#and literally guys in his head that he must overcome all tell him that kept perpetuating the loop or destroy everything

[lobpoints]

Angela in LC, consistently telling the manager that she felt trapped and helpless and considerably miserable working in LC because she is denied of her individuality and personal choice and personhood and is also denied of any meaningful interactions whether with the sephirot or her own creator, lc hokma saying that what they have done and are still doing toward Angela was inherently cruel, even A at some point knee down to apologize to Angela because he also recognized what he was doing to her is inherently cruel in one of the loop (day 40), Angela in the epilogue straight up saying that she felt abandoned since her birth to the end for nothing hence she wanted to live her own life now, the lines in the dark in between day 47-50 are literally her begging to be noticed one last time:

LC essayist: but we literally can't know Angela's personal motivation until ruina she has never once showed her motivation and she was supposed to be hated by the narrative always and forever in LC

[aquilacalvitium]

I will forever talk about how I strongly believe that George Banks is autistic

I mean a fair bit of it boils down to him being an Edwardian Gentleman who must keep up appearances and social status, but an autistic guy can dream, right?

I mean his first on-screen appearance is him singing a song about how structured and orderly his life is and how he values everything he does being so perfectly on-time.

Arriving home at one minute past six, his slippers, sherry and pipe at two minutes past, and his children preparing for their bath and evening tea at three minutes past. The following morning he insists that the nannies be let in at exactly eight o'clock, not a minute before. This is all indicative of a need for schedule and routine.

The morning after, he is complaining about noise and of having a headache. At one point he bursts out in anger and proceeds to gripe about little things that don't even matter such as the piano being out of tune - despite the fact that he doesn't even play the piano. This, to me, screams sensory overload. Instances of too much noise and/or light giving one a headache and sometimes causing outbursts of anger.

When lecturing Mary Poppins in A British Bank (the Life I Lead), he's clearly trying to convince Mary to give his children different outings that would be more "useful" to their development rather than "frivolities." This is read by both Mary and Winnifred as him insisting that he should be the one to take them on an outing. This, I believe, is a good example of neurotypical people reading into statements for meaning that isn't there, while the autistic person is trying to be upfront and hiding very little in their words. Hence his confusion when Mary insists that he take the children out in the morning., having missed the insinuation in his own words.

AND. During A Man Has Dreams (The Life I Lead), George laments the lack of order and routine in his life since Mary Poppins walked in, seemingly rather distressed about the thought. Heck, he even takes Bert's words "it changes bread and water into tea and cakes" literally, assuming that that has indeed happened.

It finally takes Bert figuratively sitting down with him and talking him through things to get his head around what he needed to do. He wasn't able to take any hints that his children needed him in their lives more, and needed Bert to tell him straight-up. During his walk back to the bank, he takes the time to look around more rather than walk, and we can see by the look on his face that Bert's words are sinking in.

A few less solid arguments.

A little something I noticed, is that in the office of the bank, George attempts to make a joke; "this made the tea unsuitable for drinking, even for Americans." This could potentially be read as a small example of an inappropriate reaction to a social situation, then again it could simply be him attempting to relieve some tension in the room.

After being sacked and being overcome with glee, he skips off and begins to sing. He is once again seen singing the following morning when he greets Winnifred, presumably meaning that he has kept up this demeanour and the singing most of the night. This could be seen as an instance of stimming. Maybe.

TL;DR: George Banks greatly values structure and routine, suffers from sensory overload and requires being spoken to plainly in order to understand some things.

[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!

[apricotgojo]

hello! I was wondering if I could request a kinda spicy kinda not spicy chat noir x reader fic? It can literally be about anything you want. Please and ty❤️❤️

AHHH I’M SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT BUT I FINALLY WROTE IT !  Thank you for the submission anon! <333 i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope you enjoy it! 

Ship: Chat Noir x Reader 

Warnings! : SEMI-NSFW, all characters are aged up here!, swearing!

Tags: enemies to lovers?? ;))

“merde.”

That was the first word you hear that caused you to open your eyes. Your head was hurting and your whole body ached. You rubbed your eyes and sat up on the cold floor beneath you.

You saw Chat Noir sitting, slumped in front of you with his head resting back against the wall.

Great he was here too. You guys didn’t really get along, mostly because he tried to flirt with you on the first day he saw you and you didn’t want to put up with his shit because you knew he did that to every girl he saw. You both started growing pissy with each other since that day.                                                                                                       now you were stuck with him in this dark, humid room.

where were you guys? most importantly what happened that got you both here? you furrow your eyebrows as you try to recall what happened. All you can remember was Ladybug giving you the bat miraculous to fight along side them again. Then you went near the Louvre where the villain was and both you and Chat Noir made a run towards him. that’s all you could remember.

“You’re finally awake.” You hear him croak.

You snap out of your thoughts and look at him. His blond hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat and his chest was moving up and down with every deep break he took. He looked hot. wait, what no he didn’t why are you thinking that? “what happened?” You ask him. You couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of him and your body felt warm. Too warm.

“the villain knocked us out with his power and Lady locked us up in this room until she changes everything back to normal.” He says and slides a note to you. You grab the note and begin to read it.

Hi guys. You were both hit by the villain and got knocked out. I had to put you both in this room and lock you in here until I change everything. Don’t worry Rena is here to help me. Whatever you do, don’t give in to certain thoughts and fight against urges. -Ladybug.

You furrow your eyebrows. fight against urges? What power did this villain have?

“I don’t know why she’s keeping us locked in here, I mean, I’m awake now so everything must be fine,right?” You say as you get up from the floor and walk to the door. You feel a hand grab yours and turn around to see Chat Noir in front of you. His cheeks were a deep crimson colour. “Not so fast, bat.” He whispers. “His power wasn’t just to knock us out.” He says.

You look down, your eyes fixated on his body. Your body starts burning you. why the fuck was it so hot in there?

“T-Then what is it?” You ask, looking up at him again and noticing how big his pupils have become.

“Hawkmoth gave him to power to make people uncontrollably aroused.” He states, looking down at your lips. oh.

This is what ladybug meant by fighting your urges.

You instantly pull back from him and scoff.

“as if, I’d ever be aroused at the sight of you.” You say and cross your arms over your chest, turning around and giving your back to him. You were lying, you knew that every time you looked at him you could feel your body burning and aching for his touch.

You gulp and sit back down where you were, trying your best not to look at him.

“Yeah because it’s not like you want to rip all my clothes off and suck me dry whenever you look at me, it’s just cause you hate me right?” He says, chuckling dryly.

You instantly feel your cheeks heat up at his words and your legs close together. fight the urge. fight the urge. fight the urge. that’s what you kept telling yourself but god you needed some type of release so bad.

“What is it now, Chat got your tongue?” You hear him whisper in your ear and your head instantly turns to face him.

How did he get there?

Your faces were inches apart. Your lips were both parted, your cheeks both red and your breathing increased with every passing second that you stared down at his pink lips. They were a deep shade of pink, mostly because he was biting them so much because of the frustration. You look down at his body again, the bulge in his suit was evident and it made you rub your thighs together even more. You knew he wanted it as bad as you.

But why him? You hoped that when Ladybug reverted the damage done by the villain, you wouldn’t remember this at all. But maybe the attraction to him was always there.

But you never wanted it this bad before in your life.

Fucking akuma.

Your body moves without you realizing and you end up straddling him, catching him off guard. His hands move to your thighs for support and you swear that it took everything you had in you to repress the moan you wanted to let out simply because he touched your body.

“Shut up, kitty.” You say, your noses touching and your hand running through his hair.

You felt vibrations emerging from his chest as he rolled his eyes back. He was purring.

Holy shit. You wanted to remember this moment just to be able to tease him afterwards. You couldn’t take it anymore. This stupid teasing. Ladybug’s voice started speaking in the back of your head.

Don’t give in to certain thoughts.

It’s your fault for locking us up In here together Ladybug so, fuck you.

You move closer to his face and lick his lips gently and slowly.

You feel his grip on your thighs tighten.

“Holy shit, we can’t do this.” He breathes out while you start kissing down his jaw.

“why not kitty?” you mumble against his skin.

“Because I don’t think I want to forget it.”

“Maybe we wont.” You whisper and look up at him with half lidded eyes.

And with that, he crashes his lips onto yours.

It was pure bliss.

Just what you needed. Just what your body was aching for.

Okay, maybe your body did want more but this was something that gave you that hint of satisfaction.

Your lips moved in sync and your hands wouldn’t stop running through his hair.

Your bodies started moving together, both eager to get any type of friction, any type of satisfaction. God you needed him so bad that it was painful.

The room was filled with lewd noises you made while you kissed and small grunts and moans that escaped your lips.

You wanted more and at this point you couldn’t think straight anymore.

A hand moved from his hair down to his shoulder. You gripped it a bit for support before making your way to the bell on his neck. You fiddled with his bell before you noticed something behind it. A zipper. Jackpot.

You felt his teeth bite your lower lip and you let out a soft whimper. You gripped the zipper and began to slowly pull it down.

You froze when you felt a gust of wind overcome you.

A surge of pain went through your head and you shut your eyes. you opened your eyes again and realized that you were on top of Chat Noir.

What the fuck? You fell on your ass and rubbed your head. “What the hell happened?” He asks scratching his head.

You were about to respond until you hear footsteps and the door unlocking to reveal Ladybug and Rena Rouge 

“Are you guys ok-“ She stops and looks at both of you, her eyes wide.

You furrow your eyebrows and look at Chat who has his hair disheveled and his lips red. Little red marks were peppered from his jaw, down to his neck and then it hit you like a truck.

Holy shit.

“Oh my god do you think they-?” Rena didn’t finish her sentence and started chuckling.

“we what?” Chat asked, confusion filling his voice.

Ladybug shook her head and laughed nervously. “Nothing, the villain knocked both of you guys out and we put you here for your safety.” She says and grabs the sticky note from the floor, crumbling it in her hand.

“You guys don’t remember anything right?” Rena asks, smirking.

Chat shakes his head and gets up.

But you did remember everything.

[troubatrain]

runaway - n. patrick

a/n: happy sunday here’s som midday filth i wrote today? i think i might make this a little series (where all the fics sort of connect) but i have decided yet so tell me if you want more! big shoutout to @hookingminor​ for letting me dump ideas in her DMs. Also tagging @texanstarslove​ for encouraging me to expand on this blurb i wrote yesterday! hope you guys like it :)

warning : smut - it’s literally just smut

part two

You were running away if you could even count making a grand escape from Boston to Philadelphia to your brother’s place. You had submitted your final paper in your dorm at Boston College, packing your bags and loading your car in what should have been the direction home. Instead, while you were packing your ex had posted a picture with his new girlfriend, and you felt like an idiot. You couldn’t believe it, gossiping to your friends that you’d slept with him a week ago and you were so sure you were getting back together. Now, you were just heartbroken and when you needed an escape - there was always Kevin.

So you drove in the direction of Philly, calling your big brother on the way down to tell him you were on your way. Kevin was in California, but told you to come regardless, worried about his little sister. You drove in silence, your mind racing for hours, finally pulling in front of Kevin’s building a little after nine. Philly was cold, but nothing compared to the cold December temperatures you were used to. You let yourself into his place, grateful for the key you kept the last time you came for a visit. The place was dark, and you stepped into the kitchen in search of any food.

“Hey Boston.”

You jump, letting out a small yelp and almost falling to the floor. You turn around to meet Nolan’s eyes, a smirk on his face while he stifles a laugh. You huff, crossing your arms and raising your eyebrows at him, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I live here, what the fuck are you doing here?” Nolan scoffs, looking at you like you’d completely lose your mind. Nolan wouldn’t have told another soul, but he was happy to see you. Kevin would murder him if he ever let it slip, but Nolan wanted to do absolutely filthy things to you. So Nolan settled on teasing you, because if you thought he didn’t like you then he wouldn’t have to cross that line.

“If you really must know, I didn’t want to go home and tell my parents all about my ex boyfriend’s new girlfriend,” You mutter, holding in your tears because Nolan didn’t need to see you cry. You were almost sure he hated you, and you didn’t know why. Nolan was pretty nice to everyone, especially when your family came into town. Kevin loved him, and constantly bragged about his roommate, but Nolan gave you shit all the time.

Nolan let out a deep breath, processing your words and the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes and he wanted to fix it. He wanted to throw his arms around you, and hold you until it all felt okay but that was a slippery slope for Nolan, “Go put your stuff in the guest room, I’ll get us something to eat.”

You emerged a little while later, your hair wet from a warm shower and an oversized t-shirt hanging from your frame, covering the shorts you had on. You pad into the living room, sitting on the opposite side of the couch as Nolan, tucking your knees into your chest. You looked frail like someone had taken your already broken heart and snapped it again.

“Pizza should be here soon,” Nolan whispers, looking over at you with sad eyes. He looked warm, a hoodie covering his hair that was longer since the last time you saw him, “You-”

“Want to smoke?” You both let out the question at the same time, laughing when you realized what you did. That was the one thing you and Nolan seemed to bond about, smoking with Kevin was awful because his voice seemed to echo afterwards and it was too much for the both of you. Nolan got up, disappearing for a second and reappearing with a joint already rolled in his hand.

“All you Boston,” Nolan drops them in your hands, and you roll your eyes that his dumb nickname for you. You put the joint between your lips, sparking the end and letting the smoke slip through your lips.

“Shut up baby cat,” You tease, coughing from the smoke and smirking at Nolan. Nolan takes the joint from your hand, taking a hit and letting the smoke fall from his lips.

“You don’t get to call me that,” Nolan teases, a hazy smile on his face when he looks over at you, “Feeling any better?”

“I will be when-” You go to tell him that when the pizza was here everything would be fine, and as if you were magic the doorbell buzzed to let you know your delivery was here. You make a surprised face, looking at Nolan to see if he was nearly as excited as you were, but he was just laughing at your face.

You devoured the pizza, the both of curing your munchies and settling on whatever garbage reality show was on at the time. It was a comfortable silence inching over closer and closer to Nolan as time went on, before you knew it, you were practically curled into his side. You were busy on your phone, instagram stalking your ex’s new girlfriend to compare every part of you to her.

Nolan looked down at you, furrowing his eyebrows until he figured out what you were doing. Your head was against his shoulder while you looked at who he assumed was your ex’s new girl. He sighs, taking your phone out of your hand and tossing it on the other side of the couch.

“Nolan what the fuck was that for?” You ask, raising your voice and giving Nolan a look.

“Stop comparing yourself to that girl,” Nolan huffs, his voice deep from exhaustion while he stares at you. He thinks for a moment, carefully mulling over his next words because he had one chance not to fuck this up, “You’re fucking perfect.”

“Yeah okay,” You snort, rolling your eyes and sitting up next to Nolan, “Don’t even look at me and tell if you had a choice you wouldn’t choose her.”

Your voice was shaking, and you didn’t know what answer you were expecting, Nolan was only nice to you because you were Kevin’s sister. There wasn’t any other reason Nolan Patrick would give you the time of day. Nolan's eyes were staring into yours and he rubbed a hand over his jaw while he thought. His lips pressed against your jaw pressing feather light kisses against your skin while Nolan mumbled.

I’d choose you anyday.

You’re so beautiful baby.

Only you.

His lips were ghosting over yours, your eyes closed, just waiting for him to finally close the gap between the two of you, “Kiss me Nolan.”

Nolan’s lips on yours was pure ecstasy, like every part of your body was on fire. Nolan pulled onto his lap and you straddle his hips, grinding down on him while letting out a whimper when his hand smacked your ass lightly. Nolan’s lips were on your neck, leaving a mark you know you were going to have to cover later, “Y/N-”

Nolan’s voice was deep, and your name falling from his lips instead of that stupid nickname was enough to make you wet. Your hands found the ends of Nolan’s hair, tugging on him slightly causing him to groan underneath you. Nolan pulls away, looking up at you with swollen lips, and you’d never looked better. His hands were under your shirt, your skin soft under his calloused fingertips and legs wrapped around his waist while he grew hard underneath you. He slipped a hand into your shorts, ghosting over your core with his fingers.

“Please,” You plead, pressing a kiss against Nolan’s jaw. You needed a release, someone to make you feel special even if you never spoke of this again. Nolan was a hockey player and you’d been around enough to know how easy it would be for this to be a one and done thing, “I’ll be a good girl.”

That was all it took for Nolan to slip his finger under your panties and rub a circle over your clit. You roll your hips in his, desperate for any sort of friction, “Mmm I thought you were going to be good? You’ve got to be patient princess.”

You nod, pouting and looking at Nolan who was smirking at you. He grabs your thighs, standing up and carrying you into his bedroom. You fell back on the mattress, grabbing Nolan’s neck and pulling his lips back onto yours. He slipped your panties and shorts off one swift motion, leaving them to be forgotten about. You pulled of your shirt, and Nolan stops, his eyes wandering down your body, “Nol-”

“This is better than I imagined, god you’re perfect,” Nolan hums, his hands slowly moving down your body. He finally hooks your legs over his broad shoulders, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “You’re sure about this?”

“Nolan your head is between my thighs I think I’m sure,” You tease, kicking him in the back lightly. Nolan nods, flicking your clit with his tongue, pulling a moan from your body. It was everything he ever wanted to hear. His grip on your thighs tightened, his nails digging into your skin while he teased your entrance, “Nolan, fuck-”

Nolan’s lips wrap around your clit, slipping in a finger and curling it to hit your g-spot. Your hips lifted off the mattress, grinding against Nolan’s lips while he fingered you. You were close, curses and moans leaving your mouth because there were no other thoughts running through your head other than how good Nolan was making you feel.

“I know your close baby, c’mon,” Nolan growls against your pussy, sending you over the edge. You let you a yelp, your orgasm overcoming you while Nolan fingered you through your high. You ran your hands through his hair while you caught your breath, Nolan pressing kisses into your thighs. He didn’t give you much downtime, grabbing a condom from his bedside drawer and kicking off his sweats. You played with your clit, watching Nolan roll the condom over his cock and your pussy dripped in anticipation.

“I want to cum to all over your cock,” You whimper, Nolan finally sliding inside of you. He was big and the feeling was sensational. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, snapping his hips into you while you screamed underneath him, “Harder.���

Nolan was in euphoria, his name was leaving your lips like a prayer, begging him to absolutely ruin you. This was Nolan’s dirtiest fantasy, from the moment Kevin introduced him to his little sister with a threat for Nolan to keep his grimy little hands off of you. His hands were all over you now, gripping your hips while he fucked you, sure to leave bruises in his wake. Nolan’s hand ghosted over your neck, and you let out a deep breath at the contact, “Can I?”

“Fuck, yes,” You nod, letting Nolan’s large hand wrap around your throat. His was using you for leverage, fucking you into his mattress while you let out moans underneath him, “Fuck I’m close-”

“Be a good girl and cum for me,” Nolan spat, teeth grazing your jaw while he watched you fall apart underneath him. He let go of the grip on your throat, giving you no time to rest before his strokes got faster. He needed to chase his high, spilling into the condom while you shook from the aftershocks of your own. Nolan stayed inside you for a minute, his head in your neck while you watched the sweat that was glistening on his forehead. You ran a finger through his hair, wondering what the fallout from this was going to be.

“That was,” Nolan stops, muttering against your skin because he was speechless. The wasn’t just good, it was mind blowing, and the temptation to do it again might be a problem for him, “That was fucking incredible Boston.”

“Sure was,” You breathe out, picking Nolan’s head up and pressing your lips to his. You made out lazily for a while, basking in the post sex glow before you knew you were going to have to kick Nolan out. Kevin would be back in the morning, and if he caught you in bed with his teammate Nolan wouldn’t live to see another day.

“We should do this again sometime?” Nolan asks, watching you collect your clothes from his room. He wanted you to stay, sleeping under his arm in his bed where you should have, but he knew he was playing with fire. You look at him, a smirk on your face and a blush on your cheeks.

“You just might get lucky twice Nolan.”

And Nolan hoped he would...

[mandoclan]

SWEET HOME KENTUCKY // Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x F!Reader

A/N: 14.8k. Yes, this is a spinoff of Sweet Home Alabama. I love that movie and I love Whiskey, so here you go! This is Jack Daniels x Female!Reader, but there’s no Y/N mention (unless I missed one).

Warnings: Character Death (mentioned in passing), Fluff, Angst, Divorce, Physical Abuse (a punch and a tight grip), Drinking, Drunkenness, (basically, if you’ve seen the movie, I’ve deviated but no more than normal).

She still dreamed about that night. The one where Jack took her out to the meadow behind his mama’s house and told her he wanted to marry her one day. To which she asked, “Why would you want to marry me for anyhow?” and he replied, “So I can kiss you anytime I want.” Her first kiss. Her first love. And they were only twelve at the time.

It didn’t come as a shock to her when Jack had asked her to marry him right out of high school. She was his first love, after all, and Jack swore he’d loved her since before he ever kissed her in that meadow. But then he never showed up to their reception because he was still drunk from his “bachelor party” the night before, he was always gone on missions and attempted to stop her from doing the same even when they worked for the same intelligence agency, and she eventually got shot in the head in a mission gone wrong, resulting in medical having to use Alpha-gel on her to bring her back.

That fatal injury had broken her and it had broken Jack too. He hadn’t been able to protect his own wife when she was his partner, and that killed him inside. After that, he became almost overbearing in his protectiveness and you’d eventually asked Champagne for a transfer after a whole year of turmoil in your home, explosive fights, and missions spent arguing. Champ loved you and Jack like his own kids and wanted you and your husband to fix this, but he did as you asked and you’d transferred to New York without telling Jack with the instructions that if he were to ask that Champ would tell him that you were safe and in another Statesman office.

That’s where you found yourself now, leading the New York office after the last agent had retired. You’d built up your reputation from scratch, leading missions and directing agents in the Northeast region of the United States. You kept in touch with Champ barely, but it had been seven years since you left Kentucky. You refused to even think about Jack unless you were sending another copy of the divorce papers or unless you had that damn dream about the meadow again.

You woke to the sound of your office door opening, and you lifted your head from the desk you occupied on the top floor.

“How come you let me sleep?” You grumbled to your assistant when he stepped into the room with a mug of coffee and a mission report from one of your top operatives.

“You needed it, boss, but it was only for a few minutes. Long enough for me to grab your coffee and fetch the report from downstairs.” He shrugged. “Y’know, that accent of yours gets a whole lot thicker when you’re dreaming.”

That boy had the audacity to smirk before you narrowed your eyes at him.

“And what exactly did I say?” You demanded.

“That I’m gonna get a raise when you realize how awesome I am.”

“We’ll see how good your coffee skills are, then.” You laughed, finally smiling at him through your exhaustion. In all reality, you liked this kid. He’d just been assigned to you and hadn’t earned his agent name yet, but you had a feeling he would do just fine and you already had plans to promote him come next quarter.

“Enjoy.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, “I’ll see you tomorrow for that meeting in the conference room, alright?”

The kid agreed and you nodded at him before making your way to the elevators.

Your apartment on the lower levels of the Statesman New York building was modest, but well-lived in. You’d wanted to make it seem as much like home as possible. This time, however, your apartment wasn’t as empty as usual. The entire entryway and living room were filled with rose petals and rose bouquets in glasses of water.

“Goddamn that man,” you swore, stepping around the petals and heading to the panel you had on the wall where an orange light was blinking, signifying you had a waiting message. A button was pressed and suddenly your boyfriend’s voice filled the room.

“There’s a rose for every moment I thought of you last night. God, you must be exhausted. Sweetie, listen, I’ll see you tomorrow at our meeting. You’ll do great. I love you. Bye.” The message ended and you rolled your eyes before heading over to the largest of the bouquets.

You loved your boyfriend, Agent Rum, but this was too much. You hated huge, sappy gestures like this and he knew it, but you supposed it was a bit sweet. Very few other ladies you knew had such attentive men at their sides and Jack had never done anything remotely like this. A sharp breath was inhaled in an attempt to nix that thought from your mind before you headed to your front door and made your way to the ladies’ dorms. You left an embarrassingly big bouquet in front of each door and sighed in satisfaction once you’d swept up and removed most of the flowers in your apartment.

_________________________________________________________________

The meeting you’d scheduled came sooner than you’d liked, this being a collaboration between the Texas office and your own New York one. Rum walked in and kissed your forehead before the meeting could even start and you smiled at him. He could always brighten your day in an instant.

“Thanks for the flowers, babe.” You smiled at him, squeezing his hand in yours. He grinned, asking if you really liked them, and kissed you before sitting in his spot along with a few of your other agents. You both slipped on your glasses and started the meeting, knowing that you could talk properly once the collaboration was agreed upon.

It felt like hours went by before all positions were assigned and the intel was decided upon. You groaned once you were able to remove the glasses needed to see everyone in their remote locations, rubbing your temples. Hands were felt on your shoulders, and you knew it was Rum. Your glasses blinked a light on the side and you sighed, placing them back on your face.

The blinking was due to a message from Agent AppleJack, one of your own agents whom you’d taken a shine to and often spent weekends going about the city with. She was a nice girl from Maine who had an affinity for seafood you couldn’t quite get behind, but you’d consider her one of the closest friends you had in this city.

“Please tell me he has a flaw somehow.” She had typed out. You rolled your eyes before moving your eyes on the on-screen keyboard to type a reply.

“He asked me to go to California for Christmas.”

“He’s gonna ask you a lot more than that,” was her reply.

“You think so?” You were suddenly nervous. You’d only been dating Rum for six months and your divorce still wasn’t finalized.

“Sweetie, let’s go for a walk.” Rum took you from your conversation, and you nodded, slipping the glasses back off your face. “You’re so stressed, but you did so well today.”

You both made your way to the elevator, hand in hand, and eventually you meandered around Central Park just talking about your jobs and how your last missions went. You rarely went on them anymore, but you made sure that Rum had as many as he liked to keep him happy.

“So have you made a decision?” He finally asked, bright eyes boring into yours.

“About what?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“California.”

“Babe, California? That’s four months from now. We don’t even have to decide right now because we can literally jump on any jet we have and go within 6 hours if we want.”

“I was thinking maybe 200 guests, tops.” Rum continued in his words, but you stopped him with a pull to his hand.

“For Christmas?” You asked, still very confused. “Rum, are you on some kind of medication I don’t know about? Should I take you off of field duty for a bit? Did you get shot or something?”

All of a sudden, Rum was kneeling in front of you in the middle of a pathway in Central Park, and everything finally made sense. He held a diamond ring in his hand, the light hitting it just right and you gasped.

“Brandy, and I should probably know your real name by now, will you marry me?”

“Are you sure? Because if you’re not sure we can just go back to work and forget all about this. It’s only been six months.” You floundered, not even sure what to say, but he looked so hopeful and you really did love him.

“Brandy, I love you. I didn’t come by this decision lightly, and I really hope you’ll say yes. I want to build a life with you.” Rum stood, looking you right in your eyes. “So, I’ll ask again. Brandy, will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice and felt the ring slip on your finger. It felt strange, another ring being there, but you were suddenly overcome with joy that your life was finally falling into place and you had a man who loved you and wanted to build a life with you. That’s all you could ask for. So you kissed him.

He grinned once you’d let yourselves out of his arms and released him from your kiss, hand reaching for his agency-issue watch.

“I’ve got to tell my family.” He gushed, “Wait until you see the look on the guy’s faces!”

