#i love the guy doing my training today he clearly knows his stuff about coffee!!

[rexscanonwife]

I started a new job today at a cute little coffee place, and this is my first barista job so here's what I've learned so far: making coffee is the same as making potions

[boldlyvoid]

New Romantics | Part Four

18+

Summary: She needs help studying for her Case Exercises at the Academy, He needs a date for the annual Banquet... they just so happen to be neighbours who aren't afraid to lend a helping hand, or in this case, a helping kiss.

Categories: Fake dating, neighbours, strangers to lovers, mutual pining, Angst with a happy ending, Smut *as selected by my poll on what you wanted to read*

Warnings: Season 9 Spencer (no Maeve arc), Angst, kissing, drinking, police training mentions, case details, canon typical violence, self-doubt, autistic!spencer, age gaps (24/33), FWB relationships, anxiety attacks, crying, misunderstandings, oral sex (both), penetrative sex, Perv!Spencer low-key, public sex, quickies, multiple orgasms,

Word Count: 5k

a/n: what could possibly go wrong next?

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | epilogue

She’s been asleep barely 2 hours when he shakes her awake, “Hey, when did you need to get ready today?”

“Uh?” She sits up and rubs her eyes, “we don’t have to leave until 1 so, like 11?”

“It’s 8:30, did you want to stay and sleep more?”

She looks at him and sighs, “are we okay?”

He nods, “can we just call it even?”

“Sure,” she agrees without knowing what she did wrong. It was more than just snapping on Tuesday, which is what she was still hurt over. “But I’m going to go, I need to change and stuff.”

“Yeah,” he nods but his smile is sad and she knows she’s fucking it up more.

She gets out of his bed, once it was the warmest bed she’s ever known. Any bed she shared with him was, but now it felt cold and uninviting and there was an unspoken knowingness that they were both genuinely upset.

“I’m still your fake girlfriend for the next 24 hours… can we make them count?” She asks, avoiding eye contact so he can't see her cry if he says no.

“Come here?”

She gets back into the bed and she cuddles into his chest. He holds her for a moment, “you’ve been the best girlfriend in the whole world. Do you really still want to be friends after this? Have I fucked up that bad?”

“Oh honey,” she places a hand on his cheek and looks at him softly, “I will be your neighbour, your best friend, your co-worker, carpool buddy, coffee friend, girlfriend, whatever you need as long as you’d like to have me around.”

He remembers the first time she said that and she knows because his smile is the same. “I love you.”

It hurts, “I love you, too.”

She kisses him quickly, attempting to pull back when his fingers grip her hair and his tongue is on her lips and she’s following his lead again.

“No,” she whispers, “I can’t.”

“Oh,” he stops and his hands drop to his sides so she can get back up.

“I’m going to go get ready, but I’ll come back when I’m done?”

“Yeah,” he nods again.

It breaks her heart to get up and go, she grabs her shoes and she sneaks out of his room, finding her keys in her pocket, she opens her own door and cries the second the door closes.

She cries in the shower, she cries while fixes her hair, she cries while she has lunch. Every song reminds her of the situation, every section of her apartment reminds her of him, the stupid door where they first kissed is closed and she wishes he was stable enough to bang on it and demand an answer.

Whatever was going on between them was reaching a bubbling over point, she can only store so much emotion before she explodes on him.

As soon as she is in her dress, makeup on and ready to go, she walks into his apartment to find him struggling with his bowtie, it makes her smile for the first time since she left his room this morning, “need help?”

“Yes, please.”

She walks over to him and repeats the same movements he attempted, making the bow look pretty before smoothing her hands over his dress shirt and looking up at him. “Handsome as ever.”

“You’re always beautiful,” he compliments her right back but his voice is still as sad as the night before.

“Are you ever going to tell me what’s going on in there?” She pries, tapping his temple with her index finger, “you’re my best friend and I don’t like seeing you sad.”

“I heard what you said yesterday,” he whispers, “about how if you were just using someone you would have picked Derek.”

“And?” She doesn’t get why it’s a big deal because it makes perfect sense to her in her mind.

“And it hurt me,” he snaps, “quite a lot!?”

And the dam breaks.

“Because I proved to them that I’m not using you? Spencer do you know what I meant by that?” She snaps right back.

“What else could it mean?! Clearly I’m not hot enough for you to just fuck and toss aside—”

“I meant that I love you and that’s why I’m with you! If I was just using someone for a job then I’d fuck Derek cause he’s a one and done, toss them to the side and never see them again, kind of guy!”

“And?” He repeats her word choice in a snippy tone that makes her furious but she knows he’s just trying his best to understand her.

She sighs loudly and obnoxiously, “and you’re a take him to meet your mom, marry and have his babies, love him for the rest of your life and one day scatter his ashes, kind of lover.” Crying by the end, she wipes her tears and tries to stay somewhat presentable-looking.

He’s silent, eyes wide as he takes in all her words, “I have always loved you,” she adds, “and no matter how fucking angry I am or how stressed or upset, I am never going to stop loving you, Spencer.”

“Me either,” his tone is still just as upset, “and that's the part that sucks.”

“What do you mean?” She just poured her heart out to him and he still doesn’t get it.

“I LOVE YOU!” He screams it at her with his hands thrown in the air, “I love you more than I’ve loved anyone in my entire fucking life and it’s driving me crazy!”

“It’s driving you crazy?” She can’t help but laugh like she’s losing her mind, “I have been doing everything in my power to make you understand that I love you and you keep thinking I just want to be friends!”

“Because you said you loved me like a friend the first time?!”

“No, I fucking didn’t!” She is so frustrated she’s turning the same colour as her dress, steaming from her ears like a cartoon character.

“I asked if best friends can be in love because I wanted to see if you would say you loved me more than that, and then you fucking said “yeah cause that’s how I love you” which means you love me as a friend?!”

“Because I thought that’s what you wanted?!”

She can’t rub her eyes cause she’ll ruin her makeup but she is so mad she just wants to scream. Pressing her fingers to her own temples, she turns away from him and sighs, she loves him so much and yet this is the most frustrating thing that’s ever happened.

“You are so lucky,” she just laughs, shaking her head back and forth as she turns back to him, “you are so fuckin’ lucky.”

“Why?”

She wraps her arms around his middle and looks up into his eyes with one last sigh, “we have to go or we’ll be late, so I can’t explain all of my feelings right now, so let’s bench this conversation and I can show you just how much I love you when we get back?”

“Okay,” he nods. He rests his hands on her arms and he looks down with the softest glance, he’s still trying so hard to not cry. “I’m really sorry.”

“So am I, I should have listened to you better and explained myself more,” she whispers, “do you believe me now?”

He nods, “I told you, it’s hard for me.”

“I tried my best to be subtle so I didn’t scare you off, but I guess you really don’t do subtle?” She can’t help but laugh, “but I really do love you.”

His hands are on her cheeks, pulling her into a kiss, she melts against him. He breathes her in, it’s the longest and deepest kiss she’s ever had and she honestly feels like he’s taking her soul and making her his. She belongs to him and she knows it, now he does too.

“I love you, too.”

—

All eyes are on her and it makes him smile, she’s the only one in a red dress in a room full of black and white, she stands out like a sore thumb. She looks the most beautiful, she stands beside Spencer with her arm wrapped around his and a huge smile on her face, it makes him even happier to see her smile again.

The hardest part of fighting with her was knowing she was upset and that he was only making it worse. Seeing her smile return is everything to him, he loves her more than words can express and she loves him right back, he can tell by the way she smiles at him; because it’s exactly the same way he’s smiling at her.

“I see that you’ve made up,” Derek interrupts their current dance to say hello.

The BAU team was always so busy on nights like this, they had all the best stories and everyone wanted to hear them, which meant they typically didn’t see each other a lot for the whole night.

“We did,” Spencer smiles. “Thank’s Derek.”

She looks up at them both, confused, “how many of them know?”

“Huh?” He plays dumb but she can see right through him.

“Do they all know I’m not really your girlfriend or is it just Aaron, Derek and whoever else you told?”

“Elle,” he says her name. “I told the first girl I slept with that I was falling in love with you because I needed advice from someone who has already been with me and knows how I get.”

“Sick, cool, love that for you,” she smiles and walks away.

He grabs her and she stops, “I told you how much it hurt that I had no one to talk to and you told all of them? And you couldn’t even tell me you really loved me this whole time? I thought we were best friends Spencer?” She shakes her head, disappointed more than anything, swatting his hand off her as he reaches to stop her.

“Let her go, she’s right to be a little mad,” Derek holds him back. “let her be mad.”

“Why?” Spencer is so new to relationships he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“She wants to be your girlfriend for real, let her calm down and then go apologize and ask her,” Derek's smile is sweet as he pulls Spencer into a hug.

It slowly becomes a dance, everyone is used to Derek being touchy with his friends, he has danced with everyone so far tonight so it’s only fair Spencer has a turn. Spencer holds him tight, eyes closed so he doesn’t have to think about all the attention he’s been getting since they arrived.

“Thank you for always being here for me,” he whispers, “but I have to go see her.”

“Fights like this just make your relationship stronger, it teaches you how she wants you to communicate, she just wants you to be honest with her, always,” he whispers with his cheek pressed to Spencer's, “and angry make-up sex is really fun.”

It makes him laugh, “thanks, but she won’t be sleeping with me for a few days, if my memory is correct then she’s mad for more than one reason.”

“Ah,” Derek gets it, “good luck my friend. Good luck.”

When Spencer pulls away, he heads in the direction Y/N left and follows the hallway as far as it goes. She’s sitting on a bench by a window, staring off at the night sky as she takes some deep breaths. She looks a little more peaceful, she’s had a really rough few weeks and he’s not making it any easier on her.

“I know two things for sure,” he speaks softly but she still jumps a little as she turns to him.

“What would they be?”

“That you’re the love of my life,” he’s confident as he sits on the bench beside her and takes her hand in his. “And I’m an idiot when it comes to love.”

“That is quite the dilemma,” she smirks, her eyes gleam as she looks at him and he knows she was trying not to cry by how glossy they are, but it makes her more beautiful, somehow.

“I’m really sorry.”

“All you have to do is tell me the truth, Spencer,” she places her hand on his leg and leans in with a whisper, “it’s really simple.”

“Truth is,” he whispers right back, lips close enough to kiss, “I’m never going to stop loving you, which means more stupid moments are in my future. Just so you know.”

She giggles and kisses him quickly, “I don’t mind being the smart one in the relationship, but you still have to ask.”

“Will you be my girlfriend and let me love you for the rest of my life, no matter how much I fuck up and drive you crazy?” He teases her, knowing she’ll say yes regardless.

“On one condition,” she can’t hide the smirk on her face and he’s nervous at what she’s thinking.

“Anything?”

“You let me love you for just as long? If not longer.”

He nods, “forever?”

She nods back before kissing him just as deeply as they did that morning, her hands in his hair as she presses his face into her’s with force. She holds him there and breathes him in, pulling back with a classic smooch sound, she smiles again, “you’re my boyfriend now.”

He nods with a small smile, “what should we do first as boyfriend and girlfriend?”

She bites her lip and pretends to think about it for a moment, “fuck in the linen closet down the hall?”

“I don’t have any condoms on me?” Is his only worry, not getting caught, not that all their bosses and superiors were there, just that he didn’t have a condom.

She pulls one out of her bra with a smile, “Savannah gave this to me about 3 minutes before you came over here.”

“How much make-up sex do they have?” He asks as he takes her hand and leads her down the hallway.

She’s giddy and smiling, her heels click on the floor as they rush to the other end of the hall and open the little door. There are shelves with towels and rolls upon rolls of silverware in cloth napkins. A vacuum in the corner, some brooms and just enough room for them.

She pulls him in closer and shuts the door, reconnecting their lips as she pushes him up against it. Hands reaching for his belt she kisses down his neck and he’s like putty in her hands as soon as she strokes him, he moans by accident and she covers his mouth with her free hand.

“Do you have any idea how turned on you make me? I have wanted to fuck you since I first saw you, 6 years ago…”

“Really?” His muffled voice behind her hand makes her laugh. She removes her hand and instead runs her fingers through his hair while taking a moment to look at him and really take it all in.

“Yeah,” she nods, “which is why I asked to sleep with you on the way home from the bar, I didn’t know if I could handle it either it, but I’ve always wanted Doctor Reid from the BAU to rail me. I just didn’t think we’d end up falling in love?”

“No one has ever admitted to having a crush on me and meant it,” he whispers.

“I’m glad I get to be one of your firsts,” she smiles again before he pulls her into another kiss.

She kisses the side of his mouth and then his jaw, down his neck and then she’s dropping to her knees in front of him. He’s hard in her hands but he twitches as he sees her like this, looking up at him with lust-blown eyes as she strokes him, she flattens her tongue and taps the tip of his cock to it.

He has to cover his own mouth or else he’s going to get them caught, he moans at the feeling, closing his eyes and that's when she takes him in her mouth. His free hand is in her hair, careful not to mess it up but enough grip to steady himself.

He tilts his head back against the door with a knock and a sign, “fuck,” he can’t help but talk into his hand which only makes it sound louder in the tight space.

She feels so good every single time and yet this one feels different, he looks down at her and she pulls off, “what’s wrong?”

“I love you,” he shrugs.

He helps her back up to her feet and she backs up against the shelves, “come here?”

He helps her hike her dress up, holding all the material up as he slips her underwear off and takes that condom back out of her bra with a single kiss to her chest. He rolls it over himself and lines up with her, her arms wrap around his shoulders as she looks at him, “show me how much you love me?”

He slides in and they don’t break eye contact as she takes him, her mouth opens in a silent gasp at the feeling, her hands grip his shoulders tighter as she steadies her ass on a shelf and wraps her legs around him while he bottoms out.

With a hand on her cheek and one on her lower back, he pulls out and thrusts back in with a smile as she bites back a moan, she pulls his face in close to hers to kiss him while he fucks her. The hand on his cheek slides down her neck, applying a small amount of pressure that makes her breathing hitch. She swallows sharply before his hand starts to trail over her breasts and then between them.

With a thumb on her clit, he fucks her a little harder while rubbing his thumb in a circle. She’s breathing heavily into his mouth, placing sloppy kisses against each other as they enjoyed each other.

She’s so close and he knows it, and then there is a knock on the door.

“Spence, we have a case when you’re done?” He hears Derek's voice behind the door and he can’t believe it.

“Okay!” He calls back without stopping, instead, he fucks into her a little faster.

“Oh!” She moans by accident before covering her mouth with a slap and wide eyes, moaning behind her hand as she bounces on his cock.

He kisses her hand, making her move it so he can press his lips back to hers and absorb all the noises she was going to make, her hands both reach for his back, gripping his suit jacket so tight he’s afraid she might rip it.

She cums with a shocked gasp, it’s as quiet as possible but it still echos around them as he gets closer and closer. He buries his face in her neck and accidentally moans as well as he cums, stilling his hips as he holds her there, sputtering his hips against hers as they catch their breath.

“I love you,” he manages to say between breaths, “that much.”

“You need to go,” she smiles.

He kisses her one last time before he pulls out, he loves the way she gasps every time he does so. She smiles after, their teeth clashing as they laugh, “I’m going to get in so much trouble.”

“I’m never going to get a job,” she shakes her head as she gets off the shelf and fixes her dress.

He takes off the condom and wraps it in some paper towel on the shelf, he’ll get rid of it later. She picks up her underwear, he thinks she puts them back on, but she really slides them into his pocket for him to find in the middle of the case when he reaches for something important...

—

She rides back to headquarters with Penelope and JJ, both of them want to ask and she knows it. Mainly because she looks like she’s had sex, and also because she asks to stop at the academy so she can get another pair of underwear from her locker.

It’s not until they’re in Penelope’s office that they ask, “what’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” She plays dumb.

“Dating Spencer?” Penelope says, “more specifically, having sex with him?” She mumbles and it makes Y/N laugh.

“In total, we’ve been having sex for 3 weeks now and I’ve had 21 orgasms, and we only really fuck on the weekends cause that’s when we’re not busy…” she grinds her teeth slightly with a raised brow, taking a deep breath, “yeah. It’s really great.”

“Holy shit?” They both look more shocked than she’s ever seen them. “How many has he had?” Penelope asks with a quiet voice, pretending she didn’t.

She laughs slightly, “like maybe 14? He’s really generous.”

“What the fuck?” JJ turns to Penelope and shakes her head and there’s something more there that Y/N can sense.

“Who’s Elle?” She asks and they both turn to her with the biggest eyes.

“How do you know about Elle?”

“She’s the first person he slept with?”

“When?” They both shout.

“So he wasn’t kidding. You guys really thought he was a virgin this whole time?” She looks at them like they’re crazy. “How?”

They both just shake their heads and sigh, stuttering and looking for words they don’t have. “We just never thought he could?”

“Snooze ya loose, I guess?” She shrugs, “so what is the case and how can I help?”

“Right! We have a case,” Penelope snaps back into it, “but seriously Elle? Are you sure you have your names right?”

“Penelope,” she looks at her seriously.

“Right, they’re headed to Roanoke.”

There was a child abduction of a 6-year-old girl, CARD and the BAU were both called out and that meant everyone was mingling on the two floors and they would use as much help as possible.

It also turns out that Anderson’s surrogate went into labour a little earlier than anyone expected; so he and his husband have left for paternity leave early. Leaving JJ without an assistant and she really needs help in the office for this one.

She catches on rather quickly, knowing the protocols from her training and she’s not afraid to ask questions. She’s still in her dress, her heels click on the tiles as she rushes around with files, making phone calls and running from the briefing room to Penelope’s office.

When they finally crack the case and apprehend the suspect, she sits down finally. It’s been 11 hours since the banquet, and she was exhausted beyond belief. She never slept the night before, Spencer was uncomfortable and she was in her jeans and when she did fall asleep, he was waking her up moments later to get ready.

It's Sunday morning at 9 am when Spencer finally returns back at headquarters. She’s sitting at his desk when he comes up and wraps his arms around her, “we’re going home, come on.”

“Don’t you have to debrief?”

“Did that on the way back,” he turns her around in the role chair and tilts her head up to look at him, she’s so tired and he can tell. “You have a big day tomorrow.”

“Ugh,” she stands up with his help, “I did enough profiling today and now I have a whole week to get through.”

“Just to come back and work here,” he smiles, “if you still want to?”

She wraps him up in a real hug and nods against him, “it’s so fun, even with all the murder.”

“Coming home to this is really nice,” he whispers before kissing her cheek quickly, “I’m glad you like it here.”

“Well, well, well,” Derek's voice is behind them. They pull away to see him smiling, arms wide as he saunters over, “if it isn’t the new romantics.”

“Did you have any suspicions?” Y/N asks, he was a profiler after all.

“I knew something was up,” he’s honest. “I knew you guys were actually doing stuff together, I just didn’t think there was so much angst behind closed doors?”

“You have no idea,” Y/N laughs, holding Spencer closer, “it took too long.”

“I thought you were fighting about the job, cause he wasn’t really upset until you were in Penelope’s office, and I heard the rumours even before he heard what you said,” Derek smiles again, “but I also knew you loved him and he loves you.”

“Correct,” she can’t help but smile. “But we really should head home.”

“Home we go,” Spencer agrees.

—

She asks him to unzip her dress the second they’re back in her apartment. She drops the dress to the floor and heads to the bathroom and he’s left alone in her room. It feels different now. He remembers kissing her in the living room for the first time like it was yesterday, he remembers the first time they had sex, the first time he said I love you, and now he’s here and she’s his girlfriend and he’s going to get to make more memories with her.

He’s so embarrassed by how much he’s been crying lately, something about being in his mid-30s was making him feel like he was about to go through menopause— he has never been very openly emotional, but it’s about time he lets himself feel. He wipes the tears and turns to face the wall while he takes his suit off.

He’s been through too much, a lot of which she doesn’t know of. She has promised him forever, whether she means it or not, and he’s worried he’s going to fuck it up before he gets there.

When she comes back, she lays a towel down on her side of the bed and gets in, “guess who got her period on her first day of work?”

“No?” He gasps, playing along with her playful mood. “At least you’re not pregnant.”

“Thank god,” she sighs, “please for the love of God, don’t get me pregnant for at least 5 years? I want a decent career first so that I don't miss much on maternity leave. I really don't want to be benched for having kids.”

He cries again and she looks so concerned as she gets out of bed and wraps her arms around him, “what did I say wrong, Spencer?”

Still facing the wall, he just lets it all out, “I’m sorry.”

“For what, sweetheart?” She attempts to soothe him by running her hands down his arms, “for crying or something else?”

“Crying,” he whispers and she turns him around then.

“Hey,” she looks up at him with the softest expression he’s ever seen, “you are allowed to have emotions, you are allowed to show them and ask for help and tell me when you need something. I’m not going to think you’re too much, or I can’t handle you or think of you as a burden. I know that’s how you feel because it’s how I fell, and we don’t need to go through that together.”

“I love you,” it’s the only thing that feels right to say.

“I love you,” she repeats it, “what made you cry?”

“Can we get in bed first?”

“Yeah, finish getting ready and then come tell me,” she whispers before reaching up and pressing a kiss to his lips.

He slips away to go to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and washing his face. He’s exhausted but he doesn’t want to miss any time with her. He hurries back to her side, getting into bed in his underwear and making sure both his phones are on the night table, charged and ready if they need him.

But until then, he belonged to her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep?” It’s the first thing he asks because he knows she has a big day tomorrow. “It can wait.”

“What’s that thing you say about intermittent sleep is actually better?”

“Don’t use my words against me, I do that so people don’t stop me from doing what I think I deserve,” he’s truthful. “I’m not going to ever lie or fib to you again. I hate myself, and if I don’t feel like I’ve done enough I won't sleep or eat sometimes.”

“I do that too,” she’s not proud, “are you trying to tell me you cried cause you’re hungry or tired?”

“No,” he smiles, “but thank you for asking for clarification, I like this new system.”

“Me too.”

“I cried because I really love you and I’m realizing this is all real and I’m going to get to make good memories with you, and when you said kids, even in a hypothetical sense, it made it feel real for me,” he whispers the words before pressing his lips together awkwardly.

She glows in the lap light like she did that first night, “it’s a weird concept, isn’t it? The future. At some point I’m going to have known you longer than anyone, one day we’ll have lived with each other longer than we’ve lived apart. We might be grandparents together one day? It’s all weird to think about.”

“Do you seriously want all that with me?” He’s asking because he has another question to ask right after.

“Yes, Spencer,” she laughs. “I really do.”

“Would you like to Marry me?”

“Seriously?” Her eyes widen and her jaw drops and he’s never seen her look this stunned before.

He nods, “my mom isn’t going to able to appreciate my wedding the longer I wait, and if you really mean it; I’d like to have a wedding with my mom there while she remembers me.”

“I know her birthday is coming up, but can we bring her here instead?”

“Why?”

“My parents decided to drive from Salam to here for my graduation and use the flight money on a nice Airbnb for the week. We should do it while they’re all here because I don’t know when they’d be able to come back,” she has had the same worries about her parents missing her life.

“I’ll ask my mom,” he smiles. “So we’re getting married?”

“in like a week,” she laughs, “oh fuck, how are we going to do that in a week?”

He rolls over and grabs his personal phone, he dials a number and she looks even more confused now.

“Hey Penelope, how fast can you plan a wedding?”

~

Permanent tag list:

@g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @ssavanessa22 @spookyspence @shemarmooresfedora @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @blanchardsbk @idonotexiste @measure-in-pain @dreams-in-blxck @doc-padfoot @nomajdetective @xoxomgg @mggswhorificlover @dinonuggets1967 @Meganskane @gubeskneescrew

New Romantics:

@bunny-script @ficsrecsforhrnybitches @ne--yo-pets @rexorangecouny @valerieweasley @beepbooptoop @coldlilheart @andiebeaword @anonymous-reading

[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!

[curlynerd]

Just Say It

Happy gift posting day for the @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! I had two assignees, so I'm posting two fics today! My 2nd gift recipient is @deanwinchesteradjacent! She requested canon-adjacent Destiel with fluff, action, and a happy ending. I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 7.5K Rating: T Summary: A string of violent deaths at an otherwise charming B&B was all the excuse Dean needed to drag Cas down to Florida for some fun in the sun. Things had been awkward since Cas came back from the Empty and they could finally be together, but Dean was sure that a romantic getaway was the perfect thing to help Cas get out of the training wheels stage of Angel's-First-Romance and start acting like a real couple. Just as soon as they took care of a vengeful spirit. What could possibly go wrong? Notes: Post canon, fix-it fic, oneshot, love confessions, Dean is bad at feelings, case fic, beach fic.

Also read it on AO3!

“Alright, I’m heading out.”

“Did you pack deodorant?”

“Dean…”

“Toothpaste? Mouthwash?”

“...”

“Those fancy hair products? Cuz there’s just. So. Many--”

“Dean! I’ve lived my whole life on the road. I know how to pack a damn dufflebag!”

Dean smirked, unperturbed by Sam’s whining. “Yeah but Eileen is a classy lady. She’s not gonna put up with your usual road stank.”

Sam sighed in annoyance as he readjusted the bag on his shoulder. “I’m not the one who wears his underwear three days in a row, jerk.”

“Better leave that attitude at home, bitch,” Dean said cheerfully. “It’s your anniversary, after all.”

Sam’s mouth twitched into a shy grin despite his best efforts. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be on my best behavior,” he said, letting Dean have one last bit of fun before he left. “You and Cas too. Don’t get into trouble.” He nodded in farewell before he climbed the stairs to the bunker door.

“Oh, and Sammy?”

Sam paused at the top of the stairs and turned around. Almost like he could sense what was coming, his eyebrow twitched in irritation. Dean hucked a box up to the landing, and Sam fumbled to catch it. Dean flashed a shit-eating grin as Sam read the Trojan label and fixed him with a scowl. “Make sure you wrap it before you tap it, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he walked out the door.

Dean laughed to himself as he turned back to his laptop, scrolling through news articles looking for a hunt. He was still at it an hour later when Cas came shuffling into the room still in his pajamas, two cups of coffee in hand.

“Mornin’ Sunshine,” Dean crooned cheerfully. Cas’ hair was in wild disarray, and between that and his worn, brown sweatshirt and loose pajama bottoms, he looked more like a bear stumbling out of hibernation than a guy just waking up. “Sam already left.”

Cas set a mug down in front of Dean before slumping down into the chair beside him. “I hope he and Eileen have fun this week,” he mumbled as he hunched over his coffee.

Dean smiled at how adorable Cas looked, all grumpy and sleep-ruffled. He was still an angel...somewhat. He had Grace, if only a little. So close to mortality, Cas often needed mundane human things like sleep and food. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about it. In fact, he was so irritated about the whole thing that Dean hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to invite him to sleep in his room, instead of alone. Dean chewed on his lower lip. Maybe after this case, things would change.

“Are you looking up a case?” Cas asked, tilting toward Dean’s screen.

“Uh...yeah.” With forced casualness, Dean turned the laptop so Cas could read a headline from last year: “Gruesome Death at Bed and Breakfast Leaves Locals Worried.” “Over the past forty years, there’ve been six deaths at this B&B. All either heart attacks or a brain hemorrhage. All without a scratch on ‘em. Always a couple. Always on the same night: this Friday. That sure screams ‘ghost’ to me.”

“Key West?” Cas asked as he scanned the article. “Florida? That’s quite a drive.”

Dean shrugged. His fingers tapped against the tabletop. “It is, but hell, why not? Sam gets the week off with Eileen, why can’t we have a little vacation too?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. Suspicious. He was suspicious. Was a little time off really so bad? “You haven’t taken a vacation the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean struggled to come up with a good excuse. “That was, ya know. Before.”

“Before,” Cas repeated stiffly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Before everything.” He gestured around his head. Before Cas told him he loved him and immediately died. Before Dean rescued him from The Empty. Before they wound up in this awkward, stilted Angel’s-First-Romance training wheels relationship Dean found them in.

That seemed to placate Cas. He nodded and took another sip of coffee. “The beach would be nice…”

Dean broke into a grin. “Better than nice! Toes in the sand, drinks with little umbrellas… That’s better than paradise.” He gave Cas’ shoulder a friendly pat. Then--because he could, couldn’t he?--Dean let his hand run along the broad expanse of Cas’ shoulder and gently cup the back of his neck.

This was okay, right? He’d held back on any sort of real PDA because of how uncomfortable Cas would act. And that was okay. He understood. Angels and intimacy...Well, angels just worked differently than humans. And it was all new to Cas! It took him over a decade to say he loved Dean. It would probably take awhile before he was ready to hold hands.

