#this is so obnoxiously long for a silly little jumble of thoughts

[saetoru]

Tee…

I’m now on my hands and knees BEGGING for bully Gojo who is (secretly) DISGUSTINGLY IN LOVE over the reader PLEASE ANY CRUMBS I WILL TAKE

(you don’t actually have to write this it was just a nice thought)

idkkkkk if it’s rly bully gojo—but he’s definitely a real cunt for sure.

i just think about an asshole! gojo a lot like he’s ur lab partners or something and he does that stereotypical jerk move where he’s like “seriously ?? her ??” when he’s first paired with you. and he’s just naturally an douche, yk ?? wears sunglasses indoors and makes jokes at the professors expense under his breath that gets him snickers and snorts from his frat guys in his class. has to be asked more than once to “please keep it down in the middle of class” by wtv prof he’s in class with.

and he ofc makes u do all the work bc he can’t be bothered—and on the rare occasion that he is bothered, he just does a poor job that’s the bare minimum and sloppy enough that ur like wtv i’ll just do it myself. and then ofc sometimes u don’t have a choice but to meet up to finish something after class every now and then—he wouldn’t care to, but he actually needs to know the stuff for the final report he has to write individually, so he begrudgingly meets up with you, and sometimes you notice his friends give you an amused look when he walks up with them. they snicker before they leave as he sits with you. sometimes they make a snide comment here and there like “have fun with ur super hot date” that makes him roll his eyes—he doesn’t do much to hide the look of distaste on his face.

but then—and he doesn’t even know when it happens—you start to slowly grow on him. because ur actually pretty snarky urself, sometimes making a dry comment here and there about the professor and his stupid bald headed self. sometimes a girl in the distance laughs too hard a group of guys that u roll ur eyes and mumble how “if i had a voice like that i’d never laugh in public” and it makes him snort a bit without meaning to. sometimes you stare daggers at the person who has their music so loud thru their headphones they can’t help but notice u and turn it down in embarrassment. ur actually not as much of a pushover as he thought—you just genuinely think he’s too incapable to help u out that you’ve just shrugged him off and started doing his part. it’s an easy weekly lab class anyway, you don’t need him—and then he realizes that u rly just don’t care for him. his little snickers at u with his friends and their snide comments roll off ur back bc well…he’s him—an asshole little frat boy and u didn’t expect anything better from him. so it makes him a little intrigued—maybe a little wounded in his pride, deep down, because no one has ever been indifferent to him before. they’re either madly in love, or they hate his guts, or they follow his lead. either works—he still gets the attention he craves.

but u just don’t rly care. and ur actually pretty cool, and kinda sorta funny in a way no one else is. he likes it…and fuck, now he’s starting to like you. he can tell bc when his friends ask how his little date with you went, he starts getting a bit huffy ab it bc they don’t need to talk about you. they don’t even know you…but also….its not a date. and that’s the worst part. sometimes it feels like a date. almost—sometimes you both decide to take a break in between and go get a coffee or a light snack. sometimes he’s even paid (to which you look mildly shocked before politely thanking him) and you both walk back to the library while u make light banter and it’s…well, fun. and nice. and your laugh is pretty. and your smile is kinda cute and he (though he hates to admit it) rly likes it when u laugh because of him.

and then things start to get messy—really, he didn’t mean for it to start this way. he really was meaning to ask you in a genuine manner to see u again once the semester was finished. because he’s actually started pulling his weight—he wants u to see him for someone who’s smart. satoru is actually rly rly smart and no one knows it because he doesn’t rly show it but he is. he wants u to see that side of him—somehow there’s some sick validation he rly needs from you knowing he’s not a dense frat guy who drinks and fucks until 3 am every night. so he starts doing his parts and actually communicates with u about sections. so starts ur texting routine—sometimes a little longer than u rly need to for just doing a lab together. sometimes it’s “did u hear ab that girl in our class getting dumped in front of the kfc ??” and sometimes it’s “god our prof rly needs to get some pussy” and other times it’s “look what the guy who sits behind us just posted on his story” and it leads to a few long convos that admittedly…are rly fun. ur so fun. he likes it. he rly does like u and he thinks maybe….maybe he’s grown on u too and you know what ?? satoru’s always a jerk but ur nice and who’s to say he can’t be nice too ?? just for one person. for u, he can be a nice guy—u carried lab all on ur own long enough that u deserve it anyway.

until he gets swayed in that way only a coward can. in that way you do when ur used to being “the man” around ur friends and ur too pressured to keep up that energy for appearances sake bc u don’t wanna be the laughing stock who softened up for “some nerdy chick who’s a nobody.” so he laughs when they laugh at the fact that ur probably “still a virgin who’s never touched a guy before” and then they’re patting gojo on the back and shoving at his shoulder as they laugh harder and suggest that “y’know what would be so funny man ?? if u took her virginity. you could probably do it.”

the thought is sickening because…satoru wouldn’t want to fuck you like that. god, you have him caring about when and how he fucks you—in fact, just thinking about you lewdly makes him feel guilty. disrespectful, even. you’re more than a fleshlight for his dick. since when did he become so respectful ?? but he doesn’t know how to say no, especially when everyone starts agreeing one after the other—and oh no, now they’re betting on how quickly he can do it….and oh, now it’s not just fucking. now it’s “how long until you think she’s head over heels for you? man, that would be a sight, huh ??”

and….well, satoru decides it couldn’t hurt, right ?? he does want to be romantically involved so that would include you being head over heels. hopefully. fingers crossed. and he doesn’t rly want to seem lame in front of the guys either, so he gets to keep both sides of the coin, so is it really that bad ?? maybe not the right idea but certainly the right execution. he’ll treat you well—that much he’s confident of. so he forces out a laugh and says “gimme a month or two, you’ll see.”

and a month or two they give him. and a month or two it takes—but not for you to be head over heels. it’s him who’s utterly and completely obsessed and fallen head first and whatever else they say to describe love because wow. this must be what it is. this must be that stupid fairytale shit they always talk about because fuck, no one has ever looked at him like that. like he’s some miracle to this earth and some wonder only you know of—like you hope it stays that way and that he’s yours and yours alone and no one else comes in to take him away. satoru really likes being yours, it kinda feels better than you being his. being yours means you hold him like that at night and wake him up to a kiss between his brows and sometimes, when he gets those migraines he’s prone to getting, you always seem to know. always seem to understand when to close the blinds and keep quiet and wrap him up in the covers as you rub your thumbs over his temples soothingly.

he almost forgets about that silly little bet he made two months ago when he’s around you. actually, he forgets everything when he’s around you. he’s only ever thinking about you, you, you. when he comes back to his frat house, on the other hand, they’re all gathered around waiting for the newest details. how you must’ve been so pathetically star struck by him. how you must be embarrassingly bad at kissing. how you must stutter over every other word around him. how you must be making a complete and utter fool of urself trying to impress him and be someone you’re not bc the real you would never pique his interest.

they’re wrong ofc. if anyone’s star struck, it’s satoru bc how the hell are u so…cool ?? and so funny and witty and carefree ?? and you’re good at kissing—have him chasing your lips with a whine every time. sometimes you even chuckle at him when he does and make him blush a bit. he’s the one who stutters over his words when he sees you in your little date night outfits. sometimes he watches you drink from your straw and his brain short circuits a little until you snap at him and ask him in confusion if he’s alright. but the real kicker ?? it’s that if anyone’s pretending, it’s satoru. you’re always just you—unapologetically so, that it’s endearing and beautiful and so unearthly he wonders how he got so lucky. but him ?? he’s always acting like some guy he’s not. some chivalrous guy who opens doors and pushes out seats and kisses the back of hands and waits at least a few dates before even considering fucking. some nice, sweet, genuine guy who’s deserving.

he’s not that—never was. if you knew the real him, you’d leave in a heartbeat. it’s a scary thought. a raw feeling he doesn’t like. makes him feel all self conscious and insecure and all that weird shit he never thought he’d feel.

he tries. so hard, he tries to make them forget about that silly little bet and just slowly drop it and maybe even forget ur dating so he can just stay living this peaceful little fantasy with you—but that’s stupid. that’s naive. it’s been 4 months and enough is enough—the guys need to see the look on ur face when u realize what a fool ur being and satoru is “being a lazy ass who’s too comfortable not having for work for pussy these days.” so then there’s a video going around. it’s everyone gathered around on the couch drunk and talking about you. and satoru. you both, in fact. how it’s been two months and u seem desperate for his attention with the shrill little voice you use to call him toru, baby! it’s so, so fucking embarrassing, they say. how you think he likes it. (he does. god he does so much, it hurts. he loves it, actually, when you call him that. makes him feel special in a way he never has.) but then, the worst, most disgustingly nauseous part of the whole thing is when satoru laughs along and plays into their awful words. just lets them talk about you like you’re some piece of meat. something for him to chew up and spit out after he has a taste or you. not even worth savoring and enjoying. he laughs along and agrees—you’re nothing special and he can’t wait until he’s free of you.

that part hurts. that part sucks the most—when he acts like he didn’t tremble under your touch every time you kissed him. like he didn’t beg you to stay just five more minutes! before walking out the door to go home. he acts one way in front of you and one way in front of them and what’s worse ?? you don’t know which one is real. couldn’t tell even if your life was on the line to decide. because there’s no way he’s that good at pretending to be desperately in love, no fucking way. but there’s also no way he can be in love if he’s talking about you like that. that’s not what love is—that’s not what love feels like. that’s not what it means to someone.

you don’t know which satoru is the real one, but you know that neither is worth your time. not if he can’t stick to it.

it’s terrible thing—the way you break up. it’s messy and teary and he’s begging, he’s actually begging. he never thought he’d do that. but he doesn’t even hesitate to plead for you to hear him out. baby, please let me explain. wait, please don’t walk away—please just listen! i can explain.

he can’t explain, though when you as him to. stands there with a bitten bottom lip and teary eyes that are pleading you to just stay with him. to overlook this and just … ignore it like it’s nothing. like what he did and said was just nothing and you can shrug it off like you’re nothing too. like your feelings are nothing and so is your worth and that’s why you should just ignore the way he absolutely destroyed your pride and reputation and dignity and worse….every ounce of your love.

such deep, raw, pure love—it’s almost enough to heal every dry crack and crevice of this earth and bring it back to life.

you look at him with teary eyes and something so broken, it makes him feel like dirt beneath your feet.

“it’s embarrassing, satoru,” you hiss that night through tears, “you’re in your twenties getting a degree and you’re still just a high school bully. life’s really gonna kick you in the ass some day.”

life’s already kicking him in the ass as soon as you walk out. the air is colder. the world is dimmer. food doesn’t taste as good and fuck—there is just so much loneliness when you have no one to be yourself with. when there’s no you.

but he supposes you’re right though—he is just a bully. it’s pathetic, really. and maybe it’s for the best. maybe you don’t deserve someone who’s only ever known how to feel good because someone else doesn’t.

#bye #this is so obnoxiously long for a silly little jumble of thoughts #maybe i’ll flesh it out and make it an actual fic tho #bully! gojo tag

[btsmosphere]

Crossfire | KTH

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Moodboard Masterlist

~summary: The night your life blew up sent you on a collision course with the campus bad boy, Kim Taehyung. Though you were well aware of his reputation, it was his doorstep you ran to when you were bleeding with nowhere to go.

~word count: 6.4k

~gang!au, mafia!au, college!au, angst, fluff, action, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers

Warnings: swearing, injury, dangerous driving, mention of drugs (warnings apply to each part individually, please read them)

~a/n: I am actually super happy with this chapter, I hope you guys feel the same! Y/N and Tae go on a lil adventure... I also had to make up a name for a cartoon show for this lmao,, and as always, thanks for the love!! 

Something was tugging you from sleep.

Softly, though, so you didn’t notice until it was already too late, and your senses were with you all at once. In one last protest against the waking world, you didn’t open your eyes, stubbornly lying there instead, your back to the side of the bed Taehyung used. Then the same something that had woken you up started again.

He was singing.

That was all it took, and your eyes were open, body stiffening. Taehyung, however, noticed nothing. His song continued, one you had never heard before, and his voice was beautifully soft and smooth, expressive even at such a low volume. Clearly he had been hoping not to wake you up.

Swallowing, you forced your eyes to fall closed again. After the initial shock, you soon found it easy to relax to his calming melody, the duvet and pillow enveloping you in combination with his voice. And despite the warmth in your little bubble under the covers, goosebumps rose along your arms.

You really couldn’t get your head round Taehyung.

Though you had seen him being silly, all that time at college you had spent at a distance from him, he had seemed cold, intimidating. It had been a shock to you when he had been so amicable those months ago, and that soon became the Taehyung you knew, but he was still a mystery… His singing had really thrown you for a loop, another puzzle piece thrown in amongst the jumble you were already trying to make sense of when it came to this boy.

All day, you couldn’t get his song out of your head. Specifically, his voice.

His voice. Singing his song.

Him, him, him.

Last night he had mentioned that the books he had brought you were some of his favourites. Another surprise: who would have known that Kim Taehyung, the king of bad reputation, had a hidden love of fashion, an inner art connoisseur?

Now the books meant something different.

You read them even quicker after that, drinking in every word as if there were a drought.

Perhaps there was.

When you finished the last one in the stack, you were instantly back to the real world within four walls. It was only morning as well, judging by the light. Brilliant. One whole day and nothing to do.

“Y/N!”

Obnoxious footfalls. Taehyung was taking the stairs two at a time.

The bedroom door swung open to a slightly breathless Taehyung, leaning his weight against the door handle he had yet to let go of.

“Sorry it’s so late. You okay?”

You were lying across the bed’s width, head falling over the end nearest him, hair brushing the floor.

“Yep. Do you want me to cook?”

He only frowned down at you for a second longer before continuing as if one member of the conversation wasn’t upside down.

“Ah, no. I didn’t get any food.”

“But we basically ran out yesterday,” you frowned.

“I know,” he said, “but today we are going to the food.”

Now that made you sit up.

“What?”

“Yep,” a proud smile made its way onto his face and he straightened up, “we’re going out.”

When your only response was a wide-eyed stare, he took it as his cue to elaborate.

“I know you’ve been going a little crazy inside, so I thought we could go for an adventure. Hobi’s racing tonight and he says we can join him.”

“Hoseok?” you questioned.

“Yeah. Sound good?”

It did. You knew it shouldn’t. You weren’t naïve – you knew what he meant by racing. Idiots breaking every road law possible for clout, or maybe money. It was precisely what you had always stayed away from.

But it sounded so good.

“Sounds perfect,” you grinned.

First, Taehyung helped you find the pair of his jeans you were most likely to fit into; since you had been at his, you had mainly worn sweats for comfort’s sake, but this occasion called for a change. Wearing a hoodie was non-negotiable though, to hide your face.

After rolling up the hem of his black jeans, you slung on the most nondescript hoodie he had. Shoes, however, were more of an issue, so Taehyung vowed to buy you some once you were out. Also wearing black, Taehyung looked much more stylish than you in cargo pants, a bomber jacket and a bandana.

“Did you take your painkiller?” was the last thing on the list before finally leaving, via the side door.

Night had descended completely by now, putting you more at ease. You walked far away from streetlights when you could, but as you drew closer to the city centre, that was the last thing on your mind.

Being outside was just what you needed. You breathed in the cold air and drizzle on your face, eyes following each car that whirred past and people’s boots splashing in puddles of melted neon. And what made it all the more thrilling was the knowledge that you were taking a risk.

So far, you had been clumsily walking around in Tae’s sliders, until suddenly a man came barging past you on the sidewalk. In your dash to dodge him, you tripped over the too-big shoes, barrelling straight into Taehyung’s stomach where his arms steadied you.

You barely had a chance to straighten before Tae had turned around, bent down and grabbed the backs of your knees, forcing you to fling your arms around his neck, shrieking as he hoisted you onto his back. Grinning while you complained into the back of his neck, he carried on, but soon he was dragging you into a store that was still open – though not for long – and you grabbed the cheapest sneakers going.

With that problem solved, food was the next priority. In the end, you chose a street vendor and headed to your rendezvous with steaming bags in hand.

Not far from the centre, once you wound through the smallest streets enclosed by the tallest buildings, you emerged onto a car park. It wasn’t as secluded as you had expected for underground racing, still lit up in colours by the signs of shops that backed onto it, the entrance opening onto a wide road.

Cars were lined up, one pulling up at the same time as you and Taehyung. None were flashy sports cars: instead the line-up came in various states of repair, altered by their owners with darkened windows, underglow, stickers, spoilers, you name it.

“Hoseok!”

