pass the green beans.

The company was the best part. Gold was witty, charming, and handsome and always had a funny anecdote to share about a tenant or a pawnshop customer. Given the choice, she would have spent every evening for the rest of her life talking and laughing with him.

But he hadn’t invited her.

“Gold.” She touched his shoulder again. “Talk to me. Do you have any idea who did this, or why?”

He tossed the sponge onto the porch next to the bucket, his shoulders slumped. “I’ve told you before, Miss French, I’m not well liked.”

Determined to banish the dark clouds gathering over them, she forced a smile. “The name’s Belle, remember? And I like you just fine.”

“All right. I’m not well liked, Belle. People don’t want to see us together. It’s a shock to the senses, or so I’ve been told.”

Her mouth opened in surprise. “Atticus, what—”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. If we’re walking down the street side-by-side or having a bite to eat? Nasty stares? Concerned whispers? It’s always the same story: Gold the cradle robber, taking advantage of sweet, innocent Miss French.”

Belle balked. “I’m twenty-eight, not in nappies.”

“You know what I mean.” His small, ironic smile made her heart hurt.

Belle chewed her lip, thinking back over the past few months of their friendship. The truth was, no, she didn’t. She didn’t have the first clue what he meant. Being with Gold was like reading one of her favorite books: when they were together, she was too captivated by the man at her side to notice anything or anyone else. The way his hair glinted in the sunshine, the way his dimples bracketed his hard-won smiles, and how sweat beaded on his upper lip when he was warm and agitated.

“Jefferson’s aunt came into the shop to compliment me on my beautiful daughter.” He sighed. “Last week when we were at Granny’s and I took the liberty of ordering your cocktail while you were in the restroom, Ashley Boyd asked me if you were old enough for a drink.”

“Who cares what they think?” she retorted, hands on hips.

An ugly laugh spilled from his mouth. “You’ll care a lot when you’re denied library funding by the town council, or people cross the street to walk on the opposite side so they don’t have to walk past you. Maybe they’ll throw eggs at your bedroom window on account of your reckless decision to spend time with the town pariah.”

“Bullshit.”

His jaw dropped in surprise. Good; she'd gotten his attention.

She wanted to boast that she could buy and sell twenty libraries one hundred times over without making a dent in her bank account. But she couldn’t say that, any more than she could admit she wrote anonymous donation checks to the library once a month, or confess she acquired new children’s and art history selections last week because she was bored. People believed she was eeking by on a meager associate librarian’s salary when in reality she accepted the paycheck to keep up appearances and be polite. Her position at the library was about sharing her passion for reading, not making money.

Money she had plenty of, but what of friendship and love? Those came at a premium she couldn’t pay for.

“I mean it. I call bullshit.” Her fingers dug into her hips. “Why are you pushing me away?”

“More like hurrying nature to take its course.” He waved her concerns away with a hand. “Look at me. I’m nineteen years older than you. My hair is graying, my wrinkles are multiplying, and my leg aches worse today than it did yesterday.”

“I am looking at you. And I like both what I see, and the man I know. Very much.”

He shook his head as though he hadn’t heard her. “You don’t have to trouble yourself, sw...Belle.” He gestured at the door. “Over this or me.”

The compassionate words were at odds with his cold, hard tone, as though he was chipping ice off a block. His face, usually so open to her, had hardened into an impenetrable mask. Many times she’d seen him look at others with the same cool appraisal, but she never figured on being on the receiving end of his bitter stare.

At a loss, she shivered in spite of the sweltering evening heat and wrapped her arms around herself. Gold was her friend, her best friend in town, really. She didn’t want to lose their relationship over the say-so of some silly busybodies.

“What about your other friends?” he asked, still scrubbing away at the stupid door.

Belle chewed her lower lip, considering. There was Ruby, and Mulan, and Ariel. Mary Margaret and David Nolan were kind. She liked them all, but her connection with Gold was special. At least she thought so.

Still, he continued to scrub, all his attention on the now spotless mahogany door. The sponge scraped against the door in a maddening rhythm that matched the sick pound of her heart. She grabbed his wrist, wrestling the sponge away from him. “You’re my best friend.”

