#her leader mentality has finally caught up to her huh...

[blujaymi]

"No time, right?"

RUBY + VIEWS ON BEING A LEADER in 1x13 vs. 9x07

[dialovers-lover-xoxo]

The diaboys reacting to a boy forcefully kissing their s/o female x reader

❌Trigger Warning!❌ There is non-consensual kissing and aggressive flirting. The kisses are very short and it doesn’t go further than a kiss but if non-consensual kisses and aggressive flirting make you uncomfortable or trigger you or bother you in any way, you may not want to read after the cut :)

Shu

——-

The hallway was deserted, he had you cornered against a wall. “I really like you.” The boy said, his arms caging you in. You laughed nervously. “Thank you, but I actually have a boyfriend.” “He doesn’t need to know.” The boy said, moving his head closer to you, putting you nose to nose. “No, thank you!” You pulled back and tried to duck under one of his arms but he quickly grabbed your waist and pressed his lips to yours. You shoved at his chest but less than a second later the boy was pulled away from you and you heard him yelp in pain. Looking up you saw Shu had him pressed against the wall, his wrist in a bone-crushing grip. Shu’s voice was quiet and calm, but the look in his eyes would have made even the bravest of men cry for their mother. “You don’t kiss what doesn’t belong to you. Now scram.” The boy didn’t need to be told twice, the second Shu released him the boy dashed off. Shu turned to you, his eyebrows furrowed and you looked up at him sheepishly but he then hugged you. “Ha..you troublesome woman...making me use my legs.”

Reiji

——-

Reiji was walking through the school, mentally going over his notes for the next test. He passed you-seemingly alone in an empty classroom. Curious and worried, he walked in and saw a boy looming over you. The boy then pressed his mouth to yours, firmly holding you in place. Reiji stalked forward and grabbed his forearm, wrenching him off of you. “Kissing a woman forcefully, your lack of manners are completely deplorable. If Karlheinz Sakamaki found out scum like you went to this school...” Reiji let his voice trail off. The boy’s eyes widened. “K-Karlheinz Sakamaki?” “Yes, as I’m sure you know, he’s a very influential man.” Reiji let go of the boy and stepped closer to him. “He also happens to be my father. If you don’t wish to get expelled, leave this room.” After another fearful look, the boy ran out. Reiji looked down at you and you hung your head. “I’m sorry-“ “I know it’s not your fault. I’m going to teach you self-defense. He will not be the last man to approach you like that.”

Ayato

———

Ayato just wanted some damn takoyaki. Why did you even insist on going to class? Why would you prefer that over making the great Ayato food? He paced outside the classroom door, waiting for you. The door flung open and it was only Ayato’s incredibly vampire reflexes that prevented him from being hit with it. You walked out. “Finally! Your Truly was-“ You hurried past him. “Huh?” Ayato followed after you angrily. Why the hell were you ignoring him? A boy bumped into him. “Hey! Watch where you’re going!” Then Ayato saw the boy run after you and grab your waist, then turned you around and kissed you. Ayato saw red. He ran forward and yanked the guy backwards by his sweatshirt, then threw him to the ground. “Don’t touch what belongs to Yours Truly!” Ayato kissed you deeply and grinned down at him. “I’m the only one who can kiss her, you got that?”

Kanato

————

“Uh, well, um...” You stammered, backing away from the boy approaching you. “You can’t seriously be loyal to that Kanato guy, right?” He asked. “He’s so weird, carrying that bear everywhere. You’d do so much better with me.” “No I-“ The boy grabbed your arm and pulled you forward, then kissed you. You squealed against his mouth and thrashed. Suddenly the boy pulled back, screaming in pain and fear, his clothes on fire. You turned in panic and saw Kanato, who looked terrifying. “No, Kanato, please don’t kill him!” You begged. Kanato’s eyes narrowed at you. “You want to save him? Are you cheating on me?!” “No! I tried to stop him from kissing me, but I don’t want him to die!” The fire stopped, the boy unscorched. Kanato turned to him. “I’ll spare you now, but if you come near my doll again, Teddy and I will cut you into little pieces.” The boy whimpered, nodding, then ran away. Kanato looked at you angrily. “Since I spared him, you owe me. Give me your blood now. After school we’ll go to the sweet shop and then you’ll bake me a pie.” You nodded weakly and allowed Kanato to sink his fangs into your flesh.

Laito

———

The boy leaned forward and kissed you. You shoved him away. “S-sorry, but I have a boyfriend!” The boy chuckled. “Yeah, that Laito guy? He’s a perv, I’m a gentleman.” He tried to kiss you again but Laito stepped in between the two of you. When did he get there? “A gentleman who tries to kiss a girl after she says no? Fufu, how pathetic. This is my Little Bitch. Get your own and leave.” The boy narrowed his eyes but left, muttering curses under his breath. “Thanks, Laito.” You tell your boyfriend quietly. He turned to you, smiling. “I need to get every trace of him off you. When we get home we’ll shower together and your body will drown in my touch.”

Subaru

————

“Look, I’m flattered, but I’m not interested.” You said, which was basically just a rewording of the previous three sentences that had left your mouth. The boy stalked closer. Was he always that tall and scary looking? He grinned down at you, then yanked you for a kiss. You squirmed but he was too strong, almost as strong as-“GET THE FUCK OFF HER!” Subaru. Subaru threw the guy against the wall and punched him in the face. “Don’t ever kiss her again, ya hear?” The boy desperately tried to stop his bleeding nose. “Okay, okay.” “Now fuck off.” Holding his nose, the boy ran off, leaving droplets of the blood. Subaru turned to you with a growl. “This is why I don’t want ya leaving my side! From now on, you’re stickin’ with me at all times.” Without waiting for an answer, Subaru grabbed your hand and started walking to his next class.

Ruki

———

“Your master isn’t here.” The boy next to you said thoughtfully. “Huh?” You blushed. Had he heard Ruki call himself your master? You were sure you never called Ruki master in public. The boy walked over to you. “I’ve got ya to myself, Livestock.” Your eyes widened and you nearly toppled over a desk. He grabbed your face so hard it hurt and kissed you. Ruki rushed into the room and pushed him off you and onto the ground. Ruki towered over the boy on the floor, his cold blue eyes like steel. “Nobody calls her Livestock but me. Her master is always with her and if you don’t want to be at the other end of my whip, you won’t approach her again.” The boy scrambled back. Ruki wrapped his arm around your shoulders and steered out of the room, leaving the boy petrified on the floor.

Kou

——

Kou had just finished giving autographs and finally had some time to himself. He passed the library and something caught his eye. You were sitting on a table, which was normal, but you weren’t reading or studying. In fact, you looked like you were inching away from something out of Kou’s view. Kou walked inside and growled. It was the same asshole that had been flirting with you for a week now. Kou walked forward but broke into a sprint when he saw the boy’s lips touch yours. Kou hugged you from behind and pulled you back. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Her boyfriend isn’t keen on others kissing her.” Kou lead you away and made a mental note to tell his fangirls to make his life a living hell.

Yuma

———

Yuma hated being stuck inside a classroom, he wanted to be outside working in his garden, preferably with you. He asked the teacher if he could go to the bathroom and left with his hands in his pockets. He heard a scared voice and turned the corner. He saw you were backed up against the wall by three large guys. Not larger than him, of course, but way too big for you to take on. The boy in the middle, right in front of you, who seemed to be the leader, yanked you against him and kissed you. Yuma pulled him back by his hair and punched him. The other boys tried to come to his defense but Yuma easily defeated them. He picked you up and threw you over his shoulders. “Don’t touch her again. There’s more where that came from.” He warned the boys with a fanged grin.

Azusa

———

You backed away from the boy. “Azusa’s so creepy, why do you like him?” “You’re acting creepy too now!” You said angrily. For a second the boy’s eyes widened but he then laughed. “Whatever. He’s a weakling, I’m not. So come here.” He managed to grab your arm and he pulled you close to him. He ducked his head and kissed you. A force shoved him away from you. “Eve...is mine...don’t touch her...” Azusa said. “Yeah, what are you gonna do?” Azusa pulled out a knife. “Your arm...would look so pretty...with a new friend...” the boy squeaked and ran away. Azusa chuckled but then looked at you seriously. “That was...an accident...right, Eve? You didn’t...want to...Kiss him, right?” You nodded. “I didn’t.” “Good...I’m glad...” Azusa kissed you sweetly. “Only I...can kiss Eve...”

Carla

———

If Carla wasn’t so angry, he would’ve laughed. A human like that guy kissing you? His lips weren’t even worthy of kissing the dirt under your shoes. Using his magic, Carla made him soar across the hallway and hit the wall. “You scum. Your mouth doesn’t deserve to breathe in the same oxygen as her. Now go away, or you’ll be very sorry.”

Shin

——-

Shin saw you struggling to escape the grasp of a boy kissing you. He ran forward and punched him, grinning when he saw the broken nose he had caused. “Don’t come back! Or I’ll send my wolves after you!” You doubted the guy understood the whole claim of wolves, but when a guy punches you in the face and breaks your nose, you do the sensible thing and run away. Luckily, this guy was at least somewhat sensible and did just that.

Kino

——-

“Um, noooo, I’d rather not.” “So you want to skip the movie and just do this?” The boy kissed you. You pulled back. “Hey! Don’t kiss a girl like that!” You yelled. Kino and Yuri walked forward, seemingly out of nowhere. Kino held your waist. Yuri looked at the boy. “You shouldn’t touch what belongs to another, nor should you kiss what belongs to my master. He’ll get very angry.” Kino kissed you deeply and shot the boy an arrogant grin. “She didn’t pull away from me.” His face then got angry. “Now screw off.”

[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!

[potter-imagines]

Off Limits (Draco Malfoy)

Summary: Y/n and Draco Malfoy have been secretly crushing on one another for quite some time. Draco and his friends notoriously taunt students, especially Gryffindors. So why is Y/n, a Gryffindor, off limits? What happens when a friend attempts to harass Y/n?

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Disclaimer: Anyone else on DracoTok ??? Set in fourth year (no mentions of tri-wizard tournament, sorry saving it for later) xx 

Warnings: Little bit of bullying (hp edition bullying)

Word Count: 4.5k

“Y/n… are you alright? That was your third cup of tea- you’re going to be jittering out of your seat in Charms!”

Through the bustle of her thoughts a worrisome voice tore Y/n from her daydream. The Great Hall was bouncing with energy. All houses were scarving up their lunch as the chatter filled the enormous room. Y/n sat quietly with her fellow Gryffindor classmates.

Physically she was sitting with her friends but mentally, she was across the table sitting with the bleached blonde Slytherin Prince himself. It was a recurring game between the two. Stolen admiration and stares. Words were rarely exchanged, and neither could answer why. Draco had told her once he wished she was in Slytherin, but otherwise they only spoke together when necessary. She made him nervous, and it was a feeling he didn’t like. He found himself worrying over the unfamiliar emotions he felt towards her. Both being too scared to act on their feelings, it all went unspoken.

Her attention has been drawn on him for the last 20 minutes. She casually sipped on her tea, filling her cup back up each time it grew bare. The warm of the lavender brew kissed her taste buds and slithered down her throat, emanating her body in a hug.

It wasn’t until her curly haired friend placed a hand on her shoulder that she was forced to look away.

Hermione was in the middle of an argument with Ron over who was to blame for Gryffindor losing ten points during Potions. Snape loathed the house so it was no surprise to anyone when he eagerly took points away when Ron’s cauldron exploded and split in two. Hermione paused when she noticed her best friend staring intently behind her.

Y/n sent her a quick reassuring smile and said,

“I’m fine, Hermione. Just thinking.”

Harry was busy rushing to finish his Charms paper before next period. He would add a comment every few minutes but was removed from the conversation for the most part. Ron interjected himself into the conversation as he shoveled a load of mashed potatoes into his mouth,

“More like worrying. What’s got your knickers in a twist, Y/n?”

Y/n winced as she got a full view of his meal in his open mouth. Y/n could hear Hermione gasp as she reached forward to smack Ron on the arm. He gave her a look of bewilderment, clearly not expecting her reaction.

“Ron! Dear Merlin, have some manners.” Hermione’s eyes were wide as she glared at the red head. Ron just shrugged and resumed with his meal. Steam rose from his plate and if she wasn’t so mentally withdrawn, Y/n would’ve been happily digging into the feast. There was not a day that goes by where Hogwarts meals fail to impress.

Although the uneasy feeling building in her stomach did not allow this. It was almost nauseating to be surrounded by the delicious foods. Y/n leaned forward towards the table and pursed her lips. Her e/c eyes looked past Hermione, as if she was invisible, and landed on the rambunctious table behind her. A small wisp of white flashed behind Hermione and Y/n felt her heart leap in her chest.

Her maroon sweater clung loosely to her body. It was Friday so there was no hassle over her neglecting her robes. Rubbing her thumb against the sleeve Y/n allowed herself a moment to wander. She thought of Draco. How it would feel to hold his hand. To lay in his arms and run her hands through his snow white locks. To take late night adventures with him around the castle after hours. To be his rock and hear all the little thoughts running rampant in his head. To be his.

A far off thought, yes but a girl’s allowed to imagine right?

Cautionless the young witch sitting before Y/n whipped her head around to see what was captivating her friend so much. Expecting to see a dinosaur with a shark’s head, as she had never seen her friend so mesmerized, Hermione furrowed her dark brows in confusion as she scanned the scene. All she saw was the annoying table of Slytherin’s and a gloomy, cloudy sky outside the windows. Draco and his friends were loudly talking, Hermione rolled her eyes at his. They never failed to annoy her. Most of the students sitting in the group infuriated her. Pansy was constantly harassing Hermione with her cruel words and bothersome antics. Crabbe and Goyle took more interest in pestering Ron and Harry but they still found a way to get to her as well. Draco was the worst of all cause he seemed to be in charge of all the taunting and hell. Sure, since the start of the group's fourth year in the fall he had laid off, but not completely. Snarde comments were thrown here and there but the intensity had decreased.

The oddest part of it was none of Draco’s wrath was ever placed on Y/n. Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy got their insults in on her daily but never Draco. There were times Hermione caught him scolding his friends in the courtyard for a comment they made towards Y/n and it baffled her.

She hadn’t noticed she was staring- or rather searching- for very long until Pansy’s sharp, hateful eyes caught hers.

“What’d you think you’re staring at, mudblood?” The sneering Slytherin glared dangerously at Hermione. Pansy sat between Draco and Blaise, the corner of her lip lifted as if she was growling at Hermione. Her hands were clutching the wood of the table ready to pounce. The loud conversation died down as the surrounding Slytherin’s and Gryffindor’s listened in, half out of amusement and the other out of fear.

“Are you gonna answer me or just sit there looking dumb with your iditot friends? Huh?” Her thin brows lifted towards the ceiling, intimidation emanating off her skin. Y/n winced in guilt. Hermione was only curious as to what caught her attention and now she was caught in Pansy’s.

“If anything dumb is the most lazy insult you could use against Hermione. If I remember correctly she’s the top of our class and if I can remember correctly, you’re number 36 out of 40. Did I get that right?”

“You filthy little blood traitor, you’re gonna regret-” Pansy had shot up like a predator ready to kill their prey. Y/n was almost certain she saw flames burning in Pansy’s dark orbs. Gasps emerged as students readied themselves for a fight. Ron was frozen in shock, no help at all, only stunned. Harry had only rejoined the conversation when Pansy’s wrath began, making him just as taken back as Ron. Y/n knew this wouldn’t end well but she couldn’t handle Pansy berating her friends for game. Just as the devilish Slytherin threw her leg over the bench, Draco snatched her arm stopping her actions all in one move. A noticeably screech came from her lips from the pain of his grip. Her fists were clenched by her side and her plans were obvious to the whole crowd. By this point, everyone in the Great Hall was watching the mess unfold.

The brunette girl snapped her head to the leader of their group. Her gaze screamed ‘let me go’ but Draco was not about to let that happen.

“Pansy, shut up and sit. You’re not gonna do anything.”

“Draco she just-” Suddenly Pansy was forced back into her seat causing a loud thump. Draco practically shoved her into compliance snarling in the process. If the scenario had been different, Y/n might’ve giggled at Pansy’s befuddlement. Even Blaise was astonished! The tension was too thick for a laugh to lighten any moods.

“I said, shut up and sit down.” His words were final. The girl now coward under his icy stare. If looks could kill, Pansy would be 6 feet under by the hands of Draco Malfoy. The silence was uncomfortable and no one wanted to be the first to make the next move. Shakily, Pansy grabbed her fork and resumed eating, pretending she didn’t just get humiliated in front of the entire school.

Y/n remained focused on Draco, studying his expression. His eye remained glued to Pansy but not in a loving way. The rage in his eyes could be seen from the moon. He was testing her, installing fear in her. When he decided his message stuck, he turned away and looked forward at the h/c witch sitting across from him. Y/n’s body shuttered at his movement and quickly looked to Hermione. A wave of electricity ran down her spine. He felt it too. Draco’s gaze stayed fixed on Y/n unable to tear away. He spent a lot of time staring at her, examining her features, although he took these stolen glances when she wasn’t looking. This time he knew she saw him, the only difference is he didn’t care. A part of him hoped her doe eyes would move back to his somber ones.

“What just happened?” Ron was the first to speak up among the table. Y/n could feel the endless pairs of eyes on her. It seemed everyone was seeking answers.

“I have no bloody clue.” She mumbled. Hermione reached out and tugged on Y/n’s hand, a silent thank you. A small gleam tugged on Y/n’s lips as she squeezed her hand back. Lifting her head she found the familiar pair of stormy eyes. This time, she didn’t look away.

Rain drops kissed the stone of the castle as a storm brewed outside. A continuous thump played on repeat. It was a soothing lull to Y/n as she walked back to her dorm from the library. The last few hours she was cozied into an armchair staring out the window. Her initial intentions were to study but after an hour of skimming through her Potions textbook and feeling more lost than ever, she gave up and lost herself in the weather.

Most students were busy socializing, it was a Saturday night after all. Harry, Ron and Hermione begged Y/n to join them at the Gryffindor party for 4th years and ups but she politely declined. Typically she’d tag along and set aside some time to enjoy herself but for the night, she preferred to be alone. Ever since her odd encounter with Draco and him defending her, she had a difficult time controlling her thoughts. He seemed to be the only thing occupying her thoughts.

The corridors were empty for the most part. A few giddy students tipsy off firewhisky rushed by her. She was approaching the staircase towards the common room when the calling of her name stopped her in her tracks.

Y/n clutched her books to her chest and she turned around. The hallway appeared empty, though the crashing rain made it hard to hear. Y/n wrote it off as her imagination and resumed her walk. Her cheeks were rosy from the harsh breeze sweeping the grounds. She decided on a detour wanting to delay her arrival in the common room. Fred and George would surely convince her to join in the partying and she wasn’t in the mood for that at the moment.

Y/n’s steps clicked against the ground filling the empty void. Bright flames created lighting in the halls guiding Y/n on her journey. Her feet carried her around effortlessly, the destination still undecided.

If it were a weekday, she wouldn’t be able to make it a few feet wandering around this late without a perfect stopping her. She was scolded a handful of times but never written up. Maybe that was because it was typically a Gryffinor or Huffelpuff who caught her. Undoubtedly a Slytherin perfect would waste no time turning her in.

Suddenly a noise caught Y/n’s attention. It wasn’t loud, almost nonexistent but Y/n knew her ears had not tricked her. It sounded like a clank, similar to when she would drop her wand on the stone floor. Y/n peeked over her shoulder but once again, it was empty. Nearly. If he hadn’t stumbled Y/n would have missed him but she didn’t.

The black cloak left the trail. His fast movements to hide caused it to wave back ever so slightly. A tiny look of his bright locks poked out from the stone corner. Y/n smiled to herself as she thought, was he following me?

The happy witch swiveled back around and gracefully continued down the corridor. She pretended to not notice the presence behind her as she led him to a spot, unbeknownst to him. Draco had no inkling that Y/n was on to him. He was sure his hiding skills were immaculate. He had been playing hide-n-go-seek with the house elves since he was a child. His only mistake was calling out to her earlier. He was desperate for a conversation, but his nerves got the best of him. Draco tiptoed a safe distance behind Y/n as she skipped down the wavy path.

She quickly rounded a corner causing Draco to pick up his pace. It wasn’t until he turned the corner that confusion graced his face.

“What?”

Without warning a hand clamped around his wrist and yanked him backwards. A door slammed loudly making Draco whip around to face his attacker. Much to his surprise the beautiful Gryffindor he had grown so infatuated with stood before him. Her h/c hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail but she still looked gorgeous. This was the first time the pair has been so close to one another. She could smell the hint of peppermint wafting off his breath. It reminded her of a potion she had smelled months ago.

Both speechless, the pair stood inches away from each other. Draco’s eyes flickered from her plump peach lips to her eyes, then back to her lips. He was hoping she’d speak first and luckily, that was exactly what she did,

“Why are you following me?”

Draco griminced growing bashful. His head fell down to his chest as he stared at the ground trying to come up with an answer. This was not an emotion he was accustomed with. Never in his life has a blush of red painted his cheeks from the actions of a girl. Especially a Gryffindor girl. He wondered how his father would react then pushed away the thought. Y/n leaned her head down forcing Draco to meet her gaze.

“What makes you think I was following you?”

She gave him a knowing look. He was caught and there was no denying that. Draco took a moment to take in the closet she had shoved them both into. It was a supply closet by the looks of it. There was one window with a small nook overlooking the vast forest extending beyond the castle grounds. A few dusty textbooks, some beakers, empty test tubes, and four old broomsticks. He hadn’t spent much time on this half of the castle. He found himself exploring a lot of new areas of the castle while following Y/n around. It started last year, the beginning of their third year. It was far easier for him to admire her from afar then risk rejection.

“Fine, I’ve been following you. I just wanted to know what you’re up to. There’s about seven parties going on tonight so you can’t tell me you weren’t invited to one.” “I was, but I didn’t feel like socializing tonight. I could ask you the exact same thing.” Draco smirked. He might not be the biggest fan of Gryffindor’s, but her playfulness and ease to serve it right back enticed him.

“Maybe I didn’t feel like socializing either.” Y/n shot him a look of skepticism. He wasn’t fooling you but you decided to play his game.

“But you want to spy on me?”

“I wouldn’t say spy-” This earned a scoff from the Gryffindor. Draco rolled his blue eyes and sighed, “Okay I just enjoy ‘spying’ on you at times. Don’t make me explain it please. You’re amusing. Quite odd too, but amusing nonetheless. I don’t know.”

Y/n could feel the heat kissing her cheeks at his words. If it was any other boy, she would tell them off or find it a bit creepy but she had been crushing on Draco now for years so she couldn’t help the rapid beating in her chest. Draco searched Y/n’s face for disapproval, he thought he had scared her off at this point. Instead, she looked up at him and gave him a teasing smirk,

“How many other girls do you spy on, Malfoy?”

The usual cocky boy was taken aback by her question. The last thing he needed was for Y/n to think of him as some sleaze. In all honesty, he had never taken genuine interest in a girl until he met you.

“Only you, I swear. No other girl in this school has held my interest as long as you.”

“Why did you stick up for me yesterday at lunch? With Pansy… I thought you two were y’know… and you made her stop. Why?”

It was hard to ignore her sadden expression. A pang struck his heart at her brokenness. He wanted to hug her but he hardly even knew her personally. It was funny in a way. He had spent almost two years observing her and taking notes over her actions but had never made a move. Quickly he shook his head,

“I’m not with Pansy, if that’s what you think. She’s quite annoying, can’t spend more than an hour around her without a bloody headache. Not exactly my type.” Y/n giggled causing Draco to smile. It was the first genuine smile he had in awhile. “But I’m not sure. I just didn’t like the way she was speaking to you. She was wrong anyways so why let her get away with it? Not that you needed my help, anyhow. You can hold your ground pretty well, love.”

