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pearl-buttons · 4 months

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Aerouant

Originally posted on AO3 in two parts.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 9.8k

Summary: Draco Malfoy is no saint, but cannot fathom what sins he's committed in this life to deserve the punishment of Hermione Granger sweeping into his broom shop.

Draco was, admittedly, not a saint. Certainly he’d been a veritable prick in childhood. And—all right, yes—he’d very nearly murdered his headmaster as a teenager. Over all, his formative years were spent honing a level of arseholery befitting such a proud name as Malfoy. He had, without a doubt, deserved the rather public shunning of his family and the slog of returning the name back to Halfway Decent (though a Rita Skeeter article his mother knew absolutely nothing about that painted Draco in particular as rather tragic tipped him over the edge into War Hero. A horrid few months were spent avoiding Nosey Nellies wanting to hear the nitty gritty of becoming an Agonised Adolescent Deatheater)… But what in the name of Merlin had he done in his life to deserve this particular punishment?

The charm above the shop door had chimed out the arrival of a patron, pulling Draco’s attention from his workbench. It was the cloud of curls he noticed first; how could he not? Less frizzy now than when they were younger, but still wild, almost floating around her head like a bronze halo. He watched warily as the witch’s eyes flitted about the shop floor, observing, absorbing, cataloguing: small model brooms zipping about, bits of sawdust that floated through the slanting panes of sunlight like Sylphs, finished brooms parcelled up and leant near the door to be delivered tomorrow, and finally—

She started when their eyes met, and Draco held his breath, watching her fingers for a twitch for her wand he’d noticed holstered in her jumper sleeve. To her credit, she recovered quickly: wiping the surprise from her face, and taking a step toward him. “Malfoy.”

Her features were schooled into something resembling polite friendliness, though pinched and insincere. He briefly wondered if that’s the sort of face she pulled for journalists or over-friendly strangers. Better than the pity she’d had written all over her face the last time he’d seen her over a decade ago.

Walking out of his mother’s court proceedings after she’d testified in Narcissa’s favour, she’d hesitated before silently putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. He’d not been able to choke out more than “good of you”, a war between childhood animosity and newfound adult rationality sealing his throat tight, before she walked away.

He cleared his throat now, and wiped his hands down the front of his apron. “Granger,” he replied smoothly. “How can I help you?”

“I didn’t realise you were - that is, I’d been told that -” Her hands waved enthusiastically as she spoke, and she shifted restlessly from foot to foot.

“I’ll admit, I’m surprised to see you myself,” he reassured her. Merlin, he sounded much more collected than he felt. “Trying out for the Harpies, are we?”

Granger choked out what Draco would very generously call a laugh instead of (more accurately) the sound of an owl regurgitating a pellet. “I’d sooner gag on a troll.”

Draco snorted at her choice of words and her cheeks immediately coloured.

“I’m sorry—I.” She took a deep breath, eyes closed, and straightened her shoulders. “Christmas is coming up, and Harry’s been riding about on an outdated Firebolt for ages. Can’t fault the man for his sentimentality, but it’s costing their team games at this point, and Ron’s rather cross about it and—“

Her curls were somehow enlarging with every speedy syllable. Draco could practically envision one of the miniature brooms getting stuck in one like it would a tornado, lost to the world forevermore. Best to interrupt now.

He held his hand up and shhed. She halted, eyes widening in surprise and no small amount of irritation at being shushed, so.

“Nothing but the best for Saint Potter,” he said, sardonically. Thirteen years passing was all well and good, but schoolboy rivalry was forever. He continued with a self-assured grin and smoothed his hair back in a gesture that was either charming or nauseating depending on his audience. Granger, he reasoned, was the latter sort. “So here you are. Unfortunately, I am rather in-demand at the moment, and don’t find myself with the time to take on another project.” He turned, as if to go back to the broom he’d been working on, glancing over his shoulder at the witch who was looking more-and-more put out with each word. “Especially with only five weeks until Christmas.”

He did have the time, and he could get it done, but the thought of being under Hermione Granger’s employ rankled more than it should have.

Curious how easy it was to step into the shoes of his younger self. He’d grown like a weed once the stress of war had ended, but old habits die hard, and Pureblood pride a hundred times more over—and, in truth, he really was the best.

He hadn’t studied under Master Broom-makers, nor spent ages agonising over every last hand carved detail to simply be adequate. The years spent perfecting his charms, puzzling over more intricate, original spellwork, and experimenting with materials had given way to opening his own shop nestled in a quiet corner of Diagon Alley.

His work spoke for itself, though he had had to market himself in those first few months. Mass-produced brooms were more readily accessible; after all, why wait weeks-to-months for a broom when one could nip into Quality Quidditch Supplies and walk out with broom in-hand within minutes? It wasn’t until he’d supplied Augustus Mulch, Seeker for Puddlemere United, with a custom broom that the orders had come flooding in. These days he could afford to be choosey about his projects, and Draco Malfoy was nothing if not picky.

Granger’s glare was withering. Apparently, he was not the only one who could so easily backslide into their long-forgotten dance. He wondered if she would slap him. Something about the possibility sent a thrill down his spine. As she crossed her arms across her chest, the thrill morphed to pure giddiness, and he straightened fully behind the counter, more aware now of the weight of his wand holstered at his thigh.

Granger’s mouth was set in a stiff, disapproving line that would have made Lucius proud, eyebrow quirked. Expectant. Irritated. He started to count the seconds.

One.

Two.

Her silence was ironclad. It was beginning to make Draco antsy.

“Is there anything else I can help you with today?” He knew he’d as good as surrendered by speaking first, but at least he had the upper hand in this.

“Is there anything that might change your mind?” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “If it’s a matter of money, I've got galleons to spare. I’ll pay double your rate for the inconvenience.”

It was not about the money. He was flush with cash: swimming in it. Work was not a necessity but a convenient and enjoyable way to pass the time. To build something that was entirely his.

He waved her away. “Your galleons are no good here, Granger.”

This was, as it turned out, the entirely wrong thing to say.

Her brown eyes flashed dangerously, and Draco’s stomach dropped to the floor.

“No, no. It’s not about…that.” He hadn’t used the slur in over a decade, but felt the shame burn through him as if he’d time-travelled to Second Year. “If—and that’s a large ‘if’—I were to craft a broom for you, I couldn’t accept your money.” He cleared his throat and looked away from the understanding that was starting to brim in Granger’s eyes. “Not after what you did for my mother, my family—me.”

“There’s really no need for that,” she said.

Draco dared to glance at her again, and saw that she had her mouth set in a thoughtful frown, eyes distractedly following a miniature broom in its orbit around the shop ceiling, but blessedly empty of the beginnings of pity. Her reverie broke suddenly, and she took a step back, clasping her hands together.

“Well! I guess that’s it, then. Thank you very much for your time, Malfoy.” And with that, she turned on her heel and left the store, leaving Draco feeling rather like he’d lost a battle but perhaps won a war.

❣

The request arrived by owl: one of the brown barn owls the Ministry supplied its employees for convenience. The parchment detailed a broom for a woman’s nephew, a promising Slytherin Seeker in his last year at Hogwarts, was signed by one Thelma Puddle, and included a post script that promised she would be in to the shop later that afternoon to discuss payment and any details that she may have missed in this initial letter.

Ms. Puddle was a round witch, as wide as she was tall, with greying hair swept into a severe bun that pulled her wrinkling face surprisingly taut. She toddled into Draco’s workshop at precisely a quarter past three in the afternoon, just as her letter had said, and made a beeline to the counter, her face all business.

“I hope my letter found you well,” she said, pushing round glasses up the wide bridge of her nose clumsily. “Dear Simon has big dreams, and I thought to myself, I did, I thought: what better way to help a young boy achieve his dreams than to give him the tools to make it so?” Thelma pursed her lips and nodded. “I did, I did, and then I thought: now where shall I find the best broom in England? My assistant, Reggie—lovely boy, if a bit daft but you know how the young people are these days, heads in the clouds—anyway, my Reggie insisted, insisted! that I come to you, Mr. Malfoy. That you make the very best brooms galleons can buy and—”

She began to pat her skirts and plunged a plump hand into an unseen pocket and pulled out a bulging purse that she promptly spilled all over Draco’s countertop. Golden galleons rolled and skittered, some diving off the counter and disappearing under his workbench.

“Of course, I’ve got galleons, as you can see. And he—Simon, of course, not Reggie—is such a good boy, and anyhow I’d very much appreciate it if you would at least consider taking the job.”

Draco sighed, his scalp beginning to pulse with the beginning of a headache. He opened the purse wide with one hand and scooped all the coins he could back inside with the other.

“Your initial request was sparse on details, and I’ll need you to come back with more if you’ve not got them in another pocket.”

Thelma looked as if she was going to burst into tears. “Oh, Mr. Malfoy, you can’t even begin to understand how happy I am you’ve accepted! I thought to myself, I did, I thought: that young man has such a kind face, and I was right. You’ve proved me right.”

“Would you like a cup of tea, Ms. Puddle?” Draco offered, stepping around the counter. “We can discuss in more detail what it is Stephen needs from a broom.”

“Oh, dear, I couldn’t put you out, but very kind of you to offer. And it’s Simon. Easy mistake, of course. S-names and all that.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Draco leaned back against the counter and quirked an eyebrow. “No, I believe that the Seeker for Slytherin is named Stephen Kaur. Brilliant flyer, his parents purchased a broom here just last year for his seventeenth birthday.”

Thelma Puddle looked rather ill, all the colour blanched from her cheeks.

“O-oh,” she stuttered. “I must have mucked up his position on the team.” She rapped her knuckles lightly against her temple. “Not what it used to be, you see.”

“No, I don’t think you did, Granger,” Draco grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “And honestly, I’m a bit disappointed you didn’t do more research.”

He slipped his wand from the holster at his thigh and cast Revelio, but the disguise remained intact.

“Polyjuice, then. Impressive. Happen to have that just lying about? Often steal the hairs of unsuspecting old witches?”

Granger-Puddle straightened and placed her hands on her hips, chin jutting defiantly. “It was willingly given, if you must know.”

“Oh, that makes it alright then.” He raked his gaze over her, head to toe. “How much longer are you stuck like this?”

She checked a delicate gold watch and grimaced. “Three quarters of an hour.”

Draco holstered his wand, and pushed off the counter, heading towards his backroom. When Granger remained still he gestured to her to follow, impatiently.

“Come along, Granger. We may as well discuss the broom over tea.” A glance over his shoulder showed him she was about to burst into a happy exclamation, and he held his hand up quickly. “If you’d go to these lengths, the least I can do is listen to your proposal.”

They walked together into the backroom which functioned as a temporary apartment on particularly late nights. A bed was stuffed into a corner beside a wardrobe he’d transfigured to the size of a bedside table. The kitchenette consisted of a sink and several shelves of his favourite sweets and the odd bag of crisps.

A bit of wandless magic put the kettle on while he retrieved two mugs from a cupboard and set them on the small table he had positioned at the window. Another rummage about, and he was soon spooning tea leaves into the teapot. He tried to ignore the uncomfortable, prickly feeling of Granger’s eyes watching his every move.

“You live here?” she asked.

Draco could tell that she was doing her best to sound casual, but the astonishment in her voice was not well-hidden.

“I do not,” he replied, emptying the kettle into the teapot and covering it with the small click of china on china.

She stayed expectantly quiet for a beat for him to elaborate, but he would not. He returned to the table with the tea pot and a small plate of biscuits, thoughtfully sent by his mother via house elf daily. With the table set, he drew back a seat for Granger.

She regarded him with open scrutiny as she sat, not that he could blame her. Taking tea with Hermione Granger was not on the list of things he thought remotely likely to happen. But then, he also did not expect her—perhaps others; he truly did stellar work—to go to such great lengths for the sake of a broom made by his hands. Wonders never cease.

She was the one to break the silence after he poured the tea: “What do you need from me?”

“For starters, an idea of what you’re bloody well looking for,” he grumbled, spooning a sugar cube into his cup. “Is Potter still playing Seeker?”

“He is,” she nodded, “in a Ministry league.” She murmured a quiet thank you when he poured a bit of milk for her.

Draco hmmmed, thinking. “What, would you say, is the biggest issue he’s having with his current broom? I imagine you’d like that addressed with this one.”

Granger’s brows knit together, as she considered. “Shall I list them for you alphabetically?”

She braved a sip of the steaming tea, put it down quickly.

He shook his head, tutting playfully, and cast a silent cooling charm on her cup. “You’ll not fool me with your bravado, Ms. Granger.” She stiffened with the familiar weight her name had found on his lips, like it made her as uncomfortable to hear him rib her like they were old friends as he was to play act it. “I’m assigning you homework. Find me three concrete issues that need to be addressed with the broom—and not just that it’s old—and come back.”

She hummed thoughtfully into her tea, her fingers curling around the warm mug, tucking it in close to her chest when she finished like it was a comfort. “So you’ll do it, then?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Obviously.” He set his mug down on the table silently, saucer or not muscle memory prevailed. “You do know there are other, cheaper, more easily gotten down the way?”

She set her mug down as well—silently, he noted with a small amount of surprise—and levelled an even stare at him. “Do I strike you as the type of witch to settle once I’ve got my mind set on something?”

Draco was certain she had settled at least once. A certain ginger wizard came to mind. He decided it would be wiser to keep that thought to himself. “I haven’t the slightest idea what sort of witch you are,” he answered instead, honestly.

She opened her mouth, paused, and he thought for a moment that she was going to ask if he’d like to know. He was spared the indignity of having to think of an answer for that when she said: “No, I don’t suppose you do.”

Granger smiled, and it was genuine and pleasant and Draco thought her lips looked rather nice like that. This was so unexpected a thought he only nodded while she rose from the table, thanked him for the tea, his time, and asked if tomorrow afternoon was convenient for her to stop in again.

❣

The workshop was tucked neatly on a far end of Diagon Alley between a dress robes boutique and someplace called Cooke’s Curiosities. Hanging proudly from the facade was the shop sign: a broom dangling from burnished copper chains.

Hermione had noticed it during her first visit, of course, but had failed to notice the small dragon coiling protectively around the broom’s handle. What she’d initially recognized as the twigs of a broom tail was actually flames pouring from the dragon’s maw. Hidden within the flames in ornate script was a single word: Aerouant.

Dragon.

She shook her head and stifled a laugh as she entered. Malfoy sat at his bench, back to her, and only raised a hand in greeting. She quietly set the parchment she carried on the counter and waited.

Draco was quieter than she remembered. He hadn’t been noisy in their school days, but something about his presence had always been loud in a way that commanded attention. Hermione supposed it had something to do with his breeding: that Pureblood pride stiffening his spine with the assurance that he was The Best In The Room.

But then Sixth Year had happened, and his steel vertebrae had softened. He’d slunk rather than glided, the quiet confidence of assurance giving way to doubt and a tiredness that no sleep would remedy. That’s how she’d remembered him: anxious, and afraid, and bearing the weight of his father’s sins and his own misdeeds like Atlas at the edge of the world. He’d looked lost, burdened, when she’d seen him in the halls outside the Wizengamot courts.