“Babe, do you mind if we keep this to ourselves for a while? With this collaboration mission with Texas happening and everything else, I’d rather just keep this quiet for a bit.”

“You don’t want to tell your family?” Rum asked, a bit confused. You cursed yourself in your mind because he didn’t know. The only person close to being a family to you was Champ, and you hadn’t really talked to him in ages. Close to seven years, actually, which was downright awful. The guilt gnawed at you.

“Sunshine, I don’t really, um, have a family.” You stated calmly, fingers soothing the back of his hand as he pulled a face.

“But—” he started.

“I have a mentor who I looked up to as a father, but I haven’t seen him in about seven years. I think I should tell him in person.”

“Okay, whatever you want, sweetie. I’m happy as long as you’re happy.” Rum smiled, and you sighed in relief.

“He’ll love you, eventually.” You reassured him.

_________________________________________________________________

First thing the next morning, you caught a plane down to Kentucky and found yourself driving along the battered country roads to the little farmhouse where you and Jack used to live. Your watch buzzed with an incoming call, but you didn’t answer, knowing it was AppleJack. You’d fill her in later.

You parked the car next to the oak tree that still held your swing. A dog came rushing down the steps, howling at you, but you didn’t mind. It was your dog, after all. A tall man in heavy work boots busted out the door, hollering at the dog and telling you that “he don’t really bite.”

The man looked at you without really seeing you, seeing only a woman in worn out cowboy boots and aviators covering much of her face. Her hair was different, so she didn’t really expect him to recognize her.

“What can I do for you?” The man drawled in his southern accent. You shuddered, not forgetting the way that voice sounded when you were in bed together at all times of day or night.

“Well, for starters, you can get your stubborn ass down here and give me a divorce.” You snapped, pulling the sunglasses off your face. Jack’s eyes widened once your words registered. “C’mon, Jack, I mean it. The joke’s over. We need to finish this so I can get back to my office and take care of my job.”

“You’re shittin’ me, right?” Jack spluttered.

You finally got a good look at him. He had shaving cream on the side of his face as if he hadn’t got a chance to finish before your hound was howling, but he’d kept his mustache. You hated to say that he looked good, but it was the truth. The years had been kind to him.

“You know, I’ve never actually understood that expression, but no, I’m not “shitting” you.” You groaned, pulling a packet of papers out of the glovebox of your rented truck and spreading them out in the bed. “Look, it’s even got these idiot proof tabs so you can’t mess this up. I’ve got one copy for you and I both and one for my lawyer. So c’mon.”

When you looked up at him again, he didn’t say anything but he certainly looked like he had quite a few things to say.

“Well?” You demanded, irritated that he wasn’t coming down off the porch to sign the papers like you’d asked him to.

“You show up here after seven years without so much as a ‘Hey there, Jack, remember me? Your wife?’ Or a “Hi, honey, lookin’ good! How’s the family?’” He had the audacity to laugh, finally stepping closer to the edge of the porch.

“You expect me to tell you that you look good? Bless your heart. Sweetheart, we’ve been separated for seven years. I’ve had it with your bullshit.”

“They like that attitude wherever it is you’ve been?”

“Cut the crap, Jack. You knew where I was. Champ told me you accessed my records.” You spat, moving closer to the porch. “And don’t you dare tell me you’ve spent all this time missing me.”

“Oh I missed you alright, but I’ve been going to the range more and practicing so my aim’s gotten a lot better.” He drawled, leaning against the railing.

“Is that a threat, Jack? I’ve got a lawyer who charges me an arm and a leg. He charged me every time you sent these damn papers back without your signature on the dotted lines.” You lifted the papers as you spoke, but he scoffed at you.

“Well, I’m glad to see you got the message.” He smirked, going to say something else but you were both cut off by the dog howling again due to your hostile tones.

“Shut up, Coal!” You shouted, but Jack shouted a different name. “What happened to my dog, Jack?”

“He died. You weren’t here.” He grumbled, turning to go back into the ranch house. You stood there in shock for a second before realizing what he was doing.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I’m leaving!” He shouted, back turned to you, “You done it, so you should recognize the process. I need to finish shaving my damn beard.”

“Jack, can we please just keep this civilized? For God’s sake, we’re both adults and agents. Please just sign the papers so I can go back home.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. This was a mistake, you thought. He wasn’t going to sign the papers.

“What do you know from home?” Jack spit, finally turning around to face you, fire in his eyes. “Hell, I bet Champ doesn’t even know you’re here, does he? That old man took you under his wing and trained you himself and you have the audacity to avoid him like he’s some annoyance?”

“That’s my business, Jack, so you stay out of it.”

“Honey, he’s the only family you got.”

“Don’t you ‘honey’ me, honey!” If looks could kill, he’d have died about ten times by now with the murderous look you were giving him.

“Get your ass back in that truck, drive over and see him, and maybe we’ll talk after.” Jack demanded, pointing his finger at your vehicle. He was headed back inside before you could even think, and you started shouting at him as you followed him up the porch.

“Jack, you idiotic, stubborn, no good agent! The only reason you won’t sign these papers is because I want you to!” You yelled, hands on the doorknob of the windowed door he’d just slammed in your face and locked.

“Wrong!” He shouted, trying to pull the blinds on the door that he could never get figured out. “The only reason I ain’t signin’ is because you’ve turned into some hoity-toity, wine-drinking, Yankee bitch and I’d like nothing better right now than to piss you off!”

He finally maneuvered the blinds mostly over the door as you dashed to the back of the house, but he locked that too before you had a chance to get there in time. He could hear your frustrated shout from outside and he chuckled in disbelief before heading to his bathroom to get rid of the rest of his beard.

“Divorce, my ass.” He grumbled. Jack came out two minutes later, wiping his face with a towel to find you lounging on his bed. He froze.

“Hey genius,” you smirked, anger still evident in your eyes. “Next time you wanna lock somebody out, make sure they don’t know where the spare key is.” You waved the offending object in the air, and Whiskey made a mad dash for it but you closed your fist before he could snatch it.

“Knew I should’ve changed those damn locks. It’d be nice if my wife had told me where the spare key was!” He growled.

“I’m not your wife anymore, Jack.” You said softly, “I’m just the first girl that climbed in the back of your truck. But you’re right, I have changed. I don’t even know the girl you married anymore.”

“Then let me remind you.” Jack sneered before grabbing his cell phone and heading back into his bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Ten minutes later, Jack popped his head out of the bathroom.

“You bring any clothes with stripes on ‘em?” He asked, and you looked at him in confusion.

Red and blue lights flashed through the windows suddenly and your eyes widened.

“You called the sheriff?!” You gasped, jumping off the bed you used to share with the man looking at you with a satisfied grin on his face. “You know that old bastard hates me!”

“For good reason!” Jack shouted, still in the bathroom.

You made to run for the back door, but it opened to reveal a man you knew.

“Well, hell’s bells!” The man grinned, “If it isn’t our favorite Agent Brandy!”

“Tequila?”

“Hot damn girl, did we miss you! The agency wasn’t the same without you!” Tequila laughed, picking you up and giving you the biggest hug you’d gotten in a long time.

“I can’t believe you’re the sheriff!” You pulled on his badge for a second and knocked his cowboy hat off kilter to mess with him.

“Yep, I get to frisk pretty things like you all day and get paid for it.” Tequila put his hands around your waist and you slapped his chest.

“Aaron, can you try and be at least a little more professional? We got us a crime suspect here.” Jack emerged from the bathroom and you were struck with the fact that you hadn’t known Tequila’s real name until that moment. You quickly snapped back into it, though.

“Now, Brandy, you can’t just go breaking into your ex’s house whenever you feel like it, no matter how much they might deserve it.” Tequila—Aaron, you had to remember that—said.

“I didn’t break in. I used a key. My key, if you must know.” You snorted. Clearly, “Aaron” didn’t know that y’all were still married.

“Well, it still ain’t your house, Brandy. I’m gonna have to escort you out.” Aaron made to take your wrist in his hand, but you pulled away and grabbed the divorce papers you still had with you. You waved them as you heard Jack tell Aaron to use the cuffs on you.

“If you can get that asshole to sign these papers, I’ll let you run me out of town.” You smirked and Aaron laughed at your antics.

“Now that’s none of your concern, Aaron, you hear me?” Jack started, but Aaron was already taking the papers from you to look over.

“Well, what do you know. A bill of divorcement?” He asked. You nodded, and Aaron turned to Jack. “Hell, Jack, I thought you took care of this.”

“I thought I did!” Jack protested.

“Obviously not! Well, if y’all are still married, it’s her house too. This here ain’t nothin’ but a domestic dispute.” Aaron handed the papers back to you, and you smiled at him.

“He didn’t hit you, did he? If he took a swing at you, I’ll take him in right now.” Aaron told you quietly, out of earshot of your husband. You shook your head, because no, that man had never harmed you in ways that were physical. He’d only wounded your heart.

“No, he never hit me.” You replied quietly. Aaron nodded.

“Well, seems y’all got some catching up to do, so I’m gonna leave y’all to it. There’s nobody for miles, so Jack here can make ya scream all he likes.” Aaron winked at Jack, and you shouted in indignation. “G’night, lovebirds!”

“Aaron, I saved your life at least four times back in your Statesman years! You owe me!” Jack shouted, rushing to follow the sheriff’s retreating figure. He wanted you gone from his house in handcuffs if that’s what it took to get you to leave him alone about those divorce papers that he didn’t want to sign.

“Why can’t you just sign the damn papers, Jack?” You yelled after him, and he fixed you with the nastiest stare you’d seen in a long time.

“Listen, Jack. There’s nothing I can do. Your wife’s done nothing wrong, so I can’t just haul her in for nothing. Y’hear me?” Aaron blocked the doorway with his large frame as he lifted his hands in mock surrender.

“I suppose shoplifting steaks at the grocery store’s okay.” Jack spat.

“I took ‘em back and you know it!” You screeched back.

“You remember that vandalism out at the stockyard? Totally her!”

“Like I could tip a cow by myself at sixteen.” You growled, and Jack groaned. He couldn’t hit you with anything from your Statesman years either because that was all “classified information” you didn’t have to answer to. But Jack got an idea.

“Hey Aaron, isn’t there some outstanding warrant for whoever dumped your old man’s tractor in the fish pond?” Jack smirked triumphantly, making eye contact with your horrified expression. And then the cuffs were on your wrists and you were making your merry way to the county jail in the back of his cruiser.

“Now you know I didn’t have a choice, sweetheart.” Aaron smiled ruefully once y’all reached the station. He’d ended up hauling you off in cuffs just like Jack wanted and you were seething.

“This all could have been avoided if he’d just signed those damn papers.” You grumbled. “Can I make a call?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. You’ll get a couple minutes once I book ya.”

You rolled your eyes, taking the photos Aaron needed to do for “legal purposes.”

“You know that’s gonna get wiped once I make my call, right?” Aaron had the audacity to laugh, knowing exactly who you were going to call.

“I know. Tell big daddy I miss him.” Aaron pointed towards the phone.

It rang for a few seconds before a secretary's voice filtered on, saying the usual crap the Statesman company was supposed to yodel on about.

“Hi, I’ve got a word for you, lady.” You spit out, “Lemon drops suck.” You heard the operator say something about holding on for a moment and then a familiar voice was asking who you were.

“Champ! It’s Brandy,” you shouted, “Listen, I need a favor.”

“Name it, darling. You know I’d do anything for you and that wonderful husband of yours.” He drawled on for a moment and you smacked the phone receiver into the box.

“I need you to pick me up.”

“Well, where are ya? I’ll send a car or whatever it is you need.”

“That’s the thing. I’m in town. But, I need you to come get me from the jail.” You said after a moment. A groan came through the receiver and you winced.

“Alright, darling, I’ll be right there. I’m assuming it’s the usual one, then?”

“Yeah.”

Fifteen minutes later, the man himself was strolling through the door.

“I’m here for my girl, Tequila.” Champ rolled his eyes at you once he saw you waving. He had you out and your record erased within five minutes, and then you were back in his familiar old truck that smelled like whiskey and gunpowder. He accepted a muttered thank you while you drove off towards the Statesman offices.

“So what put you in jail this time?” Champ finally asked.

“Jack and his big, fat mouth.” You grumbled. “It was just a misunderstanding, that’s all.”

“Kinda like that wedding I officiated, huh, darling?” You refused to make eye contact.

“I would hardly call that a wedding.”

“The boy was nervous.” Champ chuckled.

“He was still drunk from the night before!”

“Can you blame him?”

“Yes, I can! We’re supposed to be professional agents and he goes and gets piss drunk the night before we’re supposed to get married. I went to the reception by myself with his puke on the side of my dress while he slept it off at the hotel. And you’re still siding with him!”

“I ain’t siding with nobody, so get rid of that idea. Y’all two are my best agents and I need you both.” Champ stated firmly. “The boy’s changed is all.”

“Can we just not talk about Jack? I know he’s like the son you never had, but you also called me your daughter and all that, so can you just ask me what’s new with me or something instead?”

“Sure. Shoot.” Champ looked disinterested, and you had the feeling that he’d kept up with you better than you’d kept up with him. Curse the archives for always spilling your secrets before you ever could.

“I met somebody. And he’s quite a catch.” You started, and Champ raised an eyebrow beneath his larger than life cowboy hat. “And I’m happy. Really.”

The rest of the drive was held in silence, neither of you feeling like talking much. He pulled into the Statesman gates and led you inside, scanning his ID card on an empty apartment in the back of the warehouses where agents could sleep during the longer missions.

“Sleep well, sweetheart. We can talk about all this in the morning.” He kissed your forehead and you hauled your bag inside. “I’ll take you to get your truck in the morning, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.”

_________________________________________________________________

In the morning, you were on the phone with your lawyer, walking around the Statesman compound and attempting to avoid the various tour groups that were unaware of the real reason this distillery existed.

“How long does a contested divorce take?” You asked, exasperated that you had to do this now of all times because your no-good husband wouldn’t sign the divorce papers. “18 months? Mr. Collier, I don’t even have 18 days, really!”

The man told you that was how it had to be, you informed him that this arrangement wouldn’t work, and he was informing you of a different option when you heard someone wolf whistle at you, throwing out some jab.

“Ain’t seen the likes of you around this place much!” The man shouted from his horse.

“Mr. Collier, that’s just not going to work for me.” You groaned, trying to block out the man catcalling you from his horse. Clearly this was some junior agent. “Mr. Collier, I’m gonna have to call you back.”

“Listen here, bubba, why don’t you kiss my ass!” You shouted up at the guy, but screamed in happiness once you realized who it was. “Oh my god, Moonshine?!”

“Let’s go inside then, missy, because I don’t do that kind of thing out here in front of the guests.” Moonshine smirked at you, jumping down from his horse.

“I guess your mama raised you right, then.” You laughed, hugging him. You’d missed Moonshine, who’d been one of your first friends in the agency aside from Jack, of course. “I better back off of you before your little lady tries to come beat me up.”

Moonshine looked sheepish.

“There is a little lady, isn’t there?”

“I can hardly afford me and my unhealthy addiction to firearms and whiskey, let alone some high-maintenance babe.” Moonshine laughed.

“What about Cara what’s-her-name? From the class outside of ours? Y’all had real chemistry on some of the missions I supervised.”

“She transferred out to the Alaska branch, and uh, I wasn’t her type.” Moonshine scratched the back of his neck and you hummed, understanding the situation.

“That answers a few of my questions. Guess we all have our secrets, don’t we, Moonshine.” You grinned, your suspicions about him batting for the opposite team nearly confirmed.

“Yeah, we sure do.” Moonshine climbed back up on his horse, tipping his hat on the way. “I gotta get back to work now, missy, but are you gonna be in town for awhile? Me and a few of the guys are going down to our normal watering hole later tonight if you’re up for it.”

“I hope I won’t be here long. I have to go see Champ, but I think I’ll see you boys tonight.”

“Well, I better scram if you’re seeing the boss man.”

“Very funny. I’ll see you later, Moonshine.” You waved the man off and made your way inside, scanning your own ID card on the entry doors and taking the elevator up to Champ’s office.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in. If it isn’t my favorite agent.” Champ drawled from his seat at the head of the conference table.

“Hey boss man, care to give me a ride to town so I can get my truck?” You asked, leaning up against the door jam and waving your keys. He laughed, standing up and grabbing his own keys from his desk.

“C’mon then, little lady. I did make you a promise. You can tell me all about why you’re here on the way over.”

_________________________________________________________________

Once you’d picked up your truck from the jail’s parking lot, you made your way to the bank. You hadn’t accounted for Jack taking as long as he was to sign the divorce papers, so you needed some cash for necessities.

Of course, the bank didn’t have an ATM. You cursed yourself for forgetting as you stepped inside. The bank guard’s eyes widened once he laid eyes on you, telling whoever it was in the teller’s booth that he was going to take a break outside. You winced once you remembered that this was the same man whose farm you and Jack and a few of your old friends had gone rolling pumpkins in year after year. He probably hated you.

You approached the teller, but didn’t recognize her. She clearly recognized you, though.

“Well, if it ain’t the queen of the New York Statesman office.” She grinned. You narrowed your eyes, attempting to figure out who she was when the lightbulb clicked.

“Jenny? Oh my god. I haven’t seen you since you and Tequila got hitched! You look amazing!”

“Thanks, sweetie! So do you. What can I do you for?”

“I need to make a withdrawal from my—“

“Joint account?” Jenny smiled like she knew something you didn’t, which knowing her, she probably did.

“My what?”

“Your joint account. With Jack? From what I hear, y’all are still married.”

“Why yes, yes we are.” You grinned, a plan already formulating in your mind.

_________________________________________________________________

It was after five when Jack got home, but you’d already got to work. You had on one of his favorite dresses that you’d found in a trunk somewhere, one of your homemade aprons, and a wide smile once he walked in the door.

“Hi, honey! Lookin’ good. How’s the family?” You grinned up at him, serving food onto two plates in the dining room.

“Cut the shit. Where’s my stuff?” Jack growled, chucking his hat on the couch along with his whip and lasso.

You smiled where he couldn’t see it, glad to see he’d noticed what you’d done to the place. There were new appliances in the kitchen, a new couch and loveseat, a flatscreen tv, a new rug, and Jack assumed you’d also done something to the bedroom. None of the things he’d had laying around since you left were where he could see it, and the sight agitated him.

“Now what kind of wife would I be if I didn’t pick up after my husband? Dinner’s ready in five.”

“The kind that don’t live here.” Jack groaned, hands raking over his face. “Now, I’m gonna ask you one more time—where is the house key?”

“I had the sweetest talk today with Tequila’s daddy.” You started as you ignored him.

“Nice to see you got your accent back.”

“Oh, I stumbled on a few things today.” You said, noticing Jack had gone to the kitchen, likely in search of a beer.

“Holy shit!” He shouted, and you stifled your laughter. “What happened to the stove?! And where are them little magnets I got from my travels, huh?” He opened the fridge and groaned.

“What the hell is this? Chick food?” He gestured to the fridge that you’d restocked with fresh fruits and vegetables, and new groceries that weren’t stale takeout containers.

“Light beer. Less calories, honey.” You smiled brightly, missing Jack’s murderous expression. He grabbed a can anyway and popped the top off.

“I tried to pick out a new bed today, but the mattress store only had old models. I’ll have to order something from New York.”

“Whatever floats your boat, honey.” Jack muttered, taking a deep swig of the beer you’d bought. He’d have to find his stash of whiskey and hope you hadn’t gotten rid of it.

“Oh, but darlin’, I thought you said we should think of it as our money.” You saw him freeze where he stood, and continued your crusade. “Just a guess, but I’m thinking the words ‘joint checking’ are flashing through your mind right now.”

“How much did you take?” He whirled around, effectively forcing you into the kitchen.

“All of it.” You replied simply, enjoying his facial expression.

“Son of a bitch!” He cursed, chucking the now empty beer can into the trash can and rubbing his face with his hands.

“You wanted a wife, you got a wife, honey,” you spat, “and what were you doing with all that cash? Why don’t you invest it? We work for a perfectly good company with shares for sale, don’t you know anything?”

“I know if you don’t get out of my house right now—”

“Sign the papers and I’ll give it all back.”

“Fine—fine!” He shouted, “gimme the pen.”

You rummaged in your packet for the pen and laid out the papers on the dinner table. You made to give him the pen, but thought better of it.

“Hold on. What are you doing with all that cash saved up? And since when did you tell Champ not to put you on anymore active missions? You aren’t doing anything illegal, are you Jack?”

“So what if I am? I don’t ask you about your boyfriend, you keep your nose out of my life.” He spat out, not making eye contact with you. You deflated.

“Who told you?” You asked quietly.

“Honey, just ‘cause I talk slow don’t mean I’m stupid.” He said in a much quieter tone. He almost sounded hurt.

“Look, Jack—” you trailed off.

“For god’s sake, nobody finds their soulmate at twelve years old.” He mumbled.

“Yeah, I guess,” you murmured.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jack almost smiled. Your eye caught something on the mantle and you looked up to see a horseshoe and a photo of your parent’s old farm.

“I can’t believe you kept that all these years,” you murmured, eyes trailing over the familiar old farm. It had burned down four years after that photo was taken, taking your parents’ lives with it. Jack looked at you before looking at the clock on the wall.

“Oh, hey sweetie, you know what? I just remembered I got myself a hot date.” Jack grinned maliciously, unbuttoning his collared shirt as he spoke. Your eyes moved from the picture to the skin being revealed and suddenly were at a loss for words. “You don’t mind if I have my lawyer take a look at these, do you?” He tossed the papers back on the table and left the room.

“What?!” You gasped.

“Hell, I’m just a dumb intelligence agent with no regards for the law. There’s words in there I don’t even know. You might be takin’ me to the cleaners for all I know.”

“The cleaners? You? You ain’t been there since our wedding, if you even washed your suit for that,” you scoffed. “Can’t you just sign the damn papers?”

“Nah,” he grinned from the doorway to his bedroom, “but thanks for stoppin’ bye. It’s been a real treat.” And then the door was slammed and you screamed into a newly-purchased throw pillow.

You’d realized after about ten minutes that Jack wasn’t coming back into the living room. In fact, his dramatic ass had jumped out the window and you heard his truck starting up outside.

Tequila had made an offer, though, and you planned to take up the social obligation. Besides, if Jack was as predictable as he’d always been, his “hot date” was probably at his mama’s bar where everyone in that little town went to unwind.

Your phone rang once you were outside the noisy bar near Jack’s truck, and you answered at once knowing it was your fiancé.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” You smiled into the phone and Rum’s happy voice spilled out.

“Are you sitting down?” Rum asked.

“Why? Bad news? Did the mission blow up or something?” You panicked. You knew putting this in Rum’s hands would only backfire if something happened.

“No, no! Nothing like that. I was just going to tell you that I read the mission reports and everything went exactly to plan just like you said it would. You might be up for another promotion, babe.” Rum reassured you.

“Oh my god, really? Oh, I needed that almost as much as I need to see you.”

“What is that noise?” Rum finally asked, and you assumed he could hear the loud music and shouts coming from inside the bar.

“The sound of my past.” You grimaced.

“Have fun. I love you.” Your fiancé finished, and you returned the sentiments before hanging up the phone and waltzing into the bar. You were immediately greeted by a screech and an older woman who was still spry was pulling you into a tight hug and yelling over the music.

“Batten down the hatches, boys! Trouble done just walked back into my life disguised as my favorite daughter-in-law!” Helen grinned at you. “Honey, gimme a hug, it’s been too long.”

You laughed while you hugged her and stepped back to show her your ring.

“Soon to be ex-daughter-in-law.” You stated proudly.

“Ooh, who’s the lucky guy?” She asked, inspecting the diamond on your finger.

“His name’s Blake and he works with me.” You winked, and she nodded in understanding. She knew about a little of the work you and her son did, but she mostly stayed out of it, claiming that the stress would bring her to an early grave.

“Well, he’s got my vote if he picked out a ring as pretty as that. It’s good to see you, baby girl.” Helen gave you a pat on the shoulder and told her bartender to give you whatever you wanted. You asked for a whiskey on the rocks and nearly laughed at the irony of the situation.

Once your drink was in hand, you scanned the room, looking for your husband. You spotted him in the corner with some young blonde thing and rolled your eyes. A quick march found you standing right behind Jack and you flipped the edge of his cowboy hat.

“Mind if I join you?” You asked sweetly, leaning up against the pool table beside him.

“Actually we do.” Jack said, raising an eyebrow. He was challenging you, but you ignored him in order to set your sights on his date.

“You must be Jack’s hot date.” You grinned at the girl and she put a hand out to shake yours.

“I’m Carly.”

“Hi, I’m Y/N, Jack’s snotty, Yankee-bitch wife whom he refuses to divorce even though I’m engaged to another man.” You shook her hand, and the girl gasped once she saw your ring.

“Hot dog, Jack, look at the size of that thing!” She gushed. You nearly rolled your eyes at how dumb she was acting just in an attempt to impress your husband.

“Honey? Why don’t you get us a couple of drinks, yeah?” Jack turned to Carly and handed her a few bills. The girl smiled, popped her gum, and proceeded to ask you what you were having. You rolled your eyes then. “Not ‘me and her’ us, ‘you and I’ us.”

The girl agreed and scurried off, and then you turned to Jack.

“Why do you make me be mean to you? Is that what you want? To be humiliated in front of all your friends?” You snapped, frustrated that he was taking this so lightly. He shook his head and downed the rest of his own glass of whiskey.

“C’mon, Brandy, they were your friends too.” You heard Jack mutter, nodding towards a few agents who’d just walked over with their drinks. You recognized a few guys who’d been in the class behind you along with Moonshine. He nodded at you and ordered a beer before heading over to say hello.

“Alright, Brandy, you sit down while I teach your husband here how to lose at pool.” Moonshine grinned, pulling a bar stool over to you.

“Now Moonshine, I’m not really a watch and see kinda girl, am I Jack?” His expression was priceless as he took up the challenge.

At least six drinks later, you were definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol and you landed somewhere near Moonshine as he lined up his shot.

“Come on, now, Moony, you got it. Don’t blow this one, okay baby?” You drunkenly giggled and Moonshine laughed at your inebriated state.

“You can take the girl out of the honky-tonk, but you can’t take the honky-tonk out of the girl.” He missed the shot, but you didn’t care anymore, more focused on the conversation Jack was not-so-quietly having with Cognac? Coors? You couldn’t remember his codename, but it didn’t matter. Jack was talking about you.

“So, Whiskey, are you gonna divorce this girl or what?” The agent asked. Jack shook his head.

“She’s waited seven years. A couple more days won’t kill her. Unfortunately.”

“Like it’s gonna make a difference.” You snorted, nearly falling into his arms but stabilizing yourself at the last second.

“You never know,” the agent started, “you might be interested to know that Whiskey here has been—”

“Hey, hey, Cognac, let her think what she wants. She made her mind up about me a long time ago.” Jack cut him off, making you wonder just what it was that he didn’t want you knowing about.

You quickly forgot that thought, though, when Moonshine started yelling and telling Cognac he owed him fifty dollars. Cognac groaned, forking over the cash.

