#who was guilty of nothing more than being born and looking like his dad

[veethefreeelf]

It takes two - Y.JH

Summary: 

Being with Jeonghan has always been easy and a dream come true. But lately, having to deal with being alone with your 6 year old and having a full-time job has started to be very tiring. You don’t want to burden Jeonghan but you don’t know how much longer you can hold it in. Maybe surprising him on tour will help.

Wordcount: 4.9k

Warnings: not many, dad!jeonghan on tour and nonidol mom! reader, angst, fluff, happy ending, reader has some fears and anxiety, suggestive but not explicit smut

Requested: yes, here

P.S - Italic is for thoughts mainly from the characters’ perspective and quotes. Bold is for text messages/calls/voice messages between characters

Your relationship with Jeonghan has always been stable over the years. Sure, like all relationships, you’ve had ups and downs. But the ups and the happiness you shared when you’re together has always overshadowed anything else that might have tried to break you two apart.

You’ve always known from the beginning what it meant being in a relationship with an idol. And, let’s be truthful, you wouldn’t go through it for anyone else but him. 

It was difficult in the beginning. Having to hide, pretend you were single for the most part. Always meeting at weird hours in the night so he wouldn’t be followed. But every time he walked through the door of your apartment, all those worries and annoyances disappeared. 

It had always been like that. One look at his face. The way he always smiled when he first saw you, and you were done. Nothing else mattered. You would push through anything for this man. You knew that from the very first day. And you knew he felt the same way. There’s no way this low energy angel would have done as much as he did for you if he didn’t feel the exact same way.

You met him 8 years ago. Married him a year after that. A ‘whirlwind romance’ everyone had called it. Almost a year after that, your son was born. He looked so much like Jeonghan. You were thankful for that. At least whenever Jeonghan needed to be away from you, you would have this little angel to look at and hopefully ease the pain in your chest from missing Jeonghan so much.

Over the years it has gotten worse. The pain. And missing him. Yes, you knew what you signed up for but it doesn’t mean it has gotten easier to deal with. 

If anything, it has gotten harder. Every time he has to leave. And you have to explain to your son every night why his dad isn’t home and won’t be able to call that night. And if that isn’t enough, you still have to deal with the hate from certain ‘fans’ who will forever want you gone from Jeonghan’s life.

It has gotten worse for your son too. The older he gets, the more he understands what’s going on around him. Which means, the more he misses his dad whenever he’s not around. The more he notices when you get a snide comment thrown at you in public.

Hanbin used to be more understanding of Jeonghan leaving when he was younger. Or maybe time passed by more quickly for him then. Lately, he has not been as understanding and it has been taking a toll on you.

Having a full-time job and a young boy to take care of started to feel like too much for you. You always knew that being a single mom was hard but man, it’s much harder than you ever thought. 

And then you feel guilty. ‘Single mom’. That’s not what you are. But sometimes, it sure feels like it. 

The rational side of you knows you need to talk to Jeonghan about it but burdening him with your worries and fears is something you can’t do. He already feels guilty enough every time he has to leave you two. You can’t add to that.

Today at work you got a call from Hanbin’s school. This has never happened before. Your boy has always been the sweetest, gentlest soul. You used to say his face was all Jeonghan but his soul was all Joshua. The perfect combination. 

You left work and picked up Hanbin from school. You apologized to the teacher and made him apologize to the other boy he had hurt during recess. You did not get back to the office. You decided you needed some time with him. You weren’t the only one hurting from Jeonghan’s recent departure for tour.

You were going to take him to the amusement park 45 minutes away. It was his favorite and you wanted to make him happy today. Even if he misbehaved, this wasn’t like him and you knew that.

“Binnie, let’s go to the amusement park, yeah?” you asked him as you started to drive away from the school.

You noticed when you looked in the rearview mirror he was looking at you suspiciously.

“What? Don’t trust your mom, now? Talk to me, baby” you had told him.

“I was bad. Why are we going to my favorite park if I was bad?” he asked you.

“Because I know you, Hanbin. This is not like you. And I know why you did it. I miss your dad too, you know?” you asked him.

“He said something about you” he said quietly.

“Who did, Binnie? The boy you pushed?” 

“Yes. Why does everyone say good things about dad but they always say bad things about you?” he asked you. He didn’t fully understand what it meant being an idol and he definitely didn’t understand the consequences of marrying one. You wanted to try and explain as best as you could.

“Your dad is loved by a lot of people, Binnie. He always was. From a very young age. He is an artist in the public eye and that’s not easy here. 7 years ago he had to tell them he met the love of his life. Most people were happy for him. But some… They didn’t like that. Which meant immediately, they didn’t like me. I’m sorry you have to hear them talk about me that way, baby” you told him sincerely.

“I will always protect you, mom. They don’t matter” he said and he seemed to be a bit lighter. Less worried and annoyed. Good.

Hanbin ended up falling asleep after that conversation and you only woke him up once you reached the park. You had a wonderful afternoon together. 

When you got home, things were good. You were waiting for Jeonghan’s call. He hasn’t been able to call you and Hanbin in the last few days with their busy schedules and the time difference but he promised you and your son he would call tonight. 

When it started getting late, you knew. There would be no call tonight. You also knew Hanbin had been looking forward to this for a long time. You’re going to have to be the messenger and you already know this is not going to go well.

You turned to your son who was already falling asleep on the couch.

“Binnie, time for bed. You have school tomorrow. It’s getting late”

He looked at you angrily. ‘Here we go again’ you thought.

“No. He promised. I’m not going to bed. No. No!” he started to shout at you and you could see he was starting to tear up. So were you.

“I know, baby. You know dad’s schedule is not easy. He will call when he can. You know that” you tried calming him down and keep your tears at bay.

“No, no, no, no. Why? He promised! HE PROMISED!” he shouted and started to cry. You moved to hug him on the couch and you sat there together for a few minutes. 

“Come on, let’s go to bed, yeah? You can sleep with me tonight, Binnie” you whispered to him as you tried to calm him.

“You’ll call him tomorrow, right? Tell him I’m mad. He broke his promise” he asked you.

“I will, baby” you told him and you started getting your son ready for bed.

Once he was fully asleep on your bed, you decided to make a couple of phone calls. First one to Jeonghan. He didn’t pick up. You knew that would be the case so you left a message:

“Hey, Hannie. You didn’t call tonight and Binnie is really sad. We understand your schedules are hard but don’t promise something you can’t keep. You know he takes promises very seriously. I hope you are okay. Please, call me back when you have time. I don’t care about the time. Just call me. Please. Stay safe. I love you”

Second call was to Seungcheol. No answer. Makes sense so again you left another message:

“Hey, Cheolie. I was wondering where you guys are going next and when. I wanted to see if it would be okay for me and Binnie to surprise Jeonghan. Talk to whomever you need to talk to and let me know. Thank you. Stay safe!”

After leaving both messages, you got ready for bed and joined your son.

You woke up a few hours later with your phone ringing. You silenced it as soon as you reached over so Hanbin wouldn’t wake up and you left the bedroom to answer the call.

“Hey, angel. Did I wake you? Sorry, you told me to call back so… I shouldn’t have though” Jeonghan said on the other side of the line.

“Hey… No, I’m glad you did. How are you?” you asked in a hushed tone as you sat down on the living room couch.

“I’m okay… How are you? You don’t sound good, baby” he told you and you were holding back tears at this point. You didn’t want him to hear you cry but you just missed him so much. These last few days have been so difficult.

“I’m… Okay… Binnie has been a bit difficult in the last few days but we’re hanging in there” you told him in your best fake voice.

There was silence on the other side. And after a few seconds, he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry… I know it must be hard being alone with him and with your job” was all he said. But what else could have he said? You were so tired… So, so tired…

You were ashamed of yourself, but in these weak moments you have thought about divorce. This was hard. Too hard. It wasn’t about love. It was about needing a partner with you all the way. You have always struggled with anxiety but it has stayed dormant for many years. Until now. All of those feelings were back. You felt like you were drowning sometimes, like you couldn’t breathe.

“We know it’s not easy for you either” was all you said before tears started streaming down your face. You were doing your best to stay silent, for him not to hear your pain. You don’t want him to feel worse.

“I’ll call you guys tomorrow. I promise. No matter what. Tell Binnie I’m sorry about tonight, please” he told you and you could tell in his voice he was as sad as you at this very moment.

“I will… He’ll understand. He always forgives you as soon as he gets a glimpse of you, you know that. I have to go now but I’ll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Of course, go rest, baby. I love you…” he said and the tears were flowing faster now.

“I love you too, Hannie…” you told him before you hung up the call.

You went to bed but you could barely get any sleep that night.

You went through your morning routine with Hanbin, dropped him off at school and went to work. You had talked to him in the morning and you explained everything to him and told him tonight they would be able to see and speak to Jeonghan. 

Hanbin went to school happy. That’s all that mattered in that moment.

As you were getting ready to leave work and pick up Hanbin, you got a text from Seungcheol.

“Sorry, Y/N. We were so busy yesterday, I couldn’t pick up but absolutely yes. Please. I already talked to our manager, he’s going to call you about the details but join us. He misses you both terribly and he’s a pain in the ass when you’re not around. Tell Binnie his favorite uncle has a gift for him!”

It made you smile. Seungcheol always knew what to say to make you feel better even if he didn’t know you weren’t feeling your best.

Before you left work, you went to your boss’s office to request time off. You never did this anyway. You had barely taken any time off this year. 

You couldn’t wait to pick up Hanbin and tell him you were going to join Jeonghan on tour. He was going to be so excited. You would have to adjust the details with his school but again, you had never taken him out of school before so you were sure it would be okay.

When you two got home, you couldn’t stop smiling and your son knew something was different.

“Mom, what are you hiding? Tell meeee” he said also smiling now.

“Well… I have a secret… Can you keep a secret, Binnie? Between you and me, only? No telling dad?” you asked him as you started helping him into a bath.

“Promise. And you know what promises mean to me, mom” he told you seriously.

“I don’t know when yet but we are going to go see dad on tour for a few days. Only if you want to, of course, if you don’t–”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! I can’t wait, we’re gonna have so much fun! I miss dad” he told you excitedly.

“I know, baby but we have to keep it a secret. It’s a surprise for your dad so you have to be my buddy and keep this between us, okay?” you asked him once he got in the bath.

“Yes, I’ll be so good. Dad won’t know anything” he said and started playing with his toys. You laughed and went to the kitchen to make dinner for the both of you.

After dinner, Jeonghan called as he promised. Hanbin was immediately over the broken promise and he was very good at keeping your secret. You let them have their moment and they stayed on the video call for a couple of hours before you could also talk to Jeonghan.

You talked for a bit but then you had to get Hanbin to bed so you had to hang up. 

You felt a bit better though. It was always like that. One look at him and things felt better already. 

The next day you got the call from their manager and you set everything up. You and Hanbin would be leaving in a week and you would stay with them on tour for a week as well. They found a time between two dates where you would have time to spend as a family and you are very grateful for everyone right now.

Finally, tomorrow you two are leaving to go meet Jeonghan. And tomorrow can’t come soon enough. Surprisingly, Hanbin’s behavior has been worse. He has been so excited to see Jeonghan that he barely sleeps. He has been throwing tantrums more often and you are back to feeling a bit hopeless. 

But it will all be okay, tomorrow you’ll meet Jeonghan and it will all be okay. 

Also, Hanbin has been creating a few gifts for their fans. He said he wants to surprise them and show that we are good. So that maybe they will change their minds about us. It’s funny. Never once did you include him in the explanation about the hate you get. You wanted it to be clear. You were the reason, not Hanbin. But your son will always protect you and he never wants you to feel alone. He’s way too smart for his age.

The next day, you are woken up by a very excited Hanbin. It was a bit too early but you knew there was no stopping this now. 

The company sent for a car and you would be escorted by them all the way to the boys. This part was nice. Not having to worry about being seen, touched by people you didn’t know. They would guarantee both your safety there and back.

The plane ride was a wild ride. Hanbin couldn’t sit still, he had so much energy, he just couldn’t contain his excitement and you joined him. You played games, watched movies, and ate good snacks. You were both so happy. In these moments, you felt guilty about some of your previous thoughts. You could never leave them. They were your everything.

After you landed, they took you to the hotel first so you could settle. The boys were already at the venue and all of them knew you two were coming except Jeonghan. You took a quick shower, got ready and made sure Hanbin had his gifts so that you could finally go to the venue.

You got to the venue and you both got led backstage to the common room where the boys were getting ready for the meet & greet. Your heart was beating so fast. You didn’t know why you were nervous but you were. 

Hanbin ran to the door and busted through the room way before you did. You could hear all the excitement from far away. Everyone sounded so happy together. You missed this. 

As you were getting close to the door, Jeonghan walked through it and he was looking around. Once he spotted you, he ran to you. He held you so tight. You wanted to cry but you didn’t. Hanbin came running after his dad and hugged you both.

“Hanbinnie, let your mom and dad have a moment. Come show uncle Shua the gifts you made for our carats!” Joshua told Hanbin and you were thankful, you needed a moment alone with Jeonghan.

Hanbin went back to Joshua and they both went into the room where again you could hear all the excited voices coming from.

Jeonghan pulled away from the hug and kissed you. Hard. He kissed you like he was going to lose you the next second. You missed him so much. Everything about him. The way he smells, the way he tastes, the way he makes you feel when you’re in his arms.

You two finally move away to breathe.

“I missed you so much, baby. Thank you for coming. I’m so happy you two are here. I was going crazy without you” he had told you and all you could do was nod.

You held him tight again and you just stood there in silence, holding each other until you had to join everyone else.

You still had some time before they had to go, so you all just stayed in the room. Most of the boys were focused on Hanbin and you and Jeonghan were focused on each other. Finally.

“We can have a giveaway for carats with your gifts, Hanbinnie. What do you think?” Hoshi asked Hanbin.

“It’s from me and mom. You have to say it’s from mom too. Not just me” he told Hoshi seriously.

The boys turned to look at you and you just told them ‘Later’ and they all understood you would explain later.

It was time for them to go and Hanbin asked if he could join them since the giveaway was from us. They all looked at you.

“What do you think?” Jeonghan asked you as he held your hand. 

You were nervous. You didn’t want your boy to receive any kind of hate. It was something you alone would have to bear for your small family. Jeonghan could sense your hesitation and he knew why.

“I’ll keep him safe, promise. It’ll be okay. He’s a charmer, they’ll fall in love with him right away” he said as he smiled at you to comfort you.

“Okay. Binnie, be good. Follow everyone’s rules, please” you had told your son. He gave you a thumbs up and held Hoshi’s hand. 

“Come with us, hmm, baby?” Jeonghan asked you.

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not yet” you told him sincerely.

“Love, it’s been 7 years since we told the world. They are the ones that need to adapt, not us. We did nothing wrong. Come with me, please. Just for the giveaway. You know Binnie would love that too” he told you as he squeezed your hand.

You wanted to join him, you did. But you started to think about the last time that happened. About the looks of hate and disgust and you just can’t. You’re not ready.

“I came here for you, Jeonghan. Not them. I know we did nothing wrong but I can’t deal with it right now. I’m… I’m not ready” you told him and you hoped he would understand.

You didn’t want to tell him your anxiety has been back and worse than ever. This was all you could tell him right now. You hoped he would understand. And he did.

You decided to ask some members of the team to help you sit in a place in the arena where no one could see you. You wanted to see the boys in their element and you wanted to see Hanbin as well.

They led you to an empty spot and no one could see you but you could see them perfectly. Hanbin and Jeonghan were holding hands and were so happy. You made the right choice. They started announcing the giveaway and Hanbin was gesturing to speak. Oh. This could go very wrong.

“Hi, carats! My name is Hanbin. This is my dad. He’s cool. But my mom is also very cool. She helped me make these gifts for you and we’re going to give them to you now but you have to earn it!” your son said and everyone started laughing and clapping.

Jeonghan was right. Everyone loved him. He sounded so grown up when he spoke to the crowd. You were so proud of him.

Everything went great. They had the giveaway and the meeting continued after that but you went back to get Hanbin. He was so excited and happy. He kept saying he is sure people will love you now. What an amazing little human you created.

Everything else went perfect. You had some food together, you watched the concert with Hanbin and in the end he was happy and so tired.

You went backstage to join everyone and to tell everyone good night. You had to go back to the hotel and get Hanbin to bed but when Hanbin woke up he must have thought you were taking him home and he started yelling and crying.

He jumped from your lap and ran towards the boys. He started saying you were mean and a lot of other things that you knew he didn’t mean but you’ve reached your boiling point and you did something you have never done before.

“Enough, Hanbin! Enough! No more tantrums! Stop!” you yelled.

You yelled at your son. Loud. Very loud. Everyone was staring at you.This was very out of character for you, they were all confused. Except Hanbin. Hanbin was crying and holding onto Jeonghan tightly. 

“Hey, Binnie. Look at dad. I have an idea. What about you have a sleepover with your uncles, huh? You can stay up late and play some games. What do you think?” Jeonghan had lowered himself to his son’s height and was trying to calm him down.

“Really?” Hanbin asked back at him.

Jeonghan looked around at the boys and they all agreed happily. 

Suddenly, Hanbin seems to have forgotten all about your offense. He is leaving happily with Seungcheol, Joshua, Seungkwan and Hoshi and the rest of the boys follow them out. 

“I think we need to talk, love. I don’t know what’s going on with you but I want to” he told you and you started to cry.

He held your hand and led you towards the exit. This wouldn’t be a conversation to have here.

You got to your hotel room and you were still crying. He looked so worried. This was something you never wanted. But at the same time, you’re so tired. You’re exhausted.

“Talk to me, baby” he told you as he sat down next to you on the bed.

“I’m just exhausted, Jeonghan. I knew what I signed up for when we got together and I knew what was going to happen when we got married and had children but I’m so exhausted. I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this. The other day, at Hanbin’s school, another mom told me I almost seemed like a single mom the way I was always running to drop off and pick up Hanbin. That she never saw Hanbin’s dad around. She meant it as a joke but it didn’t feel like a joke. It was exactly how I felt. How I feel. I feel alone most of the time” you started telling him as you sobbed.