Beside you, Taehyung shouted across the car park, waving an arm above his head. Then his hand wrapped around your wrist and he lead you through the thin crowd over to the older bangtan boy, who pulled his friend in and clapped him on the back.

Hoseok joined the two of you as you sat on the wall to eat, watching as the first few people showed off their wheel spins and donuts, revving engines mixing with whoops and yells from the spectators. Most were dressed in black like you. A handful of people came up to chat with the boys, with ‘haven’t seen you in a while’-s to Taehyung and offers of bets for Hoseok. Keeping your head well down, you just enjoyed your food, silently taking in the new environment.

The night had cleared up, the asphalt still shining from the earlier drizzle, but the puddles now lay still as glass.

Plenty of people had bottles in their hands, sitting around on the perimeter walls. In the opposite corner, those with hidden faces crowded together, almost hiding the exchange in their hands. Others sat on their bonnets, proudly talking to the interested huddle gathered around them.

“Right, I’m gonna get warmed up,” Hoseok dropped down from the wall and departed with one last wave to your well wishes.

As Hoseok pulled his car out of its spot, more followed. Rolling down his window, he rested his arm casually against the side as he guided his car round, revving here and there to elicit hollers from the crowd.

Laughing in the driver’s seat, he hit the gas, putting on a spurt of speed and skidding round in a perfect one-eighty. A cloud was thrown up by his back tyres, glittering as the droplets fell back down.

By now, you had finished eating and were anticipating some action. The buzz among the spectators grew more as each driver messed about in the parking lot, until at last they were filing out, lining the empty road along an imaginary starting line.

“Can we go closer?” you asked Taehyung as people gravitated towards the roadside, disturbing your view.

A smile bloomed on his face and he jumped down, ditching his takeaway.

“Sure.”

Weaving in and out of the rabble to reach the front, you stood on your tiptoes to spot Hoseok’s car in the middle of the line. Taehyung stood just behind you, already speaking to someone. From your left side, a taller girl pushed past you, striding right up to the curb.

In a ripple, the pack quietened. The girl raised her hand – was that a gun? – and a bang sounded, drowned out instantaneously by the squealing of tyres and growling of engines. Within seconds, the cars had sped out of sight.

“How long is the race?” you turned to Taehyung, whose acquaintance had walked away again.

“That depends how fast Hoseok decides to go,” he murmured back, perching on the wall behind him and kicking his legs out, “they’re on one of the city circuits, main roads, so it’s just about acceleration.”

Nodding in what you hoped was a casual manner, you returned your eyes to the deserted road.

“So he’s good then, Hoseok?”

You hopped up onto the wall beside Taehyung, but it wasn’t his voice that replied.

“Oh, he’s the best.”

Your head snapped around, leaving you face to face with Yoongi. Leaning against the end of the wall, smoke swirling up from a glowing cigarette end in his hand, he looked right at home. How long had he been standing there?

“I heard you were here,” he directed a rare smile past you to Taehyung, “everyone’s wondering if you’re gonna go for a spin.”

“It’s been a long time,” Taehyung chuckled.

“Beck’s next up,” he said, as if that was meant to mean something. Based on Taehyung’s reaction, it probably did.

Shaking his head, he laughed, then bit down on his lip, still smiling, and stared into his lap.

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Well you won’t have long,” Yoongi crushed his cigarette against the wall, chucking it carelessly to the ground. Sure enough, the screech of tyres and distant rumble of engines were once again becoming audible.

As Yoongi melted away into the crowd again, the sounds grew and you stood up again, craning your neck to see as far down the road as you could. Only seconds later, a pair of headlights blazed around the corner, drawing a line down your vision as the car flew towards you, followed by a tight group of others.

Stepping back, you watched as the first place car whizzed by, blowing your hair back and off your face, the rest piling across the line in a photo-finish a few seconds later.

While the cars slowed, drifting round to return to the car park and the assembled cheering crowd, an elbow nudged your arm.

“Do you fancy a ride?”

Your eyes slid between Taehyung and the cars re-entering the lot, quickly encircled by people.

What the hell were you thinking? Why were you even considering saying yes? This was crazy-

“Okay!”

Taehyung held you in front of him, shielding you as together you cut a path through the excited mass towards the victor of the last race. Hoseok was grinning from ear to ear, arms in the air, high-fiving people and showing off energetic dance moves in exchange for laughter and pats on the back.

Once again, Taehyung clapped his shoulder, this time leaning in to make his request. Hanging back, you were invisible in the crowd, your face obscured.

“Hey, everyone!” Hoseok shouted, causing a hush, “Taehyungie’s gonna do the next one!”

Cheers and excited applause erupted as Hoseok lifted Tae’s hand in the air. The older boy jumped around while Taehyung laughed, and before long the other drivers were back in their cars. Returning to the roadside, the crowd left you behind.

“Hop in,” Taehyung told you, making his way to the driver’s side.

Though not top-end, Hoseok’s car was not inexpensive. You slid into the leather seat and buckled up, Tae doing the same before gripping the wheel and getting it moving, out and onto the road.

“So where are we going?” you eyed the rabble from your window as you passed them, low rumble of the engine almost teasing given what was to come.

“Beck,” Taehyung replied, pulling into position, one hand staying loosely on the wheel, “it’s what we call one of the courses round the back alleys down by Beck square, and it’s sort of my speciality.”

You nodded, eyes falling back onto the wide open road in front of you. A few cars over, you saw the girl from before standing on the curb.

“You ready?”

A deep breath in.

“Yeah,” you smiled.

Bang.

Outside, the crowd blurred and disappeared, lights whipping past your window as you were forced back in your seat with the sudden speed.

Other cars encroached either side, penning you in but Taehyung kept his eyes ahead, locking the wheel all the way right to take you barrelling into a smaller road, with only one car ahead of you. At the back windscreen, purple headlights were bearing down on you, so close it was like a demon staring into the car.

Weaving, left, right, your car thundered after the red one ahead of you, but the gap only increased.

Snarling behind you, engine nearly as loud as your own, your main pursuer was on top of you. As you spilled out onto a wider road, it was gaining, crawling up your side.

With a glint in his eye, Taehyung took one look at the competitor, one glance to where the red car was turning the next corner some way ahead, and pulled the wheel.

Staring straight ahead, wheel at arm’s length, Taehyung pushed the car, the roaring engine riding a deafening crescendo as you powered ahead through the deserted alley he had taken you down. You winced as he rapidly squeezed past some industrial bins lining the wall, only grazing one with slight jolt – then it was a clear road to the growing exit.

Your car fired from the shortcut like a cannonball, Taehyung wrestling the wheel to bring the back tyres under control as you turned right, finding yourselves neck-and-neck with the red car from earlier.

Next, a drawn-out corner, and that was all Taehyung needed to pull away, expertly drifting around before flattening his foot to the ground, plunging into the darkest alley yet, lit only by your headlamps. But once you emerged, the wider road was back, shop signs and streetlights blurring outside.

Taking a glance behind, the red car was nowhere to be seen.

A laugh bubbled up from your throat as you fell back in your seat, exhilarated. And then there was the crowd, watching and waiting by the parking lot – you had won!

“Fuck me,” you breathed as Taehyung relaxed beside you, casually braking into a drift to turn around.

A hearty laugh returned from him as he pulled into the car park, soon getting swarmed. Exiting the car, you were both engulfed in the clamouring mass, though you managed to slip away to the midst of it. Everyone was the most interested in Taehyung.

At last, most had dispersed and only Hoseok and Yoongi were left congratulating Taehyung with hugs.

“Fun, right?” Hoseok smiled at you, inviting you into their conversation.

“Yeah.” Breathless as if you had just run the course, you laughed with them.

“Good job, you haven’t lost your touch,” Yoongi affirmed again as Hoseok left you to drive again.

By the sounds of it, the next race was a longer one. Bets had been made and you all held your breath as the cars lined up again. The starting gun did nothing to help your heart calm down after the adrenaline rush of Taehyung’s race, but you weren’t complaining. His face wore a similar joy to yours, the two of you happily sitting back after Yoongi left and laughing about the thrill of his driving.

“I dunno if I would have got away so well on the corner if Hoseok’s car wasn’t so good though-“

“Hey! Don’t downplay it, your driving was insane!”

“Maybe it was insane,” he looked down, bashful, but soon smiled back and shook his finger at you, “so don’t try this at home!”

But your laughter at his joke was interrupted.

Sailing over the buildings came the high-pitched wail of a siren. The group quietened. Listening. Perhaps it was unrelated?

A couple of people walked into the road, looking around to see if the vehicle was coming your way. It was definitely getting too close for comfort.

Taehyung stood, hand wrapping round your upper arm and lightly pulling you away from the front of the crowd, though both of you still stared at the road, hoping the sound would shrink again, pass you by.

Blue flashed against the rain-slick road, illuminating dark windows at the end of the street.

Bad luck.

“Run!”

Those who were standing in the road took off across it, away from the car park, while some scattered back to where they came from. The few cars left standing in the parking lot were starting up, leaving by the alleys. And in the middle of the crowd, you and Taehyung started running.

In seconds the parking lot had emptied, and now you were alone with Taehyung as other members of the party vaulted walls away from the sirens and shouting police officers, the slamming of car doors as they gave chase.

Air rushed in and out of your lungs as your feet pounded after Taehyung, going as fast as you could but still falling behind. Dark buildings either side of you were painted in blue as light fell down the alleyway from the cars that had scattered you. Up ahead, Taehyung rounded a corner, but it was lost in darkness and you weren’t sure which one he had gone down.

You didn’t stop running.

“Stop there! Police!”

A woman yelled from the other end of the street, making you push yourself harder.

Just then, Taehyung skidded back around the corner you had just reached and grabbed your hand before you could think, and now he was pulling you away, taking turn after turn through dark streets you had never seen before. Stumbling after him, you clutched his hand, your lifeline.

You must have lost them by now. No blue lights could be seen, no sirens or shouts heard, no other footsteps but your own.

You hoped you had lost them by now. Your heart was beating out of your chest and your head spun, lungs failing to cooperate, evicting air in heavy bursts, taking it in too slow. In your side, the pain couldn’t be masked by the painkiller anymore, pinching mercilessly with every step.

You had to slow down.

Legs failing you, you finally gave in to stopping.

The sudden tug and then loss of your hand in his made Taehyung turn around, finding you doubled over, panting and pale in the face. Eyes scanning the street beyond you for danger, he moved forwards, hands gripping your arms.

“Hey, Y/N, can you keep going?”

Only your hyperventilating answered him.

“Y/N? Can you hear me?”

Trying to pull you up to look at him, he was only met with your body going heavier in his arms, forcing him to scramble to wrap his arms around your back as you went limp.

Cursing, he lowered you to the ground but didn’t let go. Not taking his eyes off your face, he caught the moment your eyes opened again once you were leant against the wall.

A short breath escaped him, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you managed, breathing more even now, “my side…”

“It’s alright, you can rest for a bit,” he assured you, finally releasing you and sitting back on his heels.

One more check up and down the alley.

“Were we seriously just running from police?” you laughed slightly, bringing his attention back to you.

“First time for everything,” he mused, sitting down beside you.

“I guess,” you chuckled, still a little breathless, “so is the racing over?”

“For tonight. It gets busted occasionally, so when the others get back and see everyone’s gone they’ll know what happened.”

“Is Hoseok going to get arrested?”

“Shouldn’t do. He’s had plenty of practice evading cops.”

Nodding, your eyes returned to the ground. It was easy to forget how much experience Taehyung and the other bangtan boys had in all this; you were just here for the ride.

“You had your painkiller, right?” Taehyung broke the brief silence.

“Yeah, I did,” you quickly confirmed, “and I feel better now, I just, I dunno what happened…”

“And your iron pill?”

“Hmm? Oh, the red ones… no, I-I don’t think so.”

He clicked his tongue.

“That’ll be it then. You’re taking one as soon as we get home.”

Despite feeling a little like you were being scolded, you smiled, about to respond when a scuffle from the end of the street made you both turn your heads.

As you watched the dimly lit space, a silhouette ran past in a blur, followed by a slower figure, wearing an unmistakeable bulky police vest. They jogged past the opening to your street, but soon their outline reappeared, empty handed.

Breath catching in your throat, you went obligingly with Taehyung as he stood silently, his arm guiding you behind him without taking his eyes off the cop. As quickly as you dared, you both retreated, wincing at each slight crunch beneath your feet. In the silence, the crackling of a police radio, though incomprehensible, was clearly heard, and the officer mumbled back into it.

Spying an opening to hide you from view, you gathered this was your target. Holding your breath, you approached it, swinging around the corner at the first opportunity with only one glance back.

One glance that showed the cop’s head turning towards you.

This alley was much smaller than the other, and you found yourself facing Taehyung in much the same way you had in his hallway when you first came barging into his life. Searching his face, you wondered if he had seen what you did just now.

“Tae-“

His lips formed around a shushing sound that barely left his mouth, and in one small step, he was up against you, a finger steady on your lips to silence you. All you could do was hold your tongue and stare as he looked past you, tentatively dipping his head out of your hiding spot, never lowering his finger.

“They’re gone,” he spoke, voice still impossibly low.

Swallowing, you removed your eyes from his face, glancing up the alley you were now on. It was a dead end, home only to a large dumpster surrounded by smashed glass and needles. You couldn’t leave this way, which would explain why you needed to wait here, in case the cop was still close by.

What it didn’t explain was why Taehyung was still so close to you.

Although his hand had now lowered, you could feel his body heat from this proximity. The zip of his undone jacket brushed against the front of your hoodie.

Your tongue ran across your lips. Eyes finally diverted from the potential dangers outside, Taehyung was now looking at you.

“Uh…” you cleared your throat, regretting opening your mouth. You had no idea what you had planned to say.

Luckily, you were startled from the situation as a chiming ringtone broke through the moment.

Scrambling to scoop his phone from his pocket and answer it, Taehyung stumbled back, eyeing the alleyway outside in a panic. Thankfully, no one had heard. Better get moving.

“Hello?”

Not even getting a look at the caller in his rush to pick it up, Jungkook’s voice answering him was a relief.

Mindlessly grabbing your hand in his, Taehyung started walking with you beside him as he listened to the younger member. As you passed through the end of the street, he took a look both ways before leading you the opposite way to that the police officer had taken.

Holding Kim Taehyung’s hand was something you had never seen coming. But here you were.

You didn’t complain though. His grip was firm, comfortable, and walking with him this way felt… normal. How that was even possible, you didn’t know, and you blamed it on your lingering light-headedness – of course you would want to feel grounded.

But somehow, far away from all you knew in backstreets you had never seen before, after a very illegal night, with a gang member talking in serious tones over the phone next to you, you felt perfectly at home.

“Cheers, Kook. Night.”

Taehyung shut off the call, tucking his phone back into his pocket. By now you had reached more well-lit roads that you imagined would be busy by day. Now, of course, you were the only ones here. God knew what time it was.

The only light brighter than the streetlamps was the interior of a 24-hour convenience store, a good indication that it was by no means a civilised hour. Still without letting your hand go, Taehyung led you inside.

Standing in front of the wall of fizzy drinks, he ordered you to pick one before swiping a packet of crisps and a chocolate bar. The teenage cashier didn’t look you in the eye once as he rung you up, and then you were on your way. Only now did Taehyung drop your hand, passing you the chocolate with a command to get your sugar up and himself tearing into the crisps.

When you had worked through the first row, he spoke up.

“Jungkook was on the phone about your dad.”

“O-oh,” you stuttered, having just put another square in your mouth.

“Well he’s okay. He hasn’t been hurt, but as you know, Shinhyuk’s forced him to hand over your apartment for the gang to use. He’s forcing him to work for him, full-time, with the threat of harm to you if he doesn’t… Apparently he was accused of stealing drugs from a deal and that warrants all this – though it’s probably baseless. Shinhyuk had his eyes on your place already.”

You watched your feet as you listened. It had been easy to put your dad out of your mind for the sake of your sanity, the not knowing taking you round in circles, but hearing that he was still alive took a weight from you.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung said, greeted with your silence, “we’re fighting against Shinhyuk, and we’ll try to help him. Try not to worry about him losing his job, I mean-“

“Worry?” you looked up at him, “He’s alive! There’s nothing to be sorry for! Can you thank Jungkook for finding this out?”

A small, relieved smile crossed Taehyung’s face.

“Course I can,” he grinned, then held out your Fanta, “now don’t forget about your sugar.”