But this wasn’t very much, right? Just a light hand on the back of his neck. This was about as innocent as things got!

Except Cas went stiff under Dean, and Dean took the hint and pulled his hand away as he bit back a sigh. So much for that.

His eyes trailed back to his laptop. Hopefully this getaway would change things, help Cas loosen up and finally see that they could act even a little like a couple now. A romantic beach, warm sunshine, half-naked romps in the water, a cozy and only slightly haunted bed and breakfast…

What could go wrong?

----

Three days and one slightly terrifying highway over the ocean later, Dean and Cas pulled into a parking space for a charming bed and breakfast painted in a lovely pale--

“Lavender?” Dean balked at the decidedly dainty color of the siding. “I know they like their pastels here, but geez…”

“It’s just a paint color,” Cas said as he crossed around to the trunk and started unloading their bags. The duffle full of salt, shotguns, and various iron weapons clanked ominously. He shouldered it carefully so it wouldn’t make so much noise.

“This whole street is like friggin’ Candy Land.” Dean eyeballed the canary yellow house across the street suspiciously as they made their way to the front door.

The inside was clearly the result of a scandalous love affair between a Jimmy Buffet concert and a Hallmark store--All tacky tropical themed furniture and a dizzying array of porcelain figurines.

Dean grinned from ear to ear and elbowed Cas. At Cas’ inquisitive eyebrow, Dean nodded his head to a shelf full of long-haired, sad-eyed blonde angels. Cas rolled his eyes while Dean laughed to himself.

“Hello! Can I help you?” An older woman sat behind a small reception desk, smiling warmly at them in the glow of her ancient computer.

Dean put on his best people-pleasing smile. “Yes you can. Hi, I’m Dean, and this is my, uh…” Dean glanced over to Cas and his eyes crinkled in delight. “Cas. This is my boyfriend, Cas.” Just the word caused a giddy bubble of effervescence to float inside Dean’s chest. After all this time, they were really here. This was real.

Cas offered the receptionist a small, tight smile before turning his studious gaze to the figurines on the wall shelves. The woman furrowed her brow, so Dean charged forward with the conversation before Cas’ awkwardness put her off. If they were going to pry into the case here, they needed her to be friendly with them. “I booked a reservation for this weekend. It--Are you guys still open? It’s kinda quiet in here.” Dean glanced around the empty living space. There weren’t any other cars parked outside either.

The woman waved off his concerns. “Oh yes, it’s just the off season right now. Some weekends are like that.” She spoke a little too quickly as she clicked through her computer. Dean suspected all the news articles about bloody deaths had something to do with it. “Not hard to find your reservation. You’re our only guests tonight.” She grabbed two keys off a hook and held them out for Dean. “You’ll be in room 4, down at the end of the hallway upstairs. It’s the largest one. If you need extra towels or anything, let me know. I’m Susan.”

Sensing they were about to be dismissed, Dean swerved into a distraction. “You know, we’ve been on the road for ages. Do you have any coffee or anything like that? A little wakeup before we hit the beach?”

Susan pushed back from the desk. “Oh of course! I was about to get some for myself, actually. I’ll be right back.”

“Keep an eye out for anything suspicious, Cas,” Dean muttered as Susan disappeared down a hallway. “Anything out of place or really old. You know, haunted stuff.” Cas nodded, and Dean covertly pulled his EMF reader out of his jacket pocket and flicked it on. It was silent. They both made a pass of the room, pretending to look around.

“Here we are!” Susan said brightly, expertly holding three coffee mugs in her hands. Dean jumped a little and hastily put his device away before turning around. “I hope cream and sugar is okay.”

“Any caffeine is fine,” he assured her as he and Cas took their mugs. “So Susan, what is there to do around here? You know, other than what Yelp says. The insider’s scoop.” Dean winked as he took a sip of his coffee.

Susan smiled. “Well, if nightlife is your thing, there are some great spots within walking distance.”

Dean chuckled. “C’mon, Susan. Does this guy look like much of a dancer?” He grinned fondly at Cas as he draped his arm over his shoulders. It was ridiculous how much his stomach fluttered from the small action, but dammit, after all they’d been through to get here, Dean had earned a few butterflies. He squeezed Cas’ shoulder even though Cas didn’t really react. Dean was definitely going to have to clarify that the personal space rule didn’t apply anymore.

“Well, the restaurant down the street also does an excellent brunch,” Susan offered instead.

“Now that’s more our speed.” Maybe if the hunt went well they could actually stay the night, instead of getting the hell out of Dodge before the cops chased them down. Keep their salt and burn quiet and enjoy a nice night in. Dean tried not to get his hopes up for sharing a bed with Cas.

And he did mean sharing a bed. Things were moving so slowly between him and Cas he’d be thrilled just to spoon, nevermind anything else. Dean bit back a sigh as he swept over all of the knick-knacks and decorations, hoping for some sort of clue as to the identity of their ghost. “I’ve gotta say, I love the decor. Is all of this your collection?” Maybe a haunted object? Or a cursed one?

“Most of it.” A faint twinge of wistfulness colored Susan’s words as she looked over the porcelain figurines. “My Marcy liked to collect the angels, but that was years and years ago.”

On a high shelf was a large urn next to an oil painting of a young woman that immediately pinged Dean’s hunter’s instincts. “That’s a lovely painting over there,” he said, catching Cas’ eye meaningfully. Cas turned around to look too.

Susan’s face melted into a quiet, sad smile. “Yes, that’s my Marcy right there. A self-portrait. She was such a talented artist.”

Cas tilted his head. “She was your...wife?” he guessed.

Susan’s face crumpled. “No. No we were never…” She took a deep breath and continued in a steadier tone. “She was my business partner, but I loved her. Very much. And I knew she loved me too. So I suppose you could say we were almost together. Should have been together.” Her lower lip trembled.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what stopped you?” Dean felt bad for pressing her for information that was clearly upsetting, but people’s lives were at stake. Possibly Susan’s own.

Susan curled her hands around her mug, staring into the steaming coffee with a far off look in her eyes. “I was afraid. Of my own feelings. Of opening myself to getting hurt. So I...When Marcy needed me to be honest about how I felt I...I let her down. She got mad...We fought...She ran off. There was an accident, and...Well...” Susan took another deep breath. Her eyes were glassy with tears and heavy with regret. “Today is the anniversary of the day she died.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Dean said, injecting even more sincerity into his words even though he expected as much. Marcy was the best lead so far. Was she attacking people on the anniversary of her death? She was obviously cremated, but perhaps there was something keeping her tied here?

“Not your fault,” she said with the heaviness of one who had heard those words hundreds of times. She shook her head. “You’re not the reason she--” Susan cut herself off and swallowed down her tears. Despite her best efforts, a single tear trailed down her cheek.

“It sounds like you loved her very much,” Cas said, his voice infused with genuine sympathy.

“She was my world. I loved her more than she’ll ever know...” Again Susan fell silent, this time lost in thought.

Then, with a deep, resettling breath, she wiped at her eyes with the edge of her finger and forced a cheerful expression. “But enough of that. You’re my guests. You don’t need to hear all of that! Do you need anything while you get settled in? More towels? Recommendations for restaurants?”

Dean shook his head, “Appreciate it ma’am, but we’ll probably just grab whatever’s convenient around here.”

“Well, would you like to eat here? Usually I don’t serve dinner for guests, but since it’s only the two of you, I can cook up something if you’d like. I honestly wouldn’t mind the company.”

Sensing another opportunity to interview Susan, Dean smiled his very best ‘comforting the bereaved’ smile. “We’d like that very much, Susan. Thank you for offering.” Then, carefully timed almost like an afterthought, he added, “Oh, and what’s the wifi password?”

Upstairs their room was somewhat small but airy. The walls were a crisp, breezy blue, the linens bright white. There was even a gauzy white canopy draped around the four-poster bed. Dean grinned. One bed. Surely that was cause for some optimism about tonight.

“I dunno about you, but I’m gonna sleep like a log tonight,” he said with the most casual tone he could muster as he grabbed the weapons bag off Cas’ shoulder and deposited it on the duvet. “What about you? Think you’ll need a couple z’s?” ‘Please say yes.’

Cas eyed the bed. Something strange flickered across his face. Something heavy, even sad. Dean immediately felt like a jackass for reminding Cas about his weak Grace. “I mean, who knows how you’ll feel tonight,” Dean added hastily. He started digging through his bag for his laptop. “Get some sea air in your lungs, and you might wake right up.”

Cas pursed his lips. “I suppose so,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. He turned away from Dean and started roaming the room, looking over the artwork on the walls and the little beachy decorations on the furniture. He came to a stop.

“This looks like Susan and Marcy,” he said, letting his fingers trail along the frame of a painting over the dresser.

“Yeah?” Dean looked up from his booting laptop. It was an oil painting like the one downstairs, with a young couple in bright dresses making each other laugh in front of a backdrop of a stormy gray ocean. One was undeniably a much younger Susan. Marcy looked the same as she did in the painting downstairs.

Cas frowned a little and pulled his hand back from the frame. He glanced around the ceiling and only relaxed when he saw an air-conditioning vent gently humming nearby. Dean shrugged it off and turned back to his laptop. He set right to work searching through the local newspaper archives and breaking into the coroner’s office servers. Finding their ghost was only a matter of time.

“Got it. Marcy Daniels. Died forty-three years ago tonight.” Dean flipped his laptop around so Cas could read the news article. “Hit by a car. Right outside this house. Died before she even got to the hospital.”

Cas squinted at the screen. The photo attached to the article looked just like the woman in the paintings. “And you think she’s the ghost?”

Dean shrugged. “Seems as good a guess as any. Violent death. Susan said they were fighting right before. Probably something happened between them that left Marcy pissed off enough to stay in the veil.”

Cas nodded. “We should ask her about it.”

“Nah, she’s not gonna let us grill her about her dead partner like that. We’ll strike up a conversation at dinner. That should give us enough time to figure out what’s keeping Marcy here before she attacks tonight.”

Cas deferred to Dean’s hunting experience. “Well then what should we do until then?”

Dean grinned from ear to ear. “What do you think we should do? To the beach!”

---

Dean shut the trunk of the Impala and straightened his back, lifting his face to the breeze blowing in from the sea. He breathed in deeply. “God, smell that salt air…” he said with a wistful smile. When he turned to Cas, the angel was looking at him with fondness, warmth making his blue eyes brighter. Dean’s smile grew, and he lifted up his sunglasses to flash Cas a playful wink. Cas quickly ducked his head and started walking.

Dean bit back a groan as he followed behind him with their beach bag. What was he doing wrong? He was trying to be gentle, to give Cas enough space to adjust to the idea that they were together now on his own. After all of the crap they’d been through together, after so many things keeping them apart, he understood why Cas was struggling. Hell, he’d been squashing down his feelings for so long, Cas probably didn’t know how to let himself have this happiness.

At least, that was what Dean kept telling himself. Deep down, though, he was afraid that Cas’ feelings were changing.

“There’s a good spot,” Dean said, jogging up behind Cas and forcing down his depressing thoughts before they could meet up with his self-loathing and really cause problems. He grabbed Cas’ arm and tugged him toward an unoccupied part of the sand. The weather was a little too temperamental this time of year to attract huge crowds, but there were still plenty of people out enjoying the sunshine.

Cas let himself be led, his flip-flops flapping awkwardly over the sand. Dean laughed a little, even though his footing wasn’t much better. When they’d walked far enough away from the boardwalk, Dean unceremoniously dropped their bag and dug out a large blanket to lay out.

“Perfect,” he declared as he tipped up his sunglasses to survey his work. He plopped down on the blanket and shucked off his shirt. A quick glance up let him catch the way Cas’ eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his expression smoothed over. Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Cas, but he didn’t see because he turned around like a friggin’ Victorian lady in order to pull off his own shirt before he sat down in front of Dean, facing the ocean. Dean’s gaze swept down the broad, muscular expanse of Cas’ back, and he could barely contain the heat in his eyes and in his grin.

Only then did Cas glance over his shoulder and catch Dean’s eye. Dean bit his lip suggestively, his grin widening, but Cas’ cheeks turned lightly pink and turned his head away. He rubbed at the back of his neck. Nervous, huh? Well that was alright. Dean could lighten the mood.

He held up the bottle of sunscreen. “Alright, let’s spackle your back.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Dean,” Cas said, not turning around. His voice sounded even more gruff than usual, which was certainly saying something.

“Nonsense!” Dean was already squirting a healthy dollop of sunscreen in his palm. “You can get sunburned, same as the rest of us.”

Cas sighed heavily. His shoulders twitched, tense, but he didn’t protest when Dean slapped his hand at the middle of his back.

Dean set to work rubbing the cream into Cas’ warm skin. “See? This is nice. It’s like a mini-massage.” He made sure to move slowly, almost caressing him. His stomach fluttered with the faintest whisper of excitement. This was the closest thing he’d gotten to action in months, after all. And Cas’ back was nice. Broad and firm and far more muscular than Dean would have guessed. His heart did a little tapdance at knowing that he was allowed to freely ogle now.

“I like seeing you out of the trenchcoat,” Dean said, now using both hands to stroke up and down Cas’ skin. Cas tensed again. “I mean, you look good under all those layers,” Dean said hastily, afraid that the reminder of his waning Grace was too painful. “When did you get so beefy?” Dean slid his hands up to Cas’ shoulders and then down his thick arms. He squeezed them playfully as he shifted closer, letting his knees bump against him.

He leaned in close so he could almost whisper, “Wish I could see it somewhere other than the beach.”

Cas’ back became hard as marble. He lowered his head. “That’s enough, Dean,” he said softly. His voice trembled with some barely contained emotion Dean didn’t understand.

Disappointment rose up Dean’s throat like bile. “Seriously? I’m almost done!”

Cas twisted around, his face pulled into a scowl. His cheeks were flushed. “Dean! I’m an angel! I don’t need this!”

Dean pulled back. “What? I can’t even put sunscreen on you now?” he demanded.

Cas didn’t have an answer to that. He only glared, his eyes flickering with something Dean couldn’t quite figure out. Pain? Longing? Regret?

Knowing Dean’s penchant for screwing things up all the time, it was almost certainly the latter.

Cas breathed out a long, frustrated breath and rose to his feet. “I’m...going for a walk,” he said. He folded his arms over his bare chest.

“Cas,” Dean pleaded. What had he done wrong? Why was Cas so mad?

Cas shook his head. “Please, Dean.” With one last glance filled with that strange, heartache-inducing emotion, Cas turned and started walking down the beach alone.

Dean stared after him as he left. “What the hell?” he said under his breath. The sting of rejection quietly throbbed in his chest as he turned his gaze to the ocean. What had he done to piss Cas off? Had he really crossed a boundary, or was something else wrong? Cas had been so weird since he’d been back. Shouldn’t he be happy? Hell, telling Dean he loved him was the happiest Cas had ever been, right? That was part of his deal with The Empty!

Did he regret it? Did he change his mind? Maybe Cas really didn’t want to have Dean. Not for real. Maybe that was why Cas never told him how he felt before. He had to have known Dean loved him long before his deal with The Empty came along. Maybe there was a reason Cas hadn’t said anything about it before.

Maybe Cas knew that Dean would screw things up if they got together. Maybe he was trying to pull away from Dean, make it easier to break things off when it all came crashing down.

Dean stewed in his thoughts, his expression dark as he watched the waves. He lost track of time until a pair of children came racing past him, screaming in delight and startling him out of his thoughts. He pulled at his phone to glance at the time. Cas had been gone over half an hour. Way too long. Dean looked down the beach, almost expecting to see Cas trudging back up the beach back to him, but he didn’t see any sign of him. But Cas couldn’t have left left. Dean had the car keys! Quietly cursing, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Cas’ number.

...And heard a familiar ringtone coming out of their bag.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean growled as he hung up. He stood up, but he still couldn’t see Cas. Had something happened? What if he’d gone in the water? What if he’d gotten pulled out to sea by a riptide? Despite knowing Cas didn’t even know how to swim, worry dripped ice cold down Dean’s spine, and before he knew it he was walking down the beach along the path Cas had taken.

“Cas!” he called out, but he didn’t see him. Dean started walking faster. He scanned the beach for a familiar dark head of hair and the bright orange swim trunks Dean had picked out for him. “CAS!” He was beginning to fear the worst.

“You lookin’ for someone?” a concerned voice called out. Dean whipped his head around to a small family sitting underneath an umbrella.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, my buddy Cas.” Dean jogged over to them. “You see him walk by? Kinda beefy, kinda dorky. Dark hair, orange trunks, about yea high.” He held his palm flat about eye level.

The woman who spoke nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I saw him walking back toward town, though.” She pointed over her shoulder.

Dean furrowed his brow. Did Cas walk back on his own? Irritation flared in his chest as he forced a cordial smile and thanked the woman before jogging back the way he came. He didn’t see any sign of Cas back at their blanket either.

Dean scowled. Maybe he had walked back. Running off without a word was infuriatingly in-character for him. Dean cursed under his breath as he hastily packed up their things and started stomping up the beach toward the car.

What was even such a big deal? If Cas supposedly loved him so much, was rubbing his back that bad? Dean was trying to give him space, he really was, but the way Cas was acting, it was like he didn’t even like Dean, nevermind love him!

The thought clenched tight around Dean’s heart as he drove back to the bed and breakfast. Maybe he didn’t anymore. Maybe Cas was getting sick of him. Twelve years in each other’s lives, it was bound to happen eventually.

Maybe what angels considered love and what humans considered love was just different.

Dark thoughts still swirled in Dean’s head as he returned to the bed and breakfast and marched up the stairs.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Dean charged into their room, anger burning hot as his glare zeroed in on the angel sitting in a chair. “You can’t just go running off like that! You left your phone behind!”

Cas carefully closed the book he was reading. He was fully clothed again. “It’s not a long walk back here. I assumed you’d know where I’d gone.”

“I was worried sick about you! What if you went in the ocean and something happened?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t do that. You know I can’t swim.”

“You can’t just go stomping off whenever you get mad!”

Cas closed his eyes. “I’m not mad,” he said, though the growl in his voice suggested otherwise.

“Like hell you’re not!” Dean shot back. “So what is it? I can’t touch you now? It’s freakin’ sunscreen, Cas. Is it really that big of a deal?”

Cas’ eyes flew open. “Yes!” he said, deeply pained. “Dean, does it really matter so little to you that you’re okay with just ignoring it?”

Dean was brought up short. “Does what matter?”

“Me!” Cas plastered his hand over his chest. He almost looked like he could cry. “I told you how I felt and you insist on acting like nothing happened!”

Dean blinked. “What? That’s...that’s not true, Cas!”

“Dean! You didn’t say anything! Not once since you brought me back, have you said anything about the fact that I love you! And you may think that by ignoring it and trying to force things back the way they were before that you can lock up that Pandora’s Box again, but you can’t! I can’t. I can’t…”

Dean took a step forward, his expression darkening with confusion. “Cas, what’re you talking about?” He didn’t understand. Why did Cas look so hurt? So heartbroken? Cas loved him. Dean loved Cas. So why wasn’t he happy? What had Dean done wrong? “Cas, I--”

Cold mist curled up from Dean’s mouth.

They both went tense and still as they noticed just how cold the room had gotten. The lamp on the bedside table flickered.

“Shit,” Dean muttered under his breath. His eyes darted to the open dufflebag on their bed with all of their weapons.

He made a move for it, but a figure flickered into being in front of him. She was wearing a torn, bloody sundress. Her long, straw-colored hair was plastered to the half of her gaunt face where it was smashed in, blood staining it crimson. The ghost took a step toward Dean. Thick, dark blood dripped from her head but never reached the floor.

“Marcy,” Dean breathed. Guess she didn’t need to wait for nightfall after all.

“Coward,” the ghost menaced as she took another step closer. Dean carefully backed up. “Can’t even say it. Even when you’re hurting him. Coward!”

Dean’s eyes flickered to Cas, who was edging toward their weapons bag. He tried to make the movement quick, but the ghost noticed. With a vicious growl she flung out her hand and Cas went flying into the far wall.

“Don’t worry,” the ghost said to Cas, and the venom in her voice dropped into twisted sympathy. “I’ll take your pain away soon.”

Cas struggled to his feet as the ghost rounded on Dean again. Her outstretched hand aimed directly at Dean’s head, fingers curled into a wicked claw. But before she could touch him, Cas made another attempt at the duffle. She shrieked in fury and sent it spinning through the air toward the window. A single iron poker tumbled out of the open zipper as it flipped over and smashed against the glass, shattering it. The bag tumbled to the ground below.

Cas lurched for the poker. “Dean!” he called as he tossed it through the air, directly through the ghost. She howled and dissipated into smoke while Dean barely managed to close his fingers around the weapon. Cas and Dean stood back to back as they circled the room, Dean holding the iron poker at the ready.

“Salt,” Dean barked. “We need salt!” Except all of theirs was now two stories below. Dean silently cursed. “The kitchen! Go! I’m right behind you!”

Cas nodded and made for the door. The lights were flickering again. He and Dean narrowly made it into the hallway when their bedroom door slammed shut behind them. They raced for the stairs and nearly collided with Susan.

“Cas, Dean, what’s going on?” Her eyes were panicked, taking in the cut on Cas’ temple and the iron poker in Dean’s grip. Mist followed her words out of her mouth.

“Look out!” Dean reached for Susan, but he was flung backward by an invisible force. Marcy flickered into existence over him again. “Salt, Susan! We need salt!” he cried out before the ghost clamped its cold hand around his throat. Dean scrambled from his poker, but it had fallen just out of reach. His other hand grappled with Marcy’s, trying to pull it away.

He couldn’t see with the ghost pinning him down, but he was pretty sure he heard Susan’s footsteps racing away. Good. Even if she didn’t come back, at least she was somewhere safer. Black dots started to swim in Dean’s vision.

“Hey! Marcy!” A ceramic angel went flying through the air and smashed into a framed photo on the wall next to them, shattering the glass. Marcy snarled and whipped her head around. Her grip on Dean’s neck loosened a little, and Dean sucked in as many painful gasps as he could get.

“This is what you’re about, huh?” Cas goaded. He stood next to an accent table full of figurines, another ceramic angel in his hand, fat load of good that would do against a ghost. “Exacting revenge against shitty lovers?” Dean stretched his arm until his muscles strained. He could barely feel the length of the iron rod brush against his fingertips. If Cas could keep stalling for just a little longer... “I think anger has clouded your judgement.” Cas’ lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “You have no reason to attack Dean. Can’t you tell? He doesn’t love me.”

The statement caught Dean completely off-guard. His hand stilled as he gaped at Cas. “What?” he rasped around the ghostly hand on his throat. Didn’t love him!?

The ghost growled at Cas. She raised her arm as if to psychically toss him toward the stairway, but right at that moment, Susan barreled up the stairs, a blue canister of salt in her hand.

“I have the salt!” she said, and with panic and desperation in her eyes she blindly flung the open canister at Dean and the ghost. Salt flung in a wide arc and rained down on Marcy, who screamed and disappeared instantly.

Dean rolled onto his side, coughing weakly as he grabbed onto the iron poker and clutched it against his chest. Cas ran to him, only stopping to grab the canister of salt. He hastily drew a circle around them, draining the last of the salt on their protection ring. “Susan, get in the circle!” he commanded as he knelt beside Dean.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean choked out between gasps for air. His head was spinning. Cas’ hand on his shoulder helped a lot, but when Dean asked his question Cas quickly yanked it away. “How could you think that?” he said, genuinely confused.

“What’s going on? Why did that...that thing look like my Marcy?!” Susan nearly flung herself into the circle with them. She clutched at her chest, casting her terrified gaze around the room.

“Her ghost,” Cas said, though he didn’t take his eyes off Dean. His brow furrowed. “Dean, you haven’t--”

“Ghost?!” Susan screeched. “Then what the hell are we doing standing here?!”

“Salt repels ghosts,” Cas replied with way more patience than Dean would have had. “She can’t come into the circle.”

“What’s going on?” Susan’s eyes went huge, her face going pale. “She...She killed those people last year, didn’t she? How do we stop her?”

“Usually burn her remains, if anything is left,” Cas said, “but she was cremated, wasn’t she? So something else is tethering her here. Perhaps a locket? Something she cherishes.”

Susan frowned, panicked eyes darting around in front of her as she mulled it over. “Her painting,” she said with a gasp. “The one in your room. She finished it right before our argument! Right before she ran out into the street and was hit by the car. It was precious to her. She put her everything into it, tried to use it to confess her love for me, and I...I was too much of a coward to say it back. That’s why we fought.”

Cas and Dean’s eyes met, and they both nodded. Dean grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, poker still clutched to his chest. “Susan, stay here. Whatever happens, don’t leave the circle. Cas, I’ll keep her busy. You burn the painting.”

As one unit Cas and Dean left the salt circle.

Immediately the hallway burst into chaos. Doors slammed shut everywhere. The knick-knacks and travel guides on the accent table went flying through the air. The lights flickered until their bulbs burst, leaving only the light of the window at the far end to help them see.

They ran.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean demanded, because a deadly ghost hunt seemed as good a time as any to have this conversation. Some things were too damn important to wait for downtime.

“Because you don’t!” Cas snapped. He threw himself at the shut door of their room, but it was supernaturally sealed. He grunted and tried again. Marcy appeared at his side, a ghostly hand reaching for his chest, a snarl on her lips.

“Cas, of course I love you, you idiot!” Dean swung at Marcy, forcing her to disappear again. Cas slammed himself against the unmoving door. “How could you think I don’t?”

“Dean, I died--” Cas slammed into the door again. His eyes glowed faintly with his weakened Grace. “Telling you how I felt. And you said--” Another crash; the door cracked ominously. “Nothing about it since I’ve been back!”

Marcy flickered into being next to them again. Dean knocked her away with the poker.

“I thought you knew! I thought you didn’t love me and that’s why you never said anything!”

“I told you!” With one final crash, Cas burst through the door and into the room, Dean hot on his heels. They ran for the dresser. “I told you the one thing I wanted, I couldn’t have! That thing was you, Dean!” Cas yanked the painting off the wall and threw it on the ground, shattering its glass and exposing the paper.

Marcy screamed in fury and appeared in front of him. She flung him at the dresser just as Dean dispersed her with a forceful swing. He flipped the poker in his hand, readying himself to strike again while Cas scrambled to his feet, lighter freed from his pocket and held at the ready.

“Because of the Empty!” Dean insisted. Marcy’s form materialized again, and Dean raised his weapon as she approached. “You couldn’t have me because of the deal with the Empty!”

Cas fumbled with the lighter. “I can’t have you because. You. Don’t. Love me!” It finally lit. Cas threw it onto the painting, sending it up in flames.

Marcy howled in agony as her body sparked and burned. She raised her head skyward as if to escape from the rising flames, but in a flash of heat and bright orange light, she was gone, and Cas and Dean were left standing alone in the room.

They stared at each other in the sudden, violent silence. Cas’ face was a mask of frustration and pain.

“Dean, I’ve been back for months. Months. And you have said nothing about how you feel. Do not lie to me now because you feel sorry for me.” With one last heartbroken glare, Cas stomped out of the room, leaving Dean behind to stamp out the flaming remains of the painting.

Once Dean didn’t need to worry about burning the house down, he went looking for Cas. He found him outside, loading up their scattered weapons into the trunk of the Impala.

He looked shattered. His face was crumpled with pain, his eyes dull, deep furrows in his brow. It brought Dean up short. Guilt welled up so intense that Dean almost couldn’t say anything at all. Except, well, that had gotten him into this situation in the first place.

“I thought you knew,” Dean called across the distance between them. Cas stopped and turned to look at him. The bitterness in his eyes made Dean’s stomach churn. “I thought you knew,” he said again. He took a step toward Cas. “For years I thought you knew. But, you know, you’re an angel. I thought you didn’t...I thought you couldn’t…” He trailed off. Cas’ forehead was furrowed in confusion, but he was at least listening, so Dean swallowed down his discomfort and barreled forward. “I thought angels couldn’t fall in love. Except...then you died telling me you did. Telling me that the reason you couldn’t even tell me how you felt was because being happy would trigger your deal and…” He shrugged.

“You thought I was deliberately keeping us apart?”

“Because if you told me you felt the same, then we’d be together and you’d be happy and you’d die.”

The bitterness had faded from Cas’ eyes, replaced with something that Dean was loath to acknowledge looked a little bit like pity mixed with profound frustration. “So when I came back, you thought there wasn’t anything left to talk about?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck and took another step forward. “Yeah well…What else was there to say? You said you, you know, loved me. And I thought you knew that I, you know…” He trailed off.