You didn’t really know what happened next, but you got into a shouting match with one of the other agents and eventually asked Helen for another round of drinks, but she quickly cut you off. Then you were shouting again as Jack dragged you out of the bar by your arm, yelling at you, saying that you couldn’t just insult everyone in the bar because you’d made it out of Kentucky but they were happy where they were.

“What makes you think you can treat them like somethin’ you stepped in, huh?!” Jack demanded as he put you right up next to his truck.

“You asked for it!” You yelled in his face, trying to get your keys out of your pocket. Jack quickly grabbed them.

“You show up here, you steal my money, you rearrange my house, and then you insult our friends, actin’ like you’re better than them.” Jack spat. He was angry and you knew it, but you couldn’t seem to stop.

“I am better than them! And you stole my keys!” You whined, wanting to be anywhere but here with your husband who was telling you that you were wrong. He was right, but you wouldn’t admit it.

“That’s all that matters to you, huh?” He asked in disbelief.

You tried to say his name, but he cut you off.

“God, ever since you left, this has been a nightmare. The money, the fancy office, the city, you’re pathetic!” He raked a hand through his mustache and you got lost in the action right before spitting out a comeback.

“Oh, like you’re goin’ places!” You groaned, a splitting headache appearing out of nowhere. “I certainly am once I get my keys back.”

“No, you don’t. No. You want to kill yourself driving, you do it somewhere else. But not here, not on my watch.” Jack said, putting your keys into his own pocket.

“At least I’m doing something with my life. So what if you and I aren’t partners anymore, you can still go on missions. You don’t have to worry about me anymore!”

“Get in the truck, Y/N.” Jack opened the door and guided you inside, defeated. His date was waiting by the door and you noticed them having a quiet conversation before he handed her your keys and made his way back to the truck.

You fell asleep before Jack even got on the two lane highway that led to the Statesman offices where he knew you’d been staying. Champ didn’t say anything when Whiskey carried you inside your temporary apartment, snoring away, but he wished things would work out between the two of you. His hopes were dashed as soon as Whiskey asked for a pen to sign the papers you’d brought with you.

When you woke up, still hungover from the night before, the divorce papers were stuck on top of the pillow beside you. You wished you could say you were happy about it, but you couldn’t deny that a pit was in the bottom of your stomach.

Once you rolled out of bed and had some coffee, the papers were sealed into an envelope and you drove to the post office to mail it out. You’d talk to Jack afterwards and apologize for your behavior.

When you got to the familiar farmhouse, you found Jack’s dog Midnight lounging at the base of the porch. You scratched his ears, and he whined happily at the attention he was receiving. The dog got up and raced up to Jack when he came out of the house with a crate.

“What’s she doing here, huh, boy?” He asked the dog before turning to face you, “Thought you’d have high-tailed it out of here by now.”

“I put the money back in your account.” You said quietly, searching his face for any emotion whatsoever.

“Thanks. Saves me from bouncing a lot of checks.” He smiled at you, a genuine smile, and it caught you off guard. “I like what you did, though, to the house. Should help it sell quicker.”

“You’re moving?” You were surprised. This was the house you and Jack had gotten and fixed up together in the early stages of your marriage and it held a lot of good memories along with quite a few bad ones.

“Well, I’ve been spending a lot of my time a bit south of the distillery, so . . .” he shrugged.

“Oh.”

“Look, hon, I signed your papers.” Jack sighed, finally hauling the crate into the back of his truck.

“Jack, I never meant to hurt you, or anybody else for that matter. And I just came out here to say thank you.” You finally said.

“You might want to move your toes.” Jack nodded towards where your feet were in reference to his truck tires. “Wouldn’t wanna run ‘em over since you need them for field work.”

“You can’t just leave!”

“Sure I can.” He chuckled, hopping into the cab. “You want to come?”

“Where you goin’?”

“I want to show you something.” Jack said solemnly, and you wished you could go. Something made you stop, though.

“I can’t.” You finally answered, defeated.

“Can’t or won’t?” Jack asked you, already knowing the answer but asking anyway.

“Both.”

“The girl I knew used to be fearless.” Jack leaned against the steering wheel to get a good look at you. You looked so much like the woman he’d once known so intimately, and yet so different. A lot had scarred you both and he recognized that.

“The girl you knew didn’t have a life.” You smiled weakly, fighting back tears.

“Well, I guess you better get back to living it then. C’mon, Midnight.” Jack got his dog in the cab with him and drove off, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

_________________________________________________________________

You didn’t know what possessed you to stay in town now that the papers had been signed and mailed out, but you found yourself in the town square that evening for the weekly square dance night.

“Hello.” You murmured sheepishly once you’d spotted Tequila and his wife, Jenny, and Moonshine, and a few of the agents from last night at the bar. “I just wanted to apologize to y’all. Last night was so uncalled for, and I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

“Brandy, forget it.” Tequila told you, a smile gracing his face. “You know we don’t stay mad for long.” The group nodded, and you smiled in relief.

Jenny pulled you to the side and handed you a glass of sweet tea.

“You know, he went up there.” She said, sort of secretively.

“Who?” You were confused about what she was talking about. But then she looked at you oddly and you suddenly knew. “Jack? When?”

“About a year after you left. He doesn’t know I know, but Aaron “big mouth” Tequila over there can’t keep a secret to save his life nowadays.”

“Jack was in New York?” You asked, completely surprised. You’d never seen him. He’d certainly never come to see you and say hello. Jenny nodded.

“He told Tequila he’d never seen anything like it. He realized straight off that he’d need more than an apology to win you back. He needed to conquer the world first. He’s been tryin’ ever since.” Jenny told you, downing her own tea.

“That’s why he kept sending the papers back.” You murmured, and Jenny nodded at you again.

“It’s funny how things don’t work out.” She sighed.

“It’s funny how they do.” You smiled warmly at her, knowing she was happy with her life and how it was turning out.

“Hey, look who I found wandering around the edge of the party.” Moonshine cheered, shoving Jack in the center of the group you were with. He had the nerve to look a bit sheepish, knowing you were there, but you were the one who blushed. After that, it was a whirlwind of everyone catching up on the times and you found yourself smiling at Jack.

The band finally started playing a slow song, and Tequila got up to ask you to dance, leaving his wife to drag Jack into the square. The both of you danced for awhile before Tequila stole his wife back, which left you and Jack standing face to face. Jack held out a hand to you to offer a dance, but you hesitated.

“Maybe we could just talk?” You asked him quietly. He shook his head and walked off, a sigh escaping your lips once you realized you were alone.

The night wore on with you on the sidelines, drinking sweet tea, and finally you made your way down the street towards your truck. Something stopped you, though, and you made your way into the coon dog cemetery on the edge of town. Maybe Coal was in there. You didn’t realize Jack had been watching you and finally ended up following you, and maybe you wouldn’t have been so honest in your talk with your old dog if you’d known.

You knelt beside the dog’s grave, his collar and your old license plate stuck to the stone placed above him.

“Hey there, buddy. Sorry it took me so long. I would’ve come sooner if I’d known you were sick.” You sniffed, fingers running along the etching of his name in the stone. “Actually, that’s probably not true. I’ve been pretty selfish lately. Dogs don’t know anything about that, do they, though?”

“You were always a big old pillow after missions. Like when everything went pear-shaped after I got shot, you never left my side. And then I just left you. Oh gosh. I bet you sat there on that big old porch, wondering what you done wrong.” You sobbed, wiping the tears away.

“I told him it was my fault.” Jack’s voice broke you out of your concentration and you whipped around to see him kneeling behind you.

“Quit bein’ so nice.” You sniffed, a small smile breaking through your tears. Jack offered you a hand to help you up and you accepted it. He led you to a bench right near Coal’s grave and kept holding your hand.

“It’s the truth.” Jack stated.

“How come everything has to be so complicated,” you asked tearfully. Jack smiled softly at you.

“What?” He asked finally.

“Truth, life, this,” you gestured between the two of you and towards the hand he was still holding in his grip. Jack didn’t answer that, not that you expected him to.

“He was one hell of a good dog, wasn’t he? You looked like you were having fun out there tonight before I got there and ruined it.” Jack mumbled. You brushed a thumb over your intertwined hands softly.

“I’m happy in New York, Jack.” You laughed wetly, “But then I come down here and this fits too.”

“Since when does it have to be one or the other, darlin’? You can have roots and wings, you know.” Jack told you. You nodded.

“Maybe I could just fly south for the winter.” You joked miserably.

Jack finally pointed out towards the woods and nudged your shoulder, “Look.”

“What?” You asked.

“There, see ‘em?” You followed his pointing finger until you realized that he was pointing at fireflies illuminating sections of the woods with their blinking behinds.

“Only you,” you laughed fondly, looking up at him. You couldn’t deny it, Jack was still just as handsome as the day you married him even if the years had gone by.

“You know, I still go out there sometimes. To the meadow, I mean. I hear the crickets and I go and sit in the field and stare up at the stars like we used to. It’s like a religion.” Jack revealed, turning to look down at you to gauge your response.

“I had a dream about it the other night, our first kiss when we were twelve. Remember that?”

“You ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t gotten shot and died on that mission?” Jack asked bluntly. You were surprised and whispered his name.

“Just, let me get this out before I can’t.” Jack started, “I thought us working together on missions would be an adventure. I loved seeing you be this beautiful badass and I loved being the one who got to love you. And it took me awhile to realize that being tied down to me would be your only adventure.”

“I guess that thug knew what he was doing then, aiming at me. I was so ashamed, Jack, ‘cause I felt so relieved once I woke up and remembered everything. And all of a sudden, I just . . . Needed a different life. Y’know? I had to get away.” You were almost frantic in your story, the painful memories resurfacing of how you just ran away from your husband with no explanation. Gosh, the number you did on him.

“You done real well for yourself. I’m proud of you, sugar.” Jack told you sincerely, fingers brushing your hair away from your wet cheeks. “I’m just sorry I never danced with you at our weddin’. I’m sure this next one’s gonna go better for ya.”

You looked up and suddenly your lips were on his and it felt like you were breathing real air for the first time since you left his home and abandoned him. It felt good, his lips brushing yours in just the right ways, but you couldn’t do this.

“Jack, I can’t do this.” You whimpered through your tears. He nodded.

“I know. Go home, Brandy.”

And just like he’d appeared, Jack disappeared in the dark, leaving you alone with your conflicted emotions.

_________________________________________________________________

The next morning found Jack entering the Statesman offices as a man on a mission. But he found an unfamiliar man with flowers in hand, pacing in the lobby.

“Y’alright there?” He asked. The man whipped his head up and sighed.

“I’m here to surprise my fiancée. The secretary won’t let me in because I don’t have a Kentucky Statesman badge, only a New York one.”

Jack quickly realized the situation, knowing immediately that the man was there to see you without needing to be introduced. He also knew that you were probably in Champ’s office, talking smack about missions like you used to do.

“Well, I’m headed upstairs to see a friend of mine, but you’re welcome to join.” Jack motioned to the elevator, and your fiancé quickly nodded and followed him inside the cab. Jack rolled his eyes at the guy’s eagerness.

“So, fiancée huh? Which one of our lucky agents is it?” Jack drawled, knowing full well who this man meant.

“Agent Brandy.” The man answered, “and you are?”

“I’m Agent Whiskey. Who might you be?” Jack smirked.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Agent Rum.” Rum laughed sheepishly. He was quite a bit smaller than Jack and had to look upwards to make eye contact.

“Ah, so you’re the man Brandy was talking about.” Jack couldn’t help but meddle a little in his ex-wife’s affairs.

“You know Brandy?” Rum asked, surprised.

“Course I know her. I know all about her.” Jack grinned down at the man, “I know her name, her whole life story, everything. She was my partner.”

“She never mentioned you.” Rum stammered. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same girl?”

Jack described you, and Rum nodded, but that description would match a few agents and Rum wasn’t sure Jack really knew who you were. Joke’s on him.

Moonshine got in the elevator and froze once he saw Jack with your fiancé. He’d looked Rum up as soon as you’d mentioned him, and the look Jack had on his face was downright scary to someone who knew him. It was like a lion playing with its prey.

“Uh, uh, hey Whiskey.” Moonshine stuttered.

“Morning,” Jack smiled. “Brandy here?”

Moonshine nodded.

“Yeah, yeah she’s here. She’s with big daddy.”

“Wonderful. I’m just escorting her fiancé here up to meet him.” Jack nodded towards Rum who waved a hand. Jack couldn’t figure out how this man got to be an agent, all timid and shy next to Southern guys. He seemed like a schmuck.

“Oh, that’s great.” Moonshine nodded emphatically.

“I’m sorry, you are?” Rum asked, in reference to Moonshine.

“Name’s Moonshine. I’m Brandy’s, uh—” her turned to look at Jack to figure out what to say.

“Her other partner.” Jack finished. Rum smiled at the two.

“Wow! Two partners while she was here. That’s something.”

Jack rolled his eyes behind the man’s back.

“So what do you like about our Brandy?” Jack finally asked him, directing the both of them to exit the elevator. Champ’s office was just down the way, but Jack wasn’t ready to leave this man with you yet.

Rum spouted off a lot of things that Jack knew you weren’t like whenever y’all were married and he quickly realized that the woman you were with this new guy wasn’t anything like the woman he married. The woman he’d seen in the last few days. This was a woman who had completely changed herself to fit New York, and that just made Jack’s stomach churn.

Finally, he pulled Rum over to Champ’s door and he threw open the doors. You were sat inside, alone, staring at a few photos on the wall before you looked up and made eye contact with your ex-husband. You stood quickly, walking over to the two men standing before you.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, looking at Jack.

“Well, I came to deliver your fiancé.” Jack stared at you real hard.

“I, uh, think she was talking to me.” Rum cut in, handing you the bouquet of flowers he’d been holding.

“Jack . . .” You trailed off.

“Must be exhaustin’.” Jack started.

“What?” you asked softly. Rum echoed the question beside you, finally realizing that you and Jack were talking to each other in a way that wasn’t normal to him.

“Livin’ a lie.” Jack finished, hand shoving his hat further on his head. You shook.

“What’s he talking about?” Rum asked you, and you looked back at Jack, pleading for him to be kind.

“You and I are in love with two different people.” Jack said with a shake of his head as he left the room.

“Who is he really? He said he was your partner.” Rum asked you, staring after Jack’s retreating figure.

“He’s my husband.” You answered.

“Your what?” Rum was dumbfounded.

“I mean my ex-husband.” You gasped, correcting yourself.

“You married your partner?!” Rum was running his hands through his hair, trying to wrap his mind around the situation and realizing just how little he knew about you. Had you up and married another man while you were down here? Were you married before? You interrupted his thoughts with a quiet answer.

“No, I came down here to finalize my divorce.” You sighed.

“Hey darlin’,” Champ burst into the room, “just saw your precious hubby and took his resignation.” He froze once he saw who was with you. “Oh! You must be my baby girl’s new someone!”

You groaned internally.

Rum threw up his hands and made some new noise you’d never heard before then promptly left the room. You scurried after him, trying to get his attention.

“Blake! Wait!”

“I just—” Andrew started as he pressed the button on the outside of the elevator.

“Let me try and explain, you don’t understand!” You tried to wedge your way between him and the door, but he easily slid past you. You slammed your arm against the side of the sliding doors to keep them from closing. “This isn’t who I am anymore!”

“Look, I don’t know who you are or what else you’ve lied about, but I do know one thing. There’s a helicopter parked outside in the field, and I am on it.” Rum’s face was stony as the doors closed.

You stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, trying to grasp the situation. A sigh escaped your lips before you made your way back to Champ’s office to slump down in a chair.

Champ was sitting at his desk, Statesman glasses perched on his nose and a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. He looked up right as you made eye contact and gave you his signature “I told you so” look. You groaned.

“I know you’re thinkin’ I spoiled things real good this time.” You grumbled, chucking your hat on the table.

“Now, sweetheart, don’t go accusin’ me of thinking. I ain’t done anything of the sort.” Champ snorted. “Anyway, I don’t think you spoiled what you think you did. You got a good head on your shoulders kid, and I love you.”

You talked for awhile, catching up on life and missions and things you hadn’t spoken of in years when a knock sounded on the open door of Champ’s office. Champ nodded whoever it was inside, but you didn’t even look up until Champ looked at you with a knowing smile.

“Hey, you two. Look who I found wandering around by the weapons labs.” Moonshine nudged someone forward and you finally looked up. Agent Rum, your fiancé, was in front of you with the sorriest look you’d ever seen on his face.

“I thought you’d be halfway to New York by now.” You said slowly, not sure why he was still here. Your little interlude an hour before sounded like a breakup if you’d ever heard one. You stood up and moved to stand beside Champ, knowing he’d back you up if needed.

“So did I.” Rum smiled sheepishly, nodding toward Champ.

“Oh, this is Agent Champagne, but we call him Champ. He’s basically been my daddy since I started here.” Champ reached up squeezed your hand in reassurance and you moved closer to Rum. “And this is Moonshine. He’s been my best friend for a long time, well, as long as I’ve been good to him. He’s always been a better man. This is where I started, where I grew up, and my home.”

“Well,” Rum started, “it’s nice to meet you both. I’m Agent Rum, Brandy’s fiancé. That is, if she’ll still have me.” You looked at him in surprise. “ Look, I don’t really care what just happened back there. So you have a past. I mean, who doesn’t? We’re all trying to escape something in this life. What I need to know is if there is a place for me in your future.”

“Good Lord, he’s saying all sorts of sweet things.” Moonshine muttered and you laughed at him.

“Well?” Rum asked. You nodded with a small smile.

“Crap, guess I need to plan my vacation days to go to New York then.” Champ grumbled at his desk.

“What vacation days, old man?” You sassed Champ. You turned back to Rum, “Babe, what if we had the wedding here? I have so much history here, I’d like to end it all here and start fresh with you.”

Rum smiled and agreed and Champ started hollering about how he couldn’t believe you were going to do this to him again, how he’d have to officiate yet another wedding, and how many times does his only daughter get married? Apparently the answer was twice.

_________________________________________________________________

A month went by before you knew it, full of missions and planning and setting up temporary groups while you’d be on your honeymoon. In between all you had to do in the Statesman offices, you were also wedding planning. Luckily, you had Champ and his wife to help with all that along with AppleJack and your assistant.

Mr. Collier, your lawyer, had been calling nearly every day, but you’d assured him that you had everything handled and that he could clear the divorce without you. You’d been calling Jack a lot too. You wanted to talk to him about what Champ meant when he said Jack had retired, and why no one seemed to want to talk about what he was doing. But he never answered his cell and your old home phone seemed to be disconnected.

It still didn’t feel real that you’d be getting married on Saturday afternoon as you stepped off your Statesman jet at the airfield in Kentucky on Thursday with Agent AppleJack and your assistant—now newly minted Agent Smirnoff.

“You guys remember that mark from a year ago on that mission I was on for about three months, right? The Spanish one?” AppleJack was telling you. You nodded, remembering who she was talking about. He’d been rugged and good looking, and you’d told her as much when you handed her the mission. “Well, he proposed to me, and I think I loved him despite his obvious attraction to black market trading.”

“Then why didn’t you say yes?” Smirnoff asked.

“Because I hesitated long enough to realize my head and my heart were saying two different things. And he was on the other side of the legal fence.” AppleJack scoffed.

You guided the two of them towards your waiting truck and chucked your bags in the bed of it. Theirs followed as they argued.

“Well, it’s a big decision.” You added in.

“It’s supposed to be the easiest one you ever make.” Smirnoff said. You’d always thought he was a romantic, and now you were sure of it.

“Hey, y’all, I want to stop somewhere before we head to the office. Okay?” You turned to look at the two of them, and they shrugged before agreeing. It wasn’t like y’all had much to do today anyway. Champ had already assured you that the cellar was decorated and pretty for you and Rum to tie the knot, and that he’d already arranged everything for your honeymoon too.

You drove the forty-five minutes it took to get to your parents’ old farmhouse where you used to live before it had burned down, taking both your parents with it when you were nineteen. You hadn’t been there since a few days after the fire when you’d set up headstones for your parents on the property, but you wanted to tell them what was going on.

The driveway was long, but you were surprised to see how well kept it was. Then the house came into view along with Jack’s pickup truck and a familiar black dog lounging on the steps. You slammed on the brakes and parked right off the driveway, jumping out of the vehicle.

“Oh my god.” You gasped, looking at the place. It looked nearly identical to the house that burnt down, but there was a new barn in the back of the house and fence posts as far as you could see down the drive that kept going. Your dad had never cleared that far into the woods, but it looked good. It looked like a really successful ranch had been started right where so much devastation had taken place.

“Brandy, do we know the people who live here?” AppleJack asked, finally catching up to your quick walk towards the house. “What is this place?”

A man walked out of the house and froze once he saw you, and you hardly heard both AppleJack and Smirnoff arguing about if he was single.

“Jack,” you breathed. He stepped down off the porch and came over to you, greeting you with a sad smile. “I tried to call you a couple of times.”

“Listen,” he started, completely ignoring your previous statement, “since you’re here, you and your friends should look around. Say hello to the horses in the barn or something. It’s nice out today.” He tipped his hat towards your two companions and called his dog, making his way back into the house before you could say anything else.

You shook your head, trying to clear your eyes of the tears that had somehow started filling them. As you looked around the ranch, you saw all the little things that Jack had done, as well as the big, that made this place feel so much like home. It was almost exactly the way it had been when you lived there so long ago, and you were reminded of the photo Jack had on your old mantel. You’d asked him why he kept it, but he hadn’t answered then. And the times when the guys you used to work with were trying to tell you that Jack was successful now, but Jack had cut them off. Now you knew why. He’d built this place for you.

_________________________________________________________________

When you got to the Kentucky office, Champ was waiting for you downstairs.

“Hey, little darling, there was a man here for you. He straight up asked about your whole name and everything. Did you have a guest coming for the wedding we didn’t know about who’d know your civilian name?” He asked. Your brow furrowed as you shook your head. “Alright, well we sent him on his way, anyhow. I’m sure it’s fine.”

You introduced him to your two companions and Champ grinned, happy to meet two people you trusted with your life. You asked him if Rum was here yet, to which Champ nodded and guided you all inside. “Got here about two hours before you, sweetheart.”

Once you were inside, it seemed like a whirlwind of things happened as you readied yourself to get married for a second time. The next 36 hours were hell, waiting for everything to be finalized so you could get hitched.

It was Saturday morning and Champ had stationed two low ranking agents to man the guests as they filtered into the cellar where you’d be holding the wedding. So far, only agents were to be in attendance and a few plus ones, but you’d wanted to keep it small. So when a balding man appeared and introduced himself as Mr. Collier, telling the two agents that he wasn’t on the list, they promptly told him that he couldn’t come inside as he wasn’t invited. The man insisted he had urgent business with a Ms. Daniels, but the agents weren’t having it and escorted him out of the cellar.

Meanwhile, at your old house, the one you had shared with Jack, your ex-husband was adding the last few crates and boxes of his and your things to his truck. He groaned once he saw his mama leaning up against her car in the driveway since he hadn’t seen her pull up.

“Hey, sweetheart, there’s a wedding goin’ on.” She said softly, helping him throw a gym bag into the backseat of his truck.

“Yeah, I heard mention of it a time or two.” Jack shrugged, “I sure hope this weather cooperates. It’s supposed to be a big storm.” He didn’t want to give into his mama and tell her how he really felt about all this.

The truth was, Jack was devastated. He’d spent so much time trying to get his wife back, and now she was marrying a man he knew she didn’t love as much as she loved him, and it hurt. It felt like something had died inside his chest, and he supposed something did. His heart.

“You know, Jack, you’re my only son and I love you, but sometimes you are too much like your daddy.” Helen sighed.

“She made her decision, Mama.” Jack set the last box in the bed of the truck and covered them up with tarps to keep ‘em dry.

“For somebody who’s been holdin’ onto somethin’ so hard, you’re pretty quick to let it go.” Helen eyed him.

“You know I can’t control her anymore than I can control the weather. I gotta go. I wanna get these inside before the rain ruins whatever I’ve got left.” Jack tipped his hat at his mama and climbed inside the cab. Helen shook her head in disappointment.

Champ stood in the corner of the apartment you’d been occupying in the Statesman office that weekend, watching you adjust your dress and cowboy boots. He smirked once he realized you’d be getting married, Southern style with the boots and a dress that he swore he’d seen in one of those fancy Southern Living magazines his wife was always reading. Or was it Southern Weddings? He didn’t know, but you looked beautiful. Even more so than the first time he’d officiated your wedding to Jack.

You kept fidgeting, causing Champ to speak up.

“It’s just nerves. You’re doing the right thing.” He attempted to reassure you.

“Am I?” You asked, unsure.

“When I married my wife, Lord, I was a goner for that woman. I couldn’t put one foot down in front of the other, despite being an agent with perfect balance, mind you. I remember standin’ there thinking, ‘Oh preacher, better hurry up before this woman changes her mind.’ And look where it got me. Sometimes she drives me so crazy that I could shoot her, but—”

“But you still love her.” You cut him off.

“God knows I do, and only she knows why.” Champ laughed, his eyes teary as he looked you over.

“Champ, I think I—”

“He can give you a life in this company, honey. You’ve always wanted this. And he adores you.” Champ said firmly, not letting you get back on the confusion train.

“He does, doesn’t he?” You sighed, “Well, even if he is a Yankee, at least he’s sober. Let’s go, Champ. I’m ready to get this over with.”

Champ led you down to the cellars, and then down the aisle. He didn’t get you two very far, though, when a man’s shouts were heard yelling “Ms. Daniels! Ms. Daniels!”

You whipped around, confused about why someone would be calling you by your married name. “Mr. Collier?” You asked in surprise. The two agents supposed to be manning the door had grabbed him by now, but you were quick to dismiss them.

Rum called your name, but you held up a hand to stop him from speaking. You didn’t know why Mr. Collier was here, but it had to be important if he was trying this hard to get in contact with you. The man took a moment to catch his breath.

“You are one hard woman to get in contact with.” Mr. Collier wheezed as he bent over to breathe.

“Mr. Collier, he signed the papers.” You said quietly. “What are you doing here?”

“He did. You didn’t.” You finally noticed the papers he was holding and sucked in a breath.

“What? You mean I’m still married?” You asked, unsure how you felt about this new information. You thought for sure you’d signed the papers when you’d sent them off the day after Jack had signed them. Apparently, you hadn’t. Mr. Collier pointed at the line above Jack’s name, and sure enough, it was blank.

“Well, not if you don’t want to be.” Mr. Collier replied gently as he handed over the papers.

“For goodness sake, Brandy, I thought you took care of this?” Rum groaned as he made his way to stand in the aisle beside you.

“It’s an honest mistake, Blake.” You shook your head in disbelief.

“Well, then, can we fix it? We’ve got agents who need to be on missions soon and we have a honeymoon to get to.” Rum snorted. Your brows furrowed as you watched this normally kind man getting frustrated over a mistake you hadn’t even realized you made.

“Does anybody have a non-deadly pen?” You asked, knowing no one would have one on them unless it had ten functions to kill someone and not one of them being the purpose of a real pen with ink that would actually stay on the paper. You’d made the mistake before of signing something with ink that removed itself within two hours and you didn’t want to make that mistake again.

No one around you had one, not even Champ, until a woman behind you cleared her throat. You turned around to face your mother in law, Jack’s mom.