After this, the walk home was surprisingly short. Given how lost you were, you had thought you were half the city away, but in next to no time you turned onto recognisable streets. Strolling through the dark eating sugary snacks, it felt as if you were coming home from the movies, or any venture more innocent than your night of racing.

As the pair of you were climbing Tae’s front steps, he offered to make tea to warm up. Needless to say, you were fully on board with the idea.

He set to work, the kitchen lit dimly by lights tucked underneath the cupboards.

However, leaning against the wall waiting for the water to boil, you began to feel just how tired you were, both physically and mentally. But you could sleep later: you didn’t want the night to end yet. Deciding on a middle ground, you gave in to sliding down the wall, seating yourself on the floor. Not a move you would have chosen at your most alert moments, but it couldn’t be helped.

At your downwards movement, Taehyung spun around, dropping the teaspoon with a clatter.

But then he saw you staring back at him in bewilderment, and his eyes closed as he huffed in equal parts relief and frustration.

“God, I thought you were passing out again,” he grumbled.

Soon the bag of red pills landed in front of you on the tile. Sheepishly smiling, you gulped one down, and then a mug of tea filled its space.

“Oh, we don’t have to stay here,” you frowned at Tae as he sat down opposite you on the kitchen floor, leaning his back against the cupboards as he cradled his tea.

“Nah, it’s a unique perspective,” he said, “I’ve never sat here before and it’s my house.”

“Yeah, I’m sure your kitchen looks super different from down here,” a smile threatened to break your baffled frown, though you did pick up your mug, breathing in the inviting steam rising from it.

“So was tonight okay?” Taehyung smiled over his mug, eyes creasing a little as they watched for your answer.

“Mmm, yeah,” you swallowed your first sip of tea, “I’ve never… done anything like that before. But I thought it was really exciting! Hoseok is so nice too, letting you drive his car.”

Tae let out a short laugh, eyes disappearing for a moment.

“I practically learnt to drive in Hobi’s cars.”

“Wait, cars? As in, cars, plural?”

“Yeah,” his wide grin stayed on his face, both rows of his teeth visible in the low light, “tonight was just small races, he didn’t get out the big guns. You should see his Bugatti.”

Your eyes bulged from your head.

“I’m not even going to ask where he got the money for that,” you mumbled, still in awe.

“He didn’t,” Taehyung smirked. Rolling your eyes, you breathed a laugh, soon diving back into your tea.

“Was it alright with Yoongi there?” he asked next. His eyes were wider now, curious, smile dimming, “I know he hasn’t exactly been…”

“No, it was fine,” you assured, “I get that he doesn’t like me, but he seems to tolerate me now, so I won’t push him.”

“He did sort of beat you up before, though,” Tae pointed out.

“I nearly beat him up back!” you joked, admittedly motivated by genuine defensiveness, “I could have handed his ass to him any time I pleased, but I chose to give you the satisfaction of saving me instead.”

Taehyung responded by snorting into his tea.

“You are so rude,” you tipped your foot over to playfully kick his thigh as you both laughed.

“Honestly, I’m glad you’re not too bothered by Yoongi,” Taehyung said once the laughter had passed, though his smile still lingered, “he looks so tough, but he’s a massive softie really.”

You simply raised your eyebrows.

“You’ll see,” he smirked.

“I’ll wait,” you scoffed, “although I don’t find him scary exactly… he sort of reminds me of that evil magician from Archie-wizz- did you watch that?”

“Yes! I used to watch that every day after school!”

“Yeah, so you know the one I’m on about, right? He was always lurking around corners, like, the camera would turn around and there he was, like he’d been there the whole time. That’s Yoongi!”

Tae barked a disbelieving laugh.

“You mean Count E. Vil? Yoongi would flip shit if he heard you compared him to a cartoon.”

“Count E. Vil? That was his name?”

“Yeah, and every time he appeared, Archie was like ‘didn’t see ya there!’”

“Yeah, yeah it is that one,” you laughed at the memory, “was that seriously his name? I must have forgotten.”

“You know, the more I think about, the more I can see it,” Taehyung was laughing too, “you just turn around and he’s like – bam – looking all cool…”

Taehyung schooled his face into a death stare just like Yoongi’s to demonstrate, making you crack up even more. He didn’t last long before the act broke down, laughter creeping into his poker mouth and now the both of you were bent over your knees with tears in your eyes, wheezing with the kind of infectious laughter that is most at home after lights out at a sleepover.

“Not a word of this to Yoongi, understand,” Tae joked when you had both calmed down, voice worn out from the laughing fit.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Comfortable silence warmed the room for a moment as you both drank more tea. Odd though your little scene was, with you both sat on the floor, legs outstretched in the middle, it was cosy. The glow of fading LEDs that barely lit your faces separated you from the darkness of the outside. In all the world, it felt as though you two were the only ones, safe in your unorthodox sanctuary.

“How…”

You spoke before you had figured out how to phrase your question, but now Taehyung had lifted his eyes back to you.

“How did you… Who started, I mean, with bangtan…”

“How did we get together?”

You gave a small nod.

“Some of us go way back,” he set his tea down, “I mean, I went to high school with Jimin. And Yoongi’s from the same city as me, and we used to know each other when we were tiny. His family was connected to Namjoon’s, and that’s where it started – their families started the whole crime thing, and they started training together.

“We all sort of fell together, I think Jin’s family needed help from Namjoon’s and he stayed on; Jungkook knew Jimin from childhood, and he showed up asking for help when we had already started; Jin found Hoseok at college. I started, and Jimin came along too, because Yoongi wanted me. We had been out of touch for years, but I still knew who he was.”

“Wow,” you breathed.

“It’s sort of complicated, I know,” he directed a shy smile at his cup.

“Well, that’s life,” you said quietly, “but you guys work so well together. I guess you got lucky.”

Taehyung’s nod was solemn.

“Yeah. But it’s more than just working – they’re my brothers now.”

Tilting your head as you listened, you believed him.

“You guys seem to understand each other so well.”

“We do – we always have each other’s backs, you know? I wouldn’t stick around in this for just anyone.”

“By ‘this’, do you mean…” you rested your chin on your knees, still listening intently.

“Everything we’re known for: drugs, fights, racing… I never intended to get into all that. I try to be careful, and moral, about it, we all do. But I wouldn’t have done it for anyone else.”

“Do you think you’ll stay in a gang forever?”

By now you were both talking in hushed tones as if you were huddled under blankets.

“No, I don’t think so,” he pondered, “I’m not sure what I want to be, though.”

“How about your art?” you smiled, “or fashion. Those books you got me were really interesting. Or your music? You’re a good singer-“

Cutting yourself off, your eyes widened. Taehyung had been nodding along, considering your options, but now he stared straight back at you.

“You heard me singing?”

“U-uh, yeah, I did,” you stammered, heat glowing in your cheeks, “I was half asleep, but I thought you were so good.”

“Thanks,” Tae’s voice was lower in pitch now, and he swallowed and looked down, his dark hair obscuring most of his face so he almost melted into the darkness. He cleared his throat, “I’ve never sung to anyone else before.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly sing to me,” you spoke softly, reaching a hand to his knee, “but it was amazing anyway. I mean it.”

You were glad to see a genuine smile blooming on his face as he looked back up again.

“Anyway,” he shook his head, “I’m not gonna leave the boys. Even when I’m not in a gang, they’ll always be my family. I’m not letting that go.”

“I understand.”

You really did. Your only family was across the city, torn from you and forced to work for Shinhyuk.

Hesitantly, you drew your hand back from his knee.

Draining the last dregs of his cold tea, Taehyung let the silence settle.

“I miss college,” you eventually confess into the quiet room, “I hope I get to go back.”

“Even Professor Han’s class?” Tae’s low voice joked.

“Oh, I don’t think I miss it that much,” you smiled, though it was overtaken by a sigh.

“You’ll go back,” came the reassurance.

A pause.

“We… we’re hoping we can beat Shinhyuk in this whole thing. We’re sort of working on a plan.”

Instantly intrigued, you stared expectantly across the kitchen at Taehyung, who heaved a sigh and began to explain.

“Shinhyuk has his weaknesses, and thanks to Jungkook we’ve found the worst. He works differently to us. He doesn’t care for anyone in his gang, and they don’t care for each other. Like your dad, he keeps most of them there with blackmail, so we’ve been trying to pick people off. If we can infiltrate well enough, guarantee his members a safe escape from the gang, or find some blackmail of our own to get them, we should be able to weaken him and catch him off-guard when his safety net isn’t there to catch him anymore…”

“Is it going to work?” you breathed into the still air.

Taehyung pursed his lips. You were very conscious of your breathing as you waited for an answer. In. Out.

“It has to.”

I will love you forever if you reblog! Comment or message me to be added to the taglist!

Taglist: @kim-ji-hyeons-world @preciouschimine @just-a-dorito @ireallylikefoodandyoutube @veronawrites @tatastaetaemainblog @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @ironica-m8 @min-shadow​ @harleygirl808 @aianloveseven​ @rjsmochii​ @vantooru​ @un2-verse​ @thatbemyhouse​

#mafia bts #bts mafia au #kim taehyung imagine #kim taehyung scenario #bts v mafia au #bts v imagine #bts v scenario #bts v angst #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #j hope imagine #hoseok imagine #mafia j hope #taehyung scenario #taehyung imagine #mafia au taehyung #taehyung mafia au #kim taehyung mafia #yoongi mafia au #yoongi imagine #suga imagine #mafia suga #kim taehyung fanfiction #taehyung scenarios #bts scenarios #bts reactions #bts angst fluff #taehyung angst fluff

[antihero-writings]

The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch7)

Fandom: Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)

Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom's memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom's past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?

(I'll put the links to chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 & 6 in a reblog!! I also have a version of this fic with all the chapters in one place!!)

Notes: Was that the fastest I've posted a next chapter, without having it written ahead of time? I think it might be!!

It definitely helped that two scenes were directly from the book XD But still, I was shocked by how fast this got done!

By the way, I realized there was something important I should probably have occur in the previous chapter, that I didn't include, so please note something will be added in at some point! I finished this chapter before I edited the last one so it's not there yet XD I'll let you know at the start of the next chapter if I edited it in.

I also realized I did not mention Fawkes hanging out in the office in other chapters XD, so I'll probably have to edit that back in too, haha!

Comments are always extremely appreciated!! And do let me know if you'd like me to add you to a tag list for this fic!!

Chapter 7:

There was the sound of Dumbledore’s chair scraping against the floor as he stood abruptly.

“Now I must apologize.” Though still solid, his voice had lost its pleasantness, now it had an edge. “Severus.” The word was sharp, “I cannot allow you to treat a student this way.”

The two stared at each other, and it was as if they were having a conversation in simple glances. Snape seemed to lose the silent argument, because he sighed and said in a clipped way, not looking at Tom.

“My apologies. I lost my composure.”

When Harry looked at Tom he saw that, behind the adult’s backs, his lips were curving into a smirk.

He wasn’t even really upset, was he? He’d have every right to be upset by a scene such as this, but in the end…he was just happy to see Snape get in trouble.

Harry and Snape had rarely, if ever, been on the same side, and the muting spell, while he admitted was necessary—(number of things flared to his tongue that he was glad he wasn’t capable of saying)—didn’t give him any fondness for him…yet it seemed for a brief moment, they were united. But he wouldn’t say he was the least bit opposed to Snape’s treatment of Riddle.

He had expected Snape to be his usual collected self, even favor Riddle the way he did Malfoy—they’d suspected on more than one occasion he was in league with Voldemort. Seeing the hatred in his eyes for Riddle made Harry take a step back, both physically and mentally.

“Thank you.” Dumbledore sat back down.

Tom said nothing, his eyes fixed on Snape, intent set in them. “You must really hate me.” He said the words like he relished the idea. “What did I do?” Tom’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve killed a girl, so there must not be much I can’t do.”

The teachers’ eyes widened, and they looked at each other.

“You didn’t kill her.” Dumbledore cleared his throat.

Tom raised an eyebrow. “I thought Harry here made that rather clear.”

“Harry thought you did. But this is magic of course. I am able to deduce from the information you have given me; it was in fact another force working through you through that diary. Destroying the diary severed your ties with that force, but also cost you your memories.”

Harry wondered what Dumbledore’s aim was. He had killed Ginny, they both confirmed it.

“How would you know this from just a bit of information?” Tom scoffed.

“Because I’ve dealt with such forces on more than one occasion—even this specific one before. This one is a particular nuisance.”

After a moment of silence Dumbledore spoke:

“Professor Snape. Will you kindly take Mr. Riddle to Madam Pomfrey?”

“Sir?”

“Well, the boy has suffered a loss of memory, he ought to stay in the hospital wing until we get all this sorted. There should be a few empty beds now that the petrified students have been cured. “Also…” he interrupted them as they turned to leave, and something sad indeed entering his gaze. “Send the Weasleys to me, will you?”

Harry’s stomach gave a painful jolt at the name.

As the two left—(rather stiffly)—Dumbledore flicked his wand, lifting the muting curse Snape had placed on Harry.

Harry drew in a great gasping breath.

“Thank you, professor.” He heaved.

“Don’t mention it, Harry. I don’t imagine that was very pleasant”

“No.” Harry replied, making faces, just glad to have use of his lips again.

“Did Professor Snape force you to drink the truth serum, Harry?”

“Actually…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I drank it myself.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I must say, that was not an answer I was expecting. May I ask if you had a reason?”

“You told me to tell Snape every detail of what happened, but I…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I couldn’t. Every time I tried to say something he’d interrupt, or I couldn’t get it out…it was the only way.”

“I’m sorry you had to resort to such measures, Harry. I only meant that he ought know a good potion of what happened, not every detail. I think, in fact, knowing every detail resurrected old grudges for Severus.” He looked towards the door.

“It’s alright. I won’t say it wasn’t fun to watch. …I’ve never seen Snape like that…Why does Snape have a grudge against Voldemort?”

“It is not not my place to tell you.”

“Like he’d ever tell me.” Harry scoffed, then froze, eyes wide, worried he was about to get in trouble.

Dumbledore gave a small smile, “I can see why precautions were necessary.”

Harry smiled sheepishly.

“But, no,” Dumbledore replied. “I don’t imagine he will.

“I apologize if that was rather difficult to watch. I wanted you to be here. I thought you deserved to hear our conversation.”

“Thanks.”

“Sit down, Harry.” He gestured to the chair in front of him.

He was about to sit down, but paused. He knew it was silly, but he didn’t like the idea of sitting in the chair the young Voldemort had just sat in.

Dumbledore smiled a little. “Sit.”

Slowly he lowered himself into the chair, sitting on as little of it as possible.

“First of all, Harry, I want to thank you.” He stroked the phoenix, witch had fluttered down onto his knee. “You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you.”

“…Fat lot of good it did me.” He didn’t mean to say it aloud.

“Oh, I think it did a great deal of good. Who knows how things would have gone without that. One thing I know would have gone differently is you likely would have had great deal of trouble getting out of the chamber. Fawkes is the one who flew you out, is he not?”

There was a long moment where they sat in silence, before Harry spoke:

“I couldn’t save her.”

Dumbledore looked up.

“I couldn’t save her.” He continued. “She was lying on the floor, helpless, and he was taking her life force. Next thing I knew she was dying, and he was coming back…” his voice became a pained whisper.

“It’s not your fault, Harry.” Dumbledore said earnestly. “More practiced wizards than yourself have been unable to save their friends and family from Voldemort. Her death is not on your hands.”

Harry paused, fidgeting with his hands, looking away.

“I could have killed him. When he came back he was lying on the floor unconscious…I could have…I bet most people would have. But I didn’t…I couldn’t…” he stammered, then looked up. “Why couldn’t I?!”

Dumbledore stood and sat on the desk in front of Harry. “Something people often don’t tell you, is sometimes it takes just as much courage to spare a life than to take it, often more. It may be strange to hear, but, I think it may be a very good thing that you didn’t.”

“How?”

“Let me ask you something…do you think Lord Voldemort deserves a second chance?”

Harry thought a moment; he thought of the of the man who killed his parents. Then the boy that had been before him, the one who had told him he was Voldemort, set the snake loose, and nearly killed him, and did kill—

“Honestly, professor? No, I don’t think so.”

Dumbledore nodded. “That’s very understandable. Then let me ask you something else…Do you think Tom Riddle deserves a second chance?”

Harry cocked his head to the side. “Sir?”

“Tom Riddle. Or, maybe not even Tom Riddle. I am referring to the boy who was sitting here moments ago. Not the man who killed countless. The boy who currently is nothing more than that.”

He thought harder. The boy sitting there wasn’t the same, not quite, but he still wasn’t exactly kind…. Harry himself had though Tom Riddle an ally in the diary…

“He killed Ginny.”

