#i could get a salad but the cross contact is probably bad

[winterandwords]

WIP Wednesday

@oh-no-another-idea tagged me in this one a while back. Thank you, friend!

Look at me doing a tag on the write day twice in one week. Since WIP Wednesday seems to be whatever you want to make it, I'm going to talk about an aspect of Project Aria that I'm really enjoying and then share a little snippet that shows it in action.

Bridge From Ashes (set in the same world) was Rafe's story from his perspective. He's very much about the "I'm a bad person who does bad things. I hate everyone and everyone hates me" traumatised sad boy feels, but there are moments throughout the book that show him doing genuinely kind things and other people clearly seeing him as a safe person. He doesn't acknowledge it because it doesn't even cross his mind that be might be perceived as anything remotely positive outside of being vaguely useful.

In Project Aria, we meet him again but from Aria's perspective. She immediately feels safe and comfortable with him. She notices that he has difficulty with eye contact, whereas he doesn't admit that to himself and sees it as "Fuck it, I'm not looking at people". She understands his discomfort around talking to himself as a trauma response, but he sees it as "I don't care enough about anyone to get close to them". She also sees his attempts to be reassuring and gentle as a very damaged person doing their best, whereas he sees those attempts as a bad person doing an impression of a slightly less bad person.

They're both fucked up by the same system, but from opposite sides. They've both spent their whole lives feeling bad, dangerous and unacceptable. They're both reckless adrenaline junkies with violent tendencies who struggle with emotional connection and have experienced complete destruction of bodily autonomy.

So... ✨PLATONIC SOULMATES VIBES✨ I didn't intend this to be such a strong theme of Project Aria, but that's how it's decided to go.

"[....] So I don't think you're fragile and I'm not scared of breaking you. I don't think I could break you if I tried. But I don't want to hurt you worse, because I know how hurt you've already been." And I can't speak. I want to, but all the words get stuck in my throat behind a whole pile of shitty memories that still know how to choke me and probably always will. I swallow hard to bury it all and finally I manage a whispered, "Thank you." He puts his hand on the couch next to me. Not touching me, but near enough that I can tell it's meant to be some kind of comfort. "For not wanting to hurt you?" I set my hand next to his with an empty space that may as well be a mile between our fingers, but I think he might understand that this is closer than I usually get. "For knowing. And for saying it out loud. And for it meaning something."

I'm leaving this as an open tag for anyone who wants to share something about their WIP today, and also tagging a few people who I think might be interested in this aspect of the story just so share it with them. Obvs feel free to do the tag as well if you want 💜

@thegreatobsesso @kaiusvnoir @indecentpause @pertinax--loculos @i-can-even-burn-salad @drippingmoon @words-after-midnight @diphthongsfordays @ezestreet @nanashi23 @manathen @elbritch-kit

#writeblr tags #wip wednesday #project aria #bridge from ashes

[ttohrus]

I had to stop eating gluten like 2 yrs ago and you know what I miss most???

Subway.

#intense. subway. cravings. #i could get a salad but the cross contact is probably bad #sometimes i want to have a weekend of gluten where i just wreck my body and deal with the consequences #keep myself humble #txtpost

[oreomonsterhunter]

“I’m not wearing my sexy underwear tonight”

Pairing: Johnny x reader (or OC)

Word Count: 3988

Genre: fluff, not smut but they both really wanna toe the line

Warnings: language, some sexy kisses (cover your eyes kids)

Summary: Johnny takes his best friend on their first date

A/N: this has absolutely morphed into a long term couple, because apparently Princess has taken the reins 😂 if you like this, check out the rest of their story so far on my masterlist!

You were nervous.  Friends with Johnny since diapers, and somehow you were nervous to meet him in five minutes.  You glanced at the time—make that four minutes.

Pacing back and forth in front of the door, you smoothed down your dress again.  All Johnny had told you was to dress up.  He might be a fashion king, but he wasn’t exactly the best at sharing details.  You’d teetered between twenty different outfits before finally settling on a happy medium.  Couldn’t show up to a museum in an evening gown.  Well, you supposed you could, if you even owned one.  So the little black dress at the back of your closet was the final choice.  Safe enough for just about every venue, since Johnny hadn’t told you where your date would be.

You sucked in a breath, fighting against the nerves tight in your stomach.  Your first date, oh my gosh.  How were you supposed to date Johnny?  You’d done practically everything together already, what made this different from going to the movies together last week?  Aside from the obvious—last week, you didn’t know what Johnny’s lips felt like on yours.

Then you groaned at your sudden realization.  Jeez, you couldn’t do anything right in this relationship with Johnny.  You were about to have your first date but you’d already had a hot and heavy makeout session at an unmentionable hour of the morning.  So much for “will I kiss him afterwards?”  Dating for five seconds, and everything was already out of order.  You wanted to scream, but before your thoughts could really start spiraling, you heard a knock at the door.

You were sweating, oh gosh.  Did you need to reapply deodorant?  You froze, staring at nothing.  Until another knock sounded, this time accompanied by Johnny’s familiar voice, “Yo, are you ready to go?”

You sagged in relief.  Nothing else would have snapped you out of the nervous cycle better than Johnny being….well, Johnny.  And when you finally convinced yourself to open the door, the sight of his easy smile was enough for yours to appear, too.

“Well, uh, hi,” he stuttered, making you giggle.

You slipped on your shoes, grabbed a small purse, and locked the door behind you.  Then you linked arms with Johnny, “Alright, where to, mystery man?  You haven’t told me anything.”

“That’s mostly because I didn’t figure anything out until today.”

Biting your lip to hold back a giggle, you tugged him down the hallway.  “No wonder you didn’t share much detail.  I should’ve known.”

Johnny tightened his grip on you when you stepped out of the elevator, leading you to the car.  He didn’t say much, which was a bit out of character.  Frowning up at him, you tried to meet his gaze.  He finally looked down at you when he opened the passenger door for you to get in.  “You, uh, you look really nice tonight.”

A small smile bloomed, “Not looking so bad yourself, hot stuff.”

* * * * *

Apparently Johnny had picked out a restaurant for dinner.  A fancy restaurant.  You read through the list of entrees with a barely-concealed grimace.  “Do you know what any of these words mean?” you asked him.

Johnny beamed at you, “Nope, that’s half the fun.”

A waiter walked by with a tray destined for another table, and you both gaped at the miniscule portion sizes.  “Those look like appetizers,” Johnny said, goggling at the tiny salad. “Maybe I can order several steaks. I’d need about five of them.” He started eyeing the menu again.

“As long as you’re picking up the tab,” you joked.

“Oh, I thought you were,” he said, all wide eyed innocence.  You smacked his arm with your menu, fighting a grin at his usual antics.  The couple at the next table shot you a look, and you hunched back in your seat.

“Don’t worry, I’m paying.  Order whatever you’d like,” Johnny said, still puzzling over the ridiculous dinner options.

You frowned, reaching for your water.  But shoot, it probably cost five bucks for tap, you thought with no small amount of horror.  You set it back down before you drained more of Johnny’s wallet.

After a few more minutes of torturous silence, trying not to fidget too much, you leaned forward.  “Do we even have a waiter?”

Johnny jerked upright, looking over his shoulder at the man in question.  “I don’t know?”

“I’ve been trying to make eye contact with the staff for five minutes and they’re all ignoring me.”

Johnny blinked at you.  “Wait, are you ready to order?”

“No, I wanna ask if they charge for water.”

“No one charges for water,” he chortled.

“I bet it’s five bucks a glass,” you said, crossing your arms.

Now Johnny was really laughing, and half the restaurant was staring at your table.  “Only if it’s imported from the crystal springs of Iceland,” he said, grinning.

“Wait, really?”

“Hell if I know,” Johnny said, making you snort some of your water.  You shrunk down in your chair, hiding your red face while he kept laughing.

“I don’t know this man,” you said to the people at the next table. They stared at you, whispering among themselves.  Pouting, you turned back to Johnny.  “I can’t believe you booked a table here,” you cocked an eyebrow at him.  “I thought we were burger joint people, not escargot snobs.”

“Do you really not wanna eat here?” he asked, propping his elbows on the table.

You opened your mouth to respond, but your waiter finally showed up to take your order.  “Good evening, can I interest you in anything else to drink?”

“Any Icelandic sparkling water?”  Now Johnny was the one snorting inelegantly.

The waiter laughed, despite not knowing the joke.  “Can I interest you in a bottle of red?  You seem like a red wine woman.”

You smiled politely, reaching for the wine list when he offered it to you.  “Sure, I’ll take a look.”

The waiter smirked, eyes landing on you.  “I’ll have to card you, miss.”

Your brows raised, but you complied, digging out your wallet.  Across the table, Johnny cleared his throat, “Do I look like a red wine guy?”  But the waiter barely glanced at him before his eyes were back on you.

“Your photo doesn’t do you justice,” the waiter commented, handing your ID back.

“No one looks good in those pictures,” you chuckled.

“I beg to differ,” he said, then nodded at the wine list.  “What can I get you?”

You glanced over at Johnny, who was fidgeting enough to shake the table.  Curious.  “What do you recommend?” you asked, twirling a strand of hair around one finger.

“You might be interested in one of our finer vintages,” he began, leaning over your shoulder to point out a few wines on the list.  You heard a subtle sound, and out of the corner of your eye, saw Johnny’s fingers rapping the table at a rapidly increasing pace.  You bit your lip, focusing on the wines again, but not before adding a little more fuel to the fire.  Time to test your theory.  You crossed your legs, brushing one foot up Johnny’s calf in the process.  The man jumped as if electrocuted, his knees banging into the underside of the table.

“How about this one?” you asked innocently, looking up at the waiter again.

“A lovely choice, though it is on the higher range, so I’m not sure—”

“We’ll take it,” Johnny announced, plucking the wine list from your fingers and shoving it at the waiter.

You raised an eyebrow, but the waiter simply smiled at you, apparently unbothered by growly Johnny.  “I’ll bring that right out for you,” he said, taking the wine menu and leaving you to suffer over dinner options.

Johnny cleared his throat, leaning towards you again.  “That waiter’s a bit weird, huh?” he asked, watching the man walk away.  “He didn’t even ask what I wanted.”

You donned your best sparkly-eyed expression, “But he’s being so friendly!  He really deserves a nice tip, he had some helpful suggestions.”

Johnny frowned, “He’s obviously flirting with you.”

“No way,” you laughed, waving him off.

Johnny rolled his eyes, “Trust me.  He’s flirting with you more than I am, and I’m the one taking you on a date.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table.  “Maybe you should start flirting with me some more, then.”

Johnny sent you an indecipherable look.  You wondered if your teasing had worked.  But Johnny seemed to have calmed down some, now that the helpful waiter was out of sight.  

You shrugged, sitting back in your chair.  You changed the subject, giving the man a break.  “Seriously, we don’t need to spend this much on dinner.  I feel bad.”

“I thought you’d like this place,” Johnny said, brows furrowing.

“I will literally go anywhere with you, it doesn’t matter, I just….I dunno, I feel like I don’t fit in here.”  You weren’t quite sure how to express your fear that people would call you a gold-digger or something, only dating Johnny now that he’d achieved success.  Even if the two of you knew better, it still made your stomach twist.  And not in the nice way it did while watching Johnny’s hands playing with his water glass.  Shoot, shoot, shoot, now his fingers were wet from the condensation.  You really didn’t need to know what that looked like.  Had his hands always been that large?  You shifted in your seat.

Johnny’s mouth twisted in a wry smile, “I don’t know if either of us really fit in with the rich old person vibe, but I heard the food is good.”

I’d rather have a bite of you, you thought to yourself, twisting the napkin in your lap.  You’d never seen him in a suit before.  Or at least, not in person.

Johnny coughed suddenly, staring at you with wide eyes.  “What?”

Oh shit, did you say that out loud?  Your cheeks burned.  “Um, I’d be, uh,” you stuttered, trying to cover your mistake, all confidence extinguished.  “We could get burgers, or something.”

Johnny sat back in his chair, eyes on yours.  He smirked, and you wanted to disappear into a hole in the ground.  Oh no, he definitely heard you.

“As long as I get to keep watching you,” Johnny said, voice low.  “You really are beautiful, not just tonight.  Every night.”

You opened your mouth, not sure what to say, but knowing that you wanted Johnny to keep looking at you like that.  Like you were the main course.  “Johnny, I—”

“Your wine, miss,” the waiter had returned.  You bit back a frown, knowing he was just doing his job.  But he seriously couldn’t have waited another minute?

“Thank you,” you murmured, sampling the first sip before allowing the waiter to pour both glasses.

“Can I interest you in any appetizers?” he asked, pouring Johnny’s wine.

You blinked, having forgotten the menu entirely.  Across the table, Johnny pulled out the menu, but before he could point anything out, the waiter was hovering over your shoulder.  “Might I recommend the cheese board?  It will pair beautifully with this bottle.”

“Might I tell you my order?” Johnny said.  His smile was sharper than before.  You might have teased him some more, but you got a bit distracted by Johnny’s jawline as he turned to speak to the waiter.  Honestly, you were having trouble tearing your eyes away from him all night.  It felt like seeing him for the first time, and in a way, you supposed you were.  You’d always known Johnny was attractive, since the time all boys started to look cute.  You’d just never let yourself think about it too much.  Best friend mental boundaries and all that.

Maybe if Johnny hadn’t said anything on that night, you wouldn’t have ever seen him like this.  You wouldn’t have allowed yourself to admire the column of his neck, or his long fingers as they unbuttoned the top of his shirt.  It would’ve been you and your stupid butterflies trapped in the friend zone forever.

Thoroughly distracted now, you bit your lip as you wondered what Johnny’s neck would look like with some new decorations.

“You realize they sell food here, right?  You don’t have to look at me like I’m an appetizer,” Johnny whispered across the table dramatically.  You startled, looking around, but the waiter had left at some point during your daydream.  Oh gosh, did you drool?  You pressed the back of your hand to your face discreetly, relieved to find nothing of the sort.

Then your brain caught up to Johnny, and you looked up at him with a smirk, “You’re too big to be an appetizer.”

Johnny choked on a laugh, covering his mouth to hide his smile when the other diners looked your way.  When he appeared to have himself under control again, he eyed you from head to toe—or at least what he could see from across the table.  He shot you a grin, “You’ll find out soon enough, won’t you?”

You watched him through your lashes, not quite sure what to make of him anymore.  You’d had your fair share of fun with other guys, but never in a million years had you imagined flirting with Johnny so blatantly.  Let alone in a fancy five star restaurant like this.

A sudden presence at your side startled you, and you jumped a little when the waiter reached over your shoulder to set a dish down.  “Sorry for startling you,” he murmured, moving away slightly, but not before brushing your shoulder in apology.  “Should I leave you with this for now, or are you ready to order?”

Johnny’s eyes flashed, and you bit back a curse at the waiter’s truly stellar ability to interrupt.  “We’re fine, thank you,” you said, unable to stop watching Johnny.  Or his hand, slowly tightening into a fist on top of the table.

“Would you like to hear the specials tonight?”

You donned a polite smile, nodding at the waiter to continue.  While he read down the list of fancy-sounding entrées, you turned your smile on Johnny, who was vibrating in his seat again.  You could’ve sworn your water glasses were shaking, and you held back a giggle.  You uncrossed and recrossed your legs, extra slowly to make sure he got the message when you “accidentally” brushed his knee this time.  The vibrations stopped, and his eyes burned into you.

“Thank you, we’ll keep looking over the menu,” Johnny interrupted the waiter, his voice deeper than before.  Your smile only grew.

Once the waiter was out of earshot, you leaned in.  “Can we leave?  I can’t even kiss you here.”

“Yep, yes, absolutely,” Johnny said, standing up the second the words were out of your mouth.  He nearly upended the table, making you snort.  “Right now,” he nodded, striding for the exit.

You scrambled out of your chair, rushing after him.  “Johnny,” you hissed, grabbing his sleeve.  “We didn’t pay yet.”

He came to a halt in the hallway, and you nearly ran into his back.  Then Johnny turned around, and you became very aware of the semi-secluded location as he moved closer.  You squeaked out a panicked, “Not here!”  You backed away until he finally reached out, one hand circling your waist to reel you in.

Johnny’s eyes moved over your shoulder, then back to yours.  He smirked, leaning in close enough for you to feel his lips brushing your cheek as he murmured, “Tell the valet to get the car.  I’ll grab the wine.”

You could’ve sworn you felt his hand brush down your back, lower.  Your cheeks burned hotter.  But when you turned, Johnny’s broad shoulders were disappearing around the corner, and the waiter was hurrying in the opposite direction.

* * * * *

You ended up ditching the car and walking around the neighborhood.  You only looked slightly out of place with your high heels and makeup when you ended up at a tteokbokki joint.  You’d played rock paper scissors between that and burgers, and Johnny won, as usual.

After dinner, you were reasonably close to your apartment, so Johnny offered to walk you home. It felt like another one of your late-night adventures, except you were usually in sneakers. When your feet got tired, you stopped in the middle of the block to take off the killer heels, sighing in relief.  You slung the straps over your wrist, prepared to keep trudging along, when Johnny swooped in.  One second, you were on the ground, the next, you were admiring the top view of Johnny’s ass from where you were dangling over his shoulder.

“Johnny, what the fuck,” you asked breathlessly, dying of laughter.  And from his shoulder digging into your diaphragm.

“Are you crazy?  You could cut your feet open,” he scolded you.

“At least there’s a nice view,” you sighed, reaching down to pat his butt.

Johnny put a little bounce in his next step, and you grunted at the impact.  You could practically feel his smug little grin.  “Hands off the merchandise.”

“How is that fair?  You totally copped a feel back at the restaurant.”

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

“Bull,” you said.  “You went all ‘alpha male’ with that nice waiter.”

Johnny huffed, “I wasn’t jealous.”

You grinned in victory.  “I never said you were, mister offering-up-information.  Now put me down, you caveman.”

Johnny’s grip on your thighs loosened, and his hands slid up to your waist, holding you tightly as he helped you back down.  You froze for a second when your feet hit the ground, not expecting to be face-to-face with him so suddenly.  “Wait right there,” Johnny said firmly, finally releasing your waist.

You blinked at him in confusion, watching as he slid his suit jacket off.  Your eyes widened when he reached for you, but it was only to wrap the jacket around your waist, tying the sleeves into a knot to hold it in place.

“There,” Johnny said, nodding at his handiwork.  Then he turned, crouching down slightly.  “Alright, princess, hop on.”

You beamed at him, not that he could see it.  It wouldn’t be a walk with Johnny if he didn’t end up carrying you at the end of the night, you chuckled to yourself.  You were fiercely grateful to Johnny for thinking of his jacket—you weren’t quite sure how long your skirt was, now that you were wrapped around him like a koala.

“Thanks, Johnny,” you mumbled, burying your face in his neck.  “You’re the bestest.”  You left a smacking kiss on his cheek, and he laughed, tightening his hold on your legs.

Finally, you arrived at your apartment building.  You slid your heels back on, balancing with one hand on Johnny’s arm.  “I’ll walk you up,” he said once you straightened.

But when you got to your door, you hesitated, unsure what to say.  Was this the part where you kissed him goodnight?  You were torn, so at odds with the way the night resembled your old friend dates, only now things were different.  What were you supposed to do?

“So,” Johnny drawled, leaning against the wall.  “Where’s my tip?”

You stared at him, incredulous.  “Your tip?” you repeated.

“Johnny’s chauffeur service isn’t free,” he said.  “And if I remember correctly, you still owe me for last time.”

You cocked a hip, smirking slightly.  “Any preferred payment methods?”

Johnny blew you an air kiss, and you made a show of catching it.  “I take cash or card,” he informed you.

“What a shame,” you murmured, dropping your purse in front of the door.  “I seem to have lost my wallet.”

He watched you carefully, barely blinking as you approached him, one slow step at a time.  “Apps?”

You stopped mere inches away, “Not a single one.”

He swallowed, and your eyes tracked the movement.  Your daydream from before came back with a vengeance—you bit your lip at the thought of marking him up.  Then you leaned in, resting one hand on his chest.  His heart pounded through the thin dress shirt.

“Will this do?” you asked, lips just barely brushing his.  Nothing else touched, aside from your fingertips on his sternum, but you could’ve sworn you felt him shiver.

Oh so slowly, Johnny reached out, hands ghosting over your hips.  You smiled against him, then melded your lips to his, bypassing whatever hesitations were holding you back.  What was the worst that could happen?

You felt Johnny teasing at the seam of your lips and gratefully opened for him.  He inhaled sharply when you inched forward, your chest brushing his.  You couldn’t hear anything but your heart racing.  And when his fingers dug into your hips, you fell into the kiss.  He pulled you in like a magnet until every part of you aligned with him.  Your limbs felt molten, burning at the contact.

Johnny pulled away, but not for long.  You gasped for air as his lips traced over your jawline, making their way to the delicate skin beneath your ear.  He pressed hot kisses there until your neck arched back obediently.  And when he nipped at your throat, you whimpered.  Thoughtlessly, your hips rocked forward.  Johnny gave voice to a deep groan, so you did it again.

Growling lightly, Johnny curled an arm around your waist to pull you harder against him.  All of the breath left your body at the feel of his growing hardness against your belly.  You fisted your hands in his collar, tugging him away from your neck.  You caught a glimpse of his kiss-swollen lips and blown out pupils, then dove back in for more.

While your mouth danced with his, your hands dragged southward.  Your fingernails caught on a button or two as you traced the muscle beneath.  Now Johnny’s hips were bucking into yours.  You grinned savagely into the kiss.  You’d just reached his belt when Johnny ripped his mouth away from yours.  “Woah, woah,” he gasped.  “Slow down, there.”

You panted for air, “What’s wrong?”

Both of you were breathing hard, and you were having a hard time ignoring the elephant in the room.  Er, hallway.  “You’re not trying to take advantage of me on the first date, are you?” Johnny asked with a breathy chuckle.

You laughed softly, tilting your chin back to get a good look at him.  “Is it really taking advantage if you want it, too?”  You smirked at him, rolling your hips forward to emphasize your point.

He watched you through half-lidded eyes, and you could’ve sworn you felt him throb.  But Johnny, ever the gentleman, smoothed his hand down your back, resting his head back against the wall rather than picking up where you left off.  “Cut me some slack, I’m not wearing my sexy underwear tonight,” he said with a crooked smile.

Oh no, now you had heart eyes for the man.  You pecked his chin to hide your cheesy grin.  “You let me know when you are, hmm?” you hummed, placing another kiss to the base of his throat.

“Princess, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for you.”

You giggled, leaning back in his arms.  “Am I so scary?”

Johnny sobered, meeting your gaze.  “I just don’t want to mess anything up.  Not with you.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” you smiled at him.  “I trust you too much.”

“Oh yeah?  You still haven’t told me what you wished for on your fourteenth birthday,” Johnny taunted.

You tilted your head, thinking back.  “I didn’t tell you because I was hopelessly in love with you at the time,” you confessed.  “Now that’s out in the open, I guess you can know.”

Johnny blinked, taken aback.  “Even then?”

“Johnny, I think I’ve loved you forever,” you said, staring up at him.  “So of course I wished for the same thing every year.”

“What was it?”

Your smile widened, “Well, it already came true.  You said it, too.”

* * * * *

Masterlist

#johnny fluff #johnny imagines #johnny scenarios #johnny fanfic #johnny x reader #johnny suh fluff #johnny suh x reader #johnny suh imagines #johnny suh fanfic #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct fanfic #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 fic

[doeilovr]

DREAMING

-> Pairing: Na Jaemin x Reader

-> Genre: Angst, a bit of fluff

-> Warnings: mentions of car accident and amnesia, smoking, swearing, mentions hospital

-> Words count: 3.5k

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Jaemin opened his eyes, the fluorescent light making his head hurt a bit. He looked around, mouth dry and mind blank. Jaemin’s eyes were still adjusting to the light, when he suddenly felt a hand on top of his.

Jaemin’s eyes wandered to your sleeping figure, head resting on the bed, while your hands were covering his gently. He froze, studying you with furrowed brows.

You moved in the probably uncomfortable position you were in, lifting your head to meet Jaemin’s eyes. “Hey”, you gently said, almost in a whisper and with a warm smile on your lips.

“You slept here again”, Jaemin stated, trying his best to smile back at you. You shrugged, properly sitting up in the chair, hands not leaving Jaemin’s.

Jaemin studied you, his eyes wandering between yours and your warm hands.

Why, just why was it so hard to remember. Jaemin wished he could remember you the way you remember him. He wished he could give back the love that radiated from your eyes.

You chuckled awkwardly, pulling your hands back to fix your hair and shirt. “So”, you mumbled, “I hope you atleast slept well?”

Jaemin smiled, seeing your awkward expression. “Like a stone”, he nodded, “why, did I often sleep unwell?” He was suddenly curious, wondering what else you knew about him that he didn’t.

You bit your lip, “actually, you just stayed up late often, working.” Jaemin was a photographer, that he remembered, but everything after one year ago was erased from his memory.

Which was a lot, since he had met you a year ago. You immediately fell for each other the moment his eyes found yours. You met in a park at midnight, both of you in need of a walk and some fresh air.

Somehow you both stopped by a busker that night, Jaemin being attracted by the voice of the singer performing in the almost empty riverside park and you overhearing the words of comfort hiding in his lyrics.

You and Jaemin had talked until the early morning, just sitting by the river. And afterwards you had both left, feeling happy until you realized you hadn’t even exchanged numbers.

Neither of you believed in fate, yet somehow you crossed paths only a week later in Japan. Both volunteering for the same organization. You couldn’t believe your luck, neither did Jaemin.

Jaemin didn’t waste any time after that and asked you out a few days later when you were both back home again. You were young, but every step with Jaemin felt just right.

The car accident happened so fast, leaving Jaemin with bruises and amnesia. And you with a shattered heart.

He was in the hospital for a whole week now and it was so hard to introduce yourself to him again, as if you didn’t date him for a year already. And having Jaemin constantly look at you like he didn’t promise to be with you forever just a week ago.

But as heartbroken as you felt, you saw how much he tried to remember and make you feel comfortable. You couldn’t help but get yourself together aswell, for the sake of Jaemin and your relationship.

“It’s lunch time”, the door to Jaemin’s private room opened, the male nurse walking in, holding a plate of food and putting it down in front of Jaemin.

“Thank you, Jeno”, you smiled, sitting on the edge of Jaemin’s bed. Jaemin looked between you and the male nurse, wondering if you were friends or something.

“There’s some food for you too, y/n”, Jeno smiled back. “Jaemin, enjoy the lunch!” Jeno patted him on the shoulder slightly, before he turned around to leave again.

You moved a bit closer to Jaemin, preparing the food for him and pouring him a glass of water.

“Oh, yummy”, you clapped, eying the food on the yellow tray, “it looks really good.”

Jaemin bit the insides of his cheeks, his eyes on you. “Can- can you help me?”

You stared at him, heart clenching at the sound of his almost helpless voice. “Sure��, you whispered, moving closer once again.

You fed Jaemin in silence for some time, smiling at how much he enjoyed the warm food. “Have some too”, Jaemin suddenly spoke, nudging his head in your direction.

You nodded, taking a bite from the food aswell, not even thinking anything as you ate with the same spoon. “It’s good”, you smiled, covering your full mouth with one hand.

Jaemin chuckled at the sight, “I’m glad.” You continue feeding Jaemin, making sure to also let him have a sip of water in between.

“By the way, the doctor said that maybe you could go home in a few days already. Isn’t that great?” You smiled again, watching carefully not to spill any food.

Jaemin raised his eyebrows at you, swallowing the bite quickly. “Home.. to my family?”

He seemed genuinely confused and you suddenly felt bad, having forgotten for a moment that he didn’t remember everything you shared together.

“We live together. In a small apartment. But I mean if you want to go to your parents’ house instead-“ you shrugged, Jaemin interrupting you quickly.

“No. I want to stay with you.” He nodded, more to himself, eyes staring blankly on the half empty plate in front of him. “Besides, my family’s in Busan. I would have to travel and I don’t want to do that right now.” You only nodded at his words, continuing to eat in silence.

—

On the weekend, the doctors agreed that Jaemin could finally go home. You packed his stuff, while he changed in the bathroom, before the two of you left the hospital, taking a taxi home.

For both you and Jaemin it had been a while since you were last out. Especially Jaemin seemed very careful and almost anxious.

You unlocked the door to your apartment, letting Jaemin go in first. You had asked a friend of yours to come by every couple days to tidy up the space.

