#I am not an attorney. I am not this person’s defender. I definitely don’t want these asks anymore. please.

[c-optimistic]

Well idk if it's the same content in ig and tumblr but I stopped following when I was made aware that (at least on ig) there are no Kelly, no Nia/Dreamer, no Andrea/Acrata, but she did draw twice scenes with William, she drew her favorite scene of the 100th when Kara called Lena a villain. Just a bit sus... So that's why I prefer to follow other artists works.

They are a pretty great artist, I unfollowed on Instagram a while ago because of a couple of comments and posts they made that didn't sit well with me, too much toeing the line of homophobic. But to each their own.

okay. but like, I don’t know what you want from me. are we going around to everyone who has ever reblogged this person’s art and pointing out their taste in characters/ship leaves much to be desired and looks bad? I never write about andrea, and rarely about nia or kelly, does that make me suspicious too? does every fanfic writer or fan art creator have to evenly distribute their work between all the show’s characters? this show has a lot of characters! I wrote james/kara fic I never shared. i’ve got stuff for nia and kelly for fics I'll probably never finish because I'm bad at this and it’s a hobby. I post a lot of the danvers sisters and kara and lena because that’s where the show has a lot of emotional focus is so it’s the most fun for me to write and what you guys most often want to read. it doesn’t mean I don’t love nia with all my heart, that I don’t wish kelly got more screen time, that I don’t still think james/kara was lovely, etc. if this person has done or said something homophobic, tell me. if they’re transphobic, tell me. if they’re racist, tell me. but I need something more than it didn’t sit well with you or that this person has chosen to draw william and not nia. 

[mysticalrambling]

Love Eventually Wins (A.B) Part 1

Andy Barber Fanfiction (Fanfiction Master List)

Warnings: Angst but eventual fluff.

Summary: dad! Andy Barber x female reader. You are having the worst day of your life and you just needed your husband. Andy and you get in to a fight and your ten month old is sick. But it is all eventual fluff.

._._._._._.

"Where were you?" You silently spoke out from the couch as you saw your husband enter the living room with his jacket slung over his shoulder.

"Just out with some friends." He was not in a mood to talk right now so he started going towards their shared bedroom.

"You could have at least texted me that you were going to be late. I was getting worried." You hated fighting but most of all, you hated fighting with Andy. You both have always been the ones to resolve issues peacefully but you had a gut feeling that this interaction was going to be different.

"Well, I am here now so I am obviously fine." He snapped, clearly irritated by your complaints, which he subconsciously knew were right. You were taken aback by his tone because you didn't know what was going on his mind.

"Can you please keep your voice in check? I just put Gabriel to sleep." "So now I am the one causing the problems? Great." He frustratedly ran his hands through his dirty blonde hair.

"I did not-"

"I am tired and I am done arguing with you." Andy turned his back around but was stopped by your frail hands on his arms.

"I am also tired, you know. Gabriel was sick today and he did not stop crying the whole day." Your six month old son was not feeling well when he woke up this morning. He had a sore throat and a high fever so he wasn't able to eat any food or drink milk. At one point, it got too much for you and you started crying with him.

"I didn't told you to take care of him."

"What do you mean? He is our son. Of course, I will take care of him." You were offended when he started speaking like he didn't even know you, like you were a burden to him. "I have had the worst day of my life and I just needed you."

"What could have possibly been that bad about your day? You just had to take care of a child and it's not as if you had something else to do." This was the last straw because he could not just throw that in your face.

"I had something else to do and I quit my job as a lawyer to take care of our son." You could not just stand there and let him throw insults to your face. It was both your decision that you will take sometime off from work till Gabriel was a little bit older. Andy was a little bit hesitant to agree with you first but then you both thought it was for the best. He was the assistant district attorney so the job wouldn't be waiting for him after six months of leave. It just made sense for you to be the one to take a step back.

"It was your decision so don't blame it on me. God, I just need a break." Your husband looked like a whole different person right now. Gone was the caring man that brought you ice cream at four in the morning because you were craving it or who gave you foot massages after a tiring day. You did not what caused him to be this way but he had absolutely no right to talk to you like this.

"From what? You need a break from what?" Both your voices were slowly rising and you unintentionally stepped closer to one another that you were now face to face. Tears were pooling in your eyes but Andy did not take a notice of it. It was as if he was in a haze and he didn't care who he was hurting in the process.

"From you, god dammit. Can you please get off my case?" The moment those words left his mouth, it was as if he stabbed you with a knife.

He had a bad day at work today because he lost a major case today because the witness did not show up and that murderer was proven innocent. The district attorney was not happy with him and laid it out on him good. She even gave one of Andy's most important case to his work enemy, Carter. Taking him to a bar at the end of the day, his friends tried to cheer him up but nothing worked. He was a little tipsy when he got home and when you told him that he was not even there for his family, he felt like a failure. Andy turned his guilt in to anger and took it all out on you.

"Well, if that's what you want-" Before you could say something else, your son woke up from all the commotion that you were making in the living room. The look that you gave him was one of hate and loathing and you did not want to see his face right now. Racing towards the nursery, you took him in your arms and noticed that the fever was back. You cuddled with the baby and shed a few tears of your own. Your life was a mess right now and you didn't know what to do with yourself.

Meanwhile, Andy was angrier than ever. He pored himself a glass of whiskey and was about to drown it in a go, when a ringtone interrupted him. You and Andy have always kept the same phone and ringtones. It was their thing. So he didn't realise that it was your phone when he picked it up.

"What?" He snapped.

"Andy? Is that you?" a hoarse voice questioned with uncertainty.

"Yes." Quickly checking the phone screen, he realised that it was your phone and it was your sister, Josie calling.

"Are you guys on your way now?"

"What? What are you talking about?" Confusion clouded his brain as the anger slowly started to dissolve.

"Dad had a heart attack today and he is about to go into surgery. They are saying that it is a risky one and he wants to meet (Y/N) before it. Realisation slowly started to seep in him as he recalled about what you said. "I thought you guys would already be on the plane."

"Yeah yeah. We are about too." Putting the phone down, he closed his eyes tightly and contemplated on the fact that he ruined everything. Andy knew that he was selfish and a little bit narcissistic. You always tolerated these little tweaks in his personality but it got out of hand today. He knew he screwed up big time and he just wanted to fix it immediately.

He could hear you gently humming to the baby and the little sniffles along with it. His heart broke a little because he was the cause of your misery. Quickly packing your bags, he booked three seats to Los Angeles and then made his way towards the nursery.

"Hey. Uhm, I packed our bags and booked our seats. We can leave right now." Your back was turned to him as you kept rocking Gabriel to sleep. You couldn't bare to look at him right now. The things he said hurt you too much because you did not even deserve it. "(Y/N), I am sorry."

"Andy, I can't do this right now."

"Baby, I did not mean a word I said. I was having a bad day and I just took it all out on you." He wanted to take you in his arms but he knew that he should not push his luck right now.

"Can we please not talk about this right now? Gabriel's fever is spiking up."

"Let me see him and (Y/N) I am so sorry. I will make it all up to you, I promise." Andy took his son in his arms and gently started to sway him.

"What happened at work today?" You knew that he would not have behaved like this without a reason so you tried to become the bigger person. Your husband was quick to explain everything and you understood because you have been in that position once or twice. "But this does not justify your actions."

"I know and I am so sorry. I will make it up to you, I promise."

"Andy, if you really need a break from us, you can-"

"No, I don't. I didn't mean any of it. It was all out of anger." His heart broke when he saw you doubting their eight years relationship because of his stupid words. His gut twisted and he just wished that he could go back in time and smack himself.

"Oh okay. I suppose it's okay then but you can not do this again."

"I promise." Pecking you on the lips as a silent gratitude and took you in his other arms. "I am sorry about your dad. Let's go meet him."

"Okay. Can you pack Gabriel's toys and pacifiers? I am going to change my clothes." Andy nodded his head and got to work as Gabriel started to play with his stuffed toy. Meanwhile, you changed in to a simple sweater and leggings.

Your dad was one of the most important person in your life and you can't imagine a life without him. He was the first man who got you bouquets and took you out on a date. Your dad was always their for you to help you make important decisions in your life like when Andy asked you to marry him, you first asked your dad's opinion and then said yes. You couldn't imagine him as a sick person because he was the definition of health. You silently prayed that he was going to be okay.

"Ready to go, babe?"

"Yeah, let me just switch off all the lights."

"Okay. I was thinking that I can get Gabriel checked up when you go to your dad's room."

"I will come with you, honey." You watched as he strapped the toddler in to the baby carrier and kissed him on the forehead. At that moment, you knew that no matter what happens, you will always love him.

"No, it's okay. I will take care of it. You spend time with your dad when you get there. I love you."

"I love you too." Taking his hand, you both stepped out of the house together and you knew that no matter what happens, you will be alright because your husband was with you.

Hope you guys enjoyed it!! Here’s a link to Part 2

._._._._._.

A/N: I loved watching Defending Jacob so I came up with this plot. Andy Barber has my whole heart and I hope you guys liked it. Tell me what you think and message me if you want to be added to the tag list.

Like, comment and reblog.

P.S. There is a part 2 as well:)

Taglist: @justile

 ._._._._._.

[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!

[abluescarfonwaston]

Anyway this is @sapphire-wine fault so blame her.

Detective conan ace attorney au where Edgeworth gets reverted to the body of a child after he followed after two men dressed in black he suspected were a part of a smuggling ring. Gumshoe lost him and when Edgeworth woke up he was like 5 again.

Gumshoe finds him in a pile of his old clothes that he’s MANY sizes too small for now. But Gumshoe can’t afford to take care of him! And he Definitely cant go home. He can’t even reach the door handle! Luckily Mia, Wright and Maya are all at this theme park celebrating Wright’s first case win! 

Gumshoe: Hey can you hold onto this for me for a second?

Wright: Huh? Sure?

Gumshoe: *Hands him tiny Edgeworth but in glasses and baby*

Wright: ... *Miles sweating bullets as Phoenix studies him* YOU’RE SO CUTE!

Edgeworth, master of being where the murders are gets Wright and Mia a Lot of work. Edgeworth is trying so hard to track down this smuggling ring and get his body back. Wright laments to... Tails (open to a better/worse fake name for Miles) that the man he studied law to met has suddenly disappeared. Phoenix and Tails share Wright’s bed the first few nights before they buy a second futon. Miles looks at him so sadly. Then Wright starts snoring and he looks less fond.

Miles regularly wakes Phoenix up in the middle of the night with nightmares. Phoenix cuddles him back to bed with all the Dad he will one day master. Talks to Mia about getting Tails into therapy because clearly that kid has seen some shit and is not handling it well.

Miles has to sit through first grade. It is a nightmare of children he does not know how to interact with (just like the first time!) and mind numbing boredom. (Just like last time!) Phoenix gets Many requests from the teachers to ‘just let the kids write his own reports please.’ Phoenix has no idea what they’re talking about.

He’s in a class with uhh Kay, Sebastian, Athena and Cody. They are very impressed by the fact he knows so much about the Steel Samurai and they make him watch the Jammin’ ninja as well. They solve kiddy cases as the Detective Kids. Sometimes these turn into murders/mafia/kidnappings. It’s Fine.

Franziska flies in to see her Father again. (Read: To look for her missing brother that she’s terrified her Father killed.) She is absolutely Brutal in court and Tears Wright and Mia apart. They manage to eke out a second day by the skin of their teeth.

Edgeworth sees her leaving. All rage and pain wrapped up in fury. Scrambles to remember what it was that kid called her that had her preening for Days.

“Hey Ms. Whip Lady!” Oh he was getting hit for that.

The hit never came. “... What is it small child?”

“Would you like to play chess some time with me?”

“... If you would like,” (I am so lonely here) “I suppose I could.” (I just want my brother back) “My little brother loves that game you know?”

“I do.”

Edgeworth sneaking into Lana’s office to find some key evidence about the smuggling ring. Gant Almost finding him. Badd searching for the same group. Shields returning and putting together who Miles is after like 0.5 cases with him and proceeding to almost blow his cover every single time they meet. Edgeworth questioning the system that corrupted him. Badd being Deeply frustrated people keep letting the 5 year old Tails run around the crime scene. (Gumshoe why are you letting this happen?!)

Miles learning that Kay’s father was killed by the smuggling ring to stop the investigation. That Athena’s uncle/brother was framed for murder by them. Realizing that Sebastian’s father is the head of the organization that attempted to have him killed (you thought it was a coincidence we went after you? You sniff around a little too much and Von Karma wasn’t moving fast enough) Cody is- well he’s just a very good boy with a camera and a love of the steel samurai and justice. Miles loves him very much.

Phoenix getting so desperate to just Know if Miles is alive or not that he asks Maya to channel him. (Mia already refused) Maya accidentally pulling Gregory instead and Gregory, lost and confused, comforting Phoenix.

Ema developing a ‘cure’ for his deaged state but unfortunately it only works for a little while. “Phoenix I-” Love you too. He wants to say. But their isn’t time. There is Never enough time.

Them all tearing down the entire smuggling ring and uprooting the deep roots of corruption in their system. The sword raised above the guilty chest of the corrupted and damned ready to plunge it in for one final victory over evil and madness-

When Von Karma kicks the feet out from under him.

And suddenly their whole case is falling apart because their Lead witness is suddenly pleading guilty to his father’s murder and there are so many voices demanding his guilt and so many more asking where Tails went- No one cared about Edgeworth. Edgeworth should just Die. Let him just die boy. Don’t make us force your hand.

Miles curling up that Same Exact way Tails does after an earthquake. Phoenix who was So ready to defend him realizing that Miles has been manipulating him for Months now and leaving the courthouse in a rage. Franziska holding her brother that she’s been looking for so long as his bones Melt back down to youth. A glazed eye boy taking the stand and confessing to his father’s guilt. Mia griting her teeth and not knowing how to proceed.

Von Karma demanding a verdict because It’s rather obvious isn’t it?

Franziska yelling out Objection! Standing against her Father. Shaking and demanding a fair trial for him. Protecting her Little Brother from her Father. From Papa with shaking hands.

(I spent the last months thinking you’d taken him from me once. I’ll not stand by and let you do that to me for Real)

He delaying the trial enough that Wright comes back. Them fighting side by side. The kids yelling out things that Miles taught them. The Ballistic markings Mr. Nick!

Coming together at the last minute to save Miles Edgeworth. Uncovering the truth and exposing the corruption of the system. Miles and Phoenix talking. I wanted to save you. You did.

Edgeworth taking the detective kids out for trips to the museum after its all over. Them being surprised how little their dynamic changes despite the fact he can now drive. He is still an absolute pushover but now he can buy them candy.

Lana and Mia reconnect over this kid they got very attached to (Miles vs Tails) and swapping stories and dragging him mercilessly. Maya dragging Edgeworth in his full adult glory to their (previously established) weekly steel samurai viewing party that Does take place in a mountain of pillows and blankets.