“Lord Voldemort killed Ginny. The boy sitting before us moments ago did not.”

“I…I don’t know.” Harry wasn’t sure why he was asking him this. “What do you think?”

“I knew Tom Riddle when he was at school. I knew him to be—while charming on the outside—clever, cunning, and manipulative. Many times I have regretted not seeing what was coming, and taking precautions, sooner. If I had seen him here today I might be inclined to say ‘no’ myself. However…the boy who stood before today may not be the same as the one I knew.”

“What do you mean? Because he lost his memory?”

“Perhaps. However…I think coming back using the diary specifically, as well as Ginny’s life force, as opposed to other means, may have had consequences he couldn’t have foreseen.”

“What do you mean sir?”

“We’ll learn in due time. Currently it is nothing more than an untested hypothesis of mine, and I don’t make it a habit of divulging those as fact.”

“So, you met Tom Riddle—before he lost his memory, I mean.” Dumbledore altered the subject. “I imagine he was most interested in you.”

Harry’s thoughts were jumbled, but something that had been nagging at him before this all started, and it presently came tumbling out of his mouth.

“Professor Dumbledore, Riddle said that I…I’m like him. Strange likenesses he said…”

“Did he now?” Said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully under his thick silver eyebrows at Harry. “And what do you think Harry?”

“I don’t think I’m like him!” Harry said more loudly than he intended. “I mean, I’m—I’m a Gryffindor, I’m…”

But he fell silent, a lurking doubt resurfacing in his mind.

“Professor,” he started again after a moment, “the Sorting Hat told me I’d—I’d have done well in Slytherin. Everyone thought I was Slytherin’s heir for a while…because I can speak Parseltongue…”

“You can speak Parseltongue, Harry,” said Dumbledore calmly, “Because Lord Voldemort—who is the last remaining descendant of Salazar Slytherin—can speak Parseltongue. Unless I’m much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I’m sure…”

“Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?” Harry said, thunderstruck.

“It certainly seems so.”

“So I should be in Slytherin.” Harry said, looking desperately into Dumbledore’s face. “The Sorting Hat could see Slytherins power in me, and it—”

“Put you in Gryffindor.” Said Dumbledore calmly. “Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students; his own very rare gift, Parseltongue, resourcefulness, determination…a certain disregard for the rules,” he added, his mustache quivering again. “Yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think.”

“It only put me in Gryffindor,” said Harry in a defeated voice, “Because I asked not to go in Slytherin…”

“Exactly.” Said Dumbledore, beaming once more. “Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. Did you not prove that once again today when you chose not to kill him? That took incredible bravery.” Harry sat motionless in his chair, stunned. “If you want proof, Harry, that you belong in Gryffindor, I suggest you look more closely at this.”

Dumbledore reached across Professor McGonagall’s desk, picked up the blood-stained silver sword and handed it to Harry. Dully, Harry turned it over, the rubies blazing in the firelight. And then he saw the name engraved just below the hilt.

Godric Gryffindor

“Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the Hat, Harry.” Said Dumbledore simply.

For a minute, neither of them spoke.

“Sir?”

“Mm?”

“May I…May I tell Ron and Hermione about all of this? About Tom, about…?” he trailed off.

Dumbledore took off his glasses and cleaned them. “Under most circumstances I would say yes, especially considering Ron’s position, but this one is…rather special. I’m currently of the mind that the less people know Lord Voldemort is back—in any form—the better.

“This situation is both particularly strange, and particularly delicate. You may tell them that Lord Voldemort was working through a diary to control Ginny, and that this lead to her death—that is, of course, what I will be telling the Weasleys…But I believe it is safer for everyone if they do not know he successfully managed to return to the land of the living.”

Harry looked at the ground. The thought of keeping all this to himself was almost more daunting than the fact that it had happened in the first place.

“Harry, where is Ron?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “I…left him down in the chamber…I….I don’t think he would have left if I told him he had to.”

Dumbledore’s eyes mirrored his. “Oh dear. Well we’ll certainly have to sort that out won’t we?”

“What should I do, sir?”

Dumbledore pulled open one of the drawers in Professor McGonnagall’s desk, and took out a quill and a bottle of ink. “What you need, Harry, is some food and sleep. I suggest you go back to Gryffindor tower, while I write to Azkaban—we need our game-keeper back. And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too,” he added thoughtfully. “We’ll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher… Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don’t we?”

“So…” Harry spoke, his gut twisting, unsure if this was the truth serum speaking, or if pained curiosity was guiding his tongue now, “Hogwarts won’t shut down?”

Dumbledore paused, looking up at him. “I imagine I’ll have to suffer through several unpleasant meetings, but I don’t think they’ll succeed at closing Hogwarts. The threat is gone, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Harry’s voice was small. “Tom Riddle’s still around…I mean, won’t his memory come back eventually? Don’t you think he’ll be the same person when he gets his memory back?”

“You’re not saying you’d like Hogwarts to close, are you?”

“No!” Harry stood. “Of course not! I just…I…If we’re not safe…maybe it’s better…”

The thought of not coming back to Hogwarts, staying with the Dursley’s for the indeterminate future, with the knowledge that Voldemort was walking around as his sixteen your old self…

“The fact that Voldemort is back in this way makes the situation rather unorthodox, but there’s no place safer than Hogwarts. Firstly, if the school closes, I fear that would make things more dangerous on his end, rather than less. There’s no telling what he could do, released out to the world.”

“But he wouldn’t know how to do magic! Wouldn’t that—?”

“He knows magic exists, now. Knowing him, he’d do anything in his power to learn how to master it, and that could make him far more dangerous than simply teaching him. Hogwarts, while a place that will indeed teach him magic, is a place where we can more easily keep an eye on him. Not to mention the fact that Hogwarts, is, I believe, the one place Tom Riddle felt at home in the world. I think being in one of the few environments he truly felt comfortable in, will help nudge him in the right direction, don’t you?”

“The right direction? You really do think he can be reformed.”

“I am not certain. I still need to do the kind of heavy thinking one does when pouring over an unfamiliar restaurant menu in attempts to decide what to order. …But I think trying wouldn’t be remiss to try.”

Harry said nothing, questions, demands, insults, bobbing to the surface of his brain.

“We can and will certainly discuss this more after I myself have done more thinking on my own.” He said earnestly. “But at this particular moment, I don’t think it beneficial for you to continue troubling yourself. Food and sleep, Harry, I think will do you a world of good.”

Harry stayed a moment, sitting in the chair, trying to think of anything else he could ask, but he was tired of even simply thinking at this point. “Yeah, okay,” he sighed softly, before getting up and crossing to the door.

He had just reached for the handle, however, when the door burst open so violently that it bounced back off the wall.

Lucius Malfoy stood there, fury in his face. And cowering behind his legs, heavily wrapped in bandages, was Dobby.

“Good evening, Lucius,” said Dumbledore pleasantly.

Mr. Malfoy almost knocked Harry over as he swept into the room. Dobby went scurrying in after him, crouching at the hem of his cloak, a look of abject terror on his face.

The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was attempting to finish cleaning Mr. Malfoy’s shoes. Apparently Mr. Malfoy had set out in a great hurry, for not only were his shoes half-polished, but his usually sleek hair was disheveled. Ignoring the elf bobbing apologetically around his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon Dumbledore.

“So!” he said “You’ve come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts.”

“Well, you see, Lucius,” said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, “the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They’d heard that Arthur Weasley’s daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too…Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn’t agree to suspend me in the first place.”

Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury.

“So—have you stopped the attacks yet?” he sneered. “Have you caught the culprit?”

“We have,” said Dumbledore, with a smile.

“Well?” said Mr. Malfoy sharply. “Who is it?”

“The same person as last time, Lucius,” said Dumbledore. “But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary.”

He held up the mangled book, watching Mr. Malfoy closely. Harry, however, was watching Dobby.

The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed meaningfully on Harry, he kept pointing at the diary, then at Mr. Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist.

“I see…” said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore.

“A clever plan,” said Dumbledore in a level voice, still staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye. “Because if Harry here” —Mr. Malfoy shot Harry a swift, sharp look— “and his friend Ron hadn’t discovered this book, why—Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn’t acted of her own free will…”

Mr. Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly masklike.

“And imagine,” Dumbledore went on, “what might have happened then. The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and killing Muggle-borns…Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle’s memories wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise.”

Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak.

“Very fortunate,” he said stiffly.

And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary, then to Lucius Malfoy, then punching himself in the head. And Harry suddenly understood. He nodded at Dobby, and Dobby backed into a corner, now twisting his ears in punishment.

“Don’t you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?” said Harry.

Lucius Malfoy rounded on him.

“How should I know how the stupid little girl got hold of it?” he said.

Anger rose in harry at the insult

“Because you gave it to her,” his voice was tempered, “in Flourish and Blotts.

“You picked up her old Transfiguration book and slipped the diary inside it, didn’t you?”

He saw Mr. Malfoy’s white hands clench and unclench.

“Prove it,” he hissed.

“Oh, no one will be able to do that,” said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry. “Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort’s old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you…”

Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry distinctly saw his right hand twitch as though he was longing to reach for his wand. Instead, he turned to his house-elf.

“We’re going, Dobby!”

He wrenched open the door and as the elf came hurrying up to him, he kicked him right through it. They could hear Dobby squealing with pain all the way along the corridor. Harry stood for a moment, thinking hard. Then it came to him—

“Professor Dumbledore,” he said hurriedly. “Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?”

“Certainly, Harry.”

Harry grabbed the diary and dashed out of the office. He could hear Dobby’s squeals of pain receding around the corner. Quickly, wondering if this plan could possibly work, Harry took off one of his shoes, pulled off his slimy, filthy sock, and stuffed the diary into it. Then he ran down the dark corridor.

He caught up with them at the top of the stairs.

“Mr. Malfoy,” he gasped, skidding to a halt, “I’ve got something for you —”

And he forced the smelly sock into Lucius Malfoy’s hand.

“What the—?”

Mr. Malfoy ripped the sock off the diary, threw it aside, then looked furiously from the ruined book to Harry.

“You’ll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter,” he said softly. “They were meddlesome fools, too.”

He turned to go.

“Come, Dobby. I said, come.”

But Dobby didn’t move. He was holding up Harry’s disgusting, slimy sock, and looking at it as though it were a priceless treasure. “Master has given a sock,” said the elf in wonderment. “Master gave it to Dobby.”

“What’s that?” spat Mr. Malfoy. “What did you say?”

“Got a sock,” said Dobby in disbelief. “Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby — Dobby is free.”

Lucius Malfoy stood frozen, staring at the elf.

“You’ve lost me my servant, boy!” Fury curled around his words as he lunged at harry.

But Dobby shouted, “You shall not harm Harry Potter!”

There was a loud bang, and Mr. Malfoy was thrown backward.

He crashed down the stairs, three at a time, landing in a crumpled heap on the landing below. He got up, his face livid, and pulled out his wand, but Dobby raised a long, threatening finger.

“You shall go now,” he said fiercely, pointing down at Mr. Malfoy. “You shall not touch Harry Potter. You shall go now.”

Lucius Malfoy had no choice. With a last, incensed stare at the pair of them, he swung his cloak around him and hurried out of sight.

“Harry Potter freed Dobby!” said the elf shrilly, gazing up at Harry, moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his orb-like eyes. “Harry Potter set Dobby free!”

“Least I could do, Dobby,” said Harry, grinning. “Just promise never to try and save my life again.”

The elf’s ugly brown face split suddenly into a wide, toothy smile.

“I’ve just got one question, Dobby,” said Harry as Dobby pulled on Harry’s sock with shaking hands. “You told me all this had nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, remember? Well —”

“It was a clue, sir,” said Dobby, his eyes widening, as though this was obvious. “Was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named, you see?”

“Right,” said Harry weakly. “Well…I’d better go.”

Dobby threw his arms around Harry’s middle and hugged him.

“Harry Potter is greater by far than Dobby knew!” he sobbed. “Farewell, Harry Potter!”

And with a final loud crack, Dobby disappeared.

He turned to Dumbledore’s office, contemplating returning to ask him a few more questions, but he saw the Weasleys entering the door.

The pit in Harry’s stomach grew teeth.

Where should he go? Ron was still down in the chamber, and he wasn’t sure either of them would want to talk anyways. Hermoine was surely awake by now…and he probably should give her a warm welcome back to awakness.

If she’d awoken yesterday he’d be ecstatic to go talk to her…but, at this particular moment, if he was being entirely honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to her. She’d have a million questions for him, none of which he was particularly inclined to answer at this moment.

It came to him that he didn’t want to talk to much of anyone.

Just when he had that thought he saw Hermoine down the hall. Well, not so much saw her, as glimpsed her, then felt her arm around him.

He was expecting her to happily ask what was going on, and where Ron was, but when she pulled away—(the hug was abnormally long)—he saw tears glinting in her eyes and she said, with the air of someone who doesn’t know what else to say, “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

He gave her a quizzical look and she answered his silent question: “Professor Snape told me everything before I left the hospital wing.”

Harry highly doubted he told her everything, but, even so…What was this feeling? Was he actually feeling grateful towards Snape for the second time in the same day?

“I brought you this.” She held up the plate she was holding in her other hand. “I just thought…I wasn’t sure you’d want to go down eat with everyone else.”

“Thank you, Hermione,” and he really meant it, feeling true relief for the first time that day.

“Should we head back to Gryffindor Tower?”

He nodded.

Notes cont: 

Again, that conversation about the sorting hat, and the Lucius scene, are both taken directly from the book (with a couple minimal changes), I certainly am not taking credit for writing them!!!! I just needed both those conversations/scenes to be there more for housekeeping reasons than anything else.

What does Dumbledore call Ron? Is it "Ron" "Ronald" or "Mr Weasley"? I couldn't remember. Also, what does Snape call Dumbledore? He calls him "Headmaster" right? Does that go for both when he's around students, and when he's alone with Dumbledore?

There were a couple places where I was nervous I went a little OOC, but I couldn't think what else to have them say...I hope I was okay?

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #tom riddle #harry potter and the chamber of secrets #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fic #Albus Dumbledore #severus snape #HP #hp fic #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #hp tom riddle #harry potter tom riddle #voldemort #HP Fandom #harry potter fandom #potterheads #harry potter au #hp au #gryffindor #slytherin #fawkes the phoenix

[jamkookies]

Hop,bunny,hop!

Description :  A trip to Malta for the shooting of Bon Voyage seems peaceful enough until the moment things take an unexpected turn...

Word count : 2.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had been staring at him the whole time on your way home.

You knew it was not the wisest thing to do, since someone could probably notice you but that was not the main thought on your mind right now.

All you could think about was how purely he had sung that song with that melodious voice, pulling at the strings of your heart.How it had made you experience an epiphany, suddenly clearing your head from all the insecurities dwelling on it for a long time.

The straw hat had been a savior earlier on.

Shielding you from the other’s eyes, you had managed to wipe at your tears without anyone noticing, leaving nothing but a joyous expression on your face.

Hoseok and Jimin had both patted him on the back, their pride clearly visible in their eyes and you had proceeded to do the same.

Still, this couldn’t affect your attitude towards him.

You muster up the courage and approach him, throwing an arm across his shoulder. You trade your straw hat for the bucket one on his head.

“Our Jungkok-ssi is gonna be a great singer when he grows up,” you say, smirking.

“Oh, I could never reach your level,” he answers, a fake timid smile on his face.

Hoseok slings his arm across his other shoulder.

“Both of you can’t even come close to my magnificent vocals.”

Jimin fastens his steps behind you.

“Hey guys, wait for me!” he yells and closes the distance in three long strides, using yours and Jungkook’s shoulders as leverage to lift himself up.

You all start laughing like pre-schoolers hanging out into the streets.

* * *

“Cheers!”

Everyone clinks their glasses together, huddled around the table on the living room.

After finishing the day with your teammates you had all decided to have a glass of red wine.

Well, all except for Yoongi and Jungkook.

They had refused to join you, claiming that they had already chugged down two glasses of alcohol in a nearby pub.

That explained why Yoongi hadn’t been with Jungkook when you had found him busking.

He had told you that Hyung had been tired so he’d gone straight at home, leaving Jungkook strolling around the streets on his own.

“Friendship is….?” Yoongi aimed his fist at Kookie.

“Irish Bomb,” he finished, bumping his fist.

You didn’t even know what that was supposed to mean.

After that, they’d crashed in their beds.

You refill your glass, the bitter liquid stinging your throat making you want more.

