#This woman will steal my wallet and she has every right to. LOOK AT HER sdklf

[dootznbootz]

sdflkj NIKO lsdkjf NIKIKO I sklfj I'm going to sob. ksjfd AAAAAAa I LOVE HER ksldj MY SILLY GIRL slfkj THAKN YOU SO MUCH

Niko, thank you so much for the gift!!! sklfj It means so much and you're so talented and kind!!! Thank you so much for bringing Water Wife to life with your lovely doodles 🥹

Hi @dootznbootz i missed her so here we are

[rinhaler]

toji fucking his step daughter because his wife won’t give him any attention and she’s the second best thing :3

-🌹

daddy toji my beloved :3

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, praise (good girl), biting, age gap, stepcest, cheating, daddy kink, creampie, bimbofication, virginity loss, fingering, masturbation.

words: 2k

Toji doesn’t know what to think, what to feel, whenever he sees you floating around the house. You’re confident, that he knows. Short skirts and tiny t-shirts are usually your go to attire, whether you’re at home or going out with your friends, you often dress scantily.

He tried scolding you about it, but you didn’t listen. And his wife, well, maybe if she supported him more he wouldn’t be thinking such oh so inappropriate things about his cute little step daughter.

“Where is she?” you ask, rudely, snapping Toji from his thoughts as you lean across the breakfast bar. He has to force himself to not look down your top, your cleavage on full display. Though his eyes do slip downward when he realises you aren’t even looking at him, too engrossed with your phone. “Said she’d give me money t’get my nails done.” you tell him, and he now knows you’re referring to your mother.

“She’s back to school shopping with Megumi.” he tells you, breaking his stare from your low cut crop top and looking into your eyes. Have you always been so skanky?

You’re a grown woman. He can’t believe you’re still leaching off of your mother. Nails can’t be that expensive. You should get a job and pay for them yourself. What makes you so special that you just get whatever you want just because you asked?

“Oh, well, you’ll have to gimme it.” you smile at him briefly before texting your friends again. You don’t even notice when he scoffs, shaking his head in disappointment.

What’s annoying him more is the fact that you’re reminding him so much of your fucking mother. Before she grew up, before they grew old, she was exactly like you. Vapid and gorgeous. She had him wrapped around her little finger back in the day, and he’s sure you are the same with every boy you come into contact with.

He feels his cock strain against his slacks as he thinks about all of hot and wild sex they used to have back then. Honestly, these days, he doesn’t remember the last time he got his dick wet. Now he’s just a miserable, pent up dad in a regular marriage. That’s life though, right? That’s just what happens as you get older.

Your wife loses interest and you develop a porn addiction.

“I’m not pay—”

You silence him as you pull your old school pink flip phone to your ear and hold up a finger in front of him, smiling when you hear your friends voice. “Yeah I’ll be there in thirty! Daddy’s givin’ me the money.” you beam at him, your shoulders bouncing as you talk excitedly.

Toji shakes his head again, reaching into his back pocket to grab his wallet.

He’s wrapped around your finger, like mother like fuckin’ daughter.

“I’m not fucking Satoru!” you tell your friend, rolling your eyes. Your step father freezes, for just a moment, before pulling out some money from his wallet. You look down at his hand and see the pitiful amount, taking his wallet from him and stealing a few extra bank notes while you rest your phone between your ear and shoulder. “Ugh. No one believes me! Do you? Whenever I tell anyone ‘m a virgin they think I’m lying.”

“Hang up the phone.” Toji tells you, but you barely hear him. You look at him for a split second before focusing on the call again.

“No, I didn’t! I sucked him off and that’s all I’ve done.” you huff. “Also my step dad is here so, like, stop talking about it.”

“Kid, hang up the fuckin’ phone.” he tells you, louder.

“Wait a sec,” you tell your friend, moving the phone away from your ear. “What?”

“Hang. Up.”

“Oh my God!” you moan, “I’ll meet you there, Toji wants to talk to me— yeah I’m probably getting in trouble because of you! Hahaaaa okay, byeeee~!” you smile, hanging up and giving your full attention to your step-father. He doesn’t speak, and neither do you. Not for a while, not until the silence makes you too uncomfortable to keep it going. “Is this ‘cuz of the money? You didn’t give me enough.”

“I— no, sweetheart.” he shakes his head. “Were you lyin’ to your friend, just now? About being a virgin?”

“Hm? No, why?”

Toji huffs out a breath, his cheeks filling with air as he thinks things through. He’s shocked, to say the least. He always thought you were putting out like a pro. He knows you’ve been on birth control for years. He’s had to drive you to get your injection a few times. He never thought about it much, just a regular dad chore when your mother wasn’t available.

But you’re a woman, now.

He’s surprised you haven’t been fucking since you were a teenager. But he’s even more surprised that you aren’t sexually active, now. He can’t help but wonder why. What’s stopping you? You dress like a slut, after all. Why aren’t you acting like one?

He reaches over and grabs his wallet and the money from your hand. You want to protest, but he walks by you too quickly for you to object. He hurries up the stairs and slams the door after himself.

“A— Am I grounded?!” you yell, hoping for a response.

Nothing.

You follow up the stairs, running up them as best you can in your high heels, and wait outside of his bedroom door. You knock a few times, and get no response. So you begin to pound on the door.

“Toji! You can’t ground me anymore!”

“You’re not grounded, come here.” he instructs. You open the door and walk into the room. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, belt unbuckled and zipper down. He must be changing into something comfier to wear around the house. “Sit.” he tells you, patting his hand on his lap.

You go to him, immediately, sitting sweetly on his thick thighs as he thinks about what to say.

“Didn’t realise you were such a good girl,” he tells you, kissing your shoulder softly. “You’re like a nice version of your mother.”

“Should divorce her if y’don’t like her, daddy.” you tell him, looking down at your imperfect nails. You giggle when you feel him bounce you on his leg.

“Maybe I should.” he tells you. “But I’ll be lonely.”

“You’ll have me ‘n Megumi!” you remind him. “Well, maybe not me as much, but, y’know.”

“Ah, sweetheart, don’t wanna lose you. Not now, not ever.” he kisses your shoulder again. “How come you’re a virgin, huh? Savin’ it?”

“Mhmm… wanna give it to someone special.” you tell him, looking his direction and batting your pretty, false eyelashes. “Everyone thinks ‘m a slut… but ‘m not! Promise! Makes me embarrassed that I haven’t done it yet, sometimes, though.”

His cock aches as he hears you talk. How dumb yet adorable you sound as you discuss your sex life, or lack there of. He isn’t even a little surprised that people don’t believe you, he wouldn’t have believed it himself if you hadn’t told him. He can see in your pathetically wet eyes, though, that you’re being truthful.

He is overwhelmed by the need to bare his soul to you. To tell you what he wants. What he needs and desires from you most right now. There’s no shame within him as he puts his hand down his pants and wraps his hand around his cock, pulling it free. He holds your body in place with his free hand, his arm possessing enough strength to keep you firmly in place.

You’re just like your mother.

If your mother wasn’t a cold, celibate bitch.

“Daddy wants to be your someone special, darlin’.” he informs you, words warbling as he pleasures himself behind your back.

You can hear it. You can hear the tacky sound of his cock being rubbed again and again. The way his breath and speech is slightly uneven. He sinks his teeth into your bare shoulder and you wince. It’s not too hard, but it was unexpected.

He’s surprised you don’t object when he splits your legs apart so that you’re straddling one of his thighs. His hand roams up your thigh and beneath your skirt, towards your clothed cunt. Though when he gets too close, your legs shut, quickly.

“You’re my daddy, you can’t touch me there!” you remind him. But he knows. He knows he’s your daddy and that’s exactly why you should let him. Admittedly, part of you wants him to. You want to feel someone make contact with your untouched core for the very first time.

Someone that isn’t you.

You’re sure Toji is very experienced. He’s so handsome, even now. You’ve seen pictures of him when he was your age over two decades ago. He’s beautiful, like a film star. You know he was fucking like it was going out of fashion.

Your mother has told you what a stallion he is in bed, you’re close like that. There’s no secrets or shame between you. And honestly, it did make you feel a little jealous. You felt like you were missing out on something. Sex, in general, and Toji.

But you never thought you’d be like this, with him.

“Baby, who’s gonna make you feel more special than your daddy, hah?” he asks. You feel your resolve weakening as he kisses your neck deliciously. You want to scream at him, to tell him where you want him to touch you.

He teases your body until your arching and squirming to follow his touch. And you practically cream around his thigh when he lifts up your top and tweaks your nipple. You’re weightless in his hold as he moves you around like you’re his little doll. He licks and laves over your pulse point while playing with your tits. His free hand moves your panties aside with a goal in mind. Two thick fingers slide effortlessly into your tight, virgin slot. The resistance is there but he ignores it. You ignore it.

And within minutes you’re having your first orgasm on account of another person. You aren’t sure why your mother has stopped having sex with Toji, you’d be begging him for it every chance you got if this brief encounter is anything to go by.

“Fuck me, daddy, please? Please—”

“Thought daddy’s can’t touch their little girls there?” he smirks, already helping you turn around to face him. He kisses you, sloppily, as he lines his thick cock up with your tight hole. “Sh, sh, shhh, baby… good girl, c’mon, take daddy’s cock. Jus’ like that.” he talks you through it as you sob. Little cunt stretching to accommodate his monstrous size.

“T-Too big! Daddy’s too big for me!” you tell him, though he silences you with another kiss.

Truth be told, he doesn’t particularly care if it hurts or not anymore. He doesn’t care if you can’t take him, because you will. He does all of the work for you, lifting you up and down like a toy while he thrusts up into you.

He almost cums from the sight of your eyes turning white and your tongue hanging out as he pummels into your sweet spot. He wonders if you’ll keep telling your friends you’re a virgin. It’ll be a fun little secret, for both of you, he thinks.

He finishes with a string of grunts, fucking his seed deep into you again and again until he’s got nothing left to give.

You feel so icky and sweaty as he starts to calm down from his release. He kisses you, sweetly, thanking you repeatedly. He needed this badly. It’s not even just sex anymore. He’s tired of feeling lonely and he’s tired of being neglected.

You’re not your mother though, are you?

You won’t make him feel like that.

“Don’t tell her, sweetheart.” he tells you, brushing your hair from your face and kissing your cheek. He grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger, guiding you to look at him as he speaks. “This stays between you ‘n me, alright?”

“Mhmm!” you nod, leaning forward eagerly to kiss his lips. “Always wanted you to be my special person…” you confess.

“Yeah?” he smiles at that, you really are sweet when you want to be.

“Wanna do it again, daddy. Can we?”

“Of course,” he nods, “I’m addicted to this little pussy, now.”

© 2023 rinhaler

[maylovesfiction]

Short scene that lived in my head for weeks. In my head Buggy is so oblivious to flirting.

----------

Buggy sat at the bar, looking at his empty rum mug. He was contemplating if getting another one was really worth it. This was all his wife's fault! It was her idea to come to this place because the food was said to be good. Who cares about the food?! The alcohol has to be cheap and good. Buggy had to admit that the rum was indeed good, but the price was absolutely ridiculous. "Hey handsome, what are you doing here all alone?" Buggy barely noticed the voice talking. Remembering his wife's smile when she had happily dug into her food he knew it was worth coming here, but still... if only he could have a little more rum without it blowing a hole in his wallet. 

A tap on his shoulder made him jump and turn around to face the assailant. It was just a woman. A woman with bright blue eyes and long wavy brown hair in a black and red dress. She smiled at him and repeated her initial question "What is a handsome man like you doing here?" Buggy blinked, this woman must be out of her mind. The pirate's mood shifted from surprised to annoyed. His eyes wandered to his empty mug "What does it look like?!" he answered sharply "I was drinking, but have you seen the prices here? They are absolutely ridiculous! Twohundred and fifty berry just for one mug of rum, ONE tiny mug! This is outrageous!" The woman just smiled at his rant and sat down on the stool next to him. "So which rum is your favorite?" , she asked. Buggy just pointed at a barrel behind the barkeeper "That one." - "I see, that's a good choice. So what are you doing here in this town?" Buggy stayed silent for a moment, trying to calm himself. His wife wouldn't like him starting a commotion even though he would really much like to throw his empty mug at the bartender. Speaking of his wife he turned in his seat looking back at their shared table before answering the woman. "My crew and I are docking here for supplies." His wife hadn't returned. Buggy didn't get the need to 'freshen up' in the bathroom, but it was his wife, he wasn't going to argue about this.

"Oh so you're a sailor then", the woman's eyes lit up, as she slowly started to scoot a little closer to him. Buggy noticed her attempts to be closer to him, but didn't know what she was trying to achieve. Then a thought crossed his mind, she was clearly trying to get close to him to steal his hard earned stolen money out of his pockets! His hand reached slowly for the bag of coins in his pocket, checking if it was still there. "I'm not a normal sailor! I'm a pirate! In fact I'm the flashiest pirate captain that you will find around here!" Buggy lectured her, breathing a sigh of relief as his hand touched his coin pouch.

Her eyes grew wide. Oh snap! Now he basically told her that he had money. Buggy mentally slapped himself. The woman motioned for the barkeeper. Buggy didn't even notice her ordering a mug of rum for him because he was so deep in his thoughts, trying to think of a way to make himself appear as a bad target for thievery. The barkeeper setting the rum in front of him startled him. Buggy looked puzzled at the beverage, then to the woman. "My treat! It's not every day you meet a strong and handsome pirate captain!" the woman batted her eyelashes at him. There it was again, she called him handsome again, clearly a ploy to make him lower his guard! But Buggy was smart, he saw right through her! Her compliments would not make him fall for her little tricks!

Buggy just nodded at her and took a sip of his rum, humming in delight as the drink slid down his throat. "So, what's your name?", she asked him. "I'm the great and flashy Buggy the Clown!" he responded eagerly. She looked at him as if she waited for him to do or say something. When it didn't come she looked a bit confused. Buggy had his body still turned towards the bar and gave her a side eye "What?!" The woman quickly composed herself again, "Oh, it's nothing. I'm sorry for staring, you have such beautiful hair, Buggy." She reached for locks of his blue hair falling down his back kept in a high ponytail. The pirate tried to evade her touch, scooting away from her hand. He was unsuccessful as the woman had already gotten ahold of a few strands of hair, slowly rubbing them between her fingers. She then put her hand down onto his thigh. "Buggy, you are just my type and I’m getting really hot. Why don't we take this conversation somewhere else?" she asked suggestively. Buggy's head was spinning, not even listening to what was said, this was a clear attempt on the money in the pocket of his pants just above her hand. He was not letting her have it. A small giggle that he would recognize everywhere snapped him out of it and his head spun around to see his wife had returned to their table, watching him and chuckling at the scene. Buggy briskly stood up, still having his hand wrapped around his mug of rum "It was... nice. I'll need to get back to my wife" he stumbled over the words as he quickly walked back to their table. The woman watched him leave gobsmacked.

When Buggy returned to the table he interrogated his wife "Why did you take so long? I was thinking about coming in and dragging you out of there! What did you even do in there!? I almost got assaulted! Why are you laughing!?" He usually loved when his wife was laughing but this time he had the feeling it was at his expense. "What do you think happened there, my love?" she asked him, trying to contain her laughter. "What do you mean 'what happened there'?! Didn't you see?! It was clear as day! That woman tried to rob me! She was giving me compliments and bought me a drink so I'd let my guard down! Then she was reaching for my coins, but she wasn't as sneaky as she thought, because I totally caught her in the act!" His wife laughed so hard that she couldn't breathe, Buggy just watched her in bewilderment. "Buggy! She was hitting on you", she breathed out between laughs. "WHAT?!"

After she calmed herself again she asked "Did you remember how jealous you got when that tall man in a suit hit on me last month in that tavern with the deer head on the front door?" Buggy had crossed his arms in front of his chest, clearly annoyed, and nodded. "So what exactly did he do, that made you jealous?" The blue haired pirate thought for a moment then started to answer "Well, he told you you were the most beautiful woman and then he tried to buy you- ohhhh" Buggy's eyes widened as the realisation hit him. Then his lips turned into a smirk "Well... I just got hit on! That's no surprise to be honest, because everyone knows the flashiest pirate in the east blue is quite the catch! I don't know how you can top this. You'll have to try really hard to win me over. I have options, you know?" he teased his wife. She laughed again, then replied "How about you finish your drink and then we go back to the ship and I..." she leaned over and whispered in his ear. His eyes grew wide and an almost devious smile crossed his face. Buggy had never downed a rum that fast in his life before.

[lunarcovehq]

Leyla Selvi is a pixie that currently resides in Celestial Hills and has been a Lunar Cove resident for 5 years making drin— hey, where’s my wallet??

