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supercutszns · 4 months

Note

Luke x reader where a girl, daughter of Aphrodite, flirts with him and insults the reader, causing her to avoid Luke, but later he manages to find her and confesses that he actually likes them... I don't know if they should already be together or not, but I believe in you!!! you write very well :ooo

Sorry if the idea is bad or you wouldn't want to write something like that, if that's the case please pretend you never read this 🤡🤡🫶

true colours; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 3.6k, luke castellan x child of iris! reader

synopsis: everyone wants luke castellan, including you. curse your mother for getting your hopes up.

warnings: friends to lovers, reader is very insecure, bullying, lee fletcher & will solace cameo!! some angst with a fluffy ending

notes: thank you for the request!! as always this is longer than i anticipated but hope you like it :) i also combined it with another request for a child of iris reader (i also identify as a child of iris sometimes so i lovee writing for them) also i’m pretty sure lee + a lot of parts of this are ooc sorry but i havent read the books in about a year so hopefully everything’s fairly accurate!🌈

You knew this summer would be different because your mother sent her wishes twice as much. On the first day of July, when children flood into Camp Half-Blood like a hive of wild bees, a rainbow always lights up the sky.

This year, there were two.

As a child of Iris you’re technically supposed to be in the Hermes cabin. But your love for art, for music, for fun, has made you a particular favourite of the Apollo cabin. Most of your friends are there. They tolerate you singing in your soft, often unsure voice. They love when you catch sunlight and filter it into prisms of colour on their cabin walls.

You’d probably move in there permanently if it weren’t for Hermes. Or rather, his son.

Over the last few months, in the sticky summer heat, your mother knew you would fall in love.

It's not any surprise you love Luke. Everyone loves Luke. A fact that's becoming more obvious every passing day.

It used to bother you less. You’ve always been his meagre, hopeless friend, never any real competition to these girls. You’d basically taken yourself out of the running and instead decided to pine after him in the very back of your mind. A safe, deluded fantasy that would never happen.

Until recently, where it seems less like a fantasy and more like a terrifying possibility.

Over the past few weeks Luke has gone out of his way to be sweet to you. Or at least you think so. He’s spent extra time talking to you at lunch, laughing at your half-formed jokes almost in earnest. At bonfires he saves you a seat, grabs you a marshmallow on occasion. You even made him a friendship bracelet of sorts—admittedly a little ugly—but he’s never taken it off. Not since the day you gave it to him.

Not to mention helping you last week before the archery competition. His hands lingering over yours as he steadied your bow, the curls of his breath on the back of your neck when he stood behind you.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, a tinge of mirth in his voice. “You just steady your aim and first is as good as yours.”

(You came in fifteenth.)

You don’t want to say that it’s him weakening your aim, making your pulse beat out of your neck. His nose brushes against the back of your jaw as he leans forward and you smell the pine on his skin. Is this friendly? Is he this close on purpose? Are you delusional?

It’s all you’ve been thinking about these past few days. So when Luke Castellan’s endless admirers come to the forefront of your mind, you feel like all those moments of potential buildup have been ripped away.

“You alright there, sunshine?”

He takes you out of your spiral with a teasing lilt you love. When you look at him, his face is a shimmering warmth, complete with boyish smile.

“Yep,” you reply, trying to ignore the nickname making your insides flutter even though you know he’s saying it ironically.

You’ve always had a gift for identifying colour. It’s the thing you pay attention to most. Something inherited from your mother, you suppose. So you’ve memorized the way Luke’s eyes melt in the sunlight. How his scar blends with his pinking cheeks when it’s hot outside. You never told him, and you probably never will, but you’ve painted him from memory quite a few times in the Apollo cabin—always with the excuse that you were practicing. It's so blatantly obvious you're in love with him there's no point in your friends bringing it up.

The two of you are meandering around camp before dinner, a tradition Luke started early on in the summer. You talk about high points of your day (mostly you) or share nuggets of gossip you’ve heard around camp (mostly him). It's the thing you looked forward to every morning. A time when his words are just for you.

Idle chatter flows as you keep walking. Sometimes your arm brushes his and you have the embarrassing urge to tug yours away. You do your best not to stare at him too long or laugh too loud at his jokes.

“Hey, Castellan!” Someone calls.

Luke’s head turns. Your heart plummets. A beautiful girl, Aphrodite cabin, you think, is heading towards you. She’s all honey-spun hair and dazzling pink lips, and it’s obvious she knows it. You don’t know her name. But Luke does.

They fall into conversation the second she arrives. It’s just greetings, pleasantries, but there’s a coy smile on the girl’s face that betrays any sense of disinterest. “Heard you’re not too keen on pairing up with us for the Chariot Race next week. What gives?” Her tone is pouty and playful as she taps Luke’s shoulder. She side-eyes you, lips curling imperceptibly. “I’m sure you’ll have a better chance with us.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Dunno, just thought it was fine to switch it up.”

Just like that, you’re out of the loop again. More of her friends flock after her, and soon Luke is tangled in a whole other world. They’re all glowing with a kind of righteousness you only get when you’re popular. You know Luke has friends, tons of them. He's the leader of the cabin with the most campers. Not to mention assertive and gorgeous. His presence is so inviting it’s a challenge not to fall in love with him.

So you can’t blame this girl, the one that keeps touching his arm and giggling. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim on Luke—no one even knows you exist. As much as you want him to be yours, you know you’ll never stop someone from taking him first. It’s your fatal flaw, you think. Cowardice.

You end up sidelined completely. Watching him swathed in people more charismatic than you plants an ache deep inside you. All your wishful thinking feels sour now, a pipe dream, a bedtime story to help you sleep better. Somehow it hurts more knowing that it’s nobody’s fault but yours. These people can’t be doing this on purpose. It’s just who they are. It’s who you are—always a step behind, always daydreaming. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. Just a prism reflecting everyone around you.

Eventually, one of the boys in the group takes notice of you. He’s not nearly as captivating as Luke is—you don’t find the colours of his eyes hold as much depth. There’s also a haughtiness when he looks at you. He sneers, “What the hell do you have on your face?”

It draws the attention of others in the group. You feel like a naked sculpture in an art gallery. “Uh, what?” You stammer.

Some of them purse their lips. The girl with Luke lets a laugh slip. You’re pretty sure you look like an idiot, waiting there with your brows wrinkled in a daze. Their gazes keep flicking over to your cheek, so your hand flies up there before you can delay any more. When you press your fingers to the side of your face, they come away tacky and pink. Mortification constricts you.

Paint. It’s leftover, half-dried paint. The colour of Luke’s cheeks in the sun.

“Oh,” you say dumbly. It’s drowned by snickers. All you can do is find Luke, the only face you know, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” without sounding too hurt.

You know you failed when your voice comes out wrong and his ebony brows push together. “I thought it looked—”

He never gets to finish because the golden girl laughs a little louder, the pink tones in her face a little darker. “Oh my Gods, you’re that Iris kid that’s always singing, right?” She giggles sharply, cornflower eyes darting between her friends. There’s something in there you can’t quite pick up on, until it flushes the pupils of all her friends, and they all grin with a secret knowledge they want you to see. “You’re, like, really good!” The girl simpers, but her bottom lip pulls between her teeth to soften another laugh.

“Oh, so good!” Another friend piles on.

Their passive-aggressive chuckles start to sound like hail on a window. You shift further away from them. Dirt slides beneath your shoe, and you long to kick up more of it, displace yourself, disappear.

You don’t look at Luke. The giggly, flaxen girl has already turned back to him, and you’re sure he’s enthralled once more. You try to stir up the image of Luke’s closeness during archery practice, the lilac bruise on his knuckles when he angled your bow, but it doesn’t take. Now, it feels like you’ve dreamed it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Luke leaning down to catch a whisper from the Aphrodite girl’s ear. The boy that first commented on your cheek leans closer to you again. He’s suffocatingly smug when he grins, “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you go … wash that off? You don’t want to look like that at dinner.” He snorts. “For an Iris kid, you really aren’t good at taking a message.”

If you were a more confident person, maybe you’d point out how that didn’t really make sense, or how stupid it sounded coming out of his mouth. But the sentiment of it wounds you, and you’re weak enough as is.

"Guess you're right," you mumble. You wipe your face of paint as you leave. The memory of Luke’s skin stains you until you wash your hands off in the sink.

You haven’t talked to him since.

It’s been a few days of you avoiding him, and it’s hard to explain to anyone why you’ve been doing it. How do you tell the truth? Luke Castellan is a work of art and you are … a weird doodle, or something. Despite your adoration, you know there’s no reason he should feel the same for you. Everyone loves him for a reason. Everyone must ignore you for one, too.

“Why haven’t you been talking to Luke?”

The question breaks your concentrated silence in the Apollo cabin. You’ve been sitting here for a while now, humming to yourself over a mostly blank canvas. The cabin is dusted with a lilac haze, thanks to your manipulation of the light streaming through the windows. Helps you feel less like you’re at camp and more like you’re in a fairytale.

“Helloooo, lady, I asked you a question.”

You begrudgingly look up. Lee Fletcher, head of the Apollo cabin, is at the mouth of the cabin, gazing at all your supplies strewn about the floor like they’re a bunch of unsavoury substances. “It looks like a hurricane came in here. Now why aren’t you talking to Luke?”

“How do you know I’m not talking to him?” You mutter as Lee sits beside you.

“Uh, because you’ve been sleeping here multiple nights in a row and you never do that. And you don’t sit with him at dinner. And whenever we see him you drag me in the other direction—”

“Lee!”

“I’m just saying, you should probably talk about it. My beautiful voice can heal wounds, yes, but not of the heart.” He splays a hand across his chest in mock theatrics.

You don’t say anything. The familiar weight of the brush against your fingertips is far more comforting than trying to talk, so you busy yourself with your canvas again. “He waits for you, you know,” Lee continues, quieter. “In the morning. And before dinner. He always asks if you’re here.”

“Oh,” you say, and your wavering voice betrays your expression. But you think of everyone else at camp, their gleaming smiles and their celebrated parents, their own cabins and friends and dreams, how you don’t seem to have any of those. You think of the girl whispering in Luke’s ear. All her shades of beauty. You know it’s wrong to compare yourself, to be jealous. You’re just … sad.