“You should stop coming here.” He swallowed. Forcing himself to send Belle away was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Even more difficult than facing his ex-wife’s midnight departure from his and their son’s life almost twenty-five years ago. “Before people get any more wrong ideas.”

Belle squeezed the sponge, wringing it out between her small white fingers. “You don’t want to be around me?”

“No! Yes. I mean no!” Frustrated, he ground his back teeth. She wasn’t understanding. The problem was him, not her. It was always him, couldn’t she see? “That’s the furthest thing from the truth. You shouldn’t want this. Not with me.”

Quips from Jefferson’s sweet maiden aunt and snide remarks from the likes of Ashley Boyd weren’t the worst of it. More than one well-meaning town denizen had taken him aside at great risk to their rental agreements to explain how disgusting and improper a relationship between two people so far apart in age was. How it would be better for everyone if he left the young librarian to herself and allowed her to make some real friends. Phrases like “old enough to be her father” and “sugar daddy” peppered the one-sided conversations. In each case, he’d told them to mind their own bloody business, pretending to be unaffected, but the interactions left him feeling shaken and sick.

Yesterday when he came to collect rent, the Widow Lucas had stared him square in the eye and handed him a stack of bills. “You’re closer to my age than you are to hers, Gold. And making a fool of yourself. As long as she’s associated with you, she’ll never have a chance with anyone else.”

Never have a chance.

Gold was furious, but even his legendary temper couldn’t rival the pain of knowing Granny was right. They all were. They were playing upon his trust issues, exploiting his greatest fear: Belle was humoring him until someone younger and more attractive captured her time and attention. And he was falling for it.

“Surely you’re tired of playing games with an old man,” he said, bitterness leaking into the words.

He watched the blood drain from her face, nausea rolling through his gut. He grappled for the cane he’d leaned against the porch railing to steady himself.

“People talk.” She jerked her chin, whispering the words through barely parted lips. “Let them say what they want. I don’t care.”

“I see. You think this is only about you.” Ruthlessly, he hammered another nail in the coffin of their relationship. Dizzy, he looked down at the porch, watching an army of ants carry a crumb towards a crack. Anything was preferable to acknowledging the tremble of her jaw, those striking blue eyes brimming with tears and wreathed with dark circles of pain.

“Why...” she seemed to curl up on herself as she spoke, her voice becoming small as well as her body, and his heart shriveled even further. “What about...what about what we want? You can’t help who you like spending time with, can you?”

God above, he was a bastard. A sick, sadistic part of him was actually enjoying her reaction. She really did care about him, and he didn’t deserve to spend another moment in her company. Not as her friend or as anything else he might desire.

“I’m too old for you, Belle.” He winced the moment the trite excuse left his lips. He thought of their trip to the beach last week, and how she’d coaxed him to take his shirt off for the first time in ten years. How he hadn't even minded the way her warm gaze roamed over his skinny white chest. “The last several months have been...pleasant...but it’s time to move on.”

“I thought we were friends.” Her voice was raw, and she twisted the sponge.

He shook his head, aghast that she still believed the problem to be on her end. “No, sweetheart. It’s me, not you. I’m sure there are some younger people who would be better suited...” he made a helpless gesture.

“I can’t believe this.” She was pulverizing the sponge now, choking it, probably imagining it was his neck.

He pushed on, driving her further away. “Talking about me is one thing; I’m used to it. Talking about you because of me...well, that’s another matter entirely. It’s no longer only one person’s reputation at stake. I can’t bear it, Belle. Us not seeing each other anymore...it’s the only way I can protect your reputation.”

He turned around and faced the door again. There was a long, tense silence, and he could feel the sad weight of her stare.

“Protect yourself, you mean, don’t you?” she retorted, her voice choked with tears.

He heard the splash of the sponge in the bucket and he hung his head in shame. He’d gotten what he wanted, though. She was leaving.

The only sound he could remember for the rest of the evening was the clatter of her heels down the steps and out of his life.

###

[14] Glitch in the System - Chelsea Morning (The Mission: Pt. 3)

By K. A smooch(!) happens. Chapter title is a reference to Joni Mitchell's "Chelsea Morning", which you can peep here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_y7O06z77Q.