ITS THE END OF THE WORLD

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis Woman, She/Her

DATE OF BIRTH: May 21, 1994

OCCUPATION: Owner of The Daily Drip

FACECLAIM: Burcu Özberk

AS WE KNOW IT, AND I FEEL FINE

SPECIES: Fae

SUBCATEGORY: Pixie

REGENERATED: No

FAE COURT POSITION: High Fae (Court Member)

AGE THEY APPEAR: 28

WELCOME TO LUNAR COVE, LEYLA SELVI

Trigger Warnings: Memory Loss, Violence, Kidnapping, Parental Death & Abandonment

Once upon a time, there was girl who believed in fairytales. Now known by the name of Leyla, Eda Yildiz used to ‘waste’ her summer vacations away, as her ‘mother’ liked to say, curled up by the pier with her nose buried deep within some book. The smallest up-tilt of a smile stained in romanticized dreams lay across her lips as she flipped through crisp page after crisp page, all too eager to make it to the end. Only unlike the heroines and heroes of her novels who were scarred with tragic backstories and a desperate need to escape their current circumstances, Eda’s life was the reverse. She started off with her ‘happily ever after’. She was born to a family of five or so she thought. She grew up with two of the most loving parents in the world who would rope their kids into family game nights and sneak off on a date night of their own each week. She grew up with two siblings- a sister who would always steal her clothes and encourage her to stop hiding behind her fantasies and actually put herself out there and a brother who would bicker with her to no end and yet would always be there to stand up for her when she needed him to. She grew up with a picture perfect family in a small town with a house right on the water and where the most exciting thing that ever happened was the silly gossip at school as to who was hooking up with whom and some resident disputes between neighbors. Only the perfect life Eda was living didn’t belong to her…

Eda knew something was different the moment she reached puberty. Suddenly, random and unexpected good things kept falling into her lap. The math final she hadn’t had time to study for was pushed a week later. She won a contest where her friends and her could take a weekend trip into the city to watch their favorite band perform and, every time she went into the school cafeteria, she found herself stumbling upon the last slice of pizza one day or cookie the next. She was becoming incredibly lucky practically overnight and the bizarre occurrences didn’t stop there. After watching someone play piano once, it was as if she suddenly and inexplicable could play it too. Her ‘mother’ just chalked it off to her being talented, but she knew in her gut something wasn’t right as much as she tried to convince herself that the shifting gaze her mom would occasionally cast her way, as if she was trying to remember something she couldn’t quite bring to the tip of her tongue just yet, was only Eda reading into things and being paranoid. But, the truth was far worse.

While Eda’s loving and all too normal family were human, she was not. But, she hadn’t been reborn into this life. She had been swapped. The Yildizs should have had a daughter around her age, that much was true. Only she wasn’t the real Eda. She was an imposter living under their roof and in their home. A changeling her birth parents had convinced the Yildizs was there’s, only the mirages her birth parents had casted over the household were wearing off and, right after Eda’s fifteen birthday, she found herself wandering through the kitchen door like she always did and calling out to her mother, only for her to meet the eyes of a woman who looked at her as if she was nothing more than a cruel stranger. What happened next is still very much a blur, but she remembered her mom breaking down into tears as her dad berated her, shouting questions at her over and over again that she didn’t quite understand. Where is she? Who even are you? Where is our daughter? Please Ed- please whoever you are, just tell us where she is?

In a matter of seconds, her family, the people she had grown up believing would love her until the end of time turned on her and, logically she knew they were in shock and maybe if she had stuck around long enough to give them more time to process everything, things might have been different. But, she was barely fifteen and when the people whom had only weeks before been lovingly singing her happy birthday, now treated her like some manipulative criminal, she did the only thing she could think of doing. She ran upstairs, hastily packed up a bag and left.

She didn’t know where she was headed. She didn’t even fully know what she was, but crashing at a friends house in a small town where gossip seemed to travel at the speed of light and whose parents would immediately send her back didn’t exactly seem like an option. So, Eda bought the first bus ticket out of town. She didn’t go far, crashing at a motel on the way into Hartford, but it was far enough for her to feel completely and utterly alone. She spent those first few nights cradling herself to sleep as she clutched her phone in her hand as if to try to will one of her parents or siblings to call. Only they never did and instead she found herself having a run-in with a family member she hadn’t even known she had - a sister going by the name of Hande Kaplan.

Hande, though, was far from a friendly lost sibling who would welcome her in with open arms. No, it appeared Hande harbored quite the resentment against Eda. Apparently, the Kaplans, their birth parents, had been two fae whom had been on the run from a group of hunters and, in desperation to save their children, ended up committing one of the most taboo acts a fae could. They swapped their two youngests at birth into what they had hoped to be loving families which was how Eda had ended up with the Yildiz. While, it seemed she had another sister out there unaware that the family they claimed as their own wasn’t biologically related to them. And as for Hande? Their parents never had a chance to find a loving family for her. The hunters took their lives before they could, leaving young Hande alone with the group of humans who not only killed her parents but hated her own existence. Only, rather than kill her too, they decided to train the small fae and mold Hande into a weapon of their own design that they could use to aid in their hunt for others like her. And it now seemed that the fae turned hunter had appeared before Eda to hunt her down too.

But, Eda was lucky alright, because in the midst of her fear, she turned invisible for the first time in her life and in doing so was able to narrowly escape. And yet, after everything she had been through, she was hardly the same girl she was before. The name Eda Yildiz now felt foreign on her tongue. She still had no idea what her birth parents had done with the real Eda, but she knew she no longer deserved carry that name anymore. It didn’t belong to her and, at this point, she didn’t even want it. She’d rather be someone new. So, by the time she bumped into the other fae Hande had been hunting in addition to her whom she could only deduce was her other biological sibling, Dilan, she found herself introducing herself by the name of Leyla. A new name that she had selected for a new her. Someone who wouldn’t hide behind her books anymore, but take action which is exactly what Dilan and her did.

Maybe it was the fact that they were both on their own or being hunted down by an older sister they would both rather have no relations with, but Dilan and Leyla seemed to quickly develop somewhat of a kinship between each other. The two looking out for each other as they did what they felt they needed to, to get by and later thrive. While Dilan became a con-artist, using her looks to her advantage as she manipulated those around her, Leyla feel into the world of recon and theft- what started out as pickpocketing to get by turned into breaking and entering and larger cons performed with her sister acting as the front. The pair becoming an unstoppable tag team as they traveled from city to city up until they came back to the hotel room they had been crashing in one night to find it raided through. Hande had found them once more. Their past was once again catching up to them, so the pair of sisters packed up their things and found their way to Lunar Cove, the one place they knew the hunter wouldn’t be able to reach them and, ironically only an hour drive away from where Leyla had originally grown up.

[yurhighnessmio]

✍You are cursed. Every evil deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, good deeds will grant you more time.

Short Story #3 - February 15, 2022; Tuesday; 11:58pm

Do I push this random old woman on a busy street or do I help her cross the road?—was probably the hardest question I had to ask myself in my life.

I am a villain. Well, to be more specific, I'm just a petty thief...who is also, not only hot looking—mind you—but also pretty much of a great guy overall. Don't question that, you don't have to.

Although, I'm kind of an ass, I don't deny that. I mean, what thief isn't a piece of shit, really? Yeah, I steal. Maybe beat a few motherfuckers up here and there when I feel like it. No biggie.

Though, I have to admit, it's not like I have a choice but to do this. This shit happens apparently when you drop off of six grade just because you feel like it. Don't blame me—How was I supposed to know things were gonna turn out this way? It ain't my fault.

You live with what'chu got, and you learn to like it. I mean, I do one job: I steal a few wallets a day then BOOM—I get cash. No working in the office listening to a bunch of good-for-nothings yelling at you to do better. No struggling to pay shitty bills you ain't wanna pay. No wasting hours working all day only to be payed what? Fifty bucks? No. None of that.

You hear how great that is? Damn.

But, you see here, I'm kind of in a bit of a mess and stuff. See, something's happened...I met a bitch, blah, blah, blah, yada, yada—anyways, she got herself a lil too pissed. If you know what I mean?

See, in the thievery industry, you gotta at least have a clue who tf you're messing with. Can't just put your hands in just anybody's pants, if you catch my drift—although, yes, sex? Do your own thing when it comes to that. Fuck a stranger, fuck a friend, fuck a teacher. Do it...Bless you.

Back to the thing. I make her a little mad. She's not happy about it. I made her lose her shit. She's not happy about that either. Stuff happens, yada, yada, and now everytime I do my shit, I'm fucking dying.

Like, what the fuck? What'd I ever do to her dumbass? I returned her wallet, didn't I? Maybe not the money and the credit cards, but the wallet. And isn't that enough? Piece of shit needs to humble herself a bit. Really.

Back to the point, alright, I live, I do my job, right? And all of the sudden, everytime some crazy stuff happens, I feel this fucked up urge telling me that I'm 'bout to be 56 years away from dying. Like, what the hell, man. I mean I get it, I'm not complaining, 56's a lot—I'm actually really satisfied when it comes to that but, you know, what the actual fucking fuck? You know?

Ain't no one's supposed to know shit like that. What am I? A wizard? I ain't no Potter kid, alright? And I can't even tell nobody 'bout this shit cause they'll just think I've lost my cheeseballs...probably will laugh like dumb motherfuckers too, them pieces of shit. All because of that bitch—

At first, I didn't care and sort of ignored it. Cause, duh? What's a bro gotta do when you suddenly feel something telling you that you're dying in 56 years? Exactly. Nothing.

So I continued my shit but fuck, man, the number just keep droppin'. I keep on telling myself, you know, this is all me. It ain't real.

But then, I get this great idea to be a little, and I mean a little, experimental about it. It's sort of like, a guessing game, right? I guess what happens if I do this, I guess what happens if I do that, if I hit someone in the face, if I fuck their wife that I see in the pub, you get me? And man! It was the funnest mother fucking shit I've ever done in my life.

Like, I can say stuff like, "I wonder what's it worth hitting you face?" And they wont know jackshit! Ha! Things were too good. If it were gonna go down regardless of the things I do, then I might as well have fun with it.

So I punch a drug dealer's face—Awesome. I fuck a priest at the altar—Hilarious! I push a bro out of his own fucking balcony—he didn't die, there was a pile of trash below him, but he did sprain his leg and smell like shit—Fucking. Wicked!

Then one day, I walk out of a convenient store after pick-pocketing a few wallets and suddenly I feel my life bar says:

30 minutes; 42 seconds.

What...do I do...? What do I do? What. The. Fuck. Do. I. Mother. Fuckin'. Do?.....Bitch, I run! That's what I do.

I don't wanna fucking die. Yeah, I didn't believe this shit at first. Was it stupid? Who tf knows? Do you believe a motherfucker is robbing a bank before he pulls the gun out? Hell no. You embrace your own cajones. That's wha'chu fuckin' do.

To say that I choked on my own spit because of it is an exaggeration. Though, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to do anything about it. So I make sure not to lose my wallets and instead lose my damn shit as I try to look for something nice to do.

It's happened so often than not that when I actually do something nice for once, I get older. No, not get older, like, I don't die. Not like, the immortal type of not dying—I don't even know if that's possible—just, I don't die as early. I live longer—if you understand.

But what the heck can I even do? I don't wanna go around town like a moron going on and helping people for the rest of my life. I have a job. A responsibility to take care of my own ass—nevermind the mention of helping other people. I'm hard enough to maintain as I am.

All because of that bitch. I mean seriously, who does these to people? Witches! God, I didn't even think those things existed—If I knew, I would've backed the fuck out that instant but I didn't. Now I'm dying! What the heck—and I thought I was an asshole?

Looking for something nice to do at the side of a road is not so easy when there's really only one person I can help out: an old woman in her midnight dress and a cane that looks like she could have diabetes, maybe arthritis, who knows?

I gotta help her. But, then again, Help? Really? What am I, a bitch?

My blood is boiling and I don't really feel like helping an old piece of shit like her. I groan as I walk close, eyes darting to the road and back to her. I'm having a crisis:

Do I push this random old woman on a busy street or do I help her cross the road?

Vehicles of all kinds—cars, cheap ones, expensive ones, trucks, motorbikes, ambulances(three of them)—look like they're irking to run over a poor old lady right about now.

I remember the bitch that made me this way. Doing her Harry fucking Potter bullshit on me like there won't be consequences. Wait 'till I discover the existences of witch police. Definitely gonna get her sorry ass arrested.

I'm too pissed. Too pissed to even wanna move an inch from where I stood—staring at her like a damn predator. I am not into grannies, don't even start.

So I push her—mentally, as I actually lend her a hand and help her cross the street, holding her hand like old peope do in tv's.

"Why thank you, young man. Not very many people offer to help old folks like me these days. Your mother must be so proud!"

"Whatever, man." I can't even look at her.

When I reached the other end of the road, I drop her off. It was a fairly large town, but not many people like to go out. So, I wasn't surprised when all I saw at the other end was a mother, her child, and a beggar that seemed to be distracting the woman by insistently begging for coins.

The granny gave her thanks, and walked away. I feel my bar change.

1 day; 29 minutes; 32 seconds.

That's it? One!? I thought, Not to complain, but I worked too hard walking with that old hag's pace just to be added one day to my life. Whoever's in charge with handling my shit is a selfish prick and they fucking know it.

Out of anger, my eyes wander just enough to  see how the child is actually holding a lollipop. My stomach grumbles and I smile at the midget. Then I grab the lollipop and run for it the opposite direction before shoving the thing in my mouth.

I laugh like it's the end of the world. I could hear the child cry. I could also sense my bar change.

28 minutes; 56 seconds.

Son of a bitch.

🌟

Questions?

Comments?

Advice?

No?

Have a great day.

[regenderate-fic]

When I Run Away (You're Who I Run To): Chapter 16

main post read on ao3

Word Count (Chapter): 4,650

NOTES: cw for misgendering/transphobia/deadnaming mostly at the start + some discussion later. also some discussion/implication of abuse etc. sorry for giving penny so much trauma in my defense it's a fraction of what canon thirteen has

also the "box of shame" uno house rule is from esther nounpolycule thank you esther for once again letting me steal your ideas for this fic. ALSO IT'S HIS BIRTHDAY THIS WEEK EVERYONE SAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY ESTHER

posting a bit early because i'm so grouchy right now and i want to go be soooo comfycozy with my girlfriend

Yaz tilted her head to the side. “Your son?”

“John Smith,” the woman explained. “Although I hear he’s using a different name these days. I was told he worked here?”

Immediately, everything clicked in Yaz’s head. Woman— looking for her child— whose current name she didn’t even know. Or— no. Refused to use? In any case, it all added up to trouble. Yaz stepped forward.

“No,” she said. “I know everyone who works here, and none of them are your son.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rose dart back towards the kitchen, and she stepped to the side, obscuring the kitchen doors as well as she could. “If you want to order something, Ace here can help you out—”

“No,” the woman said. “That’s all right. I’ll just wait here, if that’s all right.”

“Actually,” Ace said, “you’ve got to buy something to use the space.” She shrugged. “It’s the rules.” It wasn't, as far as Yaz knew.

The woman stared at her for a long moment. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll take a muffin.”

“Flavor?” Ace asked, ice in her tone. 

“Blueberry will do.”

“Sorry,” Ace said. “We’re all out.” 

Yaz glanced over to the display case— there was a whole row of blueberry. She suppressed a smile. 

“What are those, then?” the woman asked, nodding to the case. 

“They’re on hold,” Ace said blithely. “Sorry. We’ve just started taking online orders. It’s a bit of a mess, really. I can give you a carrot.” As far as Yaz knew, just about every word of that was a lie— if the bakery had started taking online orders, Yaz was sure she and Rose would’ve been the first customers. 

“Fine, then. Carrot.”

Ace pulled the muffin out of the display case and stuffed it into a paper bag. “That’ll be three pounds fifty.”

The woman dug in her wallet for the change. She dropped it on the countertop and picked up the bag, holding it primly in front of her. “Is that all?” she asked.

Ace nodded. 

The woman looked around, appraising. “It’s a nice place you’ve got here, you know.”

Neither Ace nor Yaz responded. Finally, the woman retreated, and Yaz glanced at Ace. “You all right out here?” she asked quietly.

“Right as rain,” Ace said with a smile. She jerked her head towards the kitchen door. “Go check on Rose.” 

Yaz nodded. “Thanks.”

“‘Course.” Ace looked forward again, just in time for another customer to come up to the counter. Yaz slipped through the door into the kitchen. 

She scanned the room. It took her a moment to find Rose and Penny. They were in the far corner, Penny on the ground, folded in on herself with Rose sitting next to her, stroking her hair, whispering quietly. As Yaz stepped closer, Rose looked up.

“Is she gone?”

Yaz shook her head. “Ace tried to say she couldn’t stay if she didn’t buy anything. Didn’t work. Sort of fun to watch, though.” She lowered herself to the floor next to Penny, a cabinet handle digging into her back. “How’s it going in here?”

Penny looked up. “How d’you think?” But there was only the faintest trace of the usual obstinate spark in her eyes. 

“Yeah. Silly question, I guess.” Yaz took a deep breath. “Not sure what to do now. Is there a back entrance?”

Penny nodded. “But we’ll have to walk outside to get back to my place,” she said. 