The cabin darkens from a lilac to an imperceptibly gloomier shade. A blue sort of longing gets caught in your throat, blurring the colours on your canvas. But you keep your brush steady, focused on the scratch of its bristles so you don’t have to hear what you say next.

“I think I love him, Lee.” And then, “But I don’t think he loves me.”

There’s no sound except the scraping of your brush when it’s run out of paint, and a sniffle when a tear rolls down your cheek.

“Oh,” Lee fills the silence the way you did just moments before. Then he says your name, laced with pity, and hugs you on the floor of his lavender cabin.

“You want to help me lead the bonfire song tonight?” He asks after a minute. “Or at least … come to the bonfire song?”

“No to the first, yes to the second.”

You wish you said no to both.

The spot you choose after dinner is right next to the fire so you can distract yourself with the golden flecks of flame. Fire is so fluid, so complex, from a colour perspective. But no matter how close you get, the searing warmth can’t hide Luke’s gaze peering over the embers.

He will not. Stop. Looking at you.

The singing from the Apollo kids usually soothes you but tonight it’s just making you anxious. All this attention so close to you. Will Solace has been sitting next to you this whole time, your unofficial assigned companion for the night thanks to Lee. One of his siblings beckons him over, and he shoots you an apologetic look, hesitating. "Just go," you wave off kindly. "It's all good." He's not entirely convinced, and you aren't either, but he squeezes your shoulder with thanks and leaves you anyway.

Now you’re acutely aware the space next to you is wide open. And so is Luke, it seems. There’s an awkward moment where your gazes slide over each other and he weaves out of his current crowd towards you. So you do the most mature, sound thing you could possibly do in this situation:

You say you have to go to the bathroom to no one in particular and get out of there.

It’s dark, but you’ve got sharper eyes than most. Soon the noise of the campfire is behind you. You traipse through the camp towards the bathroom,but you don’t get far before you hear something that makes your stomach drop in the worst and best way.

Luke, calling your name.

At first you think you can get away with not hearing him. Then he calls a second, a third, a fourth time, punctuated with, “Come on, I know you can hear me, can you just turn around?”

He’s got longer legs than you so the next time he speaks it’s practically in your ear. “Hey, just look at me. Please. I want to talk to you.”

There’s something so tender in his voice that it makes you cave immediately. But you already feel so fragile, you can feel the tears behind your eyes. You know you won’t have the strength to talk to him.

His hand curls gently around your wrist and it sends warmth all the way up your arm. He says your name again, softer, and you love the way it sounds. You can’t meet his eyes, but you already know what he looks like. Even in the dark you picture him crystal clear.

“Look at me,” he repeats. “I just—I need to know what I did wrong.”

His dark eyes are full and apprehensive when you heed him. You notice how much you’ve missed studying his face—the slight bunch of his brows, the tensing in his jaw. And you almost delude yourself that he’s missed you just as much, the way he squeezes your wrist and rakes over your expression.

“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks.

“I’m not—”

“You are. I know you. Just tell me why.”

He looks so sweet, so earnest, and it kills you. You think of the way he looked when all his friends made fun of you. It all comes up before you can help it.

“Do you always let me walk around looking like an idiot?” You ask bitingly, staring at the floor. “The thing, with the paint on my cheek—why didn’t you tell me? I looked so stupid and all your friends just laughed at me!”

His face falls. “I tried to tell you, I thought—”

“It’s okay to say you don’t like me, or that you’re embarrassed, or whatever, but I …” You swallow, tears thick on your lower lashes. “Everyone makes fun of me. I don’t know why you don’t.”

“Because I do like you,” he states, hand moving up to your forearm.

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re so much … better, you know you are, and I don’t want your pity, or your spare time. I just—I made something up in my head that wasn’t there and I only noticed it the other day after you talked to that girl and that guy made fun of me and I’m really, really sorry—”

“It looked cute. I was trying to say I didn’t tell you about the paint because I thought it was cute.”

There’s a lull.

“What?” You blink stupidly.

“I know I should’ve told you about it, but I swear I was going to before dinner, I didn’t think we’d run into anyone before then.” His cheeks tinge red. “I had this whole dumb thing planned out where I’d wipe it off your cheek and tell you how cute it was once you got embarassed. I was waiting to tell you. I was thinking about it the whole time.”

His hand on your arm is a frighteningly grounding thing. You're dumbstruck by that alone. Your lips part, but all that comes out is, “Why?”

A gentle laugh tumbles out of his throat. “Why do you think?”

His other hand comes up to brush your cheekbone, where the paint had been, and you can imagine him doing it to you on that day. How you'd probably react just the way he said you would, the way you are now. A warm orange glow blooming in your chest. “But the girl—”

“She tried whispering to me how much she liked my bracelet,” he smiles fondly. “Told her you made it for me. It shut her up. I don’t know what that guy said to you but I chewed ‘em all out the second you left. They knew I wasn’t happy. I tried looking for you but you were gone. I don't like them, you know."

You don’t know what to say. It’s too difficult, too uncertain for you to jump the gun on this. So you just stare at all the shifting colours on his face as he moves closer to you. All this time going over his every detail, and there's still more to be enthralled by.

“I found the paintings,” he says, voice so close you can feel it brushing your skin. “The ones of me. I was looking for you in the Apollo cabin a week ago and you left one out. I knew it was yours because ... I mean, there’s no one in the world that can make me look that … beautiful.”

The last word is apprehensive but it’s spoken with an unimaginable tenderness. He looks a little teary himself. You think you’re dreaming. “I knew I had to tell you after that. I’ve been trying to tell you. But you started pulling away from me so I thought I was making it all up.”

“Tell me what?” It’s a ghost of a question between you, an impossible thing, but the hand on your arm slips around to your back and he presses it there with such certainty.

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” He cocks his head, but you nod. “I’m in love with you, I think.”

The words cascade over you in ribbons of warmth. Your brain feels fuzzy, seperate from the rest of your body. Your mouth opens multiple times but you can’t seem to control what comes out. “Luke, are you joking?”

“Not even a little.”

“But you’ve got so many other—”

“I want you.”

“I am literally the most incompetent person alive; I can’t sing, I can’t talk to people, I have a weird knee—”

"Your knee is fine!"

"I'm just saying, this makes no sense from an outsider perspective, it's—"

“Okay, clearly the telling thing isn’t working so I guess I’m just gonna have to kiss you.”

It happens so quickly you don’t have any time to think (probably for the better). You let out a surprised “oh” before his mouth silences you, stopping every other thought. He’s gentle, thumb still rubbing your cheekbone, other hand still firm at your waist. You want to panic—where should you put your hands? How do you know you’re doing this right? But he steadies you, the way he always does, and you give in.

He starts to smile against your lips. You’re almost positive the intensity of your heartbeat could summon a storm. When he pulls away, he kisses the corners of your mouth and you think you’re going to evaporate. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” you whisper.

“You’re perfect.” He grins a little when your hands tentatively tug at a curl on the nape of his neck. “And none of that stuff you say is true. I mean, you’re definitely a better singer than me.”

Leaning close to your ear, he warbles out a song you know but gets the words horribly wrong anyways. You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

He hums and chuckles with you. You swear the moon gets brighter when he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss the side of your face. “Next time you paint me, I want to be there when you do it.”

You blush harder than you ever have in your life. “Only if you try painting me,” you say quietly.

“Of course. You’re very pretty, so I’m sure my horrible artistic skills won’t even make you look bad.”

Luke lets you press your face into the crook of his neck. You soak it up for all it’s worth.

In the morning, you wake up in the same position. Your nose tucked against his collarbone, the shade of pink you love freckled across his cheeks. You can't wait to paint him again.

When you look out the window, you say a silent, grateful prayer to your mother.

She's given you two more rainbows.

#perrie’s fics #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #charlie bushnell #perrie's requests #pjo #pjo x reader #pjo fic #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fluff #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo tv show #heroes of olympus #percy jackson

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onlyswan · 5 months

Text

summary: in which leaving the past behind is not as easy as forgetting, and you want to be everything jungkook wants to know.

idol!jungkook x f!reader, est. relationship / angst, fluff / wc: 7.9k

playlist: strange by celeste / sinking by clairo / manta rays by chloe moriondo / ceilings by beabadoobee / iris (cover) by phoebe bridgers & maggie rogers

content/warnings: [deep breath] no one will know the violence it took to become this gentle / it’s their first winter as a couple / oc’s ex bf slaps oc / jk beats up the ex / blood and bruises / crying :( / mention of cheating (not in our main’s rs we don’t tolerate that in this household :]) / mention of s*x / jimin as both their older brother and friend :(

in which masterlist!

note: greeting 2024 with angst woopsie… i literally ugly sobbed writing a particular scene T_T… anwww i hope it’s a good read <3 as always reblogs and feedback are appreciated! i’d love to hear your thoughtsss 🥺

—

the word VICTORY flashes across the screen.

with a proud smirk adorning his lips, jungkook pushes down his headphones to hang around his neck.

he rises from his seat, resting his crossed arms over the partition dividing the computer that you’re renting from his.

“hi, baby. are you almost done?”

he chuckles to himself when he realizes that you didn’t hear him, not with the music blasting from your headphones. you direct your attention upwards when endless song by no reply is abruptly put on pause; the cushions of the headphones are pressed up against your cheek by your boyfriend’s doing.

“what?”

“hi, baby. are you almost done?”

“oh, yes…” your focus returns to the screen, fast fingers dancing along the keyboard without an ounce of hesitation weighing on them. “i just… need to… send the file to my email.”

jungkook blinks at the long rows of words you’re masterfully curating, thinking to himself — how the hell do you think and type that fast at the same time?

it was his suggestion to stay at a pc bang tonight so you could be together while you each do your own thing. he spent his half of his day-off playing games, and during that time, you worked on your research paper and finished an essay that isn’t even due for another week. you took a break every hour, munched on some snacks, and cheered him on while he was diligently playing. perhaps he could’ve done something more productive today, but it couldn’t have made him happier.

he holds out the last slice of gimbap in between chopsticks, lightly poking your lips, and his heart flutters when you offer him a sweet smile after welcoming the big bite with some difficulty, cheeks full and nose scrunched.

“is there anything else you want to eat?”

you shake your head, and unable to speak while chewing, you gesture for water as if you’re playing charades.

a kiss is granted to your forehead.

when he comes back with a bottled water, all your tabs have been closed and you’re wearing your white beret again, re-organizing your belongings in your backpack.