–

Widowmaker wasted little time in procuring an audience with Akande inasmuch as she offered him no say in the matter. She stewed the entire flight from Milan to Venice, punctuating the assistance she offered their medic with sporadic reprieves to the observation deck. There, alone, the sniper paced in silence as she struggled with with the unplaceable, coursing adrenaline that fueled her restlessness and left her balling fists so tight they left tender, narrow crescents along the inside of her palms. Even devoid of the ability to connect with it on a cognitive level, she recognized the physiological manifestation of what, in anyone else, would be anger. Unfortunately, Talon’s air transport offered little in the way of outlets for that frustration; instead, she grabbed her comms device on one of her trips between the medical bay and observation deck and dialed Doomfist’s number with as much deliberate force as the screen could withstand.

“What?” he asked, irritation filtering through static space with digitized crispness.

“We are going to talk,”  Widowmaker commanded flatly. “ETA 1930. D’accord?”

“Lacroix-,” Akande began, but she hung up before he could respond. It felt strangely vindicating.

After seeing Sombra to her room and tipping the medic generously, Widowmaker crossed to the eastern wing of the estate, ignoring evening greetings from other agents as she transitioned from the relative quietude of the west side to the bustling heart of their current operation. Taking the stairs two at a time, she made her way to the second floor and shouldered straight through Akande’s office door without so much as a knock.

Doomfist rose from behind his desk in acknowledgement.

“I don’t much appreciate being hung up on,” he said, setting aside a handful of papers as he stepped around the edge of the desk.

“I do not much appreciate being sent on fool’s errands,” Widowmaker replied, light and clipped as she closed the door behind her.

“Excuse me?”

“Fool’s errands,” she repeated, giving the words enough space to emphasize the accusation. “You knew it was a trap. We all did.”

Akande stood unmoving as she approached, hands tucked into the pockets of his linen slacks; as always, an impossible read. Widowmaker gave her imprecation a wide berth, locking eyes with Doomfist as she waited.

“What do you want?” Akande asked calmly, his expression unwavering. The sniper inclined her chin, searching his face for any indication of intent and, unsurprisingly, finding nothing.

“What do you mean, ‘What do I want’?” she asked.

“I fucked up,” he replied matter-of-factly. “No way around it. What do you want?”

Widowmaker pursed her lips, brows knitting thoughtfully. Her first inclination was to suspect foul play, and if Doomfist were anyone else, that reflex would be warranted. Akande, however, made good on his reputation as a man true to his word; as long as loyalty or the impression thereof was maintained, he rarely, if ever, leaned on deceit where it was unnecessary. In this regard, he was as transparent in his communication as he was opaque in his tactical decisions.

“Lacroix?” he asked, expectantly.

“Two weeks,” she replied. “Sombra, too. No questions. Expenses paid.”

Akande, eyebrows raised, tilted his head. “And?”

The assassin shrugged. “That’s all. Give me that and I forget this mission ever happened. Y’en a plus.”

“Done,” Doomfist nodded. “Make your arrangements, give me a ballpark estimate, and we’ll wire the funds. Give our girl a week to get back on her feet and the next two are yours. Then we put this behind us.”

He extended a hand.

“Put what behind us?” Widowmaker asked, accepting the agreement with a single, firm handshake. Relinquishing his grip, the sniper turned toward the door.

“Knock next time,” Akande called after her.

“There had better not be a next time,” she concluded with a single, backwards glance.

All things considered, the breakfast Widowmaker managed to cobble together from their haphazard pantry was surprisingly robust. As the last of the toast decreed its readiness with a chirp and mechanically-bolstered leap into the air, she plated it and considered her work. It was heavy by her standards, possibly even excessive: eggs with goat cheese and a variety of sautéed vegetables, bacon, toast, fresh berries, yogurt, and, to her continuous chagrin, the same overly sweet cereal Sombra favored despite infinitely more complex and healthful offerings. Still, given the circumstances, the spread felt somehow insufficient. Lacking.

She turned abruptly toward the fridge, scanning its contents.

Champagne.

Orange juice.

“Parfait.”

The medic had told her liquor was a poor idea - that nanotechnology expedited recovery but that soreness and pain would persist even after the wound was mended. For that lingering discomfort, he prescribed a relatively small but powerful regimen of painkillers for the ensuing week, offering the caveat that it be taken with food and to avoid drinking.