Phoenix sitting up late that first night that Edgeworth went back home and Missing. Missing all the space that was filled by another person. By caring for another person. (Shouldn’t it be a relief? Why am I so empty?) Mindlessly calling Edgeworth who answers because he can’t sleep even though he’s exhausted. (i don’t want to dream and wake up alone.) Come over Edgeworth. Edgeworth sleeping on the futon on the floor and Wright dropping his hand over the edge for Edgeworth to hold. Edgeworth not waking up alone.

Detective Conan au.

[rivalsforlife]

Do you have anything you wished was different from Ace Attorney canon?

Hello I'm finally slowly starting to get around to answering some of these! Sorry for the wait.

Uh this ask got super long so a basic summary of it: narumitsu being canon in a well-written way would be nice even though I don't think it would ever happen, I stand by not bringing back Phoenix as a main protagonist in DD, and I'd also want to rewrite all of SOJ so that Apollo goes to Khura'in in place of Phoenix, to have more interesting character stuff going on.

So the longer answer is this:

Aside from some of the actually problematic stuff that I don't feel qualified to talk about, story-wise, I answered a sort of similar question about a year ago here. I have changed my opinions a little bit since then, particularly with regards to the canonicity of narumitsu... because while I do love narumitsu I feel like I don't trust Ace Attorney to actually do it properly. After all if this past November has taught us anything "making a ship canon" could actually be quite undesirable and I have no desire to see Phoenix and/or Edgeworth sent to superhell. (I literally know nothing else about supernatural sorry about that.)

If capcom were somehow able to make narumitsu canon but in an unobtrusive way and as a natural progression of the storyline, like oh hey, the court record profile for Miles Edgeworth's Obligatory Last-Case Appearance has Phoenix mention they're dating, and maybe there's a few lines suggesting they live with each other, but it's not like... taking the entire story to force them together and otherwise does not change the way they interact with each other and butcher one or both of their characterizations in the process? I'd definitely be happy about that. Not gonna lie even if they made narumitsu canon in the most terrible way possible I'd have a "holy shit I can't believe they did that it's the best day of my life" kind of moment before I could think about it critically. But I honestly see no chance of them ever actually making narumitsu canon, so that's quite unrealistic to hope for anyways.

Aside from that in that other ask I talked about basically the premise of an Apollo trilogy and not bringing back Phoenix as the main protagonist in DD, and I still stand by that, buuut in my other ask I did touch on making SOJ a different game where Apollo goes to Khura'in instead of Phoenix - and you know what I'm going to take some time to actually talk about my dream version of SOJ because there were a lot of little things about the one we got that I didn't like. And it's going to be very long. So it's under a cut.

SO yeah I talked about it a bit in the other ask. I think that Phoenix going to Khura'in is a rather weak idea both externally and in-universe. In one of the interviews, too lazy to find which one, Phoenix basically goes to Khura'in because the writers couldn't figure out how to challenge him anymore. ... And then they don't actually challenge him at all. Because oh well now we're going to this new country where they KILL DEFENSE ATTORNEYS WHO LOSE and then it's supposed to be *shocking* that Phoenix would risk his life for a kid or his best friend. you know the guy who ran across a burning bridge to save his best friend. you know the guy who got punched in the face, nearly killed by the mafia, and tazed trying to save his clients. This doesn't tell me anything new about Phoenix's character. His whole travel in Khura'in doesn't tell me anything new about Phoenix's character. Basically the only reason he's there is to see Maya - Maya who theoretically would be returning home in about two weeks. Maya who was still in her training for two more weeks when Phoenix visited so he wouldn't be able to see her anyways. ... And in the meantime Trucy had the biggest show of her life that was going to be on TV and Phoenix wasn't there for it. And of course Phoenix didn't return home after Trucy was accused of murder (yes he couldn't be there for the trial, but he definitely could have for the emotional support afterwards) and instead just sits for two weeks in Khura'in doing literally nothing after Ahlbi's trial.

(And yes I know about the anime prologue that has Phoenix think Maya's in danger... but that's not strictly canon since it's never mentioned in game, isn't technically a part of the game, and even still, why wouldn't he go home after knowing that Maya's safe and that Trucy had been ACCUSED OF MURDER. Honestly that's what makes me angriest about this whole thing is that it makes Phoenix out to be a terrible dad. We really don't need any more takes like that, especially not from canon.)

And what about Apollo, you may ask? Well, given case 5 of SOJ, Apollo actually has a personal link to Khura'in and ends up staying there afterwards... after being there for like a day or two. I should note here that it has been a while since I went through SOJ in its entirety so I am fuzzy on many of the details. But both through what I remember and some conversations with people who actually played the game recently, the motivation for Apollo to actually stay in Khura'in isn't that great. It mainly seemed like guilt about his dead dad who he hadn't been in contact with for years and had completely written off until a few days ago but oh he died and then went to go visit him so... better take up the law office!

If Apollo had gone to Khura'in in place of Phoenix and spent more time there, reconnecting with his childhood home and actually getting passionate seeing how corrupt the legal system is there (even though we have a corrupt legal system at home) and being driven to fix it, that would make for a stronger story, I think. The Khura'in plot is more personally focused around Apollo than it is Phoenix. Phoenix's connection to Khura'in is through Maya, but Maya doesn't really have much of a connection to it aside from "it's where spirit channeling is from and she trains there". But Apollo, I guess, grew up there. So it's so strange to me that they force all of Apollo's connection to Khura'in in the last case while Phoenix is running around doing who-knows-what for the rest of the game. Phoenix spends more time getting to know the state of Khura'in and the Defiant Dragons and case 3's whole thing but he isn't the one who in the end decides to sit down and fix it; that's all on Apollo. It almost feels like they forced one of the two plots in to everything. And it was probably conceived as a Phoenix story that they needed to fit Apollo into last minute because oops he's supposed to be a protagonist too.

Some other strengths to Apollo going to Khura'in include that it would shake up the character dynamics a bit. Instead of Phoenix defending Maya, it's Apollo defending Maya, and that's a particularly interesting thing to look at in the context of Khura'in's "we kill defense attorneys" system. Of course, Phoenix would risk his life to save Maya, 100%, every time. But what about Apollo, who hasn't met Maya, who only knows her as "Mr. Wright's former assistant" - would he risk his life for her? And I feel like Maya would argue more against him defending her because of that. "We're strangers, you don't know me, you don't have to risk your life defending me." (Sidenote that I was always upset that Maya didn't protest much when Phoenix offered to defend her, knowing his life was at risk - sure she knows him better and knows he's always been able to get her out of these situations, but at the same time, the fact that there was no "what about your daughter?" conversation sucks. I really wish SOJ wouldn't have like. completely forgotten about the phoenix-trucy father-daughterisms.)

Let's say Apollo goes to Khura'in. Phoenix stays at home. Phoenix gets a call from Apollo that's basically "uhh hi Mr. Wright you know your friend Maya, she's been arrested for murder, if I defend her and I lose we're both dead," then you can tie in to that moment in 6-2 where Phoenix (who can't make it in time for the trial!) believes in Apollo and his skills as an attorney, not just to save Maya's life, but also his own. It ties in a bit more to the overall challenge of defending someone at the risk of your own life. Again, Phoenix would have very few hesitations, if any, risking his life to defend Maya. Apollo may have more defending a stranger at the risk of his own life.

Then if you can actually have Apollo and Maya talk together that would be neat - Maya can tell him embarrassing stories about Phoenix's rookie days, for instance. Their dynamic would be quite a bit different from Phoenix and Maya's, and that would be an interesting thing to see, unlike what we have in SOJ where all of Maya's substantial interactions are with characters she already knows or brand new characters.

(It would also be pretty neat to know more spirit channeling politics and dive in more to Maya's perspective on Khura'in and also her role as upcoming Master of the Kurain Channeling Technique and where she plans to lead the village in the future and also reconcile with her family's bloody legacy, but I'm not quite sure how to fit that in right now.)

And how about Phoenix, back home in Japanifornia? Evidently he'd end up being in charge of defending Trucy. Now, I did love the siblingsisms in canon 6-2, but I feel like there is still potential for Phoenix defending Trucy. All of Apollo Justice has a bunch of good moments between Apollo and Trucy, and she's co-counsel on all his trials, but we've never had any substantial Phoenix and Trucy investigation or co-counsel moments. I feel like AU 6-2 would be a great opportunity to dive more into Phoenix and Trucy's relationship and how it may have changed after Phoenix got his badge back. Plus, Phoenix being "the only one who knows how she really feels on the inside", he'd have unique insider knowledge into some of the Gramarye stuff that comes up in the case and Trucy's personal connection to the Gramaryes, which Apollo knows a bit of, but Phoenix knows more of. ... Or at least, should know more of, given that he raised Trucy for nine years at this point and they're very close, and Phoenix knows her better than anyone else does, even if capcom has forgotten this.

... Of course having Athena defend the case would also be great because more Athena spotlight is never a bad thing, but it's hard to come up with a reason why Phoenix wouldn't be there to defend her. And doing more switcheroos in terms of role in the plot is a bit beyond the scope of what I have in mind right now. Sorry Athena.

Aside from that, Athena still gets Storyteller, Apollo still heads Turnabout Revolution, and Phoenix still gets the DLC case. Apollo stays in Khura'in in the end with a bit more to his motivations. Rather than it just being about carrying on Dhurke's legacy, it's also something Apollo is passionate about after all he witnessed here. While we're at it I'd still rework a lot of Turnabout Revolution to make it so that Phoenix genuinely believes in Atishon because that makes for sooo much more interesting of a plot and actual character development on Phoenix's part than "Maya was kidnapped again and Phoenix is only wrong when he has no other choice", but that'd require some more detail and this post is long enough already.

And in terms of other details that need to be sorted out, there's the question of why Apollo would need to go to Khura'in in the first place. I'd probably say something to do with Dhurke. Maybe he comes back a bit earlier - actually alive, maybe, though crossing borders would be a bit of a challenge, or he reaches out to Apollo remotely somehow and Apollo goes to yell in his face about abandoning him (or at least that's what he thinks he wants.) Then we could have some more Dhurke and Apollo bonding time, potentially? Idk, if you switch up Phoenix and Apollo you're pretty much writing a whole new game and obviously I have not worked out all the details, but I think if Capcom had tried to go with this route from the outset they'd have a stronger game. At least stronger character motivations.

So... yeah. Those are my opinions. If you read through this whole thing I'm very impressed because it got very long!

[svucarisiaddict]

Hey love - miss you and your writing! Not sure if your taking requests or not, but I have one for Sonny x reader based on tonight’s episode with Barba. Sonny is nervous and cramming for his trial with Barba as the defending attorney. He’s pulling all nighters and working crazy hours at the office. The reader wants to help but also feels neglected. She also found out she is pregnant and wants to tell Sonny but he hasn’t been around. TIA 🤍

Reaching for the opposite side of the bed for your husband, all you found were cool sheets and emptiness. Opening your eyes, you looked at the bedside clock that read 1 AM. You pushed back the comforter and got out of bed to go search for Sonny. You weren’t sure when he got home, but it was definitely after 10.

A dim light from the kitchen made the hallway just light enough to make your way down the hall. There he sat, your beautiful, intelligent, loving husband pouring over notes on a yellow pad, file folders, and his laptop.  An empty container that had leftovers from dinner sat on top of one of the piles. Well, at least he ate. This case was tough, not just for the obvious reasons. He had to go against his mentor, Rafael Barba, in court.

You leaned against the doorway of the kitchen and studied Sonny for a minute. Even from behind, you could tell he was stressed. His shoulders were tense, the back of his neck was red from him rubbing it, and his hair tousled from running hands through it.

His hair had become more grey in the last couple of years, especially since taking the ADA position. Not that you minded. He was your silver fox. The first time you called Sonny that, it gave him a good laugh. 

You padded across the hardwood floors, then wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “I miss you,” you said softly. “Think you’ll be coming to bed soon?”

“Yeah. Sorry,” Sonny replied. “I have so much prep and research. This case is-”

“I know,” you replied in an even tone. Moving your hands, you began to massage his shoulders gently. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Yeah, don’t stop doing that,” he said, allowing his body to relax slowly. 

“Maybe you can return the favor,” you said suggestively. Sonny started to say something, but you stopped him. “I know. Just feeling a little lonely.”

“It’s not intentional, doll. I promise I’ll make it up to you as soon as the case is over. We’ll go away, just you and me,” he stated.

“Until you get the next case,” you commented, unable to keep the snarkiness out of your voice.

Sonny hung his head. You knew he felt guilty for not spending time together and your comment just made him feel worse. Sonny was doing his best to balance work and home. Right now, as a new ADA, he needed to concentrate on his career. 

“That was out of line. I just miss having you next to me in bed, sharing meals with you, and having coffee with you every morning, and we talked about starting a family.” It wasn’t your intention to make him feel bad, but you and Sonny always agreed to be honest, no matter what. 

“Some things might have to be put on the back burner. Just for maybe a year.” 

“Right. Sure,” you replied.

Sonny sighed heavily, leaning his head back to rest against your chest. “I suck as a husband lately, huh?”

You wrapped your arms around Sonny’s neck. “You don’t suck,” you replied softly, kissing the top of his head. “I’m just tired.” And stressed, scared, unsure, the list went on and on, you said to yourself.  “I’m going to bed. Love you.” Releasing Sonny from your embrace, you turned to leave the room.

“Love you most,” Sonny said. He held your hand for a beat for releasing it. 

You gave him a small smile. “Night.” 

The following day you woke up to find Sonny had already left. You faintly remembered him pulling you against his chest when he finally made it to bed and the kiss he gave you before he left. The faint light morning light was just filtering through the curtains as you reluctantly pushed yourself out of bed. 

As you made yourself ready for the day, you knew you had to tell Sonny you were pregnant. Although after the conversation last night and him telling you it would have to wait, you weren’t confident of his reaction. You knew the next day the trial started. While you didn’t want to add any more stress to his life, you couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore. 

As the day went on, you decided to go to Sonny’s office. On the way, you stopped at one of Sonny’s favorite restaurants and picked up dinner. 

Once you made it to Sonny’s office, you found it empty. His suit jacket was on the back of his desk chair, and multiple disposable cups littered the desk along with papers and folders. You went around cleaning up to make room for dinner being careful not to disturb anything important.

A few minutes later, you heard your husband’s distinct accent. By the tone of his voice, you could tell he was frustrated and tired. That seemed to be his norm recently. He had exhausting days while he was a detective but nothing like since becoming ADA. “Yeah. I’ll take care of it,” he said as he walked into the office.

“Thought you might be hungry,” you said. 

Sonny smiled, then enveloped you into a big hug. “You’re just the person I needed to see,” he whispered into your ear. He buried his face in your hair.

Your arms wrapped around his middle, returning the hug. “Hmmm,” you softly into his chest. Sonny’s familiar scent made you smile. It was comforting.