Your apartment was small, a bedroom and en suite and a cozy living space. You had no balcony, but access to the rooftop, which was pretty great too.

You were almost a bit frightened, watching Jaemin drop his bag and look around, stopping by the pictures on the bookshelf.

Carefully you approached him, taking a look at the picture in his hands. It was taken in Japan where the two of you met for the second time.

You really liked that picture, both of you doing what you loved the most, helping others. “When was this taken?” Jaemin tilted his head, squinting his eyes a bit as if he tried hard to recall the memories.

“In Japan, a year ago. This was our second time meeting each other”, you explained, Jaemin nodding.

“We met while volunteering?”

You hummed in response, “yeah and we couldn’t believe we had the luck to meet each other again like this.” You couldn’t help but smile a bit.

“Wait, when did we meet the first time then?” Jaemin turned his head to look at you.

“At a park, a couple weeks earlier. We were strangers, but we both stopped to listen to a busker and I don’t know, we were drawn to each other somehow.”

Jaemin smiled a bit, not remembering the feeling, but still knowing what you were talking about. “Kind of romantic that we met again”, he mumbled.

“Yeah”, you giggled, “we stayed there for a few days, helping where we could. We sticked together for the whole time, probably afraid we could lose each other again.”

“And then? Did I ask you out?”

You nodded, meeting Jaemin’s eyes. “Yes, only after we spent a few more nights together. It was kind of cute how quickly you asked me out.”

Jaemin furrowed his brows, “we had a lot to talk about, huh? I mean, is it normal to spend so many nights talking?”

He seemed really confused, but you couldn’t help but laugh, smacking his arm slightly. “I didn’t say we talked”, you added with a cheeky grin.

Jaemin stared at you with wide eyes, suddenly flustered. “Oh”, he only mumbled.

You walked into the kitchen, feeling a bit bad for laughing at him. “Are you hungry, Jaemin? I can make you dinner if you want?”

Jaemin placed the frame back on the shelf, before he walked into the kitchen too, looking around. “I am yes”, he answered, eyes roaming around. “But could I maybe wash up first?”

You turned to face him, standing on the other side of the kitchen island. “Oh my god, sure. Sorry, I hadn’t thought about that.” You scratched your head, feeling a bit awkward.

“It’s fine”, Jaemin bit the inside of his cheeks, “ehm, where was the bathroom again?”

You gestured behind him, “it’s next to the bedroom. You can take a bath if you want. I can cook in the meantime.”

Jaemin nodded. “We have a bathtub?”

“We do”, you smiled, your heart hurting a bit when you remembered how much Jaemin wanted one when you were searching for an apartment together.

“Cool”, Jaemin grinned, “then, I’m gonna take a bath.” He turned around, disappearing in the bathroom. The sound of the water being turned on was heard soon after.

You prepared a simple dinner, consisting of noodles and a salad, while Jaemin washed up. You couldn’t wait to also wash up, rinsing off the smell of the hospital.

“Y/n?”

You turned around, having just poured the sauce over the spaghetti. Jaemin stood in the living room, a towel wrapped around his waist, his wet hair covering his forehead.

“Yes Jaemin?”

“Could you help me with this”, Jaemin held up a fresh bandage, indicating for you to help him with his wounds.

You nodded vigorously, putting the pot in the sink before you walked over to Jaemin, gesturing for him to sit on the bed, since it was more comfortable than the sofa. You kneeled down in front of him.

“I could have done it myself, but-“ Jaemin started. “Don’t worry, I’m happy to help”, you smiled, eyes focused on the bandage he handed you.

You carefully removed the old one from his stomach. The scar underneath looked a lot better already. “I’ll put some ointment on it”, you whispered, one hand moving to hold his waist, to have a steadier hand.

Jaemin hissed at the contact, “your hand is cold.” You looked up to him with apologetic eyes, mumbling a “sorry”.

Jaemin watched you intently, feeling so grateful to have someone by his side. He still wished he could give back the love that he always saw in your eyes.

It really burdened him that he knew barely anything about you or the life you shared.

“I’m sorry”, he suddenly mumbled, not even realizing he had started to cry. “I’m sorry I can’t give you the love you deserve. Or anything at all. I’m sorry that I hurt you so much, I really wish I could remember everything. I really do. I’m just sorry.”

You blinked back tears, your heart clenching at his words. “Dont apologize, Jaemin.” You sat down on the bed, pulling your boyfriend into a hug. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. And you don’t have to be sorry, okay?”

You couldn’t help but also cry, both of you just hugging each other tightly, sharing the same pain. Jaemin pulled back after what seemed like forever, holding your head with both of his hands.

“I’m gonna try my best to be the man you deserve again. I’m gonna go back to be the Jaemin you knew. I’ll try my best”, he promised, thumb brushing over your wet cheek.

You only nodded, overwhelmed by his loving words for you. Jaemin gently placed a kiss on your forehead, drying your tears with his thumb. “It’s gonna be okay”, he whispered, pulling you back into his arms again.

Jaemin’s promise was what gave you hope again. He really tried, learning about himself and you. Trying to be his old self again.

You tried aswell. Feeding him with the information he wanted and being there for him when he needed you.

Nothing could change your love for Jaemin, you felt like it only grew with every day. But you still couldn’t help but wonder if Jaemin even felt the same love for you.

A few days after you had shared these loving words, you and Jaemin sat in bed together. You were reading, while Jaemin looked through albums with pictures he took the past year.

They were mostly of you and the trips you had made together. They were mostly connected with volunteering, which made Jaemin happy. All he ever wanted was everyone around him to be happy.

He found a fairly recent picture, where you two were sitting at lunch. Jaemin couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw himself holding a cigarette.

He gasped, which made you immediately look at him in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I- I smoke?” Jaemin was really shocked about himself. “Am I stupid?”

You wanted to laugh at his cute voice, but you remembered how hard the past few months in your relationship were because he started to change.

“Well you did. Doesen’t mean you still have to”, you shrugged.

Jaemin dropped the album in his lap, turning his head to you. “Any other stupid thing I did that you haven’t told me yet?” His voice got really high in the end, while his eyes only widened.

You bit your lips, a few things coming to your mind. Jaemin’s eyes widened, since it had only been a joke. But you really did seem to have some things to say.

“Actually”, you sighed, putting your book down, “I don’t know why you did all of these things, but at some point you really.. changed. It was only a month ago, when we would start to fight more often. I was really convinced you would leave me, but then-“, you cut yourself off, averting your eyes.

Jaemin tilted his head, “so I was an asshole?”

You looked back at him and couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh. “Jaemin”, you smacked his shoulder playfully.

“Only an idiot would do leave someone like you”, Jaemin mumbled, shaking his head at himself.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, “I mean, you’re still here right.”

“And I always will be”, Jaemin smiled, grabbing your hand and giving it a light squeeze.

At this moment it felt as if the Jaemin you had once met at the park at night sat in front of you again. Not the Jaemin he had turned to before he had the accident, but the Jaemin that looked at you as if you were his whole world.

You unconsciously leaned in closer, Jaemin now only inches away. His expression was of a mixture of fear and adoration.

Jaemin didn’t dare to move or lean in closer, he was scared. Scared he would hurt you again. Panicking, he lowered his head, dodging your kiss. “We should sleep, it’s late”, he mumbled, letting go of your hand and lying down.

You watched him with a sad expression, watched how he shut off just like he did back then. And somehow it hurt even more now. Was it because you had crossed a line? Asking something from Jaemin he wasn’t ready for?

Without another word you put your book aside, lying down aswell and hoping that tomorrow was gonna be better.

—

“Jaemin listen”, your sharp voice cut through the noise of the engine, Jaemin sighed as his grip around the steering wheel tightened.

“I don’t want to talk about it, we’ve had this before”, Jaemin answered, seemingly annoyed.

“There you go again, shutting off whenever I want to talk it out”, you shrugged, staring at Jaemin’s side profile as his eyes were focused on the street.

It was night and you were driving home from dinner. It was an evening he had planned out so well once, your one year anniversary. But the plan he had a few weeks ago just didn’t seem right anymore.

“If you can’t accept me the way I am then maybe we should stop it”, Jaemin suddenly spoke out. You couldn’t believe his words, couldn’t believe that your Jaemin was capable of saying something like this so easily.

“No, that’s wrong. Jaemin, you can’t do that.”

Jaemin let out a short laugh. “See? That’s the problem. You won’t let me do anything. To you I’m so perfect. Perfect Jaemin”, he explained with a loud voice. “But I don’t want to be that anymore.”

A tear rolled down your cheek. “So you say you wanna break up, because you can’t bear me trying to help you.”

“Help?” Jaemin took a quick glance at you, his focus quickly going back to the street. “When did you ever help me, huh?”

“What do you mean? I told you to start taking photography seriously. I told you to stop smoking, so many times. And you told me you were thankful. Was that all for nothing? Was it all just a lie?”

Jaemin was silent, his head spinning. You turned away from him. “You’re such a fucking asshole, Na Jaemin. I can’t believe I spent so much time on you. On loving you”, you muttered.

“What did you just say”, Jaemin sounded surprised, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Just let me out, for God’s sake”, you shouted. Jaemin stepped on the brake, the car coming to a quick halt.

You were about to unbuckle your seat belt, taking one last look at Jaemin. He was staring at you, as hurt as you. “I- I’m sorry”, you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “I’m sorry for believing we were meant to be.”

Just when something flickered in Jaemin’s eyes, your gaze wandered behind him. It seemed like time had stopped in that moment, when two headlights came closer and closer until they fully illuminated your car.

You and Jaemin looked at each other and then the car hit you.

Jaemin who hadn’t buckled his seatbelt out of anger hit his head several times, unlike you.

Jaemin opened his hand a few times. One time when the ambulance had just arrived and his eyes wandered to your figure that was still in the damaged car.

Another time when they transported him down the hallways of the hospital. Several nurses and doctors shouting and talking.

“Stay with me Mr. Na. Stay with me”, a male voice shouted. Jaemin would always recognize Jeno, the nurse that took care of him the most in those days in the hospital that followed.

And then one time when he was already in his private room in the hospital and you were there beside him, crying. “Jaemin you can’t leave me. Please”, you sobbed, your warm fingers gently trailing along his arm. And that’s when everything went black until he woke up with amnesia.

Lying close to you, feeling your heart beating and I'm wondering what you're dreaming Wondering if it's me you're seeing

Jaemin halted next to the River, listening in on the sweet tunes from the busker nearby. He walked up to the young man, who stood alone in the park at midnight, singing his heart out.

He smiled to himself, the familiar melody warming his heart a little. He looked around, stopping on the figure on the right side of the busker. On you.

In a quick moment your eyes met and something inside Jaemin told him that everything was gonna be alright. All his grey days would become so bright and colorful.

And like that, like the little switch that turned when he saw you for the first time, all his memories came flooding back.

—

Jaemin sat up in bed, breathing heavily and sweating. Startled you turned on the light, moving closer to put one arm around him.

“What’s wrong Jaemin”, you asked concerned, rubbing his back gently to comfort him.

Jaemin’s breath was still shaky. “I had a dream”, he muttered, still trying to calm his beating heart. Jaemin turned to you, his eyes full of love and emotions.

“What”, you asked again, not knowing what was going on. Jaemin smiled, a tear building in the corner of his eye.

“I love you. I love you so much”, he smiled, embracing you tightly. You were still a bit confused from his sudden reaction. “I love you too Jaemin, always will.”

“I’m sorry for doubting we weren’t meant to be”, Jaemin whispered against your neck. You mouth fell open, but Jaemin didn’t let go off you, only hugging you tighter.

“Jaemin”, you whispered, at loss of words.

“I remember, I remember it all”, he cried, moving back so he could look at your eyes. “I love you so much and I wanna thank you for sticking with me for so long. For not giving up on me”, Jaemin confessed, feeling absolutely overwhelmed.

You didn’t know whether to cry or smile, your heart felt like it healed again. “I missed you so much Jaemin.”

Jaemin held you against his chest again, gently stroking your back like he always did whenever you were sad. He was back, your Jaemin was finally back.

“I’m not gonna leave you ever again, I promise”, Jaemin softly spoke, planting a kiss on top of your head.

“I know.”

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

a/n: this one has been in my draft for ages.. and finally I finished it hehe :3 I hope you enjoy it and I also wish you a nice weekend! Btw I’m also working on all the requests ;)

#nct #nct jaemin #na jaemin fluff #na jaemin x you #na jaemin x reader #na jaemin #na jaemin angst #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct u #nct dream #nct fluff #nct angst #jaemin #jaemin angst #jaemin oneshot #jaemin x reader #jaemin fluff

[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!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #w: midas #FINALLYYYY #this fic gave me a hernia!

[mel-the-fangirl]

Toss A Coin to Your Witcher (Part Three)

Henry Cavill x Reader

Words: 4,365

(Part 1, Part 2)

Happy Holidays, Cavillry! I really truly hope that you all had some socially distanced fun! Here’s a little gift from me to everyone. I really hope everyone enjoys this last part to this miniseries as much as I enjoyed writing them!

Warning: I have never written anything even remotely close to smut and this story gets a teeny bit smutty so please be gentle with me.

Please like and reblog or leave some replies if you liked it!

Taglist: @novareign1, @libbymouse, @calwitch, @soldade, @happiness-in-the-dark, @seriouslygoodlookinggents, @wolvesandhoundshowltogether, @zealoushoundrancheclipse, @seanh-boredom, @speakerforthedead0, @rn7rocks, @writingforhenry, @weallhaveadestiny, @suueeeeeee

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“Because. We kissed."

Kissed.

Did you hear him right? Did he just say you kissed? You two kissed? And you didn't remember? 

Just the thought of it made you dissolve into fits of uncontrollable laughter.

A valiant effort on his part, truly. He really looked frustrated and confused that you didn't remember. What a brilliant actor.

"Phew!" you brushed the tears from the sides of your eyes and rubbed your nose with the back of your hand

"Right! As if I would ever forget kissing someone like you.” you gestured to him from head to toe, “Specimen.”

“Alright,” he crossed his muscular arms against his equally muscular chest, “I am one hundred and ten percent sure it was you and I’m not about to let you change my mind, madame.”

The challenge was clear in his voice and honestly? It was really hot, his whole stern and smug vibe actually made you forget that you were trying to defend your honour. 

How could he just look like that? All tall and handsome and muscular? It threw you off your game. He looked like he was God's favourite. 

"Aren’t we going to dinner?" you asked, now openly staring at his eyes

"Oh, god. Of course, you must be starving. I apologise." he dropped his proud stance and immediately grabbed your coat from the rack

Henry graciously helped you put it on, his arms lingered around you just a tad bit longer than needed but it was all very good.

Something must have caught his eye as he stepped away from you. He gave you a small smile and made a move to lean in. 

Oh, was this happening now?

Okay, sure. What the hell right? Since he claims to have already kissed you before maybe he needed to be reminded. 

You could do that. You knew how to kiss, you’ve kissed people before.

As he leaned in, the smell of his cologne invaded your senses. It was musky but also floral. Combined with his naturally clean, fresh scent, you could just picture yourself on a leisurely stroll with him in a field somewhere, the pristine air carrying the scent of earthy wood and spring flowers all around you. Henry would be gazing at you adoringly and he’d be in a soaked white shirt even though it was a sunny day.

Armed with that picture in your mind, nothing could go wrong. You were definitely feeling it.

You tilted your chin upwards, leaning in to meet him halfway, more than ready to feel those luscious lips on yours. You shut your eyes, just to make it more romantic.

His arms wrapped around you and you went in for the kill.

That’s when the worst possible thing happened. Well, perhaps not the worst thing but this was pretty fucking close.

Instead of the soft lips you were expecting, your lips met the soft material of his sweater.

Yes, that’s right. His sweater.

You, Y/N Y/LN, had just planted a big ol’ smooch on Henry Cavill’s sweater.

Your eyes snapped open and you wondered what you did so wrong in your past life to deserve this. How could you have misjudged the situation so wrongly?

The second Henry felt the tiny amount of pressure on his shoulder, he knew he fucked up. He had no idea why he didn’t just tell you that the collar of your coat was sticking up, why did he feel the need to straighten it himself? Now, what was he going to do? He didn’t want to embarrass you.

But, it was a little too late for that now, wasn’t it?

You both stepped away at the same time, seeming to look at anything else in the room but each other. It was nice of him to also feel embarrassed on your behalf but, you felt like everyone the world over was cringing out of their skin from secondhand embarrassment.

“So, dinner?” Henry offered you his strong arm, grinning at you like nothing happened

Was it possible for him to be even more perfect? As you looped your arm through his, you found out that it was.

---------------------------

The expansive cityscape was laid out before you from the secluded trellis covered terrace of the restaurant he chose. The view was beautiful, the lights of the city sprinkled across buildings, homes, and streets, the inky black and blue sky stretching far beyond.

Gazing out at it should have made you feel calm, at peace. But you were a bundle of nerves. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think that you’d be on a date with Henry Cavill and you wouldn’t have imagined that he would be accusing you of forgetting that you shared a kiss.

“Look,” you rested your arms on the table, looking at him as seriously as you could without getting lost in his eyes, “I swear, if we really did kiss, I would remember.”

Henry studied you quietly amidst the hustle and bustle of the restaurant beyond the French doors. It was endearing to him, how quickly you would sometimes switch from confident assertiveness to awkward fumbling.

For you, it was a test of endurance to look past the god-given good looks and focus on trying to anticipate what his next move was.

Turns out, it was one in your favour.

“You know what? I think you’re right.”

You almost did a spit take with your wine. Thank God you weren’t wearing anything white.

Okay, act cool. That should be easy, right? You were an actor after all. Just be cool. Relax your shoulders, unclench your jaw, stop sweating.

"I must've been mistaken. I truly apologise." 

He looked so sheepish, you actually reached over to put your hand on his. You tilted your head and gave him an understanding smile. A wave of relief washed over your body and to Henry, it showed. Your rigid posture finally loosened and you even managed to lace your fingers through his.

"I totally get it. I mean, with our jobs? We meet dozens of people everyday, it's not hard to be confused."

His heart leapt into his throat at the contact, it felt like his entire arm was covered in live wires but he would endure it just to savour your hand in his.

"Let's focus on our date, yeah?" 

"Yes, absolutely," you nodded enthusiastically, "Please. Tell me all about you."

"Oh, but I'd rather hear about you."

You were flattered, really. But just in case this was never going to happen again, you needed to get him talking and sponge up as much information as you could.

"And you will, but let’s hear about you first.”

He wanted to argue but you were already looking at him expectantly and despite your short time together, he was already struggling to say no to you.

So, he talked, and talked, and talked, much more than he’s ever dared to talk in his whole life. And you listened, absolutely captivated by his eloquence, his intelligence, his passion, and his wit. Not to mention his voice, deep and silky and hypnotising. Why people thought he lacked personality was a mystery to you.

“I do love theatre,” he explained with a mouthful pasta. It was adorable, no questions asked. “I wish I had that courage and longevity to just deliver every single night for months on end.”

“I actually started out in theatre.” you nodded your head as he widened his eyes at you questioningly. “Yup. I did a decent run of The Tempest at the Yard a year back.”

That’s when the ball dropped. Time seemed to stop for Henry, his drink hovered in the air just as he was about to raise it to his lips. It had finally made itself known, his smoking gun. He faltered only for a second before masking his triumphant smirk with his wine glass.

One harmless little question out of his mouth had you turning as red as the cherry tomatoes artfully scattered in the salad that was set before you.

“Ah, yes. Didn’t you play Miranda?”

You stopped stirring your iced tea and furrowed a brow at him.

“Yes. Yes, I was. Did you catch a show?”

“I did. I was at the opening night after party as well.” he enunciated this part slowly and clearly, hoping that your eyes would spark with recognition

But they didn’t.

“Isn’t that a shame. We could have done this earlier if we crossed paths that night.”

Henry pursed his lips and nodded, mildly disheartened but nonetheless, he pressed on.

“I do recall meeting you though.”

This again? 

You huffed and set your utensils on your plate. You laced your fingers together and looked him in his gorgeous ocean coloured eyes.

“Okay. If that is the night in question then I will admit that I… may have kissed someone but it wasn’t you.” 

“Well, well, well…” he raised an eyebrow at you and you instantly coloured

It wasn’t one of your finest moments and you figured you would never have to dig that memory out of the vault but here it was.

“I know how this sounds,” you shook your head disapprovingly at him, “But it’s not. Okay. On God, it wasn’t you.”

Henry nodded yet again, narrowing his eyes at you. The silent treatment and judgy look he had on forced you to keep talking, which probably wasn’t the best idea.

“It wasn’t you, Henry. Okay? It was just some random dude in a nice sweater and a signet ring or something.”

Alarm bells started clanging in your head as your eyes swept over your dinner date. Nice sweater, check. A signet ring resting on his pinky, check.

“It wasn’t you.” you repeated in more of a whisper, more to convince yourself than anything else

Throughout your debate, bits and pieces of that night started to come back to you. The most embarrassing part came to mind first, it would probably be your saving grace but, did you really want to tell Henry Cavill what you thought you did?

“Am I really that bad a kisser? That you felt the need to completely erase it from your memory?”

His tone was joking but you could see in his eyes that he was a little bit hurt. It was going to be a cold day in hell if you were going to be the person to make Henry Cavill doubt his skills in the kissing area.

“I kissed a male prostitute that night, okay!” you yelled out in exasperation

Thank God your table was situated on the terrace or else a restaurant full of people would have been in on your little secret. As your voice echoed off the walls, you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself. How much embarrassment were you going to endure?

“A male prostitute?” Henry repeated slowly, clearly having a difficult time processing this new information

“Yes.” you groaned, leaning back in your seat and covering your face with your hands

---One year before---

The curtains closed to thunderous applause, whistles and standing ovations. Your heart pounded in your chest as you struggled to keep your breathing steady.

Did that really just happen?

You looked around at your castmates and wrangled them into a group hug.

“Did I really just do that?” you asked Marge upon meeting her backstage

“Yes, you did! Now go on and get changed. It’s after party time.”

With that, she sent you off with a smack on your ass.

You’d only known Marge for a few months since you arrived in London but you liked her already. It’s not like you had a choice though, really, she was the only one you knew.

“How about that one, that one over there?” Marge slurred, shoulders knocking into yours, less than discreetly pointing out some guy in the crowd of party goers

“Shh! Marge!” you giggled, more than a little tipsy yourself

Opening night was a smashing success, it was your first ever gig anywhere, really. You were so nervous the entire time, you thought you were doomed to fuck up and forget your lines or something but that moment never came.

“HEY! REVIEWS ARE OUT!” someone yelled in the crowd

“Here we go.” you murmured, knocking back your drink and tugging Marge along

The huge crowd gathered around your director, who was standing on a stool. It was a tight squeeze since a good chunk of the people who came were already hammered. Someone from behind shoved you forward and you rather inelegantly fell into the arms of the man next to you.

“Whoa there.” you could just make out the deep velvety voice above the murmurings of the crowd

“Oh, God, I am so sorry, I-” you trailed off when you finally laid eyes on your rescuer

Oh, wow.

You couldn’t decide which feature to focus on first. The captivating eyes that were a shade of blue that your alcohol-soaked brain couldn’t even comprehend, the strong chiseled jawline you needed a protractor to measure, or the perfect stray curls that fell onto his forehead?

Decisions, decisions.

“Are you alright? You almost fell.”

Goosebumps broke out on your arms as he helped you stand upright.

God, he was handsome, an observation you thought you had kept to yourself.

The tall man chuckled, still holding on to your forearms, “Thanks very much. I’m He-”

“And Y/N, my incomparable Miranda!” a booming voice interrupted him from the front of the room

“Fuck, that’s me.”

You broke from his grasp and fought your way through the crowds, leaving your hero looking out after you.

“Newcomer Y/N Y/L/N’s performance as Miranda is the glittering centrepiece to this refreshing, masterful take on an enduring classic,” the director read aloud, allowing the crowd to raise their glasses to you

You smiled at everyone, inadvertently meeting the eye of your tall handsome man.

When the crowd dispersed, you and Marge found yourselves back at the open bar, eyeing up every guy that passed by.

“Y/N, you’re on the fast track now. You killed tonight, now it’s time to pick your prize! How about that one? In the corner? Looks tall, shaggy hair…”

“Marge, that’s a ficus.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that other ficus has been looking over since we set up camp here.” 

You followed the tilt of her head to the same guy from earlier, the achingly handsome one. He raised his glass to you and you waved sloppily back. It was the alcohol, okay? Open bar, what were you gonna do?

Marge whistled low, sizing him up from head to toe, “Y/N, that’s a male prostitute if I’ve ever seen one and I have seen a lot of ones.”

The fry you had chomped down barely made it halfway down your throat before coming back up again, “What? No! Marge, he’s not.”

“But he is. Y/N, that man is tall, hung, and handsome. There is no man that tall, hung, and handsome that isn’t either an actor or a male prostitute.”

“Tall, hung, and handsome.” you mumbled, raking your eyes over him as discreetly as you could

In your inebriated state, you completely forgot to ask Marge why he couldn’t have been an actor. Why did her mind immediately head for the strip club? And why did yours follow suit?

“Imma go and bag myself a stripper, Marge. Okay?”

“Yes! Use protection!”

Before strutting off or more like stumbling off, you downed some more booze which probably was not as good of an idea than you thought. Not even halfway to him, you decided that you were teetering in your heels a little bit too much, so you took them off.

“Oh. Hey there.” the same silky smooth voice from earlier greeted you

“Ah, fuck. You’re tall.”

Looking up at him made you dizzy, like standing at the top of a giant skyscraper and looking down at the very edge.

He chuckled and you watched entranced as his face just lit up like Christmas. You decided then and there that you would like to kiss the Christmas, very much so indeed.

The liquid courage in you was really doing its job. You took his hand and dragged him away from the party. This was fine, wasn’t it? It’s not like he was complaining, he looked rather amused actually. Things like this probably happen to him a lot in his line of work.

“Well, now you have me, what are you going to do with me?” he asked teasingly once you two were tucked away in a dark corner

The combined effects of the excessive alcohol, the high of your first successful job, and the way this sinfully handsome man was looking at you made your next move the easiest thing in the world.

You balled the front of his sweater in your fist and tugged him down towards you. He was too tall.

Who on earth was this ballsy, clumsy, beautiful, talented stranger?

Henry didn’t get the chance to ask before his lips came crashing down and immediately, wildfire. 

A shockwave of frenzy ran through his body, he needed to feel you. He was all hands and lips and ragged breaths. His lips traveled down the smooth path of your throat, nipping and sucking as he went. You were putty in his hands.

“Jump.” he growled

You did as he asked and he latched his hands underneath your thighs and planted you against the wall. His lower half pressed into yours and you knew that Marge was right. Your hands raked through his hair and you reveled in the feel of him, strong, confident, in charge. His large hands made their way to your bottom and he squeezed gently.

A breathy moan escaped your lips and you knew you needed to have more of this man. Your fumbling hands made their way to his belt buckle but he set you down on your feet and held you steady.

“What..?” you whispered, suddenly disoriented

“I really should take you on a date first.” he panted

Sober, you definitely would have taken him up on his offer, male prostitute or not, but you were far from it and your head was still spinning so you thought you’d shut your eyes for a while and have him catch your unconscious form.

With you over his shoulder and your shoes in one hand, Henry made his way to his car and drove you safely home, relying on the satnav and your slurred directions.

He laid you gently in bed, brushing the hair away from your face. You snored in your drunken sleep and Henry smiled at the sound.

This was an encounter he was sure he would remember for a long time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Well, that was me,” Henry nodded his head with his bottom lip jutted out. “Exactly as you remembered it.”

Tall, hung, and handsome, huh? That wasn’t anything new to him. He’s been described using far more… graphic detail, if his time searching his name on Tumblr was anything to go by. But hearing it come from your mouth turned him several shades of red.

You, on the other hand, had no words. Again. But you figured that it was all Marge’s fault.

“So, I suppose I was right?” he confirmed, unable to contain the self-satisfied smirk on his face

“Uh, yeah,” you sighed, absolutely exhausted from your little trip down memory lane. “Yeah, I guess you were right.”

Slowly, you met each other’s eyes. A moment passed before you both dissolved into fits of laughter.

“Do I look like a male prostitute? Did I exude that kind of energy at the time?” Henry guffawed, shoulders shaking

“God, I don’t even know how I thought that! I was super drunk, okay?” you covered your face with your hands, mortified and extremely amused at yourself

The laughter died down and you were left gazing at each other fondly. Dessert had long since been over and the night went on, the candlelights on your table and scattered around the quiet terrace intensified the feeling that was passing between you.

