#from committing crimes n whatever for the master. anyways

[dnangelic]

"a real shame you weren't here when we had to do a museum heist. a tragedy, really." instead the guy who is 90% of the reason for security around chaldea's grails gained heist experience. "then again, i guess we might've gotten in your way, yeah? you don't normally work with a team, right?"

phantom thieves never really were known to flock together , right ? it was just the principal of things . it was the boundless mystery and impressive theatrics ! there could only ever be one proud , glorious thief in the spotlight ! all the rest distracted good eyes and seriously cramped an individual's style ! ... or something like that . in reality , at least a part of it probably had to do with the fact that a phantom thief's existence had to be illusory . no interviews , despite endless call-cards and flashy performances . no caught trappings , despite every good chase . they were always alone simply because they had to be in order to maintain their dreamlike mirages ; who else could ever be trusted to keep these sorts of enormous secrets otherwise ? it was no different from the way that magicians clutched and kept their cards close to their chest --- had daisuke still been back at home , breaking into one location after another at the behest of his mother and ancestry ... wouldn't he have simply kept up the heists until he could peacefully take the secret of his phantom self to the grave with him ?

( hm ~ she has a point , you know . )

bowing his head and then his whole body before the other , daisuke lets out an awkward , apologetic laugh . ' did i really miss something like that ... ? aw . ' a tragedy indeed ! even if he wouldn't have been able to contribute in the face of other legitimate legends , he still would have liked to browse a museum . when was the last time he had visited one , rather than being thrown into some kind of perilous wasteland with nothing more than the master and a handful of other servants to keep them safe ? ' honestly , i feel a little out of place sometimes ... back at home , my mom would send out the calling cards for me a lot of the time , and wiz has always been willing to help me . not to mention , i don't really know whether or not anybody could say dark and i were ever working as a 'team' together ... ' things like this got complicated , and quickly . ' b-but , i'm still here now , at least ! and if there's ever anything i can do to help , then i'd be happy to give it my best ! even though it's a little embarrassing ... ' spontaneously transforming and shocking one individual after another , cleaning up after dark's own messes , etcetera , ' whether or not you're ever with me on a mission of some sort , i really hope we can still be --- '

( oh ? )

' f ... f -- i really hope that we can get along well , master-san --- ! '

[ashton-sano]

HxH: Feitan w/ a Strong! S/o Pt.1(?)

|

|

|

`>When I say strong, the reader, in this case, would be as physically capable and have nen and/or abilities comparable to Feitan. I see a lot of headcanons but not many like this

|

|

|

`>Getting back into the HXH fandom slowly so while I'm working on some more Food Wars! Content, have these since this gremlin has been plaguing my mind lol. If this gets enough love, ill make a part 2 so tell me what you all think :3

Warning: Murder, Stalking and Strong language

So if you a minor, beware.

.

-To start, he might be a tad put off

-It's pretty rare to find someone with such prowess, especially ones that don't have less than-savory intentions

-Id assume you met on a battlefield of some kind or while he was on one of his missions with the troupe

-Just like him, you aren't exactly the upstanding citizen type and are committing crimes of some sort when you encounter

-Whether stealing the same things or killing the same people, you two have similar goals, regardless of the reason

-To be fair, he didn't think much of you when you first appeared

  "How. Troublesome...."

-An annoying obstacle, someone to dispatch quickly

-However, after a rather tedious fight and a good amount of bruises, he realized it might not be that simple

-Your moves were calculated and precise, and your battle iq no doubt honed over years of experience with nen abilities that even he found difficult to handle

-His interest was certainly piqued, as much as it can for Feitan anyway

-You’ll hand it to him; its been a while since you've seen his level of strength

-A true master of his craft, no doubt

-Regardless, that isn't why you were here

-You came to rid of a target and with your mission accomplished, there was no reason to stay, no matter how curious you were about the extent of his ability

-You were swift at your exit, swift enough that Feitan only caught your figure leaving from the corner of his eye

-Admittedly you've sparked more than enough of his interest

-something about your very being itched him in a way he couldn't describe and lingered his thoughts for moments too long

-Like it or not, your existence loomed his mind awkwardly and gave his chest a tighten

-Indescribably annoying

'Must. know. about. Her. Get rid of stupid feeling.”

-now we all know Feitan is no short of deranged and sadistic so it is no telling if he wanted to know for devious reasons or other

-Whatever the case, it led to him talking Shalnark into researching deep (and I mean very deep) into you

-Playing it off as a simple inquiry, he found you, a picture attached to your profile albeit a very blurry one

-All that he could get was your name and Age

"Y/n. Interesting. Name."

Shalnark is confused

-That's how he got here, peeping from your window as you rest

-Even with such little information, finding you was trivially easy

-Your apartment was small, compact he’d say

-Nothing compared to the places he’s layed his head: cold, dark, and filthy on a good day

-He spent the night watching you sleep, noticing every ministration, every time you got up abruptly and checked your surroundings, nearly certain something was amiss

-He didn't expect peeping on you to be so trepidatious

-That didn't stop him from stopping by every time he wasn't busy to check up and watch you

-Days became weeks and months flew by as he kept this cycle going

-It eventually got to the point that he'd follow you to and from your house

-He was searching and, surprisingly, unsure of what for

-He's never felt any particular connection to people outside of the spiders so it was usually easy to write it off as mindless curiosity

-He just wants to know why you interest him so much, and nothing more

-That's how he ended up in your house when you left for your 8 am morning run, which took you approx. 30 minutes to finish as of this week

-He was just checking your clothes because he wished to know where you frequented, perhaps he could lie in waiting as you shopped, snatching your jugular and relenting this pounding in his chest that paces just a few beats quicker

-He only checks the food you eat to see what your diet consists of, perhaps to poison you as your gaze falters from your plate, even if just for a second, permanently killing the heat that rises against his skin at the thought of you

-He doesn't care about you; he just wants to know your weaknesses to exploit, that’s all

-If that were true, then why was he in your room when you weren't? Taking in your scent as if an attached dog 

-Surely he could've killed you thousands of times over in the dead of your sleep; a slit to your throat would've ended this and yet he feels pulled to let you live 

“Just. one. More day.”

 -If it didn't matter, if you didn't matter, why did he effectively remove any potential romantic partner from your life?

-It's just to make you easier to kill; it's just to make you easier to kill, it's just to make you easier to take. No! Kill...not take...

-What was once curiosity became more of a crippling obsession.

-He had to know everything—what you were doing, who you spoke to, and what you ate in the morning

-You captivated him and even if he couldn't understand it, you had him wrapped around your finger without so much as a word 

-Ever since your mission 4 months ago, a certain feeling has lingered your consciousness and kept you on edge with no clue as to the source

-Things went missing, your associates became distant—well, more distant than you kept them—and your kills have become suspiciously easier.

-To the average person, such a prospect would strike fear and cause for trepidation

-Did you think I wasn't aware that he'd been watching me?

-All credit goes to him, spotting him was the hardest part

-He only let his presence be known through peeks of his bloodlust spilling before he vanished in the same motion, which gave away how seasoned he was

It was hard to tell if he wanted me to find him with how obvious his actions became; no, the word would be bold. His actions have gone from stealing articles from the back of my closet to lacing food when he was sure I hadn't seen him 

-Playing dumb was the easy part; actually avoiding his kidnapping attempt(s) was certainly a challenge 

-Before long, you could see the desperation in his nen

“You're getting sloppy, Stalker.”

-I suppose you've worked hard, stalker, I’ll let you win just this once

[urprinceoflove]

Part I: Introduction to the Death Clock

Pairing: Nash Wells x GN!Reader, and mentions of EoWells x GN!Reader

Summary: You have eight days to live. You have settled on spending those eight days with your favorite people in the process of trying to redeem yourself and your actions. But will it be enough?

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, a cocky reader, Nash being bullied

Word Count: 1,403

A/N: here we go, part one finallyyy. i hope to get this series going as i already have the ideas and whatever its called im blanking. YES.

-> Prologue | Part II

H.E.L.P. Master List | The Flash Master List | Full Master List

—

You were on your evening walk through the streets of Central City. You hadn’t told anyone on the team that you would be out, which you weren’t quite sure if it was a good or bad idea. You didn’t care either way.

At least, that was until you ran into a metahuman.

“Y/N L/N, I have been looking all over Central City for you.” The voice rang throughout the alleyway that you were cutting through to try to head back towards S.T.A.R. Labs. Obviously, you will not be going back anytime soon. “I don’t know where you have been hiding all of this time, but I suppose tonight is the night for you to repent.”

“Repent?” You asked. “For what?”

“For your crimes! The sins you have committed upon this city.”

“Look,” You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. “To be honest, you sound a lot like the Green Arrow. To which, I don’t mind, of course, but I don’t think he would be too happy knowing that someone is going around pretending to be him…”

“Silence!” The voice called. The person from above the alleyway dropped down in front of you. You weren’t very surprised at their invincibility. The being uplifted a hood that appeared to be over their face. More Green Arrow references. Although, the figure happened to be a woman.

Your eyes widened. “Wow, I honestly didn't expect you to be a woman. Not in a sexist way… women could be vigilantes and Green Arrow wannabe’s as well.”

“Gosh, do you ever stopped talking?” She asked.

“Not really.”

She groaned. “Let me just finish my speech at least…”

“Go ahead.”

“I know of your villainous ways and the crimes you committed are too many times for me to count. The most important to me was you robbing the bank that my father worked at. He was severely injured in that interaction. I will never forgive you for what you did as he has been confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.”

“Is your father Dr. Wells?”

“What?” The woman stared.

“Harrison Wells, I mean. He was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Actually, I didn’t commit that action the particle accelerator did—”

She cut you off. “That’s besides the point! There is no talking to you…”

“Sometimes.” You admitted. “But I will have you know that I have changed my ways and I am no longer the criminal I used to be. That’s what I have been told anyway…” You trailed off.

“It doesn’t matter to me. I didn’t hear any sincerely in your voice nor did you take this whole interaction seriously.” She sighed. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you left me with no choice.”

A battle? In this alleyway? It was bold, but you were sure that this woman standing before you was a normal civilian. Well, besides her dropping down from a high building and not feeling any pain in her legs. Okay, maybe not a normal civilian so much.

“Okay,” You weren’t a metahuman yourself, but you had some training from your past criminal life as well as Nash as a way to defend yourself. Although you were against fighting, it seems that now was the only time you will allow yourself to. “Bring it on, I guess.” You mumbled.

Though, it was not a battle you expected.

Instead of fighting, the woman’s figure almost seemed to teleport from side to side. You felt her coming up behind you, so you swiftly turned around only to be met with the woman’s hand on your chest.

The world around you had gone dizzy almost as if Rosa Dillon, also known as Top, hit you with her vertigo inducement. Above all, a clock with red numbers making out the time showed.

You woke up in the medical bay in S.T.A.R. Labs.

The heart monitor beeped loudly as you sat up from the hospital bed you were laying on. Nash ran into the room first, making his way to your side.

“Hey, hey,” He set a hand on your chest. “You need to calm down, we are trying to figure everything out.”

His hand on your chest gave you anxiety. You pushed him away from you. Nash stared at you, confused. Caitlin came in shortly after.

“Glad to see you are awake.” Was all she could mutter as she walked over to the heart monitor, disregarding Nash’s existence for now. “We found you in the alley way close to S.T.A.R. Labs. Well, Nash did. Somehow.”

“I was busy with excavation work.”

“You always say that.” Cisco mentioned as he walked into the medbay. “But yeah, he found you.”

“What about the metahuman?” You inquired.

“What metahuman?” Cisco asked, almost failing to hide his excitement.

“I don’t really know who they were. She was wearing a hood and she could teleport. She touched my chest and then I saw a timer in red.” You explained.

Cisco ran out of the medbay to grab his metahuman binder before returning immediately. He flipped through the cards.

“Ah-ha!” Cisco pulled out one of the cards from the binder. “Lifespan, also known as Theresa Vences. She uses her powers to set a death timer on her victims.”

“A what?” Nash stared at Cisco.

“A death timer.” Cisco repeated. “What did the time say when you saw it?”

You shook your head. “192 hours?”

“That’s eight days.” Caitlin confirmed.

“Wait, I only have eight days to live?” You asked. Your heart monitor started to beep faster.

Nash came forward to calm you. “I know that we will find a cure for this. Don’t worry about it, Y/N…”

“Don’t worry about it? How would you feel if you were on a timer, Nash!” You snapped.

The mythbuster took a step back. You were pissed off at your shortened lifespan, sure, but he felt there was no need for you to get mad at him as he was not the one who planted the timer on you.

“Nash is right. There’s no need to start a ruckus.” Caitlin chimed in.

“Oh, whatever.” You muttered under your breath. You removed the heart monitor off your finger as the beeping noises became almost obnoxious for you. You removed yourself from the room and walked down the hallway away from the medbay and most importantly the cortex. Nobody had said a word to you as you were leaving. There was no point. The only person who followed you down the hallway was, of course, Nash.

You had a hand on your head as you stopped in front of the Time Vault.

“What do you want, Nash?”

“I just want to help you out. I know the stuff that you are going through right now is difficult.”

“I am sure you do.” You mocked, not bothering to turn around to see the man. You put a hand on the Time Vault, opening the secret door.

Nash opened his mouth to speak, but shut it immediately. There was no point.

The Time Vault door shut in Nash’s face as you were already comfortable in the room.

Day one began.

“Going down this path will bring great darkness into your soul.” Eobard warned. “The negative speed force may entice you now, but I am a prisoner in this cell.” He put his hands on your shoulders. “Please promise me that you won’t make the same mistake I did.”

“I can’t promise something I know I won’t keep.” You admitted.

“At least you are honest.” Eobard removed his hands off your shoulders and took a few steps away. He sighed. “Won’t you just run away with me instead, Y/N? We could both run away from this villainous path, for all I want is to be with you.”

You were silent. You loved the man, but you couldn’t help but just walk away from your life. The life that you wanted to live. You loved the thrill and adventure of the crimes that you committed. Giving all of this up for him just seemed absurd to you. Yes, love may make you do crazy things, but in this case it seemed love was only affecting the mind of Eobard Thawne; not you.

Eobard stared into your eyes for a short moment. And in that moment he realized; he lost you.

[gukyi]

midas | jjk

summary: jeon jungkook was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and the power to turn whatever he wants into pure gold. you were born with healing and invisibility powers but without a cent to your name. so when you’re plucked off of the streets for pickpocketing and assigned to be his minder as punishment, you realize you’re going to have to overcome a lot more than class differences if either of you are going to get what you want.

{enemies to lovers!au, ceo!au, magical realism!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, angst word count: 32k (my hand slipped) warnings: alcohol consumption (brief), mentions of bruising and injuries, characters being emotionally constipated and afraid of commitment, your usual guyi e2l lineup a/n: finally!! oh god this fic took forever to write and just kept getting longer and longer. remember when i overestimated the wc by saying 25k-30k? yikes. anyway, i hope you all enjoy this monster! nothing says gukyi like a jk e2l fic, am i right?

The best time to be on the streets is just past noon on weekdays and eleven o’clock on Sunday mornings. When every working professional is out on their lunch break or weekend brunch, basking in the nice weather by choosing to fill up every outdoor dining area available to them. When they plop their bags, their purses and totes, on the chairs opposite them or onto the pavement beside them, thinking that the plastic fence that guards them will be enough to deter pickpockets and thieves. 

Unluckily for them, they usually fail to consider the prospect of someone invisible swooping in to steal the bills from their wallets, a nondescript force reaching into their purse as they stare down at their phones while they eat, forkfuls of to-go salads and pasta dishes stuffed into their mouths. 

Pickpocketing is a skill that the most desperate learn and the shameless master. Normally, people work in teams, one person to distract and the other to fish for the wallet, grabbing the cash and credit cards before tossing it onto the sidewalk and disappearing without a trace. If you wanted to be especially good at it, you would have to be able to complete the entire thing in less than thirty seconds, in the time it takes for people to switch trains in the subway stations. 

But when you work alone, you don’t get that luxury.

But you suppose that the higher powers above, whatever they may be, are relatively benevolent, because in exchange for your prickly personality, you were blessed with the gift of being invisible. 

Unfortunately, that’s something that you don’t need magic to feel. 

The truth is that it’s always been easy to ignore a girl who has no family, no friends, and no money. Living isn’t the hard part, living with purpose is. Nobody wants to pay any attention to someone who has nothing, literally nothing, to offer in return. At least, nobody interesting. 

The only times when you ever feel truly at peace are when you’re sleeping, and when you’re walking down the streets of the city, letting the rest of the world pass you by without sparing you a second glance. You’ve never been one desperate to stick out, to make an impression. Never been someone that people stop to do a double take at when they walk past you. Strange as it sounds, you love the feeling of being insignificant. It is, in a way, liberating. 

So far today you’ve hauled eighty dollars and a subway card from the wallet of some poor tourist standing outside of a bakery looking at a map the size of Jupiter. Some people you feel particularly bad about robbing, but a bald man with dad sunglasses and a fanny pack isn’t one of them. Besides, being pickpocketed is a classic tourist experience. You’re actually doing him a favor. Something to check off of his bucket list. 

You stow away the money and the card into your pocket, bills folded neatly into your raggedy jeans, rips and holes lining the fabric not for fashion, but from wear alone. You’ll make a mental note to buy yourself a croissant or something later. A treat to reward yourself for all of the hard work you’re putting in today. You’ll be able to pay off your phone bill for the next month with this money.

When the lunch breaks are over, you’ll probably retire to your bed and wallow in self-pity for a little before returning for the dinner rush. Having no life is a constant job, and you don’t even get any legally-mandated breaks to keep you going. Every moment you aren’t on the streets is another moment you aren’t making any money. It’s sort of like being a salesman, which, if you think about it, is just a legal way to rob people. When have salespeople ever sold something of real value?

With the eighty dollars on your mind, you start to scope out nice bakeries on your route, coffee shop signs and pastries on display in the window, looking for a nice place to settle down and buy yourself something sweet. Seeing as you live off of Campbell’s soups and bread from dollar stores, anything is an upgrade. 

You walk a couple more blocks before stumbling upon one of those picture-perfect bakeries, with pristinely decorated cupcakes and cakes lining the window display. You can tell that this place is good because there’s a line out the door and a little seating area that is packed to the brim. However, you are currently invisible, which doesn’t accommodate purchasing goods particularly well, but you make a mental note to return to the bakery a little later when people can actually see you. As if you’d ever turn right here, in front of all of these people. 

While you’re here, you decide to snoop around the line and the outdoor seating area to see if anybody strikes your fancy. Everyone standing either has their bag on their shoulder or their wallets gripped tightly between their fingers, so that’s off the table. But, there is one woman wearing a massive wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses as she chows down on a pink strawberry cupcake, her Louis Vuitton tote bag sitting a good two inches away from her, possibly even out of her periphery. 

Bullseye. 

There’s never a need to be stealthy when you’re already invisible, so you trot over, eyeing the woman to make sure that she can’t see anything in front of her. She doesn’t seem to be paying any attention, so you quickly reach down into her bag, a close watch on her gaze, hand fishing around amongst the receipts and the lipsticks and hand sanitizer until you feel her leather wallet. Nimble fingers fumble with the zipper until the tips come into contact with the crisp dollar bills, which you quickly nick and stuff into your pocket, bounding off without a trace. 

Halfway down the block, you surreptitiously glance at your haul—two hundred dollars!

That’ll be enough to last you and your phone bill for the next three months, at least. 

You’re so busy mentally applauding yourself for your pickpocketing skills that you don’t notice someone standing right in front of you. At least, you don’t notice until you crash into them, the surprise forcing you to turn. 

You sputter out an apology, hoping that whoever it is you’ve nearly run over isn’t observant enough to notice that the currently-visible thing they bumped into was previously invisible, and that’s when you notice exactly who it is that you’ve collided with. 

It’s the woman from the bakery, Louis Vuitton bag and everything. And she’s staring you down like there’s no tomorrow, arms crossed over her middle-aged chest as she sends daggers at you. Oh, you’re so fucked. 

“Sorry?” You say unhelpfully, already knowing the direction of this conversation. This woman wouldn’t be sending you a death glare if she didn’t already know who you are. They definitely did this just to trap you, set you up like a mouse and a cheese trap. 

“Don’t play stupid, Y/N,” she orders. “You must already know why I’m here.”

“I was hoping you’d let me off the hook?” You say guiltily, her hand already wrapping tightly around your wrists as she handcuffs you, sharp metal pressing against your wrists. One wriggle and you know that there’s no magicking yourself out of these. They think of everything, they do.

“Tell that to the courts,” she snaps, effectively shutting you up as she drags you away, money digging a hole in your pocket as you begin to envision yourself six feet under. You’re as good as dead, caught red-handed.

Well, life was good while it lasted. At least you might never have to have Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup anymore. 

There’s no such thing as an attorney in the Realm. No such thing as a fair trial (even if they say there is), no such thing as defense and prosecution. No grand juries, no crowds, no sketch artist. Just a judge with a stick up his ass and a punishment to be delivered. You’re either guilty or a liar. 

And you’re rather good at being both. 

“The charge is as follows,” says the burly man at the head of the makeshift courtroom, reading off of a piece of parchment like it’s 1433 and the printing press hasn’t been invented yet. “Burglary, possession of illegally-gained goods, and petty theft.” Because charging you for burglary alone wasn’t enough, apparently. You have a sneaking suspicion that they invented the other two charges just so they could have more to punish you for. “Does the defendant have anything they wish to say?”

“Don’t you guys have anything better to do with your lives?” You ask with a dramatic sigh, having already resigned yourself to your fate. “Like, you could be playing golf round after golf round instead of sitting here, charging an orphan girl with no money.”

“This is my job,” says the burly man. Clearly he has never done anything fun in his entire life. 

“Also, stealing is my only crime, right? So do you really need to punish me like I’ve murdered someone?”

“You burglarized a Realm Leader,” he deadpans. As if Realm Leaders really wear wide-brimmed hats, sunglasses, and carry around a three-thousand dollar Louis Vuitton bag on their days off. 

“You set me up,” you accuse. Might as well go out swinging. “What if I charge you for lying, huh? How will you be punished?”

“Anything else?”

“Fuck you,” you spit. 

The burly man sighs, thinks about the potential verdict for approximately two seconds, and says, “The court finds the defendant guilty of all three charges. Sentencing will now be arranged.”

Big whoop. You could sniff out your ’guilty’ verdict from three miles away, knowing that the Realm takes plenty of pride in charging its constituents for whatever crime that they can invent. You slouch back in your chair as the judge and his heartless buddies discuss your punishment. You suppose that being jailed might not be too bad—you’d always have meals and a place to sleep, even if you would have to give up magic in return. And community service would also be alright. You’d be fine with cleaning up the expressway that runs through the city, though knowing the Realm, they’d probably put you up to some stupidly dangerous magical task. And at this point, death seems rather inviting, and would solve everybody’s problems because they wouldn’t have to deal with you and you wouldn’t have to deal with them anymore. 

The judge coughs, summoning the bare minimum of your attention. “The court has reached a sentencing decision for the convicted. We are offering you two options, of which you may choose one.”

Right, like you’d willingly volunteer for both punishments. 

“You may either be sentenced to serve time in the Realm Penitentiary for six months with the possibility of parole after four, or conduct supervised community service until the task at hand has been completed. Please select which option you would like.”

It’s like asking you to choose between being given one hundred dollars or having to pay one hundred dollars. What does the Realm think people will pick? Do they really think anyone in their right mind would choose to be jailed, forbidden to use their magic, and then let the Realm trick them into thinking parole is really an option, over some measly community service?

“Community service,” you say gruffly. 

“Excellent,” the judge says, writing something with a quill and ink because apparently, ballpoint pens are too complicated. “Your community service will be supervised by a Realm Leader with visionary powers, so you will not need to meet with them in order to discuss your progress, nor will they watch you in person.” And they said that crystal balls aren’t real. 

“What do I have to do?” You ask. Knowing them, it’ll probably be something like scrubbing all of the toilets in the Penitentiary, or going deep into the Amazonian forest to collect some magical sap or fighting off a magical beast. Something that could serve as a death sentence, or at least be extremely unpleasant, in the hopes that it’ll get you off of their backs. 

“The court will be assigning you as a minder to correct the ways of another mage,” the judge states. 

A minder? 

So, your community service is that you have to be a glorified magickal babysitter?

Well. It could be worse. 

“Alright, fine,” you say, though it’s not like you have a choice one way or another. Where was your minder? Why weren’t you assigned one, instead of just being hauled off by an undercover Realm leader to be sentenced for the same crime three times over? “Who will I be assigned to?”

The judge looks down at the parchment in front of him through his tiny old man glasses, and says, “Jeon Jungkook.”

Huh?

Jeon Jungkook lives on the top floor of an apartment complex the size of the Empire State Building and worth more than your entire life. There are ceiling-to-floor windows that span the entire perimeter of the penthouse, a whole security team in the lobby vetting every single person that walks through the automatic glass doors, and an elevator with a touch-screen instead of buttons. It sickens you, the fact that some people can live like this. The fact that some people have known only this world as their entire life, and have not once glanced the other way. 

Getting to Jeon Jungkook’s front door isn’t the hard part. The Realm gave you succinct instructions and permission to use your powers whenever necessary throughout the whole thing, two things more than you thought they would. It’s easy to slide by the big buff security guards when they can’t see you. Easy to turn in the comfort and privacy of the elevator, easy to figure out which door is his when he’s the only person who lives on the top floor. 

The hard part is getting there without feeling like you’re way in over your head. Getting Jeon Jungkook to stop abusing his powers will be no easy feat. He’s rich, powerful, and spits on people like you, people who are not either of those things. Not to mention the fact that if he really wanted to, he could just turn you to gold and set you up in his penthouse like a statue, frozen in time. 

For once, the only thing that makes you feel a little bit better is the Realm. They’ve handed you a strict order that neither you nor he can magic your way out of, lined with stipulations and regulations and requirements that both of you will follow or so help you God. If Jeon Jungkook doesn’t comply, he, his company, and his reputation are done for. 

So at least there’s that. 

Jeon Jungkook’s front door is made of a deep mahogany brown and about thirteen feet tall, towering over you just to serve as a reminder that he can pretty much afford to buy out the entire city if necessary. You feel like an ant in comparison, an insignificant little thing, no money, no power, no nothing. 

A fluorescent doorbell light flashes beside the door frame. 

The sound echoes throughout the hallway you’re standing in, a classic ding-dong noise that reverberates across the walls. 

“Coming!” A voice from inside calls. Is Jungkook expecting someone?

You quickly make any last minute efforts to look as presentable as possible—well, as presentable as someone who lives in a dilapidated, abandoned house at the edge of the city can be—before the door opens. 

For someone who’s got money to burn, Jeon Jungkook sure as hell doesn’t look like it. He’s wearing an oversized button down that hangs loose by his thighs, ripped jeans, and a pair of charcoal grey socks, like he got home from work five hours ago and decided to change into whatever feels most comfortable. 

“Oh, good, I called and they said that you would be another twenty minutes,” Jungkook says, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Let me go grab my wallet, you can just set the pizza down on the counter.”

“Uh, I’m not—”

Jungkook rushes off down one of the fifteen different hallways that branch off of the main living room, leaving you stranded as you wander into his massive abode. Windows line the walls, giving you a perfect view of the city below you, twinkling lights of skyscrapers as people slowly leave their offices and return home. His kitchen alone is double the size of where you live. How can one person possibly take up all of this space? Doesn’t it ever get lonely?

You wait awkwardly besides the counter, which is pizza-less, until Jungkook returns, a shiny black wallet between his fingers as he fumbles for some cash. And normally, you have zero qualms stealing from the rich and giving to the poor (aka, yourself), but seeing as he thinks you’re providing a service, you have the compassion to feel at least a little bit bad. 

Jungkook stops when he notices the bare countertop. “Uh,” he begins with a frown, “where’s the pizza?”

“I’m not the pizza delivery guy,” you explain hesitantly. You don’t suppose Jungkook would have opened the door otherwise. 

“Then where is the pizza delivery guy?” He asks, like you somehow know. 

“I don’t know,” you tell him. Was an interrogation supposed to be a part of this?

“Who are you?”

“I’m Y/N,” you say, hesitant to touch anything except the floor for fear that you will either dirty or break something and then spend the rest of your life trying to pay back the damages. “I’m your minder.”

“What?” Jungkook scrunches up his nose in disgust. “I never asked for a minder.”

“Well, you’ve been assigned one anyway,” you say with a frown. To be fair, it’s not like you expected this to be easy.

“That’s ridiculous,” Jungkook dismisses, already making his way to the door to shoo you off into the night, like he probably does with all of his problems. “I don’t need a minder. I’m fine.”

You look over his shoulder, noticing the flecks of golden accents that line his house, the golden teapots on shelves, picture frames hung up on the wall. Even the rods that hold up the massive satin curtains are gold. There isn’t so much gold to be garish and kitschy, like a teenager who can’t control what he touches, but enough to assert that he’s either wealthy or gifted, or in his case: both. 

“That really sucks, because I’m still your minder,” you tell him, refusing to budge. Jungkook can’t possibly imagine he’ll somehow be able to get out of this. Not when the law is working against him.

“Says who?” Jungkook spits back. 

“The Realm,” you tell him rudely, manifesting the agreement the Realm had given you to force Jungkook into accepting. The parchment is laid out on the countertop, curling up at the edges, black ink written neatly on top of it. He glares at it suspiciously, as if he’s suspected that you forged it. When you make no efforts to explain yourself further, he takes a hesitant step forward, eyes narrowing in on the parchment sitting in front of the both of you. In pitch black ink, loopy calligraphy, it says this:

As recommended and required by the Realm, its leaders, and its government, the recipient, Jeon Jungkook is to be assigned a minder, whose duty is to watch over him, regulate his use of magic, and work towards decreasing his magical activity. 

This minder is being assigned as a result of misuse of magic by the recipient, either by abuse or from the intent to inflict harm upon mages or non-magic users. The Realm decrees that all mages who disobey the laws that govern society either be reformed or punished. 

This minder must ensure that the recipient makes progress towards decreasing his magical activity by indefinitely accompanying and supervising him for every hour of the day. This minder’s term will expire once they have achieved their goal of decreasing the recipient’s use of magic and ensuring that abuse of it does not reoccur. 

Should the recipient disobey this proclamation in any form, including vandalism, ignorance, or rejection, he will be brought to court and sentenced to jail accordingly. 

Jungkook seems to read the parchment for about five seconds before crumpling it up in his hands and tossing it into the trash bin by the edge of the counter. 

“Absolutely not,” he scoffs. “I do not need a minder. I don’t know what The Realm told you but I have no problem with my powers and your services are not required. There was probably some sort of mistake.”

As if. The paper says his name. Jungkook’s almost as bad at violating the rules of the Realm as you are. 

“Uh—” you begin again, but Jungkook is already shooing you out of his penthouse, flicking you away like an animal that’s gotten too close. You find yourself backing up furiously in a desperate attempt to not be trampled by him and his oversized button-down and intimidating death glare, until you’re a foot out of his apartment. 

“Maybe you can go bother someone else instead,” he suggests unhelpfully, before slamming the door in your face. 

You stand there for a few more seconds, face to face with the dark mahogany wood. The bright side is that, even if Jungkook only read the first paragraph of the decree and then tossed it into his recycling bin, there’s no escaping the Realm. You have half a mind to just bugger off and let him face the consequences of his own actions. You can picture it in your head: Realm officers barging into his place of work and arresting him on the spot for consciously disregarding an order of the Realm. That might satiate you for a while. 

Resigning yourself to the fact that if you knock on Jungkook’s door and politely suggest that he pull the parchment out from the trash and read the whole thing will probably not go down particularly well, you turn, letting your body vanish before you, before making your way back to the elevator. The pizza delivery guy arrives just as you reach it, letting you easily slide past him as he goes to make Jungkook’s day a little better by being an expected guest rather than an unwarranted visitor. 

Jungkook may not have agreed to this today (not that he has a choice in the matter), but there’s always tomorrow. 

Passing by the security, who spare no second glance at the fact that the automatic glass doors have just opened seemingly by themselves, you turn left when you reach the sidewalk and head home. 

Home is a janky abandoned house at the very edge of the city, where the buildings meet train tracks and old highways, graffiti decorating every open surface within a five-mile radius. It’s not so much a house as it is a shack, old and rickety and forgotten. You think that the locals and the nons believe the place is haunted, since no one ever comes within one hundred feet of the entrance, the broken glass in the windows and big red spray-painted X on the door deterring most folks. 

People who invite you into their houses and say, “it’s not much, but it’s home,” are such liars. For as long as you have lived here, this place has never felt like home. You never come back from a long day and think, ah, home sweet home. You will never dream of wasting away within these walls. That’s a death sentence. 

You enter through the back door, ducking your head low to avoid hitting it on the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling by a wire or two. You’re not electrically-proficient enough to know how to fix it yourself so it’s less of a fire hazard, and you don’t have nearly enough money to call anyone to come repair it, so there it stays. It still works, though, and you use it in a pinch when you can’t see where you’re stepping. 

There’s a small pile of folded clothing on the floor by the mattress, the remnants of a past life that feels more like an alternate universe than it does part of your history. The fridge doesn’t work, nor do most of the utilities, but the little stack of Campbell’s soup cans on the countertop is reliable and unchanging. As is the fact that you will probably never get out of this dump, so long as you shall live.

When you were little, you used to dream of living in a big castle, and wanting for nothing. You would have people to cook for you, clean for you, dress you, bathe you, entertain you. All of these stories about being a little princess, doted on and loved by all, innocent and pure and beautiful. All of these stories about finding Prince Charming, meeting the love of your life as waltzes into your life on a gorgeous white horse, getting married, having kids, and growing old together. You dreamed of a perfect life, a perfect love, where you never have to worry about anything, where no one is ever mean or rude, no government to dictate what you do. 

It’s no wonder all of those stories were simply fairy tales. 

It makes you even angrier when you think about Jeon Jungkook. He’s lived a life as close to perfection as possible, born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a silver platter placed in front of him. He’s grown up with people adoring him, telling him he can do no wrong, rewarding him with a brand new toy when he gets in trouble, teaching him that his powers are for himself first and for other people next to you. Not much is fair in the world, but especially not the fact that he was bestowed with the gift of being able to turn whatever he wishes into gold. 

He is everybody’s Prince Charming: wealthy, handsome, powerful. Too bad you aren’t a princess anymore.

Strangely enough, even after a long day, you aren’t feeling at all hungry. The scent of the pizza Jungkook had ordered to his door was enough to satisfy you, a warm feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. Normally, this late at night, you might even be daring (or sleep-deprived) enough to break into one of your precious ramen packs, but instead you collapse onto the mattress, heavy heart willing you fast asleep, the light flickering above your head. 

The next day you are faced with a choice: leave Jungkook alone and let him deal with the repercussions of his actions on his own (much to your delight), or go back and continue pestering him until he agrees to having a minder (much to your chagrin). 

A new parchment has manifested itself on the counter, words copied from the one Jungkook threw out before your eyes. It shimmers, almost as if there’s a golden halo that surrounds it, another trick that the Realm has up its sleeve. You have a feeling that this one won’t be as easily ripped, crumpled up to be tossed into the nearest trash bin. It terrifies you—how closely they watch. You suppose that it was only a matter of time before they caught you. 

Quite frankly, you’re shocked it took them this long to realize you were a serial pickpocketer in the first place. 

As much as you’d love to see Jungkook get arrested and tried for defying the rules of the Realm, see his face plastered all over the newspapers and tabloids with stupid headlines like JEON JUNGKOOK: CRIMINAL? and ARRESTED FOR HAVING TOO MUCH MONEY?, and count it as a personal win, letting that happen would mean that you would have failed to do your court-ordered community service, which is a one-way ticket to prison. 

So even if Jeon Jungkook was the grouchiest, greediest, cockiest person in the entire world (which, judging by what you know about him, he probably is), and even though you would happily let his career and reputation plummet, you don’t have a choice. The two of you will either go down together or not at all. 

Resigning yourself to the fact that you will have to be within close proximity to Jeon Jungkook for the foreseeable future, you rally yourself out of bed, tugging on what you deem to be your nicest clothes and splashing your face clean. The rags you have on are probably worth a cent of what Jungkook wears on a daily basis, crisp suits and silver watches and golden earrings. He could spit on you and that would increase your net worth. But surprisingly enough, there is something empowering about the fact that Jeon Jungkook will no longer be able to ignore the plight of those in a lower class than him. Not when he, a person who has everything, will be forced to reckon with you, someone who has nothing. 

It’s easy to find your way to Jungkook’s place of employment. It’s this enormous skyscraper with his name in a golden serif font above the entryway, marking the entire building as his own. It isn’t garish and ugly, per se, but it definitely makes a statement. This, combined with the cool, chic design of his penthouse apartment, redeems him a little. At least he has taste for someone with money to burn like fireworks. 

There are two massive security guards and a whole squad of receptionists standing guard inside the building’s lobby, dressed pristinely and narrowing their eyes at anybody who dares enter. You wait across the street for a few minutes, loitering outside of a coffee shop and trying to avoid having people bump into you, watching. The only people that seem to be worthy of entering are wearing suits and dresses that cost more than what your abandoned house could sell for on the market after being restored, nodding their hellos to the security guards and receptionists as they press the elevator buttons and disappear into the building. You and your thrifted blouse would be laughed out in an instant. 

Lucky for you, you happen to have a rather foolproof method of getting yourself through those doors, and it mostly involves the fact that nobody can even see you. 

You rush across the road at the next green light and wait until you see someone heading in, the grand glass doors automatically opening when they register someone’s presence. It’s easy to slip in undetected, and you hang around in the lobby, secretly judging every single person that walks in after you. You could, quite honestly, spend all day in here, watching the receptionists tap away at their keyboards with robotic efficiency, answering calls left and right and fielding all sorts of questions from folks entering. It’s a world you have never dared step into, a world filled with wealth and power and class hierarchy, with Jeon Jungkook sitting on a pile of money at the very top of the pyramid. 

Some of the people that work in this building will never in their entire lifetime get the chance to speak with him. They will come in, day after day, working for someone who they have no personal relationship to, someone that they will never be afforded the chance to meet. 

Those people are, in your opinion, dodging a bullet. 

If only your life was as kind to you. 

A nervous young man walks in, clearly more out-of-place than anyone else. He seems to have barely bypassed security, flashing some sort of pass that lets him through the doors, but if a breeze came blowing through the lobby, he’d topple right over. He stumbles towards the receptionist desk, all of whom have phones to their ears as they furiously type on their keyboards. One woman holds up a hand, making him freeze in place. If he grinds his teeth any more they’ll all fall out before he even gets a chance to speak. 

It’s another two minutes before the lady puts the phone down and says, “How can I help you?”

“I’m—I’m, uh—I’m here for a meeting,” the man fumbles out. You’re embarrassed for him. 

“With who?” The woman asks, peering over the glasses resting on her pointy nose. She begins to look over the list of people who have meetings. It must be a rather extensive list. 

“Mr—Mr. Jeon, ma’am,” the man sputters. 

She looks doubtful. “Your name?”

“K-Kim…” he begins, staring down at his feet, “Kim Taehyung.”

“And your business with Mr. Jeon is?”

“I’m—uh, well, I’m a photographer for… for an article being written about him by F-Forbes,” he explains rather helplessly. He must have superb photography skills to make up for his extreme nervousness. You’ll be surprised if he makes it all the way to Jeon Jungkook’s office without wetting his pants out of fear. 

The lady hums to herself, looking suspicious until she finds the man’s name on her list. “Mr. Jeon’s office is on the top floor. Make two lefts and then a right. You will have to wait to be called.”

“Thank you v-very much.” He scurries towards the elevator, and you strike while the iron is hot. 

Rushing over, you manage to squeeze into the elevator right before the doors close, waiting patiently in the corner as the man tries to calm himself down, doing some sort of breathing exercise. Well, he’s got plenty of time to put his nerves aside, seeing as this building has seventy floors and Jeon Jungkook is apparently at the very top of them all. You feel bad for him, in a way. Jeon Jungkook was rude and unapologetically uncouth when you spoke to him, even if an aura of professionalism and extremely good social skills surrounds him at all times, and you don’t cower in fear at the sight of him. 

There’s no telling what he’ll be like when Taehyung walks into his office. 

One tense elevator ride later, the both of you arrive at the seventy-fifth floor, the silver doors opening to reveal a busy office space filled with people near the very top of the building’s pyramid. People like his secretary and accountants and managers, people who come into direct contact with Jeon Jungkook every day from nine to five. In a way, you pity these people for having to deal with him, but it’s not like you’ll be any different. 

Taehyung rushes out and you make sure to follow before the elevator doors crush you, following the receptionist’s instructions. Two lefts and a right. 

Jungkook’s office, much like his apartment, is not hard to miss. His name is written on a plaque on the door, and a guard stands outside with a clipboard, regulating everybody who passes in and out of the room. The walls that surround him are glass but he keeps the blinds drawn permanently, so that no one has the pleasure of seeing his face while they work tirelessly to impress him. Taehyung gives his name to the man, who checks him off on the paper on his clipboard before entering the room. 

“Sir, your 12:30 is here,” the guard says. 

Taehyung looks about ready to pass out. 

“Let them in,” Jungkook’s voice bellows in response. The man nods to Taehyung, who trembles where he stands, twiddling his thumbs like there’s no tomorrow. He shuffles in awkwardly and the door shuts behind him. Luckily, the walls are sound-proof. 

The thirty minutes of waiting is agony. You have nothing to do but rehearse in your head how this next conversation is going to go down, the scroll burning a hole in your back pocket. If Jungkook was displeased at best to see you in his apartment, you can only imagine the horror on his face when he sees you’ve infiltrated his workplace as well. Especially since you don’t have even a fraction of the money and power needed to enter the building on more professional terms. 

The good news is that, no matter what Jungkook says, no matter how many times he kicks you out of his penthouse and his skyscraper, he has no choice but to accept the deal, regardless of how long it will take for him to realize this. You never thought you’d ever be relying on the Realm to carry you through a predicament, and nor did you ever think you’d be doing their bidding, and yet, here you are. 