Sonny eventually pulled away. “This looks so good,” he said, taking a plate and filling it with pasta and bread. Sonny paused when he saw the container from home. “Are those what I think they are?” he asked.

“They sure are,” you replied with a smile when Sonny spotted the brownies that he described as decadent the first time you made them for him. “I made enough to share with the office.”

“Bite your tongue,” he said around a bite of brownie. “This is one thing I’ll never share.”

You grinned at his comment. Sonny had a big sweet tooth, chocolate being his favorite, and you loved to indulge him. 

While you ate, Sonny filled you in with what was going on with Liv, Amanda, and Fin. You nodded but weren’t really paying attention. 

“What’s going on? You’re really quiet.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Just a lot on my mind is all.” 

“If this is about my hours, I promise things are going to get better,” he said, reaching his hand to cover yours.

“Sonny, I’m pregnant. And I know you wanted to wait. And-and I know this is a lot to drop on you right before this case against Barba-” you took a ragged breath. “I tried to wait until after the trial but I just couldn’t keep it to myself and you’re never home. Not that I blame you. And I just...” Tears streamed down your cheeks. Tears of being tired, getting the secret out, and being scared. 

Sonny swiftly stood, rounded the desk, and gathered you into his arms. He soothed your hair, then kissed the top of your head. “Hey. Don’t cry, doll.” He swayed a little back and forth. “I’m sorry.”

You sniffled. “Why are you sorry?” Leaning back, you looked into Sonny’s eyes. 

He brushed away the tears from your cheeks. “That you thought you couldn’t tell me the most wonderful thing I’ve heard since you said ‘I do’.” Sonny leaned down to kiss your lips. He smiled then took your hand. “C’mon.”

“Where are we going?” you asked as he lead you from his office.

Sonny grinned and winked at you. “Home. To celebrate.” He stopped, then grabbed the container of brownies from his desk. “We’ll get ice cream on the way home.”

[youreacowgirllikeme]

Objection

Note: I’m a sucker for AUs, so here is a Lawyer!Chris fic nobody asked for, the plot (or whatever) is veery loosely inspired by this book I’m reading atm (The Hating Game) and by the the fact that Chris talking about lawyer stuff is incredibly hot to me

Warning: swearing (a lot), smut, Chris bashing (for the story line, pls don’t take this seriously, I adore this man to death), NSFW, slight exhibitionism

Plus another warning, I am not a lawyer or trained in any other legal profession, so if there are inaccuracies in the way I used certain terms I am sorry

„Objection, your honor, this is hearsay!” you shouted, shooting a furious glance over to the defense table, and to the absolute menace standing in front of it.

Chris Cuomo. The most obnoxious, arrogant, loud-mouthed asshole you ever had the misfortune to meet in court. He was a senior partner at one of New York’s most prestigious law firms, specialized on getting their wealthy clients out of everything from tax fraud to outright corruption.

This man stood for everything that, in your opinion, was wrong with the justice system and this country in general. Everything about him screamed elitist, boarding school, frat boy, preppy rich guy that had everything handed to him on a silver platter. He flaunted his famous last name around whenever he had the chance and it got him right to the top of the business.

You, on the opposite, went to law school on a scholarship, worked your ass of and now practiced law working for the district attorney to prosecute and convict the very people Cuomo tried to kept out of jail to afford the ridiculous Upper East Side Penthouse he probably had. You tried to push the fact that he was one of the most brilliant lawyers you knew aside, because you just hated him. No respect, no admiration for his legal genius, he was the bane of your existence fair and square.

You clashed heads in court more than once, and by now he knew exactly how to rile you up, smug bastard. His current client was accused of tax and investment fraud of incredible extent, and there he was, trying to discredit your main witness in front of the jury with some ridiculous accusations about them having a personal vendetta against the defendant. You saw your case crumbling in front of you as the witness got tangled up in Cuomo’s relentless questioning, stumbling over their own words, their credibility shrinking with each minute.

He did what he did best, lulling in people with his charm and striking when they least expected it. And he always did it with his disgusting smile on his disgustingly handsome face. Yes, of course he had to be a hot, fit, well-built asshole, making your professional life miserable at every chance he got.

Sometimes, he even had the audacity to wink at you. In court. During a trial. You wanted to punch him in his perfect face more than anything else.

The judge disrupted your thoughts.

“Dismissed, Ms. Y/L/N, and mind your tone in my courtroom. And Mr. Cuomo, please keep your questions professional or this interrogation will be over.” The judge said, shooting the both of you a warning glance.

“No more questions anyway, your honor, I think the jury heard it all.” Cuomo said, and almost strutted back to the defense table. And with a look over to the jury, you knew he was probably right. They eyed your witness suspiciously, and you almost wanted to stomp down out of pure rage. The fucker just destroyed your chance for a swift conviction right in front of your eyes. You needed more time to gather new evidence, or this would be over.

“Your honor, the prosecution is asking the court for adjournment.” You said, trying your best to not let your frustration show.

“Granted, the trial will be continued tomorrow. Court is dismissed.”

You put the case files into your bag and practically stormed out of the court room, passing the defense table without as much as a sideward glance.

But he caught up with you in the parking deck of the building.

“You’re aware you can’t win this one, right, Y/L/N? It’s all circumstantial, even you should see that.” His smug voice suddenly said from behind you as you were just about to get into your car.

You whirled around, pulse hammering in your chest out of pure anger.

“This is unprofessional even by your standards, Cuomo, I’m not discussing this case with you in a parking lot. Now why don’t you get into this environmental nightmare you call a car and leave me the hell alone.” You hissed, pointing over to where his obnoxiously big SUV was standing.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Y/L/N, just because you can’t handle yourself in court.” He said, smirk still firmly in place. His hands were playing with the car keys, and you were mesmerized for a second by how large his hands were. They looked like shovels.

“Whatever you’re plotting in that weird little brain of yours, stop staring at me.” Cuomo said, actually sounding a bit unsettled. You snapped out of it and went right back into anger mode.

“Staring at you? God, you’re so fucking full of yourself, aren’t you, you condescending prick? Not everything revolves around you and your spoiled ass, Cuomo.”

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, girl?” he snapped, raising his voice now. You clearly got to him, and seeing a crack in his arrogant façade gave you a satisfying sense of triumph. You couldn’t stop now, even if his angry face was screaming danger.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, your highness, are you used to people worshipping the ground you walk on because you had the dumb luck to be born with the Cuomo name? Fun fact, nobody cares, you’re still an asshole, just with a fancy suit.” You really threw all caution away, and one look at Cuomo told you that you’ve definitely gone too far.

Because he was livid. There was a vein on his temple that was literally pulsating, his hands were balled to fists at his side and his blue eyes were so full of fury that you were scared to look directly at him.

He took two giant steps in your direction, backing you up against your car. You were caught, Cuomo’s giant frame in front of you with no way to escape his wrath.

You looked up at him, daring to meet his eyes directly. He looked at you like he was about to kill you. You tried to recall your fury from some seconds ago, but the heat radiating from his body and the way his huge arms had you trapped on both sides of your head were making it impossible for you to focus. Damn him for being so attractive. You wanted to fight him, but you also wanted to press yourself against his body and feel what was underneath that suit.

“You presumptuous little…” he spat, stopping himself before saying something truly insulting. He took a deep breath, and looked at you again. And then he saw it.

The way you were biting your lip, the way your pupils were dilated.

And he smiled, a cruel smirk that send shivers down your spine. He brought his face even closer to yours and dropped his voice.

“You know, I got really good at reading people, comes with the job, I guess. But you are making it so easy for me, Y/L/N, look at you?” His mouth was at your ear now, his hot breath tickling your neck.

“Do you really want me to leave you alone? Doesn’t seem like it to me.”

You could barely think straight anymore, you wanted to tell him to fuck off, but it just came out as an embarrassing, needy whimper.

He chuckled darkly, and goosebumps broke out all over your body. Why did this man, that you hated more than almost anyone else, reduce to a state of arousal you had never experienced before just by whispering in your ear? Your panties were already soaked, and he didn’t even touch you. With your last few functioning brain cells, you cursed your needy, weak body, before you tiled your head to the side, baring your neck to Chris mouth.

He breathed over your skin, teasing you without actually touching. You felt like you were going insane.

“Please.” You whispered.

“What? Use your words, darling.”

“Kiss my neck, touch me, anything, just do it, asshole.” You hissed, glad you were able to form a coherent sentence.

“So impolite.” He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the side of your neck before starting to suck lightly. You moaned softly and pressed your pelvis into his. You could feel his hardness through his slacks, his unaffected behavior was clearly an act, he was just as aroused as you were.

One of his hands went down to squeeze your ass hard, bringing another surge of wetness to your panties.

Seeing him getting into this gave you some of your courage back, and you started to grind against him, making him growl against your neck.

“Is that everything you got, Cuomo.” You asked, trying to rile him up a bit. You really enjoyed the way he was manhandling you, as much as it pained you to admit it. But his hands were wandering under your skirt now, so you might as well just go with it.

Your provocative behavior clearly had the desired effect on him, because he grabbed your waist in a bruising grip, spun you around and pinned you against your car, his erection pressing against your ass. He yanked up your skirt and tore off your panties, leaving your lower body completely bare.

By now, you were glad that you picked the parking spot on the top floor, because your two cars were the only ones left and no one would come up here at this hour to catch you, about to be railed against your vehicle by Chris Cuomo.

“My, my, Y/L/N, this really turns you on, doesn’t it?” You could hear his breathy voice from behind you, and then felt a thick finger slowly being pressed into your aching pussy, followed by a sharp intake of breath. “Fuck, you already are so wet for me.” Chris growled.

“Are you going to fuck me soon, or do I have to take care of it myself?” You asked, teasingly.

He swore under his breath and gave your ass a sharp slap, making you welp.

You heard the sound of his zipper, and the rustle of foil.

“You really brought a condom to court, Cuomo? Wow, you are even more shameless than I imagined.”

“Shut up.” He growled, and you did, because he lined up his cock and slowly started pressing into you. He was big, and you had to bury your face into your arm to muffle the obscene sounds coming out of your mouth at the feeling of being stretched like this. He bottomed out with a low moan, and immediately started a fast, hard pace, pushing you against your car with every move of his hips.

You turned your head around to look at him. His face was flushed, and his eyes were fixed on the sight of his cock sliding in and out of you.

The friction was delicious, and he was hitting a perfect spot deep inside you with every thrust. Your moans became louder and louder, and he pressed one of his large hands over your mouth.

“Be quiet, you don’t want someone to catch little Miss Righteous being screwed in the parking lot by big, bad Cuomo, don’t you?” he whispered in your ear between husky breaths, and you could only cry out against his palm as he was speeding up his thrusts. The idea of someone catching you here was as arousing as it was terrifying.

Suddenly, Chris other hand sneaked around you to press on your clit, hard, and you screamed into his hand as your orgasm hit you like a punch to the gut, your walls gripping his cock like a vice while he was still fucking you through your climax.

“That’s it, darling, come for me. Fuck.” He groaned, before suddenly going tense as he reached his peak as well, cock buried deep inside you.

You slumped against your car with a huff, and the brief glimpse you caught of your reflection in the window made you question what you just did even more. Not only did you have (amazing, mind-blowing) sex with the opposing lawyer, he also absolutely wrecked you, you looked like you just had the roughest night ever with your hair undone, your makeup smudged and your panties in shreds on the floor of the parking lot. You hastily pulled down your skit again and tried to fix your hair as much as possible to get a minimum of decorum back.

Chris was just disposing the condom into a nearby bin, already looking calm and composed again. You hated him for that, and for the broad, self-satisfied grin that was all over his face again. And still, your heart gave a little flip as he approached you.

“That was fun.” He smirked, “We should definitely do that again. But not today, I’m busy. See you in court.”

He started to make his way to his car, and there was definitely a spring in his step.

“In your dreams, Cuomo.” You mumbled after him but couldn’t suppress a smile. That was, until you looked into the side mirror of your car to check your makeup and saw the giant, purple bruise on the side of your neck.

“Cuomo!” you screamed. “Come back here right now, you imbecile, you gave me a fucking hickey!”

“Better wear a scarf then tomorrow!” he called, entering his car. “And don’t make plans for after the trial, I’m taking you to dinner to celebrate my victory. And I mean that.”

And with that, he drove off. And as much as you hated yourself to admit it, you were really looking forward to having dinner with this idiot. After you destroyed him in court, of course.

[my-soul-sings]

I would love to see a lawyer react to "Tears of Themis"

LOL funny you should ask, I actually tweeted some of my reactions to the stuff I saw in Tears of Themis when I first started playing 😂😂

I'm gonna start with a big fat disclaimer that:

Some of the things I mention might be specific only to the jurisdiction I'm in. I didn't study Chinese law (I'm assuming MHY went with this since it's a Chinese company?) and they might do things differently there.

I might miss out details in the game (I'm horrible with remembering details, just ask any of my friends) so if I left something out feel free to correct me HAHA.

Am not a lawyer (yet)

The rest is below the cut because it gets kind of lengthy.

In all fairness MHY made a good effort, gotta give credit to the writers where it’s due! I think they have already done an amazing job. There might be some errors here and there but nothing that really makes me want to quit the app LOL. 

For the purposes of this post though, I’ll just focus on the inaccuracies I remember. 

To begin with, TOT uses similar ideas as other lawyer games/shows out there, for example: 

Presenting ‘surprise’ evidence at trial. You’ll get scolded by the judge for pulling this lmao. You’re supposed to disclose all the evidence and submissions you’ll be relying on, both to the other side and to the court, BEFORE trial. 

Lawyers doing detective work. No. Just no. Lawyers don’t have time to sleep let alone do all this walking. There could be some investigative work (eg. for road traffic accident cases, checking out the site of the crash) but other than that, this isn’t our job LOL. 

Typical rhetoric on justice. I actually really love TOT’s MC (I dislike most otome game MCs because they don’t have a personality or are just straight up annoying) but TOT’s MC is super good. She has a great personality, but the only thing that kind of irritates me is her views on "justice”. You’ll see this more in Artem’s personal story but I won’t include any spoilers in this post. Suffice to say that if you ask her “Would you defend a rapist/serial murderer/[insert a heinous crime that the person is most definitely guilty of]”, she’s the kind of character who would be written to answer “NO WAY THAT’S IMMORAL” or sth along those lines. But honestly, that’s far from how things work in practice. I actually asked my boss this question during my internship a few years back and his answer was simply, “Your job is to be a lawyer, not to be the judge. Everyone has the right to legal representation. You just have to present the best case for your client, just like the other side will do, and then the judge will decide the fairest outcome after hearing both sides.” But obviously, if your client confesses that he/she is guilty, then as a lawyer you can’t lie to the court and say that your client is not guilty. You’d just have to persuade your client to plead guilty and do a mitigation plea for them, or discharge yourself if your client insists on lying. This got long but yeah it’s a very common rhetoric that I see in these lawyer games/shows which I think should be debunked LOL. 