He didn’t say anything and you knew this was a sign for you to keep going.

“I know I chose this. I never wanted to hire any help. I just… I want a normal family. I know now that’s not possible at all and I have been stretching myself to make this work. I never wanted to be the mom with the nanny. Picking up the kids because I couldn’t. It’s my fault too but even when you’re home. You’re not? Most days you get home so late, we don’t even see you. We’ve accepted it as normal. I accepted it because I didn’t want to disappoint you. I didn’t want to burden you. I know how guilty you feel every time you leave us. I didn’t want to make it worse for you” you continued.

“But I can’t do this anymore. Something needs to change. I can’t keep feeling like I’m drowning, alone. You know I even thought about divorce” you said and he flinched away from you.

“I did. I thought about it. I already felt like a single mom. Maybe it would be for the best. You get to have your life, the way it always was. No guilt. No burden. You would be free” you told him and he also had tears running down his face now. You know you don’t really want this. You hope he knows this too.

“You think that’s what I want? You think losing you would make me feel free? Unburdened?” he asked you as he wiped his tears and your tears.

“The day I met you, you saved me. I was going through the motions but I wasn’t happy. I had a life everyone dreams of having but I felt empty. I am nothing without you. I am nothing without our family” he continued.

“I’m so sorry you’ve felt this way for this long. You should’ve told me. It takes two to make a marriage work. You are never burdening me. These last few weeks I’ve known something was wrong and you wouldn’t tell me. You know how frustrating that is? Wanting to help you but you won’t let me?” he asked you as he held your face and forced you to look into his eyes.

“I’m sorry…” you whispered.

“Don’t apologize. Never apologize for this. I had a suspicion of what was wrong. You know Cheol and Sara went through this exact same thing last year? She did to him exactly what you were doing to me. I know it’s hard being with us. Dealing with everything. But we need to talk. We need to communicate with each other about all of our worries. It’s the only way for this to work. We will find a solution for whenever I’m on tour. We just need to talk about it. As for the times I am home but overworking, I will talk to everyone about it and set boundaries for my schedule” he said and you interrupted him.

“No, Hannie. I don’t want you to sacrifice your work–”

“I won’t sacrifice you. Or our family. Cheol has done it too. Set schedule boundaries. The company understands. We’re not 22 anymore. We have families. We are husbands and fathers. We can’t work until 3 AM every night and tour for months without a break” he told you while looking into your eyes.

You felt so relieved. All the weight has been lifted from your shoulders. All you needed to do was talk to each other. You won’t make this mistake again, you know that much.

“You love me, baby?” he asked you as he licked his lips and stared at yours.

“I love you so fucking much… You love me, Hannie?” you answered and asked him right back.

He leaned in and whispered against your lips.

“You are everything”

He started to kiss you then and everything faded away. Nothing matters in this moment. Only you and him. Alone in this room. Loving each other. Desperately. Passionately. 

The rest of the week went by fast. You three spent most of the time together without anyone else. Exploring the city and having fun.

You were thankful this little angel had 12 uncles around that could distract him while you and Jeonghan had your alone time. 

The days were for the whole family. But the nights were for you and Jeonghan. Every night he made love to you. He made you feel exactly like what he had told you that day you finally talked. He made you feel like his everything.

You kept talking through the week and you had made a decision together. It was time to consider a part time nanny but also it was time for you to consider working less hours. You weren’t sure how your boss and company were going to take this but right now it doesn’t matter.

The only thing that matters is making sure you two will never have to go another day without telling each other and showing each other how much you love one another.

Because it takes two to make a marriage work, but it takes the three of you to make your heart complete.

Hey guys! I hope you guys enjoy this one. I hope I honored the request while still being able to add some of my vision! 😭😇 As usual, please let me know in the comments and such if you enjoyed reading it 💕 Thank you for supporting me! CHEERS 🥂

#jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan fic #yoon jeonghan fanfic #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #jeonghan fanfic #yoon jeonghan fic #svt x reader #jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x you #yoon jeonghan x you #vee's writings #jeonghan fluff #yoon jeonghan fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #suggestive #jeonghan mature

[captain-lessship]

Dad! L Headcannons

a/n: I tried to write this as gender ambiguous as possible but it definitely leans more AFAB reader but I just wanted to say that families come in all shapes and ranges. And L would want to raise a kid with you regardless of your gender orientation.

Pre-Children:

Was the one to bring it up.

wanted two but would be totally supportive if you only wanted one

Would help you plan everything for getting yourself ready for kids (Doctors visits, family therapy if you wanted, looked into every option if you couldn’t carry a child on your own.)

when you actually became pregnant, he was over the moon.

Pregnancy:

Was very supportive and caring.

Never made you feel guilty for your cravings and such.

went to every appointment he could with you

Wanted this to be stress free as possible so he eliminated a lot of your struggles

He legit took notes on pregnancy books

Could be a little much with all the information he now knows but will back off slightly if you told him that he was being a hovering husband

He only trusted certain people around you: Watari, Your family, your friends and the doctors. Would definitely try to keep you in the house if he could but would accept it if you had a problem with it.

when you found out you were having twins, he nearly fainted of happiness. (But do to his lack of expression, you thought it was shock)

Infant: 

very gentle with the babies but isn’t very good at holding them. 

Prefers to give the affection by means of letting their tiny fingers wrap around his or giving them tiny kisses til they giggle

Thankfully he is up to take care of the babies throughout the night. With the aid of Watari. (Who is pretty much their grandpa)

Keeps a keen eye on the baby monitors. The monitors themselves have microphones and thermometers to keep the nursery at a comfortable and consistent temperature.

Was a little shaky when changing the first diaper but is now a pro and surprisingly quick at it. 

Throws up if they throw up.

Calls the babies “it” 

Pities them when you dress them up.

“Do they really need to be that… frilly?” “They’re adorable.” “Our baby is currently 86% frill.” 

Family photos litter the house. He is extremely proud of you and his children

Toddler: 

he falls victim to the puppy dog eyes too easily. 

The children are spoiled rotten. 

Has been wrapped around his kids fingers since the day they were born and the kiddos are just now realizing this. And using it to their advantage 

Doesn’t want his kids to be like him and only eat sweets.

If his kids didn’t like a certain food, he would have it cooked a different way. Only after several attempts at getting the kids to at least tolerate it, would he give up and drop the matter entirely. Almost

“Taste buds change every seven years” “They hate all things that resemble a carrot.” “For now.”

Would be the one to check in the kids during the night, either on the hallway camera (after they don’t need a baby monitor, he takes cameras out of their room because he respects your child (and honestly, can a toddler do anything maliciously?)or by carefully peering through the door. 

Would be extremely proud if his children took on his seating position.

he was built to be a girl dad. He just was. 

He would let his baby girl do his makeup and paint his nails. 

Surprisingly good at doing her hair. 

“Look! Papa made these!” She’d said, pointing at her pigtails. 

Has been known to forget that he was playing dress up and go on video calls with a fake tiara in his hair. 

“Please, refrain from snickering. There is nothing funny about this case.” “Uh… Sir, there’s something in your hair?” “Ah..” 

is *somehow* surprised when his son reflects him: Quiet.

Loves doing anything with his kids because it gives him a chance to have a childhood again.

Nearly came to tears when he saw his kids drawing of him as a superhero. (He later laid his head in your lap and cried happy tears.) 

He loves his kids more than anything in the world and would do anything for them. 

#l death note #l lawilet #l lawliet x reader #l x reader #death note #dad headcanons #l lawiet headcannons #parenting #pregnancy #pregnancy headcanon #toddler #infants #family bonding #cute

[sheeple]

Miracles don’t exist | 1: The Quidditch World Cup finale

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): None this chapter [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

Your first three years at Hogwarts were uneventful. As uneventful as being the daughter of Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange can be.

From a very young age, you knew that your parents weren't normal people. I mean, with a mother who was convicted to Azkaban when you were just one and a father who disappeared. It was not hard to connect the dots. 

Of course, as soon as you were popped out of the womb, you were left behind at Malfoy manor in the care of the same nanny that took care of your cousin, Draco. Your mother was too busy with being a Death Eater to care about a brat. Her words exactly.

And it's not like it matters anyway. The Malfoy's are good to you, even besides the fact that you are the Dark Lord's daughter. At first, they handled you with additional care. But after a while, they saw you more as a daughter than anything else. Especially aunt Cissy, who's always fussing over you.

The first time you were genuinely terrified was during the house sorting at Hogwarts. As a precaution, your last name was changed to Black, after your mother's maiden name. Having the surname of either Riddle or Lestrange was way too dangerous.

You can still remember the whispers as your name was called. 

"A Black?" "I didn't know a Black her age still existed." "Could she be the daughter of the mass murderer?"

A sort of relief went through your body as you were sorted into Slytherin. There was no doubt, being the heir of Slytherin nonetheless. But still, the fear of disappointing a father that you've never met was all too great, even for an eleven-year-old.

That same year you got the first letter from your father. He wrote how proud he was of you for being sorted into Slytherin and that he expected big things from you. Thanks, dad, no pressure at all.

During your second year, you heard all kinds of weird whispers as you moved about the castle. It was then that you discovered that you could speak Parslemouth. The giant murder snake in the sewers was not as scary as many believed. Of course, as she was murdering muggle-borns, you felt guilty and tried to forbid her to do so. But the Basilisk couldn't help her nature.

After everything happened with the Chamber of Secrets, you went to Dumbledore and confessed everything, from your true parentage and being a Parslemouth. You cried while asking the headmaster to not expel you.

"My dear child", said Dumbledore calmly, producing a handkerchief out of thin air, "you have nothing to worry about. If I learned one thing throughout my long life, I've learned that parentage could mean nothing. If you let it mean nothing."

He did make you promise to give him every letter your father would send. You agreed without hesitating for a moment.

Third-year was uneventful. You stayed as far away from the Golden Trio as possible, knowing that Sirius Black was after Harry at the time. It proved difficult as they ─ especially Harry ─ were constantly around you. Even at remote parts of the castle, when you needed some time alone from all the stares and whispers, he seemed to find you.

You sniff, burying your face into your hands. Some sixth-year Gryffindor made you fall down a flight of stairs with a spell and scattered all your stuff around the ground. 

Suddenly, a pair of feet appear in front of you and you jump up, raising your wand in defence. Harry Potter looks at you with wide eyes and your schoolbag in his hands.

You drop your wand and turn away, wiping away a stray tear. "What do you want, Potter?" The words come out harsh, just like you see your cousin do all the time.

The boy in question shuffles awkwardly from his left foot to his right. "Are you... are you okay? I saw what happened." He holds out your bag and you take it.

You mumble out, "thanks", and you stand awkwardly across from each other. You fumble with the straps of your bag while Harry plays with his tie.

"I don't think you're like him at all", he suddenly blurts out, making you look up at him with wide eyes. "Like your dad. Sirius Black."

You stiffen. "O-oh no! Sirius isn't my dad. I'm- we're cousins... I think."

"Oh..." Harry's face heats up, obviously embarrassed.

After that rather awkward encounter, every time someone tried to trip you over or bully you, he was there to stop it. Draco was obviously not happy about it and you begged him to not tell uncle Lucious.

And that's how we arrive at your fourth year. Or, actually less than a month before the new term.

"Hey, Bowtruckle, are you awake?" Draco waves his hand in front of your face, obviously annoyed that you didn't listen to whatever he was raging about.

You snap up and turn to look at him, raising one eyebrow in annoyance. "What?"

Draco rolls his eyes and points outside the carriage. A sigh leaves your lips as you see that you've arrived at the Quidditch World Cup finale. To be completely honest, you don't care that much for Quidditch. But Draco does, and Uncle Lucius cares for your public appearance, so you were forced to go.

Climbing out of the carriage, you stretch out your arms and breath in the fresh August air. Everywhere you look are wizards from all over the world, people flying and zooming around on brooms, flags waving proudly. 

You trail behind the two Malfoy's as they strut up the steps, showing off their badges that Lucius got from the Minister proudly.

Suddenly, Lucius spots a familiar family of red-heads, a smirk forming on his face.

A sigh leaves your lips as he and Draco brag about having seats in the Minister's box. Your eyes lock with Harry's and a small smile forms on your face, raising your hand subtly to wave at him. He returns the gesture with an equally shy smile. 

Draco seems to notice whatever's going on between Harry and you and he janks at your arm, pulling you behind him. "Keep your filthy blood traitor eyes away from my cousin, Potter", he spits in Harry's direction as he pulls you along.

Yanking your arm out of his grasp, you move along to the box and take place in the far-most corner of all the seats. Ignoring the looks both Draco and uncle Lucius give you, you stare at the stadium and see the Irish and Bulgarian teams flying around.

As the match continues, and the crowd gets rowdier, you grab a pair of binoculars and look around the stadium. Most people are boring. Here and there are a couple of interesting figures, but nothing more.

Aiming the binoculars higher, you spot the Weasely family with Harry Potter, Hermoine Granger, and two others. They are having fun by the looks of it.

"You're lucky I caught you flirting with Potter instead of father", hisses Draco in a whisper, making you roll your eyes while still peering out of the binoculars.

Glaring at him, you grumble back, "I wasn't... flirting."

He looks at you incredulously before clasping his hands together and fluttering his eyelashes.

You scoff and give his shoulder a shove. "Come off it, you twat."

As you and Draco squabble a bit louder than desired, uncle Lucious snaps his attention to you. He clears his throat and you immediately break apart, cowering under his hard glare. "What... did I say?", he spats.

"Do behave", you both mumble, looking down.

Uncle Lucius gives you one last look before turning back around, resuming conversation with some ministry person. Your cousin and you both share a glance before focusing back on the game. 

The match ended with Ireland winning over Bulgaria by 170 to 160. But Draco and you don't get a chance to enjoy the festivities as uncle Lucius shoves you into a carriage.

"Why can't we stay?", you ask with a frown and produce the same puppy eyes that always work on your uncle.

Not this time, apparently. Lucius gives you a sharp look. "Because I am your uncle and I said so." Giving Draco a piercing look, he slams the carriage shut and sends it on its way.

Slumping down on the seat, you fold your arms over each other.

"You are only making things harder for yourself", muses Draco as he sits back, plucking an old Daily Prophet from the seat next to him.

You opt to ignore his remark and stare out of the window for the rest of the ride home.

Taglist: @the0doreslover​

#Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter scenarios #harry potter x reader #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x slytherin!reader #harry potter x riddle!reader #harry potter au #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy scenarios #draco malfoy x cousin!reader #hogwarts #hogwarts imagine #hogwarts scenario #hogwarts x reader #hogwarts x y/n #hogwarts au #slytherin!reader #riddle!reader

[seas-storyarchive]

There are racists in hell, everyone finds that out when something about Alastor is brought to light

[[MORE]]

There was a knock at the hotel door. charlie answered it first, a big smile on her face.

"Hello! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!" She greeted the two men, one of which looked elderly.

"Greetings, Princess. My father and I are considering this redemption thing.. we were hoping for a tour first?"

"Uh, sure, of course." Charlie said with a smile. She turned to the bar, waving someone over. "Um.. Alastor!"

The man's ears turned to her, and then said man got up from his seat, dusting his suit jacket off as he approached.

"Hello, my good sirs. I am Alastor, manager of this hotel! What ever may I-"

"Uh, this nigger again?" The older man asked a little loudly as to cut Alastor off while looking to his son, who nodded with a displeased look, before looking to Charlie, "is there a place without THESE folk about? I don't want him dirtyin' my things."

Charlie was.. genuinely confused. What was he talking about? Everyone in Hell was a different color! She glanced at Alastor from the corner of her eye, seeing him frozen.

"Hey! What'chu say about my buddy?" Angel had come over, looking pissed off, with an equally pissed off Cherri and concerned Niffty. The most latter of whom crawled up Alastor's pant leg and then his arm to rest on his shoulder to pat his hair to soothe him.

The younger man spoke up, "we don't deal with those," he points to Alastor, who was uncharacteristically still, "types. Filthy, dark skinned, son of a gilly whore-!"

Angel showed a machine gun in his face, resting just below his lower lip, held by his lower arms as his upper arms were cleaning his ears. "What was that? I couldn't hear you. Speak. Up."

The man backed away. "You know what, never fuckin' mind. Come on, dad. Let's go somewhere with civilized folk."

As the door shut, Charlie turned to look at the group again.

"What was all of that about?"

"What'chu you sinners know about racism?" Cherri asked, slipping her unlit bombs into her pocket.

"Not much, honestly." Charlie said, looking to Husk at the bar who was pouring a drink, and then to Vaggie and her dad - former of whom shrugged while the latter said nothing.

"Well, racism is based on those who were like me and Cherri, born Caucasian, or white if you prefer, being mean and prejudice against people of other colors, like Al here-"

"And me." Niffty said, hugging Alastor's head because the man was still a statue. "I was born to a mother from China and a father from America. Not a single person would give me the time of day, it was horrible."

"Did- did they beat you?"

"No."

"Yes."

The 'no' from Niffty nearly drowned out the soft 'yes' of Alastor.

"Who did it, sir? Point'em out!" Niffty said, producing a needle from the pocket of her dress as she looked at her boss.

Alastor gave a shaky beathe in response, trying not to cry, when the radio dial of the radio at the bar moved rapidly as the previously turned off object came to life.

"I looked like my Maman, my mother, when I was alive." Said the radio, in Alastor's voice.

"I still don't understand." Charlie said, as Vaggie and Lucifer both decided that by Charlie was best to get away from the radio.

"Charlie, I told you that humanity fucked up the free will I gave them-"

"Fucked up indeed, monsieur charlatan." The radio responded bitterly. "My maman got tha worst ah father's beatin's. We hardla' had sud ta get new clothes ahcause father spent it on drinkin'."