Y/n’s breath caught in the back of her throat at the phrase. She heard it from her friends but never from Draco. It had a larger effect on her. A small precipitation built in her palms. The closet was becoming crammed with the growing tension between them. For the first time tonight Draco held the confidence and he took full advantage of it. Seeing her frail and shy made his heart melt and long to protect you. It was a feeling that scared him but he was willing to invite it.

“Cat’s got your tongue?” Draco teased the girl like a game of cat and mouse. It was new to him, seeing her wiggle uncomfortably. Lately she has been on the upper hand. Now it was his turn. Her flustered state caused his stomach to do flip flops. She was the most adorable girl he had ever laid eyes on.

Y/n placed her hand on his stern chest keeping a small space of distance between the pair. Draco tried to deny the sensation that rushed through his bones under her touch.

“Shove off, Draco. I don’t like the way your friends treat mine.” She rolled her eyes carelessly. This was an issue she wanted to end. It hurt Y/n to see the way Draco’s friends treated hers. She didn’t like seeing Hermione upset and ashamed over her blood status, which holds no importance in her mind.

“I’m sorry, darling. It’s hard to explain but I can tell them to lay off a bit. They haven’t done anything to you have they?” His hand now rests over her own, still placed on his chest. This was the first time she had felt the warmth of his hand on hers. The butterflies in her stomach were screaming but she resisted their cries. “No, actually that’s the weird thing. I think today was the first time I’ve actually had a conflict with one of your friends. Why is that?” Draco grinned at her confused expression. All this time he spent admiring her from a distance, he never realized how breathtaking she really was up close.

“They know better, I wouldn’t allow that.”

He hadn’t fully processed his words before they slipped. Y/n’s head tilted to the side watching his profile. She waited for a chuckle, for him to admit it was a ploy. Draco’s posture stayed fixed and tense. His words held more weight than one might think. It led onto more and Y/n wanted to hear him say it. Vulnerability was an uncomfortable emotion for Draco and for the first time in a long time, he was scared.

“Why do you treat me differently, Draco? I’ve never heard you say one bad thing about me. You stood up for me yesterday. You’ve been spying on me. You look out for me… why?”

Y/n’s hand slipped away from his and folded near her lap. The tension was as thick as honey. All Draco could think about was the hint of cherry in Y/n’s perfume that was tattooed in his memory. He thought about her all summer long, never able to get the sound of her childish laughter out of his head. Spent hours in his mother’s garden sitting underneath a large cherry tree thinking about her. The only thing he wanted to change about Y/n was to make her his.

Maybe it was the cunningness of the Slytherin in him, he just couldn’t resist the opportunity. Rejection was the last thing on his mind, it was worth the risk.

In a light manner Draco pushed Y/n back a step until her back was pressed into the stone wall and the back of her head against the glass of the window. A small yelp came as Y/n was caught off guard by his sudden movements. Even through the darkness Y/n could make out Draco’s features. He looked assured- not his usual arrogant, high and mighty demeanor. Draco’s hand snaked up above Y/n’s head, giving himself stability as his face neared hers.

His free hand slowly curled around Y/n’s chin, taking his time. Y/n was positive he could hear the pounding of her heart. She reached up and pinched the skin of her arm between her finger tips. Draco stroked her cheek, brushing his thumb to her chin every few swipes. Nope, not dreaming, Y/n thought to herself.

Their eyes locked and Draco sent her a look of approval, not wanting to cross a boundary. She answered his question by closing the gap between them, leaning up on her tippy toes to meet his lips. Her hands slipped around his neck pulling him in closer. She savoured the taste of peppermint and apple on his lips. His kiss was soft, but overflowing with passion. It wasn’t sloppy but smooth, like two puzzle pieces matching up. Y/n’s lips moved with his happily. Her hands found their way to his platinum blonde hair, grazing at his soft locks earning a groan of pleasure from Draco. They continued on for another minute or so until Y/n’s need for oxygen got the better of her.

Pulling away softly Y/n rested her forehead against Draco’s. The only sound filling their air was the two of them trying to catch their breath. Drunk off adrenaline Draco’s eyes lit with glee. The happiness rising in his chest was addicting. Placing his gaze on Y/n Draco felt warmth,

“I really, really like you, Y/n. Even if you are a Gryffindor.”

Little chuckles came from both as they basked in the moment. Y/n was excited to run back to her dorm and share her night with Hermione. Hermione- what would she say?

A pit of worry settled in Y/n as she started to process what was happening. Draco noticed her shift in moods and moved his hold to her shoulders pulling her back a step. Y/n shifted her attention to the window and furrowed her eyebrows,

“What will your friends say? Your parents-” Before she could finish Draco beat her to it. He gently moved her chin to focus herself back on him. She drew her bottom lip into her mouth, biting on it nervously. Draco smirked at this, her little action driving him mad. Reassuringly, Draco bent at the knees a bit and placed a tender kiss to Y/n’s lips, then her cheek, holding her face in his hands. She was beyond flustered, her cheeks had yet to stop burning since she pulled him in the room. His hair swept against her forehead as he shook his head, “I don’t give a shit about any of them right now. Just you. Please be mine, Y/n.”

Her breath caught in the back of her throat. Draco scanned her face looking for any signs of an answer. He had never officially asked a girl out before so this was all new. She could easily say no and tell all her friends about it and torture him for years. Instead, Y/n nodded ‘yes’ then reconnected her lips once again with Draco’s. He moved to get a better position but just as he did, the closet door swung open causing a ray of light to burst in.

The two separated in an instant, scared shitless over the intruder.

“Well look here Georgie! We were right about all that lip smacking! It’s Y/n and Malfoy!”

“No way!” Soon rough George Weasley popped his head into the closet with a mischievous grin. Fred folded his arms over his chest smirking at the two of you. He was already planning out who George and him should spill the news to first. The endless chuckles began to emanate when he took in the sight.

Annoyed at their presence Draco shot dagger worthy glares at the twins. She shoved his shoulder trying to diffuse his frustration. The twins were her friends after all. Draco shot one last look at the twins before sneering,

“Get lost, Weasels!”

This only escalated the giggles between the twins as they rushed out singing loudly,

“Y/n and Malfoy sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G-, first comes love, then comes marriage-”

When they got far enough down the hall, Y/n sent a look to Draco. He was annoyed, not mad. Y/n moved towards him, leaning against his chest. The Slytherin Prince gripped her waist embracing her.

“If you don’t want to go back to your dorm yet, I know a spot. We’ll have to take a lot of stairs-” Y/n groaned in response earning a small laugh from Draco. “I know but I think you’ll like it. We can see the stars from up there.” Draco had only ventured up to the Astronomy Tower a handful of times though taking her there seemed to be a perfect idea. She’d love the stars, and it would give him more time to spend with her.

Y/n laced their fingers squeezing his hand. Draco pulled her hand to his lips pressing a chaste kiss to the skin.

“Okay, lead the way Draco.”

[deaconusdelirium]

Fight your demons

Requested: “what if the reader slipped in and out of what happened and what’s not. Like, switch Crosshair out with the reader, after they get their chip removed, she’s just really scared about hurting the Batch and especially Omega, maybe she just has a mental breakdown and then that’s when everyone notices how much you’ve lost yourself. I’ve also noticed you have more Crosshair lovers than the other, so go ahead and do Crosshair. Soft! Please🥰”

Oh man, that definitely hits the feels

———

You ran, ran far, Gerreras soldiers weren’t cut off, and they sure went going to get back to him. “Commander. We caught a few of Gerreras men, six to be exact” you stopped, making the other Elites as well. You held a fist up, “Fall back, we’ve got what we need” “but the orders were to eliminate all of Gerreras troops” the guy who thought of himself higher than the group spoke up, throwing an attitude already, the others looked at him. They knew he said something, “oh?” You turned, facing him, “I’m the commander here, you take orders from me. And I say we fall back, let those two go, they’ll tell Gerrera we’re here. He’ll send out more of his soldiers. Then we’ll strike, got it?” You explained, walking closer as he backed off, “yes, commander” he nodded, standing straight again as you took off towards the Regs who had the hostages.

They weren’t far, but that didn’t mean you could walk. By the time you got there, there was eight of them, “we caught two sneaking around” you hummed, walking up to the soldiers, “let’s make this easy and short. Where’s Gerrera?” “like we’ll tell you” one of the guys spat, “oh I’ll make you, starting with her” you pointed at one of the ladies, the Elite grabbed her. Forcing her to her knees. “Talk” the soldiers looked at her worryingly, “don’t! Tell her, I’ll be fine” the woman spoke, “let her go” “talk and then maybe I will” they all glared at you, the Elites stood behind them, just in case they got any ideas. They seemed to talk to each other, you watched as they exchanged words between them “We lay our life down for Gerrera, we’re not telling you anything” their heads held up high with pride.

“Fine, kill her” the Elite that was holding her, shot her, making Gerreras squad yell and try to break free. “Last chance, all of you” you warned, wasting time on people who weren’t worth it. “Didn’t you hear the first time? Or can’t you get anything through that helmet of yours? We’re not saying anything.” The supposed leader spoke for them all. You leaned over to the ‘executioner’ as he always did as told. “Kill them all, leave the one at the end alive” you said, he gave a swift nod. Telling the others as the guy at the end flinched as his teammates fell, the sound of leaves crunched under your boots as you walked up to him. Kneeling down to meet his eye level, “you’re chosen for a reason, now, I promise not to hurt you if you tell me, where Gerrera is” he shook, looking at you. “He left, but his caravan..” he finally spoke. “Uh huh” “they’re the vulnerable ones, down the road, just before you caught us” you stood up, walking away, “thank you for your cooperation, your no longer needed” you shot him, making the troopers around look at you.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt him if he told you the truth!” The woman slightly raised her voice at you, “and he’s lying, we have scanners all over this planet, more than one. If someone was disobeying orders to help Gerrera, we would still have others to tell us if a ship has left or not. And they’re has been no word on that, however. The caravans most likely here, I’d say far off considering we have troops a few clicks out and we would have found them by now. We have no use of a liar with us” they listened, you were right. If someone did betray the Empire, then there were still others loyal, and they would immediately alert you. They watched as you walked off, coming to your side again. “Find them” you told others as they got into squads and set out.

The caravan wasn’t hard to find either, it seemed like they didn’t know that you were there. Now you watched as they quivered by their ship, holding each other. One of the Elites spoke against your orders, “we signed up to be soldiers, not an execution squad” he spoke, the others unsure if they should follow the man, “you know why they put me in charge?” You asked, he turned to face you, the other Elites stepping back, knowing he was done for “it’s because I’m willing to do what needs to be done” you shot him as the others backed up again, looking at you. “Good soldiers follow orders, finish the mission” you told the others as they walked closer to the civilians. You watched as they complied with your orders, feeling a bit of pride grow for your squad since they almost stopped questioning your ways.

—

You woke up, gasping as tears had already made their way down your face in your sleep. The image played like it was moments ago, but it seemed like forever, you touched the side of your head. The feeling of the small scar there told you that the chip wasn’t there anymore. You felt like you were trying to breath, your eyes watered again. As you heard Hunter run in while a sleepy Omega jogging after him, her eyes widen as she seen you. “Y/n, Y/n are you ok? What’s wrong?” Hunter came to kneel at the edge of your bed, his hand touched your arms as you pulled away, “don’t...” pulling away from his grasp. “Y/n?” Omega called out, walking towards you, her hands held out to grab yours. “I said don’t, go away” Omega looked at Hunter worryingly, he nodded to her, she walked out feeling sad. “Y/n, what happened, is everything alright?” Hunter asked, his voice gentle as to not make you anymore upset. “I.. I don’t want to talk about it” you held your knees up to your chest as you spoke through your arms. He understood, standing up and walking out the door “I’ll be here if you need me” he said before leaving.

You wiped your tears with the end of your blanket, regaining your breath as you calmed yourself. “Problem?” Crosshair asked, leaning against your doorframe with his arms crossed, he was the only person you didn’t want to show tears around, considering he was more intimidating than Wrecker and Echo. “No” you answered shortly, sitting there as the thought of innocent people were gone. “I know you’re lying,” he spoke, coming to sit at the end of your bed, “I’m listening” he said it like he does it all the time. I mean, he did, he mostly listened to Tech rant about things he didn’t understand. And he liked listening to him, he didn’t mind at all. You didn’t answer, but he seen as you came to touch your head again. Oh, he knew now.

“You’re worried?” He questioned, hoping to at least get a short answer from you. He didn’t sound upset or moody like he usually was, you scoffed, “more like scared... and worried. I pushed Omega and Hunter away- but I was just so.. scared I’d hurt her. I remember it like it was just today, those innocent people” he was surprised at how easily you pried open. “Those children, just like Omega. They died at my hands, I did it without hesitation. I knew what I was doing yet, I didn’t. It felt like I couldn’t control myself. It seemed right, but now, now it’s wrong” did being under the influence of the chip take that much of a toll on you? Was it like that for all clones? He nodded, “I didn’t mean it, it just..” tears fell as you cried, “it hurts to even think I did that. I would never have done that” you wiped them away, Crosshair felt like he needed to do something.. anything.

“It’s not your fault. It’s the chip” he spoke, trying to reassure you. “And that chip, ugh it still feels like its there and” you cut off as you rubbed the scar. “I just want to be my old self again, one who wasn’t being used by everyone to get what they didn’t want to do, done. I hated it, I hated every second of staying with those Elites, and having to see Rampart almost all the time when I reported back to Kamino” it sounded awful, it must have been too. “I just wish I could forget about it” you confessed, finally feeling like you were able to breath after getting that all off of your chest. And he didn’t judge, he didn’t say anything rude like he always did. You silently cried to yourself, Crosshair didn’t say anything for awhile. You felt like you made him uncomfortable, “sorry, I just..” you apologized, wiping your tears away as embarrassment replaced your self pity.

He didn’t know what to say, it sounded like nothing could be done to help you. So he did the one thing he could think of, he turned and pulled you into his arms. Unsure if he was hugging too soft or too tight, he didn’t even know if hugging too soft was a thing. “Cross, you don’t have too” “shh, just.. relax” you smiled weakly at his attempt to sooth you, and you did relax. His warm embrace felt comforting, something you’ve never felt before. Maybe it was because you’ve never been held or hugged, or maybe because you just tried and needed someone to listen after all you’ve been through. He stayed like that for a long time, he felt the occasional hiccup of you trying not to cry again, he moved away, and so did you. You watched as he stood up, then came to lay down. He pulled the covers over him as he made you lay down. He wrapped his arms around you, but what if this was too far for him?

You laid there, still, not wanting to step over his boundaries. You grew tired, finally putting a hand on his side, making him tense up, but soon relax under your touch. He gently squeezed you, making you slowly come closer until you were holding onto him. “Cross?” You asked, whispering to him while facing his chest. “Hmm?” He was curious to know what you had in mind again, “tell.. tell me this is real?” You hesitantly spoke, grabbing his shirt and holding as much as you could of him in your grasp. “It is.. why?” He waited for your answer, “I’ve had dreams like this, when I was back on Kamino with the Empire. Where one of you held me, mostly you. I missed you guys terribly, then I realized it was always a dream” his cheeks grew warm and his heart broke at the thought of you missing them.

They didn’t mean to leave you all the time, but they had too. “You’re back with us now, don’t worry” he said, tangling his legs with yours and holding you closer. The sound of his heartbeat was new, you actually felt it, and his breathing was something to add onto. It matched yours, or did yours match his? It got late, and you still couldn’t sleep, what if your chip instincts came into play without you even knowing, and then you hurt one of them. Crosshair seemed to be sleeping, but you weren’t sure as you kept tossing and turning every minute, “Y/n, what is it now?” He asked, finding you far away from him when the side you were sleeping on was empty. “I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake you... sorry” “there’s no need to apologize, come on” he pulled your arm, making you lay beside him again.

It felt a little better, but not enough to make you sleep. He took note of it, “it’s not there anymore if you’re wondering” he knew you were worried about to chip, so his hand came up to softly rub your temple with a feather like touch. It seems to make you sleep, considering you weren’t moving and your heartbeat slowed to a gentle pace, and your breathing was shallow. Was this all it took to make you sleep? His question was answered as you snuggled into him again, it may have been new to him too. But he had already loved this new found form of touch and reassurance. He only wished he could take away your darkest memories and never have you think of them again, but if this helped you sleep at night knowing someone was finally there, then he would be there every night to fight your demons.

———

Wow. I like this one, although... lemme know if you clones want it softer cause I feel like it’s not soft enough...

[kiraakirana]

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩'𝙨 𝙚𝙮𝙚 | h. kakashi

─────────────────────♡──────────────────────

Tonight, a firework display will be held to celebrate Lady Tsunade's inauguration as the 5th Hokage. After going through vulnerable and unstable days after Orochimaru's attack and the 3rd Hokage's death, the villagers of Konoha finally come together to witness a new beginning under a new leader. A new light finally emerged from the brim of sadness, once again giving everyone hope towards a bright future for Konoha.

It was the talk of the village for the past few days, everybody was deciding what kimono to wear and who to invite. As you would be working late that night, you agreed to meet up with your friends at the firework display after you're done with everything.

You could hear the distant laughter and cheeriness while you were walking towards the venue. You smiled to yourself, happy that the depressing days after the attack is over and that the villagers are back on their feet. You had a purple kimono on with your hair down and a white flower clipping as an accessory. You were quite in a rush, so you didn't really put that much thought into it.

After talking with your friends for a while, you felt uncomfortable being a 5th wheel as it turned out that they each brought partners. Excusing yourself, you searched through the crowd for a certain shinobi with a distinct white hair. You weren't sure if he attended or not as he's not that much of a people person. But you were relieved when you saw him near one of the food stands with none other than Guy-sensei.

"Hi," you said as you gently tapped his shoulder. He was wearing a blue kimono with his mask, as always, still on.

"Hey," he replied as he put down his Icha-Icha tactics. "Eh? didn't see you earlier."

"Yeah, I just arrived a few minutes ago, had to work late for an impor- shit," you said abruptly. Panicking, you hastily went behind Kakashi's back to hide yourself when you saw the two guys who asked you out yesterday.

"What happened?"

"I'll explain to you later, help me hide please," you said quietly. Seeing how pathetic your hiding strategy is, Kakashi pushed you softly into an empty alley nearby and positioned himself dangerously close to you. He put his right hand on the wall next to you as an attempt to hide your face from whoever you were trying to hide from. Although it was considerably effective, it wasn't good for your heart, afraid Kakashi could hear its loud beating. Leaning close he said, "This way people wouldn't even try to approach."

You could only nod, looking down to gather your thoughts as you felt your cheeks heating up. Damn this copy ninja! Does he realize the things he could do to you? You have the hots for him and has been desperately trying to keep it oblivious, but right now, you weren't sure if you could keep your feelings in check from how close you two were.

"Well, if this isn't convenient," you muttered under your breath. Not wanting to waste this chance by looking away, you looked up to see Kakashi giving you a smile. "Well, if you don't tell me who you're hiding from, we would stay like this until tomorrow morning," he added, "Not that I have any problems with that."

Embarrassed, you pushed Kakashi and stomped away, "They're gone already." You then looked back at him who looked nonchalant about the entire thing, much like his usual self, walking behind you. To you, it seemed like he was acting indifferent, but you failed to notice that Kakashi was a nervous wreck. Even when his fingertips would brush your skin subtly, it would send shivers down his body. He was giving it his all to hold himself back and not get caught up in the moment.

How could he not? You were a famous kunoichi known for your intelligence and beauty. Despite being younger than him by a few years, he admired your maturity and tendency to remain cool-headed at all times. It's not rare that he overhears his comrades complimenting you. You were a truly skilled and hardworking shinobi who earned everybody's respect.

"Thanks," you said quickly.

"Couldn't hear you," he teased.

"I hate you," you replied while turning away. Kakashi was your senior in ANBU and because of your great chemistry and teamwork, you two were often sent together on missions, therefore explaining your close relationship. He was always there to give you advice and comfort you whenever you felt homesick during long missions.

It wasn't until Kakashi was discharged from ANBU that you felt his great impact on your life. You were in denial for quite some time, until you came to the conclusion that the reason you were constantly worrying and missing him was not because you were simply his friend, no. It was a feeling much stronger than that.

"Is this the thank you I get for saving you?"

You swiftly grabbed his hand and took him to the rooftop across the one where Guy and his team were sitting. This was the best place to see the fireworks and it also meant less chance to encounter the two guys you saw before.

"I saw the two guys that asked me out, they also asked me to go to the firework display with them."

"And you rejected them?"

"Yeah, I said I couldn't go tonight," she shrugged, "I mean, I'd rather go with someone else."

"Then why aren't you with this guy right now?"

That question caught you off guard. "Well, he's definitely here right now," you said awkwardly, "But I wasn't brave enough to ask him to go with me. Besides, I wasn't sure if watching firework is his thing," you said, letting out a laugh. Knowing him, you were sure he'd rather stay at home to read his books. You made a mental note to thank Guy for dragging him here.

"Oh."

"You're not going to press me further about who that person is?"

"No," he shrugged.

"You’re no fun," you said jokingly, although it was an attempt to persuade him to ask you more questions. 

He laughed and said, "Okay then, who's the lucky guy?"

"Well there's no fun in it if you directly ask me who he is, you have to guess."

"Then, what's this person like?"

"Um, let me think," you said as you carefully thought about him, "He may seem very nonchalant at first, but deep down he's someone who cares a lot for his comrades."

"Hm, that wouldn't narrow the options by a lot. How does he look like?"

"He has a distinct hair, tall..."

"Why do you like him?"

"I feel safest around him. He's a truly wonderful person, I wish I had the guts to tell him that. I feel like he doubts himself a lot. He needs to know that a lot of people are grateful for him, including me. I've never liked anyone else the same way I like him."

"As your senior, I say you should just straight-up tell him about how you feel,” he gave you a smile and a thumbs-up to encourage you. 

“Ah, so she has a special someone. I mean, it’s no surprise right? Someone like her couldn’t possibly be single forever. I guess I was too late, huh?” thought Kakashi. 

"Well, I don't know if he feels the same way..." you said, shifting awkwardly in your seat. 

"But there's no telling unless you tell him right?"

"Yeah, I guess...”

To hell with pride.

"I like you, Kakashi."

"Wait, I mean you should tell him that, not me."

"Huh? This whole time I was talking about you, damn it."

"Uh? So you?" he looked at you, surprised. You didn't know what made him so surprised though, wasn't that obvious hints? Who else has distinct hair in Konoha? Okay, aside from Guy and a few other people... Yeah, maybe you should've just said 'white hair' but it would be like giving it away.

"Yeah, whatever you're trying to say. If you're going to reject me, at least wait until the firework's over so you don't ruin it."

It was silent for a while and all you wanted to do was throw yourself to the river. Just kidding. You should've stayed home. But then again, there's no better time than right now. It’s either now or never. You had to get the weight off your chest and you’ve prepared for the worst possible outcome for years. "You know what, I'm sorry. I know it's ridiculous for me to like you when you have so many other-"

"I like you too, Y/N."

"Girls fawning over-" you froze for a moment and looked at him in disbelief, "Wait, did you just?"

"Come," he said as he stood up and gave her his hand, "I know a place where you can see the fireworks much better." It was one of your favorite Kakashi smiles, the one where you couldn't see his eyes. Despite not being able to see the rest of his face, this was enough to put the butterflies in her stomach.

It was a place near the river, far from the busy crowd. The water moves calmly and the fireworks could be seen clearly. "You know, I was serious when I said those things. I really see you as a wonderful person."