“ready to leave?” he inquires as he hands your order.

you hum as a reply, standing from your seat as you swing the backpack over your head to wear it with little to no effort.

jungkook thinks you’re so cool.

you visit the restroom as he settles the bill. when you come out, he’s already pulling out a credit card from his wallet. you decide to head straight for the door then, wait for him outside as the air inside the room has started to feel a little too stuffy after you stepped away from the computer.

you’ve always thought about it— how time stands still when you experience something traumatic, how that moment feels stretched for eternity… how utterly barbaric that is. you’re forced to memorize frames of the origin of your scars, relive it over and over again, eyes closed and open. moments of happiness, on the other hand, are fleeting. they are sand slipping through the gaps of your fingers. getting out of bed is scooping them in your hands and praying that they will hold on to you in the following rotations and revolutions of the earth. they never do.

there he stood at the bottom of the stairs, just as horrified as you.

his face is the last thing you want to see on a winter night.

because you still recall the amalgamation of emotions in his eyes two winters ago. his skin was flushed from the cold, but he turned redder with anger and your stomach coiled in shame.

“juwon?”

the name felt odd in your mouth. it’s like when you eat a food you haven’t had in a long time, and it doesn’t quite taste like you remember it.

and to be honest, you didn’t know what you expected to happen when he carried on to climb the remaining steps that led to you. but it definitely wasn’t… this.

the first hand to carress your bare body, as if it was in disbelief of its existence, and the rings you used to blindly adore— they collide with your cheek with a sound that resonates in your eardrums.

the slap thins out into a ringing noise.

“are you insane?!”

it continues to assault your hearing even as you scream and hit him back.

it ends when someone bumps against your shoulder in a haste, and the next thing you register is juwon lying on the ground with jungkook sitting on top him, balled fist throwing unforgiving punches at your ex-boyfriend’s face. juwon is held hostage by the shock and is unable to reciprocate jungkook’s aggression. he attempts to fight back but your boyfriend dodges easily.

“jungkook! stop, stop, stop!”

you run down the stairs with panic thundering in your chest, nearly in tears as you forcefully grasp at the back of jungkook’s coat to pull him away, but with his strength and the adrenaline flowing through his veins, your efforts prove to be fruitless.

“you fucking bastard! i’m gonna kill you!”

“that’s enough-” you cry out. “please!”

“how dare you lay a hand on my girlfriend like that, huh?!”

he is furious, gripping the collar of juwon’s sweater and slamming him to the ground.

“your girl?” coughing, juwon faces the side to spit out the blood in his mouth, which then shapes into an arrogant smirk. “didn’t you know? ____ was mine first. i was the first!”

the next punch he receives cuts his lower lip open, and a stronger metallic taste assaults his tongue.

“jungkook!”

before jungkook could inflinct more permanent damage, you resort to holding back his arm with both of your hands.

your gazes connect, and your heart drops to your stomach. he is seething with anger. your blood runs cold and a thick haze clouds your thinking. you can’t move your limbs. what do you do? what do you do? what do you do?

“____, let go. i’m not fucking finished with him.”

“please,” you beg, ignorant of the tears that have begun to slide down your cheeks. “that’s enough. look at him!”

“and why should i care?” he spits out as he shrugs you off.

“ah, jungkook! i said that’s enough! why won’t you listen to me?!”

your desperate tantrum falls on deaf ears. you squeeze your eyes shut when he re-assumes his stance, tucks his thumb over his folded fingers, exactly what he taught you about making a proper fist to avoid injuring one’s self when boxing.

“stop it! you’re scaring me!”

that throws a bucket of ice over jungkook’s head. the anger in his eyes is replaced by vacancy, and with that, juwon seizes the opportunity to finally strike him with a jab and escape from underneath him. jungkook finds himself pushed aside on the ground with a throbbing cheek, mostly likely to be noticeably bruised in the next hours.

“love-” you gasp, and you rush over to him but your path gets rudely obstructed by your ex.

“is this the guy you cheated on me with?”

he is extremely near that you can feel him panting on your face. two years later, your stomach coils in disgust. your glare is venomous, and if only looks could kill, if only looks could kill…

“just leave, won’t you? what’s the point of all this?” you roughly push him away with your remaining shred of energy, driven by exhaustion and frustration. “it was so long ago! get a fucking grip!”

he huffs in disbelief as he wipes the blood from the corner of his mouth. it also drips from his nose and eyebrow. strange enough, you do not feel guilt nor compassion for this man. not anymore.

“are you seriously crying just because he got punched one time…? isn’t that a little unfair? you loved me too. once.” he snickers, but he is visibly pissed off. he can no longer look at you in the eye. “shit, is he that much of a better fuck than me?”

your skin crawls. bile creeps up your throat. technically speaking, this is the consequence of your own actions, but you can’t help but to be resentful.

“you are…” your voice trembles, but your glare remains unwavering. “still as despicable and shallow as ever… and i don’t regret what i did.”

and it may have been a long time ago, but you still know how to hit him where it hurts the most— his ego.

you purposely bump against his shoulder as you make your way to jungkook, leaving him speechless as he stares at the ground. the night the two of you broke up, you were crying and begging him for forgiveness… what the fuck happened?

“let’s go home.” you demand quietly while refusing to meet jungkook’s stare— a mix of confusion, offense, and rage.

but the thing about juwon? he always needs to have the last word.

“you better keep a close eye. you might think you know ____, but whores never change. especially those who became one so young.”

“dude, how are you still speaking?!”

it’s too late when you realize that jungkook has left your side. he swings at juwon’s face with a force that sends the man stumbling backwards. he completely loses balance then collapses on the ground with a curse that almost misses your ears.

“don’t ever go near ____ again! don’t even think of it! if you show your face to me again, i might really end up fucking killing you. you hear me?!”

—

jungkook doesn’t recall a time when he felt a rage this intense and consuming. witnessing you get slapped, his vision went dark and he was shaking with fury. everything was a blur after that, but he knew one thing: this man violated the most precious person to him, and he won’t allow him to get away with that unscathed.

and that must be why he feels restless until now. neither one of you has dared to utter a word for the past couple of minutes. he can’t see your face as you’re walking ahead of him, leading the way with his wrist in your cold hand. however, he can hear your sniffles, and he can see you wiping your tears dry with the back of your hand. he thought he has experienced heartbreak, but this pain cuts deeper than anything he has ever felt.

“baby, let’s go back.”

he breaks the silence, standing infront of you to stop you on your tracks. he almost reeks of desperation as he intertwines your fingers together.

“please? there should be a cctv camera infront. we can sue him.”

“are you even hearing yourself? you’ll also get into trouble!”

his insistence only fuels the urge to cry and scream and break things. it’s an understatement to say that you’re ashamed. it was foolish of you, really, to assume that leaving the past behind would be as easy as forgetting. it may be out of sight but it is everywhere, and it sneaks up on you without tell and mercy.

“you attacked him out of nowhere! he can sue you for that too!”

“out of nowhere?” he repeats your words slowly, hurt flashing across his face. “i was protecting you, ____! who knows what else he could’ve done? and the shit he was talking about you? was i just supposed to stand there and do nothing?”

“and i’m protecting you too! why did you even have to punch him again?! he was obviously just trying to provoke you! god, i-” you release the air in your lungs you didn’t realize you’ve been holding. “thank god he didn’t see your face.”

that struck a nerve for some reason. he harshly rips off the mask that has been concealing half of his face all along.

“he hit you! look- fuck, you’re bleeding-”

oh, his rings must’ve grazed you.

jungkook brings out a clean white handkerchief from the backpocket of his pants, pressing it softly against your cheek. the sharp sting forces you to grit your teeth. it’s not only the wound… your skin is still warm and tender from the assault. you’re terrified to look at the mirror. you don’t want to feel sorry for yourself.

“and that’s what you’re really worried about right now?”

“okay, then i’m sorry for caring about my boyfriend and his career! i’m sorry, okay?!“

he dies a little inside when you harshly push his hand aside.

so this is what it feels like to be at the other end of your anger… shitty. it feels really shitty. after what happened, there is no sadness or fear. the twinkle in your eyes have been replaced with sharp daggers and it is gutwrenching to watch. it clicks for him then: you weren’t scared of him. you were scared for him.

he doesn’t allow you to go further than ten feet away. he seizes your arm before sneaking his hand on your waist to tug you closer to his body.

“you think i’m letting you out of my sight again? it��s not happening!”

you click your tongue in exasperation, left with no choice but to admit defeat as he hails the approaching taxi. you cover your face to hide from the blinding headlights.

ever the gentleman, jungkook opens the door for you.

“get in, ____.”

and the first thought that enters your mind: the air freshener is nauseating. it has to be something mixed with lemon.

you roll the window down as your boyfriend dictates the address of your destination to the taxi driver. not yours, but his. you send him an unimpressed scowl, but he only looks back at you challengingly under the warm dim light. the soft cloth is placed over your wound again, rudely snatched as you turn away from him. you hold it on your own as you watch the world outside the window, streetlamps with blurry light streaks and homes you will never set foot into. in the midst of your musing, you register the weight on your head, or its lack thereof. your beret landed on the ground in the aftermath of the first strike. what is there left to lose?

you thought you could be happy at last, but beside you is another soul you’ve stained with your bloody hands.

juwon was right, you never change.

—

“i still don’t think it’s right that i know the password.” you whisper as you push the door open.

“but i have a key to your house. what’s the difference?”

“i don’t know…” you begin removing your boots, carefully placing each one in the middle level of the shoe rack. “you live with six other people.”

“namjoon-hyung and yoongi-hyung are in their studios. the others went home.”

you enter the living room with jungkook hugging you from behind. his cheek rests on top of your shoulder, and he doesn’t want to let you go. the ride here was suffocating. he thought you wouldn’t talk to him for the rest of the night anymore.

you blink at jimin who is sprawled out on the sofa, a gray blanket that matches his sweatpants is covering his naked torso.

“why does he sleep here? doesn’t he have a bed?”

“the sofa is more comfortable.” he mumbles loud enough for you to hear as he opens his eyes halfway, but then he gives up and closes them again, curling in on himself to resume his slumber.

“okay… now i know what to get you for your birthday.”

for a brief second jungkook assumes that you’re joking, but you sounded way too nonchalant.