“These things don’t just happen, y’know.” Helen said with a knowing smile as she held out a fountain pen. You took it and uncapped it, placing it on the paper but not moving to sign it.

“You can’t ride two horse with one ass, sweetheart.” Champ said from beside you. You looked up at him and with a watery smile, you told him you couldn’t sign the papers.

“Blake,” you started, taking his hands in yours, “You don’t want to marry me.”

“I don’t?” He asked, eyes almost looking dangerous.

“No, you don’t. Not really. You see, the truth is—” You hesitated before continuing. “I gave my heart away a long time ago, my whole heart, and I never really got it back. And I don’t even know what else to say besides ‘I’m sorry.’ I can’t marry you, and you shouldn’t want to marry me.”

“So this is what it feels like.” Blake muttered, eyes definitely glittering with anger now. “You can’t just do this to me. That’s it? You’re just going to leave me for the man you haven’t even wanted to be married to for seven years? God, Brandy, what the hell!” He shouted.

You took a step back, attempting to make space and remove your hands from his, but he held your hands tightly. You gulped, knowing Blake wasn’t done.

“In my entire career, and I have a good one, I have never met someone so deceitful and manipulative! I should’ve known, considering our occupations, but this is so disgusting what you’ve done.” Blake spat.

“I’m just trying to be honest.” You whispered.

“You are such a little bitch.” Blake roughly dropped your hands and Champ immediately stepped in, crowding the shorter agent.

“Now, look here, Agent Rum. She said her piece and there’s no need for name-callin’, you hear me?” Champ growled.

“Oh go back to your office and get shit-faced.” Blake spat at Champ’s feet. You saw red.

“Nobody talks to my daddy like that.” You growled, throwing one of your best punches. Agent Rum was soon on the ground and you chucked your engagement ring at his head. It hit his cheek and bounced off somewhere, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Praise the Lord, my baby’s back.” Champ cheered, pulling you away from your ex-fiancé.

“Hey y’all!” You shouted as you stood up on an empty chair in the venue, “If you’re friends of the bride, stick around! I’m gonna go find me a groom!”

And then you were off, grabbing your keys from Moonshine and hopping in your truck, wedding dress getting stuck in the door. You didn’t care, though. You knew exactly where Jack would be and you planned to go get your man back.

You roared into the meadow, truck chassis bumping around on the uneven ground. The door was flung open and you were racing across the field, dress bunched in your hands. Rain had started falling, and Jack was sitting in the bed of his truck getting sopping wet. He had a bottle of whiskey in his hands, but he hadn’t quite noticed you yet.

“Hey, cowboy!” You shouted above the rain and he whipped around to face you, eyes wide beneath the brim of his hat. Rain dripped off the edges and you almost laughed at how bedraggled he looked, but refrained. “You owe me a dance.”

“Nice dress. Where’s your husband?” Jack finally said as he capped the whiskey bottle and set it down beside him in the truck bed.

“I’m lookin’ at him.” You said, and Jack froze. “Apparently, you and I are still hitched.”

“Is that right?” He asked slowly as he got off the tailgate. He made his way over to stand in front of you, rain still pouring over the both of you to the point where you could only really see him anymore.

“Why didn’t you tell me you came to New York?” You asked desperately, needing to know if he still wanted you, if he still loved you.

“I needed to make somethin’ of myself.”

“About done?” You asked in disbelief. This man was already enough for you, how could he not see it?

“What is it about you Southern girls? You can’t make the right decisions ‘til you tried all the wrong ones?” Jack scoffed. He was sure this was some elaborate joke, that your fiancé would hop out of your pickup truck and laugh at him any minute now.

“At least I fight for what I want!”

“Oh, what do you want, honey? Hell, I don’t even think you know.” Jack shook his head.

“You’re the first boy I ever kissed, Jack, and I want you to be the last.” You said as you stepped closer to him, dress dragging in the grass and dirt. You didn’t even care, not if it meant you could get your husband back.

“Maybe you and I had our chance.” Jack muttered, hoping you couldn’t hear him, but you did.

“Fine! Have it your way, stubborn ass!” You yelled.

“Whatcha wanna be married to me for anyhow?” Jack asked, repeating what you’d asked him all those years ago when you were twelve. You grinned, catching up to his game.

“So I can kiss you anytime I want.”

And then you were in his arms and he was kissing you, his hat dumping water on the both of you but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were already soaked. You’d gotten your man back, and you sighed into his mouth. You didn’t want to move again, the feeling of his kiss bringing life back into your lungs and giving you space to breathe for the first time in a long time. He just felt right. Hands wandered up his back and you knocked off his hat in an effort to get even closer to him. He groaned when fingers locked into his now soaked hair, tongue slipping into your mouth when you whined.

You only broke away when you heard someone yelling at the both of you, lights shining right onto your interlocking figures.

“What the hell are you two trying to do? Get yourselves killed?” Tequila yelled. You laughed, breaking away from Jack just long enough to shout back.

“What seems to be the trouble, officer?”

“I’m here to bring you in again, little lady!” Tequila called back, hands on his hips and looking downright hilarious.

“What did she do this time?” Jack shouted. He walked you both closer to Tequila and the man had the audacity to grin at the two of you.

“Well, the way I hear it, seems she run out on a perfectly good cake!”

You laughed and smooched Jack on the cheek before reaching down to grab his hat from the ground.

“Get in my truck, cowboy!” You grinned, “Seems we finally get our reception!”

You raced your husband to your truck, hopping in and laughing at the way you both shivered from the cool air you’d had blasting. Jack swore and turned on the heat as you got yourselves out of the meadow and started following the red and blue flashing lights of Tequila’s patrol car.

You reached a hand over to hold Jack’s and he lifted your fingers to his lips to press a kiss to the knuckles.

“I love you.” He murmured and you returned the sentiments, happy for the first time in a long time.

Tequila led you to the bar Helen owned, and you laughed once you realized where the guys had decided to hold your reception. It was only fitting that the place where you’d originally hosted your first reception was now the place of your second, and with the same man no less.

Tequila made his way indoors first and introduced you, yelling out a “Ladies and gentleman, Mr. and Mrs. Jack Daniels!”

You rushed inside, nearly tripping over your boots and dress, but Jack steadied you, dipping you for a deep kiss just inside the door.

Catcalls filled the air as Jack lifted you back up, a boyish grin gracing his lips.

“I do believe I owe this lady a dance,” Jack nodded at his Mama by the jukebox and she smiled at the two of you.

“You sure do!” Moonshine shouted.

“Hey Helen,” you turned to Jack’s mama, “make it a slow one.”

She saluted you, and then hit a button, playing Tennessee Whiskey. Jack snorted at the song choice as he held your waist in the middle of the space they’d cleared for a dance floor, but you didn’t mind. You’d always joked that the song was about him with his Statesman name, and he hated it. You loved him, though.

You had your husband back and you weren’t ever going to give him up again. You swayed to the song for a moment before leaning up to kiss him. Finally, you were home.

[petri808]

I3+Bakudeku mutual pining idiots Actor AU @miss-lorali request. I’m an idiot cause my idea is gonna be waaaay longer then I was aiming for lol.

“Okay,” the hiring director motioned for the pair to move closer. “Mr. Midoriya, remember you’re a scientist and Bakugou’s character is here to take you to safety. But you don’t understand why just yet. So, if you are ready, please begin the reading.”

Katsuki gesturing wildly, “pack it up quick nerd, we gotta get out of here before DAV gets here!”

Izuku pretending to complete a file download. He slammed his fist on the imaginary desk. “I can’t make the computer move faster! I don’t even understand what the hell is going on!”

Katsuki, “you’re science experiments aren’t important, we—”

Izuku straightened out, walked over and placed a finger on the larger man’s chest, running it slowly down from his collarbone to his pecs, while lowering his tone and narrowing his eyes. “Oh,” his brow raised, “and what would a grunt like you know about science?”

Katsuki slapped his hand away in annoyance, though a light flush arose on his tinged cheeks. “F-Fuck off!” He gritted back. “Just hurry the fuck up!”

“Yeah, yeah...” Izuku went back to the imaginary desk and pretended to type something. “30 seconds, fast enough for you? Probably like your bedroom speed,” he mumbled the last portion.

“What?!”

“And cut!” The hiring director yelled. “That was perfect!! Midoriya you’re hired!”

“Oh hell no!” Katsuki screamed at the director. “He added lines at the end! How is that okay?!”

“Because,” the woman countered. “It was still perfectly in character, and you know very well that the Director allows actors to ad lib if it fits the scene.”

Katsuki crossed his arms, “I refuse to work with him.”

“You’ve already signed the contract,” her brow perked up, “and may I remind you of the penalty if you quit now?”

“Find someone else!”

“No. The chemistry between you two came through perfectly on camera. It’s done. He’s it. End of discussion.” The woman then ignored the raging blonde and turned to Izuku. “I’ll let your agent know so we can sign the contracts, and I’ll have the full script sent to their office by end of day along with the filming schedule. You did a great job today holding your own and not getting lost next to Bakugou. I’m glad to have you on board with this project.”

“Thank you so much, Ms. Ashido. I was quite excited when I heard about the project and look forward to being part of the team.”

“Kiss ass,” Katsuki sneered. “You’re in. No need for simpering.”

But Izuku played it cool. He wasn’t about to play into the leads temper tantrum. “You might be top as an action star, but I have my own credit successes. So, stop treating me like the hired help, or I’ll make you scream in another way.”

Katsuki’s eyes flashed wide and mouth hung agape. It’s been a long time since anyone’s stood up to him and this smaller, green-haired, freckle-faced mouse just grew a set of balls to rival his own. “H-how dare you?!”

“I dare,” Izuku grinned brightly. “See ya later Kacchan!” He waved as he walked away.

Ms. Ashido giggled. “Oooo, this is gonna be so good! I must say I’d chalked him up as iffy, but he really proved me wrong.”

“Little shit is already giving me a nickname? Who the fuck does he think he is?!”

“Your new co-star.” She patted his chest twice and walked away with a smirk.

“Fuck!” What did he just get himself into?!

That afternoon, Katsuki left the studio in a total huff. And to think, he’d gone in excited to be working with Izuku Midoriya. Their movie credits ran in different circles, but he knew exactly who the man was. Izuku was from all he’d seen a great actor, and the perfect person to play his opposite. The guy looked like a handsome office worker, lean but built well, smaller then himself, and would fit snuggly against his chest in a romantic scene. In fact, it was after one of Izuku’s very first movies as a lead that a crush bloomed for the man. He had expected a quieter guy, but oh, boy! Had he been blindsided! And if that didn’t just turn him on even more!

Hence the dilemma he now found himself in. He’d have to act side by side with a man he was extremely attracted to, but only pretended to be. Katsuki was certain that Izuku’s attitude during the read was the same as his— pretending. Because that’s how you sell a movie. If the audience buys into what you’re selling, box office sales will go up. It’s not supposed to be real emotions. Heaven help him this just might kill him!

At home, he read through the script again noting the section that would be his hardest to overcome. The love scenes. No full nudity, not even close, but there is a section near the end where in a moment of pent up emotions, and the exhilarating rush of emotions, they end up lip-locked. Granted, the more realistic it is, the better, but Katsuki felt the nerves kicking in just thinking about it. He could only pray that in the real moment, and energies are heightened, he simply runs on instinct and acting prowess.

‘Come on, dumbass! It’s not your first kiss scene!’ Katsuki growled to himself in the safety of his own home. “Stupid!” He was making himself all flustered like some virginal teenager about to kiss his first crush! Fuck that! He wasn’t about to show Izuku any weakness! The last thing he wanted was for the man to figure out he was really just an overgrown pining fool behind a mask of anger. He didn’t even know which way the man swung because Izuku kept his life private, very private. A miracle in their world of paparazzi. It meant two things, Izuku really was good at hiding, or simply wasn’t seeing anyone for them to catch. Either way, Katsuki couldn’t figure out what he desperately wanted to know. Did he have a chance?

A month later, Katsuki and Izuku found themselves on location in Europe where most of the scenes would be filmed. The premise of the movie is of a top-tier scientist in the field of chemicals played by Izuku, who is to be kidnapped. But because MI6 caught wind of the plan, they sent in one of their agents played by Katsuki to get Izuku to safety. They barely make it out of the lab in time and now they’re on the run, being hunted by a group called the DAV who want Izuku to create chemical weapons for them. Katsuki needed to somehow get Izuku safely from his home in France, back to England where the MI6 brass waited to secret him into permanent hiding.

“Stop, stop, stop!” Izuku screamed and yanked Katsuki to halt. The moment they stop moving, he collapsed onto his knees, clutching his chest trying to catch his breath from all the running. “W-what is going on?!”

“Look,” Katsuki tried to yank the man back to his feet, but Izuku slumped and played a dead weight. “Damn it, we gotta get out of here before someone sees us!”

“No! I-I can’t keep running like this! I’m not exactly athletic! Now, tell me what the hell is going on!”

Katsuki growled and ignored Izuku’s pleas. He grabbed him instead and dead lifted him up, hoisting the man onto his shoulder in a fireman carry. Izuku bucked, but Katsuki literally slapped his ass to behave. “Just shut up for now,” he snapped and took off running down the alleyway. “I’ll explain everything when I get us somewhere safe!”

“If I’m the victim, shouldn’t you be nicer to me?!” Izuku retorted.

“I’ll be nicer if you stop causing me a headache!”

As soon as they exit the alley, Katsuki quickly surveyed his options. The bad guys blew up his car, so he needed transportation. He saw a man exiting a vehicle and rushed over, pulling a gun on them.

“Gimme the keys,” he aimed at the man’s head, to which they immediately complied. “Now scram!”

Katsuki put Izuku back on his feet. “Get in!”

“Where are we go—”

“Just get in the fucking car!”

Once Izuku is inside the passenger side, Katsuki got into the drivers and hightailed it out of there, heading towards the outskirts of town.

“Trailing car... And cut! Perfect!” The director called out. “Thirty minute break to reset for the next scene.”

“Kacchan, wanna get some lunch with me?” Izuku asked as they stepped out of the car.

“No,” Katsuki replied and quickly walked away, leaving his co-actor standing there with a sad, pouting look on his face.

‘Don’t turn around!’ He screamed at himself. Just co-workers, he reminded. Don’t get too close to that cute... freckled... “Fuck!” Katsuki screamed the moment he slammed his trailer door behind him and fell back against it. ‘Why’d I slap his ass!’ He groaned and ran a hand down his face. It wasn’t in the script and apparently the director didn’t mind it. ‘You did it cause you wanted to...’ his conscience chimed back. “Fuck you.” That’s not true...

A few minutes later there was a knock at his door. “Go away!” Katsuki snapped, he didn’t want to be bothered. Then a second knock, and a shuffling sound. “Go the fuc—” He whipped the door open to find no one standing there. “What the?” That’s when his looked down and saw a wrapped sandwich and a piece of paper tucked under it. Katsuki picked it up and closed door, opening up the sandwich to eat it. He was hungry, just didn’t want to take Izuku up on his offer. As he ate he opened the note:

I just wanna be friends :) that was a taxing scene, so you must be hungry. See you back on set. -I

It had been Izuku.

“Tch.” Katsuki bit down on the sandwich. ‘Didn’t have the balls to stick around though.’ But despite his grumping, he couldn’t help the light blush filtering onto his cheeks and warmth filling his body. Izuku was just too damn nice.

Filming an action movie was a lot more taxing then the consumers might realize. Thankfully, stunt doubles did the hardest scenes for the pair, but close ups and cardio elements were all them, and to see Izuku keeping up with him left Katsuki pleasantly surprised. Too pleasant. Moments in close confines, of him holding or dragging the man around left his libido in agony by end of day only to be relieved by a hand it didn’t want. Almost four months of agony had left Katsuki’s mind a buzz, trapped in a cycle of false realities and wishful thinking.

It was the last day of filming, and the scene Katsuki had dreaded had finally arrived. So much so, that he’d convinced the producer to hold off on filming it till the very end despite it taking place two-thirds of the way through the movie itself. Screw it, they can edit and splice it in. For a lot of actors, the intimately romantic parts were the hardest to accomplish, because conveying such raw emotions and making it believably real for the audience took great finesse.

They were holed up for the night in a small run down inn Katsuki managed to find after crossing the French border into Belgium. They were both exhausted, Izuku’s character more so, unused to such physical demands. DAV always managed to catch up to them within a day or two, so it left them little time to breathe, and Izuku was at his breaking point.

The smaller male pounded on Katsuki’s chest while tears streamed down his face. “I can’t keep doing this! Why can’t they just leave me alone?!”

Katsuki grabbed Izuku’s flailing arms gently to stop him. “I don’t know why.” He pulled the man towards the bed to sit down, taking a place beside him as he did his best to console. “But I promise I’ll keep you safe. We’ll get to safety soon and it will all be over with.”

Izuku sobbed harder, burying his face in Katsuki’s shoulder. His fingers gripped tightly to the man’s torn shirt. “You can’t promise me that,” he mumbled. “I’ve caused you so much trouble, maybe it’s best if I gave myself up to them.”

Katsuki pushed the man back and forced Izuku to look up at him. “Don’t you do that! Don’t you dare! You think I’m gonna just let them take you?!” His voice cracked as he channeled real emotions of the fear of losing this man. “You... I’m not letting them take you away from me Hitomu!”

Izuku looked up when he heard the pain behind Katsuki’s words to find tears pooling and clouded ruby red eyes. He held the man’s gaze for several seconds, staring, lip quivering. “I don’t want to leave you either, Takeo.” Izuku’s fingers slowly uncurl, smoothing out and lowering to Katsuki’s firm abdomen where it came to rest just above the waistline and pressed in firmly. “I feel safe with you.”

Katsuki’s breathing slowed as his eyes widened. Shit! He’s not ready for this scene! He thought he was, oh how he wanted to just rush in and steal Izuku’s lips! But his mind froze as glistening emerald eyes held it hostage. What was his lines? Are there any lines? Fuck! He couldn’t think straight!

“Cut!” The director yelled. “Bakugou, what’s the problem? You hold the gaze for a second then kiss him. Do you need a break?”

This was the first time since making it big that Katsuki’s messed up a scene like this. He took a moment to snap out of his trance, then yelled back. “No! Let’s just get this over with.”

“Alright. Places people, let’s take it from the last line Midoriya. Action!”

Izuku repeated the last line, “I feel safe with you,” adding a deeper grip to the waist band of Katsuki’s pants.

Katsuki’s eyes lower, half-lidded as he reached out and caressed Izuku’s face gently, cupping the man’s cheek before leaning in and landing a solid kiss. His mind was barely holding it together to keep his actions gentle.

Izuku reacted accordingly, once again his fingers gripping to the fabric of Katsuki’s clothes as the kiss was deepened considerably.

Katsuki’s hand trailed up and behind, tangling into his co-actors green curls. He let go of any control and lost himself in their embrace, in the feel of Izuku’s supple lips against his own. In that moment, they were no longer filming a movie scene, but transported into the blonde’s fantasy, of so much more that he’d love to do this man’s body. His eyes rolled back and fluttered as Izuku trailed heated kisses down to the nape of his neck, pressing firm nibbles and light mewling whines.

“Kacchan...” Izuku huskily whispered too low for the microphone to pick up.

But Katsuki heard it loud and clear, and he responded with a rumbling groan that went straight to his groin. Izuku had used his nickname... Not the characters name! His nickname! And damn did it sound sweet to his ears! Katsuki’s too far gone and doesn’t stop the decent, even as the smaller male applied pressure, allowing Izuku to guide them deeper onto the bed. Hands followed curves and groped flesh as they moved under the confines of shirts in the makings of a sex scene. Izuku truly felt wonderful against him, moving in time with his movements like a perfect dance. It was only once on his back, with their bodies semi-entwined, that the director finally yelled cut, and Katsuki’s fantasy came to a screeching halt.

“Brilliant work guys!” The director congratulated his two stars as they made their way off the bed. “I think we can call it a wrap!”

Applause rang out on the set as everyone was high-fiving or shaking hands, patting the two men on the back and adding to the job well done message. Izuku was blushed and beaming, but Katsuki still flustered from the scene, ignored the jovial repartee and beelined it to his trailer for some privacy. It was a miracle no one noticed the slight pitch in his pants, because now he was fucking horny! If the director hadn’t stopped them, who knows how far things would have gone. The sound of Izuku’s voice whispering his name continued to repeat in Katsuki’s mind like a siren, but he couldn’t give into it.

“This was just acting!” Katsuki screamed in the safety of his trailer as he punched the wall as hard as he could. It’s a fantasy! A goddamn fantasy world! And it’s over! “Stop thinking about him!” At that moment, there’s a knock on his trailer door followed by his name being called out.

“Kacchan? What was that loud bang?”

Fuck! It was Izuku again!

“Kacchan?” More determined pounding on the doror. “Kacchan, c-can we talk, please, I need to talk to you.”

“I’m fine, go away!”

“I’m not going away, we need to talk about what just happened!”

Katsuki growled and slammed the door wide open, ignoring the throb of his hand. “No, we don’t! It was just a scene Izuku!” But after shouting his piece-of-mind, he’s taken slightly aback at the teary-eyed man who looked like he was on the verge of crying.

“It wasn’t just a scene for me, Kacchan.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Katsuki questioned, though again his whispered nickname sprang back to the forefront. Had Izuku said it on purpose?!

“Did you feel nothing between us?” Izuku’s lip quivered as he spoke. “Was the passion that came out on set just acting?” His voice cracked. “If you say yes, I-I’ll leave you alone. It’s just— I took this job because... I like you, Kacchan. I’ve liked you for a long time and thought maybe... but— that’s okay, just forget it,” he turned to walk away unwilling to take the rejection face-forward. “Thank you for the opportunity to work with you.”

Katsuki stood in his spot completely stunned by the confession. But the further Izuku moved away from his trailer, he quickly realized he was about to lose the very thing he’d come to desire. He raced after the man and grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around, and slammed his lips into the stunned Izuku. It was filled with an even more heightened passion then before, now that there was no audience watching them. He nibbled at the man’s bottom lip, eliciting a groan, while Izuku’s hands grabbed desperately onto his shirt, holding tight.

“Fucking nerd,” Katsuki mumbled with a smile while threading his fingers through Izuku’s hair. “How could I not want you too after you’d riled me up since the day we met.”

Izuku blushed in embarrassment. “S-sorry for coming on so strong. I just got in my head that I needed to look cool and not a pining mess. I really wanted to work with you.”

“Tch, I guess I can’t really talk, because I acted like an asshole, so I didn’t look like a pining idiot.” Katsuki laughed. “Guess we’re both pining idiots.” He kissed Izuku again and lowered his voice to a sultry tone. “Wanna finish what we started?”

Izuku giggled as his hands tugged at the man’s waistband. “Most definitely.”

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

Silly Bonus: from a chat with a friend lol

As they start to walk back towards Katsuki’s trailer, Izuku takes hold of the man’s hand. But now that the adrenaline had worn off, Katsuki immediately flinched from the pain. Izuku stopped and lifted it up for inspection, seeing the slight swell of the man’s knuckles and drying blood. “Oh my goodness, Kacchan was that noise from you punching the wall?”

“What? No!” He pulled his hand back and hid it behind his back.

“You’re bleeding, we should get the medics.”

“I’m fine, it’s fine, it’s just ketchup.”

“Ketchup?” Izuku’s brow raised. “Really?”

“Really.”

Izuku:

[taeyongdoyoung]

summary: you are a mermaid and you save a handsome man from drowning but little do you know it’s not his first rodeo when dealing with mermaids. seonghwa, a former prince, is currently hongjoong’s first mate and boyfriend. hongjoong is the captain, the pirate king of the most savage crew across the seas. and you want nothing to do with them. not because they’re pirates, but because they’re humans…

ship: mermaid!reader x prince/pirate!seonghwa x pirate!hongjoong

genre: little mermaid!au, pirate!au, angst, fluff, romance

author’s note: stay tuned for demon!jongho hehe

warnings: insecurities, confessions, some swearing (like twice?), another secret being revealed, af-i can’t even say it af-ffection 🤢🤢

word count: 1.9k

chapter one ☠️ chapter two ☠️ chapter three ☠️ chapter four ☠️ chapter five ☠️chapter six ☠️ chapter seven ☠️ chapter eight ☠️ chapter ten ☠️ chapter eleven ☠️ chapter twelve ☠️ chapter thirteen ☠️ spotify playlist

Hongjoong's POV

Surprisingly, building a pool in the ship for Y/N and Soojin to use didn't take much time. Seonghwa, Yeosang, Wooyoung, San and I all worked together because during the past weeks we'd grown closer to the mermaids. And even though I probably wouldn't admit it out loud...they had grown on me. 

Looking back at my previous actions, I felt like such an asshole. Doing this, small as it was, was my way of apologizing. I just hoped it would be enough. And yet again, if Y/N managed to forgive me, then maybe, I deserved to forgive myself.

"What are you moping about?" my thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Seonghwa.

"Uh...nothing."

"Come on, don't you think I deserve the truth?" he sat down next to me, casually leaning on one side. I was taken aback by his proximity. It's been a while since...I felt so close to him.

"I was thinking about Y/N," I confessed.

"In a murderous kind of way or...?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Of course not. In a...I can't believe she forgave me kind of way."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Seonghwa looked confused. "Why the long face, Joongie?"

I almost jumped away as if struck. It's been far too long since he'd addressed me so affectionately. I missed that. I missed him.

"Because I don't know if I deserve it."

Seonghwa laughed. I was telling him about feeling like shit and he was laughing. The nerve! I stared at him expectantly. Soon enough, he started explaining himself.

"Do you think I deserve her forgiveness?" he chuckled bitterly. "Ariel is gone because of me and I kept that a secret from Y/N. And she forgave me anyway."

I shook my head.

"Your parents and the sea witch are the real villains, Hwa," I insisted. "There's nothing to forgive."

Seonghwa laughed once again, in total contrast with my sombre expression.

"You know...you and Y/N are not so different after all."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The first thing...that's exactly what she said after we rescued her from Mingi’s fishnets. There's nothing to forgive. You two are quite similar, actually."

"You know...I think I'll take that as a compliment," I grinned despite myself.

"It is a compliment," Seonghwa assured me.

"And the second thing?"

"Hm?" Seonghwa tried to pretend he had forgotten but I could see right through him.

"You said the first similarity was us saying the exact same sentence. What's the second thing?"

"The second thing...is I'm completely enamoured by the two of you."

I couldn't even begin to process what he was saying. After all my cruelty...he still...It seemed too unimaginable to be actually happening. And yet...

I had to make a joke or else I would break into tears, fall apart and never recover from it.

"Well, that's your own problem, not necessarily a similarity between–"

"Can't you say something normal for once?" Seonghwa groaned.

"What do you want me to say?" I sighed desperately.

"Something honest. Something real."

I smiled sadly.

"I don't deserve you as much as I don't deserve Y/N's forgiveness."

"That's not for you to decide," Seonghwa argued. "And it's not real. Not to me. And I'm certain Y/N will agree."

"Shall we ask her?"

🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️

Reader's POV

You and Soojin were enjoying the water inside the pool. It allowed you to be close to Seonghwa and Soojin – to Yeosang. And you had Hongjoong to be grateful to. Honestly, he wasn't so bad, after all. He could actually be quite considerate when he wanted to. And he had somehow overcome his jealousy, or at least it seemed that way. So, when he and Seonghwa showed up, almost running, you couldn't help but beam with happiness upon seeing their pretty faces.