"Yeah, I know. I'm a very lucky guy."

"But don't get too full of yourself," you said jokingly, landing a weak punch on his arm.

You looked at Kakashi, who was laughing wholeheartedly, in awe. This was truly a sight to remember. Feeling entirely grateful, you gave him a shy hug, hiding your face on his kimono. Y/N who was usually a confident, collected person, became a mess whenever he's around. Only he’s able to do that. 

Kakashi ran his fingers through your hair soothingly and rested his head on top of yours. Despite the loud cracks of the fireworks, you could subtly hear Kakashi's soft voice saying, "Thank you, Y/N."

-

A/N: this is inspired after seeing Kakashi on episode 306 of Shippuden called ‘The Heart’s Eye’. It was so cute seeing Kakashi in a kimono, I just want to give him the biggest hug:(

[limitlessgojo]

Blood Bound: Red Strings of Fate (Ch 2)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood

Previous Chapter: The First Meeting

Next Chapter: What's Your Ideal Type?

Tags: Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj, @rizzo-nero, @whoreuc

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, please mention it in the comments below ty.

CHAPTER 2: The Rebirth

You had a hard time falling asleep that night. Your mind is trying to remember the vision, but the images remain blurry. There was a faint heat lingering from the man's body pressed against yours.

‘Could we possibly be…. It’s not impossible but….’, your mind was working 10,000 miles an hour trying to think of the possibilities. There was only one thought that came to mind and it made you blush. You pulled up the covers and snuggled against your stuffed plushies and pillows. You had to pass by the library and get permission tomorrow.

At least the weaponry was amazing. Noritoshi senpai even showed you inside and pointed you to the crossbows he often practices with. ‘He must be a capable sorcerer. The way he holds himself up with such dignity was already a dead giveaway. A natural born leader huh.’ you wondered.

You fell asleep that night dreaming about a lovely Phoenix, being reborn from ashes.

◇◇◇

Noritoshi was pacing around in his room. He had passed by the library on the way back from dinner, and grabbed several books. “The Secrets of Foreseeing the Future, Vol. 1”, “Alternate and Parallel Worlds”, “Past Lives: A Study”, and “The Life and Works of Abe no Seimei".

He paced around his dorm room, looking over the book that was bothering him the most. “The Tales and True Records of Soulmates”.

He scanned through the main parts of the book. It spoke about bonding. There apparently were 2 types of bonding, emotional and physical.

When 2 halves of a whole reach a certain degree of understanding of each other, they establish what's called a half-bond or a phantom bond.

This begins to link their emotions. Intense anger, fear, joy, disgust, sorrow, and love can be felt from the very first stage. As their bond strengthens, they begin to share more emotions, as well as short strong intentions.

Intentions are used to depict a state of being. If they have a goal or a state of feeling over a particular matter, their partner can pick up on it.

The near final stage of a full bond is when they start to share physical sensations. When one gets injured, it will resound with the other.

The strongest bond is known to share special abilities and thoughts via telepathy between a fated pair.

Noritoshi's mind was definitely in overdrive. There was SO MUCH information on soulmates. But the one thing that wasn't explicitly stated was how a soulmate pair found each other.

How do soulmates confirm that they are indeed soulmates? Most of the information was based on soulmates who simply claimed to be. Then what about how they came to be?

So now he knows that soulmates are supposedly able to share emotions and feelings to a certain degree. But there was a lack of information in the book. What about visions? The vision he shared with y/n was one of a kind.

It kept discussing how the known most popular existence were the parents of Sugawara no Michizane. One of the three great vengeful spirits that is the ancestor of the Gojo clan.

He made up his mind. Taking out his phone, he dialed up his father.

Beep. “Noritoshi? It’s so late, why are you calling at this time? It best be an urgent matter.” his father gruffly answered.

“I am sorry to disturb you father. It’s just, there is a new student here in school. A First year called Tsuchimikado y/n from the Tsuchimikado clan.”

“Ahhh, them huh? Powerful group even though there are only a few of them. They don’t really talk about their techniques that much. They are descendants of Abe no Seimei and yet they kept to themselves as a minor clan of jujutsushi… So what about her?”

“She might possibly be my soulmate, but I am still confirming. Do you have any books or records on soulmates at all?”

At this, his father sat up straight in his study. “Are you serious? And what can you say to prove such claims? Do you know how rare a soulmate bond is?”

"I am aware. And I know we may not be soulmates. But I have some suspicions. If you have any info about soulmates, The Abe clan, or the Tsuchimikado clans, I would appreciate it." Noritoshi replied.

"Okay. I'll have a look and get back to you. Feel free to come by the main house this weekend. Look over the main study. There are also some records on Soulmates there."

"Thank you father. Have a good evening."

Beep.

Noritoshi sighed. He undid his hair bindings and combed out his hair. And opened the book again. He read through the table of contents in case he missed out on any major pointers.

He couldn't read the book in one sitting, because he is still reviewing for the TOEIC and improving his English.

He yawned and was about to retire to bed, remembering his promise to bring you around tomorrow, when one particular word jumped at him.

The binding process of soulmates. He quickly flipped through to the page and found out with horror that some of the pages had been torn out.

It wasn't him who did it. (Obviously). But now he has to go and tell Utahime sensei about it.

He took a closer look at the remaining few pages.

"The Binding of Soulmates. It is known to vary per pair. Some pairs found themselves to be born with a matching symbol in the inside of their arms or on their necks from birth. While others form it upon passing the first stage of -" and the page ends with a violent diagonal tear from the upper right corner to the lower left.

That's pretty much all that he can take away from the book so far. Frustrated, he decided to go to sleep. Nothing about sharing visions was mentioned so far. Maybe they weren't a fated pair after all.

But deep in his gut, Noritoshi knew that you were an important person to him. That was for sure. As he fell asleep, he shared the same dream with you. A lone Phoenix, being reborn from its ashes.

◇◇◇

The following morning, you didn't know where to meet up with Noritoshi senpai so you simply went to the same place he left you last night. On your way there, you passed by a tall robot kind of thing which spooked you. You stared at it, wondering if it was a kind of automation that serves the technical school.

To your surprise, it turned towards you and bowed while greeting, "Hello. I'm a 1st year student here at Kyoto Jujutsu Technical College. You can call me Mechamaru. Kokichi Muta is my real name, but I use robots to fight."

Your eyes widened in surprise and curiosity. "My name is Tsuchimikado Y/n, also starting here as a first year student. Pleased to meet you!" You bowed back.

“So… is your body inside that robot?” you asked him.

“No, as a result of heavenly restriction, which if you haven’t heard of yet is a means of exchange/ a binding contract, my body is elsewhere. I am controlling this robot from afar.”

Your eyes bugged, “That’s incredible! To have that much cursed energy, plus it is over such a long distance.” You were jealous as long-ranged techniques are something you try to work hard and specialise on.

“It’s not that fun being physically stuck in a basement.” Mechamaru didn’t sound too amused.

“Ah, I’m sorry about that… “ you floundered as you mentally hit yourself for being so inconsiderate.

“No need to apologize. I am used to it.” He waved it off coolly.

"You're the first other 1st year I've met Mechamaru. I wonder when the others will come. I've heard of 2 others." You wondered.

"I've already met one of them. Miwa is her name. You won't miss her with her bright blue hair." He replied. His voice was so stiff and robotic, a strange feature.

"Ohhhh I see. I'll keep that in mind!" You smiled. "I'm afraid I have somewhere to be right now, but I'll catch you around for sure! Please take care of me."

"Don't let me keep you waiting. Please also take care of me and see you around." Mechamaru waved as you ran off.

More students to meet huh. Your heart pounded in nervousness and excitement. So it was Miwa and Mechamaru so far. ‘Ugh, I’m so bad with names. I’ll surely get used to it.’ you thought to yourself.

You rounded the corner and nearly plowed through Noritoshi senpai in your haste. “Whoa there, careful,” he held his hands out in case you slipped, but you were fine. You caught yourself just before you hit his personal space.

You were surprised to see him already there, in the same clothes he was in yesterday (was that his uniform? You had yet to get yours, which had custom arrangements).

"Good morning Noritoshi-senpai!" you beamed up at him. He looked down at you amusedly, liking your bright energy. “Good morning y/n.”

Your smile grew wider upon hearing your name fall from his lips for the very first time. For a moment the both of you just stood there smiling. Then Noritoshi beckoned you to his side as you walked around the campus.

"Did you sleep well last night?" He asked.

"Ah yes, though it might take some time getting used to the dorm rooms here. But everything is pretty much convenient. Especially the kitchenettes in our rooms." You were still excited about starting classes.

“Did you have your uniform tailored to your liking?” You asked him.

“Ah yes, I requested a looser fit. I am used to wearing a kimono and wooden sandals at home. I simply requested for them to be made in a similar fashion for comfort. And it gives me enough space to hide all of my weapons.” He smiled gently down at you.

“Ahhh I see. I have also put in a request for my uniform, but I don’t have it yet.” you said.

“Well, it shouldn’t be too long now, classes start in 2 days after all.”

He brought you around the main gardens. “It’s so big,” you gaped, excited to train here. There was so much open space, it would be good for flying practice. “The other buildings are offices for the staff, and warehouses for special tools and materials.” He explained.

Then Noritoshi led you to a corridor with tons of doors. “These are the 3rd year classrooms. First and second year classrooms are upstairs. We can have a look if you’d like?” He asked.

You agreed. And on your way to the staircase, you came face to face with a man going down the stairs. He was incredibly tall and ripped. With his hair tied up, a scar racing down on his left eye, he grunted at Noritoshi in greeting.

He came down and faced you both, before addressing Noritoshi. “You ready for class? Is this a new student?”

“Of course I am. And she is a first year. Tsuchimikado Y/n.” Noritoshi introduced you and you quickly bowed in greeting. “You can call me Tsuchi san or just Tsuchi as I know my last name is long. It is very nice to meet you!”

Noritoshi noted that you didn’t offer to be addressed by your first name this time and felt weirdly happy.

“Todo Aoi, 2nd year. So… what man or woman is your ideal type?” He asked as he loomed over you menacingly. You barely came up to this man's chest.

….. What in the world are you getting into?

Fun fact: The Tsuchimikado Clan are indeed a real clan descended from the Abe Clan and Abe no Seimei the Onmyouji himself. I chose Abe no Seimei as a parallel to the three great vengeful spirits from whom the big 3 Jujutsu families are descendants of. As Abe no Seimei was also a major figure during the Heian period. But of course my story is a work of fiction so other than the onmyouji himself, everyone else is not real^^.

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

[cosmicjoke]

Okay, so here we go!  Chapter 1 of “No Regrets”!  

There’s a few things I want to point out about this chapter, because both visually and textually, we get a lot of information about the Underground and Levi, and his relationship with Isabel and Furlan.  So I’ll just go through it.

The first thing that really caught my attention for this chapter was the opening page, which is a retrospective shot of Levi after he’s joined the SC, thinking about how he can’t ever know what the results of his choices are going to be.  He says here “I trusted in my own strength... I trusted in the decisions of comrades who had earned my faith...”  And this quote from Levi is really important in later understanding why he makes the choice he does, at the end.  He says he trusted in the decisions of comrades who had earned his faith, and that tells us that Levi believes in Furlan and Isabel, that he believes in their strength and their capability, that he believes in them enough to let them choose for themselves and trust in their judgement.  We’ll obviously delve more into this as it becomes more relevant to the story.  But moving on...

The next thing to catch my attention is the panels of the Underground we see.  These are probably the best shots of this place we get in the whole series, as it really depicts a place that is totally run down and dilapidated, with buildings falling apart and crumbling in disrepair, filth ridden streets with literal sewage water coming out of drain pipes, and a actual cave cover overhead, complete with stalactites, blocking out all sunlight except for few and far between pockets which break through holes in the rock ceiling.  The most telling panels though are the ones which depict the violence and poverty of the place.  We see a panel of a homeless man passed out on the street, painfully thin looking, and under him, two men in a fight, one beating the other violently.  And the next panel shows us a little girl, sitting barefoot on the ground between two men who have just blown each other’s brains out with guns.  Truly, this is a violent, dark, poverty-stricken place that breeds crime and depravation.  The pages before this say that BECAUSE of the splendor of the Capital city above the Underground, this place exists, and that’s accurate.  Because of the excesses and decadence of the rich and well off above these people rejected by society, that means fewer resources for the less fortunate.  It’s truly tragic.  

Alright, now I just want to move on to some small, but telling moments here while Levi and the others are being chased by Erwin and his crew.  

When Isabel is bragging about how the MP’s never learn, referring to how they’ll never be able to catch their gang, she asks Levi if what she said was cool.  Levi tells her “Don’t be stupid.”  This might seem like Levi just blowing her off, but the way I read it, it seems more to me like Levi is warning her not to be cocky, not to be over confident, because that’s the kind of thing that can get you killed, or caught.  Big Bro indeed!   We also see how mindful Levi is here as a leader, when he tells them they can’t afford to lead the soldiers following them straight to their hideout, and clearly they have a plan in place for just this sort of thing.

More importantly, Levi is fast to realize these aren’t ordinary soldiers after them, which shows his great instincts, but what’s really interesting is his internal thoughts here.  His logic is telling him regular MP’s wouldn’t work this hard to catch them, and that their skill with the ODM means they must be SC.  But Levi doesn’t really believe it which, given what we later find out about the deal with Lobov, and Lobov warning them of Erwin’s plans, tells us that Levi never really believed the SC would come after them.  He’s clearly surprised here.

Further, after informing Isabel and Furlan and confirming his suspicions, he tells Furlan that he’s got no intention of getting mixed up with “these guys”.  This tells us Levi never wanted to go through with Furlan’s plans, never wanted to join the SC, never wanted anything to do with any of it.  There’s further evidenced in this very chapter, which I’ll get to in a moment.  But it tells us a lot about the dubious feelings Levi had from the start, and how he probably would have simply been happiest to stay in the Underground with his friends, even though it was a hard life.  

Alright, so, this next part is a big deal, and it’s an overlooked detail which speaks volumes about the kind of person Levi is.  I didn’t even notice this the first time I read it, so I want to talk about it.  Levi separates from Isabel and Furlan, and takes Erwin and Mike on a wild chase through the back alley’s and narrow passages of the slums.  He really tries to give them the run around here, until he flips over a door, into another area.  What’s really important here is Levi’s dialog.  He says first “... Lost ‘em, huh?”  And then he says, “That got a little crazy...  I hope... none of them crashed.”  This is kind of amazing.  Levi is showing actual concern for the two soldiers who’d just attempted to catch him and his friends, who were doggedly pursuing them with obviously bad intentions of some kind.  And Levi, after having to resort to some serious ODM skills to shake them, says he hopes that none of them crashed.  He doesn’t want Erwin or Mike to get hurt, he just wants to get away from them.  Considering he doesn’t know either of them at this point, they’re just nameless, faceless military dogs trying to mess things up for him, that shows remarkable character.  

Of course, things go downhill from there, when Mike crashes through the door and tackles him.  All bets are off then, because Levi’s life is now in danger, and when that happens, he’ll resort to physical force.  Still, he only throws Mike off of him and once again attempts to get away, only for it to be Erwin who swoops down and cuts Levi’s cables.  This was actually really dangerous.  Given Levi’s momentum and position, he crashes hard into a nearby wall before falling to the ground.  So we already see some of that ruthlessness from Erwin here.  Of course, that spurs Levi into violence himself.  I have no doubt that when Levi lunges for Erwin and knocks his blade away, bringing his knife to his neck, he truly intended to kill him in that moment.  Levi’s compassion for these soldiers can only go so far, considering the desperation of his own circumstances.  If Mike hadn’t been there to stop it, I think Levi probably would have ripped Erwin’s jugular right out, and that would have been that, lol.  And then, it’s important to note too WHY Levi stops.  Not because Mike was able to physically restrain him, but because he tells Levi to look around himself, directing his attention to the fact that Furlan and Isabel have been caught.  That immediately stays Levi’s hand, and once again, we’re shown how Levi puts the wellbeing of his friends above himself.  He could have ditched Furlan and Isabel right then and there and escaped on his own.  Instead, he allows himself to be restrained and cuffed.  He refuses to abandon them.

Now the next scene is hugely important to a lot of stuff.

Erwin’s got Levi and his friends down on their knees, in the sewage, questioning them about their ODM skills, and the three of them stay silent, obviously defiant.  We really get a good look at Erwin’s abilities as a manipulator here.

He’s pulling the whole good cop/bad cop routine on Levi, when he tells him “I’d like to avoid any rough treatment if I can” before looking to Mike in a clear signal for Mike to pretty damn violently tear Levi’s head back by his hair before smashing his face into the sewage on the ground.  And this really IS sewage.  It’s not mud.  If you look at the panels, we see this brown muck coming out of drain pips attached to the surrounding buildings.  This water is probably, literally, dirty with feces, and Erwin has Mike put Levi’s face in this and hold it there.  Now let’s remember something important about Levi.  He’s a clean freak.  He obviously cares deeply about keeping both himself and his environment clean.  Erwin couldn’t know this about him at the time, but nobody of course would be happy about having their face shoved into literal shit.  But for Levi, I can only imagine this had to be tantamount to a kind of torture.  Erwin keeps questioning him, looking down at him without any kind of emotion, and Levi remains stubbornly silent, despite how awful this must truly be for him.  We get a close up of Levi’s eye in one of the panels, paralleled with Erwin’s own, and Levi’s expression really strikes me as one of awful humiliation.  He goes from looking up at Erwin in rage, to looking away, staring straight ahead, while Erwin keeps looking down at him.

Still, Levi says nothing, and it’s Isabel who finally cracks, telling Erwin that they didn’t learn to use ODM from anyone, with Furlan further explaining that they taught themselves as a means of survival.  He remarks that “anyone who doesn’t know what sewage tastes like couldn’t understand!”.  Clearly, both of them are really upset to see this being done to Levi, and I have to imagine it’s at least in part because they know how awful an experience this has to be for him, given that they know how much he desires to stay clean.  Their shocked expressions when Mike first pushes Levi’s face into the sewage says as much too.

But still, Levi remains silent as Erwin then demands to know Levi’s name.  What Mike does to Levi in the next panel is even worse.  He pushes his face into the sewage and holds him there until Levi literally starts to choke in it, for long enough that, when he finally does pull him up, Levi is gasping for breath.  I really don’t see people talk enough about this scene, but, well...

It’s a torture scene.  Erwin is ordering Mike to torture Levi here.  It may not be the most extreme form of torture, it isn’t the type of physical violence we typically think of when we think of torture, but that’s what it is.  It’s causing Levi both physical and mental degradation, as well as physical distress.  

Even with this though, Levi’s still silent and refuses to answer Erwin at all.  

It’s only when Erwin literally threatens the lives of Furlan and Isabel that he finally talks.  This is such an important detail.  Levi was willing to take what to him must have been truly horrific treatment, but as soon as Erwin gives the signal to the other two Scouts who have hold of his friends, we see Levi’s expression shift from defiant rage to wide eyed fear as they put their blades to Furlan’s and Isabel’s throats.  

Finally Levi talks, calling Erwin a “bastard”, to which Erwin simply asks him again what his name is, and after a slight hesitation, Levi finally gives it.  

I think this entire scene is vital in understanding WHY Levi was so violently pissed at Erwin, to the point of wanting to kill him.

I think it’s a combination of both the humiliation and torture he puts Levi through here, and, worse still, the fact that he threatens Isabel and Furlan’s lives.  Levi already feels looked down upon by Erwin here, he already feels humiliated and embarrassed and as though he’s being treated like he’s worthless, because Erwin IS treating him like that here.  All while Erwin stands there, expressionless, making statements like he doesn’t want to have to use any rough treatment, etc... while at the same time ordering Mike to do just that.  Already, Erwin is sending Levi the message that he’s a liar and a manipulator who thinks nothing of putting another human being’s face in shit.  And then, to top that off, he shows Levi that he’s willing to hurt, maybe even kill, his two friends to get what he wants.

Is it any wonder Levi hated Erwin as much as he did at the beginning?  After a lifetime in the Underground where, from the time of his birth, he had to deal with him and those he cares about being treated like worthless trash.  It would be a miracle if Levi DIDN’T want to kill Erwin at this point.  To have to then submit to him willingly, after all of that, must have been beyond humiliating for him.

Erwin continues to be manipulative here too, when after Levi gives his name, Erwin’s attitude suddenly shifts, and he smiles at Levi and gets down on one knee with him, in the filth, his entire demeanor seeming to shift into an abruptly friendly one as he offers his deal to Levi.  Again, that whole good cop/bad cop thing.  At the same time, he continues to threaten Levi by telling him if he refuses his offer, he’ll hand them all over to the MP’s and that, given their crimes, they shouldn’t expect to be treated with any kind of decency.  What’s kind of funny about this statement from Erwin is that up until now, Erwin and Mike have done anything but treat Levi decently. 

Okay, one more important point to make about this chapter, and it goes back to what I said earlier about Levi not wanting anything to do with the SC, and how that tells us Levi really didn’t want to go through with Furlan’s plans.

After Erwin makes his offer, we see Levi look over at Furlan, who’s giving him an intent look, and in the next panel, we see an almost surprised, or astonished look on Levi’s face, like he can’t believe Furlan is asking him to do this, before he grits his teeth in obvious frustration, and then accepts Erwin’s offer to join the SC.  What this tells us is that Levi only takes Erwin’s offer because Furlan wanted him to.  Because this was all part of Furlan’s plan, to go through with Lobov’s commission, to get caught by the SC, etc...  It’s clear Levi never wanted this, and he’s upset at having to do it.  But the fact he agrees after looking over at Furlan and seeing him implore Levi with his eyes tells us, once again, that Levi is willing to sacrifice his own desires for the desires of others.  That being his two friends.

For them, he’ll join the Survey Corps, even as every one of his instincts is probably screaming at him that this is a bad idea.

Anyway, those are my thoughts for the first chapter of “No Regrets”.  There’s a lot more to unpack in this manga than I think people realize.  I hope whoever took the time to read my long ass post found it at least a little worth while.  I’ll be moving on to chapter two next!

[wisterialagoon]

For you, I'll stay : pt1

Dabi is one of the top soldiers of the League of Villains. He does the dirty work and feels the stain of crime on his hands. You're an Assistant Inspector at the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency, resigned to records-keeping instead of doing actual fieldwork. What happens when these two become intertwined in the most prominent political event that changed the era of 1990's Tokyo Japan?

Warnings: Violence (a girl gets beat up in this chapter), gangs, eventual smut(not in this chapter tho)

Tokyo Metropolitan Police Agency, Kantō Region, Japan.

January 9th, 1990, Tuesday. 

22:30 hrs.

"It's going to be a long night," she thought, while fixing her desk for the fifth time. There was a haphazard pile of file folders, an unboxed diskette pack, and coffee cup stains all over her table calendar. She quickly reorganises the file folders, placing them in chronological order, then according to crime. Then, she matches the diskettes, which contain additional data such as interrogation footage, with each pile. Lastly, she makes her way to the pantry to refill her mug with coffee, humming along to a tune that was receiving more airplay recently.

It was an uneventful night, to say the least. As usual, she worked overtime, working on organising the paperwork and records of each case-from instigation to case management. She loved it initially, but now that she's six months into this new assignment, she could feel herself wearing down with how emotionally, physically and mentally taxing everything is. It wasn't so much the quantity or frequency of the load, but the content itself.

Seeing death, rape, theft and disappearances on a daily basis was starting to take a toll on her mental health, and even if she learned how to compartmentalise, there was something about seeing all the details that made her sleep less and less these days. The photos of dead bodies or visages of crying relatives would disturb her to no end, and having to type out each case report even if it meant tagging it as a cold case, was something that never really sat well with her.