You had started to get a little tipsy, and you couldn’t deny the guilty pleasure you felt.

Being a light weight drinker, you couldn’t really hold alcohol, but you were surprisingly in the mood tonight.

Jin touches Namjoon’s hand and looks him in the eye.

“Why are you so cold? Is it because you have a lot of fans?”

He explodes into a fit of laughter, you joining him immediately.

Namjoon just deadpans.

“Hyung, stop it with the puns,” Taehyung whines, but he’s clearly holding his smile.

“Actually, I was gonna make an animal joke, but-”

“Please don’t,” Hoseok interferes.

“- they’re irrelephant,” he finishes.

Your laugh goes hysterical.

Everyone else was acting a little silly, you the most out of all.

The booze was really getting at you.

But you weren’t the only one, though.

At the corner of the table there’s Hoseok looking like he’s having an existential crisis.

You go for another refill.

And another.

“That’s enough for tonight, Y/N,” Jimin says,the only one sober enough to notice.

The edges of his face are warped and you keep seeing curved colorful lines every time you flicker your eyes to the side.

“Yer fashe looksh fwony,” you giggle and poke his cheek, a hiccup escaping your lips.

“She’s drunk,” you hear someone say. You can’t really tell who it is. “Get the booze out of her reach, please.”

“No,” you protest, clutching the bottle tight like a baby. “Mwine.”

Your tongue is tied and you constantly produce unintelligible words.

“Give me the bottle, Y/N.”

“Noooo.”

“What’s going on?”

Even though your head is floating, you’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Your head snaps on the right, towards the door.

“Kookie, cwom join ush,” you slur.

“She drank a little too much”, says another voice.

Hoseok, probably.

Jungkook seizes you up, steps coming closer, but to you it looks like he’s zig-zag-ing.

You giggle.

“Hop, bunny, hop!”

“Oh my God, she’s completely out of it.”

“I knew she was a light-weight-drinker but…”

“Watch where you’re….”

“……careful…..”

“…..gonna fall….”

The voices merge with each other, a jumble of sounds and words unable for you to grasp. You wobble in your feet, the world spinning and spinning and-

A pair of hands catch you before you fall.

Strong, steady hands.

Jungkook’s.

He hauls you across his shoulder, holding you by your feet.

“Lemme gwow,” you say and hit his back repeatedly with your weak fists.

He ignores you and starts walking out of the room.

The motion makes your nausea even worse and when you squirm to get away, he grips your legs tighter.

Entering the room slowly, he lays you gently on the bed. His face is a hair’s breadth from yours, hovering over it.

With a dazed look on your eyes, you reach for one of his curls falling into his face and twirl it in your finger.

“I liek yer hair. It’s fwoffy.”

He smiles that adorable smile of his.

“Get some sleep now. It’s late.”

“Yessir.”

He takes your shoes off and pulls the covers over you. Then he joins you, and what surprises you the most, even in your drunken state, is the fact that he doesn’t sleep with his head by the end of the bed, but lays it on your pillow instead.

Your eyes closed, you squirm continuously, hands blindly swinging in all directions till they brush against his arm. Not having the slightest idea what you’re doing, you greet the warm surface and wrap his arms around him.

His skin is really warm, you think to yourself.

Jungkook freezes.

He extends his hand, pausing, hesitating.Then, he hugs you and strokes your back until you fall asleep.

* * *

Your head is pounding.

It feels like there’s someone beating a hammer on it from the moment you crack your eyes open.

Groaning, you try to lift your hands to your face, but notice they’re stuck.

You suddenly become aware of the second body next to yours, radiating warmth.

Jungkook’s arms are around yours, enveloping you in a tight hug. Your head is lain on his chest, rising and falling slightly with his every breath.

Then, it all comes flooding back to you.

The wine, the jokes, you throwing a fit, Jungkook carrying you on his shoulder…

You remembered every single detail and you didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

There weren’t enough fingers for you to count the times you had embarrassed yourself in the span of just two days.

You felt like dying.

You lift your head and take a glimpse at his face.

His eyes are closed and he’s breathing softly through his nose.

You try to move your arms in an attempt to detach yourself from him, but he only hugs you tighter, refusing to let go.

You’re stuck.

After a second try, he just nuzzles his nose on your neck.

Heavens above.

Goosebumps flare all over your body.

“J-Jungkook?”

He cracks one eye open.

“Watch the formalities. Or are you still drunk?”

You shake him off.

“I’m not the only one who drank last night.”

“Yeah, but some of us thought that drinking six glasses of wine was not a big of a deal,” he says, looking at you pointedly.

You stick your tongue at him, and try to get off the bed, but he grabs your ankle.

“Let go!” you screech.

He starts pulling you towards him, and you claw at the sheets, trying to find somewhere to hold on to. When you come close enough, you put him in a headlock.

He flails his arms wildly, trying to grab hold of you.

Suddenly, the door swings open, revealing an enraged upside down Yoongi.

He stomps inside of the room, pulling you both apart.

“I thought I told you not to fight!”

“You call that a fight?” Jungkook teases.

“Yeah you’re right,” you say. “I would’ve beaten your ass if it wasn’t for Yoongi-hyung.”

“May I remind you that I own a black belt in Taekwondo?”

“Well, you can take that belt and stick it up your-”

Yoongi puts a hand over your mouth.

“Enough playing around. We’re going fishing.”

He starts walking out the room, and you take advantage, aiming a fist at Jungkook.

“And no fighting,” he says, not turning around.

You pause your clenched fist mid-air and then lower it.

Two seconds later, both you and Kook explode into laughter.

* * *

After pulling yourself together - that is, taking a shower, brushing your teeth and dressing up - you exit the apartment along with the other members.

You had been given three rented cars to drive all the way to the beach.

The staff had teamed you up with Namjoon and Jin.

“Hyung, please let me drive.”

“Absolutely not. You drank too much last night.”

“But that was last night. I’m completely sober now and I even took a hangover pill.”

“The only ones sober enough are me and Jin,” says Namjoon.

You throw a glance at Jin, dancing awkwardly.

“Wow, I am in such good hands.”

He doesn’t back off for a second.

“Oh come on, hyung, please. I will never drink again without your permission, I promise.”

He raises one eyebrow.

“I’ll find you some crabs on the beach,” you offer.

“Done.”

He hands you the keys and moves his chin to the car waiting.

“Drive carefully.”

You jump into his arms, smiling bright.

“Hyung is soooo cooool.”

Namjoon rides shotgun, while Jin accommodates himself on the back seat. You start the car carefully and the navigator starts giving instructions.

“We were supposed to turn left not right,” says Jin, looking at the map in his hands.

“Turn right after 50 metres,” the navigator continues.

“No, we have to turn left-”

“Turn right after 20 me-”

“Shut up, woman,” he yells.

Both you and Namjoon crack up.

Then, on the front mirror you see another car trailing behind you.

Jungkook is driving, Yoongi and Hoseok along with him.He gives you an obnoxious smirk and speeds up, trying to overtake you.

When the cars stand side by side, he salutes you and passes right in front of you.

Two can play that game.

You press your foot on the gas pedal, chasing after him.

Another car appears, Jimin driving alongside Taehyung.

This is gonna be a long trip.

* * *

After a heated competition of overtaking each other, you finally arrive at the beach. The vibrant blue color stretches in front of you, kissed by the rocky shore.

You climb down the granite stairs, camping bag on your back filled with all sorts of equipment.

You had decided to set a tent here for the night and you were bursting with excitement.

Not a moment after, Jin and Yoongi take out their fishing rods, prepared to make the catch of the day.

The others, however, were another case.

Taehyung and Jimin had already plunged into the water, splashing around like little kids.

You were tempted to join them, but first you needed to find some crabs for Namjoon.

You climb on the harsh rocks, trying to detect any moving pincers. After successfully collecting a number of them, you hand them over to him, and the excitement is visible on his face.

“Get me some more,” he says.

You sigh through your nose and go back to the rocks.

You bend over, searching for the sea creatures and you are instantly pushed from behind you. You plunge into the water, arms flailing wildly.

There’s a roaring in your ears and some water has gone into your nose. You submerge into the surface and look at Jungkook who is doubling over with laughter.

The little bastard.

“Hyung,I’ll kill-”

He doesn’t hesitate and jumps right after you, leaving a wave on his wake.

He pokes his head on the surface and swims closer to you.

There’s something different about him lately, you notice. Ever since last night, he’s been acting more goofy and comfortable around you. At the first chance he gets, he’ll find a way to joke around or tease you.

You weren’t complaining but you wondered what exactly had changed for him to behave this way.

You dunk his head under the water and are soon joined by Jimin and Taehyung.

Two hours go by with just the sounds of your laughter reverberating through the air.

Anyone could say, without a doubt that the four of you lived up to the maknae title.

~

The dusk falling into the horizon didn’t make it easier for you. The exhaustion of your energetic day had started to creep up on you and the darkness slowly swallowing the sun was putting you to sleep.

Your eyes were halfway closed, your cheek leaned on your palm.

You hear a scraping against the floor and Taehyung appears beside you, sitting on a chair.

“Did your batteries run out so fast?”

“I spent them playing around with you all day.”

He offers you a roasted marshmallow on a stick.

Your eyes fly open, grabbing it with unnatural speed.

“Easy, tiger. I didn’t know you were so hungry.”

“I haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“Oh yeah? What about the fish we had earlier?”

You stop chewing.

“That doesn’t count. I need my daily dose of carbohydrates.”

Taehyung shakes his head and then turns to look behind him, where the others are, huddled around a bonfire.

“What’s with you and Jungkook today? You’ve been eating each other’s heads since morning.”

“I think me being drunk has made him think I can be reckless enough to play around with him.”

“He’s not wrong, though,” Tae says.

You turn and narrow your eyes at him.

“Are you jealous, hyung?”

“Hell yeah, I’m jealous! I am your best friend.”

You chuckle.

“Jungkook-hyung, can you please tell Tae- hyung that he’s my best friend, not you?” you shout.

“Why would I be your best friend? I wanna throw you off a cliff!” he shouts back.

“See, Tae?”

The corners of his lips upturn and you squish his cheeks.

“Coochie coochie coo..”

“Agh! Get off of me!”

After squeezing the life out of him, you head for your tent.

“Good night,” you say to the others.

“But it’s early,” Hoseok says.

“I’m tired. Have fun.”

You crash into your bedroll, then a while later, Jin joins you.

Sleep envelopes you immediately.

* * *

A hand clamps shut on your mouth.

You let out a muffled squeak, eyes wide open in terror.

But it’s just Jungkook.

He puts a finger on his lips gesturing for you not to make a sound, and then he retracts his hand.

“What the hell, hyung?” you whisper in a shout.

“Come with me. I wanna show you something.”

You glance at Jin, still sound asleep.

“Come on,” Jungkook pressures.

He unzips the tent and sticks a leg out, offering you a hand. You rub the sleep out of your eyes and follow him outside.

It’s complete darkness except for a sprinkle of stars in the sky.

Jungkook crouches and pulls you along with him, hiding tent after tent.

“Why are we acting like criminals?” you whisper.

“The bodyguards are right over there,” he points at a lamp a few feet from where you are. “ I don’t want them on our tails. Plus, it’s more fun like this.”

You tip-toe your way out of earshot and breathe in relief.

You’re standing on a clearing right where the forest begins, the sound of cicadas buzzing into your ears. A whole tapestry of star-lit greenery stretches before you.

Then, Jungkook points ahead.

“Look,” he says, and you follow his finger.

The grass lights up like Christmas lights.Dozens and dozens of fireflies appear, sparkling their yellow light everywhere around you.

You gape at the view in awe.

Jungkook takes a few steps ahead and turns around, facing you.

“Well, do you like it?”

“I love it,” you gasp.

He smiles like a bunny and starts coming towards you.

You offer him a smile of your own in return, wanting nothing more than to hug him tight. You open your arms wide, inviting him, but he stops dead in his tracks.

The smile on his face turns into a scowl.

Did you do something wrong?

Was he perplexed at your sudden display of affection?

Hurt flashes in your eyes and you lower your hands but then you realize he’s not looking at you but rather something behind you.

You are about to turn your head, when something cold touches the nape of your neck.

#bts #bangtan #bts jungkook #jeongguk #jeonggukie #jungkook memes #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts imagine #ot7

[swanslieutenant]

from the sea - chapter five

Summary: When Emma becomes sheriff, the pressure of running a department with a dwindling budget becomes nothing but an exercise in frustration. That is, until she finds an unlikely ally in the town treasurer, a man who her kid Henry is convinced is not an ally at all, but rather a villainous enemy. Season 1 AU, Cursed!Killian.

Rating and Warnings: Teen.

Catch up: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4

Read on AO3

On the Sunday morning following Emma’s coffee outing with Newport, she is awoken by the shrill ringing of the loft’s landline telephone. Emma nearly topples completely out bed at the sound, grunting in surprise. As if it wasn’t loud enough, the piercing sounds of the telephone are soon followed with a sudden clattering of dishes, echoing and crashing throughout the loft.

“Sorry!” Mary Margaret calls from downstairs, her voice breathless as if she’d just run a marathon. “I dropped all the pots and pans.”

“All of them?” Emma mutters darkly, reaching up to her bed to grab her pillow, stuffing it over her face to try to muffle some of the ringing that is still screeching throughout the apartment. “How is that even possible?”

Finally, the phone’s shrill rings cut off, and Emma can hear Mary Margaret talking in hushed tones to whoever is on the other line.

Emma lies there, pillow over her face, and briefly considers hauling herself back into the bed and burrowing her nose back into the warmth of her covers rather than just getting up and on with her day. This Sunday is one of her rare days off, and she’d been looking forward to having the morning to sleep in. But now that she’s awake, there’s no point pretending anymore.

Untwisting herself from the blankets, she rises from the floor and grabs her glasses from beside the clock on her bedside table. She never wears them out anymore, but her eyesight is still so bad that they’re needed to get from the bedroom to the bathroom to put her contacts in without an incident of cracking her knee against a bedpost or completely wiping out down the stairs.

By the time she’s dressed and on her way downstairs, Mary Margaret is off the phone. She meets Emma at the bottom of the stairs, phone still clutched in her hands, an eager shine to her eyes.

“Do you want to come to the farmer’s market with me?” she asks, her voice so quick that her words jumble together.

Emma blinks at her, still half-asleep and incapable of translating the muddled words in her current state. “To what?”

“The farmer’s market,” Mary Margaret repeats, forcing her voice calmer. “It’s just down the road, right behind the cannery. It’s where all the local business set up booths and they’ll sell cute little knickknacks and –”

“I know what a farmer’s market is,” Emma interjects dryly, and opens her mouth to agree to come, but then frowns in thought.

Newport’s words about how the farmers and artisans aren’t pleased with her due to the budget shuffle echo through her mind. Her instinct is to deny Mary Margaret’s request, but as quick as she thinks that, she’s changed her mind. If she wants to go to the damn market, she’s gonna go, and not let some bitter townspeople ruin her day.

“Emma?”

She shakes herself. “Yeah, sure. But I have to shower and have breakfast first.”

“Shower only,” Mary Margaret replies firmly, grabbing her arms and steering her away from the kitchen. “They have fresh scones and fruit and all sorts of things at the market.”

Emma’s eyebrows raise at this very un-Mary Margaret-like behaviour, but she can demand to know what the hell is going on, Mary Margaret pushes her into the bathroom and slams the door shut right on her startled face.

“Be quick!”

Emma blinks at the closed door, before shaking her head and getting to her routine. She showers, puts her contact lenses in, and brushes her teeth. She thinks she’s making pretty good time, and is towelling her hair dry when there is a sudden sharp rapping on the door that nearly makes her jump out of her skin.

“How’s it going, Emma?”

She sighs, and opens the door, showing her roommate her damp hair, the towel still around her shoulders. “I’m almost done, but if you’re in a rush, just go without me. I’ll meet you there.”

“No, no, I’ll wait for you, don’t be silly,” Mary Margaret says quickly, her voice too casual. “Just – you know, hurry up.”

Mary Margaret pads away from the door, her cheeks flushed, and Emma gets dressed again in the same outfit she had put on just a few minutes ago – warm white sweater and dark blue jeans. After drying her hair only briefly with Mary Margaret’s obnoxious old hairdryer, she stares longingly at her curling iron, but has a feeling that Mary Margaret will have a fit if she delays them too long with that. Instead, she quickly braids her still damp hair, and hoping that it not being totally dry won’t come back to bite her in the ass – in her experience, wet hair and chilly weather aren’t the best partners.