“Dean.” Dean had never heard Cas sound so pained just saying his name. “You.” Cas scrubbed at his face. His mouth twitched as he struggled to find words for all the ways Dean had screwed up. Was continuing to screw up.

“The hoops that you jump through to avoid talking about your feelings astound me,” Cas finally said. He dropped his hand with a sigh of defeat, and Dean’s heart sank. This was it. The death rattles of a relationship that hadn’t even really started. Dean never had what he truly wanted, and he never would.

Dean ducked his head, unable to look Cas in the eye. “Right. Yeah. That’s me, alright.” He swallowed around the hard lump in his throat. The long drive back to Kansas was going to be awful.

“Say it,” Cas said softly. His words were a command, but when Dean looked up in surprise, his eyes were pleading. “Please,” he breathed, almost like he didn’t deserve to even ask, and something inside Dean cracked.

“I love you, Cas.” One step, two steps, he crossed the distance between them and threw his arms around Cas’ shoulders, clinging to him the way he wished he could have before the Empty took Cas away. “It’s you, Cas. It can only be you. It’s only been you for years. I promise.”

Cas’ next breath stuttered in his lungs. His arms wound tightly around Dean, desperate. “Dean,” he sighed, this time like a prayer.

“I’m right here, buddy.” Dean held him tightly, the way he should have when he first got Cas back from the Empty. The way Dean wanted to all these months when he thought...Well, when he was an idiot. “You can have me, you know. You already have me.”

Cas pulled back enough to look Dean in the eye. His eyes were glassy. Dean’s didn’t exactly feel dry either. ‘I wonder if I can kiss him,’ Dean thought, milliseconds before Cas did just that.

Cas’ lips were warm against his own, and Dean gasped softly as his hand wound through Cas’ thick hair to cradle the back of his head. His kiss was eager, if not clumsy, and Dean smiled a little as he let Cas take the lead anyway. When they finally pulled apart, Cas’ normally pale lips were flushed pink, and Dean’s soft smile morphed into a huge, affectionate grin.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice surprisingly husky after a largely innocent kiss.

Cas smiled back. “Hello, Dean,” he said, and Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed. God, how he loved this angel.

“So whadya say, Cas?” Dean said when his laughter quieted. “Ready to get the hell outta Dodge?”

Cas’ hands slid down Dean’s back until they were resting on his hips. “Actually…” His gaze turned wistfully in the direction of the distant beach. “I had a different idea.”

---

“You sure this is okay, Cas?”

“Dean…”

“Cuz I mean, I want to respect your boundaries.”

“Dean!”

“And I totally understand if I’m crossing a line here.”

Cas twisted around and gave Dean and his closed bottle of sunscreen a baleful look. Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “If I get sunburned, you can get your own room tonight.”

“You’re probably not even going to sleep anyway,” Dean shot back.

“I’ll sleep just to spite you.” Cas scowled, but Dean could see the corners of his lips twitching playfully. With a rush of affection, Dean shifted so that Cas’ bare back was pressed against his chest and Dean could rest his chin on Cas’ shoulder. Cas went stiff against his body, but it only lasted a second before he practically melted into Dean’s hold. Dean wrapped his arms around him as he watched the waves.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dean said with a sigh.

“Yes,” Cas breathed, but he wasn’t looking at the sea.

Heat rushed to Dean’s cheeks. He cleared his throat and kept his gaze solidly on the ocean. “You’re such a sap,” he grumbled weakly.

“You’ll get used to it.” Dean could see Cas’ smirk in the corner of his eye. Dean tightened his embrace.

“I dunno if I ever will,” he said quietly, a soft smile on his lips as he finally got to hold his angel.

[juminsmysticmc]

Pregnancy Series - Part 3

Telling them 

Hey! So a lot of you have been waiting and I am honestly happy that you guys seem to like my pregnancy series! Please feel free to tell me your opinion with a comment or through a reblog ( I read every single # ) or just send me a message in my inbox! Hope you enjoy! 

Pregnancy Series: Part 1 // Part 2 

Jumin

You nervously rubbed your hands together as the weekend finally came.

Ever since Jumin married you, he decided to have his birthday parties only with you instead of throwing big parties with people he didn’t even like just because of his status.

But this time you prepared something special for him.

You decided to invite your father-in-law as well as the RFA, even Zen, at your place on the 4th of October to stay until Jumin’s birthday at midnight the 5th october.

For Zen, you even prepared your party room since your beloved cat wasn’t in every room of the big penthouse your husband owned.

And so you prepared everything without your husband’s knowing. To say it clearly, you made someone else prepare it because you were scared of hurting the baby, being overprotective since it took you so long to get pregnant.

Maybe you were too scared, but you knew that Jumin wouldn’t have wanted you to overwork yourself.

The room was decorated in gold and black colors and you also baked a big cake on your own, deciding to hide a long note into the cake, saying that you were pregnant. At the end of the note, a copy of your first picture of the baby was attached, showing Jumin that whatever was happening was real.

You knew that he would be more than happy to see this, to know about the baby you were carrying.

,,Finally ready,’’ you said and sighed, looking at your clock, knowing that at 8 PM everyone would come home to stay into the room before Jumin would come home with Jaehee from the office.

The first guest to arrive was your father in law. To your surprise, he didn’t take his girlfriend along, but since Jumin always had to prepare a second party for his status, your in-law promised you to bring her along the next day. Well, you knew that this wasn’t going to last for a long time, but to make the elder happy, you nodded and smiled, telling him that you were more than happy to be able to get to know her.

Lastly, Seven, Zen, and Yoosung arrived. Zen and Seven were arguing whether or not the red haired boy should kidnap his Elly.

,,I need to go home with you. You can’t take that fur ball with you!’’ he hissed.

You left the men alone for a second before you waited for the final guest - your husband, of course followed by Jaehee who just sent you a message about her arrival.

Jumin was puzzled at first when you invited Jaehee inside and led the way to another part of the penthouse, but since it was you who asked, it was okay, you were his wife after all.

The surprise party, however, made him emotional and you knew that Jumin was touched just by his mimicry and how he stood there, you knew your husband.

,,I have a present for you, but you will only be allowed to have it at midnight!’’ you teased him after he gave you a long, lovely kiss.

Staying awake almost four hours more was hard for you. Since you knew that you were pregnant, you were even sleepier, but for Jumin you could manage to stay awake. You had to.

,,IT’S MIDNIGHT! BRING THE CAKE!’’ Seven screamed in excitement, making you a bit nervous.

Yoosung carried the cake into the room after you kindly asked him to, as you all sang ,,Happy Birthday’’ to him.

,,Thank you, my love,’’ he whispered and kissed you again, ready to blow his candles.

,,Before you cut the cake, Jumin,’’ you said as he stood there with a knife already ,,here’s something you have to pull out. Read it out loud,’’ you said.

You pressed your lips together as you waited for him to pull out the long white note until finally the first words appeared. ,,I…..’’ he said, he smirked, thinking that the note was ,,I love you’’

,,A….M…..P...R...E...G…-’’ he looked at you in shock before he pulled the note even quicker out of the cake, seeing the last picture of an ultrasound.

For the first time, all members of the RFA saw Jumin Han cry real tears by the man they always called ,,cold hearted’’ as he hugged his wife and kissed her with a lot of love, thanking her over and over again.

,,This is the best present ever,’’ he hiccuped and kneeled down to kiss your flat belly.

Zen

,,You will surely be a good mother!’’ the chocolate lady praised you as she gave you the white chocolate with the baby sonogram of your baby.

You quickly went back in and prepared a few more things. The chocolate was ready, you thought you would now take a little package and put balloons around the chocolate so that it would float up as soon as Zen would open the box.

Since the chocolate was in a cute packaging too, you put a note on it saying to open it immediately to see the surprise.

You guessed that this would be the perfect Valentine’s Day gift.

Then you also decided to bake a few muffins, not just for Zen, but also because you wanted to slowly get used to the idea of baking cakes for your future child.

That evening, you tried your best to act normal because you were overloading with happiness and excitement.

The next day, you woke up pretty quickly. One of the reasons was because you had the urge to throw up and the other reason was because you wanted to drop the news as soon as possible.

,,Mc, did you get checked up? Like-’’

,,Hyun, it’s just a virus. That’s why I had to cancel our reservation at the hospital,’’ you groaned as you again had to empty your stomach.

,,Of course, baby,’’ he whispered, holding your hair as he kept rubbing your back.

At times like these, he wished you could be like him, healing and getting better quickly.

But he also knew that you were a strong woman and didn’t have any problems.

,,Okay, I’m better,’’ you gasped as you went to wash your mouth. The taste you had in your mouth wasn’t really yummy and so you brushed your teeth before you decided to give him his present.

,,Here, for you,’’ you whispered as you laid back in bed, feeling a bit lightheaded.

Zen’s eyes went soft as he saw the big box, placing it on the floor and sitting next to it to open the present.

Just like you wanted, the balloons flew up, pulling the chokolate up.

Zen quickly grabbed the present and read the note out loud.

,,I’m excited. I never thought that Valentine’s Day could become so special one day,’’ he laughed.

You slowly teared up as you thought about how much better and special this day would become.

Zen opened the chocolate and inspected the picture.

He stayed silent for a second before he looked up at you again.

,,Really?’’ he asked you, whispering as his tears found a way out.

,,Really, Hyun, really.’’

Yoosung

You hurried home after the appointment, thinking about the best way to tell your husband that you were pregnant.

After you decided to take a look at some Pinterest boards, you decided to sew a little baby out of his clothes.

You once saw it in a drama and it was, in your opinion, the cutest idea.

And so, you took an old shirt of his and went down to the city, buying some stuff to fill your baby.

It took you the whole day to sew that baby, to first cut the material, put it together in a little cute baby outfit, and patch it together.

You were really happy back then; your teacher taught you how to sew at the machine and your mother bought you one back then.

Right when Yoosung entered, you just finished the little baby.

You were proud of yourself and were more than happy that you could hide the present before he came home.

,,Hello, my wife,“ he smiled and kissed you, seeing that you were in a better mood than in the morning.

,,You haven't cooked yet? Wanna do it together?“ he asked you, seeing that nothing was prepared.

,,Oh, I need to be honest. I took a good rest today and I forgot that it was already so late,“ you lied.

,,It’s okay! I can also order some sushi or-”

,,No sushi!“ you called, looking away.

,,Can we eat pizza?“ you asked him, trying to hide the fact that you preferred to not eat raw fish.

And so you both did, although Yoosung was kind of puzzled when you didn’t take the wine you both usually drank while eating pizza.

The day went by and the next morning finally arrived. You were happy to wake up just in time to set the table, prepare the breakfast, and put his bag with the baby doll on his seat.

,,Happy eighth anniversary,“ he whispered and kissed you, hugging your body from behind, nuzzling his head in your neck.

,,Eight years already,“ you sighed happily and turned around, ready to give him a deep, lovely kiss on his lips.

Yoosung quickly sat down, giving you his hand over the table as he put some sugar in his coffee.

,,That’s for you,“ he told you, giving you an envelope.

You smiled.

,,The bag in front of you is from me for you,“ you told him, as if someone else could have made him a present.

The both of you decided to open your present at the same time.

And once again, you surprised each other.

,,You want to adopt a child?“ you asked him as he almost screamed ,,YOU’RE PREGNANT?“

You both laughed at the same time. Yoosung quickly got up from his chair, getting on his knees as he kissed your belly with tears in his eyes.

,,I knew it! No sushi, no wine! I knew it!“ he sobbed, stroking the place where his baby was supposed to be.

,,Such a little human being will grow up here. Can you believe it?“ Yoosung asked you.

You were also now sobbing, shaking his head as you stroked his fluffy hair ,,Finally, Yoosung, finally,“

Jaehee

Your girlfriend couldn’t wait to hug you, hold you in her arms and so, as soon as she caught a glimpse of you at the train station, she hugged you, sobbing into your shoulder.

It was cold outside and you luckily came back right in time before the holy days of Christmas.

Jaehee still hugged you when suddenly, something soft and cold touched your nose, making you look up into the sky.

,,The first snow,’’ you whispered, making Jaehee loosen up her hug and look up too.

She chuckled as she knew that you loved the snow.

A few seconds later, the both of you walked hand in hand towards your shop. Jaehee was happy as you seemed to be in a happy mood.

Your fingers felt hot as hers were entangled in yours, stroking the skin of your finger with her thumb.

,,Go and take a warm shower. I will make us some food,’’ she mumbled and quickly left you alone.

And so, while the warm water of your shower hit your body, warming you up and relaxing your muscles, you thought of a way to tell Jaehee that you two finally did it.

Suddenly, you got a very good idea. Lately, you were into sublime stitching and found it hard to find new things to stitch, but now that you had your first ultrasound, you finally had a new challenge to take!

You copied your first ultrasound and sent it to your favorite artist, who was more than happy to make your ultrasound into a pattern with ink.

Just like always, you ironed the picture with the hot iron on your fabric, but this time you didn’t buy the pattern and indeed used your own.

You smiled as you saw how good it worked out. You were really proud of yourself that the first step was already so well done! 

But you couldn’t keep going as Jaehee called you to open the shop with her.

And so the weeks went by. You luckily didn’t have any symptoms that could have ruined the surprise for Jaehee.

You wanted to give it to her as a Christmas present after all.

You kept stitching along the line, slowly and accurately so that everything would look nice and neat.

When you finally finished, you felt yourself becoming emotional. This was now real, this present and this baby was really happening to you and Jaehee, who waited for so long for this.

The last step was to wash the fabric so that the blue ink would disappear, making it look once again much more beautiful.

,,I can’t wait for Christmas,’’ you chuckled to yourself and put the present into a little box.

,,You really didn’t have to,’’ Jaehee whispered the morning of Christmas Eve.

The both of you sat on your couch in front of your Christmas tree.

It was warm and cozy in your living room as you both were wearing the same Christmas hoodies.

You excitedly looked over to Jaehee as she opened the box.

Her fingers followed every stitched line, her lips began to tremble and it seemed as if she couldn’t breathe calmly.

You were getting worried, but soon enough Jaehee looked at you.

,,Is that yours?’’ she asked her, her voice was cracking.

,,Yes. I didn’t have the flu or covid, I’m pregnant,’’ you laughed.

Jaehee hugged you, not too strong, stroking the back of your hair as she enjoyed the warmth of your body.

,,I don’t have such a great present,’’ she laughed and kissed your cheek.

Saeyoung

The birthday of the twins was slowly approaching. By now you were eight weeks pregnant.

You still had symptoms and felt sick. Sometimes you couldn’t even cook, making Saeyoung worry for you, but you knew that this was worth it.

You chuckled as you thought about your self made toy you prepared as a present for Saeyoung. It was a toy he had to play first before the news of your pregnancy would be announced.

It took you a while to construct everything.

It was a game where he had to put cards together. To put them together, he had to form different sentences in different languages.

Matching cards would give him a letter and afterwards those letters would give him the sentence ,,You will be soon a daddy!’’ but of course, he had to also form this sentence.

Since it was kind of difficult to perform this all in Hangul, you decided to make it an english game.

For Saeran, you prepared a little teddy bear which would say ,,Hello Uncle’’ but of course, he wasn’t allowed to open his present until Saeyoung played with his present.

The 11th of June quickly approached you guys as you woke up one morning. Luckily, you still didn’t feel sick.

You hugged Saeyoung as you woke him up with a sweet kiss ,,Good morning,’’ you whispered, making him groan, but not open his eyes.

,,Hello, how did you sleep?’’ you asked him when he turned his body to you and hugged you back.

,,Good, but being awake next to you is better,’’ he whimpered and almost fell asleep again.

,,Ya! Your birthday breakfast is waiting for you!’’ you hissed and laughed.

He immediately jumped up, yelling for his brother. ,,SAERAN, YOU ARE TURNING A YEAR OLDER!’’ he laughed, making you shake your head.

But you were happy that Saeyoung finally found his brother. You could just imagine how it must have been for him to miss his second half for all those years.

And even though Saeran didn’t admit it, he probably missed his brother too.

The three of you were sitting around the table as they ate their soup. It was a special soup for their birthday.

,,I will give you your birthday present later when the other’s are here too,’’ you told them both, making your husband especially sad. ,,You always want your present at midnight and now I have to wait?’’ he asked you, whining as you laughed at him.

,,It’s special, that’s why,’’ you told him, making him sulk.

,,My presents are always special,’’ he whined but didn’t say anything anymore as he enjoyed his food.

You were nervous as the RFA came one by one. By now, you guys were always together. You saw yourselves as a family.

,,Okay guys, because of you I couldn’t open my present!’’ he whined and finally unpacked the box. At first he looked a bit… puzzled, which made you chuckle.

You explained to him how to play and even persuaded him to play on his own.

,,Boring that everyone is watching me,’’ he mumbled as Saeran kept patting his present, you told him he wasn’t allowed to open it yet.

,,Is that german? ,,Wir müssen…’’ what?’’ he laughed.

But one by one he did it and finally had the single letters that would give the hidden message.

,,I am pregnant, I don’t even have to think about it, that’s the message, right?’’ he said and immediately looked up at you, already in tears.

By now, Saeran too, unpacked his bear and in a big family embrace, Saeyoung cried into your shoulder.

Saeran

After you were brought to the maternity ward and they did some more tests, it seemed that it was official that you were pregnant!

Saeran got up as soon as he saw you walking out of the big doors.

,,Is it something serious? It took you so long and no one wanted to say anything,’’ he whined and took your hand between his, massaging your palm as he slowly walked out with you.

,,I just had to wait a long time,’’ you lied and smiled at him, trying to convince him that you just had a mere virus.

And so the days passed again and you worked on a present for Saeran who was a soon to be father.

You put a lot of thought into it and decided that doing something handmade would be much better than just telling him.

That’s why you decided to give him something your baby would get - a handmade baby blanket with his favorite flower patched on it.

You put a lot of hard work into it, using the best material and the most beautiful colors.

And since the gender was still unknown, you decided to go for a light beige color with some red details.

In the end, the blanket looked just too cute and it hit you - you were pregnant.

The day was nothing special when you told Saeran that you would like to go and eat an ice cream with him, something he agreed to immediately.

He took a few hours free and hand in hand with you, he went to buy ice cream for the both of you, enjoying the sun on your skin and the nature around you.

,,What do you have in that bag?’’ he asked you after a while, still licking his ice cream as he pointed at the little bag in your hand.

,,Nothing,’’ you began, ,,just something little I want to give you,’’ you told him, making him excited to know what you would like to give him.

To prevent the blanket from getting dirty, you decided to wait until the both of you were finished with the ice cream, giving you the chance to talk to Saeran a bit more about his day and your day.

,,Okay, now I’m ready,’’ he nodded and looked at the bag. He couldn’t wait to see what you had prepared for him in there.

He opened the bag and pulled out the self made blanket, observing every little detail.

He tilted his head as he looked at the length of it.

,,It’s a bit too little for you, right?’’ you laughed, making him laugh too.

Suddenly, Saeran saw a little note in there.

,,It’s not for you, it’s for your baby, Dad. Congratulations…’’ he whispered and put the note back into the bag, looking at the tiny blanket again.

You knew that he was happy, but probably overwhelmed with this news and so you decided to wait a few moments.

But as soon as the news arrived in his head, Saeran couldn’t prevent himself from hugging and thanking you a thousand times.

,,You...you always make me so happy…!’’ he whined.

,,I will give my best to become a good father,’’ he said with a trembling voice.

,,I won’t become like my parents. I will be a good one and I will protect you and our unborn child,’’ he whispered, his hand on your belly by now.

,,I promise,’’ he nodded.

,,I trust you, Saeran.’’

Jihyun

As soon as Saeyoung heard those words, he began to tear up and hugged you, patting your back. He was just so happy for you and Jihyun as he knew that the both of you had a hard time lately.

,,Let’s get back and prepare something!’’ he said in his mischievous smile and helped you to get into the car.

Of course, to keep it fair, Saeyoung wasn’t allowed to tell anybody. Instead, the both of you planned on how to tell Jihyun who would soon come back home.

,,How about I make a computer print of your future family and he has to paint it in little colors? We will just make it with so many details that he won’t notice from the beginning that it’s a family picture of four!’’ Saeyoung chuckled. You loved the idea and were more than happy to go with it.

You and Saeyoung worked on the details while the rest of the RFA weren’t at your home as they too had their personal lives.

Saeyoung and Saeran, however, stayed with you partly because Saeyoung prepared the surprise with you, but also because they both were worried.

When you finally finished with the layout and Saeyoung helped you to print it out, you wouldn’t be able to tell that this was a picture of a family.

,,I wonder how he will react,’’ you laughed and thanked him for his hard work.

,,Those were the longest six weeks I’ve ever experienced,’’ you whimpered when Jihyun finally arrived at home, Lucy on your hand, also more than happy to see her father.

Hugging the both of you, he nodded in agreement.

,,I also missed the both of you,’’ he said honestly.

Quickly letting him step in, you took his stuff and helped him to unpack before you told him that dinner would be soon ready.

,,I have a little challenge for you,’’ you laughed as you went back to your room to take the picture you prepared for him.

,,Oh, I saw that on Instagram,’’ he nodded, as he remembered the logic of the painting.

,,Yes, but I did this myself,’’ you said proudly, handling it over to him.

He laughed happily ,,I’m excited to work on it, thank you!’’ he laughed.

,,Yes, but there’s a hidden message in it so you need to hurry with it!’’ you told him, not knowing that you encouraged him to work on it the whole night after you fell asleep that night.

In the morning, when you just opened your eyes and saw his black bags below his eyes, paint all over his hands, you knew that he overworked himself.

,,Will we be able to adopt a child?’’ he asked you, his voice was raspy as he asked you, tears in his eyes, excited to know the answer.

You slowly shook his head, making him wonder if his sleepy eyes made him see something he just wanted to see.

But you didn’t want to tease him anymore so you finally told him. ,,I’m pregnant, Jihyun. I wasn’t sick back then, I was just… pregnant! I was having symptomes. We will have a child together soon!’’ you told him, slowly getting up from the bed.

,,I’m so happy,’’ he sighed and kissed your belly.

,,I will never go away for such a long time, I swear,’’ he whispered and then, with his knees on the floor and head on your lap, slowly fell asleep….

Vanderwood

You observed Vanderwood, noticing that the mood was being off for a few days.

To be honest, it was happening ever since you told him that you wanted to stop trying to have children for the time being.

Your eyes followed Vanderwood as he walked out and took out a cigarette, sluggishly smoking and looking around.

You began to chew on your lips as you thought back, maybe beginning the topic with ,,Yo’’ wasn’t the best way to start.

But there was no way back now and it didn’t matter anymore since you finally got pregnant.

You hoped that a day later, Vanderwood’s birthday, this silence between the both of you would be over finally as you wanted to surprise him with a self made cake which said, ,,Hello Daddy!’’

Of course, you firmly told him to not look at it, something he would never do since he knew how much you liked to surprise him.

,,Vandy,’’ you called him softly.

,,Don’t call me like that,’’ he groaned, a bit annoyed as he closed the door.

,,Are you angry at me?’’ you asked him, scared for his answer.

Vanderwood turned his body to you.

He didn’t look happy and you just noticed.

,,I’m not angry, I’m just… I have the feeling that you don’t really care about having a family with me while I work my ass of and-’’

,,Woah, what gives you that idea?’’ you asked him, slowly getting off the couch and looking at him.

You didn’t want to fight with him, but his comment… hurt you deeply.

,,Last time, sorry, but you approached the topic totally wrong!’’ he hissed, on his way to the kitchen.

You followed him there. He was partly right, you thought.

,,But, I was just… I didn’t know how to tell you, but this doesn’t mean that I don’t care,’’ you told him, your trembling voice making him look back at you.

,,I know. It still hurts though,’’ he whispered and opened the fridge to take out a cold drink.

,,You know what,’’ you told him, holding onto the door of the fridge and pulling out the cake you made for him which was covered with something so that he couldn’t see what was written on it with the chocolate.

,,What-’’ before Vanderwood could even say anything, you showed him the cake you prepared for him with the note written on it that you were pregnant.

,,It’s true. I was mean and I should have approached you differently, but I was so down, I didn’t think I could get pregnant anytime soon and- just don’t say anymore that I don’t care,’’ you finished your sentence and looked up, your tears were rolling down your cheeks as you were unsure of what to do now.

But Vanderwood knew what he had to do and softly took you in his arms, laying you down in the other room and kissing your neck.

,,You destroyed my surprise,’’ he whispered, giving you a kiss again.

,,Sorry for being selfish. I was mean while you’ve been carrying my baby,’’ he honestly apologized, stroking your flat womb as you sobbed into his shoulder.  

Part 4.1 of my pregnancy series here 

MASTERLIST 1

MASTERLIST 2

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16.05.2021// 00:12 MEST

[ikeromantic]

Uncomfortable Questions

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction occurring after the events of the romantic epilogue! Approx. 3000 words of fluff and stuff.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Friends and Frenemies

Miyake was nervous. He did his best to hide it. His job today was to stay with Lady Akechi, to keep her safe and happy. Normally, he’d consider it an easy task. A pretty girl, a new place to explore . . . but this was his Lord’s wife! And . . . other complications.

He swallowed.

“Do you want to go shopping too, Miyake? I see you’re wearing another of Sasuke’s t-shirts.” The lady smiled back at him as she asked.

“Nope! I’m good. I like this shirt. And the ninja took me out for some pants that fit too. I'm just here to keep you safe.” He glanced up at the tall tall buildings to their right and left. “Where, uh, do you want to go?”

Her shoulders sagged. “It’s not so much what I want to do as what I should. I need to stop by the clothing designer here - the place that hired me. To apologize for disappearing like I did.”

“Think they’ll be mad?”

“I hope not.” She mumbled something else, something Miyake didn’t catch.

“What was that?”

“Oh. Ah, just that I imagine they won’t be nearly as hard to apologize to as my family.”

Miyake nodded. Families were tough. He’d left his own to go serve Akechi, and never looked back. Not everyone could or would do that.

The lady stopped at a gift shop to pick up flowers for her former co-workers. Miyake didn’t let her lift a thing. Better safe than sorry. He even offered to carry her bag - her purse, she called it - but she wouldn’t let him.

Then they rode the train - which would have been fun if there’d been a seat for the lady. Standing, Miyake spent the whole time worried she might fall. Every little lurch made his jaw clench.

She seemed to notice his concern, and when they got off the train, stopped. “Miyake, I’m not that fragile. I don’t know what Mitsuhide threatened you with, but I promise, I’m perfectly capable of carrying things, walking, and standing on my own.” She laughed. “I’ve been doing it for years.”

“I know, my lady. But it just seemed like . . . in your uh, your state . . .” He gestured helplessly. Neither the lady nor his lord had said a word, and it seemed wrong to just put it out there before they did.

“My state?”

Miyake tried to hide behind the bouquets in his arms. “Ah, maybe it’s the wrong word. But hey! Isn’t that the shop you’re looking for?” It was a two-story building. A large sign hung above the double glass doors, with a spool of thread and a needle.

The lady turned. “Yep. That’s the place.” She squared her shoulders like a soldier going into battle. “Let’s do this.”

Grateful for the topic change, Miyake followed her across the street and inside.

The woman at the front counter recognized her immediately. Rather than anger, her face lit up with a big smile. “You’re ok!” She called out, “Hey ladies, our new hire just showed up six months late.”

Lady Akechi blushed deeply.

Three heads peered past the corner and then the other designers filed into the room. Besides the young lady at the counter that recognized Lady Akechi, there was an older woman with red cheeks and a round face, a short, thin girl with ponytails, and a tall woman that looked like she might arm-wrestle in her spare time.

There was a round of re-introductions between the five of them, hand shakes, and bows. Lady Akechi apologized several times, and then came the barrage of questions.

“Is this the guy you left us for,” one asked, coming over to inspect Miyake.

“N-no, he works for him though. Oh! And those flowers are for you.” She gestured for Miyake to hand them out.

He dutifully gave out the bouquets under the speculative stairs of four strange women.

“Huh,” said another. “So you found some rich guy and now you don’t need to work? Lucky!”

“This one’s pretty cute though,” the older lady said.

The short one with her ponytails smiled bashfully. She hid her smile behind her hand.

Lady Akechi stumbled over her words. “Oh - oh, I still work. I just do commissions now. And ah, ah, that’s Miyake.” She pointed to the older woman. “Miyake, this is Aiko.” She gestured to ponytail girl, “And Masako.” She nodded to the girl from the counter, “Takara,” and then to the tall woman, “And that’s Kei.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Miyake bowed. He felt himself blush under the weight of their gazes. He hoped this apology and leave-taking wouldn’t take too long, but that was a futile dream.