Some things about TOT that were really strange to me: 

MC representing clients in court without passing the junior attorney exam. 

Apparently MC is still studying to take the junior attorney exam? I honestly don’t know if that’s the same as the bar exam or if it’s supposed to be an additional exam after the bar exam... but here we just have 1 bar exam — without passing it you can’t practise as a solicitor. Definitely cannot represent them in court either. 

[Chapter 1] Howard saying the insecticide that contaminated the soup made his clients suffer abdominal pain and diarrhea and then proceeding to claim, “This incident not only damaged my clients’ health, but also caused severe psychological trauma. They have been unable to enjoy food without concerns to this day.” 

??????? they literally suffered a stomachache and diarrhea. If that’s the threshold for causing psychological trauma then I would have a fear of eating anything.

No need to study law to know that this argument was stupid as hell

Usually people make claims for psychological trauma because eg. they suffered PTSD as a result of the defendant’s actions. NOT BECAUSE THEY GOT A STOMACHACHE. 

[Chapter 1] “Case 1 trial: Civil Court” “The prosecution will first give their opening statement”

Okay so is this a civil or criminal proceeding? Pick one. 

[Chapter 5 pt. 3] (i cant rmb a whole lot about this chapter i just know there were a shit ton of details everywhere that i was too lazy to pick up on so i might have gotten some facts wrong here)

They got Huey (child) to execute a power of attorney. But the person has to be at least 21 years old to execute a power of attorney....... 

Represented Huey to bring a defamation suit to avenge Jasmine. Nope. He has no standing to do this. The person defamed was Jasmine, so she’s the one who would be able to bring the suit. But she’s dead so that just means it’s too bad. 

I think there were other things about this case there were just strange to me (legal technicalities wise) but I can’t remember much haha 

Okay that’s all I remember. If you have anything to add feel free, or if I said anything wrong feel free to correct me too haha. 

I’ll leave you with a final, parting comment from a friend whom I interviewed for this 😂

“You won’t find a lawyer as pure as Artem. They’re all snakes pal” 

[bellarkeandclintashaandsuch]

Okay, I’m all caught up on The Devil Judge. Was surprised and excited to find out episodes come out on Saturday AND Sunday. I’m obsessed now, so here are some Episode 1 thoughts with occasional updates since i’m up to 8 now:

- Love the music right off the bat

- Is the plague COVID?

- I hope I’m not supposed to remember all these peoples names that have been flashing up (update: I was!)

- I am the authority!

- Ooh, is this his future boyfriend? (I know we won’t get a mainstream gay couple from Korea, but I can dream)

- Oh, he’s also a people’s live court judge? So the Supreme Court judge appointed you to the people’s live court to watch over (and fall in love with) Yo Han and hopefully keep him in line? Interesting.

- Getting real close there, Yo Han.

- Why do you have that file?

- I would really like a Yo Han/Ga On good guys (in a morally grey way) team up vs Jin Ju/whoever the lady in pink that I’m sure is important was, evil ladies team up. (Update: never mind. Resist her influence, Jin Ju! Resist!)

- Or maybe Jin Ju is also good because she seems nice? Maybe?

- First appointment and he’s in Seoul. Does that mean he’s really good?

- She just said you and Yo Han are hot and that’s why you’re here.

- Okay, I changed my mind. I think I might be afraid of Jin Ju…

- What’s a kangaroo court? (Googled it. Some sort of unofficial court)

- Oh, dang. Ga On saved the little girl, and Yo Han saved Ga On :)

- He’s pretty good with that big gun. I wonder if he meant to hit right next to him (update: I somehow keep forgetting about this because so much has happened in these 8 episodes. And every time I remember, it’s a joy)

- He’s saving the driver, too?! And now he has Yo Han’s attention even more…

- Is this the lady who was wearing pink earlier. She’s real creepy.

- I’m sorry Si Hyeon. Normally I love best friends to lovers, but I’m already aboard the Yo Han/Ga On train.

- Ooooh. “I guess I shouldn’t become the lessor number when you are involved, Chief.” Dang, Ga On. But true.

- That tea was really steaming.

- What is this? A sneaky sneak Ga On?

- I’m blocking my future with my own hands. Aw :(

- Hahaha oh, Ga On. I love you. I don’t ship you with her, but you’re both cute friends.

- Why did you reject her 5 times if you like her? Y’all weird. Just stop.

- I like Chairman Cha. She’s shady, but I like her. (Update: I do not like her. Still appreciate her as a villain.)

- I still think this other lady is creepy. Even the way she talks annoys me. So falsely, sugary sweet.

- So Yo Han is Ga On’s cheating girlfriend? I see you guys.

- Chief Kang? Whatcha doing here? Who are you looking for?

- How many of these do you need to plant?

- Ooh. Mmk, mmk, mmk. I see you two. They’re definitely in love.

- Really needed to rub both those shoulders, huh? And almost caress his neck moving from one side to the other.

- I heard you live alone. Must be hard. Do you want him to move in with you, Yo Han? (Update: He did!! Hahahahaha)

- He sure does have a bright billboard right outside his window, huh?

- “He’s an interesting person” hahaha

- Who’s Doctor?

- Is he chasing a car on a bicycle?

- That’s a fancy robe. Were you… a priest? What happened in that church? (Update: he was not)

- I know the show is called The Devil Judge, but I didn’t expect religion to plan into it so directly.

- Well, don’t they look fancy.

- Pretty sure Yo Han walks up to their seats on Ga On’s side. Just saying.

- What do they need judges for if they’re just gonna let public opinion decide? I mean, they might not be wrong on this case, but who knows what they’ll think in the future.

- Are people just allowed to talk willy-nilly in Korean courts? They don’t have to take turns? And why is the defendant allowed to speak? Or is this just for the People’s Live Court?

- Defendant!

- Jin Ju looks legit scared haha

- Dang, he’s intimidating. I love him.

- It’s getting good! Tricked him with the water. And Ga On’s like, should I be crushing on you or not?! Just tell me!

- Did the doctor just die?? What’s happening here?

- Are you intimidating this witness Chairman Ju?

- Hmmmm Doctor Safety

- Did Yo Han bribe this witness?

- Oh, dang, Yo Han trapped another one! Man, he’s good at this. No wonder Ga On can’t resist.

- So did he do this to incriminate him or get him the occupational negligence sentence specifically?

- Ga On looks like he’s gonna cry on TV.

- He left on Ga On’s side…

- He is dramatic.

- 235 years! Man oh man.

- Why did all the shady people trust him?

- Yo Han is crying!

- They’re all crying. Bunch of sap judges.

- Wow, he hates you.

- Hmm. Did his attorney work with Yo Han?

- He yawned! Hahaha so mean

- Poor Ga On. He’s like Yo Han is bad, Yo Han is good, Yo Han is shady in a bad way, Yo Han is shady in a good way?, Yo Han believes in justice, Yo Han has ulterior motives?

- What’s this? Yo Han only sees him and Ga On in the room? How very Lizzie and Darcy of him.

- What’s with the fire again? Was Ga On in the fire? And the teddy bear?

- Was he a kid? Did you save him? Did you know his parents? What’s going on, Yo Han?!! (Update: no, all wrong!)

[ahiddenpath]

Post Major Arcana Thoughts

I had a few “aha” moments about the Chosen while selecting and writing up the Major Arcana cards.  Of course, tarot cards are amazing for helping Seekers notice patterns and new ways of connecting ideas- that’s why we use them!  So I shouldn’t be surprised, but I still kind of am!  And I wanna share those thoughts beneath the cut.

When I say stuff like “outer strength” vs “inner strength,” I’m speaking in terms of my understanding of the tarot.  I’m sure there are many definitions for these ideas, in general.

Outer Strength (strength expressed as action) vs Inner Strength (strength expressed as resilience/maturity)

I assigned The Chariot to Yamato and Strength to Hikari.  The Chariot is about taking action, reaching goals through effort, and persevering in the face of obstacles.  The other half of the coin is Strength, a card about keeping calm and composed in difficult times, persevering through strength of character.  

You may think that The Chariot is ruled by fire (suit of passion) and Strength is ruled by water (suit of emotions), but in fact- it’s the opposite!  Isn’t that an interesting reversal!  

But I think The Chariot is ultimately about control: the Seeker must control their emotions, efforts, and energy on the task to see it through.  Self-control, self-mastery, self-assertion, which all point back to regulating emotions (water).  And, of course, emotional control is something Yamato struggles with- which is why this card is both who he is, and a goal he reaches towards (and something I personally really want to see him achieve- I’d love to read a fic dedicated to this journey). 

In contrast, the battle of compassion over force is ruled by fire- meaning that it’s very much active and passionate, even though the card itself is about gentleness!  Being kind and mastering the Self requires courage and conscious effort.  Even at 8 years of age, Hikari is almost eerily mature.  But while she’s a natural at compassion and composure, we see her struggle to assert herself and allocate some of that compassion towards herself and her needs.  So again, Strength is both who she is and a goal- and, of course, that’s ideal fic material.

But assigning them as opposite sides of the same coin makes me wonder- how do Yamato and Hikari get on, interpersonally?  They’re both intense characters, in their way- Yamato is loudly intense, Hikari quietly so.  And The Chariot is yin energy, while Strength is yang energy!  Oh, I need to know more about these two as... foils isn’t quite the right word, but it’s not exactly wrong?  

Taichi and Koushiro as Action Takers

Taichi and Koushiro are the do-ers of the Chosen, I like to think.  Which isn’t to argue that the others don’t do stuff- of course they do (for example, I gave Yamato The Chariot, so he’s no slacker)!  But Taichi and Koushiro are on their own level, here.

During the Dark Masters arc, Taichi is the one who pushes the team forward, even though everyone is exhausted and emotionally beaten- because he assesses that they will be caught and defeated if they stay in one place.  At the end of Tri, it’s Taichi who says- well guys, we have to do this, we have to stop Meicoomon.  Even though it’s understood that the Chosen are working together, Taichi is the one who takes on the burden of the decisions by making them, speaking them, and accepting responsibility for them.  This is, of course, a key part of why Taichi is a great leader- he takes the necessary steps to allow his team to continue functioning, even if they come at a high personal price.  And if there are moments where the team, er, isn’t functioning so well, he puts himself at risk to hold the line.

I don’t have to explain Koushiro as a proactive do-er, that’s pretty much his whole life, doing stuff/manifesting/creating/discovering.  And I think that, out of the Chosen, he best understands and accepts the difficult choices Taichi makes.  Obviously, Taichi makes mistakes and isn’t always logical (and definitely not always tactful, lol!), but in the clutch, he does what has to be done.  And Koushiro- he’s always trying to do what has to be done.

Something about assigning them as The Emperor and The Magician really drove that home, although it’s not a new thought for me.  Geez, no wonder these two get on so swimmingly!  They’re very different, but they’re both so driven to move forward and figure things out however they can.  Yamato, too- he’s sort a step behind them (he has the ability, and will step up if needed, but it’s not his natural urge).  Emperor, Magician, Chariot.  LET’S GOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Miyako is a really cool character you guys

Okay, so tarot works by tapping into ancient archetypes, concepts/characterizations that have been around ever since humans have told stories.  I’m sure you’ve read a zillion metas about how the Adventure cast turns archetypes on their heads, and I’m not arguing- but to do that, you do need to evoke the archetype enough to subvert.  I personally think that I was able to find a fitting Major Arcana card for everyone...

Except Miyako.  

I was originally planning to give her Strength, but the card emphasizes calm, composure, quiet strength.  Every other card seemed to have a better fit for someone or something else.  In the end, I made her The Wheel of Fortune, owing to how dynamic she is, how optimistic, how ready to handle things- and, of course, by how she can overextend herself trying to be all those things.

But it got me thinking about how unique Miyako really is.  She’s smart and capable, she’s loud and confident, she’s direct and maybe a little too blunt, she’s mischievous and snarky and sweet and kind, but is allowed to make mistakes and have days where she isn’t running at 100%.  She’s allowed to have crushes (on boys and girls, at that!) and do kid stuff and also be mature!  She can make friends easily with anyone, boy, girl, her age, younger, older!  

Miyako really breaks the mold.  I respect the hell out of that.

Iori supports justice by defending the wrongfully accused

We all know Iori grows into a defense attorney after watching people change after making mistakes, after seeing the various ways people struggle.  We talk a lot about how 02 is basically the Ken show, and Ken has the single most loving character arc in Adventure- but give some props to Iori, my dudes!  The kid shifted some intense black-and-white thinking into compassion.  That’s amazing.

So yeah!  Using tarot to notice stuff = cool and fun and a good time!  Makes me wish I had a digimon deck D:

[jeongyunhoed]

8 Stories, 8 Movies from the Golden Age (1930s to 1960s).

It’s the golden age and 8 men are the most sought-after actors in Hollywood. Ateez, but make them Old Hollywood, basically. Lights, camera, action!

Member: Wooyoung

Genre: Screwball romantic comedy

Warnings: Mentions of death, shipwrecks, widow/widower, mentions of infidelity (don’t cheat, it’s wrong)

Things to note: Set in the 1940s, Wooyoung’s a father in this one

Will have OCs

As with the rest of the stories in the AU, there will be other idols mentioned, most likely NCT but may have some of my other faves (EXO, etc.)

A/N: The fourth story in this series of movie-inspired AU is centered on Wooyoung! It’s just as chaotic as he is, seriously. But I hope you enjoy it! 

Masterlist

After getting marooned on an island for 7 years and being declared legally dead, Ahn Jea returns home to find her husband, Jung Wooyoung, already remarried to someone else. 

My Favorite Wife

tag list: @minervaaaaaaaa , @closer-stars

Part 1

A bustling courtroom. Jung Wooyoung was standing by, eyeing the judge, a man by the name of Kim Hongjoong, who was reading through the brief but looking a little less than amused. He’s been here before, or at least been in a courtroom. That was his profession. He was an attorney that handled a wide range of cases, sometimes on the side of the prosecutor, other times on the side of the defendant. But the usual legal battle was not what he was in the courtroom for this time. He stood by, while his current fiance, Baek Taehee, was fixing her makeup nearby, compact in hand. 

“Court of general sessions, Judge Kim Hongjoong presiding is now in session,” The clerk announced nearby as soon as most of the crowd had gone, leaving only Wooyoung and Taehee and those who were in line for their own cases. “Are the parties ready in the matter of Ahn Jea, also known as Jung Jea?” 

“What’s the matter clerk? Let’s get on and get this over with,” Hongjoong was poised to hit the gavel in his hand. 

“Sorry, your honor. The matter of Ahn Jea also known as Jung Jea?” The clerk announced, his voice louder this time. 

“Oh, here, here I am,” Wooyoung raised his hand. 

“About time you’re here too,” Hongjoong said. “Just a moment. Clerk, wasn’t I supposed to marry someone this morning?” He looked over at the official. 