“Right,” Yaz said, the plan spinning itself out in her mind. “Come to our place. We’ll cross the street at the end of the block and double back. Rose and I can stand on either side of you so anyone looking will see us first. Can you walk that far if we help you?”

“If I have to,” Penny said. “Stairs will be hard.”

“We can hang out in the shop,” Rose said. “No stairs.”

“Okay.” Penny nodded. “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “I— I've got my cane with me today. It'll help.”

Rose was already on her feet. “Where is it?” And then a second later— “Oh, I see it.” She stepped across the room, returning a second later with a copper-colored cane with a plain black handle. 

“Thanks.” Penny took the handle of the cane. “Er— might need a moment. Before we go anywhere.”

“You've got all the time you need,” Rose murmured. To Yaz, she added, “I texted Donna. No response yet.”

Just then, an oven beeped, and Yaz jumped up. 

“What's that?” she asked. 

“Croissants, probably.” Penny waved a hand. “There's oven mitts around somewhere.”

Yaz found them on the counter nearest the oven. She'd never used a big commercial oven like this before, but all she needed to do was get everything out in one piece— which she could manage. She unloaded four trays of perfect croissants, lining them up on the counter, and then she propped the kitchen door partway open with a doorstop. Usually the door to the kitchen never closed, and whoever was working would come in and out freely— but today Yaz kept the door mostly shut, nudging it further open with her foot as she brought out the tray. 

“Where do these go?” she asked Ace. 

“I've got it,” Ace said. She put on a pair of gloves and opened the display case, plucking the croissants off the tray and lining them up inside the case. 

“There's three more of these,” Yaz said. 

Ace straightened up. “They'll go in the warmer until we need them,” she said. “Don't worry. I've got it.” 

“Great. Thanks.”

Yaz followed Ace back into the kitchen. Ace started moving trays around, and Yaz stepped towards Rose and Penny. Rose stood, catching Yaz’s hand as she said, “We need to get her out of here.” 

“Okay,” Yaz said. “Have you gotten in touch with Donna?”

“She responded,” Rose said. “She’s out shopping. She’ll be back soon.”

Yaz nodded. “We should wait for her,” she said. “We shouldn’t leave Ace alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ace said from the other side of the room. “Honest.”

“It’s not safe,” Yaz said, turning towards her. “For you, I mean. You shouldn’t be running the shop alone, and I don’t know what Penny’s mum did to her, but it wasn’t good, and I don’t want you alone when she’s here.” She shook her head. “Anyway, Donna knows more about how to handle this than any of us, and until she’s here, I don’t want to leave you.”

Ace hesitated halfway through pulling a batch of biscuits out of one of the ovens. “All right,” she said. “If you say so.” She nodded at the biscuits. “I’ll just take these out front, then.” She darted out into the bakery, balancing a tray on one hand and kicking the door open in what looked to Yaz like an incredibly risky move.

Yaz let go of Rose’s hand— Rose was on her phone now, tapping rapidly away— and went back to sit next to Penny on the floor. Penny had unfolded herself a little bit, sitting cross-legged now, still looking down at her hands. 

“Doing all right?” Yaz asked.

“Could be worse,” Penny said. “You know. Considering.” She paused. “But, then again, could also be better.”

“Yeah, sounds right.” Yaz tilted her head back until it hit the cabinet behind her. “Sorry this is happening.”

Penny waved a hand. “Not your fault.”

Yaz opened her mouth to reply, but then the kitchen door banged open, and there was Donna, carrying grocery bags in both hands, moving relentlessly through the space. She left the bags on one of the counters and rushed over to Penny, crouching in front of her, hands on her shoulders.

“Penny,” she said. “Are you all right?”

“Depends how you define it, probably,” Penny said. “I mean, really, is anyone ever all right?”

Donna raised her eyebrows.

Penny sighed. “I’ll be fine. Probably.”

“Good enough for now,” Donna determined. She stood up. “Is there anything still in the ovens?”

“Might be a few loaves of bread,” Penny said. “Ace is probably keeping better track. Was going to put in some more biscuits, but—” She waved a hand. 

Donna nodded. “I’ll ask Ace, then. Rose said you were going across the street?”

“Yeah.” 

“You’d better go now, then,” Donna said. “Don’t want to leave it longer than we have to. 

“Yeah,” Penny said again. She reached for her cane, on the floor in front of her. “Are we all ready?”

Yaz exchanged a look with Rose. “Yep,” she said.

“Okay.” Penny pushed herself up with the cane, swaying just a little. “Exit’s that way,” she said, nodding her head. 

Yaz held the door, and Penny and Rose stepped outside. They walked away from the coffee shop, towards the crosswalk at the other end of the street— Yaz kept half an eye on Penny the whole time. She walked faster than Yaz expected, considering, but she was panting from it before they reached the crosswalk.

“D’you need a shoulder?” Rose asked.

“That’s all right,” Penny puffed. “Once I get going it’s better to do it myself.”

They made it across the street without incident, although Penny was slowing down, clearly already exhausted. They were halfway back to the tattoo shop when Yaz saw motion at the bakery’s entrance. The door opening— a familiar hat— and then the woman from before was waiting at the crosswalk, her eyes on Penny. 

Yaz looked around. There was no way they’d get to the door in time. Donna was coming out the door to the bakery now, but even if she managed to intervene— Yaz looked at Penny. Penny was staring at the woman across the street, frozen in place.

“Penny,” Yaz said, quiet, urgent. “Will you let me carry you?”

Penny snapped her head to look at Yaz. “What? Can you?”

“I’m stronger than I look,” Yaz promised. 

“She is,” Rose added. 

“And I don't see a better option,” Yaz added. “I can get you inside fast.”

There was a too-long pause as Penny evaluated. Another glance at the scene across the street, and she nodded. That was all Yaz needed to bend down and scoop Penny up, one arm supporting her legs, one arm around her back. Penny wrapped her arms around Yaz’s shoulder, clinging for dear life, her cane dangling behind Yaz’s back until Rose took it. 

Yaz ran. The shop wasn’t that far, really— half a block, if that. Yaz made it easily, and good thing, too: the crosswalk light had just turned green. Rose held the door open, and Yaz turned sideways to carry Penny through, setting her on her feet and holding her up until Rose could hand her her cane. 

“Let's get to the back,” Yaz said. “Rose, is the door locked?”

“About to be,” Rose muttered.

Yaz led Penny into the back, into her studio, and lowered the tattoo bed so Penny could sit on it easily. Yaz crossed the room to sit in her office chair, and when Rose came in, closing the door behind her, she wasted no time in dropping onto Yaz's lap. Yaz pushed the chair until it was next to the tattoo bed, where Penny was still sitting, legs dangling over the edge. 

“Thanks,” she said softly. “Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt your day like that.”

“Not your fault,” Rose said. She rested a hand on Penny’s knee. “It's a good thing, if we can help you. Yeah?”

“Okay,” Penny breathed. 

“Do you need anything?” Yaz added. “Water? Tea? Might have some biscuits upstairs. Could probably get Ace or Donna to bring you something, too.”

Penny waved a hand. “Water’s fine.”

Rose slid off Yaz's lap and went to the sink at the other end of the room. She filled a paper cup and brought it back. Penny took it in both her hands, slumping over, and Rose dropped back onto Yaz's lap. 

“You really ought to get another chair in here,” she said. “What do you do if people want another person there for their tattoo?”

“Take a chair from the lobby, usually.” Yaz raised her eyebrows. “Which we could do now, if you really want your own.”

“Nah,” Rose said. “Think I'm okay.” Her head fell onto Yaz's shoulder. Yaz rolled her eyes, but her arm wrapped around Rose’s waist anyway, holding her up. 

Yaz looked at Penny. She was staring at nothing, holding her cup in front of her. It occurred to Yaz, suddenly, that Penny needed to know that her mum had not called her by her name— she tried to think how to bring it up. 

Fortunately, Rose was well ahead of her. “Penny,” she said, lifting her head. 

Penny's gaze snapped towards her.

“We should— I mean, you should know.” Rose spoke slowly, carefully. “When your mum came in, asking for you— she wasn't asking for you as Penny.”

“Oh.” Penny seemed to deflate even more. “Almost forgot. Been too long.”

“It's— we don't have to talk about it,” Rose said quickly. “It doesn't affect anything. But it's not fair if you don't know.”

“She just doesn't like that I've got a life she can't control,” Penny said. “She was fine with it when I was fourteen and she was the one doing my medical care.” She grimaced. “Well, ‘fine’ is probably a creative way of putting it. Still.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Rose slid off Yaz's lap and climbed onto the tattoo bed to wrap her arms around Penny. Penny’s body sagged as she sank into it, her head resting on Rose’s shoulder. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

“‘ Course,” Rose said. 

“Sorry for dragging you two into this,” Penny added. “I know it's a lot.”

“We weren't dragged,” Yaz said. “We could've left anytime.” 

“Not that we would have,” Rose said. 

“No,” Yaz agreed. “But we could have. In theory.”

“Glad you didn't,” Penny said. 

Yaz smiled. “Yeah, me too.”

“So, what do we do now?” Rose asked. “Do we just wait until Donna texts us?” 

“Not sure we planned this far,” Yaz said. “Sorry, Penny. I’ll carry you upstairs, if you’d rather sit on a proper sofa.”

“That’s all right,” Penny said. “Don’t want to put too much strain on your muscles. Anyway, it’s better to be downstairs.” She shrugged. “Besides, we’d have to go back out.”

“Do you think she’s still out there?” Rose asked.

“I can check,” Yaz said. She stood up and went out into the lobby, peeking through the glass windows. Sure enough, Penny’s mum was standing at the street corner, staring towards the shop. Yaz ducked and darted back into the hall before she was noticed.

“Definitely still out there,” she said as she reentered her studio. She sat back down in her chair. “Sorry. We might be here for a while.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Penny said. “I can’t hide from her forever, can I?”

“Might be legal options,” Rose said. “I don’t know what those are, mind, but—”

“Yeah,” Penny said. “Might be.”

“We can look into it,” Yaz said. “I’ll give it a Google later, anyway.”

“Don’t know if it would actually stop her,” Penny said. “Besides, she’s got all sorts of connections in the government. Not sure we could press charges she couldn’t get out of.”

“That’s—” Rose was at a loss for words.

“Yeah.” Penny shrugged. “Not much about her is fair.”

“Well, we won’t let her in here,” Rose said. She adjusted her hold on Penny, drawing her closer.  “And if we really need to, we can fold out the couch in the living room and you can sleep at our place.”

“Okay,” Penny said. “Yeah.”

“But we don’t have to worry about that for ages,” Rose added. “Right now, I think we need a distraction.”

Yaz looked around. “Anyone want a tattoo?”

Penny almost laughed. “I’m all right, thanks.”

“How’s your clover healing?” Yaz asked.

“Really well, actually,” Penny said. “Only thing my body’s been doing right lately, really.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I think I’ve got playing cards in my studio somewhere,” Rose offered. “And Yaz, you’ve got art stuff down here, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” Yaz said. “And my tablet.”

“See?” Rose smiled. “Plenty to do.”

“Could print off some of our designs as coloring pages,” Yaz suggested. “Penny, do you like that sort of thing?”

“What? I don’t know. Never thought about it.”

Yaz shrugged. “Some people find it comforting. Honestly, I just find it ‘my job,’ but you might like it.”

“Worth a try,” Penny decided. “Could always use some comfort.”

“Okay,” Yaz said. “Hang on.” She moved over to her desk and opened her laptop. She pulled up a few different designs and sent them to the printer, which was underneath the desk— a few seconds later, the printer roared to life.

“I’ll grab the cards,” Rose said from behind Yaz. Yaz heard her footsteps as she went to search the other room. The first design, a cartoonish depiction of a shooting star, finished printing, and Yaz picked it up. When she straightened up and turned around, she saw Penny was now curled up on her side, staring out at her. Her water cup was crumpled in her hands.

“I’ll get you something to write on,” Yaz decided. “Won’t have to sit up that way.” She grabbed a clipboard off her desk and clipped the design to it. She had an assortment of markers on her desk, and she picked out a few basic colors and put them on the rolling table she usually used to lay out her ink and tattoo machine. “Here,” she said to Penny, setting down the clipboard next to her on the tattoo bed. “If you want it.”

“Thanks.” Penny picked up a yellow marker and started to fill in the lines, and Yaz turned to pluck the rest of the now-printed pages out of the printer and leave them on her desk. Rose came back in a second later, holding a deck of cards.

“Turns out I’ve just got Uno,” she said. “Anyone up for a round?”

“‘Course I am.” Yaz lowered herself to the ground. “Penny?”

“I’m okay here,” Penny said. She was completely absorbed in her coloring, her tongue poking out. 

Rose sat across from Yaz, dealing the cards with perfect precision. She and Yaz had played a lot of Uno over the years, and by now had a custom set of rules that made the game nigh incomprehensible to the outside observer: it was probably a good thing Penny had declined to play, really, given that Yaz couldn’t actually remember how Uno was supposed to be played at this point. She was pretty sure it didn’t involve a face-off every time someone played a “skip” card, though.

“Hold on,” Rose said. “Who lost last?”

Yaz raised her eyebrows. “If you have to ask, it was probably you.”

“Ugh. Do we even have a box around here?”

“What do you need a box for?” Penny was sitting up now, looking down at them in confusion.

“Last person who lost has to sit in a box for the next round,” Rose explained. 

Penny frowned. “Not in any version I’ve played.”

“House rules,” Yaz said. “Rose, is the hourglass in there?”

Rose peered into the box. “Yep.” She pulled out the little plastic hourglass, setting it next to the deck of cards.

“All right,” Penny said, “I actually think I’ve got to experience this. If you don’t mind explaining your rules.”

“‘Course not,” Yaz said. She moved over to make room for Penny to play. “Rose, deal her in?”

Rose was already on it. “Yep.”

“And I’ll find a box,” Yaz added. She got up. She was sure she still had one from her last ink shipment— at the very least, she had some big plastic bins that she usually used for storage. In a pinch, she could empty out one of those. But no, there was a big cardboard box at one end of the room: perfect for the “box of shame.” Yaz dragged it towards Rose.  “Found one.”

“Oh, all right.” Rose stepped into the box. It was just big enough that she could sit cross-legged without much trouble, leaning over the edge to see the cards. 

“Okay,” Yaz said. “Most important rule is that you’ve got until the hourglass runs out to take your turn, or else you’ve got to draw a card. Second most important rule is that if someone plays a skip, it starts a face-off between them and the person they’ve tried to skip. You each play your highest card, and whoever’s is higher wins. Wild counts as a zero unless it’s a draw-four, which is the highest. Draw-two is just under the draw-four. Reverses don’t count, another skip wins automatically. Got it?”

Penny stared at her hand. “I think so. Does this make the game better?”

“Mostly just makes it more chaotic,” Rose said. “It’s up to you whether that’s better.”

“Right.” Penny looked up, her eyes darting from Rose to Yaz. “Suppose I’m ready, then.”

“Yaz goes first,” Rose said. “As champion of the last game.”

“Not as person to the left of the dealer?” Penny checked.

“Nope,” Yaz said. She laid down her card and flipped the hourglass. “Penny, your turn.”

“What?” Penny floundered. She’d just barely pulled a card out of her hand when the sand in the hourglass ran out. 

“Too late!” Rose crowed. “You’ve got to draw!”

“Oh, no.” Penny took a card from the deck and sat back.

“You’ve got to flip the hourglass for Rose,” Yaz said. 

“Oh. Right.” Penny leaned forward to flip the hourglass, and Rose half fell out of the box in her haste to play a card. 

The game proceeded apace: Penny got the hang of it pretty quickly, and by the end she’d not only mastered the house rules but also soundly defeated both Yaz and Rose, dropping her final card onto the pile with a cry of, “Yes! I win!” She sat back again, glancing between Yaz and Rose. “Does this mean you both have to sit in the box?”

“No, we keep playing,” Yaz said.

“No, I like the version where we both sit in the box.” Rose reached towards Yaz, grabbing onto her arm and nearly tipping the box over. She tugged at Yaz’s arm. “C’mon. It’s the rules.”

“Fine,” Yaz said. “We both sit in the box.” She crawled over to Rose and maneuvered herself until she tumbled into Rose’s lap with a yelp, her limbs folded against the bulging cardboard. She turned her head to see Rose’s grin, inches from her face. “How are we supposed to play this way again?”

“I wasn’t thinking that far ahead,” Rose said.

“Yeah, well, I still want to see if I can defeat you,” Yaz replied. “Penny, can you pass me my cards?”

“Sure.” Penny picked up Yaz’s hand and passed it over. Yaz adjusted her position on Rose’s lap, keeping the backs of the cards pointedly towards Rose. 

“Okay,” Yaz said, looking at Rose over her cards. “Rose, I think it was your turn. Penny, can you get the hourglass?”

“On it.” Penny flipped the hourglass, and Rose reached past Yaz to drop her card on the discard pile. She contorted herself until she reached the hourglass, and then she flipped it. Yaz scrambled to play her card, leaning out of the box— but then she leaned too far, and the box tipped over, spilling her and Rose onto the playing space and scattering the cards all over. Everyone was laughing, Yaz and Rose and Penny, Rose half on top of Yaz, Yaz almost subconsciously wrapping her arms around Rose’s waist. 