The door opens at one o’clock on the dot. 

“Th-thank you so much for your time again, Mr. Jeon,” Taehyung says, bowing profusely as he heads out. “I really appreciate it, you—you won’t regret it, I promise, thank you again!” You quickly rush towards the door, even making to hold it slightly open for Taehyung as he heaps his thanks on top of Jungkook. In the split second it takes for Taehyung to let the door go and for it to shut, you slip inside. 

“Finally,” Jungkook huffs out to himself, hand rubbing against his forehead. He’s not wearing a suit like you had expected, rather, a silken button-down shirt and tailored slacks. He doesn’t even have a tie. 

Well, you suppose that being your own boss has its perks. 

Jungkook’s stomach growls. “Fuck, I’m hungry.” He presses a button on the phone in his office. “I’m taking my hour lunch break now,” Jungkook informs the person on the other end. “Put all of my meetings on hold until two o’clock and not a moment earlier.”

He hangs up the phone and runs his hands through his hair, neatly straightened and styled. You hate to admit it, but there’s no wonder the man has captured the hearts of people all over the city. He’s rather good looking, the flecks of gold scattered around his office complementing his swirling brown eyes, making them look like caramel instead of cocoa. You have a hunch that, in the eyes of the general public, unattractive people instantly become good-looking the moment that they acquire wealth, power, fame, or all three, but Jeon Jungkook doesn’t need any of those things for people to think he’s beautiful. To him, they’re just bonuses. 

He turns around for a moment to look for something, probably to fish his phone out of the pocket of his jacket, and you turn. Nothing says hello like magically manifesting yourself in his office. 

“Jesus fu—!” Jungkook practically jumps out of his skin when he sees you. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I’m your minder,” you explain again. 

“I told you I don’t need a goddamn minder,” Jungkook spits out, turning around again just so he doesn’t have to see your face. “Get out.”

“Sorry, no can do,” you say, rocking back and forth on your feet. “Realm’s orders.”

“Fuck the Realm,” Jungkook says. “I don’t need a minder. Your services are unnecessary. Now get out, before I call security.”

You purse your lips. “You may want to think twice about that.” With a flourish, you whip out the scroll, a golden yellow glow still surrounding the parchment, handing it to Jungkook like a Christmas cracker. He snatches it out of your hand and unfurls it. “You should probably read the whole thing this time. It won’t rip like the last one.”

Jungkook glares at the paper like it’s ruined his life—which, judging by his attitude, it probably has—as he scans over the words, scowl worsening with every second that passes. 

“You shouldn’t frown like that, it’s not a good look on you,” you chide. At least Jungkook knows that there’s no bribing his way out of this one. 

“I told you I don’t need a minder,” he says again like it hasn’t already been made abundantly clear. 

“Well, I didn’t want to be assigned to you, but unfortunately, it looks like neither of us are going to get what we want,” you retort. “It’s this or prison, Jeon. You pick.”

“Why the fuck were you assigned to me, then?” Jungkook asks, rounding on you. “What are your powers?”

“Healing and invisibility,” you spit out. Not nearly as glamorous or lucrative as his own, but they come with their own benefits. For example, the ability to infiltrate high-level, upper class places of employment. “Maybe they thought I’d make a good babysitter since those are two skills often used with children,” you tell him pointedly. 

“I don’t need a minder,” Jungkook repeats for the umpteenth time. “I don’t misuse my magic or abuse my powers.”

“Uh,” you point out, an eyebrow raised skeptically, “I think I’d like to beg to differ.” There’s more gold in this room than miners probably found in San Francisco in the nineteenth century. The fact that nons haven’t noticed the abundance of it in his office is outrageous to you. How else do they think he and his family built up this empire?

“Please,” Jungkook says with a frown. “As if we don’t all use our powers for our own benefit. Huh? What did you do that was so terrible that you had to be assigned as my minder?”

“I pickpocket,” you explain economically. No point in sugar-coating it. Jungkook has probably already figured out you don’t come from nearly as much money as he does. “And I got caught.”

“Sucks,” Jungkook comments callously. 

“Sucks for you, too,” you fire back. “You got caught as well. Agree to the terms or go to jail, Jeon Jungkook. I don’t care. But don’t say I didn’t try to help.”

You stand there in silence for a few more seconds, letting your words dissipate into the air, sinking into the ground. Jeon Jungkook seems to have this furious battle within himself, brows furrowing as he rubs at his chin, pacing back and forth behind his desk. He knows he doesn’t have a choice. He goes to jail and his reputation is soiled. The Realm repossesses all that he has made of himself and he must start from scratch under their ruthlessly watchful eye. There will be no recovery. Only survival. 

Or, he deals with you for a couple of months until the Realm is satisfied with the both of you, and you both go on your merry way, never having to see each other again. 

You know what you’d pick if you were in his shoes. 

“Fine,” Jungkook spits out, pointing an accusing finger your way. “But you are to be invisible whenever we are in public, and that includes here.”

“Done. But you have to decrease your turning otherwise we’ll be stuck with each other forever,” you negotiate. “I’ll also have to come and live with you. Can you handle that, or are you too ashamed to have someone else inside your home?”

Jungkook scoffs. “I live in a penthouse the size of a museum. Pick whatever bedroom you fucking want. I doubt we’ll even see each other.” At least there’s one upside to having to stay with him in his massive residence.

“Fine,” you spit out, just for good measure. 

“Fine,” he counters back. Like anything about this conversation, this agreement, this goddamn life you have to live, is fine. 

Yeah, right. 

Jungkook’s penthouse is much more magnificent when you are more than two steps in the door. From where you had stood before, barely just past the door frame as he crumpled the parchment in his hand and tossed it into the trash bin, you hadn’t been able to see it in half its glory, let alone in full. When you can stand in the center of it all, eyes darting from the hallways and archways and spiral staircases leading to a rooftop pool or gym or both, it is overwhelming. Suffocating. 

His living room alone is larger than anything you have ever lived in, anything you have ever had the pleasure of calling your own. The ceiling is sky high and completely glass, streaks of sun shooting down and casting its rays on his chic furniture, deep hardwood floors. You’re so busy looking up that you nearly trip on a white rug laid out on the floor. 

“There are four bedrooms down that hallway and two down that one,” Jungkook says gruffly, flinging his keys into a bowl resting on a shelf and shrugging off his jacket, letting it hang over his forearm. How could one person possibly take up all of this space?

“Where do you sleep?” You ask. 

“That’s none of your business,” Jungkook says with a frown. 

“There’s no point in not telling me,” you remind him helpfully, “there’s only so many places you can be.”

Jungkook sighs. “It’s upstairs. But you can just sleep in any of the empty ones down here.”

“Thanks,” you deadpan. 

“Is that all you brought?” Jungkook asks with a raised eyebrow, looking at the backpack hanging loose off your shoulder. The zipper’s broken, so the outer flap is in a constant state of being folded over, but it works. 

“What, did you expect a moving truck?” You retort. 

“Ugh, forget I asked,” Jungkook says, shrugging his shoulders as he turns away from you. He begins to point around the room. “There should be some ready meals in the fridge if you’re hungry. TV’s always set to the news, but feel free to change it. Volume shouldn’t ever be over forty. Books are alphabetized by the author’s last name. No parties, though I don’t imagine you frequent those.” 

You can’t tell if that’s a jab or just him being observant, but either way, it’s true. You don’t even have any friends. 

“Fine, anything else?”

“Every bedroom has an ensuite bathroom,” Jungkook informs you. “So use that one. Don’t come into my bedroom. There’s more than enough space here for the both of us to go without seeing each other, so let’s keep it that way.”

“Aw, you mean I’m not allowed to wake up to your handsome face and infectious attitude every day?” You pout sarcastically, making Jungkook scrunch up his nose and frown. “Don’t forget that the only way you’re gonna get me out of here is if you listen to the Realm and follow my rules.”

“Yeah, which are?”

“You’re not allowed to turn at all when I’m around, whether or not you can physically see me. Every time you do is a strike. Three strikes—because I’m generous and forgiving—and I’ll report you to the Realm. The whole point of me being here is to make you stop using your powers all of the time.”

“It’s not like I’m doing any harm to people,” Jungkook defends. “You steal, what’s your excuse?”

“You use your power to add onto your already-enormous bank account,” you point out crudely. “I use mine to survive. It’s different.” Jungkook isn’t convinced. “But it doesn’t matter anyway, because I got caught and so did you and now we both have to deal with the consequences.”

He huffs to himself. 

“So do we have a deal?” You ask, glaring up at him, unrelenting. Jungkook’s chocolate brown eyes flicker as the gold around his house reflects off of his irises, like he’s trying desperately to find a way to get himself out of this before it’s too late. 

What he doesn’t realize is that the very first moment he ever turned something to gold, the very first time the object began to shimmer and spark, he was already too far gone. 

You suppose that in a way, so were you. 

“Fine,” Jungkook gruffs out, a veiny hand held out towards you. It’s stiff and cold, much in the same way that his penthouse is, that he is. This is not an agreement birthed from choice. It came from necessity, out of self-preservation. He is doing this to protect his reputation. You are doing it to protect your freedom. If all goes well, after a couple of months the two of you will never have to cross paths again. Oh, doesn’t that sound lovely? “Deal?”

You grab his hand in your own, squeezing tightly. There is no going back from this. 

“Deal.”

On the bright side, being a minder has finally given you something to do instead of stalking the streets and wasting away on your mattress on the floor. Granted, office life isn’t that much more entertaining, but at least you don’t have to be out in the summer heat anymore. 

As per your side of the deal, you remain invisible whenever Jungkook is out in public, which, quite frankly, is less frequently than you had originally anticipated. His entire life seems to go back and forth from home to work then work to home, an endless cycle, a Newton’s cradle on repeat. Maybe that’s why he’s such a prickly asshole—he doesn’t ever make time for things he enjoys. 

You thought he would at least have business dinners or fundraising events or company galas to attend. Isn’t that what most CEOs do? Flaunt their wealth to other wealthy people? Jungkook has so much money that he could easily entertain himself by one-upping all of his fellow CEO friends at every event he goes to, flashing the Rolex watch on his wrist or the fancy Italian shoes he always wears. 

But no. He wakes up, gets dressed, eats a meal from the ready-made ones wrapped in foil in his fridge, and goes to work. When he comes home, he takes off his suit jacket and shoes, eats dinner, and lounges around his penthouse. Works out sometimes, maybe watches a movie. 

Being rich always seemed to be a lot more fun than what Jungkook makes it out to be. Maybe it’s because everything in modern media is completely fake and wholly unrealistic. Or maybe he’s just purposefully making his life boring because you’re here now. 

But even if the only two places Jungkook ever goes are work and home, his personality doesn’t seem to change no matter what location he’s at. All of his employees are simultaneously frightened of him and desperate to please him, lowering their heads when he passes by their cubicle but placing finished report files and completed tasks at the edges of their desks for him to glance over as he does. You follow him like a wearied assistant (of which he actually has three, and you are just the annoying invisible one) and he acts like you aren’t even there. When Jungkook returns home with you carelessly traipsing in after him, turning visible the moment he closes the door, he shrugs off his outerwear and goes back to doing his very favorite thing in the whole world: pretending you don’t exist. 

At least that hasn’t changed since you moved in. 

The bright side is that Jungkook hasn’t turned at all since you’ve shown up. Not in his penthouse and not at work, though he is usually far too busy dealing with real-world issues to dwell on whether or not he’s got enough gold to his name. The answer is that he does, but he doesn’t give a shit about that. Too much is apparently never enough. 

Even if you are invisible, being in an office setting is somewhat unsettling to you. From a people-watching perspective, you love it, because you get an entire building of people to observe and judge, but from a personal perspective, it’s just another reminder of a life that you are not meant to live. 

All of these people in their ties and pencil skirts and uncomfortable leather shoes, fighting to beat each other out for the next promotion and desperate to please their absolutely unpleasable boss. A nine-to-five job, day in and day out. A fat check in their bank account every month. These are things that are both undesirable and unattainable to you. A glimpse into their lives doesn’t spur you to pursue a career path like theirs, it tells you that no matter what, you won’t ever be able to do what they do. 

“Sir, here are the finished analysis reports on the Lee Corporation joint stockholdings,” a proud young man says, plopping it down on Jungkook’s desk as you watch on in silence. The not-speaking part has been rather difficult, but you do get to whisper annoying things into Jungkook’s ear whenever nobody’s around. 

“They are completed?” Jungkook asks without even looking up at the man, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Did I not ask for them to be completed by Friday?”

The man goes white in the face. 

“Uh—” he begins, immediately losing all confidence he had when he entered Jungkook’s office. “Well, I—”

“I don’t appreciate belated work,” Jungkook spits out. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

The man nods and scurries out of the office before Jungkook can say anything else. He doesn’t even seem to care.

“Wow, couldn’t even say a ’thank you’?” You chide. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners?”

“Late work is unacceptable,” Jungkook says. You’re lucky that his blinds are always drawn, or everyone would see him talking to apparently nobody. “There are no exceptions.”

“He was a day late,” you point out. 

“Three, if you include weekends.”

“That doesn’t make a difference; he wouldn’t have been able to turn them in over the weekend,” you tell him. 

“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” Jungkook orders sternly. He looks angry, but also foolish, because even though he can judge where you’re standing from the sound of your voice, he still can’t meet your eyes. He’s staring holes into the succulent plant on the shelf to your right. 

“I’m not,” you defend, annoyed. “I’m telling you how to be a nice person.”

“I don’t need lessons on that, either.” Jungkook frowns. “He turned in work late and was reprimanded. It’s not any different than what happens in school.”

“But you didn’t even thank him for his time or for showing up to your office, or for the fact that he did the work!” You cry out. 

“What should I be thanking him for? For making the thirty-feet trip from his desk to my office? For turning in work that he was obligated to do late?” Jungkook challenges. “He had to do those. He wasn’t doing me any favors.”

“Except he was, because if he didn’t do that work, then you would’ve had to do it,” you remind him. “Everybody here is doing work because you aren’t able to do all of it yourself. And that’s not your fault—there are only twenty-four hours in a day and you are only one person. But you should be thanking them for their contributions. Even when they turn in something a little late. It’ll do wonders for other people.”

“Are you implying that people don’t like working here?” It’s like he wants to keep this fight going. 

You sigh, loud enough for him to hear despite being a good few steps away from him. “I’m saying that everybody out there—” you say, opening the blinds that cover the walls ever so slightly, just enough for him to see out into the sea of people that sit outside, “—everybody wants so desperately for you to like them. Or at least outwardly display that you don’t hate them. And if you just said please and thank you every now and then, people wouldn’t be so afraid of you.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Instead, he shuts it like a trap and sits back down. He probably doesn’t really appreciate the fact that you’re directing him on how he controls his office on top of how he uses his magic. But it’s the truth, and he had to hear it one way or another.

“I didn’t ask for suggestions on how to run this office,” he spits out. “Next time I think advice like this is warranted, I’ll ask.” Which will be never.

“I’m here whether you like it or not,” you stand your ground. Jungkook gets to put up with you no matter what! “So I’ll tell you whatever I feel is necessary.”

Jungkook scowls. 

“Don’t frown, it ruins your pretty face,” you tease. You walk a couple of steps and lean over to stretch his lips into a smile. He stiffens up, clearly having lost a sense of humor alongside his patience. “That’s better, don’t you think?”

“I can’t wait to get rid of you,” he bites. 

“You’ll have to get rid of that attitude, first,” you counter. “Or neither of us are going anywhere.”  Entitlement and greed go hand in hand. There’s no way you’ll be able to get Jungkook to stop turning everything around him into gold without giving his personality a makeover as well. Somewhere in there is a decent human being.

You just aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to find him.

The time spent at home is less eventful. Besides you, Jungkook has no one to shout at and be rude to, and in any case, he, for the most part, avoids you entirely. Which is understandable but totally counterproductive, because if you never interact, neither of you will ever get what you want. 

Still, there is plenty to keep yourself busy inside of his penthouse. He’s subscribed to every streaming service under the sun and has a movie theater-esque surround sound system lining the walls. He has more books than some small town libraries. His internet is stupidly fast. Even if this setup is temporary, you sure as hell aren’t going to waste a second of it. 

It is sort of weird to eat food with golden forks and knives, though. You always think you’re going to crack your teeth on your utensils. 

You and Jungkook aren’t on speaking terms right now because an hour ago you caught him turning a vase in his office gold, the metal slowly wrapping around the base of the pot like pixie dust, sparkling and shimmering as the clay was overlaid with a deep, lustrous yellow. It increased the value of the vase tenfold and sent the both of you flying back to square one. 

“Jungkook, what the hell?” You had shouted, storming into the room as Jungkook’s face turned beet red. “Just because I’m not sitting in the room with you doesn’t give you a free pass to do whatever you want.”

“It was just one pot!” Jungkook had defended himself. “I’m not even going to sell it or anything, it just looks nice. The room needed something extra.”

“I’ve upheld my side of the agreement, what’s so difficult about upholding yours?” 

“Oh yeah, like telling me how to do my job even though you have no experience in business whatsoever?” He had challenged. “I don’t think I agreed to that part of the deal.”

“Strike one, Jeon Jungkook,” you had spat out at him. “Otherwise there’s no way in hell you’re ever going to get rid of me.”

Granted, the vase did look much better in gold than it did when it was made of clay, a glazed design of ferns and vines wrapping around the base. But even if Jungkook does have a particularly good eye for interior design, it doesn’t give him a free pass to turn things just to match his chic aesthetic. How many other things has he turned when you weren’t around to shout at him? You’ll have to go through his entire house every day, taking stock of every single item inside of it, making sure that nothing has inexplicably turned to gold.

Defeated, you had returned back to the main living room, flopping around like a beached whale on the leather. Jungkook always has the television set to the news, so you put it on in the background as you count the minutes until you’re finally free. Judging from what’s happened so far, you think you’ll be here forever. 

There’s a knock on the door. You don’t recall Jungkook answering any buzzes to his home, but maybe he’s just ordered a pizza or something and it’s here. It’s nearly dinnertime, anyway. 

You wait a few seconds to see if Jungkook’s going to make any attempts at answering the door himself. When the knock repeats itself and Jungkook still doesn’t appear, you hop off of the couch to get it yourself. You’re hungry, and pizza sounds delicious right now. A massive upgrade from Campbell’s soups. 

When you open the door however, there is no pizza delivery guy behind the door. Instead, there is an extremely well-dressed couple who are smiling happily at you, albeit a little surprised to see you on the other side of the door. 

“Hello?” You ask, polite but confused. 

“Hello!” The man says happily, chortling to himself. “Who might you be?” One good look at the two of them tells you that they’re Jungkook’s parents. His dad has the same nose, and his mom has the same big, bright eyes. They would kick you to the curb if they knew who you were. 

“I’m Y/N,” you explain unhelpfully. 

“Well, Y/N, do you mind letting us inside? The air conditioning out in this hallway has always been too strong,” his dad asks. You nod awkwardly and step to the side, letting the two of them in. “Ah, looks the same as always. You must give Jungkookie that interior designer’s number, alright? He could do something much nicer with the place,” he tells his wife, who nods in agreement. She passes by the bowl that Jungkook always throws his keys into when he returns home and presses a finger to it, letting gold wrap around the edges until it’s transformed into the metal. 

“Jungkook!” You shout down the hallway, desperately hoping that he isn’t going to leave you alone with his parents. 

“What?” He shouts back. 

“We have visitors!” You call. 

Jungkook’s parents are already picking out all of the things about Jungkook’s living room layout that they would change, turning picture frames here and decorative sculptures there gold, careless and without reason. You’re standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying your best to look as unsurprised and as normal as possible. Luckily, you haven’t been interrogated yet, but there’s no telling what will happen if Jungkook doesn’t show up yet. 

Two minutes later, Jungkook comes strolling down the hallway, clearly uninterested, but his eyes practically bulge out of his head when he sees who’s come to say hello.

“M-Mom! Dad!” He sputters out, terrified. “What—what are you doing here?” He asks, looking at you nervously. You shrug unhelpfully. All you did was answer the door. 

“Came to pay our wonderful son a visit, of course!” His father says, guffawing loudly. He reaches an arm out and pulls Jungkook into a crushing hug. “How are you doing?”

“Fine, I mean—” Jungkook begins, speechless. “I wasn’t expecting you at all, you know.”

“I know!” His mother cries happily. “But you know that families must always stick together.”

“Yeah…” he trails off. “Listen, it’s really nice to see the both of you, but I’m kind of busy at the moment—”

“We should stay for dinner!” His mother suggests, a lightbulb going off above her head. “We haven’t seen you in so long—we have so much to catch up on! What do you say, honey?”

Jungkook’s father looks peachy keen. “Sounds like a great idea! And you can introduce us to Y/N too, hmm?”

“Okay…” Jungkook says. He turns to you and you’ve never seen him so caught off guard. With his big, wide eyes, he’s a deer in headlights. “Just, uh, give us a second, would you? Thanks.”

That’s the only warning you’re given before Jungkook is pulling you down the hallway and into the nearest bedroom, slamming the door shut behind the both of you. The sound of the wood hitting the frame makes you jump as Jungkook furrows his brows and turns to face you directly. 

“Alright, here’s the deal,” he says, looking you dead in the eyes as you stare up at him, unimpressed. “My parents can’t know that I’ve been assigned a minder. They just can’t. They’ve trusted me to run this business and to be in control of my life and I don’t even want to think about what they’ll do if they find out why you’re really here.”

“Okay, so?” You say with a frown. “I’ll turn invisible. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“But they’ve already seen you, you opened the goddamn door,” Jungkook says with a sigh, clearly exasperated. He rubs his forehead before his hand makes its way through his hair, brushing through the long, dark strands. 

“Well, sorry for not wanting to leave whoever was outside hanging,” you retort. 

“No, it’s fine, whatever,” Jungkook says. He paces around the room slightly, eyes glossing over the still life painting hung up on the wall and the door to the walk-in closet. He pauses in front of it for a moment, thinking, before he rounds on you. “Can I trust you to pretend to be my girlfriend for just one night while they’re here?”

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“Please? They seem to already be under the impression that we’re dating anyway, and I don’t want to have to think of a different explanation for you,” Jungkook pleads. He’s desperate. 

“Let me get this straight: you want me, your minder, to fake being your girlfriend for your parents?” You ask, punctuating every word. This is worse than actually being his minder. 

Jungkook nods. “Just while they’re here. And then we can go back to avoiding each other. Please?” 

And for once, when you see Jeon Jungkook’s stupidly beautiful face, you don’t feel angry, or resentful, or envious. You feel… sympathy. It’s easy being rich and powerful, even easier when you don’t even need to work for your money, but parents are parents, no matter how much gold is in your pocket. 

Besides, it’s not like you rejecting him will have much of an effect on the grand scheme of things, anyway. You do, and then Jungkook has to spend an awkward night with his parents and you won’t accomplish anything. 

“Fine,” you say, begrudgingly so. “But only for tonight.”

“Oh God, thank you,” Jungkook says, and he actually means it. He dashes into the walk-in closet and pulls out a summery day dress, all flowy and floral, coming down to right above your knees. “Here, put this on. You know I don’t give a shit about what you wear but my parents will.”

“Why do you have this?” You ask, holding the hanger in your hand. One touch of the fabric and you can already feel the craftsmanship, the material sturdy and soft.

“An old hookup or something, probably.” Jungkook shrugs, nonchalant. 

You decide not to question whether or not you are about to wear something that Jungkook has had sex with someone in and head into the closet to change. From inside, you can hear Jungkook pacing back and forth in the bedroom, no doubt trying to come up with a believable story as to why you’ve suddenly appeared in his life and where you had come from. 

When you emerge, Jungkook stops dead in his tracks. This dress is easily the most expensive (and clean) thing you’ve ever put on your body, draping seamlessly along your hips and smoothing over all of the parts of your body you’ve never been too fond of. The sensation is pleasant but uncomfortable, as you have always vastly preferred your own clothes to other people’s, but wearing this at least doesn’t make you feel like you live in an abandoned house on the edge of town. 

“Wow,” Jungkook says dumbly, looking at you with his lips parted like a fish, mouth agape. He scratches at the nape of his neck and coughs. “You look kinda good.”

“How thoughtful of you to say,” you chide, basking in the feeling of finally catching Jungkook off guard. 

“Hopefully my parents won’t be here too long,” Jungkook says as he opens the door, letting you exit first. “Normally, they stick around just long enough to tell me about all of the things in my life that I’m currently doing wrong or should improve upon, and then they leave.”

“Fun.” It doesn’t sound very fun at all. 

“At least this time they won’t be grilling me about a girlfriend,” Jungkook says, offering you a grateful smile as you return to the main living space, where Jungkook’s parents are in the middle of turning some of the decorative trinkets on his shelves gold. “Sorry,” he begins, catching his parents’ attention. “We were just talking. Y/N had to change.”

“She looks lovely in that dress, did you buy it for her?” His mother asks. You send a small smile of thanks. 

“Yes, of course,” Jungkook lies. You think not knowing the origins of this dress is best for both you and him. He shuffles the both of you into the kitchen, an awkward hand on the small of your back. If you were a third party watching the two of you, you could sniff out the fake gestures and affection from a mile away. No two people in love are this stiff around each other. 

His parents wait in the living space, blissfully ignorant, as the two of you fumble around in the kitchen in a last-minute attempt to scrounge up something resembling an acceptable meal. You, admittedly, do not use a kitchen fairly often, and stick to pouring the four of you some wine as Jungkook fishes through his fridge and cabinets. He eventually decides on heating up a pre-made pasta dish, filled with all sorts of vegetables you couldn’t name even if you tried. It smells good, at least. 

For someone who seems to rely entirely on a personal chef to do most of his cooking, Jungkook knows his way around the kitchen fairly well, bouncing from one end to the other as if he’s running on a mental timer. Granted, he isn’t actually cooking anything, but compared to you, he may as well be a top chef at a five-star restaurant. Ten minutes later and he’s got a mouth-watering spaghetti dish, topped with vegetables and what looks to be an herb garnish, a side salad, and four glasses of wine that you so expertly poured. 

Unfortunately, with his parents around, you and Jungkook don’t get to go through your usual meal ritual of sitting as far away from each other as physically possible and not talking whatsoever, sitting down next to each other in his fancy suede dining chairs as his parents take the two seats opposite you. Jungkook’s dining table only seats six, despite the sheer size of his actual dining room, and quite frankly, you have never seen him actually use it for what it’s meant for: dining. 

“Delicious, did you make this?” His father asks, already reaching over to serve himself some. 

“Y/N helped.” No you didn’t.

The serving utensils then move to Jungkook’s mother, who does not turn them into gold, instead opting for a baby tomato, which she places in her drink to serve as some sort of extremely niche ice cube. You can’t imagine how good that will taste. Jungkook’s father laughs at his mother, who is obviously proud of herself. Jungkook forces himself to chuckle ever so slightly, and you crack a very helpless smile. It doesn’t really take a genius to figure out where Jungkook got his turning habits from. 

“So, Y/N,” Jungkook’s father begins, catching you right as you shove an entire forkful of pasta into your mouth, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk getting ready for the winter, “how long have you known our son?”

“Uh, a couple of—”

“A couple of months,” Jungkook interrupts, speaking louder than usual. “We met at the Park Gala that they hosted, do you remember?”

You kick Jungkook’s shin under the table, making him wince. 

“Ah, yes.” His mother nods in recollection. “Unfortunately we were on that cruise through France, so we couldn’t make it. A shame, we would have loved to meet you then. Are you a friend of the Parks?”

“An associate,” Jungkook explains as vaguely as possible. “Y/N works in law.”

“Ah, law,” Jungkook’s father says romantically, twirling his fork around in the air. “The conscience of business.”

“Yeah,” you say, forcing out a small laugh. The less you say, the better. Though it is ironic that you now apparently work in law, considering your favorite activity is breaking it. You suppose that nobody knows the law better than its criminals. 

“Where are you from, Y/N? Do we know your parents?” This is starting to sound less like a dinner conversation and more like an interrogation. 

“Y/N actually built herself up,” Jungkook covers for you. Lord knows revealing your true background would send both of his parents storming out of the building. “She doesn’t like to talk about her parents very much.”

That’s one way of putting it. 

“Ah, what a shame,” his mother tuts, shaking her head. “We’d love to meet them.”

“Yeah…” you agree distantly, making a mental note to give Jungkook a good shove when this is all over. Well, two can play at this game. “Jungkook is teaching me a lot about how you guys run your business.” You add pointedly, earning a leg kick in return. “It’s very interesting to see from a law perspective.” More like from a human perspective. 

“Oh, you must be very impressed,” his father says proudly, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “We’ve all worked extremely hard to get where we are.” Because turning things to gold at the press of a finger is truly such a taxing job.

“I’m certainly surprised,” you say back, sending a patient but stiff smile their way. They return the favor easily. Maybe you’re more like these people than you thought. “It’s a big change from what I’m used to.” Jungkook smacks his leg against yours, and you retaliate not a moment afterwards.

“I’m sure,” his mother says, voice sickly sweet. “But you’ll be able to adjust in no time. It’s definitely a level up, is it not?”

Jungkook looks like a lost child in a grocery store aisle, eyes wide as they flit back and forth between you and his parents, hurling thinly-veiled insults at each other like it’s nobody’s business. 

“It’s different,” you respond. 

“Well, I’m sure that Jungkook is doing all that he can to accommodate you,” his father says. “Sometimes the people he chooses to date are… not ideal for this sort of lifestyle. We hope that you are able to adjust quickly. We understand that this is a lot.”

“I certainly hope that I’m a good match, then,” you finish, because something inside of you can’t bear to let Jungkook’s stuffy, elitist parents get the last word. 

The rest of the meal is rather silent, save for a few mindless comments about how poorly Jungkook’s decorated his dining room. You and Jungkook have been warring underneath the dinner table all evening, your shins undoubtedly sporting bruises, because apparently everything the two of you are saying to his parents is wrong. Jungkook’s parents either don’t know or don’t care, because they don’t say anything about the tension that settled over the table like a cloud of fog, thick and potent. 

When everyone’s finished eating, Jungkook’s parents head straight to the door, determining that their contributions to his evening and his penthouse are enough—for now. Who knows if or when they’ll return. You and Jungkook have no choice but to see them off, rounding out the night just as you started: fake, empty smiles. 

“It was lovely to meet you, Y/N,” his mother tells you, hand clutching her purse. “I hope that we may see each other again sometime soon.”

“Yes, I am looking forward to it,” you say with glee, knowing that the chances of you never having to speak to her again are well in your favor. 

“Nice work, son,” his father says, a heavy hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “Just let us know if you ever need anything.”

“Will do,” Jungkook promises distantly. You can tell that Jungkook doesn’t ask his father for advice too often. 

You bid your goodbyes and Jungkook shuts the door behind them, and it’s almost as the atmosphere immediately begins to clear, the air conditioning cycling out the tension, like a breath of fresh air. 

“Ugh, thank God that’s over,” you huff out, already itching to get out of this dress and back into your own clothes. It was gorgeous at first, but now it’s just an ugly reminder. 

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Jungkook says. 

“’Wasn’t that bad’?” You repeat. It’s as if the words went in through Jungkook’s one ear and right out the other. “Are you serious? It was unbearable. Your parents were judging me from the moment I opened the door. No wonder you’ve never had a lasting girlfriend. I couldn’t think of anyone who would want to deal with that.”

“Excuse me?” Jungkook says, rounding on you as fire burns in his eyes. “What do you mean, ’that’?”

“I mean that I don’t know how on Earth people just accept the fact that in other people’s eyes, they’ll never be good enough?” You tell him like it’s obvious, because it is. This sort of life has been so ingrained into Jungkook’s head that he doesn’t even recognize it as unwelcoming and stifling. “I couldn’t stand being your girlfriend. Your parents are judgy and rude, and you all act like people who don’t come from as much money and power as you have no business sitting where you sit.”

“So your best approach was to shade and insult my parents in return?” He combats. “I would hate to be your boyfriend. My parents get more aggressive when people fight them, but you shove me under the table when I try to get you to back down? Just so you can have the final word to two people you’ll probably never see again?”

“The fact that anyone has dated you astounds me,” you tell him. 

“The fact that nobody’s dated you doesn’t astound me,” Jungkook spits back. 

You frown, embers flaring in your boiling blood. What, did Jungkook think you were going to enjoy yourself tonight? By pretending to be some sort of ditzy, desperate-to-please girlfriend? “You’re welcome for doing you a favor and not just straight up telling your parents you’ve been assigned a minder because you can’t handle your own powers. Don’t expect me to do it again.”

“I’m not planning on it,” Jungkook mumbles to himself, just loud enough for you to hear. 

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

You and Jungkook march down opposite hallways, desperate for this night to be over. You tear off the dress and let it sit at the foot of the bed, taunting you. 

There is no way in hell you are ever leaving this place. 

The time spent at work is allocated half towards following Jungkook around like an invisible puppy with a personal vendetta against him, making sure that he doesn’t turn, and half towards wishing that something actually interesting will happen. Jungkook runs so tight a ship that nobody ever seems to want to do anything fun or exciting, no doughnuts, no inside jokes, no pranks. Just an endless cycle of trying desperately to please the unpleasable.

Admittedly, nowadays, you don’t really mind being here as much as you used to, when you would mentally criticize every person that walked through the glass doors to Jungkook’s office, hands filled with stacks of paper and manila folders, plopped onto Jungkook’s desk one by one. Jungkook’s started to keep extra food up in his office, the mini-fridge by his bookshelves constantly filled with takeaway salads and fruit. Apples are a definite no-go because they’re too loud, and you can only ever risk eating salads when nobody’s around to hear you pop the plastic top off of the container, but other than that, it’s nice.

Jungkook has pretty good taste in food, too, which is an added bonus. Though anything is a leg up from what you normally eat.

And even though you’ve begun to start roaming around, exploring the nooks and crannies that line the clean-cut layout, your favorite place to be is Jungkook’s office. He’s got these magnificent floor-to-ceiling glass windows, with a view directly over the biggest park in the city, thousands of feet up in the air. From up here, it almost feels as though you’re looking down at a different world, a different universe. It’s difficult to imagine that everyone down there, every ant-sized person walking along the sidewalk or resting on a park bench or ordering from a food stand, has lives of their own.

Especially when they are but specks of dust in yours.

Jungkook looks at this view forty hours a week. You wonder if he ever gets sick of it.

The door to Jungkook’s office creaks open as you’re staring out of the windows, watching as the clouds pass overhead. They look like little white dogs, like cotton candy, like angel wings.

“Mr. Jeon?”

The owner of the voice is the same man you berated Jungkook for shouting at a few weeks ago, the one who had turned in an analysis report a day late. He seems just as frightened of Jungkook now as he did back then, and it makes you wonder if any of Jungkook’s employees aren’t afraid of him.

“Here’s the completed budget report for the Lee Corporation for last fiscal year,” the man says, reaching a trembling hand out to lay a manila folder on Jungkook’s desk. Jungkook only looks up once he sees it out of his periphery, hand pausing mid-write, pen still hovering over the papers on his desk.

He meets the man’s eyes, and when he does, he cracks a small smile, this sort of barely-there grin, lips curling upwards ever so slightly. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

It’s as if the man has won the lottery. He thanks Jungkook quickly before bouncing out of the room, steps much lighter, like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. You watch as he leaves the room, a smile etching itself onto your face. It’s rather incredible what a simple ‘thank you’ can do to people.

You don’t say anything to Jungkook, instead just turning back around to gaze out of the window. There’s an entire city below your feet, one that bustles around like bees in a hive, everyone with a place to be and things to do. There is this strange but comforting feeling of insignificance, one where you feel as though you could disappear and nobody would notice a thing. The rest of the world can and will move on without you. But that doesn’t mean that your life means nothing. It means that your life can be whatever you want to make of it, because in the grand scheme of things, nobody else will know what you have done.

History is like that, too. You must be remarkable to be remembered. But that doesn’t mean the unremarkable people were forgotten. They touched lives, too.

Staring out the window as the clouds swim over the sun, a light grey shadow casting itself over the park, you feel at peace.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

You jump at the voice, Jungkook’s presence next to you having gone totally unnoticed. You didn’t even hear him get up from his chair.

“How did you know I was here?” You ask.

“I could sense it," Jungkook says with a grin, making you raise an eyebrow. You’re invisible. “I’m kidding, I saw you come over here a bunch last week when you first got into my office and I figured you’d probably still be here.”

“You figured correctly,” you tell him.

“You know, I don’t spend enough time looking out these windows,” Jungkook admits, and you aren’t sure if it’s to you or himself. “I’m always staring at my computer or writing something at my desk with my head down. I’ve got the best view in the whole city and sometimes, I don’t even remember what it looks like.”

“You work hard,” you tell him, because that’s something that is undeniable about who he is and what he does. “But you deserve to give yourself a break, every now and then.”

“For lunch breaks, the first thing I do is get out of my office. I spend all day in there and when it’s finally time for me to put work on pause, I rush out of the room like it’s on fire,” Jungkook comments. “Maybe I should stay up here every once in a while instead.”

“It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere,” you joke.

“You can, you know,” Jungkook tells you. “You don’t have to stay up here all day.”

“I know,” you say. “But I don’t really mind it. I like being here. It’s calming, in a way.” In a way that you can’t explain. Like you’re stuck in freeze frame while everyone else moves around you. Like you’re watching a movie about everybody’s lives but your own. Like you’re a spectator in your own body. “Plus, the view is gorgeous.”

“It is,” Jungkook agrees.

You stand there in silence for a few more moments, the only sounds filling the room your inhales and exhales, soft and slow, your hearts beating in time. Jungkook is more than a foot away from you but here, in his office, looking out over the world, he has never felt closer.

“Thank you,” you whisper, letting the words hang in the air in front of you.

“For what?” Jungkook asks.

“For listening to me.”

You feel Jungkook turn to you, and when you dare to look up at him, you meet his hazy brown eyes, warm and sparkly. He looks like a goddamn celebrity, like a magazine cover come to life, crisp shirt collars and fancy Italian shoes, glossy brown hair and perfect skin. He smiles at you, this homey sort of thing that makes you feel like summer is running through your veins, like the rays of the sun are pressing against your skin.

“Of course,” he tells you.

Jungkook is a lot of things. He’s unabashedly gorgeous and outrageously wealthy. He walks around like he owns everything that he touches. His house is clean and chic and minimalist, almost like nobody lives there at all. He’s determined and a workaholic, and hates admitting when he’s wrong.

But maybe, just maybe, in the white afternoon light of his office, the rest of the world underneath his feet, standing next to you as the two of you stare out in a city you call your own, he’s not that bad.

Being alone in Jungkook’s penthouse is, to put it lightly, absolutely terrifying.

It’s hard to believe that Jungkook--and maybe a girlfriend for a brief period--has occupied this entire space on his own, no one else to talk to, no one else to spend time with, no one to occupy his massive couches or fill up the chairs in his dining room.

You’ve always wondered why rich people buy the biggest houses. Sure, it’s because they’re rich, and because they can afford it, but it’s impossible for one person, or even two, to make the entire place feel like their own. You leave countless rooms untouched, meant for guests that you never have and parties that you never host. It’s like you’ve moved into half of a house, a quarter of a mansion. What’s the point of having so much space if you don’t ever have anyone to fill it up?

Normally you wouldn’t leave Jungkook’s side, following him around the city whenever he has errands to run or needs to dash back to work to pick up something he had forgotten. But Jungkook hasn’t been turning anything lately, even when you sleep in four hours later than he does, even when he stays up into the early hours of the morning while you pass out before it’s midnight. It’s like he’s somehow lost the will for his magic entirely, like it’s vanished from his body.

Well, you’re not complaining. That just means you’re one step closer to finishing your sentence.

Jungkook’s penthouse feels bigger when he’s not around. Even though you hardly ever see each other while you’re at home, the mere knowledge of his presence makes you feel like you’re not alone. Makes you feel like there is someone else in this little corner of the world.

Everything in here has always looked untouched. Like it doesn’t belong to anybody, like a house listing come to life. His marble counters are always empty, his cabinets always closed and organized. His books are always alphabetized and the stack of art books on his coffee table has never been touched. All of the bedrooms look like they belong in a hotel. The bathrooms look like they belong in a museum.

Jungkook’s house has never felt like a home but then again, neither has yours.

Still, if you had to choose between living in your abandoned shack at the edge of town or living in an enormous penthouse in the center of the city, you would never look back at that old, dilapidated building. The difference between you and Jungkook is that Jungkook chooses to live in this tragically empty place.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to understand Jungkook’s life. Not just the technicalities of the company he runs, the economics and business that he has spent his whole life mastering, but also the way he sees the world in terms of money and power, how everything has some sort of value, even people. Even you. His biggest concern has always been himself. How much money he has matters, how many investments his company owns matters, how the public views him matters. He has spent so long crafting this perfect image of himself that he’s willing to spend as much money as necessary to maintain it. 

Jungkook doesn’t even look at the total on the card reader when he purchases things. He simply tugs his silver card out of a sleek black wallet and swipes, crumpling the receipt up in his hand before shoving it into the pocket of his jeans. He comes back home to a gigantic penthouse with a gym and his pool and more bedrooms than he can count on both hands, to a personal chef in his kitchen making him five-star meals to last him the rest of the week. 

Money is never on his mind, but it is always on yours. 

When will you get enough to pay off your phone bill, will you ever be able to afford a repairman to fix the broken, exposed lightbulb above the back door, how many Campbell’s soups can you buy and still have enough funds to last you until the next day? What if, God forbid, the city comes knocking on your door and either evicts you or orders you to pay up for the three years you’ve been living in that house, rent-free? What will you do then?

Life is by no means easy for either of you, but Jeon Jungkook has never had to want for anything. If it isn’t handed to him, he works for it himself. If he can’t buy it, he’ll just make more money. If he doesn’t already own it, what’s stopping him?

People dream of having Jungkook’s life. People fear having yours. 

Alone in Jungkook’s apartment, the differences between the two of you have never been clearer. 