Now, as he leaned over the counter, head bent over the parchment with not three, but seven specifications for Harry’s new broom, she saw that while he was still flush with Malfoy Arrogance the edges of it had blunted with time, perhaps even maturity. It wasn’t the puffed up posturing of a spoiled child but the quiet confidence of a man in his element.

Hermione watched him, silently, taking in this New Malfoy. His hands were rough now, lean muscle carved by his work as surely as the finished brooms leaning by the door. His lips moved as he pored over the words she’d written, not reading quietly to himself, but puzzling over what charms and spells best suited the project at hand.

When she spoke again, he jumped a bit, like he'd forgotten she was still there. A charming blush coloured the tips of his ears and the high points of his aristocratic cheekbones.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked if those would do.”

His brows furrowed as he glanced back down at the parchment. “For intricacies, yes. Do you know what wood he’d like it carved from?”

During her research into what would make a good Seeker’s broom, she’d seen that some broom makers chose lumber on a per-project basis. She’d not included this detail on the parchment, in case he was not that sort. Given his reputation—she had also done research into Malfoy and was almost ashamed to admit she was surprised by the amount of praise he’d been receiving in recent years—she supposed she should have expected him to be.

“I considered cherry and fir,” she said, and watched with some satisfaction as Malfoy’s eyebrows arched towards his hairline, “for achievement and resilience respectively, but thought to ask your opinion, as you’re the expert.”

“Good, standard picks,” he replied with an approving nod. “I’ve got a cherry myself, but it can be finicky. It requires will. Ambition.” He smirked at her, and his grey eyes took on the same playful glint that had lit them when he’d assigned her homework. “Slytherin traits.”

He took a step back and gestured to the broom behind him. “It’s not just about the magical proclivities of the wood. Aesthetics are as good a rationale.”

Hermione’s focus shifted to the half-finished broom taking shape on the workbench, and her focus shifted to pure wonderment. She stepped up to the counter until her hips pressed against the polished top, then leaned further, her hands supporting her.

Her eyes traced the gleam of magic he’d been spelling into the dark wood, the light like an aura around the parts yet to be carved. The body of the broom was just beginning to take shape. Runes swirled around the handle in an intricate pattern, the magic shining through them.

“Kamagong,” Malfoy explained as she looked. “Especially imported from the Philippines at the request of Japan’s premiere Beater. His bat is made of the same wood.” The glow of unfinished spellwork cast a warm light across Malfoy’s face, making his grey eyes bright like silver.

Odd. Hermione blinked. Once. Twice. When had she become a woman that noticed something so soppy as that—about Draco bloody Malfoy no less?

“It’s lovely,” she said, as he shifted his gaze to hers. Storm clouds. Lightning. Magic. “Is there a reason you spell it before carving?”

“Raw material begs to be shaped,” he shrugged and leaned against his workbench, letting her make of that what she may.

She nodded and pushed back from the counter, letting her eyes wander back to the broom. “The runes act as a catalyst?”

Malfoy’s head tilted, and the weight of his gaze on her made her stomach flip. She held his stare, and the corner of his mouth ticked up, just for a second.

“Of a sort, though I prefer to think of it as a binding,” he answered. “You have done your research today, haven’t you?”

The amusement and approval that coloured his voice forced a flush to her cheeks, but she battled it back. She had not been flustered by men since she was a teenager. She would not start again today.

“Use the Slytherin wood,” she said. “You’ll find we Gryffindors can be surprising.”

Hermione moved to make a grand exit, to have the last word. She wasn’t sure if she imagined the quiet so I’m learning as she swept out the door.

❣

Draco hesitated, envelope in hand, as he strode across the shop to Hermes. The eagle owl cocked its head, clicked its beak impatiently. Hermes had taken three notes to Granger just today, with similarly numerous excursions as frequently as every other day over the past three weeks. On the one hand, he was simply being thorough, but he’d never communicated with another client as often as he did this infuriating, fascinating witch.

Their correspondence had been started by her. That same barn owl had swooped into the shop and dropped a small note on his head as he’d carved stability spells into the seat. Inside, she asked follow up questions about the taper, length, and finish of the tail, and whether he would be using copper for the belt and binding given its conductive properties. By the time she asked which cushioning charms he’d be using, Draco swore to himself that he would never take on another project from Hermione Granger as long as he lived.

Draco sighed, and considered scrapping this note that let Hermione know that yes, he was sure that the bipod he’d affixed to the broom would be plenty wide enough unless Harry had suddenly discovered giant heritage. He knew that if he didn’t send this fourth note she would almost certainly pop into the shop, hence the hesitation.

As loath as he was to admit it, he didn’t particularly mind the give and take once she arrived. At some point between discussing spell work and the usefulness of arithmancy in broom-making (none, thank you very much) the irritation had evolved into resignation into something that was nearly enjoyment. To date, very few people had taken an interest in his work to the degree that she had. She asked informed, but general, questions, hummed and hawed politely as he explained, then fired off a nuanced follow-up question that set him to explaining again. He nearly felt like an apprentice again, defending his work as he would a thesis against an unlikely expert in the field.

One afternoon he’d mentioned offhandedly that while copper was an excellent conductor, and gold was serviceable and even lent some aerodynamicity given its affinity to air magicks, silver would be the wisest choice, for its greater conductivity and propinquity with cherry wood.

She’d been so taken with this comment he’d spent several moments browsing the archives of his memory for another delectable morsel to offer her. He’d come up empty and cross with himself for doing so in the first place. He had slept in the shop apartment that night after forging ahead stubbornly, refusing to give himself space to consider why he’d wanted to entertain her so anyhow.

This final letter was to inform Granger that the broom was finished, and she could retrieve it at her convenience otherwise he could post it to her via owl the very next day. Hermes snatched up the letter from Draco’s fingers before he’d truly decided to send it, and flapped off through the window. He returned less than an hour later with a short reply: I’ll be round at 5 this evening.

❣

At 4:57 that evening, Draco heard the pop of Graonger’s apparition just outside his workshop. He saw her take a moment to smooth her jumper and ensure that no curls had come loose of the heavy braid down her back through the window.. Tucking her wand back into her wrist holster, she tugged open the heavy shop door.

Draco had the broom suspended just above the counter. Its handle shone like satin with fresh oil (bergamot for balance, basil for protection, lemon for clarity he’d told her) and the band and bipod was freshly polished.

Her heels clicked on the stone floor as she strode to the counter, fingers twitching with the need to run over the smooth wood. The broom was warm to the touch, and her eyes shot to Malfoy’s, startled, when she felt the broom hum.

“It’s got personality,” he said, smirking. “It wants to fly.”

He waved his wand and drawers began to open, paper and twine floating over to parcel the broom up. Before he could blink she had her hand on his arm, and was shaking her head. Out of nowhere, he rather felt like flying.

“I don’t...” she frowned, as if she wasn’t sure why she was protesting. “Not yet.”

Shrugging, Draco carefully extricated himself from her touch and settled the supplies on his workbench. With his back turned, he heard as she drew out her purse and laid it on the counter, snapping open the clasps.

“Granger,” Malfoy warned. “I’ve already told you that I wouldn’t accept your money.”

She began to stack coins on the countertop, neat towers of galleons ten tall.

“I’ve done my research, Malfoy,” she said, beginning a new row. “I refuse to take that as an answer.”

“And I refuse to take your galleons,” he replied, simply, and scooped up a handful. As quickly as she would stack the coins, he returned them to her purse.

“Draco!” she yelled, exasperated, and at the use of his first name he stopped, galleons still clutched tight in his fist.

“Hermione,” he mimicked, and dropped the coins into the purse with a satisfying clatter.

“Are you quite done?”

“Ah, almost.” Draco swept up the remaining galleons into her purse and snapped it shut. “There you are. Now I’m done.”

“Has anyone ever called you infuriating?”

“Never, I’m afraid. Most people find me to be a delight.”

The corner of her mouth tugged upward, and Draco felt as if he’d supplied another broom-making fun-fact. “Quite.”

A not-uncomfortable silence settled over them, and it was both too long and not long enough before Hermione said: “Right, well.” A lithe hand was thrust out to him, and he stared at it. “I suppose this is it, then. Thanks very much for all that you’ve done, Malfoy, really. I’m aware I was perhaps more… involved than a typical client, so I appreciate your indulging me.”

She slipped her purse back into her satchel and smiled properly, the edges of it touched with a bit of the melancholy Draco was inexplicably feeling.

“I’ve thought of a way you could repay me,” he blurted, catching hold of a fleeting thought and grasping it for dear life. “There’s a pub that’s just opened up the street, and they boast a wine with a vintage I’ve been curious to sample.”

Hermione’s lips twisted pleasantly, part confused, part amused and Draco’s insides mirrored them. “I’m not sure a bottle of wine is equivalent to a master-made broom.”

Draco retrieved his coat from a hook in the corner, and opened the door for her. “Oh, Granger, you would be surprised.”

❣

The pub in question was a short five minute walk up the alley and was stuffed to the gills with witches and wizards making merry. Draco guided her through the throng with a hand pressed lightly in the centre of her back to what appeared to be the only empty seats at the bar top. He drew her seat back for her as he had when they’d had tea, taking her coat and hanging it on her chair back before doing the same at his own seat. The service was quick, and he quickly ordered them the wine.

Granger gaped at the barkeep when he told her the price for just a glass of Superior Red.

“How in Merlin’s name does a wine garner that sort of price?” she sputtered as the pleasant wizard poured each of them a glass, leaving the bottle uncorked beside them.

The man nodded his dark head towards him. “Ask your companion, love. Something about purity and a thousand years.”

She whirled in her seat and Draco couldn’t help looking rather pleased with himself, raising the glass to sniff. “This is your wine?”

He shrugged, looking annoyingly smug. “I suppose you could say that, though I’ve no hand in the process.” He swirled the wine around his glass before taking a sip. “This batch has been ageing for generations. My 38th-great-grandfather considered it his magnum opus. Obviously he’d never get to see the results for himself, I’ll have to let him know how it turned out once I’ve gotten home.”

Granger regarded him coldly over the lip of her wine glass, but couldn’t maintain the glare once the wine passed her lips. Draco knew it flowed smoothly over her tongue, earthy and grounded, the tannins soft rather than sharp. It was, in short, heavenly.

“Good, then?” Malfoy preened. He sipped his wine, savoured it. “Rumour has it Armand would save what he considered to be the premiere clusters and have a cuvée made for only the family.” The corners of his mouth tilted upward, thoughtful. “Selfish bastard.” He raised his glass in toast. “To Armand Malfoy, a credit to his family, and a bloody good vigneron.”

Hermione raised her glass, and sipped again. “Is the rumour true?”

“Family secret, Granger. Afraid I can’t say.”

They shared a smile, Hermione’s splitting into an honest grin, and Draco was struck by how well happiness suited her. It was transformational, really. In a moment she was changed from the know-it-all from his childhood and only recently tolerable client to a beautiful witch with whom he was sharing a bottle of his family’s finest wines. The realisation required more alcohol. Quickly.

Throwing manners to the wind, Draco downed the rest of his glass and poured himself a second. Beside him, Granger’s smile faltered and her fingers curled self consciously around the stem of her glass. Blast. This wasn’t a her problem, it was very much a him problem.

With the warmth of the wine slipping over his ribs, he pasted on a brave face and asked after her work. She answered, politely, and told him of the work she did in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. She’d been coordinating with the Department of Magical Games and Sports and similar international departments to plan the upcoming Quidditch World Cup—the inspiration for Harry’s Christmas gift, she explained.

They spent a pleasant hour discussing the intricacies and eccentricities of the ICWQC, and just how many professional players were riding about on Malfoy-Made brooms. The wine flowed freely, mostly into Draco’s glass, and the bottle was soon empty. His skull, however, was pleasantly stuffed full of cotton and Hermione’s hair had gotten positively blurry.

He barely comprehended Hermione setting her galleon towers on the bartop, and helping him back into his coat. She was surprisingly strong, and towed him through the tavern with altogether too much steadiness than a witch who’d had as much to drink should have. They stumbled together back to the shop, giggling like school children about the hiccoughs Granger had developed.

With unsteady hands, Draco unlocked the shop and they shoved inside. Hermione’s lips parted with a breathy groan at the warmth and he stared unabashedly at her mouth, wondering if there was another way he could get her to make that noise again.

Hermione noticed his attention, and the red in her cheeks deepened. She looked around the room, refusing to meet his admittedly intense gaze, until her eyes alighted back on Harry’s broom.

She shuffled forward, the steadiness she’d had in the pub now gone without necessity propping it up, and her hand closed around the handle. Her mouth made a small ‘O’, and Draco could do nothing but watch as she took the broom from the counter and mounted it.

The broom rocketed forward and up, and she shrieked as it gained speed. It was a Seeker’s broom after all, and Draco had thoroughly spelled it as such. Curls tore free of her braid and streamed behind her like a comet trail as she zoomed about the room, her delighted, wild laughter echoing amongst the rafters and Draco’s ribs. His chest swelled uncomfortably tight, and he pressed a hand over his heart, wondering just what was in that wine for him to be feeling this way. Hermione chose that moment to look down, and let go of the broom with both hands, waving down at him excitedly.

Disasters were meant to happen in slow motion, but Draco found they seemed to happen in double-speed instead. Certainly the broom had been charmed to be exceedingly stable for any sort of manoeuvres Harry could have dreamt up, but that magic had taken into account two decades worth of experience and skill. There was little anyone could have done as Hermione Granger and her drunken balance tipped off the broom and began to fall to the ground.

The broom changed course immediately, safety charms demanding it try to break her fall. Draco lurched forward, wand drawn, and cast a slowing charm as her hands grabbed at empty air. He aimed true, and she slowed, drifting to the ground, her entire body trembling.

Draco dropped to his knees beside her, pushed her curls away from her face, and was appalled to find that she was shaking with laughter. Relief washed over him like a wave and he was soon likewise sprawled on the ground, the two of them cackling like madmen.

When they finally caught their breath, Hermione turned to face him, propping herself on her elbows just above him, curls now unruly and falling across her face. With her warm gaze drinking him in as greedily as he felt, Draco suddenly felt more sober than he had in his entire life.

Before he could lose his nerve, he reached up and took a curl and tucked it behind her ear. It sprang free immediately.

“Have you ever wished to change the past?” he asked in a whisper, twisting the curl around his fingers.

She shook her head, and his ribs felt crushed. Of course Saint Granger had no regrets. She didn’t have the stain on her hands as he did. He shifted, tried to rise, but froze when her cool fingers brushed his own hair from his brow.

“We cannot go back and change beginnings, Draco,” she said softly. “All that we can do is start now to change the ending.”

Later, he would insist it was her that started the kiss because she simply could not resist his charm any longer, but in truth neither of them knew who had. All that mattered in the moment was that her lips were pressed to his and she was making those breathy groans against them and it was perfect.

A quick tug, and he’d rolled her underneath himself, and he couldn’t help but stop and admire her curls fanned around her, the wine-glow in her cheeks, the way she looked at him with an open hunger that made him ravenous.