“Right,” Rose said, making no effort to move away from Yaz or off the pile of cards on the floor. “I think that one counts as a draw.”

“What do you do with the box?” Penny asked. “If it’s a draw?”

“Suppose we’ll need two boxes,” Rose said. “Considering sharing doesn’t seem to work.”

“I’m not sure I have another box,” Yaz said. 

“We’ve got loads in the bakery,” Penny said. “You know. If we ever get back in there.”

“Bet Ace would bring one back after her shift,” Rose said.

“Oh, right. Forgot she was staying with you.” 

“We do seem to be collecting.” Rose rolled off Yaz to lie on her back on the floor, still on top of half the cards, her arm still under Yaz. Yaz moved a little closer, and Rose wrapped her arm properly around Yaz’s waist, still talking.  “Going to have to rename the place. How’s Bad Wolf Home for People Running Away from Their Mothers sound?”

“Accurate,” Yaz noted. 

“Yeah, I’ll take it,” Penny agreed. “Although won’t that be a bit obvious? To the mothers, I mean?”

Rose waved her free hand. “We’ll have good security. You saw Yaz’s muscles, didn’t you?”

“Felt, more like,” Penny said.

“Exactly. We’ve got her, and plenty of locks for the doors, and I bet Ace could set some booby traps. Won’t matter who knows we’re here.”

“Not sure I’d be all that good in a fight,” Yaz said. “You need more than muscle for that sort of thing.”

Rose hummed. “I could start taking karate or something.”

“Okay,” Yaz said. “You get good at karate, and then we rename the studio. Deal?”

“Deal.” 

There was a moment of silence, Yaz and Rose still lying on the floor, Penny sitting by Yaz’s side, her knees drawn up to her chest.

“So,” Rose finally said. “Why’d you choose Penny?”

Penny jumped. “What?”

“For your name,” Rose explained. “Sorry, assuming you did choose it.”

“Suppose I chose it.” Penny tilted her head to the side, considering. “It was kind of a joke at first. Used to show up at Donna’s place, all scrawny and a bit of a mess and all, and her mum would say I was like a bad penny, the way I was always turning up. And then her grandad— Wilf, he shows up to the shop sometimes, maybe you’ll meet him— he started calling me that, you know, as a joke, ‘cause of course he was always pleased to see me. And I didn’t really have a name yet, back then. I used to try and get everyone to call me ‘Doctor,’ can you imagine? But it was just ‘cause I hadn’t thought of anything good yet.” She wrinkled her nose. “Anyway, who wants to be called John Smith? Boring name. Even if I had turned out a man.”

“Penny’s not boring,” Yaz agreed.

“No, she is not,” Rose snickered.

Yaz elbowed her. “Oi, I’m not joking.” She let her head fall to face Penny. “It’s a good name.”

Penny grinned. “Thanks. It is Penelope, legally, but I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that. Just thought it would be nice to have the option, really.”

“Penelope’s nice too,” Rose agreed. “Mythical, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Penny said. “Didn’t do too well in school. You know, considering everything.”

Rose laughed. “Yeah, sounds about right. I never even got my A-levels. But, you know. Had one of those Greek myth books lying around as a kid. Weird stories, those.” She nudged Yaz. “You read books. D’you remember?”

“It’s Odysseus’s wife,” Yaz said. “In the Odyssey. She waited, like, twenty years for him.”

“Awful name for me, then,” Penny said. “I’m horrible at waiting. Hate waiting. Wish I could skip right over it, every time.”

Rose laughed. “Suppose that’s why you go by Penny. Can't even wait a couple extra syllables.”

“Exactly.” Penny flopped back to lie on the floor. “Impatient, me. That’s why the whole fatigue thing is so awful. Just a bunch of waiting to feel better, and then you don’t.” She paused. “I mean, I suppose I feel better than I did last week, at least. But still.”

“Small mercies,” Yaz said.

Penny sighed. “Yeah. Small mercies.”

[imthebadguyyy]

maybe something like interviewer asking her sexist questions and the boys stand up for her , after that interview she feels insecure and the boys comfort her . that's just an idea you don't have to write it !! <33

I hope you like it, and I'm so sorry about the delay 😭 I couldn't find my footing with this one, and I hope it's what you wanted ! Have a lovely day 💙

The One Where They're There For Her

Pairing - One Direction x Reader (6thmember!female!reader)

Fandom - One Direction (Directioners)

Summary - A particularly sexist interview decides to reduce you to just a sexual being and makes no effort to hide his misogyny. But the boys are there to support you.

Warnings - sexualization of the lgbt community, sexist comments, swearing, (honestly I hated myself for writing some of the comments here,and I'm so sorry)

Being a part of the biggest band in the world comes with certain responsibilities. Not responsibilities that come along with signing a recording contract, but those that a person deems themselves responsible for. For example, as the only female in a boyband, a female with a fanbase as large as yours, you took it upon yourself to always stand up for what's right, and to be an ally for the causes close to your heart.

That meant that your social media was often flooded with information about important causes, or your opinions on issues like feminism. Was it always well received? Heck no. There were people filled your feed with hate and comments calling you the most horrible names and labelling you a 'man hater' and a 'bitch' But you didn't let it get to you. On most days. On days like today, it was all you could do to keep it together. It had been a tiring few days, touring, recording, performing and doing an endless amount of interviews and photoshoots. It was safe to say you were on the last of your nerves, having battled your way through a makeup artist who had insisted on pointing out your flaws and had used a shit ton of makeup to cover them up. You had battled a photographer who had not hesitated to tell you that if you didn't look more feminine people would think you were turning into a man.

Before you could retaliate, Paul had dragged him away and told management to cancel the photoshoot, and find another photographer before grabbing the six of you some sandwiches and had let you all go back for a quick power nap at the hotel. Then in about half an hour he had woken you up, to get you ready for another interview. That's how you were here, in a white jumpsuit and a black blazer jacket, paired with black heels. Another day, another interviewer that got on your nerves. But this one, this one was different. This interviewer was different, but also the same. Another misogynistic man who thought he was entitled to stare at your ass and cleavage, and eye fuck you as you settled into a seat in between Niall and Zayn.

Settling in, you crossed one knee over the other, plastering a fake smile onto your face, as the man leaned back in his chair, throwing you a sleazy smirk. Noticing the look, Zayn shifted so you were out of view of the interviewer, but in view of the audience. It was in moments like this that you were a 100× more grateful to have your boys. They were well aware of how sleazy some interviewers could be, having had plenty of experience with them, and Zayn and Louis in particular were very protective about the way you were treated. Squeezing your thigh softly, he leaned back a little, lips settling into a thin line as he looked at the interviewer with a cold look. A little behind, Louis threw the interviewer a dirty look.

"So, One Direction! Congratulations on the album, as you all know its out on November the 22nd, with eighteen new songs, including the singles Night Changes and Steal My Girl Speaking of stealing girls, do you think I could steal your number Y/N? And may I mention, you look ver, very hot in that outfit" The interviewer joked, throwing you what he thought was a sexy smirk. (P.S - it wasn't) Answering with an awkward laugh, you shook your head, as Niall tensed up beside you. "Aww come on, your'e a pretty girl, I'm a handsome guy, let's go out sometime" he pressed on, ignoring the growing anger in Harry's eyes. "That's umm, nice. But no thanks, I'm not going to go out with you" was your answer, as you pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. Picking up on your nervous tic, Zayn moved his hand to rest on your knee, stopping it from bouncing up and down.

"Aww come on baby, what is it? You like girls or something? Because I wouldn't mind being a part of that action either" the sleazebag chuckled, ignoring the disgusted look Liam sent his way. "That's rude" Liam said, while Zayn tightened his grip on your knee. "Oh come on lads, are you telling me the idea doesn't appeal to you? Two women together, mm, makes me all excited just thinking about it, especially if one of them's Y/N" That comment was all it took for Louis to stand up, turning to the man and saying in a voice much rougher than his usual voice, "Alright, that's fuckin' enough, what the fuck is actually wrong with you?" he was backed up by Liam, who stood up, going to tower over the interviewer, whose eyes had lost some of the sleazy look in them. "All you've done since we walked in here is make those disgusting comments about Y/N, and it's sickening. Have some fucking respect" he practically spat.

Behind him, Zayn took your hand in his and pulled you to your feet, noticing the slight glossiness in them, leading you back to the dressing rooms, while Niall, Liam, Louis and Harry stayed back to continue to snap at the interviewer. "That is no way to treat a woman, and not only are you disrespecting her, you also made those god awful events about seeing women together. Your'e a shame to every single person in this room by talking like that" Harry continued, glancing over his shoulder to check if you were okay.

"And no, it doesn't excite us, because we are not assholes, and you are, a disgusting sleaze who does not deserve the job he has. Fuckin loser" Niall chimed in, standing up and storming out. Louis stood up as well, turning to directly face the cameras and the cameramen and sound technicians, who had all looked shocked when the man had made his comments towards you. "I sure as hell hope you have that on record, so you can see just how fucking sexist this industry is to women. Y/N does the same job as us, works just as hard and has the same number of awards, nominations, and records and yet you decide to only focus on her body, clothes, love life and sexuality. Get a fucking life" he spat at the camera, before walking away himself, eventually followed by Harry and Liam, who apologized to the outraged fans before leaving themselves. As they made their way to the dressing rooms they could hear the audience telling the interviewer to apologize to you, their anger at the way you were treated echoing through the building.

Walking in, Harry caught sigh of you curled up in one of the armchairs, with Louis sitting beside you, while Niall and Zayn talked to a furious Paul. "He had no damn right to treat her like shite, and you need to make sure that he knows those comments were un-fuckin-acceptable" Niall was saying, looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him. "And to make those sickening comments about wanting to get action? Can't we sue him for something?" Was Zayn's reply, glancing over his shoulder at you to make sure you were still okay. "We can't sue him, atleast I don't think we can, but I'll have someone let the smug bastard know that he needs to learn how to respect a woman" Paul said, before leaving the room to give the six of you some time together before you had to head back to the hotel.

"How're you feeling darling?" Louis said, moving over and patting your knee so you moved. "I'm okay" you mumbled back, letting Louis settle in next to you, leaning back to rest on his chest. "He had no fuckin right to say any of that, and don't you let it trouble you for a second" Zayn added, pouring out a cup of tea for you and for Louis and Harry. "I don't care about what he said, I couldn't care less, but it was just so frustrating, sitting there and listening to him just sexualize a whole community of people. You've got to be in a really sad place to think of shit like that. That's what annoyed me. You think I give a damn about what he said about my clothes or wanting to take me out on a date? It was the way he was talking, like he was sure any woman would be glad to have him that irked me. He's really tiresome" was your reply, as you reached forward for a sip of your tea. "That's the right attitude love. Haters gonna hate" Harry said.

"I know that. But I just wish I could punch him once, which sounds mean, but he does kind of deserve it" Niall said, earning a laugh from you. Niall was never usually aggressive, and even now, he wasn't particularly rude but it was rare to see him wanting to punch someone. "It's okay Niall, you don't have to. I can do it myself, but I won't" you replied, leaning up to squeeze his hand. "Besides, Ni, if you went and punched him, I'd do it too, and then we'd all go to jail" Liam chimed in, scrolling through his twitter. "Twitter isn't happy either babe. #stopsexualization and #Y/Ndeservesbetter is trending already" he added, showing you his phone. "If it means some of these sexist asses get their heads out of the sand, I'm happy. But I dont want to to think about it now" you replied, cuddling closer to the warmth radiating from Louis's body.

"Okay, we won't talk about it. Do you want to go back to the hotel?" Harry asked, standing up and walking to the door "No I want to go to Nando's. Anybody else hungry?" You asked, to nods of assent from the boys. "I'm starving. Those stupid sandwiches didn't fill me up at all" Zayn said, standing up to grab his coat and wallet. "I know and I'm craving some hot Peri Peri chicken with some fries. Do you think they'd let me put the lemon and herb sauce on the fries?" You asked, standing up yourself, earning a laugh from Louis. "Your'e an international superstar babe, I think they'd give you some lemon herb sauce" Liam joked.

Laughing, the six of you made your way to the car, with Harry and Niall squishing you in between them, as Louis sat in the back with Liam, and Zayn sat in the front with Paul (he was driving thank GOD) "I'm proud of you darling" Harry chimed in suddenly. "I am too" Niall added. "You know I am" Louis said, before Liam added "Always babe" and Zayn turned to smile at you before adding, "We are all proud of you, and we always will be, not only because you do a damn good job of not listening to the haters, but because you do what you think is right" "Awh come on, your'e gonna make me cry" you mumbled, leaning into Niall's shoulder. "Almost makes me feel bad for teasing you about having an extremely low spice tolerance the last time we were at Nando's Haz" you smirked, earning a roar of laughter from the boys.

"That chicken was spicy love!" "It was lemon and herb with no peri peri!" "And it was spicy!"

And just like that, you were back to messing around with each other. Sleazy interviewers would come and go, but your boys were always there to support you. Always.

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A/N - Thanks for reading ! I'd also like to apologize on the behalf of this fictitious interviewer I made up, I felt so bad while writing some of this 😭 anyways, I hope this is what you wanted! Enjoy !

Tags - @zaynkissbot @gucci-hazza @bxtchboy69

[mrpenguinpants]

Genshin: University AU [V1]

I love modern au. Or any “everything is fine, no one died, it’s just a fever dream” au. Half of me is thinking, damn maybe I should answer this serious- LOL HAHA no. That’s not happening. Time to crack my knuckles and let my brainworms take over again.

Once again, this is 90% crack 10% content. I want to switch up my characters from the last brainworm post but I included Kaeya and Diluc.

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Today’s appreciation post goes to twistedwishes. Hey! I’ve been seeing you pop up a lot lately and thanks for the support 💕💕 I hope things are going better for you and you’re doing alright^^ I feel kinda bad for making appreciation posts on crack fics but hopefully this is somewhat funny haha. 

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Genshin: Holding Hands [V1]

Genshin: When you’re cold [V1]

Genshin: Roommate [V1]

Genshin: Royalty AU [V1]

[Masterlist]

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[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

  @mikeysbike @hanniejji@unionwitch @musekala @twistedsunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover @dilucsz @dai-tsukki-desu @thicmitten @youaskedfurret @diaxfeliz @wintergreen-aix @dandelily @thegayrubberducky @lovelykittycatmeow @yuunoagivesmelife  @dokidokisama @simpygrimoire @minakohasmanyhusbandos @strwbrry-lia @tigerpriestess @yuu-yuukurotsuki​

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Diluc

Absolute pretty boy who has braincells, but only if Kaeya is not there. In his mind, Kaeya’s presence makes his room loose 40% of their common sense. He can’t prove it just yet but he’s working on it. He majors in accounting but also has a minor in marketing, logistics’ management, fia- he majors everything business related. He’s going to become the next Elon Musk through smarts or by getting the competition drunk. There can be no contest if he’s the only candidate. He’s actually a hard working guy that overworks and stresses way too much. You have daily “Diluc recharge” evenings where he just hangs onto you while you go through your day.

“Don’t fucking talk to me until I’ve had my coffee,” except there is no coffee - he drinks grape juice out of juice boxes and his only energy boost is when he meets up with you - and that’s his constant mood. So he usually only hangs around you and Jean, since she has childhood friend status and is actually an angel. By default, Lisa is added and Diluc doesn’t mind her but if he see’s Kaeya, it’s full on war paint mode. If he's not busy with work or studies, he's usually with you either in your dorm or his apartment.

He has a fanclub and he seriously hates it and tries to do everything in his power to get Ningguang to take it down. Shouldn’t this be against his rights? But she refuses for whatever reason and makes a whole speech about free will. No matter what he does, someone manages to take a picture and it get’s printed in the university’s newspaper. The only bonding time he has with Kaeya is every Monday, where they collect and burn all the universities newspapers before anyone can get their hands on it. You always bring marshmallows to make smores during their arson activities.

“When I graduate I’m going to burn this school down to the ground. That’s not a threat it’s a promise.”

Ningguang

Is secretly the leader of the Diluc fanclub - not that she likes Diluc, she’s in a questionable platonic poly marriage with you and Beidou - but it was the easiest way to gain funds for the student council. Which she is the president of, so rip Diluc the fanclub stays. Ruthless business woman I tell you. But she can run in heels so her danger factor rises by at least 20%.

Majors in social sciences and law but more specifically the political science & government. She saw the Imperial State Crown that the Queen of England wears and says yes, that’s mine now. If she’s not with Beidou and you planning on “how to infiltrate the state government just for lols”, then she’s with Keqing, Ganyu, and Zhongli discussing student council things. Should they or should they not tell the student body that they can see everyone’s search results? Sit back and relax as the school goes into chaos. 