 “Why yes, your honor-” 

“Then let’s get it over with! We don’t have all day,” Hongjoong replied irritably. He looked down at the brief again. “This can wait, this is a very complicated case, this Jung matter, or was it Ahn, ” But before Wooyoung could speak, the clerk went up to him again. 

“Your honor, this man is Mr. Jung Wooyoung, his wife is dead,” The clerk whispered. 

“Who’s dead?” 

“Ahn Jea, also known as Jung Jea, she changed her last name for Mr. Jung over there when they got married,” The clerk explained, voice still low. “She drowned.”

“Oh that’s sad- that’s very sad,” Hongjoong turned back to the two people in front of him. “Is your name Jung Wooyoung?” He asked. 

“Yes, your honor,” Wooyoung replied. 

“That’s what I thought. Well, Mr. Jung, according to this brief, your deceased wife Ahn Jea also known as Jung Jea, was a member of an anthropological expedition that was shipwrecked off the coast of the pacific,” Hongjoong read out. 

“Yes, your honor.” 

“What was she doing on an expedition? She was a mother of two infant children.” 

“You will find the circumstances explained in my brief, sir,” Wooyoung replied. 

Hongjoong hummed in response. “It said, Ahn Jea, also known as Jung Jea, was engaged as a photographer for a period of three months,” he read. 

“We were going to take the trip together, but I got involved in a case so I couldn’t leave, so we talked it over and finally she decided that she would travel alone. She needed a change, she had a tough time with the children, teething and all that-” 

“Thank you, Mr. Jung, just the facts are needed, never mind the teething,” Hongjoong dismissed. He looked through the brief again. “When did you say the ship went down?” 

“It’s all explained there in page seven,” Wooyoung pointed out, making the judge flip through the papers. 

“Okay, here it is, last seen entering one of the lifeboats when-” Hongjoong leaned back as a flash of light hit his face. “What’s shining in my eyes?” He held a hand up to cover his face as the flash of light hit him again. “What’s shining in my eyes? I can’t see,” He looked down to read the brief again. “Last seen entering- When a wave, oh, that’s sad, that’s very sad,” He looked up when the light hit his face again. “Hey, you, over there, miss” Hongjoong called out to the woman seated near Wooyoung. 

“You mean me?” Taehee suddenly looked up. 

“Please put that mirror away, it’s been reflecting off of my face.” 

“Oh, so sorry,” She put her compact away. 

“What are you doing in this court anyway?” 

“I’m here with Mr. Jung,” Taehee replied. 

“Yes she’s here with me, your honor,” Wooyoung added. 

“Well, then, let’s get back to the brief, shall we? Now where was I? Page seven?” 

“Yes, your honor.” 

“Oh right, what efforts did you make to trace the whereabouts of your wife?” Hongjoong asked. 

“It’s there on page eight, your honor. I went to Bangkok and interviewed all the available survivors who all agreed that said Ahn Jea, also known as Jung Jea, had been swept overboard before aid could reach her- Deposition...” 

“No need to explain, there’s nothing to explain at all, the testimony’s all contained in here, sworn affidavits, no evidence to the contrary, the law is clear. I hereby pronounce Ahn Jea, also known as Jung Jea, legally dead,” Hongjoong hit the gavel. “Okay, now that’s done and over with, who am I marrying?” He looked over at the clerk. 

“Yes sir, us,” Wooyoung gestured to himself and to Taehee. 

“Us? What do you mean ‘us’?” Hongjoong turned back to him. 

“Mr. Jung and myself, your honor,” Taehee spoke this time. 

“You’re going to marry again, Mr. Jung?” The judge asked, and Wooyoung nodded, holding Taehee’s hand. “Are you sure you’ve had time to think it over?” 

“Your honor, Mr. Jung is over 20, he’s of legal age,” Taehee pointed out. 

“Alright, alright, if you say so, hold hands, both of you,” Hongjoong gestured for them to come closer. 

They smiled at each other. “Here we go, darling,” Wooyoung was beaming as the judge recited the proceedings. 

~ 

A truck pulled up in front of a house later that day. Ahn Jea couldn’t believe it. She was finally home after so long. All those years away, she was beginning to think that she would forget everything about it, including Wooyoung. “Is this where you wanted to go?” The driver looked over at her as she unfastened her seatbelt. 

“Yes, yes it is, thanks for the ride, Yunho,” Jea sniffled as she got down. 

“It’s okay, Mrs. Jung. What are you crying about?” He asked. 

“I-I just can’t believe it. You see, I live here, I live in this house” Jea wiped her eyes. 

“It’s not a bad-looking house, there’s a swimming pool and everything,” Yunho looked over from his seat to what he can see from the house behind her. “Is that something to cry about?” 

“No, no, but I haven’t seen it in years, I can’t help it, I’m finally back,” Jea wiped her eyes with the sleeve of the jacket she was wearing. 

“Uh, not that it’s any of my business, but when a girl like yourself is dressed up in a sailor’s uniform gets dropped off at a classy place like this-” 

“It’s an awfully long story for this, but I’ll tell you if we run into each other sometime,” Jea replied. 

“Okay then, goodbye,” Yunho waved at her as he drove away. 

Jea turned around. She was really back, back to civilization, back on asphalt roads, back to where houses actually looked like houses. More importantly, she was back home, back to her two children Woojin and Jiyoung, whose laughter and chatter she could hear from where she stood. She wondered what they looked like by now, hoping that Woojin would at least look like his father. 

“Watch me do a swan dive!” Woojin jumped in the pool, splashing some water on his sister. 

“Nuh uh, you can’t do it, you’re not supposed to run!” Jiyoung jumped in after him. 

Woojin shuddered. “It’s like an iceberg in here,” He said, getting out of the pool, his sister following him in getting up. 

“Hello,” Jea spoke, making the two children stop and look at her. 

“Hello,” Woojin greeted. 

“Hello,” Jiyoung greeted her as well. She tilted her head. “Are you a lady or a man?” She asked. 

It was another moment where she was reminded of how she looked in front of them now. “Well, I used to be a lady,” She replied, attempting to take off the hat she used to cover up her hair that was still quite long but oddly cut at the ends. 

“A sailor? You’re wearing sailor pants,” Woojin pointed out. 

“Ah, not exactly,” Jea shook her head. Woojin definitely did look like Wooyoung, she thought. He even got a little bit of his personality too. 

“Our mother was practically a sailor,” Woojin said. “She went down in a shipwreck. We’re not supposed to know.” 

“Oh, do you miss her very much?” Jea asked carefully. 

“Oh sure,” the boy nodded. 

“Would you like to have her back?” 

“We can’t have her back, she’s drowned. We put flowers on her grave every year with daddy,” He replied. 

“You do?” 

“And then daddy buys us ddeokbokki and cola,” Jiyoung added. 

“Oh,” Jea smiled a little, amused at the little girl. “Woojin, is your grandmother home?” 

The boy looked at her suspiciously. “...How did you know my name?” 

“Oh, uh, I just guessed,” Jea said. “Is she home?” 

“I forgot, we’re not allowed to talk to strangers,” Woojin jumped back in the pool. 

“Maybe you can tell me,” She turned to Jiyoung. 

“Pardon me, but we’re not allowed to talk to strangers,” Jiyoung followed her brother into the pool. 

Jea nodded, having understood. It seemed too good to be true if they knew her right away. Then again, Wooyoung probably never showed them her pictures. She turned to go to the front door, in the hopes that someone, at least her mother-in-law, their grandmother, would be home. She rang the doorbell and knocked on the door for good measure. “Come in!” She heard the familiar voice of her mother-in-law say. 

Jea opened the door. “Hello, mother,” She said. 

Mrs. Jung looked like she had seen a ghost. “Jea! Oh my goodness, Jea,” She stepped back, her knees buckling when Jea helped her. 

“Easy, mother, easy,” She said, leading Mrs. Jung into the living room. “Sit down, mom, sit down. Take a deep breath, mom, there, are you alright now?” She asked carefully. 

Mrs. Jung still looked shocked, unsure of what to say. “Jea, I can’t believe it, I really can’t believe it,” She stared at Jea, almost gaping. Jea just smiled. “After all these years, oh is it really you, Jea?” 

“Of course it is, mom,” Jea chuckled. “How’s Wooyoung?” 

“Wooyoung?” Mrs. Jung asked, as if having snapped out of it. 

“Yes, mom. Wooyoung, your son. My husband,” Jea replied. “He’s alright, isn’t he?” 

“Oh yes, yes, Wooyoung’s fine,” Mrs. Jung nodded. 

“Good, I’m glad he’s doing okay.” 

“Jea, where have you been?” 

“Ah, on an island. Latitude 12, longitude 128,” Jea recalled. “And I’d still be there if it weren’t for a Portuguese freighter wandering 200 miles off its course. They brought me back. It was a very small freighter though, very dirty. Mother, may I have a bath?” 

“Of course, Jea,” Mrs. Jung got up, leading the way into what was the guest room. 

Jea felt like she was looking at everything for the first time all over again as she stepped in, seeing photos of Wooyoung with the children over the years in frames on the walls down the hall. “Ah, my first hot bath in years,” She said as she removed her cap, the water from the shower hitting her right away. Mrs. Jung stood by, setting down a bathrobe and a few towels. “By the way, mom, how was my funeral?” 

“It was lovely, Dr. Choi Jongho had this wonderful message,” Mrs. Jung replied. 

“Ah, I wish I’d been there,” Jea chuckled. “Tell me about Wooyoung. He’s still as handsome as ever, isn’t he?” She asked. 

“Wooyoung? I think so.” 

“Doing well at work?” 

“Oh yes.” 

“Where is he now? Is he still at the office? I’m dying to see him,” Jea asked this time, rinsing the shampoo out of her hair. 

“Jea, there’s something I’ve got to tell you,” Mrs. Jung immediately handed her the robe and the towels when she turned the shower tap off. Jea covered herself with the robe, feeling her shoulders relax when the soft fabric was around her. “Wooyoung’s married again.” 

Jea stopped, staring at her mother-in-law. “...He is?..Is she nice?”  

“No.” 

“Do I know her? Kim Ara, I bet, she’s always had her eye on Wooyoung-”

“No, he met her on the boat when he went to look for you,” Mrs. Jung replied. 

“On the boat, huh,” Jea looked down, feeling the embarrassment seep in. “One thing I somehow never thought about, Wooyoung marrying again. How long did he wait?” 

“They only got married this morning.” 

“Today?” Jea gaped. 

“And they went off on a road trip to Grant for the honeymoon-” 

“Grant?! Oh don’t tell me he’s taking her to the same hotel we- Oh no…” 

“Well, Wooyoung had some business to do- What are you going to do?” Mrs. Jung asked. 

“Well I’ve got some business in Grant. Have you got anything I can wear, mom?” 

“I saved a few of your old things, Jea,” Mrs. Jung replied. 

“There are planes to Grant now, isn’t there?” Jea removed the towel off her head, following her mother-in-law to the room where they kept her clothes. 

“Yes, I think so- what are you going to do, Jea?” Mrs. Jung was getting concerned. 

“I don’t know, but I hope I’m not too late. I plan on being part of the reception committee. I’ll get to Grant first!” Jea rushed into another room to get dressed. 

~ 

Jea had arrived at the mountainside hotel, the Dunne, a little while later. The hotel still looked the same as she last saw it. It definitely brought back memories of her honeymoon with Wooyoung, and now he was going to make new memories with his new wife here. She approached the man on the front desk, whose name tag read Choi San. “Yes, how may I help you?” He asked. 

“Hello, is Mr. Jung Wooyoung here?” She asked. 

“No, Mr. Jung hasn’t arrived yet,” San shook his head. 

“Oh,” She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, thank you very much.” 

“Are you the bride by any chance?” San smiled. 

“No, not exactly,” Jea replied. “I’ll just wait for him if you don’t mind, thank you very much,” She stepped back, noticing his confused expression. 

“You’re very welcome, madam,” San observed her as she sat on the nearest couch, next to a few elderly women who were reading the magazines on the coffee table in front of them. “That’s very strange,” He muttered to himself. 

“We’re here, Taehee,” Wooyoung smiled as they entered the hotel, pulling Taehee along by the hand as they approached the desk, bellhops already behind them with their luggage. “Good evening,” He greeted the front desk. “My name is Jung Wooyoung.” 

“Oh yes, Mr. Jung, I believe that a young lady-” 

“Do you have a reservation for me please?” Wooyoung cut him off. 

San looked through the books in front of him. “Yes sir, you do. Suite A, Mr. Jung,” He said with a smile. 

“Oh,” His expression fell. “Suite A.” 

“It’s our best suite.” 

“Well, I-I’d rather not take one, if you don’t mind,” Wooyoung said. “I couldn’t take that suite because- well, you see, I’ve been here before.” 

“Oh-oh very well, sir,” San quickly composed himself, glancing at Jea who was seated all the way at the couches and looking just as surprised as he was. “Take them to suite C,” He directed the bellhops behind them. 

“Let’s go, shall we?” Wooyoung turned to his new bride, their arms linked as they went into the elevator. As he turned to face the doors, his eyes widened at what he saw approaching the elevator. Jea was there, waving at him. The doors were moving and he found himself bending over to the side as if trying to catch another look at her before it closed. “Oh no, no, no…” 

“Wooyoungie, what is it?” Taehee asked. 

“Oh, uh, imagination, I-I thought I saw something, nothing to worry about, it must be the trip,” He shook his head as the elevator began to move. 

~ 

“Wooyoung, I just love our room, isn’t it so nice?” Taehee was twirling in her place as the bellhops set their luggage down, while he quickly put his clothes away. “Look at the view!”

Was it her? Was it really Jea? His wife? The woman he saw as the love of his life? Was she really back? The questions stayed in his mind as he put his suitcase away. “Yeah, yeah, it’s beautiful,” He nodded, casting a glance out the window. 

“Wooyoung, darling, aren’t you going to kiss me?” Taehee went up to him. 

“Hmm? Oh, sure, sure,” Wooyoung pecked her lips. “But uh, Taehee, I have to go downstairs again.” 

“Oh what on earth for?” 

“Well I-I-I’ve got to make sure that uh well- I’ll be right back,” He stammered. “I was expecting a call.” 

“But they’ll ring up here,” Taehee gestured to the phone nearby. “Is something the matter, Wooyoungie?” 

“Uh,” He needed to think of another excuse, fast. “No, no, nothing’s wrong, Taehee, it’s just uh- You know what I need? I need to get a shave!” He blurted out. 

“...What?” Taehee stared at him. 

“I’ll go down to the barber shop and I’ll be right back,” Wooyoung turned to leave, skidding to a stop when Taehee was still holding onto his hand. 

“But you don’t need a shave, your skin is smooth, practically hairless, Wooyoungie,” She said. 

“Well, I feel like an ape.” 

“Wooyoung, why don’t you shave yourself? I’d love to watch you do it, you remember the way Victoria always watched Albert?” She pulled him close. 