"Well, if it isn't my two favourite pirates across the seas," you did your best to sound confident and a bit teasing.

"Don't tell that to Yeosang," Soojin warned, joking. You waved her off and she swam away to the other edge of the pool, to give the three of you some sense of privacy.

"What brings you here?" you asked nonchalantly.

"This is literally my ship, Y/N," Hongjoong reminded you. "You're my guest."

"Semantics," you giggled, not at all taking offense.

"Hongjoong and I have a question for you," Seonghwa explained.

"May I hear it?"

Hongjoong suddenly started playing with his nails, refusing to look into your eyes. Was he nervous? You couldn't believe it. The once terrifying captain now seemed like a good little boy to you.

"What's wrong?" you asked in a soft voice.

"N-nothing," he lied.

"Hongjoong said he doesn't deserve my affections as much as he doesn't deserve your forgiveness!" Seonghwa ratted him out.

"Seonghwa!" Hongjoong complained.

"What? You're the one who suggested asking her."

"I was going to but..."

"Hongjoong, that's nonsense!" you exclaimed.

"Huh?"

"Not about your intentions," you hurried to explain. "I'm certain that you would have said it yourself if Seonghwa had given you a couple more moments to collect your thoughts."

Seonghwa shrugged in a "guilty as charged" sort of way.

"What's nonsense," you continued, "is you believing you don't deserve love or forgiveness. Everyone deserves that!"

"Even me?" Hongjoong inquired sheepishly.

"Especially you! You've been trying so hard to change. You saved me and Soojin from the fishnets and now you built this pool to make me and my sister feel comfortable. If that's not reason enough to be deserving of forgiveness, I don't know what is."

"Do you really mean that?" Hongjoong asked self-consciously.

"Would I say it if I didn't mean it?"

"She has a point. Y/N's super honest about everything," Soojin yelled from the other side of the pool.

"Soojin! You're not supposed to be eavesdropping!" you scolded her.

"Can't help it, you guys are not exactly keeping your voices down."

You shook your head in disbelief.

"Do you believe me now?" you said quiet enough for only Hongjoong and Seonghwa to hear.

"I do," Hongjoong whispered, visibly relieved.

"Told you so," Seonghwa muttered under his breath.

"Oh, give me a break."

"Not a chance," Seonghwa smirked and kissed Hongjoong's cheek quickly. Then, he leaned down over the pool's edge to kiss your lips. No sooner had he done that than Hongjoong pushed him inside the water. That was followed by Seonghwa's loud protests.

"Hey! That was exactly how I met Y/N!" he exclaimed a bit later.

"Yeah?" Hongjoong scratched the back his head, as if to search his memory.

"I mean, if you hadn't thrown me overboard, I wouldn't have ended up in a whirlpool and Y/N wouldn't have saved me."

"So, what you're saying is I'm responsible for whatever the two of you have got going on?" Hongjoong joked.

"Don't exclude yourself from the narrative!" you started tickling Hongjoong's legs. Not expecting the attacks, he lost his balance for a moment. But that moment was long enough for you to pull him inside the pool, as well.

"Ugh, no way!" he bemoaned his defeat.

"Who's making all these waves?" Soojin complained. "For a second, I thought I was back in the sea."

The three of you laughed simultaneously, exchanging conspiratorial glances.

☠️☠️☠️

Seonghwa's POV

As I looked at Hongjoong and Y/N laughing in unison, I couldn't help but wonder why we had wasted so much time. I would give anything to have had this perfect peace between the two of them from the very beginning. And yet, this was our journey. Flawed, full of fears and frustrations, but it was ours. And no one could take that away. Or so I thought...

That night, I returned to Hongjoong's room. I was determined to do right by him. And the only way to achieve that was to swallow my pride and talk to him honestly. I didn't want anything standing in the way of our happiness, least of all, our own foolishness. So, I took the first step.

"You still have free space for me?" I asked, a bit nervously, after he opened the door.

"You'll always have a home with me, Hwa," Hongjoong replied sweetly.

"Fuck, I missed you," I admitted. "I know we're literally a few doors apart, but still."

"I get it. You have no idea how badly I've missed you, too," he confessed.

"I want to kiss you," I said suddenly. "Not like earlier," I added, referring to the quick peck on his cheek. "Like before."

"Then, what are you waiting for?" Hongjoong panted desperately.

"I need to tell you something first. I just...want to be completely honest with you. You've probably figured it out already but...I love you. And I love Y/N. Please don't ask me to choose. I can't."

Hongjoong nodded in understanding.

"I wouldn't. I've learned my lesson already. And since we're being honest, I don't want you to choose. I was wrongfully prejudiced against mermaids. But now that I've gotten to know her...I like Y/N and I think I might even grow to love her one day."

I smiled fondly, proud of Hongjoong's change of heart.

"There's nothing that would make me happier, Joongie," I told him and was just about to close the distance between us with a kiss when Hongjoong placed his hand on my chest as if to stop me. I looked at him utterly confused. "Didn't you want this?"

"I did. I do," he corrected himself. "But I have to tell you something. Before it's too late. I would hate to see another secret destroy what we have."

"What's wrong?" I immediately sensed it must have been something really difficult to talk about, judging by Hongjoong's miserable expression.

"Remember that time Yeosang was in Mingi's territory and my ship caught up with his at a suspiciously fast pace?"

I nodded, already hating the direction in which this was going.

"And remember you confronted me about it but I refused to tell you the truth?"

He was stalling. It was beyond obvious and a bit aggravating.

"What did you do?" I asked directly.

"I kinda made a deal with a demon and sold my soul," Hongjoong blurted out.

What. The. Fuck?!?!

"Kinda? You can't just kinda summon a demon! Hongjoong, what the hell were you thinking?"

"We could have lost Yeosang!" he argued. "It was the only way."

"There's always another way! I can't believe you would do something so reckless..."

"I would do it again if it means Yeosang gets to live."

I sighed, unable to find the energy to scold him any further. He probably felt like shit already, considering he'd been keeping it a secret.

"How much?"

"How much what?"

"How much time do you have left until the demon comes to collect? A month? A year?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "The demon didn't specify. He just said he'll take my soul when I've achieved true happiness. Whatever that means. But the fact that you and Y/N forgave me has made me believe true happiness is not too far around the corner."

"We'll figure out a way to stop the demon. I don't know how but we will. I just got you back again. I won't give you up. Never again," I promised and wrapped my hands around his face, kissing him. He quickly let me in and ran his hands through my hair, moaning into my mouth. I smirked against his lips. It was nice to see I still had that effect on him.

"Together?" Hongjoong murmured once I broke the kiss.

"Always," I confirmed and stroked his cheeks.

To be continued...

[batterycityghoul]

There’s a Bad Moon on the Rise (Ben Hanscom/Reader) (3/3)

Summary:  You're Richie's twin sister and a member of the Losers' Club. When the other members all pack up and leave town, you elect to stay behind with Mike to wait for It to come back. After 27 years pass and Pennywise returns, will you and the other Losers be able to finally defeat him?

Pairing:  Ben Hanscom/Reader; Richie Tozier & Reader; Background Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

Word Count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone who has shown this love. It makes me so happy to know people have enjoyed this. 💖

Masterlist / Part One / Part Two / Read on AO3

It didn't take you long to realize that Richie's bag and Richie's car were both missing. You didn't want to believe your brother would leave you all in the lurch, but all signs pointed to Richie fleeing town.  

You were pacing in the foyer, cursing out your brother, when Ben stalled you by stepping into your path. He put his hands on your shoulders and ducked his head to meet your gaze. "It's going to be okay, Y/N," he promised. "Even if Richie left, it's going to be okay."

"I can't believe that fucking dickwad just left me like that," you heard Eddie seethe as he descended the stairs. "I mean us," he quickly amended with a pained grimace.  

"Let's just get to the library," Beverly said as she joined the rest of you. "Maybe we'll get lucky and Richie will be there."

Thankfully, Beverly was right. Richie was at the library with Mike, but your brother had also apparently killed Henry Bowers in an effort to save Mike.  

You listened to Mike explain what happened as he let Ben take care of the cut on his arm. You noticed Eddie and Richie seemingly consoling each other near the card catalogue, an expression of fury on Richie’s face as he considered the bandage on Eddie's cheek. From the way he kept eyeing Henry's body, you were half-sure he was wishing he could kill the deranged man all over again just for harming Eddie.  

"Where's Bill?" You heard Mike ask as he pulled his bandaged arm towards himself.  

"I don't know," Beverly admitted with a sigh. "We should have heard from him by now."

Mike carefully pulled his cell phone free from the front pocket of his jeans and called Bill. You listened as Mike tried to talk to Bill, his expression growing increasingly worried as he listened to whatever Bill was telling him.

You had a sinking feeling in your gut that told you whatever Bill was doing now wasn't good. When Mike hung up the phone and confirmed that Bill was about to attempt to kill Pennywise all by himself, you knew that the final battle was fast approaching whether you wanted it to or not.  

Once it was concluded that Bill would be going to Neibolt to confront Pennywise, you all decided to meet him there.  

You were relieved when you got to the house and noticed that Bill had yet to go inside.  

"Hey," you heard Mike call to get Bill's attention.  

"Wh-what are you guys doing here?" Bill asked when he turned to look at the rest of you. "You shouldn't b-be here."

"We couldn't let you do this alone, Bill," Beverly told him.  

"Yeah, man," you heard Eddie agree. "Losers stick together."

"But you're all cursed because of me," Bill insisted. "That summer was m-my fault because I made you all go out to the Barrens with me lookin' for Georgie. I can't ask you all to do this."

"Just face it, Denbrough," you started with a smirk on your face that you hoped was covering up the anxiety you felt coursing through you. "You're stuck with us. It’s all of us or none of us."

“Is it too late to vote for none of us?” You heard Richie mutter from beside you. You discreetly elbowed him in the side, ignoring his pained grunt.

Bill looked like he wanted to argue for a moment before he seemed to realize that none of you actually had any intention of letting him storm Neibolt House alone.  

By the time you made it down into the caverns beneath Neibolt, you felt like you had already lived through dozens of nightmares.  

Between trying to help Bill pry the spider disguised as Stan's head off of Richie and listening to Ben's screams coming from rooms away and Beverly getting attacked and nearly drowned, you were starting to wonder if you would ever be allowed to complete the Ritual of Chüd. You were half-sure Pennywise would end up killing you all first.  

As you were throwing your token into the fire, you felt a wary anticipation start to overcome you. If this worked, then Pennywise would be gone forever. If this didn't work, then all of you would die horrible, violent deaths.  

You noticed a brief, sad smile flit across Ben's face before he threw his token into the fire. He glanced first to Beverly before his eyes met yours where you were standing opposite him. He gifted you with a sincere smile before he turned his attention towards where Richie was sacrificing an arcade token.  

You had a moment where you began to wonder if this was even real before you joined hands with Richie and Bill and listened to Mike speak about the ritual.  

As the deadlights descended and you started to chant with the group, you started to let yourself truly believe that this could be the end. If the ritual worked, then Pennywise would be gone. You wanted that more than anything, so you said each word with increasing conviction, hoping it would be enough to put Pennywise away for good.  

"Turn light into dark. Turn light into dark. Turn light into dark," you kept saying over and over, believing that it would be enough.  

It had to be enough.  

Of course it wasn't enough.  

When the ritual quite literally blew up in your faces, you knew that every hope you had of defeating Pennywise was nearly gone. You didn't know if there was anything else that would work, but your only way to survive once he attacked was to run. Pennywise had transformed himself into a giant spider that was big enough to nearly fill the cavern. There was no way you could possibly fight that and hope to survive.  

Mike seemed to be overwhelmed with guilt after Pennywise pressured him to admit that he had left one important detail out of his explanations regarding the ritual. The first and only group to attempt the Ritual of Chüd had all been killed because they couldn’t succeed. Mike had assumed that if you all just believed hard enough, then you would be able to kill It. You heard him apologizing profusely as you dodged a swipe from one of Pennywise’s legs.  

You ended up getting split up from the others. Richie and Eddie disappeared into one cave while Ben and Beverly retreated into another. You were about to bolt after Eddie and Richie, since it seemed like your only possible escape that didn't take you right past the killer clown and spider hybrid, but Pennywise had other plans for you.  

You felt something heavy slam into your back before you went flying. You barely had a moment to pull your arms in close to your body in an attempt to not break them on the rocks before you felt yourself hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of you. Your momentum carried you down an opening in the cavern's walls and right through a hole. You felt the odd sensation like you were flying for a moment before you landed on something soft.  

You didn’t even realize that had you closed your eyes during the fall, but once you opened them, you weren't entirely convinced that you were actually awake.  

"No," you whispered when you were met with the sight of your childhood bedroom. You had spent many nights in this room feeling like you were helpless against the lingering shadows on the walls. There were the nights when you swore there was someone standing at the foot of your bed and watching you in the dark. Sometimes the voice belonged to Pennywise and sometimes it was a wheezing, groaning croak that reminded you of every zombie movie you had watched with Richie after he dared you not to get scared.  

You willed yourself to move, but it felt like you were paralyzed with fear. You felt the sheets wrap around your ankles and wrists, anchoring you to the bed.  

"Look what you did to me," you heard a voice rasp from near the foot of the bed. You caught sight of curly hair and torn clothes. A hand reached out towards you, the skin mottled with decay. "You did this to me, Y/N."  

"No," you whispered again, silently pleading with whatever deity was listening to get you out of this.  

"Look at me," Stan snapped as he took a step closer to you, gifting you with a better view of him.  

You closed your eyes and resolutely shook your head. You felt fingers dig into your chin before your head was jerked sharply to the side.  

"Look at me. Look at what you did to me," Stan commanded with a conviction that was strong enough that you almost couldn't help but open your eyes in obedience. "You know what's going to happen to them now. They're going to end up like me. And it's all your fault," Stan spat before he offered you a sickly grin that had you attempting to pull your chin out of his hold.  

His nails dug into your skin and you could feel yourself begin to bleed from where he was cutting into your skin. You struggled against your bonds, a panic beginning to overwhelm you. You had felt trapped for years with the certainty that you might be subjecting your loved ones to their final demise and now Pennywise was playing that scenario out for you in the cruelest way possible.  

"No, no, no," you denied as you kept struggling for freedom. "I didn't mean to. I didn't want you to die, Stan," you cried.  

"You did this to me. To us," Stan snarled before he pulled away. He gestured towards the floor where you could make out the sight of several bodies. "You shouldn't have called us here. You've killed us all."

"NO!" You screamed when the first body pulled itself off the floor. You saw the glasses and dark hair and knew immediately that it must be Richie. You couldn't hold back the sob that fought its way free at the sight of the torn and bloody visage of your brother. His eyes were clouded over and his neck had been torn out.  

It wasn't long before the other members of the Losers' Club rose from the floor and started advancing on you. You could hear their hungry, ravenous moans as their hands all stretched out towards you. You could just imagine what it would feel like as they tore into your flesh and you hurried to free yourself from the bed. You twisted and writhed and finally managed to free one of your hands.  

You could feel nails scraping down your leg and you bit back a cry of pain. You weren't going to give Pennywise the satisfaction of hearing that his torture was working. You could feel blood running from the cuts and pooling onto the bed below you before you finally managed to break free.  

There was a door on the other side of the room that you were desperate to reach, but it would take you right through the undead members of the Losers' Club.  

"Fuck," you hissed, before you decided to try your chances. You bolted over the bed and pushed past the clawing hands and sound of clicking teeth as more than one of the members tried to take a bite out of you. By the time you made it to the door, one of your sleeves had been ripped away and you had deep scratches down your arms and along your torso. You were also pretty sure someone had gotten a lucky bite in, because your shoulder was burning and aching in a way that was nearly enough to distract you from your escape attempt.  

You didn't even bother looking back as you opened the door and fell through it right into the cavern you had left behind what felt like years ago.  

You only had a moment to notice the bright light filling the cave and the sight of Richie caught in the deadlights before you were taking off across the cavern. The image of the reanimated corpses of the Losers' Club was still fresh in your mind as you watched Eddie attempt to save Richie by spearing Pennywise through the head with the broken piece of fence Beverly had picked up earlier that night to use as a weapon.  

You pulled to a stop not far from the pair when you realized that Eddie was exclaiming that he had saved Richie. You were keeping a wary eye on Pennywise, but you still managed to catch sight of Eddie leaning down and kissing Richie.  

You were stunned for a moment, ridiculously happy for your brother and Eddie even if it was the wrong moment to get carried away, before you noticed Pennywise shake off the hit from Eddie. You had a moment to see Pennywise's grin just before he moved to strike. You barely had to think about it as you took off towards the pair, managing to tackle Eddie just before he would have been skewered through his chest with Pennywise's claw.  

You thought for a moment that you had managed to save Eddie without any consequences, but it didn't take long for the searing pain in your shoulder to make itself known. You felt like there was something hooked right beneath your clavicle before you were pulled back and flung across the cavern. You hit the ground with a sharp crack, crying out when you rolled right into the cavern wall. You felt like you had a hole in your shoulder, but that couldn't be right. The blood that was steadily pooling beneath you argued otherwise.  

You realized that you might have saved Eddie, but you sacrificed yourself to do it.  

Your vision went hazy for a moment before you heard someone calling your name. There were hands on you and for a dizzying moment you thought it was the zombified members of the Losers' Club coming back to finish the job. You kicked out at someone before the words began to register.  

"Fucking fuck, Y/N! That was my nose!" Richie yelled as he attempted to help Ben pick you up off the ground.  

"It's okay," you heard Beverly assure you. "You're okay."

"Don't die, Y/N," Eddie pleaded as he helped the others carry you into a cave where Pennywise wouldn't be able to readily reach you.  

"Eds," you croaked as you struggled to hold onto consciousness. You reached out to grab his hand, holding it as tight as you could. "Worth it," you assured him with a grin that probably looked half-crazed as you did your best to stay awake and aware.  

"Fu-fuck! Fuck!" You heard Bill shout as he joined the others. "That's a lot of blood."

"Hey, Y/N," Mike whispered. "You need to stay with us. We can't do this without you."

You felt something press into your shoulder and you couldn't hold back the scream that clawed its way free of your throat. You felt the sharp agony as Ben tried to keep pressure on your wound, having sacrificed his overshirt to try to keep you from bleeding out.  

"Just stay with me, Y/N," you heard Ben murmur. "Don't leave me. Mike's right, you know? We can't do this without you. I can't do this without you. I need you, so you’ve got to stick around."

You managed to suck in a shuddering, pained breath as you met his eyes. You knew you were fast losing the battle to stay awake and you weren't really sure if you were going to make it out of the cavern. Your blood was quickly soaking Ben’s overshirt and the pain started to recede as an alarming numbness began to overtake you.  

You could hear Pennywise taunting you and the other Losers, but all you could really focus on at that moment was Ben.  

You saw Ben bite his lip, looking unsure for a moment, before he brought his hands up and cupped your face in them. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours, prompting you to bring up the arm that currently didn’t feel like it was about to fall off to grab a fistful of his t-shirt and reel him in even closer. He felt like your only anchor to consciousness at that moment and you were reluctant to let him go.  

"Ugh, my sister, man? Seriously? Didn't you have the hots for Bev?" You heard Richie wonder with a tone that warred between disgust and exasperation.  

"Beep beep, Richie," you heard Beverly mutter.  

When you felt like you were struggling to breathe, you carefully pushed Ben away. "I'm sorry, Ben Handsome" you whispered before you felt your eyelids droop.  

"No, Y/N, stay awake," you heard Ben urge.  

"Is she dead? What's going on?"

"Fuck! This can’t be fucking happening."

"No, come on, Y/N. Don't do this."

Awareness stayed with you in little bits and pieces. You could hear Pennywise roaring and the others yelling, but they now sounded far away. You could hear something rumbling before your body began to shake. It took you a really long time to realize that you weren't shaking, but the cave around you was as it started to collapse. There was the unmistakable sound of rocks clattering down to the floor and then more shouting.  

You felt trembling fingers on your neck and others wrapped around your wrist. There were hands under your knees and someone pulling you to stand. You felt weightless for a moment and for one brief, disorienting moment you thought you were flying.  

You felt hands on you again and voices drifting across you, but before you could shout or try to avoid the reach of the undead, you finally allowed the darkness threatening to overwhelm you to fully embrace you.  

You didn't really think you were dead. You still felt and heard and experienced. There were flashing lights that had you wishing you could close your eyes, even though they were already closed. There was the prick of the needle as it slid into your arm and a warm voice talking just above you.  

"We'll have to bring her in for surgery now. I'm sorry, but you have to stay in the waiting room."

"But that's my sister," you heard Richie exclaim. "What the fuck do you mean I have to stay out here?"

There was something cold rushing through your veins and a metallic taste in your mouth. There was the drifting awareness and then nothing.  

You jolted awake, your eyes flying open as you attempted to take better stock of your surroundings.  

"Holy shit, you're awake," you heard Richie mumble from your side. You glanced over to see that he was rubbing at his eyes just under the rims of his glasses. He looked exhausted, but there was a delighted, relieved grin on his face that had you automatically smiling back at him in answer.  

You wanted to ask him what the fuck was going on, but he was suddenly out of his chair and striding over towards the door.  

"Hey, guys! She's finally awake!" You heard Richie yell before he was stepping out of your room.  

You barely had a moment to realize you were in a hospital room before the rest of the Losers' Club filed into the room.  

"I'm glad you're okay, Y/N," Bill said as he came to stand beside your bed.  

"Yeah, you had us all really scared for a while there," Beverly chimed in as she reached out for your hand. She squeezed your hand and offered you a reassuring smile.  

"Move," Richie commanded as he brushed past Bill and Beverly. "Don't you ever fucking do that to me again, you got it?” Richie admonished you as he pointed his finger right in your face, as if he was scolding a child and not his twin sister. “I just fucking got you back and I'm not about to let you die because of some stupid, fuckin' clown."

"Pennywise," you breathed, startled to finally remember the clown that had terrorized you all for so long and the recent events that took place in the caverns beneath Neibolt House. "What happened? Is he dead?"

"He's dead," Mike confirmed with a nod of his head. You turned your head and met his eyes where he was standing at the foot of your bed. "We did it."

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," Eddie piped up as he moved to stand at Richie's side. You didn't fail to notice the way Richie's hand immediately reached for Eddie's, their fingers lacing together as Eddie crowded further into Richie's side. “I feel like you almost died because of me.”

"I meant what I said," you told him with a small smile. "It would have been worth it."

"Y/N," you heard from the doorway of your hospital room.  

You looked over to see Ben standing there, an expression of stark relief clear on his face.  

"Why don't we give them a moment," Beverly suggested as she reached out to start steering Richie and Eddie away.  

"Hey, that's my sister!" Richie protested, before he seemed to relent when Beverly whispered something to him. "I'm watching you," Richie promised Ben before he let himself be led out of the room by the rest of the Losers.  

Ben came to sit down at your bedside once it was just the two of you left in the room.  

"Do you, uh, do you remember anything? From before you passed out?" He wasn't quite meeting your eyes, but there was an awkward shyness that seemed so familiar that you couldn't help but grin at him.  

"I remember trying to save Eddie," you muttered before your brows furrowed as you attempted to remember more. "There was a lot of pain. I think I lost a lot of blood," you said as you frowned down at the bandages you could see covering your shoulder. "I remember you," you confessed with a softer smile as memories became clearer. "And a kiss," you whispered before Ben finally met your gaze. "Did you mean it? Or was it only because I was bleeding out?"

"I meant it," Ben rushed to reassure you before he hesitantly reached out to take your hand. "I meant it," he whispered as he let his thumb sweep over the back of your hand. "And I have a proposition for you if you're open to it."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, not able to fight off the smirk you felt tugging at your lips. "While I'm still in a hospital bed? Ben Handsome, I didn't know you were that eager to seduce me."

You noticed the blush that bloomed on Ben's cheeks before he shot you an amused grin. "Not that kind of proposition," he remarked with a fond expression and shake of his head. "I was thinking about what you'd do now that Pennywise is gone."

"Oh," you breathed in understanding. You honestly had never thought of what you would do once you were free to leave Derry. All of your plans boiled down to just that. Leave. But you didn't know what you would do once you stepped foot outside the town for the first time. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I'm overdue for a vacation and you're probably eager to get out of Derry. You've been stuck here for so long and I know you've got to heal and probably some physical therapy, but we can go anywhere you'd like. It's your choice, but if you'll have me, I want to explore the world with you." He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for a possible rejection. "So, where would you like to go?"

You were stunned for a moment with the realization that whatever was forming between you and Ben wasn't just going to be relegated to Derry and near-death experiences. Ben was actually serious about this. Serious about you. And while it seemed a bit sudden and you were sure there was so much left to discuss, you couldn’t help but feel excited by the idea that he wanted to see you and spend time with you and take you far away from the town that housed all your nightmares.  

You felt a grin slowly stretch across your face before you squeezed his hand. "I've got the perfect idea."

Later, nearly a week after Pennywise's demise, you joined the other members of the Losers' Club at Jade of the Orient for dinner. You were surprised that you were all allowed back after the property damage from your last dinner, but you were given another private room to hold your meeting of the Losers’ Club.  

This dinner was a complete turnaround from the first one, however. Just a week before, you were all talking about what you had spent the past twenty-seven years doing. It was rife with news of divorce, separation, and uncertainty. It was tainted by the knowledge that Pennywise was back and wreaking havoc on Derry yet again. What should have been a nice reunion was overshadowed by the hauntings of your pasts and the tragedy that was soon to follow.  

Now, you were all looking forward to whatever the future held in store, because you all realized that you actually had a future to experience. There was no more uncertainty and no more monsters to fight. You were allowed to live now without the specter of Pennywise hanging over you all.  

Ben kept a firm grip on your hand through most of the dinner, as if he had to remind himself that you were really there and alive after suffering a near-fatal injury. Richie and Eddie were just as obnoxious as ever, but Eddie had taken it upon himself to kiss Richie whenever he wanted him to shut up. By the stunned and cautiously delighted look on Richie's face every time it happened, he didn't mind.  

Everyone seemed eager to discuss their plans for the next few months. It seemed that Richie still planned to finish out his tour and Eddie was going to go with him. Mike claimed that he wanted to finally check out Florida after being stuck in Maine for so long. Bill said he had a movie to finish and a new book to write. Beverly told you all that now that so much of her past had become clear to her, she wanted to figure out who she really was. She wanted to strike out on her own and learn how to depend on herself, but from the few, brief glances she shared with Bill, you started to wonder if there was more going on there than they had shared with the group.  

By the time you were finished with your food and waiting on the check, you felt lighter than you had in decades. With Ben at your side and the knowledge that Pennywise was no longer a threat, you felt like your future was open to you for the first time in your life.  

You heard Bill clear his throat before he raised his glass. "To the Losers' Club," he said with a fond grin on his face. "To finally defeating Pennywise," he continued with a glance at each of you around the table. "And most important, to Stan," he finished.

"To Stan," you all joined in, raising your glasses in a toast to your fallen friend, before you all took a drink.  