"You said you looked like your mother, I assume your father was-"

"White, Vagatha, yes." The radio sighed, heavily, sadly. "Maman felt so guilty tha I came out lookin' like her, cause she couldn' pass me off as'a white chil'. Father hated me fer that more than Maman hated herself.."

When it stopped talked, there was a pause, and the radio started crying - but not as the radio demon, as a child.

"Daddy! Stop it!" Said the tearful voice of the child, as there were sounds of someone being struck.

"Alastor, bebe, I'm okay." Said the laboured voice of a woman. "Charles, leave 'im alone!"

"Oh, so you think your tough, huh boy?" There was the sudden sound of someone being stuck again, going to the floor with a grunt. "Huh? Do you?" There were more grunts.

"Charles, stop! Stop-!"

"Enough!" Lucifer had summoned a giant champagne bottle and spilled it on Alastor, making the already crazy going radio that was starting to smoke and flash like an emergency light go all static-like and then explode.

"Oof!" Niffty fell off of Alastor's shoulder as he landed on his ass.

His eyes were blinking rapidly, from the champagne or the tears, no one knew.

"Smiles.." Angel took a step forwards first, something in him feeling awful.

Alastor's wide eyes snapped up to Angel, his ears up in alert and alarm, before they went to the gun in Angel's hands. "Oh, uh.." he dropped the gun. "Look, Smiles.. none of us knew that-"

"I.. I know.." came the soft, tear filled, shaky voice of the man who kept his eyes on Angel as Niffty began to rapidly wipe off his face of any liquids on it.

Charlie, still not understanding, looked around. Angel, Cherri and Niffy were looking at Alastor in loss. Husk seemed like he was enjoying this, his ever so slight smirk as he sucked down a tall bottle wasn't missed by Charlie - or Vaggie who looked so mad at a thing she didn't understand either and had settled on a target. Then she looke to her dad, wbo looked so guilty, close to crying, glaring at his feet.

"I'm so sorry.." the man said, his voice as small as his stature.

Alastor said nothing back, too.. something to even leave, even as his shadow moved around him to hug him. Just to curl in a ball. Too lost in a time where he was beaten and judged and everything was bad that the present was non-existent for the time being.

#tw: slurs #tw: racism #hazbin hotel #alastor altruist #alastor whump #alastor angst #alastor gets a kind of hug??

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

The Daggers and Their (Secret) Kids

Word Count: 3.9k in total (About 0.5k per Dagger)

Summary: Headcanons about the families that the seven Daggers could have had going into TGM with, since there's nothing about their families mentioned in the movie.

Warnings: Pregnancy, Various Family Dynamics (Extra Warnings and Title Above Each Dagger; Read Them Before Proceeding), No Use of Y/N or "You", All Third Person POV, Kids are named but Partners are not, No Description about Partner's Appearances

Specific Warnings:

Rooster - Teen Pregnancy and Divorce

Phoenix - Referenced Minor Character Death

Bob - Infertility

Coyote - G-LOC Incident Referenced

Fanboy - Strained Relationship and Single Parenting

This work, all of my other works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only.

Master List

Rooster [Co-Parenting] [CW: Teen Pregnancy, Divorce]

Rooster has one son, who he named Nick after his dad

When he was eighteen and angry because Maverick pulled his papers, he ran to his high school girlfriend for comfort. They took a camping trip together to let off steam. And nine months later, Nick was born.

Rooster knew that he was in deep shit, especially because his girlfriend’s parents became outwardly hostile towards him after finding out about the pregnancy. So, he quickly enlisted in the Navy and they got married for the benefits.

It wasn’t a happy marriage. The stress of being teen parents and the separation because of Rooster’s job sapped out any of the affection that they had for each other. It was a marriage of duty and convenience, which became apparent whenever they were actually together. Rooster’s wife stayed close to her parents to have help with Nick. Rooster didn’t love being far away from his son, but he knew that the arrangement was best for Nick.

Their marriage lasted about six years. It was a tense but relatively amicable divorce. Rooster’s now ex-wife got primary custody since he was active-duty and Rooster never missed a child support payment. He usually paid more than he was mandated since he felt guilty that he wasn’t there for his son like he wanted to be.

Despite the distance and the divorce, after a few years of time apart and some personal growth, Rooster and his ex-wife developed a strong co-parenting relationship. He even attended her second wedding. Rooster is in constant communication with her and Nick, though he rarely brings up his son or divorce to his fellow aviators.  

Nick has a great relationship with Phoenix. She’s really the only person from his dad’s side of the family that he has ever met and he looks up to her. They email and text regularly, usually when Nick needs advice and he doesn’t want to ask his parents. Like when he needed advice on how to ask a girl out. Phoenix sent him step-by-step instructions and the girl said ‘yes.’ Rooster still doesn’t know about that.

Maverick knows about Nick, but never had the chance to meet him. He’s friends with Nick’s mom on Facebook and regularly prints out photos of Nick for his wall of memories. Especially the baby photos because that was the most painful time of the whole process. Maverick reached out to Bradley when he found out about Nick, but Rooster never returned his calls. So, Maverick settled for the photos, even if it killed him on the inside.

However, after the mission, Rooster brings Maverick to meet Nick for the first time.

They spend a weekend all together up at the hangar. Nick sees the old photos of Goose and Carole and asks Maverick for stories about them. Maverick takes Nick up in the P-51 and Rooster nearly has a heart attack after watching Maverick pull aerobatics with Nick. Rooster makes Nick swear to not tell his mom about that. Or the stunts that they were pulling on the Kawasaki. Rooster finds a patch of grey hair on his head after that weekend.

Hangman [Girl Dad]

Hangman, to everyone’s shock, is actually married with three little girls.

He met his wife while visiting his brother at UT Austin and they quickly fell in love. They were long-distance for most of their relationship before their engagement, which came with its own challenges, but they made it work.

They got married after Hangman graduated from flight school and moved out to Lemoore together. The first years of their marriage were difficult, to be sure. But they were very good with communicating and still very much in love with each other. Anyone who saw them knew instantly that they were soulmates. And most people were impressed that anyone could rein in Hangman so successfully.

After Jake went to Top Gun, they decided to start trying for a baby. Within a year, Jake’s wife got pregnant and delivered a healthy baby girl that they named Meira, which means ‘light.’ Jake missed the birth and still, to this day, beats himself up about that. It was actually the deployment that he got his air-to-air. While everyone else was congratulating him, he was in a silent, personal hell about it. He was pretty sure that he never cried harder in his life.

When he got home, he didn’t put his daughter down for seven hours. His wife had to convince him that he had to go to bed and that Meira would sleep better in the crib. He disagreed, but he listened to his wife.

Every second that he’s home, he’s spending it with his family. There’s nothing more important to him than them. He doesn’t tell anyone that he doesn’t trust about them. Coyote, however, is always around the Seresin house. Meira has a coyote stuffed animal from him that she absolutely adores. Coyote insists that he’s her favorite uncle.

When Meira turns two, Hangman’s wife finds out that she’s pregnant again. And this time . . . it’s twins. She finds out while Jake is deployed and manages to get him on a personal phone call while he’s docked in Japan. Jake is shocked before making a sly comment about his virility. His wife warns him against making jokes like that when she’s around.

He makes it back in time for the twins’ birth. Evelyn was born first and Delilah was born three minutes later. They looked identical and Jake swore that he was going to mix them up and forever ruin their lives, but the doctors assured them that a lot of newborns look the same. With time, the twins’ features came in more and it was easier to tell apart.

After the twins were born, his wife sets up a vasectomy appointment for him. And even though he goes ghost white when she tells him, he goes through with it. After watching the twins’ delivery, he knows that he doesn’t have a leg to stand on. Coyote took a very hilarious video of Jake waddling out of the office after the operation, holding ice to his balls.

After the mission, when Meira is about three and the twins are a few months shy of one, Hangman introduces them to the Daggers. Everyone, save for Coyote, is absolutely shocked. But Jake is simply smug and proud of his little family.

Meira makes fun of Rooster’s mustache. Jake had never been prouder.

Phoenix [Aunt Turned Mom] [CW: Minor Character Death]

Phoenix’s ‘child’ wasn’t actually her biological child

Her older brother Oliver had a baby girl named Riley. However, after a car accident, Riley was orphaned at the age of two. Phoenix’s parents got primary custody of Riley and Phoenix stepped up to try and be there for her niece as well as she could. She wasn’t exactly a maternal figure and she knew that, but she wanted Riley to know that she was loved.

She sent Riley a postcard from wherever she was stationed and always bought her niece the funniest most-tourist-trap-like nick-nack that she could find in whatever port or town she was stationed. Phoenix’s dad eventually built Riley a display case for them. The postcards are all protected in a box in the display case as well

Phoenix doesn’t talk about Riley with anyone. Frankly, it’s hard enough seeing her brother’s face on the little girl that had to grow up without him and she doesn’t want to delve into that with anyone that’s not her family or a therapist. It took a long time for Phoenix to even approach the subject with Rooster, but he wasn’t shocked that she would want to hide something like that.

Rooster met Riley once. They got along well and Riley liked riding around in the Bronco with the top down. Rooster sends her a postcard once in a while, knowing that it means a lot to Riley to receive things like that.

After the mission, Phoenix opens up about her niece to the Daggers. Riley meets them at the ceremony for the mission and takes a quick liking to Bob and Fanboy. After that, every Dagger member starts sending occasional postcards to Riley. She has to get another box for all of them but she’s more than giddy whenever she receives one.

Bob [Adoption] [CW: Infertility]

Bob married his high school sweetheart and has a little girl

They got married after surviving college together and Bob is absolutely enamored with his wife. He knows that she makes a lot of sacrifices for him and his career. So, he always tries to send her flowers and little gifts whenever he can just to let her know that he’s thinking of her. Their relationship is very much healthy and loving.

They started trying for a baby relatively early in their marriage but it didn’t happen. Bob always felt horrible whenever his wife pulled out a negative pregnancy test and was very clearly trying to hold it together for the both of them. They saw specialists and tried various treatments, but it just didn’t happen.

And so, after some counseling and discussing their options, they decided to adopt. Bob’s wife was emotionally exhausted from trying and Bob didn’t want to push her. It didn’t stop him from sobbing about the fact that he couldn’t give his wife the life that she wanted, but after some more counseling, they were prepared to adopt a baby.

About a year later, they adopted a little girl that they named Layla. Bob and his wife fell in love with her the second that they met her. They both sobbed so hard when they finally signed all of the papers and Layla officially joined the Floyd family. They were finally parents and they were going to be the best goddamn parents for little Layla.

Bob was home for the first four months and spent every second that he could with Layla, knowing that at some point he would have to leave her. He was always on hand for a diaper change or a feeding. He’s just so happy about being a dad and his wife being a mom that there’s nothing that could bring his mood down in those days.

Layla quickly grew into a little daddy’s girl and her favorite pastime is trying to steal or mess with Bob’s glasses. Bob’s wife made a comment that Bob needed to be better about saying ‘no’ to her before Layla grew up. Bob agrees, but there’s also nothing in the world that he wouldn’t do for his little princess. When Layla calls him ‘dada’ over the phone for the first time, Bob cried for at least ten minutes.

It was horrible to be away from his girls, but somehow Bob managed. He’s the type of dad to show literally everyone a photo of his daughter and his wife and give them a random update that the random person definitely did not ask for. But he’s just too damn cute when he’s bragging about how beautiful his daughter is that everyone lets it slide.

Bob always has a photo of his family in his flight suit. He treats it like a good luck charm. The one that he usually keeps in his flight suit has a note from his wife written on the back and a paint handprint from Layla, just to add to the support.

Around the time of the mission, Bob and his wife were well into the process of adopting another child. Both Bob and his wife came from big families and they wanted the same for their own family. They, at the very least, wanted to have two babies.

After the mission, Bob’s wife and daughter came out to visit him. And while they’re all having a great time out at the beach, Bob’s wife gets the call that their second child is waiting for them. The Daggers all celebrate the addition to the Floyd family and offer to watch Layla while the Floyds rush to bring their second daughter home.

Coyote [Boy Dad] [CW: Mentions of the G-LOC Incident]

Coyote has a pregnant wife and a little boy waiting for him back home.

Coyote met his wife through the Navy. She was a no-nonsense nurse that most ensigns secretly feared pissing off, but not Coyote. He asked her out and she declined him the first time, which Coyote respected and backed off. When they ended up seated at the same table at a mutual friend’s wedding six months later, however, Coyote tried his luck again. She agreed that time.

Their relationship progressed slowly, since they were both dedicated to their respective careers, but when they were both stationed in Virginia Beach for a continuous eight-month period, it quickly picked up.

While some people referred to his now wife as an ‘ice queen,’ Coyote just knew that she cared about getting the job done. And after seeing thousands of injuries and hearing bullshit responses that were covering up what really happened, she quickly grew tired. But when she was around him, she instantly warmed up. It was like night and day.

She got the shovel talk from Hangman without Coyote’s knowledge. She then proceeded to give Hangman her own shovel talk. They called a truce after that.

At the end of the continuous eight months and right before he shipped out to the middle of the Pacific, Coyote proposed to her. And she, of course, agreed. He was deployed for six months and right after he returned, they went straight to the courthouse to get married. There wasn’t a need for any pomp or circumstance. They loved each other and that was all that mattered. Hangman was their witness.

Their first child, a boy named Gabriel or Gabby as they called him, may or may not have been conceived during their short honeymoon. Coyote tried everything that he could to be there for his son’s birth but his deployment got extended and he couldn’t be there. Hangman actually stepped up and drove Coyote’s wife to the hospital when her water broke but he let other people help her during the actual delivery process.

Coyote returned home a month later and absolutely sobbed when he met his son for the first time. His wife had never seen him cry so hard and supported him through the moment. It didn’t take any conversation for anyone to see that Coyote was devastated that he missed his son’s birth. But he tried to make up for it as best he could.

Gabby was Coyote’s twin in both personality and appearance. Coyote’s mom brought over old photos of him as a baby and Coyote’s wife did at least fifteen double takes. Gabby was a daddy’s boy, which annoyed Coyote’s wife just a bit, but she was also happy to have such a clear reminder of her husband when he was deployed.

The first deployment after Gabby’s birth was horrible. But it was the deployment that Gabby understood that Coyote was leaving that absolutely killed Coyote. Gabby was screaming and crying and refused to let go of Coyote. It was a whole mess and Coyote tried to not break down in front of his son because he knew that it would only make everything worse. His CO told him to take a moment before getting in the cockpit and Coyote quickly agreed.

Around the time of the mission, Coyote’s wife was five months pregnant with their second son. Coyote tried to not think about it too much when he was in the air but after the G-LOC incident, he broke down to Hangman about it. When he calmed down a bit, Coyote called his wife and stayed on the phone with her for hours. He didn’t want to freak her out or put more burdens on her, but she could tell with one look that he was struggling.

After the mission, she came out to visit him with Gabby. Coyote was never not by her side or without Gabby in his arms. He was so clearly a loving family man that Maverick used one of his few favors with the brass to make sure that Coyote was there for his second son’s birth. And Coyote was right there in the delivery room and through the whole process.

Fanboy [Single Dad] [CW: Strained Relationships]

Fanboy is a single dad to a little girl named Natalia, or Lia as he called her.

He was in a relationship with Lia’s mom at the time that Lia was born but while he was deployed on time, Lia’s mom dropped Lia off at Fanboy’s parents’ house, told them that she couldn’t be a mom anymore and it just wasn’t the life that she wanted, and left. Fanboy’s mom eventually managed to get a call out to him and explained the situation.

On one hand, Fanboy was pissed that Lia’s mom never told him that she felt that way about being a mom. He felt completely blindsided and felt that they could have discussed options and tried to make it work before she just dropped Lia and ran. But he was at least thankful that Lia’s mom dropped her off in a safe location and cooperated with the custody proceedings. After the papers were signed, Lia’s mom left and Fanboy assumed that he would never see her again.

He made his peace with the situation and simply focused on being the best dad for Lia.

Lia lived with Fanboy’s parents when he was deployed. She was a happy child, not unlike her dad, and Fanboy was always devastated when he had to leave her behind. Any opportunity that he had, he was writing emails or on the phone with her. He has a tattoo of Lia’s name and her birthday on his chest, above his heart.

Payback is super supportive of Fanboy and Lia’s favorite uncle. She always asks Payback for piggy back rides because he’s so tall and she claims that she feels like she’s flying when she’s up on his back or his shoulders.

Fanboy doesn’t hide the fact that he’s a single dad but he’s also not shouting the fact from the rooftops. He’s gotten some flack and comments for being a single dad in the past that just rubbed him the wrong way and so he’s cautious about bringing that up. He’s open about it with anyone that he’s dating because he’s not willing to compromise on his daughter. But he’s mostly just focusing on being a dad to Lia and his career. When his life got less stressful and chaotic, he could start searching again for a partner.

Fanboy is super protective over his daughter and tries to shield her from the world perhaps more than he should. He doesn’t talk about her mom in a negative light, mostly because he doesn’t want Lia to grow up with his residual anger and frustration. He would be honest with her about the situation when she was old enough to understand the circumstances, but otherwise, he just didn’t talk about her mom with her.

After the mission, Fanboy’s parents bring Lia to visit him. Payback and Phoenix already knew about her and he told Bob about her, but everyone else was mildly shocked. They were all super supportive of him and Fanboy really appreciated that. Lia enjoyed all of the attention that she was showered with from the Daggers. She asked just about everyone for a piggy back ride and no one could say no to her.

Lia’s personal hero became Phoenix after about five minutes around the pilot. And Fanboy started to do Lia’s hair like Phoenix’s (in a service bun) on a regular basis as a result.

Payback [Step-Dad]

Payback was a husband and a father to a boy and a girl.

His eldest, Benny, was technically his step-son. But Payback wouldn’t tolerate any insinuation that Benny was any less of his son. He was a father to two kids. Not one. Not one and a half. Not one and three-quarters. A dad of two. And he wasn’t afraid to correct people on that.