The women invited them out for tea, and promptly closed the shop. They walked, chattering together, to a cafe nearby.

Masako hung back to walk beside Miyake. She kept glancing up at him, shy but forward. After a block or so, she shoved a piece of paper into his hand and then hurried back up to join the other women.

Miyake looked at the paper. It had some numbers on it. Some sort of code? Was Masako a kunoichi? He studied the paper. Ten digits. Three numbers and a dash, three more numbers, a dash, and then four more numbers. The number 2 repeated. Huh.

He put it away when they got to the cafe. The place smelled strongly of coffee, a bitter beverage that people in this era seemed to enjoy. Miyake preferred tea. There were glass cabinets with sweets on display too. Things he didn’t even begin to recognize.

“What would you like,” lady Akechi asked. “I’m getting a cold coffee and some financiers.”

Aiko laughed at the expression on his face as he scrutinized the display. “You look like you’ve never been to a French bakery before.”

He nearly admitted he hadn’t, but he knew better than to give information away. Instead he just smiled. “It all looks so good. What do you recommend?”

Takara shrugged. “If you like sweets, the macarons are great. Otherwise, get a croissant or some brioche.”

“I like the crepes,” Mayako added.

He wound up getting the crepes and a tea. While the girls continued their chatter, now asking lady Akechi about her whirlwind romance and her future plans, he focused on his plate. Miyake prodded the food suspiciously. What was a crepe made of? What was in it and on it?

Miyake picked up the fork the way Sasuke taught him, cut off a piece of fluffy golden crepe and some of the fruit and poofy white stuff inside, and then stuck it in his mouth. The flavors hit him all at once. Sweet and buttery, the texture smooth as velvet, contrasting with the tart fruit.

“I think he likes it,” Aiko grinned.

“I know how to make crepes,” Mayako spoke up.

Takara elbowed her.

Kei laughed. “Men don’t usually order stuff like that here. Glad you’re not shy about what you like.”

Lady Akechi gave him a gentle pat on the arm. “He doesn’t go out for sweets often.”

Miyake nodded, feeling his cheeks flush again. Going into battle was easier than sitting through tea with a bunch of women, he thought.

When the ladies returned to their conversation, he felt safe enough to polish off the crepes, and order a second round. By that point, Aiko and Kei were giving lady Akechi tips on how to keep her man, and Miyake wished he could turn his ears off.

The conversation finally wound down, and the group returned to the clothier shop.

“You know,” Takara said, eyeing lady Akechi, “if you’re going to be around at least a few weeks, I have a commission or two you could pick up. Since you’re still working.”

“I’d love that!” The two of them headed to the back of the shop, and Miyake followed.

Masako gestured for him to stop. “That’s not for customers.”

“I’m not a customer.” He stopped though. From here, he could see lady Akechi and the other woman chatting beside some bundles of fabric.

The girl squinted up at him. She was, he thought, exceptionally short for a grown woman. “Are you some kind of mafia guy? Yakuza? Are you in a gang?”

“What?” Miyake’s eyes widened.

“I won’t tell anyone. Just me and Kei thought, the way you follow her around, you must be hired muscle.”

“I work for Lord Akechi,” he said slowly. “He is not . . . any of those things. I think.”

Masako frowned. “Fine. Don’t tell me. At least, don’t tell me yet.” She tugged at a ponytail, pulling it over one eye. “Maybe you can tell me when you . . . when you call me.”

From behind them, Kei snorted. “That is not how you flirt, Masako. You sound like a salesman.”

“I do not!” The shorter girl bristled. “Just because I’m not pushy like you!”

“Guys like pushy. Makes it easy for them to say yes.” She was standing pretty close, Miyake realized. She’d come up behind him and now he was trapped between the two women. He turned to look at Kei.

This was the wrong thing to do.

When he turned, she grabbed the back of his head and kissed him. It was . . . not a bad kiss. She was clearly experienced. Still, he gently pushed her away.

“See? Now if I gave him my number, you know he would call me.” Kei smiled smugly.

Masako looked furious. “I can’t believe you just did that!”

Mikaye understood now that he was the cause of this bizarre argument. A few days ago, he might have enjoyed being fought over by two attractive women. Not today. Today, he knew who he was going to marry and it surely wasn’t either of them. “I’m sorry ladies. I am already spoken for.”

“Oh sure! All the hot guys already have girlfriends.” Masako threw her hands up.

Kei chuckled. “What she doesn’t know, hm?”

“I ah, appreciate that, but -” He looked down the hall toward lady Akechi. She was lifting one of the cloth bundles. “My lady, no!” Miyake pushed past Masako. He lunged into range and grabbed the cloth out of her hands.

“What are you doing?” She looked stunned. A few bits of thread still stuck to her fingers.

Miyake grimaced. “You can’t be picking things like this up, my lady. It’s not safe for the baby.”

The four shop women all gasped at the same time. “You’re pregnant?” The question was a chorus of sharp disapproval to happy surprise.

Lady Akechi’s hands went to her hips. “No! Not, not as far as I know. Miyake?” One eye brow lifted and the expression was so like Mitsuhide’s that Miyake nearly handed back the bundle of cloth, certain he was wrong.

But he knew she had to be with child. Otherwise the dates wouldn't add up. “I - sorry my lady. I know you didn’t announce it yet.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Miyake took a deep breath. “Well. Yesterday, you know how I got quizzed by those professors?”

“Mhmmm.”

“They said I’m going to marry your daughter. Lord Akechi’s daughter, I mean. So I assumed . . .”

The four women burst into a whole new round of excited questions and now Miyake was the focus.

Lady Akechi came to his rescue. “I think Miyake’s just being . . . metaphorical. Yes. Not literal. Because I’m not pregnant. And anyway, ah, it really is time for us to go! But I’ll be back in a few weeks with the evening gown you commissioned. Thanks for that!”

Saying goodbye still took half an hour more, but they did get out and back onto the street alone.

Miyake snuck a look at his lord’s woman. She looked angry. Or worried. Maybe both. She kept touching her belly as if to be sure there was nothing new there.

“I’m not pregnant,” she said after they’d walked a little way back toward the train station. “I think I’d be able to tell. I mean, Mitsuhide and I, we don’t . . . you know, we just . . . but it takes awhile to make a baby, right? Like, lots and lots of . . .”

He swallowed. “Uh, sure? I mean, I knew some girls that got babies after one night with a man, but, I don’t know?”

“But not me. I'd know,” she said more firmly. “But . . . let’s stop at a pharmacy before we go home.”

***

Mitsuhide was having a fantastic day. He and Sasuke were riding the train out to the university. He tried to memorize the map of train stations, and even took a snapshot of it on his phone before Sasuke showed him how to download the ‘app.’

“Are you planning on traveling places on your own? I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Mitsuhide smiled obliquely. “I don’t know yet. But that is the problem for me here. I don’t know many things.”

After a moment, the ninja nodded. “And that is also why you agreed to come with me today.”

“Yes.”

Sasuke bowed slightly. “It would be my honor to teach you whatever you want to learn in this modern day.”

“You have me at a disadvantage but do not seek to exploit it?” One white eyebrow lifted in a gesture his fiancee was mimicking half a city away.

“No. I wouldn’t do that to the man my modern era bestie loves.”

Mitsuhide pressed. “This, despite working for my sworn enemies, Takeda and Uesugi?”

Sasuke’s shoulders tensed. “Yes. And technically, they are Nobunaga’s sworn enemies, not yours. And in this day, they are dead.”

“I see. You are desperately balancing your allegiances and rationalizing your actions to suit the situation and your preferred outcome. Are you sure you aren’t interested in a job?”

“You aren’t in a position to hire me.” Sasuke’s mouth quirked into what Mitsuhide was realizing was his smile.

The warlord nodded. “True. Perhaps I will ask again when we return home. Which will be . . .”

Sasuke flushed. “I am not certain. Perhaps, three months? The magnetic device I put together to predict and to enhance the conditions surrounding the wormhole was destroyed when we were pulled through.”

“So we could be stranded here.”

“Yes.” Sasuke’s voice was very quiet as he agreed.

“You seem unusually disturbed by that. Yet, this is your home?”

The ninja shrugged. “It was. We should be going now. The professors will be waiting for you, and we still need their help.”

Mitsuhide knew he hadn’t gotten to the reason for Sasuke’s unhappiness at their current predicament. He needed to know why the ninja was perturbed, but good intel took time. Instead, he spent the rest of the trip to the university solving the mysteries of bank cards and how to operate a smart phone.

The university was a pleasant surprise. A vast complex of buildings dedicated to furthering knowledge and culture. There was one entire center given to poetry and literature. Another to medicine. One to agriculture. Walking through them made Mitsuhide miss his friends. He thought of Ieyasu and Mitsunari, of how they would enjoy the time to page through these endless shelves of books and scrolls.

He thought too, of his lord, and the oceans of blood they shed to reach this place. This time. Mitsuhide could not help but wonder if there was ever another way to get here, to this, or if war and sacrifice was the only way forward.

It was with these troubling thoughts in mind that he sat down across a desk from two aged men. One of them looked deeply distrustful, while the other seemed excited. The excitable one was Sasuke’s contact, and they greeted each other familiarly before the ninja introduced him.

“Professor Fukuda, this is Akechi Mitsuhide,” Sasuke bowed to his friend. “And this is Professor Sakai.”

The men greeted one another and then the questions began.

“So you claim to be the historical figure, Akechi Mitsuhide? The traitor of the Oda?”

“I do.” Mitsuhide smiled sharply.

The enthusiastic professor Fukuda nodded, interrupting. “No need to be hostile to the man. Just ask your questions. For verification.”

“Hmph. As if I can verify an impossibility. But . . . the other one, Hidemitsu, he was very convincing. Alright.” And he proceeded to ask about minutiae. Random details. The color of this, the material of that, the name of this or that scribe, and so on.

Mitsuhide wore his patient mask. The face of the eager servant, he called it. He answered the questions as fully as he could until finally, the skeptical Sakai ran out of steam.

“Are you satisfied, sir? Do you believe me now?” Sasuke waited for a reply.

“I suppose I have no choice. Besides, Professor Fukuda was showing me the formula for your time travel theorem. I’m no physicist, but it looks solid. And . . . Mister Akechi answered everything correctly. Down to the last detail!”

Mitsuhide took a breath. That was one obstacle down. “Now that I have your confidence, are you willing to make a deal with me?”

Fukuda took a breath. “Sasuke already gave us a list of your needs -”

“Yes. He provided the beginnings of our requirements. There is more.”

“Well? Go on then,” Sakai gestured.

Mitsuhide nodded. “I require unrestricted access to your libraries and data - databases. I will require an assistant to teach me how to navigate your net-work, and may also need to use your laboratories, which you will allow with proper safety measures in place.”

The two professors exchanged a glance and then nodded. “Done. Is that all?”

“No. I’ve one more request. I may at some time, need,” he glanced to Sasuke, fishing for the word from his new vocabulary. “Scholars. Scholars’ ships.”

“Scholarships. For special situation admittance,” the ninja added helpfully.

“Yes, that. Three of them.”

Fukuda leaned forward on his elbows. “Is it for more of you people from the past?”

“No. Let’s say, as a reward of sorts for some of those assisting us. I am not in a position here to offer them places in my retinue or at my castle. But I will provide for them.” Mitsuhide’s eyes were hard. This was not a negotiable point.

“Why not,” Sakai waved toward the window. “We have people drop out of programs all the time from the stress of studies. It shouldn’t be a problem to put three people in.”

Mitsuhide relaxed back into his chair. “Then we have a deal.”

*In IRL history, Miyake marries Mitsuhide's daughter and takes the name Akechi Hidemitsu so I decided to include that tidbit!

Next: In the Spotlight

[yeah-all-of-it]

I’ve had this headcanon for awhile now about Ian and Mickey starting a family and since I’m becoming more comfortable with writing, I thought I’d turn it into a fic. Enjoy!

A Life Changing Gift

“Debs, are you sure you understand what you’re offering right now?,” Ian questions, feeling a bit skeptical.

It is Debbie after all. Sometimes she’s perfectly pleasant and reasonable, other times she can be a raging bitch. But, she is his sister and he can’t imagine her offering something this monumental only to renege after they’ve gotten their hopes up. And she’s definitely mellowed out since they didn’t end up selling the house and she didn’t have to find a new place to live.

Ian and Debbie are sitting at the kitchen table in the Gallagher house. She had called him over to look at a cut Franny had gotten playing in the backyard. Wasn’t sure if it needed stitches and thought Ian could use his past medical training to check it out. In reality, it was barely a scratch. Ian should have known at that point Debbie was up to something, especially when she invited him to stay for coffee.

“Ian, I’ve been thinking a long time about this. Came up with the idea months ago but wanted to be completely sure before I said anything,” Debbie explains.

“Yeah, but, Debbie. This is fuckin’ huge. Think about how hard it’ll be on you-“

“I’ve already thought about all that shit, Ian. I’ve been through it before, you know. It’s really not that bad,” Debbie assures him.

Debbie seems sincere. Like she’s really considered every angle, every downside, upside, and in-between. He’s trying to keep his excitement reined in because he still has to convince Mickey that this is a good idea, which could be easier said than done.

“Listen,” Debbie says. “You don’t have to say anything now. Go home, talk it over with Mickey. You can even bring him over here and we can all talk about it if you want. No pressure.”

They both stand from the table and Ian goes to give her a hug.

“Wait, what the fuck are you doing?” Debbie jokes. “Thought you hated me and that we don’t do hugs anymore.” She laughs, and Ian knows she’s remembering how tense things were a year ago when she thought she’d be homeless and alone and she lashed out at all her siblings.

“Would you just fuckin’ come here?” Ian smiles warmly and holds his arms out.

She steps into his embrace and he just holds his little sister. Sometimes he still likes to imagine her as that sweet little girl that was always helping people. Always loving people, sometimes so much she would get hurt. It would kill him to see the tears in her eyes.

Sometimes, he sees glimpses of that caring little girl in the jaded woman she’s become. Like when she pretended to be the bride at his wedding; staying in the kitchen, missing the whole ceremony, just so he and Mickey could get married without any problems from the homophobes at the venue. And now, when she’s offering this selfless and life changing gift to them.

Ian whispers into her hair, hair that’s the same vibrant shade of red as his own, “I don’t even know what to say, Debs. Just… thank you.”

Debbie gives him one more big squeeze before pulling away. “You’re welcome. Now, go home and convince your husband to let me have his baby.”

———

“No fuckin’ way, NO fuckin’ way!” Mickey exclaims. “No way am I bangin’ your little sister.”

Mickey hops up on the counter, takes a long chug of the Old Style in his hand.

“Mick,” Ian sighs, leaning up against the opposite counter. “That’s not how it works. You would basically jerk off in a cup and she’d use a turkey baster, in the privacy of her own room,” he emphasizes,” to… place the sperm where they need to go.”

“Don’t you need like, a doctor or some shit to do that?” Mickey asks incredulously.

“Well, you can use a doctor but it’s expensive. This way is free,” Ian clarifies.

Mickey is clearly churning the idea around in his brain. Finally speaks.

“I thought we were just gonna like, find a fuckin’ kid that didn’t have parents or somethin’.”

“We can do that too, one day. Ya know, if we like the first one enough to do it again,” Ian says lightheartedly, slight grin, trying to calm Mickey.

Ian steps toward Mickey, placing his hips between Mickey’s knees, resting his hands on his thighs, rubbing softly.

Ian continues. “Think about it though, Mick. This baby would be us, you and me. It’s the closest we can get since we don’t exactly have the right stuff to do it on our own. He or she would have your DNA and, through Debbie, a little of mine too.”

Mickey beams at this, wraps his arms around his husband’s shoulders. “It would be kinda fun to have a little version of us runnin’ around,” Mickey admits. “You know a kid that’s part Milkovich and part Gallagher is bound to be a little shit though, right?” Mickey jokes, smiling at the thought.

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Ian quips, leaning in and planting a sweet kiss on his smiling husband’s lips.

Ian pulls back from the kiss and asks seriously, “So. Do you wanna do this?”

“Yeah. Yeah I do. What about you?” Mickey questions.

“Fuck yeah, I do. Let’s call Debs right now.”

———

“I’ve done a lot of research about this. You guys know it might not work on the first try right? Don’t want you to be frustrated or disappointed if it doesn’t work this month. Doesn’t mean it won’t ever work, but it can take a little time,” Debbie explains.

They are sitting in the Gallagher living room the day they are making their first attempt at insemination.

“Yeah, we know, Debs. Don’t worry,” Ian replies. “We’re not in a hurry.”

“Okay, good. Keeping your expectations reasonable is good,” she says. “I’ve also been tracking my basal body temperature and took an ovulation test, so today is my most fertile da-“

Mickey interrupts, “Thanks, Dr. Gallagher, but we don’t need all the gory details. Now where do I jerk off? Hey Ian, you gonna gimme a hand, man?” Mickey clicks his tongue and bounces his eyebrows playfully.

“Ugh, no gory details, right? Let’s just keep all the personal shit to ourselves okay?” Debbie requests.

“Yeah, this is already awkward enough. Don’t need to make it weirder,” Ian agrees and eyes Mickey scoldingly.

Ian and Mickey are forced to go into the bathroom because Lip and Tami live there now and their old bedroom is now Fred and the baby’s room. They’re not home but it would be uncomfortable seeing Fred’s little toddler bed, his stuffed animal collection staring at them while Mickey gets off. So, bathroom it is.

“Listen, Mickey,” Ian explains. “I’ll help, but we are keeping this clinical. Short and sweet. We can fuck at home later for fun; this needs to be done with a purpose, a goal. Debbie’s waiting.”

“Ugh, Jesus, man, why you gotta bring up Debbie? Doesn’t exactly make this process easier to think of her waiting in her room to squir-“

“Okaaayy, focus Mick,” Ian interrupts before that sentence goes any further.

Ian yanks down Mickey’s pants and gets to work. He knows exactly how Mickey likes it to make him come quickly. It works and Mickey finishes into the bulb of the turkey baster in record time.

Ian wipes off the edges and walks it to Debbie’s room, knocking on the door. She opens it just enough to stick her arm out and Ian places the bulb in her hand. Ian hears her say, “Uh, you guys can go home. I’ll text you later,” and shuts the door.

On their way back to the Westside, Ian’s phone dings. He picks it up and reads the text from Debbie out loud. “Transfer is complete.”

“What now?” Mickey asks.

“We wait,” Ian answers.

———

“It should have worked by now, right?” Mickey asks, an edge of concern in his voice. “I mean, it’s been almost 4 months. What if like, my fuckin’ swimmers don’t work or somethin’?”

Ian tries to calm Mickey down, rubbing his arm that’s slung across Ian’s belly. It’s midnight and they really should be asleep but Mickey’s spiraling over the whole surrogacy thing.

“Mick, this is normal. We knew it could take awhile. There’s no need to freak out yet,” Ian assures. “What’s all this about, anyway? All the worry.”

“Just… I know it took a long time for me to even wanna have kids. Then you had to convince me to do this shit, to be okay with Debbie carrying my baby. Fuck, that still sounds creepy as hell. But anyway, I know I wasn’t on board with everything at first, but now? Ian, I’m so fuckin’ excited to have a baby with you. To be a dad with you. It’s just hard to wait, that’s all. And then I think… what if it doesn’t happen? What if this whole plan just fuckin’ fails? Then what?”

“Then, we come up with another plan,” Ian assures. “I wanna raise kids with you too, Mickey, so fuckin’ much. I wanna give them the childhood we never got to have. I wanna take them to the beach with you, I want us to play blocks on the living room floor, and read bedtime stories together. All that shit. It’ll happen, Mickey. One way or another, we’ll make it happen.”

Ian snuggles Mickey closer, kisses him on the top of the head, and they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

They are woken up by Ian’s obnoxious ringtone at 6:00 am, well before they have to be up for work.

“Who the fuck is calling this goddamn early? Better be fuckin’ important,” Mickey grumbles while rubbing his eyes.

It’s Debbie.

“Hey, Debs!” Ian says with fake cheerfulness, still half asleep. “What’s up?”

“There’s two lines!” she screams on the other end of the phone.

“Okay?” Ian replies.

“There’s TWO lines!” she repeats, emphasizing the word two.

“I don’t know what the fuck that means, Debs. Two lines where?” Ian questions.

“On the pregnancy test, dipshit! It’s positive! I’m pregnant!” she yells.

Ian bolts upright in bed. Mickey grumbles “what the fuck” under his breath, eyes still half closed.

“Holy fuck! It’s positive?” Ian exclaims. “It worked?

Mickey’s up now too. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Debs! Thank you! I love you! I’ll call you back later!” Ian says, unable to hold in his excitement.

He hangs up the phone. Turns and looks at Mickey. “It worked. She’s pregnant,” Ian practically whispers, unable to believe it. Ian sees tears well up in Mickey’s eyes and, for only the second time Ian has ever witnessed, they spill out onto his cheeks.

———

“Damn, you look like a beached whale, Debbie,” Mickey observes.

Debbie gives him a dirty look but chooses to keep her mouth shut.

She’s a week past her due date so they are at the clinic today to make sure everything is good. Debbie is up on the table and Ian and Mickey are sitting in the two available chairs when the doctor comes in.

“Hi, Debbie! Hi, Dads!” she says cheerfully. “So we are going to measure your belly and do a quick ultrasound just to make sure your amniotic fluid looks good.” Mickey grimaces at the term “amniotic fluid”. “I’ll have her back in a jiffy, guys!” the doctor says as she whisks Debbie out of the room.

They spent the last 6 months getting everything they needed for their new baby. Tami even threw them a shower where they got clothes, bottles, a swing, a carseat, and about a billion diapers. They decorated the nursery in light gray bedding with tiny white stars. Gender neutral because they want to be surprised. They have everything ready, all they need is the baby who is taking its sweet time.

Around 20 minutes has passed when the doctor pokes her head in the door.

“Sooo, I have some news. Debbie’s water broke while we were doing her ultrasound and her contractions started coming really fast. From what I’ve been told, her first delivery was pretty quick so we’re transporting her to the hospital just down the road, just to be safe. You are welcome to head over there now. I will be delivering so I’ll see you guys there!” and her head pops out as quickly as it appeared.

Ian and Mickey just look at each other, stunned. Finally Mickey regains his senses and breaks the silence. “Well, let’s fuckin’ go!”

They finally make it to the OB floor after a couple wrong turns inside the hospital. A nurse points them to Debbie’s room and they walk in when she’s in the middle of a pretty intense contraction. Once it subsides, she greets them and informs the epidural is on its way.

Once it’s been administered and Debbie is blissfully pain free, she asks, “Do you guys want to be in the delivery room?”

They both look at each other. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” Ian replies.

“Fuck, no,” Mickey says. “I don’t wanna see that shit.”

“Mick, you don’t have to watch. We can stand up by her head. Hold her hand. Be supportive since she’s bringing our baby into this world.” Ian turns to Debbie. “Are you sure you don’t mind? We understand if you want to keep things private.”

“Ian. I gave birth to Franny on our kitchen table in front of… like, everyone. Kev saw my vagina. V saw my vagina. Fuckin’ Sean saw my vagina. Trust me, I don’t care if you two are in the room.”

Ian looks at Mickey. “Fuck… fine. We can be in there,” Mickey relents.

A nurse comes in to check Debbie and informs her she’s 100% effaced and 10cm dilated. It’s go time. Things move at a quick pace after that. More nurses come in, turning on extra lights, bringing in supplies, wheeling in the heated bassinet.

Ian and Mickey stand side by side to Debbie’s left, Ian holding her hand, while she pushes. It’s fast. She only pushes for ten minutes before they hear cries and the doctor’s holding the baby in her hands, declaring, “it’s a girl!”

The next thing they know, a nurse is throwing a clean blanket over Mickey’s chest, and another nurse walks over and places the baby, his daughter, in his arms, blood, vernix, and all. Ian expects him to be grossed out but Mickey just stares in awe at this beautiful baby. This baby that looks like him in the face, but has a head of red hair.

Ian steps up to Mickey and wraps an arm around his shoulders, placing his other under Mickey’s arms that are holding their daughter. There is not a dry eye in the room. Ian and Mickey are crying, Debbie is crying, even the doctor and nurses are crying.

The next hour or so is spent getting the baby, and Debbie, cleaned up and dressed. They take the baby and run the normal tests and give her a vitamin k shot.

Once Debbie is in a room, the nurse brings the baby in to her dads. Ian sits in the rocking chair snuggling her while she sleeps and Mickey is right next to them.

Debbie just gazes at this new little family from her spot in bed. “So,” she finally says. “What are you naming her?”

Ian and Mickey just smile at each other before Ian responds, “Debbie, meet Margaret Laura Gallagher-Milkovich. Maggie for short.”

Debbie’s eyes tear up. “You guys gave her my middle name?”

Mickey surprisingly fields this question. “We wanted her to be named after the person that’s responsible for her bein’ here. For helping’ create her for us. I know I give you a lotta shit, but I love ya, and I appreciate the fuck outta you, Debbie.”

“Aww, Mickey, I love yo-“ she begins before being interrupted.

“Don’t get fuckin’ used to it. I’m emotional today,” he snaps with feigned grumpiness. Then smiles at her.

They let Debbie snuggle her for a bit before being released by the pediatrician to take her home. Thankfully they had already installed the infant seat in their car so they were prepared.

They walk through the door of their apartment 30 minutes later. Ian sets the carrier down and picks the baby up out of it, snuggling her tiny body to his chest before passing her off to Mickey.

“I’m not sure what you were so worried about, you’re a natural, Mickey,” Ian says as he gazes at his handsome husband tenderly cradling their beautiful baby girl.

They walk over to the sofa and sit down, thinking about the whirlwind of a day. Not knowing when they got up this morning to take Debbie to the clinic that by evening, they’d be holding their daughter in their arms.

Ian wraps Mickey’s shoulders with his arm, places his hand on their swaddled baby and says, “Welcome home, Maggie Gallagher-Milkovich. Your dads love you so much.”

[zackcrazyvalentine]

hewwo! may i please have a scenario for Sam from TWST with a really flirty fem!MC? it can be as sfw or nsfw as you see fit

Okay, ahem, first off…. Sorry if this sucks  orz, I’m one very HORRIBLE flirt

But for you guys and your requests, anything u.u ❤️

This pretty much is SFW! Just some suggestive comments are used

(forgot the name of this one aaa)

This will be: "Enjoying the view~"

-- -- --

Sam, the school’s shopkeep. A very fun soul to be around, and a very charming man, in her opinion. Was it any wonder the girl’s heart was stolen by this mysterious man so early on her stay at Night Raven College?

[Name] would frequent Mr.S’s shop with any and every excuse, all to spend some time with the Shadowman. Running errands for her friends, wandering out into the dark because Grim got a late night craving, her feet would even unconsciously take her to the enigmatic shop when making her way to some unimportant part of campus.

Sam himself enjoyed her company. Her reactions were delightful, and the warmth that painted her cheeks whenever he winked at her was adorable.

“Cheeky little devil she is.” Fleeting touches and playful smiles accompanied her farewells… and he could honestly not complain about that. 

Is it wrong? Most probably. But does he want to be right? Not really.

He’s made contracts and rituals that have definitely stained his history, so what’s another blot in his pages? As soon as any clause is broken, his friends will drag him to his own personal hell. What can he do but enjoy life any way he wishes to?

It’s not like he’s that old, either… He also isn’t her teacher, so…

Tuesday, 4 p.m. Sure enough, the bell signaling someone entered the shop rang clearly through the silence within.

“Hello, Mr. Shadowman~” [Name] greet him, making her way to one of the shelves right in front of his counter. “May I know how you and your shadow friends are doing today?” She asked while bending down to reach whatever product she needed. It couldn’t be more obvious that she did it on purpose, the sway of her hips and how she shifted her weight from one feet to the other a clear telling sign.

He felt one of his shadows elbow him lightly, gesturing to the expanse of soft skin her short skirt revealed in her position. Sam leaned over to admire the sight properly, teasing smirk slowly forming on his face. “We’re doing just fine, dear… More so now that you’re here, I admit.”

The girl flinched a little, straightening up at the comment. “Remain calm, [Name], play it cool.” Sure, she acts like a tease and a flirt with the older man, but damn did it take some of her guts to keep the natural face.

“Oh, is that so~? Should I come over and make you company more often, then? I’m sure Grim wouldn’t mind much. He’s always pestering me for privacy and all that, y’know.” She took her time making her way to the counter. 

Once there, she propped her head on her hand with a playful smile directed at the clerk. “Could you be a dear and prepare some [tea leaves/coffee grounds/beverage mix] for me? We’ve ran out back in Ramshackle.”