He dipped his head and ran his tongue up the side of her throat, relishing the way she gasped and buried her hands in his hair, tugging, guiding him down to her collarbone. He pressed sucking kisses just under the ridge there, drunk now on the scent of her perfume and the way his name sounded on her tongue.

“We’re drunk,” he mumbled into her shoulder, biting just hard enough to make her gasp again.

“I find freefalling from a broom has a way of sobering one up,” she laughed, and drew his lips back to hers.

“I didn’t fall,” he answered, sweeping his tongue along her bottom lip.

She pulled back. “Draco Malfoy, are you suggesting that I am taking advantage of you?”

He shrugged, grinning down at her. “I was the one underneath you a minute ago.”

“Shut up” was her clever retort, and he was all too happy to when she traced the line of his jaw with her lips up to his ear. She pushed his coat from his shoulders and he tossed it somewhere across the room. Her fingers began to deftly undo the buttons at his throat and he very helpfully untucked his shirt from his trousers.

Discarding his shirt, he allowed her to hook a leg around his hips and roll them once more. Lit by nothing but the lamps outside, Draco felt certain that the witch above him was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in his life. She alternated kisses and small bites down his torso, paying special attention to the taper of muscle disappearing under his waistband. When her hands found the button there, he stopped her.

“You are not disproving the taking advantage theory, Granger.”

She rolled her eyes and removed her own coat, then lifted her jumper up and over her head. With a sure hand, she grabbed Draco’s callused one and slipped it around her back to the clasp of her bra.

“Better?” she asked, and shrugged out of the undergarment. She took his answering groan as a ‘yes’.

Satisfied, she returned to work on his trouser stays but he stopped her again.

“For Merlin’s sake, Draco. If I didn’t know better,” she rocked pointedly against his erection pressed against her, “I’d think you didn’t want me to.”

Draco grunted and placed his hands on her hips, shifting her up as he shuffled down. “I am a man of exceptional breeding,” he told her, fiddling with the button and zipper of her jeans. “Put simply:” He shoved them down her thighs, just past her knees, and slipped his hands under her knickers, grabbing a handful of her cheeks and squeezing. “Ladies first.”

He pressed his tongue to her cunt through the cotton of her knickers and the muffled taste of her had his cock straining against his zipper. He groaned into her, hooking a finger in the fabric and moving it aside so he could taste her properly. Hermione’s hands found his hair again, and she fisted it tightly, nearly tugging him closer. He was, of course, a gentleman and so obliged, burying his tongue in her sweet pussy, his nose nuzzling her clit. Her arousal ran down his cheeks and chin as he lapped at her, using her moans as a guide.

His fingers slid through her wetness, teased her entrance. “You’re dripping, Hermione,” he said, pride colouring his voice.

“Please,” she answered, rocking her hips.

With a hum of ascent, he slipped a single finger inside her wet heat and circled her clit with his tongue. He kept a slow, steady pace, enjoying the way her cunt fluttered around his finger.

“Look at me,” Hermione begged from above him, and he obliged, locking eyes with her.

Her breasts bounced with each greedy grind against his mouth, and her honey eyes were warm and hazy with pleasure. He felt as if he may spend in his trousers as she ran a hand up her stomach to her nipples. She pinched and rolled the stiffened bud, then palmed herself, squeezing. She whispered his name and he twitched a rope of arousal at the sound.

Draco slipped a second finger inside and she clenched around him, muttering expletives. He allowed her to take charge of her own needs, fucking herself on his fingers and tongue until she came with a shudder and soft cry. He withdrew his fingers, but laved his tongue from her pussy to her clit, up and down, until her knees no longer trembled on either side of his face. Pressing wet kisses on the inside of either thigh, Draco gently lifted Hermione and laid her on his chest.

Her hands began to wander down his torso, but he stopped them, intertwining their fingers and pressing them to his lips.

“What about you?” He could hear the frown in her voice.

“I’m rather happy with that ending,” he answered, truthfully. “Perhaps we’ll try a different one another time.”

She sighed and nuzzled more snugly into him. Her curls tickled. As he felt her body soften and melt into him, her breathing growing slow and steady, Draco traced the line of her spine with his fingers and silently raised an imaginary toast.

Not to new beginnings, but better endings.

❣

Draco did not hear from Hermione the day following their tryst, nor the day after that. On the third day, he wondered if he was meant to owl her himself, or if he ought to follow her lead in this.

He couldn’t blame her, of course, for not wanting to face him. She’d slipped out of the shop before Draco woke that morning, the only trace of her remaining a few stray curls on the lapel of his coat and the scent of her arousal still fresh in his memory. He figured that if he were Hermione Granger he wouldn’t care to run the risk of being caught naked on a broomshop floor with himself either.

Popping home in the weak light of dawn, he’d chased the high of watching her come undone above him with an imaginary encore wherein he didn’t stop her wandering hands. He’d come so hard he saw stars, forehead hot against the cool shower walls: the only witnesses to the way he’d groaned her name reverently as the hot ropes splashed against the tile . Now, he distractedly carved runes into the handle of a broom ordered by some wizard or another, unable to decide if an invitation to dinner with him was completely inappropriate or the expected, correct thing to do.

Draco dropped his gouge, knowing he was not giving the broom the attention it deserved and retrieved a scrap of parchment from a drawer.

Dear Granger, he wrote, I thoroughly enjoyed our evening together. If you find yourself craving—

He crumpled the parchment and tossed it over his shoulder. Stupid. He began again.

Granger—

No. He had had his tongue in her fucking pussy for Merlin’s sake. He could—should—use her first name.

Hermione, I’ve just remembered a final element I had intended to enchant into the broom. Please return at your earliest—

And when she arrived and asked what he’d forgotten? What then? Honesty, he supposed, would be best.

Hermione, I cannot stop thinking about the way your tits blush when you come. If you’d care to demonstrate again, I am at your disposal.

Binned. Obviously.

Draco vanished the failed attempts and scrubbed his palms over his eyes. Asking women to dinner was never difficult. Draco would go so far as to say that he was rather good at it. It was just this particular witch that seemed to drive him absolutely mad.

He withdrew one last piece of parchment, sighing, and dipped his quill again.

The shop bell chimed and he jolted, spraying ink across the parchment and the front of his jumper. His misdirected fury ran a scorching line down his arm to fingertips, itching to hex the hell out of whomever had strolled into his shop. Exasperated, he attempted to vanish the black blotches from the knit, failed, and spun to face the intruder, a sharp ‘what?’ on his tongue.

The word died in his throat, as they were wont to do where Granger was concerned, apparently. Her brown eyes went wide when she took in the right mess Draco had made of himself, and she immediately drew her wand. Fumbling behind himself with one hand to be sure that the final letter hadn’t popped back into existence just to further his humiliation, Draco found his voice.

“Granger.”

She frowned at him. “Back to that, are we?”

“You disappeared without so much as a goodbye. I didn’t expect you back.” The words came out more harshly than he’d meant them to, but there it was, plain as the nose on his face: the hurt at waking without her, the confusion of where they stood.

Granger’s eyebrows unknitted, and she regarded Draco with a softness that made his scalp prickle. The urge to fall back on old habits, to sneer and mask the uncomfortability with some snide remark about her hair or how her own jumper was obviously older and pilling, reared its ugly head and he fought it back with what he felt was an admirable amount of effort.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me here in the morning,” she admitted, holding his gaze steadily. Her voice shook just a bit, like being this vulnerable was as agonising for her as it was for him.

“Let me make myself abundantly clear, Hermione,” he said, and savoured the way her cheeks flushed at the use of her given name. “If that were to ever happen again, I want to wake up with you here.”

Her blush deepened, and her voice was tantalisingly husky, but her eyes remained steadfastly trained on his. “And will it? Happen again?”

Draco allowed himself to indulge in a smirk. “If you ask nicely, it may.”

When she spun and strode back towards the door, Draco’s stomach bottomed out. He’d pushed too far, and now she was leaving. No stupidly-worded letter would convince her to step foot in his shop again. Word would get round that he was sexually harassing his customers—after all, it was her word against his and who would believe a former Death Eater over Hermione fucking Granger?—and he would be forced out of business and into persona non grata standing once more.

He sighed and looked down at the counter, resigned to it. He’d clawed his way out once, and one more round of it wouldn’t kill him. Perhaps he’d take a week to wallow, though. Drown his sorrow in a cask of Armand’s Superior Red.

The lock on the shop door clicked, and his eyes snapped back up to Hermione. She strode confidently, dare he say, sultrily behind the counter and sank to her knees in front of him. His cock twitched behind his zipper at the way she looked on her knees before him, her hands already going to his button.

“What are you doing?” he half-groaned when she eased his trouser zipper down.

The innocent look she offered from beneath her lashes could’ve been his undoing. “I’m asking nicely, Draco.” Her lithe hand slipped into the fly of his boxer briefs and he choked back a moan when she stroked his stiffening cock once from root to tip before drawing it out. She leaned forward; he could feel her warm breath fanning over the head and he had to fist his hands to keep himself from burying them in those curls. “Is that okay?” Her lips barely brushed his skin, but it made his balls shift restlessly.

“Fuck yes,” he all but moaned.

Hermione smiled then, and licked a slow line from seam to dripping tip that had Draco panting. He’d envisioned this in the shower, yes, more than once at this point, but nothing compared to having her soft lips actually pressing indulgent kisses along the underside of his shaft. When she drew the head of his cock into her mouth, her clever tongue swirling, he couldn’t help himself. His hand shot forward, tangling in her hair, and she hummed appreciatively at the touch, leaning into his palm.

She teased him, slowly pressing further down his cock in what felt like millimetre increments before drawing back to tease and suck the tip. Her fingers were wrapped snug at his root, and when she stroked it up to meet her lips Draco had to grip the counter to steady himself.

“You look so fucking pretty on your knees for me,” he groaned, slipping his fingers through to the ends of her curls before finding his grip again.

She hummed, then pressed forward, her hot mouth following her fist all the way down to his root. Draco gasped as he hit the back of her throat, and she gagged. Her eyes shot to his, and whatever she saw written there had her nuzzling forward, nudging Draco’s cock further into her tight throat. Hermione Granger—Saint Granger, as he’d thought of her just three days earlier—had his cock all the way down her snug little throat and it was heaven.

Convinced he would come if she spent a single second longer on her knees, Draco tugged her off himself by her hair, groaning at the slick pop when her lips left him, and lifted her to her feet just to draw her mouth up to his in a bruising, claiming kiss. She pulled back from him, breathless, and had the audacity to grin.

“Is that a yes to again, then?” she asked.

He couldn’t help his laugh, and took her hand, ignoring some primal urge in the back of his head to toss her over his shoulder, and led her to the backroom. They barely made it past the threshold before his lips were on hers again, his fingers twisting into the curls at the nape of her neck, turning her head so he could kiss down her pulse to her shoulder.

His free hand wrapped around her hips, pressing her flush against him, and her fingers found the hem of his jumper. They slipped underneath and her fingernails raked down his stomach just as his tongue swept across her collarbone. Draco shuddered, a fizzle not unlike magic running from the base of his skull all the way down his spine, and led them to collapse on his bed with her underneath him.

Hermione’s wandering hands soon had his sweater tossed aside, and hers soon followed. Her nipples were stiff under the sheer cups of her bra, and Draco brought his lips to them through the fabric. She arched into his touch, and he looked up at her as he grazed the edge of his teeth lightly over her. Her eyes fluttered, and the way she whispered his name made his cock jump urgently, spurring him to peel her jeans from her legs, taking her knickers with them.

Draco sat back on his knees and absorbed the sight of the witch before him, gloriously naked in his sheets. Hermione smiled, propping herself up on her elbows and ran her hand slowly between her breasts and down her stomach to her sex. He watched, mouth watering, when she dipped a single finger and drew her arousal up to her clit to circle, allowing her head to fall back exposing the lovely column of her neck.

Running his hands up her legs, Draco marvelled at the smoothness of her skin. His nose skimmed a path up the inside of her thigh, followed by his tongue. Hermione’s breath caught as he drew closer to her centre, her knees parting further for him. He settled on his stomach there, his hands wandering higher to her hips, and he pulled her gently towards him until his mouth hovered over her cunt.

He paused there, teasing her as she had him, and waited, eyes locked on hers. There was a string of tension between them, pulled taut with neither of them willing to give in to the other. It wasn’t unpleasant, this silent tug of war with Draco’s tongue mere centimetres from her pussy. The view was, in a word, incredible. In the end, it was Draco who broke first by burying his tongue in her cunt and groaning at the taste of her.

“Oh thank Merlin,” Hermione groaned when he did, her hands finding his hair. “I was nearly going to beg.”

Draco circled her clit with his tongue at the pace he’d seen her set for herself, then sucked. Her hips bucked. “I wouldn’t mind if you did, anyway,” he confided, squeezing her hips.

“Well there’s no need now, is there?”

Draco halted his ministrations immediately, just as her hips rocked to meet his mouth. “I could change that.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “I am.”

Her hands in his hair tugged, but he offered her nothing but his breath. She pouted, just a bit, and it was oddly charming, but Draco stood steadfast until she finally acquiesced with a breathy “Please, Draco.”

He’d meant to make her beg more, but his cock ached underneath him, and his mouth watered for more of her taste. He licked a languid line from her entrance to her clit and back again, a single finger dipping inside her. Hermione rolled her hips greedily as he suckled on her clit, pumping his finger slowly, curling it just-so. Her breaths came faster, the underside of her tits turning rosy as she climbed higher with each stroke.

When she came it was with Draco’s name on her lips and his hair in her hands. As she came down, Draco tossed his pants and came to hover just above her, pressing kisses across her shoulders and up her neck. Her hands slid up his back and down his arms, squeezing when Draco slotted the head of his cock to her entrance. Hermione gasped when he pressed inside, her fingernails digging into his muscle.

He kissed her pulse. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured against her ear, then traced the shell with his tongue. “Divine. I’d worship you, if you’d let me.”

Her hands found his arse and pulled him closer, and he groaned into her neck as her body made room for him. He drew back, and looked down between them at where they were joined. It was obscene and possibly the most incredible thing he’d had the pleasure of witnessing. He stared as her pussy swallowed him, squeezed around his girth.

Wrapping his arms around her back, Draco shifted them until she was sitting in his lap, her cunt wet against him, his cock buried to the root. Her head lolled at the angle, and he pulled it further back by her curls, swiping his tongue up her throat.

“‘M carving you out,” he grunted, thrusting up into her heat. “Making you mine.” She gasped, and pulled his mouth to hers. “Mine,” he reiterated, and thrust again, bottoming out inside her.

“Yours,” she agreed, and swept her tongue along his bottom lip. She matched him stroke for stroke, bouncing prettily on his cock, those lovely nipples pressed to his chest until she was clenching around him, impossibly tighter.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, barely holding back his own orgasm, needing to feel how she came on his cock before he did. He wedged his hand between them, his thumb finding her clit. “Take it for me, just like that. You’re doing so well.” Draco’s lips found her breast and he bit her nipple lightly, laving his tongue over to soothe the sting. His hips jerked when her nails raked down his back, her pussy spasming around his cock, once, twice, three times with her orgasm, milking his out of him as well.