She’s probably the scariest person on campus No, she is the scariest person on campus. She’s the scariest person on campus. But secretly she’s popping 20 aspirins just to make it through a night. She has the digestive system of steel. She still holds the title of "seriously do not try and beat her in a drinking game it's never going to happen" and that's her proudest achievement in life but sadly she can’t put it on her resume. Kaeya is still trying to beat her out of spite but so far it hasn't been working. You’re seriously concerned for her when she get’s challenged but Beidou gives you a way-to-hard slap on the back and cheers her on. If Ninngguang somehow get’s alcohol poisonings she’ll somehow find away to make a profit out of it.

"I'll let him die, I'll get the insurance money."

Kaeya

One day he chugged too much mouth wash, passed out, and somehow woke up in university majoring in law. His idea is that if he is apart of the law, he can therefore stand above it. To be fair, his only goal in life is to say “I am the manager” and he can go live the rest of his life in bliss or as a hermit. He’s secret best friends with you but wouldn't be caught dead beside you. He will stab a bitch if you ever get hurt but will still trip you on the way home. Seriously, you have no idea why people find him attractive. Your guess is it’s the eye patch or the clap of his ass cheeks that keeps alerting everyone.  

He’s apart of the newspaper club and if anyone asks: No, he has no idea who keeps taking all the newspapers and burns them in the back of the campus. Originally, he joined because he was nosy and needed to join some type of club for his resume. He sometimes feels bad for his junior assistant Amber because he keeps tricking her and says that Diluc is secretly a demon that is trying to steal all the jobs and is apart of the lizard government hell bent on eradicating the human race. He even brought out a whiteboard for this joke, he’s dedicated to his job ok? 

The type of guy to try and be humble and say his work is “okay” but will choke a bitch if anyone agrees. He tends to leave everything last minute and says that it’s his drug since actual drugs could land you one year in prison and a maximum penalty of $2,000. You have to awkwardly hold in your concerned mother head shake when you see him speed running his assignment literally right when the professor is walking around to check if students finished. 

“I was taught how to lead not to read.”

Mona

Broke wallet #2. Zhongli is broke wallet #1 but Childe simps for him so is he really a broke wallet at this point? In this essay, I Mona Megistus, will explain why I have the rights to the title “Broke Wallet #1″...

Believes that astrology should be an actual career path but refuses to take astronomy as her major. I can read the stars not a textbook that tells me how to calculate the mass of the sun divided by the fucks I give. Instead she went into Philosophy and cries to Albedo, who is an actual prodigy genius- sir lend some braincells to everyone else please?, that her professor keep turning her paper down because “star reading” is not an academic source.

Fischl wants her to join the occult club because, surprisingly, Mona is very good at telling people’s fates through her crayon sketch ouija board. She thinks first year Fischl is cute but is put off by the cosplay roleplay that she has going on. She would join except that stupid hat wearing gremlin in her lit class would make fun of her if he found out.

You gave her half your lunch one day and bought her a doughnut "because she seemed upset" and "out of the goodness of your heart" whatever the hell that means. She thinks you pensioned it but once that thought comes she takes a bite. Poison from a doughnut is not the worst way to go out, classes are hard enough. She’s waiting for the lord to strike her down anyways. 

“Its not about passing, its about doing better than everyone else.”

Venti

Slept through most of highschool and people question how he got into university. He’s a music major (wow how fucking original is that), and if anyone asks him to serenade someone or just do anything, he’ll do it for the right price. Or if you buy him alcohol because he still keeps getting ID checked. He’s banking on Kaeya actually becoming a lawyer or being on good terms with Diluc so he can finally stop being arrested for looking like a toddler.

Takes one step into classes and quickly nopes out and goes back to bed. Professors have no idea how he hasn't dropped out or failed. He just has some god given talent. He does whine at you to pretty pretty please with a cherry on top tutor him because you're such an angel and would never leave your poor but awesome best friend hanging right? He needs to get this essay down but how he is suppose to explain how the number 10 is symbolic and connects to the universe or the meaning of life. Do you think he can just say it’s apart of his culture and make up some random myth to pretend it looks like he knows what he’s doing? 

He’s honestly going with the flow and put his brain on the back burner all of highschool and only now realizes wait, I actually have to use my brain?

He’s been banned from most club chats since Venti has the no chill card. Someone says “lol I look ugly today.” and he’ll respond "yup, you look like a cow." and he get’s banned. Zhongli keeps a speed run timer on his phone just to document these occasions.

"Sad spelled backwards is das and das how it be sometimes."

Childe

An actual dumbass that somehow does well. He eats sandwiches with the crust off, this heathen. Surprisingly he’s studying to become a physical therapist but most of his experience has come from breaking his own bones. You’re scared how he's going to be if he actually becomes a therapist. If he'll make bets with his patients or try to one up whatever crazy injury they get into. Everything is a challenge to him that sometimes the best way to deal with Childe is to knock him out. 

This man really knows the way to a Zhongli’s woman's heart. Through micro transactions. Mona saw him accidently drop $20 and just shrugged and walked off. She has never been both spiritually and physically offended in her life. She did take the $20 though. As much as you hate leeching on Chile when he’s basically a walking wallet that probably uses bills as tissue paper, you can’t help but give him puppy eyes while planning on how to get into his will. If he even plans on having one, he might honestly write “whoever wins in a gladiator style duel in my funeral’s tournament, they will get my fortune.”. 

Any sport the university offers Childe is probably in it. Which is how he met Zhongli, challenged him to a fight, proceeded to have his ass handed to him, got a backhanded compliment, and screamed to you he was in love and how he found his soulmate. He's secretly very sappy and has cried and watched every Disney and Pixar movie at least 28 times.

"IM NOT TOO SPICY! I’M A TINY BIT ABOVE MILD IF ANYTHING!”

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God if it isn’t Scaramouche, it’s Childe that ruins the aesthetic. This is why I hate you. Why do you people enable me like this, it isn’t even good. This is pretty much a @ yourself moment and I vibe hard with Venti. This entire post was just to make a joke about the clap of Kaeya’s ass cheeks alerting the guards.

This week might slow down since I have classes and assignments. My reply’s are gonna be late too, sorry;; (oh and thank you to everyone that was so supportive and nice when I mentioned it. All of you. Beautiful 💕💕 )

[gukyi]

midas | jjk

summary: jeon jungkook was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and the power to turn whatever he wants into pure gold. you were born with healing and invisibility powers but without a cent to your name. so when you’re plucked off of the streets for pickpocketing and assigned to be his minder as punishment, you realize you’re going to have to overcome a lot more than class differences if either of you are going to get what you want.

{enemies to lovers!au, ceo!au, magical realism!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, angst word count: 32k (my hand slipped) warnings: alcohol consumption (brief), mentions of bruising and injuries, characters being emotionally constipated and afraid of commitment, your usual guyi e2l lineup a/n: finally!! oh god this fic took forever to write and just kept getting longer and longer. remember when i overestimated the wc by saying 25k-30k? yikes. anyway, i hope you all enjoy this monster! nothing says gukyi like a jk e2l fic, am i right?

The best time to be on the streets is just past noon on weekdays and eleven o’clock on Sunday mornings. When every working professional is out on their lunch break or weekend brunch, basking in the nice weather by choosing to fill up every outdoor dining area available to them. When they plop their bags, their purses and totes, on the chairs opposite them or onto the pavement beside them, thinking that the plastic fence that guards them will be enough to deter pickpockets and thieves. 

Unluckily for them, they usually fail to consider the prospect of someone invisible swooping in to steal the bills from their wallets, a nondescript force reaching into their purse as they stare down at their phones while they eat, forkfuls of to-go salads and pasta dishes stuffed into their mouths. 

Pickpocketing is a skill that the most desperate learn and the shameless master. Normally, people work in teams, one person to distract and the other to fish for the wallet, grabbing the cash and credit cards before tossing it onto the sidewalk and disappearing without a trace. If you wanted to be especially good at it, you would have to be able to complete the entire thing in less than thirty seconds, in the time it takes for people to switch trains in the subway stations. 

But when you work alone, you don’t get that luxury.

But you suppose that the higher powers above, whatever they may be, are relatively benevolent, because in exchange for your prickly personality, you were blessed with the gift of being invisible. 

Unfortunately, that’s something that you don’t need magic to feel. 

The truth is that it’s always been easy to ignore a girl who has no family, no friends, and no money. Living isn’t the hard part, living with purpose is. Nobody wants to pay any attention to someone who has nothing, literally nothing, to offer in return. At least, nobody interesting. 

The only times when you ever feel truly at peace are when you’re sleeping, and when you’re walking down the streets of the city, letting the rest of the world pass you by without sparing you a second glance. You’ve never been one desperate to stick out, to make an impression. Never been someone that people stop to do a double take at when they walk past you. Strange as it sounds, you love the feeling of being insignificant. It is, in a way, liberating. 

So far today you’ve hauled eighty dollars and a subway card from the wallet of some poor tourist standing outside of a bakery looking at a map the size of Jupiter. Some people you feel particularly bad about robbing, but a bald man with dad sunglasses and a fanny pack isn’t one of them. Besides, being pickpocketed is a classic tourist experience. You’re actually doing him a favor. Something to check off of his bucket list. 

You stow away the money and the card into your pocket, bills folded neatly into your raggedy jeans, rips and holes lining the fabric not for fashion, but from wear alone. You’ll make a mental note to buy yourself a croissant or something later. A treat to reward yourself for all of the hard work you’re putting in today. You’ll be able to pay off your phone bill for the next month with this money.

When the lunch breaks are over, you’ll probably retire to your bed and wallow in self-pity for a little before returning for the dinner rush. Having no life is a constant job, and you don’t even get any legally-mandated breaks to keep you going. Every moment you aren’t on the streets is another moment you aren’t making any money. It’s sort of like being a salesman, which, if you think about it, is just a legal way to rob people. When have salespeople ever sold something of real value?

With the eighty dollars on your mind, you start to scope out nice bakeries on your route, coffee shop signs and pastries on display in the window, looking for a nice place to settle down and buy yourself something sweet. Seeing as you live off of Campbell’s soups and bread from dollar stores, anything is an upgrade. 

You walk a couple more blocks before stumbling upon one of those picture-perfect bakeries, with pristinely decorated cupcakes and cakes lining the window display. You can tell that this place is good because there’s a line out the door and a little seating area that is packed to the brim. However, you are currently invisible, which doesn’t accommodate purchasing goods particularly well, but you make a mental note to return to the bakery a little later when people can actually see you. As if you’d ever turn right here, in front of all of these people. 

While you’re here, you decide to snoop around the line and the outdoor seating area to see if anybody strikes your fancy. Everyone standing either has their bag on their shoulder or their wallets gripped tightly between their fingers, so that’s off the table. But, there is one woman wearing a massive wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses as she chows down on a pink strawberry cupcake, her Louis Vuitton tote bag sitting a good two inches away from her, possibly even out of her periphery. 

Bullseye. 

There’s never a need to be stealthy when you’re already invisible, so you trot over, eyeing the woman to make sure that she can’t see anything in front of her. She doesn’t seem to be paying any attention, so you quickly reach down into her bag, a close watch on her gaze, hand fishing around amongst the receipts and the lipsticks and hand sanitizer until you feel her leather wallet. Nimble fingers fumble with the zipper until the tips come into contact with the crisp dollar bills, which you quickly nick and stuff into your pocket, bounding off without a trace. 

Halfway down the block, you surreptitiously glance at your haul—two hundred dollars!

That’ll be enough to last you and your phone bill for the next three months, at least. 

You’re so busy mentally applauding yourself for your pickpocketing skills that you don’t notice someone standing right in front of you. At least, you don’t notice until you crash into them, the surprise forcing you to turn. 

You sputter out an apology, hoping that whoever it is you’ve nearly run over isn’t observant enough to notice that the currently-visible thing they bumped into was previously invisible, and that’s when you notice exactly who it is that you’ve collided with. 

It’s the woman from the bakery, Louis Vuitton bag and everything. And she’s staring you down like there’s no tomorrow, arms crossed over her middle-aged chest as she sends daggers at you. Oh, you’re so fucked. 

“Sorry?” You say unhelpfully, already knowing the direction of this conversation. This woman wouldn’t be sending you a death glare if she didn’t already know who you are. They definitely did this just to trap you, set you up like a mouse and a cheese trap. 

“Don’t play stupid, Y/N,” she orders. “You must already know why I’m here.”

“I was hoping you’d let me off the hook?” You say guiltily, her hand already wrapping tightly around your wrists as she handcuffs you, sharp metal pressing against your wrists. One wriggle and you know that there’s no magicking yourself out of these. They think of everything, they do.

“Tell that to the courts,” she snaps, effectively shutting you up as she drags you away, money digging a hole in your pocket as you begin to envision yourself six feet under. You’re as good as dead, caught red-handed.

Well, life was good while it lasted. At least you might never have to have Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup anymore. 

There’s no such thing as an attorney in the Realm. No such thing as a fair trial (even if they say there is), no such thing as defense and prosecution. No grand juries, no crowds, no sketch artist. Just a judge with a stick up his ass and a punishment to be delivered. You’re either guilty or a liar. 

And you’re rather good at being both. 

“The charge is as follows,” says the burly man at the head of the makeshift courtroom, reading off of a piece of parchment like it’s 1433 and the printing press hasn’t been invented yet. “Burglary, possession of illegally-gained goods, and petty theft.” Because charging you for burglary alone wasn’t enough, apparently. You have a sneaking suspicion that they invented the other two charges just so they could have more to punish you for. “Does the defendant have anything they wish to say?”

“Don’t you guys have anything better to do with your lives?” You ask with a dramatic sigh, having already resigned yourself to your fate. “Like, you could be playing golf round after golf round instead of sitting here, charging an orphan girl with no money.”

“This is my job,” says the burly man. Clearly he has never done anything fun in his entire life. 

“Also, stealing is my only crime, right? So do you really need to punish me like I’ve murdered someone?”

“You burglarized a Realm Leader,” he deadpans. As if Realm Leaders really wear wide-brimmed hats, sunglasses, and carry around a three-thousand dollar Louis Vuitton bag on their days off. 

“You set me up,” you accuse. Might as well go out swinging. “What if I charge you for lying, huh? How will you be punished?”

“Anything else?”

“Fuck you,” you spit. 

The burly man sighs, thinks about the potential verdict for approximately two seconds, and says, “The court finds the defendant guilty of all three charges. Sentencing will now be arranged.”

Big whoop. You could sniff out your ’guilty’ verdict from three miles away, knowing that the Realm takes plenty of pride in charging its constituents for whatever crime that they can invent. You slouch back in your chair as the judge and his heartless buddies discuss your punishment. You suppose that being jailed might not be too bad—you’d always have meals and a place to sleep, even if you would have to give up magic in return. And community service would also be alright. You’d be fine with cleaning up the expressway that runs through the city, though knowing the Realm, they’d probably put you up to some stupidly dangerous magical task. And at this point, death seems rather inviting, and would solve everybody’s problems because they wouldn’t have to deal with you and you wouldn’t have to deal with them anymore. 

The judge coughs, summoning the bare minimum of your attention. “The court has reached a sentencing decision for the convicted. We are offering you two options, of which you may choose one.”

Right, like you’d willingly volunteer for both punishments. 

“You may either be sentenced to serve time in the Realm Penitentiary for six months with the possibility of parole after four, or conduct supervised community service until the task at hand has been completed. Please select which option you would like.”

It’s like asking you to choose between being given one hundred dollars or having to pay one hundred dollars. What does the Realm think people will pick? Do they really think anyone in their right mind would choose to be jailed, forbidden to use their magic, and then let the Realm trick them into thinking parole is really an option, over some measly community service?

“Community service,” you say gruffly. 

“Excellent,” the judge says, writing something with a quill and ink because apparently, ballpoint pens are too complicated. “Your community service will be supervised by a Realm Leader with visionary powers, so you will not need to meet with them in order to discuss your progress, nor will they watch you in person.” And they said that crystal balls aren’t real. 

“What do I have to do?” You ask. Knowing them, it’ll probably be something like scrubbing all of the toilets in the Penitentiary, or going deep into the Amazonian forest to collect some magical sap or fighting off a magical beast. Something that could serve as a death sentence, or at least be extremely unpleasant, in the hopes that it’ll get you off of their backs. 

“The court will be assigning you as a minder to correct the ways of another mage,” the judge states. 

A minder? 

So, your community service is that you have to be a glorified magickal babysitter?

Well. It could be worse. 

“Alright, fine,” you say, though it’s not like you have a choice one way or another. Where was your minder? Why weren’t you assigned one, instead of just being hauled off by an undercover Realm leader to be sentenced for the same crime three times over? “Who will I be assigned to?”

The judge looks down at the parchment in front of him through his tiny old man glasses, and says, “Jeon Jungkook.”

Huh?

Jeon Jungkook lives on the top floor of an apartment complex the size of the Empire State Building and worth more than your entire life. There are ceiling-to-floor windows that span the entire perimeter of the penthouse, a whole security team in the lobby vetting every single person that walks through the automatic glass doors, and an elevator with a touch-screen instead of buttons. It sickens you, the fact that some people can live like this. The fact that some people have known only this world as their entire life, and have not once glanced the other way. 