When Emma emerges from the bathroom, Mary Margaret is seated at the kitchen bar stool. She’s changed her outfit in the time Emma was occupied, and now sports a looser white blouse, paired with a simple grey skirt, instead of the plain sweatpants and old t-shirt she’d been wearing earlier. Emma raises her eyebrow at her, unused to seeing her get dressed up so nicely on the weekend.

She jumps to her feet as Emma exits the bathroom, swinging a bright green scarf around her neck and rather hilariously hitting herself in the face with the other end.

“Ready? Let’s go.”

She is halfway out the door before Emma has even taken a step further.

“Whoa, what has gotten into you?” she demands, striding to the door and pulling on one of her warmer leather jackets, a deep burgundy one with zippered sleeves, and plopping a knit gray beanie on top of her head, and adds, more to herself than to Mary Margaret, “Seriously, what is the deal with people in Storybrooke and this market?”

“Nothing’s up with me,” Mary Margaret says, her flushed cheeks saying exactly the opposite. “I just don’t want to miss the market.”

Emma is certain that they’re nowhere near the end time for one of these things – it’s only 9:30 after all – but keeps that comment to herself as she and Mary Margaret leave their apartment and make their way down the street to the parking lot next to the cannery.

Emma can hear the sounds of the market far before they can even see it: loud chatter, folk music, the idling engines of cars. When they finally come around the corner of the small hotel that blocks their view of the parking lot, they are greeted with five spacious rows of ten booths each that take up the majority of the paved area. The whole market area is packed, families browsing through the many stalls full of fresh fruit, wooden houseware, and various knickknacks.

“Aren’t you glad I dragged you along for this?” Mary Margaret sighs happily, and she links arms with Emma, tugging her along to the first aisle of vendors.

“I suppose so,” she replies grumpily, tugging at her beanie to pull down lower over her head at the cold sea breeze off the ocean. “I wish you’d let me get some coffee beforehand, but –”

“You drink too much coffee, Emma,” Mary Margaret says brightly. “One morning without will do you some good.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Who are you, my mother?”

Mary Margaret comes to a stop then, and Emma nearly dislocates her elbow at the sudden stop in movement. Muttering a curse, she looks around to see what has stopped her roommate, and then she spots it.

Or rather, who.

David Nolan, standing innocently beside a flower stand and peering at the bouquet of red roses in front of him.

Of course.

Immediately, Emma searches for Kathryn Nolan somewhere around him too. But David is alone, his wife nowhere to be seen.

“So, this is why you wanted to come here so badly,” she mutters, and earns herself a sharp elbow in the ribs in response.

“I didn’t even know he’d be here!” Mary Margaret shoots back quickly, but her cheeks are flushed pink, reddening even more as Emma catches her gaze.

Emma snorts, and shakes her head, unsure whether to be amused or saddened (or worried, frankly) about her friend and the married, recovering amnesiac.

“Where are those scones you promised me?” she asks instead, looking at the stalls around them. “I’ll go get one of those while you talk to your Prince Charming.”

Mary Margaret ignores her and simply points out a baked goods stand a couple of booths down the current row. Emma, still rolling her eyes so hard she wonders if you can get an eye injury from over rolling, de-tangles herself from Mary Margaret and heads down there while her roommate teleports to David’s side as soon as she’s stepped away.

Pointedly ignoring them behind her, Emma purchases a strawberry scone from the vendor. She’s a grumpy woman, who glares pointedly at Emma’s sheriff badge pinned to her jeans and makes a big fuss about how Emma doesn’t have the exact change to make the $2.47 that the scone costs. It’s almost more trouble than it’s worth, but Emma’s rumbling stomach makes her grit her teeth and shift a bit more in the depths of her wallet until she finds enough change to make it work.

She munches on the scone and strolls along the vendors. The next stand over is a jewellery one, full of pretty little trinkets of the kind she thinks Mary Margaret would like, but the owner has such a nasty expression on her face when Emma approaches that she feels distinctly unwelcome to even browse. The next stations are similar stories, the owners standing aloof and glaring pointedly at her, when Emma reaches the fourth one in a row like that, she’s nearly lost her patience.

She knows they are angry about the budget cuts to the market, but seriously? She’s a citizen of Storybrooke now too, and they’re glaring at her for daring to show her face here?

Seriously, what the hell is up with this town and markets?

Taking a breath to calm herself so she doesn’t snap at the vendors and make things worse, Emma skips the rest of the booths in that row, heading to the next aisle over and hoping she’ll see some friendlier faces over there.

And, to her surprise, she spots one.

Standing at a fruit stand half-way down the aisle, examining boxes of peaches and nectarines with a furrowed brown, is Wes Newport. He’s dressed more casually today, his formal suits gone and replaced with dark jeans and a black sweater that makes his dark hair look even more striking. Like her, the owner of the fruit stand is eyeing him coldly and other passing customers take one look at him and then retreat to another stand with irritated expressions.

Well, at least they can be outcasts together.

“Newport!” Emma calls, moving towards him. “Hey, Wes!”

He glances up, and he smiles when he notices her. “Swan,” he calls back in greeting as Emma strides up to join him. “Nice to see you. What are you up to?”

She shakes her head with a small snort, slipping her hands into her back pockets as she comes to a stop in front of Newport. “Apparently coming to the market is a mandatory event when you live in Storybrooke.”

Newport chuckles at her sarcastic tone. “It is something of a big deal.”

“As I can tell.”  

Emma steps in beside Newport, and she joins him in browsing through the rest of the aisle, leaving the fruit stand behind with no purchases when it became clear the owner was in no mood to even address him or Emma. The dirty looks continue as they go down the row, seeming to only increase now that the vendors see Emma and Newport together, but it’s somehow easier to ignore the dark glares with Newport at her side.

They walk nearly the length of two aisles, pausing here and there to browse, chatting pleasantly and laughing easily. The pause in front of one of the booths, which stands out significantly from the others. It’s gorgeous, the sign declaring it Game of Thorns, and the booth is overflowing with roses, daisies, violets, carnations, and other flowers Emma can’t even name, the fragrant and beautiful smell spreading delightfully throughout the surrounding area.

The owner of this booth is more pleasant than any of the others. “Sheriff, Mr. Newport. Glad to see you two here – can I interest you in any flowers this morning?”

He holds out a bouquet of white flowers to Emma, and Emma accepts it from him, so surprised at his warm tone compared to the rest of the market that she doesn’t think twice about taking the bouquet. She sniffs the flowers – sweet buttercups – but she’s hardly had the opportunity to enjoy them or pass them to Newport for a smell when a cold voice speaks from behind them.

“Glad to see you’re still in business, Mr. French. I wasn’t sure, as after all, I haven’t got this month’s rent yet.”

Emma pulls away from the buttercup, scowling, and Newport tenses beside her. Mr. Gold is standing opposite them, leaning on his cane with a serpentine smile, and staring at the man who’d given Emma the flowers.

He swallows deeply, beads of sweat beginning to dot his forehead. “My – my apologies, Mr. Gold. As – as I’ve told you, I’ve paid you what I can, but the markets are down to only once a month now and besides that –”

“That is not my concern,” Gold interrupts coldly, and Emma’s dislike of him escalates at the callous tone to his voice. “The only thing I care about is getting my rent on time, Mr. French, and on that you are sorely delayed.”

“Give the man a break, Gold,” Newport snaps, his hatred sharpening his voice into a cutting tone. “You heard him – he’s paid you what he can already.”

“Did I ask your opinion, Mr. Newport?” Gold asks coolly, finally sliding his eyes over to acknowledge their presence for the first time. He glances at Emma too, and the flowers in her hands, and he smirks, looking back to Newport and then her again. “What pretty flowers you have there, Ms. Swan. Buttercups, are they? They suit you.”

Emma narrows her eyes, and she sets the flowers down, resting her hands on her hips instead, shifting her weight so her badge gleams in the sunlight.

“Do we have a problem here, Gold?”

“Of course not, Sheriff. I was simply dropping by to remind Mr. French of his dues.”

“And he told you he’s paid you what he can,” Emma says flatly. “So perhaps the two of you can come to some sort of agreement in the meantime?”

French nods eagerly, but Gold just glares at them all. He doesn’t speak, but when it’s clear that neither Emma or Newport are leaving, his face twists angrily, and he spits out, “I have nothing to discuss with Mr. Newport here.”

Emma narrows her eyes and braces herself for a fight. She knows Newport well enough to know he’ll hate being spoken to by Gold like that, and he doesn’t disappoint.

“Fine,” he grounds out. “I’ll take my leave then. Good luck, Mr. French; you’ll need it with this slimy bastard.”

Emma winces as Gold’s face flushes with rage, but Newport turns on his heel before the pawnbroker can reply. He nods to Emma as he departs, and Emma turns to face Gold and French, crossing her arms over her chest. So much for her day off and fun morning at the market – back to keeping the peace it is.

Newport grinds his teeth together as he walks away from Emma, Gold, and Mr. French. He knows Emma is perfectly capable of handling things on her own, that he doesn’t doubt or question, but he’s furious at the mere presence of Gold.  

He continues down the aisle, but doesn’t go too far, loitering by a jewellery stand several stands over to wait for Emma. The stand is chock full of silvery necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and rings. They’re mostly feminine designs, with jewelled pendants and heart-shaped lockets. His gaze falls on an outlying piece of jewellery at the edge of the table, and he peers at it, suddenly taken.

He’s not a jewellery man (a single pierced ear remains as a reminder of his once rebellious phase when he was a younger man), but there’s something about this necklace that makes his gaze linger over it. It’s got two charms, a skull and a sword, strung together on a thick silver chain. The necklace is obviously second hand, the charms worn and chipped in places, and he’s a bit surprised to see it amongst the rest of the pristine jewellery.

“Excuse me,” he says, and the attendant, a younger man with a pierced ear and a thick navy coloured cravat turns to him. “Can you tell me about this necklace?”

The man lumbers over, and nods as he takes in the necklace in Newport’s hand. “Ah, yeah. Looks a bit different than the rest, eh? I actually got it from Gold’s pawnshop.”

Newport’s hand curls into a fist at his side, blood boiling at the man’s name, but the vendor pays no notice.

“Nice, eh? Traded it in for a couple kerchiefs; thought it would add a little spice to the rest of the collection.” The man pauses for a second, eyeing Newport up and down, and says, a bit incredulously, “You interested in it?”

And Newport knows what the man is thinking – what does he, the orderly town treasurer want with a rather gothic and piratical-looking necklace? But something strange has come over him and he knows he cannot leave this booth without the necklace in his possession. Perhaps that it used to be Gold’s possession, but whatever it is, he has to have it.

“I’ll take it.”

The young man looks surprised for another brief moment, but nods quickly, clearly not willing to lose the sale by asking any more questions. He wraps the necklace up in tissue paper, slipping it in a velvet baggie while Newport fishes out his wallet.

“Thanks very much, Mr. Newport,” the man says, bestowing a small smile as Newport nods in turn. “Have a nice day.”

Newport slips the baggie into the back pocket of his jeans as he steps away, resisting the urge to pull out the necklace and slip it on over his head. Shaking his head, a bit unnerved at what’s come over him, he glances over to see how Emma’s getting on, trying to distract himself.

She’s standing with her back to him, hands on her hips, as Gold and French argue in front of her, and Newport can see her irritation in just her stance. His return to her side won’t be welcome now, and he turns back, eyes roving down the rest of the aisle to see where else he can waste some time, when his eyes fall on the beginnings of an altercation brewing down the row.

Mr. Casolare, the man who had strewn his papers about at the town hall meeting, and another local farmer named John Badger, are standing toe-to-toe in the centre of the row, both men’s hands clenched into fists at their sides.

Newport sighs at the sight, glancing behind him once more to Emma. He’d told her he was just there browsing and enjoying the day and, while that’s not a complete lie, there is more to it too. No matter that it’s the weekend, Newport’s duties as Regina’s employee are never done.

Regina never attends these community events herself – ‘peasants’ affairs’, she calls them – and while Sheriff Graham had often been her eyes and ears here, now that he’s gone, the task has fallen to Newport.

Her orders of ‘make sure everything stays civil’ echoes in his head at seeing Casolare and Badger arguing, and he sighs again. He’s not one for conflict – these days, at least – but he’s been sent here on a specific mission and there’s a form of steel in Regina’s words that make him step forward towards the two men.

“What seems to be the problem here?”

Casolare and Badger tear their eyes from each other to turn to him, and Casolare scowls immediately. Badger doesn’t look pleased either, but he at least doesn’t give Newport a death glare as he instantly starts speaking.

“Casolare here is accusing me of stealing his customers. Which is utterly ridiculous as –”

“It’s true, and you damn well know it,” Casolare snarls back. He looks away from Badger, his rage turning to Newport, and he steps towards him instead. “And, if this was any other day, any other market morning, I’d not care so much. But now because of you –” he jabs his finger angrily into Newport’s chest and a fiery rage erupts from that spot, shooting hotly through Newport’s blood like lightning – “I need all the sales I can get, and if Badger here keeps snatching up all the customers as they walk by just cause he’s closer to the entrance of the aisle, it’s not gonna happen and then –”

“It’s not my fault that my cherries are better than yours,” Badger retorts then, balling his hands into fists. “Yours are half-rotten already, look at them –”

That sets Casolare off, and he lunges forward at Badger with a roar of anger. Newport, with quick reflexes he wasn’t aware he had, jumps forward and grabs Casolare’s collar, stopping him from tackling Badger to the ground.

“Knock it off, Casolare,” he snaps, the hot rage sparked by Casolare’s shove to the chest starting to bubble over now. The feeling of such an unbridled fury coming upon him so quickly startles him, but it’s also a strangely familiar feeling, though one he feels like he hasn’t felt in eons.

“I damn well won’t knock it off –”

“Are you serious, Ron? You’re going to attack me?” Badger demands face white in fear, and he steps back, looking horrified. “Over cherries?”

Casolare snarls, face flushing with anger, and tries to lunge out at him again. Newport tugs him back once more, shoving him a bit further away from Badger.

“I said knock it off,” he growls. “Or you won’t be welcome at the next market. Mayor Mills doesn’t tolerate any sort of –”

Casolare laughs out loud then, spraying Newport’s face with cold spittle, and Newport falls silent in surprise.

“So that’s why you’re really here, eh, Newport? Mayor Mills can’t do her own dirty work? And now that Sheriff Humbert’s dead and the new sheriff won’t do it for her, you’re up?” He shakes his head, and spits onto the ground, barely missing Newport’s shoes. “I always knew you were nothing but her mindless slave.”

Slave.

The word seems to echo around Newport’s head, reverberating and growing louder, twisting into another man’s voice, a darker, crueller voice. A voice that shouts the word at him over and over, emerging as if from memories long buried. And suddenly the rage he’d been trying to quell overwhelms him, rushing through him and boiling his blood, and he snaps.

Casolare has turned back to Badger, arguing again and ignoring Newport totally, but he steps forward and shoves Casolare away from Badger. Casolare stumbles, caught completely off guard, and nearly topples right over as he yelps in surprise. Newport grabs hold of his shirt collar, yanking him upright and closer so that they’re nearly nose-to-nose.

“What the hell is wrong with –”

“You listen to me, Casolare,” Newport snarls, and his voice sounds foreign to even his own ears – rougher, angrier, darker. “I am no one’s slave. If you ever say such a thing to me again, or even think such a thing, you’re going to find out just how cruel I can be of my own accord.”

“Alright, alright, cool it,” Casolare chokes out, eyes widening in alarm. "I didn’t mean to get you so riled up, Newport, Jesus –”

And then, as suddenly as the anger had swelled up, it drains out of Newport in one fell swoop. It’s as if hearing his name has flipped a switch somewhere internally, locking that anger and rage back into whatever cage it’d been contained in, and he’s left cold and empty.

“Sorry,” he says, abruptly releasing Casolare, who stumbles away from him. “I don’t – I don’t know what came over me.”

Casolare just stares back at him, and Badger is lost for words now too. The two men look at each other, their own argument forgotten, and take off without another word towards their respective booths.

Newport watches them skedaddle only superficially; his thoughts are too muddled with shock to really process much else. That reaction he’d had to Casolare’s words … he doesn’t remember ever becoming so angry so quickly ever in his life, ever having felt such deep rage so furiously fast. It alarms him how quickly that anger had come up on him, how easy it had been to just give over to it and to let it course through him, to let it consume him.

Where the hell had that come from?

He takes a deep breath, running his hand through his hair, and steps back into the main aisle of the market. Luckily, it seems that none of the other customers had noticed his altercation with the two farmers, or if they have, they’ve looked away again, back to pretending he doesn’t exist.