Her direct senior, the only female Inspector in the agency-the only one who was actually nice, unlike the rest of the police force who talk about her during lunch breaks and agency dinners-tell her that the feeling of being "uninvolved" and "useless" will soon pass. "Besides," she tells her during one of the rare nights that they're both doing overtime, "You've got potential."

She sighs, wary of the compliment. "I just... I wish I could be doing more."

"You'll have your fair share of fieldwork and interrogations, Y/N" she says, patting the younger girl's shoulder. "Just keep working well, and the Chief will soon see your potential."

That last line resonated with her the most. She knew that the Chief was a firm leader-he did routine inspections, called people in his office to ask for status reports and he'd set all sorts of deadlines. But he was also known for being experienced in reading people just with one look.

So the question was, what was his assessment of her?

Did the Chief view her just like how the rest of the agency did-an Assistant Inspector who was only fit for clerical work even if she had graduated at the top of her class? Did he even notice her presence in the building-or was she too conscious of all the judgemental stares thrown her way because she was the first female recruit in a long while?

That was it, she thought, not noticing that her cup had overflowed.

With a sharp curse, she flung her hand away from the scalding beverage, and moved to grab some tissues-her mind thoroughly forgetting the questions that had darted in her mind not a minute ago.

As she dabbled the tissue on her hands and shirt, the police hotline rang, disturbing the silence of the otherwise empty floor. Alarmed at the prospect of a crime or report coming in at this hour, she runs towards the desk of the patrol and public safety unit.

"SMPA, what is your concern?" she asks, voice surprisingly level. When there wasn't a response, she asks again, this time a notch louder.

"Kidnapping," the voice cuts through the radio silence, its texture a rich timbre with a raspy undertone. Caught off guard at the mention of a kidnapping, she scrambles for a notepad and a pen. "23:00, 6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City, Tokyo 106-6108, Japan. Takahashi Yua." In hastily written script, she takes note of the details, not once interrupting the man on the line.

"Who is this? Where is your intel from?" she finally asks, after she hears mere breathing sounds. "Hello?"

The person on the line doesn't respond, instead opting to breathe heavily before the line dies.

"Wha-" she exhales, overwhelmed with the situation. It wasn't unheard of for random tips to come in the station, that much was true. But a tip at this time? And with that much detail? She was wary enough that there wasn't any crime traffic recently but this is proving to be the suspicious exception.

Shaking off her doubts, she dials the home number of Inspector Sato, the head of the patrol and public safety unit. She knows he'll definitely give her an earful for calling at such a late hour-and to his house no less, but if what the man said was true, and if her gut was right, someone was after the daughter of the Minister of National Defense.

At the sixth ring, he picks up and greets her with a litany of questions. "Who is this? Do you have any idea what time it is? Whoever you are, you better have a damn good reason for waking me up!" he rattles off, temper flaring.

"This is Miyasaki Y/N, sir." she says, surprised at how stable her voice was. "Assistant Inspec-"

"Ah, the personal assistant." his tongue clicks, and even if she didn't see, she knew he was shaking his head. "What is it? Here to ask help again in records-keeping?"

At that, she presses her mouth in a thin line, stopping herself from giving him a piece of her mind. She knew that they would always find fault in whatever she does but sometimes she wants to just put them in their place and prove herself.

But now wasn't the time to do that.

"No, sir." she starts, fisting her hand. "There's been an emergency call to the patrol and public service hotline. A tip was given about a kidnapping at apartment 6 Chome-10-1 in Roppongi -"

"Let me stop you right there." he expels a deep breath, clearly uninterested with her report. "You do know what that area is like, right? Or do you not even know where it is?"

"It's in Minato city. The residence listed houses many important political figures, it has national defence" she says, foregoing the other details and taking the opportunity to transition to the most important part. "Sir, you see, this could actually mean that-"

"This means that there is no kidnapping. I mean, if you're trying to pull a joke, it's a terrible one. Hell, there's hardly any crime in that area!" he gives a dry laugh. "it's an executive residential area, guarded and all that. As you said, National Defence is there and so are diplomats and expats. No one in their right mind would attempt a prank call, let alone a kidnapping."

"But the caller gave a name, possibly that of the victim. We should send a team, I have the address. I could lead the-" again, he cuts her off. At this point, a vein was threatening to pop at how unprofessional he was being, but she'd rather not break out into an argument with a direct senior-especially when he was clearly already annoyed at her.

"So this is why you really called, huh?" he chuckles. "Look, no one knows how you got in, or what strings you pulled to pass the Academy, but at the rate you're going, you'll never lead a team-much less my team." the certainty in his voice washed over her, causing her to remain silent at his blatant jibe. "So go back to whatever you're doing and don't even attempt to call me or anyone from the agency to waste their time with your tall tales." the other line clicks, ending their phone call.

Exasperated, she puts down the receiver with a little too much force than was necessary. "Fine, I'll do it myself." she mutters, putting on her coat, muffler and grabbing her car keys.

30 minutes. She'll have to pray that she makes it. After all, she doesn't have much time.

6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City, Tokyo 106-6108, Japan.

The Takahashi Residence.

23:00 hrs.

The gate to the apartment building alone rendered her speechless. Pure brass balusters and a towering guardhouse greeted her, complete with intimidating security personnel who wasted no time in asking for her identification.

"Assistant Inspector Lee, from the SMPA. We received a tip about criminal activity taking place in the vicinity of this residence," she starts, not giving any specific details. "This won't take long." she adds, as a last ditch effort to convince them that she means business.

"Alright," one of the guards lets her through. As she rolled up her window, she catches a muffled dialogue between the two. "Isn't she a little too young to be an Inspector? And criminal activity? Talk about absurd."

Scoffing, she speeds up to the address the caller gave and in a few minutes, found herself outside the apartment building. But she was too late. There, standing by the of the main entrance, was the defence Minister himself, with blood on his hands and a shell-shocked expression.

"My daughter..." she hears him mutter. From just behind the door, she hears distant voices screaming for someone to call the police. "Dial the police! Or call the National Defense for all I care! Someone do something!" the voice got louder as she linked it with a face-Takahashi Riku, the Minister's wife. As if seeing the police lights flashing atop her car, The ministers knees gave out.

She makes haste to catch him before he falls, and as she does, she gets her shirt stained with blood, and scrapes her elbow with the force of his weight. Not minding the sting of the wind blowing by her scraped skin, she pulls out her walkie-talkie, and radios the police patrolling Roppongi that night.

"This is Assistant Inspector Miyasaki Y/N, does anyone copy?" she starts, practically shouting. For some reason, she felt an adrenaline rush at the development of events. "Repeat, this is Assistant Inspector Miyasaki, does anyone copy?"

After a few beats, a voice breaks through the white noise. "This is Inspector Takami, copy. What's your 10-13?"

"I've got a two zero seven." she says, forgetting that she hadn't even scouted the area for verification that a kidnapping actually took place. "6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City. Send a medic for shock treatment." she rattles off, surprised at herself for actually being able to focus and act given the situation.

Then again, this was her job. Her first fieldwork-albeit unwarranted and unapproved.

"Copy that, 10-4. I'll run code. ETA twenty minutes." he affirms his direct response before ending the dispatch call.

6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City, Tokyo 106-6108, Japan.

The Takahashi Residence.

23:20 hrs.

After twenty minutes, two police cars pull up the driveway. One belonged to Inspector Takami, the other was the patrol for back-up. He closes the gap between them in five, quick strides, hands in his coat's pockets.

"What happened?" he asks, ready for a briefing.

"There's nothing definitive yet..." she trails off, mentally berating herself for not even scouting the interior to study the scene. "But I've spoken to the family."

"You mean you've spoken to the Minister of National Defense." he supplies, his breath fogging up in front of him. "What did he say?"

"The family heard the door slam shut, and when he went to check his daughter was gone," hesitant, she clears her throat as a stalling method. "He found her in the marking lot, the girl was bruised and bloodied, unconscious. Looks like she was forced to inhale somthing, and her hands were tied."

"Attempted kidnapping?" he asks, stealing a glance at the apartment buildings façade.

"High chance for it." she answers, clearing her throat again. "Listen, Inspector, I received a tip in the agency around an hour ago-saying something about a kidnapping taking place at this time, at this exact address."

He raises his eyebrows, evidently taken aback at this new piece of information. "And?" he asks, expectant.

"And I think this is a set-up." she declares, sure of something for the first time that night. "Whoever is behind this, wanted us to come, thinking it was a kidnapping when it was an assault and break-and-entry."

"What are you getting at, Miyasaki?"

"There's a reason why Miss. Takahashi was assaulted and not kidnapped. They're telling us something." she says, handing out her notepad which contained the details of the emergency call a while back.

"What do you think this could possibly be then?"

"I don't know... yet." fuelled with conviction, she fists her hands at her sides, no longer feeling that sensation of helplessness or uselessness back in the agency when she was working on records-keeping. "But I'll find out."

9-chome, Kitakarasuyama, Setagaya-ku, Tokyo.

Assistant Inspector Miyasaki Y/N's Residence.

02:00 hrs.

Finally back at her apartment after filing the case and sending off the Minister's family with words of certainty about exhausting their whole force on the job, she slumps on the sofa, feeling her body become dead weight.

"God..." she sighs, fatigued. "That was a long night."

[storiesforallfandoms]

soulmates ~ paul lahote;twilight

word count: 1827

request?: yes!

“i screamed in joy when i saw that you write for twilight as well! can i request a Paul Lahote imagine with a witch!reader? the pack are patrolling & comes across the reader who was using her magic, then Paul imprints on her while on his wolf form & he just starts rubbing his head on her? it’ll be great if the reader has a feeling that Paul is her soulmate/imprint. they meet for 2nd time after that but this time Paul is human. just a bunch of fluff!”

description: in which she meets her soulmate in his animal form and tries to find him to know who he really is

pairing: paul lahote x witch!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist

There wasn’t much to know about her soulmate after their first meeting. He had approached her with his pack while she was trying to cast a protective spell on Forks. The pack were angry when they first saw her, baring their teeth and ready to attack. She was preparing a get away when one of the wolves stepped forward. His eyes were wide, as if he were in a trance. He had approached her, slowly and cautiously, before rubbing against her.

She wasn’t sure how she figured out that he was her soulmate. She just knew. There was a feeling she had the moment he began to rub his giant head against her, like all she wanted to do was to protect him and keep him safe. There was an unspoken agreement throughout the pack that they would not hurt (Y/N), and left instead, running as fast as possible in the other direction. Her wolf stopped long enough to look at her, longingly, over his shoulder, before he followed the pack.

Under any normal circumstances, (Y/N) would’ve thought she’d never meet her soulmate face to face, unless it was a chance encounter. But, lucky for her, both of them were anything but normal.

(Y/N) found a hair from the wolf left on her clothes, which was all she needed to cast a tracking spell. She waited until night fall as to not draw any attention to herself, and night made her spells more dramatic sometimes. She sat on the floor of her small house and closed her eyes. She focused solely on her memory of the wolf; his dark silver fur, his light brown eyes, his towering form as he approached her.

In her hand, (Y/N) held the hair that the wolf had left on her. She whispered the spell, her voice soft but focused. She began to see a vision of a house, a small house. She could see young men approaching the house, and a woman with a horribly scarred face; she was young but she was like a mother to them. She could see that the house was surrounded by forest, and there was no clear number or address of where it was.

“Come on,” she whispered to herself before continuing her spell.

Before she knew it, she was seeing the exact path from the small house to her own. She frantically grabbed for the pen and paper she had left for herself and quickly drew the route as it played over for her once more. Once she had it drawn, her eyes snapped open and she gasped. As she tried to regain her breath, she looked down to see a perfect map from her house to the place where her soulmate was. She looked at it for a long time before smiling.

In the morning, she would embark on her adventure, and she would find her soulmate.

~~~~~~

(Y/N) slowed the car to a stop in front of the house from her vision. There was barley any sign of life besides smoke coming from a chimney. There were no cars, none of the young men from her vision, nor the mother like woman. It seemed empty and she wondered if she was too late.

She got out of the car and approached the house. Her mind was screaming at her to turn around and to leave again. There was a chance she was at the wrong place, or her wolf soulmate and his pack had already up and left before she found them, but she had to know for sure. She couldn’t leave without getting some form of answers.

She knocked on the door and waited for any movement inside. (Y/N) mentally cursed at herself for not bringing the hair in case she had to do another spell. It would’ve been easier to find him from there and not to have to go all the way back to her house for a stupid hair. Luckily for her, however, the scarred woman answered the door.

(Y/N) was shocked and realized she hadn’t prepared anything to say. How did she explain why she was there without sounding insane? Lamely, she managed to force herself to say, “Hi.”

The woman looked her up and down a moment before saying, “So, you’re the one Paul won’t shut up about.”

(Y/N) was taken back by the comment. So his name was Paul, and he hadn’t stopped talking about her since their brief meeting? “I think so, I haven’t exactly gotten to know much about him yet.”

The woman smiled warmly at her. “Come in.”

She poured (Y/N) a cup of tea and introduced herself as Emily, the fiancee of the pack leader, Sam.

“The silver wolf that rubbed against you was Paul,” she explained as the two women sat at the table in the kitchen. “He’s the third in command of the pack, and the most impulsive one. The boys were shocked that he didn’t go right for an attack when he saw you.”

“That’s comforting,” (Y/N) said with an awkward chuckle.

“They didn’t know what you are,” Emily explained. “You’re a new entity to them, and you were in their territory. They were willing to protect the territory from whatever you were.”

(Y/N) nodded. That did make sense, but now she felt uncomfortable sitting in the house of a pack of werewolves if it meant they might attack her.

The sound of male voices approaching the house drew the attention of both women. (Y/N) was tempted to flee before they arrived, but she wanted to meet Paul face to face. She wanted to see the human face of her soulmate, to learn more about him, and she didn’t want to fear his friends.

The men came into the house, roughhousing and laughing. They all seemed to stop simultaneously when they noticed that Emily wasn’t alone, and they came to recognize who was sat with her.

“Gentlemen,” Emily started, smiling softly at them. “This is (Y/N).”

One of the men stepped away from the group to approach her. (Y/N) rose from her seat, looking deep into his brown eyes. It didn’t take long to clue in that this was her wolf, her soulmate. She could tell just by looking at him.

“You found us,” he finally said. His voice sounded like music to her ears.

She chuckled. “I did. You left a helpful hint behind on my clothes.”

(Y/N) held out the silver fur that Paul had left on her. He looked at her in amazement, wanting to reach out to touch her to prove that she was real. He hesitated. This was the first time they were truly meeting, he didn’t want to scare her away so quickly.

“How did you find us?” one of the pack members asked.

“And what are you?” another added. (Y/N) could tell by the authority in his voice that he was the alpha, Sam.

“I’m a witch,” she responded. “As far as I know I’m the only of my kind here in Forks.”

The pack looked skeptical, except for Paul, who was still entranced by (Y/N).

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” she continued. “When you caught me in the field, I was casting a protective spell over Forks. I’ve heard of the animal attacks, the ones that aren’t exactly animals. I was hoping to cast a spell to protect the people of Forks and to cast whatever, or whoever, is behind those attacks out. You interrupted me when you arrived.”

“Forks doesn’t need your witchy voodoo, they have us,” one of the younger members of the pack spoke.

“Embry,” Sam said, sternly. He turned to face Paul and the two of them shared a look. “I think you two should talk in private.”

Paul turned to (Y/N) to ask, “Want to go for a walk?”

~~~~~~

The two walked in silence through the woods for some time. Neither really knew what to say. What do you say when you’re meeting your soulmate for the first time?

“I feel like we both have a lot of questions,” Paul finally said, breaking the tense silence.

“Not many I can think of, but I’m sure more will come up,” (Y/N) agreed. “What do you want to know?”

“Why did you come find me?”

“Witches believe that everyone has a soulmate, but when you’re a witch or a wizard, you actually know when you’ve met your soulmate. There’s this feeling of electricity when you touch for the first time, a desire to spend all your time with that person, to know as much about them as you possibly could. I was hoping to be able to actually talk to you, but you and the pack ran off so quickly. I was left to my own devices to find you.”

“A spell, I’d assume.”

(Y/N) nodded. “There’s a spell to track people, but only to where they normally reside. There’s no way to track them to their exact location, which is why I took a chance coming here to see if I could find you.”

Paul moved in close enough that his arm brushed (Y/N). She felt another spark of electricity, confirming her suspicions that he was supposed to be her soulmate.

“About the pack,” she continued. “Emily mentioned that I was in your territory, and usually the pack attacks non-humans in their territory. Why didn’t you guys attack me? Why were you so reserved when you approached me?”

“Shifters also have something like soulmates, except we call it Imprinting,” Paul explained. “It came happen whenever, to whoever. There’s never a warning, a premonition. You see the person and you just...you know. You’re connected to them for life, whether it’s romantically, platonically, in a sort of brotherly way. However the person they’ve imprinted on wants them to be. Once someone in the pack has imprinted, there’s this rule that the rest of the pack leaves that person alone. Even if you were something dangerous, the pack would have to leave you be since I imprinted on you.”

(Y/N) nodded along to Paul’s explanation. “Anything the imprintee wants to be, huh?”

Paul stopped and turned to look at her, causing (Y/N) to stop walking as well. “Anything, which leads to the question of us. What do you want us to be?”

(Y/N) didn’t take much time to think it over. Instead, she took Paul’s face in her hands and pulled him to her, pressing her lips against his. It caused that stereotypical feeling of fireworks that is always mentioned in romance novels, except (Y/N) new that was the electricity of their soulmate bond.

Paul held her to him as he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.

“Is that a good enough answer?” she asked, a cheeky grin on her face.

Paul smiled back. “That was the answer I was hoping for.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

- Chapter 8 -

A small group of sects unexpectedly announced that they wanted Wen Ruohan to adjudicate a boundary line dispute – some were affiliated with the Jiang sect, others with the Jin, and they wanted a neutral party. Wen Ruohan was pleased, even smug, that they had chosen him rather than the Lan sect, which with its righteous reputation was more typically called upon to mediate for the other sects.

“Maybe none of them have a good argument,” Nie Huaisang mused. “They’re all awful, and they want someone more self-absorbed than either side to broker something out.”

“Not everyone is awful, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said, tucking the blankets around him. “Most people are good. Besides, there are some pretty renowned sects involved, so even if it’s true, you shouldn’t say it.”

Nie Huaisang heaved a sigh. “But da-ge –”

“Time for medicine,” Nie Mingjue said firmly, and lifted the bowl to his lips.

Nie Huaisang had a mild case of food poisoning, causing a stomachache, vomiting and a low-grade fever – Wen Qing had determined that it wasn’t infectious, but also, rather grimly, figured out that the source of the illness was most likely a particular treat that Nie Huaisang had generously shared with both her and Wen Chao, and sure enough they were both bedridden less than a day later. Luckily, Wen Qing had had enough time to boil the base for the medicine they needed, and while he wasn’t at her level, much less the now-absent Wen Ning’s, even Nie Mingjue could follow directions well enough to add the final ingredients right before serving.

(Even Wen Zhuliu, who remained Wen Chao’s bodyguard despite their best efforts, had fallen ill, except his version had been significantly worse – more or less non-stop emissions out both ends, and out of self-preservation Nie Mingjue had insisted that he remain in the servants’ quarters far away from all of them.)

Nie Huaisang finished drinking the medicine, making a face that only went away when Nie Mingjue stuffed something sweet into his mouth to help get rid of the taste. “Will you be all right helping out?”

“Of course I will,” Nie Mingjue said. “I haven’t forgotten how to help host a party.”

“No, I meant…”

Nie Mingjue shrugged. Normally, Wen Ruohan had enough concern for his face to prefer that Nie Mingjue avoid showing his own shortly after he’d been insolent enough to warrant punishment, but due to the food poisoning they were short on young masters to greet all the incoming people – and their guests were too important not to be greeted by someone with status.

“I’ll use some powder, it’ll be fine,” he said. “And anyway, even if someone notices, it’s not like they would be bold enough to comment; they’re here to ask Sect Leader Wen for a favor, after all. Who will even pay attention to me long enough to notice?”

The answer, Nie Mingjue swiftly learned, was Yu Ming, a crotchety old grandmother from Meishan Yu in Sichuan who didn’t like the food (not spicy enough), her chair (the first one was too rickety, the second too soft), her peers (idiots, all of them), her drink (they’d served tea and she wanted wine, and then later on it was the other way around), and, most problematically, was one of the more influential sect leaders on the Jiang sect’s side. Not exactly someone they wanted to offend by providing inferior hospitality.  

Nie Mingjue ended up abandoning his now habitual corner in the back of the room to dash back and forth dancing attendance on her, run ragged and breathless by all of her demands.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise when she approached him in his corner during the banquet’s dessert course, and he straightened up at once, saluting politely. “Sect Leader Yu,” he said, suppressing a desire to moan and maybe beg for mercy; his legs were killing him. How this managed to be worse than serious saber training he had no idea, but it was. “Is the dessert not to your liking? I can get you something cool instead –”

“Sit down, boy,” she growled. “The crystal cakes are fine, and I’m tired of looking up at you. How tall are you? Six chi?”

“…five and a half, maybe five and three-quarters,” he confessed, sitting down obediently. At this point, she could tell him to jump out a window and he probably would – she had a very sharp walking stick and no hesitation about waving everywhere. No sympathy for her miserable victims, either.

“And you’re how old?”

“Seventeen.”

“Slowed down yet?”

“…not yet.”

She huffed. “That’s all we need, another Nie giant. I told your father that he was making a mistake, marrying a woman that needed to duck to get through doors…that how you got that black eye?”

“Huh?” Nie Mingjue said unintelligently, still caught by the mental image – he scarcely remembered his mother, having been very young when she left, but it was nice to think that it wasn’t just the perspective of having been a toddler that had made her appear quite so towering. “Oh, I – uh – training accident.”

Yu Ming squinted at him. “Same training accident that dislocated three of your fingers and a kneecap, did a number on your ribs, and cut your back up so bad that you need bandages and –” She inhaled. “– at least two doses of bai mao gen to replenish the blood lost?”

Nie Mingjue opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. Finally, yielding under her glare, he muttered, “I didn’t dislocate my kneecap.”

He might’ve preferred that, actually. Dislocations could be shoved back into place with relatively little issue; he’d sprained it, instead. A bad fall from when he’d shamefully broken and tried to run from the Fire Palace, futilely seeking safety, a place where he neither had to hurt people nor be hurt himself.

Not that such a place existed in the Nightless City, of course. He’d only been dragged back after, as he ought to have expected, and then things had gotten much worse, but he hadn’t really been thinking his actions through at the time.

“Dislocated, not dislocated, whatever. Has to be something, the way you’re dragging that left leg of yours behind you when you trot,” she said practically. “You’re a rotten liar, did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Many people,” Nie Mingjue said with a sigh. Most of them currently in bed with food poisoning, except for lucky Wen Ning away at the Lotus Pier and miserable Wen Xu now stuck standing by his father’s side, pretending to smile. “Does it matter?”

“Matter? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Other than going and applying more powder, there’s not much I can do about it even if it does offend your sight,” Nie Mingjue pointed out, reasonably enough in his view. “And no matter how many times or ways you ask it, the answer’s still going to be ‘training accident’, whether or not you believe me.”

Yu Ming poked his forehead with her finger, then his cheek. “And this is with powder,” she said, scowling and rubbing the remnants of it between her fingertips as if she hadn’t believed him that it was there until she’d verified it for herself. “If you won’t tell me anything other than ‘training accident’, will you at least tell me what you did to deserve this type of training?”