The magenta eyed leaned close, so very close, to the girl. “With pleasure, little demon.” He let his voice drop low, the way he knew would evoke a wonderful blush to bloom on her cheeks. He promptly got to work.

Meanwhile, the [hair color] bit her lip to silence a squeal, but her lips definitely widened the smile they already formed earlier.  Bright [color] eyes remained trained on the shopkeep, enjoying the way he (purposefully) put on an entertaining show to prepare the consumable along with his shadow friends.

Sam would throw glances her way, she basked on the attention. Soon enough, the tradesman began filling a small metal tin with the brew stuff.

“Little devil, you know it’s rude to stare.” He said.

“Oh, sorry, but it’s hard not to when the view is so… nice” That cheeky glint returned to her eyes.

The magician got caught off guard, noticeable by his slightly widened eyes. Still, he brushed it off with a small chuckle. “Is that so? Well then, I can say I very much enjoy what you did to your uniform.” A sideways glance was what she got, “Especially the lax necktie.”

The girl mentally high fived, “Yes! He looked at my chest!” But keep her cool she must.

“I think I know where it’d look better.” Couple silent seconds passed before she smiled in mock innocence at the man, “On your floor~” The act was completed with a cute tilt of her head.

Sam pointedly looked at her now, feeling warmth of his own crawl up to his ears. “My, my!” He was truly impressed.

His shadow friend returned. It pointed at the [hair color] and did an “OK” hand sign (aka 👌), along with multiple thumbs up.

Very well then, he’ll play along.

“Really now, love?” She became alert at the new nickname. “Then let me propose you something.”

Once more, he leaned close to her after placing the items she was to purchase right beside them. “For anything you would like to buy,” Without breaking eye contact, his hand went to play with the sloppy tie around her neck, “Prices are negotiable.”

Oh, that did it.

That, paired with his handsome smile and those purple eyes shining with mischief… broke her.

A gasp left her lips as a furious flush covered her entire face. Nerves and excitement fired the fight or flight instinct, and flight she tried.

[Name] jerked away from the object of her attention, leading her tie to unravel and her to almost lose her balance from the sudden movement. Thankfully, a magical shadow clung to her own and pulled her back on her feet.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry Sam! I-I just..! It just-!” Embarrassed, she turned away and used her hands to cover her face.

The clerk remained stunned, but a rich chuckle of his own broke him out of the stupor.

“No, no! Little demon, it’s fine! Don’t worry!” It took some time for his laughter to die down, this only helped increase the student’s shame.

“C’mon, turn around. I promise it’s alright, [Name].” He reassured.

Begrudgingly, she heed his words and lowered her hands once they were face to face. Her eyes remained averted, though.

Sam smiled fondly at her, “Listen, it’s fine if you decline, but I want you to hear the idea first.”

Trying to swallow her mistake, she nodded quickly and looked at him. “How does a date sound? Casual, to a café or something. I know some good places to eat delicious meals at a low price.”

She took some time to regain her confidence. “S-Sure, sounds good…” Her voice trembled a bit, her nerves were still aflame.

“So, we’ve got a deal?” He held out his hand.

A lovely bashful smile finally grazed her lips, “Deal..!” She shook his hand a couple of times.

“A-And please…” Taking the discarded tie, [Name] wrapped it in a proper ribbon to his wrist, “Keep it.”

With a last smile, Sam handed her the two products she had on the counter. “On the house… and do take a little extra on your way out.” One last wink.

The girl giggled while walking backward, “So, I take it I should drop by soon to settle out the date?”

“Yes, indeed, cheeky devil! But your company here will always be welcomed, regardless!” With that, she waved at him and exited the shop.

The way they both celebrated the accomplishment that night, on their own ways.

[END♡]

-- -- --

YOOOOOO!!!! I ENJOYED WRITING THIS MORE THAN I THOUGHT I WOULD! OMG THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST!!!!!! 💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

Hope it was to your liking~! 

It is said that: you shouldn't trust anyone who flirts with you super smoothly (unless it’s playful banter between friends). If they really want to woo you, they will be nervous

That’s why I decided to add Sam blushing a little and Fem!MC getting super nervous like that c:

Thank you, once more!  ^ ^

[fefipranon]

Rivamika Fic Preview

Topic: Mikasa, a hardcore feminist, kidnapped by Levi, the leader of one of the most powerful gangs and who is the book definition of a dick.

Mikasa Point of View (P.O.V.)

Here I am, another restless night. Turning on my bed like a hamburger patty being flipped on a grill, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep. I can hear birds chirping outside so it's probably already morning but my thick light-blocking curtains make my room look as dark as night. Whoever invented those, has a special place in my lazy heart.

I started hearing shuffling sounds outside the door of my room. These two have no sense of self-preservation, I thought. My two roommates, Eren and Armin, have been living with me for a year now. I met them ten years ago, starting my teenage years, a tragic event brought us together. Since 'that event', Eren's parents took me in as their own and he introduced me to Armin, his best friend since childhood.

We are inseparable, even now as adults. Even though Armin works as an accountant for a law firm, I work as a Computer Engineer for the CIA, and Eren works as a veterinarian, when we are together, we still act like silly kids. I love them like siblings love each other, which means that we also fight like siblings, and right now they are breaking a golden rule.

You see, I love them. I would give my life without a second thought for them, but, there is something I love more: my bed. I can be a charming and decent person, AFTER my morning coffee, and AFTER I wake up on my own. If anyone dares to wake me up from my precious sleep, there will be hell to pay. I am not a morning person, who is it really? Those who said they are, are not to be trusted, they are probably psychopaths and serial killers. I also don't trust people that don't like cheese, how could you not like cheese?! They are probably part of those reptilian people that conspiracy theories warn you about from alien abductions and shit.

I heard Armin's voice, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

I walked to the door to better listen to their conversation.

"She promised to join us for our traditional 'Sunday pancakes' today since she has failed to wake up early for the last four Sundays in a row! It's her fault!", Eren said.

"You know she is not a morning person! She will kill both of us!", Armin said.

I saw the bolt of the door shaking. Eren was clearly picking the lock from my room. He really has a death wish. I stared around my room looking for ideas on how to greet him, and my eyes landed on my hamper which was almost full of my dirty clothes. I walked to it and grabbed two dirty socks and rolled them together in a ball.

"You can still run away and save yourself.", Eren said.

"I will just stay out of her room, and watch how she kills you while eating popcorn then."

No Armin, you are going to get it too since you are not stopping him, I thought. Then, I heard the beep sound from the microwave. He really made popcorn, unbelievable. I rested my back against the wall next to my door, waiting for their intrusion.

"Do you even know how to pick a lock?", Armin asked.

"I've seen it in movies, they open everything with bobby pins on those spy movies so, how hard can it be?", Eren said.

I pinched the bridge of my nose thinking, he can't be serious. But knowing the bastard, he probably was, and I didn't have the patience to wait for him to finally open my door. So I opened it myself.

He looked at me in shock and said, "Mika-"

But I cut him short by shoving to his open mouth the ball of dirty socks. Armin was on the way to the microwave and yelped at the sight of Eren spitting the dirty socks from his mouth and coughing. I gave him a death stare and yelled:

"You are next!"

"Fuck no!", He yelled as he ran to his room with me running behind him.

He got into his room and closed the door before I could get to him.

With a sing-song voice, I said, "Oh, Armiiin, open the door now and I might forgive youuu."

"Bullshit! I will only open the door after you have your morning coffee!"

Suddenly, the smell of popcorn hit my nose making me smile. Armin never got to get his popcorn out of the microwave. He and I have this unhealthy addiction to popcorn for years now. I mean, who doesn't like popcorn? Those are other types of people I don't trust.

I walked to the microwave and took the popcorn out. I grabbed a fan and pointed it directly to the door of his room. I opened the bag and started eating in front of the fan. He will smell it eventually.

"That's a low blow, stinky feet!", Eren said.

"Is that!? Are you eating MY popcorn!!?", Armin shouted.

"Mmm delicious and extra buttery. Thanks for making popcorn for ME, you are so considerate. You shouldn't have-", I was cut short by Armin slamming his door open and running towards me.

I started running away but he tackled me, making me drop the bag causing the popcorn to fly out, "Give me back my popcorn you thief!", he shouted.

"Did you stuck your socks inside somebody's ass?! This smell is not human!", Eren shouted.

Ignoring Eren, I shouted to Armin, "No! I'll take it as a peace offering apology from you two for waking me up!", while we both struggled to get the bag making a mess of popcorn all around the apartment in the process.

Armin managed to run away while Eren grabbed me and tried to get the dirty socks into my mouth when someone knocked at our door.

We all froze, Armin stared at both of us and asked, "Are any of you expecting someone?"

We both shook our heads in response. I ran to my room to get my gun, Eren did the same while Armin watched the door and grabbed the gun we stored in the kitchen for emergencies.

I immediately started thinking of all the possible threats that could be behind our front door. This is all Eren's fault, I thought.

You see... I was deemed a 'child prodigy' at a young age. I started college at the age of 12, my studies were disrupted for a couple of years when 'that event' happened. Later I resumed my studies and by the age of 18, I already had a bachelor's degree in computer engineering. I joined a couple of hacktivist groups and helped them with the usual stuff: DDoS attacks to government websites, machine learning algorithms to find patterns in social media of government bot accounts, you know, the usual stuff.

One day Eren challenged me to hack into the CIA so I started with a social media scan looking for stupid people that post their work information, I just needed someone with access to the building. In summary, after finding a few victims I did a MITM attack on their phones and computers. From there I got access to the network, installed a backdoor, and had access to everything. I did a similar process to gain access to other intelligence agencies' networks from different countries.

Since we were broke at the time, I did ransomware of the data but instead of money, I asked for a job and immunity for the crime. I also sent them part of a list of vulnerabilities in their system and told them that if they wanted the full list they had to comply with my demands. Since I was already deep in trouble I decided to also give them evidence of the access I gained to other countries' intelligence networks. Not even an hour passed by, and they were already begging me to take the job.

Thinking of who could be behind my front door right now, I thought about the time I got access to the Russian 'Federal Security Service' agency and replaced their data with, well, some 'not-so-innocent' pictures. I think Putin hates me. There is also what I did to the North Korean Reconnaissance General Bureau agency... I think Fluffy Kim hates me too.

None of it would've happened if Eren didn't challenge me in the first place! It's completely his fault!

I got out of my train of thought when we were back at the door and Eren asked us, "Ready?"

We nodded in response, and Eren slowly opened the door.

He quickly pointed the gun at the unexpected visitor who was... An innocent girl scout who was trying to sell cookies.

The kid yelped scared, but Eren quickly hid the gun and said, "Oh, we don't want cookies."

"I want cookies!", I protested and pushed Eren away from the door.

"Order for me too!", Armin said.

Author P.O.V.

After getting their girl scouts cookies, Eren started making pancakes while Armin and Mikasa sat in seat stools behind the small kitchen island facing him. They had popcorn on their messy hair, and on their clothes. "You two better clean the mess you made!", Eren shouted.

"It was Armin's fault!", Mikasa shouted while Armin gave her a death stare.

Eren started to stick his tongue out while making disgusted faces.

"What's the problem Eren? Are you having a stroke?", Mikasa said teasingly.

"For fucks sake Mikasa! I have washed my mouth around five times already and I can still smell your stinky socks! Those things are a hazard!", Eren said while walking away to the bathroom to wash his mouth again.

"The pancakes are going to burn!", Mikasa shouted.

"You take care of them, stinky feet! I am on my way to drink some bleach!", Eren shouted back.

Mikasa rolled her eyes and walked to the stove while Armin stood up to turn on the television. While flipping the pancakes Mikasa took a look at her phone notifications and messages. She started looking through the messages from her girlfriend's group chat:

Sasha: OMG! I just saw the cutest guy ever!

Annie: Did you banged it already? 👉👌🍆

Sasha: I wish! I don't even know how to talk to him yet!

Christa: Where did you saw him?

Sasha: He works at a new bookstore that opened near my apartment.

Christa: Did you tried to talk to him somehow? Or just stared at him like a mentally unstable stalker?

Sasha: Well, I asked for book recommendations, he started asking me about what I liked so he could give me a more accurate one but the dick of his boss cut him off telling him to go back to the cash register.

Annie: Maybe we should meet up for lunch to come up with a plan.

Ymir: I just saw that I have new messages. I tried to read them all but my lazy ass just read 'cute guy' and 'bang it already' and skipped to the end. I am up for lunch and the 'banging plan'. Speaking of people in need of banging, @Mikasa wake your ass and join us!

Annie: 😂😂

Mikasa rolled her eyes and replied:

Mikasa: I am awake, count me in for lunch, and the 'banging plan'.

Christa: Girls, call the police, that is not Mikasa, that's an impostor! There is no way that woman is awake this early!

Mikasa sighed and typed,

Mikasa: Eren woke me up, putting his life on the line.

Suddenly Eren's phone made the sound of a new message notification. Mikasa rolled her eyes and thought, here we go.

Eren grabbed his phone, unlocked it, stared at his messages, and started laughing. "Sasha just asked me if you are okay because you are awake. She wants to know if it's really you before calling the police. She also wants to know if I am still alive."

"Hey guys check this out.", Armin said while turning up the volume of the TV.

The news was on. Mikasa served the pancakes on the plates. She took two of the plates and gave one to Armin while sitting next to him. Eren grabbed his plate and sat next to Mikasa. The three of them were seated on the sofa in front of the TV watching the news.

Breaking News:

'We are reporting live outside of Mitra's bank. Just moments ago, criminals robbed the bank and took three hostages with them. The police are tracking their whereabouts at the moment, avoid the area. The perpetrators' identity has been confirmed as the gang that calls themselves "The Scorpions". They are commonly identified with a Scorpion tattoo on their necks, reach out to the police if you see anyone suspicious.'

"These guys again, they piss me off.", Mikasa said.

"They are the same ones that robbed one of the stores of the mall right?", Armin asked.

"Yes, those assholes take hostages with them but they end up always killing them.", Eren said.

"That's the gang that posts the videos about they killing the hostages like is some sort of sick hunting game?", Armin asked.

"Yes, they take the victim to a secluded wood area and tell the victim to run, after a minute or so they run after the victim to kill it, recording the whole thing.", Eren said.

"That's sick.", Mikasa said.

"That's why they are one of the most feared and powerful gangs around.", Eren said.

"It doesn't make sense, the tattoo I mean, who would be so stupid to get a tattoo that clearly dictates that you are a criminal? Why have the police not caught them yet if they have a fucking mark on their necks screaming I'm the killer?", Mikasa said.

Suddenly Eren's phone made the notification sound again. "Oi, Mikasa, Dad wants to meet with us today for dinner, he is in the area."

"Tell him to pick us up then.", Mikasa replied.

-----

Mikasa P.O.V.

I arrived at the restaurant where the girls planned to meet for lunch. As I was walking from the parking area to the restaurant I felt the unease sensation that someone was following me. I've been feeling this for two weeks now. Even though I have gained many enemies by my hacking 'activities', and I joke about Putin or someone else knocking on my door, the reality is that it's highly unlikely that they know my identity. I didn't use my network, on top of it I used nested VPNs mixed with virtual machines with an eastern VPN added on top. Even though the probability of them knowing my identity is almost zero, my job provided me with an apartment in the most secured area in town plus extra police patrols around the building. But, of course, you can never be too cautious, so I always assumed the worst.

I took my phone out and texted my boss: "Activating precaution protocol."

Almost instantly he replied: "I will be on the lookout."

My boss, Pixis, has been very overprotective of me since I started working for the CIA. Since the first day that I arrived at the office and introduced myself, he personally asked to work with me. He was impressed by the stunt I pulled and introduced me to everyone on his team like I was some sort of Messiah sent by Thor itself from the land of Narnia. But not everyone reacted the same way he did when he saw me. It seemed like I wasn't what they were expecting to see since I do not fulfill the stereotype of a programmer. I am not a gamer, I am a ballerina, and what seems to be the worst of all to them is that I am a woman.

The biggest fear of a male chauvinist pig is a woman with confidence having success on a field dominated by men. When will they understand that women can do everything men do while even wearing high heels?

Ever since college, I've heard crap like:

"She probably slept her way in."

"Too pretty to be a programmer."

"A woman in my team? She will probably end up making us do all her work."

"She will probably need to be trained in the most basic crap. She doesn't look like she even knows how to do basic programming."

It's exhausting being a woman, why do we have to put double the effort to at least be noticed or recognized? When will they stop calling us 'emotional' or 'bossy', and start calling us instead 'passionate' and 'leaders'? We intimidate them because they can't control us and they know we have the potential to kick their asses.

I was snapped out of my mental rant when I received another text message from my boss: "Location received. As always, call me if you need to talk."

Good, from now on, until I turn it off, my boss will have a constant live feed of my location using my phone's GPS. Also, in case of emergency, I only have to press twice my phone's power button and in a matter of minutes the police, FBI, and the SWAT team will arrive at my location ready to get rid of any threat.

I can relax now, I thought as I opened the door of the restaurant and met my friends.

"Mikasa! We are here!", Sasha shouted while shaking an arm up to get my attention.

I sat at the table and grabbed the menu, the waiter was already taking the orders so I ordered the first thing I saw that was to my liking. Then I took out from my purse a box of girl scout cookies that I bought for Sasha and gave it to her.

She yelped excitedly and said, "This is why I love you!" while hugging the box.

"So, we've been booked for three schools next week.", Christa said.

Christa was referring to a feminist organization we all created that focuses on motivating girls to pursue a college degree, especially in fields dominated by men.

"I think that it's the most we've had in a week so far!", I said.

"Yes, people are helping by sharing our social media accounts. I have messages of people who want to join us.", Ymir said.

"We should hold a meeting for newcomers, we are going to need more people eventually anyways.", I said, and Ymir nodded.

"So Sasha, what do you have in mind so far to talk to your cute guy?", Annie asked.

"I have no idea, someone needs to distract the manager of the library so he doesn't interrupt us again.", Sasha said.

"Who volunteers as a tribute?", Ymir asked.

"Is the manager at least cute?", Annie asked.

"He was hot but had this unapproachable vibe, and on top of that, a jerk.", Sasha said.

"In that case, I offer Mikasa as a tribute.", Annie said.

"What!? Why me?!", I shouted.

"Because you never get intimidated or scared, and you always speak your mind. That personality is the greatest weakness of self-absorbed jerks.", Annie said.

I stared at her in disbelief while Sasha yelped excited looking at her cellphone.

"Girls! The package arrived! Just received the amazon notification.", Sasha said.

All of them gave me a devilish smile, confusing me, I asked, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Mikasa, this is an intervention.", Christa said with a serious tone.

"We've noticed that you've been grumpier than usual. We also know that you haven't, well, how do I put this?", Ymir said.

"You haven't had a good fuck in a while!", Annie shouted.

I wanted the earth to swallow me whole right there. Annie said that a little too loud for my liking.

"Where are you going with this?", I asked.

"Well, we bought you a little something to help you deal with, you know, the grumpiness. It just arrived at your door.", Sasha said.

"Are you crazy! You know I live with Eren and Armin!", I said.

"Come on is just a package in your name, they are not going to open it.", Annie said.

"You definitely don't know Eren.", I said in disbelief.

When we finished eating I rushed to my car and drove as fast as I could to my apartment. I ran to the elevator and then ran to my apartment's door. The package wasn't there. I panicked and opened the door and saw Eren about to open it. I ran and tackled him making us both fall to the floor.

"What the fuck Mikasa!", He shouted.

"Why were you trying to open MY package?!", I shouted back.

"Because it could be something dangerous sent from one of your enemies, like Fluffy Kim for example.", Eren said.

"Why would Fluffy Kim send me something life-threatening via AMAZON!?"

"I don't know! Amazon sells some weird shit and they ship from all around the world, I am pretty sure North Korea is included."

I gave him a death stare, snatched the package, and went to my room closing the door behind me.

I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. I opened the package and found the box of a pink glow-in-the-dark vibrator. I grabbed my phone and wrote in the group chat:

Mikasa: Got the 'package'.

I put the phone down and opened the box. The thing brought batteries and had a little plastic paper that said, "pull here". I think is to protect the device from direct contact with the batteries, I thought.

I pulled the damned paper and the thing started having an epileptic attack. That thing had a demon inside and I didn't know how to do a fucking exorcism! Scared of it, I screamed and dropped it to the floor.

Apparently, Eren heard my scream because he shouted, "I knew it! I am not letting you kill her Fluffy Kim!" while slamming open the door of my room.

I panicked and jumped on top of the frantic thing that looked like it was break dancing on the floor, to hide it.

"What happened?!", Eren asked me.

"Nothing! Get out!", I shouted, trying to stop the damned thing from moving. It felt like I was riding one of those mechanic bulls.

"You screamed! Something happened!!", Eren shouted worriedly.

"What's all the fuss about?", Armin appeared.

"Fluffy Kim sent something dangerous from Amazon to Mikasa!", Eren shouted.

"Fluffy Kim didn't send me shit! Get out!", I said giving a pleading look to Armin.

He got my message and pulled Eren by the back of his shirt, out of my room, and closed the door. I took a deep breath and found the button to turn that demonic thing off. I checked my phone again and read the messages:

Sasha: Yay! You have to name it!

Annie: She's right! Put a name on it!

Mikasa: The thing tried to kill me! I literally just pulled out a piece of paper from it and the thing started to have a panic attack!

Annie: 😂😂

Christa: You can control the intensity, check the instructions! But first, name it!

Ymir: It has to be a sexy name.

I rolled my eyes knowing that they won't drop the subject until I give the thing a name.

Mikasa: Any suggestions?

Sasha: Just think of something that turns you on. 🔥🔥

Something that turns me on, something sexy, I thought as my mind went blank. I started looking around my room. I had a stack of letters and spam stacked on top of my nightstand. I sighed and went through it, I stopped at a promotional flyer for men's underwear. It had a couple of men modeling the underwear. This could work, I thought.

Mikasa: I found a flyer of men's underwear, the models are kind of hot.

Annie: You are messing with us right? 🤦

Sasha: Hold on, she might be onto something. What's the name of the brand?

Mikasa: Levi's, I like it, I will call it Levi.

Christa: 🥳🥳 Now, it's time to let Levi give you a good time!! 🥳

Mikasa: 🤦

I put my phone down and stared at, well, the Levi thing. I still have a couple of hours until dinner, how do I start? Porn? I thought making my mind go into another rant.

Another industry dominated by men, made for men: the porn industry. They try to sell a ridiculous idea of what 'good' sex is supposed to be. They show a man sticking his penis in a woman's vagina with little to no foreplay time. After that, they start going ridiculously fast, like the world is about to end, and start changing the poor woman to different positions like she is some kind of rag doll. They do all of this while ignoring the most important thing: the clitoris. If the poor thing could talk it would scream something around the lines of:

"I'm fucking bored dude!"

"She is faking it!"

"Feeling nothing bro!"

"If I would describe this whole experience with you, I would use the forever-alone meme!"

I locked the door and grabbed the thing, "Let's see, please don't kill me."

-----2 hours later-----

Mikasa: Levi, oooooh Leviiiii!!!!

Annie: 😂😂

Sasha: 🥳🥳🍆🍆🥳🥳

Christa: 😎🔥

Ymir: 💥💦

--------

Author P.O.V.

"Mikasa, are you ready? Dad is already here!", Eren shouted.

"Yes!", Mikasa said, opening the door of her room ready to go.

"Well, someone is in a good mood.", Eren said while raising a brow.

Ignoring his comment Mikasa said, "Let's go, we don't want to make Grisha wait."

"You are right, Dad has texted me like 5 times already since he arrived.", Eren answered.

They took the elevator down and walked by the building lobby. Eren looked at the security guard and said, "That's a new guard right?"

"Yes, he arrived around two weeks ago.", Mikasa responded.

They went out of the building where Grisha, Eren's dad, was waiting for them inside his car.

"We have to make a quick stop at the bank first.", Grisha said.

Mikasa groaned in protest and said, "You know that nowadays you can do mostly all bank stuff through the internet right? I can teach you."

"I need to speak with a manager, is an account that locked me out and they told me to go to the bank directly. It will be quick.", Grisha explained.

"Why do old people avoid using technology?", Mikasa whispered to Eren.

"I heard that!", Grisha said.

They arrived at the bank and Grisha took a piece of paper and started to fill it out with his account information. He told Mikasa and Eren to start making the line for him. He finished filling up his account information and walked to the spot they were in the line.

"I'm hungry, they look like the Zootopia sloths.", Eren said looking at the bank employees.

Suddenly, a loud sound was heard that shook the whole building. Grisha jumped on top of Mikasa and Eren throwing them to the floor. Smoke was coming from everywhere. A huge truck had collided with the bank's main entrance, making a hole. In an instant, a bunch of men with guns, wearing hoodies, and a clown mask entered the building.

"Hands up! And sit on the floor now!", one of them commanded.

Mikasa P.O.V.

Grisha sat on the floor hugging me, and Eren sat in front of me protectively. A couple of the men grabbed an employee and went through a door. After a minute they started going out with black bags. I remembered that I still had my GPS location shared with my boss since lunch. I grabbed my phone and double-clicked the power button, it was programmed to send a high-priority emergency signal to different agencies. I hid my cellphone, pinching it with the inside border of my jeans and pulling my shirt over it. At that moment, one of the men was walking in front of all of us. He was staring at each one of us on the floor.

Eren was covering me with his body when the man said, "You, move!", to him.

Trying to still cover me Eren asked, "Where?"

The man moved closer to him and said, "To the side, now!", and pointed the gun at his head.

Eren hesitated for a moment but then he moved. I was looking to the floor avoiding the man's gaze, hoping that it had the same effect as when a teacher asks a question in a classroom and you avoid making eye contact in hope that he doesn't pick you to answer.

I saw him with the corner of my eye as he lowered the gun and tilted his head. It seemed as he was confused for a moment.

Grisha tightened his hold on me and I saw the man pointing his gun again.

"You!", he said.

I felt a cold metal being pressed against my forehead. When I lifted my gaze I was staring down the barrel of a Walter Q5 Match Semi-auto pistol, held by a man who had... a scorpion tattoo on his neck and grey eyes.

"You are coming with me."

-----------

Want to know what happens next? Check the rest of the story here: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27557422/chapters/67401547

or in Wattpad:

https://www.wattpad.com/980985373-saved-by-deception-encounter

[cecesunshine]

Oiiii vim pelo confissões

Você poderia fazer a prompt 1 e 10 (acho que elas combinam bem uma com a outra) com o Alistair? Não sei se tem que especificar pronomes, mas poderia ser ela/dela se não incomodar?

It’s done, sorry for taking so long! Espero que você não se importe que eu tenha escrito em inglês. Beijinhos anjo <3

Masterlist

The Only Thing | Alistair Drew

Summary → The only thing that makes early morning practice tolerable for Alistair is when Scholar watches it. It’s time for him to have courage and confess his love for her.

Pairing → Alistair Drew x Scholar

Warnings → None

Word Count → 1830

Prompts used → 1. Can I kiss you? + 10. That was unexpected.

A/N → As requested, Scholar uses she/her pronouns! Also, English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are errors or if something doesn't make sense.

As soon as autumn arrived, with it came the cold wind and the endless rain. Alistair rolled his eyes as he saw the cloudy sky that waited for him outside through his window. His bed was warm and it was Saturday, which intensified his desire to stay in bed.

Alistair forced himself to get up, feeling the cold of the floor as soon as his feet touched the floor. He took a quick glance at Tadashi, who was still sleeping. Poor guy, he needed a break after everything that happened between him and his father in the last few days. Alistair walked silently to the wardrobe that he shared with his roommate, taking out the red Athletics Department shirt and black sweatpants and leaving them on the top of his bed. Alistair grabbed his shower products and left the room, heading to the bathroom.

The dorm was relatively quiet, as it was 5:40 in the morning. Alistair loved his department, and he loved everything he did but god, he envied the fact they could sleep into late hours of the morning. As he entered the bathroom, he saw that he wasn’t alone. There was Scholar, fixing her hair with a concentrated look on her face.

“Good morning, Scholar.” Alistair greeted her, going in her direction and leaning into the wall.

“Alistair! Hi, I didn’t even see you coming in!” Scholar greeted him back, quite startled at the sudden salutation given to her. “Why are you up so early?”

“I have practice, the real question is, why are YOU up so early? It’s Saturday, you need to rest.” Alistair asked, studying her features. If there was something that he liked about Scholar, it was definitely her eyes, always wandering around the room or simply focused on something. He had noticed how she would avoid eye contact and look around at random stuff when she was nervous.