He’s so out of sorts, staring at the end of the row stand with knit tea cozies on every possible surface and not even seeing them, that he doesn’t even notice when Emma comes up to stand beside him.

“You okay there, Wes?” she asks, her voice curious and cautious. Her business with Gold and French is clearly over, the men nowhere in sight, and her attention is fully on him, eyebrow raised and a peculiar expression on her face.

“Aye,” he says, a moment too late. “I’m fine. Um, how – how did you end up? With Gold and French?”

She narrows her eyes at him, and he knows his attempt to change the subject hasn’t fooled her for a moment. “Oh fine. I think we figured something out, though I think Gold left more pissed than when he got there.” She tilts her head at him. “And you? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Not a ghost, he thinks grimly. More like a demon, and more like he saw it within himself.

“No, no. I just ...” he hesitates, not sure how to explain what came over him. “Well, there was some trouble with two of the farmers. They were arguing about customers, and then saw me and got annoyed with the budget cuts, and I lost my temper with them.”

Emma frowns, clearly surprised. “Really?”

He hesitates again, and then shakes his head. “Yeah. I don’t know why. One second Casolare was just talking and then –”

“Casolare?” Emma interrupts, and her eyes immediately search for the man in question over Newport’s shoulder. He looks too, seeing the man fuming at his stand and pointedly not looking anywhere near them. When Newport looks back to Emma, her eyes are narrowed, mouth pinched into a dark scowl. “The man from Town Hall? The one who knocked those papers over?”

He sees easily that Emma’s misread what happened, that somehow Casolare antagonized him like he’d done at Town Hall and that’s why he got angry. And sure, that’s true on a surface level, but Newport himself is the one at fault here. He’s the one who overreacted, who acted like a raging monster. Not Casolare.

But he doesn’t answer, doesn’t correct Emma’s thought, before she’s speaking again, straightening and dropping her hands to her hips.

“This is ridiculous. If you think there will be trouble next time there’s one of these markets, I can come to the next one in uniform. First Gold and French, and now this. This is getting out of hand.”

Newport is hardly listening to her, and it’s not until Emma taps him on the arm that he breaks out of it. She’s frowning at him, and he can tell she must’ve asked him something, something he has no idea about.

“Pardon me?”

Her frown deepens, and she doesn’t remove her hand from his arm. “Are you sure you’re okay, Wes?”

“Yes,” he answers. At her unconvinced expression, he adds, “I’m fine, really.”

Emma nods after a moment, though her brows are still knitted together, and she removes her hand from his arm.

“Okay.”

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence, their ease of the morning fading as the silence continues. Newport can’t think of what to say, to bring back their earlier camaraderie, feeling rather like he just wants to leave the market, to return to the safety of his flat and figure out what the hell came over him.

His intentions must be easy to read because Emma sighs then, and looks away, rubbing her arms. “Well, I better go find Mary Margaret and make sure she’s doing okay,” she says, and her eyes flicker back to him, a tiny lilt of hopefulness in her tone in her next words. “I guess ... I guess I’ll see you around?”

He nods, and smiles. “Of course, Swan. It was – it was very nice to see you this morning, even amidst all the ... tension.”

She smiles back in return, and then with a wave and another smile, Emma turns and disappears into the crowd with the rest of Storybrooke, and Newport’s alone. Though he’s been lonely for as long as he can remember, somehow, watching Emma walk away makes him feel its sharp hollowness as if he never felt it before and it’s all he can do to scurry away home instead of just running right after her.

That night, Newport falls into bed still fully dressed. He’d gone into the office after returning home to an empty apartment and loud thoughts, with suddenly no desire to face either. Work had calmed him down, but the sudden rage from the market has spooked him and it lingers at the back of his mind, lurking and prowling.

Luckily doing some work also exhausted him, and by the time he had trudged home, he was so tired, he didn’t even bother changing, asleep on the covers before his head had barely hit the pillow.

Dreams overtake him immediately. They’re restless, occupied mostly by a sneering man named Silver, who screams at him for his slow work, laughs at him for being a drunk, mocks his inability to hold onto any of his money, taunts him with his lack of freedom.

He senses that he’s younger in the dream, not more than a teenager, and in that state, it’s hard to restrain the tears of fury and pain in his eyes at the cruel treatment. He cowers from Silver, feeling afraid of what’s to come, and it’s when the man reaches out to strike him that Newport finally wakes from the dream, awake like a bolt of lightning before the man gets a chance to touch him.

His apartment is quiet in the early hours of the morning, calm and restful. Newport can hear his heartbeat loudly in his ears, and he shakes his head, trying to clear the dream.

A slow worker, a drunk, a gambler ... none of the things that Newport is.

But why had it felt so familiar?

Fair enough, there had been some issue with alcohol in the past, but that was long ago. But Newport has always prided himself on his quick work and, hell, Regina made him treasurer because of how good he is with money. Gambling, laziness, an alcoholic ... they aren’t words he’d used to describe himself, but they settle eerily in his mind, far too familiar.

He shudders, and throws the covers off himself, trying to force away the lingering unease. His clothes are uncomfortable now after hours of sleeping, and he rises to change, flicking on the side lamp as he goes. As he tosses his jeans onto a chair, the pirate necklace he’d already forgotten about tumbles out onto the soft rug, spilling out of its little pouch and gleaming in the dim light.

Goosebumps raise on the back of his neck as he picks it up, the metal cold in his hand. The uneasiness returns, the necklace feeling as familiar as the strange dream had. Spooked, he clenches the necklace into his fist and opens the bedside dresser drawer, tossing it inside. He stares at it for a moment, the skull and sword gleaming, and he slams the drawer shut, unnerved once again.

#cs ff #captain swan #ouat #cs mc ff #from the sea #hope you like it :) #i had fun writing this chapter #getting some of Killian's POV in the story now too! #cs fic

[averyonelovesjack]

tickets ~ zach herron

requested: yes

Sorry to such a bother but I thought of an idea! It's the Zach anon again haha, but I was thinking of something like actions speak louder than words? Where he doesn't think he loves the reader but his actions show he does but doesn't realize it until later, kinda like the boys songs "words I didn't say"? Maybe the reader gets a bf and he tries to convince her he loves her more and she tried to move on from zach but cant. Sorry that's so jumbled but something like that would be cute! Thanks babe!

summary: with a boyfriend, y/n struggles to confront zach about her feelings.

warning(s): cursing (tbh can’t remember but probably)

word count: 2728

author’s note: i absolutely love this idea!! that’s one of my favorite songs so it was really fun to write for me. i hope you like it love:)

I couldn’t help but let out a small giggle as my best friend stared at me from across the kitchen table in the early morning. My voice was sore and my throat was dry, but a hoarse laugh left my throat at the silly faces that Zach had made to get me to smile in the slightest way.

My lips sipped at the coffee mug, my eyes closed so that I wouldn’t choke from laughing while i drank. As i put the cup down, I let out another laugh, Zach’s facial expression changing.

“stop,” i whined at him, “it’s too early to laugh”

he made a different face, “it’s never too early to laugh, y/n” 

i shook my head, letting out another chuckle at my obnoxiously hilarious best friend. his face turned to a smiley one that i couldn’t help but return. zach was too cute when he smiled and it was impossible not to return it, “are we still on for pitch perfect 3?” 

“i thought you’d forget about that,” he playfully rolled my eyes, “if we must see it, then fine. We’re still on” 

“of course we must see it!” i stared at him, “we’ve seen the other two together. It’d be shameful not to see the third one together” 

“to be fair, you did force me to see the other two as well,” Zach defended his former statements.

“yes, but you ended up loving them,” I explained and he shook his head.

“no, i loved the first one. the second one was ok” 

I shook my head, “it was funny!” 

“yeah, but what’s the point in a third one? what could they possibly do that they haven’t done already?” 

“i don’t know! that’s why we have to go see it!” He groaned and slid down in his seat as I giggled, taking another sip of my coffee.

Excitement traveled through my body as I arrived at the Why Don’t We household. I didn’t bother knocking, knowing that at least Zach was home, due to my calling prior to arriving.

I sprinted up the stairs and into his bedroom. Zach sat on his bed, a guitar in his arm as he played around with it. I looked at him and he laughed at my lack of breath from running up a flight of stairs. 

My body collapsed on his bed, my head staring up at his as he leaned over me with a smile on his face. Everything inside of me was bursting with happiness as I stared at him.

“so are you gonna tell me why you’re so excited?” he questioned with a slight laugh, strumming one final chord before setting the guitar down in the stand and staring at me. I sat up with a wide smile.

“you know jake?” 

zach nearly rolled his eyes, “yes, i know your boyfriend” 

“wellll, he’s taking me to the rangers-kings game tomorrow!” I squealed, “it’s an anniversary present” 

“when’d he tell you about this, y/n?” his eyebrows furrowed, rather than him being excited for me.

“just an hour ago, when i saw him. since you know, our three months is next week and he wanted to surprise me” 

zach nodded his head, looking down a little bit sadly.

i stared at him, confused by his response, “what’s wrong?”

he shook his head, “it’s nothing. i’m happy for you guys, i am” 

i didn’t believe a single piece of bullshit that left his mouth. my eyes stared into his, “no i’m serious. what’s wrong?” 

he sighed, staring at me with indecisiveness. zach took a moment before standing up to go towards his desk. i watched his every move, staring at his hands as they dug through his desk drawer. within a minute, he pulled out two pieces of paper, “i bought these about a month ago for you. I knew you were excited about the Rangers being in town and they were only playing here once this year, the other two games being in New York. I told Jake that I’d wanted to get you the tickets, but i guess i never told him that i got them” 

Zach looked sad as I stared. I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing to say in this situation, “zach, it’s really sweet of you to do this. thank you” 

he scoffed, looking away, “not if i can’t even take you” 

“it’s the thought that counts,” I explain, “maybe one of the other boys will want to go. Jonah, maybe? he’s from Minnesota, does he like hockey?” 

Zach shook his head, “it’s fine. i’ll just sell them,” He tried to fake a smile, but i could easily see that it wasn’t real, “was that all?” 

“i guess,” i replied sadly, “we could hang out for a little bit” 

“don’t you want to go see jake?” The name escaped his lips like venom from a snake, “he got you hockey tickets. You guys don’t have something planned?”

i shook my head, “no, we talked. and then i came here to see you. i thought we could hang out” 

“yeah, whatever” He shrugged, not looking at me. I watched as he took a seat on the bed, lying back.

“are you ok? you seem a little weird today,” I ask my best friend, “then again, you’re always a little weird” 

“fine. just tired,” He tries to excuse his odd behavior but i could see past it, “long day” 

“ok,” i reply skeptically, “i’m sorry again”

“don’t be sorry” he tells me, “you’re not the one who should be sorry” 

i frown, “jake didn’t know, zach. it wasn’t his fault” 

“you sure he didn’t know?” Zach told me, a little harsher than before, “because it seems like something he did know and he just wanted to get it so that i couldn’t” 

“can you stop attacking him please?” I begged, “he didn’t know” 

“yeah whatever,” he looked at me, “i’m a little tired, maybe you want to go talk to one of the other guys?” 

A small frown reached my face as i cautiously closed the door behind me, exiting. Jack met me when i did, and the sad look on my face allowed him to make sure i was ok. I fed him a simple answer and left, walking towards my car.

Zach has been my best friend for five years now, I moved out to LA to be with him. Everything he did for me, it was perfect. He’d make me laugh and he’d go with me places that I couldn’t drag anyone else to. He would make me smile when I’m in the darkest spot. There were arguments and fights through our relationship, sure, but we pushed through them always. They made us each sad to think about or do.

I got in the front seat of my car, thoughts of the day prior rushing to my mind. Zach had always been my little mini crush, since day one. And it wasn’t because he was extremely attractive (i mean that too), but because of his heart. He was kind and funny and sweet and perfect. I never acted upon those thoughts in fear that he’d get mad or that we’d end a good friendship for something as stupid as an itty bitty crush.

But then that itty bitty crush grew. And he became everything to me. My best friend, my partner in crime, my movie buddy, and the secret love of my life. I was so in love with him for the longest time, but he never seemed to notice. We’d do things and I’d look at him with a pair of puppy dog eyes and he would refer to me as nothing but a friend. 

So when Jake came along, he was sweet and athletic and almost as funny as Zach. He would treat me like a princess and take me places I couldn’t imagine. He asked me to be his girlfriend, and as much as I was still in love with Zach, i needed someone to be there in a way that Zach just couldn’t. Jake was perfect for that. He’s a great boyfriend and he means well, i know that.

My car pulled up in front of my boyfriend’s house and I walked up to the door, knocking carefully. A few footsteps came from inside the house, and a shirtless Jake let a smile leave his lips when he saw my body standing there. He leaned down, pecking my lips and letting me in.

“hey babe, what’s up?” he questioned, “i thought you went over to tell Zach or something” 

“yeah,” i shrugged, “he was tired, i guess” 

I shook the thoughts from my mind, but Jake looked at me, “did something happen?” 

“no,” i frown, before looking up at my boyfriend’s pleading eyes, “he was a little annoyed today, that’s all. I figured he wasn’t in the mood today, so i decided to come back here. i hope you’re not busy” 

“of course not,” he told me, “i’m never too busy to hang out with you” 

“that’s sweet,” i reply and i follow him towards his living room. we each took a seat on the couch, my head resting into his neck.

It was several moments and an episode of friends later when Jake and I spoke again.

“you know i love you, right?” Jake asks me. it was quick, sure, but he and i knew where we stood.

i nodded my head a little bit, “i love you too” 

“but i mean, you know i love you more than zach does, right?” 

i looked at him strangely, “what do you mean?” 

“i love you more than zach does,” Jake repeated.

“i don’t know how you really compare them,” I furrow my eyebrows, “but that’s very sweet of you” 

“he’s your friend, and i’m your boyfriend. i guess it just makes sense for me to love you more. and i love you so much, so i don’t know that he could love you more,” My boyfriend defended his reasons and i became skeptical. I love him very much, but it almost hurt when he said Zach was just my friend. Sure, friendship is all we have together, but he’s a best friend. Not just a friend.

“did you know that zach had already gotten me tickets to the game? he just mentioned that he had them for a while now,” I asked, changing the topic of discussion to get a real answer from my boyfriend.

“i didn’t know that he actually got them,” Jake shrugged.

“you didn’t trust that he would actually get them?” i scoff, unsure if i was kidding or not with him. It was a little foolish of him to think Zach wouldn’t go that far.

“i guess not, no,” his eyebrows squeezed together in confusion, “he’s just friend and tickets are a pretty big commitment to someone. They’re not cheap, especially in LA” 

i looked at him crazy, “Zach’s not just a friend. He’s my best friend. he’s the reason I’m even in LA. it’s a commitment that he would make, i know. And to add to that, he’s a freaking famous singer, you don’t think he would have to money to put into it?” i explain, but then finish off with something simple, “it’s just a little confusing, babe” 

“i guess i underestimated the power of your relationship,” He frowned, looking down instead of at me, “you really like him, don’t you?” 

“he’s my best friend, jake,” i try to explain again, but it was no use. Jake saw through my lies.

“no, you’re in love with him, y/n” Jake says, “how long has it been?” 

i stayed quiet, unsure of if i was even going to answer. It’d break his heart, and even if he was being a little idiotic about zach, jake’s given me the time of my life these past three months. It would hurt him too much.

“y/n, just freaking tell me, ok? i don’t care anymore, it’s done, it’s over. nothing can be changed, and you’re in love with your best friend. i can’t be mad at you, it’s not something you’ve just controlled. just please, one final question,” Jake looks sad, “how long have you been in love with him?” 

i played with my fingers, my voice cracking just slightly as i looked down, “a couple years,” i start, “but i met you, jake. and i do love you, i swear. It’s just that-” 

i pause, trying to figure out what to say next when Jake finished it for me, “you love him a little more. Or a lot more. You’ve always loved him and you can’t move on until you see what it could be, or what it will be” 

i nodded my head, my boyfriend summing up my feelings perfectly. A small sob left my mouth as i looked to him, “i’m so sorry” 

his arms wrapped around me, pulling my body closely to his and shushing me, “i’m sorry,” Jake whispered, “for putting you in this position. you don’t have to choose, y/n. go get your man” 

i removed my body from his, looking at him, “jake, i’m so sor-” 

“don’t worry, y/n. i hope we can still be friends,” he smiles sadly, “because as much as you love zach, i think that you and i would be really great friends. go get your guy” 

i sniffled, looking up at him, “you’re a really great guy, you know that? you’re gonna get a really great girl someday”

“yeah yeah, i’d hope,” he jokes, “i’m getting old” 

i playfully hit his chest, “you’re not even twenty” 

“my friends have kids” he explained.