“Y/N?” 

“Yes?”

You didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened and settled on your lips. Unlike all the other times today, you didn’t feel nervous, you didn’t feel like you were about to make a fool of yourself, you felt completely calm.

“Would it be alright with you if we picked up where we left off that night?”

Ever the gentleman. You smiled and made your way over to him.

“Hi.” you made yourself comfortable on his lap and you laced your arms around his neck

“Hello, there.” he whispered against your lips

It was probably not the best place to do this, in a restaurant where upwards of twenty people were just beyond the terrace doors but you were in your own little world.

You were endlessly thankful that you were sober for this, you would never forgive yourself otherwise.

When his lips finally met yours, you wondered how on earth you ever forgot such a feeling. It was gentle and soft, as most of these things start, his thumbs caressed that apple of your cheeks then he laid a chaste kiss on each.

You breathed long and hard as his hands splayed on your back, pushing you closer to him. His warm tongue traced the outline of your bottom lip before exploring your mouth, the taste of you mixed with the subtle taste of wine was exquisite and he wanted more. He drank you in, holding you flush against him.

“Wait.” you took his hand and led him to the far side of the terrace to an alcove enveloped in a curtain of lush vines

“When did you spot this?” Henry asked, breathless as you sat him down and straddled him once again

“On the way in.” you had the audacity to blush

“You had plans for me already?”

“A girl always comes prepared.”

Nothing would ever prepare you for the sight of his full length, once his trousers were lowered, it was over for you. Henry took control by shoving your underwear to the side and impaling you onto him. You inhaled sharply, screwing your eyes tightly shut.

“Are you okay?” he struggled to control himself, having you quivering on top of him was severely testing his restraint

“Yes. Please. Move.” all you could manage were monosyllabic answers

And move he did. It should be illegal to be this good.

The night air was cool but you were both slick with sweat, you two had lost your tops a while ago and Henry’s tongue swept across the valley of your breasts and marked his territory everywhere he could. His thrusts were enough to bruise you but you never wanted anything more than to feel him.

“Henry,” you gasped out as he continued to hit that spot that made you see stars

He could sense that you were close, you were tightening around him and gripping him like a vise. 

“Let go, lovely.” he whispered in your ear, committing the way your face twisted into a mask of pleasure and desperation to memory

You rode him furiously, the sound of your flesh colliding over and over again mingled with your hoarse moans, you were certain that someone would hear you but at that moment all you cared about was reaching your peak and with Henry Cavill at the helm?

His large hand clamped around your mouth as you came, you writhed and arched your body uncontrollably as his thrusts became more erratic. He pulled out of you and began to finish himself off, he did not expect for your hand to join his and he did not expect to come so quickly once it did.

“Jesus.” he panted, reaching over to smooth your hair out of your face

You shivered, suddenly very aware that you weren't wearing anything at all. Henry helped you dress quickly and wrapped his own coat around you, rubbing some heat into your arms.

When you refused to look him in the eye the entire ride back to your flat, that’s when Henry started getting nervous.

It’s not like he could ask you if you enjoyed it? I mean, he could but that would make him look like an amateur and he would really like to think that he was no amateur in that area. So instead, he took your hand as you stood in front of your door. 

“Y/N, I would love to do this again. The date, not the sex- I mean, I would like to have sex with you again but that's not what I'm after-Holy shit."

Oh, how the tables have turned. 

Henry rubbed at his face with a hand and sighed, "Do you think you'd like to see me again?" 

"Do you think you'd like to stay the night?" 

Both of you asked your questions at the same time and you both looked taken aback at them.

"What makes you think I don't want to see you again?" you wrapped your arms around his torso and looked up at him

"You were silent the whole car ride?"

He looked so unsure and a little afraid that you couldn't help but squeeze him. How could someone be both heartbreakingly handsome and adorable all at the same time? 

"I was just summoning up the courage to ask you to stay the night!"

"Oh thank God."

He swept you off your feet and threw your door open but, you didn’t end up in bed (you’d get there later), you ended up in the same place you started, on the couch, with him spectating and occasionally helping out as you played Witcher 3.

The next morning, you woke up to a text message and a forwarded article from Marge,

“HOW BEING A STAN GOT Y/N Y/L/N HER MAN”

YOU TWO ARE EVERYWHERE. CHECK IT OUT!  I TAKE CASH, CHEQUES, AND LAVISH GIFTS. YOU’RE WELCOME.

A muscular arm gently wrapped around your bare waist and a tender kiss was pressed onto your shoulder. You looked back at your handsome bedfellow and smiled.

You’d take a look at it later. Right now, you had better things to do.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fic #Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the man from uncle

[smol-and-grumpy]

Legally Yours - Ch. 07

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester tops the list of hottest entrepreneurs 2020 and yet, there’s still something he wants but can’t have because, in order to get that, he would have to settle down and get married. She agrees too quickly because she wants to secure a more comfortable life for her and her daughter. Will she be able to help Dean get what he wants without losing herself in the fake story they spin up to deceive his father and the world?

Chapter Warnings: A little nerves, a little fluff, a little angst at the dinner

WC: 4225

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​ <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Y/N’s mouth opens and closes in quick succession.

She keeps on shaking her head, “I’m sorry, I think I must have not heard right,” She starts to chuckle but it’s not a good chuckle, it comes out more drily, like she tries to override her confusion with it, and Dean cocks an eyebrow, thinks she’s adorable how she keeps shaking her head. “I thought you said that if this should blow up because of me that I’d have to marry you,”

“That’s exactly what I said,” His voice is steady because he really means it.

“Oh no,” She shakes her head again, continues to look at him puzzled, “You can’t be serious,”

“I’m dead serious,”

“Dean, you don’t even know what you’re saying,” She looks around the hallway, looks up at the ceiling, as if she’s trying to spot a damn camera. 

“Hey, Y/N, look at me,” Dean waits until her gaze is back on him and then he stares her down, “Sweetheart, do I look like I’m joking?”

She narrows her eyes as she looks at him, and Dean notices that she tries to see in his eyes if he’s joking. He can tell that she’s trying to read something. Fucking anything. But she can’t. They never can. Maybe she’ll get it, she never will. He’s hard to read, is not really an open book. He doesn’t think there’s anyone out there in this world who can read him and that’s because Dean wants it that way. He has built up his business persona, has shaped himself to be unreadable, unpredictable even. It works to his advantage.

Her eyes go back to their usual size, but there’s a frown between her eyebrows, “Give me one good reason why you would want that?” 

Dean reaches out his hand, grazes her cheek with his knuckles before he moves his thumb up, rubs gently in between her eyebrows with it to ease the frown. 

“I think,” He starts to say and pauses to clear his throat, using the time to think his words thoroughly. His thumb leaves her again, pulls his hand back and sticks it back into his pants pockets. He only realizes it now that he’s been touching her. Has been touching her more than he probably should. In private. After he composes himself, he starts to speak again, “The most important reason is, that eventually, I will have to get married anyway. I should keep up our arrangement, it just seems easier.”

It’s not bad for him, who’s a businessman, to want to stick to a deal that’s already going on when both parties benefit from it, right? Right. But somehow there’s a feeling in his gut that tells him that what he just said was wrong.

The frowns back and she looks at him like she doubts him and there’s something he can detect in her eyes that he can’t quite put his finger on. Was it disappointment? 

He quickly tries to save the mood. 

“But don’t worry,” Dean chuckles and looks down at her, pulling his chin to his chest. It’s most definitely not his best angle, most definitely he doesn’t look like the hottest entrepreneur 2020 like this. But hey, she’s stuck with him now and he’s stuck with her. Time to get accustomed to the side that’s not always rainbows and cupcakes, and somehow it works because the frown’s gone. “It’ll only happen if you lose,” 

Y/N snorts. She’s trying her best to keep her cool he guesses, and she crosses her arms over her chest. It prompts her tits to be squished and they almost spill out of because of the wide cleavage. Dean knows he shouldn’t but it’s almost impossible. So, he does what every man would be doing, he risks a glance, hopes she doesn’t notice. 

But she does. Because he knows by the way the corner of her lips curve up that she must have noticed him staring. And it’s like she’s taunting him because she presses her arms together some more as she starts to grin. It’s all cocky and fuck, he’d never thought he’d see a cocky smile on a girl that matches his. 

“Fine, just don’t come crying when you have to fork over a new apartment, loverboy,” She ends up smiling satisfactorily, it’s almost too cute.

Dean chuckles again, “That only happens when I lose, sweetheart,” And then he leans closer, brushes his lips against the shell of her ear to whisper to her. It could be his imagination, but she’s shivering. From up close he can smell her perfume, and he absolutely loves the scent on her. Dean keeps his voice  low when he speaks, “And I never lose, baby,”

Standing back, Dean holds out a hand out for her to shake. Y/N does, with a narrowing of her eyes, grips his hand just a little tighter to tell him silently, that’s she’s not a loser as well. 

He likes that. Likes how she absolutely is down to compete. 

“Got yourself a deal there,” Dean nods and instead of letting go of her hand, he holds it tighter, keeps it in his as he pulls her along the hallway and into the dining room.

 *

As he pulls a chair out for her to sit on, the doorbell rings. Dean should have known, his dad’s never late.

“Dean,” She whispers.

“What?”

“Why is there so much silverware?”

He laughs. Full on.

She elbows him in the ribs because the footsteps of his father and the maid are coming closer. 

“Seriously, which ones do I choose?” Y/N hisses.

His father is already in the room and comes closer, so Dean leans over to her, whispers into her ear, “Work your way from the outside in. They are placed in the order of use. It’s not hard,” 

“‘K,” 

She nods, but the frowns still there so Dean reaches under the table, lays his hand on her thigh, squeezes reassuringly and she wants to stand up and greet his dad, but Dean holds her down, thumb drawing circles on her skin, “Stay,”

They aren’t formal. His father usually sits down to eat because that’s what he came here for. It’s not a fucking social party. There are no eyes on them and John Winchester doesn’t go out of his way to impress anyone when the press is not around.

And as Dean predicted, his father sits down before he even greets them.

“Y/N, Dean,” There’s a courtesy nod.

  Dean and his dad hold small talk and it isn’t two minutes later that the maid brings in their first course. 

While she was getting dressed, the chef sent the maid around to ask her if there’s something she doesn’t like or if there’s something she is allergic to and Y/N guesses that they are pretty happy that she could literally eat anything. She grew up not having too much food around so food in general gets her excited and she loves to try new things.

When the maid sets their entrees in front of them, Dean’s hand leaves her thigh, and she doesn't even notice that he’s been touching her the whole time. Is it weird that it felt natural to her? Somehow, she has the feeling that it doesn’t seem that he noticed it either because Dean just pulls his hand from her thigh and starts to dig into his food like it’s no big deal.

Maybe it isn’t. Maybe, she thinks, he really enjoys touching her to feel close to her and that’s a good start, right? At least he doesn’t look as troubled as he usually is around her.

It’s chicken truffles terrine on a salad bouquet and god, the terrine melts on her tongue and there’s an explosion of tastes going on in her mouth. 

She hums her approval after the first bite, which prompts Mr. Winchester Sr. to smirk at her. 

The conversation is kept light during the first course, maybe Dean nor his father wanting to spoil their appetite. And she keeps herself mum, too afraid she would start to bubble nonsense because she’s still so damn nervous.

“Sauntéed Dover with Almond and Soy-Lime emulsion,” The maid said as she brought out the main course and honestly, Y/N doesn’t understand any of it but hell, if it’s as good as the entrée, they should keep bridging them out.

Before she could dig her fork into the glorious fish, though, John Winchester clears his throat to speak. 

“So, Y/N, I heard you are working in our company?”

Her heart starts to race and there’s that sweaty hand again. 

She pulls herself together and looks at Mr. Winchester Sr. tries to meet his eyes because she doesn’t want to seem like she’s incapable of answering a damn simple question. 

“Sir, yes. In fact, I met Dean there,”

The fact that she held his eye contact works, because John nods, before he takes the fork and digs into his meal. The relief she feels when John doesn’t ask more questions is vast. 

She takes a bite of the fish herself and it falls apart as soon as the fork touches it. Her mouth starts to water before she pushes the forkful of fish into her mouth and she isn’t disappointed because god, that explosion of taste is back and the fish melts on her tongue. 

Humming out loud, she closes her eyes, savoring the fish and the taste of the soy-lime sauce. 

Dean chuckles next to her when he hears it, and his hand is back on her thigh, squeezing it in what she hopes is approval. 

When she opens her eyes, she sees John watching them, but there’s a smirk on the older man’s lips. 

“It’s good to see a woman with an appetite,” He says.

“I’m sorry,” Her face feels flush, “I just get very excited about good food,”

Dean’s hand squeezes her thigh again, as if he wants to say that it’s okay. 

His father is watching them, though. She realizes as she looks back to the old man and he still hasn’t budged. That’s when she knows that he’s watching if they are real. 

Y/N leans closer to Dean, lets her hand trail up his muscled back, her fingers threading through the short hair at the nape of his neck and the color in Dean’s cheek rises up. His ears are tinted pink. She clearly affects him. She just doesn’t know if it’s good or bad. 

Before she can move closer, Dean almost winds himself out of her grip, and his hand that’s on her thigh goes behind him, plukes her hand away from his neck to hold it in his palm. 

“Are you okay?” She whispers, doesn’t want to be too loud, even though his father has seen everything already. Clearly, he’s not okay, but she just doesn’t know what it is. Does her touching him hurt him so much? Why do they keep doing it then? 

Dean catches himself, places a kiss on the back of her hand before he moves closer to kiss her cheek. He stops short, to whisper in her ear, “No, I think I’m in trouble,”

His lips lingering close to her ear, sending shivers down her spine. What does he mean he’s in trouble? How? What? 

Before she can wrap her head around what Dean just said, John clears his throat to speak.

“Y/N, what do you think about my son’s prenup?”

If John thinks he caught her by surprise, he really did. 

“Uh,” She starts to say, stammers as her mouth tries to form words. Of course, Dean Winchester would have a prenup. Sam mentioned that Carmen was ready to sign that thing. It’s not a secret that wealthy men have prenups, right? 

“He hadn’t shown you the prenup yet, did he?” John’s lips are crooked into a cocky grin. 

And it’s then that Dean turns to her and lays his hand back on her thigh, “I didn’t show it to you because we won’t have a prenup,” His voice is soft, gentle while his eyes are on her, as if he wants to make sure that she hears him. 

“You what?” Mr. Winchester Sr. asks loudly.

Dean’s eyes leave hers as he tilts his head back to meet his dad’s gaze. “I won’t have a prenup with her, Dad,” His voice is louder this time, firm, as if he is putting his foot down.

“Dean, I—,”

“—No, I know exactly what you want to say. Fact is, it’s my marriage, and my life. You have no say in this. I trust Y/N. We don’t need it and that’s my final word.” He’s even louder, getting all worked up and it’s her turn to lay her hand on his thigh to calm him down. 

He flinches at her touch, just a little, but she notices it nonetheless. And she gets a bit discouraged. Why does he bother holding a speech with not getting a prenup when he flinches at her touches? She doesn’t fucking get it.

John Winchester stands up abruptly and buttons up his suit jacket, “Well, it was nice, but I have another dinner meeting to attend,” He says as he nods to Dean and her, “Dean, I’ll see you at the event, and Y/N, it was nice meeting the woman who manages to enchant my son enough for him not being able to think straight.”

The man walks over to the door, stalls and looks back, “I will get Sam to talk some sense into you, and I hope next time I see you, you’ll have changed your mind.” He says, completely ignoring her presence.

“Wow,” She huffs out as soon as the apartment door shuts close. 

“Yeah,” Dean snorts, “That’s my father for you.”

She wonders if she should bring up the prenup, but decides against it. It’s not like they’re going to get married anyway, right? Surely, Dean’s legal team will be able to find a solution before they have to go that far and she certainly will not lose the bet they have running.

Returning to her meal, she forks the fish into her mouth, groans loudly this time because the old grumpy Mr. Winchester is gone and Dean sets his fork to the side and braces his elbow on the table. He turns his body a little, tilts his head and lays it on the hand of the arm that’s on the table as he continues to watch her eat with a grin on his face.

“You really like the fish, huh?”

“God,” She exclaims, “The food here is excellent,” 

“I’ll pass your compliment to the chef,” 

“I hope me gaining weight is not in the contract because I think there’s a big chance it will happen if I get fed delicious meals,” Y/N smiles at him with her mouth around the fork. 

“It isn’t,” Dean replies and it seems like he really enjoys her enthusiasm.

He hasn’t touched his food, but he’s waiting patiently for her to finish hers. As soon as she does, he gets up and holds out a hand for her to take, “C’mon, we’re taking the dessert in my study.”

“In your study?” 

“Yeah,” Dean grins as he leads her out, “I would have suggested having taken it on the terrace, but it’s too chilly and you’re barely wearing anything. The next best view in this penthouse is from the study window.”

He leads her inside and he’s not really wrong. Now that it’s dark out, the city below them is lit up by a million lights. 

“Is that why it’s your study? Because you spend your nights here often and you wanted a good view?”

Dean hasn’t turned on the light in the room, but there’s enough light coming in from the window that she can see his cheek turning pink, “Maybe,” He shrugs.

Thinking that it’s probably something he doesn’t want to talk about, she makes her way to the couch right by the window, takes off her shoes and curls her legs on the sofa. 

The maid comes in to bring them the dessert and a refill of her wine glass. It’s a really good wine, she can’t lie. It makes her feel woozy in the best kind of way and she can’t stop wanting more, even if her head’s already swimming a little. 

Y/N looks back to see Dean pouring himself a couple of fingers of whiskey before he takes off his suit jacket. He didn’t bother wearing a tie to the dinner. He opens up another button, and it makes him look more relaxed. He sets his glass on to the tray and balances the items over to set it down on the little table next to the couch.

He hands her the plate with what she assumes is something chocolatey. 

Digging her silver spoon into it, she takes a bite, hums and groans as the flavor hits her taste buds. It’s dark chocolate, which normally she doesn’t really like that much, but it’s spiked with something she can’t put her finger on but it’s fucking delicious. 

“Oh my god,” She moans, “It’s so good,”

“I can tell,” He chuckles as he watches her eat.

“Wait,” She pauses her devouring and raises her eyebrows at him. Dean’s only been holding his tumbler and a glance over to the tray, she can see that there isn’t any dessert on it for him, “You’re not having dessert?”

“Nah,” He says, “I’m not much of a dessert guy,”

“What?”

“Yeah,” He exhales, “I’m not much of a fancy dishes kinda guy anyway, but it’s hard if you grew up like that,”

“So, you’re telling me that you’d rather eat something simple than those magnificent dishes your chef creates?”

“Yep,”

“You’re weird,” 

“I know,” He chuckles, “But I’m glad you enjoy it. I’m sure the chef is delighted to have someone to cook for either,”

Y/N takes another spoonful, moaning and closing her eyes again and Dean shifts next to her. When she opens her eyes back up, he’s watching her with a smile on his face.

“Seriously, you’ve got to try this!” She digs into the mousse again and scoops up enough to hold it over to Dean. 

“Oh, no, I—,” He starts to say.

“Please? For me? You’ve got taste it,”

And she’s kind of pestering him, the spoon already brushing at his lips. 

“Come on,” She nudges the spoon to his lips, “I can’t be the only one to enjoy this tonight,” 

Dean rolls his eyes and sighs, but there’s a hint of a smirk playing along his lips, “Fine,” 

He opens his mouth and she pushes the spoon in. Dean's lips seal around the small silverware, and she pulls it out while his eyes are on hers. 

She feels flush, feels hot all of a sudden. It might have been more intimate than she thought it would be.

“And?” She asks and Dean nods his head.

“It’s good,”

“It’s good?” She frowns, “It’s fucking amazing!” 

He smiles.

 *

 After she devoured her dessert they stayed on the sofa and she emptied her glass of wine. And it’s not like she had planned it, but the wine makes her limbs feel heavy and her head light, and somehow, she ends up closer to Dean, laying her head on his shoulder.  

He lets her.

“You know, you did good tonight,” Dean says. She can feel his voice vibrating from his body. 

“Why thank you,” Y/N chuckles, “I’ll take that,”

“You should,” 

He nudges his shoulder up, making her lift her head and Dean takes the opportunity to drape his arm over the back of the couch so that it’ll be more comfortable for her. She doesn’t hesitate to curl herself into his side. She’s overly clingy when she drinks and she hopes he doesn’t mind.

While she looks out of the window, the lights blend into each other. 

“You know, I was wondering,” She starts to say and she doesn’t even know why she says it. It must be the wine speaking, “Have you ever had sex against the window in the dark?”

She can feel his body stiffen significantly. Dean inhales before he lets out an exhale with a chuckle, “How many glasses of wine did you have?”

“Eh, not much,”

“It seems to me like you’re a little tipsy,”

“Ugh, I am not,”

That’s a lie. She’s definitely tipsy. Maybe bordering on being drunk. She’s such a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, it’s a little embarrassing. 

“Right,” He’s still chuckling, “Thank you, by the way,”

Ah, he’s trying to steer the conversation away from the sex. She’s a little disappointed but well, if he doesn’t want to talk about something that’s fine. So, instead of pestering him, she asks, “Thank you for what?”

“For playing it so well. I really believed you liked me.” 

“Dean,” She pauses to look up at him, “I do like you.” 

“Yeah?”

Y/N lays her head back on his chest, “Yeah, you’re not a bad man, Dean. You certainly went out of your way to make it comfortable for my little family.”

“It’s the least I could have done considering you guys are giving up your life to help me out,”

“That counts as something in my book. And you know what?”

“What?”

She chuckles, “You’re funny,”

“I am?”

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re even trying to be but you are. The way you’re always grumpy, it’s kind of funny, to be honest,”

“Hey,” He protests, but he’s chuckling himself. 

“I like spending time with you,” 

“That’s good because I like spending time with you, too,” He says and his hand comes down from the edge of the couch to stroke along her arm. 

They stay like that for a while, both of them staring out the window wordlessly. She enjoys the silence with him, and she desperately tries not to think about him pressing her against the window and fucking her to the backdrop of the city lights. Nope. Totally not on her mind.

It’s when she feels her eyelids getting heavy that she pushes herself away from Dean and maybe she just imagines it, but there’s a subtle whine that comes out of this throat. He catches himself pretty quickly, though. 

“I’m going to bed,” Y/N says and stands up, feels his eyes on her when she rights her dress, “Unless you need me to be your fake fiancée longer,”

Dean smiles as he shakes his head, “No, I’m alright. Have a good night, Y/N. Sam will send you your schedule over,”

“‘K,” She nods, “Good night, Dean,”

 *

 Before she goes into her room, she checks in on Liv, sees the girl sleeping soundly. With a smile, she closes the door to her daughter’s room and makes her way to her own. 

There, she strips off her dress and gets herself ready for bed.

While she lays in bed, though, she can’t help but think about her weird day. If she’d tell Donna, the woman would think that she’s having a fever dream. 

Oh god, Donna.

Y/N grabs at her phone on the nightstand, looks at it for the first time after she has ditched it to go to dinner with Dean’s dad. 

There have been missed calls and texts from Donna, asking her when she’d be back or if she has been fired already because Y/N didn’t return.

Quickly she types in a message, maybe Donna’s asleep already anyway. 

 Y/N: You won’t believe what happened

Donna: OH THANK GOD YOU’RE ALIVE

Y/N: Shouldn’t you be sleeping?

Donna: I was worried out of my mind

Y/N: What happened after I made my way to the top floor?

Donna: Oh god, you should have seen Raphael. He had to pack his things right away, but he was screaming and thrashing around, refusing to leave so they had to bring in security and had him thrown out of the building.

Y/N: Wow

 Wow, indeed. Dean really fired him. On the fucking spot.

 Donna: The big boss believed you, right?

 She has to chuckle as she types in her next reply.

 Y/N: Well, he has to because I’m his fiancée. He proposed to me in his office.

 It’s a lie, but she has to keep up the illusion, doesn’t she? It’s best if Donna knows it, but only so much to feed into the illusion. She guesses she can explain it later when this will all be over. 

 Donna: WHAT THE FUCK 

Donna: WHAT HAPPENED OH MY GOD TELL ME EVERYTHING

 She can’t help but laugh. 

 Y/N: I’m pretty tired, but let’s just say, I’ll let you know as soon as I can alright? Thought you’d like to know that Dean and I are an item now and that you’ll probably see my face in those glamour magazines.

Donna: FUCK I’M SO JEALOUS

Y/N: Right, I gotta get some shut eye, I’ll be in contact, Donna. Love you

Donna: I love you too, Y/N, even though I’m fucking jealous.

 Still laughing, she places her phone back on the nightstand and curls herself into the soft pillows and comforter and it’s not long before she drifts into sleep.

Ch. 08

A/N: Thank you for reading until now. Your comments make my day. Buckle your seatsbelts. From now on it’s going to be a whirlwind of events and feelings! Hint: We’ll see Dean and Liv’s interaction in the next chapter!

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

#legally yours #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

[xpeachesncream]

acquainted | ten

> series masterlist | series playlist <

summary: the biggest goal of a grad student is to get through school in one piece - no petty drama involved, no sweating over the little things. however, that plan almost always never follows through. sometimes, you can’t help but fall into the most unthinkable, unexpected traps and learn the hard way. like, exhibit a: being unable to resist your engaged, substitute teacher, kim seokjin.

pairing: jungkook x reader x engaged!teacher!seokjin

genre: grad school au, student life au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 2.7k

warnings: cussing, mature language/implied sexual content, jealousy, some good car sex w/ breast play, straddling, fingering, a lil spit play

note: to the anon who requested the one shot, i promise i have it done - i can’t post it juuuust yet tho lol

tags: @laurynne5 @yiyi4657 @miinoongi @teamtardis-notdead @bluesharksandfish @photographic-girl @yonkoghan @moonchild1​ @thebeebi​ (pls msg me if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

"How was your date, Jungkookie?" Hoseok asks as he forks into his salad. Jungkook sits in front of Hoseok and Yoongi, while Namjoon and Jin sit off to either of his sides. Kook does a simple chuckle with his nose scrunched as he's digging into his fries.

"Good." He smirked.

"Oooh, Jungkookie has a girlfriend!" Hoseok laughed, causing both Namjoon and Jin to shoot looks at each other while shifting in their seats.

"No, but I hope to ask her out."

"Wait, like really ask her to be your girlfriend?" Yoongi chimed in, his gummy smile coming forth with a small high-pitched laugh. "How cute."

"Yeah, I want to. Not right at this moment, but I've already been planning on how to have this talk with her about being exclusive."

"Aw, our Kookie is growing up!"

"Shut up." Jungkook laughs. "I just really like her. She's beautiful, and smart and fun to be around."

"Are you seeing her today?"

"No, but I'm gonna hang out with her tomorrow. She has stuff to get done."

"Do you see her a lot?"

"A good amount, but I try not to suffocate her."

"Jin, you haven't said anything. What's up with you?" Jin looks up from his plate, eyes quickly roaming between all of them.

"Sorry, I just knew all of this already. It's nothing unexpected." He gives off a fake chuckle.

"Grace issues?" He shrugged.

"Sure, but this isn't about me." They nod and shift their attention back to Jungkook. Whew.

"Have you gotten her in bed?"

"Woah, Yoongi? What the fuck." Namjoon laughed.

"I'm just curious and we're always honest with each other right?" Joon shoots Jin a quick look before shaking his head at Yoongi.

"No." Kook chuckled. "I mean I don't care for it much. If she isn't ready to take that step with me then I won't force her."

"What a gentleman! Jin you taught him well." They laughed. Jin is reciprocating the energy with a small smile, as that's the best he can do right now. He didn't want this topic to come up only because he did already know how Jungkook felt about you. Yes, he felt bad, but also, he didn't want to let up on you. He wasn't going to, and Namjoon can easily tell he wasn't over you even though he told Jungkook to go for it. He hated having this silent competition. He knew his feelings for you were growing and he couldn't help but feel like a child over it.

I saw her first. I got her first. Me. Not you.

And so their conversation over an early dinner gets put to rest, Jin thanking God that no one pressed him more about Grace or why he truly wasn't saying much. They were all too caught up in Jungkook's feelings. All, except Namjoon. Jin gets to his classroom a little early to get himself together for class, gathering all his thoughts and feelings about you, Jungkook, Grace, etc., and pushing it to a far, far corner in his mind. At least, until class is over.

[Namjoon] 5:04pm: You couldn't be any more obvious.