"To Stan," you repeated with a sad smile as you thought of the friend who should have been sharing this victory with all of you. You wished more than anything that he was there to see the nightmare finally laid to rest.  

But you couldn't help but hope that he knew somehow that you and the Losers' Club hadn't let him down. You had defeated Pennywise once and for all and the townspeople of Derry were finally safe from a threat they weren't even aware of after so many decades of suffering.  

And now, you were finally free to live your life.

[shadowsfiguresfigments-blog]

A good place to die Chapter 26 (smut)

Warning: Harsh language, violence, smut

He was all over me, literally. Whilst he kept my lips and tongue busy with his, his hands roamed across my body, gently caressing every square inch of it. The last tattered remains of my clothes fell off, but his silken gloves kept me warm against the cold air. I sucked on his lower lip to encourage him further, and in response he leaned into me. The sensation of his touch multiplied, and during a breath pause to draw breath I opened my eyes. Penny had sprouted another two pairs of arms, giving him a slightly spider-like appearance.

Whilst he played with my hair, he simultaneously worjed my erect nipples, kneading them; pinching them just enough to illicit a sweet stinging pain. And all the while his hands wandered down further, along my hips, in between my thighs. I pressed harder against him, the familiar desperate yearning overcoming any sense of self-control I had left. There needn’t be any more barriers between us, nothing to separate us – I had been inside him, literally, for fuck’s sake – and I tore at his clothes, fighting against the last veil of silk that stood between us.

His chuckle was barely audible, more of a deep rumble that went through his body right into mine. The hands in my hair disappeared and the pressure against me lessened, but before I could protest his fingers slipped inside me. My insides clamped down on him in an unconscious effort to pull him further along, and their effort was rewarded; Penny’s finger went deeper and deeper into me, as if they were growing in length. The weirdest sensation filled my stomach – his gloves, he must have popped his gloves – and a heartbeat later he touched that sweet, sweet spot.

I screamed as the orgasm hit me like a sledge hammer, but Penny was nowhere near done. His body pressed back against mine, finally rid of clothes and all decency, and he held me so tight I was no longer able to breathe properly. He was still mercilessly working my pussy, but another hand made its way between my ass cheeks. I briefly and very feebly thought about protesting, but in response he pressed against my G-spot again. Whether it was because I was dripping wet or by some transformation of his, his fingers quickly spread some hot liquid around my asshole. Then he inserted one.

One moment, there was the sensation of having soiled myself; then he pushed through the barrier and there was some pain. It didn’t last long, though, as having him inside both front and back quickly overwhelmed me. Still, it wasn’t enough for him. His tongue swelled up, almost forcing my jaws apart, and picked up the rhythm of his fingers as it thrust deeper and deeper into me. As he had swallowed me whole, enveloping me completely, he now filled my up with himself in every way possible. I no longer could feel any ending to my body, nor the beginning of his; all of my senses were filled with him alone.

Again, there was a brief pause as he withdrew his fingers from my pussy, then he shoved his dick into me. I came immediately, and this time it lasted. Wave after wave hit me, eroding my sense of self further and further. Something was different from all the times we had had sex before – something inside me had changed. It resonated with Penny in a way that was difficult to understand – like two sound waves with just the right frequency to suddenly amplify each other.

That resonance almost tore me apart, and I screamed on the top of my lungs as Penny shuddered and came.

The following week was entirely governed by the last minute preparations for both Bee’s return as well as the store opening, which would coincide. With Auntie’s help I fought my way through the rooms and seemingly unending layers of garbage and dirt. Thankfully Bee had already declared her intentions to renovate the whole apartment by herself, and she had spent countless hours picking colors and some new furniture from catalogs. The little insurance money she got wouldn’t allow for much more, but her DIY-attitude had significantly improved over the last days. We just made sure the dirt was gone and that the facilities worked; which they did. Still, by the time I was done every evening I did little more than hit the shower and fall into bed.

Penny found his own way to keep me company – he usually waited in my room, made good use of the phone I had gotten him, and occasionally accompanied me on my ways in the form of a big orange tabby. At night he would cradle me in his arms, making our fight seem like nothing more than a bad dream.

I didn’t have the energy to discuss it any further, either; nor could I bring myself to tell him I still felt rather overwhelmed by the sex we had had. It was a weird, uncomfortable balance that I just couldn’t deal with.

He had carried me home that night, wrapped into silk-like sheets he had miraculously produced, and he had washed me in our tiny shower. I was still entirely beside myself – I didn’t even spend a thought on auntie – and just stood there as he rinsed away his cum that poured out of my body.

He even tucked me into bed.

When the big day finally arrived, I was too tired to feel the least bit excited. I almost fell asleep twice during school, but fortunately no one noticed. It was Friday, and I was excused for the last lesson (P.E.), so I got to leave early. That also meant there was no chance of any potential bully waiting for me, and I didn’t bother checking my bike for any manipulations, as there hadn’t been any for quite a while. Of course, that didn’t turn out too well – somebody had opened the valves of my tires, and by the time I got to the shop, there was no air left in them. I didn’t care, though, as I had to prepare the little buffet auntie had organized for me (nothing major, just some tea and coffee, and some cupcakes she had surprised me with in the morning). After I finished that, I went through the registry and my documents for the last time, in a desperate attempt to not think about Penny and focus on the task at hand.

A quick glance at my watch told me that I had about fifteen minutes left before the official opening hours started. I briefly wondered whether anyone would show up at all – Auntie and I had invested in some flyers, and we had distributed them both at her working place as well as my school. I had also thrown the remaining ones into random mail boxes on my various ways. Despite that, my reputation might very well end up keeping any potential customer from actually seeking the store – my store, I reminded myself – out.

For the first time in a long while I thought back to Yaneesha, Shot and the other idiots that despised me so much. The reason for their unwavering hate was still very much of a mystery to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to wish them harm. After all, they had ultimately suffered bigger losses than I did, and ever since Yaneesha had left school, I hadn’t been physically attacked anymore.

At least not by humans.

I sighed and unlocked the doors.

To my big surprise a couple of people entered while I was putting out the huge board I had painted. They roamed around the shelves, and a tiny silver-hair lady even told me how happy she was that the store was open again. I vaguely remembered her face and came to the conclusion that she was one of the very few somewhat regular visitors. Didn’t she have a fondness for novels? I directed her towards some new arrivals, which prompted my first successful sale.

It was somewhat difficult to believe, and the whole situation felt unreal. Something about the ordinariness was quite at odds with the crazy circus my life had become. I answered questions, recommended books, and made a couple of other sales. It wasn’t much, but still a whole lot more than what I’d expected – nothing.

Auntie joined me after I had been open for ninety minutes, and I could tell how tired she was. We both forced smiles, and despite my best efforts, she insisted on staying with me, though her face grew paler by the minute. Just when I had convinced her to sit down and stop fussing, her face lit up with recognition.

“Oh, you didn’t tell me he was coming. How nice!”

I whirled around just to see Benny-Penny standing outside the store, a red balloon on a string in his hands. For some reason that really touched me – I was just glad auntie sat behind me, so she couldn’t see the stupid smile spreading across my face. I rushed out and grasped his hands.

“I’m so glad you’re here”, I gushed. “I can’t believe you’re willing to go through this… Are you okay?”

He nodded, a familiar twinkle in his eyes, and handed me the balloon. It even read “Congratulations” on it. After quickly wiping my eyes I ushered him inside, ignoring the weird vibrations that built up in my stomach.

Penny looked utterly out of place, a wonderful mixture of awkwardness and otherworldly beauty that was just a tick off – probably not enough for anyone to realize but enough to cause the other visitors to show signs of unease. It was almost comical – a guy in a rather fancy suit started fiddling with his tie, a young girl put her jacket back on, and a group of teens moved closer together. Despite the fact that it wasn’t a good thing unnerve the people who I was supposed to sell to, it was still entertaining to observe. And I couldn’t help myself but marvel at his human form; the way his muscles visibly moved beneath the thin, tight sweater he was wearing; the way that ass looked in that pair of jeans; the way his movements were still the same as in his clown form.

I quickly went into the back room and tied the balloon to my backpack, not wanting to leave Penny alone for too long; but by the time I had returned he sat beside auntie and they chatted away merrily. He laughed – that wonderful, over-the-top crazy laugh of his, and shook his head. Auntie smiled, said something and started chuckling. For a moment she looked much younger, the stress lines fading, and my heart started hurting again.

How I wished I could see her like that every day.

I joined them, but I admittedly didn’t pay much attention, nor contribute much to the conversation – I was just content to see auntie and Benny-Penny happy. My odd behavior wasn’t noticed, though; Benny told one joke after another, and soon, my costumers had circled around us, joining in on the laughs. From time to time I could have sworn I saw a glint of something in Benny’s eyes, but it always disappeared so quickly I couldn’t be sure.

It was a rather pleasant experience to have him around. Time flew by quickly, and making sales felt like something I did on the side whilst I was mainly focusing on Benny. Finally the last pulk of people left the store, and I waved after them. Auntie stood up and started cleaning the buffet table; throwing away crumbled napkins and stacking plates. I offered to help, but she refused me; so I started counting the money I had made. When she left to bring the plates upstairs to the apartment, I dropped all pretence and threw myself into Benny’s arms.

“Thank you for coming”, I whispered, somewhat at a loss at how to convey the deep gratitude I felt.

He just patted my head, but I could feel how exhausted he was. I understood all too well – being around other humans and having to act normally was difficult enough for me, and I was part of their race. I reached up and cradled his cheek in my hand.

“I will make this up to you, I promise.”

Benny’s head shot up so fast I didn’t realize he had moved for a second.

Something was wrong.

His face had become devoid of emotion, the smile that had just been there completely gone, and there was an orange hue in his eyes. He stood utterly still.

“What’s the matter?”

“One of them is coming closer.”

“Who?”

“One of them.”

It took me a second to put his words and his behavior together.

“You mean… the ones that hurt you?”

He nodded, his eyes turning ever more orange. I took his hands and pulled him around to face me.

“Listen, if you need to get out of here, go. But I don’t think you’re in danger – you look like a human, you’re in a fucking bookstore, and besides, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, okay?” That had absolutely no effect whatsoever. He was still as tense as before. “Penny, I promise, you’re safe.”

He slowly lowered his eyes, exhaling loudly. Not even a second later, he tensed up again. This time, he was watching someone outside. I turned around and saw two young men walking down the street. They held brown paper bags and yelled loudly, pushing each other constantly. My somewhat rusty instinct for bad situations told me they were trouble.

“They want to trash your shop.”

I didn’t even question him; I was too focused on the fact that they had changed direction and were now clearly walking up to us.

“I won’t allow that.” I reached into my pocket for my phone, with every intention to call the cops, but this time, Penny grabbed my hands. He had the weirdest little smile, and his left eye started drifting to the side. For some reason, I got goosebumps. I could only watch as he left me and stood in front of the duo. They shouted something, he replied, and the three of them walked away.

What was I supposed to do? I still had my phone in my hand, and I contemplated dialing 911. But what should I say? That I had possibly evaded big trouble? That my killer clown boyfriend had just left with the troublemakers and they’d better start searching for the leftovers, if there would be any? And that Pennywise might be in danger? Hello officer, you know, there’s this creature that kills and feeds on humans, and I love him very much, and he got spooked, so could you please start an investigation, and by the way, clean up after him?

“Where’d he go?”

Auntie had come back to me and looked out the door. I shook my head, gathering my jumbled thoughts.

“Oh, his mom called, he’s supposed to help her with something.”

“It was nice of him to stop by.”

“Yeah, very nice.” I still stared at the corner around which they had disappeared, as if I could make my gaze bend around it to follow them and make sure everything was okay.

“Is everything alright? Did you quarrel?”

“Oh no, I guess I’m just… a little overwhelmed with everything.” My attempt at a reassuring smile was bad at best, but somehow auntie bought it.

“Oh well, it’s been some hectic weeks for both of us.”

I nodded. A quick glance at my phone told me it was time to close down. That, thankfully, wouldn’t take long. However, there was still-

“Look who’s come!”

For the second time that day, a very welcome visitor approached the store. This time it wasn’t my favorite alien killer clown, it was Bee; with a large suitcase in hand and a warm smile on her face.

[soulmate-game]

I might make this a tumblr only mini-series of connected oneshots, and I might or might not put them up on AO3 when they are all done. We’ll see how I feel.

I know I submitted this AU to Multifandomscribette, but this is my take on the prompts I gave them. This is not the same AU, and I am not using their headcanons. Just the same basic premise of Marinette being Stephen Strange’s biological daughter.

You know Doctor Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, but this story is about

Lady Strange, the Grand Guardian.

What is with this family and alliteration?!

—*—*—*—*—*

Stephen Strange was a narcissistic, emotionally constipated bastard. But he was rich, well known, and handsome, which counted for a lot when he decided he needed some time to relax, unwind, maybe with another human.

And when Sabine Cheng realized what had happened, that night she had catered for a high society medical conference gala in the States, she vowed to never drink again.

She also vowed to never tell Strange about the child growing in her womb. The only person she ever told about her child’s true origin was Tom Dupain, the man she started dating a month after her chance encounter with Doctor Stephen Strange. Nine months after that, when Marinette was almost a month old, she would propose to Tom in blatant disregard of tradition. She would be waiting for years if she wanted Tom to get up the courage to ask her, and even though it hadn’t been a full year yet Sabine knew what she wanted. Seeing the gentle way Tom held her daughter, their daughter, seeing the way he looked at the little baby as if she hung the stars for him, well that only solidified the little Chinese woman’s love for the french man.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng would not know about her true father’s origin until she was twelve, when a science lecture at school had her asking Sabine who had blue eyes in each of their blood lines.

When Sabine hesitated, Marinette knew instantly that something was wrong. Sabine never hesitated. She was a whirlwind of decisiveness, always knowing what to say and how to act. Hesitation wasn’t a part of her.

Sabine told her everything. How her biological father was someone she only met once, how he was a successful surgeon who had won many medical awards. How he didn’t know she existed.

Of course, Marinette was immediately obsessed. Hurt by her mother’s secrecy, she turned her feelings of betrayal into curiosity and researched everything that there was to research about Stephen Strange. Apparently blue eyes ran on his side of the family. His own were more icy than hers, closer to a blue-gray, but familiar all the same. Both his parents were already dead though, so there went her hope of having another set of grandparents.

Marinette even went so far as to read the research papers he had written, and did follow-up research until she understood as much of it as she could. It helped that Professor Mendeleiev was more than willing to sit down and go over the medical papers with her so they could try to understand it all together.

One day, while Marinette was sewing a new dress, she paused with her needle in the air and stared at her fingers. After that day, she took much more pride than before in how steady her hands were. Her father was a surgeon, it must have been a biological trait. She clung onto anything that connected her to the oh-so mysterious Stephen Strange.

And then came Marinette’s thirteenth birthday. The same day that Stephen Strange was in a car accident and deemed in critical condition.

If Marinette kept an app for American news sources on her phone and set them to alert her if the name of her biological father was mentioned in any reports? Well, her parents didn’t need to know.

She didn’t tell her parents about the reason she was so morose for the rest of the day. She didn’t tell anyone.

She cried herself to sleep when Doctor Stephen Strange was declared to have irreversible nerve damage in his hands, and again when he went missing on a mysterious “vacation” that no media sites seemed to have any information on. She didn’t know why she felt so much connection and pain for someone she had never met, but she couldn’t help it. She would keep researching, keeping her eyes out for any mention of the man online without any luck.

That is, until Master Fu and the Miraculous entered her life. Slowly, she began to neglect her obsession with her biological father. Her passing crush on Adrien Agreste even faded away, never having much traction to begin with because of her overlying concern for the father that didn’t even know he had a daughter.

When Marinette was fourteen, the city of Paris was flooded and she had to swim through the quickly bloating bodies of the dead in order to defeat an Akuma. She reversed the damage and everyone who died was resurrected with no memory of their demise, but Marinette would never forget. All it took was a glimpse of the wrong face on the streets and she would be overcome with a panic attack, with the sight of glassy eyes and blue faces.

That was when Hawkmoth’s attacks picked up in intensity. When people began to die during Akuma attacks more frequently. When Marinette stopped sleeping in quite so much.

Her obsession over her father was a mere footnote by then, something she would idly look into on her ever increasingly rare free time with no success.

When Marinette was fifteen years, six months, two weeks, and two days old, Master Fu died. Marinette assumed the alias of Lady Strange, alongside her identity of Ladybug, so that the Miraculous wielders could contact her and know she was the new Guardian without knowing that she was also their leader in the field.

On the one year anniversary of Lady Strange being the Grand Guardian of the Miraculous, there was a worldwide magical disturbance.

Unlike Fu, Marinette did not limit herself to reacting to Miraculous problems.

—*—*—*—*—*

When Stephen glided back down from the equivalent of thousands of years bargaining and dying with Dormammu, he expected Hong Kong to be in a mess. It had been, from what he remembered of the scene before he created the time loop.

But it wasn’t. Instead, the streets looked as if no damage at all had been created. Kaecilius and his remaining zealots were tied up, quite literally, in what looked like string and hung upside down from a lamp post. Sitting down on the curb of the sidewalk and giving him a dangerously sharp glare was a young woman in a spotted costume, a mask over her face. When Strange realized he could not get any of her features to stick in his memory, he realized what she was.

Another magic user, but different from a Sorcerer. Her Neptune blue eyes bore into him with an intensity he was wholly unprepared for, but had no problem baring. After dying almost a million times, a guy tends to grow a backbone of vibranium.

Wong and Mordo stood on either side of the girl, both at a respectful distance. Wong had this wide-eyed look on his face, so much more expressive than usual that it caught the new Sorcerer Supreme off guard. Wong looked… awed?

Mordo, on the other hand, was regarding the girl with a look of barely disguised disdain and distrust. That was in character though, so Stephen didn’t pay it much mind. Instead, he walked over even as his bargain with Dormammu kicked in and Kaecilius’s cult was banished to the Dark Dimension.

“You reversed the damage, then?” He asked without beating around the bush, glancing down briefly to assure that the Eye was, indeed, still on him. It was. The girl stood up, her eyes continuing to blaze with an unknown soup of emotion.

“I did,” she confirmed easily. It wasn’t until he stopped only a few feet away from her that the sorcerer noticed how small she was. The only detail his mind allowed to stick with him besides that fact was that she also looked young. Too young to have to deal with a mess like this. “You might not know of me. The Temple Of Guardians made a deal centuries ago that all records of their existence and our own magic be removed from any Sorcerer sanctums.”

“The temple that appeared in Tibet out of nowhere more than a year ago?” Strange asked, eyebrow raised. “I remember the Ancient One briefly mentioning how much of a hassle it was to hide their reappearance and teleport the temple’s location somewhere new. I was under the impression that all the members of that temple have been in a pocket dimension separate from this reality for almost two hundred years.”

“They have,” the girl confirmed with a nod. “But before that, one of the Guardians escaped that fate. He became the Grand Guardian, and was my teacher until he passed last year. He named me the new Grand Guardian to take his place,” she turned, looking at something that Stephen couldn’t see. “I have illusions keeping us from being seen by the crowd, but it would be better if we took this inside the sanctum,” she said, nodding her head to the Hong Kong Sanctum’s door behind them. Strange simply nodded, more than willing to distract himself from his immeasurably long torture by indulging his curiosity. If this girl showed up and went out of her way to repair the damage the sorcerers and Kaecilius caused, then he wanted to know why.

“Wait,” Mordo barked, walking up to have a heated discussion with Strange that ended in the former storming off. Stephen knew he should be concerned about his former friend’s desertion, but he couldn’t muster up the energy for it yet. Focusing on the mysterious girl in a ladybug suit was an easier topic for his exhausted mind to latch onto.

When they got inside, the Sorcerer Supreme saw that she had even reversed the damage in the building. He saw a few scattered disciples rubbing their heads and looking around in confusion from their spots crouched on the floor. Stephen was almost certain he had seen those same people as corpses before.

The ladybug-spotted girl had scarcely removed her gaze from him for even a second, and easily picked up on the older man’s train of thought.

“My powers reversed all the damage I could handle, including physical wounds and death,” she told him. Strange blinked.

“That explains why I thought you all looked odd. Your clothes are spotless and you don’t look like you’ve fought at all,” he directed that comment to Wong, who merely nodded. “But that doesn’t explain how you can do such a thing. I’ve been intensely studying magic and magic theory for the past almost three and a half years, and I haven’t come across any healing spell that can be this effective without the subject of the healing themselves helping to work the power through their body. I know you are not a sorcerer like we are, but what exactly is your magic? Who are the Guardians? And who exactly are you?”

The girl pursed her lips, waiting until the two older men led her to the still-wrecked tea room. Her power hadn’t been able to reach that far when she had to focus on reviving so many people without the regular Cure. That only worked on victims of Miraculous magic, what she used on the Hong Kong streets and the Sorcerers was a more advanced usage of Tikki’s powers that she learned from both Fu and her periodic visits to the Tibet temple.

“The Guardians are a group of monks dedicated to the protection and distribution of Miraculous, which is essentially magic jewelry. I would normally go on to say how this might sound unbelievable, but you have a very similar pendant around your neck right now,” she pointed out once they all sat and Wong conjured some tea for them all. Stephen tensed at her mention of the Eye of Agamotto, his eyes narrowing. Did she..?

“I know what is inside the Eye,” she confirmed his silent thought, her voice soft but firm. “And I don’t care about it in the slightest. It is probably a good reference point for my explanation though. At the birth of the universe—“

“The Stones came into existence, each one representing and controlling a core aspect of reality,” Strange interrupted impatiently. “I am the Sorcerer Supreme, girl, I already know that.”

The young female rolled her eyes, huffing. “If you listened patiently, you would know that the story you were told is only partially true,” she snapped back with false patience. “The Stones were not the only things of great power to be created during the birth of the universe. Kwami, the first living beings to be born, were also created. They are each living representations of abstract concepts, some of which overlap with the powers of the Stones. The first to be born is the Kwami of Creation. She is essentially the goddess of creation itself, the living embodiment of that very term in every way. She is the source of my abilities, she lends me her power as I am her chosen Wielder. It is that same power of creation that allowed me to essentially counteract the destruction that was caused today, by having a condensed form of her power combat the direct source of the destruction and nullify it. The second Kwami to come into existence is her counterpart and the only one equal to her in power, the Kwami of destruction. There are a lot more, including the Kwami of illusion that used her power to keep us from being seen outside. And the Kwami Of time, which allowed me to experience the time loop you created,” the girl’s eyes sharpened again, boring into his own. “I left it after the equivalent of a few weeks, when I realized I couldn’t join you and do anything to help. The Kwami Of Time is about two-thirds as powerful as the Stone by itself, and there are more than double the amount of Kwamis as there are Infinity Stones,” she took a deep breath. “My job as Grand Guardian is protecting all of them, and distributing the jewelry they are bound to as necessary to combat world or reality threatening events.”

Strange remained quiet after that, drinking in the information and doing his best to wrap his head around it. Perhaps this young woman wouldn’t mind telling him more at a later date, especially seeing as they held equivalent ranking in two separate secret magical organizations. His eyes trailed down to a necklace she was wearing.

“How many of these pieces of jewelry—“

“Miraculous,” She corrected. “That is what they are called.”

“... Miraculous, then. How many are you capable of wielding at once, if they are so similar in strength to a Stone?” Wond asked, crossing his arms. The pigtailed girl leaned back from her spot sitting on the ground with them, humming in thought for a second as she decided what to tell them. A glance at Stephen seemed to make up her mind.

“Creation and Destruction hold equal power to a Stone. The Miraculous one stage lower than that hold four-fifths the power of a Stone. The last tier, where the Time Miraculous sits, is two-thirds,” she told them from memory. “I can wield Illusion, which is on the second tier, along with two third-their, and both Creation and Destruction at the same time,” she admitted. “But it saps a lot of my energy and I rather not ever do that again, if you don’t mind. I can wield all of the Miraculous though, since all of the Kwamis like me and are loyal. I can wear any three at a time, and I can switch between them as quickly as I need to.”

Strange really needed some sleep. Five thousand year’s worth of sleep would be nice. He ran a hand over his forehead, wondering who in the world gave this much responsibility and power to a child.

“One last question, and then you can spend the night if you wish, we’ll begin reconstruction of all the Sanctums in the morning,” Stephen spoke, forcing his back to straighten and his eyes to meet the girl’s. “You never answered it, actually. Who are you?”

The girl's mouth twitched in the first semblance of a smile he had seen on her yet.

“When I am in this transformation, I am Ladybug the hero of Paris,” she said with a grin. “Spots off.”

A soft pink glow ran down her body, very similar to the ring of power that sling rings produced to make portals. It left behind an adorable teenage girl with blue-black hair pulled back into pigtails, and striking blue eyes. She was clearly of Asian descent, but there was something else very familiar about the sharpness of her jaw or the stubbornness in her lip.

“My real name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. However, I go by an alias whenever I act as Grand Guardian, so that there is an extra layer of secrecy to protect me and my loved ones. I created that alias based on my biological father, who was never told that I was even conceived,” she said meaningfully, never losing eye contact with Stephen. His eyebrows furrowed.

“That’s pitiful, but what does—“

“My alias is Lady Strange.”

Wong barked out a short laugh before he forcibly covered his mouth, his eyes filled with sadistic amusement as he watched Strange’s reaction. The elder Strange, that is.

The new leader of the Sorcerers opened and closed his mouth like a fish, completely caught off guard. He looked over to Wong.

“Is there a spell to test paternity?” He asked warily. Marinette’s smile fell a bit, but Wong nodded.

A few flashes of orange light and two green ‘99% Match’ results later, Strange let his head fall into his hands.

“Alright, Marinette,” he finally managed to mumble through the slightly trembling appendages still covering his face. “I just spent thousands of years in a time loop with the Lord of Chaos, my back aches, my head aches, I will deal with this in the morning. Or whenever I wake up. Figures my own blood relation would end up in a position of extreme magical power, must be genetic. I still have questions, but sleep comes first. Don’t expect me to be a good parent. I really need sleep.”

Marinette just giggled, standing up and helping her father to his feet with surprising ease. “Just tell me where to go and I can drop you off in your room. No more magic for the rest of the day, you’re clearly spent. And as long as you make an effort, I’ll be fine. But don’t expect to ignore me and I’ll just go away, I have ways to track you to the ends of the universe and across the multiverse and time itself, and I will not hesitate.”

“Yep, she’s your daughter alright.”

“Sleep, Wong. It’s good for the brain.”