“Victoria? Albert?” 

“Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, silly,” Taehee smiled, running a finger along his jaw. 

“Oh, well, he-” Wooyoung took her hand. “Prince Albert didn’t hack himself to pieces the way I do when I shave- I’ll go down to the barber shop and I’ll be right back! I won’t be long!” He rushed out of the suite. He wanted to know if he wasn’t seeing things, if it was really Jea standing in front of the elevator when he saw her. Wooyoung got out of the elevator to the ground floor, looking around frantically for a sign of her until he saw her sitting on the chair. “Jea! Jea!” He called out, making her look up. 

“Hello, Wooyoung,” Jea smiled, standing up. 

“Jea, it is you, isn’t it?” Wooyoung ran up to her. 

“Yes, yes it’s me, Wooyoung,” She said.

“Jea,” His arms were around her in a tight embrace. “Jea, kiss me,” He tilted his head, meeting her lips with his. 

Jea closed her eyes again, content. “That’s all I wanted to know, Wooyoung,” She said quietly as they pulled away.  

As much as Wooyoung wanted to keep looking at her, he was aware where they were having this moment. “Look, let’s- let’s go somewhere private, where we can talk.” 

“Where?” She asked, a little too eagerly. 

“W-well, let’s go to your room.” 

“But I don’t have a room.” 

“In that case I’ll get you one, clerk!” Wooyoung ran up to the front desk again, getting San’s attention. 

“Yes, Mr. Jung?-” 

“I’d like to have another room.” 

“Another room-” 

“Yes I just said another room.” 

“Oh, certainly, Mr. Jung,” San couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Thank you, is-is Suite A available?” Wooyoung rushed him. 

“Suite A?” San looked even more surprised. 

“Yes, suite a,” Jea added. 

“Suite A! Take them to suite A!” San gestured for the bellhop nearby, handing him the keys.

~ 

The suite looked the same way as Jea and Wooyoung remembered it to be, Wooyoung resisting the urge to kiss Jea again, the self-control only showing just when they were finally alone. Jea recalled where she had been, and how she was able to get back while he tried to absorb everything that was happening to him today, explaining to her what he did that morning. “That’s all there is to tell you, Wooyoung. Except now, it’s an awkward situation of course but you’ll have to face it,” She said. 

“Yes, you mean-” Wooyoung buried his face in his hands. “You mean, telling Taehee? Yeah, I know, I’ve got to. What am I going to say to her?”

“That depends on what you feel, Wooyoungie,” Jea replied with a shrug.  

“It’s not as easy as all that,” He said. “You see, uh, Taehee’s- Very sensitive, she’s uh, high-strung.” 

“Ah, one of those,” Jea nodded in understanding. 

“Mhmm, this is going to be a horrible shock to her.” 

“Wooyoung, are you in love with her?” Jea thought to be direct this time. 

“No,” He admitted. Jea wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or not. 

“You must’ve told her you were, didn’t you?” 

“Well I-I- uh-” He stammered. 

“Sure you did,” She teased, making him nod again. “Wooyoung how could you, the minute my back was turned-” 

“The minute?!” 

Jea laughed, patting his shoulder. “Wooyoung, look at you, if you could see your face,” She laughed some more, making him laugh as well. 

“Don’t joke now, darling, this is too serious-” They stopped when the phone rang. “I’ll get it, it’s probably for me,” He picked up the phone. “Hello?” 

“Mr. Jung, this is Choi San, the desk clerk,” He began. “Mr. Jung, we don’t like to interfere with the privacy of our guests...but your wife is calling for you again,” San sounded annoyed. 

“Well tell my wife I’ll be right up, I’m still being shaved!” Wooyoung replied, hanging up. He turned back to Jea, who was still laughing next to him. “I’ve got a feeling you’re enjoying my misery,” He said. He couldn’t get mad, but the absurdity of their situation only got him chuckling. 

“Wooyoung, did you think she’d make a good mother?” Jea asked. “Was that why you were attracted to her?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” He sat back. 

“You thought she’d be good for Woojin and Jiyoung?” She raised a brow, sensing the uncertainty in his tone. 

“Of course, of course!” 

“Oh,” She nodded, sitting back as well. 

“You don’t believe me?” 

“I didn’t say I don’t believe you. I’m just facing facts,” Jea said. “You love this woman enough to ask her to be your wife and the mother of my children. That takes a lot of love. Are you-are you sure you don’t love her?” 

He sensed the uncertainty in her tone this time. “Yeah, the moment I saw you downstairs I knew I was still in love with you and I wasn’t in love with her.” 

“I bet you say that to all your wives,” Jea teased him again. 

“I could strangle you,” Wooyoung reached for her hand, a chortle escaping his lips. 

“Well that’s a way out,” Jea squeezed his hand. 

“I can’t just barge in and say ‘Sorry, my mistake, the marriage is off’ can I? What am I? An idiot?” Wooyoung sighed. 

Jea stood up. “Look, let’s try something like this. I’ll be uh, what’s her name again?” 

“Taehee.” 

“Taehee,” She repeated with a slight pout as she said it. “Alright, I’m Taehee. Now, you pretend to come in, this is our suite.” 

Wooyoung stood up. “What?” 

“Go with it, I’m Taehee, and you’re coming in to tell me,” She reminded him, sauntering down the front hall. 

“Alright, I’m in-” Wooyoung fought the urge to laugh at the way she pretended. “He-hello Taehee.” 

“Oh that’s good, that’s good,” Jea laughed. “Now she’ll say ‘Hello darling, I’m terribly sorry, it’s been such a long time,’” She said it with a pout, pretending to sound cute. 

“She doesn’t talk like that-” Wooyoung shook his head. 

“Oh, well, what’s the difference? Then she’ll say ‘Darling, aren’t you going to kiss me?’” She went up to him, lips still in a pout as she said it. Jea’s expression softened. “Well...aren’t you?” 

Wooyoung took her in his arms. “Jea.” 

“Wooyoung,” and she kissed him, her arms around him. 

The door suddenly opened, making them pull away. It was San. “Could I see you for a moment, Mr. Jung?” Annoyance was evident on his face. 

“What do you mean by barging in here?!” Wooyoung was close to yelling. 

“Mr. Jung, I’m the clerk of this hotel-” 

“Yeah I know who you are-” 

“Mr. Jung, I feel that it is my duty to inform you that we run a first-class place and we don’t like to be a party to an intrigue, we’ve maintained a respectable reputation for decades and we don’t intend to lose it in one night!” 

“My respectable reputation is just as high as your hotel’s.” 

“And don’t forget mine!” Jea chimed in. “It’s a very simple situation. Explain it to him, Wooyoung.” 

“Alright I will,” Wooyoung took a deep breath. “Now I came-I came up here with my wife, my bride, really and- Now my wife, not my bride- Why should I bore you with all the details?”

“I won’t be bored!” 

“Listen, it’s as simple as a-b-c!” Wooyoung said. 

San looked apprehensive. “Don’t tell me you’ve got somebody in B!” 

Wooyoung sighed, lips forming a line in frustration at the clerk. “Wooyoungie, I think you’d better go,” She said. 

“If you please” San glared at him. 

“I’ll be back, Jea-” 

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Jung,” San cut him off as he stepped aside to see him out. 

“Bye, Wooyoung, and don’t forget! You’re going to tell her” Jea called out. 

“Sure, sure, I’ll-I’ll uh, I’ll tell her,” Wooyoung looked over at her again before San followed him. 

“This way, Mr. Jung!-” 

“Oh shut up, will you!” Wooyoung snapped, trudging down the hall. 

[letapollojusticesayfuck]

💎⛰️🎢☀️📜✏️⭐📣🔦 for currents & 💡 for the scurvy fic. i need to know.

sparrow that’s. so many. (but you’re asking me to talk about currents and I am always looking for a reason to talk about currents so. Thank You)

(also, obvious spoilers under the cut for undeniable you (the currents pulling me onward so. if you care about that you might want to read the fic first)

💎- What was your favorite part?

I’d probably say...the beginning of chapter 7? Where it’s immediately post-trial and Klavier and Apollo are just so tired and at loose ends and they go and sit on the courthouse steps and talk. I basically wrote the entire fic in order to write the last 4 chapters--the emotional aftermath of the trial, but I had to write the trial first so it would have context. 

⛰️-  What was the hardest part?

Figuring out the whole Gramarye Siblings situation, for sure. Because--the thing is that canon isn’t entirely cohesive on who did what when. I did a ton of research by perusing the wiki and taking notes on Jove, Thalassa, Magnifi, etc--and then I kind of just decided that if there was no coherent canon timeline, then I didn’t need to stick to it--and made as much of it up as I felt was necessary.

🎢- Were there any scenes you were nervous about? For audience reception or otherwise?

With every single courtroom scene, I was worried that it would be super boring or wouldn’t live up to the games or that all of the arguments I used would be Wrong and Bad? also this isn’t unique to currents but every single time I write a kissing scene I worry that it’s going to be bad

☀️- Was there symbolism/motifs you worked in?

A little? If anything, I was trying to emphasize the symbolism and Themes that I felt the canon games after AA4 didn’t utilize at all--like, I deliberately used Apollo flying across the ocean after hearing about Klavier as a parallel with Edgeworth flying across the ocean when he heard something happened with Phoenix, and obviously the “POV defense attorney defends rival prosecutor” is a deliberate parallel with 1-4. I guess Klavier’s hair might be a bit of a motif but that’s mostly because I think it’s pretty and less of a deliberate choice lmao

📜-Do you want to write something like this again in the future?

Depends! I would maybe write another casefic if I had a really good concept for one, sometime In The Future (because they are So Annoying to plan)--but as for multichaptered fics, I definitely want to write another one sometime. I just need to have a Good Idea and the motivation to stick with it--currents was written mainly out of spite at the dropped plot threads from AA4 and my determination to resolve a bunch of them and also further my Klapollo Agenda.

✏️-Would you go back and change anything if you could?

At the moment, I don’t think I would--but if you asked me again in a year or so, I probably would change things. I still want to write a series of oneshots in the currents universe--stuff focusing on characters we didn’t see enough of, like Trucy and Phoenix; and Kristoph pre-fic; and Phoenix and Miles; and Klavier and Apollo after everything

⭐- What’s a scene/paragraph you’re proud of?

“We can’t dwell too much on that part. But one more thing—if they planted the nail polish back then, and the powder in the mortar and pestle—how could they be sure you wouldn’t...accidentally…”

Apollo trails off, but they both know how that sentence ends. Klavier shudders.

“I almost never use that thing, anyway—it was a housewarming gift, and I’ve only ever been ambitious enough to grind my own spices about twice. Otherwise, it’s just easier to use the stuff in jars. I guess they must have known that, somehow? Either that, or...it didn’t matter if…”

“So, they’re someone who either wanted you to be found guilty for a murder you didn’t commit, or didn’t mind if you were poisoned by accident—and who probably works for that dogsitting company,” Apollo murmurs, pulling out his planner and jotting down a few notes. On the other side of the glass, Klavier sighs, tilting his head so that his fringe obscures his eyes.

“I wonder...if they’d gotten me, accidentally...would they still have killed Kris? Or would they have been satisfied with just me?”

The question is nearly inaudible, but Apollo looks up sharply, staring at Klavier.

“You think they killed him just because...it would hurt you?”

Klavier shifts, meeting Apollo’s eyes. “What would be the point, otherwise? Vengeance? Apollo, who’s left alive that would need to enact revenge on him? He was already on death row—what does this accomplish, besides hurting me?”

As much as Apollo tries, he can’t come up with an answer.

I don’t know if I can think of too many specific scenes I’m proud of--but I really do like this one, because I think it shows Apollo’s pragmatic side--trying to solve the murder mystery, pushing his emotions aside when he can--while illustrating Klavier’s attitude of “usually I would brush this off but we both know this premise is a little wonky and this isn’t adding up.” 

...that might not have made sense, I’m not always the best at analyzing my own writing. I just throw words at the page and what happens, happens.

📣-What was the best piece of encouragement you got?

It’s cheesy, but everyone who commented on each chapter was an invaluable source of encouragement? like, the absolute best feeling in the world was posting a new chapter and then seeing all the comment notifications come in, and spending the rest of the day replying. I’d written 6 chapters before I posted the prologue, but having people give me their reactions to each chapter really was the most important thing that made me keep going <3

🔦-Did you learn anything while writing it? About yourself? Writing?

I learned a lot about How To Write A Murder-Mystery--first and foremost, that it involves so much planning. And I maybe had to spoil the ending of AA6 entirely for myself--fun fact, I still haven’t finished the game, I’m stuck on Trial Day 1 of the Maya case (because I’m Tired, okay?). About writing and myself--I learned that I definitely need a deadline, and that using external “word count goal” tools is pretty essential for me if I want to write anything longer than a oneshot.

For The Scurvy Fic:

💡-What was the motivation behind the story?

okay SO. There was a conversation going on in a Klapollo discord server. Somehow we ended up talking about Klavier and/or Apollo being cheapskates. I think I mentioned something about Klavier surviving entirely on ramen noodles because they’re cheap? and then it devolved into a conversation about how they’d totally get scurvy if they did that. And I started thinking about how Klavier and Apollo are inherently pretty competitive, and how they’d totally just get into a stupid bet and be so stubborn that they wouldn’t back down, because they have to Prove A Point, even if they get scurvy from their awful diet of Whatever’s The Cheapest. And then...Scurvy Fic Happened. (along with the Other scurvy fics, because there’s Three of them!! I was just the only person who went with the obvious title).

Thank you for the ask!! Hope this was...enlightening??

[love-fireflysong]

H, N, O, U, X, and Y, please! Yes, I'm greedy with my curiosity.

iH - What is your favorite source text for fandom stuff (e.g., tv shows, movies, books, anime, Western animation, etc.)

Hmmm. I suppose I tend to go more video game wise now that I think of it. Maybe cause it gives me a firm understanding of a character and world, having had time to familiarize myself with it over 60+ hours in most cases! That isn’t to say that I don’t delve into the stuff from books or tv shows though, cause I definitely do! Some of my earliest stuff was built from tv shows and animes and book series after all. But I think that I need to carve time out in order to watch a show, or read a book, whereas with a video game I’m down to play whenever. 

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice)

I want some more Climbing Chrash, I need some more Climbing Chrash. Virtually everyone who’s been doing this has been listing them as one of their top pairings so why aren’t there any fics for them? We need to get onto this people!

...more soft Chrashley. That’s it. That is so my kink and I love them being soft and trusting towards one another and it fuels me. Not enough people write about them like that, and yes I am including me into that statement akjshdkajshda.

Actually some more Chrashley in general would be nice lol. There’s been such a dry spell over on ao3 with virtually nothing having been posted in months. It makes me sad :(

O - Choose a song at random, which ship or character does it remind you of

Friends - Sixlight (Oh has this got some nice Emily vibes! Could also work for Josh I suppose, but I love this for Emily coming back to blackwood in the game!)