“I want to do the homework that Ms. Rodriguez gave us early so I don’t have to worry about it during the rest of the weekend.” Scholar replied, staring at herself in the mirror again. “Also, I didn’t know Coach worked on the weekends.”

“He doesn’t, the Athletic Department students do it voluntarily, it’s part of the job. Although sometimes the only thing you want to do is sleep until late afternoon.”

“Well, shouldn’t other students from your department be up already?”

“We talked about it in our group chat, the other girls from the soccer team had a game yesterday and they are super tired, so they’re not coming. Raquel sprained her ankle so she’s not coming either and some of the boys said that they will be ditching practice today.” Alistair told her, then started counting on his fingers. “So taking me, Rick and some other guys, there will be probably 6 or 7 people at the gym today.”

“Got it. Well, good luck for you and the guys today.” Scholar said as she was making her way to the door.

“Scholar, wait!” The words left Alistair’s mouth almost immediately. “Do you want to...I don’t know...have breakfast with me?” Very slick, Al, he thought.

“I would love to. Meet me in my room when you're ready, ok?” She said and finally left, leaving a red Alistair alone in the bathroom, still processing what happened.

Alistair showered quickly, feeling his hands trembling as he ran his finger through his blonde hair. He needed to be nice and clean for her.

He made his way back to his room, dressing up in his usual practice outfit, trying to style it so it would look better.

"Wow man, never seen you so worried about how you look for practice." Said Tadashi, who had just woken up.

"I'm not only going to practice, I'm going to have breakfast with Scholar." Alistair announced, fixing his shirt. "Tucked in or tucked out?"

"In, obviously. You don't want her to think that you don't care." Tadashi joked. “I mean, she probably knows that you like her. Is not like you are very discreet about it, you’re always walking around her, complimenting her, flexing your muscles to her. It's cute to see, you’re like her personal golden retriever.”

Alistair didn’t reply, he just shot a serious look to his friend, so he would stop. Not because it wasn’t true, but because Alistair wasn’t aware of how other people looked at him every time he would orbit around Scholar. After finishing dressing himself, Alistair grabbed his varsity jacket and quickly said his goodbyes to Tadashi, who was planning on getting more sleep.

In the dorm hallway, the blonde boy knocked into Scholar’s room door, who came out seconds later. She was wearing black jeans, a white knitted sweater and her famous red scarf and was carrying her purse.

“Hi Al.” She greeted him once again. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes. Let’s get some food, I’m starving.”

They both made their way quickly into the cafeteria, which was surprisingly empty. As Scholar sat down, Alistair went to the counter, where he got a coffee and a strawberry cake for Scholar and an energetic and a protein bar for him.

“Thank you.” Scholar thanked Alistair, as he put the table on the plate. “You know, I was very surprised you’d ask me to get breakfast with you. I thought you were mad at me or something.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know, after I congratulated you for the Athletics Department’s presentation at the competition you looked…” She stopped talking, as she was looking for the right words. "uncomfortable. I thought that maybe I said something wrong and I didn’t want to bother you so I decided that I wouldn’t ask you what I did wrong because I didn’t want to upset you even more, so when you asked me for breakfast I was shocked.”

“Scholar, it’s impossible for me to be mad at you. You are the sweetest person I know.” Alistair said, reaching to her hand, grabbing it gently as Scholar looked away blushing, clearly embarrassed at this caring gesture.

They both ate the rest of the meal quietly, sometimes exchanging little smiles and stealing glances that ended up with both blushing or laughing quietly. If anyone else saw them, they would say they were a couple, but they couldn’t see it as they were both oblivious.

The time to leave finally arrived, where Scholar offered to walk Alistair to the gym, which he happily accepted.

As Alistair presumed, the gym was almost empty besides some boys who were doing push-ups and seeing who would be the first to give up.

“I guess this is your stop. I need to go do my homework so I’ll probably go back to the cafeteria.” Scholar pointed to her purse, where all of her supplies were, and then looked to Alistair, who seemed sad about the fact that she was leaving. “Or...I could do my homework while you practice, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Alistair agreed almost immediately, giving her a smile. For him, this was an opportunity to impress Scholar. She would see him doing the thing that he does the best.

As Scholar sat down at the bleachers and started taking her stuff out of the bag, Alistair started stretching, warming up his muscles and took off running around the gym. He was really excited to work out in front of Scholar, as this was probably the sneakiest way to show off to her without exactly showing off.

Scholar was supposed to focus on her homework, but at that moment, she could only focus on Alistair, who had stopped running and was now participating in a push-up contest with the other boys of his department.

As the boys gave up and left, Alistair started laughing. Alistair wiped his sweaty face with his face, showing off his abs and his muscular form. God, had he always been that handsome?, Scholar wondered and quickly brushed up that thought as Alistair was walking towards her.

“Everything alright?” The blonde boy asked, taking a sip of his water bottle. “I’m sorry if seeing me training is boring to you.”

“Nothing is ever boring with you Al, and I love being around you.”She said, making Alistair blush. ”Are you finished yet?”

“Finished? I barely even started. I still need to take the boxing supplies out of the storage room and set them up and then I’ll start the boxing practice. Do you want to help?”

Scholar agreed, setting her things down. Already in the storage room, they both started to take out the things and setting it up in the gym, sometimes touching hands and blushing madly.

With everything set up, Alistair began punching the punching bag, always keeping an eye on Scholar, who gave up on doing her homework and was now just watching him. Alistair smiled, his plan was working.

“How do you not have a girlfriend or boyfriend?” She abruptly asked, taking Alistair by surprise.

“W-What?” Alistair spoke, his voice trembling and betraying him at that moment.

“How are you not dating someone?” Scholar questioned again. “Tell me, how is Alistair Drew, one of Arlington’s most attractive boys, single?”

“Well, it’s complicated.” Alistair took off his gloves and his headgear, sitting next to her. “I’m only single because I’m a coward.”

“What do you mean coward?”

Alistair looked at her, staring deeply into her eyes. He needed to tell her, it was time to finally be brave. He held her hand caressing it with his thumb. Scholar reciprocated, also looking into his eyes, giving him a confused look.

“Scholar, I like you.” He finally confessed, still looking at her. “I’ve been trying to tell you this for a while but I was always looking for the right moment. But the truth is, I was just afraid of telling you how I feel because I didn’t know how you would react. You are the most incredible person I know, you’re simply the best.” Alistair got silent for a few seconds and then spoke again. “I really like you...and I hope you like me too.”

After his confession, none of them knew what to say. The silence between them was uncomfortable, in a way that neither of them could put into words.

“Well, that was unexpected.” Scholar said, trying to help the situation. “Look Alistair, that day during the competition, I was going to say the same thing.”

“What?” He questioned.

“I was going to confess to you. I feel the same, Al.” Scholar announced, smiling shyly. “I like you.”

Now, the silence between them was comfortable. So comfortable that they were now closer than ever, as Alistair placed his hand on Scholar's chin, looking at her like she was the only person in the whole world.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked for permission, waiting anxiously for an answer.

“Yes Alistair, you can.”

And their lips touched, as both were involved in a loving but innocent kiss.

[sunflowerim]

I LOVE YOU 3000!

-PART 42

Weekend 8

When you want time to slow down, it happens to roll faster. Saturday had arrived in the blink of an eye.

"As much as I like having you, don't you think you gotta talk to Lou?" Niall said Saturday morning, handing Harry his cup of coffee. Harry had taken to crash at Niall's place random times of the day since the uneventful incident on Wednesday. Not a single text exchanged with Louis. And lots of media training.

"And say what exactly?" Harry replied coldly, taking the cup from Niall, "that I have to stoop so low for the publicity of my movie?"

"First of all, stop that. Celebrities need publicity and you're new to this field and it'll do you good with the general public. But yeah I don't consciously agree with the whole "stunt" thing," Niall frowned, "and that's why I want you to talk to Louis. Explain stuff to him before he gets the wrong idea."

"No Niall you don't understand."

"Then enlighten me."

"It's all very new to me okay. My feelings for Louis. Me coming to terms with my sexuality. It's all new. And I'm scared Ni. I really am."

"H, but you told me Louis likes you too right? And I know him man, he's a good friend before everything else. He'll understand."

"Louis didn't have a very good image of me okay- and it took me some time to make him trust me, and to low-key make him believe that my media image isn't me. Trust me, I don't have it in me to tell him that I'm a guy who fakes a relationship for the sake of promo. I value relationships man and he does too. So if it's making me angry, rest assured he'll be pissed too."

"God Harry you're overthinking. You never cared what people thought of you."

"Louis isn't people Niall."

"Then TALK TO HIM."

"I don't want him to hate me."

"He will not. Trust me."

"And it's not just that," Harry fumbled with the coffee cup, "Taylor is involved too. And you know how Louis worships Taylor, I don't want him to think less of his idol either. It'll crush him."

"But it's not your fault Harry, and I think it'll be easier for you guys if he knew it was for show."

"I suppose you're right Niall, but I don't have it in me to tell him. He'll think of me as a shallow spineless celebrity. Again."

"You're being paranoid."

"And you're not being a good friend," Harry said, setting down the cup rather too hard.

Niall softened at that and said soothingly, "ok how about this, today's a Saturday. Go to Louis', spend some time with him and just skip this topic. You're missing him. I'm sure he's missing you too."

"How will I face him after what I did last time?"

"Just go on with whatever story you made up that day, since you don't wanna tell him the truth," Niall said, sounding a little disappointed.

"I hate lying to him," Harry replied sadly.

"Ok I'm running out of options here. Just go meet him alright, everything will be fine."

"Fine," Harry sighed, "if you say so," Harry said getting up.

And he drove off to Louis'.

-

Back in the apartment, Louis was distractedly stirring his fourth cup of tea. It was 11a.m. and he hadn't had any breakfast owing to the fact that his helper was on a sick leave and he didn't feel like ordering either. Clifford was kept prodding his knees, probably sensing Louis' sad demeanor.

He was wondering whether he should just visit his sister for lunch when the bell rang. Louis' heart skipped a beat. It couldn't be Harry could it, Louis thought with a start. No that'd be absurd. Harry had possibly lied to him, abandoned him and ignored him for three days. Why would he come here now.

With his heart in his throat, Louis opened the door. And there standing with his silly gorgeous green eyes and stupid beautiful curls was Harry.

Louis' heart sank to his stomach.

"Hi Lou," Harry said slowly, eyes struggling to look into Louis'.

"Um hi?" Louis asked still standing at the door.

"Can I come in?"

Louis was so lost in his thoughts that he missed the question. His mind was burning with questions. Why was Harry here? To apologise probably. He surely had a reason for his behaviour last day and Louis will listen to whatever Harry has to say.

Harry cleared his throat and repeated, "Will you not let me in Lou?"

Louis' mind came back to the boy in front of him and he moved aside to let Harry in without saying a word.

Clifford leapt up to Harry and barked madly with joy. He was clearly missing his friend.

"Ah good to see you too Cliffy," Harry said, bending low and scratching Clifford's fur.

He stood up again, facing Louis, "I'm really sorry for the other day Louis. It's just I couldn't find a way out." Harry's eyes kept flickering down to his hands, which he was nervously wringing. Still lying, Louis thought.

"Are you sure it wasn't something else?" Louis asked in a calm voice.

"No," Harry replied, still looking down.

"Okay then," Louis said, walking over to the couch and picking up his cup of tea again. "Make yourself comfortable," he said before sitting down himself.

"You're having tea now? How many cups have you had already?" Harry asked.

"This might be my third one." Louis wasn't looking at Harry either. He kept his attention on his phone.

"I'm sure you haven't had any breakfast."

"And?" Louis looked at Harry and raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing. I'll make you some," Harry said, walking over to the kitchen.

Louis didn't find it in his heart to stop him. Maybe if Harry was trying to fall back in their normal habits, he'd eventually talk about whatever the fuck was going on.

Louis didn't join him in the kitchen where Clifford kept running around Harry. He stayed in the couch listening to Clifford and Harry's conversation. Clifford had missed him. Louis had too, but he'd eat avocados sooner than admit that.

Harry made a quick breakfast and called Louis over. Louis ate in silence, aware of Harry's intense gaze on him but every time he looked up, Harry would look away.

"Okay, are you gonna tell me what's bothering you?" Louis snapped.

"Wha- nothing. Nothing." Harry stammered.

Louis took a deep breath to calm himself. "Sorry for that. You know what, take your time. I'm here. I'll listen whenever you're ready."

And Harry could've kissed him, but he kept himself in check. He'd probably had lost his privileges. Louis was so understanding, Harry didn't deserve him.

"I just wanted to spend some time with you and maybe watch a movie."

"Oh yeah," said Louis, remembering something, " the last one's left, I'll put it on."

Louis didn't set up the projector this time. He simply connected the player to the television and settled back in the couch as Avengers Endgame started playing.

Harry didn't know about Louis, but he could hardly focus on the movie himself. His mind kept replaying his previous visits to the apartment, to various funny incidents, to some heart warming ones, to last weekend-

No. Harry couldn't think about it. That hurt. He couldn't imagine how Louis must be feeling at that time.

The movie was showing Iron Man tucking his daughter in bed and his daughter saying, 'I love you 3000'.

Harry glanced sideways to see that Louis had a little smile playing on his lips. Harry made a mental note to remember that it probably held importance to him.

Harry kept fidgeting in his place and in a few minutes, Louis had paused the movie.

"What's wrong Harry?"

Harry didn't know what to say so he kept staring at the motionless character in the television.

"Is this about last weekend?" Louis continued, "Did I cross the line? Do you regret it? Because if so I'm really sorry about that."

Harry looked at Louis with a horrified expression on his face, trying to ignore the pang of sadness it was causing him to know that Louis thought that way.

"Regret? What? No Louis. I don't regret anything. I could never," Harry said earnestly, hoping Louis would understand.

"Then why are you ignoring me?"

"I'm not-" Harry replied, sounding unsure.

"You are Harry. You're making me feel like I was some random hookup for you and trust me, it doesn't feel good." Louis' voice broke.

It made Harry miserable, seeing Louis like that and he wondered for a brief moment if he should take Niall's advice and tell Louis everything. Louis' presence made the decision easier. He was ready to blabber everything to Louis when his phone rang. Fucking Manager.

"Hello," said a gruff voice from the other side.

"Yeah?" said Harry irritably.

"Where are you?"

"That's none of your business it is?"

"Turns out it is. Did you forget about your outing with Taylor?"

"Ofcourse I didn't. It was on 3rd of July," Harry wanted to punch his manager.

"Which happens to be today."

"Wha-" Harry quickly moved his phone from his ear and checked the date on the lockscreen. July 3rd, 2021. Harry wanted to punch himself. "Okay yeah, um, I didn't notice the date, so uh, is there any way we can postpone this? I'm really busy right now-"

"Taylor is already here. The car is waiting outside your house. So, no."

"Damn it. I mean yeah-"

"Hurry up."

"Yeah I'm coming."

Louis obviously could hear only one side of the conversation and he clearly understood that Harry had to leave. Again.

Harry turned to look at Louis, his eyes apologetic, but Louis looked away.

"Lou-"

"It's alright, just go okay."

"I'm sorry about this."

"Sure you are," Louis replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"What- what's that supposed to mean?"

"Are you sure you're not doing this intentionally?"

"How could you even think that?"

"I'm trying to understand the situation Harry. In two months we became closer than ever, so what exactly did I do in the last few days for you to avoid me. I'm sure it's not work related problem, because then you'd have told me."

"No Lou you don't understand-"

"I think I do."

"Lou please, you have to believe me, whatever I'm doing, it's because I don't wanna hurt you."

"Well, guess what, you already did."

Harry tried to reach out for Louis but he moved back a few steps, away from Harry's touch. "Just leave Harry."

Harry's face fell at the last words. He tried to speak again, to make Louis understand, but no words came out and eventually he thought it best to leave. With great difficulty he made his way towards the door and left.

And after a while, Louis left for the gym to channel his frustration to someplace useful. He didn't let himself feel sad about the fact that him and Harry were no longer close, that some unknown barrier had introduced itself in between.

The Next Day

Zayn was overjoyed to see the mail. He could actually see Louis' face as he told him about it. Louis would be thrilled. And his designs on Harry! He had some amazing outfit ideas for Harry. Zayn remembered that the first time he'd heard about Harry being his client he'd refrained from telling Louis about it because back then Louis wasn't exactly on pleased at Harry's existence in general. But now that he was absolutely smitten by Harry, this was going to be nice.

He set off for Louis' at once deciding to surprise him with the news being oblivious to everything that was going on between Louis and Harry.

He stopped by McDonald's drive-thru to grab Louis' favourite milkshake and hash browns.

Harry knew what was coming and he couldn't hold himself back anymore. Louis would be seeing the article soon. He couldn't imagine what Louis was going to think about him. Once again, he felt courage build up in his stomach. He was gonna tell Louis. He dashed to his car and drove off before his paranoia returned.

Back in Louis' apartment, things weren't looking that good. Louis had forgotten that he'd turned on twitter notifications for Harry's update account. So, when his phone vibrated with a notification, he clearly wasn't prepared enough to absorb whatever he was seeing. He hastily clicked on the notification and froze at the contents of the screen.

Louis was stunned. He waited for a few seconds before he clicked on "undo retweet". No he wasn't gonna mope about Harry, Harry who simply didn't ever care about Louis, Harry who kept lying to him. Louis shuddered to think about all those times he thought him and Harry actually had something. Was Harry lying through it all? He couldn't think about it anymore. No,no, no. He won't think about Harry. He won't let him affect him. Enough of all that shit. He sat frozen in his spot in the couch when the bell rang.

Louis absent-mindedly made his way to the door. His heart sank when he saw who was standing outside. Harry.

"Louis believe me! It's not what it looks like," Harry said, panic stricken.

"Get out of here," Louis' ocean blue eyes bore a thunder like expression, his voice steely.

"Lou I'm sorry."

"As you should be."

"Louis, pl-"

"You broke my heart Harry Styles."

"But-"

"Good. Fucking. Bye." Slam.

Louis shut the door in Harry's face and slowly made his way back to the couch. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

No sooner did he fall back on the couch than Clifford came running to him. He leapt up on Louis' lap and Louis broke down.

"Harry broke our heart Cliffy," he said between sobs. "He never liked us. It was all a big lie."

Clifford lapped up the tears keen on making Louis stop crying, but Louis went on and on. "We shouldn't have made friends with him. Such a waste!" Louis hugged Clifford tightly and Clifford made a sad whimper and settled his head on Louis' shoulder.

For a few minutes, no other sound could be heard in the apartment other than Louis' sobs and hiccups.

Suddenly the bell rang again. Clifford jumped from his lap and began sniffed around the door. Thinking it was Harry, Louis decided to ignore it but then the bell rang twice again and Clifford started to bark happily. Louis wiped his tears and walked up to the door and there stood Zayn grinning ear to ear and holding a McDonald's pack, but his grin faded when he saw Louis' tear stained face and red-rimmed eyes.

Louis flung himself on Zayn and began crying again. Zayn hugged back the shaking sobbing mess in his arms and asked slowly, "hey hey Lou, what happened? I'm here. Tell me."

"Harry-", that's the only word Zayn could make out from Louis' muffled sobs.

"What about Harry?"

Louis stepped back from the hug and pulled out his phone. He showed Zayn the tweet and Zayn was equally shocked. "What the fuck is this? What? No this can't be true. I'm sure this is some rumour. Remember he told you once, how he's set up with every girl he's spotted with."

"It's not just that-" Louis replied before breaking down again.

"Hey ,hey please don't cry. You know what, let's go for a drive. Let's get you out of here and you can tell me everything that happened."

Louis silently nodded and bringing Clifford out of the house, locked the door behind him. Dropping Clifford off at the dog park, so he could play with his friends, Zayn drove off with Louis.

Zayn offered him the milkshake and and hash browns and let him eat in silence as Louis slowly regained his composure. One by one, Louis told Zayn everything that had been happening, from the day out with Harry, Theo and Lux, to the sudden change in behaviour two days later, to yesterday's almost argument to Harry showing up today after the article was dropped.

Zayn listened in silence and tried to make sense of what Louis was saying. The incidents didn't add up. He'd really taken a liking to Harry and he couldn't process that Harry would do something like that.

But then again, the sight of his best friend sitting miserable next to him, was making his heart harden towards Harry. He tried to reason with Louis, who refused to listen to anything. Zayn sighed and asked, "music?" hoping that'd calm Louis a bit and help Zayn think.

Zayn tuned in to the radio and a soft melody sounded,

"I want her long blond hair

I want her magic touch

Yeah, 'cause maybe then

You'd want me just as much

I've got a girl cru-"

One look at Louis' face and Zayn slammed the music shut.

Why was everything so difficult?!

Zayn had driven them to a club on the outskirts of the city. The club was pretty famous but owing to it's high maintenance, was mostly accessed by celebrities or people connected to celebrities and was much less crowded compared to the other. Well, a quiet cafe would have been nice too except, now that more people knew Louis and connected him to Harry, if anyone spotted Louis like this, it'd raise an issue. Hence, a club with dim lights and loud music it was.

Zayn led Louis to booth and after making sure Louis was a bit stable, went off to buy drinks.

Zayn didn't drink because he had to drive Louis back but after 3 rounds of drinks Louis was feeling lightheaded, but at the same time, it was very distracting. Zayn kept talking to him about different topics, not bringing up Harry until Louis did that himself.

Eventually Louis started talking.

"I don't understand one thing Zee," he slurred, "that if this was indeed some rumour, why didn't he talk to me? He was clearly avoiding me this week."

Zayn knew whatever he said won't have much of an effect on him, so he just kept rubbing soothing circles on Louis' back. Talking for so long had efficiently tired Louis out and he asked to be taken back home when suddenly,

"Louis! Zayn!"

The duo looked up see a blond haired someone walking towards them, but they couldn't make out the face. It wasn't until the person was right in front if them and the lights fell directly on the face that they made out who it was. Taylor Swift.

Taylor smiled down at the two boys who stared unblinkingly at her, unable to say a word.

"Hi? You guys okay? Can I join you?"

Zayn came back to his senses and smiled, "yeah sure."

Taylor joined them in the booth and looked at Louis again, who was still staring with a blank expression at Taylor.

"What's up with him?" Taylor asked Zayn.

Zayn looked at Louis and then back again at Taylor, "uh, nothing, just work stress. We just came to get some steam off." There's no way he could tell what really had happened.

"Huh, tell me about it. I'm so tired with all the promo work," she replied.

And that's when it hit him. Taylor was dating Harry too. Up until now, he was just thinking about it from Louis' point of view and thinking about how Harry broke Louis' heart but now it dawned on him that it meant Taylor was involved too. Taylor, the person Zayn had liked for quite some time and had to bury his feelings for the sake of his profession.

Here he was, consoling his friend, trying to mend his broken heart, when the reason his own heart ached had decided to grace them with a visit. Things couldn't be worse. Zayn pushed down the pang of sadness he was feeling and tried to think of something to say when Louis started sobbing again. Taylor's presence seemed to have reminded him about Harry.

Louis didn't take Harry's name but went on and on about a certain someone who'd broken his heart. Taylor listened with interest and tried to console him best as she could. Her words were actually effective on Louis who had eventually stopped crying and was listening with rapt attention to Taylor. Zayn himself tried to take in some of the advice, and surprisingly it was good. Taylor really had the magical ability to comfort sad people.

After a while Louis got more drunk and insisted on taking a picture with Taylor and Zayn happily complied because Louis' mind was finally off Harry's.

Soon they bid their goodbyes and left the club, and Zayn drove back with a less sad but slightly drunk Louis.

---

When Louis shut the door on Harry's face, he didn't see how crestfallen Harry looked. He didn't see how Harry ran to his car, barely able to control his tears, which had started falling incessantly thinking that Louis hated him. Harry drove to his apartment, not wanting to face Niall. He knew what Niall would say, I told you to talk to Louis. You should have listened.

No, Harry needed to be alone for a while.

Dave, Harry's personal assistant, noticed something was off and made a whole flask of hot chocolate for Harry and quietly slipped it in his room.

Harry spend quite some time drinking the hot chocolate and thinking about the good times he'd spent with Louis when his phone rang with a notification.

Harry was taken by surprise. What on earth was Louis doing with Taylor? Especially today? What could have possibly happened for them to hang out and for Louis to even post a picture?

Probably Harry was the only person he hated, probably he adored Taylor way too much to think bad of her. Whatever might be the case, Harry was sure of one thing- Louis hated him and Harry had lost his chance at love. Yes, love.

At this point Harry knew, that he was head over heels in love with Louis and he had ended up hurting him.

He'd lost Louis, probably forever.

PREVIOUS / NEXT [ note ]

INTRO

[krreader]

BTS scenario → you as TXT’s older sister.

pairing: bts x reader ; txt x sister!reader fandom: bts ; txt warnings: language  genre: fluff ; crack word count: 1.7k+

a/n: suuuuch a guilty pleasure of mine to write stuff like that so thank you for requesting it bb! I hope you like it ♥

kim seokjin

Jin didn't have a lot of time for going out with friends anymore, unfortunately.

Even dinner was nowadays a luxury he could rarely afford, that's how little time he had on his hands.

But with TXT having debuted, Jin found himself more often than not spending a few hours with them at dinner, even if it was just a snack bar close by. What mattered the most was that he didn’t have to eat alone.

Soobin and him had formed quite a friendship over the last weeks. And tonight, the topic of siblings finally came up.

“My oldest sister is really talented. She's such a good dancer, you know? I used to train with her a lot before I auditioned.”

“Ah, really? You should introduce her to me, I could learn a few things from her,” Jin had chuckled.

The conversation had gone into such depths that Soobin actually really ended up giving Jin your number and Jin, after having had a few drinks too many, ended up texting you.

And the look on his face when he walked into the dance practice room three days later and found you standing there with a big smile on your face, because he had completely forgotten that he had invited you over to help him with his dancing.

“So.. are you ready, Kim Seokjin?”

He gulped down hard. 

That should be answer enough.

min yoongi

Yoongi was on his way up to the boss, currently scrolling through some app on his phone when you entered the elevator.

He immediately stood up straighter, something about you intimidated him greatly. And that wasn’t something that he could admit often.

Maybe it was your angry look or the fact that you looked hot as fuck, but whatever it was, he wasn't so cool anymore.

“You look angry,” he remarked.

“I am angry,” you replied, not pressing any other floor. Oh boy, Bang PD had a big storm coming, “People in this industry think they can use young artists for their own benefit. It's disgusting.”

“It's the idol industry, love.”

But calling you ‘love’ wasn't a good move. Not when you were already on the edge of smacking someone. 

You turned around and killed him with one look only, Yoongi quickly bowing a little as an apology.

“My brother worked so hard for this,” you said once you had turned around again, your voice now a little less audible, “He shouldn't be treated like this.”

Right! Yoongi thought he had seen you somewhere before, you were the sister of one of the TXT members! He didn't remember whose sister, but he knew you were a family member!

“Are you.. a lawyer then?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a card or something? You seem like you know what you're doing and I could use a lawyer like you.”

Smooth, Min Yoongi. Fucking smooth. Because you gave him that card, thinking he was only interested in your abilities, when the reality was that he was interested in much more than that.

jung hoseok

Hoseok had only recently started following TXT's private Instagram accounts.

Now, as he was on set and waiting for his make-up and hair to be done, he decided to look through who they were following, just out of curiosity.

And that's when he stumbled across your account.

The childhood pictures made him assume that you were the sister.. the older sister. The sister that grew up to be very very pretty and, from the looks of it, quite successful on her own.

“Do you think I'm too old to just randomly message a girl on Instagram?” Hoseok asked Jimin, who just snorted.

“Hyung.. you're Jung Hoseok. It doesn't matter what age you are, whoever it is that you're messaging will be over the moon.”

Maybe Jimin had over exaggerated a little, because you didn't respond to his message for an entire week.

Hoseok completely forgot that he even messaged you in the first place when you finally replied: “Hey, sorry. I wasn't sure if you were a fake account, so I had to ask my brother first. But how are you?”

Ah.. so that's why the TXT members weren't looking so fondly at him anymore. He wasn't sure if he'd be too happy if one of them messaged his older sister either.

kim namjoon

Namjoon would never purposefully listen in on a private conversation, but even though Kai was trying his hardest to talk quietly, Namjoon could still hear every word.

“I don't care, (Y/N), I don't care that you're my older sister, there is no way I'm going to walk up to my senior and ask him for his number just so I can give it to you! Do you know how embarrassing that is?!”

That made Namjoon chuckle and press himself closer against the wall. Now he wanted to know who you two were talking about.