[Jin] 5:05pm: What are you talking about now?

[Namjoon] 5:05pm: You're still seeing her. Or, let me rephrase - You're still trying to pursue her even after you told your brother to go for it.

[Jin] 5:06pm: It's complicated.

[Namjoon] 5:06pm: Seokjin, please. What did I tell you? Don't start this mess.

[Jin] 5:07pm: It'll be fine, okay? I appreciate the concern but stop worrying about me.

He sighs as he paces around the front of his room. The real reason as to why you weren't hanging out with Jungkook tonight was because of him. He needed to see you. Feel you. Touch you. Be close to you. There was also something he needed to bring up, hoping you'd agree to it.

Namjoon was right. The concern is valid. However, if things pull through the way Seokjin expects it to, then he knows what he has to do from there. He'll know how to approach this better. Hopefully.

Seeing you in class makes him feel at ease. He loves the little smiles you send his way when you both make eye contact. He just loves to look at you. Smiling and laughing with your friends. Your serious face when it's time to focus. He has it bad for you.

"Alright, class. Get those in to me on time by next week and I'll think about the movie." Jin laughs as the class has mixed reactions while packing up their things.

"But Mr. Kim it's a really good movie, don't you think we deserve a little break in class?" Taehyung whines as he picks up his bag.

"I always think you guys deserve a break, the movie though? Not sure if it's my cup of tea."

"Awww come on, just once." The class whined, making Jin laugh that adorable laugh he has. It was cute to see how adored Jin was by your classmates. He truly was a great teacher and made it a safe environment for everyone. Completely inclusive.

"I'll sleep on it. See you guys next week." He smiles and flashes a wink at a couple of people leaving the classroom saying their goodbyes. He stands at the front, his hands dug into his pockets as he looks at you and Ryujin coming down the steps - always being the last to leave.

"I'm counting on you, Mr. Kim." Ryujin says, flipping her hair.

"Counting on me for what?"

"The movie." She turns to look at you. "And other things." You shove her out the door before looking over at Jin, who hasn't stopped chuckling.

"You heard her." He nods.

"Pick you up in a few?" He asks, almost at a whisper. You return the nod and smile before walking out. You silently walk next to Ryujin, thinking about what tonight would be about. Not gonna lie, you were excited to be alone with him again, even if that meant being in his car, sitting in silence. The thought alone made you happy. The thought made you push through the day just to get to this point.

"Are you seeing him?"

"Yeah." Is all you respond to Ryujin with.

"Be careful, okay?"

"I know." Ryujin knew you weren't going to let up on Jin easily. She too, just like Namjoon, could tell that you had developed deep feelings for him, yet she just didn't know how you would approach it. Whatever it was though, she was going to have your back and be there for you. She just wished you had told the boys because handling you alone is work! Extra support would have been nice!

Getting home, you toss your things aside and start working on a few assignments until Jin is texting you that he's outside of your building. You feel a little nervous, as if it's a first date when it's really not. You step out of the elevator and into the lobby, just to see him ahead in the driver's seat. He has one hand resting along the wheel while he's scrolling through his phone in the other.

"Hey." You say as you hop into the passenger's seat. He puts his phone down and looks at you, his head tilted towards you and rested against the headrest.

"Hey pretty girl." He softly smiles as he leans over to kiss you on the lips. "Want some ice cream?" You laugh.

"Really?"

"Yeah, why not?" He begins to drive off, taking you to a nearby ice cream joint.

"How was your day today?" You ask him as he's roaming the streets looking for parking.

"It was alright. Went to work for a bit and met up with the boys for an early dinner before class."

"How was that?" He keeps his eyes on the road.

"Mm, good. I love sitting around and hearing about my brother's feelings for you." You chuckle at his sarcasm.

"You're dramatic."

"Call it what you want." He says. "It's still not fair."

"You can do something about it, you choose not to though." You straight up tell him. He parks his car and looks over at you, a small smirk plastered on his face.

"So, do you want me to do something about it?"

"Jin, please. Don't turn this on me. You're the one whining." You get out of the car. It was true. He kept talking about Jungkook and how he couldn't stand it, but yet, his ass was over here doing absolutely nothing. You expected that much though, because what? Was he just going to up and leave his fiancé because of a little jealousy? You honestly didn't think it was that deep for Jin. Maybe a little bit of a competition, but nothing too serious. And that was honestly the most painful realization for you.

You probably weren't worth it.

"I'm not whining, love. Trust me." You subtly roll your eyes at the weak comeback, but you don't throw in a rebuttal. Were you worth it? It was hard to read Jin sometimes. There were days where you felt like this could be more, then there were days where you felt dumb as hell for even having the thought cross your mind.

Like right now, you feel like this could be more with the way he's letting you taste his ice cream, his hand below your chin to catch any melting ice cream from dripping onto your clothing. He takes his cone back to his lips at the same time he's raising the napkin to the corners of your lips. You're both sitting in his car, overlooking the bay and the San Francisco skyline view in his back seat. There's a walking trail in front of the small lot his car is currently parked in, but no one is around. It's just you, Seokjin and your ice cream cones.

"Mmmm, thank you." You say gobbling up the last bit of your cone.

"You're welcome." He chuckles. "How was your day?" You shrugged.

"Same old." You fold your leg onto the seat while the other draped over it just so you could turn and look at Jin. You lean your head against the seat, watching him eat the last bits of his cone. You admired him, and you couldn't help but marvel at how absolutely breathtaking he was. The goddamn nerve. He was literally sitting there in a hoodie and jeans and you thought he was the most endearing thing.

"Sounds fun." He clears his throat as he tosses the napkin into the cup holder in front.

"Why'd you bring me out here?"

"I just wanted to see you. Is that too much to ask for?" He looked at you. "I missed you."

"You see me in class."

"It's not the same and you know it." He cocks his head to the side again to look at you. "Come here." He grabs your hand to pull you closer to him and leans in for a kiss. You rest your hand on his neck as you continue to kiss him back, the sounds of slow kisses being exchanged filling the car. You climb onto his lap as the kiss deepens, your hands gripping Jin's face while his warm, soft hands explored inside your sweater. "You drove me crazy the other night." He whispers as you slightly pull away.

"Good." You respond, bringing your lips back onto his, slowly grinding your hips into his.

"Fuck." He hisses. He quickly aids in removing your leggings before unbuckling his jeans. You feel his hardened member underneath his boxer briefs against your clothed folds, causing you to slightly tilt your head back in pleasure. You feel his hands travel up to your bra, unhooking it and raising your sweater to suck on your nipples freely. You feel his tongue working in circular motions on your hardened bud, causing you to let out a breathy moan. His eyes wander up to your face, slightly shutting close when he sees how much you're enjoying this. He moves to the other breast, his free hand cupping the one he had just removed himself from, tongue exploring your nipple. His hand moves down to aggressively hook your panties to the side, giving him room to swipe his fingers up and down your wet folds.

"Oh shit." You slightly jerk at the sensation, his long fingers taking their sweet time spreading your wetness all around your pussy.

"You're so fucking wet." He keeps his eyes on you and watches your eyes roll to the back of your head when he inserts two digits, pumping them in and out. It's incredibly hot to him how fucking wet you are, the sounds of your pussy now echoing in the car.

"Jin, ohhhhshit." You mewl. "I'm gonna cum." He continues to pump his long fingers into you, the feeling of both pain and pleasure radiating throughout your body. He curves his digits upwards, tickling your core to send you hurdling over the edge. You buck in your position from how hard the orgasm hits you, Jin's wet fingers swiping your folds and gently caressing your sensitive clit. You squeal, the overstimulation becoming a little overbearing but it feels so fucking good. You unbury his hardened member from his boxer briefs, letting your spit dribble down onto his cock as you play with the pre-cum pooling at the head.

"Oh fuck, Y/N. Don't do that shit." He tilts his head back in pleasure. You silently chuckle as you jerk him, getting his dick a little wet before hopping on and filling yourself up with it.

"Ugh, why do you feel so fucking good?" You moan as you fix your position onto him, slowly riding him and easing your way into it. You slip his two fingers into your mouth to taste yourself, his fingers still dripping from your cum.

"I-I've been wanting to fuck you so badly." He lets out a breathy moan. "The things you do to me."

"Yeah?" You say, picking up the pace as his hands guide your hips and direct your pace.

"Just like that, baby." He groans. You love when he called you baby. It made you want to give him all of you.

Your hands are resting on his shoulders, gripping tightly as you grind your hips in a steady motion. You cock your head back in pleasure, Seokjin's hands gripping your breasts. You begin to roll your hips slowly, a louder moan erupting from both him and you.

"I'mgonnafuckingcum." Your words mesh together, unable to speak clearly at how good he feels deep inside of you.

"You're so tight. God, you feel so good, gonna cum with you." Sooner or later, a roll of the hip or two in, your coil is spiraling out of control, causing you to yell Jin's name as you scratch onto his clothed shoulders, his fingers digging deep into your skin as he fills you up at the same time you're milking his dick.

His head slowly raises from against your chest, his cheeks tinted and eyes slightly glazed. He smiles up at you, his lips locking with yours once more before you climb off to clean yourself.

"Y/N." He says, tucking himself back in and getting himself situated in the seat.

"Hm?" You hook your bra back together and fix your sweater.

"I'm going to LA this weekend for a quick business conference." You furrowed your eyebrows, unsure why he was telling you this. It's not like you asked him for a daily play by play.

"Okay, have fun?" You chuckle.

"Meet me there." He looks at you. "I have to be there by Friday morning, but I know you still have work and school."

"Meet you.. in LA?" He nods.

"I really want you to. I'll buy your plane ticket. But also, know that I'm not forcing you." He slightly sighs. "I just wanna be able to spend time with you and do other things together besides fucking each other's brains out."

"Um," is all you can respond with. Because hell to the fuck yes you wanted this. But you weren't sure why you were hesitating? Maybe it was a big jump and you were scared of taking it? The lies you'd have to tell people about where you would be going this weekend? It was all such a mess. Such a huge, huge mess. Part of you also felt like this would be such an easy way for Grace to find out.

"You don't have to tell me your answer now but— just know it'll make me really happy to have you there with me." He looks at you softly, a small smile creeping at the corner of his lips. Perhaps, you were worth it.

#bts #bts fanfiction #kim seokjin #seokjin #jin #bts jin #bts jin smut #seokjin smut #bts imagines #kim seokjin fanfic #kim seokjin x reader #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #bts au #bts au fic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #seokjin fluff #seokjin angst #jin fluff #jin angst #jin smut #kim seokjin series #acquainted series #writing

[snarksandkisses]

What I think about COVID-19 this morning - Malia Jones, PhD, MPH

What I think about COVID-19 this morning

March 5, 2020

 Maybe I'm the closest thing you personally know to an infectious disease epidemiologist. Maybe not--I'm not an expert on this virus by any stretch, but I have general knowledge and training from studying epidemics that is applicable, so here are my thoughts. 

 First and foremost: we are going to see a tremendous increase in the number of US cases of COVID-19 in the next week. This is not because of some new pattern in the spread of the disease, but rather due to a major change in the requirements to be tested. Until yesterday, if you had flulike illness but had not recently traveled to China, Italy, South Korea, or Iran, you could not be tested. This is just the way healthcare works, you get tested if you meet the case definition and the case definition included travel.

 As of yesterday, you can be tested if you are sick and have a doctor's order to be tested. So expect things to feel a lot more panicky all of a sudden. We will see hundreds or thousands of new cases as a result of testing increases.

 Second: is that panic legitimate? Sort of. This is not the zombie apocalypse. The death rate of 30 deaths per 1000 cases is probably a wild overestimate. (The denominator is almost certainly wrong because it is confirmed cases--and we only confirm cases when we test for them). That said, even at 3 per 1000 cases, this would be a big deal. A very big deal. By way of comparison, the death rate for influenza is between 1 and 2 in 1000 cases. So, yeah. Roughly 0x to 30x worse than a huge global flu pandemic? That's a problem.

 Unlike flu, COVID-19 is not *particularly* dangerous for children, so that’s some happy news. It is dangerous for older adults and those with lung conditions, so we need to be extra careful to protect those populations from exposure. 

Also, for millions of Americans, getting any serious illness requiring a hospitalization is a major problem because they can't pay for it. And our health care system is probably going to struggle to keep up with it all. And with China basically closed, our global economy is going to take a huge hit and we'll feel the shockwaves for years. Those are real concerns.

 What can we do? Our focus should be on *slowing down the spread* of this disease so that we have time to get caught up. Here is my advice:

 1. Wash. Your. Hands. Wash them so much.

The current best guess is that coronavirus is transmitted via close contact and surface contamination. A very small study came out yesterday suggesting that the virus causing COVID-19 is *mostly* transmitted via contact with contaminated surfaces.

I have started washing my hands each time I enter a new building and after being in shared spaces (classrooms especially), in addition to the standard practice of washing after using the bathroom and before eating. Soap and water. Hand sanitizer also kills this virus, as does rubbing alcohol (the main ingredient in hand sanitizer).

 There is no need to be obsessive about this. Just wash your hands. A little bit more effort here goes a long way. 

 2. Don’t pick your nose. Or put your fingers in your mouth, on your lips, or in your eyes. Surface contact works like this: you touch something dirty. Maybe it's an elevator button. Virus sticks to your hands. Then you rub your eye. Then you touch your sandwich, and put the sandwich in your mouth. Now there is virus in your eyes and mouth. See?

 You may be thinking, but I don’t pick my nose because I am an adult! An observational study found that people sitting at a desk working touched their eyes, nose, or lips between 3 and 50 times per hour. Perfectly normal grown-ups, not lowlifes like my friends.

 2a. There was one note that came out suggesting that face masks actually promote surface contamination because you're always adjusting them--i.e., touching your face. I don’t know if that’s true. But face masks should not be worn by the public right now, unless you are the person who is sick and you're on your way to or actually at the doctor's office. The mask’s function is to prevent spit from flying out of your mouth and landing on things when you cough or sneeze. It flies out of your mouth and is caught in the mask instead. If you are the person who is sick and not on the way to the doctor, go home. Let the people who really need them have the masks. Like doctors.

 [ETA on 3/6/2020 honestly people I am getting so much push back on the mask recommendation!! The world is running low on masks. If everyone wants a mask so they can feel ok about keeping their Daytona Beach Spring Break plans and then hospitals in India can't buy them anymore, shame on us.]

 Coronavirus does not appear to be airborne in the sense that doesn't remain floating around freely in the air for a long time, like measles does. You are probably not going to breathe it in, unless someone is coughing in front of you. If someone is coughing in your face, feel free to tell them to get their ass home and move 6 feet away from them. (Yeah I know, if you have a toddler, you're screwed.)

 3. Sanitize the objects you and lots of other people touch, especially people outside your family--like door handles, shared keyboards at schools (brrr), salad bar tongs, etc. Best guesses are that the virus can live on surfaces for 2-48 hours, maybe even longer, depending on the surface, temperature, and humidity.

 Many common household cleaning products will kill this virus. However, white vinegar solution does not. You can make your own inexpensive antimicrobial spray by mixing 1 part household bleach to 99 parts cold tap water. Spray this on surfaces and leave for 10-30 minutes. Note: this is bleach. It will ruin your sofa.

 4. "Social distancing." You're going to get so sick of this phrase. This means keeping people apart from one another (preferably 6 feet apart, and sanitizing shared objects). This public health strategy is our next line of defense, and its implementation is what will lead to flights and events cancelled, borders closed, and schools closed.

 For now, you could limit face-to-face meetings, especially large ones. Zoom is an excellent videoconferencing option. If you spend time in shared spaces, see #1. Ask your child's school about their hygiene plan, if they haven't already told you what it is. If I were in charge of a school setting, I'd be hand sanitizing the s*** out of the kids' hands, including in and out of each space, and taking temperatures at the door. I am planning to email our school nurse right after this to ask if they need my volunteer help cleaning surfaces.

 If you can telecommute, do that a little more. If you are someone's boss and they could do their job remotely, encourage them to do that. 

 Avoid large gatherings of people if at all possible, especially if they are in an area with cases OR places that lots of people travel to. If you attend group events and start to feel even a little bit sick within 2 to 14 days, you need to self isolate immediately. Like for a tiny tickle in your throat.

 5. All your travel plans are about to get screwed up. If you are considering booking flights right now, get refundable tickets. ETA: most trip insurance will not cover cancellations due to a pandemic. Look for "cancel for any reason" trip insurance. 

 Considerations for risks related to that trip you’re planning: how bad would it be if you got stuck where you are going for 3 to 6 weeks? How bad would it be to be isolated at home for 2-3 weeks upon your return? Do you have direct contact with people who are over 70 and/or have lung conditions? If those seem really bad to you, rethink your trip, especially if it is to a location where there are confirmed cases. 

 6. If you are sick, stay home. Please! For the love of all that is holy. Stay at home. Your contributions to the world are really just not that important.

 7. There is a good chance some communities will see school cancelled and asked to limit non-essential movement. If someone in your family gets sick your family will almost certainly be isolated for 2-3 weeks (asked to stay at home). You could start stocking up with essentials for that scenario, but don't run out and buy a years' worth of toilet paper. Again, not the apocalypse. 2 weeks' worth of essential items. Refill any prescriptions, check your supply of coffee, kitty litter, and jigsaw puzzles.

 8. I do want to remind everyone that when public health works, the result is the least newsworthy thing ever: nothing happens. If this all fizzles out and you start feeling like ‘Wah, all that fuss for nothing??’ Then send a thank-you note to your local department of public health for a job well done. Fingers crossed for that outcome.

 9. Look, I think there are some positives here. All this handwashing could stop flu season in its tracks! We have an opportunity to reduce our global carbon footprint by telecommuting more, flying less, and understanding where our stuff comes from. We can use this to think about the problems with our healthcare system. We can use this to reflect on our positions of privilege and implicit biases. We can start greeting each other using jazz hands. I'm genuinely excited about those opportunities.

 There is a lot we don't yet know about this virus. It didn't even exist 90 days ago. So stay tuned, it is an evolving situation. The WHO website has a decent FAQ. Free to email or text with questions, and you can forward this to others if you think it's useful.

 May the force be with you. 

 Malia Jones, PhD, MPH

[email protected]

 I’m an Assistant Scientist in Health Geography at the Applied Population Laboratory at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. I study social contact of humans, and spatial patterns of infectious disease, among other things. 

   P.S. The number one question I am getting is, did you really write this? Yes. I wrote this. 

 I didn't write it for professional purposes, so I didn't put my work email on it. It was really just meant to be an email to my friends and family in advance of what I expect to be an escalation in the panic level. But it was apparently welcome information and went viral on FB. I've decided not to edit out the swears, even though I wrote this with a much smaller audience in mind. 

 Thanks for checking your facts! Go science! 

#COVID-19 #coronavirus #wash your hands #Social distancing #don't panic #but maybe just a little panic

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch24: Like The Old Man Said…Together Part 1- I Wouldn’t Call It A Comfort

Summary: The Avengers track Ultron and it’s a race against time before the AI can put his plan into action.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Bad language, Smut (NSFW) violence and crazy assed robots. Oh and “Something dramatic, I hope!”

A/N: This chapter now contains additional content which is why It has been split into two parts.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

A/N: Another massive big up for @angrybirdcr​ for her edits xx

Chapter 23 Part 2

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“I’ve put the boys to work.” Laura gestured out of the window as Katie chewed on her grilled cheese. She’d had a good four hours sleep and was feeling much better after a scalding hot shower. She glanced across the lawn area to where Steve and Tony were positioned at the side of the house, both holding an axe, stood by a stack of large logs and two piles of smaller logs.

“You got Tony doing manual labour?” Katie grinned at her. “Well played.”

Laura chuckled and then began to chat to about her plans for dinner. “Clint suggested comfort food. fried chicken and Mac and Cheese to be specific”

“You’ll win Steve over instantly.” Katie leaned against the counter. “I’m happy to help, lot of people to feed, not to mention Stevie eats enough for three.”  

“You wanna take her up on that.” Clint walked into the kitchen and opened a drawer near the door.“She’s a damned good cook is Nova. Obviously, not as good as you, babe.” He added as a quick afterthought. “Smooth Barton…” Katie laughed as Laura threw a tea towel at his head. Easily catching it ant tossing it back, he pulled a tape measure from the drawer and left through the backdoor, still laughing, the kids trailing behind him.

Katie stared at the back door as it shut, the normality of the scene suddenly hitting her. He had a wife, two children, and still managed to hold down the ridiculous lifestyle the Avengers and SHIELD demanded.

“How do you do it?” She blurted out. The woman placed the last plate on the sink to drain and straightened up. “I mean this, it’s so ordinary.” she turned, once more looking out of the window. She watched Steve swing his axe, his light blue Under Armour skin top clinging to every part of his torso.

“It’s possible…” Laura mused, standing behind her as she followed the younger woman’s gaze. You know, to have a domestic life…well, a variation on one, away from the mess.”

“Problem is the pair of us are tangled in the mess.” Katie muttered, not taking her eyes off Steve.

“Well then, you should understand each other more.” Laura pointed out, before she changed the subject. “Here, they could probably use a drink. You wanna take ‘em that jug of ice tea for me?”

“Sure.”

A minute or so later Katie crossed the lawn with a tray sporting a full jug and two glasses towards where both men where stood by the decreasing mound of large logs and the two increasing mounds of smaller ones.  Steve’s pile of cut logs was significantly bigger than Tony’s, which was hardly surprising.

And the pair of them were bickering which was also not surprising.

“Is that a problem?” Steve asked, picking the two halves he had just cut up and throwing them onto his pile, bristling slightly at the fact Tony was digging into why he wasn’t as affected by the Maximoff’s visions as everyone else. Truth be told he had been affected, big time, but since he and Katie had talked it through he felt better. But he wasn’t about to tell anyone that, frankly it was no ones’ business what any of them had seen bar their own.

“I don’t trust a guy without a dark side. Call me old fashioned.” Tony shrugged

“Well let’s just say you haven’t seen it yet.” Steve glowered at him, his temper starting to rise. He couldn’t help but feel pissed at Tony, because if it wasn’t for him they wouldn’t even be in this mess.

“You know this is what he’s trying to do right?” A soft voice spoke and Steve turned to see Katie setting a tray of drinks down behind them. They both turned to look at her “Ultron is trying to tear us apart.”

“Well I guess he’d know.” Steve jerked his head in Tony’s direction “Whether he tells us is a bit of a question”

“Banner and I were doing research-”

“That would affect the team” Steve picked up another log. His voice was gaining momentum, and Katie let out a groan, she knew he was getting angry.

“That would end the team” Tony said simply, “Isn’t that the mission? Isn’t that the “why” we fight, so we can end the fight, so we get to go home?”

Without so much as a huff of noise, Steve ripped the log he was holding apart with his bare hands in a fit of temper that aroused Katie far more than it should have done. Tony raised his eyebrows slightly and Steve’s chest heaved as he regained his composure. He turned to look at Tony and spoke, his voice calm and measured.

“Every time someone tries to win a war before it starts, innocent people die. Every time.” He spoke softly but sternly, trying to make his point. Loki, Hydra, SHIELD with Insight.. now this.

“I’m sorry. Mr. Stark,” Laura headed across the lawn towards them all. “Uh, Clint said you wouldn’t mind, but, our tractor, it doesn’t seem to want to start at all. I thought maybe you might…

“Yeah, I’ll give her a kick.” Tony smiled at Laura then as he turned to leave he looked back at Steve delivering his next line with the air of a petulant child “Don’t take from my pile.”

“You know if he wasn’t your bother…” Steve reached for a glass of tea, draining it in one and leaving his sentence hanging. Katie took a deep breath and stood up.

“Cut him a bit of slack yeah?” Her eyes flashed. “The Maximoff girl. She got to him too.”

Steve looked down at her and frowned, that was news to him. “But I thought…”

“It was the day we found the sceptre.” Katie said. “She got to him in Strucker’s lab only he didn’t know what it was at the time. And you wanna know what he saw?” her voice wasn’t angry but she levelled Steve with a look that left him with no uncertain terms she was defending her brother “He saw us all dead because he hadn’t tried hard enough.” Steve inwardly groaned as she finished. “That’s what Ultron is about, that’s why he started it again.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know.” Steve shook his head, gently

“Well now you do.” Katie shrugged and decided to change the subject, “Oh, and by the way, what you did with that log back then-” she mimed pulling something apart. “-kinda turned me on a hell of a lot more than it should.”

He grinned and stepped towards her, closing the short distance they were apart “Well, if we go back inside I can…”

“Nice try, you have wood.” Katie pointed the logs

“Yes and I’d kinda like to do something about it!”

“Steve!” Katie spluttered out through her laugh, as she hit him in the chest, mentally making a note toe have words with Sam for teaching him innuendoes and street slang

He stepped back, laughing and rubbing at the spot where her hand had connected with him. He cocked his head playfully to the right, and was about to say something else about the fact he was feeling pretty horny on account of it being a few days since they’d last enjoyed one another seeing as his plans for her and that tight blue dress had been interrupted post the party, but Katie’s attention was taken by something else.

“Lucky!” She grinned crouching down to pet the dog who was jumping all over her, giving out little barks. “Man you got big!” Steve looked down at his girl and the sandy coloured dog, frowning as he noticed it only had one eye.

“Is this the pizza eating puppy you talked about?” he asked, bending down to pet the dog. “Sure is.” Katie grinned standing up as the dog ran off back to Barton after he whistled. “Not so much of a puppy now though.”

She smiled and made her way back over to the house. Steve looked at the pile of logs, then her, then back and picked up his axe again.

Inside, Katie started to help Laura with the dinner, the pair of them working together easily. Steve and Clint joined them in the kitchen not long after, both men sitting at the table with a beer as Lila scrambled up onto Steve’s knee, Steve waving away Clint’s instruction for her to leave him alone, he didn’t mind one bit. Katie had noticed the small girl sat there, talking to Steve and she’d smiled and turned back to her cooking. She was just rinsing off the salad when she looked up out of the window, seeing something that she really wasn’t expecting.

“I don’t believe it.” She whispered as she watched Tony and the tall, bald headed man with the trench coat and the eye patch walking up the path towards them. She turned to Clint and Steve “We got company, boys.” Both men stood up as the door opened, Lila jumping of Steve’s knee. The soldier’s hands went to his hips, his mouth forming a thin line as his eyes fell onto the man in front of him.

“At ease Soldier…” Fury said, a smile creeping across his face as Tony walked into the room behind him muttering about traitors, Maria Hill and ‘Goth Pirates’

****

“Ultron took you folks out of play to buy himself time.” Fury said glass of water in his hand as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “My contacts all say he’s building something. The amount of Vibranium he made off with, I don’t think it’s just one thing.”

“What about Ultron himself?” Steve asked, he was stood in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the door frame, arms folded.

“Ah. He’s easy to track, he’s everywhere. Guy’s multiplying faster than a Catholic rabbit. Still doesn’t help us get an angle on any of his plans though.”

Tony shoved the last piece of the chicken he had been eating in his mouth and walked to the sink to pick up a towel to wipe his hands. “He still going after launch codes? “

“Yes, he is, but he’s not making any headway.”

Katie frowned from her seat at the table, opposite Natasha. “Well that doesn’t make sense. Tony cracked the Pentagon’s firewall in high school for a dare”.

Tony smiled fondly at the memory. That had earned him an ass whooping and a half from his dad.

“Yeah, well, I contacted our friends at the NEXUS about that”. Fury continued

“NEXUS?” Steve questioned.

“It’s the world internet hub in Oslo” Banner explained, he was stood behind Natasha leaning against the sideboard. “Every byte of data flows through there, fastest access on earth.”

At that point Lila ran into the room, a piece of paper in her hand.

“So what’d they say?” Clint asked, turning 3 darts over in his hand from his stance a few feet away from Fury.

Lila handed the piece of paper to Natasha, who looked at her, then the paper, grinning and gave the little girl a one armed hug. She placed the paper down on the table and Katie noticed that it was a watercolour paint picture of a butterfly.

“He’s fixated on the missiles.” Fury drained his glass of water. “But the codes are constantly being changed.

“By whom?” Tony questioned. At that point Clint threw the darts straight past Tony, about an inch or so away from his ear straight into the bullseye of the dart board. Tony spun round to glare at him, Clint shrugged apologetically, grinning at the same time. Hawkeye by name, Hawkeye by nature.

“Parties unknown.” Fury said, a puzzled tone to his voice

“Do we have an ally?” Katie asked.