[laneofpennies]

ok so i’m just gonna get all my thoughts about wkm and folklore out in this post so i can stop being incomprehensible

and yes, this has ego shipping. i couldn’t stop myself.

the 1

Damien and William. I’ll start off like that. I feel like this is a melancholy ballad about a couple who didn’t work out due to maybe distance or misunderstanding- or in this case, being gay in the 1920s- and looking back on their childhood and regretting never taking that step. Also, the addition of meeting someone else and taking them home makes me think of Celine. And the singer seems successful, much like a mayor of a small city.

cardigan

Actor!Mark is written absolutely all over this song, albeit before he was entirely corrupted. But the plot, about someone still being in love despite the other having cheated and being hurt so much time after? That’s Mark, babeyyy. We know his mental state was not great after the divorce- maybe even before that. Celine was his rock.

the last great american dynasty

This tips more into my own canon, I’ll admit. But I always thought Celine and Damien weren’t exactly from the same social class as Mark. So when the marriage between the two happened, people talked. But Celine was always a badass. Even if after the divorce she was persecuted by the media, she kept her head up. Also this song makes me cry and so does Celine so I feel like that’s enough of a connection.

exile (Ft. Bon Iver)

THE MOST Celine and Mark song, well, ever. Miscommunication. References to acting as a career. The longing to make things right. Two perspectives. The third guy, who in this case is William, swooping in. Mark not having seen any of the signs of her discomfort in the lifestyle she led, and Celine just feeling shut out. I also feel like Mark was often worried about her offending other famous actors and she felt suffocated whenever they went out together.

my tears ricochet

Actor. This one might seem like a stretch, but the Mark we know is not the same from before the divorce. He was hurting, and confused as to why this had all happened to them. We know the divorce was messy and ended an entire friend group, and Celine seemed to have taken it much better, leading to the current circumstance. The fear of being home all alone- in this case because of a literal demon.

mirrorball

Since this song is revolving around someone that blends in, changes, can show a million different faces, I think it’s perfect for the DA, aka the viewer. This character had to be written so that we could all see ourselves in them, whether that be for WKM, ADWM, or AHWM. Also the metaphor about broken glass...? That’s just too perfect.

​seven

More of my slight headcanons!! William and Damien growing up as friends must have been very close to this song. There’s talk about haunted houses, best friends, secrets, keeping in the closet, strict parents... I feel like they would be really cute in this song. They’ve been friends for ages, and even now, though they both look a little different. Overall, this song about childhood innocence slowly eroding fits the colonel and the politician.

august

This song is the second in the story about love affairs, excluding Illicit Affairs. This one always struck me because of how soft and tender it was, despite this being from the view of the other woman. There is a hint of regret and sadness that they can’t be publicly together, but you can tell there was genuine love between them. I like to think that William did love Celine, and saw the darkness within that house and within Mark. The affair was where it crossed the line, and he knew they couldn’t go back.

this is me trying

This one I see as mostly just about Damien. He had been the glue in this friend group for so long, and was so eager to see them all back together, it only made sense he would take the affair and divorce just as hard as those directly involved. I can imagine him pleading for reconciliation and attempting to help Mark through everything while still staying loyal to his sister. It must have been a struggle, and one he never let go of.

illicit affairs

Oddly enough, this song isn’t directly attached to August and Cardigan, but I feel like it fits perfectly for how Celine felt throughout the entire affair. She lost her love for Mark. She knew it was wrong, but she did truly did fall in love with William. The pains of being in their secret relationship and how useless she feels is perfect for how she wanted so strongly to be out of this situation even if she couldn’t be without either of them.

invisible string

Since the overall theme of this song revolves around the individual lives of two strangers having always been weaved together by fate, I feel like it fits the story Mark is building with all of these characters. Though this song is much happier, haha. This can also point to Mark now wanting us to be the love interest and trying to convince us we had been meant to be from the start, him being the hero and all.

mad woman

OBVIOUSLY Celine. She has her flaws, but she genuinely was a tough character who cared about her family. Even if she had been put down for her fieriness and her hobbies especially being a woman at the turn of the century, this madness is almost a freedom for her. Actor wasn’t the best husband, at least we can assume, and William wasn’t perfect either. And she never confided in her brother until it was too late. So all of this points back to her not trusting anyone in her life other than herself, and being trapped with her own anger and passions. I could write a whole essay on this one, guys-

​epiphany

I guess this one might be fairly obvious. William. The Colonel who served more than his time. Who’s seen horrors that he still has yet to overcome. I imagine this song is specifically about him in the war, fighting to stay alive for his friends, and then him having to adjust and rely on them once he first returned home and had to deal with consequences of everything he saw overseas.

betty

gay and yearning. damien and william. next question.

peace

ok ok hear me out- The viewer about Damien. They’re life partners, whether that be romantic or platonic. Working together, studying together- it’s obvious there’s a really strong connection there. Also, the lyrics describe someone I really feel like fits Damien- honorable, has integrity, kind. Maybe this is self-indulgent but it seems like it really fits them.

hoax 

This song is about a toxic relationship. Taylor knows it won’t work out, but she needs the other. The undertones of standing on the cliffside, the mentions of heroes and scars and the overall theme of faith and dependency make me, again, come back to Actor, thinking about Celine. Say what you want, but he was codependent. 

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter thirty-four: one of us

Sam spent the next night at Joey's apartment before he offered to drive her back to the Bronx, complete with the painted canvas in the back seat. He also offered her to take a week off from school and spend it with him, but she turned it down.

“I worked too hard to get into school and claim my spot here in the Northeast, Joey,” she explained to him as she nestled down in the passenger seat next to him, “I mean, really. There's no way I'm giving that up. I wouldn't be here right now if not for school.”

“We gotta hang out again, though, Sam,” he insisted. “I like hangin' out with you. I feel more like myself when I'm hangin' out with you.”

“Maybe we can do something together over Thanksgiving—I have a four day weekend then.”

“Nah, I can't. We're gonna be touring over in Europe.”

“Dammit! Well, what about Christmas?”

“Christmas, I dunno. I think we have it off? I'll have to run it by Scott when I see him in a bit. Although—I do think we go back to Poughkeepsie after Thanksgiving, though. Poughkeepsie and also Providence.”

“Providence! So Zelda will be able to see you guys just fine.”

“I hope she does, yeah!”

Another few hours and soon the New York skyline emerged in their view: the cold gray clouds only made all those skyscrapers as well as the Twin Towers off in the distance appear even colder. Seeing the clouds made her think of that cat she and Marla had found outside of their new rehearsal space, especially given it was pouring rain when they found her. As Joey took to the next lane over to keep up with the freeway, she turned her attention to him.

He took a couple of glimpses over at her, the second of which he raised his eyebrows at her.

“What's up?” he asked her.

“Is it too much trouble to ask if we could swing by Marla and Charlie's place? They don't live too far away from my building.”

“I was just thinkin' about them,” he confessed. “The two of them and that little black kitty cat that she found.”

“Actually it was me who found her—Marla and Charlie took her in.”

“Oh, I see! But yeah, we can go see them for a little bit. I'm not the one with school after all.” He flashed her a wink; the freeway spanned out into a long flat stretch and they made their way towards the Bronx and all those familiar neighborhoods. For a few moments as they rounded the bend, she had forgotten what they had named the cat but she wished to find her something the next time they saw each other.

Joey took the next exit into the very heart of the Bronx and Sam shivered in the seat despite the blast of warm air from the heater vents. He flexed his fingers even though he barely held onto the wheel the whole ride there. She had had the gloves tucked away in her pocket, but she wondered if he had another pair perfect for his own hands, and one that was perfect for driving.

He flexed his fingers again.

“Tired?” she asked him with a raise of her eyebrows.

“Nah, just cold hands. I don't have those drummer gloves with me.”

“Drummer gloves,” she said in a flat tone.

“Yeah. When I was first starting out as a drummer, I'd wear this little pair of white leather gloves that protected my hands from the drumsticks. They also kept my hands warm against the cold. I think I forgot them back at my place. Louie has a pair, too.” He somewhat grimaced at the mention of Louie's name. “They're almost like gardening gloves.”

“Oh, I see. Speaking of which, I had already seen you in a hockey get up, I should see you drumming next.”

“Playing hockey and drumming at the same time,” Joey challenged her with a smirk on his face.

“Playing hockey and then drumming,” Sam added.

“Or drumming and then play a round of hockey. I'm that active, after all.”

They snaked their way through the side streets of the Bronx, and towards her apartment building, but they continued onward to Marla and Charlie's building nearby. She had a flashback to when she and Frank were in that closet together and she drew those cartoons in her journal. She could still feel the fine lush hair against her fingers. She wished to do more of those same types of cartoons in her journal, and it made her think of the ink drawings she had made in the past October. She missed doing it that time around given Cliff's passing and her filled schedule that fall as well, but she wished to do it again.

Lars encouraged her to do it with the ink at Cliff's memorial after all.

The rain had fizzled out by the time she and Joey made their way up the steps and inside of the dry, warm building.

“Do you remember where they live?” Joey asked her as he ran his fingers through his black curls.

“I do as a matter of fact!”

Sam reached the apartment first and she knocked on the door panel three times. Silence ensued.

“Are they even home at all?” Joey wondered aloud, and the door swung open. Marla greeted them, and complete with a towel wrapped around her hair.

“Hey,” she said with a surprised expression on her face. “Hey, you two!”

“Who's here?” Charlie hollered from the kitchen.

“Joey and Sam,” she called back to him, and she returned to them.

“We should'a called first but—we were just coming back home, though,” Joey explained.

“Just wanted to see how the two of you were doing,” Sam added with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Aw, that's too kind—come on in, you guys.”

Joey ran his fingers through his jet black curls again as they padded inside of that cozy front room. They had rearranged the furniture at some point: the couch had been moved over to the wall opposite from the front door and they had tucked a cat tree into the right corner of the room. Charlie emerged from the kitchen with his dark curls tied up at the back of his head, a plain white shirt, and bright red shorts rounded out by knee high white socks.

“Cute,” Sam chuckled with a gesture to the shorts.

“What, these? I found these literally right after we came back home from the tour.”

“I thought he looked good with them,” Marla added as she took a seat on the couch. The cat jumped onto the arm, right next to her, and something jingled in junction with it.

“There she is!” Joey declared.

“What'd you name her again?” Sam asked her.

“Genie,” Marla filled in.

“Genie, that was it!”

“Dream Genie,” Charlie added as she slunk past the back of Marla's head to the other end of the couch. She squatted down there and glanced over at Sam: those golden eyes shone under the soft light of their apartment. She spotted a black and green collar around her neck: right in the middle was a circular silver tag that resembled to a coin, and right behind that was a silver bell.

“She's our girl,” Charlie declared.

“I kinda wanna do something for her,” Sam confessed.

“Yeah, me, too—” Careful not to frighten her, Joey strode over to the couch.

“She's not too particular about men, Joey,” Charlie told him. “It took her a bit to warm up to me.” Joey bowed forward and extended his hand to her: Genie hesitated and her pupils dilated a bit. Sam held still for her; but then Genie tapped her dark nose on Joey's fingertip.

“We good?” he asked the cat in a gentle voice. He raised his hand a little bit to pet her head: she closed her eyes, and Joey moved in closer to her. Genie lifted herself in a seated position so he could pet her more.

“Yeah, we good,” Marla replied as she adjusted the towel on her head.

“Are we dying our hair again?” Sam asked her.

“Not yet, no—I'll dye it a different color over Christmas, though.”

“She did recolor it,” Charlie pointed out.

“Yeah, I recolored it a tiny little bit just to fix the roots and make it look even for the rest of the quarter. I'll leave the actual color a surprise, though.”

Joey meanwhile took his seat on the couch so Genie could come closer to him. Even just standing there next to Marla, Sam could hear the rich purr from inside of her throat: Joey petted her head and her back, and her tail shot straight up in response.

“I envy you,” Charlie muttered as he folded his arms across his chest. Genie rubbed up against Joey's arm and purred even louder. It was right then Sam knew that all of his problems were trivial: if that cat acted like that towards him, there must be a way to help him heal and overcome it all. She even turned around and let out a soft little meow for him.

“I really envy you now,” Charlie followed it up.

“You wanna pet her, Sam?” Marla offered.

“I'd love to—” she said as she gingerly stepped closer to Joey.

“You did find her outside of Montana after all—”

She extended her hand to Genie and she tapped her nose on her fingertips as well: she then ran her fingers on the crown of her head, and she continued to purr. Sam looked over at Joey and his brown eyes softened at the sight of her. The cat liked both of them almost immediately, and she knew there was a way in there with him.

Indeed, he walked her back to her place and up those stairs together. Aurora was descending the stairs with a plastic bag in hand.

“Oh, hey! There you are, Sam!”

“Were you waiting for me?” she asked her.

“Yeah, me and Zelda both. I was just gonna go down the block to ask Marla and Charlie if they knew where you were.”

“Well, I'm here now,” Sam told her, “with Mr. Bellardini here, too. What's going on?”

“Halloween and Day of the Dead, that's the deal.” Aurora flashed her a wink, and Sam thought about that one song that the Cherry Suicides did for their Halloween show the year before. “Day of the Dead.” She had a feeling but she had no idea if it was at all true. Aurora ambled closer to her and Joey, and she gestured for them to lean in closer to her.

“I was gonna tell Zelda after I came back,” she explained in a low voice, “but Metal Church, the band that opened up for Metallica and—” She turned to Joey. “—you guys, on their tour—”

Joey nodded in response to that.

“Metal Church cancelled the remainder of their dates for the remaining stint of the tour,” Aurora continued. “I called Morgan of the Cherry Suicides if she wanted to fill in for their spot and she accepted without a shred of hesitation.”

Sam gasped and Joey's face lit up.

“But don't tell her, though,” she lowered her voice to a near whisper to them, “I want it to be a surprise.”

“And you want to let it come from your mouth, too,” Sam added.

“Exactly, yes! She's been awful moody lately, too, so I wanna see the joy come to her face when she hears it.”

“Aw, that's so kind of you, Aurora,” Joey told her with that lopsided smile on his face.

“Anyways, what's in the bag?” Sam asked her with a nod. “It's for Halloween and Day of the Dead?”

“Well, it specifically is for Halloween. Day of the Dead has something else in a different bag out in the my car.”

She opened the top side of the plastic bag to show her the collar of a beige jumpsuit. The inside was line with black satin.

“From that movie Ghostbusters,” Aurora explained, “I even got this one personalized—” Indeed, she took it out part of the way, and they both noticed a black name tag embroidered there on the side of the chest: inside of the rectangle was Aurora's name in red lettering.

“I can get you one, if you'd like, Sam,” she added.

“I'd love one,” Sam replied with a smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“One for me, one for you, one for Marla, and one for Belinda if she wants to join in with us. I tried to offer it to Zelda but she told me she didn't feel like dressing up. I told her, 'it's Halloween—you ladies own Halloween', you know to try and lift her spirits and whatnot. But I dunno.”

“She's probably waiting for us,” Sam remarked as she adjusted the lapels of her coat.

“Probably waiting for you in particular,” Joey added, “here, Aurora—lemme help you out with that—”

Sam continued on to the stairs, to the third floor and her apartment. Zelda had taken her seat outside of the front door: she flashed back on the time Cliff had taken his seat there outside of her door. But Zelda had more of a distant look on her face in comparison to him: he awaited her presence; she awaited some sort of comfort. She sighed through her nose and she bowed her head a bit, but when Sam stood above her, she peered up at her. Her eyes were large but far away.

“How you doing?” she asked her, to which Zelda shrugged. “Is everything alright?”

“I think my band might be breaking up,” she confessed in a small voice. “We haven't been able to do anything—Aurora hasn't gotten us anything. I can't put the blame on her, though. I feel like it's my fault.”

“Well—how 'bout you come on in? I can put on a kettle and make you a cup of tea.”

Zelda sighed through her nose again.

“Okay,” she almost breathed that out, and she climbed to her feet. “I do feel a little bit better saying that, though. I haven't been able to tell that to anyone else.” Sam unlocked the door and let her inside of the apartment. Zelda took her seat on the couch and she leaned back against the soft cushion. She still had that distant look on her face as Sam fetched her a clean mug and a bag of green tea. Her slender, toned legs separated a little bit: she looked a little bit thinner than usual.

“Would you like some sugar in your tea?” she offered her in a gentle voice.

“Sure, why not.”

“Um—Aurora is gonna get us some costumes for a Halloween party,” Sam recalled. “We could all go together in an ensemble of sorts.”

“Yeah, maybe we should,” she muttered. Something else bothered her, and Sam took her seat next to her on the couch.

“What's wrong?” she asked, and Zelda sighed through her nose again.

“I feel bad about breaking it off with Louie,” she confessed almost without taking a single breath.

“Well...” Sam fell short with that. There was no way she could console her because she had lost Cliff to something she couldn't control, whereas the whole thing with Louie hit a brick wall. And yet they both lost their boyfriends: she nestled up closer to Zelda, who kicked off her shoes and she pulled her knees up to her chest. She bowed her head and rested her lanky elbows upon her knees; Sam considered putting her arm around her shoulders so as to console her but she had no idea how Zelda would react to it. She smelled of cinnamon, that smell of Christmas. That smell that made her think of Cliff.

“You know Cliff used to sit right there whenever he came over here,” she told her in a low voice.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. He would just sit there and relax, and he let me come closer to him.”

Zelda's bottom lip trembled a bit.

“Do you miss him?” she asked Sam in a broken voice: tears lined her eyes.

“Every day. I think I'm gonna miss him every day.”

“At least you have him all to yourself now, though,” Zelda pointed out. “I just don't have it with Louie anymore.”

“Well—you guys broke up for—for—for some reason.”

“For some reason, for sure.”

“Would you be willing to listen to Legacy's new album, though?”

“Of course. I wanna know what it feels like on his end. He's also a drummer—I like my drummers.” She sniffled.

“You like your drummers even if they leave,” Sam pointed out.

“I do. I do, I do, I do, I do... I still love Louie even with him not next to me anymore.”

Sam extended her arms for her and Zelda moved in closer, and they embraced each other.

“Thank you,” Zelda breathed into her ear.

“If it's any comfort at all,” Sam started again; she moved back so she could look right into her tearful eyes, “I feel my heart opening again.”

“Really?” Zelda brushed away a tear.

“Yeah. To Joey.”

“Whoa, really.”

“Yeah. And—I wanna tell you to keep it under wraps, too.”

“What for?”

“Because—I honestly don't know how to break it to him yet. Or to anyone, really. I'm also not really sure of it myself, either. I keep thinking, oh, it's nothing serious. I just love him out of necessity. I don't necessarily feel that sort of love for him. But—all things equal—I do feel love for Joey. But I don't really want it to leak out as of yet. Mine and Cliff's relationship leaked out onto him and so I don't want me and him to leak out.” Sam extended her pinky finger to her, and Zelda hooked her own around it.

“I won't tell a soul,” she vowed to her a low voice. “And the amount of times you said 'leak' makes me wonder if there's a leak in here.”

“Nah, that just—sort of happened.” A soft whistling noise emerged from the kitchen.

“There's your water.” Sam lifted her gaze to the door and at the sight of Aurora and Joey. “And there they are, too.”

“Speaking of leaking—” Zelda turned around and Sam stood from the couch and hurried into the kitchen before the kettle whistled even louder. She heard their voices in the next room. And she switched off the burner and she picked it off there; before she could make her way back into the front room when Zelda let out a shrill yelp.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD, AURORA, I LOVE YOU!”

Joey burst out laughing right then. Sam hurried into the front room with the kettle in hand; Zelda threw her arms around Aurora's body and she began to push her back to the door. Joey set down the plastic bag and he clapped his hands. Even with his darkened skin, a soft blush bloomed in his face from his laughter.

“Well, don't suffocate her, Zelda!” Sam chuckled again; Zelda pressed her lips to the side of Aurora's face, and her smooth almond shaped eyes widened a bit at the feeling.

“Oh, my god, that just made my life!” she tearfully declared.

“I told—Morgan—but I wanted it to be a surprise—” Aurora stammered.

“So you coming to the Halloween party thing now? I don't even know what it is, to be frank,” was all Sam could ask as she poured the hot water into her mug.

“For sure!” She wiped away more tears. Joey clapped his hands some more before he extended his left to her. She gave him five down low and threw her arms around him. Aurora ran her hands under her black hair and let out a low whistle.

“I can't even remember the last time I had a bear hug with someone,” she choked out, “not even when I grew up out in San Diego. I don't remember the last time I had that.” And Sam almost dropped the kettle from laughing so hard.

Over the next couple of weeks, things seemed to lighten up once again. Sam could focus more on her art and her classes. Indeed, her watercolor paintings seemed bolder and brighter than before, with the washes looking as though she had taken the paint straight out of the bottle and applied it onto the heavy grained paper. The lines on her graphite drawings looked cleaner and smoother, and she was finally getting the hang of the extra dark shading. Belinda made a joke that it came from the weekend together with him.

“His last name is Belladonna, you said?” she asked her the day before Halloween.

“Yeah. A play on his real last name of Bellardini.”

“You know belladonna is deadly nightshade, right? Genus name belladonna atropa?”

“He took me to his hockey rink and he actually had a ball that actually said 'atropa' on the side, and he told me that was what sparked the idea for it.”

Belinda leaned in closer to Sam's ear.

“He's injected you with his venom, Sam I am,” she whispered.

“Injected me with his venom,” Sam chuckled and rolled her eyes at that, but Belinda's face remained serious. She never elaborated on that for the rest of the day, or even the next day before the party. The thought did linger in the back of her head as she returned home after school: she took a glimpse in the window next to her, at the black hat upon her head. She gazed into her own dark eyes, and she thought of Joey's big brown eyes. As brown as the earth. As dark as venom.

But it wasn't possible

But on the other hand, Sam felt relieved that it was Friday again, especially when Aurora swung by and they drove down to L'Amour together, wrapped in their jumpsuits no less.

“We're missing the little ghostie symbol on the door panel,” Sam said to her as the familiar neighborhood appeared from around the corner; she adjusted the black leather gloves that Frank lent her earlier that morning.

“The siren, too!” Aurora laughed. “Let everyone know that we've arrived.”

They rolled up to that spot before the side door, which hung fully ajar: as Sam climbed out of the car, she spotted Scott and Dan inside there, both with no shirt on. Lush dark hair sprouted all over Scott's chest while Dan looked as though he had just come from several rounds at a nearby gym. And she thought Joey was trim and fit!

“Looks like we've got some manly men, Aurora,” she announced in a loud voice. They both looked in their direction and burst out laughing: Sam strode inside first and she stepped to the right. Aurora followed suit and put a pair of black goggles on top of her head, and she stood to the left. Both girls pressed their hands to their hips.

“Lookin' badass, ladies,” Dan remarked with the points of finger guns; he then ducked away for something. Once they had come inside, Sam realized that their faces had been painted a pearly white, as if they had walked right out of a spa. Both men had clipped their bangs back to put more emphasis on their masks.

“Yeah, kinda puts our costumes to shame, to be honest,” Scott added with a raise of his dark eyebrows.

“Aurora, Marla, Belinda, and I are the Ghostbusters,” Sam explained. “We're just missing our version of Ecto-1 is all.”

“The lasers, too,” Aurora added.

“What about Zelda, what's she dressing up as?”

“No idea—I hope it's something good, though,” Sam confessed. “After Aurora said that the Cherry Suicides will be opening up for Metallica in Providence next month, she's just been on cloud nine lately.”

Dan returned with a handful of jars and some flexible stencils in his arms, and he set them down on the little table in between them.

“What's all this?”

“We're gonna be dancing clowns,” he explained. “Kinda glad you girls showed up, too.”

“Why, you need a couple of girls' help?” Aurora teased him, to which she took a step forward.

“If you don't mind at all,” Dan replied with a shrug of his bare shoulders.

“You girls are one of us,” Scott added as he took out a pair of plastic vampire teeth from his shorts pocket, “—we really need you.”

“Here, Danny, let me help you,” Aurora volunteered.

“Which means I get Scott.” Sam turned her attention to him. “Would you like some help with those false teeth?” she offered.

“Nah—I do need a li'l help with the false blood on this, though.”

Sam took off the black leather gloves and tucked them into her pocket. Scott held still as he let her paint that bright red and jet black paint over his skin: the stencil stayed in place upon his skin, but her hand remained steady. She followed the elaborate groove of the stencil and the thick solid black onto the white foundation.

“Scott and I were making a joke,” Dan began in a mumbled voice, probably from the stencil on his skin as well, “he should shave the word 'not' into his chest hair.”

“Pffff, why?” Aurora laughed.

“Kinda fits the whole mood of things,” Scott added with his teeth barred together. “We lost a good friend so we wanna lighten up for a bit.”

Sam dipped the brush into the paint again, and she thought about the red shorts Charlie wore when she and Joey visited them for a bit. She wondered where they were going with it all, especially since it had been a touch over a year since their record dropped. She placed the other stencil on Scott's face but she kept her free hand on the free one.

“They're sticky so don't sweat it 'bout it fallin' off,” he assured her.

“I see.”

“And I see Zelda over there—in a dress.”

“In a dress, really? Run for the hills!” Sam laughed, and Scott gritted his teeth to keep himself steady. His eyes darted across the room and he raised his thick dark eyebrows a little bit.

“Oh, my,” he muttered without moving his lips.

“What's it like?”

“I can't—really describe it.”

And with that, Sam peered over her shoulder and there was Zelda in the doorway. She had put on a big long white lacy dress with a skirt that fell down to the floor. She had on a smooth silken ribbon around her waist and torn lace gloves. But right in the middle of that fitted bodice was a false butcher knife, and fake blood spattered across her skin and a good part of the dress itself. The floppy hat upon her head had splatters of blood across the brim.

“Oh, deary dear,” Sam remarked.

“Oh, my god, Zelda, you look amazing,” Frank called from the other side of the room.

“Yeah, I know right?” Zelda said with a big smirk across her face. “Thank my ladies for this. We're not called the Cherry Suicides for no reason. We got the news from Aurora just yesterday and there was no way we couldn't not celebrate by dressing up like a bunch of bloody Victorian ladies!”

“Bloody Victorian ladies,” Scott echoed in a fake British accent.

“Hold still,” Sam encouraged him as she brought the paint brush back to his face for some more stenciling. His thick dark eyebrows complimented the black and red paint, and within mere minutes, she peeled off the stencils for him.

“Deliciously evil,” she remarked, and he stuck the fangs into his mouth. She then turned to Dan and Aurora, the former of whom had stars painted all over his face. “Excellent!”

She recognized that head of purple on the other side of the room, right by the bar and wrapped up in a beige jumpsuit herself. She had a black backpack on: it wasn't the laser, but it looked as though it did the trick.

“And there's the third member of our party, Aurora,” Sam declared.

“Thank you, Sam I am—this feels fantastic,” Scott told her.

“My pleasure, Scott—” She jogged across the wooden floor to meet up with Marla. She already had a Bloody Mary before her, and her face lit up at the sight of Sam.

“Hey, I was just thinking about you. Want a drink?”

“Nah, I'm good—Bloody Maries aren't really my thing.”

“No, no, I want to get you something.”

“Oh, yes please! One of those black and purple drinks with the club soda inside.”

Marla asked the bartender for just that, and Sam took her seat next to her.

“Belinda's on her way right now,” she promptly said, “apparently the suit was a little too small for her.”

“Too small? She's like a living doll.”

“I know, right? But I guess it was a bit too snug around her chest so she had to wing it a little bit on her sewing machine. She's like a mad scientist sometimes, I swear...”

Sam's drink arrived and they clinked their glasses together. She took a sip when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. Aurora had finished up Dan's face paint and she met up with the heavy gentleman with the black suit and the black fedora atop his head.

“And there's Aurora and Emile,” she remarked. “He looks like a dark Colonel Sanders.”

“What's going on between them, do you know?” Marla asked her in a low voice.

“No idea, to be honest. All I know is he's separated from his wife and they're friendly with each other.” She turned her head towards Marla. “A little too friendly, if you ask me. That's just from what I've seen, anyway.”