They collapsed backwards onto the mattress, Hermione over him, with his cock still inside her. She teased him with small kisses along his jaw, her hips making small circles above him until he had to lift her off himself to maintain his sanity.

Hermione settled beside him, moulded to his body, almost, head heavy on his shoulder. Her finger drew unpredictable, swirling patterns over his chest; her leg was draped over his hips.

“Would you like to go to sleep so that you can wake up and find me still here?” she joked, smiling up at him.

Draco pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Maybe next time.”

Her smile widened to a grin, and Draco felt his chest expand with it, his ribs stretching to make room for some warm, incandescent feeling nestling around his heart. “I like the sound of that,” she said, kissing his chest. “Full of possibility. Loads of potential.”

He hummed his agreement, twisting a curl around his finger. “Give me a few minutes, and we can discuss another load, eh?”

Hermione pushed his shoulder playfully, miming disgust, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She looked content. Sated. He’d done that. Pride joined the group of emotions setting up house behind his ribs.

They did discuss another load, at great length and a slower pace, and when they fell back into the sheets Draco did slip off into sleep, content in the knowledge Hermione would still be there when he woke.

#dramione #dramione fic #pearl-buttons #harry potter fanfic #christmas fic #draco x hermione #hermione granger #draco/hermione #draco malfoy #eventual smut

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btsmosphere · 2 years

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Say it with Flour | KNJ

~summary: This had always been a bad idea. You, notorious for kitchen disasters, attending a cooking class. Maybe it could be what you needed to fix your terrible cooking skills - or maybe you could meet someone who makes it so much worse! ~pairing: namjoon x reader ~word count: 3.2k ~fluff, humour, strangers to lovers, cooking class au ~rating: g ~warnings: knives? (they’re just for cooking), jin being a shameless wingman

~a/n: hello! this is proof that I am still writing, and my first full joon fic, look at that! I wrote this for the square ‘cooking class’ over at @bangtanwritingbingo and hopefully I will have more entries to come for that event over the next couple of months. for anyone wondering where I have been for ages, I am still around I promise, but for a while I invested most of my writing efforts into some series I’m writing, one for jk and one for namjoon, so I have been posting less for good reason! now tho, I am nearing the end of a hellish bunch of uni work and so all being well I will be able to offer you lots more fics soon!!

This had always been a bad idea.

You had only agreed to accompany your friend Liya to this cooking class on the assumption it would be a good laugh. It was true that she wanted to take it seriously, but she didn’t care if you didn’t feel the same so long as you came with her.

Why she wanted you for moral support, you couldn’t fathom. You remembered pleading with her…

“Can’t you just go and bring back the wonderful food for me to eat afterwards?”

“Huh? No!” she had replied indignantly, “if you want some good food, you’ll have to come too.”

She had found your weakness. You cursed internally as you fumed, knowing she had got you.

“You know mine won’t be any good. I’m awful in the kitchen!”

“What better time to learn, then?”

Since she had asked you, you had warmed up to the idea, seeing how excited she was about it. This whole thing came from her wanting to take her hobby of cooking more seriously, but she had always been held back by nerves of going somewhere totally new.

You wanted her to be happy, so you allowed her to drag you here after work.

Now, though, doubt was really starting to set in again.

Inside a local culinary school, you found your way to the room where the class would take place. Already, you were intimidated. It was a bit too much like being back in school… except there were knives.

Standing with your friend, you waited as a few others gathered at the entrance. Still, the two of you stuck together, unsure how to start a conversation with any of the other attendees.

Looking around, you caught the eye of a tall man who stood nearest the door. He shot you a dimpled smile, but despite his friendly face, you hurriedly turned back to Liya after returning a weak smile. Socialising was a lot more difficult than you had expected.

Before long, the classroom door opened and the teacher stuck his head around the door.

“Hi guys, I’m sure you’re mostly here, so feel free to come in and grab a bench! I’m Kim Seokjin, I’ll be in charge today. You can call me Jin, though.”

You were startled to see him throw a wink at your group, grinning as he disappeared inside again.

Making to go in, you looked around to find your friend frozen.

“Hey, Liya, it’s okay. Let’s go, yeah?” you urged, presuming some nerves had hit her.

She turned wide eyes towards you.

“Oh my gosh…” she whispered, “did you see him?”

For a moment, you stared in disbelief. Then your head was thrown back as you scoffed in laughter.

“Hey!” she whacked your arm.

“Sorry,” you chuckled, still grinning like a maniac, “of course you have a crush already. Jeez, you really do need to get out more. Be grateful I brought you here.”

“Wait, let’s get a good spot!” she gushed, ignoring you entirely, “near the front.”

Barking another laugh, you let her pull you as she dashed inside, squeezing in front of a few people through the door in her hurry to get near to the handsome teacher.

At the front of the room, Jin was bustling around a front counter with his back to the class. As such, he missed Liya practically tripping over to the work station closest to him. However…

Looking around, you both paused.

Tentatively, Liya set her bag down and turned to you with a hesitant expression.

This was the only free bench at the front, the others already taken.

“Don’t worry, you stay here and enjoy the view,” you assured her, smirking as she turned bright red at your allusion. “I’ll find one further back. You’ll be fine.”

Nodding nervously, as if to convince herself, she agreed.

“Thanks,” she chirped as you wound away to the back of the room.

This was how you found yourself tipping out a bunch of ingredients you barely knew the name of, sceptically eyeing the equipment on the counter. Why were there so many different knives? And what the hell was that twisty thing for?

Finding the back of Liya’s head up front, you knew it was too late. You couldn’t ask her any questions, you would just have to hope for the best.

You were an absolute menace in the kitchen, your food turning into a nightmare on a regular basis. The only thing you would say you had solidly mastered was perhaps toast, and microwave meals. When you only had to press a few buttons, there was little that could go wrong.

But faced with all this professional-looking stuff, you knew you were out of your element.

One of the students was even talking with the teacher right now! They were clearly much more enthusiastic than you.

Their conversation seemed to come to an end, and Jin clapped his hands to call attention. As the other man turned around, you saw it was the guy with the dimples from earlier. You were surprised, though, when he walked all the way through the classroom, taking the empty station next to yours.

You supposed all the front spots had been taken, or he would certainly be up there.

Exchanging a smile as he passed you, you turned your attention to Jin, who was already beginning. He talked a bit about the dish, assuring that he would go over each step and cover the basics as you went along.

His idea of ‘basic’ was sure to be very different to yours, you thought.

Either way, he set you about washing and cutting your ingredients first, and you found your bench shared a sink with the one next to you, where dimple man was. Some light chatter rose as Jin left his station to drift around the class, giving out pointers as work began.

You watched him come over to Liya, who couldn’t have been more delighted. Her bright smile dazzled you from all the way over here, and she laughed along with something Jin was saying.

Sighing, you grabbed a handful of vegetables and turned to your own sink.

“Oh, sorry,” the man smiled as he shook water from his own ingredients, freeing up the sink for you.

“Thanks,” you muttered, holding your things under the running water.

Only, the next moment, you reeled back.

“Ah! I must have left it on hot!” he hurriedly apologised, “I still don’t know how these taps work.”

With a small frown, he leaned over to fiddle with the top of the tap. The basin was admittedly a bit confusing, with a lever and some random tubing like a hose. You had no idea what that could be used for.

He succeeded in making it run cold again, though, so you resumed your cleaning.

“I’m Namjoon, by the way,” he smiled across at you, “it’s good to meet you. Apart from the nearly burning your hands thing, of course.”

“It’s okay,” you laughed, and introduced yourself too.

Setting the vegetables down, you selected a knife at random and stared. It was only a pepper and some tomatoes, but Jin had shown an unnecessarily complicated way of chopping them, and you weren’t really sure how to start.

“Stuck?” Namjoon asked.

Not quite wanting to admit your level of incompetence, you replied with a sheepish smile. He beamed just as brightly in response.

“Look,” he said. And proceeded to cut up the pepper in a way you weren’t sure resembled Jin’s at all.

But he looked so proud of it, you couldn’t help but copy with an indulgent smile. Maybe it was a chef thing, they all had their own style of chopping?

“So,” you began, “when did your, um… interest in cooking start?”

At first, Namjoon’s eyes widened a fraction. Then he burst out laughing, his face screwing up adorably as he tried to hide it behind his hand.

“Sorry,” he gasped, once he had calmed down, “it’s just, I’m not really a cook. Like, at all. I’m terrible, but I’m friends with Jin, and he made me. Said it would do me good to learn how to cook.”

You stayed silent a bit too long, as his smile faded and he began to look uncomfortable.

“No way,” you gaped, “I’m the same! My friend wanted to come, but I was starting to think it was a bad idea.”

The way Namjoon’s face lit up had your heart racing a little too hard for someone you had just met.

“That’s such a relief! Now I don’t have to embarrass myself alone!”

“Hey!” you laughed loudly, “who says I’m going to embarrass myself! That’s what I’m trying to avoid.”

“Maybe you ought to pay a little less attention to Namjoon, then,” a voice cut in.

Turning, you found Jin standing at the end of your bench, looking sceptically at the mess you had made of chopping your pepper. With a huff, he looked past you to Namjoon and shook his head.

“I see you’re already making friends, well done. Just try not to lead them astray.”

“Yes, chef,” Namjoon mock saluted.

Jin rolled his eyes.

Much to your relief, Jin began to demonstrate the correct way to cut everything up using your ingredients, forcing the unfortunate Namjoon to follow along. He was making quite a mess of it nonetheless, but either he didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Eventually, Jin moved on. With your ingredients all ready, you were free to swap stories with your new friend about your worst kitchen disasters. You didn’t notice Liya turning to raise an eyebrow at you, what with how loud you were laughing.

“How did you even manage that?!” you were wheezing.

“It was clearly a weak peeler!” Namjoon tried to defend himself, but gave in when it only made you laugh louder.

“That’s impressive, to be honest,” you told him, “I usually give up on peeling and just scrub off the skin. Or buy them pre-cut.”

“Keep your voice down!” he joked, “if Jin hears you say that, he’ll have you stuck in these classes for a month.”

With a chuckle, you glanced to the front of the room, just in case Jin had heard. Instead, you saw him clasping his hands, addressing the whole room again.

“And that should get you a consistent dough, it’s simple enough. Off you go!”

Shoot, you had totally missed what he had said.

With wide eyes, you turned back to Namjoon, who wore the exact same expression.

“Any chance you heard the instructions?” you tried, already knowing the answer.

“Nope. Well, there’s only one thing for it.”

You raised an eyebrow in question. Namjoon shrugged.

“Improvise.”

“Not to rain on your parade, but when in those food horror stories did you get the idea that we could be trusted to improvise in the kitchen.”

“Believe me, I didn’t,” he grinned, turning back to his food nonetheless. “But we’re making dumplings, right? And he said something about dough, so let’s just… make that.”

Namjoon was insane. Staring dumfounded, you also looked at your ingredients.

“Yeah, sure,” you nodded sarcastically, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

At the front of the class, Jin was already introducing the next step for the rest of the class, who apparently had all created perfect dough. It was a different story with you and Namjoon in the back.

Hopeless as you both were, you had abandoned your individual attempts in order to try and make at least one decent batch together. At the very least it meant the disaster would be limited to one… theoretically.

Biting hard on your lip to hold in your laughter, you prodded at the substance in your bowl that resembled concrete more than dumpling dough.

“Shame we weren’t supposed to be making rock cakes,” Namjoon whispered, nearly succeeding in making you laugh out loud. The classroom was still unforgivingly quiet, all attention on Jin. Except yours, of course; his words sailed right over your head as you stared at the monstrosity you had made.

“We can’t use this,” you hissed.

“You’re right,” he sighed, “let’s go again. I’m sure I know what we did wrong.”

He peered closer towards the mixing bowl. Shooting him an unconvinced look, you tried to remain unphased by how close you suddenly found your faces.

“Wait,” you muttered, “we used up all the flour.”

His eyes flicked up towards you. That certainly didn’t help your heart’s situation. The grin he sent your way, gorgeous eyes creasing at the corners, absolutely stunned you.

“Don’t worry, I’ve still got some,” he offered, “first we should hide the evidence, though.”

Clearly they had never expected you to have quite so much food waste in this cooking class. The small bin at the end of the station was already full with vegetable cutoffs, so you had to try to subtly force the disastrous dumpling dough into it.

You were facing ahead, making every effort to look like you were paying attention to the class and not like you hadn’t even managed the previous step yet. This effect was suitably ruined with a sudden ripping sound and cloud of white bursting into the air.

Apparently even opening the packet of flour had been a challenge too far for Namjoon.

The entire class turned around to face you both, frozen as the scattered flour drifted down from the air around you. Your cheeks heated up as Jin’s sharp gaze fell on you.

For a moment, it was totally silent.

Then Namjoon snorted.

Unable to contain yourself, you dissolved instantly into fits of giggles, Namjoon’s loud laughter joining you despite his attempts to muffle it. Doubled over and wheezing with hilarity, you could just make out Liya through your teary eyes, staring at you with clear incredulity.

Well, it was her fault for bringing you here in the first place.

You continued to laugh into your hand as Jin instructed the class to ignore you and move on to the next step. His wearily amused tone made you think he was well used to this kind of embarrassment from Namjoon.

Still sniggering as the sound of clinking utensils and stoves turning on rose once again in the kitchen, you turned to Namjoon, wiping at your eyes.

He was clutching the countertop as he shook with mirth, face splattered with flour as was the steel surface. The sight only elicited another round of laughter, until Namjoon seemed to hurriedly shut up.

Chuckles dying down, you turned to find Jin once again behind you, hands on his hips as he gave Namjoon a withering glare.

Biting your tongue, you waited to see what he had to say. At first he didn’t speak, sadly taking in the state of your corner of the kitchen, eyes lingering on the botched dough that was still half hanging out of the food bin where you had abandoned your attempts to conceal it.

“Takeaway for you tonight then, I presume?” he joked drily.

“We honestly tried, Jin,” Namjoon pleaded, “you’ll let me have some of yours, right?”

Jin rolled his eyes.

“Just clean this up. Then maybe I can give you two a simplified version to make.”

With that, he was off to help the people who still had hope.

As you took in the state of your station after the flour explosion, your laugh was more sarcastic.

“Might want to wipe your face a little first,” you told Namjoon with a sympathetic smile.

Blinking at you, he brought a hand to his cheek. Unfortunately, that also had flour on, and he only got more on his face.

“Hey, let me,” you laughed, dusting off your own hands on a tea towel and approaching him.

He endured the cleaning, though you did try to be as gentle as possible while you brushed off his face. There were still a couple of splotches of flour when you stepped away, but it was much better than before. You felt much too flustered to brave stepping so close into his personal space again in any case.

Together you set about wiping down the counter and floor where they had fallen victim to the incident.

“I’m sorry, I got some on you as well,” Namjoon said as you swept off the last spot from the counter.