“I don’t remember,” Nie Mingjue said, and he really didn’t. All the thrashings more or less flowed together pretty well after a while, and in the end it didn’t really matter if he’d intervened on Nie Huaisang’s behalf or Wen Chao’s, whether he’d played whipping boy for Wen Xu or distracted attention away from Wen Qing – they were all close enough to be proper family now. What he did was nothing more than what you ought to do for those you loved, and he’d die before he forgot how to do that.

“Rotten liar,” Yu Ming said, maybe because she could tell he wasn’t lying, and spat on the ground. “It’s a filthy business.”

“I’m hardly going to disagree with you,” he said dryly.

“You might look a little less ragged if you did.”

He shrugged. “They say people can’t change their essential nature.”

“And what’s yours?”

“Blunt to the point of stupidity.”

“Say rather that you cut straight to the point,” she said.

“Well, you know, sabers have one blunt edge, one sharp,” he said, unable to resist a smile even if it pulled at the bruises around his eye. “I can be both.”

She was staring at him.

“…what?”

“You have dimples.”

“I’m…aware?”

He didn’t quite understand the calculating look Yu Ming had in her eyes – or, perhaps better said, he didn’t want to understand that look, and he was willing to put in a great deal of effort behind not understanding it if he had to.

“Do you want another crystal cake?” he asked her abruptly before she could say anything else. When she arched her eyebrows, he elaborated: “Sect Leader Wen will undoubtedly ask me whether I was taking good care of you, being as you are after all one of our honored guests.”

Don’t tell me anything, he meant. Even if you pity me – especially if you pity me. He has ways to make me talk. He likes making me talk.

“…fine, then,” Yu Ming said. “You said something about there being something cool?”

Nie Mingjue suppressed a groan as he dragged himself out of his seat and headed to the kitchen to see if they still had any sorbet left over.

-

“– going to be tricky,” Nie Huaisang was saying to a nodding Wen Xu as Nie Mingjue walked by. “Lanling Jin isn’t fond of making decisions.”

“But they are fond of profit,” Wen Xu pointed out.

“The question will be if there’s a way to strike the right balance without giving too much away –”

Nie Mingjue decided to believe that they were talking about pornography. People said Jin Guangshan was into that sort of thing, didn’t they?

-

Nie Mingjue trained with Baxia at least once every day, and usually more. He found the repetitive actions calming, like an active form of meditation, and he was happy to sink into the mindlessness of physical exertion and forget his worries.

Baxia was warm under his hand, as always – he thought sometimes that she’d never quite adjusted to the warmer temperatures of the Nightless City, preferring as he did the cooler weather of Qinghe.

Perhaps, in time, she would forget it.

Perhaps, in time, so would he.

Forget the cool air filling his lungs, the crisp snap of an autumn day just about to begin; forget the smell of the forests and the feeling of gravel under his shoes. Forget the strain on his muscles from climbing up a steep cliff, the taste of an early snowfall on his tongue – the metallic tang to the water, the lingering smell of smoke in the air even when there wasn’t anyone around for miles.

It felt unforgettable.

But he knew that it wasn’t. In the face of time, all things were ground down into the dust.

He would be eighteen years old this year. Still a little shy of proper adulthood, an unlucky year, if luck had anything to do with his life any longer. He’d been here for four years, just shy of a quarter of all the years he’d ever lived.

Perhaps that was what made him melancholy.

Or perhaps it was only that he had been unable to light incense on the anniversary of his father’s death yet again this year. Wen Ruohan took particular pleasure in ensuring that he couldn’t – he had spent the first year unconscious, the second year immobilized, the third…he tried not to remember.

It didn’t really matter, he supposed, since he’d always agreed in advance that Nie Huaisang would light the incense on behalf of them both, both on the anniversary and on Qingming – they hadn’t ever been given leave to return to Qinghe to sweep their ancestral graves, not once, not even when some of the other sects had complained about the impropriety of it. No one ever paid attention to Nie Huaisang, underestimating how sneaky he could be, and so he’d managed it just fine. Still, the failure to do it himself tugged at Nie Mingjue’s heart, disappointed him in himself - in his failure to be a good son, just as he so often failed to be a good brother.

He sank back into his training by force of willpower.

His cultivation was increasing at an acceptable rate, he thought – shockingly fast by all metrics, but all of his teachers said that his foundations were good, steady as mountains, and his progression through each stage was smooth and unhindered by bottlenecks. The consequences of genius, they said with a shrug.

It was about the only thing that was going in an acceptable manner.

Ma Liyuan had fallen out of favor, as Wen Xu had predicted – she’d failed to remain pregnant despite repeated efforts, and Wen Ruohan took such pleasure in criticizing her for it that Nie Mingjue suspected he’d dosed her tea with contraceptives specifically to set her up for the failure, since he didn’t actually need more sons – but her usefulness remained, so she was married in with all pomp to Wen Chao’s household as a secondary wife.

(She’d been promised the position of first wife, and threw a fit when she realized the change, but Wen Ruohan had reminded her, sneering, that that had been when she’d been a pure and untouched maiden; she really couldn’t expect them to pay such a high price for secondhand goods, now could she?)

Wen Chao obviously had no interest in her at all – she’d tried, once, to make herself up and smile at him and he’d recoiled as if he’d seen a snake, then stared at her and said, “You’re joking, right?” – so she’d taken the next best option and sent her maid to seduce him in her stead.

Wang Lingjiao was pretty enough, with curves enough to make just about any man stare, and pretty cunning to boot. In a different world, a world where Wen Chao had fallen for his father’s nasty little tricks and become a stupid oversexed princeling, a waste of space that would have been incited into fighting against Wen Xu for the sole purpose of being crushed to prove some imagined point of about the necessity of cruelty, she probably would have been able to crawl into his bed and keep her place there without much difficulty.

Wen Chao was a bit of a romantic, after all, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

As it was, when her first few efforts at flirtation failed – or, well, mostly failed, given that Wen Chao held her hands in his own during a garden stroll in the moonlight and told her, with great earnestness, that she was very beautiful and it was such a pity that he wasn’t allowed to think of women romantically until he was fifteen on pain of utmost humiliation and also was she aware of the dangers of venereal disease – Wang Lingjiao pulled back and recalibrated her approach.

This time, she went for Nie Mingjue.

“You’re joking, right?” he asked her.

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Is that a deliberate reference to what Wen Chao said?”

“No, just the same idea. I’m not interested.”

“That much is obvious enough,” she said, tossing her hair. “I want you to tell me what I need to do to get someone to be interested. I don’t want to be a servant any longer.”

Nie Mingjue was at something of a loss for words.

“There must be something I can provide,” Wang Lingjiao demanded. “Some service, some use…I’m a weak cultivator, but that clearly doesn’t bother you lot – your younger brother is weak, too, though I’m still a bit worse. I’m not as dumb as Ma Liyuan; I know there’s more you can sell in life than sex, even if that’s easier. What do you want? What do any of you want?”

Wang Lingjiao was from the Yingchuan Wang cultivation clan, Nie Mingjue abruptly remembered. A smaller sect, with too many children, but a standalone sect nonetheless; their children were born as gentry, not servants. No, they must have sold Wang Lingjiao into servitude, though whether it was to get an in with Qishan Wen or simply to get rid of a budding problem – and extremely beautiful young women with poor cultivation were often a problem, especially when their beauty suggested how their mothers had gotten themselves selected to be wives, or, more likely, concubines – he did not know.

“Do you mix your own makeup?” he asked, and she stared at him. “It’s very well done.”

“…yes,” she said, giving him a strange look. “I do. None that’ll fit you, though.”

He blinked, then laughed. “No, I don’t want any; the only use I have for powder is to cover up bruises when I need to be presentable. I just meant that it seems you have a steady hand at mixing things and judging proportions – A-Qing appreciates those qualities.”

“Wen Qing?” Wang Lingjiao asked, bewildered. “You want to send me to a woman?”

“She’s expressed before that she would like to have more female company,” Nie Mingjue explained, and Wang Lingjiao’s expression only got more fish-like as she gaped at him. “A fair while back, in fairness, but the numbers really are skewed fairly strongly against her. I thought you might get along. Be friends.”

“I’ve never had a female friend in my life,” Wang Lingjiao told him.

“I thought – you’re always chatting with the other serving girls…?”

Wang Lingjiao rolled her eyes as if he were being stupid. He probably was. Forget Qishan ways, the ways of the teenaged girl were utterly beyond his grasp.

“I don’t see what you have to lose by trying,” Nie Mingjue pointed out. “I’m not interested, Xu-ge’s too paranoid to get within touching distance of anyone he thinks has an ulterior motive, A-Chao isn’t allowed to touch women for a few more years –”

“Why is that?”

“He’s gullible, and has both questionable taste and sibling-inflicted trauma relating to brothels,” Nie Mingjue explained, and Wang Lingjiao wrinkled her nose, looking a little amused despite herself. “A-Ning isn’t the type to womanize, and Huaisang is too young. Also a vicious cutthroat when it comes to interpersonal relations, so who even knows what type of person he’d like, if any.”

“I’d noticed that about him.”

“In sum, A-Qing is your best bet,” he concluded. “And all the more so if you approach her in a business-like fashion: make clear to her what benefits you bring and how you’ll compensate for the drawbacks, be practical and reasonable, and you’ll do fine. Do well, and you won’t ever need to fear being sent back to Ma Liyuan – or to Yingchuan.”

Wang Lingjiao stared at him for a moment – she hadn’t expected him to be able to figure that out, he thought, since she was just clever enough to manage to puzzle out that he was the heart and core of their little group but not quite smart enough to realize why – but in the end she seemed to take his advice to heart, nodding and walking away.

He hoped Wen Qing didn’t kill him for sending her a terrible lab assistant.

[khaleesiofalicante]

bestie do you really think it's funny to make me cry?

OK WHERE DO I START AUJHUJHDSDUJHFV

deep bre-INCOHERENT SCREAMING

That's it. that's all I have to say.

THEY PASSED THE CHILD PROTECTION BILL I'M GONNA BE CRYING IN A CORNER IF ANYONE NEEDS ME

All those shadowhunters who ran back to Idris I hope you starve to death there. have fun!

Anjali is so awesome OH MY GOD I LOVE HER ALREADY

Rafael is THAT kid I see...it suits him so well.

It had been two very long years stuck in this small office room. But every time Alec saw the way David giggled when Lexi called her father Jalapeno poppers or some other equally ridiculous name, Alec knew it was worth all the trouble.

THIS OMG I'M NOT OK

Alec wondered if that’s why so many leaders before him had been awful. It was easy to be a bad leader. But it took effort to be a good one.

This is so true...I'm so proud of him...

Dani...bestie THAT IMMORTALITY CRISIS WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME. I know it's gonna happen but I was having a very good day. why do you hurt me in such ways... (I'm pretty sure my family thinks I'm mentally unstable after the way I screamed reading)

“Anjali,” Diego sighed. “What have I told you about doors?”

“Knock them down?”

“I said knock on them!” Diego corrected, shaking his head. “Not knock them down!”

I'm in love.

HUHYUHKSDYKFVYUFVYU ALEC'S CONSUL VOICE I'M SCREAMING

SIMON BESTEST!! HIM SORTING THE STUDENTS INTO THESE GROUPS I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!! AND ANJALI BESTIE GOOD LUCK AT BEATING THE SEELIES!! (good luck with stealing the weapons)

well, Rafael do you perhaps have a little crush? (Grammarly ik I'm writing in lowercase stfu)

ok ok I know this is pretty sad but every time someone gives Magnus or Alec the "you haven't talked to him yet?" look I start laughing-

ALEC'S SO CLUELESS ABOUT MAX AND DAVID I CANT-

“So, you are just going to leave me here and go to York then?” Max demanded now; all puppy dog eyes. “Like my mom left me at the academy?”

Yeah. He took the news a little too well.

MAX PLAYING THE ADOPTED CARD I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

“Is it because you don’t like me?” Max pouted again. “Like my mom…Who left me all alone.”

“You can’t play the adopted card with me, you lil shit,” Rafael laughed. “I’m adopted too.”

I'M SO IN LOVE LEAVE ME ALONE

AWW MAX SEEING THE INSTITUTE AND IMMEDIATELY GOING "David would love this" ISTG THIS KID I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

“Weren’t you listening to a podcast on Mayan Civilization during breakfast?” Alec raised an eyebrow.

“Bapak said it’s historically accurate!” Rafe argued.

“Bapak is not that old!” Alec countered.

“Maybe he is,” Max said, analyzing the paintings on the walls. “Maybe you don’t know it.”

“Excuse me, I know how old my husband is,” Alec said indignantly.

“Then where are the receipts dad?” Max asked. “Show us the receipts!”

Where are the receipts, Alec? EXACTLY!

THANK GOD SOMEONE ELSE HAS CAUGHT ON TO MAX'S VERY OBVIOUS CRUSH

“I think he likes David,” Rafe whispered.

“Of course he does,” Alec whispered back. Why were they whispering? “David is a sweet boy.”

“No. I think he ‘likes him’ likes him,” Rafael giggled.

Alec looked at his son sharply. “But-He is..Da..They are children!”

“You’ve never heard a childhood crush?” Rafe grinned.

“No, I was too busy…studying,” Alec sniffed.

“That’s not what I heard,” Rafael bit his lip. “I heard you had a thing for boys in motorcycle jackets.”

“Okay that’s it! You are not allowed to hang out at Hotel Dumort anymore,” Alec said.

Really Alec? Studying? REALLY???

MAX AND RAFE RACING TO THE TRAINING ROOM!!!

the reference to the infernal devices...I'M GONNA KILL THE ALREADY DEAD STARKWEATHERS! I'M ABOUT TO DO SOME NECROMANCY SHIT TO BRING THOSE FUCKERS BACK JUST TO KILL THEM SLOWLY

Hugs max it's gonna be ok buddy.

In that moment, Alec remembered all the talks.

He remembered how his mother had lectured Izzy about not going out alone late at night, but she hadn’t said anything to Jace or Alec.

He remembered the way Jem spoken quietly to Mina in soft Mandarin about how people might call her names, but he hadn’t said anything to Kit.

He remembered the way Julian had told Ty to be careful about kissing his boyfriend in public, but he hadn’t said anything to Dru.

I hate this so damn much. I hate it. It sucks how there will always be people who will be targeted for being born the way they are. Whether it be skin color, sexuality, body type, or anything, people will always fucking talk and make the world unsafe for certain people just because they aren't generic male cishets. If you're a girl you're in danger. If you're a POC you're in danger, If you're neurodivergent you're in danger. If you're a member of the LGBTQ community you're in danger. If you're disabled you're in danger. If you're part of any minority you're in danger. If you dare to be different you're in danger. Fuck people. I'm a queer POC female and it's scary. I don't want to be always checking my surroundings when I'm out. I shouldn't have to feel this scared walking out of my own house but I do and it sucks. Ok, I feel like I'm derailing from the main point here.

Sorry for that just got really heated for a second there.

NO NOT THE NIGHTMARE. BABY NO

DAVID MY CHILD!! OMG, HE'S GONNA TAKE UP ARCHERY SOMEONE HOLD ME WHILE I CRY!

“This is who you are,” David said, his voice oddly soft now. Softer than usual. “And you’re beautiful.”

Alec blinked at that.

“Blue,” David said quickly. “I meant you’re blue. Uh, yes.”

BESTIE I SAW WHAT YOU SAID THERE. WE ALL DID

Also, alec sitting outside max's room...IM GONNA-

“David is in there,” Alec whispered. “I just wanted to…check…if everything was okay.”

“Alexander, are you spying on our child?” Magnus demanded. “Without me???”

“What? No! I-”

“Move over!” Magnus sank down next to him. “What are they saying? Are they kissing?”

“WHAT? They are not kissing!” Alec said in alarm. “Wait. Are they???”

He couldn’t hear anything now. Alec panicked.

“I haven’t talk to the kids about kissing yet,” Magnus pointed out. “We can’t talk to Max without talking to Rafael first.”

“Wait. Is Rafael kissing people???”

“Rafael is not kissing people,” Rafael replied as he walked past them to the kitchen. “Also, you guys are shit at whispering.”

Alec rolled his eyes at him and turned to Magnus. “It’s stressful enough that we need to talk about racism in the shadow world. Now we need to talk about kissing??”

“And other stuff,” Magnus chuckled.

Alec groaned into Magnus’ shoulder. “By the angel. Fine. We’ll just tell them there is no kissing. Until they are 30.”

“Hypocrite,” Rafael coughed into his hand as he walked back to the table with a bag of chips.

THIS WHOLE SCENE OH MY GOD.

And srsly alec? 30? really? whips out the extract "kissed" from cassie's website According to my files here-

“And David?”

“Yes, sir?”

“The bedroom door stays open from now on.”

David blinked, his cheeks pink. “I…What?”

“Door stays open,” Alec said, lowering his voice, just a register. “Is that understood?”

AYY ALEC DAD MODE YUCDUHDFHFUHJIUHC THIS IS SO AMAZING IM GONNA SCREAM

Alec advising David with the bow is so close to my heart...IDK WHY IT JUST IS

That conversation...PEOPLE FUCKING SUCK I HOPE HUMANS GO EXTINCT BECAUSE I SURE AM READY TO DIE SO LET'S TAKE THE EARTH DOWN-

“Why don’t shadowhunters have acne?”

"What?" Alec blinked.

“Their skin is like so freaking perfect and smooth and they can just freaking go through puberty without a one freaking pimple and don’t even get me started on the freaking dimples and then-”

Magnus started laughing. Alec felt a little confused.

EXACTLY MY THOUGHTS !!!!! THAT DAMN ANGEL BLOOD

That part about how we normalize these little things which are actually hurtful...I didn't realize that. I guess we really do, huh? This just made me want to be more careful with others and if I feel others do this with me, to stop them and correct them.

I loved this chapter so much. You're such a great writer.

I wanted to share something of my own now!! I FINALLY GOT MY COPY FOR RWARB!!!! I told my parents it was a thriller about how the first son and the prince forge a friendship and discover secrets about the government and the monarchy-

The place I bought it from sent me a very cute bookmark. It's a pride bookmark and it's just my first ever pride merch and I'm close to tears. Let's just say my family isn't the most accepting so this bookmark's really precious to me

Sorry, the quality isn't the best. I was in a hurry. It's almost 4 am now I'm gonna try and sleep (I'm gonna reorganize my bookshelf). See you on Tuesday!!

Thank you so much. I love reading your comments. They are so honest and full of life. You are going to LOVE rwrb. It's such a good book and it's so romantic and raw and perfect. Lmao about your parents. What they don't know can't hurt them ;) And I loooooooooove your bookmark. Be gay. Do crime.

PS -

"It sucks how there will always be people who will be targeted for being born the way they are. Whether it be skin color, sexuality, body type, or anything, people will always fucking talk and make the world unsafe for certain people just because they aren't generic male cishets. If you're a girl you're in danger. If you're a POC you're in danger, If you're neurodivergent you're in danger. If you're a member of the LGBTQ community you're in danger. If you're disabled you're in danger. If you're part of any minority you're in danger. If you dare to be different you're in danger. Fuck people. I'm a queer POC female and it's scary. I don't want to be always checking my surroundings when I'm out. I shouldn't have to feel this scared walking out of my own house but I do and it sucks. Ok, I feel like I'm derailing from the main point here."

THIS IS THE MAIN POINT. YOU GOT IT. SO CONGRATS <3

[seaweedbraens]

ok so i caught up with your fic and just, love LOVE the whole concept of morally grey characters going on for EVERYONE and not just the villains, like the shit we read in books is always either black or white, but i was so so pleasantly surprised here. tbh, i understand annabeth's place, but im still super annoyed how she just gave in to luke so recklessly, without a thought about percy, but i suppose thats where your success as an author comes to evoke those feelings in the reader. the most im looking forward to is the arc where annabeth finally realizes thats its percy who's the hero of the prophecy, cant wait for something very emotional, cant wait for the next chapter...you really went all out with this fic huh. I wish i could give more than 100 kudos

!!!!!!thank you!!! the way i see it annabeth is actually extremely emotional even though she might have meant to be a character who is logical. a lot of the annabeth we see in the titan's curse and the battle of the labyrinth has her still believing luke is a good person and lashing out at percy when he's like um....luke sucks. in my fic, by raising the stakes, taking away a lot from annabeth, and essentially giving her no time at all to come to terms with anything mentally, it's basically free reign to write her making a lot of stupid choices when it comes to luke. in the context of my fic if you think about it annabeth's had zero time to actually deal with any of her shit - and there's so much of it?? being ignored by her dad, chased by monsters at a young age, being thrust into a whole war, watching her only family in all the world die in front of her eyes and being forced to abandon her body, while also carrying the weight of a promise to protect her little brother. having to deal with the loss of luke and all the implications that come with his (possibly) being a traitor, including the knowledge that if he did turn sides, he was directly responsible for thalia's death. AND she was basically forced to step up and be a leader for the greeks when they were on the verge of extinction and when they were all so demoralized they would have given themselves over willingly to the titans after the war.

annabeth has had literally no space mentally and emotionally to deal with her shit, and she's also grown up being told and inherently knowing she's the smartest. i think this ties into her fatal flaw as well - she believes she's right about luke which is why she ignores all the warning signs, and it's a huge wake up call to her when she gets captured for her troubles - it makes her question everything she's ever known about herself. if she isn't 'the smart one,' who is she?

i've had a lot of people comment stuff like "WHY IS ANNABETH BEING SO STUPID" and at times ive wondered if im making her ooc but i think if you think about the context, everything she does makes more sense. we all like to make annabeth this very logical person in contrast to percy, but i think she has the chance to be extremely emotionally complex if given the chance, and i want to explore that more! girl's got hella issues and i'm going to put her through the emotional wringer in upcoming chapters - she's going to have to deal with rachel, too, and ohboy she's not going to handle it well at all.

also YES!!! the realization of percy being the new child of the prophecy really fucks her over,,,,and [spoiler alert] she wont be able to talk about it to him until much later. i can't wait to write it ngl

thank you for this ask and for the opportunity to rant even though you probably did not ask for it lmfaooo, also THANK YOU FOR THE 100 KUDOS IN SPIRIT ILY

[diana-3]

Crow’s Nest.

Diana sighed as she climbed the last few stairs to Devrim’s perch. The Gentlemen Sniper pulled his rifle back inside the windowsill and turned, having earlier waved to Diana he smiled at her approach. “Ah,” His warm tone brought a smile to her face, “Di, hello dear, how are you?”

“I’m alright I guess..s’been a while...huh?” There was guilt layering her tone, like a child who was admitting to a wrong--ready for a scolding.  

“Works kept you busy,” Devrim settled against the wall and his smile held, but his eyes turned downward and with it the mood lowered. “Seems as if the whole world is trying to burn around us.” He nodded to the radio on the shabby table with the teaset near by. “I’ve been keeping up on the radio chatter, you’ve been busy out toward the Tangled Shore lately?”

“Oh yeah,” Dianna removed her helmet and went to settle on the floor next to Devrim who glanced out the window. “There’s this new baddie, Xivu Arath? A hive celebrant...whatever that means...trying to corrupt Fal---Eliskni and Cabal into being Hive mind slaves. Causing a lot of trouble on the Shore and in the Dreaming City. Been working with Spider’s crew to get it cleaned up but its been weeks now.”

“A month yesterday,” Joel corrected as he appeared by Diana’s side. “I overheard Glint and Crow talking about it as we were walking away yesterday.”

“A month…” Diana repeated with weight behind her long sigh that followed. “Has it been that long already?”

“Between the constant crucible matches and vanguard operations to charge the lure, not to mention the individual hunts themselves, I’m not surprised we hadn’t realized.” Even Joel sounded exhausted, flying low until he settled in Diana’s hands as she crossed her legs and closed her eyes. “It’s been...hectic to say the least.”