When Payback met his now wife, she was upfront with him that she had a son from a previous relationship. Benny’s dad wasn’t involved and Payback’s now wife was very upfront that her son came first and that if he was uncomfortable with that, then they should see other people.

Six months later, Payback met Benny for the first time.

At the time, Benny was six-years-old. Payback told him all kinds of stories about the missions that he flew on and took Benny to a Blue Angels airshow. It wasn’t always easy to connect with Benny since some of his interests weren’t anywhere near what Payback was familiar with, but Payback took the time to learn and reach out to Benny and they had a strong bond.

A year and a half later, Payback proposed to his now wife and they married seven months later when Payback returned from deployment. Benny was the best man. Payback had vows to Benny as well and his wife absolutely started bawling during the exchange.

Payback moved his family out to Lemoore and made sure to take time to check in with Benny about his new school and his new surroundings. Payback never wanted to feel like Benny couldn’t come to him with any kinds of concerns.

And after watching Payback with Benny for so long, Payback’s wife quickly suggested having another baby after they moved to Lemoore. About two years later, Emily Fitch was born. Payback was there for her birth and did well in the delivery room. Fanboy started a bet that Payback would pass out, but Payback was very proud to prove his WSO wrong.

Benny took an immediate liking to his baby sister and there was enough of an age gap between them that Benny seemed to understand well enough that he wasn’t being replaced. And just in case, Payback and his wife made sure to have separate days and events with Benny to assure him that Emily was not any kind of replacement for him.

Benny emailed Payback just about every day while he was deployed and Payback’s wife sent separate emails with photos and videos. Payback has a photo from the hospital with his family of four taped to the inside of his cockpit.

Fanboy and Benny get along well. Payback jokes that it’s because they have the same level of emotional intelligence. It’s mostly because Fanboy and Benny enjoy playing video games together. Benny always challenges Fanboy to Mario Kart races and makes bets on it. Payback’s wife gave Payback a telling off about that, since she didn’t need Benny continuously making bad bets on everything.

At the time of the mission, Payback doesn’t hide the fact that he has a family back home. Fanboy and Phoenix are already aware and everyone else figures it out. After the mission, Payback talks to Maverick about retiring and Maverick gets him in contact with Slider, who is a commercial airline pilot. Two years after the mission, Payback leaves the Navy to bring more stability to his family, which is now nearly a family of five since his wife is pregnant again.

#top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #natasha phoenix trace #robert bob floyd #javy coyote machado #mickey fanboy garcia #reuben payback fitch #tgm #dagger squad #top gun headcanons #top gun fluff #hangman top gun #coyote top gun #rooster top gun #bob top gun #phoenix top gun #fanboy top gun #payback top gun

[the-cult-of-russo]

Such a Softer Sin (Epilogue)

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Warnings: I’m not specifically tagging this one, if you’ve seen the show, nothing will shock you. Smut will happen eventually so minors DNI, thanks.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who made it this far and for all the love you’ve shown me with this story. I can’t believe I started this almost two years ago. When I came back to writing this after only having three chapters done, I never expected it to turn into what it did and I really didn’t expect so many people to love it. I really got attached to this one and it touches me to hear so many of you have too. 

This is incredibly short but I didn’t want to just slap it on the end of the last chapter. 

—-------

Epilogue

You sat on the castle steps, your eyes sweeping around the vast grounds. Oftentimes, you found yourself sitting here or the gardens thinking about how much had changed. You still felt the loss of Kos and Atti like it was yesterday. You thought back to the girl you used to be back in the Nomad pack and you knew you’d changed drastically. A part of you missed it, the simplicity, the closeness of a small group. You missed Kos and Atti the most and you felt sad that they weren't here with you to see how much you’d grown. You knew they’d be proud of you. Sometimes you wished you could go back and change things, do things differently, especially when it came to Atti. You knew that you wouldn't have the life you had now though if you did. You’d learned to accept their loss as time moved on, but you thought about them all the time and you wondered just what your life would be like if things hadn't gone the way they had. You were happy though, despite it all. At first you’d felt guilty for feeling happy without them here, that it somehow meant you didn't care about them, that you'd forgotten about them. It had almost felt like you were betraying them by being so happy, but with time, you’d realized they’d want you to be happy. You’d had to learn to let go of the guilt that haunted you so it didn't affect you moving forward. You couldn't change the past, you couldn't do things differently. All you had was the life you had now and if you were honest, it was a pretty fucking good one. You looked over, rolling your eyes a little as you heaved a sigh.

“Atti! Don’t hit your brother with a stick!” you yelled, making the girl look at you.

“He started it!” she scowled, so much the double of her father that it always floored you. Kos growled playfully, tackling her and they tumbled to the floor as he started tickling her and she laughed maniacally. While Kos had looked like his dad when he was born, he quickly changed and now he looked more like you than Billy. You felt someone sit next to you and you turned, seeing Billy sitting there as he watched them with an amused smirk.

“They up to no good?” he asked with a rueful smile. 

“Aren’t they always? Attica was hitting Kos with a stick,” you muttered with an exasperated shake of your head. 

“What, again?” he asked incredulously and you snorted with a nod. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly, taking your hand in his and you turned back to him with a smile. 

“I’m okay, just a little tired,” you replied. He leaned in and placed a sweet kiss to your lips and you smiled into it, melting into him.

“Ew!” the kids yelled in unison and you broke apart, Billy laughing as you rolled your eyes heavenward. The sun was shining and you closed your eyes for a moment, basking in the warmth of it. 

“Sebastian’s comin’ today,” he reminded you and your eyes opened again.

“I can’t wait to see him again, he’s a sweet boy,” you smiled fondly. Karen and Frank had decided to adopt since they couldn't have kids biologically, being different species and all. You and Billy having kids had made Frank want kids again and you knew it was a big step for him. Sebastian was a little boy from one of the orphanages and he was only five. You knew he’d find a loving home with Frank and Karen. You'd met him once briefly when you’d gone to the orphanage but Billy had known him since he was a baby. He’d visit the orphanage often to keep the spirits up of the children as they awaited to find a home. It would make them feel special, to have the King spend so much time with them. You’d proposed to Billy to expand the castle grounds and have a large orphange here on site where everyone could look after the children as they waited for their forever home, or they could choose to stay here. Billy had been moved by your idea and work was being done on the East of the grounds to build it. 

You heard the castle door open and both you and Billy looked over to see Frank and Karen coming out and down the steps. You both stood up and you smiled at them. They both looked nervous and Karen was wringing her hands. 

“You okay?” you asked softly and she nodded.

“Yeah, just… excited… nervous,” she admitted with a chuckle and you reached out, taking her hand. 

“You’ll do great,” you said reassuringly and she smiled at you, relaxing a little as Billy had a similar talk with Frank. The castle gates opened and both Karen and Frank’s eyes widened comically. 

“You got this, Frankie,” Billy smiled, patting him on the back and he nodded, taking a deep inhale. The four of you walked over as a carriage pulled up, a guard getting off and helping Sebastian down off the carriage. He looked at you all shyly before his eyes landed on you and he bowed his head.

“Your Majesty,” he said so quietly, you barely heard him. You crouched in front of him and he looked at you warily.

“You don’t need to bow to me, Sebastian. You’re family now,” you smiled warmly and a small smile of his own tugged at his lips. You stood up and saw the boy look at Billy then, his shy smile turning into a happy grin as he ran at him and Billy scooped him up, giving him a hug.

“Thank you for finding me a family, Billy,” Sebastian murmured and Billy looked stunned, his eyes glistening as he stared at him for a moment.

“You uh… you don't needta thank me. You deserve it,” he replied softly and you could feel how he was trying to compose himself. He gave him another smile before setting him on his feet and the boy looked at Karen and Frank then. 

“You wanna go see your new room?” Frank asked with a hesitant smile and Sebastian’s eyes widened.

“I get my own room?” he asked excitedly and Frank smiled down at him.

“Yeah, you do. I think you’ll love it,” he grinned and Sebastian nodded eagerly.

“Come on,” Karen smiled, holding her hand out and the boy took it, the three of them walking to the castle. You watched them go with a smile on your face, feeling your chest get warm. 

“I’m so happy for them,” you sighed happily, leaning into Billy’s side.

“Me too. I never thought Frank would want kids again, but I’m happy for him. I’m glad he’s gettin’ past his trauma,” he admitted and you turned to look at him, leaning up to kiss him softly.

“I love you,” he smiled as he pulled away and before you had a chance to reply, he was bending down.

“And I love you too,” he murmured at your large bump, pressing a soft kiss to it before he stood up again. 

“I can’t believe we’re havin’ twins,” he grinned gleefully and you rolled your eyes playfully at him.

“Tell me about it, I’m the one carrying them. I’ll be bigger than the castle when I’m full term,” you huffed and he snorted at you, taking your hand as he started leading you back towards the castle. The tiredness hit you again and your feet were aching. 

“I’ll draw you a bath and you can relax for a bit. I’ll take care of the kids,” he smiled affectionately at you and you grinned to yourself, thankful for him and how much he cared. This really wasn’t where you thought you’d end up in life, being Queen to an entire species and mates with the King, having his children, but you wouldn't trade it for the world. 

Taglist: (if you’ve been asked to be tagged and aren’t here, it wouldn’t let me tag some people.)

@firexfate

@blanchedelioncourt

@ratsys

@sunshinedaisies-anddeath

@snowkestrel

@music-indie-tv

@idaofinfinity

@sweetserendipity65

@ramadiiiisme

@k-marzolf

@celestialams

@woowwwee

@noortsshift

@rainbowgoblinfan

@mysweetlittledesire

@promnightbinbaby

@intothesoul

#billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfic #billy russo x reader #billy russo

[simplynotcapable]

since we're just picking AUs out of a hat now- Baelon is Rhaenyra's twin, not Visenya?

Baelon and Rhaenyra, the dynamic duo Westeros did not need or want or ask for and would really like to go away!

They bicker so much. Ruthless mocking at all times. She shoved him down the stairs when they were eight. He waterboarded her once. He finds out she has a crush on Daemon when they're fourteen and laughs so hard that he almost throws up. She told the pretty handmaiden he was ogling that he has whatever the Westerosi version of STDs are.

(Baelon: *shoving a dresser in front of his bedroom door so no one can surprise him in the night*

Aemma, who came to say good night: why

Baelon, who put laxatives in Rhaenyra's food two days ago and is anxiously waiting for payback: no reason)

But they love each other! It is very much a "I am allowed to commit war crimes against you and enact terrible punishments upon you, but I will carve out the organs of the next person to make you cry who isn't me" relationship.

Baelon has his mom! He loves his mom, is the epitome of a mama's boy, is always popping in to be like "hi, mother! found you a flower! okay, love you, bye!" He's not as angry, doesn't feel guilty. He has a better relationship with his dad because of this, even if he still feels the pressure and the unease of it all.

(There is always, always the nagging sense that he has forgotten something, is missing something, but he can never figure out what it is.)

Rhaenyra's childhood isn't better exactly because she's still in Baelon's shadow, but she also grows up with less of the desperate energy around her parents having a son. There isn't the constant pressure of "you're a disappointment for not being a boy, we need a prince, why couldn't you have been this, you're useless to us" because Baelon's around.

Now, when Visenya is born, there are two paths it can take.

One, Aemma lives.

Baelon loves his little sister! He does! The age gap is...weird, to say the least, and he doesn't really know what he's supposed to do with her, but hey! Everyone's happy.

They grow up, all of them. Daemon runs off with Rhaenyra--Baelon is significantly more angry about this than our Baelon is, since he's older and more aware that "hey he took my sister into a brothel and then took her from her wedding??" But he gets over it.

His father betroths him to Laena, despite Otto Hightower's wiggling about to put forth his daughter. He doesn't really have a reason to protest, so he doesn't. They get married. They name their daughters Alysanne and Rhaena, and they call their only son Corlys for her father.

He never really falls in love with Laena, but he does love her! They're happy, they're content. It's a nice life.

And, yes, maybe sometimes he catches his eyes lingering on Visenya when she gets older--eighteen and nineteen and twenty. Maybe he likes the way she laughs and the funny faces she makes at him, the jokes she whispers under her breath that make him choke on his wine. Maybe. Maybe she makes that feeling he's had all his life disappear, and he only notices it's back when she's away from him again.

But Baelon isn't Daemon. Baelon is married, Baelon is a father, and she is a girl young enough to be his daughter. Not a full handful of years older than his son. He puts those odd looks and the odd feelings away, locks them away deep and deeper.

(She tries, oh, she tries so hard to make him see her. Her brother with his laughing smile and the warm gaze, who never treats her like a child, who took her flying because her egg never hatched. She loves him, she loves him, but he calls her little sister and never takes the bait.)

And when Visenya marries, some Tully boy with bright eyes and a quick smile, he tells himself the missing feeling had nothing to do with her at all.

Their parents die, eventually. He becomes a king. His son marries one of Rhaenyra's daughters. His twin daughters marry Rhaenyra's twin sons, and they all pretend they don't know why. Visenya has a daughter, and he sees them both at weddings and during visits, and he loves his little sister even if he doesn't understand why looking at her makes his soul ache.

They live. They die. Parallel lines in this life, both alive and breathing right beside each other, but neither of them ever bridges the gap.

Two, Aemma dies in childbirth as she does in canon.

This path is a very depressing path! Baelon and Viserys's relationship is a thousand times worse than it was because he's not losing the idea of a mother, he's lost his mother that he's known and adored for fifteen years.

And, beyond even that, Baelon blames Visenya.

God, does he blame Visenya.

Just. This little brat, this squalling and screaming and useless little thing that he and Rhaenyra had been so excited for! They picked her egg out together, though he let Rhaenyra have the final say, joked to each other over whether the babe would be a boy or a girl. And now she's here. And his mother is gone. Rhaenyra has thrown herself into being around the babe and loving the babe, has decided that Visenya is her responsibility, but Baelon can't. He can't look at her. He hates her, and he knows that isn't rational. He knows! But he can't stop.

His father remarries, and he and Rhaenyra both are furious. It is her friend he marries, the Hightower girl Baelon has never liked very much and liked even less for the way her father was always sleazing about. It is their mother he is disrespecting, taking a wife so soon, a wife so young it is shameful, a wife Baelon knows was sneaking alone into his chambers in the weeks after his mother died. He hates her. He makes no secret of it.

His father weds him to Laena to appease the Velaryons. Rhaenyra is meant to marry some pompous arse of a man, but Daemon snatches her from the wedding. Viserys will not allow her to take Visenya with her, will not allow his brother to return, and so the babe stays. Baelon refuses to have anything to do with her, leaves the table when she is brought too near.

He and Laena have sons, two boys with Laena's brown skin and his violet eyes. They name them Jacaerys and Lucerys.

His stepmother has four children, and he does not hate them, exactly. He does not love them, either. Does not like them, except for the girl. Helaena is sweet and strange, and she asks him often in a prim little voice to lift her up on his shoulders so she might catch the spiders in the corners. He has little use for his brothers, though, Aegon or Daeron or Aemond.

("He looks just like you," Viserys laughed, when Aemond was maybe seven or so, and Baelon turned a flat, expressionless look on his little brother. The boy looked back, lips upturning faintly in the corners, hopeful, hopeful, but it faded when Baelon snorted a laugh.

"I've not nearly as much common blood muddying my veins."

Aemond swallowed, and, beneath the table, Visenya slipped their hands together and squeezed.)

They grow up together, his sons and his siblings, and they are close for the most part. Rhaenyra comes home with her giant brood, occasionally, and then it is a madhouse, but it is usually just the six of them.

His boys and Aegon pick mercilessly at Aemond and Visenya both, they the only two without a dragon, and so the two of them are often alone. Reading on staircases and in the godswood, bickering in the halls, and more than once he's had to restrain himself from tearing into them both when they've gone running past him too quickly to keep from knocking into his shins.

They marry when they're older, as he always thought they would--sneak off to do it, two dragonless whelps half-grown ducking a ship to Dragonstone, and they come back with scars on their lips and dragons beneath them. Visenya and Vermithor. Aemond and Silverwing.

He never forgives her for living. He never forgives her for his mother dying.

Their father dies, and his brothers bend their knees. Part of him always wondered if they would, if he'd have to kill them for it, if he cared enough to kill them for it.

Aemond and Visenya spend a few years bouncing here and there and back again, exploring and exploring, but there is something itching beneath their skin, something calling for them. It will kill them, if it is what he thinks it is. He does not care much.

He's right about the calling, and one day they aim themselves towards Valyria and don't come back down.

They don't come back. He doesn't ever really wish them to.

He lives in this life. So does she. But there is no love between them. No anything, really. Baelon dies first because he always does. Visenya, all those miles away, doesn't even notice.

[pacifymebby]

t r o u b l e / chapter twenty two

Chapter list

John

"How was she?" I asked Bonny, realising once the word left my lips that I could have been asking about any one of the girls. Ada had been pissed off and Esme had looked scared, she'd hidden it with a scowl, hidden it with sharp words but I'd known how she really felt. Didn't take much for me to read her these days, I could probably tell how she felt with my eyes closed. Just standing near her was enough.

Even now when she was locked away in that hidden room and I was sitting concealed in shadow on the front step, gun slung over my back, I could sense my girls fear, her racing heart. It wound my insides tight like a coil and had me fidgeting with my fingers, getting restless.

Bonny sat beside me, still and calm, his eyes watching the long driveway, his ears listening out for any kind of sound. He'd a knife he was fidgeting with, weaving it between his fingers absentmindedly as he concentrated on keeping lookout.

His dad was positioned at the back entrance the the house and there were Gold's and Lee's stationed all around, lurking in the shadows poised for a fight. All of them itching with anticipation the way Bonnie and I bristled now.

"Kitty was upset," he said, "cryin for her dad," he said with a sympathetic smirk, "she settled down a wee bit for Sonya though," he added.