Hearing him addressing you, you turned, only to find him very close to you. His hand was outstretched, but twitched away as you faced him unexpectedly. If you weren’t mistaken, a slight flush crept over his cheeks.

“I was going for your hair,” he laughed breathily, much more quiet this time. “I can get it for you, if you don’t mind.”

Speechless, you nodded.

Gulping, you watched him raise his hand and thread it into your hair. He was being as careful as you had been earlier, his touch light as he teased your strands to rid them of the flour.

Strangely, you found your breath had been stolen from you. Namjoon wasn’t looking straight at you, face cutely concentrated on fixing your hair, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

When he was satisfied, he pulled back fractionally. Your eyes met.

“Thanks,” you breathed.

He nodded in response, breath drifting over your face. This proximity was robbing you of sense – you could have sworn his eyes had just dipped to your lips.

“Gosh, things are really heating up.”

Startled, you stepped hurriedly away from Namjoon, coming to your senses to find Jin standing, amused, between you.

“Sorry?” Namjoon frowned.

“I came to tell you two to get cooking, but it seems you’ve got things steaming just fine,” he grinned shamelessly, “but the chemistry is supposed to be taking place inside the pan.”

Namjoon’s eyes widened, glaring at his friend. You fared little better, heat rising in your cheeks that certainly could have rivalled the ovens at the back of the room.

Ignoring the awkwardness he had created, Jin barged between you and Namjoon and grabbed the few ingredients that were still salvageable at your station, throwing them into a pan.

“This always happens,” Namjoon lowered his voice to speak into your ear as you stood back to watch Jin work, “he tells me to learn how to cook, but then he gets too impatient and makes food for me himself.”

You chuckled.

“What’s he making?”

“Probably just some snacks or something. We made quite a mess of the rest.”

You smiled, but a sudden idea stifled your laughter with nerves. Before you could back out, however, you blurted it out.

“How about we go and get dinner after this then?”

You almost didn’t dare to look around at Namjoon, but his silence had you too nervous. Looking around at him, you began to wish you hadn’t been so forward. Luckily, he got over his shock and put you out of your misery.

A grin spread over his face.

“Absolutely,” he agreed, “it will be much better if neither of us have been anywhere near the kitchen.”

Maybe this had all been a bad idea. It was true you had only agreed to Liya on the assumption it would be a good laugh, and thanks to Namjoon, it had been.

In the end, you had managed to get some good food out of tonight… even if that was entirely unrelated to the cooking class itself.

Thank you for reading! If you want more, my masterlist is here💜

Taglist: @aianloveseven @preciouschimine @un2-verse @rockwithwoo @taegularities

#btsbingo2022 #thebtswritersclub #kpopsociety #namjoon imagine #kim namjoon imagine #namjoon fluff #namjoon meetcute #btscreatorscorner #bangtanarmynet #namjoon scenarios #namjoon x reader #rm imagine #rm fanfic #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fanfiction

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dramioneasks · 3 years

Text

HP FESTS: DramioneFanfictionWriters (Part 4)

DFW's Deal or No Deal: Famous Shakespeare Lines, February 2021:

Short Life For A Daffodil by KrysKrossZee - T, one-shot - Hermione and Draco have a wild daughter who likes to pull up daffodils and frustrate her parents, but the duo wouldn't be without their children.

Friends Dont by Lostinthenightrain - T, one-shot - "You don’t choose who you fall for!” “No, because I sure as hell wouldn’t be standing here now would I?” Hermione mourns the loss of a relationship.

The Malfoy Mistress by ThebeMoon - M, one-shot - Unable to bear the sight of Bellatrix carving into Hermione Granger at Malfoy Manor, Draco Malfoy whisks his hated former schoolmate to safety. He should have known better.

Rules of Engagement by Art3misiA - T, one-shot - Lucius just had to be difficult about the idea of Draco and Hermione getting married. Will Draco and Hermione allow him to throw his weight around, or will they bring him to heel?

DFW's Deal or No Deal: Popular 90's TV Shows, March 2021:

The Death of Theo Nott by Lostinthenightrain - T, one-shot - “Hermione.” Her head whipped up to see the broken expression in Draco’s eyes. “He wouldn’t kill himself.”

The Night of the Rats by rennaissance_woman - not rated, one-shot - What happens when a prank war goes too far?

Perfect Harmony by Talonwillow (TalonWillow) - T, one-shot -Professor Slughorn's star Potions pupil Hermione was tired of being the ugly duckling, so she created a potion that would transform her into a beautiful swan. Everyone seemed to like the shiny new version of her... Well, except for herself and maybe one other. Would Draco Malfoy convince her that what everyone else was seeing was what he saw every day, and would Hermione finally be able to live in Perfect Harmony?

Dramione Go Star Trekking by KrysKrossZee - T, one-shot - Riker has made a pass at Hermione and she doesn't quite know how to deal with it.

Bloody Colonials by Maira - T, one-shot - Hermione Granger has had a long week, and the last thing she wants to do is leave the comfort of her home. But when her best friend asks for her help in dealing with a possible cursed object, what can she do but help? Brownies, Potion-making robe etiquette, and a cursed Nigerian mask all add up to a typical night at Hogwarts. Written for the DFW's Deal or No Deal challenge.

The Latest Teenage Drama by Art3misiA - T, one-shot - Teenagers. Gotta love em. Teenage dramas? Not so much. Draco and Hermione navigate the perils of unwanted teenage behaviour - 90s family sitcom style.

DFW's Deal or No Deal: Around the World, April 2021:

The Assignment by Art3misiA - G, one-shot - Hermione and Draco, Aurors, have been sent to Cape Town on a top secret assignment - to track down a former Death Eater.

Finding Them by KrysKrossZee - T, WIP - After not finding her parents in Austrailia, Hermione enlists Draco's help and the two make their way to Vancouver when they have a new lead.

DFW's Deal or No Deal: The Language of Flowers, May 2021:

Spilled Ink by Maira - M, one-shot - It's nearly Christmas, and things aren't great. Draco Malfoy is still on house arrest due to the Wizengamot being a bag of dicks. Hermione Granger is out of the country on a job, which means he won't see her for a few weeks. And to top it all off, Hermione has sent Draco a plant. A green, spiky plant, for no reason that he can fathom. Oh, and a spelled journal that he's now supposed to write in. Because nothing could possibly go wrong with that plan. Written for the DFW Deal or No Deal Challenge!

Forever by Art3misiA - M, one-shot - Though they may be gone, our memories of them remain forever.

The Little Things by KrysKrossZee - T, one-shot - When Hermione buys Draco a cup of coffee and leaves it on his desk, it throws Draco through a loop and he wonders what he should get her in exchange.

The Climbing Vine by rennaissance_woman - not rated, one-shot - After receiving some startling news, Draco runs out of the house. He receives some advice from a surprising source.

Changing of the Seasons by Lostinthenightrain - M, one-shot - Hermione & Draco find a local park and two unlikely faces to greet them.

DFW's Deal or No Deal: Draco's Birthday Soundtrack, June 2021:

Straight to the Heart by AdAsttra - T, one-shot - Draco's ready to tell Hermione how he feels, but Cupid has other ideas.

Stick Around by KrysKrossZee - T, one-shot - Hermione doesn't know why Draco is the only one who makes her feel safe, but she is glad that she is able to get some reprieve from her brain.

Wild and Wired by Maira - M, one-shot - Need your lovin' here beside me, Need it close enough to guide me, I've been hopin' you would find me, You're the biggest part of me. - Hermione was expecting a fun night out with her boyfriend and her friends. She was not expecting ice cubes, sick ponies, and a serenade beautiful enough to melt her heart. Written for the DFW's Deal or No Deal challenge.

Let's Get Serious (Please, for the Love of Merlin!) by Art3misiA - G, one-shot - Draco wants to get serious, but Hermione isn't so sure. Will their opposing views make or break them?

DFW's Deal or No Deal: Magical Monsters, July 2021:

There's A Zouwu In My Basement by KrysKrossZee - T, one-shot - When a creature has broken into the Malfoy Manor dungeon, Draco has to call for help.

Miseria by crochetaway - T, one-shot - Hermione tames a Dementor.

Aegis by Maira - M, one-shot - Their world is in ruins, and their only protection against creatures wanting to kill them is about to fall. They make a plan to trek across the country to Hogwarts, where others have gathered to make a new home within the castle. There, they will be safe. One problem - before they go, there's a queen to kill. Written for the DFW's Deal or No Deal Challenge.

Fear & Desire by myladymay - T, one-shot - Draco Malfoy wants to change his life. He returns to Hogwarts for Eighth Year and finds himself confronted with both his biggest fear and greatest desire, all wrapped up in a Gryffindor tie.

Innocent Monsters by itscometothis - T, 12 chapters - Draco Malfoy thought he had reasonable expectations for his mandatory Eighth Year at Hogwarts, where he would be confined to the grounds as part of his probation. Isolation, hatred, and passing his NEWTs were really all he had in mind. What he wasn't anticipating: 1) Having a small firstie latch onto him like a bloody koala 2) Said firstie adopting an erkling as if they didn’t feed on children. To protect his little nuisance, he’ll have to seek help from uncomfortable places, including the Swottiest Witch of Her Age. Joy of all joys.

Transformed by Art3misiA - T, one-shot - Draco and Charlie have a dragon to catch, and time is running out. Meanwhile, Hermione is missing, adding to Draco's woes.

DFW's Deal or No Deal: Legendary Duos, August 2021:

Three's a crowd, four's trouble by AnnaRitaLi - M, WIP - p>My sister is right. My life did change that evening. I just don't think Rosalind meant for me to steal her boyfriend, or I don't think I stole him, Draco, not precisely. You cannot steal something that doesn't want to be whisked away. That's my experience, at least, and I've stolen quite a few things over the years. So I can say this with confidence. You can't lose something you never had. But you’ll have to read it in the book, dear. While the Crown doesn’t wish for me to speak out in public, I have been silent for too long. You see, There were three of us in this marriage. And people, the press, have assumed many things over the years about Draco and me. So this book, as you’ll see, it’s my attempt to set the record straight. Yes, there were three of us in this marriage, but there were also much more going on than that. -- This is the story the Crown never wanted to get out. In other words, I bring you the x-rated version of the book ‘Diana - her true story - in her own words’.’ It’s the Dramione as Charles & Diana AU you didn't know you needed.

The Marquess and the Kitchen Girl by Art3misiA - E, 8 chapters - Draco Malfoy is the son of the most powerful Duke in Wiltshire. One day, he will be the ruler of a large duchy. Hermione Granger lives happily with her parents - that is, until tragedy strikes. Two children will become friends, and gradually discover a forbidden love that seems as if it might one day defy the odds. Alas, this is a tale of doomed lovers.

In Her Arms by KrysKrossZee - M, one-shot - Draco's worked his way up through Voldemort's ranks but it would seem that all of his work has been for nothing when Dolohov captures a new prisoner.

The Happiness I Seek by Maira - M, one-shot - To those without a soulmate, the world is devoid of colour. They say that if you are lucky enough to meet your soulmate, everything changes. The world is brighter, food is richer, and you find a love you never knew you needed. Draco Malfoy has never been lucky. Written for the DFW's Deal or No Deal challenge.

darling! by itscometothis - M, one-shot - When Draco and Hermione are invited to help demonstrate a path forward for Wizarding Britain and its reconciliation, neither really feel like they can refuse - Hermione for moral reasons and Draco for practical ones (read: Azkaban sounds bad). But they have very different ideas on how to play up this fake relationship. Written for DFW's Deal or No Deal: Legendary Duos - Kermit and Ms. Piggy. It's as ridiculous as you expect.

A Thousand Ships by floorcoaster - M, WIP - Draco Malfoy knows what he wants, and he's not afraid to reach out and take it.

Quiet My Demons by Lostinthenightrain - M, one-shot - “Unhappy, darling?” He murmured, his cigar placed on its resting dish, dashed out - a little puff of smoke rising into the air between them before disappearing. “Yes, completely.”

I Love Draco by crochetaway - G, one-shot - A few slice of life scenes with Hermione, Draco, and Scorpius ala I Love Lucy style!

DFW's Deal or No Deal: The Final Word, September 2021:

Crime & Punishment by itscometothis - T, 12 chapters - TRIAL TRANSCRIPT OF DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY IS FORMALLY CHARGED WITH THE FOLLOWING: CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT MURDER AIDING AND ABETTING A MURDER USE OF UNFORGIVABLE CURSES: IMPERIUS (2 COUNTS) USE OF UNFORGIVABLE CURSES: CRUCIATUS (47 COUNTS) PARTICIPATING IN A TERRORIST ORGANIZATION -- I don’t regret hoping. I thought I might, at the beginning, do you remember? But I don’t. I regret nothing about you, my love. Eternally yours, Draco -- A story of hope, punishment, and the nature of justice told in trial transcripts, visits in an interrogation room, and letters.

Boats Against the Current by AlannaTCooper - T, one-shot - Draco Malfoy is trying to escape his past by running as far away as he can. But the past - and his nightmares - keep pulling him backwards.

By His Side by KrysKrossZee - T, one-shot - Hermione is lonely but there's at least one person who can break through her loneliness.

Trying To Live by IzzieStellar - T, one-shot - After her husband dies, Hermione can’t seem to remember how to live and her friends vow to help her.

In the Dead of Night by AdAsttra - G, one-shot - Hermione and Draco are some of the last people to leave Hogwarts under the veil of a cold, dark night.

This fest is ongoing.

#dramionefanfictionwriters #Fests/Exchanges/Challenges #dramione

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flowerwrites06 · 3 years

Text

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

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.

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

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goodomenslady · 3 years

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Good Omens Fic Rec List 12a

Ahoy, mateys! This is the first of a two-part special edition featuring pirates. Naturally, all E-rated fics are guaranteed top Crowley/bottom Aziraphale.

1. Ten Fathoms Deep on the Road to Hell by @aziraphalelookedwretched Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21823051 Rating: G Word Count: 2,575 (one-shot) This is a simply lovely fic where Crowley comes to his angel's rescue. Aziraphale has been assigned by Heaven to be a captain in the Royal Navy and he hates it. So, so much. The crew despises him for not being tough enough and the work is drudgery. Sighting Crowley's pirate ship is a relief, particularly when it's shown that they have a hostage, and Crowley's willing to make a trade in exchange for someone valuable, someone of high rank, someone like, say, a captain. I was as relieved to see Aziraphale get off that Navy ship as he was!

2. A Man Upon the Land by lilyaceae Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18385709 Rating: T Word Count: 3,568 (one-shot) Human AU. This is a gem of a story, in which Aziraphale is a selkie searching for his missing coat, and Crowley the ship's captain helping him in his travels. Aziraphale has hidden his true nature, but he can't hide the growing love in his heart for the handsome captain, and Crowley harbors the same feelings for his mysterious passenger. Just as Aziraphale is in reach of his goal, pirates charge in to wreak havoc, and Crowley can't understand why Aziraphale is so determined to risk life and limb for...whatever it is he's looking for. This story was published before the show aired, so the physical descriptions are a little bit different from what many of us have become used to, but Aziraphale is still plump and lovely, and Crowley handsome and dashing, so it's all good.