Your greatest fear is the fact that, in the past few weeks you have spent here, you are already becoming used to it. You are dreading going back to where you were before, stealing money from people off of the streets and living in a house in such disrepair that local nons think that it’s haunted. You fear that you will never want to leave. 

It’s such a terrifying feeling, isn’t it? Becoming attached to something. Feeling as though your life will be worse without it. Knowing that your life will be worse without it. 

There are parts of you that make you wish that life wasn’t so unfair. 

The living room is three times the size of the dining room but you hate eating there, sitting at an empty table with no one to talk to but suede chairs, reminding you that you don’t even have any friends to invite anyway. At least in the living room you can sit on the couch and watch television and pretend that you have at least some semblance of a life. 

You pick at a pre-made salad that has too much lettuce and not enough everything else—Jungkook needs a new chef, you decide, plucking out all of the croutons and slices of cheddar cheese, when the front door swings open, slamming against the wall adjacent to it as Jungkook storms inside. 

“Oh my God, what happened to you?” You exclaim, eyes practically bulging out of your head as you jump off of the couch. Even from here, you can see the dark bruising around Jungkook’s eye, purple and blue, the busted up knuckles clenched around the bag he’s carrying. There’s even a small streak of blood on his upper left cheek, already beginning to scab. 

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he says, wiping away the blood on his lip with the back of his hand. 

“No, you’re not,” you tell him, rushing up to meet him in the middle of the foyer, standing in front of him as you look up at his face with wide eyes. He waits there patiently, avoiding your gaze, steely eyes looking elsewhere, as you reach up to hold his head in your hands, tilting it from side to side. “What happened to you?”

“Some dudes jumped me in the parking lot on the way back,” Jungkook says casually. You’d almost believe he didn’t feel anything if he doesn’t wince when you press a gentle fingertip along the bruise on his jawline. He meets your frightened expression and smirks wickedly, something glinting in his eyes. “Don’t worry, I got ‘em good.”

“Are you alright?” You ask him, even though it’s obvious he’s not. “You aren’t seriously injured or anything, are you?”

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N,” Jungkook says with a sigh, even as he obeys your movements and moves his body pliantly to the feeling of your hands pressing against his skin. Most of the visible damage seems to be to his face and hands, and quite frankly, you’re not exactly sure if you want to see what’s underneath his dress shirt. “I’m strong. I work out and eat healthy and everything. I’ll be better in no time.”

“No, are you kidding?” You say, reaching out to grab his hand without a second thought, pulling him towards the nearest bathroom. “You can’t just leave it like this. Here, let me heal you.”

“I don’t need you to patch me up or anything,” Jungkook resists, frowning as you sit him down on the edge of the bathtub and begin to fish through his bathroom cabinets. “First aid isn’t in that one.”

“No, you idiot,” you chide him. “I’m not gonna patch you up. Aren’t you forgetting that I’m a healer?” 

“So what are you gonna do, then?” 

You finally find the first aid kit and pull it out, revealing rolls of gauze and bottles of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant. There’s even a couple of rows of Ibuprofen. “Well, you should be patched up anyway,” you decide, turning back to look at Jungkook’s face as he waits obediently on the edge of the tub. “But I can heal you faster than what time and medicine can do on their own.”

“You don’t have to,” Jungkook says softly. 

“Please, of course I do,” you reply instantly. You’re not gonna let Jungkook walk around like that. “We can’t have your pretty face all messed up, now can we?”

Jungkook cracks a small smile but it’s obvious that the simple gesture alone pains him, making him wince slightly as his lips turn upwards. You wet a face cloth with cold water and press it against Jungkook’s bruises, looking intently at his features as you move the cloth around, letting the cold water draw out the heat that sizzles beneath his skin. Jungkook watches you the whole time, his eyes never leaving yours, even as your brows furrow in concentration, determined to fix Jungkook back up so he’s brand new. Slowly, the bruises begin to fade, going from an angry violet to a light lavender, and then to a pink that could almost be mistaken for a heavy blush.

It feels weird, knowing that he’s right there. Knowing that he’s watching you, eyes following yours as they scan his face. His clean-cut jawline is a little swollen, perfect skin angry and marked, but his eyes are still the same. Still wide and bright, like a young child, like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time. They look almost caramel in the yellow light of the bathroom, flecks of gold to mirror the accents in the room. 

There’s something about them that makes you not want to turn away. 

When the bruises have faded, leaving only petal pink remnants along his skin, you move onto the small cut along his cheek. It’s rough and jagged, like the skin had been torn right through, a nick from a fingernail or a knuckle. It’s not long, but it is somewhat deep. You imagine it might scar permanently. 

Kneeling down in front of him, you pull out some rubbing alcohol and a cotton pad, dabbing a gentle amount onto the round before moving closer, holding his head in your hand as you reach out. 

“This might sting,” you say, like he doesn’t already know. 

“That’s alright,” Jungkook tells you. “Fix me up, doctor.”

At his cue, you softly press the cotton pad against the scab, rubbing away at it until it comes off cleanly, leaving only fresh, exposed skin behind. For wounds like these, a cloth won’t do. Your mother used to tell you that healing didn’t come from your hands, it came from your heart. That even if your fingertips had the magic, it was your heart that had the power to wield it. 

Slowly, you rest your palm against his cheek, rubbing your thumb along the cut. Jungkook blinks, big eyes shimmering, as you do so, and you feel trapped in his gaze. Like you couldn’t turn away even if you tried. Like you almost wouldn’t want to. His skin is baby soft, perfect, a far cry from the calloused pads of your fingertips, worn from so many days and nights out on the streets. 

There is magic in your fingertips, surely, but there is something different in your heart. Something that you don’t think you have the words to explain.

The cut seals up instantly, the skin patching over itself until nothing is left but a mark, a little scar that will stay there forever. And yet, you stay there, locked in his magnetic pull, like tearing away will hurt you rather than him. The cut is healed, and his bruises are fading, and there is no reason to stay like this. 

And yet. 

“There,” you whisper, watching the words appear between the two of you, lingering like ghosts. “All better.”

Jungkook grins. It doesn’t hurt him, but something in you feels a sharp jolt, an ache. Like a spark in the pit of your belly. Like magic in your veins. 

Jungkook has been tearing his hair out over this one manila folder in front of him for the past twenty minutes. Every ten seconds he writes something down before scribbling it out, the ink bleeding through the paper to the next one. He flips through the files relentlessly, carelessly, until they’re all out of order and splayed all over his desk. He’s instructed the guard outside not to let anyone in, even if it’s some sort of emergency. 

You’ve seen Jungkook at work a lot, but you’ve never seen him like this. Even his anguished sighs are difficult to listen to. 

Creeping over to the wall that overlooks the rest of the office, Venetian blinds shielding the both of you from view, you crack open a slat, peeking out at everyone else. None of them pay any attention to Jungkook’s office, too busy worrying about the next report they have to complete and all of the office meetings they have to attend, so you take it as a good opportunity to turn visible. Just for a little bit. 

“You alright?” You ask, nearly making Jungkook fall out of his seat at the sound of your voice. 

“What?” He asks, surprised. “Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“What’s the matter?” You ask, because you’ve never seen Jungkook as stressed out as he is now. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to organize this new collective to monitor our investing habits so we can assess where investments need to be divvied up into in order for clients to find us worth of their own investments as opposed to other companies,” Jungkook explains, though he sounds positively exhausted while doing so, like the very mention of what he’s slaving over is enough to send him over the edge. “But no one can agree on how we can use this information to promote this company to our clients and the public. People invest in both of us either way.”

“You want people to invest more money in your company, don’t you?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well, yeah.” 

“How much money does this company give to small businesses? To nonprofits and charity?”

Jungkook frowns, scrunching up his nose as he thinks. He clicks around on his computer for a few seconds before saying, “About five percent.”

“And your investments are public, correct?”

“Yes.” Jungkook nods. 

“You should be giving way more than five percent of this company’s investments to small, local businesses and charity,” you tell Jungkook, already worming your way behind his desk to look at what he’s looking at. You point to the numbers on his screen, single-digit percentages, some even less than one, being sent to local businesses, nonprofits, and charities. “Look at this. Ninety-five of your investments go right into stocks. If you invested more money into nonprofits and local businesses, people would see you taking the time to help boost the local economy and the organizations that serve it for free. Then, those businesses would invest in you in return, and clients would see that you’re investing in noble causes and give you more money as a thanks, which can then be funnelled back to small businesses and nonprofits.”

It’s a rather roundabout sort of proposal and you’re almost positive that it has no real footing anywhere in real economics and finance, but it makes sense to you. If you had money to invest in major companies, you would choose the ones that invest in the things that will benefit you, like local businesses and nonprofits. If you saw that the companies you were giving money to were simply giving it away to the stock market, you’d pull your money out. 

You know that the stock market is nothing but the world’s biggest economic gamble, but that doesn’t mean that you have to gamble with it. Companies that stand for what you stand for are much more appealing than companies with a bigger investment bank behind them. 

You turn to Jungkook, who is squinting at his computer screen as he fumbles around with the numbers, flicking from Excel sheet to Excel sheet, bouncing back and forth between the information online and the files on top of his desk. 

“Is that stupid?” You ask, breaking the silence. It’s not as if people know you for your groundbreaking economic policies. 

Jungkook spares one more glance over all of his files, and turns up to look at you. “No,” he tells you with a shake of his head. “It’s not.”

“Really?” You’re actually impressed with yourself. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook agrees happily. “You’re right—I’d want to know that my investments were going to a company with good morals that lifts up local businesses. It would encourage me to invest more, too.”

“It’s not a very sound economic theory…” You admit. Jungkook’s probably seasoned in how investments and the stock markets work, charts upon charts of client behavior that shapes the way he organizes his company. And you? You don’t have enough money to even buy food some days. 

“It doesn’t have to be,” Jungkook assures you. “Theory is total bullshit anyway, because nobody can predict what will happen with the economy. But human nature has always been reliably good. People like to know that their money is going to a good cause.”

“So, it helps?” You ask with a smile. 

Jungkook nods. “It does. It’s actually a great idea, Y/N. You might have a future in business.”

You scoff. “Me? I don’t know the first thing about this stuff.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. You don’t need to. You’re a good person who thinks about everyone, Y/N. That’s why you’d be good at business. Because your clients can trust you, and you’ll actually put your money where your mouth is.” 

“I guess,” you say unhelpfully. Just because you think about others doesn’t make you especially remarkable. It makes you human. Isn’t that how everyone’s supposed to be? “I just don’t think about clients and money like you do. Money’s always been really valuable to me, since I’ve never had much of it, but you guys see it as expendable. I need to know where my money goes, I don’t want to see it just vanish into the hands of someone else.” Jungkook’s nodding along, eyes looking intently at your own, like he’s committing the words you say to his memory. “I just think that people and companies with tons of money have a duty to give back to those who are less fortunate. That’s all.”

“That’s noble of you,” Jungkook says. 

“It’s just common sense,” you explain. “Why wouldn’t you want to do something like that?”

Jungkook heaves a sigh, a long, winded sort of one, like there’s a whole conversation behind it that he wishes he could have with you. But instead, he just shakes his head, a fond smile lacing its way across his features. He chuckles to himself. “Maybe you aren’t cut out for business after all, Y/N,” he tells you softly. “You have too big a heart.”

And maybe that’s true. Maybe you’re too kind, too generous, to ever make it in business. To succeed without losing every penny to your name. 

But if that’s the case, then where does Jungkook stand?

When Jungkook stays at work late, the two of you eat dinner together. 

There’s just something so demoralizing about coming back to an empty house, letting the hollow sound of the door slamming shut echo throughout the room, and then marching off in different directions to spend the rest of the night alone. When it’s dark, and late, and you’re starving, it’s all you can do not to beg Jungkook to eat with you. Even if in silence. 

By the time you get home, your stomach is just about ready to consume the art books sitting in a neat stack at the top right corner of the coffee table. You begin to clear off some space for the both of you to eat as Jungkook heads towards the refrigerator, when not three seconds after, you hear him swear, “Oh, shit.”

“What’s the matter?” You call out. 

“We’re out of premade meals!” Jungkook shouts back. What? You could have sworn there were at least two full tupperwares still available. Actually, maybe you had eaten them for lunch… 

“Really?” You get up from the coffee table and make your way into the kitchen, where Jungkook is standing in front of a refrigerator with the entire middle section wiped clean, empty shelves mocking the both of you as you glare at them. “Oh, wow. Really.”

“I didn’t know we ate that much,” Jungkook comments, shocked at the sight before him. 

“What are we gonna do?” You ask. You’re hungry. 

“What do you mean?” Jungkook says with a laugh. He kneels down and begins to pull vegetables from the drawers, plucking different bottles from inside the fridge door and plastic cartons from the top shelves, the ones that you never dare touch. “We’ll cook something, obviously.”

“Can’t we just order takeout?”

“You don’t wanna cook something with me?” Jungkook asks, eyes wide and pouty. You shake your head guiltily. Is ordering a pizza really so much to ask? Jungkook narrows his eyes at you suspiciously, a grin pulling at his lips, before he nods knowingly. “Oh, I get it.”

“Get what?” You challenge. 

“You don’t know how to cook.”

“What? I know how to cook!” You cry out, aghast. True, your past meals have mostly involved warming food up in the microwave, but that counts, in your book. Jungkook frowns in disbelief. “I know how to use a microwave.”

Jungkook tosses his head back and laughs, this warm, hearty sound filling up the kitchen, before he starts placing all of the containers and bottles and vegetables he pulled out from the fridge onto the counter. “Okay, we’re going to make something together.”

“Seriously?” You say, borderline whining. “Can’t you just do it?”

“No,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, “because you have to help me. Kitchen’s orders.”

“You’re the kitchen!”

“Exactly,” Jungkook says, smiling to himself. He pulls out some more ingredients from the cabinets, hands deftly reaching for the exact ones he wants, until you have a collection of food, seasonings, and sauces on the countertop, and an apparent recipe to be made. 

“What are we making?” You ask, looking down at everything on the counter. All of these things can’t go into one dish… can they?

“An old family recipe,” Jungkook says. “Kimchi jjigae. It’s kimchi stew.”

“Is it easy?” 

Jungkook grins something wicked, something devilish. “It’s fun.”

He sets out to put a pot on the stove, turning the gas on, bouncing back and forth between the stovetop and the counter as you stand there like a floundering fish, waiting for him to either give you an instruction or do everything himself.

“Can you cut the green onions?” Jungkook asks as he adds water and what looks to be tiny little fish to the pot, reaching behind his back to gesture wildly at the ingredients sitting on the marble. 

“Which are those?” You scan the countertop. Your familiarity with food and recipes extends about as far as anything non-perishable that comes in a tin can. Never in your life have you seen so much laid out in front of you, all meant to go into the same meal. 

The metal lid clinks as Jungkook covers the pot to boil, turning around to join you at the counter, where you wait awkwardly in front of an unused chopping board, no knife in sight. 

“These,” he says, reaching over you to pull up several stalks of something that looks similar to the wild onions that grow in your backyard. He fishes through the drawers before he pulls out a kitchen knife, gently placing it in your hand as he moves around to grab all of the other ingredients he needs for the boiling water on the stovetop. 

Hesitantly, you line up the onions and begin to chop, carefully sawing through each one until it comes cleanly off of the stalk. It’s awfully time-consuming, especially since Jungkook seems to have already made the stock base in the time it’s taken you to cut one. Nevertheless, you persist, because Jungkook wants these to go in the pot, and you refuse to be seen as incompetent in the kitchen, especially when Jungkook seems to be rather proficient when it comes to cooking despite the fact that a chef makes the majority of his meals for him. 

Old family recipes die hard, you suppose. 

Jungkook turns around to check on you and grab a small red container of what looks to be some sort of spicy pepper paste. When he sees you carefully slicing through each onion stalk, he laughs. 

“Hey, what are you laughing at?” You say, pouting. You don’t think you’re doing a terrible job, even if you are a bit slow. 

“You,” Jungkook says with a grin, not even bothering to think of something else to say instead. “Here, let me show you.”

He comes to stand behind you, his torso pressing against your back, as he reaches his arms around you, hands gently resting atop your own. There is something in the way his breath hits your skin, tickles the part right behind your ear that’s always been sensitive, how he leans down to look over your shoulder. The rise and fall of his chest against you. Something strange and foreign and calming, like when you tense up right before you fall asleep.

Frozen, you watch with nervous eyes as he holds your hand in his own, grasping onto the knife. He stacks a few onion stalks next to each other on top of the cutting board and slowly begins to cut—thin, quick slices until he develops a rhythm, an imaginary beat to the drumming of his heart, to the pounding of your own. 

The seconds seem to drag on for eternity, as if every cut through the vegetable is done in slow-motion, like time has slowed down just for the two of you. His breath tickles your skin, hot and tingly and filled with fire, lighting sparks everywhere it touches. You think that, if you concentrate hard enough, you can hear the way his heart thumps like a bass drum, ringing in your ears. Or maybe that’s just you. 

When four green onion stalks have been cut down to their very tips, suddenly the world speeds up, like the breaths that have slowly been leaving your lips come out all at once, like your heart picks up time to a universal metronome, desperate to realign itself once more. 

“There,” Jungkook murmurs from behind you. The words are soft and distant, almost like someone else had uttered them. “All done.”

You blame the tears welling in your eyes on the onions. 

Thirty minutes and an overwhelming amount of slicing different ingredients later, there is a boiling pot of kimchi stew on the stove, steaming up the inside of the glass lid that Jungkook has placed on top to keep it warm. He’s big on optimizing the time spent in the kitchen, cleaning up everything before you eat, stuffing all of the used plates and bowls and knives into the sink as they come, wrapping up the vegetables in the thin plastic bags that they came in and putting them back into the fridge. Jungkook says it’s because he doesn’t like having to clean the kitchen up after he’s eaten. You think it’s because he thinks you’ll run off and leave him to do all the work. 

You, admittedly, don’t make your own meals very often (or at all), but you can see the appeal. There’s something different about food that you make yourself, food that you turned from ingredients to a meal. Something rewarding. 

Or maybe it’s just because Jungkook did most of the cooking, and he’s got this inexplicable magic touch. 

“Good, right?” He asks when you’re finished, the both of you heading back to the kitchen to wash up the last of your dishes.

“It was okay,” you tease, even though your empty bowl says otherwise. There’s not a drop of soup, a scrap of food left inside of it, just an orange ring around the inside from the kimchi color. 

“Okay, Miss ‘Okay’,” Jungkook says, placing his bowl gently into the sink. “Hand me your thing, I’ll finish washing up.”

“You sure?” You ask. You feel like you’ve contributed absolutely nothing to the making of this dish. Not cooking it, not putting away the ingredients or washing the pot, nothing. The least you could do is clean up a couple of your bowls. Or put them in the dishwasher. 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says, hand already latching onto it. “Takes two minutes.”

“Okay,” you tell him, watching the bowls fill with soap as his big hands scrub away the remnants of a very delicious meal. 

You linger in the kitchen. Despite not really having anything else to do, you don’t want to go back to your room, or curl away in some corner of the apartment where Jungkook can’t find you. You’re finally spending time together. Isn’t that what you wanted?

“It was pretty good,” you add on belatedly, when Jungkook is just drying his hands on the dish towel. There’s a precarious stack of dishes, utensils, and pots on the drying rack, like adding one more chopstick will send the whole thing tumbling down, but Jungkook isn’t worried about it at all. Even though he likes cleaning stuff up, he doesn’t like putting it away. 

“Aha!” Jungkook shouts, pointing at you accusingly. “I knew you would like it.”

“You’re a good chef,” you tell him. Maybe kimchi jjigae is the only thing he’s good at making, but rather be a master of one than a jack of all trades but master of none. Though, you have to admit that Jungkook is a master of several trades, none of which you think you could ever do. “You should cook more.”

“I wish,” Jungkook says with a sigh. The two of you have retired to the leather couch, the conversation drifting away from the kitchen and towards the sofas. When he collapses on the cushions, he relaxes, like the feeling is sucking out all of the tension in his body. “Every time I get back from work, I’m so drained and exhausted. I just want to go to sleep.”

“You weren’t tired tonight,” you point out. 

“No,” Jungkook says. The words are distant and faintly register in his mind, almost like the realization has just dawned on him for the first time, “I wasn’t.”

“Is there something else you wanna do?” You ask, not feeling particularly lethargic either. Normally, you’d spend the rest of the night raiding the rest of Jungkook’s amenities, watching old shows on his television or taking a bath until your body looks like a raisin. Something you can do by yourself, something that you’d want to do by yourself to make up for the fact that Jungkook doesn’t ever want to do anything with you. Watching him at work is getting less boring, because you’re actually starting to interact, but at home, you go right back to square one. Or, you did. “Watch a movie, or anything?”

“Nah, I’m alright,” Jungkook shakes his head, scrunching up his nose. You watch him as he chews the inside of his cheek, finger tracing over the scar that’s been left from that night, the night you patched him up. You’re a healer, but some things are meant to leave marks. You almost think that Jungkook is going to up and leave, heave himself off of the floor and spend the rest of the night alone in his bedroom, but then, he turns to you and he asks, “How often do you heal people?”

“I haven’t in a while,” you admit. Not because the opportunity has never presented itself, but you never had anyone to heal. “I used to when I was a kid, a lot. You know, scraped knees and paper cuts.”

“What about you?” Jungkook asks. “Do you have to heal yourself as well?”

“No,” you explain, “healers’ bodies heal by themselves.” It’s why, whenever you get back to your shack after crashing into a tree on the sidewalk that you hadn’t spotted, or stubbed your toe on the leg of a table, or pulled a muscle from stretching too far, you let yourself rest, and your body does the work for you. “But healing isn’t… it isn’t something I do very often. I turn invisible much more.”

“I can tell,” Jungkook muses. “But you’ve been invisible around me so much that it feels like I can still see you.”

“That’s because I’m always in your office when I’m invisible,” you point out. Jungkook knows you’re there because you wouldn’t be anywhere else. Where would you even go, when the whole point is to watch him? “In a place like this, there is no way you would be able to find me.”

“You wanna bet?”

“You know what, yes, I do,” you say, because Jungkook can’t possibly think his human-snuffing skills are as good as yours. Especially when the only person he’s trying to find is invisible. “You think you’re such a hotshot, hmm? Try and find me, then.”

“First floor only,” Jungkook rules. “And, when I do, I get to turn something.”

“Fine,” you agree, only because you know that that’s not going to happen. “One thing. That’s strike two, though.”

“You won’t tell,” Jungkook chides, eyes narrowed. 

“Will I?”

“Twenty seconds!” Jungkook says, already beginning to count down. “Nineteen, eighteen—!”

You turn invisible at once, not wasting a second, scurrying off down one of the hallways. There are plenty of places to hide in Jungkook’s house, from the walk-in closets in every bedroom to the one-foot-tall gap underneath every bed. But you won’t go for one of those, because Jungkook expects you to. He’s going to hunt around his entire house, looking in all of the nooks and crannies, the armoires and cabinets and cubbyholes, because he thinks that that’s where you’ll be hiding. But the truth is that there is no way that Jungkook will be able to find you when he can’t see you, because he doesn’t know what he’ll be looking for. 

So, you pick the second-to-last bedroom down the hall, and you wait. You’d sit down on the mattress, but Jungkook easily be able to spot a dip in the comforter, so you stand, right next to the door, holding your breath. If Jungkook really does think he can sense your presence, or whatever psychic nonsense he’s on about, then he should have no problem finding you. 

You hear Jungkook’s voice echoing down the hallway, a sickly sweet singsong as he walks into every room. 

“Y/N…” He calls out, like a ghost in a horror movie. “Where are you?”

From your angle, you can peer down the corridor, watch as he trickles in and out of each room after five minutes, no doubt searching through every one with both of his arms out, desperate to crash into you. Good thing you’re standing, otherwise Jungkook might accidentally elbow you. Slowly, he makes his way out of the room right before yours, casually walking towards you. You suck in a quick breath, holding yourself perfectly still.

“Are you here?” Jungkook flips his head around the doorframe, a foot away from where you’re standing. He isn’t looking right at you, thank God, otherwise you think you might just burst into laughter. “Hmm, I think you are.”

He begins to walk around the room, one hand tracing over the quilted pattern on the comforter, the other reaching out, grabbing fistfuls of air. He looks like someone’s blocked his vision, wandering around aimlessly as he tries to find something to cling onto. You bite your lip, refusing to laugh and give yourself away as he makes his way into the bathroom, singing your name like a chant, a curse to be laid upon you. When he obviously has no luck, he returns to the bedroom, eyes narrowed, as if that will better help his vision. 

You don’t think you’ve ever held your breath for this long, lungs about to burst, but you can’t let Jungkook find you. There’s more than just your powers on the line, and his reward. There’s your pride, and his massive ego that you refuse to stroke. The fact that he looks absolutely ridiculous is also doing nothing to aid you, but giving yourself up would be a metaphorical death sentence. 

Jungkook has one foot out of the door, already heading towards the last bedroom in the hallway, when you crack. You sputter out a half-breath, this miniscule exhale, and he stops in his tracks, turning around. You freeze up, hoping that maybe Jungkook will just think it was a trick of his own ears. 

“Y/N?” He taunts. He looks around the room again, trying to see if the wind is blowing a different way, if there is something different. He almost doesn’t notice you. 

Almost. 

You turn in shock when Jungkook reaches a hand out, his fingers pinching at your lower torso, shrieking as you practically topple over, Jungkook’s arms the only things that prevent you from diving head first onto the floor. He encases you in his hold as you sink to the floor in defeat, laughing as he follows you, one arm holding your waist as the other wraps around your back. He chuckles to himself while you curl up in shame, desperate not to meet your eyes. Your skin sizzles where his fingers had touched it, like oil in a pan after it’s been taken off of the stove, like the remnants of a flame, embers left to burn into ashes. It feels like your body is on fire. 

“Found you,” Jungkook teases, but it’s soft and sweet and fond. “I told you, I just know.”

“You just heard me breathe,” you defend yourself, because the former is impossible to accept. 

“Whatever you want to say to make yourself feel better.” He grins, cheeky and prideful, making you shove his head away with the palm of your hand. 

“Fine, whatever,” you say, resigning yourself to the fact that you lost this round. “What do you want to turn? The bed frame? The door knob? That really ugly pot in the living room?”

“Hey, that pot isn’t ugly,” Jungkook exclaims. You frown at him. “Okay, it’s only a little bit ugly.”

“For someone with so much money, you sure don’t have the best taste,” you tell him, even though everything else in his house reads expensive like nothing else. That pot is just weirdly out-of-place. “Maybe the gold will make it look better.”

“What’s this?” Jungkook asks, reaching a hand out from behind you to toy at the bracelet on your wrist, this silver chain with a couple of charms dangling from it. It’s rusted beyond belief, from rain, from humidity, from wear, but you refuse to take it off, even when it loses what’s left of its shimmer, even when the silver fades to a scratchy red iron. 

“An old bracelet,” you say, fingers instinctively making to play with it, rubbing away at the metal. “From my mom.”

“You wear it every day,” Jungkook notices. 

“I never take it off,” you say. 

“It’s pretty,” Jungkook tells you, and you know that he isn’t just saying that. That he means it, despite its abysmal condition. The years have not been kind to it, but then again, they haven’t been very kind to you either. “It must be really special.”

“It is.” You shuffle the bracelet around so that all five of the charms are in view. “She would buy a new charm every year for my birthday.”

“I like this one,” Jungkook says, pointing to the milk carton charm. “It’s cute.”

“Yeah…” you trail off. The bracelet isn’t much, but it’s all you have left of a childhood that you had been robbed of. You had to grow up too fast, that you know, but at least this bracelet reminds you that you are never too old for your memories. 

“Can I turn it?” Jungkook asks. It’s as if you can see the words leave his lips, resting in front of you, waiting for your response. 

You turn around to face him, eyes wide. Your hand goes to rest atop the bracelet protectively, the idea of letting someone else touch it almost unfathomable. 

“You can say no,” Jungkook quickly stammers out, face beet red. “It was just—you wear it so much, and it looks like the silver is fading, so I was thinking maybe the gold would… fix it up a bit, or something. Make it look new again. Ignore me, you don’t have to say yes, it was just a suggestion.”

Your fingers drop into your lap as you look at him, expression softening. Here, in this unused guest bedroom, Jungkook looks nervous, lost, stumbling over his own words like he isn’t sure of himself anymore. He looks away from you, eyes already beginning to scan the room for something else to turn instead, doubtful you would even agree to such a wild request. It is your bracelet, after all. Why would he do something like that for you?

“You want to?” You ask him, hopeful and wishing. 

Jungkook nods, a smile tugging at his lips. “I do.”

“Then you can,” you say, holding out your wrist to him, the charms dangling over your laps. “Please.”

Jungkook’s shocked that you even said yes, but he scrambles to twist you around, moving your bodies so you aren’t pressed against each other like two peas squished inside of a pod. In this new position, you’re facing each other, staring right at each other as Jungkook reaches out a tentative hand, delicate fingers padding against your wrist. He breathes, and so do you, because you’ve gotten so used to the way this bracelet has looked, so familiar with every rust and crack and dent, knowing that it has remained unchanged for years. 

But this isn’t a change. It’s a rebirth. It’s something different, something fresh, something to remind you that not all is lost. That old memories can become new once more. 

Slowly, as Jungkook presses soft fingertips against the metal, sparks fly. A golden sheen wraps around the bracelet, inch by inch, leaving behind this unmistakeable shimmer, glinting in the sunlight. You can’t tear your eyes away, watching the magic unfold in real time, the silver vanishing before you. The gold consumes it, erasing all of the rust, the wear and tear, until it looks brand new.

Your mother would have loved it. 

“Is that strike two?” Jungkook asks, a cherry red blush decorating his cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you breathe out, not caring if it’s strike two or strike two hundred. Your fingers press against the metal, smooth and shiny, the bumpy texture gone. It must be worth thousands, now. But to you, it is priceless. “It’s beautiful.”

Jungkook nods, and you can distantly feel the weight of his gaze on you. 

“I know,” he says. 

You can’t sleep. 

You’ve slept better here than you have for the past three years of your life. At this point, sleeping on cement would be more comfortable than your bed back at your own house, but here, the soft, plush mattress takes away all of the exhaustion that manifests itself in you throughout the day. Not to mention the fact that for the first time in over a decade, you finally have a normal routine, an internal clock to direct your body, rather than the other way around. There is something soothing in knowing exactly what the next day will bring. Something that doesn’t keep you up with worry.

But tonight, you are wide awake. 

The golden bracelet on your wrist clinks against itself as you sit up, rubbing at the gunk that’s collected in your eyes. You’ve been keenly aware of its existence on your wrist much more in the past several days, ever since Jungkook turned it from its previous faded silver, fingers instinctively toying with it whenever there’s nothing on your mind—and even when there is. 

What you fear most is the fact that you feel as though you are relying on Jungkook to be there more and more, counting on the fact that you know he will be by your side no matter where you are, no matter what you do. You are relying on him to be there, on his house to be there, shaping the way that you run your life based on the belief that at the end of the day, he will be asleep under the same roof as you. 

You pull yourself out of bed. Maybe a night spent alone will remind you of the days where you would watch the moon move across the sky, sitting underneath trees and counting the stars that you can see. Remind you that no matter what, the moon will always be there for you, too. Remind you that this, all of it, is temporary. 

You know that you aren’t allowed to go up to the second floor of Jungkook’s apartment, and that you’ve never been solely because Jungkook requested that you stay downstairs, a promise you have kept throughout the weeks. But there must be some appeal to the rooftop, you think, because Jungkook never comes downstairs whenever he’s having a restless night. Besides, it’s not as if you have any plans to go into his bedroom. 

Softly, you creep upstairs, hand dragging along the golden rail, feet leaving creases in the carpet. The top of the stairs opens up into a general hallway, a dark wooden door undoubtedly leading towards his bedroom, while the walls on the other side turn to glass, leading towards the pool. You tiptoe down the hallway, making sure to avoid making too much noise by Jungkook’s bedroom door, passing by the gym that Jungkook must use all of the time, whenever he’s not around to bother you. The glass door at the end of the hallway must exit out to the pool, so you twist the doorknob and push it open, the cool summer atmosphere hitting you like a breath of fresh air. 

All of the lights are on outside, this soft white that reflects off of the metal railing and the pool water, crashing in waves against the tiled edges. You think it’s just for show, like how people leave their Christmas lights on twenty-four hours a day, visible through their windows, but then you round the corner and see him.

Jungkook sits along the edge of the water, legs swishing around in the pool, as he looks up at the sky. The summer breeze blows through his hair, messy and loose, the way it looks right when he gets out of the shower, before he puts any product into it. Whatever he’s playing with in his hand glints in the lights, that distinctive yellow glow. It must be a coin or something, something small, something to keep his fingers occupied. 

“Are we considering that strike three?”

He whips around when he hears your voice, hears the way the pool water carries it across to him. 

“I thought you promised never to come up here,” he muses back. 

“Then I guess maybe both of us can be forgiven,” you suggest.

You amble over to him, crouching down to dip your feet in as well. You seat yourself along the edge of the pool beside him as the water sloshes around, the sensation sending shivers down your spine despite the humidity in the air. 

“Can’t sleep?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “My body’s tired but my mind isn’t.”

“What’s that?” You ask, pointing at the coin in his hand. It isn’t a form of currency that you recognize, certainly nothing used here. 

“A family heirloom,” Jungkook tells you, holding it out for you to see. It’s covered in a thin layer of cold but you think that you can make out some sort of crest, an emblem or insignia above the coat of arms. “Apparently it had been stolen from someone of royalty or high status back in the day. My family turned it into gold and made it ten times more valuable.”

“Oh, but I pickpocket a few people and suddenly I get sentenced by the Realm to be a minder, I see how it is,” you joke, rolling your eyes. Your eyes glaze over the crest, tracing the lines of a lion, a spear, a shield. It must mean something to someone, but to you and Jungkook, it could be anything. 

“Hey, but being my minder hasn’t been terrible, has it?” Jungkook asks, mockingly offended. His lips curl down into a pout as he looks at you, a hand on his heart like it’s been punctured by your words.

“It’s…” You begin. You suppose that it hasn’t been terrible. In the beginning, it was positively nightmarish, left you feeling like there was no way you would ever complete your sentence. Now, there’s this weird, hidden part of you that doesn’t want to leave. The part of you that has become attached to this world, this lifestyle. The part of you that relies on there being another person in your life to be with. “It’s not that bad.”

“You know what, I’ll take it.” Jungkook grins. “Even though I know you secretly love me.”

You give Jungkook a shove, pushing him on his side. “You wish.”

He laughs, pulling himself back up off of the cement, knocking his shoulder into yours. “I know that we both kind of didn’t have a choice in any of this,” he tells you, looking up at the stars, watching their faint light, twinkling from millions of light years away. “But I think I really needed you here.”

“Oh, now he admits he needs a minder,” you say sarcastically, flinging your arms out in front of you. 

Jungkook chuckles. “I didn’t realize I turned so much until you forced me to stop cold turkey.”

You nod. The truth is, you can’t blame Jungkook for his turning habits. You can’t blame him for living the way that he lives, when it’s the only thing he’s ever known. When the two most important adults in his life turn like wildfire, when they taught him everything he knows. But Jungkook is his own person, now, not a product of his parents, anymore. He has his own choices to make. He can become whoever he wants to be. 

He has become someone he wants to be. 

Jungkook’s magic habits aren’t any fault of his own as much as yours aren’t, either. They were born out of ignorance, out of necessity. Out of the fact that neither of you have ever known a world where you didn’t have powers, where you didn’t feel as though you needed to use them. You couldn’t imagine not having your magic. You know that Jungkook feels the same. 

“Why did you?” It’s as if the words don’t even belong to you. Like someone else has spoken them—the moon, the sky, the stars. 

Jungkook purses his lips, and sighs. “It was all I had ever known.”

Jungkook grew up drunk on his powers. You wonder if he’s sobered up now. 

(You wonder if you had anything to do with it.)

“When I was little, my parents gave me that whole ‘you’re different, and that makes you special’ talk. They told me that my powers were valuable. A gift. And that people with gifts like mine must never waste them. That if we had been given this magic, we ought to use it, right? So that’s what I did. God, every day I would turn a new toy gold, and then I would get another one to replace it, and I would turn that one gold, too. My parents probably sold that to our banks, another hundred thousand dollars into their pockets,” Jungkook says, forcing out a laugh at the memory. The thought is rather endearing, when you think about it. Little Jungkook turning a stuffed bear gold, crying when it isn’t soft and fuzzy anymore. 

“And my parents encouraged me. They told me that I was doing the right thing, that I wasn’t letting my gift go to waste. You saw them that evening that they came over. They were turning things gold left and right. Things that I had wanted to stay their natural material. Like that bowl for my keys. Do you know how easily gold is scratched?” He exclaims, gesturing frantically in front of him. “I purposefully kept that as the clay it was made out of. And now it’s gold.”

“A modern day crisis,” you joke. 

“I guess…” Jungkook begins, but the words trail off and he pauses, almost like nothing he says will be correct. “I guess I just never knew the difference between not wanting my magic to be in vain, and not wanting to ever stop using it. Like you. You only heal when you need to. And even then, you don’t treat it like this precious gift. You treat it like something you owe to others.”

“That’s because without other people to heal, my power is useless,” you explain. Being able to heal others has no direct benefit for you. It doesn’t make you stronger, or faster, or better. It is a gift that is meant to be shared. “It’s different.”

“Every time I turn something, I feel like shit afterwards,” Jungkook admits to you. “Like I’ve turned so many things, that I don’t have the right to do it anymore. Like I’ve exhausted my magic.”

“You feel guilty,” you explain to him, resting a hand on top of his own, his fingers losing their grip on the coin he’s been tossing between them. “And that’s okay,” you tell him, meeting his eyes with your own. “Your parents are right—what you have, this power that you possess, it is a gift. It has made your life better in a way that nothing else could. But your fear of letting it go to waste, of not truly appreciating it for what it is, is a two-way street.”

Jungkook blinks at you, petal pink lips parted ever so slightly. 

“Wasting a gift by never using it is the same as wasting it by overusing it, because it loses its specialness. When you turn things now, it doesn’t feel amazing or blessed or exciting, because it’s lost the ability to feel like that for you. It’s almost second-nature, at this point,” you say.

“Then what do I do?” He asks, feeling helpless. “How do I make it feel special again?”

You squeeze his hand in your own, making him look up at you, the pool water reflected in his big brown eyes, like a warm chocolate ocean. “You only use it on things that make you feel like a better person.” Things that make Jungkook feel special, as opposed to things that make his magic feel special. “Not just things that will put more money in your bank account, or things that will make your house decor nicer. Things that you really, truly care about.”

Jungkook’s eyes glance downward at something, but he nods. He breathes out this exhale, this heavy sort of breath, like he’s trying to reteach himself the things that make him tick. Things like alphabetized books, and homemade kimchi stew. 

“Gifts like that only come once in a lifetime,” you say. “Remarkable things don’t happen to us all the time.” You know this, because it’s true. Because you’ve lived it.

Because in another life, in another universe, there is a you who can’t turn invisible, can’t heal people, and there is a Jungkook, too, one who can’t turn whatever he pleases into gold. And they would live their whole lives not knowing what it would be like to have these powers, to ease their way of life. And they would never meet each other, either. Too busy trapped on opposite sides of the world, too busy to worry about anybody but themselves. 

“So we have to learn to treasure them.” It feels as though you’re drowning in him. Like you’re floundering, barely staying afloat. “We have to make sure that they always feel special to us.”

You curl your hand around his own, lacing your fingers together as your palms rest against each other’s. You watch as his gaze drifts down to where your hands are interlocked, a bridge between the two of you, a lifeline that connects the two lives you had lived without each other in them. 

“Do you understand?” You ask. You can see the words as they appear, watch as they linger in between the two of you, hot summer breaths on a cool summer night. 

He squeezes your hands together, and he smiles, warm and round and real. He looks at you, and he is there, he is sitting by your side. And he is beautiful and extraordinary and remarkable. And he says, “I’m starting to.”

You wake up the next morning to find a shimmering piece of parchment sitting on the dresser in your bedroom. 

As declared by the Realm, its leaders, and its government, it reads, 

The recipient, Y/N, has successfully completed her sentence of community service as mandated by the courts. She no longer needs to serve as the minder to Jeon Jungkook, and may return to her former residence. 

Though the sentence has been carried out, The Realm, its leaders, and its government, reserves the right to re-charge the recipient for the crimes for which she had been originally tried should she commit them again. Should this instance occur, the option for community service will not be available. 

We thank you for your service.

Oh. 

Already? 

It feels like you just started. Like it was only yesterday that you stormed up to the front door of Jungkook’s penthouse, watched as he crumpled up the parchment and tossed it into the bin. Like it was only yesterday you reappeared at his office, this time with a declaration that won’t be so easily destroyed. 

You wonder why this one is all sparkly as well. 

You don’t know exactly what prompted the end of your sentence, what duties you had somehow fulfilled to earn you your freedom. What is the Realm searching for? What data are they using to determine whether or not you have met your goal? It certainly couldn’t have just been the fact that Jungkook hasn’t turned in a while. Not turning is not the same as not wanting to turn. 

So what changed?

You stare down at the parchment, each word leaving you more confused than the word before it. 

It isn’t over already, is it?

Knowing that you are now free to return back to your own house means that your worst fear has been realized. You don’t want to. 

You want to stay here, in Jungkook’s massive penthouse, relishing in the glory and wealth that comes alongside it. You want his chef to make pre-made meals for you and the extra kimchi stew he keeps in the fridge. You want Jungkook’s five thousand different streaming services and enough books to last you several lifetimes. You want the sense of normalcy that staying here has given you, the regular routine that you have so effortlessly fallen into. You want the late-night pool chats and rounds of hide-and-seek. 

Why would you want to give up all that you have?

“You want fried or poached eggs?” Jungkook knocks on your closed bedroom door, tapping softly with his knuckles, already awake and ready to make breakfast. 

“Either,” you tell him, glaring down at the parchment with furrowed brows. You’re too afraid to touch it, too afraid to even look at it any closer. Because that will make it real. 