“When was the last time you had any time off?” Devrim asked, raising a dark brow as he removed himself from the window completely now. Hanging his rifle on carefully placed hooks in the collapsing church to avoid accidental misfires. “You both look absolutely ragged.”

Diana hummed in thought. Her head slowly lulling from side to side before she spoke. “The Festival of the Lost?”

“Can’t really count that as time off when we were fixing the infinite forest…” Joel reminded her and she nodded.

“Soooo, before then?”

“My word,” Devrim’s shocked outburst made the tired guardian and her ghost both open their eyes and look at him. He was standing with his teapot in hand, “You’re going to need something a bit more strong than tea then to unwind.”

“You know what I want?” Diana chuckled softly, the fatigue showing through her defeated tone. “A nap. A nice, warm nap.”

“You’re more than welcome to come back to the farm,” Devrim offered, putting down his teapot and reaching for clean cups and saucers. “You could rant about anything bothering you until you can rest, or you’re free to do so after over a nice hot cup of tea.”

Diana smiled, watching the older man go through his motions to prepare his staple drink. The care he put into making it and the glance he gave her when he felt her stare. “Thanks,” She smiled back, “But,” She tapped Joel’s shell and woke the little Ghost from his quiet rest, his eye blinking open and his shell twitching in a stretch. “I think seeing Mythrax would just wind me back up again...remind me of everything going on on Europa.”

“Ah,” Devrim’s smile fell as he watched Joel take a lazy flight, hovering just above Diana’s shoulder as she climbed to her feet wearily. “Do you have somewhere else to stay then? I have no bed or blanket here, but I can offer great conversation and drink, a little light on snacks I’m afraid.”

“Actually…” Diana rubbed her head before her face and sighed, “I think there’s somewhere I want to...revisit. It’s not the Tower, but right now I’d rather avoid the tower if possible too…”

“Just seems like there's nowhere for us to go to get a rest away from everyone.” Joel admitted, his eye downcast as his shell shook side from side. “There's always someone looking for the next report, the next ship out, the next bounty to be taken…” He glanced at Diana who was lost in thought, her cyan eyes following the floorboard toward the window. When she slowly walked away to peer out Devrim’s window, Joel flew near Devrim and whispered. “She’s had a lot thrust onto her shoulders lately Devrim, I don’t know...I don’t know how to help her right now…”

“Is she alright?” Devrim asked, pretending to busy himself with cleaning his table as he waited for the water to boil.

“Physically she’s fine, she’s just so mentally worn out...A lot of old emotional wounds opened up…” Joel twitched in the air, flying a few degrees lower, “You’ve heard about Io, Mercury and Titan?”

“I had.” Devrim nodded, his face stern with thought. “She had friends on those planets didn’t she?”

“Yes, Asher Mir for one,” Joel shook his shell, “She’s still holding out hope that he’s in the Pyramidian, holding out. But no one’s heard from him...or Sloane and Vance...Then...we heard about Sagria…”

“Sagria?” Devrim whispered back, glancing over his shoulder to Diana, who was watching something out the window. “A guardian?”

“

A Ghost,” Joel corrected, “She was Osiris’ ghost...she sacrificed herself to save Osris from Xivu Arath’s influence...he’s Ghostless now...without the light...he’s taken refuge in the tower and asks Diana about how she and Crow--”

“Crow?” Devrim asked, raising a dark brow as he picked up the teapot and began pouring the tea into two cups. “Is that a guardian?”

“S-something like that…” Joel hesitated a tad too long and it drew a long and measured look from the marksman. “He’s a new guardian but...it’s part of the old emotional wounds opening up...that’s all I can say…”

“Mmhmm..” Devrim kept his stare on the little ghost who twitched and flew a few inches away.

“The less you know, the better.” Joel sighed.

“Wouldn’t happen to wear red pants...would this...Crow?” Devrim asked softly, glancing back at Diana who was still preoccupied with scanning the distance.

“You’ve seen him?!” Joel flew close to Devrim’s face, making the older man chuckle and straighten his back a bit.

“I’ve seen someone bustling around in the distance,” Devrim nodded with his head toward the direction of the dam, “He’s never come close though, and always seems to keep a hood up or a helmet on..I’ve never seen his face. Causing our girl some trouble is he?”

“He doesn’t mean to,” Joel said, “He’s new to everything and Di….she doesn’t know how to handle her feelings. He really reminds her of someone she’d rather forget, but at the same time she’s grown closer to him, and is having trouble letting go of that….resemblance.”

“Sounds messy,” Devrim picked up the cup and took a small sip to taste before nodding. “She needs a good rest, and time to herself away from everyone to let herself work through things. Is there a Hunter hideout where she might be able to take cover?”

“None that wouldn’t turn her over to Zavala to keep themselves from being called to the tower..” Joel had a hint of irritation in his voice, “We tried a few of the old spots, but some people have a sore spot for Di. Shaw hasn’t exactly warmed up to her and he’s made a name for himself in the cosmodrome. People think, that she thinks she’s too important, that she abandoned them in their greatest hour of need…And with the Hunters still without a leader...”

“Did they forget the part where the entire universe was at stake?” Devrim asked too loudly, drawing Diana’s tired attention finally from the window.

“Who knew the Cosmodrome was separate from our universe.” She had no mirth to her voice now, she seemed to shake slightly from side to side as she pushed away from the window and walked over to take the cup offered to her gingerly from Devrim. “Thanks…”

“I’m sorry that you’re dealing with so much,” Devrim put a gentle hand on Diana’s shoulder and squeezed it. A flicker in her eyes caught him off guard, was she going to cry? “I hope that the vanguard has at least given you some hefty time off to recoup after running you so ragged?”

“Hawthorne helped,” Joel said with a hint of pride, “When Diana was ready to just drop off the tower to get away from Zavala and Shaw, she spoke up and advocated for Diana to have a relief mission.”

“Tore into them did she?” Devrim chuckled warmly, “Ah, I can hear her now.”

“It was quite a sight,” Joel laughed, his shell squinting as he bobbed up, like a smile. “She wasn’t about to let Zavala just walk all over Diana.”

“M’ just too tired to fight anymore.” Diana admitted as she took a drink from the cup, taking a moment to shiver at the bitterness. “I wanna sleep for a week in a hole in the ground…” She paused…”Or...in a wall…” Her eyes widened slowly before she downed the rest of the cup, filled only half of the way before handing the cup back to Devrim. “If anyone asks,”

“I haven’t heard from you in months.” Devrim winked at her as he took her cup and replaced it on the table. “No idea where you could be. Haven't’ seen you in the EDZ in quite some time.” He turned and lifted his own teacup to her in salute, “I really should contact you via radio to come spend some time with this old man.” He could hear Diana and Joel speaking softly as he turned and sipped at his tea, trying not to listen to the quiet planning. He couldn’t help but hear.

“Are you sure you want to go there?” Joel was asking, concern filling his voice.

“Where else can we go right now? Unless you really wanna watch me dig a hole and bury ourselves.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this...but we could go to the Derlict?” Joel offered in a hushed tone, “Drifter would hide you for a while.”

“He’d also bug me to death for answers, or to get me into Gambit again…” Diana sighed heavily. Devrim kept himself turned around, studying the hand written notes from Marc laying on his desk, hidden out of direct sight behind the radio he used to listen to chatter, or talk to Suraya who was living in the Tower now. “No, I think it’ll be the one place no one, except one person would think to look…”

“Do you think he would?” Joel asked softly.

“No, his leash is too short right now. He might wonder to himself, maybe to Glint, but he won’t actually come looking. Which will give us all the time we need to rest.” Diana sounded sure of herself and her mind was made up. Wherever they were going, it was going to be a secret between them.

“It won’t be very comfortable,” Joel complained slightly.

“We can find a few ways to make it work.” Diana said a little more loudly, the time for private conversation over with. Devrim was refilling his cup, still pretending to be lost in his own little world when he felt two taps on his shoulder. He put down his cup and turned to receive the gentle hug Diana offered without thinking. “I’ll come by again soon Devrim, thank you for letting us rest and clear our head.”

“I don’t need to tell you that you are always welcome,” Devrim told her as he squeezed her, returning the hug. “But I will anyway, just so I’m sure you know. You can always come up here to hide out, and I won’t tell a soul if you don’t want me to.” He felt her start to pull away and he kept his hold until she leaned more heavily against him, allowing him to share her weight. “You be careful out there, hm?”

“Yes sir,” Diana’s chest vibrated with her voice, chuckling into his ear as she squeezed him back. “I’ll make sure to stop by for the dawning.” When Devrim pulled away she nodded, “I’ll remember the Shortbread cookies you love so much.”

“It pairs so well with my favorite festive tea,” Devrim sighed at the thought of such a comfort item. “It is getting around that time...isn’t it?”

“A few more weeks…” Diana nodded, “Hopefully I’ll get to feeling better before then. I’d like to go to the tower to see everyone…”

“Then you best get to it,” Devrim winked at her and grabbed a small bag from under his table, protected by a sheet that had hidden it from sight. “Here, take this, a self care package if you will.”

“Tea?” Diana laughed as she took the bag without looking at it.

“And a few biscuits and hot cocoa, some tripemines to set up a perimeter, clean water etcetera.” Devrim smiled as he poured a second cup for himself. “Little things that will help make the roughing it less...rough.”

“Thanks Devrim but shouldn’t you need this?” She asked, holding the bag up.

“Not for a while, I’m going on vacation too..of a sort. It’s Marc’s Rezzing day soon. We decided to go to Suraya in the city and spend time together. I’ll have all the comfort I need. And I can replenish my supplies.” Devrim watched as Diana nodded and looked toward the stairs. “Go on now, I won’t keep you any longer.” He turned his back and pretended to busy himself with the radio dial until a heavy baritone voice came over the waves.

“Thanks again…” Diana gave a small salute before disappearing over the ledge, not bothering with the stairs.

“It’s like they’re allergic to safety,” Devrim mused to himself, chuckling as he watched her go.

//

“Are you sure about this?” Joel asked as Diana picked her way over the rubble, careful to make sure that Devrim’s care package wouldn’t rip.

“Like I said, I’m out of ideas, unless you know of somewhere else we can go…’S not like we can go chill with Asher anymore…” She paused down the dimly lit corridor and sighed. “I miss him.”

“I know,” Joel touched his feckle to her cheek and accepted the loving caress she gave him that pinned him to her cheek gently. “I do too.”

“So this is the one place I can think of that...they won’t know to look and if they did think to look, I don’t think he’d tell.” Diana finished softly. She was outside the  little alcove now and started to go inside but hesitated.

“What's wrong?” Joel asked, blinking his yellow cat eye and watching how she hesitated. It wasn’t like her.

“I should ask permission…” She said firmly. “This is the one place that’s his and his alone...if I were just to barge in here and use it without asking? I’d be taking that away from him, I’d be just as bad as Spider. We’re not that close...in reality. He might think...I’m overstepping boundaries if I don’t ask…” The heavy silence in the air didn’t last long before she asked, “Can you patch me into a secure line to him?”

“Just a moment.” Joel busied himself with twitching, extending his shell and rotating back and forth until the sound of static washed away and a familiar voice asked.

“Who is this?”

“Glint, it’s us. It’s secure right?” Joel asked, replacing his shell to its rightful shape. Diana noticed one of his cat ears was coming untapped and tried to push it back down in place, only to knock it off and make her gasp in both shock and sadness.

“Of course!” Glint’s voice perked up, “It’s the Guardian and her Ghost!”

“You can call me Joel,” Ghost reminded him, “And Di.”

“New news on Xivu Arath or some wrathborn? A new cryptolith?” Crow’s voice came over the coms and Joel watched Diana pause in her fussing over his shell.

“No,” Diana admitted after a moment of silence. “I’ve...I’ve been given some...a reprieve…” She said slowly, remembering once what Glint had said over coms after a hunt. “But I…” She paused again and the lights inside her mouth dimmed with a sigh. “Could I...Would it bother you if I...used your...nest, for a while?”

“It’s most certainly not a nest.” Crow said a little too quickly. Diana could practically hear the flush to his blue-grey face. “But...why? I thought you would have a place in the tower in the last city?”

“I do, but not everyone understands the need for...alone time.” Diana admitted.

“About your report, could you do this run for me, we should go out tonight, could you sit in on this mission debriefing, we need someone on coms for this vanguard operation, could you help me adjust my sights,” Joel started listening off all the things that had been asked of them when they had returned to the tower the last time. “It’s like it never ends. We used to go hide out on Io when things got like this…”

“I see.” Crow interjected before silence could fall and swallow them up. “You...need a place to breathe for a while. Of course, feel free. I’m...honored that I could help you this way...Guar--”

“Di.” Diana reminded.

“Di…” Crow’s voice was soft, like he was afraid of breaking her name should he say it with too much force. “I’m sorry it’s such a mess, I haven’t been out there in a while and Glint’s a terrible maid.”

“It’s not my fault you keep everything you find that has a little shine to it.” Glint said playfully, hinting at his name.

“It’s not exactly comfortable either, but it works...in a pinch.” Crow continued, ignoring Glint’s jest. “Use it as long as you like.”

“Thanks,” Diana smiled and looked inside the alcove at the small collection of crow’s things. “I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Crow chuckled softly, “You could have used it and I never would have known. It’s not as if I’m in and out of there a lot these days.”

“Boundaries and Respect are important.” Diana told him firmly. “Guardians and good people a like do not trample over either…” She put a hand to her head and realized how much like Quin she sounded. She shook her metal head and continued. “Want me to get you some time off?” Diana asked as she stepped through the crack that served as the door. “You deserve it as much as I do.”

“Spider wouldn’t allow--”

“Spider won’t know the difference if I tell him I need you in the EDZ to track down Hive movement. Maybe they’re trying to set up a cryptolith here? Savathun did find that piece of the Traveler where we found the new Hawkmoon.”

“Not to mention we could give you a run through on being a Lightbearer. Guardian school if you will. More tips and tricks to make you more effective for Spider.” Joel added, his shell contracting in the way that made Diana say it looked like a smile.

“Time away from Spider,” Diana said in a singsong voice, “Nice hot fires under the stars, good drinks. Stories swapped.” She flopped down on the sleeping bag Crow had left on the concrete slab and regretted it, there was still a bit of debris under it and it hurt. “R and R is just as important to Guardians as it is to non-lightbearers.” She added with a grunt.

“That’s true...I just don’t think Spider would allow it.” Crow sounded defeated, tired and annoyed.

“Well, I am not going back to work for a bit….you think about it and when you want me to, I’ll talk to Spider.” Diana stood and rolled the sleeping bag up, watching how the dust and concrete of the collapsing ceiling was leaving a layer of dust on everything.

“Spider called him.” Glint said in a hushed tone, “I think some time off and not so alone would be good for him. He’s been obsessing over these Cryptoliths. He’s so sad to see the Eliskni that was good to him turn into...wrathborn…”

“He needs time away just as much as we do,” Joel sighed.

“It would be good for him, all he does is talk about work, and when he asks about Guardian things, he feels like such a stranger to it all. I think a fellow Guardian talking to him would make it feel more real, for now its just...stories of something he thinks he doesn’t deserve..” During the pause, Joel and Diana gave a look to one another. Sadness. Fatigue. Guilt. “I’ve been called by Spider, cutting the link. You two have a good rest.”

“Glint--” Joel started to speak but then hesitated. “The line’s dead.” He rotated to see Diana removing rubble from the concrete slab and cleaning it off with her hand. “This place really is a mess...huh?”

“He’s tried to make it his own…” Diana said softly. “It reminds me...of that cave in the Cosmodrome we had when we first started out...Remember?”

“Heh.” Joel floated closer and bobbed before rolling his shell over. “You kept Hive bones until you heard about Dredgen Yor, then you dumped them all over the cliffside and wanted nothing more to do with them.”

“Got rid of the dice I whittled too.” She nodded and replaced the sleeping bag, stretching it out to find it wouldn’t fit, the slab was too short. She glanced around the tiny alcove, at all of Crow’s belongings. A sleeping bag that had holes in it. A pristine Dawning bowl. His death shroud. A hive knight sword from when he save Osiris. A table and chair. A tool chest as tall as her and tools to fill it with. 8 things. He only owned 8 things. Yet the room told so much about him.

He was a repairer. Using things left over and forgotten to serve a new purpose. “It’s almost...poetic...or.” She laughed, “Ironic, whichever you wanna look at it...I guess…”

“What is?” Joel had floated off on his own, inspecting the crack in the wall that filtered in some sunlight from a room beyond the rubble.

“He takes things that are broken or forgotten. Things people don’t think twice about because to them it's used up and gives it new life...new purpose…” She picked up the bowl and placed it on the sleeping bag. “Like a guardian...we were just empty shells until you guys came along.” She smiled at Joel who twitched in silent thought. “You found me, an empty shell. Having used up all my life and been lost to time and the elements and you gave me a purpose. You brought new life into me and told me what I could do to help those around me.” She picked up his death shroud and frowned. “Uldren was a cold hearted bastard of a person.” Her grip tightened on the cloth before she sighed heavily.

“He paid his price. Blood for blood. Eye for an Eye. The debt for Cayde was settled. I know his tapes said he’d be…” She started folding the shroud gently. “Crow was a shell that was tossed away. People were trying to forget...or avoid remembering for the time. Including myself...And Glint gave him new life and purpose. He’s a guardian now. He’s not who he was before. And now he takes things Spider tries to throw away or has forgotten about and makes them into new things.” When the shroud was folded into the shape of a flag, she placed it into the bowl and busied herself cleaning off the slab where it had been placed haphazardly. “He’s just like a Ghost that way. A repairman. An artist..” She recalled the art form he had mentioned before when she saw his nest the first time. “He mentioned an artform with precious metals...do you know what it's called?”

“I hadn’t when he first mentioned it, but I talked to Zavala’s ghost and he knew what it was called, apparently it's called Kintsugi, or kintsukuroi, it’s a Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.  It treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.” He paused for a moment and flew a little lower, “Oh, I see what you mean.”

Diana straightened up the room in silence for a while. Dusting everything with her hands as best she could and being as gentle as possible. It didn’t take her long to clean up the room, tossing out the debris into the hall. She looked around and realized it wasn’t cleaning she wanted to do.

“I wanna do something nice for him.” She said out loud, throwing out a fist sized piece of concrete into the hall. “And I don’t mean dusting.” Joel was flying around the room and scanning the area, inspecting the walls and ceiling.

“He doesn’t have a lot does he?” he asked as he came down to her height. “We could get a few things for him.”

“Yeah..spruce the place up a bit...he deserves better than this but…” She glanced at the shroud sticking up from the bowl where she had placed it. “Baby steps.”

“What do you think he would like?” Joel asked.

“Anything is better than this…” she glanced at the mop bucket in the corner, and cringed. “We could get him a sturdy cot to sleep on. A better sleeping bag…” She looked back to his area and tilted her head, “Another table, a chair...we could clear these slabs out.” She kicked at the one he had been using for a bed. “Hang that sword up.” She pointed to the sword as it was propped up against the wall, waiting to topple over. “And a heater…”

“A heater?” Joel asked, spinning back to watch her as she nodded.

“It’ll be snowing soon. If he’s gonna get time off and come stay, then he’s gonna need heat...and some food that won’t spoil…” Her faceplates shifted to show irritation. “The boy doesn’t even have the basic necessities to live on his own. He won’t be under Spider’s four thumbs forever.”

“You think he’s going to let Crow go eventually?” Joel didn’t sound convinced, but when Diana settled her cyan eyes on him, he knew that look. He’d seen it before the battle against Crota...Oryx...Gaul and the darkness. It was what he called her ‘try me’ look.

“Oh he will. And we’re getting that bomb outta Glint too.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Glint doesn’t deserve that treatment, and neither does Crow. The boys are literally as pure as new fallen snow, and Crow’s as green as Venus.”

“I remember when Leland used to say the same about you,” Joel offered softly, flying close to her chest, his sign he wanted to be held in her hands. She obliged him, cradling him gently and stroking his feckle lovingly.

“I’m not gonna comment on that,” she chuckled and planted a kiss on her Ghost’s shell. Going to sit on the sleeping bag. “I guess this means we’re going back to the city after all.”

“What are we gonna tell people who ask what we’re doing?” Joel twitched his shell so he was looking up at Di from her hands she stared longingly at the Dawning bowl.

“That we’re helping out a kinderguardian. They’re new and scared to come to the city. Or that I’m literally burying myself in a hole and making a fuck off bunker so people will leave me alone for once.” She stopped and blinked, “By the light, I sound like Osris now.”

“I like the second one better,” Joel laughed, “It sounds more like you than Osiris.”

Both of them laughed, their voices bouncing off the three and a half walls until it sounded like it would drown all their sorrows. They hadn’t laughed like that in a while. It made Diana sad to realize this. She tried not to look at it, but it was like a living thing staring at her. The death shroud. One of the triangle corners was peeking up from the bowl and taunting her until she stared at it.

“I’m not...weird am I?” She asked Joel, still staring at the white cloth.

“Is that a question you want me to answer honestly, or be serious?” Joel asked with mirth still in his voice.

“No, I mean…” Diana’s tone made Joel twitch in her hands, bringing her attention to him. “I know I didn’t remember anything, not a thing when you brought me back. But you said I’d been dead a long time...I’ve never…” She trailed off and looked toward the floor. “I’ve never run into anyone who recognized me before. But Uldren...he…” She sighed. “He killed dad...I know I said Crow was different and he IS but…” she made a clicking noise. “Sometimes when it gets quiet, and I see him, I can still SEE Uldren there. Does that make me a bad person?” She looked to Joel sadly. “Am I a horrible person because I sometimes still see him inside someone who's new? If Crow didn’t have the same meatsuit...if he’d been changed into an Exo like me when he was first brought back...I woulda never known….I wouldn’t be...questioning myself like this.” She looked to the shroud again. “He’d just be a new guardian. A fellow exo. A nice guy...But I find myself wanting to reach out to him. Be...more than kind to him. To be someone for him and then that moment happens when I don’t see Crow, I see…and then I feel like I’m betraying Dad’s memory by being chummy with the meatsuit that killed my leader...”

“I could tell,” Joel admitted softly, speaking in barely a whisper, as if afraid the truth would cause the ground to swallow them up. “When you two are having a good talk and it gets quiet, I see the way you look at him. It’s kindness and then fear, mixed with guilt.” He twitched again and the eye blinked. The other ear was starting to come loose and Diana peeled it off with a gentle hand. “You’re trying so hard to not hold him accountable for a crime you know Crow didn’t commit. But it’s still the same face. It’s still the same hand.” he blinked again, “It’s a situation I don’t think any other guardian has ever had to face like this before.” Only a heartbeat passed before he added. “I don’t think it makes you a bad person, I think you’re struggling with a situation that no one else has ever had to be in before and you’re doing a lot better than others who have seen his face.” He flew up from her hands and hovered a little ways from her face.

“You loved Cayde like a father, and he was taken from you by someone you didn’t particularly care for when you knew him. Now that person is no more, but their body is still up walking around with someone new inside...sorta. It’s like that pottery thing, he has his scars. His past is part of him, but he has a new life and a new outlook.” he tilted his shell toward the ground. “Uldren hated Guardians, he tried to make our life hell when we had to deal with the awoken. But,” he titled his shell upward and squinched himself into a smile, “I’ve seen Crow absolutely light up when you walk in a room. He’s excited to see you, to work with you. If that’s not proof he’s totally different then I dunno what would be.”

When she didn’t respond he bonked her on the forehead with his feckle and made her blink at him in bewilderment. “Others have outright killed Crow when they saw his face. You didn’t.”