3. To the Victor Goes the Spoils by @quefish77 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142742 Rating: E Word Count: 4,356 (one-shot) Aziraphale and Crowley indulge in some pirate roleplay, complete with swordfighting, and culminating with sexy times in a miracled ship captain's private quarters. They really get into their roles here as fellow pirate captains, playing around with a story of Aziraphale's invention. Swordplay follows, and to the victor, namely Crowley, goes the spoils. And he has some very particular favors to ask of his defeated rival. Some excellent smut ensues.

4. Cast Away (And Picked Up) by @zaxal Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29158977 Rating: E Word Count: 2,526 (one-shot) Aziraphale has been marooned on an island for over a year, but he makes the best of it, enjoying it as a much-needed holiday, when he is rescued by pirates. And who should be captain of the ship, but Crowley, much to the delight of them both. After they put on a little show for the benefit of the crew, of captive-promising-the-captain-whatever-he-wants, they retire to the cabin, and because they've missed each other dreadfully, Aziraphale delivers on his promise to both their satisfactions. Hot and steamy!

5. Sail Home to Me by @sad-wendigo and @unproblematicme Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22699897 Rating: E Word Count: 21,284 (5/5 chapters, complete) Human AU. Aziraphale is a scholar, until his island his attacked by pirates and he's captured. To his surprise, the captain is his long-lost sweetheart Crowley, who has become a fearsome pirate. He's under the impression that Aziraphale left him while Aziraphale is equally convinced that it was the other way around and Crowley is the one who left. Turbulent emotions flare as the former lovers re-ignite their passion and revive old quarrels, leading Aziraphale to flee and Crowley to pursue. Stubborn feisty Aziraphale, commanding and fierce Crowley, they perfectly complement each other. Riveting and passionate, with a secret from the past revealed which changes everything.

#top crowley #bottom aziraphale #fic recs #good omens #fanfiction #pirates #good omens fic recs

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valdomarx · 3 years

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Saving Grace

When the test flight of a new experimental spacecraft goes wrong, Sheppard ends up lost in hyperspace. Injured and alone, his subconscious mind summons up a familiar face to keep him company.

Stargate: Atlantis, Sheppard/McKay. 6k words, rated T.

Contains Shep whump, happy ending, and gratuitous descriptions of astronomical phenomena.

Sheppard comes to with a lancing headache and vise around his chest. An alarm is blaring. He takes in his environment: he’s in an unfamiliar cockpit. Whatever he’s flying, the inertial dampeners have cut out and he’s pulling several Gs, the forces pushing him against his seat and making his head swim.

He blinks woozy eyes and stares out the window. Streaks of color whip past him in a confusing and rapid swirl. A strange thrum vibrates the ship. This doesn’t look like space.

Shit. That’s because he’s not in space. He’s in hyperspace.

This is not good.

“It’ll be a cakewalk!” McKay gestures animatedly. “A quick trip across the solar system to warm our new baby up, then kick in the hyperdrive. It’ll catapult you to the Triian system, and you can turn around and gate back. Easy.”

“Catapult?” Sheppard raises an eyebrow. “I don’t love the sound of that.”

But McKay isn’t listening. He and Zelenka are deep in conversation about hyperspace and its effects on the particle/wave duality of light. The rapidly rising volume of their voices suggests this is an argument they’ve had before.

They’re both fussing over the control panel for their latest pride and joy, a cobbled-together prototype spacecraft which is a hybrid between a puddle jumper and a X-302 fighter. It’s taken them months to build the A-305, based off the miniature hyperdrive McKay designed while he was temporarily almost-ascended. They’ve poked and tweaked and run every simulation they can think of, but sooner or later the ship will need to be taken on a real test flight.

Just as well Atlantis has the galaxy’s best fighter pilot for a military commander, Wier had said with a smile. She’d wished him luck on the A-305’s maiden voyage and told him to come home safe.

Stay safe. Stay alive.

Right.

Through the fog in his head, Sheppard focuses on his first problem. The spinning of the ship is making it impossible to think, and he needs to be clear headed to find his way out of this. He needs control of his ship.

With a wince he connects to the ship’s neural interface. It isn’t as seamless as operating a puddle jumper, but the principle is the same. McKay and Zelenka had done their best to replicate the Ancient interface, but their best approximation was still a long way off. Using it adds to the sharp spike of pain in his skull, but he needs to know what he’s dealing with.

The ship’s interface blinks into existence behind his eyes. The sensors scream out incomprehensible reams of data. He silences them. The alarm is still blaring. Silence that as well.

Now. Here. Positioning and guidance systems. This data is a jumbled mess too, and most of the navigation functions are offline. But thrusters are up. That’s good. He can at least stop this spin.

In the corner of his mind, the power system whines needily. It’s one of a dozen systems competing for his attention and it will have to wait. He pushes it aside.

Thrusters. Fire them, hard. Counteract the spin.

The ship jerks and he is slammed into the side of his seat. It pushes the air from his lungs, but gradually the colors outside the window slow their nausea-inducing swirl.

The world rights itself. The G forces release their iron-tight grip on his chest. The ship is stationary.

Now, at least, he can think and he can breathe. He can call for a rescue.

He taps his radio and calls out to Atlantis. No reply. He tries the ship’s communication system. No luck there either. The radio plays back nothing but static.

Ok. Communications are down. He’ll need to fix that, but first he needs to find out where he is. He opens the hyperspace location system and searches for a beacon.

Silence stares back at him.

He searches further, pushing the sensors to their maximum. There must be a signal he can lock onto somewhere.

He finds nothing. Not even empty space. Nothing but the strange, pulsating colors of the uncharted depths of hyperspace.

Damn it. He’s lost.

“I’m telling you,” McKay is, once again, waving his hands around with great enthusiasm, “you have no idea how hyperspace works. It’s not like navigating through normal space.”

Sheppard is sat in the commissary on the Daedalus, overhearing Ronon wind up McKay and trying not to show his amusement.

“I thought it was like an ocean current?” Ronon asks innocently.

“What? No! It’s nothing like that.” McKay gestures with a fork. “It’s more like… You know when you carry something heavy through the forest?”

“Like a body?”

“God, how does your mind work? But right, sure, you’re dragging the lifeless corpse of your defeated enemy through the forest. And as you go, you’re crushing bushes and leaves beneath your feet, right? You’re making a trail.”

“I don’t leave tracks.”

“Oh, sure, Mr I’m-a-big-tough-guy-yet-somehow-I-can-move-silently-through-dense-foliage.” McKay scowls and Sheppard hides a smile behind a forkful of mashed potatoes. “The point is, when a ship moves through hyperspace it leaves behind a trail. When another ship follows the first, it reinforces the trail. Over time, that builds up a network of paths through hyperspace.”

“And that’s how we know which direction to go in right now?” Ronan looks out the window, where the hyperspace currents wrap around the ship.

“Exactly. Over time, we’ve laid out beacons along these paths. They allow us to jump from one part of the galaxy to another, but only along the predetermined routes. If we were to head away from the path, eventually we’d be too far away from the beacons to orient ourselves. We’d end up lost forever in hyperspace.” He shudders, and Sheppard can see the millions of horrible scenarios playing through his head.

“Huh.” Ronon puts his feet up on the table. “If I get lost in the forest, I orient myself by the sun.”

“Unfortunately for your rustic wisdom, that’s not very helpful when you’re outside the normal planes of space and time.”

Ronon gets a glint in his eye and goes in for the kill. “But aren’t there lots of stars out there? And the sun on Atlantis rises in the east, right? So you could pick a star, and head toward it, and that way would be east.”

McKay turns a worrying shade of purple. He gapes. “That is just. On so many levels, that is so unbelievably wrong, I can’t even fathom how you would -” He takes a huge gulp of air. “THAT IS NOT HOW ANY OF THIS WORKS.”

Sheppard does not panic. He reminds himself that the first thing to do when you’re lost is to retrace your steps. How did he end up here?

He remembers prepping the A-305 for the test flight. He remembers heading away from Atlantis and deeper into the solar system. He remembers firing up the hyperspace drive.

He remembers the drive spinning up. He remembers a whirring noise. He remembers the pop as the ship made the hyperspace jump.

And then… There had been a spark. A crackle of electricity, here in the cockpit. A bolt of lightning had shot out from one of the rear hatches and struck the control panel.

There had been a terrible screeching sound, and a series of bangs as various components fried out and died. Then a bang louder than the others that sent him reeling. That must have been the drive pod blowing.

He remembers the force of the explosion smacking his head on the console. Then only blackness.

Gingerly, he touches his forehead. His fingers come away wet with blood.

That explains the headache.

He needs to figure out where he is but the data coming from the sensors doesn’t make any sense. He opens the interface again and looks through data on the craft’s position, speed, structural integrity. Anything that could orient him in the nothingness.

The reams of data start to blur together. His eyes are drooping and it’s getting hard to focus. He forces himself to look at each number in turn, but he can’t make heads or tails of any of it. The chilling ache of helplessness starts to crawl up his spine.

“Why don’t you let me take a look at that?”

Sheppard whips his head round. Perched on the edge of the console, flicking through a tablet, is McKay.

He rubs his eyes, but McKay is still there. He didn’t think he was this far gone.

“You’re not really here,” he gasps. Maintaining some grip on what is real and what is not has never been more vital.

McKay tilts his head and smirks, and it’s such a familiar movement that it makes something in Sheppard’s chest loosen. “Of course I’m not here. I’m light-years away in Atlantis, worrying about you.”

“Then what-?”

“You’re lost. Your ship is damaged. You’re alone. And you have a pretty severe concussion.” McKay ticks off items on his fingers. “Your subconscious figured you could use some help. So it called me.”

Sheppard blinks. “You're imaginary?”

McKay shrugs. “I’m a creation of your mind. You knew you needed help, so you summoned up the one person you knew could get you out of this.”

“And that’s you, is it?”

McKay radiates smugness. “It’s ok, Sheppard. You can admit that I am not only the smartest person you know, but also the most inventive. And, frankly, the most handsome as well.” He flicks his hair back in an affected manner. It's awkward as hell.

Sheppard rubs his aching temples. “Lucky me."

He'd known McKay was going to be a pain in his ass since the day they met.

He'd spent three years in Antarctica. It was nice there. Quiet. No one to get in his business or hold him to any obligations.

And then he'd come to Atlantis, and everything had changed.

Now he has a team to protect and more responsibility than any person should have to deal with. Teyla and Ronon, Weir and Lorne, even Beckett, they have all become indelible fixtures in his life.

And then there's McKay. Brash, arrogant, and perhaps the only person in the expedition who has worse people skills than he does. McKay, whose endless chattering and whining has become the cosmic background radiation of his life. He's gotten so used to it that being without it feels like he's missing a part of himself.

“What we need is a reference point to lock onto.” McKay is pacing, as much as is possible, around the tiny cockpit. He’s making Sheppard nervous.

“There’s nothing out there. I've tried to pick up a beacon signal, but it’s no use this far from the hyperspace lanes. The more time passes, the further I drift.”

“Ah ah ah.” McKay snaps his fingers. “So we can’t find a beacon. But maybe we can find something else to use as a marker. We just need a point in normal space to orient ourselves around.”

“But we’re cut off from normal space.”

McKay shakes his head. “Not completely. Hyperspace is orthogonal to normal space, not entirely separate from it.”

Sheppard has only the loosest idea what that means.

“So you should be able to…” McKay starts futzing around with his tablet again. He can’t actually be doing anything, because he isn’t real and neither is the tablet, but his mind apparently can’t conceive of McKay without having him poking at some piece of electronic equipment. “Try the radar.”

“The radar? But radio waves don’t carry through hyperspace.”

McKay beams. “They do if the source is strong enough.”

“But that’s -”

“Are you seriously arguing with yourself right now? You know I’m right! On some subconscious level, you clearly realize that this makes sense. So do you want to bicker, or do you want to get out of here?”

“Fine! Jeez. I’ll try the radar, but it’s not going to work.”

McKay raises an eyebrow, like he’s about to say wanna bet? Sheppard clamps the headphones over his ears.

Using the neural interface, the radar signal comes through as auditory information. He hears the rumbling of the radiation coming from his spacecraft, and the pings of neutrinos twisting past at super high velocities. So far so unhelpful.

And then… there’s something… And then it’s gone again. Sheppard strains his ears, reaching out with his mind to extend the range of the radar. There’s nothing, only horrible blankness. And then - there it is again.

A faint, very low pulse. Beating like a heart, every second. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Steady. Consistent. A fixed point.

Sheppard lets out a breath. He’s found a pulsar.

He’d barely been paying attention when McKay had brought it up. He’d been more interested in flicking through the dog-eared copy of Golfer’s Digest he’d borrowed from Lorne.

“See! Right here! Pulsar J0056-87.” McKay gestures him over, vibrating with excitement.

Sheppard rolls his eyes but stands all the same. McKay’s been on at him to join him for a night of stargazing since he found an Ancient telescope stashed away in a lab somewhere. Apparently, even with their elaborate technology, there were still some Ancients who enjoyed looking at the stars with glass lenses for some reason. Bunch of damn hipsters.

But the night was warm and clear, and for once there was no imminent threat of invasion. McKay had dragged him along to one of the distant piers and set up while Sheppard had busied himself with a beer and a magazine.

“Look!” He lets McKay manhandle him into position in front of the telescope eyepiece. “See that?”

He peers through the glass and sees a blurry outline of something like a star. But it flashes, on and off, on and off, like a strobe light.

“It’s the collapsed core of a massive star,” McKay says, all expressive gestures, “and it's spinning so fast it's emitting beams of electromagnetic radiation from its poles as it turns, like a lighthouse. That’s why it seems to flash, and that means it can be used like a yardstick for the galaxy. It’s the only one we’ve found in Pegasus.”

Sheppard grunts, says, “Thrilling,” and goes back to his beer.

“We’re going to get you out of here, Sheppard.” McKay sounds confident, but McKay always sounds confident. Sheppard has learned to temper his expectations.

“Ok. I've located the pulsar. Can we use its location to extrapolate the coordinates for Atlantis?”

McKay pulls a face. “That would require triangulation - we’d need at least three fixed points for that. We’ve only got one point to work from.”

“So how does that help? We’re still lost.” A churning mixture of anger and anxiety rolls in his chest.

“You have to head toward the pulsar.” McKay nods decisively.

“Oh, what a great idea, I’m so glad I have you here for inspiration. I’m lost in hyperspace, so let’s go even further out. Let’s go deeper into the unknown. Let’s throw all of my eggs into this one strobing basket. Brilliant plan, McKay!”

“And what’s the alternative? Sit here and wait to die?”

“Protocol states that I should stay where I am. Preserve my position. Give a rescue team the best chance to find me.”

“And that’s all well and good in normal space, but we’re not in normal space, are we? There’s no maps here. There’s no way for a ship to track us. They can’t rescue you if they can’t find you.” Sheppard glares at him. McKay pouts back. “Since when have you given a shit about protocol anyway?”