“Alright,” Jungkook calls. “It’ll be ready in ten! Got freshly-squeezed orange juice too!” You can hear his footsteps as he heads back down the corridor, the thump, thump, thump of his fuzzy slippers against the hardwood floor. 

“Coming,” you say weakly, too focused on the glowing paper on the dresser. 

 Just because you can go back to your house doesn’t mean you have to. Just because you can go back to your old life, doesn’t mean you have to. 

You grab the paper and stuff it in an old tote bag, covering it with old clothes, memories of the former world you lived in. Not anymore. 

After all, isn’t this the life you’ve always dreamed of?

Kimchi stew is, as it stands, delicious, but it can’t be the only thing that the two of you ever cook together. 

Jungkook does all of the grocery shopping, mostly because the both of you know that if you went out to the store with a list of ingredients, you would be lost for days searching for them. So when he returns home with three tote bags filled with ingredients, your mouth already starts to water. 

“What are we making today, chef?” You ask, bounding into the kitchen as Jungkook begins to unpack. 

“Another Korean recipe,” Jungkook says happily, pulling out a bright yellow pack of thin grey noodles. “Japchae!”

“Sounds delicious,” you say, though at this point he could make you microwave mac-and-cheese and you’d snarf it down like nothing else.

“You bet it is.” Jungkook grins, slowly dumping out the rest of the contents of the bags. They are filled to the brim with vegetables and seasonings, peppers and zucchini and everything in between, the makings of a colorful little homemade dish. 

Jungkook seems to be making more time to actually cook things these days, fishing through the cabinets regularly to see what meals he can make with all of the ingredients in his kitchen. The chef only comes once every two weeks now, and usually brings with him any groceries that Jungkook has personally requested. He’ll ask you what you think of a new recipe that he wants to try, showing you the guide on his laptop screen, writing down whatever he needs to buy from the store. 

And you thought that the chef’s meals were appetizing. 

“Have you ever thought of meal-prepping?” You ask as Jungkook sets the noodles in a pot of boiling water, turning the heat on high. 

“Why?” Jungkook says. 

“I don’t know,” you tell him, washing the red pepper underneath the faucet, cutting board and knife ready and waiting on the counter. “So you don’t have to go through the process of cutting everything up and sauteing it, or whatever.”

Jungkook turns around, shakes his head. “No. Half the fun of cooking is making it.”

“But you could save yourself a lot of time when you come back from work,” you point out. Jungkook’s always so exhausted by the time he walks through the front door, keys scratching the golden bowl on the table on the way in. 

“But then we wouldn’t get to cook together,” he says like it’s obvious, like it’s the thing that he thinks about the most when he comes back home. The two of you, filling up his kitchen, leaving oil stains on the countertops and burnt vegetables at the bottom of the pans. The scent of spices, of onions, of sizzling vegetables wafting through the air. 

Another person to fill up this barren house. 

You never eat in the dining room, because two people still isn’t enough to make that room feel like it’s full, like there are people that regularly use it. But now, there are grease stains on the leather of Jungkook’s couch, and a little bit of ketchup on the rug that he doesn’t know about, reminders that just because Jungkook’s house is big doesn’t mean it has to be empty as well. 

“I’m a horrible chef,” you say, because you’re not quite sure what else to tell him. Up until a few weeks ago, you had never cut up an onion in your life. Things in the kitchen that take Jungkook five minutes to do take you twenty. You certainly aren’t any help, not when Jungkook has to pause whatever he’s doing to teach you something that you should already know. So what’s the appeal?

“You’re not that bad,” Jungkook assures you gently. “You just need to do it more.”

“Oh, so is that your mission? You don’t meal-prep because you want me to learn how to make my own food?” You ask, rounding on him. 

“You got me.” He grins guiltily, pinching the part of your waist where he knows you’re the most ticklish, making you laugh as you turn invisible for a moment, a sort of gut reaction whenever you’re sensitive. “And because I like cooking with you.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “It must be my infectious personality, right?”

“That, and teaching you how to cook stuff is fun.” Jungkook smiles, reaching out as he begins to chop vegetables beside you. Standing here, in the middle of his kitchen, you wonder if this is how life is supposed to be. Someone you can cook with, someone you can eat with. Someone who will teach you the things that you don’t know, who will help you master the things that you do. Someone who doesn’t care where you came from, only that you’re here now, that you are right beside him. 

Homemade meals make your insides warm and fuzzy, but having someone to spend the night with makes your heart feel comforted. Makes it feel like it’s been wrapped in a blanket, cradled in someone’s hands. 

“What happens when I learn everything?” You ask. “What will you do then?”

Eventually, this routine must come to an end. Eventually, there will be nothing left for him to teach you, nothing left for you to learn. You know that your days are numbered, that there is only so much time that the two of you can spend together. What will happen when you reach the last day? When there will be no tomorrow for you to rely on?

Jungkook must know that you can’t stay here forever, even if the two of you try to keep it that way. But he doesn’t miss a beat when he says, “Then, I’ll find something new to teach you.”

This arrangement has always been temporary. 

But for a moment, just a moment, an echo in time, he makes you believe otherwise. 

There’s a golden glint on your chest of drawers when you walk into the room, the glare flashing in your eyes as the sun hits it. 

You, admittedly, don’t go into your room very often, usually only to do the thing that bedrooms, at their most basic level, were meant to do: sleep. But Jungkook retired early to his room tonight, citing some ridiculous reason like he hadn’t worked out enough this week, and everything in the house suddenly becomes less inviting whenever he’s not around. 

When you step closer, you can see it. See the thin chain that rests on the dresser, the key that hangs from it, a similar size to the charms on your bracelet. The gold is faded, shine erased, leaving behind this gentle matte texture, smooth but worn. It’s much more vintage than the sorts of things you would find in jewelry stores today—bright, sparkly necklaces and shiny, lustrous rings. It was made to look old, to look worn. It probably is.  

There’s a little note next to the necklace, a torn piece of paper from a notepad, the edges rough and uneven. 

To Y/N,

Found this in my mother’s old jewelry that she always leaves here when she decides it’s not her style anymore. Didn’t really think of anybody else that would make good use of it like you. I think it’ll match your bracelet well! I hope you like it.

Jungkook

You smile as you read the words, take in this meaningful little gesture that Jungkook has done for you. The bracelet from your mother has always been your most prized possession, but with its new golden makeover, it reminds you that you don’t always have to look to your past to be happy. That what you have, right here, right now, is enough. Now, your mother’s charm bracelet has a matching partner. 

Standing in front of the mirror, you put the necklace on, fingers craning to attach the clasp to the chain, metal slipping from your grip. After a bit of a battle, you finally manage to connect the two ends, letting the key hang low past your collarbones, the gold resting gently against your skin. It doesn’t match your bracelet perfectly, but the two aren’t so much a matching set as they are a pair, two pieces that are meant to complement each other rather than complete. 

You seriously doubt that Jungkook’s already asleep. 

Sneaking up the stairs to the second story, you see that the door to Jungkook’s bedroom is wide open, revealing a little glimpse into the room he spends so much time in. It’s dark, empty, a signal that Jungkook is elsewhere on this floor. You don’t spend too much effort peering into Jungkook’s bedroom, not when it feels like you’re invading his space, his privacy. He’s already given up so much of his home for you. He deserves to keep his bedroom his own.

He’s not in the gym, you determine as you pass by, which means that there really is only one other place he could be found. 

You push open the door to the rooftop, rounding the corner to the deck to find Jungkook doing laps in the pool, wearing nothing but his swimming trunks. The water sloshes around his body as he swims back and forth, kicking up splashes as he goes. You watch for a few moments as he works out, not wanting to interrupt him he burns away the calories in his body. This is the closest you’ve ever come to seeing Jungkook undressed, but you don’t really mind. At least he’s got shorts on. 

When he stops, he stands up in the pool, sopping wet hands running through sopping wet hair, strands that frame the sides of his face, make his hair look longer than it actually is. He wipes away the water on his face, blinking the chlorine from his eyes, when he spots you. 

“What are you doing up here?” He asks, not even caring to fight away the grin that has laced itself on his features. 

“Came to say thank you,” you tell him, fingers toying with the key around your neck. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“I wanted to,” Jungkook says honestly. “Besides, my mother was never going to come back to get it, so I figured that it should go to someone who will actually wear it.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say, slowly sitting down along the edge of the pool, letting your legs dip into the water. Jungkook makes his way over to you, water splashing at his torso as he walks through the pool to stand before you. “Was it always gold?”

“It was, yes,” Jungkook says with a nod. “My mom liked to turn a lot of things, but she preferred her jewelry to be naturally gold. That’s why it’s pretty faded.”

“It looks nicer this way,” you say. “Shiny gold looks cheap.”

“Spend a couple of months in a mansion and suddenly you think gold looks cheap?” Jungkook jokes. “I think I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Can’t help that I’ve got an eye for nice things,” you tease, looking Jungkook up and down just to be dramatic. You have to admit that he’s got a rather attractive figure, fit, built, toned. You would be lying to yourself if you said that you weren’t eyeing him at least a little bit. 

Jungkook pretends that he isn’t paying attention to the fact that you are blatantly ogling his body and laughs. “You swim?”

“I learned when I was little,” you tell him. “But I haven’t done it in a long time.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Jungkook says with a disapproving shake of his head. 

“What? I like being dry,” you say, hands on your hips as you defend yourself. Besides, when you were little, swimming always meant showering afterwards, which sucked because then you had to waste water just to clean yourself of other water. Your mother always said that being able to swim would carry you far in life, would be an invaluable skill. You haven’t swum since she died. 

“But, you wouldn’t mind if I… oh, never mind,” Jungkook dismisses, being purposefully vague just to capture your attention. 

“What?” You demand. 

“If I…” Jungkook begins, leaning back down in the pool until all but his head is submerged. He floats towards you, paddling until he’s right beneath your feet. “Did this—?”

Without a second of warning, Jungkook’s wet hands are grabbing onto your ankle, pulling you and your fully-clothed-self into the water with a splash, making you shriek as you feel your skin freeze up at the cold temperature. Luckily, it’s shallow enough here that you can stand rather easily, but now you’re soaked from head to toe, sopping fabric sticking to your figure.

You come up from beneath the water, positively accosted, hands wiping across your face as you clear your eyes so that they can narrow in on your target. “Okay, that was uncalled for,” you say, splashing Jungkook furiously, even as the two of you fight off the laughter that is bubbling up from your throats. 

“Oh, but it’s such a nice night for swimming,” Jungkook grins devilishly, that cheeky sort of look reserved for when he knows he’s being a nuisance. 

“Maybe for you!” You say, punctuating every word with a splash. Jungkook takes them all in good fun, accepting his punishment for pulling you into the pool. “I’ve been betrayed.”

“Admit it,” Jungkook coaxes, “you love me.”

You refuse.

When the rage has died down and the water begins to feel less like an icy death trap and more like a pleasant dip, you and Jungkook paddle around each other, swimming in circles like two fish in a school. Looking up, it is a nice night, clear skies as a crescent moon hangs above your heads. There are seldom any stars in the middle of the city, but the especially bright ones still shine, flickers of white in an otherwise deep blue ocean. You wonder how many times Jungkook has come out here, spent the night underneath the sky when he cannot sleep away the hours in bed. 

You wonder how many times you missed the opportunity to spend the night with him. 

“I sort of wish that we could stay like this forever, don’t you?” Jungkook asks, the two of you floating on top of the water like light against the sea. 

There’s a lot of things in your life that you wish would never change. This is just another bullet point added to the list. 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, because out there somewhere is a timer, counting down the moments until you have to say goodbye. “I do.”

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” you say, looking at Jungkook. 

He sits across from you in the booth, face lit up in a warm yellow from the rustic exposed light bulb above your heads, this soft, homey glow to his features, sharp jawline but rounded cheeks. He’s cleaned up well, in a different way than how he gets ready for work, when he has to make sure his collars are crisp and his hair is sleek and straight. Here, his dark brown hair is bouncy, loose, like he had blown it out after jumping out of the shower and then immediately ran his hand through it a couple of times to mess it up. He wears a plain button down, nothing fancy or chic, no tie, no suit jacket. The beauty of how he looks is that it’s so simple, so timeless, like he doesn’t need to put any effort into how he looks because he is just naturally perfect. Like the cover of a magazine. Like a sculpture come to life. 

“I wanted to,” Jungkook says happily, fork twirling around the pasta in the dish in front of him. “We can’t just eat premade meals and leftover Korean food forever.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t complain if we did…” You reason, because you’ve been better fed in the few months you’ve lived with Jungkook than in the years you have spent on your own. Not to mention the fact that everything Jungkook makes tastes eons better than the meals the professional chef whips up, for some odd reason. “But you’re right, a night out is fun.”

“Sometimes food tastes better when you don’t make it yourself,” Jungkook points out, motioning to the dishes before you, these high-class servings of fish and pasta and vegetables that look like they belong on a cooking show rather than on the table in front of you. You and Jungkook may have mastered (or at least… gotten better at) cooking, but presentation is a whole other battlefield. Besides, it’s all going to the same place, so why bother?

“Mmm,” you murmur in agreement, savoring the flavor of the meal in front of you. A year ago you wouldn’t have dared step foot in a restaurant like this one, would have probably gotten kicked out after you walked through the door, so being here feels like a real treat. One that you think you could definitely get used to. 

“Thanks, by the way,” Jungkook pipes up, as if suddenly remembering something. 

“For what?”

“For your idea about the investment management,” Jungkook says, sending the both of you back to that day in his office, where Jungkook was on the verge of flipping his desk over because he couldn’t figure out a solution. 

“Oh, is it working out?” You ask, curious to know if your suggestion is truly paying off or if you just had too much faith in the goodness of humanity. 

“It is.” Jungkook nods happily. He seems very proud of himself. “It was slow going at first, because a lot of clients were starting to wonder why we weren’t investing in other stocks that would guarantee us a higher payout, but then they saw where the money was going. We aren’t bigger than our rival companies, but this levelled the playing field.”

“I’m glad,” you say, because it’s one thing for Jungkook to tell you you had a good idea, and it’s another for him to actually implement it. “That makes me happy to hear.”

“You’re not as bad at business or economics as you think you are, Y/N,” Jungkook informs you, waving around a nonchalant hand. “All they are is an in-depth study of human nature. Some economists assume that everyone in the world is selfish and cares only about themselves, but you’re different. You see the good in everyone, you believe that people can be honest, and selfless, and giving.”

Like Jungkook. 

Like Jungkook, who has given up his home, his work, his life just to deal with another person hovering around him. Who gifts you gorgeous pieces of jewelry and takes you out to fancy meals, who lets you screw up a recipe in the kitchen and obligingly eats peppers that have been charred beyond recognition. Who is so much more honest, so much more selfless, so much more giving, than you could ever be, sticking around because to not do so would cost you your freedom, because you would rather stay here than be anywhere else. 

“I don’t know what I’ll do when you’re gone,” Jungkook says, cracking this weak, terrible smile. He shakes his head as if to banish the thought from his mind, to exist only in this very moment, choosing to ignore both the past and the future. “I think I’m starting to rely on you being there.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, distantly. Something weighs heavy on your chest, pressing your heart down, slowing its temperate rhythm. The truth is that your heart stopped a long time ago, it stopped when you realized that there’s more to Jungkook that you want to know, when you realized that you can’t bear to imagine a life different than the one that the two of you share, no matter how temporary it is. But this weight, this burden on you, it serves as nothing but a reminder that without Jungkook, your heart cannot count in time. “Me too.”

You return home with plastic tupperwares in your hands, leftovers from the enormous meal that the two of you couldn’t have finished even if you tried. Jungkook takes the container from your hands as you excuse yourself to the bathroom, desperate to wash away the thoughts that rest heavy in your heart, cleanse yourself of the lies you can’t seem to stop telling. There’s this naive part of you that thinks, when you wash off the makeup, change back into your raggedy old clothes, all of the secrets you carry with you will vanish as well. 

You know you’ll have to come clean eventually. Eventually, Jungkook will get suspicious as to why you’ve hung around so long even though he is no longer turning. He’ll begin to wonder why you haven’t dashed out of the penthouse you once used to disparage, desperate to return to your old life, where you didn’t have to know him the way that you do now. When you didn’t feel like there was something else trapping you here. 

When all is said and done, though, it feels like here is where you were always meant to end up. 

You head back out into the living room, ready to settle down and wrap up the night by watching a movie or something, when you see Jungkook standing by the couch, your old tote bag sitting on the cushions from a laundry trip earlier today, a shimmering piece of parchment in his hands. 

“Jungkook—”

“How long?” He asks, voice cracking. He’s clenching the paper so hard that his knuckles are turning white, like he can’t believe the words that he’s reading. “How long have you been free to go?”

“Listen, I can explain—”

“A week? A month? When were you going to tell me?” He pleads. When you can’t even muster up the dignity to look at him, he shouts. “When?”

“A month,” you tell him weakly, desperately. 

“A month? You’ve been staying here for a month when you didn’t even need to?” He asks, and he isn’t angry, or furious, or full of rage. He looks helpless, like there is no longer light behind his eyes, twinkles in his irises. Like he’s in pain, like he’s hurt. Exposed, his walls broken down and nothing left to repair them. “When were you going to tell me? Were you ever going to say anything?”

“Yes, Jungkook, but I—”

“All this time,” he says, more to himself than to you, like he can’t believe how foolish he’s been. “All this time you’ve been using me? Using my money?”

“No, Jungkook, it’s not like that.” You are desperate, desperate to salvage what you can from this broken arrangement, desperate to start anew. 

“Then what is it like?” He demands. “If you weren’t using me for my house, or my money, or my personal chef, then what is it? What did you want from me that you couldn’t get on your own?”

You stop. Why did you stay? Normalcy? Opportunity? Company? All things that you never dreamed of having in a million years. And while being with Jungkook did provide you with all three, none of them feel quite right.

“I don’t know, I just—” You begin, scrambling for the right words and feeling like nothing you say will be correct. “I didn’t want to go back just yet.” It’s a pitiful excuse. 

“So you just decided to stay? To play along with me, with all of the things that I was doing with you, for you?” Jungkook shakes where he stands in front of you, blindsided. “Let me teach you how to cook and give you expensive jewelry and take you out to fancy dinners? Just for fun?”

“I never asked for you to do those things for me,” you remind him firmly. It’s not like you were scrounging for money from his pockets, selling insignificant gold sculptures on the black market to buff up your empty bank account. “You wanted to.”

“Because I thought we had something special, Y/N,” Jungkook admits helplessly, collapsing back on the couch. “I did those things because I felt it, Y/N. What you were talking about, that night at the pool, where you saw me sitting at the edge of the water. I felt it. With you,” he begs, hopeless and anguished. “I didn’t understand what it meant to make the magic feel special again until I did it for you. I turned your bracelet and it made me feel like I had something to give to others.”

“You know that that’s not what I meant,” you say, shaking your head. “I was talking about your gift, not us.”

“Aren’t they all the same, though? Magic? Powers? Love? Don’t they all make us feel like we have something special beneath our fingertips?” He asks, to you, to himself, to the moon and the stars, searching for an answer that none of you can give him. 

“Love? You don’t mean that,” you say, refusing to admit it. You have no explanation as to why Jungkook did the things he did, just as much as you don’t have an explanation as to why you did the things you did. They just happened. 

“I thought we had something,” Jungkook admits sadly, unable to even bring his head up to look at you, at the tears that are welling in your eyes, the ones you refuse to let fall. “And I thought the reason that you wanted to do all of those things with me was because you felt it, too.”

“Jungkook, you know that—”

“What?” He erupts. “What do I know? I know that you’ve been using me all of this time, that you did those things with me because you were getting freebies out of it. I know that I was foolish and—and stupid to think that maybe it was because you were falling in love with me just like I was falling in love with you.”

“Jungkook…” You reach out a trembling hand, wanting to feel the warmth of his body once more, the weight of his head in your palm. 

“Don’t,” he says, swatting it away and standing up. “I get it, Y/N. I was stupid and I thought that we had something, when we don’t.” He turns back to look at you, and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to get the image out of your head, the sight of him, broken and beaten and empty, a shell of the beautiful, vibrant man you had become so attached to. “There’s nothing left for you here. Your services are no longer required.”

He disappears down the hallway, leaving you with nothing but a tote bag, a necklace, and a bracelet left for you to remember him. 

When you step into your house for the first time in months, it feels even less inviting than it normally does. Which is, as far as you’re concerned, rather impressive, considering you’ve always dreaded coming back regardless of what happened throughout the day. 

But now, you can name no place you would rather not be than in this graffiti-laden house, a dangling light bulb above the back entrance and dirt and dust all along the walls. You’ve never had time to fix up this place and make it look even the slightest bit presentable, never had the money to paint over the walls and get rid of the big red X on the front door. Day in and day out, this would just be a place where you could sleep, a mattress on the floor and Campbell’s soups on the cracked kitchen counters. The first thing you’d do every morning is get out. The last thing you’d want to do every night is come back. 

No place has felt like home in a long time. Not since your mother died, when you lost how her smile would light up a room, how she would spin you in circles and kiss your forehead when you got scared that you were going too fast. You had almost forgotten what it meant to have a home, to have a place that felt sacred, like coming home to a warm hug and a steaming cup of tea. To have a place that you didn’t dread returning to, a place that you could gladly waste away in. 

The bracelet that dangles from your wrist is the closest thing that you have left to the feeling of home, of comfort and warmth and solace, of something that makes you feel truly happy. But now, the bracelet has been tinted with the memories of another, of the only other person you can think of that has brought you that same feeling of joy, of these rose-stained memories that rest deep within your heart’s attic. They have always been there, hidden, buried beneath the bad, but when there is nothing left they surface. To remind you of what good life can bring you. 

To remind you of the magic inside you. 

You hate living here. And for a time, you hated living with Jungkook, too. Hated how extravagant his house was, hated how he refused to even speak to you. How there were so many unused rooms, so many empty spaces. But what changed, there, and what hasn’t changed, here, is how people, and not things, are what fill up rooms. 

Living with Jungkook made you feel like coming back after a long day was worth it. Planted the knowledge inside you that you would always have him there, could always rely on another’s presence within the apartment. He’s only one person, but he fills up the room like nothing else, lights it up like New Year’s Eve. He’s funny, and witty, and gorgeous. He’s caring and honest and cheeky, just cocky enough for it to be charming as opposed to egotistical. He cooks like nothing else and spends his sleepless nights beneath the stars, looking at the same moon and sky as everyone else. 

You don’t hate living here because it’s shit. You hate living here because it’s lonely. 

There was a space in your heart that you didn’t even realize was empty. It had been overtaken by the part of you determined to make it to the next day, determined to stick it to the Realm, to its leaders, to all of the people that look down on you because you aren’t made of money. 

But when you left Jungkook’s house, you realized that that space had slowly been filled up with him. That over time, bit by bit, moment by moment, Jungkook returned what you had lost, revived what you thought had long been dead. 

The truth is that you wanted to stay with Jungkook because you couldn’t stomach the thought of being alone again. Of being forced to fend for yourself, forced to come home to an empty house with no one to waste away the night with. Of being forced to live like every day is a threat rather than a gift. 

Jungkook has magic in his fingertips and his heart. It was only a matter of time before it spread to you as well. 

Being hurt by someone you love feels like an arrow to the chest. Like a puncture wound, deep and piercing, but too painful to even want to pull it out, patch up the hole. You had already experienced it once. You didn’t have any plans on experiencing it again. 

But losing the opportunity to love someone feels like an ache throughout your whole body, this crippling sort of pain that spreads through your bloodstream, setting every organ it passes on fire. It feels like there is something tearing you apart from the inside out, like every piece of you is slowly crumbling. 

Jungkook’s biggest mistake wasn't falling in love with you. It was thinking that you were still falling in love with him, when the truth is, you had already fallen. It was letting you leave when both of you wanted nothing more than for you to stay. 

Loving someone is a gamble. It’s a risk, a toe in the water, a spark from your fingers. 

But not loving someone? That is magic, wasted. 

Who knew twenty dollars could get you one large pizza and extra garlic rolls? Certainly not you. 

The smell wafts through the hallway to Jungkook’s apartment, filling it with the scent of warm, fresh bread, of a hot meal waiting to be devoured. If you don’t knock soon, the pizza will go cold and you’ll probably eat all of it before you can even say hello to him. You have more food in your hands now than you have the past week you’ve been back at your old place. 

You ring the doorbell. 

 “Coming!” Jungkook shouts. Oh, is he expecting someone?

Ten seconds later the door opens to reveal someone you hardly even recognize. Gone are the soft loose strands of hair and oversized button down shirts. Jungkook opens the door still wearing his suit jacket, tie tight around his neck, like he hasn’t bothered to change since he got home from work over two hours ago. His hair is sleek and straight, a little shorter than you last remember it. He looks the way he did when you first met him, this rigid, workaholic guy that doesn’t care about anybody except himself. He looks like he’s done nothing but work for a week. Not even sleep. 

“Hi,” you begin, a short, quick intake of breath. “Did you order a pizza?”

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head, already starting to close the door. “I think you have the wrong apartment.”

“Wait, Jungkook, please? I need to talk to you,” you plead, a hand going out to stop him from shutting you out completely. All that you can see through the crack of space between the door and its frame are his piercing brown eyes, absolutely unreadable. He doesn’t budge. “Also, did you just get back from work? You must be starving. And as it so happens, I have an entire large pizza that I won’t be able to finish all by myself.”

Jungkook budges a little bit. 

“Please?”

“Fine,” he says reluctantly, opening the door. “I hope you aren’t planning on staying here too long, this time.”

The words are biting cold, send angry shivers down your spine. 

“Just enough for you to hear me out,” you say, placing the pizza box on the coffee table as Jungkook rummages through his kitchen for plates. He eventually manifests two paper ones—you didn’t even know he had those!—and returns, taking a seat on the carpet as he inhales the cheesy, greasy scent. 

Your stomach grumbles, but you can’t eat just yet. First, you have to explain yourself. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Jungkook asks, cold and distant, the same way he spoke to all of his employees before you encouraged him to do otherwise. “If it’s about my company, we can compensate you as necessary for your contribution. It won’t be much, though.”

“No, no, it’s not about that,” you say with a shake of your head. “It’s about us.”

“What ‘us’ is there to talk about?” He asks economically. 

“The ‘us’ that I left behind that day,” you say softly, a gentle reminder. “The ‘us’ I should have realized existed before I let the door shut behind me.”

“If you’re just here to tell me that you’re sorry for not loving me back, don’t,” Jungkook says bitterly. “I don’t expect you to love me back or anything. You can’t change how you feel about people.”

“You still love me?” You ask, a spark, a flash, a ray of light. 

Jungkook grumbles. “Yes. It doesn’t go away that easily.” 

“You aren’t stupid, or foolish, or idiotic for thinking that I was falling in love with you at the same time that you were falling in love with me,” you tell him, the words light and airy, like weights plucked off of your chest, like butterflies released from a jar. “You were stupid for thinking that I wasn’t already in love with you.”

Jungkook’s head jerks up, eyes blinking wildly. You can see the way that they glisten, with hope, with tears, with desperation. With the possibility that not all is lost. 

That old memories can become new once more. 

“You were right,” you muse, more to yourself than to anyone else. Even Jungkook. “Magic, powers, love, they’re all the same thing. They are meant to be treasured. Cherished. Protected. They are meant to make us feel special.” You breathe, reaching out next to you, an open hand for Jungkook to take. “But most importantly, they are meant to be shared.”

A small smile. A lip half-turned up, this gentle little grin. 

“I stayed because I wanted to keep sharing my life with you, Jeon Jungkook,” you tell him honestly, because it’s real and it’s true. Because, at this point, you can imagine nothing else. “And I’m here again because I can’t stand living without you anymore. I never want to stop sharing my life with you.”

“You make me feel like my heart is made of magic,” Jungkook admits, finally, finally, finally. “You make me want to use it just for you.”

“You don’t need to,” you say, pressing yourself into him, letting your lips hover above his own. He reaches a hand out, lets it rest on your waist, waiting desperately for you to close the last inch between the two of you. “You’re already made of it.”

With that, you close the gap, pressing your lips against his, the soft sweet cherry taste of his lip balm filling up your senses, leaving you gasping for air. It’s just a kiss, just a press of lips, this simple gesture, but it takes your breath away nevertheless. It makes you feel like magic swirls inside of you, like your heart is sparking, catching fire, sending it sizzling through your veins. Jungkook has taught you what it means for a house to become a home. You have taught him that magic is only special if he has someone to share it with. 

It’s hard to think about the lessons you would have never learned without the other. 

It’s hard to think about how different life would be, had you never even met. 

Jungkook kisses you and it feels like you’re finally whole. It feels like what has been missing in your life has returned. What you have kept locked up, in the dusty, cobwebbed corners of your heart, in the spaces between your bones, has finally been remembered. 

Jungkook takes your old memories and turns them new. He is the only thing you ever want to remember.

“I love you,” he whispers, watching as the words sink into your skin, leaving embers in their wake. “You are my most precious gift.”

“You are my home, Jeon Jungkook,” you murmur. “I love you, too.”

Pizza is good and all, but nothing beats homemade kimchi stew. 

You made it all by yourself for the first time last night to celebrate Jungkook donating over a million dollars to various different animal rescues and human rights organizations, taking the kindness that he has been given and paying it forward. Besides, he can make money at the touch of a finger whenever he wants, so he might as well, right?

You also don’t accompany Jungkook at his work anymore, because you’ve gotten enough of a taste of office life and have declared it not your ideal profession, but the nice thing about that is getting the whole house to yourself while he’s gone. Not that you want to do very much without him, but napping in different bedrooms is always exciting. 

You never realized how good love makes you feel. How it lifts you up from the inside out, brightens up every day no matter how dull it is to begin with. You had forgotten. What love can do to a person. 

Jungkook always comes home and tells you about how happy his employees make him whenever they’re happy. Good feelings like joy, like laughter, like love, they are contagious. It’s a wonder that neither you nor Jungkook figured that out before you met each other. 

Well, you suppose that there’s a first for everything. 

Jungkook comes home and you can hear the door slam, even from where you’re hiding. You listen as he stops at the door, picks up the note that you left for him. 

Loser washes the dishes! ♡

You hear his keys clink in the bowl, metal on metal. He pauses for a moment, for dramatic effect. 

And then he shouts, 

“You’re on!”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[tamagochiie]

pairing: timeskip!kenma x fem!reader

synopsis: You come home late from your cousin’s funeral, and though Kenma didn’t expect much from you but perhaps a few leftovers you’ve managed to steal away from the dinner, he finds you with a surprise: a sleeping child cradled around your neck and a teenage boy hovering behind you.

Your poor boyfriend wondering what in the hell it is you’re plotting…

tags: angst and fluff, time skip!, slight spoilers if you squint

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of depression, cursing 

w/c: 2.5k

a/n: welcome to the first chapter of this series! i’m very excited to start this, and i hope everyone who reads it enjoys it as well! i got the idea from a manga i was binge reading a while back, so the themes and a few of the plot points are different, but as it progresses, i’ve made it my own. 

anyway, happy christmas! see you next week! 

master list

life as she’s known it >> 

You notice the subtle clench of Kenma's jaw beneath the warm glow of the hallway's light. His hooded gaze strained by hours upon hours of gaming meets your wavering grin. The gears in his head are turning very slowly, and since silence has fallen upon the atmosphere of your shared apartment, you can actually hear the little squeaks as your poor boyfriend tries to fathom the sight before him.

You have quite a knack for bringing peculiar things home without permission; the little frog you adopted on the side of the road during your commute home one stormy night, the mud pie your nephew made for you that stunk the entire apartment for weeks because you didn't have the heart to throw it away—at least not immediately; and the dinner you brought home from the self-proclaimed "legitimate" kebab restaurant that resides in the sketchier side of the city.

All quirky things that Kenma had accepted and grown used to.

But this? This was so far from the bar you had set for his expectations, he can't help but wonder if you're pulling a prank, or maybe even actually committing a crime. But the glint of guilt and sorrow painting so deep into your face tells him otherwise.

Oh, how the poor gamer wishes it was a prank.

You swallow your fear, forcing it all the way down to the pit of your stomach. You've practiced all you've needed to say in the ride home, but all you can manage is stuttering, "I-I can..I can explain," in rather hushed tone.

There goes all my practice, you think to yourself.

Kenma raises a brow, still peering at you with the driest expression. The child in your arms begins to weigh heavier than the pressure placed upon your chest.

Ah, he just might break up with me after this...

"This is—uh, this one behind me is Eiji—Ejij say hi." The young boy behind you bows shyly, his greeting softer than a whisper it feels like you imagined it. "And this little one—sleeping soundly—this one's Yuki..."

Kenma blinks away at your words, face unamused. You regret not even trying to bring home some cake. Maybe if you did, he wouldn't be so...upset? Is he upset or is it just his face again? You can never really tell.

You huff, quietly jumping to the harsh conclusion this'll be the moment he ends things with you. But you won't go down without at least a little fight.

"Look," You sigh, shifting your hold beneath Yuki's tiny bum so he doesn't slip away, "They needed a place to stay, and no one was willing to take them!" Your lips fall dry and the more you speak, the more your words come out strained. "In a room full of people who—who called themselves your family for so many years fall silent the moment they needed help! No one spoke up to help them! It was so bad, Kenma! I-If you were there you—"

You bite your tongue, catching yourself before you're swept away by the current of your rage.

A deep, shaky sigh escapes him. His eyes finally tearing away from you as he cranes his head back, seemingly accepting his temporary defeat. "Let them sleep in the spare room and we'll talk after," is the only thing Kenma says to you before turning around walking away.

The constricting feeling in your chest eases and you sigh in relief. You mentally high five yourself for your momentary win before twisting your gaze over your shoulder to look at the young boy towering over you, motioning him to follow you.

You never noticed how wide the apartment actually is. Maybe its because of the emptying feeling you were left with back in the hallway, but it all seems so eerily wide. Like, what are two people doing with such a big space?

He'll definitely break up with me after this.

There's still a lingering prickly feeling in your heart; a mixed emotion of a win and a loss. You try your best to prepare yourself for whatever the outcome may be, but deep inside you're already prepared for a break up.

The young boy trails behind you all the way into the bedroom, leaving a considerable amount of space between the two of you.

You switch the lights on, revealing a room big enough for more than just two kids. A desk on the side, a king size bed at the center, and a window with a good view of the city. It was usually the room Hinata crashed whenever he came back from traveling with his team, but he hadn't been here in months. Traces of him were left in the form of dust.

"Will this be good enough for now?" You ask Eiji as you shrug Yuki's backpack to the floor before making your way over to the bed.

His head is lowered, eyes still failing to meet yours. He's been like this since you pulled them from under the gossiping gaze of your family.

Family, you think. The word seems so meaningless now.

"When someone speaks to you, you ought to look at them," You say it with a genuine smile, hoping that the little warmth you have left in your heart radiates off you and onto him.

God knows he needs it more than you.

"Y-yes, you're right. Thank you." He stammers, "I'm-I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude—"

"Hey," You say, gently cutting him off as you hold your smile. He's still as soft and shy as the day you first met him. You can't help but smile at the thought that he never changed. "I'm not mad or anything...Its just a teaching moment. Remember it."

You watch as Eiji slowly shifts his gaze away from the floor, slowly raising his head to meet your eyes."There you go. You've got pretty eyes, you shouldn't hide them."

He hums a quiet thank you before turning around and shifting his attention to his backpack. You take care of the little one still hanging onto you, pressing a kiss onto his little forehead and rubbing his back before settling him down onto the bed.

You're careful not to stir him as you slip his shoes off. You tuck him in, brushing his hair away from his face to reveal his long lashes and puffy eyes.

Ah, there goes the heaviness in your chest again; a recurring feeling for the day. You wonder when it'll end and your heart sinks even deeper when you remember Kenma waiting for you.

Hesitantly, you excuse yourself and make your way to the door. You let Eiji know where the bathroom is and tell him not to be scared to ask you for anything, "Please don't scared," is the last thing you mutter before leaving the boys to rest.

You tiptoe across the living room, down the hall and towards your shared bedroom. The wooden floorboards creak beneath your feet whispering, "You've done it now", "You've crossed the line", and "He's definitely going to yell at you".

You clench the knob of your bedroom door. The thumping of your heart deafens your ears and your throat grows too dry for you to swallow your fear.

You shut your eyes and pray to the deities, hoping for a good outcome—hoping for any outcome than the one you're expecting.

It takes a moment—five minutes to be exact—but you muster a sliver of courage to push the door open. For some odd reason, you imagined Kenma would be sitting at the edge of the bed, silently brewing in his anger. But instead, he's on the floor, knees up to his chest as he fiddles with his Switch.

And you can't tell if you're annoyed or relieved.

You shut the door behind you before joining him on the floor. You keep your head down, picking off your nail polish while you wait.

Kenma pauses his game, setting it down to the side before completely leaning against the bed, lulling his head back to take a breath. You shut your eyes and you take a deep breath when you feel him shifting in his place to face you.

Here it is. He's going to yell at me, you think.

"What are you plotting?" He asks, not a single trace of irritation found in his voice but rather sheer curiosity dripping from his words. You keep your head down and eyes shut. "You ought to look at someone when they're speaking to you," Your name rolls off his tongue playfully, covered in nothing more than love and sincerity.

You peak an eye at him, lifting your head. "You're not gonna to yell at me?"

"When have I ever yelled at you?" His face contorts in judgement and a little concern, wondering if his girlfriend's broken or just completely stupid. "Why would I yell at you now?"

"I brought home two stray kids..."

"Yes, you did," He says matter-of-factly, "and we need to talk about that. So, can we please talk about that?"

You nod slowly, bringing your knees up to your chest before turning your whole body to face him.

Kenma sinks his elbow onto the end of the bed, cupping his chin for support before he speaks, “Who are those kids and why did you bring them home?"

Kenma looks at you directly, his face emotionless, but a bit softer compared to when you were first standing in the hallway. He blinks at you, waiting patiently till you're ready to speak.

"They were my cousin's kids," You say in a strained whisper. "The—The one that died in the accident." Kenma hums in response, signaling you to keep going. "We weren't close—as you know or else you would've heard a lot more about him—but we felt close enough...given what our family's like..."

Growing up with the kind of family you had and having met everyone from your extended family was kind of like living in a block of ice that never melted; solid in their beliefs, slippery with their anger, and had no room for any other emotion.

You made this very clear to Kenma when you first started dating, especially when he had asked to meet your family. He wasn't one to socialize or even initiate it, but he would do it if it meant doing it for you. But you turned the idea down fast, warned him that there'd be no reason to have to go through all that stress just for you; and though he was just as stubborn as you, Kenma gave in and never brought it up again when he saw how upset you had gotten.

But in chest full of ice cubes, there was your cousin, Akihiro-san. Like you, he was different. He wasn't cold, but he was so genuine and real, you couldn't help but doubt his kindness.

A kindness you failed return when he needed it most. So, when you saw your moment of opportunity, you snatched it, regrettably leaving your boyfriend as an afterthought to your decision.

"I owe it to him, Kenma..." You plead in whisper. "I owe to him because he was the only one who was ever nice to me..."

"These are kids," He counters, dipping his head to meet your glossy eyes. He takes your cheek into the palm of his hand, his thumb tracing circles over your skin. "This would be different if it were a puppy or a plant—but these are living and breathing kids and we know nothing about raising kids. My love, we're only in our twenties..."

"But—"

"You should've called first." He cuts you off, his tone still soft , but firm. You’re at least grateful he’s called you your pet name. "You should've called me and asked."

"You would've said no..."

"How do you know? You never called me." There isn't resentment in Kenma's words. Its still  playful and light, but you can feel his hurt and you feel dumb because you know exactly why. "I would've liked to have been included in this decision...especially since this is my home and you are my girlfriend, and you promised that we would make decisions together."

You frown, tears brimming to the surface as you realized what you've done and how you've probably made him feel.You denied him of his choice, and you were silly to believe that it was okay to go over his head and behind his back.

As you whisper a string of apologies, Kenma presses his forehead onto yours, smiling at you. He was angry at first, but not so much anymore.

"Are you going to break up with me?" You sniffle, voice breaking at the thought. "I'd understand if you wanted to break up with me...But I just—I really wanted to help them. I'm so sorry I didn't ask you first, I couldn't just leave them—"

"Shhh," His breath fans against your skin, "I'm not breaking up with you, stupid. Given, this is probably the biggest wild card you've thrown at me by far, but its not enough for me to break up with you."

You hide your face into dip of his neck, sobbing into the material of his sweater, letting go of the strength you had from holding back and stain it with your tears. You had always been reckless, but it never turned him off. He never raised his voice, he always heard you out, and even when you slipped up, he always forgave you in a heartbeat.

It makes you question if you’re deserving of such a love as this. 

“I was very angry and very offended,” Kenma begins, “I didn’t like what you did. It made me feel like you couldn’t trust me, and it made me feel like you saw me as some kind of terrible person that would turn away kids that need a home...”

You shake your heard, muttering a “no” to his assumption. 

Kenma runs his fingers through your hair and down to your back, soothing you until you've caught your breaths. He'll soft press his lips against the crown of your head, discreetly swiping the little sweat off his lips to keep you from being offended.

"S-So, what do we do about the kids?" Your question muffled but Kenma can hear you just fine.

He sighs, and as he's about to pull you away from his chest, you tighten your hold around his waist. "Please look at me," Your shoulders fall and you pout when you come face to face with him. He chuckles at how ridiculously childish you look, "Do you really want to do this?"

Your eyes widen, "Y-yes. I want to do this, but if you don't want—"

"Better us than anyone else, right?" You blink at him, processing. "I don't know shit about kids, but if you really want to do this, I'll support you. But you can't expect me to be good at this."

Kenma falls onto your shoulder and rests all his weight onto you, letting out a sigh. Panic envelopes his heart, his stomach flipping and churning as he stresses over all the things that's yet to come.

“We’ve been dating for four years, and I’ve just only gotten the hang of you now...” He admits in a heavy sigh.

I'm still a kid, he thinks, groaning. He's plays games all day, forgets to shower, and doesn't know how to cook either. He works from home, rarely goes out unless he needs to or if you want to. Out of the both of you, you're--surprisingly-- more put together than he is.