“I tried…” She put a hand on the spot where he hit her. “If Quin hadn’t stopped me...I would have put a bullet in him.”

“Are you glad she stopped you?” Joel asked firmly.

“Yes?” she sounded unsure, when Joel tightened his shell around him she felt like he was glaring at her so she repeated with conviction. “....Yes. I am.”

“Would you put a bullet in him now?” Joel’s voice was hard, he was trying to test her resolve. He already knew he answer, he just needed her to know it.

“No, absolutely not, I’d...” She paused and remembered her fight with Hunter-1, they still hadn’t spoken since they introduced Crow to him. When he tried to murder Crow, even after learning he was a guardian and Uldren no more. Quin had ushered Crow to safety while Diana wrestled with the fellow Exo. He hadn’t looked at her the same since. On Wrathborn hunts he wouldn’t watch her back anymore, and he would ignore her when she spoke to him. “I’d fight those who would try...”

“Then you’re already leaps and bounds ahead of others.” Joel told her with a flip. “And the fact you want to give him what he needs to survive on his own, until he can be accepted as Crow and not as Uldren, shows you have compassion for him.” He tilted his shell halfway, like he was being coy. “And do not think for one millisecond I haven’t seen you smile at him with that same look you used to give Drifter either missy.”

“I. Give. No. Looks.” Diana’s voice was low, gravely, she was willing to die on this hill.

“And I wasn’t born in the Light.” Joel gave a small hummpf sound before flying out of the crack, forcing Diana to follow along behind him if she wanted to argue.

[seijohsfairy]

you’ve been in love with kuroo tetsuro for years, silently supporting from the sidelines. it’s where you feel comfortable, felt- comfortable. so now that kuroo finds out you’re his most loyal fan?

.wordc. 9.5k tw manipulation, degradation!, corruption, bullying, dubcon/noncon, coercion, yandere kuroo, fingering, oral, Kuroo is on the world’s biggest ego trip

.author’s note. I finally finished this monster after struggling for so long ( ɵ̥̥ ˑ̫ ɵ̥̥) inspired by fanatic by @/jackrrabbit​. if you want to read an amazing bullying smut, it’s seriously perfection

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An obsession. If someone asked, you’d never call it that. An appreciation of the sport maybe, or of the hard work and dedication of the players. But an obsession might’ve been more accurate, as you have been a fan for years now. At least you can admit it to yourself. Not a day goes by where you forget to think about volleyball, and more in particular, him. It’s not your fault it makes you so happy… It’s not at all, and yet—

You’re able to watch the young men through the open doors of the gym, the resounding bangs of spikes flattening against the polished floor filling the building. You huff out in the afternoon sun and hide under the sun-bleached, red parasol as best you can, before wiping a bead of sweat from your temple. Soon everyone will be pouring out of the classrooms, which brings a smile to your face. But for now, you spare another look inside the bright hall, following the red jerseys as they move swiftly around the court. The speed at which the balls connect with the floor have always impressed you, but your eyes are instead on the middle of the group, tracing the number one mindlessly.

“Senpai, are you alright?” your junior squeaks out. You flinch in surprise at her question, almost dropping the drink you’re holding in the process. Her short brown hair sticks to her face where a wide-eyed expression marks it, though a small, unsure smile stays in place. You quickly bring out a laugh though, waving off her concern.

“Oh, yeah! Sorry,” you put down the glass can and press your cool fingers to your forehead, smiling, “the heat just makes it hard to actually pay attention. Could you repeat that, please?”

“I’m just so glad you suggested this, s’all!” she beams, putting the last of the lemonade out on the table, each can in between ice packs. They’re already dripping, coming summertime close to unbearable. “My big brother always talks about the fanclub at home and that other teams don’t have a fanclub near as good as ours!” You smile at her while you pour chunks of ice into the white wine, putting it out too. The entire table is decorated with the team colors, flyers to one side, donation jar and cash register on the other, with all the drinks, ice pops and watermelon slices in the middle.

You even made all of the small, red cat charms that hang from the parasol yourself. A bit overkill perhaps, but no effort really feels big enough when you’re as dedicated to a team as you are, even if it’s embarrassing to say. But well… you’d do just about anything to support Nekoma and the man you’ve been crushing on for years now. While you peer up at the windows of the classrooms, mentally keeping track of just how much longer you’d have to wait for the rest of the fanclub to join you, you miss the proud look the younger girl sends your way. Yui, the libero’s younger sister, pulls her hair up in a tiny ponytail. “You must be so proud since you started it all by yourself.”

You look back down at her, flushing. “Of course I am proud of the fanclub, but I’m even more proud of our team. Y’know, I’ve been watching some of them since middle school and they all seem to enjoy it so much. It makes me want to support them in any way I can.” You’ve taken the requests of the team to heart to the best of your ability. Hopefully you can sell a lot, they’d really need new cleaning equipment and some of the shorts and jerseys could definitely be replaced with new ones.

“Of course Nekoma’s angel would say that,” a voice giggles, the black haired girl strolling up behind you. All the others walk close behind, right when the bell indicating the last class rings. The rest of the fanclub waves politely, many of the girls with their own healthy flush. “Make some space, Mrs. Kuroo, everyone will be getting out in a minute or so.” You give the other third-year a little poke in her side, looking down at the menu as you pick at the corner of the laminated sheet. It’s so silly, but the nickname makes you all warm inside. How nice it would be to actually be… well. You shouldn’t think so far ahead, or not ahead at all, since Kuroo Tetsuro has absolutely zero interest in you. The overflowing amount of love you have for him isn’t making up for anything.

“Don’t call me Mrs. Kuroo. It’s embarrassing,” you tell the raven-haired girl, glancing back inside the hall for just a moment to watch as said man gulps down his water, sweat drenching his hairline and dripping down his chin. “Even if I like it, he doesn’t know I exist.” Some of the girls coo at your admission, all of them at least aware that you’ve looked up to the Captain for years. Your friend sends you a knowing look, before cracking her fingers and getting to work on the cash register. She’s been trying to get you to say something for months, and with the last few weeks of high school growing closer and closer, you can’t even blame her.

But what would you even say to the guy you’ve crushed on for so long? After all, you’ve been in his class for three years now and he never once spoke to you directly either. He’d probably be creeped out by your dedication to him. Before you can think of any more, bunches of students start pouring out of the buildings, looking tired out by the day. When they see your stand, many of them light up, already taking out their wallets to get some cool lemonade. You clap your hands and look at the girls surrounding you, before nodding. “Alright, let’s do this! We’re going to sell everything out today. Yui, you get that side?” You turn to the first few customers and put on your best smile, handing them a menu. “Welcome to the Neko Outdoor Café! Would you like a drink?”

///

“Captain!” Yamamoto calls, pout more pronounced with each passing second. “Please let us take a break. Please.” He’s about to get on his knees and beg. “Come on, man. I need this.”

The raven haired man just lifts a brow in his direction, before turning his attention back to the bench so he can tie his shoelaces properly. “Shut up, you’re being noisy.” He doesn’t care to ask what the guy is on about, already more than annoyed at having to practice in this sweltering heat. Every movement feels slower than usual, it’s pissing him off.

“They’re going to sell out and leave, Captain!” the other tries again, tugging at the edge of Kuroo’s jersey like a child. In fact, he looks like he might burst into tears. The Captain ignores him.

“I’m sure they’re keeping some extras for us,” Yaku tries, smacking Lev’s hand away from his water bottle and downing the last of it.

Kenma hums. “You know they wouldn’t leave us with nothing, they’re all so thoughtful.” The setter is already trying to soothe a teary-eyed Yamamoto, while Kuroo straightens out to wipe himself down with a towel. “They probably have a whole pack of ice lollies stored away for after practice. Our cheer squad leader wouldn’t be caught dead forgetting about anyone.” At the mention of your name, the Captain frowns, the sound unfamiliar. “She even remembered to bring some mango for me last time, and I don’t even remember telling her I don’t like watermelon that much.”

“Who now?” Kuroo frowns. He pokes out his tongue to wet his lips, following his team’s gazes to outside the gym, where rows of students are lining up. He can just see the edge of a red table, curiosity peaked.

Kenma’s face blanks when he looks over at his long time friend. “The leader of the fanclub? She’s been to every one of our matches since like… eighth grade or something. How have you never noticed her?” Some of the boys turn to him in confusion too. Kuroo crosses his arms over his chest, before chewing on his answer. It’s not that he ignores anyone on purpose. But your name doesn’t ring a bell, neither does the description.

“Pretty sure she really likes you, too,” Lev suddenly says, getting up from his spot on the floor to bound closer to the door to watch past it. “She always wears clothes with the number 1 and your name on it. She’s very nice, she bought me chocolate milk after our last game.” He stares out the door for a moment longer, before perking up and waving for his older teammates’ attention. “Ooh ooh, she has ice creams for us, she’s calling. Can we please take a break, Captain?”

Everyone turns to the third year. Even Kenma is giving him an unspoken question with his expression. “Fine, whatever,” Kuroo just sighs, giving into their antics. “But after that we’re getting back to spike training and you better all jump higher than I’ve ever seen you jump.”

While waiting in line, he asks to point you out. You’re busy smiling at every single student that comes by, colored shadow falling over you because of the sun shade that is just as red as the rest of the table. Just as red as your flushed face, and as red as the shirt that you’re wearing with his name on it. You look kind, with a childlike joy on your face, innocent in the way you beam out warmth. And after staring at you for a while, you do start to look a bit familiar. Huh. So this is what his biggest fan looks like. He’s not let down, not exactly, though he does wish that you’d focus less on the lemonade and more on him as he waits in line with the rest of the team. But it’s understandable, you’re just trying your best. Even he can see that.

Suddenly, you look up from the cash register, having been shoved in the side with an elbow by your friend and in the split second he catches your eyes, he can see several emotions flash in them. The last one before you look away is definitely wide-eyed mortification though. You look away from him and turn to your friend, whispering something in her ear as your cheeks grow red-hot. You blank at her answer, before biting your lip. It’s strange, but something in the things you do are cute to him. How you nervously toy with the edge of your shirt. How you try to keep your eyes on the ground but glance back every so often anyway. How you put on a smile. You must really, truly like him. And he can’t say he doesn’t like at least that. That innocent expression on your face is to die for. Really.

After a minute or so, you seem to gather your wits and look up to walk from behind the stall. “Guys, you don’t have to wait in line. Come up here,” you wave them over, not looking at him at all. Somehow, this only makes him giddier, wanting to see you flush even harder. Maybe you’d pass out if he talked to you. Maybe you’d cry. Would you even be able to handle it if he got any closer? The smirk that clings to his lips is one of ego-filled happiness, he can’t help himself. Something about you makes him feel like he’d be able to break you with the slightest of pressure, and though he’s never quite wanted to control someone like that, he can’t say it doesn’t feel exhilarating.

Everyone moves out of the one line to skip to the front, as you busy yourself by glancing under the tables to pull out an extra cooler, opening it swiftly. That way your skirt pulls up insanely high, though you try to keep it down with one hand. Oblivious to what you’re doing, surely. His cute, little fan. He’ll have to give you a lesson on proper manners, but not now. All in due time. When everyone starts thanking you, you just rub your neck, straightening back up.

“How much are they?” Kenma asks, “I’ll pay. Is it alright if I get the money to you after practice though?”

“No, no!” you beam, “they’re free for you guys! I could hardly let our own team pay for some stupid ice pops and lemonade.” You don’t hesitate to smile at Kenma. Kuroo holds his tongue from breaking into your conversation for now, instead taking one of the watermelon slices and biting into it. You seem to sink into yourself a bit when he turns back in your direction, almost as if you’re trying to disappear into the background entirely. Would be hard though, with that bright a shirt. “We also have wine if the adults want any,” you continue, shooting Kai and Yaku a guilty glance then and trailing off. “Though that might not be a good idea if you’re still practicing.”

You still have yet to look back at him, creating a void of something in the pit of his stomach. Why don’t you want to look at him as much as he wants to look at you? “Are there any strawberry pops?” Lev asks, probably aimed at you but Kuroo’s already taking a step towards you before you can answer.

This way you’re not able to ignore him any longer. Your eyes are so big and stunned when you glance up at him, tilting your head back just so you can look him in the face. There you are, he thinks. You pull a lip into your mouth, cheeks burning with color. Your chest heaving up and down, heart clearly pounding so hard he swears he can hear it. And Kuroo is living for it, the thrill of making you so affected by his presence undeniable. He wants to be the one to make you so flustered, wants to be the one to taint it too. He does know that’s probably not normal, but it’s so tempting. He smiles down at you, watching when your lips tremble softly. Cute. He softly calls out your name, grinning wider when you seem to mellow for a moment at the sound. “Did you do all this yourself?” he asks, enjoying the starstruck expression on your face.

You have to take a moment to get yourself back on track, clearly. Understandable. “Mhm,” you manage though, looking anywhere but him again when you realize you’re staring. “W-Well, everyone helped plan it, of course. I just made everything they planned out.”

“Yeah?” His smirk has yet to leave his face, but if it could grow any wider, now would be the time. You give a shy nod, looking back up at him for a moment. “The lemonade looks good. The watermelon’s good too.”

You’re practically glowing at his compliment, taking a step back to roll yourself back and forth on the balls of your feet. He wants to place his hands on your shoulders to keep you still, but really, you might just faint if he does so he holds himself back. “T-thank you s-so much! I’m glad you like it. I hope you’ll be able to use the funds well, but if you ever need anything else, you can always ask me,” you lift your shoulder and smile at him for just a moment, blush still raging on your face. You blank then, quickly adding, “or any of the other girls! We’re all here to support you, so… p-please keep working hard and doing your best a bit longer!” You’re stuttering like crazy too. He’ll have to work that out of you.

Before he can say anything else, someone calls for your name, so you quickly bow and rush back to your spot behind the stall. The girls giggle and poke at you, some of them hardly subtle in their whispering and cooing. And Kuroo smiles, because he might have just found something new to peak his interest.

///

You couldn’t have known. Not really. You couldn’t have known the full extent of his anger and definitely not how it would turn on you. So why does it feel like you made a horrible mistake? As you are sweeping the last of the hall, you hear the familiar, resounding echo of volleyballs smacking against the smooth surface. It’s a sound that’s long grown near and dear to your heart. Still, you put the brush to the side to make your way to the gym door where it stands swung open. It’s a Friday. The Nekoma team doesn’t play volleyball after school hours on Fridays. You frown as you peek around the cold, metal door into the otherwise vacant hall. As the class representative this term, you’re basically expected to be the last one here.

The man causing the constant butterflies in your stomach is facing away from you, frustration seeming to radiate off him in angry, black swirls as he throws balls against the wall, making continuous tosses to himself. You wait for a moment longer, glancing back into the school building as you debate your options. Though you were unable to watch the end of practice, you saw the beginning. Kuroo was anything but the collected player he normally is, the sight of it making your heart ache. Very hesitantly, you knock your knuckles against the metal. You rather wouldn’t be putting yourself in his proximity by choice, last time enough to make you so flushed and flustered you were stumbling all over your words.

Still though, you just want to help him. Maybe you could make him feel just a bit better. “Kuroo-san?” you try softly when he doesn’t react. He catches the ball at your call, pausing for a second. Then he turns to you. A shadow on his face, tall shape seeming to loom over you even from afar. You dig your nails into your own palms at the sharp glare that’s sent your way, his eyes flicking over your entire body, coming to rest back on your face. He doesn’t say anything, so you try to gather your courage and clear your voice, taking a step into the gym. “I- Sorry, I heard you still practicing. Are you- I mean- I don’t want to assume or anything, b-but- you don’t normally practice on Friday.”

The brief flicker of courage you had soon sinks deep within the pit of your chest as the silence continues. He bounces the ball on the floor once before catching it again, lifting one of his brows. Still with that gleam in his eyes, the one set off by the darkness cast around him. Then he sighs, and in a second his smile is plastered back on. The smile you’ve grown so used to seeing from afar, but it doesn’t feel quite right. It certainly doesn’t reach his eyes. It looks a bit off too, lopsided like he’s trying to convince himself to keep it up. “You— Ah, you’re the… fan club girl,” he nods. He tosses the ball up a few times, seemingly thinking, before he clicks his tongue. His deep voice resonates through the empty hall. “Yeah, sorry if I’m bothering you. I wanted to get some more practice in.”

You wring your hands into the front of your shirt, mindlessly bunching it up in between your fingers. When his eyes are back on you, you have to fight yourself from taking a step back. “No, you’re not bothering me at all, I don’t expect any less from our team Captain.” You swallow. Then, barely louder than the thumping of your heartbeat against your ribs, a thought tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. “Would you like me to help you practice for a bit?” It’s a little thing, so small, and you’ve done it for Lev and Kenma plenty of times. But your hands shake when you ask.

Kuroo’s eyebrows pull tightly together, his expression looking so off-putting even when you normally think everything about him is beautiful. You think he’s perfect, even drenched entirely in sweat and with grooves dug deep under his eyes, exhausted to the bone, so why? Why does he glare at you this way, and how can you make your heart stop wavering in your chest? You briefly stand there to think about what you just said, trying to figure out exactly what you did wrong to make him feel even more shitty, but come up blank. He must have misread your tone of voice, or maybe you had a dumb expression on your face. Just some stupid mistake you made. That’s the only explanation you have why amazing, gorgeous, perfect star player Kuroo is acting the way he is.

“Do you even know anything about volleyball? You don’t look like you do.” The sharp comment feels like a slap to the face, and you take in a little breath as you attempt to rid the unsettling tension between you two. Maybe soothing him isn’t the way to go, but you know Kuroo makes himself feel better with practice and that is something you can do. For him, you could for hours.

“I— I can… serve alright,” you hesitate, looking from his face to his shoes instead. “I know a l-lot about volleyball and though I- I might not be the best, I’d still help, right?” His sharp eyes are still on you like an accusation, and no, no, no, this is all wrong but you don’t know how to fix it.

“Aah,” Kuroo coos then, chuckling to himself as he passes the ball your way, “you want to help me.” You barely catch it, clutching it close to your chest as he motions you closer with his hand. “O‘course you do.” With sheepish steps you make your way toward him because he asked, staying an arm’s length away for your own poor heart. Last time you were this close to Kuroo, all you could do was give some mindless encouragement, even though you were trying. You just couldn’t help get flustered back then. A cold shiver makes its way up your spine though, and you fight the pressing feeling to run. This is your favorite person in the world you’re looking at, and you’d do anything for him. You would, really. “Because you’re my fan, aren’t you?” he echoes your thoughts, and you bob your head in reply.

Your voice is barely above a whisper now, throat closing up when he leans in as if to inspect you more thoroughly. “Yes, of course, Kuroo-san. I’ve been a fan since I first saw you play a match back in middle school.” You wince at your honesty. Don’t tell him that, your mind screams, but it’s too late. All you can do is bite your lip to keep more from tumbling out.

“Yeah, yeah, so I heard.” He gleams, petting your hair and you try to keep your elation to a minimum, because his eyes are still just as sharp as they were when you first walked in, but butterflies flutter in your stomach. His fingers linger for a moment, the weight of his hand making your heart jump. It’s gone soon enough. “You in my class?” You nod eagerly, but while you do he’s already speaking again. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You’re my biggest fan, huh?” He’s leaning closer again, closer, too close, almost like he’s going to kiss you and you might sink through the floor if he gets any closer.

You try not to let the faint smell of his cologne overwhelm you, his face flushed at the edges of his cheeks because of the exertion. You open your mouth to figure out a response again, but Kuroo is faster. “You come to each match, hoping I’d notice you, right? Begging for my attention like a little kid, wearing my name on your body like that. Don’t you feel embarrassed?”

It takes your brain a while to unfilter the words, playing and replaying them now that you take a step back. “Aren’t you embarrassed to be so obsessed with me? Such a cute, little fangirl, just begging for a look your way?” No. It’s not like that, you are not like that. You’re not obsessed, you just care a lot about him. About the entire team. “Pretending to be into volleyball so you can talk to me, right? Do you talk to Yaku’s sister so you can get to me? Do you talk to Kenma so you can get to me too?” You want him to stop talking, why is he still talking? Why is he acting this way at all?

“N-No, it’s not like that,” you bring out, flushing when his hand wraps around your one shoulder to keep you from backing away from him. He straightens out to his full height, towering above you and as you follow his tall body up to his expression, you hate how he is smiling. A loathing, off-centered smile that gleams on his handsome face. The feeling to run grows so strong in your mind that for a moment you can barely ignore it. There’s something wrong. But of course you remain, you just want to make him feel better. “It’s not like that at all. They are my friends. I love volleyball.”

“You love me, Y/N-chan?” he asks then, dark eyes glazing over.

“I— I’m your biggest fan,” you settle on responding. Wouldn’t it be too much to admit you love him, even if you do? He doesn’t seem to take it, looking down at you with thinly veiled irritation now. The fingers on your shoulder tighten, though you’re too distracted to notice. “I mean- Of course I… love… you, but not in an obsessed way! I just have a lot of respect for how hard you work,” you drawl out, throat closing up when the gleam on Kuroo’s face seems to drop in favor of something softer. Something like admiration. You used to love how he would wear his emotions on his face, but now it’s too much. He’s still not satisfied, you can see it. “And I’d do anything to make you feel better so-”

“Hah. Aren’t you just incredibly sweet,” he sighs, finally letting go of your shoulder. You can feel the weight of it long after it’s gone, warmth trailing down your limbs tentatively. You’re so glad you let out a trembling puff of relief. He takes a deep breath, before he smiles again. Softer, familiar, and your heart slowly comes back to life. This is how it’s meant to go, this is how you always imagined it as Kuroo leans down to brush a strand of hair away from your face back behind your ear, sweet and tender. Hair that you keep longer than you’d want because you know Kuroo likes it that way. You’re sure your stress of earlier was showing on your face, cheeks burning for attention. “You’re so pretty like this, my little fangirl. Mine.”

You don’t miss the drop in his voice, a possessive tone that seems misplaced. As he brushes a knuckle past your cheekbone, tingles pool in your belly. “I’ve had a really tough day today, you have no idea. But I’m glad you’re here now. I think I do know how to fix my shitty mood, actually!” He takes your hands in his then, enveloping them with soft traces of his fingers. He pulls you toward the side of the gym, dragging you behind him. Kuroo Tetsuro is holding your hands. It feels too quick, sprung on you so suddenly it makes your head spin, but they are just so warm around yours like you hoped they’d be. The dark-haired man looks back over his shoulder. “You said you will help me, right?”

“Mhm,” you smile, watching him, how his shoulders move under the red volley jersey and his hair waves softly with each step. And he’s still holding your hand. This must be a dream. You’re on a mindless path until he walks you past the lockers and the damp feeling of the shower air hit your face. That’s when you slow your feet and pull against him a little, blinking out of your daze to glance to the side. Kuroo turns to face you. “Hey, this is the boys’ room.” Your obvious statement makes him chuckle, one hand coming up to cup your cheeks and though it’s insanely overwhelming, you don’t have the heart to pull back. He squishes your cheeks together until your lips turn into a cute, little pout.

“You’ve never been in a boys’ locker room, sweet thing? You’re just that good, huh?” Kuroo stares you down with his pretty, golden eyes while you fail to answer. Isn’t being good supposed to be a positive thing? But he says it like it’s something dirty, like you’re not quite right and you can’t help the sinking feeling that fills you to the brim. He pushes the door to your side into lock, the loud clang making your heart race. When he turns back to you, the darkness in his face is what scares you most.