“Ultron’s got an enemy, that’s not the same thing.” Fury looked at her “Still, I’d pay folding money to know who it is”

“I might need to visit Oslo, find our unknown.” Tony pondered, to no one in particular.

“Well, this is good times, boss, but I was kind of hoping when I saw you, you’d have more than that.” Natasha sighed, leaning back in her chair.

“I do.” Nick looked round the room. “I have you.”

Everyone shared a look round the room at one another. None of them were feeling particularly useful if truth be told.

“Back in the day, I had eyes everywhere, ears everywhere else.” Fury continued “Yet here we all are, back on Earth, with nothing but our wit, and our will to save the world. So stand. Outwit the platinum bastard.”

“Steve doesn’t like that kind of talk.” Natasha looked at him.

“You know what, Romanoff? “ Steve’s tone was dead pan. She smiled mischievously.

“So what does he want? “ Fury continued.

“To become better. Better than us.” Katie looked around.

“Right, he keeps building bodies.” Steve agreed

“Person bodies. The human form is inefficient, biologically speaking, we’re outmoded.” Tony mused “But he keeps coming back to it” 

“Yeah, when you two programmed him to protect the human race, you amazingly failed” Katie sighed, looking over at Tony then to Bruce, who was looking at Lila’s drawing over Nat’s shoulder, his arms folded, a thoughtful look on his face.

“They don’t need to be protected, they need to evolve.” The Doctor said, not looking up. “Ultron’s going to evolve.”

“How?” Fury asked.

“Has anyone been in contact with Helen Cho?” Bruce glanced around the room.

There was a pause, and then all at once there was a flurry of activity. Tony whipped his phone out and began to dial, Nat and Katie both stood up, Clint hurried out of the kitchen and Fury was also talking to someone as Steve and Bruce began discussing the intricacies of what Ultron was likely to want Helen for, which centred around the regeneration cradle, a larger version of the technology that had healed Clint after he had been shot when retrieving the sceptre.  

“If Ultron is really building a body…” Steve trailed off as they all prepared to leave,  his voice dropping

“He’ll be more powerful than any of us. Maybe all of us.” Katie sighed.

“An android designed by a robot” Tony finished.

“You know I really miss the days when the weirdest thing science ever created was me.” Steve raised his eyebrows. Katie and Tony both smiled gently.

“I’ll drop Banner off at the tower. Do you mind if I borrow Ms. Hill?” Fury said, pulling on his trench coat.

“She��s all yours, apparently.” Tony shrugged “What are you gonna do? “

“I don’t know. Something dramatic, I hope.”

Katie found herself slightly concerned that the threat of Fury doing something dramatic didn’t worry her half as much as facing Ultron.

*****

Clint expertly piloted the Quinn Jet low enough for Steve to drop onto the roof of the U-GU-Gin Genetic Research Lab roof.

“Two minutes. Stay close.” Steve instructed as the jet roe again to hover above the building away from any eyes.

A few moments passed and then the crew on the jet heard Steve shout “Dr Cho…are you hurt?”  There was a bit of a conversation which they didn’t hear, but then Helen’s voice came over the comms loud and clear, if a little strained.

“The gem, its power is uncontainable. You can’t just blow it up. You have to get the Cradle to Stark.”

There was another pause before Steve’s voice spoke clearly ”Did you guys copy that?

“We did.” Clint said.

“I got a private jet taking off, across town, no manifest.” Katie read the details on the computer screen in front of her. “That could be him.”

“There!” Clint said loudly, pointing out of the front window of the jet. Both Natasha and Katie moved so they could follow his gaze. “It’s the truck from the lab. Right above you, Cap. On the loop by the bridge.”

The jet scanned the truck, confirming their suspicions with the imaging that they all saw on the monitor.

“It’s them.” Clint continued. “I got three with the Cradle, one in the cab. I could take out the driver”

“No.” Katie instructed. “If what Helen is saying is right, that truck crashes, the gem could level the city.”

“We need to draw out Ultron” Steve spoke on the coms. They all waited for a further update and, thirty seconds or so later, there was a loud bang and he followed up his commentary. ”Well, he’s definitely unhappy! I’m gonna try and keep him that way.”

Katie looked down to see Steve was clinging onto the back of the truck and her heart skipped a beat. Making a decision she strode to wing space of the jet and pressed her palm to the pad besides the large locker that contained her suit.

“You’re not a match for him Cap…” Clint said

“Thanks Barton!” Steve replied, sarcastically.

“We need to get down there, give him some back up…”  Katie called, turning round to look at Nat as she stepped backwards, allowing her suit to form around her.

“Ok.” Clint said, nodding “I’ll give you the cover up top.”

Nat took off her headset and joined Katie in the equipment store, pushing a small coms piece into her ear. She headed to the back of the ship, straddling the motorbike that was propped up at the side.

“He’s lost his shield. I’m gonna drop you as close to it as I can.” Clint advised as he flipped a few controls.

“Roger.” Katie continued with the final checks to her suit, without JARVIS she was flying this thing herself, just as she had been at Klaus’ base so she needed to make sure everything was right. Clint steered them down towards the road.

“We got a window. Four, three…give ‘em hell.” Clint said, pushing the button for the ramp. Natasha sped the bike off and dropped down with a squeal of tyres before taking the jet higher.

“Us girls are always picking up after you boys.” She said gently and Katie headed to the back of the ramp, her scans watching as Natasha picked up Steve’s shield, following Clint’s commentary.

“They’re heading under the overpass, I’ve got no shot”

“Which way? “ Nat asked.

“Hard right… Now.” Clint instructed. Natasha did as she was told. As Clint hovered over the top of them Katie shot out from the back of the jet and swooped down just as Natasha threw the shield up to Steve. Steve caught it and instantly flung it, sent the AI flying backwards. Ultron wasn’t down for long, jumping up and resuming the fight as Katie landed behind the Robot as he sent a blast of power at Steve, who instantly held his shield up as he was catapulted backwards onto the bonnet of the car behind. She fired a repulsor at the AI, causing him to turn his attention to her as he wheeled round and shot back. She flew out of the way as the shot hit the car behind, the screeches of brakes and grinding of metal hit her ears as cars collided on the road.

“You Starks are like insects.” Ultron hissed out. “Annoying and irritating.”

“Yeah well, some insects pact a bit of a sting.” Katie shot out a static pulse from the shoulder of her suit. It immobilised Ultron for a good few seconds, which was long enough for Steve to climb back onto the top of the truck, hitting him once more with his shield. As Ultron fell forward towards Katie she jumped up, kicking out with her boot, pushing him down into the metal of the truck before landing.  Ultron regained control of his functions and the three of them began to fight, Steve and Katie dodging the rays of power as they flew at them, Ultron easily deflecting the beams the Supernova suit sent his way.

“Clint can you draw out the guards?”  Nat’s voice came over the comms.

“Let’s find out.”  Clint replied simply.

Katie fired another static pulse towards Ultron, but he easily deflected it and shot once more at her as she spiralled away.

“You think I’d let you get me with that again?” he growled.

“No but, made you look.”  She grinned, and at that point Clint shot the jet downwards and it fired off a few shots at Ultron, deliberately missing the delicate package the truck contained. It worked and as Katie watched 4 Ultron Sentries fly out and follow the jet upwards. Ultron turned and flew at Steve who spun, slamming him into a concrete pillar by the side of the road. Katie swooped in, firing again but Ultron was ready and caught her with a beam causing her to spin blindly through the air.  With no JAVIS to help, it took her a while to regain control but eventually she righted herself just in time to see Ultron spear at Steve, the two of them crashing into a nearby moving train. She shot forward, putting all her power into her thrusters, speeding up to catch it.

"Heading back towards you, whatever you’re gonna’ do. Do it now.” Clint informed over the coms as Katie dropped down so I was level with the train, looking into the windows.

“I’m going in, guys can you keep him occupied?” Natasha questioned as Katie finally caught up with the right carriage to see Ultron sending Steve flying again, landing hard against a metal door.

“What do you think we’ve been doing!”  Steve grit out, shaking his head, as once again he stood up, and resumed his fight with the AI as Katie shot a beam through the window, catching the robot unawares and causing him to fly out of the side of the train.

As she flew in through the window, the AI came crashing through one a bit further up and the two of them shot at one another, the beams hitting in mid-air and deflecting off one another, blowing a hole in the roof of the train.

“The package is airborne.” Clint informed us, “I have a clean shot.”

“Negative I am still in the truck.” Natasha said.

“What the hell are you doing?” Katie yelled, as Ultron sent a bench of seats towards her, which she blasted out of the way.

“Just be ready, I’m sending the package to you, Clint!”

“How do you want me to take it?” Clint asked sarcastically as Katie looked up through the hole in the roof to see the truck way above them.

“Uh, you might wish you hadn’t asked that.”

At that point Katie was floored as Steve landed heavily on top of her, having been blasted off his feet by Ultron.

“Ow…” he muttered, rolling over and off the top of her. Katie groaned as her head bounced off the inside of her metal helmet and hadn’t even had chance to right herself when suddenly she was lifted off her feet as Ultron’s hand crushed at the neck of her suit.

“Like I said, insect.”  He growled, his grip tightening as she raised both her palms to fire, blasting them both backwards, in opposite directions as Katie crashed into the carriage behind. She sat up and shifted the debris and shot forward, as Ultron came again but he was sent backwards as a blur knocked him off balance- the male Maximoff twin. Ultron took a menacing step forwards and the metal guards shifted red and bent in front of us in a protective manor. The female, Wanda, stood behind Ultron, hands outstretched and glowing red. Ultron turned towards her.

"Please, don’t do this.” Ultron pleaded with her.

“What choice do we have?” Wanda countered.

Ultron turned back around and fired in Steve’s direction. Katie was quicker though, pulling him out of the way as the front of the train blew out. The AI then blasted out the side door and escaped.

“We lost him!” Katie said into her coms, face plate sliding back as Steve made his way to the front of the train, reaching over the driver. “Clint, Nat He’s headed back towards you.”

“Nat we gotta go!”  Clint said.

Steve turned back to Katie, shaking his head, he could find no pulse. The driver was dead and the train was out of control heading straight for the end of the line.

“Nat… NAT? Cap you guys see Nat?” Clint questioned worriedly.

"If you have the package, get it to Stark! Go!” Steve commanded, looking up instinctively as Katie reached his side.

“Do you have eyes on Nat?" Clint questioned once again.

"Go!” Steve ordered once again and it seemed Clint obeyed because there was silence on the other side of the coms. Katie looked at him, both of them worried about our friend but equally knowing they had to tackle the problem in hand. The train crashed through the stoppers at the end of the line and carried on, heading straight through the narrow streets.

“There are civilians in our path.” Steve turned to Pietro, once more resuming command. He nodded and sped off in a blur.

“Can you stop this thing?” Katie asked Wanda. She looked unsure but nodded and blasted red tendrils down into the underlining of the train.

It began to slow, but nowhere near enough for them to avoid the building they were heading straight at. Katie slid her face plate back and Steve held his shield out in front of them, protecting them from the impact, and they felt the train starting to slow down, before it eventually came to a steady stop a moment or so later in a street lined with small trading stalls and shops.

As the passengers scrambled to get off the train Steve and Katie remained where they were for a second, Katie’s face plate once more retracting.

“You’re bleeding.” Steve said gently, wiping at her brow.

“Least I’m still here.” She shook her head. “What about Nat?”

“We’ll find her.” He took a deep breath, looking her in the eyes. “I promise.”

He slung his shield onto his back and the pair of them exited the train. Katie spotted Wanda stood next to her brother who was resting against a wall breathing heavily, hunched over with his hands on his knees. As they approached he looked up at Wanda, waving her away

“I’m fine, I just need a minute.” He assured her.

“I’m very tempted not to give you one.” Steve snapped, giving the twins a hard look. The two Maximoffs shared an uneasy glance

“The cradle? Did you get it?” Wanda asked.

“Stark will take care of it.” Steve told her, his tone still clipped.

“No he won’t.” Wanda said incredulously.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Katie glared at the girl

“He will do anything to make things right.” Wanda implored.

Steve turned and gave Katie a questioning look before he spoke into the coms.

“Stark come in. Stark? Anyone on coms?” The only response Steve got was silence. He looked at Katie who tried as well, getting nothing but static. She then tried to route through her phone, but there was nothing there either.

“Ultron can’t tell the difference between saving the world and destroying it.” Wanda pressed “Where do you think he got that from?”

Katie took a moment to look around, squinting against the sunlight. People were gathering, chattering in Korean and pointing at the train stretched down the middle of the road.

“I saw into his head.” Wanda implored. “I saw what he has planned. It’s not what he said, not what he told us he wanted.”

“Oh and what did he say he wanted?” Katie asked, turning back to her, her arms folding across her chest.

“He said he wanted peace” the boy, Pietro spoke.

“Oh, well…” Katie snapped, looking round nodding and clapping her gauntlet clad hands together sarcastically “Good job”

“Look…” Steve stepped forward a little before his girl lost her temper, his hands grasping the buckle on his utility belt. “This isn’t about sides, or what’s happened before. It’s about how we shut Ultron down.”

“So, what happens now?” Pietro asked.

“That depends on you.” Steve answered, putting his shield on his back, keeping his stance non-confrontational. “You’ve worked with Ultron; you know how he thinks. We could use the help stopping him.”

Wanda snarled, lips curling back over her teeth. “We won’t work with Stark.”

“Well, you kinda have two options.” Steve retorted immediately, before Katie had chance to. The authority emanating from him was immense, his eyes steady. “You work with us, or work with Ultron. Your choice.”

Katie looked up at Steve as the twins both exchanged glances. Eventually she got fed up and sighed.

“I’m going back to check on Dr Cho.” she looked at Steve “And then I’m going home to figure out how we find Nat…”

“Katie… wait…” He started towards her as she turned, making to walk off up the narrow street

“I’m done waiting Steve.” She snapped, turning to look at him. “And seeing as you don’t seem to want to give things a second’s thought, why should I?” “What’s that supposed to mean?” He frowned, running to catch up with her.

“You work with us?” She imitated his voice. “How do you know that she isn’t in our minds, right now, and this isn’t some elaborate scam to get us right where Ultron wants?”

A breeze whipped her hair slightly, and Pietro stood at Steve’s side, Wanda in his arms.

“You move too slow.” the young man taunted looking at them. “We’ll meet you at Cho’s office.”

Katie let out a loud groan of annoyance and walked and out onto the main road, looking around. Steve took a deep breath, she was angry, he knew that. His girl held a grudge, far better than he ever could and he had a feeling that Wanda Maximoff wasn’t going to get round her with a simple apology. But they didn’t have time for that, they needed to get home, find Nat and figure out Ultron’s next steps. And the Maximoffs would be helpful.

Sirens were now flooding his ears and the Emergency services were all over the place, freeing people from the cars, crashed buses, you name it.

“Could use a ride.” Steve turned to her, raising an eyebrow. She glared at him for a moment, before sliding her face plate back down. Without saying a word she gripped his harness at the top above where it held his shield and propelled them both into the air.

Dr Cho was going to be ok. Thankfully. The Scientist kindly offered them the use of her QuinJet, which technically belonged to Tony anyway, but they were grateful nonetheless. As Katie thanked the man who had led them to it, Steve turned to the Maximoff twins.

“Go on.”

Katie felt her mouth drop open as Wanda hesitated and looked to her brother who simply nodded and the two of them boarded.  Katie watched them incredulously before she rounded on Steve and he winced, awaiting the barrage which hit him full pelt.

“I can’t believe you seriously want to take them back to base.” She hissed at him.

“I told you before, they can help.” He replied calmly.

“You’re out of your mind!” Katie shook her head, the petulant child in her well and truly rearing its head “You know what actually, if they’re going, then I’m staying here.”

“For God’s sake Katie…” Steve groaned exasperatedly, running his hand through his hair, his helmet hanging in his left hand “You’re being unreasonable…”  

“I’m being unreasonable?” She rounded on him, her cheeks flushing with anger. “You’re the one who wants to take them right into the middle of our base, give them access to all our technology, when we don’t know if they’re still working for Ultron or not!”

“Katie, just get on the fucking jet now.” Steve’s voice was low, but he was angry.  He didn’t have time for this shit, he was tired, worried, and just wanted to get them all together so they could find Nat and end this and she was behaving like a total brat.

Katie looked at him, his eyes were flashing and he had a look on his face she couldn’t ever recall him using on her before. It was enough to shock her into compliance, but only after she shot him the dirtiest glare she could, before she stormed onto the jet.

Two hours later and Katie still hadn’t spoken a word to Steve or anyone else for that matter, she was fuming. Pietro and Wanda had been mostly silent up until that point, exchanging the odd bit of chatter between themselves in Sokovian, but neither approaching either of the other two until Pietro came to the cockpit.

“Miss Stark, I’m sorry, but please, do you have a spare jacket? My sister is cold.”

Katie glared at him, then looked to the back of the jet where Wanda was sat on one of the chairs, her knees pulled up to her chin. Damned it, despite everything Katie felt a small pang of pity for her.

“Sure, just give me a second.” She answered, a little gruffly but less angrily as she stood up out of her seat.

Steve had to smile, despite everything she wasn’t callous, and she knew what it was like to be cold and frightened. Katie glanced down and caught the look he was giving her and she glared at him.

“I will slap that smirk right off your face.” She threatened. Immediately he held his hands up, palms facing her in an “I’m sorry” motion and she walked over to the back of the jet and started looking in a few of the cupboards. Eventually she found a black fleece jacket, emblazoned with U-Gen logo, along with a blanket. In one of the other cupboards she found bottles of water supplies along with some snack bars and bags of chips.

“Here.” She walked over to Wanda and handed her the jacket and fleece.

“Thank you.” The teenager pulled the fleece around her.

“You hungry or need a drink?” Katie offered.

They looked at one another.

“I’m not going to poison you.” She rolled her eyes.

Wanda nodded and Katie handed her a bottle of water and Pietro took a granola bar from her and a bag of chips. Katie glanced at the twins and then suddenly had to ask the question that was on the tip of her tongue.

“Why do you hate us so much, the Avengers?” She blurted out. Steve turned his head slightly so he could listen in.

“I don’t hate the avengers. I hate you and your brother. Well I did. I don’t know maybe I still do.”

“But why?” Katie said, puzzled “You don’t know us?”

“Our home was bombed.” Wanda said, looking at her hands “It hit 2 floors below and blew a hole in our floor. Our parents fell but Pietro grabbed me and we rolled under the bed.” “The second one hits.” Pietro continued gently “But it doesn’t explode. It just sits there, three feet from our faces. And on the side of the shell is painted two words…” “Stark Industries” Katie swallowed, suddenly understanding. “You know we shut the arms side of the business down once we both realised the damage it was doing. I know that doesn’t absolve us of any guilt but…my brother is a good man, maybe he doesn’t always get it right but he tries.”

“But that is my point.” Wanda pressed “Ultron…he wants world peace, but he thinks the way to do that is to kill people, innocent people.”

“That’s not what Tony wants” Katie pressed

“But he created Ultron.” Pietro joined the conversation

“Yes, because of you!” Katie implored.

“Sorry, because of us?” “You made him see something, in Strucker’s lab. A vision, a vision that showed all of the Avengers dead, the world ending and Tony was left alone because he didn’t try hard enough to stop it.” At that point Wanda and Pietro exchanged glances as she continued “You made him believe he needed to do something, something more and Ultron was the result. He was supposed to be the thing that Tony thinks we need, something to bring peace…”

“You know, maybe we aren’t that different to Stark after all.” Pietro broke the moment or so silence that had descended. “I mean, we volunteered for HYDRA.”

“They said that they would make us super-human, like your Captain America over there.” Wanda sipped her water and Steve’s eyes flickered over the back of the jet for a moment before he turned back to the front. “Then we could fight…”

“They didn’t say what it would cost.” Pietro spat. “The experiments. The constant pain.”

“Guess we all made bad decisions for what we thought were the right reasons.” Katie shrugged “What matters now is how we fix this mess.”

With that she left them to it, taking her drink and one for Steve to the front of the jet.

“Thanks.” he said gently

“I assume you heard all that.”

“Super sensitive hearing, Doll, what can I say?” He smiled. She rolled her eyes. “You still pissed at me?” She raised her eyebrow at him, and with a teasing note chastised him. “Language.”

Steve smiled, reached over for her hand and drew it up to his face, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles before he let go and took a drink of water, before he glanced back out of the front window of the jet.

An hour or so later they managed to get through to Clint on the coms.

“Any news on Nat?” Katie asked him.

“I’m trying the old fashioned way. That should avoid Ultron. I’ll find her”

“I don’t doubt it Hawkeye.” She smiled.

“What about Stark and the cradle?” Steve asked.

“In the lab with Banner, why you ask?”

Katie glanced at Steve, his jaw set tightly but that was the sum total of the reaction from him. He didn’t want to voice what was on his mind and risk pissing her off even more. Instead he chose his words carefully.

“Just… well, the twins told us what’s in that Cradle and Ultron’s plans for it. I’m worried Tony could start something he doesn’t understand.”  “Twins? The Maximoffs?” Clint asked and then he let out a groan “You’re bringing them here aren’t you?”

“You gotta trust me on this one, Clint.” Steve sighed “They’ve seen Ultron’s end game. They want to help us fight him.” “Yeah well I’ll make my own mind up on that one, I’ll see you when you get back.” “Great…” Katie sighed “Now he’s pissed as well.”

**** “I’m gonna say this once!” Steve’s voice was loud

“How about "nonce”?” Tony shot back.

“Shut it down!” Steve pointed at the cradle.

“Nope, not gonna happen.”  Tony shook his head.

There had been a bit of a fight in the lab, shields being flung, repulsors fired, and then Thor had turned up, supercharged the cradle, and it had gotten even stranger when a red man, an android had emerged.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, in JARVIS’ voice “That was, odd. Thank you.” He added nodding respectfully to Thor, before his unnervingly human-looking eyes trailed over Thor thoughtfully. Then he rolled his shoulders and a cape of his own appeared and flowed down his back.

“Thor, you helped create this?” Steve asked

“I’ve had a vision, the world, where it starts, all hope and life and at its centre, is that.” Thor responded pointing to the gold stone in the middle of the man’s forehead.

“What the gem?” Banner asked in confusion. Thor nodded.

“It’s the mindstone,” He explained. “One of the six infinity stones, the greatest power in the universe and it is unparalleled in its destructive capabilities.”

“Then why would you bring it to life?” Katie asked, taking a deep breath, folding her arms.

“Because Stark is right.” Thor said.

“Oh, it’s definitely the end of times.” Bruce sarcastically to Tony’s shocked but proud expression.

“The Avengers cannot defeat Ultron.” Thor continued and the red man politely cut in.

“Not alone.”

“Why does your vision sound like JARVIS?” Katie questioned still cautious of this new being.

“We reconfigured Jarvis’ matrix, to create something new.” Tony walked up towards his masterpiece and examined him.

“I think I’ve had my fill of new.” Steve replied sarcastically.

“You think I am a child of Ultron.” The red man stated rather than asked.

“You’re not?” Steve replied suspiciously still glaring.

“I am not Ultron.” He answered simply. “I am not JARVIS. I am…” He looked down at his hands as if they would hold the answer.

“I looked in your head,” Wanda stated stepping towards him. “I saw annihilation.”

“Look again.” Vision responded in the same simple tone.

“Ha, her seal of approval means jack to me.” Clint snorted, Katie found herself inclined to agree.

“Their powers, the horrors in our heads, Ultron himself, they all came from the mindstone.” Thor said, looking round “And that is nothing compared to what it could unleash, but with it on our side-”

“Is it?” Steve cut Thor off then turned aiming his next question at him towards the red man, needing to hear confirmation “Are you, on our side?”

“I don’t think it’s that simple.” Vision answered truthfully.

“Well it better get real simple real soon.” Clint said seriously.

“I am on the side of life,” Vision continued, “Ultron isn’t, he will end it all.”

“What’s he waiting for?” Tony asked.

“You.” He stated easily, looking around at us all.

“Where?” Katie pressed.

“Sokovia.” Clint supplied helpfully. “Yeah, he’s got Nat there too.”

Katie looked at Clint who raised his eyebrow slightly and he shrugged. He’d found her, just like he said.

“If we’re wrong about you,” Bruce said approaching the man. “If you’re the monster Ultron created you to be…”

“What will you do?” The red man asked and Bruce stayed silent.

“I don’t want to kill Ultron, he is unique, and he’s in pain,” Vision paced slowly around the room, “but that pain will roll over the earth, so he must be destroyed. Every form he’s built, every trace and presence of him. We have to act now. And not one of us can do it without the other.”

He turned back to look at everyone in the room individually, then he did something completely unexpected as he picked up Thor’s hammer from the table. Steve felt his eyebrows raise in shock whereas Katie was looking at Thor, her mouth open, the god was wearing a look of utter confusion.

“There may be no way to make you trust me, but we need to go.” Vision finished holding out the hammer for Thor to take. Thor took his weapon back and the man walked away.

There was a moment of silence before Thor coughed.

“Right, well done.” he said awkwardly patting Tony on the shoulder and followed the red man out of the room.

“Three minutes, get what you need.” Steve announced.

**** Chapter 24 Part 2

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers fic #Katie Stark #mcu #mcu fanfic #the avengers #chris evans #chris evans characters

[fanfics-for-you]

Jinxed // Spencer Reid x Reader

Gender Neutral!! (Spencer Reid is a bi icon and you can't tell me other wise.)

In which the Reader just wants to talk about their feelings to some of their best friends, who they think will give them the best advice. But, they can't seem to get a word out without a certain Doctor interrupting.

//||□○□||\\

It was a really long case, and honestly you'd never been more tired in your life. But, Garcia had plead that you visit her and update all about your "adventure" with the team.

See, you actually tended to stay at the BAU headquarters with her but with your odd ease with children -and knowledge about early psychology-, Hotch had you tag along.

You ended up getting the last detail needed to find the perp, and you were very proud of yourself. Other than that though, you had spent almost all your time with Reid.

Hotch, although he asked you to attend, wouldn't let you anywhere near the field because of the lack of experience. This meant you were at the local police station, as you said helping Reid with linking locations and finding out more from the Encyclopedia that is his brain.

You worked together well, which was both good and bad, depending on if factored in the raging feelings for the Doctor. It was never said out loud though, you didn't want to have the chance of the smart man listening in.

You needed to tell someone.

"Y/N!" Garcia chirped, as you waltzed out of the elevator, your body aching for sleep.

"Hey, Garcia," you muttered, trying to focus on each step in front of you, and also not be rude to your peppy pal.

"C'mon, honey-" she ushered you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you simply followed, oddly entranced by her sweet perfume, "-I'll get you some snacks. Mama Garcia's here."

You chuckled lightly, but found yourself humming, "I could marry you Garcia!"

"Oh, you wish, my darling-" she opened the door to her techie room, and she sat you in a chair, "-but I'm too good for you."

"'Course you are," you smiled, crossing your legs in the rolly chair, "-anyway, what's on the menu, G?"

She spun around in her chair, clicking her pen, "Ah, ah, ah. You spill, and you get some banana bread I made yesterday, for reasons you don't have to know."

You groaned, rubbing your temples, "What do you want to know?"

She scooted close to you, "I already know everything about the case, but I want to know the juicy stuff. Like, maybe... the fact that you were with Reid every time he called me? That's interesting, don't you think?"

You rolled your eyes, a small smile echoing on your features, "Hotch didn't want me on the field, and Reid was just there too, why is that important?"

Garcia raised her eyebrows, "You know why that's important, don't try to fool me."

You rolled your eyes, hiding the growing smile on your face, as you spun in your chair to tame your laughter.

Garcia held the chair, forcing you to stay still as she spoke, "So? What happened?"

You smiled, throwing your hands up, "Fine, you got me. I think I'm in love w-"

Garcia interrupted, eyes wide and jumping up from her chair, "Shh!"

She was focused behind you, at the door, and you felt your stomach drop at the idea that he stood there-

"You're in love, Y/N?"

You cursed under your breath, and spun around to lock eyes with the familiar brown eyes.

"Reid! Hey, what- what are you doing here?"

You tried to act as normally as possible, which was a bit hard because what if he heard the whole conversation? What if he was repulsed? This would not end well-

"I-" Spencer paused, holding up two takeout bags, "-I got you some dinner, you hadn't eaten during the investigation so... I thought I'd get you something."

You smiled, standing to retrieve the food with a curious eye, "Is this...?"