Can he really do this?

"Please don't expect much from me," He begs, "I don't do well with kids, and you even took in a grown one. What if it doesn't like me or if it forget to feed it?"

You chew on your lip, holding back a laugh and quietly smile to yourself. Vulnerability paints well on your boyfriend, and you wish for even more moments like this.

“I promise it’ll only be until we kind find some other arrangement for them...Something better." You’re not entirely confident in your words, but you understand the idea of having them stay with you isn’t the most sound solution. 

"I suppose if we mess up, we'll mess it up together." He says in defeat, sprawling his legs open before wrapping it around you, pulling you as close to him as possible. He cradles your body tightly just as Yuki had done. "You don't understand how unbelievably lucky you are that I love you."

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 9: Percy Forces Me To Join A Quest

The next morning, Percy moved to cabin three. Luke was the only one I could hang out with from my cabin. He was also the one who took care of my wounds after the thing happened. Nobody mentioned the hellhound, but I got the feeling they were all talking about it behind my back. The attack had scared everybody. It sent two messages: one, that I managed to command a hellhound; and two, I came with the son of Poseidon. They all assume I would be as great as Percy. The other campers steered clear of me as much as possible. Only Luke struck around. Yes, even Percy started ignoring me. I figured it had something to do with water and stuffs. Cabin eleven was too nervous to have sword class with him after what happened in the woods, so he had one-on-one with Luke. I usually sit in to watch them in hopes of Percy talking to me again. But nada. "You're going to need all the training you can get," Luke promised, as they were working with swords and flaming torches. "Now let's try that viper-beheading strike again. Fifty more repetitions." Annabeth still taught Percy and I Greek but on different times I had mine in the mornings. Even Clarisse kept her distance, though her venomous looks made it clear she wanted to kill me. I wished she would just yell or punch me or something. I'd rather get into fights every day than be ignored. I stayed with Luke most of my time. We'd gotten close that talking about gods wasn't such a touchy subject. He also told me stuffs about himself, like how he got his scar and small stuffs. I was still in bed in cabin eleven. My body told me it was morning, but it was dark outside, and thunder rolled across the hills. A storm was brewing. I hadn't dreamed that. It was so early that most of the campers were still asleep. "Good morning?" I saw Luke standing near the door. "Eh... good enough I guess." I said sitting on my bed. "It's really boring since I don't do anything." "Not sure if I'm bringing you good news or bad," He smiled taking the seat beside me. "But Mr. D wants to see you." "Really? Will I finally get to do something fun?" "I feel like I should be offended." He gasped dramatically. "Why? Am I not fun?" I laughed, "Pretty much yeah." "Ouch. Anyways, I'd better let him tell you what's up." "Walk with me?" I asked with an UwU face. "I would, but commitment and all that." He joked. "Aight then. I'll get ready, wait for me outside." "I said I won't!" "Geez don't need to be in a hurry. I won't take long." I got dressed and went out to see him with an exaggerated frown. "You better walk fast. I'll leave as soon as you get there." For days, I'd been half expecting a summons to the Big House. Now that Percy was declared a son of Poseidon, one of the Big Three gods who weren't supposed to have kids, I figured it was a crime for him just to be alive. They're probably suspicious of me now as well with Percy and I's relation. The other gods had probably been debating the best way to punish me for existing, and now Mr. D was ready to deliver their verdict. "So... with Percy being a big three material. What would that make me?" "Well, putting aside the fact that you suck, you drown at every body of water that's at least a foot deep, you don't smell like a half-blood. I'd say you're... one of the big three's. Maybe Zeus's." "Har har. I'm just really worried you know? With Percy getting claimed as Poseidon's... and I came with him. And water just loves me so much. I'd assume I'm somewhere along the lines of Zeus and... Zeus. Is there someone stronger than Zeus?" "Depends on who you asked." "If I asked Zeus he'd definitely answer Zeus." I heard a loud thunder echoed. "Someone's brave." Luke laughed. Over Long Island Sound, the sky looked like ink soup coming to a boil. A hazy curtain of rain was coming in our direction. I asked Luke if we needed an umbrella. "No," he said. "It never rains here unless we want it to." "So my kiss under the rain fantasy is a no?" "If it has to be here... probably." I pointed at the storm. "What the heck is that, then?" "Bad news. But don't worry, it'll pass by us." I realized he was right. In the week I'd been here, it had never even been overcast. The few rain clouds I'd seen had skirted right around the edges of the valley. But this storm... this one was huge. At the volleyball pit, the kids from Apollo's cabin were playing a morning game against the satyrs. Dionysus's twins were walking around in the strawberry fields, making the plants grow. Everybody was going about their normal business, but they looked tense. They kept their eyes on the storm. When Luke saw the front porch of the Big House. "Whatever they say. Don't choose the option where you'll die." "Half a promise. Depends on the other option." "Well I'll give you an easier promise. Don't die." "Not really easier but okay."

After he ruffled my hair, I walked up to the front porch of the Big House. Dionysus sat at the pinochle table in his tiger-striped Hawaiian shirt with his Diet Coke, just as he had on my first day. Chiron sat across the table in his fake wheelchair. They were playing against invisible opponents--two sets of cards hovering in the air. "Y/N!" Grover greeted. "Well, well," Mr. D said without looking up. "Our little celebrity finally got his request." I turned to see Percy who was looking at me and then moved away. I waited for him to greet... "Come closer, both of you," Mr. D said. "And don't expect me to kowtow to you, mortal, just because old Barnacle-Beard is your father." A net of lightning flashed across the clouds. Thunder shook the windows of the house. "Blah, blah, blah," Dionysus said. Chiron feigned interest in his pinochle cards. Grover cowered by the railing, his hooves clopping back and forth. "If I had my way," Dionysus said, "I would cause your molecules to erupt in flames. We'd sweep up the ashes and be done with a lot of trouble. But Chiron seems to feel this would be against my mission at this cursed camp: to keep you little brats safe from harm." "Spontaneous combustion is a form of harm, Mr. D," Chiron put in. "Nonsense," Dionysus said. "Boy wouldn't feel a thing. Nevertheless, I've agreed to restrain myself I'm thinking of turning you into a dolphin instead, sending you back to your father." "Mr. D—" Chiron warned. "Oh, all right," Dionysus relented. "There's one more option. But it's deadly foolishness." Dionysus rose, and the invisible players' cards dropped to the table. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If the boy is still here when I get back, I'll turn him into an Atlantic bottlenose. Do you understand? And Perseus Jackson, if you're at all smart, you'll see that's a much more sensible choice than what Chiron feels you must do." Dionysus picked up a playing card, twisted it, and it became a plastic rectangle. A credit card? No. A security pass. He snapped his fingers. The air seemed to fold and bend around him. He became a hologram, then a wind, then he was gone, leaving only the smell of fresh-pressed grapes lingering behind. Chiron smiled at me, but he looked tired and strained. "Sit, Percy, please. You too Y/N and Grover." We did. Grover sat between us. Chiron laid his cards on the table, a winning hand he hadn't gotten to use. "Tell me, Percy," he said. "What did you make of the hellhound?" "It scared me," I said. "If Y/N hadn't told it to stand down, I'd be dead." I saw Percy turn to my direction, which made me roll my eyes. "You'll meet worse, Percy. Far worse, before you're done." "Done... with what?" "Your quest, of course. Will you accept it?" I glanced at Grover, who was crossing his fingers. "Um, sir," I said, "you haven't told me what it is yet." Chiron grimaced. "Well, that's the hard part, the details." Thunder rumbled across the valley. The storm clouds had now reached the edge of the beach. As far as I could see, the sky and the sea were boiling together. "Poseidon and Zeus," Percy said. "They're fighting over something valuable... something that was stolen, aren't they?". Chiron and Grover exchanged looks. Chiron sat forward in his wheelchair. "How did you know that?" "The weather since Christmas has been weird, like the sea and the sky are fighting. Then I talked to Annabeth, and she'd overheard something about a theft. And... I've also been having these dreams." "I knew it," Grover said. "Hush, satyr," Chiron ordered. "But it is his quest!" Grover's eyes were bright with excitement. "It must be!" "Only the Oracle can determine." Chiron stroked his bristly beard. "Nevertheless, Percy, you are correct. Your father and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries. They are fighting over something valuable that was stolen. To be precise: a lightning bolt." I laughed. "A what?" "Do not take this lightly," Chiron warned. "I'm not talking about some tinfoil-covered zigzag you'd see in a second-grade play. I'm talking about a two-foot-long cylinder of high-grade celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god-level explosives." "Oh." "Zeus's master bolt," Chiron said, getting worked up now. "The symbol of his power, from which all other lightning bolts are patterned. The first weapon made by the Cyclopes for the war against the Titans, the bolt that sheered the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne; the master bolt, which packs enough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers." "And it's missing?" "Stolen," Chiron said. "By who?" "By whom," Chiron corrected. Once a teacher, always a teacher. "By you." "At least"—Chiron held up a hand—"that's what Zeus thinks. During the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon had an argument. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best', 'Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' et cetera. Afterward, Zeus realized his master bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed Poseidon. Now, a god cannot usurp another god's symbol of power directly—that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it." "But I didn't—" "Patience and listen, child," Chiron said. "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the makers of his brother's lightning. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt, and is now secretly having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies, which might be used to topple Zeus from his throne. The only thing Zeus wasn't sure about was which hero Poseidon used to steal the bolt. Now Poseidon has openly claimed you as his son. You were in New York over the winter holidays. You could easily have snuck into Olympus. Zeus believes he has found his thief." "But I've never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!" Chiron and Grover glanced nervously at the sky. The clouds didn't seem to be parting around us, as Luke had promised. They were rolling straight over our valley, sealing us in like a coffin lid. "Er, Percy...?" Grover said. "We don't use the c-word to describe the Lord of the Sky." "Perhaps paranoid," Chiron suggested. "Then again, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before. I believe that was question thirty-eight on your final exam...." He looked at Percy. Chiron was waiting for an answer. "Something about a golden net?" He answered. "Poseidon and Hera and a few other gods... they, like, trapped Zeus and wouldn't let him out until he promised to be a better ruler, right?" "Correct," Chiron said. "And Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon denies stealing the master bolt. He took great offense at the accusation. The two have been arguing back and forth for months, threatening war. And now, you've come along—the proverbial last straw." "But I'm just a kid!" "Percy," Grover cut in, "if you were Zeus, and you already thought your brother was plotting to overthrow you, then your brother suddenly admitted he had broken the sacred oath he took after World War II, that he's fathered a new mortal hero who might be used as a weapon against you.... Wouldn't that put a twist in your toga?" "But I didn't do anything. Poseidon—my dad—he didn't really have this master bolt stolen, did he?" Chiron sighed. "Most thinking observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon's style. But the Sea God is too proud to try convincing Zeus of that. Zeus has demanded that Poseidon return the bolt by the summer solstice. That's June twenty-first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by the same date. I hoped that diplomacy might prevail, that Hera or Demeter or Hestia would make the two brothers see sense. But your arrival has inflamed Zeus's temper. Now neither god will back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the master bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the solstice, there will be war. And do you know what a full-fledged war would look like, Percy?" "Bad?" "Imagine the world in chaos. Nature at war with itself. Olympians forced to choose sides between Zeus and Poseidon. Destruction. Carnage. Millions dead. Western civilization turned into a battleground so big it will make the Trojan War look like a water-balloon fight." "Bad," I repeated. "And you, Percy Jackson, would be the first to feel Zeus's wrath." It started to rain. Volleyball players stopped their game and stared in stunned silence at the sky. I had brought this storm to Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of Percy. I was furious. "So he has to find the stupid bolt," I said. "And return it to Zeus." "What better peace offering," Chiron said, "than to have the son of Poseidon return Zeus's property?" "If Poseidon doesn't have it, where is the thing?" "I believe I know." Chiron's expression was grim. "Part of a prophecy I had years ago... well, some of the lines make sense to me, now. But before I can say more, you must officially take up the quest. You must seek the counsel of the Oracle." "Why can't you tell me where the bolt is beforehand?" "Because if I did, you would be too afraid to accept the challenge." "Good reason." "You agree then?" He looked at Grover, who nodded encouragingly. Easy for him. He wasn't the one Zeus wanted to kill. Percy then turned to me, "All right," he said. "But, I'll go when Y/N comes with." "Woah there! I am not going anywhere." I hissed. You ignore me for days and now you want me to die with you now? "Why do I have to go with you?" "Percy---" "I don't want to leave without her." He looked down. I felt guilty about turning him down. Which was stupid since he's the one at fault. I gave a sigh, I hope Luke won't get mad at me. "It's better than you being turned into a dolphin." I mumbled. "I'll go." "Then it's time you consulted the Oracle," Chiron said. "Go upstairs, Percy Jackson, to the attic. When you come back down, assuming you're still sane, we will talk more." Before Percy came up he took my arm and pulled me in a hug. "I wanted you there, so we could save our parents together. After this quest, you me your mom and dad and my mom, will stay together." I hugged him back and nodded. "Thank you." Four flights up, the stairs ended under a green trapdoor. Percy pulled the cord. The door swung down, and a wooden ladder clattered into place. After he went up. Chiron turned to me. "Hmm? Something to say?" I asked in a hopefully not rude tone. "I've had enough of people staring at me thinking, I summoned that hellhound." "Y/N, I assure you I don't think you'd do that. I am just confused as to why it followed your command." "Did you maybe forget to tell us something? I really can't seem to find out who you are." "Well... I don't think I forgot to mention anything. Maybe the fact that water hates me, I've never been on a plane, and I am low-key kinda scared of the dark depending on the situation." "Water hates you?" Grover asked. "First time swimming, beach, I was 5. I drowned at a supposedly 3 feet deep water. I haven't been near any bodies of water ever since. Until I met Percy, I drowned at the beach again. If I wasn't mistaken I was few meters away from the water and it pulled me and I almost drowned." "It would seem, Poseidon hates you. Why would he?" "My parents must've realized that fish god hates me and didn't take chances on the others." I could tell Chiron wanted to continue but Percy came down, "Well?" Chiron asked. He slumped into a chair at the pinochle table. I could see he wasn't happy. "Are you okay?" I asked him. He looked at me warily and nodded. "She said I would retrieve what was stolen." Grover sat forward, chewing excitedly on the remains of a Diet Coke can. "That's great!" "What did the Oracle say exactly?" Chiron pressed. "This is important." "She . .. she said I would go west and face a god who had turned. I would retrieve what was stolen and see it safely returned." "I knew it," Grover said... Chiron didn't look satisfied. "Anything else?" "No," He said. "That's about it." I took a hold of Percy's hand. And he gave me a look that said, 'I'll tell you later.' "Very well, Percy. But know this: the Oracle's words often have double meanings. Don't dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass." "Okay," I said, anxious to change topics. "So where do we go? Who's this god in the west?" "Ah, think, Percy," Chiron said. "If Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain?" "Somebody else who wants to take over?" he guessed. "Yes, quite. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his lot since the world was divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with the deaths of millions. Someone who hates his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have no more children, an oath that both of them have now broken." I thought about my dreams, the evil voice that had spoken from under the ground. "Hades." Chiron nodded. "The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility." A scrap of aluminum dribbled out of Grover's mouth. "Whoa, wait. Wh-what?" "A Fury came after Percy," Chiron reminded him. "She watched the young man until she was sure of his identity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one lord: Hades." "Yes, but—but Hades hates all heroes," Grover protested. "Especially if he has found out Percy is a son of Poseidon... ." "A hellhound got into the forest," Chiron continued. "Those can only be summoned from the Fields of Punishment, and it had to be summoned by someone within the camp. Hades must have a spy here. He must suspect Poseidon will try to use Percy to clear his name. Hades would very much like to kill this young half-blood before he can take on the quest." "Great," Percy muttered. "That's two major gods who want to kill me." "Hey, I beat you, I got all of them." I smirked. I was trying to lighten up the mood and Percy finally cracked a smile. "But a quest to..." Grover swallowed. "I mean, couldn't the master bolt be in some place like Maine? Maine's very nice this time of year." "Hades sent a minion to steal the master bolt," Chiron insisted. "He hid it in the Underworld, knowing full well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. I don't pretend to understand the Lord of the Dead's motives perfectly, or why he chose this time to start a war, but one thing is certain. Percy must go to the Underworld, find the master bolt, and reveal the truth." A strange fire burned in my stomach. The weirdest thing was: it wasn't fear. It was anticipation. I wasn't feeling scared of anything right now. I felt like I could face anything. I was ready to take him on. Anyone in a matter of fact. Besides, if my mom and dad might be in the Underworld... which would be unlikely. Who knows maybe I could bribe him and talk him into reviving them. Or what if he's misunderstood? What if there's a plot twist somewhere here, and it actually wasn't Hades's fault? Grover was trembling. He'd started eating pinochle cards like potato chips. The poor guy needed to complete a quest with us so he could get his searcher's license, whatever that was. This was suicide. "Look, if we know it's Hades," Percy told Chiron, "why can't we just tell the other gods? Zeus or Poseidon could go down to the Underworld and bust some heads." "It might not be him you know." I added. "She's right, suspecting and knowing are not the same," Chiron said. "Besides, even if the other gods suspect Hades—and I imagine Poseidon does—they couldn't retrieve the bolt themselves. Gods cannot cross each other's territories except by invitation. That is another ancient rule. Heroes, on the other hand, have certain privileges. They can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as they're bold enough and strong enough to do it. No god can be held responsible for a hero's actions. Why do you think the gods always operate through humans?" "You're saying I'm being used." "I'm saying it's no accident Poseidon has claimed you now. It's a very risky gamble, but he's in a desperate situation. He needs you." "Damn, my parent doesn't? I'm going on a deadly quest thanks to Arthur Curry right here. Least they could do is support me and let me know They'll be proud of me saving the world." I huffed. "You've known I was Poseidon's son all along, haven't you?" "I had my suspicions. As I said... I've spoken to the Oracle, too." I got the feeling there was a lot he wasn't telling us about his prophecy, but I decided I couldn't worry about that right now. After all, I was holding back information too. "So let me get this straight," I said. "We're supposed go to the Underworld and confront the Lord of the Dead." "Check," Chiron said. "Find the most powerful weapon in the universe." "Check." "And get it back to Olympus before the summer solstice, in ten days." "That's about right." Percy and I looked at each other then we looked over at Grover, who gulped down the ace of hearts. "Did I mention that Maine is very nice this time of year?" he asked weakly. "You don't have to go," Percy told him. "I can't ask that of you. "Oh..." He shifted his hooves. "No... it's just that satyrs and underground places... well..." He took a deep breath, then stood, brushing the shredded cards and aluminum bits off his T-shirt. "You saved my life, Percy. Both of you did. If... if you're serious about wanting me along, I won't let you down." I felt so relieved I wanted to cry, though I didn't think that would be very heroic. I wasn't sure what good a satyr could do against the forces of the dead, but I felt better knowing he'd be with us. "All the way, G-man." Percy turned to Chiron. "So where do we go? The Oracle just said to go west." "The entrance to the Underworld is always in the west. It moves from age to age, just like Olympus. Right now, of course, it's in America." "Where?" Chiron looked surprised. "I thought that would be obvious enough. The entrance to the Underworld is in Los Angeles." "Oh," I said. "Naturally. So we just get on a plane—" "No!" Grover shrieked. "Percy, what are you thinking? Have you ever been on a plane in your life?" I shook my head, feeling embarrassed. My mom had never taken me anywhere by plane. She'd always said we didn't have the money. Besides, her parents had died in a plane crash. "We're not allowed to fly because Zeus is a stuck up who doesn't want others touching his stuff without permission." "Y/N!" Grover panicked when loud thunder echoed above us. I wanted to yell, 'Oh shut up thunder boy.' But I still wanted try fulfilling my promise to Luke with all I can. "Percy, think," Chiron said. "You are the son of the Sea God. Your father's bitterest rival is Zeus, Lord of the Sky. Your mother knew better than to trust you in an airplane. You would be in Zeus's domain. You would never come down again alive." Overhead, lightning crackled. Thunder boomed. "Okay," I said, determined not to look at the storm. "So, I'll travel overland." "That's right," Chiron said. "Two companions may accompany you. Grover is one. The other is Y/N. But someone else has already volunteered, if you will accept her help." "Gee," I said, feigning surprise. "Who else would be stupid enough to volunteer for a quest like this?" The air shimmered behind Chiron. Annabeth became visible, stuffing her Yankees cap into her back pocket. "I've been waiting a long time for a quest, seaweed brain," she said. "Athena is no fan of Poseidon, but if you're going to save the world, I'm the best person to keep you from messing up." "I'll gladly give you my spot and all but... Percy and I are a duo." I lifted my fist which he bumped. "But she's right, we can't leave the world at the hands of two idiots and a scaredy-cat." "Can't we have four people on a quest?" "You can also pick more than two people to join, but this is considered dangerous as three is a sacred number. Any more than three on a quest could result in a catastrophe, including a member of the quest going missing, dying, or the quest failing." "Willing to risk it Peabody?" She gave me a glare. No. I assure you no one shall be lost in this quest. They were all looking at me weirdly. "What did you say?" "I asked if you were willing to risk it...?" I was confused. "Y/N you're doing it again." "Doing what? I am literally not doing anything wrong. Wanna fite me? I will back out of this quest." I gave an exaggerated glare. Annabeth turned to Chiron, who was looking down on me. "I suppose... if Percy is willing to risk it and all parties approve. I could allow this as a four person quest." "Well, I call not it to the dying person." I raised my hand. "But you can come Peabody. We need a not so stupid guy." "Well, if she say yes..." "I-I... don't really..." "I want to come." "I suppose you have a plan, wise girl?" Her cheeks colored. "Do you want my help or not?" "A quartet," I said. "Hopefully it works." "Excellent," Chiron said. "This afternoon, we can take you as far as the bus terminal in Manhattan. After that, you are on your own." Lightning flashed. Rain poured down on the meadows that were never supposed to have violent weather. "No time to waste," Chiron said. "I think you should all get packing." I took Percy's hand and gave him a look to remind him about his quest. "I'll tell you later."

Previous | Masterlist | Next

UwU Haha I'm better now :) I am sorry for being on haitus And for some parts that I might've forgotten to erase UwU -kookie-doughs

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

[hyenahunt]

Werewolf - 4

Writer: Nishioka Maiko

Season: Summer

Proofreading: 310mc (JP)

Translation: Bella & hyenahunt

Hiyori: I saw it in a drama just last week! Any criminal who acts like that will definitely come back to the scene of the crime!

[Location: Seisou Hall Kitchen]

Jun: What d'you want for a late-night snack, then? How 'bout some cup ramen?

Hiyori: If there's nothing else, then I'm fine with it, I suppose. I did want something healthier to eat, though!

Natsume: Hold ON. Would you grab that bottle of tea for ME?

Hiyori: This? Here you go.

Sora: …! Master~

Natsume: Hm? Ah, Sora. Welcome BACK. Are you done with work for NOW? Good job on sticking it OUT.

Sora: Oh, yep. Thankies~. Sora did his best today.

Natsume: What's the matTER? You're not as lively as usuAL… Did something bad happen at WORK?

Sora: Huh? Oh, uh, n-not really~? Sora's as energetic as ever!

Er, or maybe not~? Sora guesses he might just be kinda tired from work.

Natsume: ? Hmmm?

Jun: By the way, Harukawa-kun, why’d you pop by the kitchen?

Sora: Huh? Ummm… Sora got a little hungry…?

Jun: Ohh. If you're hungry then I could fix up a li'l late-night snack for you? I'm already preparing one for Ohii-san, anyway.

Sora: Oh! It's okay! Sora guesses he wasn't actually hungry after all~?

He's definitely full, so he doesn't need to have dinner!

Natsume: ...Sora? You're acting so strangeLY… Are you really oKAY?

Sora: Huh? Y-Yep! Sora's just like he always is, isn't he?

Since Sora's so worn out from work today, he's gonna go back to his room and hit the hay. Good night!

Natsume: Huh?

Jun: ? He sure ran off, huh? He didn't have to make a break for it like that, though. Is he really that tired?

Hiyori: That's rather suspicious. Something certainly smells fishy to me. You see, I've recently come to know of people who behave the very same way that Sora-kun just did.

Everyone, conceal yourselves at once! I believe Sora-kun will make his return shortly. Come now, hurry!

Natsume: H-Hold ON. Don't just shove me DOWN! Why do we have to HIDE!?

Hiyori: I saw it in a drama just last week! Any criminal who acts like that will definitely come back to the scene of the crime!

Natsume: Watch your MOUTH. Don't compare him to a crimiNAL.

Hiyori: Of course I don't think Sora-kun has committed any actual crime, but he was clearly lying, no? I'm absolutely positive he'll come back soon.

No matter if he doesn't, but there's no harm in trying to hide. So hurry up!

Natsume: Do you have any evidence for THIS?

Hiyori: Not at all! It’s simply what my detective's intuition tells me, you see.

Natsume: Detective's intuiTION… Ugh, is it just ME, or has this guy gotten influenced by someTHING?

Jun: It might be the detective drama he's been really into lately, actually...?

Sorry you got dragged into Ohii-san's theatrics. I'm sure he'll give up when nothing happens, so please play along just a li'l.

Natsume: What a pain in the ass — fine, I get IT! So don't shove ME, like I just SAID!!

Well? How much longer until he reTURNS?

Hiyori: Not too long, now. I just know he'll come back!

Jun: You say that, but we've already been waiting for a while, yeah? Isn't it 'bout time to give up, Ohii-san?

— Wait, huh? Isn't that the sound of footsteps getting closer?

Sora: …...

Natsume: That's… Sora?

Hiyori: See, what did I tell you? He really did come back!

Hm~? Now he's taking something out of the fridge? Whatever could it be?

Natsume: It's… milk and bottled waTER?

He was thirsTY, so he just came back to get something to DRINK. So WHAT.

Jun: But isn't that kinda weird? I mean, if he'd just grabbed them while we were around he would've spared himself the second trip.

Natsume: Maybe he only realized he was thirsty when he got back to his ROOM.

Hiyori: Even if he's thirsty, drinking both milk and water seems rather excessive, in my opinion.

Natsume: …...

Hiyori: Well, in the end, your guess is as good as mine. If you're so concerned about it, asking Sora-kun directly would be your best bet.

I'm simply satisfied with the fact that my prediction came true —

Huh? On that note, Jun-kun, what about my late-night ramen?

Jun: Oh, shit! I totally forgot about it!

Hiyori: ...Aww. It's gone completely soggy...

Natsume: ...

✦✦✦✦✦

← prev ✦ all ✦ next →

[ssvgawara]

Haikyuu boys and some oddly specific crime they’d commit

a/n: I come back and the first thing I write is a shitpost!! enjoy </3 tw for drugs, murder, alcohol and general crime committing xoxo

Karasuno

Daichi- he’s a cop sorry that’s all there is to it man

Suga- Suga has multiple charges of 1st-degree murder against him but they can’t seem to find his identity so he continues committing murder and will continue until he gets caught or ends up murdering enough people to be put in a position of power

Asahi- everyone is probably like “Oh Asahi is innocent” NO. He has learned that his slightly scary face will let him get away with a lot, he is buying alcohol illegally because he looks old enough to, and he’s buying so much other shit and just getting away with it

Nishinoya- This man gives fucking pimp vibes I can just see him in the big leopard print fur coat with a pretty girl in his lap and he calls himself big poppa but no one else will

Tanaka- Drug dealer vibes, probably runs an entire fucking drug ring with his sister and not just a Lil weed these mfkas have the hard shit too like you could probably buy meth from them, he’s not using it but it’s good business

Ennoshita, Kinoshita, and Narita- They literally rob a bank they have an entire scheme and get away with multiple bank robberies and this goes on for MONTHS

Kageyama- We know he’s volleyball smart but otherwise he’s so mfing stupid and I love him for it but he is a chronic shoplifter. Just picks something up and takes it, has walked out of a store without paying for an entire bed set once and got away with it somehow so idk props to him

Hinata- He is the little guy in any heist situation, he fits anywhere so he can sneak in and out the best, he gave himself the stupid ass code name tiny giant but everyone goes with it because somehow he is the best

Tsukishima- armed robbery, but he doesn’t have a gun just a knife like he’s tall and as an attitude, a knife will get him whatever he needs he doesn’t need the gun

Yamaguchi- He runs a catfishing scheme where he pretends to be a naive girl, scams old men out of their money, and then ghosts them and I think it’s what he deserves let him carry on especially because no one would believe it’s him. Also not really like a crime crime but still a crime in a way

Kiyoko- She kills men and I know it, Queen Kiyoko ending the patriarchy one shitty man at a time like she only kills men who deserve it bc some have rights.

Yachi- She’s too anxious to commit an in-person crime so she does a lot of cybercrime, hacking government databases and releasing info to the people, truly the anonymous we deserve

Saeko- She’s running that drug ring with Tanaka, and she loves it because there’s a thrill to it even though yknow she’s dealing literal meth but like its fine plus she loves rocking people’s shit when they get too handsy, which bring me to my next point underground MMA Saeko, like the illegal one with no rules yeah <3

Ukai- this man probably sells all kinda shit to minors that he shouldn’t he is so unbothered a 7-year-old could probably walk in ask for a pack of camels and get them and leave before he noticed what was going on.

Takeda- Did y’all see how scared Hinata was when Takeda gave him that lecture? This dude could kidnap someone and scare them into giving all the information he needed, a legend truly

Aoba Johsai

Oikawa- took steroids one time. And of course in sports, that’s not allowed. But he only did it once and regretted it for months afterward. Never told anyone and was just relieved he didn’t have to piss in a cup and have someone find out.

Matsukawa- Without hesitation, I know this man takes dead people’s bones and sells them on the internet. Has dubbed himself the bone man and he feels so much power when someone buys a femur or sumn. It’s kinda funny honestly he has a hoard of bones to sell, his fave is the pelvis.

Hanamaki- He’s in between jobs because he stole money from his last job, like he said he was sorry he just needed a little extra for gas but was sad to find out that’s a literal crime and he was laundering money.

Iwaizumi- he’s a street racer, like the fast and furious style and it’s so sexy of him like late-night races ugh to be in an expensive fast car with him where he has one hand on my thigh okay that’s enough of that.

Kunimi- Look me in the eye and tell me he does not do drugs. He does and if you don’t believe me you are wrong and I will fight you on this one. 

Kyotani- If there is a crime he will commit it for fun. Like he will do it with no hesitation. He has a record longer than twilight and I’m not sure how he is not in prison actually nvm he escaped and is  a wanted criminal lol

Shiritorizawa

Ushijima- Assault, he just reeks of getting into bar fights when he’s absolutely wasted. Like he most likely didn’t start it but he will be finishing it

Tendou- grave robbing, he just goes into the cemetery picked the oldest plots, and gets to digging. Has made thousands on dead people jewelry and probably won’t get caught, like besides the groundskeeper there’s no security he will never stop.

Semi- he breaks copyright laws on the daily. He’s sampling music in his all the time but he’s doing it so sneakily it’s fine its what deserves stream his band on Spotify right now,

Shirabu- His bangs are criminal enough. No, but he has stolen drugs from the hospital before he just wanted to try the Xanax, and yeah he could just write himself a prescription for it nut like it’s so easy to just go get some and no report it so that’s what he did.

Goshiki- y’all want me to say arson don’t you?? Fine. He commits arson multiple times and kills 7 people with fire before getting arrested and he doesn’t even feel bad so in prison he probably fucking runs a gang he is crazy.

Nekoma

Kuroo- he is a capitalist and class traitor and that’s crime enough I don’t care is he’s attractive or rich, He commits crimes daily by just existing but I still love him anyway.

Kai- Could not commit a crime he just wants to garden and live his life. Jk there’s at minimum one body in that garden let him kill a man he deserves it just let him have one dead body

Yaku- he keyed someone’s car once just because they pissed him off. Was it kuroo? Yes. But that’s fine because he also keyed Lev’s car but blamed lev for keying kuroo’s and Kuroo for keying Lev’s. He just wants to watch the world burn.

Kenma- cyberbullying but man he is mean. Like no bars held we will dig into every insecurity he can and that shit hurts and he doesn’t even feel bad about it he will just be as mean as he can if you’re not careful

Lev- his crime is being tall and dumb also doesn’t understand the economy and prints counterfeit money because why can’t we print more money? The government should get on that.

Inuoka- He released all the animals from a zoo, like snuck in one night and just let them all free, I’m surprised the tiger didn’t eat him but hey the animals are free, there’s still some missing uh oh he’s very proud of himself for it. After the rush, he starts sneaking into shelters and freeing all the dogs and cats

Yamamoto and Fukunaga- Have egged a house before, it was Kuroo’s he deserves all this bullying and you can’t stop me.

Date Tech

Aone- Criminal Conspiracy, sure he had an entire foolproof plan to get away with the perfect crime but someone found out, and now his plans are ruined, damn </3 and no one ever suspects the quiet guy either.

Futakuchi- Having a prostitute, he just wanted some company like mans is lonely so he paid a girl to just spend a Lil time with him it’s all good.

Fukurodani

Bokuto- I know we all haha funny laugh at tax evader bokuto and sure maybe he evades his taxes but he’s also committed vehicular manslaughter, he cannot drive and has killed someone with his car maybe even multiple someones but he always drives off in a panic because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Akaashi- Hasn’t actively committed a crime but has been an accomplice in every vehicular manslaughter Bokuto has committed why the fuck does he keep letting bokuto drive? He really needs to stop that.

Konoha- A master scammer he is so convincing everyone gives him money even if they’re a little sus because he’s just that good each scheme is so convincing.

Inarizaki

Kita- He grows weed, you can’t tell me those rice fields are just for rice he’s got all this space he is growing marijuana and selling it, let him do it I want him to be my plug.

Atsumu- "What is my perfect crime? I break into Tiffany's at midnight. Do I go for the vault? No, I go for the chandelier. It's priceless. As I'm taking it down, a woman catches me. She tells me to stop. It's her father's business. She's Tiffany. I say no. We make love all night. In the morning, the cops come and I escape in one of their uniforms. I tell her to meet me in Mexico, but I go to Canada. I don't trust her. Besides, I like the cold. Thirty years later, I get a postcard. I have a son and he's the chief of police. This is where the story gets interesting. I tell Tiffany to meet me in Paris by the Trocadero. She's been waiting for me all these years. She's never taken another lover. I don't care. I don't show up. I go to Berlin. That's where I stashed the chandelier."

Osamu- resisting arrest. He just said no and ran. Granted he shouldn’t have punched the cop in the first place to have to be arrested but like that’s not the point here.

Aran- accidental child abandonment, like he just forgot he was babysitting and left the kid alone for like a day. He felt terrible but he still forgot the kid and now is fearful of parenthood

Suna- owns an illegal weapon, like he just never registered it and keeps it around and would use it if needed Suna please just point the weapon at me maybe

Others

Terushima- Graffiti, he loves painting on the walls of buildings and tagging them, has so much spraypaint and his day isn’t complete if he doesn’t tag at least one building or train car.

Daishou- Public intoxication- he got a little too fucked up and stripped on the street he will forever have to live with everyone knowing he has an ass tattoo like damn bruh

Sakusa- Perjury he simply wanted to get out of court so he said some shit so he could leave granted he lied under oath but whatever, did they ever find out? No, so he’s fine and he’d do it again if it meant he could leave faster. Like sure he was a witness to a murder but bruh he pretends he does not see.

Hoshihumi- driving without a license he simply thought you didn’t need one because why do you need a piece of plastic to say you can drive a car like??? Just know how to drive it.

[har-rison-s]

your worth

request: Loki Smut please! Perhaps both Reader & Loki are in love with each other but in denial. Loki thinks he's a monster and a human could never love him til she proves him wrong.

A/N: Listen,,,, I live for this type of smut. I don't know why. Something about comforting someone or making them feel like they matter is... I love. God, I probs sound desperate. But honestly, I just want to love someone :> Anyway :D I love this request, if you can't already tell, and I hope you'll like it. I hope the anon who requested this is still following me! Truth is, I started writing this one back in July 2019 and got around to finish it two days ago and I've finally done it! it's been tough, that's for sure, I've had many writer's block moments. And I think this is actually my first ever Loki thing. It must be, yeah. Though I feel like I've wrote his character a million years already. I certainly did my best on this one. Smut is always a tad harder than fluff or angst for me and I wish to improve my skills at writing it.  Happy reading! Love you all!

main masterlist

mcu masterlist

warnings: angst, smut, comfort.

“Oh, Steve! Star-crossed lovers, seven o'clock.” Tony speaks, seeing Y/N and Loki walking - unplanned - together into the kitchen. Loki rolls his eyes while Y/N does nothing, perhaps only glancing at Loki for a split second, in fear. She searches for any shared emotion between them, even if it may be discomfort. Anything they could share. Loki and her are both tired from Tony's and Sam's constant teasing. But, like the mentioned two, the rest of the team also see what's really going on between Y/N and Loki.

Now, Loki is in bigger denial than Y/N, because her feelings are showing more above the surface, easier to read. She’s recently realised it, hence she tries her best to conceal her feelings, her embarrassment, her truth, so no one could ‘crack her’. She would love to share these feelings with someone, scream them from the top of the Stark tower so that the whole world knows of it, and, most of all, to share them with Loki. 

But Loki... He’s cold. He denies her supposed feelings, and his own when asked about it. He himself can't accept that someone like her, a beautiful girl inside out, a caring and loving one, could like, much less love, someone like him. Well, there's no one else like him, but... Loki's a monster. A villain in his eyes and those of others. He’s been cowardly and submissive his whole life, committed crimes in hopes of earning love, attention… Acceptance. He’s betrayed his dearest, and is known as a galaxy-wide criminal and villain. Who and how could ever feel such things as love or affection towards him? 

“Your endless teasing is growing pathetic, tin-man.” Loki says to Tony, grabbing the coffee machine's handle to pour himself a cup of the terran liquid. A liquid he’s learned to love the taste of over these several months he’s spent in the tower. Tony snorts. To that Loki only shoots the man a look, though he wished he hadn’t.

“Tony, you should stop. It is starting to get old, this joke of yours.” Steve points out and turns over a page in the paper he's reading. Y/N makes quick work of taking sandwiches from the fridge. Mainly because she hates to be the topic of anyone's open discussion, but also because she can't bear hearing Loki denying his love for her. Truth be told, it hurts her very much.

Y/N only puts a dirty bowl in the dishwasher and walks out of the kitchen, leaving the others feeling quite empty with her leave. Loki's eyes sadden a bit upon it, though he erases that soon. He would have loved to be alone with her in the kitchen. Merely her presence soothes him, simply the breath that leaves her chest through her nose, her quiet touch of hand on counter and feet on floor. But not when these two are around. Her alone. It's far too many people for Y/N there, too many eyes and needless constant comments of the head of the team, hence she decided to come back later. 

She could always enjoy Loki’s presence in their lonesome, but not with others present. Though when she does have the chance, she cannot enjoy it for her nerves and anxiousness, her insecurities. 

“Not until something happens.” Tony states, his chin resting in his hand. “I believe—”

“Whatever theory you are about to voice, Stark, will prove you wrong.” Loki interrupts him, putting on a false smile and batting his eyelashes mockingly. Tony and Steve both look at the god drinking coffee. Loki’s gaze is unbreakable on the two.

“—that my teasing, as you call it, will do the exact trick that needs to be done in order for you to get over all this and just—tell each other everything!” Tony raises his hands in the air and looks at Steve. The captain shakes his head at Tony and looks back down at his paper, merely as tired of this as Loki and Y/N are. He’s thinking of leaving the kitchen soon, too.

“And what would you call 'everything'?” Asks Loki. The master of hiding anything that comes from his heart or his mind, hiding his true intentions. He's playing them both for fools. And himself. He knows what he feels, but he doesn't want to acknowledge it and is afraid to state his feelings.

“Oh, please,” Tony starts with an eye roll, “do I really have to tell you what you want to tell her? Honesty - is it not familiar in your realm?” A pause. “Your undying longing! You want each other, it's clear as day!”

“You don't know what you are talking about. Your human eyes see what you want them to—which is false—for what reason, I cannot guess,” Loki says, “no one could feel... longing for me. Or want me. That'd be...”

“Impossible?” Steve suggests. Loki gives him a look. “Surprises myself, this what I say, but that’s not true.” Loki now gives him a confused look. 

“What could be so wrong with a regular girl liking you? Or being with one?” Tony questions. “You’re discriminating the human race, huh.”

“What's in it for you, regular man?” Loki asks, squinting his eyes at the two men. Tony laughs, but Loki ignores it and slams his empty coffee mug into the sink, leaving the kitchen afterwards in a surprisingly calm stride. 

“Hey, horns! No dishes in the sink!” Tony calls after Loki, but he gets no response. Steve looks at his team-mate.

“Really think something as big as a god would care about a dirty, empty cup of coffee?” He asks and closes the newspaper he was trying to read. Tony once again is at fault for his failure.

“Worth a shot.”

“You're the worst match-maker I've met.” Steve admits and stands up from the kitchen table, leaving the room afterwards. Tony frowns, but doesn't doubt himself either way. He knows he's right. About the coffee cup and about Y/N's and Loki's probability of being a thing. It'll happen at some point. 

“Wanna bet?” Stark calls out to the hallway Steve walked down, but he gets no response from the super soldier. Instead, another voice speaks.

“Bet on what?” Tony hears Y/N's sweet voice behind him, entering the now empty and lonesome kitchen. Unnoticed, she slipped in the room through another door, good for quiet entries, but far from her own room. 

“Oh, you came back.” Tony states and Y/N eyes him across the table they're at. “Didn't like me and Steve sharing you two's company, huh?”

“Me and who's company?” She asks, confusion riddling her face as she makes herself sandwiches, again. The plate that adorned the previous ones now in the sink next to Loki’s cup. The mischief god has noticed her appetite and skill for handmade sandwiches, and the sight of her making another pair usually paints a warm smile on his lips.

“Just your one and only.” Tony says in a sickeningly sweet sing-song kind of voice, decoratively placing his palms under his chin. 