“a sofa?”

“a new mattress,” you blankly stare back at him, before proceeding to break free from his embrace to search for the bathroom.

he follows you like a lost puppy, whining. “why does he already have a birthday gift and i don’t?!”

“quiet!”

he winces. “sorry, hyung!”

—

you’re perched in the space between jungkook’s thighs, legs swung over one of them as he tenderly presses a cold compress against your left cheek. you’ve changed into the pair of pink cooky pajamas he wore a few times and has kept in his closet specially for you. sinking into his mattress, drowsiness has also begun to seep into the depths of your bones. it’s been an arduous week, and you’re exhausted of fighting in every sense of the word.

“he deserves more than what he got away with.” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“jungkook, enough.” you chide at him with a sigh. “let’s just forget about this.”

“your face is going to be bruised for atleast a week! how am i supposed to ‘just forget’? are you hearing yourself?”

your rhetoric question from earlier comes back to gnaw at your thread-like sanity. you feel backed into a corner. you can’t think of a solution that will put this issue at rest, much less make either one of you feel better.

“he’s not worth it.”

“you are to me.” he declares.

it’s impossible to argue with that. you want it to stay true. you want him to keep believing in you.

“i’m tired.” you whisper, removing yourself from his lap. “let’s go to sleep.”

he gazes at you with longing.

you are lying on his bed but you have never felt so far away.

“are we really not going to talk about this?”

“not now. i’m tired, jungkook.”

“baby…”

“juwon is a terrible person, but i had it coming…” you mumble. “that’s all there is to it.”

foreboding silence falls upon the bedroom. you can’t bring yourself to look at jungkook, so you close your eyes and pray that when the sun rises, this night will simply turn out to be a nightmare orchestrated by your wicked mind.

“whatever that is, it doesn’t warrant what he did.” he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead, and it takes everything in you not to fall apart into a thousand shards. “and i’m sorry that i couldn’t stop it from happening.”

—

jungkook returns after his shower, not yet done with drying his dripping hair with a towel. you’ve drifted off to sleep in the time that he was gone, lips slightly parted open as you breathe out puffs of air in a steady rhythm. your hair is a halo and you’re an angel snoozing on a cloud.

he heard it loud and clear, and you haven’t denied it either, but there’s not a part of him that believes it. is he blindly in love with you? is this what he was warning him about? are you not an angel, but a siren?

wary of waking you up, he attaches a bandaid to your cheek. he flicks the lightswitch but he turns on the night lamp so you won’t have to manuever the dark incase you wake up in the middle of the night in need of the bathroom.

shit, shit, shit. he curses in his head when you begin shuffling as soon as he settles himself on the bed, but it’s just you unknowingly seeking for warmth in your sleep. he gathers you in his arms and your pillow is abandoned in favor of his naked chest. it always feels fitting, like his heart is the stuffed toy that you can’t go without at night.

he swallows the lump in his throat, brushing your hair away from your face to gently caress your soft skin. you look so serene. but your ex’s fingers can be traced on the red bruise that has tainted your cheek and his jaw clenches, hand momentarily balling into a fist to release the leftover anger still boiling in his blood. everyday, you feel the need to act tough because of people like him, and you are… but deep down, he knows, that you just crave to be loved.

“you loved me too. once.”

however, that has lost its meaning when juwon didn’t love you the way you deserved to be loved.

and jungkook admits it’s not as easy for him to do in a whole different dimension. he leads a kind of life not everyone survives, but that never stopped him for trying his damn hardest.

—

you’re awoken in the middle of the night by jungkook’s forehead accidentally knocking against yours. his snoring doesn’t cease, however, and you had to remind yourself that this is the same boy who continued sleeping despite rolling off his inflated sleeping bag on camera.

you slowly sit up as you rub the sleep from your eyes. you spend an unknown amount of time spaced out, barely blinking. afterwards, you force yourself to leave the comfort of the bed, taking the cold compress along with you. you drain the melted ice over the kitchen sink before opening the refrigerator to refill it with ice cubes. you can’t help but to allow your eyes to wander around, which then leads you to contemplate on whether to cook ramen or not… but then again, it’s already 3am and most likely, you won’t be able to sleep again if you do.

“yah! why are doing just standing there?”

the deep voice echoes throughout the kitchen. you yelp in shock, nearly dropping the ice bag as you tap on your pounding chest.

“i told you to stop doing that!”

jimin bursts into a fit of too delighted giggles, hunched over the kitchen counter as he places a hand over his belly. he’s fully clothed this time, fresh from the shower, judging from his hair.

“it’s not funny!” you whine. “one of these days i might be holding a knife when you do that!”

“ey, what would you be holding a knife for? jungkook never lets you lift a finger while you’re here.”

that’s just because he knows you’re not very talented in the kitchen.

the wide smile on his face then fades, expression morphing into one of concern as he studies your face bathed by the refrigerator light.

“what happened to your face?”

fuck, you’ve completely forgotten about that.

“it’s a long story.” you sigh, closing the refrigerator.

“it’s alright. i have all the time in the world to listen.”

“you know that i really appreciate that and i’m grateful but…” your smile borders on a wince. “no, you don’t. get some more sleep, please.”

your unexpected response causes jimin to scratch his head shyly. the two of you stare at each other for a few seconds before laughing at the same time.

“oh, that’s right!” you pause on your tracks when an essential item pops in your mind. “do you have healing ointment? for cuts and bruises and stuff?”

“it’s for jungkook,” you add.

“doesn’t he have that?”

“it’s not here,”

your sweet smile tells jimin everything he needs to know.

“ah, that kid really comes home to different houses now. he’s all grown up.”

“…and how many exactly?” you arch an eyebrow.

he purses his lips together, jokingly pretending to think hard. “the dorm… and then his family… then there’s you?”

“anywhere else?”

“nope!”

“sooo, do you have it or not?”

“i’ll go downstairs and buy it right now.”

he offers you a kind smile and pats on the head. a protest dies down in your throat as he goes straight for the front door.

“thank you!”

“you’re welcome!”

—

despite your active efforts to avoid making any sort of noise, the door produces a small ‘click’ as you cautiously close it behind you. you discover that jungkook has flipped over to face your side, his arm outstretched as if he was reaching out for you. you almost feel bad for leaving him alone in bed, so you sit next to him, positioned on the lower half of the bed since he took up your space.

a short snore escapes him, one that rises then falls so abruptly, like a note on the piano pressed on accident. you cover your mouth to muffle your giggle.

how adorable. you have grown to tolerate, and even adore, his snoring.

stolen kisses on his bruised knuckles, tiny and featherlight, apologetic most of all. their bad condition brought upon by boxing worsened when he used his dominant hand bare, knuckles of his two longest fingers ripped. it seems that he did the bare minimum by putting a stop to the bleeding then washing them clean, then nothing else. he didn’t even tell you, didn’t complain or show any sign that he was in pain.

you hold the cold compress over his bruises, switching between his cheek and knuckles, mindful of not touching the wounds as to not aggravate him in his sleep.

you’ve been stripped down bare— your pride and dignity dismantled into pieces that create a picture of you that you do not like… but could be the love and sincerity in your heart be enough to live by? even if no one is awake to witness it?

you’re saved from drowning in your thoughts by the front door being unlocked. for the second time, you tiptoe your way out of jungkook’s bedroom.

“this is for wounds, and then…” jimin returns the tube inside the paper bag to grab the other. “this one, for bruises.”

“thank you. i’ll pay you back.”

“yah!” jimin expands his eyes threateningly, which you mimic in challenge as you hug the paper bag to your chest. “i’m also your older brother, okay? i should do these things for you.”

you scrunch your nose, to express disagreement at first, but later on it only makes your smile appear brighter.

“doesn’t it hurt you to smile? please use them well too, ____. do you understand? that’s why i bought the biggest ones!”

it does hurt.

“thank you…” you reply shyly.

you’ve forgotten how it feels like to be taken care of by family.

—

“baby, where did you go?”

jungkook’s raspy voice is music to your ears.

he woke up a mere minute ago, caught in the middle of sitting up on the bed once it caught up to his sleep-muddled brain that you’re no longer beside him.

“nowhere,”

you sit at the edge of the bed without another word, putting his hands over your lap to apply the healing cream to his afflictions.

his eyelids flutter in sleepiness as he watches your every movement.

a small dollop at the pad of your finger, transferred over his torn knuckle and smeared with the lightest of touch. occasionally your finger pauses, unsure, calculating— the last thing it wants is to hurt him.

he kisses your lips— he feels suspended in time—hasn’t quite reconnected with reality and with his body. wide-eyed, you seem taken aback by the display of affection. his mouth then softly curves with fondness.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.” you whisper timidly.

your actions have become hurried, but jungkook is far too drowsy to notice your discomfort.

for the final part, you rub the cream on the bruise on his cheek. you press a kiss on the corner of his lips. “all done. go back to sleep.”

“let’s go,”

he hooks his arm under your knees, eager to carry you over to your side of the bed, but he gets interrupted by your protest.

“wait, wait, wait- i need to pee first.”

“wha- hurry!” he complains with a peeved frown, which you fail to catch a glimpse of because he has squeezed you taut against his body. “i won’t be able to sleep without you here.”

—

eternally cursed with the ability to feel too much of everything.

you push your back against the bathroom door, breathing heavy and labored as you blindly pat around for its lock. the click serves as the cue for your salty tears to drip from the edges of your eyelashes, cascading down, down, down your chin. some of them crash on the collar of your pajama top, the rest on the white tiled floor. this room is a stranger to your shipwreck, but old habits die hard.

the intense pressure of the water collides with the porcelain sink. rain and thunder and the gusts of wind being your gasps for air. an isolated storm undetected in the city of seoul you’re forced to brave alone, on the floor, tucked into yourself to protect the beating sacredness inside your ribcage. the sobs claw their way up your throat rather than soaring like exhales do.

no one has ever raised their hand at you. not even your parents. not even when you broke your grandmother’s precious china, or lost their big paper bills to the wind, or cursed at them for embarrassing you infront of your friends.

you want to be mad and say that juwon deserved what he got. you want to say that you hope his nose is broken. but you don’t know how one is supposed to react when something like that happens. you don’t know if it justifies everything after that. if the roles were reversed and you slapped him, won’t no one bat an eye?