"Yeah?" I nodded, "good," I said feeling a guilty little twist in my stomach as I thought back on all the times last year, when Kitty had asked if she could go to see her aunty Fen in London at the ballet, I'd given her an empty promise. Told her that we'd go and then never found the time to make the plans. "Think Kitty wants to be her Anty Sonya when she grows up," I grinned shaking my head and trying not to get soft. Wasn't the time for being sentimental.

Bonnie didn't say anything, just cracked a small smirk which lingered as he turned away, watching the dark garden quietly. He looked thoughtful but I'd noticed he was that kind of lad. The canny kind, probably could have been good in school if he was given half the chance, probably would have made more of himself if he'd been born to different circumstances. It was what our mam had always said about us though I had the feeling she was talking more about Tommy and Ada than me or Arthur.

"Fuckin hate sittin still," he said after another minute of waiting. He bounced his knee where he sat, a look of impatience in his eyes that made me smirk and nod my head.

"Yeah," I agreed, "this is the worst fuckin part ain't it, all the bloody waiting around, its like bein in a fuckin airport..." I grumbled.

Bonnie frowned for a second, brows knitted in confusion, his jaw caught half way between a question and laugh. In the end he just shook his head, let himself laugh.

"Aye," he grinned, "least an airports got a bar."

"Aye," I grinned feeling for a moment like I might be able to relax. Tensing in the next when a bird took flight and the sound of a disturbance in the trees reminded the two of us that we weren't supposed to be smiling. Just like that our smirks were gone, jaws tight, eyes dark and focussed, bodies braced and preparing for the unknown threat which lurked in every shadow, every slither of darkness we couldn't quite see.

The time passed slowly. A torturously long night of aching hours laced together by animal sounds in the trees, twitching branches, an owl taking flight, something snuffling through the shrubbery. The kinds of sounds which could be mistaken for trouble. The kinds of sounds with left our shoulders aching. Our jaws tight. Our eyes restless dry and sore. Hours passed and nothing changed, only my mood, ever darkening, ever convinced that somewhere something bad was going down.

"You think anyone's coming?" Asked Bonnie his eyes fixed on the shadows. When we sat quietly, no words passed between us the night was totally still. Made it easy to believe that the answer to that question was no.

"Who fuckin knows," I breathed sitting forward a little to get a better look at the troubled sky above us. Whether it was the Italians on our door or my little sister stirring trouble in some unknown corner of the country there was some kind of turmoil brewing in the air that night. A disquiet settling thick and heavy in the air between me and the younger lad. "I believe Sonya though," I said, "she doesn't know anythin."

Bonnie just nodded, sat quietly leaning against the wall, a flat cap lowered over his eyes so that I couldn't quite read his expression.

"Seemed innocent enough to me," he shrugged after a moment before pointing to the edge of the driveway, a shadow in the trees approaching quickly. "See that over there," he lowered his voice, one hand reaching round the back of his waistband, fingers curling around a handgun tucked away for safekeeping.

I bristled, trying to move quickly but quietly as I repositioned the machine gun I wore over my shoulder, aiming for the shadow, waiting for the first sign of trouble.

But when I raised my gun, squinting through the sight at the eery night I saw only my brother staggering with hands raised above his head so we wouldn't shoot him in the dark.

"Arthur?" I called out when he was within speaking distance.

"Brother," he grinned holding out his hand to haul me up to my feet. Bonnie sprung up to, as light on his feet now as he had been when he'd first come sprinting down the hall earlier that evening.

It was almost dawn now, that milky first sign of thin light shimmering on the horizon. The shadows slowly beginning to saturate and fade. Skeletons becoming trees once more.

"Where's Tommy?" I asked eyes searching over Arthur's shoulder but finding nothing, brows knitting when Arthur let out a laugh.

"Still out lookin," he sounded as though he'd been on the drink because absolutely nothing of what he was telling me warranted the chuckles which followed his excruciatingly vague sentences.

"Then you didn't find her?" Frowned Bonnie slipping his gun into his pocket about to say something else when Arthur carried on, grin wide and gleaming, uncanny under the pale morning moon.

"Nah not Sylvie," he grinned, "but the little rotter ain't half left a good fuckin trail..." He grinned rubbing his hands together and then clasping my shoulders, *ain't the fuckin Italians we need to worry about John boy I'll tell you that for nowt!"

I felt a grin threatening my own still expression, didn't want to smile too soon because Fen was still missing and from the sounds of it we still didn't have a clue where she was, but the hope and the glee in my brother's eyes was contagious. Even Bonnie was smirking now.

"Found that nonce Hackett fuckin dead for a start," he said, a growled laugh escaping him as he clapped me on the back and turned me in the direction of the front doors, "found him fuckin face down in his driveway, helmet caved in right an guess what... No fuckin bike... Now Tommy reckons Isaiahs done it, reckons he's with her, helping her get wherever she's going,"

"Isaiahs always hated the flash bastard to be fair," I nodded, "reckon he's been pining for murder since the day he met him..."

"He thought he was the porter didn't he?" Chimed in Bonnie, his dark eyes glowing with curiousity as he listened in.

"See!" Chuckled Arthur, "guilty until proven innocent, the lads still holdin a grudge or he wouldn't have told Bonnie would he!"

"Id hold that grudge to be honest like," chuckled Bonnie. I smirked, couldn't help but agree.

"Well yeah of course you would but would you shoot the poor fucker in the head and leave him for the fuckin badgers over it?" Asked Arthur unable to hide his delight. None of us had ever really warmed to our distant neighbour.

Bonnie smirked pretending to think about it for a second before nodding, flashing a cheeky grin.

"Probably aye,"

I laughed then, shaking my head, my grin lingering as we wandered slowly back inside. Shoulders relaxed at last knowing that with the sunrise we were safe. There were no Italians lurking in the shadows.

"So anyway Hackett's dressed in his leathers right, and he's got his helmet on and it's all smashed in yeah, he's bleeding out yeah, blood fuckin everywhere, bullets in his stomach it's fuckin disgustin right... But you know the most fucked up bit?"

"Go on?" I smirked uncertain it could get much worse than a man robbed of his midlife crisis motorbike and left to "the badgers" but when Arthur laughed again I grew all the more curious. "Spit it out Arth come on," I chuckled, couldn't believe the delight in his eyes.

"His fuckin jackets gone an all!"

"Well it's not like he needs it I spose," I smirked an impressed but oh so slightly disturbed pout on my lips breaking into a smile when I realised with relief what it really meant. Why Arthur couldn't stop grinning too.

"So she's fine then.. whatever the fuck she's playin at you think she's fine?" I asked as we took our time turning the lights back on inside, unlocking doors, checking the security panel once more to determine that this was it for now, that we'd been blessed with 'uneventful.'

"Aye brother, more than fuckin fine I think she's probably havin the time of her fuckin life!"

"Apple don't fall far after all," I agreed though I had to admit it troubled me to imagine my little sister riding a stolen motorbike, wearing a dead man's bloodied jacket. There was something tragic about it. It made me question whether it would have been easier to accept that she'd been kidnapped by the enemy than to accept that maybe she was more like the rest of us Shelbys than we'd imagined.

"His fuckin jacket," laughed Arthur rubbing his hands together. For a fleeting moment I wondered whether his near on hysterics was simply compensation for the same worries I was trying to swallow down but when bonnie chuckled I realised that perhaps it was only me searching for something to worry about, something to hold onto.

"Fuckin brutal," Bonnie grinned shaking his head as I stepped up to the safe room door and opened the control panel. I should have stopped a moment to wipe the smile off my face, to get my own relieved laughter out of my system. As it happened however I was still grinning like a teenage boy when the door slid open and so I deserved the smack Esme landed to my cheek before I'd even had the chance to look her in the eyes.

"John Shelby you fuckin dinlow bastard you wipe that stupid fuckin smile off your face this second!" she hissed her eyes welling with tears, her gritted teeth and tight expression holding strong for a minute. I wasn't sure they were going to hold strong for much longer than that.

I stood there stunned, my hand raised to my cheek as the sting wore off, my smirk lingering though it shouldn't have. The sight of it only making my poor girl feel worse.

"Fuck love am sorry..." I started with a sigh giving in when she pushed past me, one of the youngens bundled up in her arms fast asleep.

"Your kids need their beds," she said with a glare that sent a chill right down to my gut. A glare that made Arthur grin, unable to keep his own amusement down until Polly smacked him hard across the face to match.

"Fuckin stupid men," she said, her own look of disapproval far more calm than my Esme's, "you'd better have found our girl, turning up here smirking like that, she'd better be fuckin home..." she said.

I winced, eyes full of guilt flickering between Arthur and then floor. Between one of my lads leaning against Pol, holding her hand, his eyes barely open. He was smirking into her side at her temper and I couldn't help notice the way he grinned a lot like me. Still it was hard to smile when Pol gave me his hand and walked away. Inside I could see Ada waiting with Karl on her hip, he was stirring and she looked tired and impatient though the look she gave us when she passed and shook her head was far more forgiving than Polly's had been.

"Well?" she asked barely waiting for an answer before she smirked disappointed but not surprised, "didn't fuckin think so."

I crouched down to pick little Heath up, so that I could carry him and Kitty upstairs to their beds. Liam was awake, leaning in the door frame, old enough to understand that his mam and dad were fighting, old enough to understand that it wasn't normal to spend your Friday night in a glorified wardrobe. Old enough to be pissed off with his dad.

"Come on then wee man lets get your brothers and sisters up to bed eh?" I sighed offering him a sympathetic smile, feeling all kinds of exhaustion creep up on me then. As I stood up looking for Kitty I realised she was still bundled up with her Anty Fen, the two of them buried under a blanket fast asleep.

I turned to look at Arthur expecting a nostalgic joke at our sisters expense but he'd gone, probably gone after Ada or Polly thinking he could explain away their godawful night. Thinking he could justify it with his good news, the gruesome scene he had described so gleefully to me about to earn him another slap from someone.

The only other person left was Bonnie, standing dutifully by waiting for Sonya.

He looked at me and grimaced, rubbing his cheek and nodding to mine, a teasing kind of grin half hearted but enough to lighten my mood.

"Shoulda seen it comin really," I said with a shrug as I looked from him to my sister. I couldn't believe that after all this time, and after the night she'd had, she was zonked out asleep in the corner of the cramped little space. More than that, I couldn't believe that little Kitty was equally tranquil, her eyes fluttered shut, her thumb hovering by her mouth as she slept.

"Liam mate wake your Anty Fen up eh," I said nodding to my eldest watching as he hesitated for a moment before tugging the blanket down from them and tugging on Sonya's sleeve.

When she didn't wake up he looked back at me, his tired eyes sullen and questioning me, asking my permission to do it again. I chuckled and it drew a little smirk on his lips so that when he turned back to his anty to try again he did so with a little more confidence. Just enough mischief in the way he poked her leg for it to work.

When she woke up she flinched, her eyes wide like a startled rabbit. Her body tense and rigid. She held onto Kitty a little tighter and Liam jumped away from her startled by her shock.

"Oh..." she said quietly, only finding relief when her eyes rested on me and she realised that everything was fine. That the long night was over and she was still safe. "What happened did you find Sylvie?" she asked her eyes flickering between me and Bonnie before she felt Kitty stir in her arms and the little girl stole her attention.

It was amazing the way she changed, uncanny in fact. She seemed to relax completely, the lip she'd been chewing only moments before tugged into a smile for the young girl.

"Hey Kitty guess who's here?" she whispered gently, her voice full of that saccharine hope that always makes little girls smile.

I couldn't keep the grin off my lips when Kitty began to smile, slowly at first and then beaming when she looked and saw me. She pushed herself up in Sonya's arms and stretched her arms above her head and then out to me, squirming and sleepy, her eyes blinking heavily as she grinned at me.

"Daddy!" She smiled her words being swallowed by a yawn which shook her whole body and left me chuckling fondly.

"Come on princess let's get you up to bed eh?" I said watching Sonya kiss her on the forehead and whisper something in her ear before she handed her to me and helped me wrap the little girl up in my arms with her brother.

"Daddy look," she smiled pointing at her hair, the two french braids she was stroking proudly as she looked up at me with sleepy blue eyes.

"Beautiful darlin, you look just like your anty fen don't you,"

"Pretty!" She giggled though she only managed half the word before another yawn overwhelmed her and left her fighting to stay awake.

"Aye well, maybe you can be just like your anty fen tomorrow eh princess, you're fallin asleep," I grinned kissing her hair, letting her nuzzle into my shoulder, her little hand clutching the collar of my shirt.

Liam watched us cooly, his expression too serious for a little boy. He wasn't exactly much older than Kitty and yet he looked years apart from her then. This grave face that told me he was far more in tune to his surroundings than me or his mam would have liked.

And then I thought of his mam. The tears I'd seen in her eyes when she'd stormed past me holding our little girl in her arms. The guilt swelled inside me again and I swallowed around the lump in my throat.

"You look after our Fen for me eh Bonnie," I said finally, dragging myself away from my little sister, wishing I could have been there for her too, knowing I had to be dad and husband now, not brother. "Thanks for looking after Kitty," I said, "night love..."

She opened her mouth about to ask about Sylvie but because I knew I couldn't give her any good answers I pretended not to see. Told myself it was better to leave that to somebody else even though I knew it wasn't.

🌛🌼🌜🌼🌛🌼🌜

Esme was awake when I finally made it to bed. She wasn't even trying to pretend to be asleep. She just sat there on the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on the first rays of milky glow out the window, the mist and the orange light of sunrise. It would have been pretty had I not been feeling so wretched as I sat down beside her. If when I'd gone to take her hand in mine she hadn't snatched it away.

"Don't,"

Looking at her through the dark of the bedroom she had appeared to be sitting still as a statue, the elegantly melancholic kind. When I crossed the room to stand before her however I could see that she was trembling. Her hands held in her lap, her rosary wrapped around them, holding them together, glimmered in the light from outside. A glimmer which shook subtly because she could hardly control her tremors.

She was trying so hard to be stubborn, to be angry instead of scared, to be angry instead of laden down with sorrow, with worry. With that doomed feeling I knew has been clawing at her now for weeks. She'd been warning me of bad omens long before the war had broken out and I hadn't listened. Too wrapped up in our companies' successes, the money and the fame rolling in from our numerous ventures.

Now I stood with her alone in a bedroom in my brother's mansion, far away from the country cottage we'd built together, the quiet, wild place we'd planned to raise the little ones. Now I stood there with her sitting on the bed, a quiet despair gripping her, knowing that she'd been right all along. That I'd been a fucking fool to ignore her warnings. That I was still a fool now, a desperate fool who didn't know how to make things right.

So I reached out and took her hands in mine, raised them up to unfold them, to unravel her rosary beads and place them down carefully on the bedside table. They glimmered in the light, still where they rested by the bed, the beads gathered in a little heap on top of the cross.

Esme remained still, her breathing was shallow, shivery and slow. Controlled, just about.

She was still starring straight ahead, her eyes fixed on the hem of my t-shirt, refusing to blink because if she did she'd shed the first few tears and theyd make way for the rest.

"Esme love," I said quietly, my voice a little scratchy because I was trying to be gentle, trying not to let myself get upset.

She didn't say a word but she let me hold her hands in mine, let me place unfold her fingers and brush my thumb from the tip of hers to the center of her palm. Her hand felt so small in mine, so delicate. And though she wasn't a delicate woman I knew I needed to be delicate with her just then.

So I took her head in my hand, stepping a little closer to the edge of the bed until my knees knocked against the mattress and I drew her in towards my body until her head came to rest against my belly. I stroked my thumb over her hair gently, pressing her head against my body firm enough to ground her, to make her feel surrounded and secure.

And then I let out a sigh, I said I was sorry, I said I knew that that wasn't enough. Waited to feel her tears soak through my t-shirt onto my skin. When she finally did as I'd been expecting and burst into tears, they were angry and she clutched at my clothes, tugging me closer to her.

"Katie was cryin half the fuckin night John... She's always cryin cause you're gone so you're never there to see her fuckin cryin for you but she does an it's fuckin heartbreakin!" She cried, her anger muffled by my t-shirt as she squeezed her eyes shut tight. I let my arm come to rest around her, holding her in a loose embrace, one hand still holding her hair, holding her to me with no intention of letting her go unless it was to bring her somehow closer still.

"I know love,"

"No you don't know!" She sobbed, "you never see it John, you never see how scared they get, you just see the smiles when you come home... It's fuckin hard and it's gettin harder... They ain't all that little anymore you know... Liam knows that when you go away you might not come back... What the fuck am I sposed to say to them John... They're scared John, fuckin terrified!"

"I know," I said again, I didn't know what else I could say, felt completely defeated because everything she said was true. Because there was nothing I could do about their fears... I couldn't promise I'd always be alright.

I let her sob into my shirt awhile longer, let her roll through the usual script.

"I fuckin hate you," she said and I just stood there looking at the opposite wall, swallowed a lump in my throat, didn't say it despite it being true. I know.

I tangled my fingers in her hair, holding onto her as carefully as I could not wanting to hurt her. Knowing that if I held onto her as tightly as I wanted to then I would because I was filled with that silent desperation. That ache in my chest it was painful to breath around. That ache which made me feel more fragile than I was prepared to admit.

So instead I bowed my head, took her chin between my fingers and pushed her gaze up to look at me. I looked down at her teary eyes, her long lashes weighed down by the evidence of her anguish. I drew in a breath and tried to hold it. Tried to close my eyes and clear my head. Found it impossible to think clearly or rationally when I was looking down at her.

Realised I would say anything to comfort her, even if it wasn't true. Didn't say anything anyway.

She looked up at me, her eyes flickering with a moments hope but when I said nothing, when I tilted my own head back and closed my eyes, nose pointed to the ceiling, lips mumbling a little prayer, the hope which had flickered across her irises dissolved.

She let go of my shirt and wiped her eyes with her fingers, sniffled and pushed her hair from her face. She didn't force a smile but she held her palms over her eyes for a moment and then let out a little shivered breath.