Y/N scowls. “There's nothing between me and Loki and I doubt there ever will be.” She says and even chuckles at the end, when instead she wants to wallow in pity cause that's the probability that is bound to happen. No happy ending, no love from him, no affection, no reading books together, no gazing at the stars, nothing shared… None of that. Only loneliness and longing now left for her.

“So you do hope for something to happen?” Tony questions and Y/N gives him an angry look.

“Why would I? I'm not ready for relationships.” She replies carelessly with a simple lie that’d struck the god in question straight into the heart. Only she wanted to add, unless Loki would want one with me. But she didn't. She doesn't like him, she doesn't want him. It'd be silly if I did. “Did you talk about... anything with him?” She betrays herself with these words.

Tony nods, grinning to himself. He has cracked her. There are feelings involved. “He said that, and I'm using his words, someone longing for him, wanting him, is impossible. And a human feeling it is even more impossible.” He says. “Basically, he dodged a bunch of questions, but we all know what’s really going on.”

“Sure does sound like him.” Y/N agrees quietly. Silence falls between the two as Y/N slices salad with a knife. Tony sighs.

“Could you please do yourselves and us a favor and cut the damn sexual tension between you?”

“A what now?” Y/N echoes, scoffing, a shocked expression on her face. “Firstly, if I was to do something, it wouldn't be because of you. I do things for myself, thank you very much. I don't need a motivator.” 

“And secondly?” Tony asks, looking strongly at Y/N. She realises after a moment she has nothing to add to her second point. Well, nothing that Tony should know from her. “You'll feel much better if you get everything sorted out.” Tony states and Y/N rolls her eyes.

“Enjoy your breakfast, Stark.” She says before walking out of the kitchen for the second time this morning. Tony stays in his pose for a few seconds, wondering if he has worked his plan out and if it will work out on its own.

The day goes by and Y/N has found herself suffering from anxiety throughout it. She doubts herself, she worries about, perhaps, showing too much of her true feelings outwardly. This love, this unreturned, one-sided love should not exist. She should never have had such affectionate feelings towards him. She’s lesser than him, and he sees her so, as anyone of his title and kind would. He is a god, a god thrice older than a thousand years, the same amount older than Y/N herself.

She is a simple human girl, she’s only gifted, that’s what could ever make her special in the eyes of someone his kind. She cannot compare to him, or his brother. She’s so little against the metaphorical and physical him, they simply… do not match. He knows this well and could never return the feelings because of this. She’s stupid to even hope for that. 

But she knows little of what he thinks of her. She’d be delighted, to say the least, if she’d ever hear his thoughts aloud. He thinks of her heavenly, much more heavenly than himself and any other creature he’s seen. He thinks of her as sent from the Allfathers, a precious gift to all everyone she meets in her life. She’s truly all grace, love and beauty merged into one human being and Loki longs everyday to be bathed in it. He may only dream of it, though until a point. 

Both of them spent the Saturday in their rooms, in their personal agonies. Many days like this have come and gone in their lives, days when Y/N is not on a mission, going out with the others, grocery shopping or doing anything otherwise productive. Y/N would be ready to write this Saturday down as the worst in her life until a certain minute struck past nine in the evening. 

The team had gone out, an occasion Y/N was not ready to accompany them on tonight. Some type of celebration, maybe? Well, it always is, no matter the reason. So they left Y/N and some other usual sulkers to their own devices, one of them being Loki. Due to his surprisingly kind heart, tonight he decided on going to Y/N’s room, accompany her, if he may, all by her lonesome, and set his mind right by telling her how she feels.

He was pacing a bit before he headed the needed floor up the tower. Hands touching and mushing his own face times and times over, eyes bulging out of their sockets purely out of torturing anxiety. He moved his hair back, he tousled it back into messy locks, over and over. Having no peace in his mind or body. 

Loki could fail miserably, doing what he’s intended to. He could give out his whole heart and soul to her, and she could laugh in his face. Crying would not be as bad as laughing, so he hopes crying is the worst to come of it. But it could not be the worst… The worst of all outcomes would be her inability to return the feelings. Gods, no… Loki hopes to all whose hands it’s in that she does not have this inability. 

A knock comes softly to Y/N’s door. She raises her head from her book with curious eyes and raised eyebrows. She presses the button to open the sliding door, and to her most surprise, Loki almost falls through when the door opens. He is not used to this kind of technology, not yet. He leaves his door open, as in Asgard the bedrooms did not really have doors that can open and close. There were no doors at all. 

Both their eyes meet and Y/N rises from her bed right to her feet, not letting the book go so her fingers would have something to nibble on out of stress. “Loki,” she says, her surprise very apparent in her voice still. The god simply stands in her doorway as the door closes automatically, dressed in… Oh, he looks gorgeous. Loki wears a green linen shirt, his signature colour, similar to those from medieval times, wide sleeves and strings instead of buttons. He does wear dress pants, though, which look like part of a formal suit two-piece, “good evening.” 

“Good evening, my lady.” Loki greets back. 

“What brings you here?” Y/N asks and tries to adjust her pyjama shorts, suddenly realising how undressed she is compared to Loki. Her stripy, loose button up and pyjama shorts are not her best look. 

“Well, I—“ for a moment, Loki looks and acts like his regular self, seemingly about to burst out with a joke or a trick, his mannerisms tell her so. He glances at the corner of Y/N’s bed. “May I sit down?” He asks with innocent eyes. Y/N nods in response, gesturing for him to do so. He nods, sits down on her bed, his pose reserved and a bit stale. Y/N walks now to stand in front of him, but not too close. “I have come to tell you something.” 

Y/N has rarely seen Loki this… gentle, this… fragile, sort of. He does not look like himself, but then again there looks to be revealed more a lot more of him than usual. Purely looking at his face, Y/N wants to whimper ‘i love you’, and she almost does. But thank god for self-control. 

She crosses her arms over her chest out of habit. “I’m listening.” She says, a million positive and negative guesses going through her mind like a thousand volcanoes, making noise and chaos in there, most of all—permitting her to think clearly. 

“I beg you to take this—what I will say—kindly.” Loki says, a saddened expression on his face. “It scares me and tears me apart to say, but I must for my own and your sake.” He starts and takes a deep breath. Here comes ‘i can’t stand you’, ‘i hate you’, ‘i don’t like your company’. Y/N furrows her eyebrows and tries to shut those thoughts out. “I find you, Y/N, very attractive, beautiful, really, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. And not only physically.” Her breath catches in her throat. “You are grace, beauty and wisdom in one body. You are… You are an angel sent from the Gods above to this Earth…”

Seeing the look on Y/N’s face, the look of surprise and confusion and eyes on the brink of crying, Loki’s doubts on himself begin to take over.

“I should not have those feelings for you, it is wrong for me to think of you this way, to,” he gulps, “to want to cherish you day and night, to give you as much love as you give away and deserve in return, and much more; to lay you gently to sleep and give every goodnight to you, as well as see you every morning that I wake. It is wrong.” Loki shakes his head and looks at you, clearly ashamed to have exposed his heart and yearnings like this, to someone, and ashamed of their truth. 

Tears do gather in Y/N’s eyes and she unconsciously drops her book before rushing to stand before the god, carefully cradling his face between her hands. “Why do you think it’s wrong?” She whispers, scared, but searching his eyes for the answer. Loki’s pleasantly taken aback by her action. 

“Because… look at me. You know well who I am.” Loki starts explaining after looking into Y/N’s eyes. “You know what I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt, the way I am, I’m—I’m—I’m a monster.” Loki finishes and guiltily eyes the girl cradling his cold cheeks. She closes her eyes, tears squeezing past her lids, and shakes her head.

“You are no monster.” She whispers even quieter than before. She opens her eyes to press a kiss to Loki’s forehead, which freezes him. She’s in agony, because her greatest love is thinking of himself so low. Loki’s ready to disagree with her, but she speaks before him. “You are not.” She shakes her head again, looking into Loki’s eyes, begging him to listen and believe her, feeling it’s hard to do so. He’s been hurt and he’s been mislead, there’s no wonder he wouldn’t believe every person he speaks with. But with her, it might be different. 

Y/N puts her forehead against Loki’s. “You long for love, and appreciation, and I can relate to that deeply.” She tells him. “But I can also give you that what you desire.” She says and draws back to look into Loki’s eyes once again. He’s unsure, shown by his face, but willing at the same time. 

Loki locks his hand around her wrist, but gently. “Are you certain?” 

“Do not ask me if I’m certain. I have waited, it seems, my whole life, to give it all to you. And you only.” Y/N assures him. Her finger runs along the side of his face slowly, admiring the milky skin adorning his body. “Can I show you?”

“I’d love nothing less.” Loki says, agreeing to give himself to her freely. So she takes him, pushing Loki down on the soft covers and mattress of her bed and balancing herself on top of him. Her knees are on each side of his hips, pressing into the mattress as Y/N straightens her back above him.

Loki wants to keep this exact moment in his memory. She, with tears in her eyes, but with her beautiful hair falling around her face and shoulders, starts unbuttoning her striped shirt. Her face the most beautiful face, as always, and her eyes boring into him. Her crotch pressing into his lower stomach. Loki dares to moves his hands to her thighs, exploring the skin and flesh on her upper legs. Only groping them makes him more hungry and yearning for her.

Y/N doesn’t unbutton her shirt fully, she’s too impatient out of want to know how his lips feel, how he kisses, how his lips would move against hers. So she moves down to Loki, his face showing complete submission to her. Her hand caresses the edge of his hair at his forehead, then her fingers swipe against his cheek. These touches are already almos orgasmic to Loki, he leans into her touch like a kitten who hasn’t known home for long, and he mewls at her feather caresses.

Finally, her hand moves to the back of his neck, the fingertips just trace into the roots of his hair, she’s cradling his head. Their lips almost touch, and Loki can already feel them on his, just a few inches, and he’ll fall in love with her even more than he has already. The fatal kiss, he might call it. 

He leans up out of impatience, but she already presses down, and they meet each other halfway. Whatever Y/N had thought would be kissing him like, what it actually feels like is a hundred, thousand, million times better. It is far better than she has felt in her life. 

Loki’s mind goes numb. He never thought he could get this much satisfaction and pleasure from a mortal being. He never thought his expectations would be out-done. He thinks he’ll never feel anything that could out-do this in his long life. Now this kiss captures everything that they feel for each other intensely. All the love and lust, yearning and hunger, longing and reaching. All of it, in one kiss. How is that even possible? 

Love must be magic.

Instinctively, Loki’s hands grasp Y/N’s thighs harder, pulling her closer to him. But her rolling back into place creates a grind against the god’s slender body, which makes Loki moan and all the more impatient. He longs to feel every inch of her against him, around him, on him, it doesn’t matter. He just needs to feel her.

Y/N presses another kiss on Loki’s lips, and another, and another. When she doesn’t, her mouth open in a gasp, Loki chases her lips and connects them both again. Her hands move to untie the front of Loki’s shirt, but when that is not enough, she untucks the shirt from his pants and slides her hands under the green shirt. Her hands feel warm against his chest, and his skin to her feels a little colder than her own chest. 

The skin is smooth and a little slithery, Y/N cannot guess why. Does he use some special shower gel? Or was he born with skin like that? 

Loki’s fingers cautiously wander around her hips and waist, wanting to explore every inch of her body, to know it, to know it best of anyone. But Y/N feels impatient, teased by his touch, and she grabs his hands in her own, straightening up again. 

She moves his hands under her shirt now, both their actions mirrored, similar as they are both equally curious about the other. “You are not wrong to love me the way you do.” She assures him. “Touch me as you please, I have longed for your complete touch for the longest time.”

Loki would have cried out that he loves her more than anything, but he’s much too turned on to do so. She is sitting right above his growing-by-the-second arousal, causing them both teased pleasure and more arousal. Y/N lets his hands go, lets them wander on their own, feeling afterwards Loki’s touch on her waist, her back, her stomach. While she herself opens the top of his trousers and shrugs them down his legs carelessly, not interested in whether they are or are not completely off. She can only think about him.

His hands grip her back, pulling her down onto him. His next move is to get her pyjama shorts off, and he does so in a hurry. Once the garment is off, Loki grips the back of her head, Y/N’s hair bunching up and twisting under his fingers. Their lips interlock in an intense kiss, so intense, so full of emotion, that both involved shed tears. And the tears wet the other’s cheeks and lips, and they can taste the salt of the drops in each kiss they share.

Y/N thinks Loki’s fingers might dig holes into her back from the way he’s holding her. She pulls away from his lips and locks eyes with Loki again. “Make love to me.” She requests in a hushed whisper. Loki’s eyebrows raise for just a second, but he gets right on it, or rather, on her. 

Loki gently lays her down on her own bed and kisses her neck, her collarbones, his hands already back to her waist. Y/N lets her hands lay by her head, sighs leaving her lips in pleasure, her chest moving up and down in semi-hiccups. Loki’s hair tickles her chest as do his lips, but he decides he cannot watch her from above for any longer.

“I am at your mercy.” He tells her, returning them both to the position they were in previously. Loki’s head now resting against the headboard, looking at her from below again. He loves this much more. Y/N manages a smile, resting both her hands on Loki’s heaving, growing-hot chest. 

“I love you.” She whispers to him, and doing so, she tears up. Loki smiles at her, though a bit sadly, and makes her giggle as well. She takes the back of Loki’s neck again and pulls it towards herself, their foreheads once again pressed together. They pant, they cry and they laugh. It might sound insane, but they don’t much care. 

“I love you.” Loki responds, his eyes looking so sincerely and strongly into hers. Y/N looks over what she sees of Loki an she smiles wide again, disbelief adorning her eyes. She cannot phatom the place and situation she’s in, she cannot phatom the person she’s with most of all. She whispers her love to him over and over, panting breaths interrupting her words, as well as her own kisses on Loki’s lips and cheeks. She pulls him closer to herself, whether it be possible or not, by the back of his neck, gripping his muscles under her delicate touch. 

Loki gives her kisses back, very heated kisses, that each leave her running after fresh breath. Neither of them can wait no longer, and so Loki helps her get her underwear off and Y/N takes his length to line up with her entrance. Her face twists and she draws in a gasp of very high pitch when the tip is teasing her walls, Loki can’t deny his own sensitivity to the feeling. She feels so warm, she feels so silky, and she’ll be around him—

She takes over and pushes him whole inside of her, immediately awakening sounds and feelings in them both they didn’t know they could muster. Both of them freeze, mouths agape and eyes shut tight, their hands interlocked so tightly they might break each other’s bones. 

“Gods, darling…” Loki sighs, speaking finally. She might have thought he went dead for the moment he tried to comprehend he’s really feeling this, he’s really buried himself inside of her, he’s really having this moment with her. Not any other guy or man, him, Loki. 

Y/N shudders. With this first thrust already she can feel him near her spot. His size is incredible, and he’s quite thick. Though a little stretching and stinging at that, there’s pleasure much more than any pain. “C-Can I move?” She asks, opening her eyes to look on Loki. He nods, massaging her hand with his thumb over, readying them both for what’s to come.

She moves upwards, though lazily, and moans at the feeling of him reeling against her walls. She sinks down as deep as she can and lifts herself up again, now pressing their intertwined hands against Loki’s bare chest for support. He lets go of her hands and instead returns them to her waist. Going up and down on him, his hands were extra support. Because, honestly, she’s in such a trance from the feeling that she can barely make herself move. 

Her hands move to his shoulders for even more support and her chest leans towards his, as much rythmically as her hip movements do. Soon enough he thrusts his hips to meet hers, and from then on their movements increase in speed. There is not enough air in the world for them to catch, there is never enough sound for them to show their satisfaction through. Mostly, there is not enough of each other they can get.

Loki pulls her down to himself merely to kiss her, feeling himself nearing the edge. His hand grips her face just right and Y/N clenches around him. It makes Loki accidentally bite down on her lip. She gasps and, oh, oh—she’s coming. She’s coming, and her nails dig into the flesh of his shoulders. She is certain she now knows what drugs feel like. But this is certainly better than any drug. Because it’s love, and it’s passion, and it’s wonderful…

“Tell me you’re close,” she begs Loki, mid-orgasm.

“I am,” he confirms, “I love you.” He tells her again, reminding her and himself. He reminds himself because, for the first time in his life, his love and yearning to give his love, has been fulfilled. And returned. And he’s got to keep that in mind. Loki’s eyes look begging, almost praying to her, praying for her love.

He looks into her eyes when they both come, surprisingly in unison, but their eye contact is scarce mostly, her eyes are shut tight. She sings tunes of ecstasy, still barely moving on his length, as best she can. Loki fills her ears with growls and moans he’s finally not afraid to let out. 

When she looks at him and nods ever so subtly, he understands with it that she’s done and he can pull out. So he does, slowly, making her mewl out of sensitivity. She feels a little sore, but it’s an ache she excuses because of who has made her so. She looks at him.

He helps her steady herself on top of him, her nakedness sitting on his stomach. They both do their best at getting their breath back, and as Y/N regains herself, she nears her face down to Loki’s. Their eyes lock. Loki puts his hands on both her cheeks. They share a gentle kiss and lay silently for a few moments, simply looking at each other and marveling in the wonder of one another.

“I never expected someone as delicate and gentle,” Loki admits in a soft whisper, “to love me.” His hand softly moves to caress her hair. She tilts her head. 

“But you’re so…” she whispers herself, then unable to finish her thought and sentence, “you are so…” she struggles still. Loki smiles, even daring to chuckle. She looks at him, more disrupted by his laugh, but a small smile playing on her lips anyway, “you are so everything.” She finally says. “Everything I could ever want.”

“What about what you need?” Loki asks, his hand reaching for hers. She laughs, shaking her head.

“I don’t care about what I need as long as I know that my wants are equal to my needs.” She assures. Loki frowns.

“You needn’t throw yourself away for me, love.” 

Y/N leans closer to him. “I have already done that.” She says and gives his cheek a kiss. “I’ll do that and more for you. And not just because you’re handsome, and not just because of you.” She starts to say and Loki raises his eyebrows, curious. “I knew at some point you’d be the one I love, and I’ve waited my whole life for someone I could love, someone I could give everything to.” She leans back up. “And I feel I’ve been made to love, you know, to love another or many. I guess you came along at the right moment. And even while I doubted you ever returning these feelings, even when I was convinced you didn’t feel the same, convinced you hated me. Loving you was enough for me.”

She looks back at him from looking around the whole time and finds Loki with tears in his eyes. “Sorry.” She says. “That just… came out.”

“Do not be sorry.” Loki shakes his head. “That was very beautiful, I think, because it’s the truth and it’s from you. Your heart’s ways are beautiful.” Y/N blushes at his words. Loki’s head then hangs a bit lower. “I was never sure I could be some who you could love. I’m me, and I may call myself a big chaos. I am not easy to love, so you’ve done a great job.”

“Why do you think so?” Y/N asks, now moving to lay in between Loki’s legs, her chin on his chest. Loki raises his eyebrows. “That you’re hard to love.”

“I have done terrible things, my darling… And I’ve lied. A lot.” Loki nods for effect. “And well, I’m the God of Mischief.” They both laugh. Of course he had to mention that, his arrogance does spring out. “So I doubt anyone could trust me.”

“Don’t tell me you’re no good for me.” 

“Took my words, sweet girl.”

“Loki, I love you.” Y/N looks strongly into his eyes. “And we are good for each other.” She says in an angelic voice. “I know you disagree, but I can learn from you.”

“What exactly, darling, lying? Tricks?” Loki suggests with a sly grin.

Y/N laughs. “No.” She says then. “You’ll see.” Y/N rests the side of her face against Loki’s chest, also listening to his heartbeat. She wraps her arms around his torso and Loki’s hands go to hold her arms, almost protectively. Almost as if she’d disappear if he doesn’t hold onto her. “How much time will it take for you to realise your worth?”

____

Bonus material!

Before falling asleep the night before, Loki and Y/N agreed to making sandwhiches together, more so, Y/N teaching him how to actually make those. He complimented her skill and liking for sandwhiches, Y/N had blushed. So here they were, in their pajamas and in the Stark Tower’s kitchen, cutting lettice and ham and cheese all sorts that Loki’d wish to see in a sandwhich. Some combinations seemed strange to Y/N, but she trusted his taste and decided she wouldn’t try those exact ones.

“No, no, stop!” She scolds in a shushed whisper, with a smile playing on her lips. “Those are too narrow. Salad needs to be big, you know, with volume. Great size!” She decoratively growls at the last two words.

“Like myself.” Loki says and chuckles.

“Yes, mister, thank you for reminding me verbally. This time.” Y/N replies and returns to cutting cheese.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh not-maliciously.” Tony Stark declares in a whisper and takes more nuts from his snack bag. Steve Rogers takes some from the same bag before receiving a slap from Tony for it. 

“Never thought the out-come would be like this.” Steve admits. Both their eyes are hazy while watching Y/N and the god work around in the kitchen. They’re standing in the hallway right where the shadow starts from the kitchen light so the lovers wouldn’t notice them. They won’t be there for a long time, anyway. 

“Who are we watching?” Bucky Barnes asks when he comes up behind them with Natasha, and both grown men squeal in terror from the surprise, Tony dropping his snack bag. Bucky and Natasha burst into uncontrollable laughter while trying to pull the two team leaders further into the hallway to not get noticed. Well, with screams like little girls, that’s a little late.

Loki and Y/N look over their shoulders, spooked from the sound they heard but upon not hearing or seeing anything that could explain it—the former russian assassins did a great job of getting Steve and Tony away—they look at each other and shrug. Then they simply continue their culinary workshop in each other’s company. 

A/N: I really wanna hold Loki like that :/

Permanent tag-list (I hope at least one of you likes Loki :D) : @gabiatthedisco​​​​ @v0idbella​​​​ @inlovewithmiddleagedcelebs​​​ @works-of-fanfiction​​​​ @destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen​​​​ @stfxlou​​​​ @ur-gunna-h8-ths​​​​ @betweenloveandfire​​​​ @but-legendsneverdie​​​​ @deardeacy​​​​@thewinchesterchronicles​​​​ @mavieesttriste16​​​​ @mrsmazzello​​ @benhardyseyes​​​@langdonzvoid​​​​ @intrrverted​​​​ @the-freak-cassie-131​​​​ @eddie-spaghetti-boi​​​​@radiantrichie​​​ @terratori812 @urban-dreams​ @shawni-h​

[kurokoros]

some like it hot (2/4) | todoroki x reader x bakugou

Rated: T (bakugou’s dirty mouth, sexual humor)

Words: 9.2K

Pairing: shouto todoroki x fem!reader x katsuki bakugou

Summary: A Charity Fundraiser leads to you going home with not one, but two of the most popular Pro Heroes of your generation. They say some like it hot, and you certainly aren’t complaining.

AKA: a totally not self-indulgent threesome fic

Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | AO3

AN: It’s been a terrible week, but I still managed to pump out a chapter, so I feel accomplished! Also available on AO3. Ask to be added to the tag-list. Chapters will be weekly until completion! Thanks in advance for reading!  A note: the reader does have a name used only in dialogue because I hate using “Y/N” in fics. Both names are puns. “Yuna” = Y/N, and the kanji in “Hikai” means “fire time”.

Dubiously, you stare at the file Izuku is holding out to you. The look you send him is all but reproachful as you place your hands on your hips, your lips pressed into a tight line. Izuku fidgets under your gaze, sweat beading on his hairline, but his smile never falters for a second.

“Let me get this straight,” you start slowly. Maybe you didn’t hear him right. With all the muttering and nervous babbling he tends to do, it wouldn’t be a surprise for you to mishear a few things. Though, you have practically mastered the art of deciphering him at his most incoherent. Regardless, you press on, not even trying to mask the utter bewilderment in your voice. “You want me to run all the way to Shouto’s Agency to drop off a single file?”

It sounds even more bizarre when you say it out loud.

Izuku fiddles with the pen on his desk. “Yes?”

The questioning inflection of his reply only makes your frown deepen. Resisting the urge to rub your temples, you send him another hard look. “Aren’t you supposed to be seeing him and Bakugou tonight?” you ask, sure you heard him mention something about the three of them going out for dinner. “It can’t wait until then?”

“It’s important,” he tells you, only slightly more confident in his reply than he was before.

You know you shouldn’t roll your eyes at your boss, but you do so anyway. “I see. And you do realize I’ll be gone for at least two hours, right?”

“It’s very important?”

Your frown turns into a pout.

Any other day you might have agreed to go right away, always happy to see one of your favorite Heroes. But ever since that night at Momo’s, you’ve been doing your best to avoid both Shouto and Katsuki. It wasn’t on purpose at first. You planned on going out for drinks with Katsuki and Kirishima over the weekend like you always do, only to be slapped in the face with the reminder of what you told the girls. Mina’s jokes about a threesome came crashing back over you, and with the dirty fantasies floating through your head, you knew that being drunk around Katsuki would end in nothing but loose lips and an extremely awkward confrontation.

You didn’t even want to think about the possibility of rejection, so you called Kiri to cancel with excuses of planning the fundraiser—which wasn’t technically a lie.

Katsuki wasn’t happy about it, obviously, but you know how to handle him. You just need to make it through this fundraiser before making any life altering decisions including, but not limited to, trying to fuck two Pro Heroes that also happen to be two of your closest friends.

Avoidance was clearly the best answer to this.

Of course, your luck seems to have run out today thanks to Izuku. You have no idea where he’s going with this or why one of his sidekicks can’t bring Shouto this supposedly very important file, but seeing as the alternative is more phone calls and paperwork, you might as well go along with it. And you won’t lie and say you aren’t a little excited at the prospect of seeing Shouto today.

That being said, you aren’t above giving Izuku a little hell for it first.

“I don’t feel like I can leave you alone for that long without something terrible happening,” you say bluntly, careful to keep your mouth from twitching into a smile. Though you’re only teasing, a part of you does mean it. As great of a Hero as Izuku is, he’s also practically a walking safety hazard.

He really hasn’t changed all that much since UA.

The pout that forms on his face makes you feel like you’ve just kicked a puppy. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says, sulking. Those big, green eyes of his stare down at you from the other side of his desk, only adding to the effect.

You aren’t so easily swayed. “The last time I left you alone here, you managed to dislocate your entire arm,” you remind him, casting a pointed glance at said arm. Even now, you aren’t entirely sure how he managed that in the time it took you to grab lunch at a cafe not even fifteen minutes from the agency. You’re never going to let him live it down.

“That was an accident!” Izuku defends himself, flushing all the way to the tips of his ears. The color clashes spectacularly with the green of his hero costume.

Your tone is beyond dry when you say, “I’m aware.”

Izuku’s expression melts into one of distress, and again you wonder why this file is such a big deal. Whatever it is, it’s making your boss more skittish and awkward than usual, something you didn’t even think was possible. “Please, Hikai? This is really, really important! I don’t trust anyone else to do this but you!”

“This is manipulation,” you tell him, crossing your arms. Even as you say that, your heart swells with the sheer level of trust he has in you. Izuku must realize it too. There’s something cunning behind those puppy dog eyes.

He blinks at you far too innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Well played, Deku.

Heaving an over-dramatic sigh, you hold out your hand and wiggle your fingers impatiently. “Give me the damn file.” A megawatt smile stretches across his face before the file is practically shoved into your hand. “Really, Midoriya, you have to stop leaving things until the last minute. One day it’s going to get you in trouble.”

He rubs the back of his head in embarrassment, ruffling the curly strands of his hair. “That’s what I have you for,” he tells you. The sincerity in his voice makes you soften. “Oh!” His eyes suddenly light up. “How’s everything been with planning the fundraiser?”

“About as well as you’d expect considering the short notice,” you muse, idly thumbing the edge of the file you’ve been handed. Surprisingly, you haven’t had too many issues beyond your less than friendly conversation with Mr. Fujikaze. Most other agencies have been understanding about the situation, and your contacts have been pulling through despite the time crunch. “I’ve contacted most of the agencies in the country like you asked and almost all have replied affirmatively, though some will only be making short appearances.” You glance at him. “Not everyone can leave the field for an entire night.”

Izuku nods, his brows furrowed in thought. “That makes sense,” he murmurs aloud, staring down at the surface of his desk. “Even with the crime rate dropping again, we can’t be too careful.”

Humming, you turn your gaze to the windows overlooking the city behind him. While not nearly as grandiose as some other agencies you’ve been in, you’ve always loved the view from Izuku’s office.

“Exactly.”

With the highly publicized nature of the fundraiser, you’re sure that some people will take the opportunity to commit crimes, violent or otherwise, but it’s nothing most Pros haven’t had to work around before. The event itself will have heightened security even with the amount of Pros attending. Frankly, you’re more worried about the general public, though you know they’ll be in good hands even without Heroes like Deku, Shouto, and Ground Zero. Izuku himself would probably insist on patrolling that night if he wasn’t the one hosting, but you know his sidekicks will be able to handle things for one night.

“How’s everything else going?” he asks. “I know you had to pull a lot of strings to make this work. Thank you, by the way.”

You wave him off and shrug, but offer him a small smile. “It’s my job.” And, hey, if this whole personal assistant gig falls through, at least you have a potential future as a wedding planner. “We have a venue and caterer lined up,” you explain to Izuku. “I’m hoping to hear back from my other contacts by the end of the day, but so far, everything seems to be going well.”

A look of relief appears on his face. “That’s good,” he says, breathing a sigh. At your raised eyebrow, he panics, thinking he’s said something wrong. “Not that I thought you couldn’t do it!” he’s quick to explain, quickly turning an even darker shade of red. “You’ve always been great at organizing things! Though this was super short notice, so I wouldn’t have been disappointed if you couldn’t put it together that fast. But I would never doubt you like that. You always go beyond! Plus—”

Mercifully, you hold up a hand to stop his rambling. You have work to do, and you know from experience that he would go on and on until someone stopped him or he ran out of air, and Izuku has quite the impressive set of lungs.

“Deep breaths, Midoriya,” you chide playfully, reaching out to pat him on the back. “I know what you meant. Thank you for having so much faith in me.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, going right back to beaming at you. “Thanks again for doing this—the event and the file, I mean.”

You gather your discarded purse and jacket, carefully tucking the file into your bag. “Well, it’s not like I had much of a choice,” you joke as he leads you to the door. “What would you do without me?”

“Apparently, I’d die.”

Your laughter cuts off as soon as you reach the door, your expression sobering as you remember the phone call you received shortly before Izuku called you into his office. You didn’t have the chance to tell him before he was practically shoving a folder in your hands and babbling something about you needing to see Shouto immediately. 

Izuku stops beside you. His expression turns to one of concern as he notices the look on your face.

“There’s one more thing,” you tell him, lowering your voice though it’s only the two of you in the room. “I received an answer from Endeavor’s assistant this morning.” 

The statement is heavy and laced with more meaning than so few words could typically hold. You can’t keep the bitterness from creeping in as you say the former Hero’s name, but Izuku either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore it. 

Somehow, he manages to keep his voice light when he asks, “Oh? And what did he say?” Izuku’s gaze slides to the door and refuses to move. You can only imagine what might be running through his head.

“He’ll be making an appearance at the gala.” Absently, your fingers clench around the strap of your purse, knuckles turning white from the pressure. As soon as you realize what you’re doing, you sigh through your nose, forcing yourself to release your grip. “He may be retired now, but it matters a lot to the public that the former number one Pro Hero makes an appearance at things like this. Not everyone may like Endeavor, but most people do respect him. It’s exactly the show of support we need right now.” You turn to Izuku, and his gaze finally rises to meet yours again. “Similarly, All Might will be there as well, even though he retired almost a decade ago.” Your lips quirk upwards. “Though, I’m sure you’re already aware of that,” you tease, hoping to lighten the mood.

It works. Izuku is always an easy target to fluster. He sputters and makes a vague excuse while awkwardly waving his arms around like he isn’t sure what to do with them. You wait patiently until he’s done, used to this kind of outburst after so many years. When he’s finally calmed down, his eyes widen a little as he looks at you.

“Does Todoroki know?”

The question makes your stomach churn. “Not yet.” Your admission is soft as you rock back on your heels. “I just found out. Besides,” you look past Izuku to stare out the window again, “I thought it would be better to tell him in person.” 

When Izuku doesn’t respond, you clear your throat. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

He snaps out of his thoughts quickly. “Right!” Izuku reaches around you to open the door, holding it for you politely as you step into the lobby. Your eyes immediately drift to your desk, and you’re more than a little surprised to see a familiar, nervous face sitting behind it. When you stop, Izuku follows your gaze and smiles. “Oh! I’m sending Nakamura with you!” he explains as the hero in training waves at you awkwardly. “He’ll be heading back to UA after and I want to make sure you get to Todoroki’s agency okay!”

It’s a poor excuse if you’ve ever heard one, but you don’t have time to question it. Your eyes follow Izuku as he darts back into his office. He’s not fast enough to hide his ever widening smile though.

He’s up to something, you decide as you make your way to the flustered intern behind your desk. You don’t know what he’s up to, but you’re going to find out.

The train ride across the city was nothing short of awkward between you and Seiji. The poor intern didn’t seem to know what to say to you outside of a professional setting. He kept squirming in his seat and wringing his hands, glancing at you occasionally in a way that wasn’t nearly as subtle as he thought he was being. Clearly there was something on his mind, but you weren’t about to ask. You figured if it was important enough, he’d come out and say it when he was ready. 

Meanwhile, you took the opportunity to get some additional work done. Izuku may have kicked you out of the office, but you did still have a job to complete. The fundraiser wasn’t going to plan itself, and the date was rapidly approaching. You’d made good progress so far, but that didn’t mean you could start slacking.

It isn’t until the two of you are within a block from Shouto’s agency that Seiji finally perks up. There’s an additional bounce to his step that reminds you of an overexcited puppy, and it makes your lips twitch in amusement.

It’s only then that you realize he’s so much taller than you, gangly with long limbs that carry him faster than you can walk. He keeps getting ahead of you, only to freeze up when he realizes you aren’t there, quickly glancing around almost frantically until he spots you again. It’s absolutely adorable the way his eyes light up and he visibly relaxes.

“Hey, Hikai?” he asks once you catch up to him for what must be the fifth time. “What’s Shouto like? You seem like you know each other pretty well.” Those blue eyes of his are too wide with innocence, and you school your expression before you can flush once you remember what Seiji saw last week.

“You met him last week,” you remind the teenager, adjusting your grip on your purse and double checking that the file is still tucked into place. “What do you think he’s like?” There’s something disconcerting about discussing one of your friends that you’ve thought about fucking on multiple occassions with your boss’s new student intern.

Seiji’s eyebrows furrow as he thinks over your question. “He was nice,” he decides, glancing down at you. “Just… really quiet.”

A low hum of agreement escapes you. “Don’t take it personally. Sho isn’t much of a talker.” Especially in comparison to Izuku’s excited ramblings and Katsuki’s loud presence. “If you stay with Deku for a while, I’m sure he’ll warm up to you though.” You smile up at Seiji and pat him on the arm.

He flushes at the attention. And there’s no hiding the pride shining in his eyes at the insinuation that the Deku would take him on as a sidekick after graduation. To cover his embarrassment, he sputters out, “So, you’ve known them for a long time then? Shouto and Ground Zero?”

“Almost as long as Izuku. I met them through him. Deku has a way of adopting people.” You sigh. “Neither of them have changed much since UA.” 

“I see,” Seiji murmurs as you reach the front doors to the agency. He politely holds the door for you as you step inside, a look of deep contemplation on his face. His head cocks to one side as he stares at you, eyes narrowed just a tick before they widen. “That must mean you’re pretty close.” There’s an unexpectedly sly tinge to the statement, like he’s hinting at something more.

Your breath catches at the statement. Seiji notices. “I suppose so,” you say before turning your attention to the receptionist in front of you.

After a short greeting, she lets you pass, recognizing you from previous visits. You’re told that Shouto just returned from a patrol and is already waiting for you in his office, and with a parting smile you and Seiji head for the elevator.

It’s only after the doors close behind you that you look at Seiji again, confusion clear on your face as you remember what Izuku told you earlier. “Shouldn’t you be heading back to the dorms by now? I don’t know how long this will take, and I don’t want you to have to wait for me. You should go enjoy your afternoon.”

“No!” Seiji protests a little too quickly, voice cracking. He shakes his head almost violently. You stare up at him in bewilderment as those big blue eyes meet yours seriously. “Deku told me to walk you to Shouto’s office,” he babbles, struggling for an excuse. “We aren’t in the office yet!”

“I—” You shake your head, decide it’s not worth questioning as the elevator comes to a stop and the doors open. “Yeah, okay, sure.” If that’s what he wants to do, who are you to stop him?

An achingly familiar voice calls out your name as you and Seiji step into the top floor lobby. The smile that overtakes you in response is automatic once you see Shouto already waiting for you.

“Shouto.” You practically breathe his name, and it would be pathetic if there was anyone else around aside from Shouto, who’s, frankly, as dense as a brick at times, and Seiji, your boss’s dorky intern. Before you can do something stupid like staring at his toned forearms, you forcibly peel your eyes away from the sliver of skin at his throat left uncovered by his hero suit and look up at Seiji. “Can you make it to UA from here, Nakamura?” Your voice is higher than usual. “I don’t want you getting on the wrong train.”

Seiji smiles a little too wide. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good.” Turning to Shouto again, you nod towards his office. “Should we…?” You could just as easily hand him the file and leave with Seiji, go back to work, return the dozen phone calls you still have to make, and check to see if everything is still going smoothly in your short absence, but you’re rooted in place under Shouto’s fond gaze. You’ve missed him more than you care to admit—Katsuki too—and now that he’s in front of you, you can’t just walk away.

More than that, there’s something you need to discuss. The thought makes your stomach flip anxiously.

Shouto seems to relax at your suggestion and gestures for you to follow him as he turns toward his office. You wave to Seiji over your shoulder and are vaguely aware of him taking a seat in one of the leather chairs situated in the lobby area.

You shut the door behind you.

“I believe this is yours,” you say as you pull the folder from your bag and hold it out for him.

Shouto gives you a small smile. “Thank you.”

“How’s the case going?” you ask, gesturing to the file you’ve handed over. The two of you easily slip into a familiar routine as Shouto settles himself behind his desk and you lean against the side of it before hoisting yourself up to sit on the glass surface. “I was a little surprised when you called in Izuku and Katsuki for help. The last time the three of you worked together like this was…”

“Operation Vermillion,” he finishes for you, thumbing through the stack of papers. “That was right after we opened our agencies. I remember you leading the briefing.” His blue-grey eyes flicker to yours, and his smile widens a fraction. “My old man tried to give you trouble, and you shut him down. I’d never seen him so shocked before.”

Humming, you start to smile as well. “He never did like me much.” It’s a perfect segway into what you need to discuss with him, though you wish it wasn’t.

You lean back on your hands, watching silently as he idly flips through the files from Izuku. That knot in your stomach tightens. Your gaze shifts to the aged burn scar covering his left eye. Just another reminder of Endeavor. It makes you sick to think about, and this is the last thing you want to talk about right now, but you know he deserves to hear it before Friday night. Even so, your tongue feels thick and heavy in your mouth. 

Clearing your throat, you wait until he looks at you to speak. “I figured I should let you know that Endeavor will be at the charity gala.” Your gaze holds steady as you say it, gauging his reaction.

Predictably, Shouto stiffens. It’s slight. Anyone else probably wouldn’t notice it. Shouto’s always been good at burying his emotions and acting like he doesn’t care. But you can read him. And you’re close enough to hear him inhale sharper than normal. The tense line of his broad shoulders and the nearly imperceptible twitch of his fingers are your only warning before the temperature in the office drops drastically.

Goosebumps prickle across your bare arms, and you shiver reflexively. The ghost of your breath clouds the air as you exhale, but you don’t move from your spot on his desk even as frost begins to creep across the glass. It branches outward from his palm, slow and sluggish, and you wonder if he realizes he’s even using his quirk. 

The ice stops just shy of your fingertips. A heavy sigh falls from his lips. Your eyes flicker back to his only to find him already staring at you apologetically.

“I expected as much,” he tells you, a bitter tinge to his voice. When Shouto smiles, it’s rueful and nothing short of sarcastic. “It would look bad in the eyes of the public for the former number one Hero not to be there.”

You hum your agreement, having said as much to Izuku earlier. The temperature begins to rise again, and the thin layer of frost on the desk melts and evaporates before it can make a mess. You watch him carefully as you pick at a spot of lint on your dress. “How have things been lately?” you ask casually. “Between you and him.” 

Shouto is silent for a moment that seems to stretch on for hours, seemingly frozen behind his desk as he stares at his reflection in the glass. What he’s seeing there, you don’t know, but the torrent of emotions that flicker in his eyes makes your chest feel tight. It’s melancholy. Resignation. Bitterness. A dozen other things that come and disappear so quickly that you couldn’t put a name to them even if you tried.

An incessant need to pull him close buries itself inside you and takes root. You can feel it in your throat, choking you, urging you to move, but for now you ignore it.

“He’s… trying,” Shouto settles with. “But…” Those mismatched eyes hesitate before they meet yours, and you’re struck by just how exhausted he looks. Sighing, he stands and glances away from you, looking out the large window overlooking the city. “I don’t know,” he finishes bluntly, eyes finding you again. “It’s difficult. I understand that he’s trying, but I still…” he trails off again and shakes his head.

Shouto walks around the edge of his desk to stand in front of you, close enough that his leg brushes against your knee. His palms settle on either side of you, boxing you in, and heat creeps along your spine as you tilt your head to maintain eye contact with him.

Like last time, the scent of his cologne tickles at your senses. Automatically, you lean in closer, lulled by the heat rolling off of him in gentle waves. Shouto doesn’t pull away, and like always you’re pinned in place as those mesmerizing eyes stare down at you.

He wets his lips, and you unintentionally follow the movement with your eyes. “Izuku thinks I should forgive him,” Shouto tells you, voice lower than before. Deeper. His thumb brushes against your bare leg, just above your knee. It’s freezing to the touch and you swallow your gasp. “He says it would bring me peace.” The heat of his breath tickles your skin.

“Oh?” It takes more willpower than you thought to keep your voice even.

A low sound rumbles in the back of his throat. His thumb taps against your leg again, flirting with the hem of your skirt. Shouto’s eyes stay locked on yours. “Bakugou says I should tell him to shove it up his ass.” The faintest hint of a smile tugs at the edge of his mouth.