“your friends are twenty five” i explain and the two of us laugh at his stupidity.

“ok ok, now go. don’t miss out on this opportunity,” Jake smiles and i look at him with the biggest smile now, wiping away my tears.

I arrived at the Why Don’t We household, knocking on the suddenly locked door. It was a few moments before Jack showed up and his face looked sorrowful at mine.

“i knew you weren’t ok. what happened?” he tried to pull me in for a hug, but i shook my head, sending him a smile.

“no, i’m really good actually. is zach still home?” I ask and he stares at me strangely.

“i don’t think he’s come out of his room since you left” 

“perfect,” i walk past him and down the hallway until I reach Zach’s bedroom that was shared with two other boys. When I knocked, there wasn’t much of an answer, so i walked in, recognizing that Zach was yet again playing around on his guitar, alone in the shared room.

Zach stared at me strangely, “hey, are you ok?” 

“i’m great,” i laugh, “everything is perfect” 

he put his guitar down cautiously, “is that sarcastic or-” 

“i love you,” i blurt out, unexpected even to myself. if this happened months ago, i would’ve covered my mouth and left, but this time, i laughed again in excitement. i restated my sentence, “i love you” 

“y/n-” i couldn’t tell what Zach was feeling, “jake” 

“it’s over,” i officially state, “we broke up, and i’m fine” 

“what happened?” he asks, “are you sure you’re ok?” 

“i hope you haven’t sold those tickets yet,” i sit down on his bed and he sits up further, looking at me.

“y/n, what happened?” 

“he knew that i loved you. It wasn’t bad, he’s a sweet guy and he means the best. I’d been sitting on this forever and i’m over it. I’m tired of just sitting here and analyzing whether or not you were flirting with me or just talking as friends. This isn’t a secret anymore and i hope it doesn’t ruin our relationship”

Zach say anything, really. He looked at me with his beautiful eyes. It was very quick, but his hands reached my face, resting softly there as my lips parted and attached to his. Zach deepened the kiss he’d started, making butterflies go off inside my stomach.

After a few moments, we separated and I stared at Zach with a wide smile, “is that your response?” 

“i love you too,” he let out a little laugh, going in to peck my lips once again, “i really love you too” 

#zach herron #jack avery #jonah marais #daniel seavey #corbyn besson #zach herron imagine #why don't we #wdw #imagines #imagine #rangers #hockey #boyfriend

[jamkookies]

° Bon Voyage °

• Part VI •

Hop, bunny, hop!

~

You had been staring at him the whole time on your way home.

You knew it was not the wisest thing to do, since someone could probably notice you but that was not the main thought on your mind right now.

All you could think about was how purely he had sung that song with that melodious voice, pulling at the strings of your heart.How it had made you experience an epiphany, suddenly clearing your head from all the insecurities dwelling on it for a long time.

The straw hat had been a savior earlier on.

Shielding you from the other's eyes, you had managed to wipe at your tears without anyone noticing, leaving nothing but a joyous expression on your face.

Hoseok and Jimin had both patted him on the back, their pride clearly visible in their eyes and you had proceeded to do the same.

Still, this couldn't affect your attitude towards him.

You muster up the courage and approach him, throwing an arm across his shoulder. You trade your straw hat for the bucket one on his head.

"Our Jungkok-ssi is gonna be a great singer when he grows up," you say, smirking.

"Oh, I could never reach your level," he answers, a fake timid smile on his face.

Hoseok slings his arm across his other shoulder.

"Both of you can't even come close to my magnificent vocals."

Jimin fastens his steps behind you.

"Hey guys, wait for me!" he yells and closes the distance in three long strides, using yours and Jungkook's shoulders as leverage to lift himself up.

You all start laughing like pre-schoolers hanging out into the streets.

* * *

"Cheers!"

Everyone clinks their glasses together, huddled around the table on the living room.

After finishing the day with your teammates you had all decided to have a glass of red wine.

Well, all except for Yoongi and Jungkook.

They had refused to join you, claiming that they had already chugged down two glasses of alcohol in a nearby pub.

That explained why Yoongi hadn't been with Jungkook when you had found him busking.

He had told you that Hyung had been tired so he'd gone straight at home, leaving Jungkook strolling around the streets on his own.

"Friendship is....?" Yoongi aimed his fist at Kookie.

"Irish Bomb," he finished, bumping his fist.

You didn't even know what that was supposed to mean.

After that, they'd crashed in their beds.

You refill your glass, the bitter liquid stinging your throat making you want more.

You had started to get a little tipsy, and you couldn't deny the guilty pleasure you felt.

Being a light weight drinker, you couldn't really hold alcohol, but you were surprisingly in the mood tonight.

Jin touches Namjoon's hand and looks him in the eye.

"Why are you so cold? Is it because you have a lot of fans?"

He explodes into a fit of laughter, you joining him immediately.

Namjoon just deadpans.

"Hyung, stop it with the puns," Taehyung whines, but he's clearly holding his smile.

"Actually, I was gonna make an animal joke, but-"

"Please don't," Hoseok interferes.

"- they're irrelephant," he finishes.

Your laugh goes hysterical.

Everyone else was acting a little silly, you the most out of all.

The booze was really getting at you.

But you weren't the only one, though.

At the corner of the table there's Hoseok looking like he's having an existential crisis.

You go for another refill.

And another.

"That's enough for tonight, Y/N," Jimin says,the only one sober enough to notice.

The edges of his face are warped and you keep seeing curved colorful lines every time you flicker your eyes to the side.

"Yer fashe looksh fwony," you giggle and poke his cheek, a hiccup escaping your lips.

"She's drunk," you hear someone say. You can't really tell who it is. "Get the booze out of her reach, please."

"No," you protest, clutching the bottle tight like a baby. "Mwine."

Your tongue is tied and you constantly produce unintelligible words.

"Give me the bottle, Y/N."

"Noooo."

"What's going on?"

Even though your head is floating, you'd recognize that voice anywhere.

Your head snaps on the right, towards the door.

"Kookie, cwom join ush," you slur.

"She drank a little too much", says another voice.

Hoseok, probably.

Jungkook seizes you up, steps coming closer, but to you it looks like he's zig-zag-ing.

You giggle.

"Hop, bunny, hop!"

"Oh my God, she's completely out of it."

"I knew she was a light-weight-drinker but..."

"Watch where you're...."

"......careful....."

".....gonna fall...."

The voices merge with each other, a jumble of sounds and words unable for you to grasp. You wobble in your feet, the world spinning and spinning and-

A pair of hands catch you before you fall.

Strong, steady hands.

Jungkook's.

He hauls you across his shoulder, holding you by your feet.

"Lemme gwow," you say and hit his back repeatedly with your weak fists.

He ignores you and starts walking out of the room.

The motion makes your nausea even worse and when you squirm to get away, he grips your legs tighter.

Entering the room slowly, he lays you gently on the bed. His face is a hair's breadth from yours, hovering over it.

With a dazed look on your eyes, you reach for one of his curls falling into his face and twirl it in your finger.

"I liek yer hair. It's fwoffy."

He smiles that adorable smile of his.

"Get some sleep now. It's late."

"Yessir."

He takes your shoes off and pulls the covers over you. Then he joins you, and what surprises you the most, even in your drunken state, is the fact that he doesn't sleep with his head by the end of the bed, but lays it on your pillow instead.

Your eyes closed, you squirm continuously, hands blindly swinging in all directions till they brush against his arm. Not having the slightest idea what you're doing, you greet the warm surface and wrap his arms around him.

His skin is really warm, you think to yourself.

Jungkook freezes.

He extends his hand, pausing, hesitating.Then, he hugs you and strokes your back until you fall asleep.

* * *

Your head is pounding.

It feels like there's someone beating a hammer on it from the moment you crack your eyes open.

Groaning, you try to lift your hands to your face, but notice they're stuck.

You suddenly become aware of the second body next to yours, radiating warmth.

Jungkook's arms are around yours, enveloping you in a tight hug. Your head is lain on his chest, rising and falling slightly with his every breath.

Then, it all comes flooding back to you.

The wine, the jokes, you throwing a fit, Jungkook carrying you on his shoulder...

You remembered every single detail and you didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

There weren't enough fingers for you to count the times you had embarrassed yourself in the span of just two days.

You felt like dying.

You lift your head and take a glimpse at his face.

His eyes are closed and he's breathing softly through his nose.

You try to move your arms in an attempt to detach yourself from him, but he only hugs you tighter, refusing to let go.

You're stuck.

After a second try, he just nuzzles his nose on your neck.

Heavens above.

Goosebumps flare all over your body.

"J-Jungkook?"

He cracks one eye open.

"Watch the formalities. Or are you still drunk?"

You shake him off.

"I'm not the only one who drank last night."

"Yeah, but some of us thought that drinking six glasses of wine was not a big of a deal," he says, looking at you pointedly.

You stick your tongue at him, and try to get off the bed, but he grabs your ankle.

"Let go!" you screech.

He starts pulling you towards him, and you claw at the sheets, trying to find somewhere to hold on to. When you come close enough, you put him in a headlock.

He flails his arms wildly, trying to grab hold of you.

Suddenly, the door swings open, revealing an enraged upside down Yoongi.

He stomps inside of the room, pulling you both apart.

"I thought I told you not to fight!"

"You call that a fight?" Jungkook teases.

"Yeah you're right," you say. "I would've beaten your ass if it wasn't for Yoongi-hyung."

"May I remind you that I own a black belt in Taekwondo?"

"Well, you can take that belt and stick it up your-"

Yoongi puts a hand over your mouth.

"Enough playing around. We're going fishing."

He starts walking out the room, and you take advantage, aiming a fist at Jungkook.

"And no fighting," he says, not turning around.

You pause your clenched fist mid-air and then lower it.

Two seconds later, both you and Kook explode into laughter.

* * *

After pulling yourself together - that is, taking a shower, brushing your teeth and dressing up - you exit the apartment along with the other members.

You had been given three rented cars to drive all the way to the beach.

The staff had teamed you up with Namjoon and Jin.

"Hyung, please let me drive."

"Absolutely not. You drank too much last night."

"But that was last night. I'm completely sober now and I even took a hangover pill."

"The only ones sober enough are me and Jin," says Namjoon.

You throw a glance at Jin, dancing awkwardly.

"Wow, I am in such good hands."

He doesn't back off for a second.

"Oh come on, hyung, please. I will never drink again without your permission, I promise."

He raises one eyebrow.

"I'll find you some crabs on the beach," you offer.

"Done."

He hands you the keys and moves his chin to the car waiting.

"Drive carefully."

You jump into his arms, smiling bright.

"Hyung is soooo cooool."

Namjoon rides shotgun, while Jin accommodates himself on the back seat. You start the car carefully and the navigator starts giving instructions.

"We were supposed to turn left not right," says Jin, looking at the map in his hands.

"Turn right after 50 metres," the navigator continues.

"No, we have to turn left-"

"Turn right after 20 me-"

"Shut up, woman," he yells.

Both you and Namjoon crack up.

Then, on the front mirror you see another car trailing behind you.

Jungkook is driving, Yoongi and Hoseok along with him.He gives you an obnoxious smirk and speeds up, trying to overtake you.

When the cars stand side by side, he salutes you and passes right in front of you.

Two can play that game.

You press your foot on the gas pedal, chasing after him.

Another car appears, Jimin driving alongside Taehyung.

This is gonna be a long trip.

* * *

After a heated competition of overtaking each other, you finally arrive at the beach. The vibrant blue color stretches in front of you, kissed by the rocky shore.

You climb down the granite stairs, camping bag on your back filled with all sorts of equipment.

You had decided to set a tent here for the night and you were bursting with excitement.

Not a moment after, Jin and Yoongi take out their fishing rods, prepared to make the catch of the day.

The others, however, were another case.

Taehyung and Jimin had already plunged into the water, splashing around like little kids.

You were tempted to join them, but first you needed to find some crabs for Namjoon.

You climb on the harsh rocks, trying to detect any moving pincers. After successfully collecting a number of them, you hand them over to him, and the excitement is visible on his face.

"Get me some more," he says.

You sigh through your nose and go back to the rocks.

You bend over, searching for the sea creatures and you are instantly pushed from behind you. You plunge into the water, arms flailing wildly.

There's a roaring in your ears and some water has gone into your nose. You submerge into the surface and look at Jungkook who is doubling over with laughter.

The little bastard.

"Hyung,I'll kill-"

He doesn't hesitate and jumps right after you, leaving a wave on his wake.

He pokes his head on the surface and swims closer to you.

There's something different about him lately, you notice. Ever since last night, he's been acting more goofy and comfortable around you. At the first chance he gets, he'll find a way to joke around or tease you.

You weren't complaining but you wondered what exactly had changed for him to behave this way.

You dunk his head under the water and are soon joined by Jimin and Taehyung.

Two hours go by with just the sounds of your laughter reverberating through the air.

Anyone could say, without a doubt that the four of you lived up to the maknae title.

~

The dusk falling into the horizon didn't make it easier for you. The exhaustion of your energetic day had started to creep up on you and the darkness slowly swallowing the sun was putting you to sleep.

Your eyes were halfway closed, your cheek leaned on your palm.

You hear a scraping against the floor and Taehyung appears beside you, sitting on a chair.

"Did your batteries run out so fast?"

"I spent them playing around with you all day."

He offers you a roasted marshmallow on a stick.

Your eyes fly open, grabbing it with unnatural speed.

"Easy, tiger. I didn't know you were so hungry."

"I haven't eaten anything all day."

"Oh yeah? What about the fish we had earlier?"

You stop chewing.

"That doesn't count. I need my daily dose of carbohydrates."

Taehyung shakes his head and then turns to look behind him, where the others are, huddled around a bonfire.

"What's with you and Jungkook today? You've been eating each other's heads since morning."

"I think me being drunk has made him think I can be reckless enough to play around with him."

"He's not wrong, though," Tae says.

You turn and narrow your eyes at him.

"Are you jealous, hyung?"

"Hell yeah, I'm jealous! I am your best friend."

You chuckle.

"Jungkook-hyung, can you please tell Tae- hyung that he's my best friend, not you?" you shout.

"Why would I be your best friend? I wanna throw you off a cliff!" he shouts back.

"See, Tae?"

The corners of his lips upturn and you squish his cheeks.

"Coochie coochie coo.."

"Agh! Get off of me!"

After squeezing the life out of him, you head for your tent.

"Good night," you say to the others.

"But it's early," Hoseok says.

"I'm tired. Have fun."

You crash into your bedroll, then a while later, Jin joins you.

Sleep envelopes you immediately.

* * *

A hand clamps shut on your mouth.

You let out a muffled squeak, eyes wide open in terror.

But it's just Jungkook.

He puts a finger on his lips gesturing for you not to make a sound, and then he retracts his hand.

"What the hell, hyung?" you whisper in a shout.

"Come with me. I wanna show you something."

You glance at Jin, still sound asleep.

"Come on," Jungkook pressures.

He unzips the tent and sticks a leg out, offering you a hand. You rub the sleep out of your eyes and follow him outside.

It's complete darkness except for a sprinkle of stars in the sky.

Jungkook crouches and pulls you along with him, hiding tent after tent.

"Why are we acting like criminals?" you whisper.

"The bodyguards are right over there," he points at a lamp a few feet from where you are. " I don't want them on our tails. Plus, it's more fun like this."

You tip-toe your way out of earshot and breathe in relief.

You're standing on a clearing right where the forest begins, the sound of cicadas buzzing into your ears. A whole tapestry of star-lit greenery stretches before you.

Then, Jungkook points ahead.

"Look," he says, and you follow his finger.

The grass lights up like Christmas lights.Dozens and dozens of fireflies appear, sparkling their yellow light everywhere around you.

You gape at the view in awe.

Jungkook takes a few steps ahead and turns around, facing you.

"Well, do you like it?"

"I love it," you gasp.

He smiles like a bunny and starts coming towards you.

You offer him a smile of your own in return, wanting nothing more than to hug him tight. You open your arms wide, inviting him, but he stops dead in his tracks.

The smile on his face turns into a scowl.

Did you do something wrong?

Was he perplexed at your sudden display of affection?

Hurt flashes in your eyes and you lower your hands but then you realize he's not looking at you but rather something behind you.

You are about to turn your head, when something cold touches the nape of your neck.

#bts #bangtan #jungkook #kookie #jk #jungkookie #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #ot7