"I love you Esme," I said, regretting how tired I sounded when I heard my voice calm and flat in the dark.

She wrapped her arms around my waist and rested her head against my belly, her ear pressed to my t-shirt as she watched the first rays of sunlight climb the bedroom wall. Her eyes stung and so did mine.

"Just come to bed love," she said squeezing my waist a little tighter, closing her eyes as she turned and rested her forehead against me, let her lips press a kiss to my t-shirt as she tugged me in closer, let her hands slip beneath the fabric, fingers spread as she held my back.

I stroked her hair with my hand and sighed, she'd given in now and so I would too.

"Come on then," I said nudging her back onto the mattress, "shift over, make room..."

So she did, leaning back on her elbows, looking up at me as she shuffled up the mattress and fell down on her side of the bed. One hand held her pillow as she rolled onto her side and watched me tug my t-shirt over my head. Watched me sit down and kick my joggers off, waited for me to lie down on my back and open my arms out for her to crawl into before she came to rest her head on my chest without closing her eyes.

She was watching the sunrise climb the wall. I had a feeling she'd given up on sleep when she let her chapped lips brush over my bare chest.

"I keep telling Kitty the Italians are like spiders..." She said after a minutes peace, if I'd not been so familiar with her brooding ways I'd have been surprised to find she hadn't fallen asleep. "You know, more scared of daddy than daddy is of them..."

"Yeah?"

"It's a fuckin stupid joke sposed to make her feel brave and I feel guilty cause I don't know if it's still true..." She was smirking at herself, not quite awake enough to laugh at herself the bitter way I could tell she wanted to.

"Am not scared of the wops flower," I smirked shaking my head, tilting my chin down to kiss her temple, missing because she'd smiled at the same time as I had, pushed herself up to catch my lips with hers, her smile tugging against mine as she kissed me and caught me by surprise.

#trouble #peaky blinders x oc #bonnie gold imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby sister! #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fanfiction

[baby-girl-e]

You’re on your own, kid

Characters - Iceman x Maverick

Summary - Ice grows up in an abusive household, but he’s determined to make something of himself. To survive.

Word Count - 3.7k

Warnings - abusive parents, period typical homophobia, internalized homophobia, vague religious trauma if you squint

A/N - This one was… a lot to say the least. It’s a heavy subject, but it was incredibly therapeutic to write. This is obviously Ice-centric but it has a healthy dose of IceMav because, well where there’s Ice there’s Maverick. Enjoy!

When Tom was a child he was fiercely independent. He had been making his own food by himself since the age of six, doing his own laundry since age eight, and pretty much everything else ever since. He didn’t do it because he wanted to, or because he was just like that, he did it because he had to. He did everything he could by himself to avoid any and all confrontation with his parents. 

He was raised to be seen, not heard, and he had the bruises to show for the times when he hadn’t been so successful. The thought of asking either of his parents to do anything for him scared him. He knew that he’d get the emotional lashing from his mother, and then the physical one from his father. “You’re eight by now Thomas. You can do it yourself.” He grew up faster than the other kids, he knew this, but it’s how things were. 

There was a moment when he was eleven when he realized why the crushes he had on girls weren’t coming like the ones his friends had, he liked boys. It was devastating. To him, an abused kid who already felt guilty for being born, was plagued by something that had men and women alike killed. Beaten by their loved ones and left for dead. He prayed to a God he knew had long since abandoned him to just take it away. “Just make me normal, please.” He pleaded day in and day out, just begging for a reason for his parents to love him.

It was his way out, maybe if he married a nice girl and got a good job and had sons then maybe his dad would be proud and his mom would love him. Maybe. But he was never so lucky. He soon realized that to pretend to be in love with someone he never could be, would be to accept a fate worse than a beating from his father.

So little Tom learned the art of hiding who he loved early on. He came up with excuses not to date, and fed his friends lies when they asked who he had a crush on. Then there was a day, a moment, when he developed his first crush. Oh, oh. He had never looked at his friend Matty that way before. They were 15 and Matty had just got a new bike. He rode like the wind to meet Tom at the park and he was suddenly overcome by how beautiful Matty looked. Matty was smiling a megawatt smile, dark brown hair falling onto his eyes as he bounded off the bike and towards Tom. He was undoubtedly in love, and it crushed him. 

Tom went home that night in tears. He kept a straight face through the dinner that had been rarely already prepared for him. He profusely told his mother how grateful he was and cleaned the entire kitchen afterwards. It gave him a distraction, something to make better, when his own little world was crumbling. One that he had built walls as high as the sun to protect. 

He had decided even before the new crush that he would never act on his feelings. At least not until there was tale tell proof that they indeed liked him back. He’s talking blinking neon sign proof. So he carried on pretending, pretending that Matty was his best friend and nothing more. He loved him so much that if this was the only way to have him, he was sure as heck not going to mess it up. 

He so desperately wanted to leave that town. More than anything he wanted to get away from his parents. But he found himself imagining settling down in a house with Matty. He’s probably the only one that could make him stay, but that was a pipe dream. 

That pipe dream disappeared on a random Saturday night the summer after his freshman year of high school. He was invited to a party at one of Matty’s other friends' houses and to say he was excited was underselling it. He felt like a normal kid, finally. He felt like he fit in and could fit in forever. But as he searched the crowded room for his friend all he heard was his voice. “Yeah, I know he’s weird. The only reason I’m friends with him is because my mom says his dad is mean to him, to me it just sounds like he can’t defend himself.”

Tom's heart cracked. His only safe haven, never cared. He ran home that night, sobbing. He was done. Absolutely done. How was he supposed to go on, knowing the one person he loved and that he thought loved him back… never did. He was so in his head about his emotions that he forgot to put that invisible mask on before he went inside. His childlike instinct took him straight for his mother, hugging her tight and cried. He cried over and over again, knowing what would come after, but god all he wanted was to be loved. To be hugged by someone who loved him. 

His mom pulled him away and just stared at him confused, like she didn’t know what to do with a crying child. “Mom! He said he was never my friend. Mom, how could he?!” She just kept staring, dropped her hands and gave him the first piece of advice that could actually help him. “You’re on your own, kid.” Yeah, he figured he always had been.

                    ///

Now, joining the military as a closeted gay man doesn’t sound like a great idea, but it was Tom’s only option. From the moment at the party to his graduation he worked his ass off to get into USNA. His grades were sparkling, he was on the swim and wrestling team, and even kept up a janitorial job at the local elementary school. Tom was busy from sun up to sun down and liked it that way, there was no room to think about who he was and the disappointment he was to his parents. 

As he grew into his scrawny body and gained some muscle he started to attract attention from the girls. He obviously wasn’t interested, so he never dated. It wasn’t weird to the outside world because of how busy he was, his coaches even gave him shining recommendation letters because of his focus. He had an acquaintance here and there, but never again did he make a real friend. He just couldn’t trust anyone else. 

The day he moved out was probably the best day of his life. He left in the middle of the night, his things already packed, and just walked out without as much as a note. He was sure his parents wouldn’t report him missing, they’d probably just throw a party. He had been saving every penny he earned for three years for this exact moment. He had his acceptance letter to Annapolis in one hand and a plane ticket in the other. He was ready to make a new life, one where he was in charge. 

His first couple of weeks in the academy weren’t as bad as people always said. He was used to working from sun up to sun down, getting yelled at by older men, and keeping his things in tip top shape. That was his entire life so far, no big. He made some actual friends this time, nobody knew his back story so there wasn’t anyone to use it against him. The first friend he made was when he was in desperate need for a snack and one Nick Bradshaw was right there, granola bar in hand. He continued to do things like that, and not just for Tom but everyone, and eventually everyone was calling him Mom. 

The next friend he made wasn’t until flight school, where he got to stay close to his friend Nick (who by the way kept the Nickname mom, it was just now Mother Goose). His assigned RIO was a man named Ron and he already had his call sign, Slider, but he never explained it. “What about you Tom? Have yours already?” He didn’t, but he wasn’t worried about it. He’d have it in due time. 

The next week was when that moment came, turning down a night out in favor of some studying time. “What’s your deal Kazansky? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at a bar?” He knew Slider meant well, but he just never could drink more than one glass, not after what his dad did when he was drunk. “None of your business Kerner.” Slider stepped back with his hands up in defense. “Geez man, just a question. No need to go all Iceman on me.” And there it was. He became the Iceman, Ice cold in the sky and on the ground. He was laser focused, loved by CO’s and hated by his fellow aviators. A force to be reckoned with, and graduated at the top of his class. 

The first time Tom felt like the universe actually gave him a break was when he was assigned to a squadron with his flight school RIO Slider. The only downside was that he was assigned far away from both Goose and his other friend Cougar, though they had been deployed to the same ship. They promised to stay in touch, and Ice even told Goose good luck with whatever pilot they assigned him too. If only he knew. Ice and Slider became an unstoppable team, climbing to the top of their squadron quickly thanks to Ice’s focus and Slider’s ability to read him like a book. 

Of course their ride to the top had to have a few bumps. Turns out his dreams weren’t rare and there were plenty of hopeful aviators looking to make it to the top. Him and Slider had been vying for TOP GUN for as long as they knew what it was, but so had the other Pilot/ RIO team that they were pretty much tied for best within their squadron. Slider and him had been trying so hard, even going so far as sucking up to their CO. “Listen Lieutenant, you’re the best I have. Honestly. I’d be stupid not to send you.” Was he telling him he’s going… or? “I just know that you’ll win, and you’ll get your pick at whatever squadron you have your heart set on.” For the first time in his life, someone needed him. And dammit it felt good. But he needed TOP GUN. 

“If I may sir? I’d only get better at TOP GUN. I’d like the opportunity to try and be better.” His CO shook his head and laughed, something unusual for someone of such high rank. “Lieutenant Kazansky, if there’s anyone that could get away with not improving, it’d be you. I’ll send you to TOP GUN, but out there? You’re on your own, kid.” He knew. He always has been. 

                    ///

TOP GUN was… eventful to say the least. He was delighted to see his friend Goose again, but he had picked himself up a pilot that aggravated every bone in his body. Here’s this reckless, crazy, infuriating, son of a bitch, and Ice is in love. He’s never been in real love before, he’s not even sure he would know what it’s like. But there was something about Pete that he just couldn’t resist. Ice has been pushing down his feelings for as long as he could remember and god he just wanted to indulge just this once. It was dangerous, he was dangerous, and Ice could be throwing away the entire life he had built from scratch. But oh he wanted him. 

Then there was Goose. His dear friend lost his life in a training accident, and it left Maverick scarred. For a brief moment, watching Maverick fall into a flat spin, it felt like his shot at true happiness in life. He had held himself back from love for so many years and there it was, falling towards the ocean. Once Maverick was released from the hospital Tom decided he was going to do it. He was really going to tell Mav how he felt. But when he saw him in that locker room, back turned, he lost his nerve and ended up saying something stupid. 

The day came when he won the trophy. This was his greatest achievement in life so far and yet… It felt anti-climactic. He couldn’t see Maverick in the crowd and he just couldn’t shake his disappointment. This wasn’t how he wanted to win, with blood soaked hands and his competition dropping out. Then when he did show up Ice still couldn’t say much, he felt like such a coward. Felt like that scared little kid again, unable to defend himself or say the right thing. Weak. 

They were called in to save the USS Layton and that gave Ice the boost he needed. Finally, something to do. Something to distract him from the overwhelming feelings he had for Maverick that threatened to drown him. What he didn’t expect from this mission was for Maverick to not only save him, but for them to gain their first air-to-air kills together. Then wonder of wonders, Maverick got him to buzz the tower with him. Ice, the no mistakes guy, broke a rule and dammit if it didn’t feel so good. As they climbed down from their cockpits he could hear the roar of the crowd beneath them, people grabbing him, congratulating him, but all he could see was Maverick. That beautiful smile that lit up the entire ocean was drawing him in. In that moment, he could’ve asked Ice for anything and he’d have given it to him. 

Not one for fancy words, all he could think of to say was, “You!” And he guesses that was enough. Maverick looked at him with a cocksure face and pretty much demanded him to say something else. A dare. “Are still dangerous. But you can be my wingman anytime.” And that impossible, sparkling smile stretched on his face. He had done that, he made him smile. He’d try and get him to do that as much as he possibly could. “Bullshit, you can be mine.” Unable to resist, and if he kept looking at him he’d probably kiss him, he pulled Maverick in for a hug. It was on the bro side of hugs, nothing romantic, but Ice let himself have it. He was touch starved and hadn’t been hugged all that much. He felt like he could die happy. 

That was until later that night. He found Maverick in his quarters when he had snuck away from the celebration. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating?” He wasn’t mad that Pete was here, just confused. Maverick was a party animal for sure. “Why aren’t you?” He was sitting on Ice’s bed, looking like the cat who ate the canary. “I asked you first.” Pete stood up just then, and walked slowly until he was in Tom’s face. “I came here to do this.” And by some miracle, Maverick kissed him. He kissed him. Ice hadn’t kissed anyone before and this was a new experience. He kissed back the best he could and just got lost in it. Warning alarms were ringing in his head, danger, danger, danger, but he didn’t care. For once he told the voices in his head to shut the hell up. 

Their relationship spiral led from there, albeit a secret one. Ice told Mav about his childhood and had to physically restrain him from going to beat up his dad. “But Tom! He deserves to be knocked around a little.” He appreciated his boyfriend's antics, he really did, but he knew it wouldn’t help. “I appreciate it baby, believe me. But he’s not worth the trouble. He’d somehow make it about him and you’d get in trouble.” That seemed to be the story of their whole lives, Maverick jumping head in and Ice trying to reel him in. 

Years go by and they remain a secret, like they’d planned, but Ice doesn’t really care. He told Slider and that’s all he needed. He didn’t need the entire world involved in his love life. They get older, and Ice continues to climb rank. He hosts party after party, secret boyfriend and open wingman by his side, and doesn’t stop to look back. Their lives together are full of more heartache, stumbles and fights, but in the end they always come back together. Being single to the entire world but his old RIO meant that he was the butt of plenty of jokes, they weren’t funny but at the end of the day they were just that. Jokes. He knew what he had waiting for him at home and he was being paid so… he didn’t care. He was Ice-cold like that. 

Within the blink of an eye it was 2011 and he and Pete were still together. Ice had made it to Admiral and was even being looked at to become the next COMPACFLT. On a rainy September morning he and Pete were watching the news when the president he had just had a meeting with days prior, came on to deliver some of the best news he’s ever heard. The long battle was over. He and Pete could get out of hiding. They could live. They started planning a wedding immediately and called everyone they knew. Tom even called up his old friend Matty. He hadn’t spoken to him since high school, but it felt good to have some closure. 

“Tom? As in Kazansky?” Hearing his voice sent him back to high school, a dark time, but Pete was standing there next to him holding his hand. He could face this. “Yeah, it’s me. I just wanted to call and see how you were doing. And I have news.” He knew Matty probably couldn’t care less, he didn’t even like Tom when they were supposedly friends. “News?” He meant it plural too. Not only was he getting married next week, he was also becoming the COMPACFLT the week after. The president knew full well Tom was about to marry a man and didn’t care. He knew Tom was the right man for the job. “Well first things first, I’m getting married.” A pause, “and I’m being promoted to Commander of the U.S Pacific Fleet.” There was silence on the other line, and then he finally spoke. “Wow that’s… great Tom. But, we haven’t spoken in years, why now?” He figured that’d come up. “Well the person I’m marrying is a man. And though you didn’t know it, you were the first person I ever loved. You hurt me all those years ago and it hurt deep. But it was the kick I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself and make something of myself. I have you to thank for all of this, for me meeting my husband. So, I called to say thank you.” The conversation was limited, Matty was struck speechless, but Tom didn’t care. He got what he needed. 

A week later he married the love of his life. He had sent his parents a letter, the first piece of communication since the 80s, just to tell them how he was. Who he was. 

Dear Mr and Mrs Kazansky,

This is your son, Thomas. I haven’t spoken to you both since I left my senior year of high school so I wanted to fill you in. I joined the US Navy, and became a fighter pilot. I became one of the best there ever was, and even graduated the top of my Top Gun class of ‘86. While I was there I met the love of my life and we’ve been together ever since. His name is Pete, you’d hate him. I climbed up the ranks all the way to admiral and next week I become the Commander of the U.S Pacific Fleet. I bet you’re surprised that someone like me could achieve all of that, well… I did it myself. I raised myself and got everything I’ve ever wanted, in spite of what you did to me. I want you to know that you failed, you tried to break my spirit and hold me back, even destroy me. But you didn't. You couldn’t. From the bridges I burned with you, I learned lessons too. How to love, in spite of harsh circumstances. How to thrive under the heel of someone’s boot. How to come out on top, even when nobody wants to see you there. I don’t know if you’ll ever get this letter, or if you’re even alive, but I wanted to tell you how I felt. And to thank you for being the lesson I needed to learn, to be the man I was always meant to be. 

Love, 

Tom

And on the back, in Pete’s handwriting, 

Dear Mr Kazansky, 

Fuck you.

Love, 

Pete Kazansky-Mitchell

The day of Ice’s swearing in was finally there and Pete was the most excited. Claiming that he got to go home with the COMPACFLT every night and he thought that was so hot. Ice stood up there, shaking hands with the President of the United States, and smiled. He looked out to the crowd where his husband, Slider, and the rest of the class of ‘86 sat and couldn’t help but tear up. Pete was crying actively but still clapping with fervor and mouthing ‘I love you.’ He took this moment to soak it all up. He had faced all of his demons and, well look at him now. He had everything he ever wanted, a husband and a job that he adored. He had no reason to be afraid. And he did it all by himself. Well, that and a little help from his husband. But ultimately, when he faced the crowd once more to give a speech, it was his own voice he heard in his head.

You’re on your own, kid. You always have been. 