…and you know jungkook has questions you still haven’t figured out how to answer. you know he now has reasons to doubt you. you know in his eyes, you may now be a hypocrite and not the advocate he adored. these days, you don’t really want to be seen as anything less or more than who you are, but you so desperately wish to be someone he is proud to love.

you feel mocked for even daring to dream of it.

“i’m tired, i’m tired, i’m tired.”

incoherent mumbles further stirs the unbridled chaos.

“i’m so sick of this. why… why do bad things keep happening to me?”

you don’t expect an answer but you yearn for some sort of meaning. you don’t mind suffering but you wish it could only be to an extent where you don’t have to fear.

echoes of rumbles and thunder. you’re nearer the sky but farther from heaven.

—

it’s been more than a week. you’ve been waking up with a gaping hole in the middle of your torso. you climb out of bed, cover up your cheek with make-up, good as new, and go about your day as if nothing happened. life on its own is already too much of a burden for you.

jungkook checks up on you everyday, though, despite his busy schedule. mostly through the phone, and whenever he can, he goes straight to where you are after work to dote on you no matter the time. he kisses you on the cheek, claims himself to have healing properties, and says i love you. and during those periods of time you were together, he hasn’t said another word about the incident. and it has been driving you absolutely insane.

you glance down at him, sat on the floor with an ipad balanced on top of his propped up knees, wearing one of your anti-radiation glasses as he finds himself absorbed in drawing the view a foot away from him. you.

“why do you keep looking at me?” he scolds you lightheartedly. “go back to studying so we can go to sleep.”

“can’t help it,” you mumble as you reposition your pen over the paper. you’ve been reorganizing your notes the whole night for your upcoming tests, but your mind keeps flying everywhere else. “my boyfriend’s too pretty.”

“ah, it can’t be helped then. sorry about that.” he smirks cockily, pulling the dramatics by switching his eyes between you and his back. “should… should i turn around then?”

“did you box again?”

the accusation is spat out before you can think twice.

“oh, you did. your knuckles are all messed up again.”

he pouts, crossing his legs. “but baby, i have to train... i wrapped my hands properly!”

“still,” you sigh. “can’t you just let them heal for a little while?”

you turn to the cabinet on your other side to bring out the pouch of healing ointments you’re now suspecting he brought and didn’t accidentally leave behind.

you lay out your hand, and jungkook puts his on top of yours, dragging himself close.

you both smile when you see that he has laid his hands over your thighs like he’s getting a manicure. silly boy. you pull them closer by his fingers so you can reach his red knuckles.

“why are you trying so hard?”

your finger is stained with his blood. your voice is as gentle as your touches, and that’s why it hurts.

jungkook doesn’t know either. he’s been trying to extinguish his leftover anger and bitterness through work and boxing— suppressing the onslaught of negative thoughts threatening to poison what the two of you have. jungkook doesn’t want to know. he doesn’t want anything to change. right now, he can’t afford them to.

“there’s no one to fight.”

“turns out there is,” he argues.

he regrets it as soon as your hand trembles.

“it’s okay… to ask. we’re in a relationship. you’re entitled to know things like that.” your eyes are unafraid again, and it scares him, like you’re always prepared to let him go. “i won’t get offended, or anything like that. if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“i trust you,” he says simply. “so i don’t need to know. especially if talking about it makes you uncomfortable. it’s okay… we’re okay, baby.”

stillness washes over the room like a tide that swallows everything up, and for a moment jungkook is convinced that the two of you will never bring it up again.

but the words you utter next are a punch to the gut.

they almost sound like a plead.

“but i can’t live my life that way, jungkook.”

strands of your hair descend to your face, framing it perfectly, but your eyes become hidden from view. you rip a bandaid open and blanket it over his two knuckles, still wounded as before, if not worse.

“if you intend to be with me for a long time, then i need you to need to know…” because there will be things i’d want to tell you, but wouldn’t feel the need to.

“then tell me,” he replies, prompted by a renewed determination. “i don’t just intend to be with you for a long time. i want way more than that.”

—

jungkook fiddles with the hello kitty bandaid using his thumb, mind reeling and grappling to process the overload of information told by your storytelling voice. all of a sudden, he’s grateful that you decided to lie down on the bed for this conversation.

“juwon was your boyfriend before me, no?”

“no, no, no. he was…” your lips part as if you have something more left to say, but you eventually give up. “yup, no.”

“so you found out that he’s been cheating on you for-for two mo-”

“three-”

“three months, and you…” he blinks. “slept with a stranger and let him catch you?”

“i was really petty. i was seventeen after all… my pride couldn’t take it. my friends- they tried to stop me but… but all i could think of was how to make him feel the way i was feeling.” your voice sounds small, smaller as you squeeze yourself into his side and curl up to hide your face. “so i let him think i was the bad guy.”

he understands that you were vengeful, but he doesn’t know if you comprehend the scale of what you have done.

“he looked so sad and hurt that i started to feel guilty. i don’t know if i was still acting when i was apologizing to him.” you scoff with eyebrows knitted together. “i felt so dirty… i still feel like a bad person, you know?”

you took the face of juwon’s demons and he didn’t like what he saw.

“i had it coming,” — he now has a grasp of what you meant before.

“so how has he been doing this to me for such a long time? how does he stomach it? knowing what i was going through? that’s what i thought… it makes me so upset…”

jungkook doesn’t try to assess you as you speak. he only listens, until your voice cracks. his heart is split into two as tears flood your eyes, escaping past the corners and slipping down to soak the fabric of his t-shirt.

you sniffle. “and the sex wasn’t even that great. i regret it even more.”

he flinches, abruptly squeezing his eyes shut. not that great? okay… okay. the mental image of you being physically intimate with someone that isn’t him definitely doesn’t sicken him to his core. at all. nope, nope, nope.

“fuck, baby, please,” he groans as if he is in pain, putting an arm over his eyes. “hearing about you have sex with other guys is making me want to punch something again. fuck.”

“that’s what you took away from the story?”

“yes!” he exclaims with conviction. “we should’ve met a year earlier. i would’ve let you use me!”

you gasp, scandalized. “oh my god! jungkook!”

“argh-” he animatedly clutches at his chest that caught your fist.

“you’re crazy!”

“uhuh, about you.” he proudly replies, pulling you closer to his side, as if that was still possible.

the subtle upwards of the corners of your lips gives him a sense of relief. he tenderly cups your cheek, his thumb ghosting over the bruise that has turned a darker shade of blue and purple.

“listen to me, i- i’m not here to tell you what’s right or wrong. i’m not that type of person. but what i can do tell you is that this…” he briefly shakes his head. “didn’t change the way i see you at all. he hurt you. he cheated and you were hurt, ____.”

your eyes gleam with uncertainty, a fresh wave of tears threatening to escape. “are you sure?”

“of course i am. why wouldn’t i be sure?”

“because you’re crazy about me.”

the sweet innocence of your eyelashes fluttering elicits a chuckle from him. you’re so fucking cute.

“that’s the reason i’m sure.” he tilts up your chin to plant a kiss to your lips, mumbling. “i’ve never been wrong about anything i’m crazy about.”

“thank you,” you say quietly, melting into his embrace. you nuzzle your face against his chest, and at last, you grant your eyes rest. “i can finally sleep peacefully again.”

fuck, it’s been weighing on you this whole time and he didn’t know.

“i’m sorry i only dated assholes before you.”

“aish, why would you be sorry about such a thing?” he kisses the top of your head, gentleness contradicting his following sentence. “i’d crush each one of those assholes for you.”

and he’d beat himself up the worst if he ever becomes one of them.

you yawn, sniffling right after. “mhm, i bet you will.”

he carefully rolls over to the side so he can wrap both arms around you, and you keen in contentment.

“jungkook?”

“yes, baby?” he coos.

“i… really… love you so, so, so much. you are… the one person i’d die for before i hurt.”

goddammit, it’s an angel sleeping in his arms.

“that’s a relief to hear. you’re very smart and scary when you’re mad.”

“eh, jungkook! i swear i’ve grown up! i’m not like that anymore!”

“okay, okay!” he laughs at your childish whining and squirming as he ushers you back in his embrace. “i believe you! i trust you! i love you too!”

—

although you spend more nights together in your apartment for your safety and convenience, in all honesty, you like staying over at jungkook’s more. his smell evokes the sentiment of home, and when you stay long enough, it becomes a temporary part of you. you’re gradually more well-versed in the organized and unorganized corners of his room. you like that you know where he keeps the safety pins and you know to be careful when walking so you won’t trip over his dumbbells he leaves lying around. and it’s a little ridiculous but… you like that his mattress is on the floor and you don’t really know why.

your boyfriend is still blissfully asleep as you climb over him, landing on the floor without a sound like a veteran spy. however, you rush to step out of the room before the rumbling of your empty stomach could wake him up.

“yah, thief! what do you think you’re doing?!”

“fuck!” the pack of ramen hits the floor when your hands fly to your chest to clutch at your painfully pounding heart. “i swear to god, you’re going to kill me one day!”

and unsurprisingly, your chagrin is countered yet again with jimin’s all too pleased laughter.

“____, you look so suspicious! why are you using a flashlight? we have electricity! we can pay for it!”

“i don’t like it too bright, okay?” you grumble as you pick up your supposed midnight meal.

“let’s just turn on this one then.”

“uh-” the objection dies down in your throat when the light over the dining table was switched on.

“i’m hungry, too. grab two more packs of ramyeon, please.”

“who’s the other one for?”

jimin fills the pot with water from the sink while you pick up two more of the same pack from the pantry.

“just us. don’t you agree that one pack is too small for one person?”

“it’s just enough for me though?” you rip open the packs one by one to retrieve the packets of seasonings. “with your job, though, i’d definitely have a bigger appetite.”

“alright,” he pouts, pretending to be upset. “let’s have just two then.”

“no, no, no-” you chase his hand, tightly gripping the last pack that he stole. “let’s have three! let’s have three! i didn’t eat dinner!”

—

“my mom brought a lot of kimchi yesterday. there’s an entire box in the fridge. i’ll pack you some before you leave later.”

“put some more in,” you say cutely as you peer down at the pot of ramen beside jimin. “please?”

he chuckles, adhering to your request before handing the container to you.

“thank you!”

you hop on the counter infront of the stove, chewing on a mouthful of kimchi with a joy akin to a child receiving a sweet treat. leaving the ramen to cook for the next five minutes, jimin sits a few feet away.