That doesn’t surprise you. Katsuki can be too blunt for his own good at times. He and Shouto are both like that. Clearly, you have a type, and it’s fogging your brain a little how close he is. A little voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like Mina whispers how easy it would be to close that distance and pull him down to you, how good it would feel to have those hands of his sliding across your skin.

Now isn’t the time for that though.

“And what do you think?” you ask him in a voice barely above a whisper. His hand stills beside you, and the burning chill makes you shiver again. Surprise flickers in his eyes as he peers down at you through his bangs. “This isn’t about Izuku or Katsuki,” you remind him. “What do you want to do, Sho?” 

Shouto inhales sharply as you move. Your fingers find his left hand, still pressed to the glass, and slowly your palm slides up his arm until you’re gripping his bicep just like the other day. An anchor. Like he did before, you allow your thumb to rub slow, soothing circles against the tense muscle beneath your fingertips. In response, his right hand shifts so that he’s gripping your thigh in his palm, long fingers wrapping around you and squeezing.

“I don’t think I’m ready to accept him,” he admits, voice just as soft as yours.

“And that’s okay,” you tell him, brushing his hair away from his eyes with your free hand. Gentle fingers ghost against his cheek and the curve of his jaw, and you allow your hand to linger there, tilting his chin to better meet his eyes. Shouto leans into you. “You don’t have to do anything. It’s not your job to forgive him.” When he looks like he wants to argue you squeeze his arm, pinning him with a harsh stare. “It doesn’t make you less of a Hero.”

That strikes a chord with him. Shouto’s eyes stay locked on yours, refusing to budge as he searches your gaze. For what, you don’t know, but you hope he finds it. His grip on your leg grows tighter, a little bit colder, and you think about the ice that covered his desk without him realizing it. But he’d never hurt you. You know that more than anything.

And then, quietly, “Okay.”

The tension slowly drains from his shoulders as the two of you stay like that. The soft pad of your thumb rubs against his cheek, and you absently stroke the high point of the bone just under his eye. Shouto leans into your hand, lips pressing against your palm in what isn’t quite a kiss, but something close. In response, you squeeze his upper arm before letting go. There’s a noise of protest bubbling in the back of his throat, but your hand reaching up to cradle the left side of his jaw silences him before it can slip out entirely.

With your finger you trace the edge of his scar, smooth with age and familiar under your gentle touch. You try not to think too hard about the way he’s looking at you or the heat of his breath on your forearm. Raw instinct begs you to do something—anything. To lean in. To draw him down to you. To sink your fingers into his hair and pull.

Instead you smile and hope he can’t hear how fast your heart is beating. “If you ever need to hide a body, you can call me,” you joke, because you aren’t sure what else to say. You just want to make him feel better.

Shouto’s chuckle is low and throaty and it sends a shock down your spine. “Oh? Is that so?” He shifts his weight to his other leg but is careful not to dislodge your hands from his face. And you can’t bring yourself to release him either.

Your thumb brushes against his scar again, and you say, “I know a guy.”

His head tilts to the side, and he raises an eyebrow at you, clearly amused. “You do remember what my occupation is, correct?”

You should stop holding him like this—intimately—but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you have the whole damn world in your hands, and how could you possibly let that go?

“Are you going to arrest me, Hero?”

Shouto shakes his head, a small but genuine smile tugging at his lips. “You are so…” He sighs as he trails off, and you’re surprised when he releases your leg to wind his arm around you instead, pulling you into his chest. You go willingly. Tucking your head under his chin, your hands leave his face to wrap around him, returning the embrace. His heart beats loud beneath your ear, as strong and steady as his hands.

His lips find the crown of your head and his hand slides up your back so that he’s cupping the nape of your neck. “Thank you, love,” he murmurs against your hair, too quiet for you to hear.

You aren’t sure how long the two of you sit like that, but the next time you speak your lips brush against the cold buckle holding together the collar of his hero suit. “You don’t have to talk to him at the gala,” you remind him, returning to your initial conversation. The mention of Endeavor is sobering, and you hear him sigh above you. “And if he tries to talk to you, I can be your human shield.”

The offer makes him hum. “My human shield, huh? Will you have time for that on top of everything Izuku has you doing?” His thumb rubs against the back of your neck absentmindedly.

You shrug. “I can make time for one of my favorite Heroes,” you tease him, tightening your grip around his waist.

He stiffens. “I see,” Shouto murmurs. His fingers are still against the back of your neck, and you could swear you feel the heat of his hand begin to grow. “And what about Bakugou?” There’s an edge to his voice that you almost don’t notice, but when it registers, you pull your head from his chest with a small frown. 

Jealousy. That’s what it is, you realize as your eyes seek out his.

Your traitor heart practically skips at the mere mention of the other hero. Right, Katsuki. That’s another thing you have to figure out. Not for the first time you think about Momo’s suggestion. This time, though, you don’t force it away just as quickly as it comes. A part of you is desperate to know if it would work between the three of you, if it’s worth the risk. Because you can’t keep holding Shouto like this if you won’t do something about it. It’s not fair to Shouto or Katsuki to keep dancing around things.

But then your thoughts go back to the gala, and your stomach drops when you remember how much you still have to do, how much pressure you’re under, and how important it is that this event goes as planned. No slip-ups. No disasters. And absolutely no messy relationship drama.

It just has to wait until after Friday night.

“What about him?” you ask, hoping your voice isn’t higher than usual.

His expression shifts, his brows furrowing as he looks down at you. “I thought—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. Your stomach drops as he starts to unwrap himself from your frame. “Nevermind. It’s nothing.”

You’re left overwhelmingly cold as he slips away, and you follow him without meaning to, sliding off the desk and landing back on your feet. “Shouto?”

He avoids your eyes as he reaches for the file sitting on his desk. “Thank you. For dropping this off.” Shouto hesitates before he looks at you again, swallowing thickly, but then his expression goes carefully blank. “You didn’t have to go out of your way.”

Your heels click against the tile as you take a step towards him. “What do you mean?” A frown forms on your lips, confusion sweeping through you at the turn in conversation.

Whatever was going through his head a moment ago seems to have disappeared. Shouto peers down at you with a puzzled look. “Midoriya was going to give this back to me tonight,” he explains. You nod, having already known that. “He called and told me you offered to drop it off on your way home. He said you have a half day.” Shouto’s expression softens. “That’s good. You’ve been working too hard.”

“Oh. Did he?” A half day. Amazing how Izuku neglected to mention that little detail to you earlier. It seems like you’re due to have a little chat with your boss. You glance at the door to see a familiar head of dark hair duck out of sight and your eyes narrow when you realize Seiji has been waiting here the entire time. So much for going back to the dorms. “Well, I should get going,” you say, gathering your things. “I don’t want to bother you.”

Besides, apparently it’s your day off.

He’s shaking his head before you’ve even finished, expression nothing but sincere. “You never do,” he says as he walks you to his office door. And then, softer, “I like when you stop by.”

Your chest tightens at the admission. “I’ll see you Friday,” you tell him as he opens the door for you. There’s so much more you want to tell him, but now just isn’t the right time.

Shouto’s palm presses against your lower back and you readily relax into his touch, glancing up at him. Heat sinks into your skin and radiates through you until you can feel it everywhere at once, all consuming. “Save me a dance?” he asks, his breath tickling your ear.

Smiling, you nod. “Of course.”

“I’m telling you, Ochako, Izuku is scheming something.” You glance at her from across the table, idly stirring your drink, and your eyes narrow when you notice she’s biting her lip to keep from laughing at your assertion. “This isn’t funny, I’m being serious!”

This time she does laugh. “This is Deku we’re talking about,” she reminds you, waving off your concerns as she picks at her food. “You really think he would do something like that?”

“If he thought it was the right thing to do, yes. He’s kind of nosy.”

You ended up calling Izuku directly after leaving Shouto’s office, only waiting until you saw Seiji racing around the corner to get to the train station and frantically texting on his phone to dial your boss. He picked up on the second ring, like he’d been waiting for your call. It wouldn’t surprise you if he was. You could barely get a word in before he was babbling something about you deserving the rest of the day off and to do something fun before you were abruptly hung up on, only furthering your suspicions.

Hence, you called Ochako. Though, you’re beginning to regret that decision.

“I don’t know,” she drawls, quirking a skeptical eyebrow. “You seem to think people are much more invested in your love life than they really are.”

You scowl. “Oh, don’t give me that bullshit when you and Mina interrogated me the other night.” Not invested in your love life, your ass. You were perfectly fine ignoring your feelings until they brought up a threesome. Now, it’s the only thing you can think about. “Besides, why else would Izuku have his intern spy on me while I was talking to Shouto today?”

“I seriously doubt he was spying on you.”

“Izuku told us two different stories about why I was dropping off that file. That’s not exactly subtle.” For a Pro Hero it was a pretty lame move, if you’re being honest. “And Nakamura sat outside Sho’s office for like fifteen minutes while we talked. And he insisted on walking me up to his office. That doesn’t seem odd to you?”

Ochako shrugs. “Maybe he has a crush on you?” The suggestion makes you blanche and she backtracks. “I just don’t think Izuku would actively try to spy on you and Todoroki. That’s a little weird, even for him.”

“Maybe you’re right,” you reply, propping your elbow up on the table and resting your chin in your palm.

“See?” Ochako reaches across the table to pat the back of your hand, offering you a sunny smile. “Besides, even if Deku was trying to spy on you guys, you know he’s only doing it because he cares about you guys. He’d never try to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“I know, I know. I just… I don’t get why, you know? According to you I’m incredibly obvious and Izuku already knows they like me, so I don’t understand why he’d go out of his way to make me see Shouto today unless—” Eyes wide, your gaze snaps to Ochako and you gasp, betrayed. “Did you tell him something about the other night?”

She almost chokes on her drink. “No!” she says just a little too loudly, drawing a few curious eyes their way. Ochako flushes and plays with her chopsticks as you continue to stare her down. “Maybe,” she relents, “but not on purpose! Like I told you the other night, Todoroki and Bakugou have been fighting because they’re jealous idiots, and Deku didn’t know what to do, and it just kind of slipped out, I’m sorry!” The apology in her eyes melts into a more curious look. “Anyway, have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

You sigh and shake your head, picking at your food. “Not yet.” Ochako makes a disgruntled sound, and you pout, glaring at her half-heartedly. “In case you don’t remember, I’ve been extremely busy planning a major event with little warning. I barely have time to eat, let alone seduce two men.”

Seducing just one of them seems like a daunting task. Katsuki is the more open flirt between the two of them, but he tends to clam up whenever you even hint at returning that affection, so actively trying anything could send him running. And Shouto can be difficult to pin down, if his open affection earlier today is anything to go by. He’s usually more reserved; the last thing you want is to scare him away.

“Oh, I don’t think you’d have much trouble trying to seduce them.” Across the table, Ochako’s smile becomes sly. “I mean, they’re both pretty blunt, right? So if you just went up and asked if they wanted to have sex they’d probably say yes. You’re just being a chicken!”

“I am not!” you argue, offended. “I just need this gala to be over before I worry about my love life. That’s all.” It’s been your mantra since girl’s night. Just a few more days. Everything will work out.

She snorts. “You keep saying that, but then you go and cuddle up with Todoroki in his office.”

“It wasn’t cuddling,” you correct her not for the first time today. “It was just a hug because we were talking about his dad.” A very long and intense hug that kind of made you want to let him have his way with you right then and there, but still a hug.

Ochako doesn’t look impressed. “Prolonged physical contact counts as cuddling.”

You throw down your chopsticks and cross your arms, leaning back in your chair. “Ugh, why did I call you?” You’re pouting, you know, but it’s hard not to when you can see her blatant amusement over your suffering. Why are all of your friends so mean to you?

She blows you a kiss. “You love me!”

Damn right you do.

Before she can keep heckling you over the complicated situation that is your love life, a familiar, gruff voice shouts, “Oi! Sweetcheeks!” from across the cafe. You stiffen in your seat as heat rushes through you, leaving you feeling uncomfortably hot. You blame it on the eyes that have shifted to look at you and not the disgustingly attractive Pro Hero stomping towards you.

You don’t dare to look at him as he approaches, sure you’ll turn into a stuttering fool if you do. “Katsuki, what have I told you about calling me that in public?” The correct answer is “not to.”

He scoffs, and you finally force yourself to look at him. He’s already glaring down at you. Why? You have no idea, but you match his look, holding his intense ruby gaze with a stare of your own. It’s a challenge. One he usually takes. But you’re surprised when he drops his gaze first and glares at the floor instead. “Whatever,” he grumbles, cheeks a little pink.

You’re a bit put out by the distinct lack of any flirty comments or obvious—according to Mina—bedroom eyes, but before you can ask what’s wrong, someone else cuts in.

“Oh, hey, guys!” 

It’s only then that you realize Kirishima is there too, and you’re only a little embarrassed about that.

But Kiri, bless him, is either entirely oblivious to you not noticing his presence, or just decides to roll with it anyway. He really is too good for the rest of you. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, too!” His smile is wide and toothy as he rubs the back of his head, careful not to dislodge the bandana holding his hair back. “Midoriya suggested we stop by for lunch, what a coincidence, huh? I gotta say, it looks like a nice place. Hopefully we don’t get kicked out because of this guy.” He jerks a thumb in Katsuki’s direction, electing a sour look from the cranky man.

Your eyes widen as Kiri mentions Izuku, and you shoot Ochako a look that she ignores. Kirishima and Ochako begin to chat about the cafe, but you stop listening.

Okay, now you’re almost positive you’re being set up. The cafe isn’t anywhere near their agency, and it’s more than a little suspicious that they just happened to show up while you and Ochako are here. Coincidences, your ass. You should have known better than to trust Ochako. Of course, she and Izuku would be in cahoots. Assholes.

You glare at Ochako one more time before allowing yourself to stare unabashedly at Katsuki instead. He isn’t looking at any of you, instead choosing to glare at something across the cafe and pretend the rest of you don’t exist. You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead using the rare moment to just look at him.

Katsuki is nothing short of eye-candy, though you never really get the chance to appreciate just how damn hot he is without the chance of being teased mercilessly in front of other people. Even now, you can see Ochako biting her lip to keep from laughing at you, but really who can blame you for just wanting to ogle him a little? Katsuki is by far one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen. Years of training and fighting have covered him in lean muscle, and his features have become sharper since you were teenagers.

He’s nothing short of someone’s wet dream, and he damn well knows it, too.

Your eyes drag down his bare biceps slowly, silently thanking whatever gods are out there for his aversion to anything with sleeves. You stare a little longer before your eyes trail back up, lingering a moment on those broad shoulders before moving higher.

Red eyes stare back at you, and you almost choke on your spit.

Katsuki’s eyes narrow.

Like the hero he is, Kiri chooses that exact moment to turn to you in excitement. “Hey, how has the event planning been going?” His interest is nothing but sincere, and you can’t help but smile. “It sucks that we missed you this weekend, but hopefully afterwards you’ll have more free time, yeah? It’s super manly of you to take on all of this by yourself!”

“It’s going well, Kiri. Thanks for—”

“I need to talk to you,” Katsuki cuts you off, scowling. He shoves his hands into his pockets, when you don’t move.

You blink back at him, baffled. “What?” He rolls his eyes at your confusion. “Katsuki, I’m kind of in the middle of—Katsuki!” You call after him, gaping as he just turns around and walks away from you, heading towards the back of the cafe. 

“Hurry up, angel face!” he calls over his shoulder without stopping.

The pet name makes you flush. You glance at your friends, noticing their similarly dumbfounded yet amused expressions. “Ochako?” You aren’t sure if you should apologize or not as you cast another look at Katsuki just in time to see him round a corner.

She waves you off. “Take your time! Have fun!”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you slip out of your chair and hurry after Katsuki. If you take any longer, he’ll probably bitch about it. Though, you are curious about what he wants, especially if he decided it’s something he can’t say in front of Ochako and Kirishima.

A less than PG thought flashes in your mind, but you force it away just as quickly, fighting down a blush.

You turn the same corner that he did, finding yourself in a dim hallway that has you searching for your favorite head of spiky hair. A hand lashes out, grabbing you by the arm. You gasp as you’re suddenly spun around so that your back is pressed flush up against the nearest wall. Just as quickly, a large pair of hands slap against the wallpaper on either side of you, boxing you in.

A pair of red eyes glare down at you, closer than before. Your breath catches, and your hands press against a well-muscled chest automatically. There’s hardly any space left between the two of you, but Katsuki manages to close that short distance even more until your bodies are just barely brushing against each other. It sets your nerves on fire, all of your senses suddenly attune to him.

He speaks before you can ask him what the hell he’s doing. “Damn Deku said you went to see Icy Hot today,” he practically growls against your ear. His breath fans against your cheek and you shudder.

It takes you a second to collect yourself, overwhelmed by the feel of his chest rising and falling beneath your fingertips. “I dropped off a file with Shouto, yes,” your voice trembles a little, but not because of anything like fear. No, you’re just stupid and horny and he’s close enough for you to smell the heavy caramel scent that clings to him because of his quirk.

You were already more riled up than you’d ever dare to admit out loud, and the heat rolling off of his body paired with the way he’s pinning you between his broad chest and the wall is doing things to you.

Whatever you were expecting from him, it certainly wasn’t this.

He huffs. “Figures,” he sneers, lip curling back. His eyes shift from yours to glare at the wall, and without his gaze on you you find you can breathe again. It only makes you more aware of the knee that’s pressed against the outside of your thigh. “Bastard would do it first,” he grumbles under his breath. You wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t pressed up against you like this.

“Excuse me?” Your mouth is dry. Your tongue is thick and heavy. And the heat radiating from him is making you dizzy. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize that, just like Shouto earlier, he’s jealous. Though where it made Shouto pull away from you, it only made Katsuki bolder than usual.

“Ask you to be his date to this stupid fucking thing.” His eyes snap back to yours for just a second before they’re raking down your body just like the other day at the agency. He leans in a little closer. “Ask you to dance.”

How does he know about that? “Katsuki?” 

When you don’t deny it, he makes a low sound in the back of his throat that has heat pooling low in your stomach. Your fingers fist in his tank top. Katsuki’s lips brush against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “Guess, I’ll just have to remind you that I’m better than Icy Hot.”

As turned on as you are right now, the mention of their stupid rivalry makes you want to roll your eyes. 

“Katsuki,” you say again. He’s so close that this time you notice the faintest hitch in his breathing at the way you say his name, sweet as honey. Despite the way your heart is pounding in your chest, you can’t resist the urge to tease him. “If you want me to save you a dance, all you have to do is ask.”

“Tch.” His lips brush against your jaw, barely grazing your skin. “Who’d wanna to dance with you anyway?” Katsuki is slow to lean back again, but only enough to meet your eyes.

You breathe a laugh. “You’re such a grouch.” Tilting your head to the side, you lean in close enough to press a sweet, fleeting kiss against his cheek. Katsuki freezes, sucking in a harsh breath. “I’ll see you Friday?” you ask, sliding your palms down his chest.

He lurches away just as your fingers reach his stomach, edging closer to his belt. “Whatever, sweetcheeks,” he huffs, not meeting your eyes.

Katsuki shoves away from the wall and stomps away without looking back at you once, but you still manage to catch a glimpse of his pink cheeks and the tiny smile he’s trying to hide as he disappears back into the main dining area. He’s flustered, and satisfaction floods through you at the mere thought of leaving him all hot and bothered.

Maybe Ochako was right. This seduction thing might be easier than you thought. 

That night, Katsuki leans back in his chair, nursing a drink and only half-listening to Kirishima telling a story to Kaminari, Jirou, and Mina. He stopped paying attention after his first drink, annoyed at being the fifth wheel among his friends, but he only has himself to blame for it.

He was supposed to meet up with Midoriya and Todoroki tonight to go over a case—the same fucking one they went to talk about last week only for it to turn into an argument. That was his fault too, not that he’ll ever admit it. He shouldn’t have cancelled tonight either, but Icy Hot backed out first, and the last way he wanted to spend his night off was listening to fucking Deku give him relationship advice.

The memory of your lips on his cheek makes his skin itch, and he scowls over the rim of his drink as he thinks about that Icy Hot bastard asking you to save him a dance at the stupid party coming up.

The sound of his name draws him out of his stupor.

“Ugh, finally,” an intoxicated Mina slurs, cuddling up closer against Kirishima’s side. “It’s about time one of them made a move. I thought for sure she’d be the one to do it after what she said on girl’s night, but I’m proud of them for finally doing something about it. Usually Bakugou and Todoroki are more emotionally constipated than that.” Apparently, she doesn’t remember that one of said emotionally constipated men is sitting right across from her. Or maybe she doesn’t care. Mina tends to say whatever the hell she wants when she drinks. No filter at all. Mina heaves an over-dramatic sigh. “If those three would just fuck already.”

Katsuki chokes on his drink. Wild, red eyes lock on Mina across the table. “What the hell are you talkin’ about raccoon eyes?” he finally manages to sputter out.

Kirishima and Kaminari look equally as shocked, and Jirou’s face has gone pale, frozen in horror.

And Mina, with no filter or hesitation, looks Katsuki dead in the eyes and says, “Just how Yuna wants to fuck you and Todoroki.”

“Mina!” Jirou snaps, glaring at her furiously and shaking her head. A silent conversation passes between the girls and then Mina gasps, covering her mouth with her hands when her brain finally catches up with her mouth.

A very tipsy Kaminari glances down at his frazzled girlfriend before he blinks and turns to Mina instead. “Like… at the same time or…?” he trails off.

“Don’t answer that!” Jirou lurches forward and slaps a hand over Mina’s mouth as she starts to answer. Despite being unable to speak, the other girl nods behind Jirou’s hand, happily spilling her friend’s sexual fantasies.

Kaminari’s question is like a punch in the gut to Katsuki, but the wave of interest and arousal that crashes over him is unexpected.

Jirou groans and peels her hand away from Mina’s mouth. “Fuck, she’s gonna kill us later.” She shoots a withering glare at Katsuki. “Look, Bakugou, you can’t tease her about this, okay? She’s stressed enough about liking both of you dumb assholes, and if you make her feel bad for it, I’ll make sure Denki lights your ass up like a Christmas tree.”

“I will?” Kaminari asks. Jirou glares at him too. “I mean, yeah I will!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Katsuki grumbles, staring down at his drink. He’s never been shy about wanting to fuck you, and he’s known for years that Icy Hot wants to fuck you too, but he could never figure out which one of them you wanted to fuck. Apparently, it’s both of them.

He can work with that.

Katsuki waits until the conversation shifts to something else he’s not interested in to pull his phone out of his pocket and find a specific name in his recent texts. He keeps the message short and vague, glancing over it once before hitting send.

‘Yo, Icy Hot. We need to talk.'

[crackedoutgiraffe]

The Stars in Your Eyes

Part 2: Chapter 1 Part 2: Chapter 2 Part 2: Chapter 3 Part 2: Chapter 4 Part 2: Chapter 5

Master-list

A/N: Sorry this took so long to write. I haven’t really been in the right mindset to write this story. Thank you to everyone who comments, votes, and re-blogs! Ask to be added to the taglist.

2/20/2017

Reid was being held in the DC precinct. You spent all the time there that you could. Emily came in one morning to find you asleep on the chairs in the front office. JJ had been bringing him clothes and checking up on Diana. 

Every time you got to see him your heart broke a little more. He kept a smile on his face, but deep down you knew he was hurting. Emily made sure that you were given enough sick time so you didn’t have to leave Spence alone. 

The only day you weren’t with him was Friday. You had scheduled an appointment with your doctor to confirm your pregnancy, and she did. It was official in about 36 weeks you would welcome a brand new baby. 

“Y/N,” Prentiss called, “a really good friend of mine is one of the best defense attorneys in DC, I was hoping it was okay if she represented Reid.”

You rubbed your eyes and yawned, “I’m okay with it, but you have to ask Reid. I don’t want to do anything against his will.”

“I understand,” she sighed. “Do you want to ask him now?”

You checked your watch, it was a little late, but we really needed this lawyer, “I suppose.” You stood from the uncomfortable chair you were sleeping in and went with Emily to his cell. The door creaked open and the two of you entered the cell block. You got to Reid’s cell and saw him sitting up, wrapped in a blanket. 

“Hey,” he yawned. “You should be in the office.” 

“I'm right where I need to be, you nodded. “You ok?” 

“Yeah,” he said with a small smile on his face. “I'm ok. How's my mom doing?”

“She's doing well,” you haad been by to check on her every day for a few minutes. “JJ's been by to visit every day since your arrest. She explained everything to your mom. Cassie's been great. That makes a big difference.”

“I'm such an idiot,” when he hung his head your heart broke.

You wanted nothing more to hold him at this moment, “Don't, Spencer, don't. You were trying to help your mother.”

His eyes were sad, “I fell right into Scratch's trap.” 

“He won't win,” you reached one of your hands through the iron bars. You watched as Spence stood from his bed and walked over to you. 

“He already has,” he said as he interlocked his hand with yours. 

You smiled at his touch, “just the battle, not the war. You didn't do anything wrong.” 

“You and I both know that doesn't matter,” he looked you dead in the eyes. “All that matters is what the prosecutor can prove, and Scratch has stacked the deck against me. Even the FBI's abandoned me.”

“I know,” you brought your hands closer to you. “But we'll keep fighting.” 

“I don't even have a lawyer,” he sighed. 

“About that…” Prentiss interrupted. “I have a friend, Fiona Duncan. I've known her forever. Her father was in the foreign service, and we met in Italy when my mother was chargé d'affaires at the embassy there. After college, she was a Rhodes scholar. You'd like her. Anyway, now she's one of the best defense attorneys in D.C. I would like it if you would let me reach out to her about representing you.”

“Emily, I really, I appreciate it, but you helping me could destroy your reputation at the Bureau,” he turned toward your boss and let go of your hand.

“My battle, my choice,” she shook her head. “Please, let me help you. Tell me I can reach out to my friend.”

“Thank you,” he smiled and returned to you.

“Good,” Emily said. “Spencer, listen to me. We are gonna get you out of here, I promise.”

“Emily, I hate to ask this of you, but can we have a moment alone,” you gave her a warm smile and soft pleading eyes.

She returned your smile, “of course, I’ll be outside.” She started to make her way to the door; you didn’t talk until she had left.

“How stressed out are you?” you turned to Reid.

He furrowed his brow in confusion, “what do you mean?”

“I have some news for you, but if it’s going to cause you more stress, I won’t tell you.”

He brought your hand to his mouth and placed a soft kiss on the back of it, “whatever you have to tell me I can handle it.”

“I’m pregnant,” you blurted out. You watched as the words registered in his head. He let go of your hand. “Spencer?”

“Actually?” he asked.

You smiled, “actually.”

The mortified look on his face turned to a smile as he reached both his arms through the bars and wrapped you in a hug, “I’m going to be a dad!”

“Please keep your voice down, I haven’t told anyone else,” you sighed into whatever part of him you could.

“How far along are you?” he whispered, letting you out of the hug.

You smiled, “about four weeks.”

You watched as he dropped to his knees and put a hand on your stomach, “Hi there baby, I’m your dad.”

“And you’re going to be out in time to meet him or her,” you smiled at the love of your life kneeling on the floor. “I should let you get some sleep,” you sighed as he stood back up. He gave you a quick kiss and went to lay back on his bed. You walked toward the doors and waited for them to open. 

When you arrived back in the waiting room, you saw Emily sitting in a chair on the phone. It was implied that she was on the phone with her lawyer friend, so you decided to get some sleep at home. 

***

You woke up to a call from Emily saying that she was ready to meet with Reid. You quickly got dressed and made your way to the DC precinct. You found Emily and Fiona Duncan standing by the doors. 

“You must be Fiona Duncan,” you extended your gith hand.

She reciprocated your handshake and smiled, “that’s me.”

“I’m Y/N. Thank you for defending my husband,” you smiled as the three of you walked into the precinct. You three walked to the interview room and talked for a minute before the officer brought Reid in.

“Spencer, hello,” she extended her hand for a handshake.

“Hi,” he gave her a small wave instead of a handshake. 

“Fiona Duncan. Emily speaks very highly of you.” 

“You, too,” Reid smiled. “It's nice to meet you.”

“I'm sorry to be meeting under these circumstances,” Fiona frowned. “Emily, Y/N,  this is an attorney-client meeting. We'll need privacy.”

“Yes, of course,” you smiled.

“Are you ok?” you asked Reid before leaving. He gave you his answer with a kiss on the cheek. “All right. Bye.” The two of you were escorted back to the front desk by one of the officers. The only way you could think to pass the time was to tap your foot and pace the floor. Surely Emily was annoyed with you by now. Within an hour Fione came out of the shadows on a phone call. 

“Alright, thank you,” Fiona’s heels clicked against the floor as she walked back. “That was the AUSA they want to make a deal.” The three of you made your way to Reid in silence. 

“The AUSA has offered you a deal,” as Fiona delivered the news you watched as Reid’s face light up. “They want you to plead guilty.”

“They want me to plead guilty?” he repeated.

“To involuntary manslaughter,” Fiona sighed. “The offer’s for 2 to 5 years.”

Reid sighed, “2 to 5 years.”

“That's a lot of time,” you frowned. You tried to give him a look that said ‘hey i want you there to meet our child,’ but didn’t know if he understood. 

“I understand,” Fiona nodded. “But it's all about perspective. It's a lot more than nothing, but a lot less than 25 to life, which is what you'd be facing if convicted.”

He turned to you, “do you think I should take it?” 

“I think, given what's at stake, you owe it to yourself to carefully consider it,” you said.

“I don't think I can lie and say that I did this,” Spence hung his head. Your first reaction was to start rubbing his back. “Is that foolish?”

“No,” Fiona shook her head. “No, of course not. I don't want to see you plead guilty to a crime you didn't commit.”

“Or maybe I should cut my losses,” he looked at you. Seeming him so upset broke your heart. 

“Well, the offer is so low, is that a good sign?”Emily asked. “Does it mean that the government thinks they've got a weak case?” 

Fiona nodded, “possibly.” 

“So that's good,” you smiled. 

“Well, not necessarily,” Fiona said with a frown on her face. “It could also mean they're trying to clear the case quickly with minimal publicity. I honestly don't know what it means. And I'm not in the business of second-guessing good offers. Which this is. But I'm also not the one who will be doing time.” 

“What would you do in my shoes?” Spence raised his head and looked at Emily.

“I'm not in your shoes,” Emily shook her head. “It's a decision only you can make. Whatever you decide, I'm always in your corner.” 

We all are.

“Spencer, if you want to fight this to the end, I promise you I will bring everything in my arsenal to the battle,” the fact that Fiona was willing to fight for Spencer made you much happier. “But what I can't promise you is a better outcome than the one they're offering you today.”

Spence looked down at you. You could see the gears turning in his head, “I want to fight.”

You cleared your throat, “Fiona, can I talk to you in private for a moment?”

“Of course,” she nodded. The two of you left Prentiss and Reid alone to talk for a moment.

“I wanted to let you know that Reid and I are expecting a baby,” you fiddled with your hands and waited for her to respond.

“Y/N,” she sighed, “I am going to fight for him. I will give my all to clear his name.” 

You met her eye-line and wrapped her in a hug, “thank you.”

***

You received a call on the day of Spencer’s arraignment that they had found the knife. Emily told you that they had offered a new deal of 5 to 10 years, but Spencer declined. You grabbed your keys and made your way to the courthouse. 

When you entered you found Emily pacing the halls, “thank goodness you’re here,” she called when she saw you.

“Of course,” you wrapped her in a quick hug. “He’s still declining the offer?”

She nodded, “according to Fiona, yes.”

“That means we have to fight like hell,” you said as the rest of the team made their way to you. “I'm so glad you made it in time for the arraignment.”

“What did the kid decide about a plea?” Rossi asked. 

“I don't know,” Emily shook her head. “I'm not sure he does.”

“I can't stand the thought of him being in prison,” Garcia said.

Emily shrugged her shoulders, “but 5 years is a lot less time than 25.”

“He must be agonizing over this decision,” you sighed. 

“Well, whatever he decides, he has our full support,” Luke smiled.

“He knows that,” Emily placed a hand on you back. “It means a lot to him.” 

“We have to prove that Scratch did this,” Walked sighed.

Emily nodded, “we'll get him.” 

“They're calling his case,” you heard Fiona call from behind you. The eight of you made your way into the courtroom. You sat in the front next to Penelope. 

“Case number 149-CR 0308, the U.S. versus Reid,” the bailiff announced.

“Ms. Duncan,” the judge started, “your client is an FBI agent, correct?”

Fiona stood from her seat, “that's right, your honor.”

“You're charged with murder, which is a very serious matter,” the judge addressed Reid directly. 

He too stood from his seat, “yes, your honor.” 

“All right, Ms. Duncan, does your client wish to enter a plea at this time?” 

“He does,” she nods. 

“And how do you plead, agent Reid?” the judge asked. 

“Not guilty,” he announces. 

“Thank God,” Garcia whispered. 

“And as to bail?” the judge turns to face the other lawyer. 

He stands from his seat and adjusts his suit jacket, “the people oppose bail and request remand, your honor.” The court was filled with various sounds. You almost had a heart attack there in your seat.

“Your honor, my client presents no risk of flight,” Fiona was trying her best to defend Reid.

“That's ridiculous,” the AUSA lawyer shouted. “The defendant was arrested after fleeing the murder scene in Mexico.” 

“Those were extenuating circumstances,” Fiona sighed. “He'd been drugged against his will.”

“By failing to notify the FBI of his international travel, the defendant violated the Bureau protocol,” the AUSA lawyer’s voice was becoming very hostile. 

“My client presents no flight risk,” Fiona started. “He has deep ties in this community. His mother suffers from Alzheimer's disease and schizophrenia and lives with him. He is solely responsible for her well-being. Additionally, he's been a decorated SSA with the FBI's behavioral analysis unit for over a decade. 

“And as an FBI agent, he has contacts all over the world,” the lawyer seemed to be fed up with Fiona’s argument.

“Agent Reid would be willing to turn over both his personal and government-issued passports,” she continued.

“If he wanted a counterfeit passport, he could easily get one,” the other lawyer argued. 

“He has no criminal history,” Fiona rebutted. 

“The defendant is uniquely situated to evade law enforcement should he flee the jurisdiction.” 

She turned to face the judge, “your honor, he wants to stay here and clear his good name.”

“He should have thought about his good name before sneaking across the border,” the lawyer quipped.

“I'm prepared to present multiple law enforcement character witnesses on his behalf right now,” you listened as everyone behind you shifted in their seats. “The witnesses are here in the courtroom, all highly respected FBI agents.”

“Simmer down, Ms. Duncan,” you could hear the bitterness in the judge’s voice. “It's almost 6:00 and I'm not inclined to hear from character witnesses. Actions speak louder than words, I always say.”

“We'd be willing to abide by a curfew and strict monitoring of his whereabouts at all times,” she offered.

“Too little too late, counselor,” she sighed.

“Your honor his wife is pregnant,” Fiona finished. You saw Reid look at her and then you. You could feel the eyes of everyone in the courtroom on your back. They felt like hot knives.

“If past behavior is the best indicator of future conduct, and I do believe it is, then your client presents a flight risk. Bail is denied. The defendant will be remanded to federal custody pending trial.” You jumped at the sound of the judge’s gavel. Spencer looked back at you before he was dragged away. The panic in his eyes was enough to make your already broken heart shatter.

You stood from your seat and leaned closer to Fiona, “how long before his case goes to trial?”

“It's a complicated case. 3 months,” she shook her head before turning to face Spencer who was being dragged away in handcuffs. “Spencer, I'm sorry. I will come and see you as soon as I can.”

The rest of the night you refused to talk to anyone. The team tried to comfort you, but nothing worked. You cried yourself to sleep that night and every night after for a week.

Taglist:

@la-vie-en-amour1 @vixengustin88

[rikkie-jpg]

I was walking by the beach and saw Rhiannon "Rikkie" Marx! I wonder what they’re doing here all by themselves. they’re apparently creative and driven, but also flighty and a perfectionist. When I think of them, I think of menthol cigarettes, black coffee, and bruised knuckles. Well, I hope to run into them in the future! (24, cisfemale, she/her)

she/her. lesbian. 23. ☼ aries. ☽ saggitarius. ⬀ gemini.

tw: eating disorders, depression, death, homophobia (slight)

rikkie doesn’t really like to remember just how she got here. she doesn’t like to remember the blowout fights with her parents, the stress and support of therapy programs, or the way her shaking hands once did up her school uniform, only to find stability behind the camera. but for the sake of reminding herself that she's not a cloud of smoke who doesn’t exist on this plane sometimes she has to think about it.

the chaos of her upbringing didn’t start at the beginning. when she and her brother were born, they were received by a loving home in the valentine cottages, to two exceptional parents. johnathan marx and mackenzie ess did their best for a long time. they covered the fighting, they put their kids first, they focused on the security of their family. but that facade could only last so long. it wasn’t until the was 12 that she felt that shift. her father moved back to his home town of paterson, nj, while her mother maintained the home and shop in cornell beach. she and her family left, while her mother stayed behind. back in those days, rikkie feared that her mother simply hadn’t tried, hadn’t fought for them to be together, but that wasn’t entirely true. now, as an adult, she had a better understanding of the break down of her family. even though her summers were spent in cornell, it was clear that the longer she left, the more she didn’t want to come back.

the next upheaval was when rikkie was 15. mackenzie got sick, so rikkie and her brother moved back to cornell beach and spent their summers in paterson. johnathan marx was nothing if not loyal, and he had raised his children to be exactly the same way. there were no other options, other than to go back. she wouldn’t be able to handle it if she did. but rikkie has always run like a wind up toy, and the gears were starting to slow down. she wasn’t going to be able to keep going the way she was. the hole that had always been in her chest, that had opened even wider when her family split was starting to get bigger. watching her mom suffer was hard, taking care of her was harder, and no one noticed that she was starting to lose herself in her own mind. food, calories, and exercise consumed all of her free time. she had nothing else to do to cope. she didn’t know where she was going, what she was doing, and no one seemed to notice it anyways. so she found herself on her knees in front of the toilet, praying to a god she didn’t believe in and purging herself of the chaos in her mind, and whatever transgressions she had committed to deserve this fate.

seventeen was a worse year than any had been before it. sweet seventeen was rock bottom for rikkie. her mom’s cancer became metastatic, and within six months, she was gone. her last breath like a whisper of love and light, and somehow the darkness encroached from there, consuming rikkie. destroying her from the inside out. she went back to new jersey, a ghost of her former self, and finally someone noticed her. noticed the way she had wasted away, the way she seemed to suffer. that was the first time she was sent away, truly on her own. residential inpatient program. those three words still make the hair on the back of her neck stand up. it was two days after her eighteenth birthday when her father had the intervention, just short of two months after her mother’s death. she went, she did her best, she really tried to get better. but she wasn’t ready. she couldn’t have been, or at least that’s what she tells herself. because just a year later, it felt like dejà vu all over again. another intervention, another inpatient to php to iop style program, another year lost to losing her mind. another prescription to lexapro; god, it all felt so repetitive. when she finally had the all clear to leave, she did the only thing she knew how to do. she returned to cornell beach, the town she had left behind without so much as a backwards glance, five years prior. she and her brother moved back into her mother’s old home, craving a slower pace to life than what she had back in new jersey. she converted her mom’s old office into a small music studio, a haven in the home she once knew, and hopefully, she can make this work out. but who knows? maybe she’ll just pick up and disappear again.

that wasn't to say her personal relationships didn't feel the wrath of her disappearing act. she had ghosted her former girlfriend (accidentally, but she won't admit it) during an intervention gone wrong. her father confiscated her phone, and it wasn't returned to her until it felt too late to say anything. so instead, she let her believe that she was just done, let her believe she had no explanation for her disappearing act. because rikkie wouldn't be caught dead telling her republican, fire-fighting father about who or how she loved, and she wouldn't talk about her slow descent into madness either. so she let it simmer, because what was the worst that could happen?

chaos bullet points about rikkie

don’t get her started on bagels or pizza

doesn’t like to talk money bc she doesn’t know what to do with it

mom’s from cornell beach, dad is from paterson

kind of a callous bitch. always short, keeps ppl at arms length

doesn’t do vulnerable bc she’s got a ton of issues

literally loves music too much for her own good

bumps so hard to brand new it should be a crime

favorite color is pale yellow

so gay but has no game. literally drools over pretty girls & can’t think

absolute klutz

dumb as fuck when she drinks. climbs on laundry machines, disappears on adventures, will talk in ad nauseam about vines

loves weird jokes. will laugh at literally anything

she ghosted literally everyone after her mom died & just didn't come back one summer because of program

she likes to sing n dance n play guitar bc when ur in program u have a lot of time to master ur amateur guitar skills

[prettywordsyouleft]

The Spirit(s) of Christmas - Part 5 (Final)

Summary: It was your first Christmas at the Seaside Manor since you had inherited it. Whilst you were ready for some Christmas spirit, the ghosts haunting it weren’t as willing to celebrate.

Pairing: reader x Day6 (ft. previous OCs)

World: Spiritual Connection (masterlist HERE)

Genre: ghost au / romance / fluff / minor angst

Warnings: you still might need tissues!  

A/N: Welcome back to the Seaside Manor! I knew we couldn’t just leave the ghosts to celebrate by themselves - which apparently, they aren’t so keen to do anyway! So we had to return and see if we could bring in some festive cheer!

This story is part of a previously written world. It may make some sense, but to understand all the characters, I highly recommend reading all the previous parts and spinoffs in the masterlist first before reading this series! They can be found in the link above.

The Spirit(s) of Christmas will be shared daily at 10am from 2 December NZST.

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

“Grandma?!” you squeaked, though she looked nothing like the old and wrinkled version you were used to. And whilst you had seen the multitude photos of your grandmother throughout her life, you still couldn’t believe the beautiful woman standing before you all was the same one you had treasured the most in this world.

“Jesus Christ, Pearl,” Sungjin breathed, moving forward so fast that you almost fell over with the wind that followed him. He hugged her tightly, and the woman within the embrace giggled delightfully.