“So there's whole thing between you and Joey and now we have Aurora and Emile.”

“Right. And I have no idea what's going with any of it, either.”

Marla squinted her eyes at the sight of the couple on the other side of the room. She didn't move or say anything for a good long minute.

“Let's see where it all goes from here on out,” Sam suggested.

“It's all we can do,” Marla added as she picked up her Bloody Mary and took a sip. Sam held her purple drink up to her mouth but she kept it there.

With Cliff's passing came a whole new world. Almost two years had surpassed since Sam came to New York and it felt as though so much more had happened to her. Everything seemed to be moving so quickly and she couldn't hardly stop to rest a lot. Emile quipped something to Aurora, who then burst out laughing. He set a hand on her upper back.

There was definitely something in between them. No way it was just friendly. Sam didn't have much experience with the whole thing but she knew that that extended beyond mere friendship. She finally took a sip from her glass, and Marla did it in unison with her.

[amomentsescape]

The witches coming out nowhere to the compound in the middle of a party celebration because apparently they still "think" that Michael was still the antichrist and a threat to the world.

A/N: This was so fun for me to write!

A Little Late (Avenger! Michael Langdon)

It was one of the rare moments when all of the Avengers had some time off. Crime had been fairly low recently, and although they were still ready to fight if necessary, they still figured that relaxing together would be great.

Therefore, Michael took it upon himself to throw a “small” party at the compound (with Tony’s consent of course). 

It was the first time Michael got to see everyone with their guard down. Bright smiles and shining eyes glittered across the building, leaving Michael fully content on how things were going.

They were about an hour in when all of a sudden, the huge doors flew open, revealing a few girls standing there in all black.

“Who invited them?” Montana asked, looking over to Michael.

He didn’t respond to her. Instead, he just looked at the women knowing exactly who they were.

“Well, this is awkward,” Madison finally said. The silence ensued further after this. Even the members of the orchestral band had stopped playing.

“Are you... throwing a party?” Cordelia asked incredulously, her eyes taking time to scan over the room.

“I figured that was pretty obvious,” Michael answered.

Everyone continued to stand in silence for a while. The tension was so high that Xavier almost laughed at how awkward everything was.

“Are you sure we got the right Michael?” Zoe whispered to Cordelia.

“Yes, I’m sure!” she whisper shouted back.

“Okay, okay! Enough with this. What are you all doing here?” Michael popped in. 

“We’re here to stop the apocalypse,” Cordelia said back. However, the look on her face proved that even she was second guessing everything.

More silence ensued after this.

Finally, Michael had enough of it.

“Does it look like I’m preparing to destroy the world?”

The witches took another moment to glance around the room, realizing that something was probably incorrect in their assumptions.

“I- um,” Cordelia tried to stammer out. “If you’re not ‘evil’ anymore then what-”

“I’m not evil, Cordelia. I have found a family that gave me the strength to overcome all my demons, literally. I am a hero now who uses my powers for good. So if you would please not try to kill me...”

The supreme stared on at Michael, her senses understanding that he seemed different from when she first saw him. He must have been telling the truth.

“Well,” Madison cut in, “I’m a sucker for a good party.”

Zoe shot her a look, causing the girl to respond with a sassy “what?”

Michael chuckled a bit at this, raising his glass to them.

“Champagne?” he offered.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Madison said as she walked towards him, grabbing the glass from his hand.

“I meant fetching your own glass of-”

“You offered, I accepted.” 

She kept walking past him, her eyes already scanning over the crowd for someone that catches her eye.

Michael moved his gaze back to the remaining witches, his eyebrow quirking up.

“You guys are welcome to join too.”

All the girls except for Cordelia began to push themselves through the crowd, joining the party without another hitch.

The orchestra was back to playing their music, and mostly everyone else had returned to what they were doing beforehand.

Cordelia slowly walked up to Michael, her head held high.

“I’m still skeptical.”

“As you should be,” Michael offered. “But I promise, I’ll do my best to prove it to you.”

Cordelia couldn’t help but smile at this, her body noticeably relaxing.

“Very well. But only if you get me a glass of wine.”

Michael returned her smile and laughed, motioning her to follow him.

“Great taste.”

[danetobelieve]

Game Night || Ariana, Rio, Todd and Winston

When: before the morgue scream, late september :) Who: @letsbenditlikebennett, @itsyaboytodd, @3starsquinn & @danetobelieve Where: Winston & Rio’s house. Summary: who doesn’t love a family game night? Warnings: n/a  

Winston pulled the door of their place open. It’s hinges creaking slightly in the nighttime. It had been a nightmare recently and they were always one who would try and take the advice that they would give to their friends and they were sure that they would suggest that their friends keep busy. But all they could think about was how they hadn’t been able to change what had happened to Roland and to Orion and to Blanche. A forced smile cracked across their face that definitely didn’t quite reach their eyes. “Hey, I’m so glad you’re here, come in come in, it’s starting to get cold again and you should come into the warmth for sure.” 

Todd didn’t usually read the news, but it had been hard to ignore all the stuff about the police guy who’d died in the fire at the funeral home. It had blown up all over Facebook and the town’s online noticeboard and he couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Winston during all of this. That dude had been their boss-- and like, Winston really loved his job. It wasn’t like a shift manager at Friction had quit or anything like that. That guy had died.... That was some legit awful stuff. Which is why he had a case of Natty’s under one arm, his backpack full of games, and his favorite bucket hat on his head. He was gonna make this game night the best they’d had! “Haha, thanks, dude!” He said as he walked inside. Was he a little cold? Yeah. But, shorts and a bro tank were his go-to look and he wasn’t about to let the fall weather come and ruin that for him. “I got us beers! And, I’ve got a whole bunch of games in my bag-- brought my poker set, Cards against Humanity, and,” Todd reached into the pocket of his cargo shorts and tossed the yellow sack excitedly in the air. “Bananagrams!” 

Going to game night with her friends was the right thing to do. It was what Celeste and Winn would have wanted her to do, but still, Ariana felt as if she was just sort of floating by. Every day, things seemed to be getting darker and darker, including the sky. The way the trees seemed to blow the opposite direction of the wind and how the light seemed to flicker as she walked by painted a surreal picture that mirrored what she was feeling inside. Part of her wanted to return to the comfort of the fluffy blanket she had on her couch and snuggle up to Luna, but she had to move forward. Keep taking the right steps until things started to feel right. Plus, it had been entirely too long since she’d hung out with Winston and Todd and she wasn’t quick to forget she nearly lost Rio and Blanche, too. She’d brought an array of snacks with her since she didn’t have any games besides Dreamsnatcher and she couldn’t buy alcohol. She’d mustered enough energy to make some salsa and guacamole to go with the chips she brought. She didn’t bother knocking as she had a key to let herself in. As she twisted the knob, she took in a deep breath and put on the most convincing smile she could. “Hey guys,” she called out as she entered the house, “I brought snacks!” 

It hadn’t been the best couple of weeks. Orion had felt just about tapped out, between the fire and the police officer dying and then Winn so shortly after. For the first time since Rio had left his family’s house, he had actually started to feel that familiar sense of hopelessness he had been so overcome with the last few years. Things had changed. Things had been getting better. Why was it now that things were going so terribly wrong? Just when Rio was starting to feel useful, like he finally had a purpose to help people. Turned out, after Roland and Winn, he had only reinforced the fact that he had been useless after all. But Winston hadn’t been the same since the fire either. Something was wrong, and Rio didn’t know how to fix that either. But maybe tonight could be a start, if they could just find some semblance of normalcy. With Winston’s friend Todd coming and Rio and Ariana finally talking again maybe the four of them could find a way to make things okay again. Even if it was only for a single night. It was a start. So despite how sore his body was, and the healing burn on his hands and neck, Rio plastered a smile onto his face, and jumped up from the couch when he heard them arrive. He scooted into the room where Winston was inviting them in and waved from the end of the hall, “Hey! Thanks for coming!” He couldn’t tell if it sounded genuine or like he was trying too hard, but hoped it was the former, “I really needed this after the fire.”  

Todd was always a bright spot in Winston’s life. He seemed to exude vibrance, innocence and happiness. Exactly what Winston needed right now. The truth was of course that as Ariana came in behind him, they could tell that she was struggling just as much as they were. There was something about the fact that her eyes didn’t quite hold the smile that her face did. There was a slowness and forcedness to her reactions. She didn’t seem truly happy but then again who was nowadays? But Winston hadn’t forgotten having to abandon Todd when they were meant to be going to that concert, this was their way of making it up to their friend. “Duuuude!” Winston grinned and hoped it looked genuine, “thanks for bringing the Nattys! Can’t wait to get going on this, everyone come in come in, Rio obviously knows Ari, and so do you Todd, but Rio this is my friend Todd and Todd this is my boyfriend Orion but we all just call him Rio.” Winston held their smile until their back was turned to everyone as they shut the door to their lounge and had a brief moment of respite from the forced looks of elation. “Does anyone want a cold drink, I can put the beers in the freezer so they get cold faster.” Wasn’t Todd cold in a tank top? Winston was already wearing one of their favourite hoodies and they were considering turning the heating up. 

“Oh hell yeah, Meg--Ariana!” Todd said with a grin as the girl mentioned snacks. He fucking loved chips and guac. Letting Winston take the beers from him, Todd held out his arms, offering Megan-- Ariana, a respectful side-hug if she wanted it. Just cuz he was a hugger didn’t mean that he was just gonna bear hug her, that wasn’t cool. “How ya been? When Winston told me that you’d be here, I was super hype.” Turning around, Todd looked at the young man who was walking up to him, looking a little hesitant. Ah, nah, that wouldn’t do! This was game night! “Duuuude! Rio! Nice to meet ya, Winston’s told me lots about you!” He said, arms still spread out wide as he offered a big hug. He wasn’t super sure what was going on, but he got the idea that this game night was a long time coming. And he just wanted everyone to have a good time.

There was no denying that she wasn’t the only one here feeling worse for wear, but Ariana couldn’t help but smile at Todd’s enthusiasm. He really did have such an energetic way about him that would normally be more contagious. It was funny, she’d almost forgotten he met her as Megan. With a small laugh, she joked, “Sorry for the name confusion there. One might say I was having a bit of an identity crisis.” She accepted Todd’s hug and felt a little bit better after the fact. Somehow, this was already working a bit and taking her mind off everything. The Natty would probably help even more, but for now, she grabbed some bowls from the kitchen and set up the chips and dips. “I won’t lie to you, I’ve been better, but I’m happy to be here with you guys. I had a lot of fun when Winston brought me to that party you played a few weeks ago,” she answered with her most convincing smile, “How have you been? Still seeing that cougar?” She hated that word, but she lit up a bit when Rio was introduced. “I legit forget his full name is Orion sometimes, but Rio is the best.” 

Tonight was going to be nice. It had to be, for all of their sakes. Well maybe not Todd, he seemed to be doing fine actually. That was pretty refreshing, meeting someone so genuinely happy. Todd was obviously an affectionate person, trying to welcome Orion with open arms, literally. Rio accepted the hug, albeit a little more apprehensive than Todd was. His friendliness was contagious, making Rio want to smile despite the situation. That was what the night was for though, right? “It’s nice to meet you too! I’ve uh- heard a lot about you as well. And I guess in a way Winston and I have you to thank for us getting together. It sorta started at some club we went to to see you.” Would either of them ever have made a move if they hadn’t gotten drunk in that club? It was hard to tell. Rio glanced curiously over at Ariana when she mentioned an identity crisis. Rio had no idea what that meant, but he supposed the two hadn’t talked much until Rio had gone to the hospital. He felt a little out of the loop. “Ha. Well, it’s actually sorta weird now when people actually call me Orion. I feel like my parents are the only ones that do it.” Rio shrugged and scratched at the burn on his neck nervously. “But uh- Feel free to drink however much you want tonight! You can sleep here if you need or I can drive you home after.” 

Keeping busy was the name of the game. Whether it was with work or with friends or with personal projects. Winston didn’t have time to think about everything that had been going on recently if they kept themselves busy. “You can crash in the spare room or on one of the sofas if you’d prefer dude,” Winston agreed from the kitchen as they sorted snacks into bowls, slid very drinks into fridges and made themselves their own drink. Swallowing half of it in one go, Winston winced. Alcohol didn't’ even really numb anything all that much. But it was harder to think about how fucked up things were at the moment. Looking over to Todd, Winston couldn’t help but smile. How the guy managed to stay so positive throughout was kind of beyond them. “You’ve yet to tell us that much about this girl you are dating,” Winston chimed in their back still turned to the group. They hoped that the emotion hadn’t completely left their voice. They had just been telling people that they were tired but they weren’t sure if anyone actually believed it. 

Hugging Megan-Ariana first, then Rio, Todd couldn’t help how overwhelmingly happy he was to be hanging with one of his best buds, his best bud’s boyfriend, and a really dope chick. He hadn’t had a fun game night with the boys-- well, boy, non-binary bro, and a girl-- in a long time and he was hyped for it. “Haha, it’s all good, dude. And hey, no worries. That’s what game night’s for! How are we feeling on games?” He asked as he began to pull out the decks of cards from his bag and set the poker chip set on the table. Looking over at Rio, he grinned, “Oh, you guys came to the club? That’s so dope! Haha, I’m glad that you guys were able to like, connect and stuff! Friction is good for that.” He said with a nod, the innuendo of what he’d said going over his head. Grabbing a Natty, he popped the top and took a long drink before shrugging. “I’m not the kinda guy to kiss and tell,” He laughed and shook his head. He wanted to tell them all about Lydia, how he just… couldn’t get her out of his head. How all his music seemed to be about her. But, now didn’t feel like the right time for him to go all mushy with how much he liked her. “Besides! We’re here to have a good time, not hear about my relationship stuff.”

How Todd maintained his level of unbridled enthusiasm was a mystery to Ariana. Had life just been more kind to him? Was it because he wasn’t caught up in all the supernatural drama of the town? Had death not quite touched him like it had the rest of them? If it had, she certainly couldn’t see it. Tragedy struck her too young to be familiar in the ways of blind optimism, but she always persevered, right? She found little moments worth pushing forward for, like these. It was evident in Winston’s voice that things were taking a toll on them, too. As she prepared the last of the snacks she brought, she placed a comforting hand on their shoulder and gave Winston a meaningful look before following them out into the living room with snacks in tow. It was hard not to laugh along with Todd. He was sure secretive about this older woman he was seeing, which made her a bit weary, but she chalked it up to her own bleak outlook at this moment. With a coy grin, she threw in, “I mean, hearing about your dating life sounds fun to me, but fine, don’t tell us the juicy details. I’m not living vicariously through you.” Maybe she wasn’t, but that thought made her head spin. She didn’t like to think about how she felt about Ace. None of that mattered if she let Lydia kill him and thinking about it only made her sad, so she shook it away and asked, “So what are we starting with first? I’ve only really done board games with y’all, so I’m really game for anything.” 

“I have no idea what you all are talking about, but I’m totally not going to pry into your dating life.” Orion shrugged, trying to feign the same light and airiness that Todd carried himself around with. Though the two weren’t close, and had only just met Rio realized that everyone needed a friend like Todd to keep this optimistic even in the worst of times. Rio just hoped for Todd’s sake that he never had to figure out how difficult things could get here in White Crest. But for the sake of tonight, Rio could try to forget it. Or if nothing else at least ignore it. “Some of us are trying to make good first impressions.” Rio grinned, hoping that by taking Todd’s side he won some points. Though it didn’t seem like it took much for Todd to make friends with someone. He seemed like a pretty personable guy. It was the same attitude that Adam held at times, though Rio was starting to figure out that there was more beneath that surface. “If we play video games, Winston is sure to stomp us all. Not that I’m complaining.” Wait… did that sound suggestive? He coughed into his arm and cleared his throat, trying to change things around, “But uh- we have cards. And board games. And can do anything that doesn’t involve me making a decision. Wow I’m thirsty. I mean parched. I mean… I’m gonna grab water now.”

“Todd is dating a mystery older woman,” they explained to Rio, “but he likes to keep things secret to build tension… apparently.” Winston had to admit that they found it a little strange that they hadn’t heard more about Todd’s girl, but they weren’t one to pry into their friend’s private business, as long as Todd was happy then so was Winston. Especially when he was apparently managing to continue to live a relatively normal life without the interference of any supernatural parties. Something that Winston kind of envied him for. Yet it was very weird that Todd wasn’t telling them more. Normally he liked to show off those that he was dating. Apparently not anymore, but then again maybe this was different. Sharing a brief look with Ariana, Winston felt their stomach flip. They weren’t sure if it was worse that they were having emotions or feeling numb all the time. When they had an overwhelming sense of loss they wanted to feel numb and when they felt numb they didn’t want to feel anything. Swallowing away the lump in their throat, Winston sighed gently. “Whenever you’re ready dude,” Winston assured him quietly, “you know that we all just want to get to know her but … you can’t rush these things.” It had taken Winston a while to admit the same things with Rio. Besides, every relationship was different. “We could start with something like cards against maybe?” Winston wasn’t sure that they really wanted to play anything, but it was games night and they had to make the effort, how were things going to go back to … well whatever normal had been before all of this? 

As he was razzed by the others, Todd couldn’t help but grin sheepishly. It was nice to know that they cared about him-- not that he doubted Winston! He knew that work came first and people had to prioritize their stuff! But, it was still nice, feeling wanted like this. It was the way Lydia made him feel. Man, he wished that he could tell them about her. But, now just wasn’t the time. Maybe he’d have a party! Where he could invite his friends and have them meet Lydia, and he could tell them about how he’d met the lead singer of Ace of Cups. At Rio’s words, he offered a wink, “I like you, dude. I mean, I knew I’d like you given everything Winston’s told me about you, but you’re a good one. Keep this one around, bud!” He said, clapping a hand on Winston’s shoulder and giving him a teasing shake. “I just don’t wanna freak her out! She’s like… super high class and like, half the time we go on dates, I’m just like “wow, she’s so outta my league.”” He said and shrugged. When Winston suggested cards, he nodded. “Sounds good to me! Poker’s fun, but we can also do other games too! Blackjack, BS, I’m up for whatever!”

If Todd preferred to keep his love life a mystery, Ariana could try to understand. Still, something left her feeling uncertain, but she chalked it up to how shit everything had been lately. She hadn’t meant to become this cynical person and she straightened up realizing that Celeste would never have wanted this for her. With a brighter smile that still felt forced, she commented, “Well, whoever this classy mystery woman is, she’s lucky to have you. You’re super fucking cool.” It was hard not to be endeared by Rio’s ever consistent spazzy tendencies. One day, she hoped he felt more sure of himself, but around he seemed to be getting more comfortable with her personally. She’d just have to help take over decision making for him which was hardly difficult. “I don’t know how to play poker, but I do love Cards Against Humanity. There’s no numbers in that one which like, thank god,” she responded dramatically. Her and math were never going to be friends and that was fine by her. “What’s the ridiculous rule for who goes first again?” 

“Don’t make me blush, it happens way too easily!” Orion cried out, but he was laughing as he shied away from Todd’s approval. It was weird, meeting one of Winston’s friends as their boyfriend instead of just being Rio. The two had been part of a connected group of friends, where most of them knew each other before Winston and Rio ever started dating. It was no longer telling the people that he was already friendly with that he and Winston were seeing each other now, but actually meeting someone new while being a couple. It was a small enough difference that it should have been completely inconsequential, however it still sparked excitement in Rio. “I agree. She sounds pretty cool, but you’re definitely a catch.” He had to admit that the two did sound like a semi odd pairing, but Rio didn’t know enough about Todd or this mystery woman to judge either way. As long as the two were happy, Rio didn’t see the problem. “Yay. A game full of sexual innuendos that I totally understand” Rio grinned sarcastically and resigned himself to his fate. He was going to be lobster red from blushing the entire night. At Ariana’s question, Rio groaned hating that he was the one that remembered the rules to this game, “It’s uh- Well I’m pretty sure the official rules say that it was the last one to like… go to the bathroom… number two style.”

Winston swallowed a mouthful of their drink. Why did everything taste kind of shitty now? Everything felt kind of shitty too. Winston felt like their throat always stuck together whenever they swallowed anything like there was a weird lump in it or something. “I guess we’ll all just have to wait in suspense to see what’s she’s like, something to look forward to … right bud?” Winston swallowed, were they convincing enough? Probably not. They were having a good time right? “Even if you don’t understand them Ri now is the time for you to learn right?” Winston chuckled, the sound was hollow and Winston did what they could to ignore that. “I did a number two this morning but I haven’t really had a chance to eat today soooo…. Anyway, anyone been more … regular then me?” 

[irhinoceri]

I read “I Am The Messenger” by Markus Zusak several years ago, sometime between 2002 and 2005 (because I know it wasn’t brand new when I read it but I’m pretty sure “The Book Thief” hadn’t been published yet) and at the time I loved the book. I thought it was amazing. I vaguely remember thinking the ending was a bit anticlimactic, that the resolution to the mystery of who was sending the cards felt unsatisfying, but I loved the rest of the book so much I felt like hardly mattered.

Well... gosh.... hmmmm. I have very complicated feelings now, because I listened to the audiobook, and though the narrator being Australian really gave it that perfect voice that I wasn’t able to achieve in my head when I first read it, it was a slog. I thought about turning it off several times because I just couldn’t.... stand.... it.

And it’s making me think again about The Literary Discourse posts about whether a story is good or bad based on the moral conduct of the main character. And while Ed is certainly not the most unlikeable character ever, the really problematic aspects of both him as a protagonist and a POV character leapt out at me in 2021 the way they almost completely went past me in the early 00s. I was younger, I was far more conservative, so even reading books with swearing and sex and violence in them felt kind of revolutionary to me at the time, but still. I am trying to remember what it was that I liked about it.

Part of the problem is the textbook case of The Friendzone that runs throughout the book re: Ed being in love with Audrey who considers him her best friend and refuses to have a sexual relationship with him, though she comes to him for emotional intimacy and the sort of borderline sexual intimacy of being barely clothed around him, getting drunk and sleeping with him (platonically) all while maintaining vigorous sexual relationships with other boyfriends, who mostly go unnamed because they don’t matter.

In the end, of course, Audrey finally relents and comes to him and they get together, which feels hollow to me because a far more satisfying outcome would be for Ed to learn to move on and find someone else, or at least to let Audrey go (which he ostensibly does, but then he is “rewarded” for letting her go by her finally being willing to start a sexual relationship with him). And I’m just going.... why can’t he let her go and that’s it? Why can’t it be that he lets go of the desire to have a relationship she is not willing to give, and it truly does free him? That is a wonderful feeling. I’ve been “in the friendzone” as a girl in love with guys who valued me as a friend but found me sexually unappealing, and never once did it turn out where they finally woke up one day to realize that the emotional connection we had was more important than the sexual chemistry they had with the girls they actually wanted to date. You know what feels like Growth? The point where you realize that you don’t actually Want to date that person anymore, and the point where you are free from the desire and the unrequited yearning.

I wish more stories with Friendzone plots had the guts to end the story that way. Even (or especially) in a case like this where she’s constantly telling him that he’s her best friend and the only person she loves and that’s why she’d can’t have a sexual relationship with him and coming to him at night for cuddling after she’s had E rated fic levels of sex with her “boyfriend” she doesn’t Love.... like jeezus I do feel bad for the guy in the Friendzone when the story is framed like that, you know? And this is probably how most incels think of themselves, as the long suffering Only True Gentleman who is Better than the Chad getting all the pussy (even while he’s overcome with lust whenever the Love Interest enters the scene and we have at least a few sentence describing her hips and legs and breasts).

Anyway, at this point this particular phenomenon has been debated, hashed out, disproven, what have you.... so to re-read a story where it’s so firmly romanticized and realize I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it the first time around it was an eye-opener. I was torn between disgust at the protagonist for his constant objectification of Audrey and disgust with him for allowing her to emotionally manipulate him for literal years while she fucked around and kept him her back pocket (thus the near perfect embodiment of the highly sexual yet unattainable friendzoner). I was never rooting for them to become a couple. I was always rooting for Ed to get over her or for her to leave him him alone.

The other thing that really got to me was how Ed was stalking literally everyone in the story, including a 15 year old girl whom he lusted after despite repeatedly saying he wasn’t a creep and he wasn’t doing it For Those Reasons.... but it was Okay because stalking people to help them was the point of the whole story.

(Quick plot beak down... after foiling a bank robbery, 19-year-old taxi driver (it was 2002 so he’s basically an Uber driver) Ed Kennedy starts getting playing cards with cryptic messages on them, in the form of addresses or clues to addresses, and when he goes and stalks the people who live there, he figures out some way they need help in their lives and helps them, thus growing in confidence as a person along the way.)

At the end he’s helped a lot of people and learned to be a better person, almost a la Bill Murray in Groundhog Day... and the only thing left is to find out who has been sending him the playing cards and orchestrating events all along. Without spoiling it, the answer is very unsatisfying and unclear. It’s almost a precursor to the narrator/character of Death in “The Book Thief” but far less defined and a bit more like “Stranger Than Fiction” in a boring way.

The other thing that kept driving my a little crazy was the fact that Ed was only 19. I felt like I was reading about a guy in his 30s. He just felt like such an Old and Jaded character, and granted some 19-year-olds have lived harder lives or whatever... but also he had his own apartment and full time job and a close knit circle of friends he met up with in person regularly... and yet it was hammered home again and again that he was a loser. A pathetic person who hadn’t accomplished anything in life and never would.

Granted, it was 2002 when this book was published. But a 19-year-old with their own apartment and job? In THIS economy? And THREE (3) IRL friends whom he gets together with on a regular basis??? Okay so he’s not having sex, big deal. This guy is a fucking success by any millennial barometer, though I suppose a 19-year-old in 2002 would be a Gen Xer?? Hmmmm no I turned 17 in 2002 and I’m a millennial so... whatever. Tangent.

Anyway, the whole book hinges on this idea that he’s a total loser and needs to learn to.... connect with people... and make a difference in the world.... and ok look I’m not saying he shouldn’t be aspiring to bigger things than being an Uber driver, but I have a 39 year old friend who is an Uber driver! And he’s a cool guy and a smart person and is valued by his friends! It’s Okay! To have! A service job! And also he’s going back to school and trying to get his life back on track and all, which is good, and I’m not saying Ed shouldn’t do the same thing or whatever. But I don’t know, this story just feels so much more like it would hit harder if the protagonist was in his mid 30s instead of 19. I just felt like telling everyone, the author included, to chill the fuck out and lay off Ed for not being the fucking poet laureate of Australia (is that a thing?) or surgeon general at 19 years old, a year after his alcoholic father died. I will say it again: JEEZUS.

Also also there’s a pretty disturbing rape plot where Ed must save a woman from her rapist husband, and I’m not gonna say that much about it beyond the fact that hopefully we, as a society, can progress past rape plots that revolve around an outside male observer. I mean, good on anyone who tries to help someone who is currently trapped in a domestic abuse situation, but the particular way that plot was handled in this story was just all kinds of gross and it gets even worse in retrospect at the end.

This post is not meant as literary criticism. I have an English degree and I know that this post would not hold up as a paper by any stretch of the imagination, it would get an F as a work of literary criticism, this is just me thinking about how I feel now versus how I felt nearly 20 years ago when I loved this book.