“aigoo, are you that hungry?”

“this is so delicious!” you praise his mother’s cooking instead of answering the question. “i can really eat this on its own.”

“ey, don’t fill yourself up yet! we have a lot of ramyeon to eat!”

“sorry, sorry!”

your giggles fill the apartment with warmth during this freezing winter. jimin didn’t doubt it when jungkook said that you light up every room you enter, he just didn’t expect that he would also gain a friend.

“how’s your cheek?”

“as you can see,” you motion at your face. “yellow. soooo… uglier.”

“that means it’s healing well.”

“i know,” the apples of your cheek become plump as your lips curve. “it no longer hurts to smile.”

“that’s a relief to hear,” he returns your kind smile. “jungkook has been worried about you.”

that’s the end of what he can tell you. jungkook won’t be pleased if you learn that he cried when he talked about the horrible thing that happened to you.

“thank you,”

“huh? for what?”

“being jungkook’s happiness.”

from his peripheral vision, he perceives your surprise. however, he is too flustered to meet your eyes while he is speaking from the bottom of his heart.

“the past year was physically and mentally draining for the team. as you know, we… we were considering giving up and disbanding. and of course it’s hard on all of us, but i’m really, really worried about jungkook. but!”

he chuckles at the dramatic rise of his own voice.

“i’m less worried now that you’re in his life. and i’m not saying this to put pressure on you or anything! but you see, when he’s tired, he bounces back quickly because of you. he’s smiling more because of you. and i know it goes it also goes the other way around. mhmm… i-i guess what i’m saying is that i hope you can continue being each other’s strength? be each other’s cheerleader?”

you have begun to feel emotional as you listened to his sincere and heartwarming words, but you can’t help but to cackle at the fact that you just witnessed the park jimin say the word ‘cheerleader’ while daintily waving his hands around as they were holding pompoms. how awfully endearing.

“…or something like that.”

uncontrollable giggles vibrate his body, dramatically slipping down the counter and onto the tiled floor to enshroud himself in extreme sheepishness.

“ah, ____! this is driving me crazy! don’t laugh!”

“what are you doing lying on the floor?” you playfully scold him, recording with your phone in secret. “why do i suddenly feel like the older one?”

“what’s with the noise?”

you whip your head around, wide curious eyes greeted with a shirtless jungkook who is still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“is that ramyeon…? i want some too.”

jimin groans when he feels your foot poke him lightly.

“mister, can we add more? my googie is hungry too.”

—

“hyung, ____ told me something recently that really put a lot of things into perspective.”

and with that, jimin pours another bottle of beer in his and jungkook’s ice-filled mugs. “let me hear it.”

“if you intend to be with me for a long time, then i need you to need to know. at first i didn’t understand what it meant? then after we talked, something clicked for me. ahhh, i see it now. ____ didn’t want us to trust each other blindly… because that… that isn’t a good… foundation? for something that i want to last for a very long time. you, me, the members… don’t we all trust each other because we know that we’re good people to our core and we’re good at what we do? isn’t that why we have come this far, and why we keep going? besides army, of course!”

jimin blinks lazily, glossy eyes from the alcohol underneath it all. “that’s right. we wouldn’t have started this anyway… without that kind of trust. i don’t think it’s a connection you can just build with anyone too.”

“oh, that’s it. that’s right!”

“living together for a long time doesn’t guarantee it.”

“exactly.” jungkook nods repeatedly, probably too passionately, a guaranteed ticket for a hangover later on. “we talked about that last time too.”

“right? so we should protect it… maintain it… never lose sight of our purpose…”

the lack of words that follow does not equate to silence. glasses clink against each other and teeth rip bags of chips open and noodles are slurped. they’re overseas and they can’t go to a korean restaurant and grill their own meat. the hotel steak would take forever to arrive and quite frankly, they had it yesterday and it was not good. this is not exactly ideal, but it has its own charm.

jungkook takes another swig of the bittersweet alcohol, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand afterwards.

“____ has become an important part of my life that i would do anything to protect too. how do i say it…?” he exhales to relieve the heavy weight on his chest. “i feel like i gained more purpose in life, hyung… to be honest, i might have a harder time because of that. i know it but… i’m happy. seriously, i’m happy.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook one shot #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook smut

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cheonstapes · 8 months

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jjk men star in... 'IF YOU SEEK AMY' ( ˘ ɜ˘) ♬♪♫

a/n ~ i was listening to if you seek amy on repeat yesterday and was like omg what if i wrote abt that! music is my biggest inspo and i thought jjk guys would go best w this song~

summary; the men of jujutsu kaisen with a pretty, little, popstar.

wc; 1.2k+

pairings; various jjk men x fem!popstar!reader

cw; suggestive, descriptions of sex, oral sex, obsessive behaviour, reader getting harassed, hating, toji beats someone up for you💗, dirty gojo, NANAMIN!!!!, jjk men being supportive, reader is basically beyonce reincarnated, nawt proofread - been writing this all day

gojo as - the boyfriend

even if gojo was a hotshot sorcerer, constantly on the move, he always found time to admire his pretty little pop star girlfriend. front row tickets to all of your concerts, being the first one to buy your albums despite the fact that you always give him a copy way before it drops - he even had a hand in designing your merch, who knew your boyfriend was such a creative. he even has a fan account for you, with almost half a million followers, posting never before seen pics of you, cute ones of course - ones he’s taken of you. you don’t know about it, you don’t need to. you especially don’t need to know about his other account, the one where he writes the filthiest stories about you. graphic descriptions about how well he would fuck you, how beautiful your body would look underneath him, the angelic moans you’d let out when he’d touch your gorgeous pussy. they’re all true, though, he is your boyfriend after all. people can write all the stories about you they want, but none of them truly know your body as well as gojo does.

nanami as - the manager

your manager, nanami, was pissed. pacing around his large office, growling down his phone at the poor lawyer on the other end - occasionally glancing at you as you sat quietly on the plush sofa, legs crossed as you scrolled through your phone. you weren’t happy though, scrolling through comments on your most recent posts. hate from insecure people who had nothing better to do with their lives was bearable - but now you had stalkers? these creepy ass guys who were constantly harassing you, threatening you, it was scary to say the least. you heard him slam the phone done onto the table, breathing slightly laboured in the midst of his anger. “i’ve dealt with those fuckers, they won’t bother you again sweetheart.” you smiled, it always calms him down whenever he sees your pretty smile. walking over to him, you hold his face in your hands, slowly leaning in to press a kiss on his soft lips, a hand running sensually down his broad chest over his dress shirt. “you always work so hard for me, babe. i think you deserve some lovin’ right now. just relax, ok?” having your man as your manager definitely comes with some perks, doesn’t it.

toji as - the bodyguard

you loved attending events, getting to dress up with a team triple the size that you usually have was always such an experience. this time, the met gala was tomorrow and you couldn’t have been more excited. it was your third year in a row and each year your looks get better and better. this year, though? not even mystic meg could’ve predicted how utterly shit getting ready this year could’ve been. your dress, specially made for you by iris van herpen, was in ruins. they clearly didn’t do background checks on the people they had in your crew because he definitely wouldn’t have made it through in that case. a cute little intern, constantly singing praises of you, to your face at least. but he was plotting - coincidentally being placed in charge of taking care of your dress, and coincidentally blaming the heat gun for looking a little too much like a steamer. you were livid, and toji, your bodyguard, hated seeing you upset. he swore a zero tolerance policy for anyone who fucks with his little pop star, and that intern found out the hard way. you knew toji had some…unorthodox ways of dealing with things - not even phased when he comes back to you with dried blood staining his knuckles. only offering you a sexy grin and his arm, walking you back to the car to go pick up your new dress - “can’t wait to see what else they made ya princess, yer gonna be the most stunnin’ girl there.”

geto as - the husband

geto made it very clear how much he hated going to these shows. he was only there for you, ignoring all the interviewers unless you were right there beside him, rejecting people left and right cause can they not see the goddess clinging onto his arm? but he did have to admit, he was a little excited this time around. a lot, actually, but if you knew that - he’d be at every award show from here on out. you’d been nominated for a grammy, artist of the year, and he was so, so proud of you. he held your hand tightly as they read out the nominees, thumb running along your knuckles. you always bite your lip when you were nervous, leg slightly jittery too, he couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t nervous too. the announcer pulled out the card, pausing for dramatic effect, before reading out - “and the grammy goes to…y/n! congratulations!” geto’s eyes widen as screams erupted from the crowd, standing up as he smiles brightly at you, kissing you deeply. your celebrity friends congratulating you as you walked passed, making sure to drag geto on stage with you as you made your speech. he knew you would win, obviously, that’s why he was so prepared. booking the most extravagant restaurant he could find, choosing a private room for the two of you to dine alone - and so no one disturbed you both when he was showing you just how proud of you he really was.

choso as - the fan

choso loved his job. working at the bar where celebs came to get absolutely wasted, he had so much shit to talk about after work. but what he didn’t expect was to see his favourite singer, you, actually walk in that night. it wasn’t a secret that choso was quite literally obsessed with you, always asking if anyone saw you at the bar when he wasn’t working, and if they did - get him an autograph or even a little shout out video. he would listen to your music on the way to work, scrolling through your instagram and taking screenshots of pics that could be potential new wallpapers. he thought you were the most beautiful thing on earth, even saving himself just in case he ever got a chance to be with you for even one night. wishes surely do come true, he couldn’t even find it in him to respond as he stared at your glossy lips, you were asking to buy a drink but he was only thinking about leaning over to bar and kissing you until you couldn’t breathe. “d-drink? oh, sorry, n-no problem!” he made a mental note of your drink, making sure it was the best you’ve ever had. he paused as you pulled out your card, stammering as he waved his hands frantically. “wait! it’s-it’s on the house. i’m a…i really like your music, it’s the least i can do.” you couldn’t help but giggle, he was cute, very cute. you didn’t point out that you can see your face on his home screen, only leaning across the bar to get closer. “you’re too sweet, but please, let me do something for you in return. it’s the least i can do.” he looks dumbfounded, opening and closing his mouth before saying, “j-just an autograph and a picture would do, if that’s ok.”

he changed his wallpaper that same night, you on your knees slobbering over his virgin cock. he couldn’t wait to see you again, trailing a finger over the autograph you gave him, your number written right underneath. saving himself for you was so worth it.