Popping the cork on the champagne, she scoured the cabinets for a flute and found only juice and pint glasses - both gauche in their own respects, but her options were limited. Settling for the latter, she poured the sparkling wine into the glass in equal parts with the juice and decided that what the medic didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. She knew she’d want a drink, were she in Sombra’s place.

She set the glass beside the dry cereal and adjacent cup of milk, shouldered the tray on which her work was arranged, and made her way through the hall toward Sombra’s room. She passed Gabriel en route, shushing him with a raised finger before he could so much as snicker.

“Just don’t,” she glowered. “Not today.”

Biting back whatever opening volley he’d prepared, Reaper rolled his eyes as loudly as possible before ducking around the corner.

Widowmaker continued uninterrupted, shifting the tray to her left shoulder as she approached the hacker’s door. She knocked lightly, lest her injured colleague still be asleep; even under that light touch, however, the door gave way with a slow, creaky groan.

“Manda huevos, doc,” Sombra whined from within. “If you’re here to check on me one more time—.”

The sniper poked her head through the door, quirking a perfectly arched eyebrow. “You’ll what?”

Propped up in bed with the aid of a collection of pillows, Sombra acknowledged the sniper with a tired half-smile and the ghost of a chuckle. “I honestly have no idea,” the hacker conceded, brushing a few strands of wayward hair from her face with her unencumbered hand. Her opposite arm was cradled in a sling which the medic ensured them was only necessary for the day or two required for the nanites to work their magic. That aside, the only other evidence of their failed mission and the injury incurred therein was the swathe of bandages creeping above the neck of her shirt and the softness exhaustion lended her usually sharp features.

“You coming in or what?” she asked.

Widowmaker obliged, slipping through the door with care before bumping it shut with her hip. Sunshine illuminated the typically darkened room, throwing its light across the walls and bed in a wild, radiant pane that made the hacker’s room somehow more inviting than usual - warm, lived-in, soft. She had opened the curtains as she left the evening prior, to Sombra’s chagrin, insisting sunlight would do her well, even if only to bolster her mood. Ironic, coming from her.

“You didn’t,” Sombra started, violet eyes hovering on the tray.

“I did,” the assassin replied, crossing to the bedside and setting the tray on the adjacent nightstand.

“Araña.”

“Quoi?”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I did,” Widowmaker retorted, offering her the mimosa by the rim of the glass. Sombra accepted, lifting it to her nose and sniffing with a knowing smirk.

“I missed,” Widowmaker continued quietly, sitting at the edge of the bed. “I missed and you were injured because of it. Breakfast in bed is the very least I could do, and it is far from enough.”

Her admission, even coupled with the offering of breakfast, felt inadequate, a poor conveyance of the heaviness that settled in her chest and stayed there even after the weight of that dead soldier was long removed. Widowmaker wasn’t sure what to call it - guilt was the most obvious choice, but there was a complexity to this burden she struggled to parse, a collection of independent sentiments informing its composition. Failure was among them, redolent in its vicious poignancy, its blistering sharpness the only thing that had been required to reduce her to her basest, violent instincts. But there were other inclinations there, present only in her interactions with the hacker, warm and embarrassingly tender despite the cold baseline by which she was programmed to operate.

Now, sitting beside Sombra as the sun threw its light beneath her sleep-tousled hair, Widowmaker wasn’t sure a name was necessary.

“Would you like to go to France? With me?” she asked abruptly.

Sombra blinked, midway through raising a spoonful of cereal to her mouth. “Que?”

“My family owns a château outside of Annecy. Beautiful, but mostly abandoned. I was thinking some renovations were in order.”

“Let me know when you get the time,” the hacker shrugged. “I’d go.”

“We have the time.”

Sombra tilted her head, curious. “Go on.”

“I ah,” Widowmaker began, a shy grin tucked into the corner of her mouth, “I may have secured us a few weeks’ vacation effective whenever you are feeling well.”

For a long, unbroken moment, Sombra simply stared at her. Eventually, she set the bowl of cereal aside and reached out with her good hand, curling a loose fist in the knit of the taller woman’s sweater and tugging gently.