Cats don’t eat cats, do they—

He doesn’t hesitate to grab you by the shoulder and shoves you up against the lockers, your back connecting with the cold metal sharply. You wince, his hand still around your cheeks. It’s so much bigger than you, you realize, he’s so much bigger than you. That never scared you before, but now you’re painfully aware of the looming shape and the way he’s able to look down at you like this. You swallow and keep his golden gaze. But he releases his hold on your face to hold the back of your neck, long fingers splayed across the soft skin, before leaning down so far into you, you can feel the tremble of his breath on your face. “Would you like me to kiss you?”

Your eyes are wide, unbelieving. Of course you do, but… You wait for what feels like a lifetime, his warmth too close to you. You can’t say no, can you? So you nod and drop your shoulders, eyes fluttering closed. If he were to kiss you all those uncomfortable feelings swirling inside would surely vanish. Kuroo hovers his lips over yours, you can feel them so close, but no more than that. And he chuckles, tilting your head to the side with two fingers instead. “No. You don’t deserve it yet. Don’t you think you have to work a bit harder for it? I know you’re good at that.”

He walks toward you until you’re fully pinned to the cold locker in between his legs, as he connects his lips with your neck. His lips are so hot, like steaming coals on you, and you can’t help but grab onto his bicep for support. It flexes under your touch. He kisses down your throat and jaw, lips dragging trails of kisses and tongue carving paths down to your collarbones and to the edge of your shirt.

And you’re so overwhelmed that the person you’ve loved for so long is actually touching you, that you don’t notice how tight his grip is wrapped around your neck, fingertips pressing ovals into the expanse. “You just wanted this the whole time, huh,” he coos, voice sickly sweet. But when he looks up at you from under those lashes, the gold in his eyes has the sharpness of a blade, daring you to reply. You shudder when his hand drops down to drag your shirt up. “Bet you’ve had so many guys hoping that one of them would feel and taste like me.” He unceremoniously shoves it up from your body, over your shoulders. You look to the side where it drops to the floor, your school uniform a crumpled mess.

“Kuroo-san,” you bring out, self consciously wrapping your arms around yourself to cover up. You don’t like this. You don’t like him telling you that you’ve had people just to prepare for him, don’t like him eating up the sight of you like you’re a piece of meat and you definitely don’t like how he presses his thigh in between your legs to pin you up to the locker. “W-what are you doing?”

He huffs in amusement, tangling his fingers into the hair at the top of your neck to tug back your gaze towards his. “You can drop the politeness, silly girl,” he says again, letting go to brush softer circles into your skull. His lips brush over yours as you stand there, trembling, unsure what to do. How can you say no to him if he’s here, so close, with you for the first time in ever? He taps his fingers on your hands to make you release your hold on yourself, which you do with a bit more coaching. Maybe you just think this is going way too fast because it is him. The boy that offers his friends water before drinking himself, the one with the loud laugh that rings through the halls and makes your heart thump. The guy you’ve been head over heels with. That one.

This is okay, you say to yourself, calm down. His other hand traces along the bottom of your bra as soon as you drop your arms to the side, slipping a finger under just enough to lift it from your skin and you shiver. “You gonna take this off for me?” he asks, rubbing his thigh in between yours more. You can’t answer because you’re dropping your head back against the locker, overwhelmed and unsure still, with the lack of oxygen getting to you all you can do is let out a little whimper. You don’t know a lot about this, you’re sure he does. The hand around your neck drops so he can flip your skirt up, chuckling at your cute panties. You look down in embarrassment and attempt to shove the plaid fabric back down over your thighs but then he lets out a growl, holding it in place. “You wear my name on your body like my personal whore. Don’t play too shy to follow through.”

His long fingers trace over the edges of the panties, where you take deep breaths to calm down. You can’t help but push your waist down on his muscular leg for some friction, looking to the side when he chuckles. “You really are a little slut.” This time you shake your head though, pouting at him.

“I’m not, Kuroo.”

“Liar,” he breathes, pressing his nose to the crook of your neck. “You act like a well-mannered princess but we both know you want to be put in your place.” Not waiting up for a response, he lifts you by your thighs up higher, so he can bury his face into your covered chest, dragging his tongue over the one cup. You can feel the wetness of his tongue seep through the lacy fabric onto your skin. It’s warm and uncomfortable, his breath cooling your skin down instantly. “If you’re not going to take it off, I will,” he gleams, looking up to check your expression again. Ever so slowly he starts pushing the fabric up, not bothering to unhook the piece of clothing. Instead he toys with brushing over your pointed nipples, kissing up your sternum. His eyes flick to yours continuously, like he’s making a show of undressing you. He licks his lips, leaning towards you again.

“Kuroo,” you manage to mumble, resting your one hand on his shoulder to push him away from you. You stumble when you land back on your feet, looking down at the floor. Burning heat covers your entire face, from your cheeks up to your ears. It’s physically painful to be so near him, and the tight grip on your thighs isn’t helping. Your heart is pitter pattering so hard it might break through your ribcage. Despite how much you dreamed about falling in love with him, it wasn’t like this. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I have to lock up the halls and go home.” Your friend’s voice rings through your head then, something about bad guys and the way they prey on kind girls like you, creating cold goosebumps along your arms again. Kuroo Tetsuro can’t be one of those guys, you’ve looked up to him for so long. If he is, what would you even do? “I want to—”

“Don’t lie,” he interrupts, glaring up at your disapproval, “don’t ruin this for me.” Without hesitation he locks his mouth onto your exposed skin, rubbing his knee against your covered center, hard. It sends a spike of heat down your body. You breathe out at the rough laving of his tongue, only soothing after he sucked and bit the tender skin. His one hand reaches up to pull down your panties from under your skirt as soon as you’re closing your eyes, and though you open your mouth to stop him he shuts you up by pinching your thigh sharply between his long fingers. “I told you to stop lying to me. Whatever comes out of that pretty mouth next best be the truth.” He trails his digits up and down a few times, the slightest soothing to your anxiety.

“I… I just don’t—” you swallow, looking away from his eyes to focus on the shine of the lights. They make your eyes burn, but at least you don’t have to undergo his vicious glare this way. It really feels like he despises you for even breathing in his direction, though then why would he be kneeled in front of you. The conflict makes you nauseous, more insecure than you’ve ever been around him and your throat closes up a bit. When his stroking stills, you push through the words anyway. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

He laughs. A warm, bubbly sound against your thigh. “No one’s ever stuffed you with their fingers before?” He looks gleeful, nuzzling your hip in a too-intimate gesture. You’re his fan, but he barely knows anything about you. You slowly shake your head, cheeks warming. His hands start moving again as he shuffles closer between your thighs so his mouth is level with your chest. As he eyes you up and down, he giggles to himself. “Did my slutty fan get herself off on the thought of me? D’you beg for me when coming around your useless, little fingers?” You bite your lip, eyes flicking down at him when he calls your name. “I’m waiting for an answer~”

“I don’t—,” you bite out, flustered and feeling small. He must hear the edge in your voice. With a quick flick of his wrist, he brings his down on your thigh, pinching you hard for good measure. You yelp and grab hold of his head to steady yourself, before quickly pulling your hand away again. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Wanna try again?” he mumbles though, trailing two fingers up and down the crotch of your panties. It feels warm, and really good, but you’re still cold to the touch. Is this really okay? You doubt it. When he starts licking at the edge of your panties you shudder, letting your weight fall into the sturdy locker for support. “Hm, d’you get off to me?”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth. You might have touched yourself down there once or twice, but in your imagination that was always long after he’d gotten to know you. In your imagination he was gentle, caring. Nothing like the impatient trailing of his fingers, like he can’t wait to play a game you never agreed to. At his golden gaze, you let the truth spill. “Sometimes,” you breathe, immediately hiding your face in your own shoulder from embarrassment.

“That’s what I thought, dumb girl.” He pushes your panties unceremoniously to the side to collect the slick there, grinning. You didn’t even notice you were getting wet while trying not to anger him. He doesn’t waste time taking advantage of this fact though. He spreads your bottom lips open with his fingers, looking up at you easily. His deep voice feels loud in the pressing silence of the abandoned gym, and you can’t help but wonder how much trouble you’d get in if anyone found you here. “Listen, brat,” he calls, pushing his lips to the top of your thigh to bite the plush skin. You jerk away from him with a cry, but he doesn’t let up.

“I’m gonna push my fingers inside that filthy cunny of yours, stretch out your little hole so you can actually fit something in there. ‘Cause I know you’re a good girl, so you’re probably gonna go braindead if I fuck you like this.” He chuckles at your hitched breathing. You can’t even begin to understand. The person you love more than life itself wants to fuck you? Well, his fingers are still playing down there, slowly pushing into you and they are thick, much thicker than yours. You can’t believe it. Kuroo Tetsuro wants to fuck you, in the boys locker room of the school gym while you should be long on your way out by now. No, you can’t. But you don’t find the words to speak up under his gaze, not wanting to disappoint him. If he notices your mental struggle, he doesn’t show it. “Then you’re gonna help me out like you promised by sucking my cock, right?”

You freeze up. You did say you’d help him, you said that didn’t you… But you didn’t know it would be like this, if you did you would’ve said ‘no’. You curse yourself for saying anything at all, trying to calm your heart as best as you can. You’re feeling so overwhelmed. By his touch, his presence, the situation, the stress put on your poor, frazzled brain. When two of his digits are halfway inside you, you let out a whimper. That’s at least three of your own, you already feel spread so thin. Your fingers find purchase in his soft, raven hair, needing anything to cling to. “Say, ‘Yes, Tetsuro’,” he coos, pressing a row of kisses over the front of your panties, chuckling at the little bow. But the sweet tone is taken away as soon as it comes. “Say it.”

“Y-Yes… Tetsuro.” He hums happily, shoving his fingers inside you in one swift move until his palm is against your center. Your legs almost give out at the feeling. “Ah- ah! S’too much, Kuroo.”

The raven haired man grins at that, curling his digits inside you and pulling them out just as quickly. Like striking a match. You reach up your hand to bite into it, hoping to contain your sounds. Your slick sounds ring through the empty locker room as Kuroo slides them back in and out at a punishing pace. “My dumb, pretty baby really is clueless, huh,” he sighs, long fingers sliding under your knee to place it instead on his shoulder.  It only debases you even more, struggling to stay upright as he brings his face in between your legs. When you whimper in embarrassment, calling his name, he scoffs. “You should let me play this how I want to, since you clearly don’t know anything.”

The curl of his long fingers brushing up against the soft, spongy part of your walls makes your brain numb. His words hurt. You don’t want them to, you wish they didn’t. “My dumb slut,” he hisses, before the harsh lines of his mouth are buried between your thighs. His tongue sweeps out to deliver a long swipe from his pumping fingers to the top of your slit, before swirling around the nub making you tremble. Your belly tenses, coil in the pit of your stomach growing irritatingly tight as he grinds his face against your pussy, obscenely slurping at the wetness. Your fingers twitch in his fluffy hair, attempting to comb through it best you can as your eyes flutter closed.

“Kuroo, ‘m close. Really close.” You can barely raise your voice enough to make it be heard over his motions, though he looks up at the call of his name. “I want to cum,” you say, “please.” He doesn’t still his fingers, but the twitch in his brows seems to indicate disaster, and you quickly bite your lip to think. “C-Can I?”

“D’you think this is about you, Y/N-chan?” He grins at your blown out expression, relishing in the wide eyes and bobbing lip. He uses his thumb to continue putting pressure on your clit, as he tuts his lips. “I’ll decide if or when you cum, because you’re mine. And when I decide to stuff this cunt you best consider yourself lucky, baby, that my cock is breaking open your perfect, little body.”

“Y-yes, but—” you bring out, ignoring the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You can’t hold it if his fingers only speed up their devouring of your body, mouth wrapping around you to suck hard.

“Don’t cum yet,” he mumbles, going so hard it’s making your vision sway. His tongue and mouth go harder, despite his order. And with mindless pleas you come around his fingers, shutting your eyes tight at the white splotches. Legs flexing and fingers tightening in his hair. You let your head drop as he works you through the feeling, until you’re pushing him off from overstimulation. Your cheeks feel akin to a forest fire when you open your eyes to his huff, tracing the lines of the hardwood floor under your feet. When he pulls his fingers out of you, you can feel some of the slick drip down your thighs and you instantly burn brighter.

But you don’t get to think about it, because Kuroo is straightening up before you, back to his overwhelming posture above you. He stares at you for a moment, before he leans in. Out of instinct, you lean back, away from his face when he wipes it. The glint in his eyes is a scorch mark on your sanity, his face so close to yours. “Can’t you listen to what I say, or are you just that cockhungry and stupid?” Your head is shaking side to side before you can stop it, hoping that you’ll be released soon. But you said you’d help him and if you don’t, Kuroo might hate you. You don’t think you could handle that. Rejection would’ve been better, after all. “Get on your knees and make it up to me.”

You choke back a sob at the order, looking up at him with big eyes again. You don’t want to, you don’t want to sit on the cold floor of the locker room where teenage boys drag their sweaty bodies— Kuroo seems to soften slightly at your expression, lowering his palm to your crown to pat your head, gently brushing over your temple. “You’re my biggest fan, aren’t you?” The low rumble of his voice right next to your face, his warm body so close and the curl of his pretty lips, everything makes you so docile. Dreamlike. “You’re really helping me so much,” he coos, and before you know it his mouth is on yours. His mouth… is on yours. And he tastes like you, and he’s kissing you. You freeze, not stopping him as he grabs your hands and loops them around his neck, his own picking you up to melt into an embrace.

Like two lovers in a painting, he claims your mouth with his tongue and curls your feeble body into him. So strong, with hard lines of his body that make your heart swell under your ribs. His hand on your thigh, the other on your neck, he kisses you and you think the stars might be exploding around you. He pulls back for a moment enough to breathe, before peppering another few kisses on your agape lips until you could turn black and blue from the bruising weight of your adoration. Kuroo brushes your hair away as you look at him, chest heaving against his each swell of your lungs. He starts peeling his lanky body away from you. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought that you were my biggest fan, but if you don’t—”

“No, I am!” you squeak, grabbing onto his jersey to keep his warmth close.

The noirette gives a faint smile, shaking his head. You don’t stop to question him acting so different from before, since your greedy brain clings to every word. “It’s okay,” he mumbles, “I’m used to being taken advantage of by girls.” His eyes shift to the side, lips dropping into a downturn. “They tell me how much they care about me so that I’ll have them, then leave me. I know my teammates are always the favorites anyway. So I understand that you don’t want to do anything more, it’s okay.”

“No Tetsuro, I want to, I swear!” you blurt out, grabbing his large hand despite the jitters in your system. He gives you a slight raise of his eyebrow. “I want to— s-suck you off.”

He chuckles, gaining back some of the brightness to his eyes. “You can’t even say it without stuttering.” The hand on your neck slides to your shoulder, slowly pushing you toward the ground. You hesitate for another moment, before dropping to your knees when the pressure becomes too heavy. When you’re eye level with his shorts, you swallow, bringing up your hands. The fabric is pulled taunt, showing off your effect on him. Ever so slowly, you pull the elastic of the red shorts down, taking his boxers with them in the process. You push them down until his hard cock is freed, curving up towards his belly and twitching with anticipation. Kuroo just bites his lip when you look up at him. “Give it your best shot, baby.”

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, tip glistening with precum. You slowly start moving your hand down his length, but you’re clearly not going fast enough because his hand is back in your hair, yanking you closer to his dick this time. He presses the tip to your lips, and you whimper out as you open your mouth. He’s quick to grab hold of himself to push inside, too quick and stretching you painfully. He’s big and wide and you immediately know you’ll ache once this is done. But as he starts working himself deeper, your eyes fluttering at the feeling and focusing on not choking, he makes pretty grunts that you tell yourself make this worth it. He reaches the back of your throat with plenty to spare, and you bring your hand up to hold yourself on his thigh. It stings.

But he doesn’t stop, even when you whimper around him and push at his leg. “Take it all the way,” he grunts, cocking his head back. The noises you make only make him more vocal, but you’re fighting through the feeling of panic in your chest. Each time he pulls back more saliva messes up your face, keeping Kuroo’s attention on the pretty way you take him. “You think you deserve my attention? My dumb, useless little bitch wants my approval?” He grunts when he hits the back of your throat again. “Because if you can’t even take my cock in your mouth without drooling all over yourself, I don’t think you do deserve it.” He slows his hips when you make a throaty sound, fingers tangled tight in your hair as he pushes in until your nose is pressed to his skin, before letting you back. You gasp for air when you’re finally let up, holding a sob that threatens to crawl out of your throat.

“Kuroo, I can’t,” you bring out, wiping your fingers under your eyes to get rid of any tears, but he doesn’t let go. Your voice is already raspy, grating against your tender throat.

“Yes you can, you’re doing well.” He pushes his cock back to your lips and though you’re more prepared for it this time you’re still shocked by how big he feels. Spit seeps out along the edges of your mouth, tongue being pushed down and your lungs struggling. He moves your head up and down his cock over and over, barely leaving you enough time to take a couple deep breaths. He slowly starts fucking your face when the tears spill over your cheeks and clump your lashes, hissing when you gag on him. “That’s how you suck a cock, idiot. Can’t do anything right without my help, can you?” His words just make you cry more. He bruises your throat until you can’t take any more, pulling out of his grip despite the pain and falling back onto your butt.

“Kuroo,” you cry out, losing control over your own tears. Your voice sounds double, like it’s been split in two. “I don’t like this.” A little squeak falls from your lips, airways painful and ragged. “I want—,” this time you can’t hold back the sob, “I want you to be nice to me.” You sound so pitiful, even to your own ears. You’re crying. But the man you’ve looked up to for so long is calling you all these names, making you feel so dumb. Are you really that dumb for liking him, supporting him, being his fan? “I don’t wanna do any more.” Tears are flowing, wet and warm down your cheeks and neck. Stop, stop crying. You reach a hand up to smear them away, but in their place new ones still come. “Please, I wanna go home.”

“Shh, shhhh,” he hushes, petting the top of your head like you’re a well-behaving pup, and you hate how you lean into it. The idea of yourself makes you sick to your stomach. Why are you even letting him walk all over you like this? Is this really the amount of self respect you have? Kuroo peers down at you between his legs. “You’re doing so well for me. You’re the best fan I could ask for. I’m sure you can take a bit more.”

“No,” you squeak when he reaches for your face again, “it hurts and I don’t like it.”

Kuroo stills. Regards you with a long, drawn-out breath, before humming in what you pray is understanding. “Alright,” he helps you up from the floor, steadying you in his arms and moving you both to one of the benches instead. “I wouldn’t want to hurt my number one fan, would I?” He sits down on the bench first, pulling you to sit on his thighs facing him. You wipe the mess of tears and saliva away as best you can, watching as Kuroo slides you closer to him without a care in the world. And you want to be mad, you want to push off him and do anything other than sit here and take it, but you can’t. You can’t, because you’re weak. You can’t, because you’re an idiot fangirl, and he’s been everything you’ve wanted since you were thirteen.

“Push your legs together,” he orders, squishing your thighs and reaching down to slip his cock in between them. He fucks your legs with the last of his restraint, pace from fast to punishing, kneading the doughy expanse between his fingers and pressing his forehead to your shoulder. You can feel the warmth of his breath, the shudder down his spine and the tensing of his legs below you, but you don’t process it. Everything feels far away. And then he calls out your name, and cums on your thighs, spilling white all over your panties and skin. He kisses your neck, and your lips after that. And you just stare at the tiles of the boys room showers before he slides you off of him.

Your legs tremble. He quickly uses a towel to clean himself up before tucking himself back in, and smiles down at you. “Thank you so much, baby, that was perfect.” He leans down to press a kiss to your temple as he hands you the towel. “Clean up?” The fluffy towel with the red cat embroidered on it is stained with the cum you clean off yourself, as tears roll down your face. You loved him so much, but now you just hate him. Embarrassed, hurt, useless. Kuroo’s bright face as he talks is another slap in yours. “Lighten up, I’ll lock up the gym for you, okay?” He smiles when you lift your eyes to his figure in the doorway, your crumpled skirt bunched in your hand. “And don’t even worry about it, I’ll walk you home. It’s the least I could do for my fan.”

It is the least he could do.

You nod and put up your most convincing smile.

///

thank you so so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed. did this have to be so long? probably not. did i make it that long anyway? yes. mean kuroo will live rent free in my brain for the coming six months.

[jjungkooksthighs]

I was re-reading COC these days and I just noticed something....In the story you have mentioned that jungkook is the pack leader's son so wouldn't have his parents come to the offering ceremony? and if they did why didn't jungkook's father scolded/punished jungkook for breaking the rules sice he met y/n before the offering ceremony?🤔 or was y/n's grandmother able to persuade them? I feel like you have kept jungkook's past and his relations mystery for a reason 😐

yk I feel like such a dummy for noticing this now but anyways-

:) You caught that, huh? Good job, little one. Jungkook's lineage, despite him being a purebred alpha, has been kept under wraps for a reason. You will see why later on. :)

You ask why you haven't seen his father (or other family) during the Offering or even before and my answer to you is this: The rules of the wolves are absolute, but there are a few caveats. This means that while they hold to many of those rulings, there are some instances (though very rare) where they can be broken.

Take, for example, Reader and Alpha Jungkook. They seem to be-according to the story up this point- soulmates bound by fate. Certain things have been granted to them to declare this binding.

Read this excerpt in particular: The word has always been held close your heart in the romantic radiance of it, for it had been said that a bond unlike any other in the lupine world burgeoned inside two destined mates of the moon’s selection among the abilities that allow such a pair to share thoughts and feelings with one another telepathically across insurmountable distances in addition to each wolf becoming stronger where the alpha would gain physical strength while the omega would be granted bolstered mental fortitude.

Beyond that, the wolf’s kiss could cure their mate of any ailment or injury in the profound love that the very essences of each kindred spirit were vested with as they longed ardently to remain together forever and always.

You will notice that, in the last chapter, Jungkook's eye color changed to that of Y'N's where Y/N, for a moment, had enough strength to overpower an alpha as her eyes, too, changed to the color of her mate.

That is the gift of sight and you would do well to remember that that is one of the gifts granted to soulmates.

I bring all this up because there has not been a pair of soulmates for thousands of years and so, for the first time in a very long while, these wolves are experiencing something they have only ever heard about in history books.

Recall that this is what Y/N's grandmother says about Reader and Jungkook:

Blood rushes to your cheeks as you blurt, “Grandmother, I-I can explain.”

She holds up a hand and shakes her head as she titters, “There is no need, dearest. Neither of you could possibly stand to be kept apart with how strong the pull between you is. In old times, an alpha would shed the blood of any that stood in the way of his attempts to get to his soulmate without hesitation,” she stands back, your alpha’s watchful, searching irises set on you and warmth floods you at the sight of him and when she glances between the two of you to add, “to his fated she-wolf.”

There’s a low gnarl in the distance when the elder who had been sauntering along the line of omegas steps around the side of your grandmother to hide you from your alpha’s vision. Your grandmother, as lead elder, only has to put a hand on the other woman’s shoulder and an expression of silent acknowledgement crosses both women’s faces as the low sound grows louder and it only stops when the woman who had been chanting to the others among your line of omegas moves away.

Hm...interesting. In any case, Jungkook has not yet gotten in trouble because of two things:

1) Y/N's grandmother is lead elder and so she has final say in all matters regarding the codes and rules that guide the wolves. She recognizes that Jungkook is Y/N's soulmate and so she has decided to support them given her ties to the Jeon family and to her granddaughter.

2) Despite everything that Jungkook has done to his omega (in terms of their frenzied sexual activities with one another) he has not broken the most important rule of all: that all unmated/newly presented omegas are to be unbitten and unknotted and in a virginal state before they are claimed and chosen by an alpha. Because he has not actually bitten (and by doing so, marking and claiming) her, he cannot be tried for breaking any rule. Nor has he penetrated her (with his member, that is, but who's keeping tabs?)