Sheppard grimaces and checks the thrusters. He can at least see how much fuel he’s got left.

He reaches into the interface with his mind.

FUEL DEPLETED, a warning flashes. REFUEL IMMEDIATELY.

“Ahh.” McKay looks apologetic. “I was worried about that. I guess when the hyperdrive blew it took the fuel containment with it.”

Sheppard stares out at the rippling nothingness.

Great.

Sheppard has faced death many times.

There was a time when he would have been fine with this. Going out in the line of duty, he figured that was more or less inevitable given the choices he makes.

But things are different now. There are people counting on him. There are people who care about him.

There are people he cares about too. He doesn't know exactly when they became so important to him. But how does know he doesn't want to die without seeing them again.

He considers his options. He doesn’t have many.

“If I follow the pulsar, I’ll drop out of hyperspace halfway across the galaxy.”

McKay looks at him like he’s stupid. “Yes. That’s rather the point.”

“But the team will be mounting a rescue. I need to stay near to where they left me.”

“That won’t work!” McKay waves his arms in the air. “Even if they find a way to enter hyperspace at exactly the same point you did, and even if they could recreate the accident that sent you here, we’ve still drifted too far to be in communications range. They’ll never find us.”

“What’s your suggestion then? Throw myself at the nearest shiny thing and hope it magically leads me home?”

McKay stops his pacing and kneels in front of Sheppard. He takes his hand. It’s weirdly warm.

“What do you think I’m doing right now? Back on Atlantis?”

Sheppard shifts in his seat and takes his hand back. “I’m sure you’re trying to find me.”

“Ya think?” McKay goes quiet, and that’s so unexpected it rattles Sheppard more than the threat of imminent death.

“This is my fault,” McKay says, standing and turning away. “The jumper hyperdrive was my creation. It’s my fault it failed, and it’s my fault you’re lost.”

“I don’t believe that.” Sheppard waves a dismissive hand. “I’m a test pilot. It’s literally my job to fly experimental vehicles. There’s always a risk. I know that, and if you’re part of me then you know that too.”

McKay turns to give him a sad half-smile. “Yeah. I know you think that. But you also know me - the real me - well enough to know that I’m never going to forgive myself if we lose you.”

That hits a little too close to home. He shoves down the swell of emotion closing up his throat and tries for flippant. “So what? I don’t want you to feel bad, and I don’t want to die here. But pointing my ship to a point in space and hoping you’ll know to find me there? How’s that supposed to work?”

“I know how you think, Sheppard. I know how hyperspace works. I know that your ship has been damaged and that you’re lost. I also know you’ll be able to locate the pulsar. And I know you’ll head toward it. I’ll be waiting for you there.”

“It was months ago that you told me about that pulsar. And I was barely even listening to you at the time! How do you know you’ll remember?”

McKay fixes him with a steady gaze. “I’ll remember.”

Here’s what really happened: McKay invites him to the pier for stargazing. The night is so clear that the stars of Pegasus blanket the sky. The air smells of salt from the sea and the crackling of ozone from the shield generators.

Sheppard pretends to flick through his magazine as he watches McKay set up the telescope. He watches the way his hands dance over components. He listens to him mumbling to himself about which piece goes where.

And then the telescope is ready, and McKay begins searching the sky. Sheppard watches his face as he scrunches up his eyes to focus on the eyepiece. He pretends to drink his beer and he observes.

He’s beautiful like this, Sheppard thinks. Give McKay a puzzle, or a mystery, or an unknown, and he simply expands his mind to meet it. Once he’s solved the problem, then he’ll snap back into his defensive egotistical genius mode. But in the moment just before that - when he sees the solution in front of him, when a new piece of understanding begins to take shape - then McKay glows.

“Ohh,” McKay breathes, face still hovering over the telescope. “Would you look at that. A pulsar, right here in Pegasus.”

Sheppard takes a swig of beer and pretends not to be interested.

It’s one of his favorite memories of Atlantis.

“Even if I wanted to follow your crazy plan,” Sheppard begins.

“Your crazy plan, technically,” McKay interrupts. He gestures to himself. “Figment of your imagination, remember?”

“Even if I wanted to follow this crazy plan, then. Thrusters are out because I used the last of the fuel to stop the spin. The hyperdrive is fried. How am I supposed to maneuver anywhere?”

McKay raises an eyebrow and taps meaningfully on the oxygen gauge. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“The life support? Oh yes, that’s brilliant. Let’s vent the last of my oxygen into space. I always wanted to try death by hypoxia.”

“Venting gases from the ship will create thrust,” McKay says, and he truly must be a fantasy because the real McKay never speaks with such patience. “We don’t need much. Just enough to overcome inertia and start us moving in the right direction. No friction in hyperspace.”

“Even if I vented half the oxygen and got moving, I’d still need to jump out of hyperspace.”

“Oh no no no no no no,” McKay wags his finger, and that’s more familiar. “With the drive in the state it’s in, we will not be jumping out of hyperspace. We will be falling out of hyperspace, like a stone through a pond.”

“That doesn’t sound great.”

“It’s not! But it’s your only option, so hop to.”

Sheppard scowls. “How am I supposed to fix the hyperdrive? You’ve been working on it for months, and you barely got it functioning.”

McKay gives him a look. “You’ve spent years looking over my shoulder. You know how to bypass secondary systems and reroute power to the drive.”

“I do?”

“You do.”

Sheppard finds a spanner tucked under his chair. He grasps it and turns to face the panels full of incomprehensible wiring behind them.

Time to get to work.

McKay and Zelenka are bickering again.

“Your simulations are not only wrong, but reckless as well! You can’t patch primary power cables like that. Unless, of course, you actually intend to blow the prototype up.”

McKay snorts. “Don’t be so timid, Zelenka! The power conduits don’t need to carry that much power long-term. We’re talking a short-term bypass here, not a permanent solution.”

Sheppard focuses on flying the jumper and ignores the voices coming from behind him. He considers closing the bulkhead between the front and rear compartments, but then he’d only have to listen to McKay ranting later.

“A short-term solution which could explode at any moment isn’t viable!”

“Please, it’ll be fine. We only need to avoid patching into the main power distribution node. The hardware for primary and secondary power systems aren’t so different. They’re interchangeable if you’re careful enough.”

“Your desire for glory is outweighing your common sense, McKay.”

“And your petty jealousy is unappealing, Zelenka!”

Sheppard puts on his headphones and tunes out the arguing with the mellow sound of Johnny Cash.

“That’s good.” McKay puts a hand on his shoulder. It feels real. It feels nice. “That should channel all of the remaining power to the hyperdrive, give it enough juice for one last wheeze.”

Sheppard stares at the mass of cabling. He’s been going by instinct: cut here, patch there. He should have learned more about how the puddle jumpers work, and about hyperdrives. But he’s gotten lazy. He’s gotten used to having McKay around for things like this.

“It’ll be fine.” McKay is not known for his generosity regarding the work of others, so Sheppard can only assume he’s done the wiring correctly.

But something is bothering him. “Even if we manage to drop out of hyperspace -”

“When,” McKay corrects, “not if.”

“- And even if you are, somehow, miraculously aware of where I’m heading -”

“I am.”

“How are you going to get there? That pulsar is in the middle of nowhere.”

“Don’t worry.” McKay smiles blithely. “There’s a stargate nearby.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you know, Sheppard. You’ve seen it.”

It feels like decades ago. It was when they had first arrived in Atlantis and they’d been desperately searching for ZPMs. He sits in the control chair and brings up a map of the galaxy in the vain hope it will show the location of a power source.

The room darkens and lights blink on overhead. From where he sits, he can see the Pegasus galaxy from end to end: stars and black holes, planets and comets, all represented in delicate, dancing lights. He searches for power sources and finds nothing.

But there, in a far corner of one of the galaxy’s spiral arms, is a single light flashing on and off, on and off. He notices it out of the corner of his eye, a flashing oddity. Interesting, but not helpful in their current search.

He puts it out of his mind. But as he does so, he notes a label next to the flashing light. The third planet orbiting that flashing star has a stargate.

“You’ve got quite the memory, Sheppard.” McKay is looking at him… oddly. Softly. It’s unnerving.

“Could have been mensa,” he says, unraveling the tension with a smirk.

Predictably, that sends McKay into a rant. “Oh, you just love to bring that up, huh, your great big IQ to go with your great big guns, and you know what else is sure to be huge -”

The power system chooses that moment to scream back to life with a warning klaxon.

WARNING, it says, POWER LEVELS FALLING. LIFE SUPPORT FAILURE IMMINENT.

Right. Time's up.

“If we’re going to do this, we need to do it now,” McKay says. He chews at his lip nervously.

Watching him, a strange serenity washes over Sheppard. Live or die, right or wrong, he is out of options. Time to make a choice.

He locates the pulsar. He prepares to vent the life support. He opens a seal on the opposite side of the ship, and he releases the airlock safety control.

There’s an explosive rush of gas from the vents, and he's slammed into his seat. He punches the airlock shut switch as quickly as he can, hoping he didn't waste too much air.

“Hey!” McKay whoops. “It’s working!”

The ship is moving, sailing through hyperspace and toward the pulsar. He sighs, and takes a moment. At least now he has a destination. It’s better than floating lost.

Then he looks down at his oxygen supply.

OXYGEN LEVELS AT 10% AND FALLING, the system says. DANGER OF PILOT HYPOXIA.

Huh. He should be worried about that, but it seems so far away. It can’t be that important.

There's a rushing in his ears that sounds the roar of the ocean.

He leans back with a smile.

It's the sound of home.

“Sheppard. Sheppard!”

He comes to again with McKay shaking him.

“Don’t you dare pass out on me now.”

“‘M tired.”

“I know. That’s the oxygen deprivation. But you need to hold on a little bit longer. You need to activate the hyperdrive once we’re close enough to the pulsar.”

“He’s not…” His words are slurring. It’s hard to move his tongue. “They’re not going to find me.”

“Yes they are,” McKay’s voice has an edge to it he hasn’t heard before. “Teyla is going to be calling up every contact she’s ever made. She’ll find someone on the nearest planet, and she’ll get us safe passage. And if she runs into any problems, Ronon is going to intimidate the hell out of the entire system until they help. Beckett is on board a rescue jumper right now preparing his medical kit, ready to treat you as soon as they find you. Wier is going to approve the mission in a heartbeat, even though it sounds insane, because she’d sacrifice all of the jumpers and half the city to save you.”

Sheppard blinks. McKay’s face swims before him.

“And I… Sheppard, you already know this, but I am going to move space and time itself to find you. I’m not going to take no for an answer, and I’ll bend the damn laws of physics themselves if I have to. When you drop out of hyperspace, I’ll be waiting there for you.”

McKay’s voice is further and further away. It sounds nice, what he’s saying, but it’s like it’s carrying on the wind across a great crevasse.

“You’ve saved us all so many times, Sheppard. For once, let us save you.”

He wants to believe that. He wants his team to rescue him. He doesn’t want to die here, alone.

But he isn't thinking straight. This whole plan hinges on McKay remembering a conversation from months ago. It’s madness.

“McKay… Rodney… He doesn’t know,” Sheppard croaks. He’s too tired to feel ashamed of how weak he sounds. “He doesn’t know that I listened to him that night. He doesn’t know that I always listen to him. He doesn’t know that..." he breaks off. "I never told him.”

McKay takes his face in his hands and kisses him. It’s so unexpected that it shocks him awake again, enough to register McKay's lips against his own and his fingers tangling in his hair. It’s like a jolt of lightning, like being raised from the dead.

“I know, John,” McKay says, pulling back and looking him dead in the eye. “I’ve always known.”

He points down at the hyperspace activation button.

“Now come home.”

Sheppard summons the last of his strength to raise his arm. It’s like wading through concrete. One last task, he thinks, and then I can rest.

He presses the button.

There’s a ripping sound, a whirl of lights, and then there’s only blackness.

He wakes up to the familiar surroundings of the infirmary: the bustle of doctors moving around, the distant sound of the ocean.

And frowning down at his laptop, McKay, sitting hunched in a chair by his bed.

The breath Sheppard lets out feels like a great weight lifting from his chest.

"Hey," he says. His voice is raspy and everything hurts. "What happened?"

McKay scrambles to his feet. "Sheppard." His face is guilt-stricken. "Carson!" he calls. "He's awake."

Soon enough, the whole team is crammed into the infirmary.

"We had to search the entire pulsar system to find you," Elizabeth explains. "By the time we got to you, your ship had been without power and oxygen for several minutes. Carson worked very hard to get you breathing again on the trip home. You gave us quite the scare."

That would be why his lungs ached.

"It is good to see you awake, John." Teyla bows her head. "I hope you will join me for tea when you are feeling better."

Ronon snorts. "Or come down to the gym for a sparring session if you want a real challenge. I'll be waiting." He grins.

Elizabeth looks around and smiles. "We're all very glad to have you back." She glances at McKay, huddled quietly in the corner. "Even Rodney. He's been here since we brought you in." She gives him a tight nod and turns to leave, guiding Beckett, Teyla and Ronon with her.

Sheppard looks at McKay expectantly.

McKay pushes his laptop aside. He takes a deep breath and straightens himself up like he's heading into battle.

"I'm sorry, Sheppard." He's not quite meeting his eyes. "I sent you out in that ship, and I told you the drive was ready. It's my fault you were stranded. You must be angry, and I'll understand if you want me off the team."

Sheppard raises an eyebrow. "Did I just hear an actual apology? From you?" He breaks into a grin. "My head injury must be worse than I thought."

"Way to ruin the moment, you ass." McKay leans over to punch him in the shoulder, which hurts, but McKay is smiling now so it's worth it. "I'm trying to bare my soul here."

"Well put it away. I'm not angry, and I don't want you to go anywhere." He looks at McKay's fingers twitching anxiously on the bedspread. In a moment of wild abandon, he takes his hand in his own and gives it a squeeze. "I knew you'd find me."

"Oh. Uhh. Really?" McKay is staring down at their joined hands, but he doesn't let go. The tips of his ears go very pink. "That's very. Uhh. I'm touched by your. Uhh. Your faith in me."

The moment stretches, and Sheppard wonders if he's supposed to say something else. Then McKay fidgets, and the moment passes.

"How did you figure it all out, anyway? I saw the state of the A-305. Getting that wreck out of hyperspace can't have been easy."

Sheppard rests back against the pillow. He feels bathed in warm light. "I had some help," he mumbles as sleep begins to take him, "from a very good friend."

It's a week before Sheppard is well enough to be released from the infirmary. He's still a little shaky, but Beckett says he'll be fit for active duty soon enough.

He makes the most of his new-found freedom and tells McKay to join him on the east pier that night, and to bring the telescope. He trades a month's worth of rations for enough meat for a couple of turkey sandwiches and some beers. He figures he at least owes McKay dinner.

When he arrives, McKay already has the telescope set up. A few lonely clouds drift through the night sky, but the stars overhead glow all the same.The lights of the city twinkle, the spires reaching up into the dark sky.

"Will you find it for me?" he asks.

"Find what?"