“What?” Widowmaker asked, allowing herself to be pulled closer.

“I want to kiss you.”

“You are hurt,” she protested, even as she rolled onto one arm and settled at the hacker’s side.

“It’s a kiss, araña, not a boxing match.”

Widowmaker smiled, small but sincere as she leaned into the hacker’s grip and pressed her lips to Sombra’s, sinking into the warmth she found there that was unfamiliar and welcoming in equal measure.

They lingered a long moment even after breaking apart, nothing between them but the space of their breath and ghost of Sombra’s grin against her own.

“You don’t have a garden at this place, do you?” the spy asked with the faintest brush of teeth against her bottom lip.

“No gardening. Promise.”

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic

Congratulations, LISSA! You’ve been accepted for the role of BEATRICE. We had such a hard time deciding between the two wonderful applications we received for Brielle; that's actually the major reason why acceptances are being posted a little late. Both of you brought such wonderful portrayals of Verona's newest jockey to the table, but it was the little things—the nuances in how she speaks, her mannerisms—that broke the tie. One thing in particular that struck me was the response you had her give for the first interview. Of all the places in Verona, the place she chose was the sun, and I absolutely loved that. It was a small detail, but it showed the perfect balance of forethought and her appreciation of simple pleasures. Great work! Your request to change her faceclaim to Alia Bhatt has been accepted. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within twenty-four hours.

                                                                          WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Lissa

Age | Twenty

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | It’s hard for me to estimate right at this precise moment because I’m about to enter my first week of spring semester, so I’m not entirely sure what my load will be, but I’d like to say 6/10? That’s sort of the minimum level of activity I’d function at and if it were to ever drop lower than I’d be sure to ask for a hiatus and keep you all in the loop.

Timezone | PST

In Character

Character | Beatrice; but could I request a face claim change to Alia Bhatt?

Brielle ( English ): “God is my Strength” — It is a variation of Gabriel, the name of one of God’s seven archangels in Judeo-Christian tradition. As the harbinger of news, the angel Gabriel played a critical role in the fate of men and women alike, influencing history and impressing upon humans their futures as God saw it. Perhaps, then, her name is also prophetic in a way — after all, it foretells her ability to craft her own future. Regardless, she finds it ironic, as her belief in God is tenuous at best. She derives her strength from within and not the heavens above, though others try to convince her otherwise.

King ( English, Scottish, French ): “Leader” — Rooted in the Old English word cyningwhich was used to denote a tribal leader. Her father, as loving as he was, fell short in many ways. He was always able to provide the bare minimum and ensure their family’s survival, but quite simply he was unremarkable, a good worker yet still replaceable. Thus, his surname became a burden; people expected so much out of him when they heard the name King. Because of that, he was reluctant to pass it on, but to Brielle it has never been a reminder of what they aren’t. No, to her it has always been a look to the future, a look at what could be. Although she isn’t a leader in the traditional sense — she doubts anyone will ever follow her into battle — Brielle has always striven to be a trailblazer, a leader in her specialty, and to be worthy of her familial name. Sure, the kings and queens of yore are antiquated, but for all their faults and shortcomings, they were noted in history, revered and remembered — really, everything she could ever wish for.

What drew you to this character? | It’s fitting that Beatrice comes from “Much Ado About Nothing,” because Brielle approaches her life like it is a comedy, facing the challenges set before her with a bit of resolve and humor. Truthfully, it very well could’ve taken a different turn and been a tragedy since fate handed her the short end of the stick, but she firmly believes in living on her own terms. She strives to craft her own future, with or without God’s blessing, using the tools life has tossed her way. A lesser girl might have buckled under the weight of it all, but Bri views each obstacle she faces as something to overcome, something to surpass, and that is the sole reason for her success. I think that is something I’ve always hoped to embody, the way she takes and takes from life, never satisfied with being labeled a victim or an unfortunate soul. Pardon the pun, but she takes life by the reins and makes her own luck. Enough horsing around though — honestly, is anything more badass than that?