Getting to Jeon Jungkook’s front door isn’t the hard part. The Realm gave you succinct instructions and permission to use your powers whenever necessary throughout the whole thing, two things more than you thought they would. It’s easy to slide by the big buff security guards when they can’t see you. Easy to turn in the comfort and privacy of the elevator, easy to figure out which door is his when he’s the only person who lives on the top floor. 

The hard part is getting there without feeling like you’re way in over your head. Getting Jeon Jungkook to stop abusing his powers will be no easy feat. He’s rich, powerful, and spits on people like you, people who are not either of those things. Not to mention the fact that if he really wanted to, he could just turn you to gold and set you up in his penthouse like a statue, frozen in time. 

For once, the only thing that makes you feel a little bit better is the Realm. They’ve handed you a strict order that neither you nor he can magic your way out of, lined with stipulations and regulations and requirements that both of you will follow or so help you God. If Jeon Jungkook doesn’t comply, he, his company, and his reputation are done for. 

So at least there’s that. 

Jeon Jungkook’s front door is made of a deep mahogany brown and about thirteen feet tall, towering over you just to serve as a reminder that he can pretty much afford to buy out the entire city if necessary. You feel like an ant in comparison, an insignificant little thing, no money, no power, no nothing. 

A fluorescent doorbell light flashes beside the door frame. 

The sound echoes throughout the hallway you’re standing in, a classic ding-dong noise that reverberates across the walls. 

“Coming!” A voice from inside calls. Is Jungkook expecting someone?

You quickly make any last minute efforts to look as presentable as possible—well, as presentable as someone who lives in a dilapidated, abandoned house at the edge of the city can be—before the door opens. 

For someone who’s got money to burn, Jeon Jungkook sure as hell doesn’t look like it. He’s wearing an oversized button down that hangs loose by his thighs, ripped jeans, and a pair of charcoal grey socks, like he got home from work five hours ago and decided to change into whatever feels most comfortable. 

“Oh, good, I called and they said that you would be another twenty minutes,” Jungkook says, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Let me go grab my wallet, you can just set the pizza down on the counter.”

“Uh, I’m not—”

Jungkook rushes off down one of the fifteen different hallways that branch off of the main living room, leaving you stranded as you wander into his massive abode. Windows line the walls, giving you a perfect view of the city below you, twinkling lights of skyscrapers as people slowly leave their offices and return home. His kitchen alone is double the size of where you live. How can one person possibly take up all of this space? Doesn’t it ever get lonely?

You wait awkwardly besides the counter, which is pizza-less, until Jungkook returns, a shiny black wallet between his fingers as he fumbles for some cash. And normally, you have zero qualms stealing from the rich and giving to the poor (aka, yourself), but seeing as he thinks you’re providing a service, you have the compassion to feel at least a little bit bad. 

Jungkook stops when he notices the bare countertop. “Uh,” he begins with a frown, “where’s the pizza?”

“I’m not the pizza delivery guy,” you explain hesitantly. You don’t suppose Jungkook would have opened the door otherwise. 

“Then where is the pizza delivery guy?” He asks, like you somehow know. 

“I don’t know,” you tell him. Was an interrogation supposed to be a part of this?

“Who are you?”

“I’m Y/N,” you say, hesitant to touch anything except the floor for fear that you will either dirty or break something and then spend the rest of your life trying to pay back the damages. “I’m your minder.”

“What?” Jungkook scrunches up his nose in disgust. “I never asked for a minder.”

“Well, you’ve been assigned one anyway,” you say with a frown. To be fair, it’s not like you expected this to be easy.

“That’s ridiculous,” Jungkook dismisses, already making his way to the door to shoo you off into the night, like he probably does with all of his problems. “I don’t need a minder. I’m fine.”

You look over his shoulder, noticing the flecks of golden accents that line his house, the golden teapots on shelves, picture frames hung up on the wall. Even the rods that hold up the massive satin curtains are gold. There isn’t so much gold to be garish and kitschy, like a teenager who can’t control what he touches, but enough to assert that he’s either wealthy or gifted, or in his case: both. 

“That really sucks, because I’m still your minder,” you tell him, refusing to budge. Jungkook can’t possibly imagine he’ll somehow be able to get out of this. Not when the law is working against him.

“Says who?” Jungkook spits back. 

“The Realm,” you tell him rudely, manifesting the agreement the Realm had given you to force Jungkook into accepting. The parchment is laid out on the countertop, curling up at the edges, black ink written neatly on top of it. He glares at it suspiciously, as if he’s suspected that you forged it. When you make no efforts to explain yourself further, he takes a hesitant step forward, eyes narrowing in on the parchment sitting in front of the both of you. In pitch black ink, loopy calligraphy, it says this:

As recommended and required by the Realm, its leaders, and its government, the recipient, Jeon Jungkook is to be assigned a minder, whose duty is to watch over him, regulate his use of magic, and work towards decreasing his magical activity. 

This minder is being assigned as a result of misuse of magic by the recipient, either by abuse or from the intent to inflict harm upon mages or non-magic users. The Realm decrees that all mages who disobey the laws that govern society either be reformed or punished. 

This minder must ensure that the recipient makes progress towards decreasing his magical activity by indefinitely accompanying and supervising him for every hour of the day. This minder’s term will expire once they have achieved their goal of decreasing the recipient’s use of magic and ensuring that abuse of it does not reoccur. 

Should the recipient disobey this proclamation in any form, including vandalism, ignorance, or rejection, he will be brought to court and sentenced to jail accordingly. 

Jungkook seems to read the parchment for about five seconds before crumpling it up in his hands and tossing it into the trash bin by the edge of the counter. 

“Absolutely not,” he scoffs. “I do not need a minder. I don’t know what The Realm told you but I have no problem with my powers and your services are not required. There was probably some sort of mistake.”

As if. The paper says his name. Jungkook’s almost as bad at violating the rules of the Realm as you are. 

“Uh—” you begin again, but Jungkook is already shooing you out of his penthouse, flicking you away like an animal that’s gotten too close. You find yourself backing up furiously in a desperate attempt to not be trampled by him and his oversized button-down and intimidating death glare, until you’re a foot out of his apartment. 

“Maybe you can go bother someone else instead,” he suggests unhelpfully, before slamming the door in your face. 

You stand there for a few more seconds, face to face with the dark mahogany wood. The bright side is that, even if Jungkook only read the first paragraph of the decree and then tossed it into his recycling bin, there’s no escaping the Realm. You have half a mind to just bugger off and let him face the consequences of his own actions. You can picture it in your head: Realm officers barging into his place of work and arresting him on the spot for consciously disregarding an order of the Realm. That might satiate you for a while. 

Resigning yourself to the fact that if you knock on Jungkook’s door and politely suggest that he pull the parchment out from the trash and read the whole thing will probably not go down particularly well, you turn, letting your body vanish before you, before making your way back to the elevator. The pizza delivery guy arrives just as you reach it, letting you easily slide past him as he goes to make Jungkook’s day a little better by being an expected guest rather than an unwarranted visitor. 

Jungkook may not have agreed to this today (not that he has a choice in the matter), but there’s always tomorrow. 

Passing by the security, who spare no second glance at the fact that the automatic glass doors have just opened seemingly by themselves, you turn left when you reach the sidewalk and head home. 

Home is a janky abandoned house at the very edge of the city, where the buildings meet train tracks and old highways, graffiti decorating every open surface within a five-mile radius. It’s not so much a house as it is a shack, old and rickety and forgotten. You think that the locals and the nons believe the place is haunted, since no one ever comes within one hundred feet of the entrance, the broken glass in the windows and big red spray-painted X on the door deterring most folks. 

People who invite you into their houses and say, “it’s not much, but it’s home,” are such liars. For as long as you have lived here, this place has never felt like home. You never come back from a long day and think, ah, home sweet home. You will never dream of wasting away within these walls. That’s a death sentence. 

You enter through the back door, ducking your head low to avoid hitting it on the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling by a wire or two. You’re not electrically-proficient enough to know how to fix it yourself so it’s less of a fire hazard, and you don’t have nearly enough money to call anyone to come repair it, so there it stays. It still works, though, and you use it in a pinch when you can’t see where you’re stepping. 

There’s a small pile of folded clothing on the floor by the mattress, the remnants of a past life that feels more like an alternate universe than it does part of your history. The fridge doesn’t work, nor do most of the utilities, but the little stack of Campbell’s soup cans on the countertop is reliable and unchanging. As is the fact that you will probably never get out of this dump, so long as you shall live.

When you were little, you used to dream of living in a big castle, and wanting for nothing. You would have people to cook for you, clean for you, dress you, bathe you, entertain you. All of these stories about being a little princess, doted on and loved by all, innocent and pure and beautiful. All of these stories about finding Prince Charming, meeting the love of your life as waltzes into your life on a gorgeous white horse, getting married, having kids, and growing old together. You dreamed of a perfect life, a perfect love, where you never have to worry about anything, where no one is ever mean or rude, no government to dictate what you do. 

It’s no wonder all of those stories were simply fairy tales. 

It makes you even angrier when you think about Jeon Jungkook. He’s lived a life as close to perfection as possible, born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a silver platter placed in front of him. He’s grown up with people adoring him, telling him he can do no wrong, rewarding him with a brand new toy when he gets in trouble, teaching him that his powers are for himself first and for other people next to you. Not much is fair in the world, but especially not the fact that he was bestowed with the gift of being able to turn whatever he wishes into gold. 

He is everybody’s Prince Charming: wealthy, handsome, powerful. Too bad you aren’t a princess anymore.

Strangely enough, even after a long day, you aren’t feeling at all hungry. The scent of the pizza Jungkook had ordered to his door was enough to satisfy you, a warm feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. Normally, this late at night, you might even be daring (or sleep-deprived) enough to break into one of your precious ramen packs, but instead you collapse onto the mattress, heavy heart willing you fast asleep, the light flickering above your head. 

The next day you are faced with a choice: leave Jungkook alone and let him deal with the repercussions of his actions on his own (much to your delight), or go back and continue pestering him until he agrees to having a minder (much to your chagrin). 

A new parchment has manifested itself on the counter, words copied from the one Jungkook threw out before your eyes. It shimmers, almost as if there’s a golden halo that surrounds it, another trick that the Realm has up its sleeve. You have a feeling that this one won’t be as easily ripped, crumpled up to be tossed into the nearest trash bin. It terrifies you—how closely they watch. You suppose that it was only a matter of time before they caught you. 

Quite frankly, you’re shocked it took them this long to realize you were a serial pickpocketer in the first place. 

As much as you’d love to see Jungkook get arrested and tried for defying the rules of the Realm, see his face plastered all over the newspapers and tabloids with stupid headlines like JEON JUNGKOOK: CRIMINAL? and ARRESTED FOR HAVING TOO MUCH MONEY?, and count it as a personal win, letting that happen would mean that you would have failed to do your court-ordered community service, which is a one-way ticket to prison. 

So even if Jeon Jungkook was the grouchiest, greediest, cockiest person in the entire world (which, judging by what you know about him, he probably is), and even though you would happily let his career and reputation plummet, you don’t have a choice. The two of you will either go down together or not at all. 

Resigning yourself to the fact that you will have to be within close proximity to Jeon Jungkook for the foreseeable future, you rally yourself out of bed, tugging on what you deem to be your nicest clothes and splashing your face clean. The rags you have on are probably worth a cent of what Jungkook wears on a daily basis, crisp suits and silver watches and golden earrings. He could spit on you and that would increase your net worth. But surprisingly enough, there is something empowering about the fact that Jeon Jungkook will no longer be able to ignore the plight of those in a lower class than him. Not when he, a person who has everything, will be forced to reckon with you, someone who has nothing. 

It’s easy to find your way to Jungkook’s place of employment. It’s this enormous skyscraper with his name in a golden serif font above the entryway, marking the entire building as his own. It isn’t garish and ugly, per se, but it definitely makes a statement. This, combined with the cool, chic design of his penthouse apartment, redeems him a little. At least he has taste for someone with money to burn like fireworks. 

There are two massive security guards and a whole squad of receptionists standing guard inside the building’s lobby, dressed pristinely and narrowing their eyes at anybody who dares enter. You wait across the street for a few minutes, loitering outside of a coffee shop and trying to avoid having people bump into you, watching. The only people that seem to be worthy of entering are wearing suits and dresses that cost more than what your abandoned house could sell for on the market after being restored, nodding their hellos to the security guards and receptionists as they press the elevator buttons and disappear into the building. You and your thrifted blouse would be laughed out in an instant. 

Lucky for you, you happen to have a rather foolproof method of getting yourself through those doors, and it mostly involves the fact that nobody can even see you. 

You rush across the road at the next green light and wait until you see someone heading in, the grand glass doors automatically opening when they register someone’s presence. It’s easy to slip in undetected, and you hang around in the lobby, secretly judging every single person that walks in after you. You could, quite honestly, spend all day in here, watching the receptionists tap away at their keyboards with robotic efficiency, answering calls left and right and fielding all sorts of questions from folks entering. It’s a world you have never dared step into, a world filled with wealth and power and class hierarchy, with Jeon Jungkook sitting on a pile of money at the very top of the pyramid. 

Some of the people that work in this building will never in their entire lifetime get the chance to speak with him. They will come in, day after day, working for someone who they have no personal relationship to, someone that they will never be afforded the chance to meet. 

Those people are, in your opinion, dodging a bullet. 

If only your life was as kind to you. 

A nervous young man walks in, clearly more out-of-place than anyone else. He seems to have barely bypassed security, flashing some sort of pass that lets him through the doors, but if a breeze came blowing through the lobby, he’d topple right over. He stumbles towards the receptionist desk, all of whom have phones to their ears as they furiously type on their keyboards. One woman holds up a hand, making him freeze in place. If he grinds his teeth any more they’ll all fall out before he even gets a chance to speak. 

It’s another two minutes before the lady puts the phone down and says, “How can I help you?”

“I’m—I’m, uh—I’m here for a meeting,” the man fumbles out. You’re embarrassed for him. 

“With who?” The woman asks, peering over the glasses resting on her pointy nose. She begins to look over the list of people who have meetings. It must be a rather extensive list. 

“Mr—Mr. Jeon, ma’am,” the man sputters. 

She looks doubtful. “Your name?”

“K-Kim…” he begins, staring down at his feet, “Kim Taehyung.”

“And your business with Mr. Jeon is?”

“I’m—uh, well, I’m a photographer for… for an article being written about him by F-Forbes,” he explains rather helplessly. He must have superb photography skills to make up for his extreme nervousness. You’ll be surprised if he makes it all the way to Jeon Jungkook’s office without wetting his pants out of fear. 

The lady hums to herself, looking suspicious until she finds the man’s name on her list. “Mr. Jeon’s office is on the top floor. Make two lefts and then a right. You will have to wait to be called.”

“Thank you v-very much.” He scurries towards the elevator, and you strike while the iron is hot. 

Rushing over, you manage to squeeze into the elevator right before the doors close, waiting patiently in the corner as the man tries to calm himself down, doing some sort of breathing exercise. Well, he’s got plenty of time to put his nerves aside, seeing as this building has seventy floors and Jeon Jungkook is apparently at the very top of them all. You feel bad for him, in a way. Jeon Jungkook was rude and unapologetically uncouth when you spoke to him, even if an aura of professionalism and extremely good social skills surrounds him at all times, and you don’t cower in fear at the sight of him. 

There’s no telling what he’ll be like when Taehyung walks into his office. 

One tense elevator ride later, the both of you arrive at the seventy-fifth floor, the silver doors opening to reveal a busy office space filled with people near the very top of the building’s pyramid. People like his secretary and accountants and managers, people who come into direct contact with Jeon Jungkook every day from nine to five. In a way, you pity these people for having to deal with him, but it’s not like you’ll be any different. 

Taehyung rushes out and you make sure to follow before the elevator doors crush you, following the receptionist’s instructions. Two lefts and a right. 

Jungkook’s office, much like his apartment, is not hard to miss. His name is written on a plaque on the door, and a guard stands outside with a clipboard, regulating everybody who passes in and out of the room. The walls that surround him are glass but he keeps the blinds drawn permanently, so that no one has the pleasure of seeing his face while they work tirelessly to impress him. Taehyung gives his name to the man, who checks him off on the paper on his clipboard before entering the room. 

“Sir, your 12:30 is here,” the guard says. 

Taehyung looks about ready to pass out. 

“Let them in,” Jungkook’s voice bellows in response. The man nods to Taehyung, who trembles where he stands, twiddling his thumbs like there’s no tomorrow. He shuffles in awkwardly and the door shuts behind him. Luckily, the walls are sound-proof. 

The thirty minutes of waiting is agony. You have nothing to do but rehearse in your head how this next conversation is going to go down, the scroll burning a hole in your back pocket. If Jungkook was displeased at best to see you in his apartment, you can only imagine the horror on his face when he sees you’ve infiltrated his workplace as well. Especially since you don’t have even a fraction of the money and power needed to enter the building on more professional terms. 