U - 5 favorite characters from 5 different fandoms

Saya Takagi - Highschool of the Dead

Vex’ahlia - Critical Role

Percy Jackson - Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Yoshiki Kishinuma - Corpse Party

Keele Zeibel - Tales of Eternia

X - top 5-10 characters who are yoUR PRECIOUS BABIES AND YOU WILL DIE DEFENDING THEM

The entire cast of Dragon Age Origins

The entire cast of Persona 5

The entire cast of Until Dawn

The entire cast of Tales of Phantasia

The entire cast of Zero Escape (except Ace... and Eric... okay and maybe Dio)

The entire cast of Corpse Party

The entire cast of Ace Attorney

The entire cast of the Vox Machina campaign of Critical Role

The entire cast of Tales of Eternia

The entire cast of Final Fantasy VIII

Y - What are your secondhand fandoms (fandoms you aren’t in personally but are tangentially familiar with because your friends/people on your dash are in them)

I mean Borderlands is certainly a big one lol. The Untamed is another, Marvel obviously, whatever is going on with the Mighty Nein in Critical Role’s second campaign, and Dimension 20.

[reds-self-ships]

🔎 The Adventure of the Detection Club

Chapter 4: Memoranda & The Great Detective's Plan

Table of Contents & Trigger Warnings

⚠ CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNING: This chapter contains mild references to death and crime scene descriptions, specifically through severe and repetitive blunt force trauma.

The police hadn’t gone away for even five minutes before *Sholmes, Susato, Ryunosuke and Redford gathered their things together and got into a cab, and were already on their way to the scene of the crime.

Mr. Sholmes put the end of his pipe to his lips, but no kind of smoke seemed to be coming out of it.

“So, Mr. Nineteen—”

“—Ninate—”

“Yes, that. You’re a crime fiction writer, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’m also a student of English Literature with the University of London.”

“Well; I do believe that Mr. Naruhodo here also studies English. Well, that is, he studied it before he became an attorney anyway.”

“What? Oh, er—yes!” Ryunosuke exclaimed, his eyes darting about the carriage as though he was following a rather excitable fly.

“Is that so?” asked Redford, his right leg resting up on the knee of his left, stroking his chin with his right hand.

“Er, yes. Though, more as a foreign language than any of the ‘literature’ end of things, that is. You’d probably want to speak to my friend Asogi if you wanted to know anything about English literature.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Although,” added Susato, “there’s also plenty to say on Japanese literature. I’m sure Mr. Naruhodo could give you some recommendations if you ever get the opportunity to study up on it.”

“Yes!” Ryunosuke suddenly exclaimed. “A former client of mine—also a Japanese exchange student—has written his own book of late. He sent me a signed copy as a thank you for defending him in court, actually. It’s called…er…how would you say it in English…? It’s…‘Wagahai wa neko de aru’.”

“I believe it would be ‘I Am A Cat’, Mr. Naruhodo.”

“Oh yes, it would. Wouldn’t it?”

“No point in asking me,” Sholmes said. “I only know a few basic phrases, such as ‘Kutsū no Fukutsū’.”

Susato asked: “Do you mean to say that your stomach has shoes, Mr. Sholmes?”

“What—No! Er, anyway, as I was saying, I don’t speak the language that well.”

“I don’t know any myself, to be honest with you. Who knows, maybe I could learn some crime-related words? Or maybe some courtroom-related words if we ever end up getting that far.”

“Well then, I promise that I’ll do my best to get you found ‘Muzai’,” said Ryunosuke.

Redford and Sholmes sat and stared at him as he began to smile and blush awkwardly as he scratched the back of his head.

“That, er, that means ‘Not Guilty’ in Japanese.”

“Oh…!

——————————

The carriage pulled up in-front of the building that housed the headquarters of the Detection Club, which, even now, was almost entirely surrounded by police constables and blue wooden barriers marked “METROPOLITAN POLICE – DO NOT PASS” in white, stencilled writing.

“Ironic that the offices of a group of crime fiction novelists ended up becoming a crime scene itself, isn’t it?” said Sholmes.

“Definitely something that even I couldn’t make up. I mean, it definitely sounds like something I wouldn’t even be bothered to sit down and write about, now that I think about it. I mean—who’d even want to sit down and read such a thing?”

Ryunosuke came back with Susato after having had a word with the constable in-charge of maintaining the perimeter around the local area. “Alright, we’ve been cleared to enter the crime scene whenever we need to.”

Susato added: “Apparently Detective Jones already sent a telegram ahead to give his approval, and said that we can access any materials involved with the investigation. And that includes the victim’s autopsy report.”

Ryunosuke, Susato and Mr. Sholmes looked up to see that Redford had already deployed a fountain pen and a brown leather-bound notebook, and was already taking what looked to be some particularly in-depth notes.

“Er, Mr. Ninate—?”

“Yes? By the way, Redford or Red will do just fine. Mr. Ninate is my father.”

“OK, er, Red…what are you doing?”

Redford didn’t even lift his head from his work. “Taking notes. You do make notes when you’re investigating something, right?”

“Well, yes, but normally we just file stuff away in the court record as opposed to…”

Ryunosuke craned his head and tried to make out the sort of things that his client was writing. Was this the so-called ‘short-hand’ that Susato had suggested he try learning?

“…a novel, is it?”

“You know, I don’t even bother making notes,” said Sholmes, proudly. “I remember it all myself, then get Dr. Wilson to write it all up when I’m done.

(Which explains so much…so, so much…) said Ryunosuke, quietly to himself.

“Well I’d prefer to keep notes. Well, if you don’t mind, that is?”

“Well not really—”

Ryunosuke didn’t get to finish that sentence. “—Excellent. I’ll just keep making notes, pretend I’m not here.”

Redford continued his note-taking intently, as though nothing had even been said at all. Ryunosuke decided to allow that point to pass without notice.

“Alright then, so the name of the victim is Harris Thomas,” Ryunosuke read from the autopsy report supplied by a constable. “Cause of death is listed as ‘repeated blows from blunt instrument’.”

Mr. Sholmes pulled the photo of the body out of the envelope it came in, immediately putting it back in again as he pulled quite the expression. “Oh my. That’s rather gory.”

“Good to know. But we should get a look at it ourse—” Ryunosuke took the envelope from Sholmes’s hands, opened it, removed the photograph and looked at it. “Oh wow, that ishorrifying.”

Susato tilted her head slightly to one side. “I’m not entirely sure what you were expecting, Mr. Naruhodo.”

The photograph, to phrase it gently, wasn’t much to look at. In fact, there wasn’t much left of the victim’s skull either, after the killer had finished what they had set out to do, that much was very much certain.

“A look around the crime scene proper’ll be able to tell us far more, though. Especially as this seems to be quite the locked room mystery as to how the killer managed to get in and out of the locked room after they killed the victim without being spotted or without any sign of forced entry or exit.”

“Well in fairness I did tell you it was a weird one. No forced entry, no other doors, a lock designed to break if it’s tampered with, and windows that barely open, all on the third storey, up there,” Redford pointed out, squinting as the sun reflected off of one of the higher windows of the building.

As the other three looked up, Redford quickly scribbled something out onto a back page of his notebook before tearing it out and handing it to Ryunosuke.

“Oh, thank you. Er…what is it, exactly?”

“A written memo, obviously. ‘No way in besides the key of the defendant. He maintains testimony that it remained on his person at the time. Only one such key exists to his knowledge. There is only one door into the room which didn’t appear forced, and as the windows only open a small amount and the room is up on the third floor of the building’.”

“I see. Thank you, then.” Ryunosuke passed it to Susato, who filed it away in her pocketbook.

“If you need me to write down anything else, do let me know.”

“Alright, er, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Right. Well then, after you,” said Redford, allowing Ryunosuke to step into the building ahead of him.

Before he could follow in after the pair, Susato caught Sholmes by his arm. “Excuse me, Mr. Sholmes…”

“Mm? What is it, Miss Mikotoba?”

“Are you planning something involving Mr. Naruhodo or Mr. Ninate?”

“No…what makes you say that?” the detective lied.

“Mr. Sholmes, you don’t exactly have the best track record for lying and being able to get away with it with any kind of great success for long, you know? You even weren’t able to keep Mr. Naruhodo’s surprise birthday party a secret from him for all of three days. And Iris and I only told you about it a week before it was due to happen!”

“Well how can I be expected notto talk to him and avoid bringing it up with him when we’re all living under the same roof?”

“What are you planning?” asked Susato, with the intonation as though she was talking to a misbehaving dog.

“Well I’ve been watching Mr. Naruhodo’s eyes all day since Mr. Ninate first came into Baker Street. He’s not been able to keep his eyes off of him all day! Even in the cab he didn’t know where to look without making it exceedingly obvious.”

“But Mr. Naruhodo ends up doing that most days anyway.”

“Still. I do believe he may have a bit of a ‘crush’ on this particular client – especially with the way that he took on the case so quickly, and especially given the particular circumstances of this case.”

“So I’m going to assume that making them share a room also falls under the idea of trying to get them together?”

“Precisely!”

“Mr. Sholmes, you really are something else, you know.”

“I try my best.”

Before they could continue any further, Ryunosuke himself shouted down the stairs.

“Susato! Mr. Sholmes! Are you coming?”

“Coming!” responded Sholmes. “Just…tying…my…shoelaces!”

“This isn’t over, Mr. Sholmes,” said Susato as they headed in together after the attorney and the writer.

*AUTHOR’S NOTE: Iris had decided to stay behind and try to repair the door that had been taken off of its hinges by the rather over-eager Detective Athelney Jones.

[keanureevesisbae]

“Never out of practice” - Chapter 1

Summary: When Darcie’s father loses an important case, a killer seeks revenge, by kidnapping the entire Angel family. Though John thought that he was officially retired, he has to save his Darcie and her family, because he can’t lose her.

John Wick x OFC Darcie

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Mentions of a miscarriage.

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

It’s officially October. I’ve always really liked it when it’s autumn again. The only thing is that it’s getting darker earlier on and I’ve never been too keen on the dark. The first year when I owned the cafe, I would be so terrified walking to the bus, that eventually I kept hailing cabs, because dealing with that stress on top of owning a cafe, was too much for me at the time.

Thankfully I have a very tough boyfriend now, who loves to pick me up. Today is no different, except that we go to my parents. For the first time in what seemed like forever, my parents have a night off and they really wanted us over for a late dinner.

Today it’s Jennie’s turn to close off, but somehow Raye managed to stick around. ‘When is your next date?’ Jennie asks.

‘Tomorrow,’ Raye answers, ‘but I think about cancelling.’

I stop in the middle of cleaning a table. ‘Jen, did I hear that correctly? Raye Clarke is thinking about cancelling a date?’

Jennie nods. ‘I’m still a little shocked. I can’t believe this is happening.’

‘Very funny,’ Raye growls, looking actually annoyed. Geez, what is up with her? ‘It’s just, he sounds so stupid. I was hoping his looks would make up for it. His looks were the only reason that I swiped right. But talking to him and calling with him, he is really stupid.’

For Raye to say something like that, means that either something really bad happened or that she is growing. ‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

She sighs. ‘My brother is coming home next week. My parents are really looking forward to it and they keep calling me, demanding I should at least stop by.’

Jennie and I exchange looks. We know Alex Clarke pretty well. He was about a year older than us, but somehow always managed to bully us through high school. I never understood why a nice girl like Raye had a brother like Alex. Alex would always make racist Asian jokes against me and he once cut off two of Jennie’s braids, causing her to shave her entire head..

‘I hate that guy,’ Jennie admits. ‘God, your brother is so fucking annoying.’

‘And he is introducing us to his fiancée.’

‘That bonehead has a fiancée?’ Jennie exclaims. ‘How is it possible that he is fucking engaged and we,’—she gestures to her and Raye—‘are single?’

Raye has been sad for too long, because she literally shakes it off. She always does that. Being sad isn’t something that happens to her a lot. She always says that she’d rather be fake happy than real sad. I really don’t know if that is such a healthy way of dealing with your emotions, but okay. ‘It’s not until next week,’ she states, ‘so no need to dwell on it. I’m going to cancel that Tinder date and you and I, Jennie, are going to hang out.’

‘You can’t just expect us to hang out together, last minute. Maybe I already have plans.’

‘You don’t,’ Raye says. ‘You honestly don’t have plans, like ever. I know you.’

The door opens and when we all look up, I see my handsome boyfriend in the doorway. Tiki and Oreo rush to me and when I crouch down, they push me on my back, trying to see who can lick my face the most. ‘I missed you guys too,’ I squeal and wrap my arms around the dogs. ‘Oh my God, I love you too, but you have to let me get up. John, please help me.’

‘Come here, guys,’ he says, patting his legs, so they look up and let go of me.

I manage to push myself up, only to see Oreo sneaking back to me. I scratch his head, causing him to smile at me. I love that cute smile of his. He is such a big fat baby, always curling up beside me on the couch and always wanting to get in bed with us, but John sends Oreo and Tiki out every time we go to sleep. Somehow he got through an entire year of dating without letting Tiki sleep in our bed and now that we have Oreo, he hasn’t changed his opinion about it. I personally wouldn’t mind if the dogs were in our bed, but John says that he wants me all to himself when we’re sleeping and to be honest, I think that is really sweet.

John walks up to me. ‘Hi sweetheart,’ he says, before kissing me on my forehead. ‘Ready to go?’

‘I am, let me just get my bag.’

I rush to the kitchen and after I collected all my stuff, including my jacket, I give Raye and Jennie a big hug. ‘Say hi to your parents from me,’ Jennie says.

‘Will do. See you two tomorrow.’

‘Bye mommy, bye daddy,’ Raye says and I glare at her. ‘It’s funny and you like it, admit it.’

I send her the finger and with John—who is enjoying this way too much—and our dogs, I walk to the car. While the dogs get in the back, John puts my seat in the right place, but he stops me before we can get it. ‘What is it, honey?’ I ask him.

‘I really missed you.’ He gives me a long kiss and afterwards pulls me in a tight hug.

This isn’t really how he usually is. I frown. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Can’t I show my wonderful girlfriend how much I love her?’

I lean back, so our eyes meet. His dark eyes are so full of love and I can’t help to fall even more in love with him. He is so gorgeous and my boyfriend. Sometimes I still can’t comprehend it. ‘Of course, but… I don’t know. Just wondering.’

I get in the car and when John sits next to me, I still can’t help but worry a little. He has a frown between his brows and when he holds onto the steering wheel, he is also a bit tense, his knuckles almost turning white. When he feels me staring at him, he looks to the side. ‘What’s up, sweetheart?’

‘I love you, you know that right?’

John smiles. ‘I do know that and I also know that you are worried, but please don’t. Going to your parents still makes me a bit nervous.’

‘Why is that? They love you, especially my mom and when you let my dad drive around in your Mustang, he instantly wanted you to be his son in law.’ I place my hand on his. ‘No need to be nervous.’