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

I. THE WORLD IS YOUR OYSTER: She has worked so hard to get to this point, spent days on end tirelessly rehearsing, and now that she is reaping the benefits, there is still no time to get lazy. Brielle didn’t stumble upon her skill and sport by sheer luck, it required diligence, patience, and practice. It would be easy to fall into the flash and pomp of the city, but she’s not after the quick fix. No, she’s in it for the long haul, and that is not for the faint of heart. Even in a different country she heard of the quarreling families mobs of Verona and she knows it is wisest to keep her nose out of it. Neutrality is such a fine line though, but the alternative doesn’t suit her much either.

II. HELL IS EMPTY AND ALL THE DEVILS ARE HERE: She is wary about God and although she admits He may exist, she cares for Him as little as He cared for her when her family was just barely scraping by. It’s a contentious relationship, that’s for sure, and she can’t figure out for the life of her why Hugo Kim is so bent on changing her perspective. There are plenty of nonbelievers in Verona — in fact, the city is chock-full of devils — so why her? Brielle doesn’t want to admit it, but there other reasons for her reluctance. To fully commit, she must relinquish her tight grasp on the reins and give in to the idea of a higher power. For a girl who has spent so much of her life in full command of her future, it could be understood why she is so reluctant to do so. However, Hugo uses logic and persuasive speech to sway her and maybe, just maybe, there is a design. It helps also that he saved her that fateful day the bomb went off. Of course, there is more to the priest than God, just as there is more to the city than tourist traps and sunshine, and maybe, just maybe, she’ll see his side of things too.

III. PARTING IS SUCH SWEET SORROW: Brielle is not heartless or devoid of emotion, nor has she ever given that impression. It’s been a month since she’s arrived in Verona’s sunlit streets and now she is homesick and achingly so. It’s a minor inconvenience on her path to glory, something she’ll withstand with grit and pluck, she’s sure of it. Every so often though, nostalgia overtakes her, and she finds herself yearning for her Papa’s engulfing embrace and her Mama’s flaky Napoleons, but above all she misses Katya, her sister in every sense of the word. They had their differences, yes, vast canyons of divide, but they were childhood companions, bound by the blood of the womb. To curb these aches however, she finds weak substitutes and although a cannoli is a poor proxy, she makes do with what she has — a lesson she learned when she was penniless with little to no prospects. Brielle refuses to let sentiment get in the way and, again, although Catherine Daly is not Katya, she fills the void. But as days pass, Brielle finds herself empathizing with the Capulet emissary. She is drawn to her soft, flickering light and maybe even her conflict-filled plight. There’s no doubt about it, Brielle came to race, but she might stay for an entirely different reason.

In Depth

The following THREE questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would were you playing the character.

They had contacted her not too long after she had landed, using her benefactor as their mouthpiece. They were eager to pick her mind, circling as vultures do when they’ve spotted their prey. Brielle had done interviews before for various news syndicates, but that was back home, back where she wasn’t an outsider. Wary as she was, she needed to build up a reputation and make her name more recognizable; the interview would help with that. What tipped the scales in their favor however, was the firm insistence of her employer. At his behest, she had acquiesced, unwilling to bite the hand that fed her, especially this early in the game.

A week later she sat across from a rather austere journalist the paper had sent. He pulled out a blank yellow pad and black ballpoint pen, foregoing technology completely much to her surprise. When she had arrived, he had already ordered and now as her drink was placed before her, his espresso cup was empty, leaving her rather on edge. As he prepared to speak, Brielle braced herself for his questions, her slim fingers haphazardly tracing the rim of her full mug.

What is your favorite place in Verona? | She had expected this question and rehearsed its answer in her mind countless times, running through a number of potential responses. It would be boring if she said the stables ( though also true ) and a bit pathetic if she said her room, but in truth those were the only two places she spent enough time to know. Instead, she went a safer route, gesturing to expanse around them. “I’ve only been here for a week, so I’m afraid my knowledge is limited, but I do quite enjoy the sun — its warmth wasn’t quite as enveloping in St. Petersburg, so I like sitting outside in little cafes like this one.”