"Your favorite," Spencer hummed, "-I hope so. I know you get it more frequently than your sandwiches, or salads from anywhere else. So, I assumed-"

"Thank you, Spence," you hummed, taking it from his hands with a careful smile.

The silence lasted for a breath longer than it should have, as you waited for Spencer to say anything that could mean good news. It was getting more awkward by the second-

"And," Garcia jumped up, rushing beside you in a split second, "-you don't get to know a thing about what we were referring to, Mr. Smartypants. That's patient-doctor confidentially."

Spencer scrunched his eyebrows, turning to Garcia with his eyes, "...but you're not a... doctor?"

"It's a metaphor Spence," you shook your head, hard-eyeing Garcia to the side, "-she's just saying the secret is an unspoken one."

"But-" he paused, doing that scrunch thing with his nose -like he always does when he's confused-, "-that's an actual medical practice... It's unusual to ever be used as a-"

"Reid!" Penelope groaned, "Y/N is the only person in the BAU, who trusts me with their secrets, you're not ruining that for me."

"Wait, what do you mean only one? Why-"

Spencer nodded, a shine in his eye, "Well, that's kind of a given. You statistically slip-up with secrets about... 68% more than any other BAU member."

You raised a brow, "Where are you getting those statistics?"

Spencer cleared his throat, a light flush brushing onto his cheeks, "I do my research, and just because I sit at my desk and read most of the time, doesn't mean I don't hear things, really."

You and Garcia raised your eyebrows a bit in surprise, as the boy wonder seemed to play a mastermind villain. That was new.

"So," Garcia spoke, "-what I'm hearing is that you know all about the juicy gossip in the office? Reid, why don't you tell me? It's always the one they least expect-"

"Your research?" you spoke, branching off on a completely different conversational topic, "Reid, who do you think is the safest to confide in? Scientifically, of course."

Reid paused, watching you for a second, "Well, Hotch is definitely up there, but his empathetic skills are kind of lacking. Garcia is the opposite, she has the empathetic view, but also, can't stay quiet about it for long."

Penelope rolled her eyes, "No, need to profile me, you sweet, sweet nerd."

Reid continued, placing his take out in his satchel and moving his hands to visualize it -you guessed, "Emily is a good bet, but once she's drunk, it'd be safe to assume the secret is compromised. Derek is also a good bet, but... um, I'd imagine he'd be pushy and teasing."

There was something different about that one, as he stuttered it out in a bit of frustration. He'd definitely told Morgan something and recieved the bad end of the deal.

You looked up to Garcia, and she read your eyes with a look of agreement. Pulling out her phone and wandering back, she mouthed 'On it!' as her fingers went typing away.

"JJ, well," Reid continued, unmoved by the fact that Garcia had left their conversation, "-she's probably up there as well, but if push comes to shove, she'd definitely just... motherhen you until you shared it. I would be a plenty good candidate, I don't think I've ever shared a secret within the BAU-"

"But-" you interrupted him, your eyebrows furrowed, "-you have a tell, Spence."

Spencer pursed his lips, eyes darting slightly, "I do?"

"Uh, yeah-" you muttered, falling back into the extra chair Garcia had pulled for you, "-your face is full of tells. When it's a happy secret, like... Rossi's surprise birthday party! You have to hold back a smile constantly. A secret that's got you genuinely worried about someone? You glance to them like every five minutes, and your eyebrows furrow way more than normal. A sad secret? Your eyes are just like a sad puppy's, and you allow more physical touch."

"I-" Reid opened his mouth, but you continued, not even noticing the wide flush spread across his cheeks and tips of his ears.

"When it's a really big secret? That's when nervous or odd Reid comes out. You either dart your eyes/can't make eye contact, and you clasp your hands a lot. I assume, to stroke your palm, as a sense of comfort. Or you undereact to everything surrounding that secret, which just causes more suspicion, by the way-"

You finally looked up to Spencer, who was -at this moment- looking like he was about to implode. His face was bright red, and you thought it was really cute but also, you felt terrible for putting him through that.

You stopped, pausing, "Oh God, I'm so sorry, Spence. I didn't mean to offend you-"

"What?" Spencer blinked, his eyes no longer glazed over, "-Oh! No, that was... fascinating really! You don't even necessarily have to stop, if you don't want to. Not that I like it, or anything. NoT THAT I don't like it either, it's just-"

At this point, you'd fallen victim to your own blush, as Spencer rambled over something that did seem that big but he was getting redder by the minute-

You enjoyed this a bit too much, actually.

To be your saviour once again, Garcia screamed as high-pitched as she could.

At such a noise, you almost fell out of your chair, you got up so fast, "G? Everything okay?"

Garcia looked up, "Uh, yeah. Totally, definitely. It's just ya know- a spider, yeah."

You raised an eyebrow, as Reid -who now stood beside you- spoke in a questioning tone, "On your phone?"

She bit her lip, throwing her eyes between you and Spencer, "Yeah, uh totally nothing to do with you guys. Derek sent it to me as a prank, and it doesn't have a single bit to do with the two agents right in front of me, right now."

You furrowed your eyebrows, "Are you sure everything's alright?"

Garcia spun to her computer, "Oh, of course! Why wouldn't everything be alright? It's uh- Nothing's wrong, and nothing's going on. I don't know anything about the secret romance that may or may not be going on in the office. Nope, not me."

You glanced at Reid, who although he had a few of the tells you spoke of earlier, shrugged his shoulders.

"Um," he spoke, confused, "-Penelope, what are you talking about?"

She was basically sawing down on her lip now, as she opened her mouth and then shut it again, and finally closed her eyes, "OUT! Both of you out, I... I can't handle this monumental information with you both standing right in front of me. So, scram!"

You opened your mouth, "What? You wanted me in here, Penn. I don't und-"

Garcia grabbed your shoulders, "If you love me, take the beanstalk boy, and exit this room."

"But, I-"

"Please."

You sighed, picking up Spencer's take out, and grabbing his satchel's strap with unhesitant ease, "Come on, Spence. We gotta go."

"O-Okay," Spencer noted, following close behind you without hesitation, you two just trusted each other. It didn't take much.

You pulled him out into the BAU hub, and finally let go of him, spinning around to talk about that odd experience.

"So, Spence-" you grabbed, a rolly chair from a random desk and sat in it, placing your food in your lap, "-what do you think that was all about?"

"Probably a secret," Reid blurted, he'd seemed a little off as he said that, doing the same as you and pulling a chair to sit.

"Oh," you pursed your lips, digging in your bag and pulling out the container, "-who do you think it's about?"

Spencer looked at you, a bit baffled, like he'd expected you to pick up on something, but you hadn't.

He shook his head, tossing his wonderous hair as he did so, "Could be anyone, I guess."

He fidgeted with his food, picking his fork into the dish and quietly muttering something you couldn't quite hear.

"Spence?" you hummed, as he looked up to you, "-everything okay with you?"

Spencer paused, blinking, "Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just tired, actually."

You frowned, "Man, is there something on my face? God, everyone has been weird around me today."

Spencer perked up, "What do you mean?"

"Ever since the big break," you spoke, a little worried, "-everyone's been looking at me weird. Like they know something I don't."

"Oh," Spencer echoed, watching your face fall slightly, "-well, actually. There was an... officer in the Chicago Department. He had a crush on you, and was really obvious about it. The team thought it was funny you didn't notice."

You raised your eyebrows, as Spencer didn't make eye contact and a quiet blush swept across his cheeks, "Really? Wow. I'm not surprised, I... uh, never pick up on those cues."

"Was there-" Spencer added with a slightly hardened tone, "-Was there any cop there you were hoping it'd be? You don't have to answer, I'm honestly just curious-"

"No, uh-" your eyes flashed up to him, "-not there. All of those guys were... weird."

He laughed, eyes lightening up a bit, "So, you're picky, huh?"

You smiled, "Maybe so, Reid, maybe so."

|//□◇□\\|

It was early morning and you were to stay at the BAU for a case, as usual. However, this time Rossi was staying too.

Something about getting his book finished and to the publisher on time, he'd avoided the plane ride and now, sat with you gazing over the large table with case files spread hastily across it.

It was a gruesome case, one where Garcia practically gagged just presenting it to the team. You honestly couldn't think about the specifics, without doing the same.

"So, Rossi-" you spoke, eyes skimming over a victim's file, "-what do you think the symbol branded on t-"

Rossi didn't look up, as he spoke, "When are you going to tell him?"

You raised your eyes, splitting a confused smile on your lips, "I'm sorry, what?"

"Reid," he clarified, his eyes steadied on the pictures scattered across the table.

You stuttered, your face a tinge of red, "I have no clue what you're talking about."

Rossi added, finally looking up, "You know the poor boy doesn't have the guts, Y/N. You're kind of hard to read as well, so you're probably going to have to make the first move."

"I-" you muttered, low and under your breath, "I don't know how."

"For him? It's simple," Rossi addressed, his hands up as if he was selling a new invention to you, "-you just have to be honest and straightforward, little one. Tell him that-"

A voice spoke up, "Tell who what?"

Rossi stopped, his eyes darting to the new figure in the room, "I thought you got on the plane, boy wonder?"

"Yeah, Spence," you spoke, raising a brow and trying to cool your cheeks, "-what's up?"

"I uh, forgot my passport at home," he hummed, his eyes anywhere but on yours or Rossi's.

You scrunched your eyebrows at Rossi, who just like you had the same idea. There was no way that was the truth.

Rossi cleared his throat, "Uh, Y/N, we'll continue our conversation elsewhere. And Reid-"

Spencer looked up at him, with his head tilted like a little puppy. He was insanely cute, you honestly don't know how he worked himself into the FBI with how much he'd seemed so... innocent, really.

Rossi continued, "We'll talk about this later, capiche?"

Spencer nodded, eyes caught up in the evidence scattered amongst the table, "Yes, sir."

||//■○■\\||

"Yeah, and then, the guy came up to me and said-" Emily narrated, each member on the edge of their seat, as she'd told her -one and only- blind date story.

"Y/N?" Hotch spoke, tapping the doorframe of his office, signaling you to come in.

Tapping Penelope's leg, you made her promise to tell you the rest of the story, if you missed it, and waltzed right up the stairs to his office.

"Hey," you smiled, a dash of concerned, "-what's going on, sir? Is everything alright?"

"I needed to run something by you," he spoke, intelligent and in no way was his voice odd so that you could dissect it, "-please, sit."

You nodded, immediately taking you're place in the seat across from his desk, "Of course! What am I looking at?"

Hotch spoke, as he carefully moved to take a file out of his desk drawer, "As one of our press/legal employees, there's been an edit to a section of our contract, and I wanted you to be one of the ones who ensures everything is correct within the document."

"Oh, it's my pleasure, sir-" you hummed, taking the file out of his hand, "-am I taking this home? Or?"

"No," his eyes flashed to the door, "-it's a pretty small edit, just read it over and let me know. You can preferably sit in here and read it."

"Oh, okay," you hummed, a little confused, but your eyes settled on the document.

'Inner Office Relationships:

Now, available if properly addressed to the supervisory agent of both parties.'

"Um, Hotch," you mumbled, eyes scanning across the full-fledged page, as only one difference stuck out to you, "-is this about...?"

"Office relationships? Yes," he confirmed, eyes lingering on you -with a slight pass to the door, "-so...?"

"So, what, sir?" you questioned, flipping the file open and closed as the awkwardness in the room peaked.

"You and Dr. Reid," he spoke, eyes telling all, "-it's been adjusted for the betterment of the BAU, specifically you two."

"I-" you blinked, unsure of what to say as you'd never seen Hotch this way.

"Listen, Y/N, just-" he paused, careful and concise, "-if it happens, please inform me for the sake of th-"

"Sir?" Reid waltzed in, a file filled with papers in his arms as his eyes stayed trained on them, "I've skimmed these documents, and the only difference I can really see between the two, is that office relationships are allowed, as long as you inform your su-"

His eyes moved up from the papers, and upon landing on you, he tripped and the file came crashing down. All the papers fluttering in the air, as he simply muttered, "Oh."

"I-I, uh, apologize, sir-" he scrambled, his ears burning a bright red, as you leaned down and picked up some of the papers with him, "-I didn't realize, you'd had company in here. I'm sorry for interrupting."

"Reid," Hotch smiled at him, "-it's fine, Y/N here, was reviewing the same document as well."

"Oh," Reid said again, ultimately trying to hide into himself, as he ashamedly picked up the fallen papers.

You paused, holding the stack you'd gathered, "Uh, actually, sir. I'm just curious, but why was that change made to the document? Do you know?"

"Actually," Hotch glanced at the other Agent in the room, "-someone sent in a request to change the document."

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly, "Oh, do you have any idea who did that?"

Reid, who had been bent slightly under the table, shot up and rammed his head into a smaller table by a couch that lined the wall.

"Ouch..." he muttered, cradling his head with hand and you immediately jumped up, concern brimming under your fingertips.

"Jeez, Spence!" you stood on your tippy-toes to get a good look, "-I don't think you're bleeding, but we'll have to get you some ice for that, just to be safe."

"Yeah," Spencer laughed nervously, his voice strained as he side-eyed Hotch, "-we should obviously go that. We can't stay in here."

In a few short minutes, Spencer was ushering you out and as you stepped out, you watched all your coworkers unabashedly act like they were not watching the whole time.

You groaned, briskly grabbing Spencer's hand, and dashing on by the the break room. You'd rather not hear anything any of them have to say at this moment, unless it was Emily's story. That was all you'd wanted to hear-

"Uh, Y/N?"

You blinked, as Reid motioned to his head, and with a swift glance to your connected hands, you blushed, "Oh, sorry, Spence. Got distracted."

He laughed, as you carefully slipped your hand out of his and scurried to get a bag, some ice, and some paper towels. Or maybe just find an ice pack in the fridge?

"So," you addressed, as you skimmed the freezer for an ice pack, "-what was that about?"

"What?" Spencer asked, until his mind clicked and he added, "Oh, I just... I don't know, I got a bit nervous, er- surprised."

You smiled into the fridge, -finding an ice pack buried under some peas, or something, you weren't sure-, "It was you who requested the change, wasn't it?"

"No," Spencer squeaked, and you could only imagine the tips of his ears getting redder.

"You can't lie to me Spence," you hummed pulling off a few paper towels, and wrapping the around the ice pack, "-remember?"

"Anyway," you continued, walking towards him, "-I don't blame you, there are some very attractive people in this BAU. I'm just curious which one you're trying to sweep off their feet Doctor Reid?"

"It's-" Reid stuttered out, gently taking the ice pack from you hands, "It's not like that."

"My money's on JJ," you spoke with a tongue of hurt in your tone, as you locked eyes with those familiar brown ones.

"What?! No," Spencer practically yelled, "-she's married!"

You shrugged, "Doesn't stop most guys."

"Pfft," he chuckled, throwing up his freehand, "-you don't think I'm one of those guys, do you? I mean, look at me!"

He motioned down to his sweater vest and perfectly placed tie, and somewhere in your head you had to disagree.

You smirked, getting up and exited the room with a shake of laughter, "It's always the ones you don't expect, Reid, it's always the ones you don't expect."

||//◇●◇\\||

It was the team's night out, everyone was at a dimly lit, crowded karaoke bar. Although, you didn't quite prefer crowds, you wouldn't have it any other way.

Derek and Garcia were out dancing on the floor, Hotch and JJ were at home with their respective families, Rossi went home early, Reid was never one to attend these outings, and you and Prentiss sat in a booth, tired but still wanting to drink.

She sipped on her small glass, eyes locked on you with a glance you'd grown familiar to.

You smiled, a bit of a confused one as always, "What, Em?"

Prentiss raised her eyebrows, "So, I heard about the Reid thing."

You rolled your eyes, "What Reid thing?"

"Don't," Emily tipped her drink to you, with a teasing grin, "-I'm a profiler, Y/N, don't underestimate me."

You raised a brow, knowing there was no possible way that Reid would end up here, you were safe, "Fine, what do you want to know?"

"Well," Emily looked out into the crowd, and then back at you, "-why haven't you asked him out?"

"It's-" you paused, gnawing on your lip, "-complicated, Prentiss."

She opened her mouth, looking back at you, when it suddenly turned into a gasp. And you didn't even have to look back to know what was going on.

"What's complicated?"

Emily's eyes widened, "Woah, Reid! You never come to the karaoke nights with us, I'm- I'm so glad you came!"

He scoffed, obviously lying, "I go to tons of parties with you guys. All the time."

"Yeah, no, Spencer-" Emily added swirling her drink around, as she eyed the book in his hand and bottle of water, "-you don't."

You furrowed your brows, Spencer had frequented quite a few of them -in your presence at least, wait. Had he only showed up when you did?

Emily practically read your mind, as Spencer sat just beside you, "You only show up when Y/N says they're going to be there, hotshot. And I could probably get proof of that."

"I-" Spencer paused, clearing his throat, "-I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure, you don't," Emily hummed, as she stood, "-I saw a hot girl on the dancefloor, I'm going to go talk to her, lovebirds. Talk to you later!"

You shook your head, laughing, "How wasted do you think she's going to get tonight?"

Spencer paused, "Usually, I'd say 9 times out of 10, she ends up puking on the floor, or leaving with someone else."

"So, maybe the chances are in her favor with that girl, huh?" you smiled at him, for just a second and peered over the glass.

He grinned right back, a glint in his eye that you hadn't recognized, "Yeah... Maybe, just maybe he does."

You hadn't thought much of the pronoun change with the loud, boisterous music, and with your heart fluttering at the wide grin -that was just utterly contagious-, let's just say you were... a little distracted anyway.

//||♡◇♡||\\

It was the obligated BAU dinner night at Rossi's, he was talking about some sort of pasta. You could tell it looked kinda like lasagna, but you wouldn't dare say that to the older man's face.

He'd probably have you kicked out, if you did.

You wouldn't blame him, either.

"Y/N!" Rossi exclaimed, his face a wide smile, "I can trust you to know what oregano is, right?"

"Uh," you paused, trying to take a minute to think, "-yes? I think."

"Good," Rossi hummed, "-take Morgan, and go pick up some from the Deli's down the street."

You chucked, catching the keys thrown your way, "Yes, sir! But I better get the first piece of that bread, mister."

Rossi winked at you, "If you come back with oregano? Consider it done."

With a pep in your step, you waltzed to the living room where a few familiar faces sat. Derek was there, his arm slung around Penelope, and Reid was bent over in laughter.

You blinked, refocusing on the task at hand -you could stare at Reid later, "Hey, Derek?"

All three people looked up with distant smiles, Reid's eyes twinkled like they always did, as Morgan answered, "What's up, my sunshine?"

You laughed, "Rossi has assigned us to pick up some oregano, you coming?"

"Always with you," Morgan grinned, his bright, teasing grin that you'd grown familiar with.

"Alright," you rolled your eyes, "-let's go then, mister. I'm sure Reid can occupy Penelope, no?"

Reid blinked, like he was knocked out of his trace, "What?"

Derek laughed, smacking the tall man on the back, "You heard them, Reid. Keep my girl satisfied, pretty boy."

With a laugh, he pulled an arm over your shoulders and smiled, "Our chariot awaits."

You nodded, and followed Morgan out the door, you'd had about 30 minutes until the store closed anyway.

The car ride was silent, as Morgan pulled into the driverseat, his driving would get you there faster and neither of you wanted to miss such a meal.

"So," Derek hummed, hands trained on the wheel, "-do you-"

"I swear to God, if this is about Reid-" you threw your hands up, rubbing your eyes.

"What?" Derek raised his brows, "What about Reid? I was just going to ask if you'd decided on a pet to adopt, sunshine."

"Oh," you paused, a bit surprised.

"What's-" Derek grinned, his eyes obnoxiously shining, "What's going on with Reid?"

"Well, uh-" you rubbed your hands together, "-basically everyone in the BAU has tried to 'confront' me about him."

"Oh," Derek hummed, "-is it about you two being lovebirds? And that pretty boy has no way of being the one to make the first move."

You sighed, "Not you too."

Derek shrugged, "What? You guys are obviously just dancing around each other, and we're a team of profilers. It's not hard to see you two."

You pursed your lips, "If so, why can't Reid read me?"

Derek mumbled, "What do you mean?"

"If it's so obvious," you hummed, quieter than necessary, "-then why doesn't he do anything about it?"

"That's a question for Reid, sunshine," Derek hummed, "-but we all know he's not particularly good at social cues."

"So?" you hummed tapping your inner leg, "I'm surprised we haven't been interrupted yet, actually."

Derek furrowed his eyebrows, "What?"

You chuckled, shaking your head, "Uh, everytime I talk about my feelings, Reid always pops into the conversation before I can even speak."

Derek scoffed, "How many times have you tr-"

He was interrupted by his phone buzzing, and a familiar name shining onto his screen. His eyes widened, as you sighed. It happened yet again.

"Speak of the devil," Derek gasped, with a small smile and clicking on the call, "Hey, pretty boy. You're on speaker."

"Oh, hey!" Reid was scatterbrained, his words quick like when he was nervous, "Rossi wanted me to go with you guys, I was told to call you before it was too late."

"Not that I don't enjoy your company, Reid-" you spoke, carefully, "-but why would you need to be here?"

"Yeah, sunshine here-" Derek spoke, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, "-has a point boy wonder."

Spencer continued, his voice raised to a slightly higher pitch, "Uh, maybe ask Rossi?"

"Sorry, Spence," you shook your head, working it out in your head, "-we're not turning around. It really doesn't make any sense, we're almost at the store now."

Derek grinned, one you knew he wore specifically for Reid, "Yeah, and to me, it just sounds like pretty boy here has a case of jealousy. Nothing too urgent."

"I-" Reid echoed, defensive, "-uh no, that's not what's happening, Rossi did-"

You raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristically not Spencer tone of Spencer's voice, mouthing to Derek, "What's that about?"

Derek snickered, but he didn't explain. As usual.

"Listen, Reid-" Derek added, his voice steady with an air of teasing, "-although Y/N is very irresistible, I will refrain from stealing them away from you."

"I-" Spencer's voice spoke, exhausted and a bit defensive, "-I never said Y/N was mine, Morgan. Rossi just wanted-"

"That's enough, boy wonder-" Derek hummed flipping the phone to his ear, "-you're off of speaker now."

You watched as Morgan carefully listened to the distant hum of Spencer's voice, and a giant smug grin slipped across his face. One that just screamed that he'd tease Reid later.

Derek winked at you, as he responded with a telling gleam in his eye, "So Rossi did tell you to come, but after you annoyed him in to doing so? Still sounds like jealousy, kid."

There was a loud yell on the other end, a bit of a frustrated tone, you could tell. Derek had done it once more, Reid was frustrated.

"Hey, baby girl-" Derek spoke as smooth as butter, "-I'm sorry you had to take his place, but can I politely ask you to tell pretty boy to man up?"

You snorted, confused but at this point, you'd found bliss in the unknown. With such a big secret, you'd easily began to understand that silence was key in most areas.

With a sigh, you'd turned to look out the window and your feelings mustered in your chest. Another fail.

//||♡◇♡||\\

It was an exhausting morning, although no case had spiraled into your department, everyone was busy wrapping up previous paperwork. Including those with families, which you found to be absolutely devastating.

You kept glancing up at JJ, she seemed exhausted and she had the cutest little boy at home -who not to mention was Reid’s godson. Henry was an angel in every aspect of the word with what little you’d interacted with the boy, you’d still die for him.

Plus, watching Reid interact with him? He’d be a great Dad, just based on that.

Not, not necessarily with you. 

It could be, you’d pegged Spencer as one who would adopt. His wonderful brain probably knew all the statistics of orphans and chances of mishaps in birth and percentage of abandonment in this city. You’d actually only wanted to adopt too, so maybe you were just projecting-

Okay, re-center.

You blinked, watching as JJ’s stack of papers kept growing and you kept imagining Henry getting sadder by the hour... You had known since coming back to the team, and being the lead in the communication and press department, she’d really been weighed down.

You’d had the sort of specialist as well, dabbling in the press, and you definitely didn’t have any loving husband and child at home. With a sigh, you raised up from your spinning chair, taking a longing look at your small stack and approaching JJ.

Clearing your throat, you sat in a chair by her desk with a smile, pretending to dust off the stack, “You’ve got your night made, huh?”

JJ lightly chuckled, “Yeah, all of these are for various press releases in the past few weeks. It’s really a nightmare.”

“Do you-” you pursed your lips, thumbing through the one on top, “-I know I’m not the Jennifer Jareau, but I’ve worked in press and pretty sure all of your conferences are taped somewhere... Do you think I could pick these up for you?”

JJ blinked, pausing for a second, baffled, “You’d... You’d do that for me?”

“Well,” you rolled your eyes, playfully, “-more like for Henry, but...”

JJ chuckled, “Right, of course. I’ll just... go ask Hotch? And this means so much to me, you don’t even-”

You waved her off, “No, let’s just say you owe me one? That fair? To be honest, I was just going to go home and binge a few episodes. Like the cliched unsuccessful adult. Plus, I don’t have a cute little family to go back to. So... I want to do this for you.”

JJ paused, “Okay, but I do owe you one, for real. No take-backs.”

You nodded with a smile, patiently following JJ with your eyes -you’d had a habit of ensuring everyone you’d known got to their next location safely, it came with the job. Just at the base of the stairs, JJ ran into the familiar man you just couldn’t get out of your head: Dr. Spencer Reid.

Their words were hushed, Spencer trying desperately to keep it at a low volume, and JJ seemed to be well... mother-henning him. Derek walked up beside you, just as JJ started to motion towards you -quite vividly, actually. 

She was pointing her eyes to you, you saw her mouth your name a few times, and now she was... pointing at you. It took everything in you, not to laugh actually.

You spoke to Derek, with a sarcastic tone, “You think they’re talking about me?”

Derek chuckled, “You might be confused with the potted plant, sunshine.”

You snickered, going back to look at them, and now JJ was motioning you to come to her. Like angry mother, when you’d stayed out past curfew.

Raising your eyebrows to Morgan, he muttered with a smirk, “Someone’s in trouble.”

You shoved him over, as you made your way to the perhaps frustrated woman who had been motioning to you just earlier. Spencer was still standing there, awkwardly, actually, with quite the flush to his face.

“Uh-” you spoke, locking eyes with JJ, “-what’s up? I thought I was just going to go do your files, I-”

JJ grabbed your wrist, looking at Spencer with a stern eye, “Wait here, Reid. Don’t move. Y/N, can you step into the breakroom with me?”

At this point, the entire BAU was watching the interaction. Even Garcia was poking her head out of her tech room, and the rest were huddled across the room. You glanced to Spencer for some sort of explanation, but he just blinked at you with those once loved brown eyes.

They were on thin ice right now, because JJ seemed to be offended.

“I’m confused, but-” you met JJ’s eyes, quietly, “-okay...?”

JJ wasted no time, dragging your arm away, as you frantically said goodbye to him with a small smile. You always had to smile at him, it was like on a checklist in your head. You read somewhere that it helps people fall in love, it was probably scientific.

Sliding into the breakroom, she closed the door and slid the blinds down. You chuckled lightly just at the pure frustration on her features, Spencer must’ve said something really... offensive? He didn’t seem the type.

“So,” you spoke with a raised brow, “-can I ask questions now?”

JJ paused, anger dissipating from her furrowed brow, “Uh yeah, about that...”

“Let me guess-” you hummed, tired from the day, “-you can’t answer them?”

“Yeah,” JJ responded, carefully, “-hey, are you okay?”

You paused, actually debating in your mind, “Yes, I’d say so.”

JJ stared at you, “I... I don’t think so. Is it the Reid thing?”

You chuckled, a little hopelessly, as you sat at one of the small table, “It’s jinxed to talk about it, JJ. I’d be careful.”

“Jinxed?” JJ slid into the seat across from you, with a look of concern gleaming in her eye.

You raised an eyebrow, “Everytime it happens, Spence butts in.”

She scoffed, “You know, I think those might be coincidences. There’s no way that it could- Crap.”

You smiled wide, just out of the corner of your eye, you could see brown eyes slipping through the blinds. Spencer wasn’t that sneaky.

JJ was speaking kind of out of the side of her mouth, “Y/N, act shocked. I mean, jaw dropping.”

“Jaw dropping?” you spoke, raising your eyebrows and covering your mouth with an air of urgency.

JJ lips turned up, as she bit back laughter, “Perfect.”

Uncovering your mouth, you raised a brow, asking, “What is this for?”

“It’s to make Reid think we’re talking about something in particular,” JJ responded, her face barely flinching at the mention.