The good news is that, no matter what Jungkook says, no matter how many times he kicks you out of his penthouse and his skyscraper, he has no choice but to accept the deal, regardless of how long it will take for him to realize this. You never thought you’d ever be relying on the Realm to carry you through a predicament, and nor did you ever think you’d be doing their bidding, and yet, here you are. 

The door opens at one o’clock on the dot. 

“Th-thank you so much for your time again, Mr. Jeon,” Taehyung says, bowing profusely as he heads out. “I really appreciate it, you—you won’t regret it, I promise, thank you again!” You quickly rush towards the door, even making to hold it slightly open for Taehyung as he heaps his thanks on top of Jungkook. In the split second it takes for Taehyung to let the door go and for it to shut, you slip inside. 

“Finally,” Jungkook huffs out to himself, hand rubbing against his forehead. He’s not wearing a suit like you had expected, rather, a silken button-down shirt and tailored slacks. He doesn’t even have a tie. 

Well, you suppose that being your own boss has its perks. 

Jungkook’s stomach growls. “Fuck, I’m hungry.” He presses a button on the phone in his office. “I’m taking my hour lunch break now,” Jungkook informs the person on the other end. “Put all of my meetings on hold until two o’clock and not a moment earlier.”

He hangs up the phone and runs his hands through his hair, neatly straightened and styled. You hate to admit it, but there’s no wonder the man has captured the hearts of people all over the city. He’s rather good looking, the flecks of gold scattered around his office complementing his swirling brown eyes, making them look like caramel instead of cocoa. You have a hunch that, in the eyes of the general public, unattractive people instantly become good-looking the moment that they acquire wealth, power, fame, or all three, but Jeon Jungkook doesn’t need any of those things for people to think he’s beautiful. To him, they’re just bonuses. 

He turns around for a moment to look for something, probably to fish his phone out of the pocket of his jacket, and you turn. Nothing says hello like magically manifesting yourself in his office. 

“Jesus fu—!” Jungkook practically jumps out of his skin when he sees you. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I’m your minder,” you explain again. 

“I told you I don’t need a goddamn minder,” Jungkook spits out, turning around again just so he doesn’t have to see your face. “Get out.”

“Sorry, no can do,” you say, rocking back and forth on your feet. “Realm’s orders.”

“Fuck the Realm,” Jungkook says. “I don’t need a minder. Your services are unnecessary. Now get out, before I call security.”

You purse your lips. “You may want to think twice about that.” With a flourish, you whip out the scroll, a golden yellow glow still surrounding the parchment, handing it to Jungkook like a Christmas cracker. He snatches it out of your hand and unfurls it. “You should probably read the whole thing this time. It won’t rip like the last one.”

Jungkook glares at the paper like it’s ruined his life—which, judging by his attitude, it probably has—as he scans over the words, scowl worsening with every second that passes. 

“You shouldn’t frown like that, it’s not a good look on you,” you chide. At least Jungkook knows that there’s no bribing his way out of this one. 

“I told you I don’t need a minder,” he says again like it hasn’t already been made abundantly clear. 

“Well, I didn’t want to be assigned to you, but unfortunately, it looks like neither of us are going to get what we want,” you retort. “It’s this or prison, Jeon. You pick.”

“Why the fuck were you assigned to me, then?” Jungkook asks, rounding on you. “What are your powers?”

“Healing and invisibility,” you spit out. Not nearly as glamorous or lucrative as his own, but they come with their own benefits. For example, the ability to infiltrate high-level, upper class places of employment. “Maybe they thought I’d make a good babysitter since those are two skills often used with children,” you tell him pointedly. 

“I don’t need a minder,” Jungkook repeats for the umpteenth time. “I don’t misuse my magic or abuse my powers.”

“Uh,” you point out, an eyebrow raised skeptically, “I think I’d like to beg to differ.” There’s more gold in this room than miners probably found in San Francisco in the nineteenth century. The fact that nons haven’t noticed the abundance of it in his office is outrageous to you. How else do they think he and his family built up this empire?

“Please,” Jungkook says with a frown. “As if we don’t all use our powers for our own benefit. Huh? What did you do that was so terrible that you had to be assigned as my minder?”

“I pickpocket,” you explain economically. No point in sugar-coating it. Jungkook has probably already figured out you don’t come from nearly as much money as he does. “And I got caught.”

“Sucks,” Jungkook comments callously. 

“Sucks for you, too,” you fire back. “You got caught as well. Agree to the terms or go to jail, Jeon Jungkook. I don’t care. But don’t say I didn’t try to help.”

You stand there in silence for a few more seconds, letting your words dissipate into the air, sinking into the ground. Jeon Jungkook seems to have this furious battle within himself, brows furrowing as he rubs at his chin, pacing back and forth behind his desk. He knows he doesn’t have a choice. He goes to jail and his reputation is soiled. The Realm repossesses all that he has made of himself and he must start from scratch under their ruthlessly watchful eye. There will be no recovery. Only survival. 

Or, he deals with you for a couple of months until the Realm is satisfied with the both of you, and you both go on your merry way, never having to see each other again. 

You know what you’d pick if you were in his shoes. 

“Fine,” Jungkook spits out, pointing an accusing finger your way. “But you are to be invisible whenever we are in public, and that includes here.”

“Done. But you have to decrease your turning otherwise we’ll be stuck with each other forever,” you negotiate. “I’ll also have to come and live with you. Can you handle that, or are you too ashamed to have someone else inside your home?”

Jungkook scoffs. “I live in a penthouse the size of a museum. Pick whatever bedroom you fucking want. I doubt we’ll even see each other.” At least there’s one upside to having to stay with him in his massive residence.

“Fine,” you spit out, just for good measure. 

“Fine,” he counters back. Like anything about this conversation, this agreement, this goddamn life you have to live, is fine. 

Yeah, right. 

Jungkook’s penthouse is much more magnificent when you are more than two steps in the door. From where you had stood before, barely just past the door frame as he crumpled the parchment in his hand and tossed it into the trash bin, you hadn’t been able to see it in half its glory, let alone in full. When you can stand in the center of it all, eyes darting from the hallways and archways and spiral staircases leading to a rooftop pool or gym or both, it is overwhelming. Suffocating. 

His living room alone is larger than anything you have ever lived in, anything you have ever had the pleasure of calling your own. The ceiling is sky high and completely glass, streaks of sun shooting down and casting its rays on his chic furniture, deep hardwood floors. You’re so busy looking up that you nearly trip on a white rug laid out on the floor. 

“There are four bedrooms down that hallway and two down that one,” Jungkook says gruffly, flinging his keys into a bowl resting on a shelf and shrugging off his jacket, letting it hang over his forearm. How could one person possibly take up all of this space?

“Where do you sleep?” You ask. 

“That’s none of your business,” Jungkook says with a frown. 

“There’s no point in not telling me,” you remind him helpfully, “there’s only so many places you can be.”

Jungkook sighs. “It’s upstairs. But you can just sleep in any of the empty ones down here.”

“Thanks,” you deadpan. 

“Is that all you brought?” Jungkook asks with a raised eyebrow, looking at the backpack hanging loose off your shoulder. The zipper’s broken, so the outer flap is in a constant state of being folded over, but it works. 

“What, did you expect a moving truck?” You retort. 

“Ugh, forget I asked,” Jungkook says, shrugging his shoulders as he turns away from you. He begins to point around the room. “There should be some ready meals in the fridge if you’re hungry. TV’s always set to the news, but feel free to change it. Volume shouldn’t ever be over forty. Books are alphabetized by the author’s last name. No parties, though I don’t imagine you frequent those.” 

You can’t tell if that’s a jab or just him being observant, but either way, it’s true. You don’t even have any friends. 

“Fine, anything else?”

“Every bedroom has an ensuite bathroom,” Jungkook informs you. “So use that one. Don’t come into my bedroom. There’s more than enough space here for the both of us to go without seeing each other, so let’s keep it that way.”

“Aw, you mean I’m not allowed to wake up to your handsome face and infectious attitude every day?” You pout sarcastically, making Jungkook scrunch up his nose and frown. “Don’t forget that the only way you’re gonna get me out of here is if you listen to the Realm and follow my rules.”

“Yeah, which are?”

“You’re not allowed to turn at all when I’m around, whether or not you can physically see me. Every time you do is a strike. Three strikes—because I’m generous and forgiving—and I’ll report you to the Realm. The whole point of me being here is to make you stop using your powers all of the time.”

“It’s not like I’m doing any harm to people,” Jungkook defends. “You steal, what’s your excuse?”

“You use your power to add onto your already-enormous bank account,” you point out crudely. “I use mine to survive. It’s different.” Jungkook isn’t convinced. “But it doesn’t matter anyway, because I got caught and so did you and now we both have to deal with the consequences.”

He huffs to himself. 

“So do we have a deal?” You ask, glaring up at him, unrelenting. Jungkook’s chocolate brown eyes flicker as the gold around his house reflects off of his irises, like he’s trying desperately to find a way to get himself out of this before it’s too late. 

What he doesn’t realize is that the very first moment he ever turned something to gold, the very first time the object began to shimmer and spark, he was already too far gone. 

You suppose that in a way, so were you. 

“Fine,” Jungkook gruffs out, a veiny hand held out towards you. It’s stiff and cold, much in the same way that his penthouse is, that he is. This is not an agreement birthed from choice. It came from necessity, out of self-preservation. He is doing this to protect his reputation. You are doing it to protect your freedom. If all goes well, after a couple of months the two of you will never have to cross paths again. Oh, doesn’t that sound lovely? “Deal?”

You grab his hand in your own, squeezing tightly. There is no going back from this. 

“Deal.”

On the bright side, being a minder has finally given you something to do instead of stalking the streets and wasting away on your mattress on the floor. Granted, office life isn’t that much more entertaining, but at least you don’t have to be out in the summer heat anymore. 

As per your side of the deal, you remain invisible whenever Jungkook is out in public, which, quite frankly, is less frequently than you had originally anticipated. His entire life seems to go back and forth from home to work then work to home, an endless cycle, a Newton’s cradle on repeat. Maybe that’s why he’s such a prickly asshole—he doesn’t ever make time for things he enjoys. 

You thought he would at least have business dinners or fundraising events or company galas to attend. Isn’t that what most CEOs do? Flaunt their wealth to other wealthy people? Jungkook has so much money that he could easily entertain himself by one-upping all of his fellow CEO friends at every event he goes to, flashing the Rolex watch on his wrist or the fancy Italian shoes he always wears. 

But no. He wakes up, gets dressed, eats a meal from the ready-made ones wrapped in foil in his fridge, and goes to work. When he comes home, he takes off his suit jacket and shoes, eats dinner, and lounges around his penthouse. Works out sometimes, maybe watches a movie. 

Being rich always seemed to be a lot more fun than what Jungkook makes it out to be. Maybe it’s because everything in modern media is completely fake and wholly unrealistic. Or maybe he’s just purposefully making his life boring because you’re here now. 

But even if the only two places Jungkook ever goes are work and home, his personality doesn’t seem to change no matter what location he’s at. All of his employees are simultaneously frightened of him and desperate to please him, lowering their heads when he passes by their cubicle but placing finished report files and completed tasks at the edges of their desks for him to glance over as he does. You follow him like a wearied assistant (of which he actually has three, and you are just the annoying invisible one) and he acts like you aren’t even there. When Jungkook returns home with you carelessly traipsing in after him, turning visible the moment he closes the door, he shrugs off his outerwear and goes back to doing his very favorite thing in the whole world: pretending you don’t exist. 

At least that hasn’t changed since you moved in. 

The bright side is that Jungkook hasn’t turned at all since you’ve shown up. Not in his penthouse and not at work, though he is usually far too busy dealing with real-world issues to dwell on whether or not he’s got enough gold to his name. The answer is that he does, but he doesn’t give a shit about that. Too much is apparently never enough. 

Even if you are invisible, being in an office setting is somewhat unsettling to you. From a people-watching perspective, you love it, because you get an entire building of people to observe and judge, but from a personal perspective, it’s just another reminder of a life that you are not meant to live. 

All of these people in their ties and pencil skirts and uncomfortable leather shoes, fighting to beat each other out for the next promotion and desperate to please their absolutely unpleasable boss. A nine-to-five job, day in and day out. A fat check in their bank account every month. These are things that are both undesirable and unattainable to you. A glimpse into their lives doesn’t spur you to pursue a career path like theirs, it tells you that no matter what, you won’t ever be able to do what they do. 

“Sir, here are the finished analysis reports on the Lee Corporation joint stockholdings,” a proud young man says, plopping it down on Jungkook’s desk as you watch on in silence. The not-speaking part has been rather difficult, but you do get to whisper annoying things into Jungkook’s ear whenever nobody’s around. 

“They are completed?” Jungkook asks without even looking up at the man, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Did I not ask for them to be completed by Friday?”

The man goes white in the face. 

“Uh—” he begins, immediately losing all confidence he had when he entered Jungkook’s office. “Well, I—”

“I don’t appreciate belated work,” Jungkook spits out. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

The man nods and scurries out of the office before Jungkook can say anything else. He doesn’t even seem to care.

“Wow, couldn’t even say a ’thank you’?” You chide. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners?”

“Late work is unacceptable,” Jungkook says. You’re lucky that his blinds are always drawn, or everyone would see him talking to apparently nobody. “There are no exceptions.”

“He was a day late,” you point out. 

“Three, if you include weekends.”

“That doesn’t make a difference; he wouldn’t have been able to turn them in over the weekend,” you tell him. 

“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” Jungkook orders sternly. He looks angry, but also foolish, because even though he can judge where you’re standing from the sound of your voice, he still can’t meet your eyes. He’s staring holes into the succulent plant on the shelf to your right. 

“I’m not,” you defend, annoyed. “I’m telling you how to be a nice person.”

“I don’t need lessons on that, either.” Jungkook frowns. “He turned in work late and was reprimanded. It’s not any different than what happens in school.”

“But you didn’t even thank him for his time or for showing up to your office, or for the fact that he did the work!” You cry out. 

“What should I be thanking him for? For making the thirty-feet trip from his desk to my office? For turning in work that he was obligated to do late?” Jungkook challenges. “He had to do those. He wasn’t doing me any favors.”

“Except he was, because if he didn’t do that work, then you would’ve had to do it,” you remind him. “Everybody here is doing work because you aren’t able to do all of it yourself. And that’s not your fault—there are only twenty-four hours in a day and you are only one person. But you should be thanking them for their contributions. Even when they turn in something a little late. It’ll do wonders for other people.”

“Are you implying that people don’t like working here?” It’s like he wants to keep this fight going. 

You sigh, loud enough for him to hear despite being a good few steps away from him. “I’m saying that everybody out there—” you say, opening the blinds that cover the walls ever so slightly, just enough for him to see out into the sea of people that sit outside, “—everybody wants so desperately for you to like them. Or at least outwardly display that you don’t hate them. And if you just said please and thank you every now and then, people wouldn’t be so afraid of you.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Instead, he shuts it like a trap and sits back down. He probably doesn’t really appreciate the fact that you’re directing him on how he controls his office on top of how he uses his magic. But it’s the truth, and he had to hear it one way or another.

“I didn’t ask for suggestions on how to run this office,” he spits out. “Next time I think advice like this is warranted, I’ll ask.” Which will be never.

“I’m here whether you like it or not,” you stand your ground. Jungkook gets to put up with you no matter what! “So I’ll tell you whatever I feel is necessary.”

Jungkook scowls. 

“Don’t frown, it ruins your pretty face,” you tease. You walk a couple of steps and lean over to stretch his lips into a smile. He stiffens up, clearly having lost a sense of humor alongside his patience. “That’s better, don’t you think?”

“I can’t wait to get rid of you,” he bites. 

“You’ll have to get rid of that attitude, first,” you counter. “Or neither of us are going anywhere.”  Entitlement and greed go hand in hand. There’s no way you’ll be able to get Jungkook to stop turning everything around him into gold without giving his personality a makeover as well. Somewhere in there is a decent human being.

You just aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to find him.

The time spent at home is less eventful. Besides you, Jungkook has no one to shout at and be rude to, and in any case, he, for the most part, avoids you entirely. Which is understandable but totally counterproductive, because if you never interact, neither of you will ever get what you want. 

Still, there is plenty to keep yourself busy inside of his penthouse. He’s subscribed to every streaming service under the sun and has a movie theater-esque surround sound system lining the walls. He has more books than some small town libraries. His internet is stupidly fast. Even if this setup is temporary, you sure as hell aren’t going to waste a second of it. 

It is sort of weird to eat food with golden forks and knives, though. You always think you’re going to crack your teeth on your utensils. 

You and Jungkook aren’t on speaking terms right now because an hour ago you caught him turning a vase in his office gold, the metal slowly wrapping around the base of the pot like pixie dust, sparkling and shimmering as the clay was overlaid with a deep, lustrous yellow. It increased the value of the vase tenfold and sent the both of you flying back to square one. 

“Jungkook, what the hell?” You had shouted, storming into the room as Jungkook’s face turned beet red. “Just because I’m not sitting in the room with you doesn’t give you a free pass to do whatever you want.”