What does your typical day look like? | It was another seemingly easy question, but as a newcomer she struggled to answer. Brielle supposed her routine was the same as it was in Russia with few modifications, so truthfully she answered, brows scrunched together as she did. “Again, I’ve just arrived so I’m still adjusting to the time change and finding my rhythm, but typically I’m at the stables by dawn to groom my horse and practice. Then I run errands and try and find time to explore Verona, it’s quite easy to get lost here.” As he jotted down what she said, she took a quick sip of the liquid before her, its warmth sliding down her throat and settling into her belly. He gave her a brief look and she smiled politely in turn, wanting to put her best foot forward.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues? | This question caught her off-guard, the odd one out in his compiled list of queries. With due diligence, Brielle had done her research on the city, wanting to be knowledgable of the area and its affairs. She had been told in confidence by her employer that in the shadows of Verona, a civil war was being waged. A bout of suspicion crept up on her and she felt as if the entire interview was centered on this one question— perhaps, there was more to this? Bri was careful in piecing together her answer, defining her neutrality in clear terms. “It’s not my quarrel and I’d be a fool to comment on something I have so little information on. The only opponents I have share the track with me.” From behind his wire glasses, the journalist’s dark eyes lingered on hers for a breath too long, giving her the impression she was standing on shaky ground. Before she could add anything else though, he moved on and soon the interview was over. As she watched him stride back onto the main road, Brielle remained in her seat, wondering who exactly would read his transcript — the people of Verona of course, but who exactly?

In-Character Para Sample:

The sun was rising from the East, illuminating the vast sky with streaks of soft light — a painter’s dream, she supposed, especially since the shapely puffs of clouds held in splashes of vibrant color, reflecting back various shades of warm yellows and cool blues. To Bri, it was a particularly noteworthy sunrise and though she was not quite an artist, she had seen enough to know the difference. Granted, she was a bit more optimistic than usual, but she still retained a large degree of her sensibility. It would take more than a moderate amount of success and relocation to disillusion her.

Perhaps sunrises were a bit symbolic to her — after all, they often signified opportunity, elevation, and new beginnings. Here now in Verona she was faced with all of that and more, and if this were the beginning of some play or work of literature, it probably would have foreshadowed all the good things yet to come. It wasn’t though, which she appreciated, because stories, once written, began and ended the same fashion. See, that just didn’t sit well with her — Brielle was the master of her own fate and all of her successes and failures were hers to plot out.

In a way she supposed that her occupation was a challenge of sorts; those who bet on horses and their jockeys were usually superstitious or subscribers to the concept of luck or religion. She rejected that however, and built her career on hard work, dedication, and practice. Bri was clever in picking her steeds and meticulous when it came to the details. She would research her opponents, both horse and jockey, while also noting the track’s turf and area to be better prepared when rounding the loop. The crowds would cheer whenever she broke ahead of the pack, thanking God, Lady Luck, and everyone else in between, but Bri chalked it up to good form and precise maneuvers — exactly what she was practicing now alone on the turf.

Already she felt a thin sheen of sweat bead on her forehead, Italy’s temperate mornings not agreeing with her cold roots. It was her third and final time coming around the oblong oval as she was careful always to make sure she was not exhausting or overextending her horse. As Brielle cut through the air, the stallion’s muscles taut as it galloped ahead, she was filled with a sense of serenity, driven with purpose. Every single time she approached the last stretch with finish line in sight, the young jockey saw what it promised — the chance for glory, triumph, and success.

The distance closed, the stallion’s stride slowing down to a trot under her insistence, a result of the unshakable rapport she had built over the span of weeks with her dark bay. As they came to a halt, she swung off in a fluid and practiced motion, landing on her heeled feet with a soft thud. The helmet came off first and Brielle tucked it snugly under her arm, gripping the horse’s reins with her free hand.

Back in the paddock, she finished the rest of her routine, grooming and feeding her paired partner. Some in her line of work hired grooms to care for their horses during downtime, but Brielle never did. It was a much needed reminder of what she had done to get here, something to ground her after spending so much time with her feet up in the stirrups of her saddle.  

A voice startled her from behind, speaking in that melodic Italian that seemed so foreign on her tongue. “Are you ready for the race?”

Brielle turned her head towards the visitor, her disheveled hair flying loosely around as even more strands fell out of her braid. With a sure smile on her lips and resolute nod, Bri leveled her gaze to her benefactor’s. “Of course. We’re the dark horse; we’ll make history tomorrow.”

Extras: Everything can be located at my mockblog located here.