#icemav #Icemav x Taylor Swift #top gun maverick #iceman x maverick #maverick #iceman kazansky #top gun #top gun 1986 #This is a Taylor Swift song #you’re on your own kid #eras #tswizzle

[mynameis-noe-body]

Jopper's headcanon: they had a daughter in 1968

I have already written about how they could have had an unplanned daughter: here to read the headcanon.

Now, knowing she was born in 1968, middle child and from another father in comparison to Jonathan and Will, let's see how she'd be.

First of all — she has her mother's eyes and hair, and her father's nose. She's taller than Joyce, let's say she has Jonathan height which is a lot for a 80s high school girl. Her shoulders are just like her father's: broad and beautiful, while her long legs and tight hips matches her mother's phisique.

She was born and grewp up around men her whole life, and Joyce is pretty grunge and was pretty grunge even in her early days, so she's never learned how to be a girly girl. Sure, she's always been Hop's princess — he calls her peach, and painted her bedroom lilac, gifted her a bunch of old, romantic movies from the 50s ("Roman Holidays", "Gone with the Wind", "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof", "The Carpetbaggers" and so on), and she is still very much a daddy's girl, but... she secretly listen to Joan Jett (and Metallica, The Scorpions, Cutting Crew, Ozzy and all that metal stuff Joyce would be impressed with and Jim would find slightly disturbing), insisting on wearing her hair short, and wearing the oversized jacket Hop brought home once from the Police Station. It's like his blue one, just a couple of sizes smaller (still, too big) and she took off the Police badgers. She's got at least four pair of jeans, all the same, tight on the hips and large around the calves, and several Hawkins High sweatshirt (so that her mama doesn't have to buy more for her too). Jim has tried a couple of time asking her about shopping, but she doesn't really seem interested. She should wear glasses, but she never does.

You want to see how she looked like? Here she is (inspo model).

Joyce chose her name all alone. Lonnie wasn't interested when he found out (or rather, he thought) he was having a girl — just another bloody good-for-nothing woman, we really didn't need that. So, Joyce chose alone. And she wanted her name to be strong and glorious, despite anything Lonnie would say. She chose Rhiannon. Rhiannon Byers. It was unique — maybe too much, since she never introduced with that name, opting for Ari or just peach, since everyone in Hawkins knew her by that name.

She was known, indeed, as the Chief's daughter. And people knew she was a Byers — even though, in the end, she found out the truth about her birth — but they still thought of her as a Hopper. She asked for her last name to be changed. She reffered, in front of teachers and classmates, to Jim Hopper as her dad. People were confused. Joyce had to explain many many times — but she refused to lecture her daughter about it. There were suspicions... she looked nothing like Lonnie. Nor Jonathan or Will, for what's worth. And while she had the best relationship with Will — being protective and supporting him, playing d&d and always acting the part of the monster to be defeated in the Byers' Fort, into the wood, playing knights with her brother — she always fought with Jonathan. And they fought hard. He accused her of not wanting to be part of their life, calling Jim a father while he never was for any of them (still, not knowing the whole truth), she accused him of being envy, and too proud to accept help anytime Jim offered. Jim and Joyce, slowly getting together and falling in love, would talk about this a lot.

She smokes her father's cigarettes, and she knows he knows but they both don't speak about it. She feels guilty every time.

Yes, she has the biggest daddy issue. She grew up twelve years in an abusive household, Lonnie being a prick and mocking her constantly: she was weak, and too small, and braid made her look like an idiot, she would be a waste of time growing up, and who would have ever wanted her? She looked stupid like her mother. These words echoes in her mind every single day, and she does her best to prove them wrong. She wants to be her father's favorite person. She wants to be smart enough, and she struggles to get good grades (not always succeding) and she shouldn't be smoking but curiosity got the best of her, and she started during her first high school year. She just wants to be like him. But he doesn't really see that... he cares and he loves her, but as most fathers in the 80s he's not that good at speaking heart to heart. Mama's the best. Ari rarely spend any time at the Byers house — and Joyce fine with it, since Rhiannon is always at school, in the library, at the Police Station, and when she doesn't want to sleep at home it's because she's sleeping at Jim's — but when she does, they spend hours talking in front of a cup of tea. Mama always has the answer.

Joyce knows deep down Rhiannon is sensitive and sweet like her brothers, just a little rough on the edges like her father. She has a temper, no doubt, and she is a little capricious since Jim spoils her way too much. But still, she is a funny sweet girl.

They drink tea together, on weekends, and they sometimes paint with Will.

She dreams of working for her dad at the Hawkins PD and, for a while, like any other girl in school, she had the hugest cruch on Steve Harrington. Put it was quickly gone and Jim was relive you didn't seem too much interested in guys.

He teaches her how to Rockabilly jive and they perform every Christmas, to the great entertainment of her brothers and Joyce. She would never admit it, but she loves to jive with her dad, she'd gladly to it every other day. Christmas is her favorite day of the year... because on that day she is sure to have her family reunited. And with time passing by, there won't be a single day they won't spend under the same roof. Her brother, her mother and her father — a real family, after all. A little broken, a little messy... but a family nonetheless.

#jopper headcanons #joyce byers headcanons #jim hopper headcanons #chief jim hopper #jim hopper #dad!hopper #mom!joyce byers #hopper!reader #stranger things headcanons #stranger things

[unfilteredgrounds]

Place

Whenever it seems like people are about to talk shit about where I live, I automatically get defensive. Because, well, duh, it's my home. I was born and raised on my farm, and once my parents die it will be my farm. Most of the time when people talk shit, they're just being classist assholes who have never taken the time to learn anything more about rural people than what they glean from Jeff Foxworthy specials and the worst of us running rampant on Facebook.

There are drawbacks with living out in the middle of nowhere. It's not like I can just have an aesthetic morning where I do a cute little jaunt to get brunch at one of numerous cafes, hit up the indie bookstore, maybe buy some flowers from a flowershop and go make pottery all in one day. I don't need to go through all that the small towns that are near where I live don't have to offer, because that's literally all other people who have migrated from small towns can ever talk about (the worst are those who do it with a sense of superiority, look, if you really love your town so much, why don't you go sell insurance there, townie-- I'm getting off track here). We do have a cute little cafe run by swedish immigrants, and SO MUCH lush forest life all around.

The plus sides to living in the middle of nowhere mean that I can go outside without my stupid brain reminding me that other people exist, and are probably looking at me. Being able to lay in the grass of whichever pasture I choose, doing whatever I want, is a godsend, and I now know that I'd be miserable without it. I love the animals on my farm, because animals are easy to understand and easy to get along with, and I love just being in the middle of nature, and the ability to pretend I know nothing of what happens outside my farm's borders (the world is on fire).

But it occurred to me, as my partner delicately mentioned the other day that "I think you could do with some time away from... that farm," that no place is simply bad on its own (I'm sure there are exceptions but I'm not here for that), it's the people that make it bad. When the words left his mouth, I immediately felt a sense of hurt, of betrayal-- he knows how much this farm means to me. But, thinking on it later, I realized he was trying not to say what really has had me in this rut. My parents. My lack of reliable social system. Of course he has no ill intent against the gravel roads, or the trees, it's that to an outsider, the people in my life, well, they look kinda shitty.

This realization is one of the reasons I don't talk about what bothers me, because I hate making other people look bad, and I hate looking like someone who only ever talks shit. Most of that is conditioning, but also because two of the most important people to me, my parents, are really bad at being that sometimes, and no kid wants to admit that. I love my parents, and I owe them a lot, so when I talk about the not-so-great things they say and do, I feel so guilty, like a traitor to some big alliance. But then things like my dad getting upset with me because I simply answered a question from mom and she (honestly idk how she managed to get pissed off at him from what I said that woman can make anything personal and insulting) got mad at him ? (he did not explain) happen, and I feel like my parents forget that I am their kid, not some hired hand to help out on the farm who's supposed to pick sides or whatever. At least with Dad, he forgets he's upset as easily as he forgets most other things.

I also felt guilty about even asking to take an extended trip. Which I shouldn't-- I don't often ask for things, and I certainly have done enough to earn it. I never complain when Mom takes me as an accessory to the trips she goes on-- I am once again dreading the trail ride this year because it will just be a lot of me sitting and being ignored while she and her friends hang out, and then get the occasional reprimand for "not being happy" enough even thought I get to come with. And yeah, I like riding, but I also like getting to talk to people who are interested in what I have to say, and every year I've asked to bring a friend, she gives me a scathing look and is like "oh so you don't want to hang out with me?" As if me sitting silently in the back while she and her friends talk about work is "hanging out."

See, if things really were as shiny and great with my parents as I present, I wouldn't have these feelings in the first place, and, as much as I hate to admit when men are right, my partner is right. I need a break from whatever the hell my family dynamic is. Even though our temps are far more bearable, and the pastures are green, mom has been texting and calling every day about rain, heaving dramatic sighs and grumbling when my answer is no. I really want to snap "Will you shut up about the damn rain already??? We're FINE. The sheep are FINE. Can you just relax and be content for fucking once?"

But whatever, it's been nice having a break from the doom hanging over the house when she's home at least, and I can go outside without wanting to die, so, plus for that. And I will have a good time away, regardless of whether other people approve of that or not.

[redrobin-detective]

Danny Phantom headcanon that Vlad had considered killing Danny Fenton long before he met him. Vald resented Jack and Maddie marrying and he especially resented them having children together. When Jasmine was born, he was not only too busy building his ill-gotten empire but also likened her enough to Maddie that he largely ignored her. Vlad, however, took an immediate dislike to Danny.

His first attempt was not long after Danny was born, late at night from within his crib in Jack and Maddie’s bedroom. Vlad hated seeing the love of his enemy and his college crush given form. Infant Death Syndrome was common for babies, little Danny with Jack’s dark hair and blue eyes would be just another statistic. Perhaps he could induce a heart attack in Jack while he was at it, kill two nuisances with one stone. Danny waking up to cry from hunger and Jack blearily getting up to feed him is all that saved him that night.

Another came years later when Danny was just starting school, his big sister dutifully walking him there and back every day. Only one day she was home sick leaving Danny forced to walk alone. Vlad, who’d been spying on the Fenton’s when he heard Maddie and her daughter had fallen ill and spied the son alone and vulnerable. While waiting at the crosswalk like Jazzy had taught him, Danny was pushed violently into the street out of nowhere. Only another kid hauling him back by the strap of his loose backpack prevented him from being runover. Sammy Manson nagged at him for his clumsiness and agreed to walk him home from school that day to make sure it didn’t happen again.

The last attempt was made when he heard the Fentons were building another ghost portal, a bigger version than the one that had ruined his life. He was furious, had they really forgotten what had happened the last time? Had they forgotten about him? He decided that he would take something from them that they wouldn’t soon forget, their 13 year old son. Vlad had planned on killing the boy painfully and violently, a home invasion gone wrong. So he waited to get Danny alone. Jack, Maddie and Jazz bustled around the house, the former caught entirely in their work and the latter alternating between complaining and fixing up the house after them. Danny, amid it all, was unable to get a word in edgewise. It struck Vlad that the preteen was being ignored within his own house. Vlad let the boy live that night, saying that his distracted parents wouldn’t be punished enough by his death. A smaller part might have twinged with shared sympathy over the quiet one overrun by Jack and Maddie’s extroverted enthusiasm. 

By the time Vlad had finally decided to act on his plans to kill Jack as revenge not only for stealing Maddie but for rebuilding the portal (which was completed and mysteriously started working a few days later), highschool freshman Danny Fenton was nothing more than a passing thought in his mind. When he confronted Danny Phantom, only to realize that his old friends had let the same accident irreparably alter their son, he could only laugh. The boy he thought was worthless, who reminded him too much of the friend he’d once adored and the woman who abandoned him, was suddenly the only one in either world who could understand his position. Vlad had smirked to himself, deciding that it was fate that kept the boy alive until their destinies could become intertwined. 

#danny phantom #idk theres something about Vlad that gets me #we know he hate jack and wanted to kill him #I could see him taking them having kids very hard and deciding that taking away one would hurt him #I don't think its unreasonable that vlad was lowkey spying on the fentons growing u #not frequently but enough that he could feasibly hurt them #Danny would've been the chosen easy target #but circumstance (also probably Clockwork grumpily pulling on threads of the various timelines) saved Danny #these might've been the big attempts #but vlad seems like the creepy stalkery guy to just spy and send so many negative vibes onto little Danny #who was guilty of nothing more than being born and looking like his dad #then ofc comes Bitter Reunions and hes like 'hahah glad i didn't kill you that time when you were 7 and I pushed you out of a tree lmao'

[hollandroos]

if you’re doing requests, “i hate the way i don’t hate you.” angst to fluff with luke hemmings please :)

Luke had a tendency to show up late.

He showed up 30 minutes late to your first date and you forgave him when he bought you a rather large bouquet of flowers. 

He showed up 45 minutes late to your twenty-third birthday party because he forgot that it was his job to grab the cake.

He was late to coffee with your parents because he got caught in a swarm of fans that he felt too guilty to leave without a few signatures and photos.

Luke was only about ten minutes late to the birth of your baby girl, who arrived exactly four weeks early. He only barely missed her little figure making her way earthside. He was just in time to see the nurse hand you a beautiful pink bundle - who melted into your arms instantly.

"She's here." Was the first thing you said when you saw your partner standing at the entrance of the hospital room.

You looked like a wreck, warm tears staining your cheeks, hair sprawled across the pillows. Your voice was hoarse and quiet after hours of demanding you wait for Luke to be here.

He was on the plane, he was nearly here. He couldn't miss his little girl being born. But alas, they couldn't wait any longer and Luke missed out by ten minutes. You went through that alone, without the love of your life by your side to comfort you.

Luke thought it couldn't get any worse than missing the birth of his baby girl and after that day, he demanded he was going to be the best partner and dad possible.

He showed up every minute of every day for a while, whether it was two am nappy changes or 1 pm trips to the supermarket to grab more nappies (and stop off at the flower shop for a beautiful fresh bouquet for his lover of course.)

But somewhere along the way, things stopped.

He stopped waking up to her cries in the middle of the night, stopped waking you up with your favourite coffee and you stopped waking up to him beside you. The other half of your bed was often cold except for the odd night you fell asleep while nursing your daughter due to the utter exhaustion of being a mother.

1 night out with the boys turned into 2, turned into 3, turned into 4, turned into nights on end without your lover by your side and slowly, you began to feel like a single mum.

This night specifically you couldn't sleep. Your daughter had kept you up, waking up at least once an hour to scream tunes that could wake an entire city. Besides, your mind was rattled with thoughts of your husband who had gone out again.

Apparently tonight they were playing poker at Calum's place. Luke had asked you to come this time but you had declined.

All of the shirts that currently fit you had milk stains down the front. The washing had not been done in weeks, your eyes were dark from a lack of sleep and you hadn't showered in days. Besides, you couldn't find a babysitter for your daughter last minute.

It's one fifteen when the front door opens and Luke clambers inside. He doesn't see you right away, hanging the keys up and taking off his coat. You can tell he's not intoxicated but he seems tired as he steps inside.

"Lukey?" You speak softly, letting him know you were still awake and sitting on the living room couch.

He jumps slightly, taking a few steps toward the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

"What're you still doing up, m'love?" He asks, voice hoarse and quiet.

"Couldn't sleep, Laya's been up every hour or so. Figured It was best just to stay up." Luke gives you a nod and sinks down an entire glass of water. "You're home late again, Lu."

"What about it? I was out with the boys."

Luke plays off his nights out as if they're nothing. You know he's just out with the boys, Luke would never cheat but it still makes your heart hurt to think that he'd rather be out with the boys instead of at home helping his wife and child.

"I'm tired." You tell him. It's just one three word statement, but to you, it said so much more. Luke, however, didn't understand that.

"So am I."

"You're not the one who's been up for a week with a baby." You tell him. Warm, well overdue tears fill your eyes. "Luke I-I have vomit and milk on all of my clothes. I've probably slept nine hours in a week. I smell so bad and my hair... my hair is all stiff and stuck together. I haven't eaten properly in so long. I need help."

Setting down his glass carefully on the kitchen bench, Luke makes his way toward you. He takes a seat on the couch, right where your head had just been and places a cold hand on your knee.

"Ash asked about you tonight, you know?" Luke tells you softly. "He asked why I wasn't home with you and Laya and I-I didn't know what to tell him. He looked so ashamed of me."

"Why weren't you, Lu? Am I really that bad that you can't stand to be near me?" Your voice breaks, sniffles interrupt your question.

Luke looks broken - more so than you and the blonde struggles to meet your gaze.

"I missed her birth, sweets. I missed my own daughter's birth because I thought it would be okay to add a few extra shows to the tour instead of being at home with my very pregnant wife."

You sigh, letting out a choked sob. It all begins to fall into place. Lukes's distance was because he felt guilty he didn't make it in time. While you hadn't held it against him, he held it against himself. It was eating him up inside and out.

"So this is what it's all about? You feel guilty?" You pull the blonde into your chest, pressing a long-awaited kiss against his forehead. "Hun."

"I missed one of the most important moments of my life, Y/N. And when I look at her I just feel so... so guilty that I wasn't there for you, or for her."

"But you're here now, Lu. You have the rest of your life to make up for it - not make It worse. Laya won't remember you not being there for her birth but she will slowly start to remember her dad not being there while she grew up."

Luke knows you're right. So much so that it makes a small smile make its way onto his lips. He hadn't been the best dad or partner the last few weeks - but he had so much time to change things.

Your husband pulls you into his chest, despite the stains adorning your shirt and the fact that you desperately needed a shower. His heart still fills with love.

"I hate the way that I don't hate you." You murmur into his chest. "I should, you know?" The statement is entirely a joke but Luke knows there's some truth behind it.

"I know, m'love."

There's a faint cry from the other room and you sigh, gently nudging the boy off of you so that you can get up and see to her. Luke simply gets up first, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead.

"I'll see to her. You shower, take your time. I'll get the washing on and if you're still awake I'll sort out a snack."