“What did you expect? How dare you try and have such a party without me invited?! Didn’t any of you think to come knock on heaven’s door and get me down here sooner?”

“But how, I mean I thought we could never see you again?” you breathed, fanning your hands in front of your face to stem the flow of your tears. You had worked too hard on this look to cry. Although at the same time, this was the Christmas gift you had been hoping for.

Perhaps, she had heard your pleas all along.

“Well, I’m not able to stay for long. And I’m being kind of irresponsible by being here. Especially when I told someone I wouldn’t see him until he’s done what I’ve asked of him.” Your grandmother looked to her lover that barely had moved enough for you to hug her. Sungjin merely shrugged, his smile inerasable. “But I had to make the exception for this. One of my babies is getting married!”

“Might I remind you, I’m older than you, Pearl,” Jae replied coming forward to hug the woman. And then he grinned. “But I’d love it if you did us the honour. If there’s anyone who can talk better than me…”

“I knew you’d need me,” Pearl agreed with a laugh, gesturing for you to go off and get the bride.

You were still amazed when you walked into the bathroom, barely finding the words to explain who was here. Sarah was confused when she saw someone who looked potentially younger than herself standing at the front though it was short-lived as you got immersed in the ceremony.

It was an overwhelming experience. You watched as Becky and Jae both made their way through their vows, Becky with tears and Jae with fumbled words. You looked at your grandmother, seeing so much of yourself in her. She was of course, far more confident than you were and with the way Sungjin watched her every move, you could tell their love travelled to each other no matter where they were.

You saw Sarah grow emotional just as much as Wonpil did, reaching out to hold his arm during the vows excitedly. Wonpil’s smile grew so big; you were sure he would outshine the Christmas tree’s star behind him.

And then you felt Brian’s hand slip into yours. Looking up at him, your heart skipped a beat as your lips moved into a smile, his thumb running gentle circles over your skin. You didn’t need any words from him; the emotional look in his eyes said it all.

This Christmas you had achieved what you set out to do. You wanted to see them all smiling like this, the festive air bringing joy to everyone. There was no doubt in your mind that this year was your favourite one you had ever celebrated.

“You may now kiss your bride!” Pearl sang out and Jae grabbed a hold of Becky and spun her to the side, kissing her as you all cheered loudly. You laughed when you saw Sarah lean over and peck Wonpil on the cheek, unable to control her romantic notions any longer.

After the ceremony ended, you all piled into the dining room where it felt so normal to hear playful banter between the bride and groom already and Pearl’s complaints for Sungjin since she had been gone. Wonpil and Sarah had found themselves a corner to talk within and Dowoon was happily handing out peppermint hot cocoa to everyone and playing with Custard as well. The night wore on with tales of old and new, and you had put yourself firmly between Pearl and Brian, lapping up both of their constant affection the entire time.

Your heart had never been so full.

Still, Christmas had yet to arrive and when it did, you knew at least one person wouldn’t be there when you woke up. “Can’t you stay any longer?”

“Afraid not, poppet.” Pearl affectionately cupped your face, kissing both of your cheeks softly. “The big man upstairs might get angry.”

“But!”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and cross paths again in this lifetime, never say never.”

You nodded, hugging her tightly. “I’ll take care of Sungjin, don’t worry.”

“Isn’t that my line?” the man chuckled from behind you both and Pearl’s eyes lit up seeing him. You didn’t envy their love; instead you were deeply enchanted by it. You had never seen two people look at each other like that before.

Except when Brian did it to you in his own way.

“I’m stealing your Grandmother, Y/N. Sorry, but she left me far too quickly last time.”

“What nonsense, it was you who took too long to come to me.”

You smiled as you watched them move off to her bedroom, the door clicking shut behind them.

“Everyone’s about to be tucked up in bed,” Brian announced as he moved in behind you, hugging you to him. “Jae and Becky have retired the master suite of the manor, Dowoon is cuddled up by the fire with Custard and I’m pretty sure Wonpil is in with Sarah right now. And he had the audacity to screech when he found us back then.”

Shuffling around in his embrace, you smirked. “Granted, they all found us behind a curtain kissing.”

“You’re right; it was a bit odd of us.”

“Where should we kiss tonight?” you wondered and Brian stepped back, taking your hand in his and slowly walked to your bedroom. You giggled when he grew impatient, dragging you inside before picking you up and laying you down on your bed, littering you in kisses.

Rolling over in your bed as the early morning light shone against your eyes, you groaned before opening your eyes.

It was Christmas morning.

Glancing towards the still slumbering man beside you, you took Brian in slowly. He had always been handsome to you but in this light, you wondered if the reason he was yours was because he was dead. You didn’t want to dismiss anything about him, but had he been living and breathing right now, you were certain your luck wouldn’t have brought you both together.

He was too good to be true and the only way your brain could fathom what you had was because of your unique situation.

“Even if I was born in your generation, I would only want you,” he mumbled softly, his eyes still shut. You flinched at his sudden statement, gasping when you realised he had somehow figured out how to read your thoughts. He whined when you pushed him gently. “It’s Christmas morning, don’t be rough.”

“Get out of my head then! I can’t believe you can do that!”

“It’s not all the time. Just moments like this. It’s like you’re shouting it at me, needing my reassurance.” Finally, his eyes opened and a lazy smile crossed his face. “I need reminding too you know. Quite often I worry I’m keeping you from a normal life.”

“A normal life? What’s not normal about all this?” you wondered airily as his arms slipped around you, pulling you in closer. You brushed his bed hair away from his face. “The only thing that’s not normal is how good looking you are. It’s a crime.”

“Is that so?” he breathed, a husky chuckle leaving him and making your insides turn to mush. “I guess it’s your job to punish me then, right?”

“Hm, I don’t know if I should.”

“Then I’ll keep committing more crimes with this handsome face,” he stated, leaning in closer. “Like this.”

It was safe to say, you would never get sick of Brian’s kisses. There was a heightened experience to each one, as if his emotions were supercharged and the energy crossed over when his lips connected with yours. It was like riding a wave of pure ecstasy, rolling along with the highs and lows until you became breathless.

It was always you that pulled away first and you disliked it greatly.

Brian grinned as he watched you recover. “I don’t need to breathe like you do, remember.”

“Still, it makes me feel like it’s you who can’t get enough of me when it’s really the opposite.”

“Nuh-uh. I’m the one who never wants them to end.”

“Well, I guess that’s your gift to me today, right?”

“There’s a few things under the tree that I made for you.”

“Really?” You went to move out from under the blankets but Brian’s arms tightened around you quickly. You whined loudly. “Brian!”

“Not yet. Let’s just lie here for a bit longer. Soon everyone will be up and it’ll be as busy as it has been all season long. I feel like I only get fleeting moments with you.”

You smiled, nestling into his embrace again. As you thought over everything you had done recently, you realised he was right. You had focused on bringing a miracle to each of your friends that not once had you stopped to think of what to give him. He always rolled with whatever you did that it was easy to sometimes overlook if his needs were being met.

You glanced up at Brian guiltily and he pecked your lips. “You forgot someone else as well whilst on your mission for festive joy.”

“Who?”

He bumped you playfully with his nose, giving you an Eskimo kiss before shifting back a little. “You. Everyone was looked after by you but you never stopped to think what you needed this Christmas, Y/N.”

“Well, I didn’t need anything but everyone to be happy! Becky and Jae got married finally, Dowoon is smitten with Custard and Wonpil finally got to show himself to Sarah. My Grandmother surprised us all with her visit and Sungjin’s going to be beaming for months on end, I’m certain of it. Everyone is happy. Are you happy?”

“Of course, I got the greatest gift earlier in the year when we started dating.”

“And that’s enough?”

Brian thought for a moment, a cheeky smile crossing his lips. “Well, I mean we can always keep improving on what we have right?”

“Why are you so impatient? You’ve existed forever.”

“It was a long time without you, you know.”

“Well I don’t plan on going anywhere, I’m stubborn like Pearl.”

Brian chuckled heartily. “That I definitely believe in.”

“It’s up to you if you’re going to let me go because I’m content being stuck with you,” you told him, wrapping your legs around him for extra effort.

“I don’t think I could even if I tried.”

“Well then, what’s the rush?” you asked and Brian sized your lips up again, pulling the blankets up with him. You giggled and moved into his desires, cupping his face gently. “Then again, maybe I like where this is heading.”

After spending as long as you could in bed before you heard voices yelling out to one another about opening presents, you went out to see your friends all gathered in the living room. When you took over your grandmother’s manor, you would have never expected life to be quite like this. And when you had suggested you all celebrated Christmas together, well, you weren’t sure you’d make it to this point. There were no downcast expressions today.

Instead, the spirits of Christmas were definitely here. You couldn’t wait to welcome in the New Year with them all either.

_________________

Thank you for supporting this series. We maybe venturing back to the manor house for Valentines 2020! 

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

[DAY6 Masterlist] | [Christmas 2019 Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]

[iwillbeinmynest]

Hold On Loosely - Biker!Steve x Reader (f)    Chapter 5

Authors Notes:  If you’d like to be tagged please send me an ask. I keep better track of tags that way.

Word Count: 1.5k

Special Thanks: Here’s to @itsanerdlife for fueling my Biker obsession and being my Beta for this whole thing. To my girl over at @girl-next-door-writes who also beta’ed for me. And an extra shout out to @bettercallsabs for this beautiful graphic. She is amazing and y’all need to check her out!!

Notes/Warnings: (My notes and warnings are for the story as a whole. Some notes and Warnings will not apply to every chapter.) smoking (I do not support smoking. keep your lungs clean y’all.) drinking, (be of age, don’t be stupid) minor violence, backstabbing, attempted murder, anxiety, stress, mentions of death, car accident, trauma, …I think that’s it. let me know if I’ve missed something.

Master List

Chapter 5

Somehow, over several hours of debating, Y/N had managed to get Nat on board with her going home. It came with strings attached, though. For the first few nights there would be someone to stay with her, in case whoever hit the house came back.

 “Nat, that really isn’t necessary.” Y/N tried to reason. “It was a crime of opportunity. I was gone too long. I’m sure that’s all.”

 “That’s not how we see things. Everything happens for a reason. I’m sending boys to watch you.” Nats arms were crossed tightly over her chest as she leaned back  in her leather office chair, daring Y/N to keep arguing. This was the office that the club used for Church, where they met and discussed matters of the club.  Bucky, Steve, Sam, Clint and Wanda sat in too.

 “To be honest, I’m not really comfortable with that, Nat. I’ve only met a few of you and I don’t want men I don’t know in the house with me.”

 “You think my boys are going to try something?” Bucky’s eyebrows shot up like he was on the brink of being offended.

 “No,” Y/N answered quickly. “It’s not that. I just… I haven’t...There hasn’t been another guy at that house overnight since Danny.” She’d rushed the words out, obviously embarrassed. 

 Nat straightened. Now she understood. “Look, Y/N, it doesn’t take much to become family around here and there are some of us,” she looked up at Steve, who sat to Y/N’s right, “Who think that you should be a part of this one.”

 “But you told me that to be a part of the family you gotta marry in.” Y/N was confused. She’d only known them for a few days and they already wanted her to stay?

 “There can be exceptions.” Bucky clarified.

 “Why are you doing this for me?” Y/N asked.

 “Because,” Nat glanced back at Steve, who’s expression was a stoic plea for discretion. “I like you, Wanda likes you and...you need people who care about you. People who would do anything for you the second you need it. People who don’t abandon you at parties.” Nat smirked at the last part and waited for Y/N’s reaction.

 She rolled her eyes. “Enough about Mandie already. I get it, she’s awful.” She chuckled.

 “It’s just for a few nights,” Wanda added in comfort. “It will send a message that you’re with us and not to be messed with. Then you can go about things as usual. Except on Monday nights, Monday nights you’re with me and Nat for girls night.” She smiled.

 “I’ll have Steve stay with you for the week.” Bucky said.

 Steve, Nat and Y/N looked at Bucky with wide eyes. 

 “He’s someone you know and I trust him. Plus he’s our top in security, He’ll know what to look for and teach you how to make sure you’re safe.” Bucky explained, although Steve and Nat guessed his ulterior motives.

 Y/N took a moment before saying, “Yeah, okay.” She could see she wasn’t going to get out having someone there so she’d rather just end the debate.

 “Good, It’s settled.” Nat clapped her hands and stood from the table. “You and Steve can ride over and I’ll send your stuff with Sam later.”

 Y/N shook her head and looked to Wanda with wide eyes. “What just happened?” She whispered.

 “Hey, You got at least half of what you wanted. I’ve seen her stonewall men two times the size of Bucky. You should count your blessings, sugar.” Wanda winked.

*********

 Steve held out a helmet to Y/N, “Ready?” 

 She took it with a shake of her head. “Why can’t we take the bronco again?” 

 Steve swung a leg over and got onto his bike The cherry red paint glimmering in the early afternoon sun.”Because Clint needs it to pick up supplies for the kitchen.”

 “Then why are we going to my house so early?” She sat on the back behind him then scooted closer.

 “You ask too many questions.”

  Y/N couldn’t see his face to know if he was serious or not but she kept quiet anyways. She wrapped her arms around his stomach and she felt his rough hands move them up to his chest. He cranked the bike and took off before Y/N had time to brace herself.

  A few stop lights in, Steve pried her hands apart, placing each one to wrap under his arms and hold his shoulders. “Still got that python grip, huh?” He shouted over the bikes engine.

 “Sorry. It just feels like you’re going really fast.”

 “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Promise.”

 There was something in his voice that helped calm her. Sure, she was still nervous on the bike but she wasn’t nervous because of him. 

 It wasn’t until they past the street towards her house that she realized he had a different plan for them. But when he pulled up to Jacques’ Place, she was truly surprised.

 “What are we doing here?” She asked as she took off her helmet. It was a kind of expensive restaurant and neither of them were dressed for it.

 Steve twisted on the bike to grin at her. “Oh, we aren’t.” He stepped off the bike and held out her hand. “Our reservation isn’t until five-thirty. But we’re going next door to buy you something.”

 “I told you I don’t want Nat buying me any-”

 “It’s not from Nat,” He turned before he could blush in front of her. “I’m buying. Just come on.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him. 

 “Steve,” She started to tug back but his grip got stronger so she kept walking. “I don’t want you spending on me, I really appreciate the-”

 Steve turned short on her. “Y/N, please. Let me do this one thing. It doesn’t have to be expensive, promise.”

 Steves expression was the softest she’d ever seen on a man like him. His hand went from gripping around her wrist to weaving between her fingers. She nodded and he smiled slightly.

  “I know we haven’t known each other long so I hope you don’t you don’t think I’m being weird but, Wanda said I should take you shopping because ‘Girls like that’.” He shrugged.

 Y/N didn’t respond, she was too focused on her hand in his. On the one hand she wanted to pull away, only Danny’d ever held her hand like that but, then again, Danny was gone and she was starting to have feelings for Steve. She was so torn and she didn’t know what to do.

 Steve held the door and she stepped inside the local boutique.

 Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “You can pick whatever you like, I guess.” 

 He released her hand and she began to wander around the little shop. It wasn’t long before she stopped in front of the jewelry counter. She fiddled with a few pieces but kept coming back to a simple silver bracelet with a red motorcycle charm.

  “You’ve got good taste.” He smirked as he leaned back on the counter beside her. “You want it?”

  She tilted her head, “No, it’s thirty-two dollars. Kinda seems ridiculous for one charm.”

  “But you like it.”

  “Yeah but-”

  “We’ll take this one.” He waved over an employee. 

 The clerk came over and Steve gave her the price tag. He gently lifted Y/N’s hand until it rested on his chest and he put the bracelet on for her.

 Steve grinned down at Y/N and she couldn’t fight the spread of the smile on her lips.

  “You’re a pain.” She smirked.

 “But you still like me.” He leaned in to tease her and she’d accidentally done the same. They both stopped before their faces could collide but it didn’t stop the brushing of noses.  Y/N flushed red and Steve jerked back.

 “I’m sorry.” Steve said and made his way to the checkout counter where the bracelet was waiting with the clerk. He quickly paid and waved Y/N over.

 He didn’t look at her as he held the door open so, she just walked on past him and towards the bike. She was on the fence before but, almost kissing Steve, or whatever that was, confirmed one thing. She didn’t feel guilty about moving on.

 Steve however was kicking himself. He was getting too comfortable with her. She was committed to Danny and he was just setting himself up for disappointment. He groaned internally when he remembered the dinner reservations Nat had made for them. Why’d she have to pick a place that was the town’s romantic staple? If Y/N gets the wrong idea she might pull away from him and he didn’t want that. 

 He was just getting used to the idea of having her around, he didn’t want to push her away because he couldn’t control his feelings.

********

Forever Tags:

@heismyhunter @sgtbxckybxrnes @pickledmoon @whimsicalrebirth @marvel-lucy@thisisthelilith @james-bionic-barnes @thedreamingowl@poemwriter98@kimistry27 @annie-lujan @buckyandsebsinbin @lilasiannerd@gypsy-storm-15 @cassiopeiassky @earinafae @the-stuttering-kiwi@obsessedwithatwell @shortiiqt16 @shifutheshihtzu @elaacreditava @nikkitia7@theonewithallthemilkshakes @gallifreyansass @storytellingwanderer@palaiasaurus64 @iamwarrenspeace @engineeringgirlcve @magnolia-wanders@carameldaemoncakes @canumoveyourseatup-no @melconnor2007 @movingonto-betterthings @spideytrxsh @fantasticmiraclehologram @kapolisradomthoughts@iamwarrenspeace @melconnor2007 @yesiamdeliciouslycaffeinated @mcu-avengerrs @archy3001@mmauricee @barnesvogue @feelmyroarrrr @beyondbarnes@marvelous-avengers @veronicalei @cornflax01 @kudosia@witchymarvelspacecase@beccaanne814 @inumorph @thisismysecrethappyplace@artemis521@darkhologramblaze @palaiasaurus64 @awkwardfangirl2014@diinofayce @youclickedthislink

HOL Tags:

@jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​ @kaylaphantomhive​ @patzammit​ @queenkrissy11​@a-distantdreamer​ @patodoto​ @marvelous-capsicle​ @marvelfansince08love​ @lakamaa12 @mizzzpink @southernsassiprincess @teller258316

[mutantdios]

* an in-depth look into guzmán.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Andreas Guzmán. Andreas is greek, meaning “strong, manly” whereas Guzmán is a castilian surname referring to a village in the region. It has no other meaning, although some sources claim it means “Good man”, referring the Visigoth words Gus man. Moreover, there’s the comparison to the Jewish surname Gusman, which is an occupational name for a metal worker.  As a whole, the name “Andreas Guzmán” can be taken to mean: strong and brave good man.  Pronunciation: An-drAE-as Gooz-mAAn. Strictly a Spanish pronunciation. Nickname(s): Call him Guzmán in general, if you’re unsure. X if you’re sure. Guz if you’re close, but you might get stabbed anyways. He does not accept being called by his first name -- he will ignore or correct you at best, get violent at worst. And he certainly does not tolerate nicknames surrounding his first name. Birthdate: August 20 Age: 39 Zodiac: Leo -- This fixed sign is known for its ambition and determination, but above all, Leos are celebrated for their remarkable bravery. In tarot, Leo is represented by the “strength” card, which depicts the divine expression of physical, mental, and emotional fortitude. Fearless optimists who refuse to accept failure, Leos will find their deep wells of courage grow as they mature. Gender: Cis man Pronouns: He + him. Romantic orientation: Grey-Biromantic -- it is a topic of dispute whether Guzmán is capable of romantic fixation, or feelings at all for that matter. The current stance is that he is, but it requires a lot of work and it does not happen with just anyone.  More over sometimes he can be described as romance-repulsed, since he actively does not pursue romantic relationships and views them as weaknesses that can be exploited. He would know this, since he often exploits it in others. Sexual orientation: Bisexual -- he has no strict preference toward any gender, but he has been with people of all genders. Nationality: N/A -- Guzman will claim to either be American, Venezuelan or Chilean. Ethnicity: Chilean. Current location: Wynwood, Miami. Living conditions: He lives in an apartment building that he owns and rents (sometimes entirely for free) out to other mutants of low income. His own living quarters are big and comfortable and clean, almost sterile in presentation -- 3 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms, a spacious kitchen and livingroom, a study. He has a second safehouse at an undisclosed location in the city.

BACKGROUND NOTES

Birthplace: N/A. Hometown: N/A. Social Class: he certainly doesn’t file taxes for how much money he has, but he has the finances of the upper middle class and acts as though he is lower middle class. Educational achievements: N/A -- at best, he has a Ph. D in mathematics. At worst, he’s a high school dropout. Father: Edgardo Guzmán -- deceased. Mother: Rosario Guzmán -- deceased. Sibling(s): Alondra Guzmán -- deceased. Birth order: First born. Pets: He has a penchant for feeding strays, but does not commit to pets. Previous relationships: this he prefers not to disclose. Arrests: his rap sheet is spotless, to the point that it feels like it’s been wiped clean, without so much as a parking ticket. Prison time: None on record, but on his own account, Guzmán will occasionally recall that he was in a Brazilian max-sec prison between ages 27-29 for murder of six police men, after which he proceeded to escape.

OCCUPATION & INCOME

Current occupation: he’s a crime kingpin and head of a sizable cartel, but for the IRS he’s a business owner and landlord. Dream occupation: honestly? President of his own country. He’s working toward that. Past job(s): he will tell you any number of truths and lies regarding this topic, among which we have: mathematics professor, CIA data analyst, CIA test subject, killer for hire, smuggler, thief.   Spending habits: anything he sees fit to help to his cause, he has no problem spending. He does not care about money, viewing it as a tool, a means rather than an end. This all being said, he’s excellent at money management.  In debt?: No, but a lot of people are indebted to him. Most valuable possession: possessions are a hindrance. He does not care about anything material.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

Physical strength: Above Average | Average | Below Average -- Notes: Guzman exercises regularly (every single day) and packs a surprising amount of strength in his arms and legs, as well as enviable core strength. It is not his most flashy physical feature, he does not have a defined body but his muscles are solid and functional. Once he gets to it, he can do some good damage. Speed: Above Average | Average | Below Average -- Notes: he can run and do so pretty fast but it is not what he’s best at. His reflexes are more than decent, though. Intelligence: Above Average | Average | Below Average -- Notes: Guzmán has basically nigh-peak human intelligence. As said above, he’s very good at handling complex, abstract theoretical concepts and handling vast amounts of information information; strategizing, debate, intuitive and deductive reasoning, etc. He has extensive knowledge of math and biology (especially genetics and bioengineering) as well as neuroscience and psychology, and he’s constantly learning more about the subjects not just for practical use but for his own personal enjoyment. Accuracy: Above Average | Average | Below Average -- Notes: he’s more than a little knowleagable about gun usage and he’s a really good shot. If you’re running from him and he happens to have a gun, you better have a damn good pair of legs or hide quickly, because he will most likely shoot you. Agility: Above Average | Average | Below Average -- Notes: he’s capable of climbing and a certain degree of free running with effortless ease. Stamina: Above Average | Average | Below Average -- Notes: it’s not bad for his age and he’s fit/healthy but it could certainly be better and all that smoking does take its toll. Teamwork: Guzmán is not really fit for anything but a leadership position. He is domineering and abrasive and the only way he can accept to take a backseat is if he has a generous amount of respect toward the people in charge -- and if so, he might be able to take orders, but only if he sees them as intelligent choices. Otherwise, he will question the authority and routinely challenge it, poking holes into their logic and plans. If he is the leader, though, he’s very good at working multiple details and elements into efficient wholes. People that follow him tend to, if not trust him, respect him because of how capable he is. Talents/hobbies: he reads a lot; his apartment is cluttered with piles and piles of books, many of which are technical in nature. Plays chess and cards. Knows how to play the piano more than adequately. Exercises regularly and trains in H2H combat. Does crosswords and sudokus. Swims. Plots the fall of humanity.  Shortcomings: speed and stamina. Guzmán can run fast for short speeds but can get tired relatively quickly due to his age, habit of smoking and joint problems as product of past altercations. He also does not work well in settings where he is not in charge. He is also unforgiving and unmerciful and if you wrong him it’s pointless to try to appeal to reason with him. Can be controlling. Can have difficulty expressing emotional concerns and being genuine. Languages spoken: English, Spanish, Russian, conversational Chinese. Others: ASL, morse code. Drive?: yes. He’s pretty good at driving all kinds of vehicles and motorcycles. Knows how to drive boats and some planes too. Jump-start a car?: yes. Change a flat tyre?: yes. Ride a bicycle?: yes. Swim?: yes. He enjoys swimming. Play an instrument?: Piano. Play chess?: yes, pretty well. Knows how to beat most in less than three moves. Braid hair?: Yes. Mostly in the context of what he knew to do for his younger sister. Little beyond that.  Tie a tie?: Yes. Pick a lock?: Yes. Cook?: Yes.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

Faceclaim: S. Cabrera Eye colour: Brown Hair colour: Brown Hair type/style/length: thick, long-medium length, wavy, a little unruly -- reference. Glasses/contacts?: Reading glasses. Dominant hand: Born left handed, but can use both. Height: 5′11 Weight: 176 lbs Build: lean, muscular especially in arms and legs, undefined chest, hairy. References: one, two. Exercise habits: every day, at least thirty minutes. Skin tone: Light brown, sun-kissed. Tattoos:  an squared circle between his shoulder blade (x), the monas hieroglyphica on his right bicep (x), the sigil of chaos, in the back of his left hand (x), a circled dot in the pad of his left index finger (x). Piercings: none. Marks/scars:  5 cm cut on his left cheek. Stab wounds scars on his abdomen. Rough hands product of manual labor. Clothing style:  alternates between casual (sweaters, jeans, boots, white or black shirts, guayaberas) and formal (suits) depending on the need. Can look either well groomed or scruffy, whatever is necessary. Jewellery: can sometimes be seen wearing chains either of gold or silver. Allergies: none. Diet: primarily vegetable based, with fish and chicken as preferred meats. Seldom eats beef or pork. Eats carbs in the form of bread and corn based doughs. Relatively healthy.  Physical ailments: knees ache. Suffers from occasional paints from the left hip from when he was shot there once.

PSYCHOLOGY

MBTI type: ENTJ -- ENTJs are strategic, organized and possess natural leadership qualities. They are master coordinators that can effectively give direction to groups. They are able to understand complicated organizational situations and quick to develop intelligent solutions. ENTJs are outspoken and will not hesitate to speak of their plans for improvement. They are decisive and value knowledge, efficiency and competence. Enneagram type: Type 8w6 SP/SX -- KEY MOTIVATIONS:  Want to be self-reliant, to prove their strength and resist weakness, to be important in their world, to dominate the environment, and to stay in control of their situation. Moral Alignment: Chaotic evil --  referred to as the “Destroyer” or “Demonic” alignment. Characters of this alignment tend to have no respect for rules, other people’s lives, or anything but their own desires, which are typically selfish and cruel. They set a high value on personal freedom, but do not have any regard for the lives or freedom of other people. They do not work well in a group, as they resent being given orders, and usually only behave themselves out of fear of punishment. It is not compulsory for a Chaotic Evil character to be constantly performing sadistic acts just for the sake of being evil, or constantly disobeying orders just for the sake of causing chaos. Temperament: Choleric -- Someone with a pure choleric temperament is usually a goal-oriented person. Choleric people are very savvy, analytical, and logical. Extremely practical and straightforward, they aren't necessarily good companions or particularly friendly. Element: Fire + Air. Emotional stability: Very emotionally stable. Seldom gets sad, angry, or caught up in otherwise strong or potent emotions. Very driven, seldom loses focus or attention in his goals and day to day affairs. Introvert or Extrovert? Action-oriented Extrovert. Guzmán enjoys being around people only on the practical sense, if it’s helping him toward the progress of his ambitions and goals. Obsession(s): mutant supremacy :/ conspiracy theories. Power. Money only in the context of achieving more power.  Compulsion(s): whenever he has to sharpen a knife in his kitchen, he ends up sharpening them all. And he can’t leave a book halfway through a chapter. He has to end the chapter, so next time he sits down to read he’s starting through another. Phobia(s): none. Addiction(s): Mind games. Drug use: regularly smokes cigars or cigarettes. Alcohol use: mostly will have a glass of whiskey every few nights, no more than that. Prone to violence?: Yes. Prone to crying?: No Believe in love at first sight?: No.

MANNERISMS

Accent: faint accent that could be pinned as that of a native spanish speaker. Speech quirks: he can get pretty talkative when things come down to it. Occasionally, he will interrupt his monologuing to ask if the other person understands what he’s saying. Hobbies: elaborated above: reading, chess, crossword, sudoku, playing intruments, working out, swimming. Habits: stroking/scratching his beard, fiddling idly with the things that are in his hands, opening and closing his fists deliberately. Nervous ticks: does not give away when he’s nervous. Drives/motivations: power-seeking, revenge, general mayhem and destruction. Fears: none in the immediate sense. Guzman is not scared of death, of things going wrong, of pain. He’s died before, things have gone wrong before, he’s been tortured before. Visceral fears have no hold over him. His disquiet stems more from existential concerns.  Sense of humour?: decent. Although, when he’s serious, he does not tolerate disrespect and jokes/flippant demeanors are considered disrespect.  Do they curse often?: not really. Will usually only curse to drive a certain point home.

FAVORITES

Animal: wolves and all matter of felines. Beverage: whiskey and rum, water. Book: he cannot choose! Colour: warm tones. Food: rice with chicken and beans, arepas, etc. Flower: does not care. Gem: does not care. Mode of transportation: car or motorcycle. Scent: cinnamon, coffee, freshly baked bread. Sport: soccer, baseball. Weather: sunny. Vacation destination: does not care for the concept, though as a rule he prefers warmer climates.

ATTITUDES

Greatest dream goals: for mutants to be in power, and for him to be in charge of them. Greatest fear: the eradication of the mutant race. Most at ease when: he is in control of the situation at play, when things are going according to plan, when someone has reaffirmed his loyalty to him in vital ways.  Least as ease when: there are variables that stop him from being fully in control, or he doesn’t know key pieces of information. Worst possible thing that could happen: dying before seeing a good portion of his plans materialized. It would be the worst, but it would be mostly inconvenient, really.  Biggest achievement: helped (through direct and indirect ways) make discrimination against mutants illegal in Venezuela, Brazil, Argentina, Chile and Perú. Participated in the assassinations of authoritarian figures and anti-mutant politicians in South and Central America. Biggest regret: does not have one -- yet.

[hisgirlwonder]

Atonement - Part Two

Length: 2.7k words Warning: Smut, humiliation, kinks, a lil bit of BDSM~ Synopsis: With his trust broken, Michael is doing all he can to make you regret ever crossing him. Notes: Here is the second part since you all wanted more! I tried to incorporate/explore kinks such as sadism (but more painful) on his part and exploring more of a humiliation kink for Y/N.

The last seven days had been like torture. Michael wouldn’t smile at you nor would he look in your direction and refused to call you by your name. You felt like your heart had been ripped into pieces from a tiny lapse in judgement.

You were the type of person who had a mind that liked to wander; to try and provide you with some relief from the discomfort of the reality you were facing. You had a knack for disassociation even as a child. What had long served as a blessing in moments of chaos had turned into a curse - as of late, your vivid memories were more like lucid nightmares.

// THE PAST //

Waiting for Michael to arrive was nerve-wracking – you’re sat outside his office on this luxurious piece of furniture with shaking legs, knees knocking together, and drawing patterns on the fabric with your fingers just to keep your mind busy; to calm the voice of anxiety in your mind. Your eyes move between your hand and the floor. One moment you’re watching the movement of your fingers against the arm of the couch and the next you’re studying the carpet, trying to figure out what colour it was. The Outpost was laden with wooden floors but certain rooms, such as his office and down the corridors, were carpeted.

Your sight flicks from your hand to the ground and you see two legs appear in front. Your eyes creep upwards and there he is in the flesh, Michael Langdon. Single handily the most intimidating individual in this place. He looks at you while a hand is deep in his pocket retrieving the key to his office and apologises for being late; He says he got held up but you nervously laugh it off and say you had nowhere better to be.

With the door unlocked, he is a gentleman (you’d expect no less from a man of such calibre as himself) and holds it open for you. Upon entering the office, you noticed that extra precision and care had been taking when decorating it – it reflected Michaels aesthetic completely, from the furniture to the art on the walls and sculptures placed in the room.

Michael props himself against the edge of his desk and invites you to sit down. He sends you a smile and expresses his gratitude, “Thanks for coming to see me today, Miss L/N.” His speech caressed your body like it was being wrapped up in velvet layer.

It was very obvious there was a reason he was in charge – he could persuade you effortlessly to commit a crime and you’d give yourself over entirely without a second thought. Michael was a master manipulator. Everything was carefully orchestrated to give him the upper hand, no matter if it suggested otherwise.

“Of course, sir. You can call me whatever you’d like but if you want to be on a first name basis it’s Y/N.”

“Alright, Y/N. You will be aware that everyone calls me Langdon but if you’re going to be my assistant then I suppose you can call me by my first name as well, which is Michael.”

His eyes travel over your body in every direction, analysing every inch of you. You’re self-conscious and unaware at first as to why he’s doing such a thing. Michael didn’t come across as if he was going to be the easiest person to read but there were hints of vulnerability embedded into the interaction between to the two of you; like when he followed those stares over your body in an enticing tone, adding, “You can call me sir if you so desire.”

You blush, cheeks blooming with a redness. This man before you exuded confidence and drew you in with an unexplainable magnetism; luckily you knew there was a line and if you were going to work for him, professionalism was paramount. Before the conversation derailed itself and you came completely undone, you ask, “So, Michael, what exactly did you need help with?”

“Is it too much to request help with everything?”

“No, not at all.”

You’re fixated on his actions that follow – those long, ring-covered fingers traversing along the edge of his desk and he spoke again in the same way as earlier, “I’m just a simple man who needs the touch of a woman in their life.”

Butterflies swirled in your stomach with every word and you momentarily went blank. You must have zoned out of it because you came to with Michael waving his hand in front of your face, “Are you okay, Y/N?”

You snap back to reality and tell him, “Yes of course. I can help you with whatever you need.”

“Excellent. The extent of which I need you means I require you in my office every day but you will have down time, okay? Just having you near will be good in case I need help.”

You nod, trying to show him you’re listening but your mind was running over him telling you he needed you.

-

// PRESENT DAY //

“Little grey, can you come here,” Michael snapped from behind the ajar door.

You’re cleaning up his bathroom and you swear the collection of hair and skin care products before you trumped the one you had in your outside life – Michael owned a bottle and jar of every colour, and you barely recognised any of them; you imagine they cost more than you’d make in one month at your old job. You inform him, “Just a minute, sir.”

“Now. Don’t make me ask you twice.”

Michael took whatever chance he could at demeaning you; reminding you that all other guys at the Outpost were truly just boys and that you fucked things up between the two of you. Would he ever let you live it down? You weren’t going to hold your breath.

You push open the door and walk over to stand in front of Michael, biting back the anguish over the uncertainty of what would happen next – it was almost like being in limbo nowadays. Before the ties that bound the two of you together were broken you would have done anything for him; not wanting to be without him for a moment. He’d treat you like his favourite pet. But now? No more praise, no more heartfelt compliments, no more real smiles.  

“Yes, sir?”

Michael is looking at the folder in his hand at the same time as he asks you, “Can you pick this up for me off the ground? It appears I dropped it.”

“But it’s in your hands, sir?”

He drops the folder from his hands and the papers become strewn across the floor.

“Oops.”

Michael had not only taken it upon himself to fire the greys who would clean every inch of his living and working quarters (forcing you to pick up the slack) but also given him full reign over everything you wore. He didn’t want you to blend in with the other greys, no, he forced you into a maid’s outfit to add to his humiliation. He knew how much you couldn’t stand the attention of others in the Outpost, especially after they saw you naked.

You’re bending down, picking up the paperwork and reorganising it, when Michael turns around in your direction on his seat. “You know what, little grey? My shoes are slightly dirty, maybe you should clean them. Now.”

“Let me get the polish.”

He rests his foot on your shoulder, pushing you back down to the ground, “No. You’re going to use that pathetic mouth of yours. Every ounce of respect I had was lost for you when you decided to fuck it away. Did you let him inside your mouth too?”

You quietly answer him back, “I didn’t. I swear I didn’t.”

Because you spoke to softly Michael doesn’t hear and asks, “What was that, little grey?”

You start fretting, worried he will think the wrong thing and hoping he believes you when you tell him the truth. Trying to speak as sincerely as you can, you assure Michael, “I swear I didn’t, sir.”

“Good. Your mouth appears to be untainted despite the rest of you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He lifts his leg up and positions a shoe covered foot in front of your face. “Start by cleaning the top until it shines, then lick the bottom and show me how sorry you are.

It almost seemed humorous that you considered him pissing on your face the worst he could do.

You spit on the top and rub the saliva away with the clothes you’re wearing, trying to polish the surface. Michael lifts it up to your face rubbing it against your cheek before holding it in front again - this time with the underside of his shoe adjacent to your face.

You gulp down while flattening out your tongue, and run it up the surface a few times. Once he’s satisfied with your actions and complying with his wishes, he pulls his leg away and bends to grab at your face, speaking to you in a condescending tone, “What a good girl. I’m glad I didn’t have to force you. Go get me a cup of coffee.”

-

You return with his coffee; you made sure it was made just as he liked it – not too hot, a dash of milk, and no sugar. When you first began working for Michael, it would be made incorrectly and he’d be mad but he’d never take it out on you. Sometimes you wondered why he was so soft on you when he was so harsh on everyone else.

He brings the cup to his mouth, smiling at you, before dropping it to reassure you, “I’m not going to hurt you.”  

The talking stops but you know by the tone of his voice that there are words to follow; he’s trying to cause apprehension, which was working.

“Not yet, anyway.”

And there it is.

He puts the cup down on the coaster next to his laptop, “My legs are feeling awfully tired and I think I need to rest them. Is that a good idea?”

“Yes, of course, but you haven’t got one sir?” You inform him.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I think you’re forgetting that I control everything you do or say and right now you’re going to get back on those knees, where you belong, serve me as my own personal footrest. You’re beneath me, remember?”

“Yes sir,” you mumble, caving into his demands. As you got back down on the ground, you noticed the carpet usually felt soft and lush but today it had changed – becoming harsh against your skin only serving as a reminder that you were less than Michael.

Michael leans back in the chair he’s sitting, hands behind his head and rests his feet on your back. He exaggerates a sigh of pleasure with cockiness infused into every syllable he spoke, “Oh, this is so comfy. Why did I never ask you to do this before?”

You’re digging your nails into the palms of your hands. This was not the kind of humiliation you were into.

*

Your arms and knees begin to ache from the pressure, wondering when Michael would let you stand back up. Michael finishes the last of his coffee and lifts the weight off your back.

“Since you’re still employed by me I suggest you do as I say and get off the floor, I need your assistance with something.”

Michael walks over to the far cabinet in the corner beside the water cooler to open a cupboard. You couldn’t see inside but he pulls out a black box.

“I’d ask if you’d like to see but you’re probably aware that I don’t give a shit what you want. Turn around so I don’t have to look at you then take off your clothes and bend over the table like the subservient bitch you are.”

As you face away from Michael an almost inaudible cry leaves your mouth; both in fear and in excitement – your discomfort was drenched with a hunger for Michael to inflict pain upon your body again. Those moments replayed over and over again in your mind; moments which made you fuck yourself silently into an oblivion over. You’d never have him how you wanted him yet the pain was almost worth it.

You undress quickly to make sure you don’t upset Michael any further and bend over as instructed. Your soft body presses against the wooden table – the surface is colder than you remember, your nipples hardening from the drop in temperature and your own arousal.

Something touches your skin and starts to run along the backs of your legs. You knew it wasn’t soft so it wasn’t his hand but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Michael teases, still running the object against you, “I bought this and figured now was a really good time to use it. I’m not going to apologise for this because you don’t deserve it but I will tell you to hold on tight. You won’t be walking right for a week once I’m done with you.”

Before you can try to process what he says you feel a smack against your skin – it feels like a whip. He strikes you over and over – each time felt harder than the last. This one was a thing you could deal with; you weren’t a stranger to this sort of behaviour but it definitely was more intense than anyone you’d been with.

“I really wish I could say I was surprised when you decided to let that boy inside your cunt, but was I? Was I really?”

Again.

“I could smell it on you the moment you walked into this place. The first moment I laid eyes on you I knew you were a whore.”

And again.

“Do you not think it’s ironic that you’re working for me? That I knew you’d slip up, leading me to do this to you?”

And again.

Your ass was stinging from his abuse against your body – you were euphoric from the beating your skin was taking. You rub a hand against your ass and you can feel welts forming.

“Stop touching yourself and sit up to face me.”

You push yourself up and spin around, now sat on the top of the table. Michael pushes his knee between your leg, forcing them apart. “Open up or I’ll make you do it.”

The whip collides with your pussy - you want to slam your legs shut. The pain is worse, less appealing than the hurt he inflicted on your ass. He causes you to jump - Sure, you’d slapped yourself there with your hand before but it didn’t compare to an object.

“Oh does that hurt, does it?”

He does it again and you’re unable to hold back, tears pooling in your eyes. “Mi- Sir, I can’t.”

Michael refuses to stop, smiling at the sight of your tears and taunting you, “Oh you can’t, can you? Beg me to stop and I’ll reconsider.”

Your hand quickly darts between your legs, guarding your throbbing pussy against further torment. You beg like your life depended on it, “It hurts so bad and I can’t take any more. Please. Have mercy.”

He places the whip to the side of you and tells you to come closer with his fingers. You rub at the ache before removing your hands to see the damage - you aren’t bleeding yet but the inside of your thighs and the mount between your legs are almost red raw.

Those lips find their way to your ears and he growls, “I hope you have enough common sense to know this is far from over. Get off my fucking desk before I throw you off. Oh, and then get out of my fucking sight. I don’t want to have to see you more than I need to.”

Taglist: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sensitivethot @sammythankyou @sevenwondr @langdonsdemon (message if you want to be added ♥)