John parks the car in front of my parents home, but I stop him before he can get out. ‘How about that when we get home and you’re still tense,’ I whisper, ‘I’ll help you relax a bit?’

His eyes widen and a grin appears on his face. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah, I think a back massage could do wonders.’

He laughs, placing his hand on his chest. ‘You had me there for a second. That is just mean, Darcie.’

I stick out my tongue. We get out of the car and with the dogs we walk to the front door of the house that I grew up in. The door flies open, to reveal both of my parents. My mom nearly pushes me aside to hug John. Mom always wanted to two kids, a boy and a girl. My father once told me that three years before they had me, they were expecting a boy, but in the seventh month of her pregnancy, his heart just stopped beating. They never knew why he never survived and when I asked her at age five why everyone had sibling, except me, she threw her bowl filled with soup against the wall and yelled at me that I should’ve never ask a question like that again.

When I finally got a boyfriend, she thought that she’d treat her son in law like a real son, but she never wanted anything to do with Eric. She hated his guts and at the time I felt awful for not liking her as much as I used to. I mean, Eric was my boyfriend, wasn’t she supposed to be happy?

But the way she loves John like he is her son, though he is only ten years younger than her, warms my heart. I know a tiny bit about his earlier life, how he was an orphan. The way he was welcomed in my family, I know it means a lot to him. When he met my parents for the first time and we got back to the apartment, he told me about how wonderful it felt to belong in a family.

He never really told me anything about Helen’s family, but I feel like sometimes I shouldn’t ask too much about her. I always feel a bit guilty after talking about her, I don’t know why.

But knowing that he was happy to belong to a family and that he would do everything to keep all of us safe (he said so himself), it made me realize once again that John is a good man and that I should never let him go.

I give my dad a hug. ‘I missed you, dad,’ I say to him.

‘Oh, munchkin, I missed you too.’

‘You look tired,’ I note, looking at his dark circles under his eyes.

‘Tough case, that’s all. Don’t you worry about me Your old man can handle it.’

⟢⟡⟣

‘Mom, really?’ I ask her, when I see there are only three chairs at the table. ‘We have four chairs, I know that.’

‘One is broken,’ she lies without skipping a beat. No wonder she is one of the best attorneys ever. For a second I believed her, but I know my mom and I know she’s up to something. My dad and her sit each on a chair, leaving only one left. ‘You can sit on your boyfriends lap.’

Oh my God, I thought once you weren’t a teen anymore, you wouldn’t be ashamed of your mother—guess I was wrong. ‘Mom,’ I whine, ‘please.’

‘Oh Darcie,’ she says. ‘I really like you two together. How do young people call it? Sailing?’

I’m visibly cringing. She always does that, trying to keep up with trends. It was funny when I was young, it was embarrassing when I was a teen, but now I’m thirty one, I really want her to stop doing that. ‘Mom, first of all: it’s called shipping, not sailing. Second of all: John and I are already dating, no need to force us together.’

John can’t hide his amusement. ‘Come on, baby,’ he says, sitting on the only chair left. ‘It’s not so bad.’ He holds my hand and pulls me to him. Knowing I can’t win this (and I’m definitely not eating my dinner standing up), I plop on his lap and my mother, who is a grown woman of sixty, hides her smile behind her hand.

‘I can’t believe you,’ I say to her, but I wrap my arm around John’s shoulders. Not wanting to give this sort of behavior any more attention than it should get, I turn to my father. ‘So, dad, how’s work?’ I ask.

‘It’s okay,’ he says. ‘I’m defending the family of Whitney Bell.’

I’ve heard about that case. Whitney Bell was a twenty five year old woman, whose ex-boyfriend brutally murdered her and dumped her in Central Park. I just didn’t know my dad was defending her family. But come to think of it, I barely spoke him these last few weeks and though I think my parents are doing a great job with the people who they defend, I barely keep up with it, even when it’s in the news all the time.

At first I was a bit nervous to talk to John about this case, since… Well… You know…

But he sat me down and for the first time, he actually mentioned his work, without me asking for it first. He told me that he only killed men who were better off dead than alive. He would never kill a woman or a child and it kind of eased my mind. Not that I was scared that he would murder me.

‘Must be rough,’ John says, before taking a sip of his drink.

‘It is. Family cases like this, it always pains me when I hear their stories. I asked Whitney’s parents to bring a picture of Whitney, to show the jury. Though I asked for one, they brought all their pictures they have of her with them.’ Dad looks at his glass and adds: ‘Parents always do that. I get it, you know. If something happened to you, Darcie, I’d be dragging every picture I have of you with me, to show the jury.’

‘I’m sorry, dad,’ I whisper, but loud enough for him to hear.

‘Don’t be, munchkin. It’s nothing I can’t handle.’ Dad smiles, but I don’t buy it. He is stressing out. ‘Tomorrow in the late afternoon we’ll hear how he is being sentenced for life.’ He wants to sound like he’s got everything under control, but he fails miserably.

John must picked up on his nerves too, because he suggests: ‘How about you and I take a drive in the Mustang after dinner, Christian?’

‘That would sure ease my mind,’ dad laughs and thankfully it’s a bit more real this time.

We talk during dinner about the customers, John’s book binding (causing my mom to say she has some old books) and our dogs, who are curled up beside each other.

John and dad are about to go for a drive in the Mustang, but before John leaves, he picks up Tiki, since she really want to go with him and he presses a kiss on my cheek. ‘I love you, sweetheart,’ he whispers.

My mom manages to keep quiet, but as soon as the front door is shut, she asks: ‘When are you going to give me grandchildren?’

‘Mom! What the hell?’

‘Oh come on, sweetheart,’ mom laughs. ‘I know you are thinking about it. I mean, you call each other mom and dad.’

‘When we’re talking to or about our dogs,’ I defend myself. ‘I know you want grandchildren, but please, don’t say that sort of stuff when he is around. I’m afraid it might scare him off.’

‘Why?’ she asks. ‘I mean, he loves you dearly and I bet he wants kids with you. I mean, who wouldn’t?’

I can’t believe that last makes me blush. ‘I know that, but it is so far ahead in the future, I don’t want to think about it yet.’

Mom wraps her arms around me, giving me a kiss on my cheek. ‘Okay, I’ll shut up about grandchildren. But you are my favorite sail.’

‘Ship, mom, it’s called a ship. And just say couple, please. There is no need to “fit” in with the cool kids.’

‘Yet you knew exactly what I was talking about.’

‘That’s because I have high school kids hanging around the cafe all day every day. I need to fit in with the cool kids.’

We plop on the couch and Oreo stretches himself out, waddles over to us and sits between us.

‘Mom, be honest with me now. Is dad really okay?’

‘You know how he is,’ she sighs. ‘Gets too wrapped up in a case.’ Mom squeezes my cheek and whispers: ‘He’ll be fine after tomorrow, like he always is after he has won a case.’

Mom and I cuddle up with Oreo, who has been the sweetest companion so far, ever since we rescued him from the shelter. He eventually is sitting a little behind me on the couch, his head placed on my shoulder.

The front door opens. My father is laughing, but when I look at him, I see his eyes are swollen and a bit red. ‘Dad, are you okay?’ I ask him.

‘Yeah, sweetheart, I’m fine. Just hit my head.’

My mother stands up and wraps her arms around my father. ‘Oh nae wangjamin,’ she soothes, giving him a kiss on his cheek.

Tiki rushes to her big brother and jumps on top of him. He simply licks her face, not annoyed by her antics. He never is.

John walks up to me and scratches Oreo’s head. ‘Maybe we should go home,’ John says, ‘it has been a long day.’

I simply nod and when we announce that we’re leaving, my mom gives me a tight hug. When I hold my dad, I’m instantly worried again. This is not who he is, I hardly recognize him anymore. ‘I love you, dad and if something is wrong, just tell me, okay? I’m one phone call away.’

Dad nods. ‘I love you too, munchkin and I will call you.’

Taglist: @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @flhorah​ @allie1804-fan @cynic-spirit​ @raven-black102

[nyullm2020]

How to Crush Law School Exams as an LL.M.

Hello again!

It’s been a minute. I’ve just had a well-deserved break after finishing my finals, where I managed to get a bit of sun in Florida and Puerto Rico.

It’s been a running start into my final semester of the LL.M. - and I can’t quite believe how fast this has all gone. I have a lot of content ideas coming up about everything I will be doing this semester, including juggling my internship at the Brooklyn District Attorney’s office, a Research Assistantship with an NYU Law Professor, the March Multistate Professional Responsibility Exam (MPRE) for the Bar, a full load of classes, and job hunting/networking - but first things first. I wanted to reflect on last semester’s exams, final papers and overall grades, and think about what I did well, and what I would change!

What are American law school exams like?

I’ll start by giving you an idea of the format of exams to give you an idea of the general approach, and hopefully take away some of the anxieties you as a future LL.M. might have.

There is no uniform exam or grading type for each and every course. American law school professors have a lot of discretion about how they will structure and assess their courses - including what mode of exam you will take (multiple choice, short answers, long problem question responses, policy-based essays, etc), or a final paper, and whether and to what extent class participation counts toward the grade. My assessments ran the gamut. In one class, I had a group assignment worth 30%, a 5,000 word final paper worth 60%, and 10% class participation, and in two others my final exam was worth 100%, with the professor’s discretion to slightly boost your grade based on your overall participation and contribution to the class. My Constitutional Interpretation seminar was 50% class participation, and 50% based on regular pieces of written work we handed in, including a final paper of 2,000 words.

Exams typically last between 2-4 hours, while take-homes take 3-8 hours (I haven’t had a take-home yet, but I will have a 12 hour take-home this semester). We all took our exams from home with a special software (Exam4 or the law school’s own exam software, THESS). Both my exams this semester allowed students to use any notes they wanted, and you could access the internet as well. The main problem with doing that is running out of time! So creating an organized outline of your notes and brainstorming essay ideas ahead of time is pretty crucial.

How do Professors grade? And what is a good grade?

Professors seem to have pretty broad discretion when it comes to grading - and definitely so when I think about Australian law school professors, who grade ‘blindly’ and never know who is behind the student number unless they look it up later, or are awarding prizes for the top students. The possible grades at NYU range from an F to an A+, as follows:

A+, 4.333; A, 4.000; A-, 3.667; B+, 3.333; B, 3.000; B-, 2.667; C, 2.000; D, 1.000 and F, 0.000.

No more than 2% of students can get an A+ in a given class, with a target of 1%. I am proud to say I was the only A+ student in one of my classes - yay! A huge personal achievement for me, and so I will brag a little here because I don’t want to be lame and brag in real life!

About 10% of people get As, and another 20% get A-s, and about 26% of people get B grades (B+, B, or B-). B- and C grades are actually pretty rare, so in all likelihood you will likely end up with an A or B grade of some sort!

It’s kind of hard to work out what ‘good’ grades/a strong GPA are for job applications, but from what I’ve gleaned, in an ideal world you would have all A level grades, or maybe one B+. Personally, my grades were an A+, 2 A- grades and a B+. This gave me a GPA of around 3.8, which is definitely decent for job applications. 

Your chances to get the high grades will depend a big deal on your competition - in the core doctrinal courses (like Constitutional Law, Free Speech, Evidence, Corporations Law, and so on) and in classes of the really famous professors, JD competition is intense. I definitely didn’t make it easy for myself with my classes, and I was usually the only, or one of two, LLMs, along with pretty ambitious JDs (often from elite undergrad schools) aiming for judicial clerkships or other prestigious jobs. Many LLMs have usually been working hard enough back home, and work hard enough to get decent grades, but leave enough time to relax and enjoy themselves. I would say my approach was mixed - I knew I needed to work hard enough to get good grades to make me a strong candidate for job applications in the US, but I also had plenty of fun. 😄 Just less fun around exam time!

On reflection, my top tips for doing well in your classes and exams would be:

1) Play to your strengths

At the time you select your classes, you’ll be able to see what the format of the assessment is - long paper, exam, practical assessments (like in a clinic or simulation course), etc. My top advice would be to think about your strengths when picking classes. 

I have always been much better at hand-in assignments, and my one A+ grade was from handing in a long paper. My lowest grade (a B+) was from a very time-pressured exam that I wasn’t happy with how I handled the timing. So - if you know you are much better at one type of assessment, make sure you are considering this when picking classes to pave the way for great grades, especially if you are relying on your grades for finding a new job or for a JSD application.

2) Understand your professor’s idiosyncratic preferences

When it comes to law school exams, the key to succeeding is really knowing who’s grading them. Some professors prefer you to be ‘quick and dirty’ and to really jump into the key issues and answers, while others prefer a more formalistic recitation of the rules and then a close application of the rules to the facts. Pay attention to how they explain what they want, pore over any model answers and exam keys they give you, be familiar with the way they write problems, and ideally hunt down past students’ papers with comments or overall feedback from the professor (if you know anyone that took the class before).

3) Make study enjoyable and social

Even in these COVID times, I really benefited from spending time at the library studying with LL.M. friends, and broke up study sessions with coffee hangs, lunches, and going to see the Christmas lights. Your friends will keep you sane and motivated, so don’t hide yourself away for the whole month or more!

Friends! A well-deserved dinner break in December a week or two before finals.

4) Argue both sides of legal issues you spot

This is something that is really emphasized by NYU professors. A good lawyer can, when identifying a legal issue, show how it is a weak point in a plaintiff’s claim or in a defendant’s defense, and then demonstrate how both sides could argue their case. The best answers don’t ‘fence sit’, but come to a reasoned judgment/prediction about which side of the argument is stronger.

5) Be precise and concise

You should try not to include unrelated material in your answer as this could backfire if your professor believes you struggle to separate relevant material from irrelevant material. One of my professors was clear ahead of time and said he did not appreciate an ‘info dump’ and graded accordingly, but I think this is true of all professors.

6) Be *really* aware of your timing

I can’t stress this enough. Effective time management is imperative on law school exams. My Evidence exam was so unbelievably time-pressured (27 short-answer questions in 3 hours = less than 7 minutes per question to read a few sentences-long question and answer it), and I did not handle this as well as I could have, affecting my grade. Make sure to be really aware of this and try to be strict with yourself so you don’t leave any questions untouched.

7) Remember public policy concerns

After applying the legal rules to the issues presented in your fact pattern, if time allows, include a sentence or two about the policy implications of your conclusions, or how your chosen approach fits best with the policy rationale underpinning the legal rule. This is something that is valued more in US law schools than my law school back home. Not critical, but definitely something that could boost your grade a little!

8) Just try your best, and don’t be too hard on yourself

We have all worked hard to be here, and we put a lot of pressure on ourselves. English might not be your first language, you might struggle with exams, or it might just not be the best day you’ve ever had. If you find yourself in the unfortunate position of either not understanding the issues presented in a question, or not remembering the rules related to such issues, just do your best to write the best possible answer in the time limit. 

Good luck, and let me know if you have any questions!