#luke hemmings #luke hemmings x reader #luke hemmings x reader insert #luke hemmings fanfic #luke hemmings fanfiction #luke hemmings blurb #luke hemmings blurbs #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings imagines #5sos #5 seconds of summer

[rowyn-writes]

A Mother's Love (Dean x Wife!Reader)

Warnings: Language, fluff, major angst, implications of divorce, arguing, Dean being mean to Jack

Pairings: Dean x Wife!Reader

Characters: Dean, Jack, Sam, Reader, Cas (mentioned only)

Word count: 2.7k

You threw your bag down as you entered the bunker, exhausted from your last hunt. This was one of the rare cases where you worked alone.

Sometimes you needed the time to yourself, away from all the men. Sometimes you would go hunting with Jody and Claire, but even then, those two argued like cats and dogs.

"Y/N," Jack smiled as you entered the kitchen. "How was the hunt?"

"It was pretty good, actually." You grinned as you sat across from him. "I was chasing down this werewolf in Tennessee, and it was really strange. He'd kill one person, turn the next, and repeat that cycle."

"That's. . . Weird." He furrowed his eyebrows.

"That's what I said. Well," You continued on with the story of your hunt, watching as Jack's eyes widened in amazement and awe.

"Y/N?" Dean called your name, entering the kitchen. "Hey, sweetheart. I didn't know you were home?"

You stood up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Sorry, babe. I got sidetracked. I was just telling Jack about my trip." You smiled, looking over at the boy. You were concerned, as the smile fell from his face and he looked away from you and Dean. "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah," He nodded, not meeting your eye. "I'll give you two some space." He mumbled as he walked out of the kitchen.

"Does he seem off to you?" You asked Dean.

"Nah, he acts like he usually does. Squirrelly and weird."

"Says the squirrel himself." You rolled your eyes. "Did something happen while I was gone?"

Dean said nothing as he looked down, an obvious indicator that he was guilty of something. "Dean," You growled lowly. "Did you say something to Jack? Something that would upset him somehow?"

When Dean didn't give you an answer, you shook your head as you follow Jack to his room.

"Jack." You called out. He seemed to be lost in thought, as he didn't react to your words. "Jack!" You said louder, causing him to turn around. There was a tiny amount of fear in his eyes. If you didn't know him, it wouldn't have affected you.

"What's wrong?" You asked softly, resting your hand on his shoulder.

"Nothing." He spoke. "Why would anything be wrong?"

"Jack, I saw how you reacted when Dean came in. You looked like a kicked puppy. Don't tell me it's nothing, kiddo."

In the time you had known Jack, you had grown to care for him deeply. You had always wanted kids, but in this life, it wasn't possible. Well, it was, but you knew you didn't want your children to do what you do. So when Jack was born, you felt extremely happy because it felt like you finally had a child. Albeit, he did look twenty.

"Dean doesn't like me very much." He admitted.

"I'm sure that's not true. . ." You argued weakly. In all honesty, you didn't think Dean liked Jack either. It's not like he was abusive, but he did treat him differently than everyone else.

"But it is, Y/N."

"How do you know, Jack? With Dean, it takes him time to warm up to people. It took him months to actually trust me. He's a cautious person."

"Did he threaten you too?" Jack asked, genuinely curious. His head was tilted to the side, his honey blonde hair falling into his eyes. He had gotten that head tilt from Cas.

"Dean. . . Threatened you?" You whispered hoarsely.

"Yes," He nodded. "He told me if I hurt you or Sam, or anyone, that he would be the one to hunt me down and kill me."

Your mouth popped open in horror. You could never imagine your sweet, loveable, goofy Dean threatening Jack. "What else did he say, Jack? Did he say anything prior to this?"

"He said that he doesn't think that I can be saved. He said that even though you and Sam think that I can, that he doesn't."

"Jack, you don't need to be saved. There is no saving to do. You are a good kid. You would never do anything to intentionally hurt anyone. I'm so sorry. I should have been there." You sigh.

"He's not wrong, Y/N. I can't be saved. What if I turn out like my father, my real father."

You frowned as you cupped his face in your hands. "Jack, you are nothing, and I mean nothing, like Lucifer. You are just like your mother. You are sweet, caring, and you are empathetic. Just like Kelly."

"You really believe that?" He whispered, tears forming in his eyes.

"No, I don't believe it, Jack. I know it. You are nothing like Lucifer. If anything, you are much more like Castiel."

"Really?" He smiled.

"Yeah," You nodded. "You see, I don't know if you know this, but Cas does this little thing where he tilts his head to the side if he doesn't understand something or if he's perplexed. And I noticed that you do the same thing." Jack's smile widened as you removed your hands from his face. "And neither of you have any knowledge of pop culture. Even though Cas was here for a lot longer than you, he never understood a single reference any of us made. Even if it was something like Scooby Doo." You giggled, feeling your throat tightening at the thought of your dead friend. "And you two state the obvious a lot. Not in a bad way, more in a comedic way. It lightens the mood nearly every time. Cas would rarely smile. When I asked him why, he would say that the world was going to hell and he didn't have anything to smile about. But when he did smile, it would make everyone else smile with him. The same goes for you. Just seeing that little toothy grin of yours makes me smile. I mean hell, you two even look a lot alike."

"Could you tell me more about him?" Jack asked.

"Of course, but I have something to take care of first. Then you and I will cuddle up and watch a movie and I'll tell you everything you want to know about Cas, okay?"

"Yeah, I'd like that." He spoke. "Before you go, could I ask you something?" You nodded. "If I were to have a mother figure, and I called her mom, do you think my mother would be upset?"

"No, sweetheart, I don't think she would be upset. I think that she would be happy that there's someone down here taking care of you and you feel comfortable enough to call them mom." You said, completely oblivious as to what Jack was suggesting.

"Then. . . Could I call you mom?"

You felt the air leave your lungs as his words hit you like a truck. Jack watched as tears welled up in your eyes. Jack was horrified; he had never meant to make you cry. "Yo-you want to call me m-mom?" You stammer.

"If you're not comfortable with it I understand. I'm sorry, Y/N, I-"

You cut him off with a tight embrace. "Of course you can call me mom." You whisper, squeezing the boy tightly.

"Why are you crying?" He questioned.

"These are happy tears, Jack. I'm not upset. It's just. . . I never thought that I would have children, but then you came along, and you gave me what I wanted. You gave me a chance to be a mother."

"Thank you for being here for me, mom."

You gave Jack a huge smile as you pulled away. "Okay," You said, putting a hand on his arm. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to deal with my ass of a husband."

---

"Dean Winchester," You boomed, roaming around the bunker in search for your husband.

"Ooooh, you're in trouble." You hear Sam snicker.

"But I didn't do anything. Wait, what day is it?" Dean asked frantically.

"April ninth." Sam quipped.

"Okay, no birthday, no anniversary, so there's that."

You entered The Dean Cave, as Dean called it, seeing red. "What the hell, Winchester." You growled. "Sam, out. Now."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Sam said, grabbing his bowl of popcorn and walking out of the room.

"Yes, darling, sweetheart, love of my life. What can I do for you?" Dean spoke sweetly, giving you those stupid, green doe eyes.

"Jack told me." You said simply. "He told me what you said to him. That if it comes down to killing him, that you would be the one to do it. That there was no saving him."

"Y/N, you have to understand where I'm coming from." He tried to reason with you. "You should have seen him. He was stabbing himself with a knife! And it closed up like it was nothing! It's not  normal. He's not normal."

"And?! None of us are normal, Dean. We've all died and came back to life. Sam didn't have a soul, he was hooked on demon blood, yet you were still there for him. You still believed in him. You died and became a demon, you bore the Mark of Cain and had a thing for God's friggin sister! And I still loved you through it. I have been brainwashed and manipulated into hurting all of you, and you still forgave me! Cas betrayed us, and we were still there for him. None of us are fucking normal! So what the hell, Dean? You're holding a grudge against Jack just because of who his dad is?"

"His father is Lucifer, Y/N!"

"Well that's stating the goddamn obvious!" You yelled.

"He could turn on us at any moment! We don't know this kid. We don't know what he can do."

"So we learn, Dean! We should help him figure out his way. Guide him in the right direction. Show him what a true, loving family looks like!"

"We are not his family, Y/N! And he's not our family. He never will be." Dean argued.

You flinched back, glaring at Dean. "How dare you! You son of a bitch! Whether you believe it or not, Jack is family. To me and to Sam. We care about him and love him!"

"He doesn't even know what love means!"

"Yes, he does! Because he feels things, Dean. He cares. He cares about all of us, including you. You know, he asked me if he could call me mom today. Did you know that? He trusts me and cares for me so much that he sees me as a mother figure."

"He's got you brainwashed, Y/N! Can't you see that?!"

"If he looked like his actual age, would you be acting like this?"

"What kind of question is that." He scoffed.

"If Jack looked four months old instead of twenty, would you still be treating him like this?" You asked steadily. Dean remained silent. "See! He is four months old, no matter how old he looks, he's still a baby."

"So, what, you want me to change his diaper or some shit?"

"No! I want you to treat him like a human being!" You yelled.

"But he's not human!"

You and Dean stood your ground, neither of you letting up. "Fine. I'm leaving then. And I'm taking Jack with me."

"No, you're not."

"Fucking watch me, Dean. I can't even look at you right now. Because you are not the man I married. That man was compassionate and caring. This one isn't. And until he comes back, I'm staying away." You cried.

Before Dean could get another word out, you left the den. You noticed that Sam was standing in the hallway, giving you a saddened look. "You're really leaving?"

"I'm sorry, Sam." You sobbed. "But I can't be around him right now. And I don't think Jack should be either. We're going to my parents house for a while. And until he gets his shit together, I'm not coming back.

"I know. I don't understand why Dean is acting like this." He mumbled.

"I don't either. It's so unlike him." You agreed.

"So what are you going to tell Jack?"

"Just that we're going to take a little road trip and visit my parents. I don't know, Sam, this whole thing is so strange to me. But I know have to go."

Sam frowned as he pulled you into a hug. "I'm really going to miss you. But you do what you need to do. And if you ever need anything, you call me, okay? I don't care what time of day it is, call me."

"I will." You squeeze Sam tightly. "Thank you for being an amazing brother and best friend." You pulled away, teary eyed as you parted from your brother in law. "I hope to be back soon."

You softly knocked on Jack's door before entering. "Hey, Jack." You smiled.

"Mom!" He said excitedly. "Are we going to watch movies now?"

"Actually, there's been a change of plans. Me and you are going on a road trip to visit my parents."

"Really? Are Sam and Dean coming with us?"

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. "No, actually. This is a trip just for us. Sam and Dean wanted to stay here just in case they find a case or something that can get Mary back from apocalypse world. So I'm going to help you pack and then we can get on the road."

---

You had sent Jack to your car, having him put everything in the trunk while you finished up things in the bunker. The last thing you grabbed was a machete that belonged to your father before he gave it to you.

"Don't go." A voice whispered. You turned to see Dean, who looked like he had been crying. "Please don't leave."

You swallowed hard, feeling tears rush to your eyes once more. "Will you accept Jack as family?"

"Y/N-" Dean said, exasperated. "He can stayed here but he's not family."

"That's not good enough, Dean. Because I know how you act around people you don't trust."

"You can't force me to trust him." Dean scoffed.

"That's not what I want. I want you to get to know him. I want you to try."

"Y/N. . . I just. . . I can't."

"I think. . . I think we need time apart." You mumbled.

"Y/N, please –"

"Only for a little bit." You assured him. "They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, after all." You gave him a sad smile, trying to control your tears.

You turned to leave before Dean's voice stopped you. "If you leave, then we're over. That's it. Don't bother coming home."

You sighed as you looked back at Dean. You cupped his face in your hands and gave him a slow, sensual kiss. You could feel salty tears on your lips as you memorized how Dean's mouth felt against yours. It was warm and soft. You could taste the remnants whiskey on his breath.

You pulled away slightly, resting your forehead on Dean's. You felt tears streaming down your face as you looked the man you had grown to love over the past ten years. You had been through hell and back, literally. You had lost each other, fell out of love and back in love.

"This isn't goodbye, Dean." You whimpered. "I swear it isn't. I love you with every part of my soul. I'm not choosing Jack over you, okay? I just need time. I need you to wait for me."

"That's all I've ever done, Y/N." Dean shook his head. "I waited on you when you were in relationships, when you were heartbroken, when your sister died, I waited on you to love me back. I'm tired of waiting. I will always love you, and you'll always be with me. You've changed me, and I'm so thankful for it. You've made me a better man. But I can't. . . I can't keep doing this, Y/N." He whispered as he slipped off his wedding band. "This is goodbye." He set the ring in your hand, curling your fingers around it. "Goodbye, sweetheart." He gave you one final kiss. But this one was rough and full of passion. It really was goodbye.

"Dean, please." You cried. He pressed a swift kiss to the crown of your head before leaving you standing alone in the library. Sobs racked through your body as you clutched Dean's ring to your chest. "Please come back." You whispered.

You wiped your face of tears and stuck Dean's ring in your pocket. There would be time for tears later. Right now you just needed to get out of the bunker. As you looked around the library, you realized you had never felt this alone.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x wife!reader #supernatural #supernatural fluff #supernatural angst #jack kline #sam winchester #castiel #season 12 #dean winchester angst

[iguessweallcrazyithinktho]

Daddy play 'poster - dad corpse husband

Summary: your 3 year old daughter Sofia is such a daddy's girl, so much that she needs to be around corpse when he's streaming.

genre: fluff

Warning: none

Pairing: dad! Corpse husband

Word count: 1k

Author note: e/c= eye color

Blog appropriate for all ages

Please don't post any of my content anywhere else without my permission.

Comment and reblogs welcome

----

It was never corpse intention to have kids, he liked them but didn't want them when he hit his 20s. He didn't want what happened to him to happen to his kids so he thought maybe not having any would be smart. but the day his little sofia was born all that changed.

She was the light of his life (as long with you). Her cute little smile, and her similar curls, and her unnecessary sass made him so happy more than words could even describe. He started to understand that she was the key to his happiness, the one he's been craving, and he wasn't going to let any of the time he had with her to go to waste.

---

Today corpse was going to be streaming with the gang. You already had a day plan with Sofia; watching a movie with her and make some cookies and when all that was over it would be her bedtime.

"hello everyone. I finally have some time to play." He said adjusting himself in his chair and clearing his throat. "How has Sofia and y/n been?" Rae asked.

Corpse smiled at the mention of both of you. Even though you and isabella were from the most part, away from the spotlight, everyone still knew corpse had a little family who he was very proud of.

"they're good. They're having fun without me right now." He mumbled.

"We'll have a quick few games so you can be back to being an amazing Dad." Karl said.

Corpse chuckled, "alright, I like that sound of that."

The lobby started a everyone started playing.

----

You and Sofia were in the kitchen making a bunch of cookies. They were all done and it was time to take them out of the oven.

Sofia jumped up and as she watched you pulled the hot tray out of the oven. She was excited about the cookies. "They all done mommy! Yay!"

You chuckled as you placed them on the counter, "I know bubba. Are you excited."

Sofia nodded, her curls bouncing. "Okay, we have to let them cool off and then we can eat them."

Sofia nodded again, "Otay." She walked back into the kitchen and took a seat on the floor with you rummaged through the cabinet in the kitchen.

It started to drawn on Sofia that she hasn't seen her daddy in a few minutes. The 3 year old decided it was time to pay him a little visit.

She looked back at you to see if you were looking. We she noticed you weren't, she made her way down the hallway to corpse's gaming room.

Corpse was very engrossed in the game that he didn't hear the door open. "Guys, I'm not the imposter." He said out.

Sofia walked up to the table, her eyes glued to the screen. "No 'poster." Sofia repeated in her very soft voice compared to her daddy's.

Corpse looked beside him to see Sofia little figure. She was looking at the screen trying to figure out what was going on. He wasn't expecting her.

"oh my gosh, is that Sofia?" Rae squealed out. Corpse chuckled, "yes it is." He pushed his chair out and picked the toddler up, placing her on his lap. "Where's mommy sof?"

Sofia turned around to her daddy, her big e/c filled with happiness. "In kitchen."

She turned back to the computer. Everyone was going crazy in the chat. Corpse smiled to himself as he looked at it.

"I play?" Sofia ask trying to type keys on the keyboard. Corpse quickly pulled her hands away before she type something she wasn't supposed to press.

"this game is very hard okay, it's not for you sof." Sofia turned to him frowning, "that's no fair." She crossed her arms, a little frown upon her face.

Everyone awed And laughed again at the sassy girl.

Corpse sighed and tried to get back into the game.

You were finally done I'm messing with things in the kitchen. You looked up expecting to see Sofia but instead you were left with nothing. You frowned, starting to freak out because it was only one place she will be in – corpse room.

You cursed yourself as you walked down the hallway to corpse's gaming room. The door was slightly open and Sofia's little rambling indicate it she was there.

You push the door open letting yourself in seeing her thing on corpse lap. Corpse turn to You, a shy smile on his face. You felt guilty.

Sofia turned around as well in gasped. "Mommy!" She waved, smiling at you. Corpse mutted his mic before turning to you.

"I'm sorry honey." You said walking up to the desk. Corpse was quick to wave it off, "it's okay. They love her anyways."

Sofia chimed in, "daddy, play 'poster." she said enthusiastically. You chuckled. "He does?"

You picked her up off of his lap, placing her on your hip. "Let's let daddy play 'poster and we go eat cookies, okay?"

Sofia nodded, "oh, otay."

You turned back to corpse. "say bye to daddy." You waved good bye to corpse and so did Sofia.

Corpse laughed as he watched you walk away. He turned his microphone back on catching the last part of Sofia. "I love you daddy!!!"

"I love you too Sofia."

--

I hope you liked it. I just wrote this fast

@captainamerica-is-bae

#corpse husband x reader #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband #corpse husband x you #dad! corpse husband

[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!”

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#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!