“And,” you added, “-lemme guess? I can’t know what.”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” JJ began, as the brown eyes vanished from the window, “-but, on the brightside, he’s gone! And we can continue our conv-”

Suddenly, the door burst open and -who would’ve guessed- Spencer came tumbling in like the clumsy man he is.

You blinked, turning to JJ with a tired smile, “You were saying?”

Spencer grinned, sheepishly, and spoke in a lighter tone than normal, “Uh, hey, you guys! I didn’t know we were having a meeting-” he slid into the seat beside you, “-anyway, so what are we talking about?”

JJ blinked, a little astonished at the very unSpencer-like behavior, lucky for her, you’d been dealing with this for ages and came prepared.

“Henry,” you answered, with a questitive tone, “-why? Should we be talking about something else, Spencer?”

Spencer blinked, turning towards you and on cue his ears went pink, “I uh- maybe?”

You laughed, continuing despite your own cheeks burning a bit, “Oh, you mean me picking up JJ’s work? That’s also mostly for Henry... Why do you need to know, Spence?”

JJ added, “Actually, he was talking to me, earlier, as I’m sure you saw... and he wanted to help you with the work? I don’t know why he went to me, but-”

“Oh,” you spoke softly, you turned to him, “-well if you have no plans, I’d really appreciate the help.”

“Pfft, plans?” Spencer echoed, face bright red at this point, “-I don’t... I’d never-”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you raised an eyebrow, standing up from your chair with a smile, “-and JJ, thanks for the talk. I’ll just go grab those files off your desk.”

JJ smiled at you, “Again, thank you so much... I don’t know how I’ll repay you.”

“I’ll figure it out for you, Js” you laughed, slipping out of the room with a sigh of relief. Thank god you were out of that situation.

And just on the brink of peace, Derek spoke up, “What was that all about, sunshine?”

“You have to tell us!!” Garcia added, enthusiastically just like with everything else.

You groaned, playfully, “Not you two! You know my weaknesses so well.” 

They stared at you, expectantly.

“Plus, it was about nothing-” you spoke, making your way to JJ’s desk, “-now, if you’ll excuse me... I have work to do.”

Garcia pouted, skipping away to her room with a look in her eyes that implied she’d ask questions later, and Derek shrugged it off.

With your back turned, you organized the stack on JJ’s desk. Trying to break it into two different stacks, making them even -despite knowing Spencer would 100% be faster.

Adjusting your grip, you heard the door close just behind you -that was the breakroom- and prepared yourself for either of them in your company. Taking the newly organized stack, you walked to your desk with as much energy as you could at this point.

Just as you sat down and pushed a stack onto Spencer’s desk -he was helping-, Derek’s voice caught your ear. 

“Hey, you excited for your blind date tonight, pretty boy?”

You froze, looking up as Spencer looked nervously at you, “I actually promised Y/N that I’d help th-”

“Spence?” you asked, a little confused and a dash heartbroken, “-I thought you didn’t have any plans? I can pick these up on my own-”

Spencer scrambled, “Well, I actually-”

You interrupted, pulling the files back on your desk, “You just promised me Spence, go on your date. I don’t want to intrude-”

Spencer tried to speak up, “Y/N, wait-”

“Spence, come on-” you laughed, “-you can’t tell me you’d choose paperwork over a date? They could be the love of your life, Spence. Go on the d-”

“I’d rather be with you!” Spencer exclaimed, his face flushed to the max, “-I’d rather be here with you.”

“That’s my cue to leave,” Derek’s eyes widened, stepping back out of your view and you were a little speechless, honestly.

“Oh,” you laughed, pushing down any hope that may have risen in your chest, “-of course, Spencer Reid would choose paperwork over a date.”

Spencer sighed, “Oh god, how are you so oblivious and so cute doing it?”

“I uh-” you answered back, as your face fell red, “-what?”

Words began slipping past his lips, “I want to spend every waking moment with you, Y/N. Not just... not just paperwork.”

You swallowed, your mouth moving but no words coming out. The floor had literally been ripped out from under you, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“Y/N?” Spencer wandered closer to you, eyes scanning the area and seeing the crowd building in front of the elevator, “-Here, come with me.”

“O-Okay,” you laced your fingers with his, as he dragged you into the breakroom once more, where JJ left apparently.

The two of you sliding back into the chairs from before

You blinked, as Spencer let out a breath, and you sat in silence for longer than you felt was comfortable. So, you decided to do something about it.

“So every waking moment, huh?” you smirked, with a bit of timidness in your tone.

Spencer smiled, his ears turning bright red, but he was oddly the most calm you’d ever seen him -leaning back in his chair with a warm look in his eyes, “If you want too? Maybe?”

You grinned, quietly extended your hand to meet his across the table with a small smile, “How about dinner first?”

Spencer scratched the back of his neck, with a nervous grin and took your hand across the table, “Of course, yeah... Yeah.”

“Not today though, Dr. Reid-” you hummed, “-if you don’t remember, you promised a certain person some help with some paperwork?”

Spencer played along, tapping his chin, “You know what, I think I might remember...”

“Oh, come on-” you laughed, pulling him from his chair, “-you big goof...”

“At least I’m your big goof,” Spencer added, as you pulled him off his feet.

“Yeah, of course,” you smiled, stopping in your place,”-but we really need to get to work, Spence.”

He smiled, his cute cheeky smile that you loved, “You’re right, we should get going.”

“Like actually though,” you broke the mood, “-we don’t wanna stay here all night, Spencer.”

“Oh, of course, yeah!” he responded, waking up from his daze, as the two of you prepared yourself for the night.

But hey, at least you were spending it with him, and maybe... just maybe you wouldn’t mind “every waking moment” either.

#spencer reid x reader #ffywriting #reader insert #spencer reid #Criminal Minds #reader #cm #dr spencer reid #gender neutral reader

[irishseeeker]

chapter 2 of rules don’t apply!

-----------------------------------

Kate needed a drink.

Actually, she needed two drinks. A minimum of two. She had needed a drink earlier that day at one in the afternoon when Anthony Bridgerton’s email popped into her inbox and ruined her entire day, she had needed another drink when she had to sit opposite from his smug, smirking face for an entire hour during a staff meeting.

She needed a takeaway, lying in her favourite ratty t-shirt and sweatpants on her couch cuddling with her beloved corgi Newton.

Instead, she was with her sister, standing at the top of a marble staircase that led to the buzzing hall where the gala was being held. Kate stood beside Edwina, who was a vision in a blue lace gown with her dark hair in curls. Kate had gone for a violet satin dress, already prepared to be invisible tonight. She usually was when she was with her sister.

She was Edwina Sheffield, and Kate was just...Kate.

It was in an art gallery in the centre of London. As much as she despised these events, Kate couldn’t find a fault in the venue. It was quite beautiful, actually. Kate had always loved art, it was a hobby she had adored in school and she turned to when she was stressed or felt like doing something other than lay on her coach with Newton watching New Girl for the tenth time.

At least the art on the walls could distract Kate from where she actually was, which was her idea of pure and utter hell.

“Would it kill you to smile?”

“I am smiling,” Kate responded through gritted teeth, turning to look at her sister.

“You look constipated.”

Kate snorted. “Charming.”

“I love you for coming with me tonight. I know these events aren’t really your thing,” Edwina put lightly, but it was no use. They were both well aware this was Kate’s idea of purgatory. “A lot of people would die to be here! The tickets are really hard to get.”

“I wonder why,” Kate mused, knowing exactly why. “How much was a ticket tonight? Two hundred pounds? I’m sure most of that is going towards the charity and not the cost per plate of lobster covered in caviar and twelve pounds per salad leaf.”

“Kate,” Edwina said sternly, giving her a sister a hard look that quickly faded as she smiled and waved at someone in the distance. “Behave.”

“I always behave,” Kate tutted, smiling sweetly at her sister as they walked down the stairs towards the large room full of people and portraits hanging on the walls.

“Please try not to insult anyone tonight, I know people here. I work for people here,” Edwina nudged her slightly, giving her another look that reminded Kate so much of their mother Mary whenever she scolded Kate.

“I promise I’ll be on my best behavior,” Kate gave in, putting on a smile as she noticed a few heads turn to look at Edwina. This was Edwina’s job, she wasn’t her for the hell of it. She squeezed her sister’s hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be mean. Today was just a bad day.”

“I don’t even have to ask about why you’ve had a bad day,” Edwina said, turning to give her sister a teasing smile. “It’s, as always, because of Anthony Bridgerton.”

Kate frowned, not liking being so predictable. It made her uneasy sometimes how quickly Edwina could read her, but that’s because she was her sister. Kate could do the same. Besides, surely she didn’t talk about him that much, did she? “Well, actually-yes, it was because of him. He pulled a stunt for this project he wants passed which I have opposed numerous times. He’s incredibly irritating. He would not stop smirking at me during the staff meeting earlier. He’s infuriating.”

Edwina didn’t say anything to her sister, she just smirked knowingly at her and wiggled her eyebrows.

“What?” Kate said, frowning further at her sister. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Oh Kate,” Edwina sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “When are you going to admit that you like him?”

Kate gasped, earning a look or two from people they passed by. Everyone was so dressed up and eloquent and Kate felt like she stuck out like a sore thumb. It was why she always hated these events, she didn’t belong here. “Edwina! I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kate said, quite flustered, tilting her chin up in the air as she avoided eye contact, glancing around the room.

A woman standing a few meters away from them called out Edwina’s name and it was Kate’s perfect opportunity to escape this uneasy conversation. “I’ll be at the bar. Enjoy!” Kate said swiftly, walking away from her sister before Edwina could open her mouth to reply. She leaned against the bar, smiling at the bar tender who was standing behind it. "Hi, how are you? Could I get a glass of white wine, please? Your largest.”

She heard a snort behind her.

“Well, well, well.”

Kate’s heart momentarily stopped in her chest. She didn’t have to turn around to recognize that voice.

It was his voice.

What was he doing here? She had never come across him at once of these events before. However, he was a Bridgerton. They worked with many charities and his mother, Violet Bridgerton, had ran the Bridgerton charitable foundation for many years which her and her late husband had set up.

The Bridgertons got invited everywhere. They were one of the most famous families in London.

Deep breath, Kate. She could do this. She could remain calm and unaffected.

“Don’t you have someone else to talk to?” She replied coolly, taking a long gulp of her wine before turning around to face him. She was determined to remain composed and unaffected.

Wow. Okay. Deep breath, Kate. She could admit to herself, and only herself, he looked good.

He had changed into an evening suit, which was completely black with a crisp white shirt and a baby blue tie. It probably cost more than her monthly rent.

Anthony smirked at her, shaking the red wine glass in his hand slightly. “Why would I do that when it’s so much more fun to annoy you?”

“Ah, and there it is,” Kate raised her glass in a cheers to no one, shaking her head as she brought the glass to her lips and took another long sip. “It’s officially the worst day of my life.”

“Ouch Sheffield,” replied Anthony, putting a hand over his heart in his expensive, pretentious suit that he definitely did not look great in. “You’re almost making me think you don’t like me.”

“Almost?” Kate raised an eyebrow, narrowing her eyes at his playful smirk. God, she despised him. “Oh, I’ll make sure to try harder so you know how much I don’t like you.”

“That’s no way to talk to your boss,” Anthony replied, a challenging look in his eye as he took a sip of his brandy. “Most employees would treat their employers with respect.”

He was right, it wasn’t any way to talk to your boss. Kate had crossed some lines with Anthony she had never crossed with anyone, particularly someone who was their boss. She could think of a few instances during one of their many screaming matches where she probably should have been fired. He had crossed those lines just as much-but he was a Bridgerton. The boss. The power was his. Yet, in the two years they had worked closely together, Kate had gotten promoted and wasn’t replaced or disposed of.

He was a very good employer, despite his reputation personality-the Bridgerton company had a reputation for treating their employees exceptionally well. Anthony was no exception.

He had always been in the papers, mainly gossip columns fawning over his good looks, his charming personality and what girl he had on his arm for the week.

“Well, when an employer has earned said respect,” The words were flying out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Then, naturally, they would be treated as such.”

“So you don’t respect me Kate?” He asked, biting his bottom lip for a few seconds that caused Kate’s breath to still. His suit was dark,

“What does it matter?” Kate responded, raising an eyebrow

Anthony stared at her and it made Kate uncomfortable. His gaze bore into her, but he remained expressionless. Something in their conversation had shifted and it no longer felt like their usual back and forth banter. “It matters.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but words failed her as she stared back at him. She had not expected him to say that. She had expected an insult or an annoying comeback, but not that. She sort of felt bad.

However, she would be damned if Anthony Bridgerton left her speechless.

“Anthony! There you are,” A woman of her mother’s age appeared at . Kate recognized Violet Bridgerton quickly, from the pictures around the office and on Bridgerton newsletters. She was dressed in a pale pink suit with a long blazer. “I want to introduce you to Cressida, her mother and I used to work together-Oh, hello!”

Kate gulped as Violet turned to her, smiling warmly as she extended her hand. “Anthony, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Mum, this is Kate Sheffield,” Anthony introduced her, and Kate shook his mother’s hand. “We work together. Kate, this is my mother, Violet Bridgerton.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bridgerton.”

“Please call me Violet. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kate,” Violet said warmly, looking her up and down. “You look absolutely gorgeous tonight. How long have you been involved with the charity?”

“I’m actually here with my sister, Edwina Sheffield. She’s been involved for about a year but it’s my first event,” She replied, nodding as she listened to Violet talk about her work with the charity over the years.

“Kate works in the finance department,” Anthony said to his mother a while later, “We work together quite a lot.”

Violet grinned. “Oh, I do hope you are giving my son some trouble Kate.”

“Someone has to,” Kate smirked at Anthony, who gave her a pointed glare.

“Well then, in that area, you certainly have exceeded everyone’s expectations,” Anthony muttered, looking sort of put out as he

“I do try. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go find my sister. It was a pleasure meeting you Mrs. Bridgerton,” She smiled warmly at Violet before turning to nod at Anthony. “Anthony.”

“Kate,” He nodded back, taking a long sip of his wine as she walked away, and she swore she could feel his eyes on her as she walked away.

A while later, Kate gazed around the ballroom from her seat at her designated table. The food had been served and eaten, but Kate had barely touched hers. She had always been a picky eater and the most she ate was the vegetables. She spotted Anthon on the dance floor in the middle of the tables, dancing with his youngest sister, Hyacinth.

“He’s quite sweet.”

Kate’s head snapped back towards her sister, who was sitting beside her. “Who?”

Edwina smirked. “You know exactly who. The person who you have been staring at for the past ten minutes. Anthony Bridgerton.”

“Don’t be disgusting,” said Kate, shuddering as she shook her head. She had just been watching the dancefloor which he happened to be dancing on. “I was not staring.”

“I don’t blame you,” said Edwina, clearly enjoying torturing her sister. “He is quite good looking. Older. He’s quite charming.”

“How would you know he’s charming?” Kate asked, raising an eyebrow. She had kept her family and work life separate for a reason, and that reason mainly being any male within a radius of Edwina usually had fallen in love with her by the end of the day.

Anthony Bridgerton would not be one of those men.

“He introduced himself earlier, I was chatting to him and his brother, Benedict.”

“He introduced himself?” Kate gaped, turning to fully face her sister. “Why would he do that? Did he mention me?”

“He didn’t, actually,” Edwina replied, leaning back in her chair and fanning herself with the dinner menu. The gala room was quite stuffy and Edwina had only sat down five minutes ago after dancing with three different men. Kate had remained sitting and ate her dessert, the . “We just talked. He asked me about my job, I asked about his.”

“I’m sure he did,” Kate puffed, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning into her seat, looking slightly sulky. It's not as if she expected him to mention Kate. Why would he?

“So," Edwina began, pushing a dark curl behind her ear. "Do you plan on going there?”

“What?” Kate spluttered, nearly choking on air. “Of course not. He’s my boss! He’s-you know who he is. I would never-no. No. Not that he would ever want to-no. No! Why would you ask that?"

Edwina was grinning at her sister in a devious way for someone who was usually deemed so angelic and kind. “Okay. So you wouldn’t mind if I went there.”

“Of course I would mind! He’s incorrigible-“

“Putting your personal feelings aside,” Edwina interrupted, “It wouldn’t be because you wanted to go there, right?”

“Right,” Kate replied, her voice strained and high pitched. “Definitely right. You still shouldn't go there, he's far too old, he's far too him. ”

“I would never have any interest in someone you didn’t like Kate,” Edwina replied, reaching across the table to squeeze her sister’s hand, deciding she had teased her enough as she stood up. “I promised Nigel another dance. Are you okay here for a bit?"

Kate nodded, smiling at her sister as she walked over towards a tall, handsome man she presumed was Nigel.

“Kate, just the person I wanted to see,” Benedict Bridgerton grinned widely at her as he sat down in Edwina's seat.

“Hello, Benedict,” Kate said slowly, narrowing her eyes slightly at him. “Why would you want to see me?” They had only met today, and given her experience with Bridgertons so far, she remained cautious.

He continued to grin cheekily at her. She didn’t know him very well, but Benedict seemed a lot more laid back than his older brother. Anthony was so serious all the time. “There is no need to look so suspicious.”

Kate raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I can see why my brother likes you.”

“Your brother does not like me,” Kate grumbled, not wanting to speak about Anthony with anyone. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s about your assistant, Sophie.”

That was surprising. “Sophie?”

“Yes,” His face lit up, nodding eagerly. “What’s her situation?”

Kate stared cluelessly at him. “Her situation?”

Benedict sighed. “What’s she like? Is she seeing anybody?”

“Oh,” Kate drawled, the dots finally connecting in her head. She had never been quick when it came to romance. “Well, I am technically her boss so I’m not sure how appropriate it would be for me to comment.”

However, Sophie had asked about Anthony’s brothers earlier on after their meeting in his office. She had asked particularly if Kate knew the taller one, Benedict.

Sophie had never asked about any man before.

“I'm also her friend. Sophie is incredible,” Kate said, seeing his face light up. She didn’t understand what was going on, he had only met her briefly this morning but he was holding onto her every word. “She’s very smart, funny and extremely kind. She’s the best assistant I’ve ever had. She deserves everything.”

“So, if you ever need anything, you know where my office is. Sophie sits right outside of it,” Kate hinted, giving him a look. He didn’t seem like a bad guy and he had quite a good reputation around the office and in whatever she read about him. He was the charming Bridgerton.

Sophie deserved any possible happiness she could get, from what Kate knew, her life had been far from easy.

She didn’t know if she was crossing a line but what harm could it do?

“You, Kate Sheffield, are a vision,” Benedict took her hand and kissed it, which made Kate roll her eyes and blush simultaneously. “Do you want to dance?”

“I’m a terrible dancer,” Kate replied, shaking her head. “But thank you for asking.”

“I highly doubt that,” Benedict said but he didn’t push her to dance which Kate was grateful for. “Your sister is quite a good dancer, Anthony looks like he’s struggling to keep up.”

“Pardon?” Kate’s eyes followed Benedict’s nod towards the dance floor where Anthony and Edwina danced amongst the numerous couples, looking very chummy.

Kate clenched her jaw.

Kate couldn’t exactly break them up. It would be rude and she would never purposely embarrass Edwina.

“You don’t look happy,” Benedict said, smiling slightly as he followed Kate’s furious glare at the dancing couple.

“If you'll excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom. I'll see you sometime this week, Benedict,” Kate said, choosing not to tell him why she wasn’t happy that her angelic baby sister was dancing with his whore of a brother.

Kate had disappeared to the bathroom and then lingered until they finished dancing and parted ways and Kate clung onto Edwina for the rest of the evening. Edwina had brought Kate around to a few tables, introducing her to colleagues and the two sisters had even danced for a bit. It was a fun break from the repetitive small talk.

Kate eventually left Edwina to go home, as her sister was going clubbing with some friends at the gala which Kate had declined, she was dying to go home to see Newton.

Kate stood at the top of the large stone steps that led to the entrance of the museum. She really should have brought a coat, all she had with her was a wrap made of thin material.

She was alone until she noticed a man a few steps down from her, her stomach dropping and fury filled her body as she recognized him. Anthony noticed her before she did and opened his mouth to say something, but she beat him to it.

“No.”

He frowned. “Excuse me?”

“No!”

Anthony stared at her. “Are you broken?”

“Stay away from my sister,” She snapped, wagging her finger accusingly at him. “She has absolutely no interest in you.”

“I think Edwina is fully capable of making her own decisions, don’t you?” He replied smugly, somehow finding this conversation amusing. “She seemed more than happy to dance with me. Excited, even.”

Kate snorted. “I imagine it was out of pity. Edwina is a very nice, good person. Stay away.”

“You’re mental, you know that? You are the most infuriating person I have ever met,” Anthony replied, shaking his head as he glared at her.

“Right back at you,” Kate snapped, wrapping her shawl around her to try shield herself from the freezing cold breeze but it didn’t do much. She walked away from him, really just walking down a few of the museum's steps.

It would be a cold day in hell before Kate would ever allow Anthony Bridgerton to be her brother in law.

“You’re shaking,” Anthony appeared beside her, taking off his jacket and placing it around her shoulders.

She went to protest but she was freezing and her uber had said they’d be here five minutes ago. “Oh. Well, thank you.”

“No argument? Consider me shocked. You’re welcome,” He replied, glancing down at his phone before looking towards the road. “Do you have a lift?”

She chose to be the bigger person and not kick him in the shin. “Yes. My uber is just running late.”

He shook his head. “Come with me. My driver can drop you home.”

She opened her mouth to reply but he cut her off.

“For once in your life could you not argue and just get in the bloody car?” Anthony snapped, letting out a frustrated sigh simultaneously through his nostrils and mouth. He even pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fine, no need to be so dramatic,” Kate shifted uncomfortably as she cancelled the uber on her phone, which had changed to fifteen minutes anyway, and followed him towards a black range rover that had pulled up on the road.

The car was fancy. Anthony opened the car door for her, closing it behind her as she got in and he walked to the other side. The interior was black leather and there was a little shelf full of snacks and drinks.

“Go ahead,” He nodded towards the snacks, smiling with that amused expression that infuriated her. He always seemed to be laughing at her. “You must be starving.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “Why would I be starving?”

Anthony took a packet of crisps for himself and only then did Kate take a pack of m&ms, her favourite chocolate and quickly dive right into them. She opened up a bottle of water as well.

“Not everything I say is an accusation, Kate. I noticed that you barely ate all night,” He said, “Except for the dessert.”

“How do you know that?”

He looked flustered, breaking their eye contact and glancing out the tinted window. “Why didn’t you eat?”

She shrugged, “I don’t like fish.”

“Do you want to stop somewhere?”

“No, no. Thank you, but my feet are killing me. I just want to go home.”

He looked at her again, pushing a pack of crisps towards her as he took another for himself. “I would have thought you’d rather be dead than be somewhere like that.”

She took the crisps willingly, hoping her stomach didn’t start groaning for more food now that she was eating. “You’re not wrong, I would rather be dead.”

Anthony snorted. “That makes two of us.”

“But, Edwina needed me so I went. They’re not the worst. Do you have connections with the charity or?”

Anthony nodded. “My mother worked with them a long time ago and she wanted me there tonight, so I went.”

“The things we do for family,” Kate hummed, stretching her hands as she fiddled with them on her lap. Her palms were clammy and she was oddly nervous. She was in a car with Anthony Bridgerton, alone. It wasn’t the worst thing that had happened all evening.

“Your sister is quite successful, isn’t she?” He asked, and Kate was reminded of why he definitely was the worst.

“We’re not talking about my sister. As far as you’re concerned, she does not exist.”

He just smiled. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Kate.”

“How I sleep is absolutely none of your concern,” She snapped, full on glaring at him now. “Edwina is far too young and far too-far too good for you!”

“Oh, really?” He drawled, shrugging indifferently as he took a sip of his water, looking completely unbothered.

“Your reputation precedes you and my sister will have absolutely nothing to do with that,” She countered, the endless pictures and articles of his latest conquests or girls of the week were hard to ignore when they were everywhere.

The smile on his face disappeared and he looked angry. He looked pissed and his flat tone reflected that. “You know absolutely nothing about me.”

“I know enough.”

They both hadn’t noticed the car had come to a stop right outside her flat and it couldn’t have been more perfect timing.

“Thank you for the lift,” Kate said, taking off his jacket and handing it to him, scrambling to escape him and this unpleasant conversation. “Let’s never do it again.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” His tone was colder than usual, and just as she shut the door, the car sped off.

“Asshole,” Kate grumbled, reaching for her keys and letting herself into her flat. What a strange night.

The following morning, Kate woke up to her phone buzzing on the pillow beside her. Newton was lightly snoring on top of the duvet, and Kate groaned as she blindly felt for her phone before she picked it up. It was a Saturday morning, she was meant to be sleeping in.

“Hello?” Kate whispered into her phone, trying to fight fully waking up.

“Kate?”

She sat up slightly. “Edwina? What time is it? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Everything is-you haven’t read the times, have you? The Whistledown gossip column specifically? Check your Whatsapp. I just sent it to you.”

Kate frowned, cursing as the brightness of her phone stung her eyes as she put her sister on speaker and opened her whatsapp messages. “Wha? Edwina, did you wake me up on a Saturday morning to read?”

“You’re going to want to read this.”

Kate clicked on the link to what appeared to be an article. It quickly opened to Lady Whistledown’s popular gossip column in the London Times. Edwina had been mentioned in it numerous times before and the Bridgertons were often featured. Especially Anthony.

Anthony Bridgerton, 34, has been spotted looking quite close with a mysterious brunette. Is the infamous bachelor now taken? He was seen multiple times throughout the night talking to this woman and leaving in the same car at the end of the night. We have confirmed the mysterious brunette is Kate Sheffield, business woman and sister of model Edwina Sheffield. Not his usual type at all. Has the heir to the Bridgerton empire finally been tamed?

Attached below the article was a series of slightly blurred pictures of Anthony and Kate from last night, talking outside the gala and getting into his car. Another was of Edwina and Kate at one of her shows during London fashion week last year.

Beside Edwina, who was wearing a long silk gown that she had walked in earlier that day, Kate looked bland and terrible. They had chosen to put that picture in the London Times.

In the London Times. In London's most popular gossip column.

Of her and Anthony Bridgerton.

Supposedly dating.

Which anyone could see.

“Am I drunk?” She muttered to herself, slightly dazed as she rubbed her eyes and refreshed the page but the same words and pictures remained on her screen, haunting her. Her heart was hammering inside her chest and she could feel herself starting to sweat profusely. Was she having a heart attack?

“Kate? Are you okay? I'm coming over, I'll be there in ten minutes," She half heard her sister’s concerned voice through her phone, but Kate wasn’t really paying attention. She felt like she was in a daze. Her eyes kept scanning over the article again and again.

Kate never replied to her sister.

She just screamed into her pillow.

#bridgerton #my fics #this update took ages but finally have it done! #hope people enjoy :) #kate x anthony #fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #kate sheffield #bridgerton fanfiction #ao3 #benedict bridgerton #modern AU

[pink-peony-princess]

From Unpredictability Comes Strength

Are you sure you're okay babe?" Shawn, my boyfriend asked as he walked over to the bed where I was currently laying curled up.

"I'm sure, still exhausted from the jet lag, and my period is giving me grief," I told him causing him to pout. Most girls my age would probably cringe at the thought of telling their boyfriend details about their period, but not me. See Shawn my boyfriend, my older brother Connor, and their friends Dave and Brian were all well respected doctors at the local hospital here in Toronto. That was part of reason for my moving from LA to Canada, I didn't want Shawn to loose such a good job, it was an added bonus that Bri and the other two guys also lived with us so I would get to see all of them.

"Okay," he agreed, though I could tell from the tone that he wasn't completely convinced.

"Call me if you need me, I get off at 6." he added before kissing my head and leaving the now empty house, the other having already left for the hospital.

Several hours later, and the pain just wasn't getting any better. I had always had bad periods. They were made especially bad though by a cyst that I had on my left ovary, something which when I asked my old doctor about she had told me that there was nothing that could be done short of some pain relief. I had tried everything though, hot packs, cold packs, a bath, even drinking green tea, (which I hated) to no avail. Finally I decided that I would try going for a short walk, as I heard that exercise could alleviate pain.

While on the walk I got a call from Shawn, "Babe come home, we all got off early so we're having a family dinner. " he spoke.