-haha hehe haha ho

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found-family-tournament · 9 months

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Found Family Tournament Round 2 Part 9 Group 42

Propaganda and further images under the cut

Wright Anything Agency (& Company): Phoenix & Trucy Wright, Apollo Justice, Maya Fey, Miles Edgeworth, Pearl Fey, Ema Skye, Kay Faraday & Sebastian Debeste

221B Fam: Ryunosuke Naruhodo, Susato Mikotoba, Herlock Sholmes, Iris Wilson, Wagahai (& Gina Lestrade, Yujin Mikotoba, Kazuma Asogi, Barok van Zieks)

Wright Anything Agency (& Company):

THEY MEAN THE WORLDDDDD TO MEEEEEE for some reason a lot of people in the fandom don't play Ace Attorney 5 which is fair since it's kind of messy BUT. BUT. IT INTRODUCES ATHENA AND DOES SOOOO MUCH FOR THE WRIGHT ANYTHING AGENCY. In AA4 we learn that Trucy Wright made the Wright Talent Agency into the Wright Anything Agency in order to bring Apollo in as a lawyer when before it was just her (a magician) and her adopted father Phoenix (a poker player). and AA5 is all about Athena joining and Apollo learning how to trust her, at least it is to ME. they're so gooddddd aaaaaaa like you've got Phoenix and Trucy who are weirdos who love to scheme and you've got Apollo their longsuffering guy who deals with it all, and Phoenix is the mentor... and then Athena comes in and she has a lot of light and determination and trauma (just like the rest of them lol) and she's SO determined and I like her a lot!! And Trucy is my favorite and Phoenix cares about her SO much but he also has his other found family in the Feys!!!!!! Mia dies in the first game but her ghost stays with Phoenix and her sister/cousin Maya and Pearl are SO IMPORTANT TO HIM he loves them so much that's his sisters to me ;-; he would do anything for them and Trucy and he's growing as a mentor to Apollo and Athena too as the game progress... They don't write them all perfectly but they sure do a lot of things I like :) also feel free to split this up into their Wright Anything Agency or Phoenix + the Feys or Phoenix + Trucy if you need to I won't mind I just love AA's found family a lot

Picture this. You are a attorney in your mid 20s and somehow find yourself surrounded by weird little girls with every case you take on. You officially adopt one but really, all of them are either sisters or daughters to you. Especially your loud, burger-loving lesbian sister. Your childhood friend turned rival turned lover, who has a whip-wielding adoptive sister of his own, goes on a series of investigations while messing around with a furry for a couple of weeks and returns with two 17 year old children, a thieving lesbian and a child with a narcissistic murderer for a father who should've kept him back in school a few grades. Your lover has each of them under an arm, and they are appended to your stable of weird little girls but are very much hidden in the back. Then you find out that your daughter, the official one, has a 22yo trans half-brother with a musical diva mother and was half raised as a prince in Khura'in, so you divorce his boss (who is not your official lover, you just had a weird thing for a while when you were in your alcoholic phase, maybe while your actual lover was still messing around with the furry) very publicly while sending him to prison for murdering your daughter's father. Oh, but you have been disbarred, so you make your daughter's son send his own boss to prison, by planting false evidence on him. Of course the young man punches you in the face. Needless to say he works for you for a couple of years and never finds out that he's related to your daughter because that would require a straightforward conversation, now wouldn't it?

only one of them has never been arrested. only two of them arent lawyers. theyre all gay

Theyre very weird and misteruous and kinda fucked up a bit and they were through a lot but phoenix did his best and trucy well she's still just a kid but oh she's trying so fucking hard and always trying to wear a smile and it's breaking my heart the two of them. Also theyre weird i already said that but let me say it again they are WEIRD. and we love them<3 (the ace attorney fandom)

221B Fam:

I dont have much to say i am just constantly rotating them in my mind BUT i have to say the the last image i attached contains like MAJOR spoilers lol i just wanted the canon images in there

Ace Attorney has some wonderful found families, but this one's particularly special because of their circumstances. An exchange student and his unhinged weirdgirl assistant from Japan feeling so out of place in turn-of-the-century Great Britain, yet finding a completely batshit insane family during their time there...it's just so <3 <3 <3 Also Ryunosuke calls them "the greatest family in the world" and it makes my heart happy. Also they commit lots of crimes

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blicketdabest33 · 5 months

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Y'all remember that MCYT PJO au I asked for help with awhile ago? WELL HERE'S THE CABINS AND MY EXPLINATIONS BEHIND THEM!!

#1 Zeus Cabin: Jimmy, Joel Jimmy: He's a Zeus kid, but everyone somehow forgets about it. Joel: He's competitive and strong. Also, because Jimmy is his half brother through godly parent, i get to make a fun bit about him dating Lizzie. And one of his origins in Afterlife SMP was a thunderborn

#2 Hera Cabin: Scott Scott: Scott's whole thing is loyalty. Hera is the goddess of marriage and is insanely loyal to Zeus. However, I feel like Hera should get at least one affair. So now Scott can use peacocks as weapons.

#3 Poseidon Cabin: Skizz Skizz: Poseidon kids tend to be really, really loyal to a fault and heroic, both qualities I think Skizz possesses.

#4 Demeter Cabin: Sausage, Shelby, Bdubs, Stress Sausage: This man built Sanctuary in a jungle and has flowers in his hair. He sells wood. There is no other place to put him. Shelby: Mushroom gnome, spooky mangrove witch, powerful storm witch, i need not continue. Bdubs: Moss man. Stress: SHE HAS FLOWERS

#5 Ares Cabin: Martyn, False Martyn: His planet is Mars, which is the roman version of Ares. He ended Limited Life in such a violent way, i can't help it. He was also red for the majority of Secret Life. False: I just feel like False should get to kill people more often.

#6 Athena Cabin: Grian, Pix, Owen, Xisuma Grian: This sums it up pretty well

Pix: Smart man. Archeologist and definitely a nerd. I wanna see him skipping out on training just so he can read history books. Owen: He likes to explore and discover new things in Pirates. In Rats, he's a tinkerer. In New Life, he's an explorer who wants to study hybrids. In Empires, he's a Llama who's curious about how humans work. Just a very curious character overall. Xisuma: Admin. I'm not elaborating.

#7 Apollo Cabin: Gem, Oli, Lyarrah Gem: She is an Apollo kid because of her Empire in S2. She's the sunlight princess. Apollo kid. Oli: MUSIC. MAN. Lyarrah: She writes the captions for the hermitcraft recap.

#8 Artemis Cabin: Pearl Pearl: Y'know, Artemis could've just like... had a kid, even though she took that oath. It wouldn't even have to be with a guy. Gods can change to whatever gender they want. Anyway, Pearl gets to be an Artemis kid because her symbolism is moon, she loves dogs, and will commit murder and hunt at night.

#9 Hephaestus Cabin: Doc, Mumbo, Tango, Impulse, Cub, Zedaph, Fwhip, Iskall Doc: Redstone Mumbo: Redstone Tango: Redstone Impulse: Redstone Cub: Redstone Zedaph: Redstone Fwhip: Redstone AND has a red scarf (don't ask me how that's relevant) Iskall: Redstone

#10 Aphrodite Cabin: Keralis Keralis: Okay, I don't know why, but Keralis gives me the vibes of a very charming person. His voice is nice to listen to, so imagine how useful it'd be if I gave him charm speak.

#11 Hermes Cabin: Scar, Etho, Joe Scar: Trader Scar, scammer extraordinar. Etho: All i must say is Shady-E's. I get "jack-of-all-trades, master of none, often better than master of one" vibes from him. He's funny, he's mischievous, it just works. Joe: Comedy man. Excellent delivery. And, yet again, i look at this man and go "That right there is a multi-talented man with a habit for mischief."

#12 Dionysus Cabin: Joey, Beef Joey: *points at his season one empires theme* i need not say more Beef: Idk, food. I don't really have a reason. I don't know too much about Beef.

#13 Hades Cabin: Zloy Zloy: Zombie man. He writes the Hermitcraft recaps in the dark at 2am with nothing but pure spite.

#14 Iris Cabin: Katherine Katherine: SHE. HAS. COLORS. and also I couldn't put her in Demeter cabin because Shelby is already there and i am NOT excluding Nature Wives from this au

#15 Hypnos Cabin: Bigb, XB, Wels Bigb: Sleepy stuff, right? WRONG. Gaslight. Go in everyones dreams, make fake prophecies, peace out, and cause chaos. XB: I look at his fanon design, I see an alien, and I go "aha he sleeps" Wels: This guy (@dingdinghq) said so and i completely agree. Something about sleeping in S6.

#16 Nemesis Cabin: Edit: wels not here no more

#17 Nike Cabin: Ren Ren: VICTORY. I don't know much about Ren's story in the Life Series, but I look at this man and see someone who has won a lot.

#18 Hebe Cabin:

#19 Tyche Cabin: TFC TFC: Man goes mining and gets really lucky. That's it.

#20 Hecate Cabin: Lizzie, Cleo, Jevin Lizzie: Witchy vibes. Also, Arson. Cleo: Arson. She uses her magic for Arson. Jevin: He's a magic slime. Also, Arson. All Hecate kids love Arson.

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deliciousangelfestival · 3 months

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Secret Sorrows || 3 -B.Barnes

Summary: Former special ops, Bucky, seeks solace in a cold refuge to escape his past. However, his haunted history catches up, unraveling mysteries that persist relentlessly.

Series Masterlist

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

It had been several days since the elder of the Astons had visited Van Alen's residence. Bucky found himself continuing his duty as a bodyguard for Ethan Van Alen, the sole heir of both conglomerate families.

If someone had said that Bucky would protect his ex-girlfriend's son, he would have laughed. But life worked in impossible ways. Here, he was doing just that.

While Bucky was on duty, he couldn't shake the need for answers about Y/N Aston. Despite learning that Iris and Y/N were identical twins, he still found it hard to believe. It was Iris, who had been with him back when they were young.

Yet, why did Y/N's actions mirror Iris's so closely?

If Y/N were more approachable, perhaps Bucky could find the answers. She might even tell him he was crazy. But with her busy schedule, stepping in for Ethan's father and managing both family businesses, she seemed almost impossible to talk to.