“You know what.” He gestures at the stars and gives him a smile, which McKay haltingly returns, and he lays out their dinner as McKay tweaks dials on the telescope. It doesn’t take long.

'Here." McKay waves him over, and he looks through the eyepiece to see it once more: blinking in the night, steady like a heartbeat, constant and true. The pulsar.

Sheppard lets out a breath and something soft uncoils in his chest as he looks at it. "That's our star," he says, moving to sit on the pier with his legs dangling over the edge.

"Our star?" McKay joins him. He sits close by, and he radiates warmth in the cool night air. "You're a romantic at heart."

"I guess I am." He can't resist a grin. "It needs a better name though. 'J0056-87' doesn't have much of a ring to it."

As he sounds out each number, McKay's eyes keep dropping to his lips. He leans closer. So does McKay.

"We could always rename it," McKay suggests. There are only a few scant inches between them, and his voice is low.

Sheppard lets this drag out, a shiver of anticipation running up his back. "Any ideas?"

"We could name it after me." McKay grins too. "I mean, as the foremost astrophysicist in not one but two galaxies, it seems only apt -"

Sheppard interrupts what he's sure would be a lengthy recap of McKay's skills and career by kissing him.

Judging by the way McKay kisses him back like he's been starving for it, hands running through his hair and trying to pull him even closer, that was a good call.

It’s dizzying and overwhelming, and it’s also the most natural thing in the world. When they break apart, McKay’s lips are red and kiss-swollen. It’s a sight Sheppard could get used to.

“I’m really glad you made it back to us,” McKay says, chewing his lip.

Sheppard takes his hand. “I had to make it home,” he says, quietly. It’s like leaping headfirst into an abyss, but knowing that someone is there to catch you at the bottom. “Everything I care about is here.”

#stargate atlantis #mcshep #john sheppard #rodney mckay #my writing #i had so much fun writing this #i am living my most self-indulgent life this 2021

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lilylilym · 3 years

Text

Jeankasa also makes sense so far as we want to think about it

Anticipating the possible Jeankasa ending leaks, I wrote a quick Drabble that imagines how Jean and Mikasa feels about themselves and their relationships in regards to Eren’s disappearance during the time skip.

I really appreciate the subtlety of relationship hints in AOT, just like Levihan, I think Isayama really doesn’t dwell much into the affective lives of people in this world, but still establishes enough for readers to extrapolate. I will probably make another post about what I think is Jeankasa relationship as canonically intended to be interpreted, but for now I’ll just say this. A lot of people seem to be upset at the possibility of Jeankasa or think that it’s cheap because he wasn’t Mikasa’s first choice or that she has never been into him. I’m not arguing with that, and not trying to force people into thinking that there are some kinds of interpretation that dominate others. But again, as someone who has lived quite a while, have seen adult relationships and how people make decisions regarding marriage, building families, and whatnot, I think the fact that Jean was still able to imagine his life with Mikasa all the way into the Marley act, like this moment

as well as this

tells me that Jean has a legit friendship and mutually respectful relationship with Mikasa. This is a relationship in which they both recognize and respect the fact that he’s into her and she’s into Eren, and that they do not feel entitled to change the other’s investment. I don’t know about other folks, but I have been in a couple relationships like that, where we were not quite dating but still have a romantic friendship and each respects the other person for the affection that they have for another person. I think that’s the kind of relationship that Jeankasa have. Mikasa knows that Jean is into but not actively pursuing her nor trying to convince her to drop Eren for him, and Jean is dignified enough to not apologize for his feelings for Mikasa but also not creepily trying to make Mikasa his. This type of one-sided romance/courtship is not surprisingly very popular in Asia, Japan in particular, for how it honors the people who are involved. I think Mikasa’ love for Eren is also complicated by the debt she feels toward him, but all in all, I think what is similar between Jeankasa is the fact that they both understand that the best they could do is to be there for the other person and ask nothing in return.

That’s what makes the interaction above interesting; Jean’s insistence on “no, tell me, tell me how he hurts her” signifies that he feels that it’s appropriate to do so right in front of Mikasa. If Mikasa feels burdened by Jean’s attention, his action would have been deeply creepy because you don’t get to stick your nose into your crush’s love affair/business. But that this is OK for him to discuss means that he has always been there as a good friend with no ulterior motive, and Mikasa probably has discussed with him her feelings of Eren. If a woman like Mikasa feels bothered or feels creeped out by Jean, trust and believe, she would draw a line really quick, and Jean wouldn’t even be able to mention Eren’s name around her. So that, for me, is a narrative cue of how Jeankasa definitely has mutually respectful exchanges about their boundaries and relationship regarding the crushes, like “how would you like me to act around you?” and “I know you have a crush on me but sorry I don't” and “it’s okay, I know you don’t but I still care about you but I won’t make you uncomfortable” that type of thing.

Anywho, for whoever is interested in my little drabble about Jeankasa and their contemplations on love and future, keep reading.

Dreams of Faraways

by lilylilym. Paring: Jeankasa, Eremika. Rating G.

One day, while standing guard at the Forest of Giant Trees, Jean asks her, “What are you gonna do if we can’t find him again?” Mikasa glares back at him without saying a word. He wouldn’t divert his eyes, and she knows he isn’t one to budge. After all these years, Jean is no longer the boy who admires her in secret. Both of them know, quite literally, that Jean would die for her. But they both know that in the uncertain time that is coming, they need to be able to do that — to die for one another, regardless of who they are, so long as they are comrades.

“We will. He is not the kind who disappears without having a plan.” Mikasa softens her gaze and turns away.

“Did he tell you his plan?” Jean asks. “I would be very worried if he doesn’t tell you or Armin anything and just disappears like that.”

Mikasa looks down from the branch where she sits. Eren never quite tells her everything. The boy keeps so much secret within him. She sees it; she could feel it sometimes when his attention just fades away from this world and enters one of his own. It has always been like that, since they were kids. Eren doesn’t look at you, his eyes go pass your shoulders, through you, into the faraway that he tells you exists but you can’t quite imagine.

“Mikasa, why do you love Eren?” Jean burrows his eyebrows and decides to ask. In front of Jean, Mikasa doesn’t pull her usual act. She knows that he knows. As cold as her how she’d like to be perceived, it is freeing to have your feelings seen and acknowledged, even to a person it shouldn’t be.

“Jean, why do you love, no, like me?” Mikasa answers as she slowly looks at Jean. Jean looks up while letting out a soft sigh.

“Do you really want to hear that, of do you just want to get out of answering my question?”

“I will tell you once you tell me.” Mikasa quietly smiles. Jean switches his standing leg; his back leans against the big tree.

“I’m a simple man, Mikasa. Superficial, even.” He swipes his nose with the back of his hand, feeling a little flushed. “The first time I saw you, I was amazed by how pretty you look.” Mikasa lets out a soft giggle. Jean feels less tensed as he notices her smiling. “From where I come from, that’s enough. People find each other pretty, pleasant. My mother was seventeen when she met my dad. He courted her for two years before she said yes. And then they have me.”

“I am pretty, huh?” Mikasa repeats to herself. She had wondered this before, about how and why people come to love each other. How they find each other, and belong. She had lived her entire childhood in isolation, on the mountain where the likes of her parents live. They both were chased away from everyone else because of a surname. Even themselves didn’t quite know why; perhaps they did, but were trying to protect her from the truth. Did they find each other only because they’re all there is in that mountain? Sometimes, if she hasn’t exhausted herself during the day, when night falls, she wouldn’t be able to rest. She would lay awake all night, feeling the inside bursting with things she wouldn’t tell anyone. Even Eren. She misses her parents so much, yet they seem like a dream from another life. If they lived, how would her life change? Would she have learned more about them? What kind of memory would she inherit? Would she have married by the time she is eighteen like her mother? Would she hunt like her dad? Would they even let her enroll in the Scout?

“See,” Jean, upon watching her from his branch, scoffs, “You totally didn’t want to answer.”

“You didn’t say the whole truth either.” Mikasa looks up. “You are not simple, or superficial. Maybe you were back then, but you are a good comrade and a good guy. You saved my life.”

“Is that how you see people, Mikasa?” Jean scratches his head. “Good or bad depending on whether or not they save someone’s life? Is that why you and Eren are such suicidal blockheads?”

Mikasa doesn’t answer. Jean continues, “See, this is why I don’t even know if I admire, pity, or like you. Because I, too, want to be able to protect you. But you are so strong, Mikasa, so powerful and efficient, and your loyalty to Eren is so fierce, sometimes I…”

He stops to glance at Mikasa, who is attentively looking at him with an ambiguous look.

“Sometimes I feel unworthy of your presence and that suicidal blockhead’s ambition to something so big that I can’t fathom. It fucks with my head.”

“Why?” Mikasa looks confused as she asks.

“Because,” Jean bursts out in disbelief, “some of us are just human, Mikasa. We just want to live a good life, carve out some space in this nightmare to spend time peacefully with our loved ones, eat good food, drink good drinks. We have seen more than anyone inside the wall could ever ask for, and yet here we are, keep fast forwarding into something we don’t know.” Realizing how harsh he sounds, Jean turns away, avoiding Mikasa’s unflinching gaze.

“Do you ever wish that you remain ignorant of all things, Jean?” Mikasa softly speaks. “I do.” Jean looks at her, anticipating. She continues to look straight into his eyes, “There is a world, many worlds in which all of us have never met one another. You would be elsewhere, eating your mother’s homemade food, and I tend to my family’s garden up in the mountain. Armin probably is reading his book. Eren wouldn’t join the Scout because his mother is still alive, but he will try his damnedest to. I would never stick to him the way I do now, Jean, if that’s the case.”

Jean has never heard Mikasa says this much. He understands to the bone what Mikasa is implying. In the world they live in, the fact that they are brought together, a bunch of kids fighting an ancient battle, it is not something that any of their childish plans could have changed. It was not up to them, since the very beginning, to decide a life for themselves, if the wall would still have been kicked out and humanity’s threatened by outside forces.

“I wouldn’t have been here without Eren. I would still be alive, maybe, but violated, abused, wishing I was dead.” Mikasa continues, her eyes blanking. “I don’t know how much else I owe him, and how far do I go to return the debt, but…” She shakes her head lightly; from Jean’s eyes, he saw her black hair glistening in the sun. “Sometimes I feel unworthy of him too.”

“Mikasa…” Jean gasps. From where he stands, Mikasa looks so vulnerable. Her head tilts down, her shoulders tremble, both hands pressed against the branch where she sits. Jean wonders if she’s shedding tears too, but he’s too afraid to ask. He can feel the sorrow in her voice, and desperately wishes that his urge to embrace Mikasa would be of any comfort to her. But here he is, incapable again, can’t do anything but witnessing the girl he likes going through a heartache. A part of him feels needed, but mostly just sorrowful. He is not big enough to change any of this — not her past, not their life, nor the constant fear of attack from an enemy elsewhere like the last time the Wall fell on them. They have come to know that they don’t know anything, and for that they could never rest again.

“I would get you flowers though.” Jean dazedly speaks. “When the war is no longer and we get our hero salary package and buy a house, I’mma grow so much flowers in our garden. If you grows your hair out again, I will braid it every morning. I will make you eggs for breakfast, from our own farm. You smile so brightly at me, and I would be the luckiest guy in the world. This is what I think to myself all the time, Mikasa, when I feel like dying.” He laughs quietly, like feeling ashamed. “You saved me too, many times, just by existing. So tell me, what beyond dying for Eren do you think of when you think of him? Once all of this is over, what are you gonna do with him?”

Mikasa looks up in disbelief. Jean’s eyes pierce hers, without a hint of reluctance.

“C’mon, Mikasa. You said you love the lad. Surely you must think to yourself some happy scenarios. That’s what we all do.”

Mikasa looks past Jean, into the green forest behind him, where sunlight dances through the tingling leaves. She imagines a sky, blue as clear water. That day, her feet feels the finest of earth sticking inside her toes; sandy beach pulled by the foamy waves. The water falls and rises, over and over again. She had stood there and looked to see if they ever rest. The waves, the ocean, the sand, they seem to have been there before she was born and will still stand after all of them are gone. These organic movements that she never knew existed inside the wall. She never feels so small, so insignificant, and yet so important, for being able to witness things that be. That day, after Eren drags his arm and pointing toward the other side of the sea, Mikasa has pulled him down into and made him taste the salty water. She saw Jean doing it and thought it would be funny. Eren absolutely hated the taste, but for one second, his eyes opened up so brightly. Those green eyes that she adores so much. She loved it when he found things that excite him; it makes standing next to him less unbearable. He had turned around and sought revenge by trying to make her drink the water too. But she was much stronger, and easily disarmed him. Jean has laughed the loudest when Eren was humbly reminded of her strength. Connie and Sasha and their shocked faces made her feel so superior. In the corner of her eyes, Levi and Hanji both snickered at the turn of the event. In those moments, her gaze briefly left Eren and everything else was equally bright. As Armin pulls Eren up from the shallow water, Eren looks at Mikasa attentively, and said with a smile: “I’ll get you next time.”

“We travel the world together.” She says, half-dreaming. “Armin tells us of hot air balloon, so we get on there. Eren holds my hand, and I rest on his chest, and we fly over many, many walls, looking at the people behind us and their busy little lives. I see children running across hills, farmers tending to their crops. I see herds of cows and sheep in open grass. Rivers wrapping around town. Colorful shades of flower fields under our feet. Some people see us and wave. Eren put his arm around my shoulders as he waves back. He kisses the side of my forehead. It feels really nice.”

Jean looks at Mikasa, now fully meeting his gaze. Her eyes seep with tears, as she keeps going.

“We will make friends in strange towns. Eat ice-cream and other sweet pretty things. Drink with people in their homes. Visit water holes where it’s always steamy and hot. See high mountains with water falling down. We will go as far as we can, see as much as we want. We will have our lives to ourselves.”

Mikasa slowly gains consciousness. She blushes, amazed that she just says all of this out loud. Jean nods at her, and she nods back.

As time seems to stand still between them, each following their own deep thought, Connie yells out to them from one of the tents on the ground.

“Hey, you guys, change shift. Come down and eat some food.”

“On it.” Jean yells back. He waves at Connie. Mikasa raises her hand to acknowledge that she hears him. Jean jumps from his branch, landing near where Mikasa sits, and offers his hand. She takes it, and stands up. As they’re about to use the ODGM gear to get down, Jean suddenly says:

“Promise me, Mikasa.”

“Hm?”

“That you’d let at least one of our wishes come true.”

Without waiting for Mikasa’s answer, Jean flies down. From behind, Mikasa looks a bit surprised. She exhales, watching Jean joining the group. All the friendly faces would look up, their hands waving at her to come join them. She turns around and looks at the faraway sky one more time, then fling down as her comrades who let out another collective “ohhhhh” at her incredible speed.

“See you again, Eren.” She thinks to herself as she walks toward her friends.

End.

#this is my first time writing het ship #the power of aot #jeankasa #eremika #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #jean kirschtein fanfiction #mikasa ackerman #jean x mikasa #eren x mikasa

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