“No, no, no! Don't tell mom, I'm..- ugh, you're so mean, this is exactly why Lea is my favorite sister and not you.”

Namjoon thought this was a funny and normal conversation that siblings had with each other, he didn't think anything more of it.

But oh boy, his face when Kai walked up to him that same day and told him about you and showed him pictures of you, Namjoon slowly started to realize that this conversation from before had actually been about him.

And he was flattered.

“Sure. Give it to her. I'd love to get to know her.”

From what he heard from before, you sure as hell were an interesting persona and he was so down for anyone that didn't fake their personality because they were famous.

park jimin

Jimin and you had been friends ever since Beomgyu had gotten accepted into BigHit and he had run into you at an office party a few years back.

But that was initially all it was.

Friendship.

It was only recently that things started to get a little out of hand.

One drink was all it took for you two to play truth or dare and well, the next thing you knew was that you woke up in his bed the next morning.

And instead of keeping it a secret, Jimin had decided to come clean to Beomgyu, who, of course, wasn't angry at his senior, but at you.

“Do you know what this looks like? You sleeping with him? It's as if you're doing this for my sake!”

“I'm sorry to disappoint you, little brother, but not everything is about you. I like Jimin. It's as simple as that,” you shrugged.

And it's not like he could do anything to change that.

You were your own person and so was Jimin.

All he could do was stand there and watch as you two grew closer and closer.

And he didn't like it one bit.

kim taehyung

You usually stayed as far away from the industry as you possibly could.

Just because Yeonjun was now an idol, didn't mean you had to be in the spotlight too. He didn't even want you to be, he wanted to protect you from that, despite you being the older one.

Nevertheless, this was an important award show for him and while it was usually your parents being there to support him, they couldn't make it today. The thought alone that all of your brother's members would be cheered on by family except for Yeonjun was ultimately the reason that you decided to take the plunge and join him.

They were currently getting ready and you had come late, so you had missed the rest of the family members.

Not knowing where to go, you just decided to hang out in front of their green room and wait for your brother, especially because you still had to wish him good luck for his upcoming performance.

You were so focused on your phone that you didn't notice someone suddenly leaning against the wall next to you.

“Bang PD didn't say anything about a new intern.”

“That's because I'm not a new intern,” you said, still not looking up from your phone, “I'm also not a crazy fan, in case you were afraid of that. I'm Yeonjun's sister.”

“Ah.. I get why he's so secretive about you.”

When you looked up, you didn't flinch because of who it was. You just smiled a little as you noticed him biting down on his lip, his eyes traveling down to your own lips, “Are you flirting with me?”

“I'm trying, but it's not working, I think,” Taehyung chuckled.

“Ah, you're here!” Yeonjun said with a big smile, then bowed when he saw Taehyung, “Hyung?”

“Your 'hyung' is currently trying to ask me out,” you smirked.

“No, wait, I wasn't..-” but what was more offensive to Yeonjun? The fact that he was, or that he maybe wasn't, because why wouldn't he? You were pretty, intelligent and funny, “Okay, I was.”

“Uh.. well, I..-” your brother rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable about this situation, but you took pity on the poor guy and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“Come on. Let's go to the stage together.”

Taehyung was a little disappointed then, but not for long. Because a day later, he got a message from Yeonjun with a phone number and: “I don't like this one bit, but she's my older sister so I have to do whatever she says. Please don't hurt her, hyung.”

Ah, so you were interested after all.

jeon jeongguk

It was so freaking early, nobody in their right state of mind should be up and working at this point.

But Jeongguk was walking, not quite awake yet, into the practice room and threw down his gym bag.

They had just started working on their newest choreography and he wanted to be one of the first to nail it.

He was just about to put on the song when someone walked in with two cups of coffee.

Someone he didn’t know.

“Here, drink this, it'll..- Oh!” your eyes widened, quickly bowing, “Sorry, wrong room.”

“Who are you?” Jeongguk narrowed his eyes at you, “Staff usually isn't working this early.”

“I'm.. not staff. I'm Taehyun's sister. He's practicing and I'm worried about him, so I stopped by before I have to go to work.”

Jeongguk looked at you for a moment, then he let out a laugh, “Boy, he's lucky to have you as his sister. I don't have anyone bringing me drinks and snacks in the morning because they're worried about me.”

The conversation didn't last any longer than that, you quickly made your way into the next practice room you could find where your brother was already dancing.

Jeongguk continued on with his day like he usually did.

The next morning, however, he was surprised to find a smoothie and a sandwich in front of the mirror with a piece of paper saying: “Eat and drink this. You'll need strength :)”

And he could have sworn that he had fallen in love right there and then.

[firefly464]

The Real World - Chapter 10

OH SHIT WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT SOME WHOLESOME FRIENDSHIP MOMENTS???? Hell yeah wholesome friendship moments. I love the wholesome friendship moments

enjoy it while it lasts :D

Made in collaboration with @i-have-this-now​ Thank you to @rivys​ for beta reading!

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~~~

Tubbo was sitting next to the small pond in the middle of L’manberg, staring into the water. Fish darted through the swaying grass, creating small ripples in the otherwise still surface. He heard the grass rustle behind him and didn’t need to look to know it was his closest friend. 

Tommy sighed. “Hey Big T.” His voice was subdued, filled with a type of grief. Tubbo looked up, eyes full of concern. “Hey man, you alright?” 

“Yeah… Yeah I’m good.” Tommy plopped down in the grass next to Tubbo and stared into the water. “Look, there's something I need to tell you. Just… Just promise me you won’t freak out, ok? At least not until I’ve had a chance to explain myself.” “Ok? Whats up?” 

Tommy took a deep breath. He couldn’t help but be terrified of how Tubbo would react to the news. He didn’t want to lose his best friend… “I’m… I’m not your Tommy,” he admitted. He spoke slowly, as if each word was chosen carefully. 

Tubbo furrowed his brow. “What? What do you mean?” 

“I mean, I’m still Tommy, but just not the same Tommy. Does that make sense?”

“Kinda?”

Tommy let out a sigh, before telling his best friend the whole story. He explained how he was ripped away from his home, how he had woken up here with an arrow in his chest, how he had experienced the war through a screen. It was similar to what had happened with George, except this time he had no one to back him up. There was no one there to vouch for him, and all he could do was hope that Tubbo would trust him. 

When he was finished, there were tears in his friends' eyes. “So… You’re telling me that you’re from another world? And that my Tommy might be dead?”

“Yeah.” 

“Tommy, how long have you been hiding this from us?” 

“Two weeks maybe? It happened during the bow duel.”

“You’ve been away from your home for two weeks, and you didn’t say anything?

“I’m sorry… I should have told you what was happening. I’m really sorry. I just… I didn’t know what to say.”

“Have you been dealing with this all alone for the past two weeks?” 

“I mean, not really… The same thing happened to Dream, so I’ve been talking with him. George has been teaching us sword fighting.” he shrugged 

“Tommy…” Tubbo reached up and wiped away the tears that were starting to fall. “Tommy, why did you wait so long to tell me? Damn it, I should have noticed sooner. I should have been there to help you” 

“W-what? Tubbo I just told you that your best friend could potentially be dead because of me, and that's what you’re worried about?”

“You’re still Tommy, aren’t you? You may not be the same Tommy that tried to scare me after I first arrived, or the Tommy that broke his arm while trying to build the wall, but you’re still my friend.”

“But… But what about your Tommy…?” Tubbo shrugged “I trust that he’s still alive. I feel like I would know if something happened to him. Besides, he’s too stubborn to die in such a stupid way.”

Tommy could feel his eyes start to water. He hastily reached up and wiped away the tears “I… thank you big man. Thank you so much”

Tubbo turned and gave his friend a hug “Yeah, no problem. We’re gonna get you home, ok? We’re gonna find a way to get you back home.”

The tears flowed freely down his cheeks. How long had it been since he had last been comforted like this? Since someone had actually promised to help him get home? Suddenly, he realized just how lonely the past two weeks had been. Being forced to act as though nothing was wrong, and that he didn’t desperately want to return home had taken a toll on him. His only release was late at night while sparring with Dream and George, but that only lasted for a few hours. The rest of the time, he had felt completely and desperately alone. So finally having the chance to actually talk to someone felt so relieving. 

They sat like that for a long time. Exactly how long, Tommy wasn’t sure. By the time he finally moved, his tears had long since dried. 

“So, where are you going to go?” Tubbo asked him.

Right. He had almost forgotten about his banishment. “I’m not sure. I might go and stay with Dream for a bit. I really don’t want to live alone for now.”

“That makes sense. Do you need help gathering your stuff together?” 

“I mean, I didn’t exactly have much. But you can come along if you want. I wouldn’t mind the company.” 

As the two friends walked back to the small wooden shed, Tubbo couldn’t help but go over the past two weeks in his mind. What he could have done differently. Things that he should have noticed. Ways he could have helped. 

“Hey big T, you alright?” Tommy asked as they stepped inside the small building. 

“Yeah I’m good. Just thinking.”

“Alright… let me know if you need anything, ok?”

“Yeah. Yeah I will. Thank you.” 

~~~

About an hour later, Tommy and Tubbo found themselves knocking on the door of Dream’s base, each of them holding a chest full of items. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, I know that you trust him, but our Dream did some really messed up stuff…” Tubbo muttered, feeling extremely uneasy about Tommy’s plan of staying with Dream. He knew that it was irrational, especially if Tommy was right about this being a different Dream, but that didn’t exactly do anything to help his anxiety. 

“Yeah. I’m not sure what exactly the other Dream did to you guys, but this Dream is a really chill guy, I swear.” 

“Ok… I trust you…” he didn’t feel totally sure, but he knew that he trusted his best friend. If Tommy trusted Dream, then so did Tubbo. 

The door to the base creaked open, revealing a disheveled man behind it. Tubbo instinctively tensed, unable to shake the feeling of fear. However, a closer look at Dream made it pretty obvious that he wasn’t exactly dangerous. In fact, it looked as though he had just gotten out of bed. His blonde hair was a complete mess, as if he hadn’t been bothered to comb it. Dark circles rested underneath his eyes as he gave them a tired glare. “What do you want?” his voice was sluggish and drowsy.

“Ok I know this is- wait. Did you just wake up? Dude it’s like noon. Why the hell were you still sleeping?” Tommy asked, clearly trying to hold in a laugh.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because I’ve been staying up until 3 am every day for the past two weeks training?” It was only then that he finally noticed Tubbo’s presence. “Uhhh I mean… Fuck. It's too early for this.” he ran a hand through his already messy hair.

“Yeah Tubbo knows by the way. Kinda the reason why we’re here.”

“Uhh, hi?” Tubbo gave a small little wave, trying to control the fear that was stirring in his gut. 

“Jesus christ… alright come on in. You have a lot of explaining to do.”

About 10 minutes later, the three of them sat inside Dream’s base. In Dream’s hands was a vial of blue liquid. As Tubbo and Tommy watched, he poured a few drops into a small bottle of water. “Are you… Are you drinking a speed pot?” Tubbo asked, his voice quiet and nervous. He still didn’t want to anger Dream, despite Tommy’s reassurance that it was fine.

“It’s about the closest thing to coffee I’ve got here,” he said with a deadpan voice. Tubbo just stared at him in confusion. 

“Coffee is something that people drink to help wake themselves up in our world. It's bitter and gross and I don’t understand how people like it,” Tommy explained. 

“You’re just an uncultured child who doesn’t understand these things,” Dream said as he took a sip of the water. 

“And you’re just a bitch,” he grumbled.

Dream rolled his eyes. “So what exactly happened? Why do you have all your stuff with you? Why does Tubbo know about what happened?” 

Tommy launched into an explanation as to what had happened earlier that day. His breath caught as he explained what Wilbur had told him, and the way that he had been banished. It hadn’t really sunk in until just then what had happened, and the weight of it all was crashing down on him hard. His eyes started to water, but he hastily brushed away the tears. No. He had already cried enough today. He needed to be focused on a solution. Tubbo placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. Tommy gave his friend a grateful smile and pushed onwards. 

By the time he had finished his story, Dream was looking at him in shock. “Wait so he actually kicked you out?” 

“Yeah… Yeah he did.” 

“Damn. Ok… I mean, yeah sure you can stay here if you need. Is Tubbo staying here as well?” 

“Uh, n-no sir. I was just helping Tommy with his stuff…” He stammered. 

Dream let out a laugh “Did you just call me sir? Wow, ok I didn’t realize I was that old”

Tubbo looked down in embarrassment. Right. This was a different person. He needed to remember that. His eyes were fixed upon the small pile of Tommy’s tools and weapons that was in the corner. “S-sorry…” He muttered. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. “H-hey Tommy? Why is your bow blinking?” 

“What?” Tommy’s eyes snapped to the pile. Sure enough, on the grip of his enchanted bow, was a small blinking red light. 

~~~

“Dream, I need to ask you a few questions,” Wilbur said into his mic. He had just gotten off the phone with Tommy and Tubbo, and had decided to go directly to Dream for answers. 

“Like what?” Dream said in a casual tone. 

Despite everything, Will couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief at his friends voice. It was the first time he had actually spoken to Dream since his disappearance, so hearing his voice again was definitely a weight off his shoulders. “What did you do to Tommy?” He asked, forcing his voice to be calm and even. 

A brief pause. “What do you mean?” 

Of course Dream would try to play dumb. Wilbur had expected it to be the case. He had prepared for it. “Tommy just told me and Tubbo exactly what happened. I simply want to hear both sides of the story.” Will figured that if Dream was cornered, he would have an easier time admitting to what happened. 

Another pause, longer this time. Dream couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. A sadistic smile of excitement stretched across his face. “That little snitch…” he said quietly. “Alright, you know what? I’m feeling generous. You can tell Tommy that he’s got 48 hours before I make my move. 48 hours to try and figure out how to say goodbye.” A low, menacing laugh emerged from Wilbur’s speakers “I look forward to seeing his next course of action is”

“W-what? What the fuck are you on about?”

“The timer is ticking Wilbur. I recommend you start acting.” The call ended. 

Wilbur sat in his chair for what felt like forever, trying to figure out what had just happened. Dream had been blackmailing Tommy. He had been threatening something, and Will had very likely just made him follow through with that threat. Fuck. He needed to tell Tommy. He needed to figure out the full story. Quickly, he went in and joined the private call with Tommy and Tubbo. 

“Dream said you have 48 hours, Tommy wh- wait, why is Eret here?” He asked. Eret was quickly booted from the call by Tubbo. 

“Sorry about that. Tommy wanted to talk with him. What’s up Wilbur?” 

“I… I fucked up. I really fucked up. Tommy, I need you to tell me exactly what Dream did. And don’t you fucking dare tell me that you don’t remember.”

“What…? Wilbur what did you do? What did he say?” Tommy asked, his voice frantic. He was still shaken after the exchange with Eret, and Wilbur’s behavior wasn’t exactly helping. 

“I don’t know! All he said was that you have 48 hours until he makes his move, and then he left. I figured you would know what he meant.”

“No… No no no this can’t be happening. Fuck…! Fucking hell do you have any idea what you just did Wilbur?! You just fucking killed them all! Everyone! He’s going to fucking kill them now because of you! Tubbo, Will, Fundy, all of them! Everyone I knew and loved is now going to die because of your fucked up curiosity!” He yelled. He couldn’t believe that it was actually happening. If only he had never followed Dream in the first place. Then, none of this would be happening. He would still be at home. His friends wouldn’t be in danger. Everyone would still be safe. 

“Tommy, Tommy! Calm down!” Wilbur said, trying to keep up. 

That only made the panic worse. Those were the exact same words that Wilbur had told Tommy when he had challenged Dream to the duel. The exact same words that had only served to fuel his rage and anger. All of that rage and anger came flooding back to him. “No! No I’m not going to calm down when the people I care for are about to die because of you! My fucking home is going to be destroyed in a few days because of you!” 

“Tommy, no one is going to destroy your house. Take a deep breath”

“I’m not talking about this fucking house!! I’m talking about my world! The world that all of you treat like it’s a fucking game! Well guess what? It’s not a game. There are people living there. People who are just trying to live their lives. People who are sick of living in fear. People like me.”

A silence fell over the call as Tubbo and Wilbur processed exactly what their friend was saying. “What are you talking about…?” tubbo asked softly. His voice was filled with hurt and disbelief, as if he didn’t want to believe what his mind was telling him. 

“Do I have to spell it out for you?! I’m not from this world, Tubbo! I’m not the same Tommy that you knew a month ago. That Tommy is gone. And because of you, he’s likely going to die.” He spat out. God, what was he doing? His friends were in danger and here he was, yelling at people that had done nothing but try to help and give support. 

Wilbur gasped as the pieces clicked into place. Every strange action, each weird conversation from the past week came back to him. “You’re from the SMP, aren’t you?”

Tommy let out a cry of outrage “Don’t you fucking dare associate my name with the Dream SMP! I didn’t fight in a fucking war just to be grouped in with those bastards. I didn’t risk my fucking life for people to associate me with them!”

“Right, right. I’m sorry. You’re from L’manberg. Not the SMP. My mistake.” Will said immediately. The last thing that he needed was this other Tommy angry at him. Especially if what he said about their Tommy being in danger was true. “God, that makes sense. That makes so much sense. Oh my god that's why you freaked out over the clip of Eret!” 

Tommy felt every muscle in his body tense at the name. “What you showed me was a walk in the park compared to what actually happened. He fucking drugged us all, and then Dream came out and taunted us. I still have nightmares about it…” 

“Anyways! Maybe we shouldn’t talk about that right now!” Tubbo said hastily. He didn’t want his friend to have another PTSD episode, especially now that he knew why it was so bad. “You uh, you said that Dream was going to do something?” 

“Yeah. Yeah I did. So… in this world, my world is just a game that you run on a server, right?”

“Yeah…?”

“It was the same in my world. The entire universe was connected to a single computer that Dream found. With the right command, it could do whatever he wanted. Change memories, create objects out of thin air, hell, even teleportation.” 

“Which is how you managed to get here… right?” 

“Exactly. Apparently the computer was connected with another computer that he found here. I think it belonged to the other Dream?”

“That makes sense… Dream hosted the server…” 