Y/N didn’t have time to comfort her only nephew. Since Bucky had to guard Ethan 24/7, he knew the kid wanted to talk to his relative. Both aunt and nephew lived in the same house, yet they rarely spent time together.

Bucky remembered Ethan's words, "My aunt is married to her job."

He thought it was a shame. Y/N was beautiful. With her status, she could have any man.

Wait, was she still single?

He shook his head, realizing how absurd it was to even entertain such thoughts considering Y/N was his employer.

Clearing his throat, Bucky walked towards Ethan's room, glancing at the kid's schedule. There were so many classes: foreign language, investment, fencing, public speaking, IT, swimming, and more.

Ethan was only 7 years old; he didn’t have time to play, especially since it was only a week after his parents' funeral.

Bucky knocked on Ethan’s door.

“Come in,” Ethan called out.

Bucky entered to find Ethan practicing the violin. Though classical music wasn't his preference, Ethan's skill didn't sound like that of a beginner.

Ethan stopped playing and placed the violin back in its case. “What class do I have next?”

“Swimming class,” Bucky replied.

Ethan sighed. “Can you teach me instead?”

Bucky hesitated. “If you want, but you know everything has to go through protocol.”

Ethan pouted. “At least, today, you have to accompany me.”

Bucky's instincts told him something didn't seem right. “Alright.”

Ethan went to his wardrobe; even at his young age, he had already been taught to pack his things. Bucky still found himself in awe of the kid's wardrobe room; it was bigger than his own bedroom in Antarctica.

While Ethan searched for his swimming goggles, he asked, “Has my aunt already left?”

Bucky replied, “Yes,” noticing Ethan's shoulders slump at the confirmation. He asked gently, “Do you want to talk to her?”

Ethan shook his head. “No, she’s busy. I don’t want to bother her.” Having prepared everything, he added, “Let’s go.”

When Bucky arrived at the swimming pool, he saw an athletic man. From the first impression, Bucky could already read him: overly proud and cocky.

“Bucky, right? I’ve been informed you’ll be the new guard. I’m alright if you want to join us,” the coach said.

Bucky gave a slight nod, glancing at Ethan. “Ethan, I’ll be standing here, okay?”

For a brief moment, Ethan's face brightened. Bucky wondered what made Ethan seem to not enjoy the class.

Ethan and the teacher did warm-ups before getting into the pool.

The coach instructed, “We will start with the freestyle and work on improving your lap times.”

When the teacher blew the whistle, Ethan began swimming to the other side. Bucky was impressed; for a kid his age, he was quite fast.

The coach checked his stopwatch. “1:50. You could do better than that.”

Bucky couldn't understand why the coach expected the little kid to go faster in a 100m freestyle.

"Again," the coach commanded.

"Again."

"You're getting slower."

Bucky held back his emotions when he noticed Ethan looking drained.

The coach looked down at Ethan and shook his head. "Your father would be disappointed with the result, Ethan."

Seeing Ethan sniffle and wipe his eyes, Bucky couldn't take it anymore.

He kicked the coach back and pushed him into the pool. The coach wasn't prepared and struggled to resurface before gasping for breath. Bucky held him under the water again.

“Can’t you see the boy is already breathless and exhausted?” Bucky questioned sharply.

The coach sputtered, "Wait… wait…"

"Do it again. I want to see how long you can hold your breath."

"Ugh."

Peter couldn’t believe what he saw. He rushed over from watching the CCTV to stop Bucky. "Bucky, what happened—"

Bucky shot Peter a warning look. "Get Ethan out of here. I need to talk to this guy."

Peter hurriedly escorted Ethan away, wondering why Bucky was so furious with the swimming coach.

Once they were gone, Bucky removed his black suit and throw it.

He pulled the coach from the pool like a fish. The coach coughed and caught his breath. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"A moment ago? Yes," Bucky admitted bluntly.

The coach's eyes widened. Never in his life had someone admitted to wanting to kill him straight to his face.

"I have a question: will Ethan enter the Olympics?" Bucky asked.

The coach shook his head. "No."

"Then why do you have to make him suffer like that? If that boy could talk, he would ask you to stop. But he can’t. As a teacher, you should know your students' capabilities."

"I only do what my employer asks me," the coach defended himself.

"Who? Miss Y/N Aston?" Bucky questioned.

"No! The Van Alen family," the coach confessed.

Bucky's grip on him loosened. This information was shocking. Why did the Van Alen family treat Ethan like this?

"Get up, gather your things, and never set foot in this place again," Bucky commanded.

The coach protested, "You have no—"

"Miss Aston hired me to protect her nephew. It’s better if you resign before you lose your teaching license. You know what I’m capable of," Bucky warned.

The coach ran away, leaving Bucky to ponder the situation.

On the other side, Y/N had just returned from the company. Spotting Peter and Ethan, her nephew walking with a towel draped around him, she observed Ethan's eagerness as he ran toward her, wrapping her in a tight hug.

Y/N asked Peter for an explanation, her expression remaining stoic as she listened to the summarized account.

Her heart ached hearing about her nephew's ordeal. Despite her typically reserved demeanor, a flicker of concern flashed in her eyes. She instructed Peter, "Tell Mr. Barnes to meet me at my office," her voice firm yet tinged with an underlying worry, before walking away.

Concerned, Ethan tugged at Peter's clothes. "Is Bucky in trouble because of me?" His voice carried a hint of apprehension.

Peter patted Ethan's back reassuringly, his tone gentle. "I'm sure he'll be alright. Don't worry." He tried to offer comfort to the young boy, knowing the weight of responsibility could be heavy on his small shoulders.

In Y/N's office, she was signing documents while Bucky stood before her, his presence commanding attention. She remained so engrossed in her work that she didn’t even lift her head when she spoke, "You want to explain why a half-naked man in a speedo ran away screaming from my house?"

Bucky answered casually, "Well, yeah, since I threatened him." His tone was nonchalant, but there was a hint of underlying tension in his voice.

Y/N looked up, her expression unreadable, a mix of surprise and curiosity flickering in her eyes.

Bucky still wasn’t accustomed to looking directly into her eyes; there was something pulling at him that he couldn’t quite describe. "The way I do my job may be different from anyone here, but I can't let the person I'm protecting feel unsafe. Do you know Ethan's swimming coach did it on purpose, and it was ordered by the Van Alen family?" His voice carried a note of frustration, a rare glimpse of emotion from the typically stoic man.

Y/N didn't respond immediately; it seemed like she already knew.

Gritting his teeth, Bucky wondered what was wrong with wealthy people. She had everything, so why didn’t she want to mend her relationship with Ethan? His frustration simmered beneath the surface, evident in the tenseness of his jaw.

Bucky said firmly, his voice tinged with determination, "If you have at least 5 minutes, I suggest you talk to Ethan." With that, he left the room, his footsteps echoing with purpose.

Y/N's secretary clicked her tongue, then turned to her boss, her expression reflecting concern. "Do you want to fire him?" There was a note of uncertainty in her voice, wary of the potential repercussions.

Y/N's gaze remained fixed on the closed door, "No, just fire the swimming coach." Her tone was decisive, yet there was a hint of resignation in her voice. She looked at her secretary, her gaze unwavering. "Cancel the rest of my schedule today."

“But, ma’am, you have an important call this evening." The secretary's voice held a hint of concern, recognizing the significance of the upcoming call.

"I will call them tomorrow. Send a formal apology letter," Y/N ordered, her tone final, a sense of determination underlying her words.

*********

Y/N went to Ethan's bedroom, her footsteps echoing softly in the hallway.

Ethan, who was playing blocks with Bucky, was surprised to see his aunt, his expression a mix of curiosity and anticipation. As she entered the room, there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a sense of tension dissipating.

“Auntie,” Ethan greeted her, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Looking nervous, he turned to Bucky, who gave him a reassuring nod, his silent support evident in his expression.

Approaching Y/N, Ethan said, “Aunt, can I change my swimming coach?” His words were hesitant, a mixture of hope and apprehension lacing his tone.

Y/N replied, her voice calm yet distant, “Sure, I’ll call the Olympic coach.”

Ethan hesitated, his gaze flickering between Y/N and Bucky. “No, can Bucky teach me?” His voice held a note of pleading, a silent plea for connection.

Y/N responded, her tone neutral, “I don’t mind. You should ask him.” Her words were measured, a reflection of her reserved nature.

Ethan turned to Bucky, his eyes wide with anticipation. “Bro Bucky already agreed, I just wanted to ask for your permission first.” There was a hint of excitement in his voice, a spark of hope igniting within him.

Bucky felt relieved that they were finally communicating, his expression softening with understanding.

Ethan continued, his words tumbling out in a rush of excitement. “And can I ask you another favor?” His voice was eager, his eyes shining with anticipation.

Y/N encouraged him to speak, her expression remaining impassive, yet there was a flicker of something in her eyes, a hint of warmth beneath the surface.

“For foreign language class, can I just study German and Korean? German engineering is great, and South Korea has good products, it's good for my future. For investment class, can I learn how to trade with real money? And can I study martial arts with Bucky instead of fencing?” Ethan's words poured out in a rush, his enthusiasm palpable.

Bucky couldn’t believe what he was hearing, his surprise evident in his expression. These weren’t typical requests from a 7-year-old, yet there was a sense of determination in Ethan's voice, a silent plea for understanding.

Glancing at Y/N, who didn’t seem surprised, he realized both aunt and nephew shared the same traits, a sense of resilience amidst adversity.

Y/N asked, her tone measured, “Anything else?” Her words were neutral, yet there was a hint of something in her voice, a subtle shift in her demeanor.

Ethan shook his head, his excitement palpable. “That’s everything.”

Y/N assured him, her voice distant yet tinged with a hint of warmth, “I’ll instruct my secretary to change your teachers, and give you the money for you to invest.” before leaving the room, her footsteps echoing softly in the hallway.

Bucky couldn’t shake off the feeling of Y/N being distant from her nephew, his concern is evident in his expression. He thought Ethan felt abandoned again, but it seemed he was mistaken.

Ethan ran to him, his eyes excitedly shining, exclaiming, “Bucky, did you see that? My aunt smiled today.” There was a sense of joy in his voice, a silent celebration of a small victory.

Confused, Bucky probably needed to get his eyes checked, as he hadn’t seen her smile at all. But as long as Ethan was happy, he would agree to anything.

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