"Be there soon, I love you." I told him, before turning around and jogging home. As I went to cross the road, a dog came out of nowhere, and me being deathly afraid of them as I was tried to avoid it, by running the other way only to mis-step and fall directly into gravel. Unfortunately for me, I ended up skinning my knees and as I stood, groaning from the painful sting tht was now emanating from my limbs I realised there was dirt caught in them. Great, just great, I thought as I made my way home slowly, tears falling as I tried to ignore (and failed) how much pain I was in.

"Ana!" Brian called coming over to greet me with a hug. "How was your run?" He asked stepping back to look at me. "Wait, " He paused looking at me more closely. "Ana, you're crying, and bleeding, " he spoke as he looked me up and down before spotting my bloody knees.

" Shawn, " he called, looking over his shoulder to the kitchen where I could hear the other guys all laughing.

"Hi babe, " he started before noticing my knees as Brian had moments earlier and pouted.

"Let me see Princess," he spoke as he helped me into the kitchen and lifted me onto the bench.

"Aw, Poppet, what happend?" My brother asked when he saw me crying as Shawn gently examined my wounds.

"There was a dog." I shivered. I hated dogs except for Tarzan. "So I ran but I tripped." I hiccuped as I tried to slow my breathing.

"One Dr.Brian at your service," Bring sang as he reappeared holding the household first aid box, pulling out tweezers, antiseptic spray, gauze, tape, bandages, cream and pills. "I'm just going to remove the dirt, clean them and then I'll bandage them up. " He explained as he positioned my leg so the kitchen lights were directly above him. "Hold Shawn and Connor's hands for me okay, this will probably hurt."

He wasn't lying it feel like fire was being rubbed into my wounds, and I found myself biting my lip to try and stop myself from crying out loud.

"Nearly done hon," Brian soothed patting my leg as he washed out the last little bits of dirt. A minute later, he stepped back with a smile.

"The worst part is over now Princess," Shawn whispered in my ear, causing me to loosen my grip on their hands just a little. I still clung to them as Brian bandaged them up though, needing the physical contact.

"And you, my fair lady, are all finished," he smiled as he tucked the last bit of bandage in. "You'll need to get me or one of the guys to change it daily for three or so days, but other than that you'll be fine. "

"Thanks Brian," I whispered reaching to give him a hug.

"Ready to get down babe?" Shawn asked, going to grab my hands again.

"Can you just hold me for a minute?" I asked feeling slightly embarrassed.

"Of course. " He smiled before wrapping me in a warm embrace, and allowing me to rest my head in the crook of his neck. "Are you okay? " He asked when I sniffed.

"Mmm," My response was muffled, but they must have heard it because Connor was the next one to speak.

"Why are you so upset Bug?" he asked, using my childhood nickname.

"I don't know!" I cried. "I'm not sleeping because of the jet lag. I'm in pain and now this." I threw my hands up.

"Tell you what, " Connor started. "you have a shower then we'll have dinner and you and your other half-" he gestured to Shawn "can go have sappy cuddles on the couch. How does that sound?" He ruffled my hair softly as he spoke before returning to the cooking.

Fifteen minutes later, I came back down the stairs wearing one of Shawn's old Zeppelin shirts, it reaching my knees and drowning me, but I didn't care. It was comfortable, and it smelt like his aftershave.

"Feeling any better Princess?" he asked coming over and kissing my forehead

"A little," I spoke. Sighing as I leant into his hold. Truth was I was feeling less of the period pain and more of a sharp ache now. But I wasn't going to tell them that, all four of them would be swarming around me like sea gulls if I did.

"I'm hungry," I spoke stealing a piece of tomato that Connor had placed on the counter to add to the salad.

He merely glared at me playfully, but didn't say anymore.

Half an hour later and we were all sat at dinner, the boys all chatting amongst themselves about their work days, discussing patients and funding. While I just pushed my food around my plate, trying to ignore the now increasingly sharp pain radiating from my stomach.

"Ana are you okay?" Dave asked worriedly, watching as I pushed my plate away.

" I don't feel good." I spoke, before grimicing in pain as a particularly bad cramp took hold.

"Dont feel good how?" Shawn asked as he came over to where I was sitting, two seats down from him, bending down.

"Just make it stop." I groaned, reaching for my stomach.

"Make what stop Princess?" he asked, searching my face, and rubbing my leg trying to comfort me.

"The pain, it's like there's a knife there!" I cried, leaning into him and breathing heavily.

"Do you think you can stand up?" Brian asked, coming over to help Shawn support me as I slumped in my chair.

I stood slowly feeling extremely shaky before nearly collapsing as dizziness took over.

"Ana you went for a run right?" Dave asked, coming to stand by my side, taking my wrist so he could take my pulse.

I nodded my head, trying to slow my breathing as the room kept spinning.

"Shit, her pulse is racing, bring her over to the couch." He told Shawn before leaving the room.

Shawn and Dave both held me tightly as we moved slowly. I could barely lift my legs as every time I did pain took hold. "Okay, lay back babe," Shawn spoke as he helped me sit down, and situated me between his legs as he sat behind me.

"Right, Ana where is the pain?" Dave questioned coming to kneel down beside the couch.

"Right here, " I spoke pointing to my left side.

"I'm just going to feel," he spoke as he hiked my shirt up to just under my chest.

Everyone was quiet as Dave concentrated, moving around to press on different sections of my stomach. Finally he said "It is a bit swollen. Do you have any pain in your back or thighs? "

I looked back at Shawn,confused. "If the cyst on your ovary has ruptured or is close to, it can cause pain in the back and thighs," he explained, helping me to pull my shirt back down.

I nodded causing him sigh.

"We'll try some heat, maybe have a bath okay, the water may help to soothe it," Dave added before standing up and taking my wrist again. "Your heart rate is a little high, but we'll just keep an eye on you." He smiled,as Shawn scooped me up into his arms, and carried me up the stairs to our en suite.

"Arms up Princess, do you want bubbles?" he asked as he deposited me onto the closed toilet seat and helped me remove my clothing.

"Please?" I asked, watching as he grabbed my favourite bath lotion, and poured a generous amount in.

"Here we go. In you get," he spoke as he helped me into the tub The difference was almost immediate.

"I think it's time my little invalid gets out," Shawn whispered after about twenty minutes of me just laying back in the water, and letting him massage my scalp from where he sat next to the tub.

"Okay," I agreed, taking his hand as he helped me out of the bath slowly.

It was a slow process getting dressed, as I couldn't make any sudden movements, but Shawn was patient. "There," he said finally. "Snug as a bug, " He had not only redressed me into the shirt I had stolen from him, but had gone and gotten a sweater that he had left lying about and pulled it on me. "Can't have you getting cold little one," he laughed, before pecking my lips.

"It is freezing!" I agreed, as we made our way down the stairs.

"How's my patient?" Dave asked as Shawn placed me gently onto the sofa, covering me with a quilt.

"Sore," I replied, pouting, causing him to laugh.

"Here,this might help," Connor called walking in from the kitchen and placing a heating pad on my stomach.

"Thanks Con," I yawned, readjusting myself so that I could lay against Shawn's side as he squished onto the sofa beside me.

"Get some sleep babe," he whispered, "You need it." He didn't need to tell me twice, it was about three seconds and I was out like a light.

...

When I woke I wasn't sure what time it was, but I was no longer in the couch, instead Shawn had taken me up stairs and tucked me into the bed, and judging by the lack of light and the soft snores coming from Shawn as he slept soundly beside me, it was much later.

Unfortunately for me, there was no way that I was getting back to sleep any time soon, as the pain that had been uncomfortable, but bearable earlier was now causing me agony. So much so that I was literally feeling nauseous.

"Ana, are okay?" Shawn asked, talking into my neck, sleep thick in his muffled voice.

I didn't answer, trying to focus on not passing out.

"Ana," he sighed, as I just sat there crying grabbing fist fulls of sheet as each wave of pain came over me. Sitting up and switching on the lamp beside the bed, he rubbed my arm softly.

"Hold on I'll get the guys." He got up, before quickly exiting the room. A minute or so later I heard the sound of him knocking on the other's doors, and tired voices.

"It's worse? " Dave confirmed, walking into the room closely followed by Shawn,Brian and Connor.

"It never hurts this much, it's so bad!" I cried, pressing on my stomach, wanting the pain gone. I could feel a stronger wave of nausea just as Shawn bent down so that he was at my level, Connor coming to sit with me on the bed as he saw me gag, holding my hair back just in case.

" I'm gonna be sick!" I gasped holding my hand on my mouth, feeling the bile rise.

"Okay, just a second, Bri's gone to get a bucket bub," Shawn soothed coming to rub small circles in my back.

Finally just as I nearly let myself be sick on the bed, Connor spoke, "Here let it all out, " he soothed rubbing my back as Brian held a bucket beneath me that he must have bolted to get from somewhere. I was thankful though, as I could no longer hold it.

After a few minutes, I was able to catch my breath, though I still lay there sweaty and dazed.

"Here,come here Princess." Shawn motioned for me to shuffle over, so he could wipe my face down with a wet washer he had gone and gotten from out bathroom.

"I bleed on the bed," I cried, embarrassed as I shifted and felt the leak, before seeing the masive red stain on the once white sheet

" It's okay, it's normal to have heavy bleeding when a cyst is inflamed. Honestly, we see blood every day babe," Shawn soothed, as he pushed my messy hair out of my face "Besides, they're just sheets, worst case, we'll chuck them out."

"I feel horrible," I groaned letting my head fall onto Shawn's arms half an hour later, when even after a dose of strong pain killers I could barely move.

"Do you want to try sitting in the shower?" Brian suggested as he came back into the room after going to put the dirty sheets in the washer.

"Will it help?" I asked unsure.

"It might," Dave nodded, "The constant stream of warm water may help to loosen some of the muscles in your back and help with the pain and nausea. It's worth a try. "

"Okay," I agreed, watching as Dave stood up and came to stand at the side of the bed.

He held out a hand, helping to support me as Shawn pulled me into an upright position. The room spun a little, and I could feel myself swaying slightly but I managed to stay standing. "Just move very slowly, Ana, no sudden movements honey." Dave grimaced in sympathy as my face tensed with pain as I stepped forward. "

It's okay. We've got you. Breathe Ana. Just breathe," Shawn encouraged as we finally made it to the bathroom.

... Two hours later...

I had sat on the tiled floor of the shower cubicle for almost two hours now, yet nothing was changing and I was miserable. All I wanted to do was sleep. Shawn had sat with me the whole time, holding me gently under the water, not caring that his clothes were now soaked.

"Shawnie I feel dizzy," I told him trying to stay awake. "And my stomach is burning," I groaned, trying to ignore the hot feeling that was now taking over my tummy.

He took my wrist in his hand, before gently taking my pulse.

"Ana we need to go to the hospital honey," he spoke before leaning me against the glass door of the shower and standing up.

"No please can't you just do what you need to do here," I begged crying. I hated hospitals, and he knew it, it had been that way my entire 22 years of life.

"Shhh, calm down," he consoled before calling out to the others. "Dave, Brian, Connor!"

The looks of pity on all of their faces as they stepped into the room and took in my bedraggled state was too much for me to handle.

"Oh Ana, buddy. " Brian sighed, before bending down and helping Shawn to stand me up.

"We need to go to the hospital,she's dizzy her pulse is at 130 beats a minute, she's in more pain than before, she told me a minute ago that her stomach was burning, and she's bleeding more than she should be. I think it may have burst," he told the others as he wrapped a towel around my wet-clothed body.

"Burns," I whimpered as we made our way downstairs, me in my brother's arms, allowing Shawn to run and change into dry clothes.

I heard them muttering amongst themselves, not making out much more than medical word: inflammation and gastritis,and then I was tuning them out.

I couldn't help the tears as we made the short drive to the hospital, me laying across Connor and Shawn's laps.

"I know bub,we'll sort it out okay. But just focus in staying calm. The more upset you are, the worse you'll feel." Connor explained rubbing my stomach softly.

-Connor-

I felt horrible as I watched my little sister in pain, desperately clinging to Shawn as we pulled into the staff carpark. Luckily for us Shawn and I worked as critical care doctors in the ICU while Brian and Dave ran the ER, meaning we could just go straight in, not having to worry about admissions, and insurance just yet.

"I thought you were off tonight? It's been one hell of a night!" Nancy one of the nurses spoke as we walked in.

"We were, but Ana has a burst cyst," I spoke pointing to Shawn who held her in his arms as we walked towards the only available exam room.

Nancy frowned sympathetically, before walking back to the nurses station "You'll need to run it, no doctors available," she called.

Normally we won't treat relatives but she was high priority as as Nancy had said there was no one else there.

"Right Ana I need to run some tests honey, I'm going to get Shawn to change you into this," Dave spoke holding out a gown, as Shawn placed my sister onto the exam table gently.

Once that was done Dave came back over, setting up the portable ultra sound machine next to the bed.

"So I'm just going to put some gel on your stomach, and have a look okay. It might be a little uncomfortable so I apologise in advance."

She whimpered slightly, grabbing Shawn's hand as Dave pressed the wand down."

"I know I'm sorry, " he apologised as he continued to move it around, finally he stopped, zooming in.

"Here it is, you've got a burst cyst on your left ovary, that's why it's hurting so much. When you were running the exertion must have caused it to burst. It also looks as though you have evidence of gastritis too."

"What's that?" she asked looking to me for help.

"Its inflammation of the stomach lining, that's the burning you were feeling.We'll run some more tests though, just to be sure-"

He was interrupted as he spoke by one of the nurses poking her head around the curtin.

"Dr. Craigen would you be able to consult in triage?"

"No," He answered politely. "I'm currently busy looking after a personal patient."

Ana laughed once she had left. "Can you do that? Just ignore?"

"For you, yes, you're our most important patient." He winked. " Good news," he added, " There's no twist, so no surgery but it did burst, and you have lost some blood. So I would like to admit you so we can give you fluids and pain relief," he explained causing her nose to crinkle in distaste.

-Ana-

"Can Shawn stay?" I asked worried that I'd be stuck here by myself.

"I'm not going anywhere Princess," he reassured, me, coming to sit on the side of the bed with me.

Half an hour later and I'd been officially admitted and hooked up to a blood pressure machine, oximeter, and an I.V. with pain meds which was working wonders.

"How you feeling now princess?" Shawn asked, looking at the machines briefly before focusing his attention back to me. We were now the only two in the room, Brian and Connor having gone to the Cafeteria for much needed coffee, and Dave to check my previous file notes, not that I knew how he'd get a hold of them.

"I'm cold." I shivered, trying to burrow myself further into the too think blankets.

"Here, this should help," Shawn smiled, pulling one of his jumpers out of his bag and helping me into it.

There was a knock on the door, before Dave stepped into the room,a clipboard in hand. "Sorry to interupt guys." he apologised. "Ana, I need to ask you some routine questions," he spoke coming to sit next to the bed.

"Is there any chance you could be pregnant?" he asked seriously.

I blushed, "Ummm no," I laughed hiding my face in Shawn's shoulder.

"Sorry,this is just as awkward for you as it is for me. Trust me I don't want to know the details of one of my best mates private this. But this important," he explained smiling sympathetically.

"Well, No, trust me," I laughed, just wanting to move on.

"Okay. Well I'm going to do a blood draw just to rule a couple things out. Make sure nothing additional is going on."

"The doctor basically told me there was nothing she could do," I told him, watching as he grabbed all the necessary supplies.

"Well now that you're over here Dave will take care of you princess," Shawn spoke kissing my head.

"You don't have to worry about a thing." Dave smiled before snapping on a pair of gloves and coming to sit next to me.

"Shawn move your fat bum so I can get this blood work done," he spoke, shoving Shawn off the bed with his hip where he had been sitting next to me.

"Sharp scratch Ana," he warned causing me to squeeze my eyes shut in anticipation. "Just stay nice and relaxed."

Several hours later,and nothing abnormal had shown up in my blood work, meaning that once my pain was under control I was free to go, however Dave did explain to me that he had seen evidence of gastritis as Connor had mentioned earlier a symptom of the strong medications I had been taking to manage my pain. I was prescribed an ant-acid, toldstay away from spicy food, and change medications to something a little less harsh.

"You also need to be on bed rest for a few days to give your stomach time to heal," Shawn had added, laughing when I whined in protest. He knew I hated being stuck immobile.

Days later I had been released on strict orders to rest, something which I reluctantly agreed to.

" I'm so glad your feeling better," Shawn said sitting next to me on the sofa, that had become my temporary home due to not being able to walk easily on my own.

"Well it wasn't exactly the way I wanted to spend my first few days here, but thank you guys," I spoke, looking to the other three who sat across from us. They all smiled. "Seriously. Hopefully this will be the start of a great new chapter! I can't wait to see what living in Canada brings," I shouted causing them all to laugh.

"What would I do without you babe?" Shawn chuckled, kissing me.

"I don't know, your life would certainly be more predictable though," I laughed, snuggling into his shoulder.

"But then life would be boring, besides from unpredictabiliy comes strength, and you Ana, are the strongest person I know," he smiled, kissing my temple and resting his head atop mine.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagines #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes blurb #doctor!shawn #mendes triplets #werewolf!shawn

[homeformyheart]

expectations - beckett harrington x f!mc (te)

author’s note: this fic was a request from tanu after the brief scene i wrote in my other beckett x f!mc fic, the sunshine of life.

copyright: all characters owned by pixelberry studios. series/pairing: the elementalists – beckett harrington x f!mc (celeste russell) rating/warnings: 13+; family tension, fluff word count: 2.4k based on/prompt: request from @robintora​ summary: celeste meets beckett’s parents and it goes about as well as expected.

expectations

celeste cradled her throbbing toe as she sat on the bed with beckett standing in front of her. “why wouldn’t you give me more of a heads up? i have nothing to wear and i have to get a gift! i can’t show up empty-handed!”

beckett rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “it’s not that big of a deal, is it?” celeste gave him a pointed look. “okay, i kind of… forgot.”

“how do you forget about your parents wanting to have dinner with me?!” celeste’s eyes widened in disbelief. as oblivious as her boyfriend could be sometimes, he usually wasn’t this dense.

beckett let out a long sigh. “well, you know how i struggle with their expectations and there’s lot of pressure now that we’re a year away from graduating to make sure i pick the right career.”

celeste lowered her foot and crossed her arms over her chest. when she finally spoke, her voice shook with vulnerability. “and i’m not exactly someone who would meet their expectations, right?”

“i’ve never really had a girlfriend before, so i can’t say for sure,” beckett said thoughtfully. he glanced down and noticing celeste’s crestfallen expression, crouched down to meet her at eye level. “but that doesn’t mean i wouldn’t be proud to introduce you to them as my girlfriend. i love you so much, celeste.”

she tried to smile to reassure him. “i love you too, beckett. i just… i don’t really know the attuned world very well but it seems like your family name and reputation is really important to your parents. and for all they know, i may as well be attuneless. i can’t exactly tell them i’m half-source.”

beckett sat next to her on the bed and wrapped his arm around her waist. celeste leaned into his embrace, laying her head on his shoulder so her nose so she was up against his neck. she breathed in his comforting scent.

“you are the most amazing and impressive person i’ve ever met. they know that you mean a lot to me. they just want to get to know you,” beckett said, pulling back slightly to kiss her hair.

“will katrina be there?” celeste asked hopefully. having a friendly face in the room would definitely make things less daunting.

“i’m not sure actually. last i heard she was somewhere in the amazon doing research,” beckett said.

celeste sighed and stood up. “since i don’t have much time to get ready, help me figure out what to wear that’s going to offend your parents the least.”

beckett followed her to the closet and wrapped his arms around her from behind. he bent down and kissed her cheek. “that dress i bought for you when we got lunch with katrina last year should be more than fine. you look radiant in pretty much anything.”

“yeah, yeah, flattery will get you everywhere, beckett harrington. i’m still annoyed you didn’t tell me until last minute.”

beckett peppered her face and neck with kisses in response until she shooed him away so she could change into the outfit in peace. when she emerged from the closet dressed in the yellow dress and blue coat he bought her a year ago, his eyes lit up and traced the way the outfit curved around her body perfectly.

celeste ran an air spell down the coat and dress to remove any wrinkles before looking up at beckett. “this is the best i’m going to be able to do on short notice. what do you think?”

he put a hand on her waist and pulled her toward him. she stumbled forward and he steadied her with his other hand, leaning in to capture her lips into a steamy kiss. celeste felt warm when they broke apart, beckett resting his forehead against hers. “you make me wish we could be late,” he murmured softly. “you are so beautiful.”

celeste nuzzled his nose with hers. “flatterer. now let’s get going. i really don’t need to get on your parents’ bad side by being late.”

beckett had already manipulated the portal in her dorm room to take them directly to the harrington estate. the arrived in a matter of seconds, which was certainly not enough time to mentally prepare for the evening ahead. she would never admit this out loud to her friends, mostly because they wouldn’t be able to relate, but she wished they had traveled the attuneless way. it would’ve taken infinitely longer, but at least it would have bought her some time to prepare.

celeste stared up at the large, mahogany doors with the harrington family crest etched at the top and swallowed nervously. she fiddled with the buttons on her coat and tried to take slow, deep breaths. beckett slid his hands into hers and squeezed it gently before directing a metal spell with his other hand toward the door. celeste’s eyes widened as she noticed the metal inside the door turn and creak internally before opening slowly to let them in.

he took her coat and handed it to a servant before taking her hand and leading her down the long hallway. they passed what looked like a foyer, a sitting room, a study, another sitting room, or maybe it was a parlor, and a stairwell before celeste realized that she would be utterly lost in a place like this if she were alone. why anyone would need this many sitting rooms was beyond her.

when they finally arrived at the dining room, she noticed that his parents were already seated. mr. harrington appeared just as imposing as she’d imagined, with hair as dark as katrina’s except for streaks of silver running through it. her gaze shifted to his right, where beckett’s mother was sitting with her hands delicately tucked under her chin, eyes not-so-subtly inspecting celeste from head-to-toe. her shoulder-length brown hair was curled and celeste noticed that beckett must’ve inherited her cheekbones.

“ah, they’re finally here. come join us, children,” mrs. harrington said, her tone friendly but without any real warmth.

celeste took a deep breath and followed beckett, taking care to avoid eye contact with his parents as he pulled out her chair for her before settling comfortably to his father’s left. she felt a little relieved that she wasn’t sitting directly across from either parent but made sure to keep a smile on her face. regardless of whatever she felt inside, she needed to remember to smile through it all.

“hi, i’m celeste. it’s very nice to finally meet you, mr. and mrs. harrington,” celeste said, making an effort to keep the nervousness out of her voice.

“it’s very nice to meet you too, my dear. and you can call me alice. i found it odd that our beckett has been dating you for over a year and yet this is the first time we’ve actually gotten to meet you,” mrs. harrington replied; her gaze, however, was focused on beckett.

beckett cleared his throat. “we’ve been busy, mother. with school, internships, and celeste is on the thief team as well.”

“well, at least you seem well-rounded, miss russell. i will say it’s been great to see penderghast as back-to-back thief champions. and you’re a sun-att, correct?” mr. harrington asked. as far as she could tell, he was genuinely curious.

“yes, that’s correct. my secondary attunement is metal. both definitely come in handy in the thief arena,” she said cheerfully, glad to have some common ground with at least one parent.

his mother let out a soft hum before turning her attention to the food that had arrived. celeste stared at what she presumed was a salad in front of her but wasn’t sure given the mix of strange looking ingredients that she hadn’t seen before.

“what’s wrong, dear? salad not to your liking?” alice asked.

celeste quickly grabbed her fork and held it over the plate. “no, it’s just, uh, there are a lot of ingredients i don’t recognize,” she said quickly before taking a delicate bite. she was actually pleasantly surprised at the bright flavor.

“that makes sense given your attuneless upbringing. although truthfully, most people in the attuned world wouldn’t have tried any of the food you’ll get to have tonight. we imported special ingredients from around the world.”

“oh, well, the quality is certainly unmatched. everything looks absolutely delicious,” celeste said as the servants brought out the next course.

while the food was good and unlike anything she’d had in the attuneless world, she didn’t think it was that special. and judging by the pink tips of beckett’s ears, he didn’t appreciate his father’s comments either.

the rest of the dinner went by relatively smoothly, with peppered bits of small talk here and there. most of the questions weren’t too intrusive, and she found it relatively easy to ignore the lightly condescending remarks sprinkled here and there. they were finishing up dessert when they finally got to the topic of what they were going to do after penderghast.

“i haven’t really decided yet. i think i’d probably like field research and working with magickal plants,” celeste answered honestly when they asked her what fields she might be interested in. she had given it some thought as she prepared to declare her major last year. working with plants would allow her to spend more time outdoors and with nature, which is where she felt most like herself.

alice let out a soft tsk of disapproval, barely audible over the sound of her setting her spoon back down on the table. celeste looked away and saw that mr. harrington was giving her a thoughtful look and she tucked her hands between her thighs to keep from squirming under his gaze.

“well, it’s not a very compelling field, but to each their own, i suppose. we have high hopes for beckett to live up to the harrington name, and i’m sure you understand your role in supporting him.”

celeste jaw fell open slightly. they weren’t seriously implying that she should be a trophy wife? “i think i understand where you’re coming from, mr. harrington, but with all due respect, beckett and i challenge and support each other to excel in each of our respective fields. i would hope that you’d prefer someone who can match your son in intelligence and drive and not someone who acts as arm candy.”

“arm candy? is that an attuneless phrase?” katrina’s voice broke through the tension in the dining room. “sorry i’m late, everyone! trying to arrange a portal out of the amazon last minute is not as easy as you’d think!”

“kitty kat! you made it after all,” mr. harrington said, his demeanor seeming to morph into that of a doting father as katrina stopped to give him a kiss on the cheek before making her way over to the seat next to her mother.

“of course, i wouldn’t miss a family dinner like this! i’m so glad we all get to spend time together, celeste is practically family after all!” katrina said, giving celeste a subtle wink.

“that seems a bit premature, darling, considering they’re not even out of college yet. plenty of time to find a proper match,” alice said, dabbing the corner of her lips with a napkin.

“she is by far one of the best students i had at penderghast last year. made it very difficult to decide who to nominate for the attuned magickae uirtus award,” katrina said matter-of-factly as she took a sip of her mother’s glass of wine, much to alice’s annoyance.

mr. harrington’s steely gaze shifted to beckett. “i presumed you would be a shoo-in for the award, beckett. but barely beating out someone who didn’t grow up with magick? i’m not sure that’s something to be proud of.”

“with all due respect, mr. harrington, beckett was able to stay on top of his studies while helping me and my friends protect penderghast from a rogue…” celeste’s eyes briefly met beckett’s. “…attuned thieves. the high attuned herself was very appreciative, and you should be very proud of your son.”

beckett cleared his throat before katrina or anyone else could respond. “celeste and i must be getting back, we do have exams to study for.”

mr. harrington gave beckett an understanding nod. “of course.” his gaze flitted over to celeste, who swallowed nervously. “it was nice to meet you, celeste.”

“thank you for the wonderful dinner and for having us. it was very nice to meet you as well,” she said clearly, hoping her voice conveyed the same grace and confidence as katrina’s.

they stood up and were making their way to the front door when they heard katrina’s footsteps speeding toward them.

celeste turned around just in time to catch katrina as she wrapped her arms around her in a huge hug. “don’t worry about those stuffy old busts. you’ve always got an ally in me, celeste. take care of bean,” she winked, before turning gracefully and heading back into the dining room.

once they were safely outside and out of earshot, celeste let out a long sigh. “i suppose that could’ve gone worse.”

beckett gave her a reassuring one-armed hug. “you did wonderfully. i know it’s not easy to deal with my parents, and you still handled them well while being yourself.”

“sure, because that’s what sounds reassuring right now – ‘your boyfriend’s parents may not approve of you but at least you were yourself!’” celeste retorted, rolling her eyes and pulling away from him.

beckett laced his fingers through hers and tugged their joined hands to pull her close. he leaned down to give her a kiss, “believe me, you did well given the circumstances. and i promise i’ll make it up to you.”

“good, because my mom is visiting next week and we have to get lunch with her,” celeste said cheekily, not even bothering to hide her grin.

beckett’s jaw dropped. “what? you can’t just drop that on me last minute! that’s not enough time to prepare! i’ll have to go to the library straight away to make sure i can engage in conversation – what was her thesis at penderghast?” he started walking faster down the sidewalk, half-dragging celeste with him.

celeste giggled and she sped up her pace to keep up with him, allowing him to tuck their joined hands in the pocket of his coat. now she just needed to remember to actually ask theia if she could make it to lunch next week.

* * * * * mentions: @robintora; @miss-smrxtiee; @eleanorbloom; @itsjustwinter; @mm2305;

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