Tommy took a deep breath. “He told me that if I… If I told anyone what had happened he would delete the server. And considering how everything else about my world and this server is connected, I’m about 99% sure that doing so would destroy my world, and kill everyone in it.”

~~~

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[broadstbroskis]

present tense | matthew tkachuk

back on my childhood friends to (enemies to) lovers bullshit here! have a nice 5k matty fic that was not the fic i set out to write and is far better for it! one flashback-ish area set in italics! enjoy!

-----

There’s a picture that sits on the desks in both of your dad’s offices-in the Blues training facility and over at Enterprise Arena-that everytime you look at you can’t help but scoff in disgust. Sometimes you even flip the picture down, if it stirs up particularly loathsome feels at that moment in time. But each time you end up back in his office, the picture’s back standing, in its usual place front and center on his desk. 

You can’t figure out why. Sure, you’re by far his favorite kid (suck it, Josh and Seth), but for him to keep a picture that’s close to fifteen years old on his desk that features you just cheesing it up with a guy you can’t even stand anymore is a little ridiculous.

“Just because you don’t like Matthew anymore doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t,” Your dad tells you bluntly, anytime you try to mention that fact to him, which you definitely should have known better. He and Keith had only become better friends since Keith’s transition to his front office role. 

“I still don’t understand what went wrong with you two.” Your mom huffs. It’s the biggest tragedy of her and Chantal Tkachuk’s lives, the day that you and Matthew were no longer best friends and neither of them ever miss a chance to lament that fact. “Best friends one day and then not the next. What could possibly have happened that can’t be fixed?”

“Can’t fix asshole!” You respond cheerily. 

“YN!” Your mom snaps. 

“What?” You shrug. “It’s self-proclaimed!” She gives you a look and even though you are 22 years old, you know what thin ice looks like, so you merely smile back at her.

And there’s the other thing. For all that you can barely stand to be in the same room as your former best friend, the rest of your family loves him. Your dad and Seth will golf with Matt and Keith once a week now that it’s summer and he’s back in town. Josh invited both Matt and Brady to his fucking bachelor party this summer. The entire family will be at his wedding!

You literally couldn’t escape the guy. Your summer had barely just begun; it was only a few days after graduation, and already the pressure was on to keep applying for jobs or decide to go on for a Masters. Josh’s wedding was fast approaching and Nicole had the entire bridal party running all around St. Louis in preparation.

The last thing you wanted was to have to deal with Matty.

-----

From the minute you and Matthew Tkachuk were thrown together it’d been instant connection. You can’t recall the exact moment you’d met; you can, however, remember running through the halls of hockey games, trying to keep up with your older brothers at barbeques as Brady tried to keep up with the two of you, sharing secrets under blankets, and making promises to each other in the dark that you were too scared to make in the light.

Until you were sixteen, you’d both kept those promises, each and every one of them. The smallest things, like promising to bring two snacks to an after school event, to the biggest things, like always being there for each other. 

You were Matty’s biggest cheerleader growing up, quite literally sometimes, showing up to his hockey games in your cheer uniform after a practice or competition. And even though it was clear from early on that Matty was destined for great things, he never made you feel like he’d be leaving you behind, celebrating all your accomplishments the same way you’d celebrated his (far more incredible) ones.

But the distance apart during his first year away at the NTDP changed something. You no longer had Matty to rely on to have your back unconditionally. He was up in Ann Arbor, crushing his dreams, and you were so happy for him, really, but that left you at home and for the first time, realizing what Matty’s dreams would really mean for your friendship long term. You threw yourself into cheer, into your other friends. When his responses to your texts took longer and longer to come, you realized that you were doing the same thing- what’s the rush to get back to someone who’s only going to take three days to respond to you?

And then summer rolled around and Matty came back and acted like nothing was different. He’d swept you up into his arms and twirled you around, proclaiming how much he missed you, while your families looked on and laughed, especially at how you’d whined at him for messing you your hair.

“You didn’t miss me?” He’d pouted, poking you until you’d admitted that you did, of course you did, and that brought the grin you knew and loved.

From that moment on, for the rest of summer, the two of you were inseparable. It’s like every minute you couldn’t spend together was a wasted one. For all the time that went between texts when he was away, your phone was blowing up now that he was back, unable to stop talking those scarce moments when you were apart. 

It became expected, amongst both your friends, that if you invited one of you somewhere, the other was showing up as well. You were blowing off after-practice Starbucks runs for Matty to pick you up and get lunch. You’d found out later that he was moving workouts and basketball games with some buddies so they’d coincide with your practice times. Very quickly, you’d fallen back into old habits, but no one called you out on it, accepting both of you easily, and merging friend groups fairly seamlessly.

As the summer went on, the looming date of Matty leaving again started to hang over your head as the-thing-that-just-wasn’t-mentioned...but that didn’t mean it was ever far from your thoughts. It would pop in at the worst times- when the two of you were grabbing coffee and driving around, when you were lying by the pool for the afternoon, when you were bickering about what movie to watch that night.

You’d just wanted to forget for one night, that he’d be leaving you in just a week, and Paul Morgan’s house party seemed like the place to do it. There was cheap booze flowing, shitty beer in your cup, and it was easy enough to keep the smile on your face surrounded by your friends. 

But you couldn’t shake Matty, the entire night, who was right on top of you, his arm wrapped around your shoulders first, and then playing with your hair, and then his palm splayed against your back. How were you supposed to forget that he was leaving you in seven short days when his thumb was brushing over your hip bone? 

You’d shoved him away, offering some excuse about the bathroom, but going instead to hide in one of the rooms upstairs. The tears had started almost as soon as the door shut, your body shaking as you’d sat down on the bed. Was this going to be the new normal? Days without speaking, only the most vague responses when you did, barely knowing each other for most of the year, only for Matt to come home and cling to you for three months of the year? 

That it was Matty who’d come to find you was entirely unsurprising, opening the door more gently than he did almost anything, but then rushing to your side once he saw your face and pressing to know what was wrong. 

The combination of alcohol and nostalgia had gotten you. “I can’t do this every year, Matty. I can’t pretend everything is the same when you come home, when you’re away and we’re like total strangers.”

“So let’s not be.”

You’d laughed, pretty hollowly. “And how are we supposed to do-” But before you’d even finished, he’d kissed you. 

There are things you remember so clearly from that night, your first time. The way Matty had looked at you anytime he pulled back from kissing you; the way he’d laced his fingers into yours as he’d entered you so carefully, like he was terrified of hurting you; how tenderly he kissed you each time he pressed his lips to yours. The fuzzier moments are some of the words he’d whispered to you both during and after, the things that sometimes return to you in a dream- how beautiful you were, how perfect this was, how much he adored you. 

That he loved you, that he always would, that he only wanted you for forever.

Usually in your dreams, that was when you woke up. But at least you didn’t have to see him kissing another girl that way.

-----

Bridal showers were one of the worst things you could possibly think of, but you’d give anything to be at one of those stupid traditional showers where all the women sit in circle for hours and the old ladies cry over what great gifts all this stupid shit is, if it meant you didn’t have to see Matthew.

But no, Josh and Nicole had to go “non-traditional” and throw a co-ed shower. “We’ve already got a house.” You’d heard Nicole explain to yet another older relative, the same thing she’d said to the rest of the bridal party (granted, sounding much less like she’s tired of saying it) when she’d first tossed the idea out. “We don’t need a bunch of stuff we already have. We just want to get a bunch of our family and friends together.” And for you all to stock our bar, was the second part of the joke, and the theme of the party.

Nicole hadn’t looked stressed about this day- which was supposed to be a casual get-together at your parents with family and close friends-until the comments had started to rain. You can see the eye twitch start to go in your future sister-in-law and as she’s explaining the concept to another aunt of hers, you slip in next to her with another glass of champagne. “Can I steal you please?”

“Of course!” She beams, excusing herself from that group. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I just don’t want you to murder anyone before you marry my brother this summer!”

She laughs. “Thank you. For the record, the same goes.”

“Me? What have I done today? Seth is the one who opened that $600 bottle of wine accidentally!”

She gives you a look. “I saw the Tkachuk’s walk in, including Matt. Be nice.”

“I will if he is.” You say childishly, sipping on your own glass of champagne.

It’s just your luck, though, that I saw the Tkachuk’s walk in means here they come now. In classic Tkachuk fashion, Keith and all three kids are shoving each other around, and Chantal is rolling her eyes, right up until the moment they reach you and Nicole, when Keith sends once final shot at Matthew, before regrouping to congratulate her along with his wife.

“Where’s that brother of yours?” Keith wonders, craning his neck. “We’ve got some putting to discuss today.”

“Here we go again.” Taryn mutters, rolling her eyes.

“Hey now!” Matt protests. “Joe and I won that fair and square. We’re just better golfers than you two.”

“Better cheaters, more like.” You mutter into your champagne glass, but it’s just loud enough for everyone to hear and Keith and Taryn laugh even as Nicole and Chantal sigh, like ugh, this already.

“No need to cheat when you’re just this good.” Matty grins back sleazily. It seems to be the smile he reserves specially for you; you’ve never seen him break it out for anyone else.

You plaster the fakest smile on your face. There’s no reason for you to be so hurt by an otherwise innocent comment-after all, despite him professing how much he loved you, you were never actually together-but even now, you can’t help the feeling that hits you when he even mentions the word cheat. “Well you’d know best, wouldn’t you?” You say, managing to feign a cheerful tone to make your fake smile. 

Chantal smiles, not catching the dig you’d intended it to be. “Well it’s nice to see that the two of you are at least capable of putting your differences aside.”

“Yeah, my wedding is looking so much more promising!” Nicole teases.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Even if Matty manages to control himself enough to not start a fight, you’ve still got Seth to worry about.” You nod over at your brother, who’s apparently already given up on glassware, and is carrying around the $600 bottle of wine he’d cracked open earlier in the afternoon.

“Yeah, and even if YN manages not to shit-talk all the other guests, I’m sure Joe and Dad over here will throw something out there as soon as they get a few in them.” Matthew snarks back.

“Well that lasted long.” Keith says pleasantly, like his own son hadn’t just rudely thrown him under the bus.

“We shouldn’t have expected less.” You hear Nicole say, but you’re too busy arguing with Matthew about which one of you is going to be worse at her wedding to respond.

-----

The worst thing to come out of the summer that you and Matt had spent attached at the hip only to end up hating each other is that it had actually made your separate friend groups become friends. So now anytime he was home, it was fairly common for a large group chat to go out to round up the squad for a night out.

Which meant yet another night where you were stuck with Matthew.

Even more annoyingly, when he does show up at the bar, he’s nothing but nice. He immediately waves off cards from everyone, offering to pick up the tab for the night. You’re shocked when he remembers that Mel, your best friend, is going to med school in the fall, and he shows, like, genuine interest in her move to Boston and offers her a few places he remembers from Brady’s short time there or recommendations from friends. 

“You’re being ridiculous.” Mel says, when she drags you out on the dance floor. 

“Says who?” You return petulantly, like you have no idea that she’s talking about the sour face that you’ve been making most of the night.

“Um, all of us.” Mel tells you. “Behind your backs, because we think whatever happened between you and Matt is dumb.”

“You talk about us behind our backs?” You cry, outraged.

“Well if the two of you aren’t going to tell us what happened to our faces, then we had to speculate somewhere!”

And that was never going to fucking happen. You’d never told anyone what had happened between the two of you and as far as you knew, Matthew had never broken the unspoken agreement to never tell anyone, either. You certainly remember the sound the smacking palms had made when Nick had high-fived him for managing to “get something” from Sofia Taylor only a day after you had- “There’s nothing to speculate.” You tell Mel, stopping that train of thought and falling to an old standby. “He’s just an asshole.”

“An asshole who’s buying all our drinks tonight?”

“Yes.” You state stubbornly, and knowing she’s not going to win this one with you, she drops the subject and just starts dancing, shouting along to some of the throwbacks you both know and love.

When she leaves you to grab another drink, her spot is quickly replaced by another body, and you loop your arm around the neck of the guy that takes her place, grinning as his hands start on your hips and gradually begin to slip lower on your back as you press yourself closer to him. 

It doesn’t last long because almost the second his hands get to the point where it might even be considered getting close to your ass, he’s pulled away from you. “Get moving.” Matthew says, even as you glare at him furiously. 

Whether he knows who Matthew is or just doesn’t think he could take him if it came down to it, the guy you were dancing with starts shoving his way through the crowd, even after you call for him to wait. When that doesn’t work you round on Matt. “What was that, you asshole?”

“Wait, you liked him touching you?”

“I didn’t mind!”

He actually laughs. “That guy?”

You give him a dirty look, pushing your way through the crowd, in the direction you’d seen that guy go, but it’s a lost cause. No matter which way you look, you can’t see him.

The only thing you can see is the curly head of hair that’s followed you. “That can’t be who you want.” He tells you, as you’re starting to give up, stuck on the outskirts of the bar now.

“You don’t actually get a say in that.” You cry back at him, a little hysterical. “Maybe you could have, one day. But you fucked that up.” He actually does a double take at that, stepping away from you. “So no, you don’t anymore.”

“YN,” He reaches out for you.

“I’m calling an Uber and going home.” You shove his hand away. You can’t even be near him anymore. “And since you can be nice enough to buy drinks, I can say thanks. But that’s it. Don’t pretend like you did me some big favor tonight. You ruined my life once and now you’ve ruined my night.”

And that’s it. You shove past him before he can say anything else to you. 

But he doesn’t come after you. For once, you might actually have left him completely speechless.

-----

On the same weekend that you, Nicole, and the other girls jet off to Austin for her bachelorette party, Josh and his bachelor party take off for Vegas. 

“As long as he doesn’t come home having gambled our house away.” Is the only thing Nicole says, when one of her cousins asks if she’s at all concerned about the Vegas crew. Privately, you think her nonchalant attitude has more to do with the amount of champagne she’s already consumed, but you can’t deny that she’s right. 

“Low bar there.” The maid of honor laughs.

Nicole shrugs as you laugh. “She’s just hoping that Matt doesn’t pull a Hangover on him.”

“You know, name recognition is probably going to be what makes Matty the one who stops the others from pulling a Hangover on Josh.” Nicole muses.

You give her a look. “You couldn’t just give me this one thing?”

She laughs. “After a couple more shots, I’ll give you anything, babe.”

You’ll cheers to that.

Hours later, you’re still cheers-ing-to Nicole, to Josh, to anything ridiculous that anyone of you can think of, each time someone buys you all a round of shots at the bar. You’re pleasantly buzzed, buzzed enough that the letters are too blurry to read clearly when your phone rings, so you just swipe to accept the call and make your way outside, where it’s a little quieter. “Hello?”

“That’s not how it happened at all!” You hear Matthew say loudly. You can’t tell where he’s at, but the background music sounds muffled, like it is behind you, and he sounds as drunk as you feel.

“What?��� You can’t keep up with him. Had you missed something? You almost pull your phone away from your ear to check the group chat, to see if you’d been drunk texting in it and forgotten already, but his voice stops you.

“I didn’t ruin your life; you ruined mine!”

If you weren’t leaning against the wall, your legs would have collapsed out from under you. As it is you slide a good foot down the bricks and the flowy tank you’ve got on isn’t doing much to help avoid the scratches that are sure to run down your low back tomorrow. “What?” You can only repeat.

But it seems like Matt’s been building up steam for this. “After everything we’d been through, after everything I said to you, you could just walk away like that?”

“I’m sure Sofia fucking Taylor could give you a great reason why I just walked away like that.” You snap back, finally understanding and ending the call immediately. You’re raging. You can’t believe he’d even attempt to call you out like this.

Even a few deep breaths doesn’t calm you down. When you make your way back into the bar, a few of the girls have concerned looks on their faces, but you wave them off. “I’ll be fine. Just need to drink more. That’s what we’re all here for, right?”

“RIGHT!” Nicole shouts in your face, already beaming.

Maybe if you keep drinking to her level, you’ll be able to forget this whole conversation even happened.

-----

When drinking doesn’t work to forget that phone call, you just start going out of your way to avoid Matty completely. When you see him at family events, you just ignore him entirely. You start pulling back from the big group chat with your friends, only committing to events once he’s fully committed to not going.

Mel calls you out on it, telling you that you’re just being childish and that you can’t avoid him forever, but your family commends you for finally taking the high road, even if they still think the whole thing is dumb in the first place. 

And it’s easy to look like it’s you taking the high road, because Matthew’s trying desperately to talk to you. You’ve got nothing to say though. It’s like the years of rage have finally cooled. Like if you can’t forget the phone call where he says you ruined his life, then you can finally move past the part where he actually did ruin yours.

The day of your brother’s wedding dawns, hectic as you’d expected, and you spend your morning alternating between doing anything Nicole asks and getting ready yourself. You feel like a princess when you slip into the long, blush dress, but it’s nothing compared to how Nicole looks, and you were far from a crier, but seeing her in her dress was only the first time you teared up that day, and it was far from the last.

By the time the ceremony ended, it’d happened three more times and you made a few jokes about it with some cousins and Seth before you figured you could excuse yourself for a few minutes in the garden outside to get some fresh air before the photographer needed you.

Outside, the weather is perfect, an ideal day for an August wedding. There’s a few places to sit, you remember, from when you’d toured the venue with Nicole once, and you start off for one of them, only to be interrupted.

“Hey!”

You jump around, almost twisting your ankle in your heels, entirely surprised at the voice “Nick! What the fuck are you even doing here now?” You frown, when you see him. He’s dressed in street clothes; he’s not here as a date and it’s too early to crash (which you’d straight up invited some of your friends to do, once it got a little later in the evening and meals had been served).

Nick’s rubbing the back of his neck, looking incredibly awkward and like this is the last place he’d rather be. “I uh, I think I owe you an explanation. Sorry, I couldn’t wait anymore.”

You frown. “For what?”

His hand moves from the back of his neck to his face, but you’re still able to hear as he says, “I was the one who sent Sofia over to him.”

You laugh hollowly. “Fuck off, Nick.”

“YN, Matt only told me the other day that you guys slept together in high school. He was just-god, he was so into you! I swear to god I didn’t know!”

“Fuck off!” You repeat, a little more desperately. 

“I just wanted him to get over you.” Nick says, sounding almost as desperate as you. “He didn’t even want her-she just-it wasn’t-I swear to god if I had known, I never would have-”

“Seriously, Nick, fuck off.” And whether he actually took your words to heart or not, Nick does to turn go, leaving you standing alone in a long dress and ready to cry, once again as he didn’t even want her rings through your head repeatedly.

-----

Once you know that things could have been different between you and Matty, it’s like you can’t look away from him. In two separate rounds of pictures, you get called out by the photographer for not looking, just because you thought you heard his voice.

The reception isn’t much better. As you start greeting different friends and relatives at the cocktail hour, you can’t help but wonder how things could have been. Would Matty have been by your side through all of this instead of over by the bar joking with Brady and Seth? He’d certainly be sitting next to you at dinner. Would he be throwing a couple side chirps into Seth’s best man toast or would he have managed to keep his mouth shut? 

After dinner, when the real party begins, you nudge Seth and gesture at the bar for a shot, breathing a sigh of relief when he enthusiastically agrees, and you round up Josh, Nicole, and a couple of your cousins to meet him at the bar, only to find that he’s rounded up your dad, Keith, Brady, Matthew- the person you’d been hoping to start drinking to forget again. 

Matty doesn’t look away from you and as his eyes follow your every movement- the passing of glasses, lifting the glass up to your mouth, licking the last drop off your lip-you feel the flush grow across your cheeks that’s got little to do with how much you’ve already had to drink. 

“Another!” Josh calls.

“If you’re too fucking drunk tonight,” Nicole warns, leaning against him.

“We just got fucking married!” He beams, capturing her lips in a kiss that has you leading a cheer and then all of you cycling through the motions of another round of shots, all while a pair of blue eyes don’t leave you.

When Seth starts making his third toast of the night, about how happy he is for Josh and Nicole, you seize your opportunity to sneak out for some fresh air, slipping out the doors right behind you.

“Fucking finally.” You hear Matthew behind you and quickly lift the bottom of your dress to be able to run, only for him to stop you dead in your tracks. “YN, god, just-”

He stops abruptly and you let the bottom of your dress fall as you turn to face him. “What, Matty?” You ask him helplessly.

“Don’t...go.” He finishes, rather lamely, compared to anything you’ve heard him say ever.

“We are at my brother’s wedding!” You cry back to him, gesturing around you wildly. You’re not that far into the garden that you can’t still hear the sound of Love on Top from where you’re standing now. “Where am I going to go?”

Your response is enough for Matty to collect himself. “Since the day I told you I loved you, all you’ve done is run from me and we are finally, finally on the same page about why, and you’re going to do it again?”

Desperate for a second to breathe, you gesture around you again. “Is this really the place?”

Matty nods. “I’m not walking away from you again so that can be it. I don’t want to spend another six years thinking you walked away from me, when it turns out you didn’t want to at all.”

“Of course I didn’t, but I didn’t want to be just another girl!”

“You’ve never been just another girl.”

“Well, I just learned that a few hours ago,” You tell him dryly. “From Nick. But it really didn’t feel like that when the day after you told me I was your everything, you were making out with another girl.”

“We weren’t-” Matty starts, but cuts himself off at the dirty look you send him and instead steps closer and grabs your hand, completely ignoring your flinch. “Why didn’t you just say something to me? Anything? God, it would-” He shakes his head, and the unspoken it would have made things so much easier goes unsaid.

“Why didn’t you say something to me?” You counter.

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second!”

“YN!” It’s like he’s trying not to laugh, but it only works at lightening the mood between the two of you for a moment, before you’re sighing.

“What would I have said?” You ask, kind of ruefully. “Things were weird after you went away and you were about to go away again and I should have what? Begged you to love me and not any of the other girls that might be right there in Michigan with you, let alone the one I thought you’d already chosen over me?” You shrug. “It wasn’t-it wasn’t exactly peak confidence levels right then.” Matty winces at that and you nod at him. “ Alright, your turn.”

“I guess…” He trails off. “I was mostly worried that you had just changed your mind. And that you were trying to let me down easy.” The laugh that escapes after that is so bitter that it’s your turn to wince. “And then by the time I got home again, it was pretty clear that you weren’t letting me down easy at all.”

“I haven’t changed my mind at all.” You look him straight in the eyes, meeting the blue you’ve missed so desperately, determined not to look away for anything this time. 

“Haven’t.” Matthew repeats, squeezing your hand, and as the smile starts to bloom across his face, you feel a matching one grow across yours. “As in, present tense?”

You nod, but you barely get the chance to before his other hand is coming up to the base of your skull and pulling you in for a kiss. Christ, if you thought sex with him was good at 16, expectations have changed, because this kiss alone takes your breath away, makes your knees weak, and has you gripping onto him just to stay standing. “Matty, please tell me you’re going to do that again.” You manage to breathe out, mostly against his lips, which is as far away from him that you think you’re ever going to be able to be.

“I’m never going to stop doing that.” Matthew says, and it sounds like all the promises you’d made to each other as children under blanket forts, but it feels like your past, your present, and your future have combined as he presses his lips to yours in another breathtaking kiss. 

[mistymark]

the one with the ex boyfriend. [mark]

summary: you and your ex boyfriend, mark, take part in a video interview surrounding your past relationship.

based off of ‘the exes confronting each other’ seventeen series by @skydivingstars

[ex boyfriend interview series masterlist] [main masterlist]

[The video begins with a bare set. Both the wall and the ground are grey, save for the two black spinning stools in the middle of the screen, only a metre or two apart.]

[Two people walk in, from opposite sides of the screen, gently taking a seat on the stools. They give each other awkward smiles, both nervously fiddling with the caps of their drink bottles before placing them on the floor.]

[We’re currently doing a series on exes and past relationships. I believe your mutual friend asked you to do this? Okay. Well, we’ll just be asking a few questions. If at any time you feel uncomfortable, or if you just need need a break, just let us know. We can skip a question or edit a section out if you would like. Ready?]

[Could you introduce yourselves and your relationship?]

[Y/n is biting her lip, zoning out.]

Mark, shyly raising his hand slightly as if he were in a class: uh, I'm mark. y/n’s ex boyfriend.

Y/n, suddenly zoning back in: I’m y/n. mark’s ex girlfriend.

[And how did you meet?]

Y/n, smiling at the memory: orientation week in freshman year.

Mark, nervously giggling: I, uh, ran into her during the club sign-up-

Y/n: literally ran into me. I dropped my coffee!

Y/n, beaming at the camera: but don’t worry, he was super sweet and offered to buy me a new one.

Mark, scratching the back of his neck: I saw it happen in a movie once

[Y/n looks to the side at him, their eyes meet and they both send each other small smiles as if sharing a private joke.]

[When did you first realise you were interested in each other?]

Y/n, trying to stop herself from smiling: pretty much straight away, actually.

Mark, shyly: really?

Y/n, briefly glancing at him before focusing on the camera: he was cute and he bought me a coffee. of course, I wanted to get to know him a bit more, but, you know-

Mark, refusing to look at Y/n: I, uh, I honestly didn’t think I had a shot with her after I spilt her coffee

Mark: but when I bought a new one for her, she was really nice about it

Mark: and I, um, wanted to ask her out

[And did you?]

Y/n, straight away: no

Mark, scratching the back of his neck: er, no, I didn’t

[So Y/n asked Mark out?]

Y/n: um, no, not exactly

Mark: our friends, they knew we liked each other

Y/n: they left a note at my apartment that was asking me out on a date and they signed it from Mark with his number

Mark, doing air quotes with his fingers: I got the same note “from Y/n” with her number

Mark: I texted her first, though

Y/n, dryly: oh yeah, you really took a leap of faith there

Y/n: does sending nothing but emojis even count as texting?

[Mark tries to kick her stool from where he’s sitting.]

[Why did you break up?]

[There’s silence for a moment. They both speak at the same time.]

Y/n: we were too busy

Mark: too busy

[They both say ‘too busy’ at exactly the same time. They look surprisedly at each other, shocked they said the same thing at the same time.]

Y/n: we’d been dating for-

[She turns to look at Mark.]

Y/n: just over two years?

Mark, nodding: yeah, 2 years and 4 months I think.

[She offers him a grateful smile before turning back to the camera.]

Y/n: we’d been dating for over two years and we were in our junior year of college and we both got really busy.

Mark: we both had internships and side jobs and studying. and then there was a lot of family stuff, too.

Y/n: it was really difficult to find time for each other, and we missed our two year anniversary.

Mark, glancing at Y/n for confirmation: I think that was the... first time? we thought something was wrong.

Y/n, nodding: yeah, first time for me.

Y/n: it sucked having to break up when you never even lost interest in the person

Mark, nodding: yeah

Mark: it felt like- it felt like you’d gone overseas or something. like we were still dating and I just never saw you. it didn’t register straight away that we weren’t together.

Y/n, smiling at him sadly: yeah. I felt the same.

[Zoom in on Y/n]

Y/n: I think I cried for a week when we called it off.

[The camera zooms out to show Mark staring at Y/n, his expression unreadable.]

[What did you love most about each other?]

[Again, neither of them answer straight away.]

[Mark clears his throat.]

Mark: I don’t think there is just one thing.

[Y/n is surprised by this answer - she clearly had one thing she planned on saying. She listens to him talk.]

[Zoom in on Mark]

Mark, blushing: I kinda- I thought Y/n was perfect.

[The camera pans to Y/n, who is blushing, too.]

Mark: she, um, she was perfect to me, at least. I loved everything about her.

[He turns to see her reaction, and finds comfort in her expression. They both smile at each other, though it’s clear they’re both deep in thought.]

Y/n: I loved how in touch he was with himself.

[Mark laughs briefly at her answer.]

Y/n: like, he knew exactly what he wanted to be when we first met and he strived to become that person. I thought it was very admirable.

[It is obvious that she’s being sincere due to the blush on her face.]

[What did you hate about each other?]

Mark: the schedule

Y/n, laughing loudly: oh, god, the schedule

[The schedule?]

Mark, now laughing, too: we had this, like-

Mark, turning to Y/n for help: what even was it?

Y/n: like, a system, I guess? we had this calendar thing where you put your activities and meetings and stuff in - obviously we just had work and classes and stuff - to see when the other was free.

Y/n: we found that, most weeks, the only time we were able to meet was before 8am on a Monday or after 9pm on a Thursday

Mark: because, half the time, we were studying or working or had training sessions or something until late at night

Y/n: we had a schedule so on Monday mornings I’d pick Mark up at 7:30 with a coffee ready and drive him to his morning class

Mark: and I'd pick her up from her Thursday shift at work and we’d hang out then.

Y/n: it was so weird - having scheduled times to see each other

Mark, quietly, pointedly as he reaches for his drink bottle: it was the best part of my week, though

[Would you say you were in love?]

[Y/n thinks for a second before nodding.]

Y/n: uh, yeah, I would.

[Mark’s cheeks go even brighter red.]

Mark: me, too.

[Silence.]

[Zoom in on Y/n]

Y/n, smiling fondly at the memory: I used to think we’d get married

[The camera pans to Mark, who is smiling fondly at Y/n.]

[Would you give it another shot?]

Y/n, looking to Mark briefly before answering: I, um- yes.

Mark, feeling secure now that Y/n has answered: yes.

Mark: definitely.

[Now?]

Y/n: errrr-

Mark, gigging at his own blatant obviousness: yeah, I would.

[Well, that's it for today. Thank you so much for coming in, guys. You’re free to go.]

Y/n, smiling at the staff behind the camera: thank you!

Mark, bending down to get his drink bottle: thank you, everyone!

[Y/n hops down off her stool, swiftly grabbing the unopened bottle at her feet. She stands up to find Mark waiting for her.]

Mark, checking his phone: so, I, uh, know it’s a Saturday but I was wondering if you had time to go for a drink or something?

Y/n, wincing: I can’t today, I’m meeting Chaeryeong after this.

[Someone off-camera gestures for them to clear the set and they begin to walk off, the sound beginning to fade.]

Y/n: how about tomorrow?

Mark: I’m busy all day tomorrow.

[They are no longer visible on set, only a snippet of their conversation is caught.]

Y/n: ....Monday?

Mark, laughing: 7:30 still work for you?

Y/n: yeah

Mark: great, it’s a d-

[The sound cuts.]

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Don’t Treat My Love Like a Habit Part Four

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Reader Rating: Mature (this may change) Warnings: Cursing; alcohol Notes: Set before the movie. Not beta-read. Reina is Spanish for Queen. Also I am not a native Spanish speaker, so I am sorry for any mistakes! *Cutie Summary: It wasn’t that you didn’t know how to have fun or anything, it was just that, well, this job had... Kind of taken over your life.

You’d spent the day gathering materials to bring the specialist up to speed on what you and Pope had been doing. You’d been comfortable with what you’d put together, from the information from Pope’s informants to what Diego knew about Hernandez’s last whereabouts (failed bust aside). When you’d gotten home, you’d cleaned your apartment, showered, and made yourself dinner. Now, you were trying to find something to watch. You didn’t bring your home work with you. It was a matter of safety: on the off-chance someone broke in and went through your things, you didn’t want anyone getting a hold of your intel, or any of yours or Pope’s information. So, on the odd night you found yourself in your apartment and not in your office, you were sometimes at a loss for what to do.  It wasn’t that you didn’t know how to have fun or anything, it was just that, well, this job had... Kind of taken over your life. Due to the nature of it, you hadn’t made many friends when you’d moved to Colombia; your main points of contact in the country were Diego and Pope. Diego was definitely not your biggest fan lately, and god knew what Pope got up to most nights. That was why it was such a jolt when you heard a knock on your door. You frowned, pushing yourself off of the couch quietly. Pope had had three break-ins since he’d been in the country; you’d had one. You reached for the gun you kept in your thigh holster while you were home and stepped across the floor carefully, avoiding the creaky spots. You peered through the keyhole, then relaxed when you saw who it was. You reached up, undoing the lock (and the two deadbolts that you’d added) before opening the door. “You should’ve let me know you were coming over,” You scolded, watching Pope amble in. He pouted. “You’re being real mean to the guy that brought alcohol,” He said, holding up a bag.

“Alcohol you like or alcohol I like?” You asked, shutting the door behind him and redoing the locks. When you turned, you saw Pope eyeing the gun in your hand. “You’re packing when you’re home?” “As if you don’t-- Gimme that,” You tucked your gun away again before taking the bag from Pope. “What’ve I done to earn a visit?” You asked, setting the bag on your counter and unpacking it. “What have you done? Uh, how about nothing but work, that’s what you’ve done.” He was already getting cups out of your cabinet. “That’s not true. I’ve also been known to eat and shower,” You argued, “And tequila, Santiago? Really?” You asked, holding the bottle up and arching a brow, “Please tell me this is for you.” “Of course it’s me for, Reina. I know you better than that.” You set the bottle down before reaching back into the bag to unload the rest. You glanced over as Santiago set two shot glasses down beside you. “No.” “C’mooooon,”  Santiago bumped his hip against yours, as he reached for the tequila. “One shot. One little shot.” “God,” You mumbled, shaking your head, “Why do you want me to be so hungover for work? We have a meeting.” “Speakin’a which,” Santiago said as he poured the shots, “You steer tomorrow.” “Why?” “Because I love the sound of your voice.” “Cute. Real reason?” “Take your shot.” “Real reason.” “I’m still gonna be getting used to this guy. Clearly he’s good or Diego wouldn’t have brought him in, but how he responds to you driving the meeting is going to tell me a lot about him. His hang-ups about the information, what his questions are -- whether or not he directs them at me or you, even if you’re the one doing the talking.” You nodded slowly. “You couldn’t have just started with that?” “Have you considered that maybe I do really love your voice? Take your shot,” Santiago said, picking up his own shot glass and lightly knocking it against yours. You rolled your eyes, picking it up and knocking it against Santiago’s in turn before knocking it back. Santiago laughed at the way you wrinkled your nose. “I’ll make you a drink,” He chuckled, grabbing what he’d brought for you. You leaned back, watching him. “...Why’d you come over?” “ ‘Cause I never see you outside of the office, and we should fix that.” The look that Santiago gave you shouldn’t have made fire curl in the pit of your stomach. You chalked the feeling up to the tequila. "Haven’t mentioned that before,” You folded your arms across your chest, watching Santiago turn back to your drink. “Well I’ve been thinking about it and one of us hasn’t worked out that whole telepathy thing.” “Oh,” You laughed, “Oh that is so not a one-person problem in this situation.” “You sure about that?” “Tell me what I’m thinking right now.” “You’re thinking I should’ve finished making this drink about ten seconds ago.” Santiago held your drink out to you, brow arched. You narrowed your eyes at him as you took the glass. “Alright, maybe it is a one-person problem.” -- You had a slight headache when you woke up the next morning. You groaned quietly, running your hand through your hair. “Fuck,” You mumbled, sitting up. Why did you smell coffee? ...That’s right, you and Santiago had overdone it, and you’d told him that he could crash on the couch. At least he was repaying you by making coffee...Shirtless. Santiago was standing in your kitchen, very shirtless, reaching into your cabinet to put away your bag of coffee beans. Your mouth was suddenly incredibly dry. You took a few more steps into the kitchen, knocking on the door frame to let him know that you were there so you didn’t startle him. “Mornin’,” He smiled at you, watching you push yourself up to sit on the counter, “You okay over there?” “I’m never letting you talk me into shots again,” You answered flatly. “You say that every time,” Santiago chuckled, setting down a cup of coffee and a bottle of advil beside your thigh. You grunted, picking up the bottle and opening it. “How are you so fucking chipper?” “Your couch is actually freaky comfortable, you know?” “I know, I’ve fall asleep on it before. I sleep on it more than I do in my bed... Which sounds really sad out loud.” Santiago leaned against the counter beside you, cradling his own cup of coffee. “Ready for today?” He asked. -- You were not fucking ready. It wasn’t the presentation, you knew that thing backward and forward, you had the presentation on lock. It was the specialist that Diego brought in. Alexander Zambrano was a fugitive recovery specialist. Before you’d joined the service, you’d considered fugitive recovery. Alex had been in training at the time; he’d been one of the trainees you’d spoken to, and you’d kept in touch when you’d been in the service. Fugitive recovery was an avenue you’d explored before you’d left the service, too, when you were considering going home. It was before Santiago had asked you to work with him. You’d reached out to Alex, and when you’d visited home to get your things in order, you’d... Well, you’d explored him, too, so to speak. You hadn’t seen or spoken to him since. But there he was, strolling into your office behind Pope. You could only imagine the look on your face, how it must’ve changed when you’d realized. He looked more or less the same - same dark chestnut brown hair (though it was longer now, you could see that it was swept back behind his ears), same honey brown eyes; he’d shaved, and was no longer sporting any facial hair, but that same wolfish grin took over his face as he was ‘introduced’ to you. Santiago clocked the look Alex was giving you as he introduced the two of you. “-- This is Alexander Zambrano... Alexander, you thirsty, or hungry?” Santiago asked, gesturing toward the kitchenette. “No, I’m good. And Alex is fine-- Or ‘Z’, or ‘Brano, none of this ‘Alexander’ stuff, hermano,” Alex smiled at Santiago. You saw the tightness around Santiago’s eyes; you knew he hated that familiarity from people he didn’t actually know. Santiago nodded before he gestured for Alex to settle where you were set up, “All set, Reina?” “Yeah,” You nodded. Alex raised a brow as he sat down, catching your eye and mouthing ‘Reina’? You shot him a look of warning before clearing your throat. “Let’s get to it, then.” -- “So this is what you’ve been up to.” You glanced toward the door where Santiago had left to take a call from Diego. “Uh-huh,” You confirmed, “How long have you been down here?” “A week,” Alex leaned against the table. He looked you over, and you raised a brow. “What?” “I’ve never seen you in action before... For work.” “Okay, that level of specificity was completely unnecessary,” You argued, but you were smiling. “You like it, though?” “The specificity?” “The work.” “Yeah, I like it... What’d Diego tell you about me?” Alex cringed, “He told me you’re kind of a bitch, but you know what you’re doing.” “Just kind of a bitch? Oh, I can do better than that.” Alex laughed loudly as Santiago came back in. You flattened your smile as his eyes darted from Alex to you. “All set in here?” Santiago asked. “More than,” Alex said, standing, “Thanks for the run-through,” he turned back to you, holding his hand out, “I’ll see you around. In case I’ve got questions, your number’s the same, right?” You reached up, shaking his head and mumbling, “Yep.” Alex held onto your hand for a little longer than necessary as he added, “It was good to see you again.” “I bet,” You nodded. Alex grinned, shooting you a wink before turning to say goodbye to Santiago. You shook your head, watching him go. You lowered your eyes as you felt Santiago turn back to look at you. Whatever questions he had, you weren’t sure you knew how to answer. “He seems nice,” Santiago commented, coming back to your desks. “I guess.” “...Reina.” You looked up at Santiago, waiting for his questions. Santiago had this little wrinkle in his brow; his lips were pressed into a thin line. “...Want some more coffee?” He asked instead.  "Please and thank you.” Tag list: @justanotherblonde23 ; @revolution-starter