“It was just one pot!” Jungkook had defended himself. “I’m not even going to sell it or anything, it just looks nice. The room needed something extra.”

“I’ve upheld my side of the agreement, what’s so difficult about upholding yours?” 

“Oh yeah, like telling me how to do my job even though you have no experience in business whatsoever?” He had challenged. “I don’t think I agreed to that part of the deal.”

“Strike one, Jeon Jungkook,” you had spat out at him. “Otherwise there’s no way in hell you’re ever going to get rid of me.”

Granted, the vase did look much better in gold than it did when it was made of clay, a glazed design of ferns and vines wrapping around the base. But even if Jungkook does have a particularly good eye for interior design, it doesn’t give him a free pass to turn things just to match his chic aesthetic. How many other things has he turned when you weren’t around to shout at him? You’ll have to go through his entire house every day, taking stock of every single item inside of it, making sure that nothing has inexplicably turned to gold.

Defeated, you had returned back to the main living room, flopping around like a beached whale on the leather. Jungkook always has the television set to the news, so you put it on in the background as you count the minutes until you’re finally free. Judging from what’s happened so far, you think you’ll be here forever. 

There’s a knock on the door. You don’t recall Jungkook answering any buzzes to his home, but maybe he’s just ordered a pizza or something and it’s here. It’s nearly dinnertime, anyway. 

You wait a few seconds to see if Jungkook’s going to make any attempts at answering the door himself. When the knock repeats itself and Jungkook still doesn’t appear, you hop off of the couch to get it yourself. You’re hungry, and pizza sounds delicious right now. A massive upgrade from Campbell’s soups. 

When you open the door however, there is no pizza delivery guy behind the door. Instead, there is an extremely well-dressed couple who are smiling happily at you, albeit a little surprised to see you on the other side of the door. 

“Hello?” You ask, polite but confused. 

“Hello!” The man says happily, chortling to himself. “Who might you be?” One good look at the two of them tells you that they’re Jungkook’s parents. His dad has the same nose, and his mom has the same big, bright eyes. They would kick you to the curb if they knew who you were. 

“I’m Y/N,” you explain unhelpfully. 

“Well, Y/N, do you mind letting us inside? The air conditioning out in this hallway has always been too strong,” his dad asks. You nod awkwardly and step to the side, letting the two of them in. “Ah, looks the same as always. You must give Jungkookie that interior designer’s number, alright? He could do something much nicer with the place,” he tells his wife, who nods in agreement. She passes by the bowl that Jungkook always throws his keys into when he returns home and presses a finger to it, letting gold wrap around the edges until it’s transformed into the metal. 

“Jungkook!” You shout down the hallway, desperately hoping that he isn’t going to leave you alone with his parents. 

“What?” He shouts back. 

“We have visitors!” You call. 

Jungkook’s parents are already picking out all of the things about Jungkook’s living room layout that they would change, turning picture frames here and decorative sculptures there gold, careless and without reason. You’re standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying your best to look as unsurprised and as normal as possible. Luckily, you haven’t been interrogated yet, but there’s no telling what will happen if Jungkook doesn’t show up yet. 

Two minutes later, Jungkook comes strolling down the hallway, clearly uninterested, but his eyes practically bulge out of his head when he sees who’s come to say hello.

“M-Mom! Dad!” He sputters out, terrified. “What—what are you doing here?” He asks, looking at you nervously. You shrug unhelpfully. All you did was answer the door. 

“Came to pay our wonderful son a visit, of course!” His father says, guffawing loudly. He reaches an arm out and pulls Jungkook into a crushing hug. “How are you doing?”

“Fine, I mean—” Jungkook begins, speechless. “I wasn’t expecting you at all, you know.”

“I know!” His mother cries happily. “But you know that families must always stick together.”

“Yeah…” he trails off. “Listen, it’s really nice to see the both of you, but I’m kind of busy at the moment—”

“We should stay for dinner!” His mother suggests, a lightbulb going off above her head. “We haven’t seen you in so long—we have so much to catch up on! What do you say, honey?”

Jungkook’s father looks peachy keen. “Sounds like a great idea! And you can introduce us to Y/N too, hmm?”

“Okay…” Jungkook says. He turns to you and you’ve never seen him so caught off guard. With his big, wide eyes, he’s a deer in headlights. “Just, uh, give us a second, would you? Thanks.”

That’s the only warning you’re given before Jungkook is pulling you down the hallway and into the nearest bedroom, slamming the door shut behind the both of you. The sound of the wood hitting the frame makes you jump as Jungkook furrows his brows and turns to face you directly. 

“Alright, here’s the deal,” he says, looking you dead in the eyes as you stare up at him, unimpressed. “My parents can’t know that I’ve been assigned a minder. They just can’t. They’ve trusted me to run this business and to be in control of my life and I don’t even want to think about what they’ll do if they find out why you’re really here.”

“Okay, so?” You say with a frown. “I’ll turn invisible. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“But they’ve already seen you, you opened the goddamn door,” Jungkook says with a sigh, clearly exasperated. He rubs his forehead before his hand makes its way through his hair, brushing through the long, dark strands. 

“Well, sorry for not wanting to leave whoever was outside hanging,” you retort. 

“No, it’s fine, whatever,” Jungkook says. He paces around the room slightly, eyes glossing over the still life painting hung up on the wall and the door to the walk-in closet. He pauses in front of it for a moment, thinking, before he rounds on you. “Can I trust you to pretend to be my girlfriend for just one night while they’re here?”

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“Please? They seem to already be under the impression that we’re dating anyway, and I don’t want to have to think of a different explanation for you,” Jungkook pleads. He’s desperate. 

“Let me get this straight: you want me, your minder, to fake being your girlfriend for your parents?” You ask, punctuating every word. This is worse than actually being his minder. 

Jungkook nods. “Just while they’re here. And then we can go back to avoiding each other. Please?” 

And for once, when you see Jeon Jungkook’s stupidly beautiful face, you don’t feel angry, or resentful, or envious. You feel… sympathy. It’s easy being rich and powerful, even easier when you don’t even need to work for your money, but parents are parents, no matter how much gold is in your pocket. 

Besides, it’s not like you rejecting him will have much of an effect on the grand scheme of things, anyway. You do, and then Jungkook has to spend an awkward night with his parents and you won’t accomplish anything. 

“Fine,” you say, begrudgingly so. “But only for tonight.”

“Oh God, thank you,” Jungkook says, and he actually means it. He dashes into the walk-in closet and pulls out a summery day dress, all flowy and floral, coming down to right above your knees. “Here, put this on. You know I don’t give a shit about what you wear but my parents will.”

“Why do you have this?” You ask, holding the hanger in your hand. One touch of the fabric and you can already feel the craftsmanship, the material sturdy and soft.

“An old hookup or something, probably.” Jungkook shrugs, nonchalant. 

You decide not to question whether or not you are about to wear something that Jungkook has had sex with someone in and head into the closet to change. From inside, you can hear Jungkook pacing back and forth in the bedroom, no doubt trying to come up with a believable story as to why you’ve suddenly appeared in his life and where you had come from. 

When you emerge, Jungkook stops dead in his tracks. This dress is easily the most expensive (and clean) thing you’ve ever put on your body, draping seamlessly along your hips and smoothing over all of the parts of your body you’ve never been too fond of. The sensation is pleasant but uncomfortable, as you have always vastly preferred your own clothes to other people’s, but wearing this at least doesn’t make you feel like you live in an abandoned house on the edge of town. 

“Wow,” Jungkook says dumbly, looking at you with his lips parted like a fish, mouth agape. He scratches at the nape of his neck and coughs. “You look kinda good.”

“How thoughtful of you to say,” you chide, basking in the feeling of finally catching Jungkook off guard. 

“Hopefully my parents won’t be here too long,” Jungkook says as he opens the door, letting you exit first. “Normally, they stick around just long enough to tell me about all of the things in my life that I’m currently doing wrong or should improve upon, and then they leave.”

“Fun.” It doesn’t sound very fun at all. 

“At least this time they won’t be grilling me about a girlfriend,” Jungkook says, offering you a grateful smile as you return to the main living space, where Jungkook’s parents are in the middle of turning some of the decorative trinkets on his shelves gold. “Sorry,” he begins, catching his parents’ attention. “We were just talking. Y/N had to change.”

“She looks lovely in that dress, did you buy it for her?” His mother asks. You send a small smile of thanks. 

“Yes, of course,” Jungkook lies. You think not knowing the origins of this dress is best for both you and him. He shuffles the both of you into the kitchen, an awkward hand on the small of your back. If you were a third party watching the two of you, you could sniff out the fake gestures and affection from a mile away. No two people in love are this stiff around each other. 

His parents wait in the living space, blissfully ignorant, as the two of you fumble around in the kitchen in a last-minute attempt to scrounge up something resembling an acceptable meal. You, admittedly, do not use a kitchen fairly often, and stick to pouring the four of you some wine as Jungkook fishes through his fridge and cabinets. He eventually decides on heating up a pre-made pasta dish, filled with all sorts of vegetables you couldn’t name even if you tried. It smells good, at least. 

For someone who seems to rely entirely on a personal chef to do most of his cooking, Jungkook knows his way around the kitchen fairly well, bouncing from one end to the other as if he’s running on a mental timer. Granted, he isn’t actually cooking anything, but compared to you, he may as well be a top chef at a five-star restaurant. Ten minutes later and he’s got a mouth-watering spaghetti dish, topped with vegetables and what looks to be an herb garnish, a side salad, and four glasses of wine that you so expertly poured. 

Unfortunately, with his parents around, you and Jungkook don’t get to go through your usual meal ritual of sitting as far away from each other as physically possible and not talking whatsoever, sitting down next to each other in his fancy suede dining chairs as his parents take the two seats opposite you. Jungkook’s dining table only seats six, despite the sheer size of his actual dining room, and quite frankly, you have never seen him actually use it for what it’s meant for: dining. 

“Delicious, did you make this?” His father asks, already reaching over to serve himself some. 

“Y/N helped.” No you didn’t.

The serving utensils then move to Jungkook’s mother, who does not turn them into gold, instead opting for a baby tomato, which she places in her drink to serve as some sort of extremely niche ice cube. You can’t imagine how good that will taste. Jungkook’s father laughs at his mother, who is obviously proud of herself. Jungkook forces himself to chuckle ever so slightly, and you crack a very helpless smile. It doesn’t really take a genius to figure out where Jungkook got his turning habits from. 

“So, Y/N,” Jungkook’s father begins, catching you right as you shove an entire forkful of pasta into your mouth, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk getting ready for the winter, “how long have you known our son?”

“Uh, a couple of—”

“A couple of months,” Jungkook interrupts, speaking louder than usual. “We met at the Park Gala that they hosted, do you remember?”

You kick Jungkook’s shin under the table, making him wince. 

“Ah, yes.” His mother nods in recollection. “Unfortunately we were on that cruise through France, so we couldn’t make it. A shame, we would have loved to meet you then. Are you a friend of the Parks?”

“An associate,” Jungkook explains as vaguely as possible. “Y/N works in law.”

“Ah, law,” Jungkook’s father says romantically, twirling his fork around in the air. “The conscience of business.”

“Yeah,” you say, forcing out a small laugh. The less you say, the better. Though it is ironic that you now apparently work in law, considering your favorite activity is breaking it. You suppose that nobody knows the law better than its criminals. 

“Where are you from, Y/N? Do we know your parents?” This is starting to sound less like a dinner conversation and more like an interrogation. 

“Y/N actually built herself up,” Jungkook covers for you. Lord knows revealing your true background would send both of his parents storming out of the building. “She doesn’t like to talk about her parents very much.”

That’s one way of putting it. 

“Ah, what a shame,” his mother tuts, shaking her head. “We’d love to meet them.”

“Yeah…” you agree distantly, making a mental note to give Jungkook a good shove when this is all over. Well, two can play at this game. “Jungkook is teaching me a lot about how you guys run your business.” You add pointedly, earning a leg kick in return. “It’s very interesting to see from a law perspective.” More like from a human perspective. 

“Oh, you must be very impressed,” his father says proudly, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “We’ve all worked extremely hard to get where we are.” Because turning things to gold at the press of a finger is truly such a taxing job.

“I’m certainly surprised,” you say back, sending a patient but stiff smile their way. They return the favor easily. Maybe you’re more like these people than you thought. “It’s a big change from what I’m used to.” Jungkook smacks his leg against yours, and you retaliate not a moment afterwards.

“I’m sure,” his mother says, voice sickly sweet. “But you’ll be able to adjust in no time. It’s definitely a level up, is it not?”

Jungkook looks like a lost child in a grocery store aisle, eyes wide as they flit back and forth between you and his parents, hurling thinly-veiled insults at each other like it’s nobody’s business. 

“It’s different,” you respond. 

“Well, I’m sure that Jungkook is doing all that he can to accommodate you,” his father says. “Sometimes the people he chooses to date are… not ideal for this sort of lifestyle. We hope that you are able to adjust quickly. We understand that this is a lot.”

“I certainly hope that I’m a good match, then,” you finish, because something inside of you can’t bear to let Jungkook’s stuffy, elitist parents get the last word. 

The rest of the meal is rather silent, save for a few mindless comments about how poorly Jungkook’s decorated his dining room. You and Jungkook have been warring underneath the dinner table all evening, your shins undoubtedly sporting bruises, because apparently everything the two of you are saying to his parents is wrong. Jungkook’s parents either don’t know or don’t care, because they don’t say anything about the tension that settled over the table like a cloud of fog, thick and potent. 

When everyone’s finished eating, Jungkook’s parents head straight to the door, determining that their contributions to his evening and his penthouse are enough—for now. Who knows if or when they’ll return. You and Jungkook have no choice but to see them off, rounding out the night just as you started: fake, empty smiles. 

“It was lovely to meet you, Y/N,” his mother tells you, hand clutching her purse. “I hope that we may see each other again sometime soon.”

“Yes, I am looking forward to it,” you say with glee, knowing that the chances of you never having to speak to her again are well in your favor. 

“Nice work, son,” his father says, a heavy hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “Just let us know if you ever need anything.”

“Will do,” Jungkook promises distantly. You can tell that Jungkook doesn’t ask his father for advice too often. 

You bid your goodbyes and Jungkook shuts the door behind them, and it’s almost as the atmosphere immediately begins to clear, the air conditioning cycling out the tension, like a breath of fresh air. 

“Ugh, thank God that’s over,” you huff out, already itching to get out of this dress and back into your own clothes. It was gorgeous at first, but now it’s just an ugly reminder. 

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Jungkook says. 

“’Wasn’t that bad’?” You repeat. It’s as if the words went in through Jungkook’s one ear and right out the other. “Are you serious? It was unbearable. Your parents were judging me from the moment I opened the door. No wonder you’ve never had a lasting girlfriend. I couldn’t think of anyone who would want to deal with that.”

“Excuse me?” Jungkook says, rounding on you as fire burns in his eyes. “What do you mean, ’that’?”

“I mean that I don’t know how on Earth people just accept the fact that in other people’s eyes, they’ll never be good enough?” You tell him like it’s obvious, because it is. This sort of life has been so ingrained into Jungkook’s head that he doesn’t even recognize it as unwelcoming and stifling. “I couldn’t stand being your girlfriend. Your parents are judgy and rude, and you all act like people who don’t come from as much money and power as you have no business sitting where you sit.”

“So your best approach was to shade and insult my parents in return?” He combats. “I would hate to be your boyfriend. My parents get more aggressive when people fight them, but you shove me under the table when I try to get you to back down? Just so you can have the final word to two people you’ll probably never see again?”

“The fact that anyone has dated you astounds me,” you tell him. 

“The fact that nobody’s dated you doesn’t astound me,” Jungkook spits back. 

You frown, embers flaring in your boiling blood. What, did Jungkook think you were going to enjoy yourself tonight? By pretending to be some sort of ditzy, desperate-to-please girlfriend? “You’re welcome for doing you a favor and not just straight up telling your parents you’ve been assigned a minder because you can’t handle your own powers. Don’t expect me to do it again.”

“I’m not planning on it,” Jungkook mumbles to himself, just loud enough for you to hear. 

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

You and Jungkook march down opposite hallways, desperate for this night to be over. You tear off the dress and let it sit at the foot of the bed, taunting you. 

There is no way in hell you are ever leaving this place. 

The time spent at work is allocated half towards following Jungkook around like an invisible puppy with a personal vendetta against him, making sure that he doesn’t turn, and half towards wishing that something actually interesting will happen. Jungkook runs so tight a ship that nobody ever seems to want to do anything fun or exciting, no doughnuts, no inside jokes, no pranks. Just an endless cycle of trying desperately to please the unpleasable.

Admittedly, nowadays, you don’t really mind being here as much as you used to, when you would mentally criticize every person that walked through the glass doors to Jungkook’s office, hands filled with stacks of paper and manila folders, plopped onto Jungkook’s desk one by one. Jungkook’s started to keep extra food up in his office, the mini-fridge by his bookshelves constantly filled with takeaway salads and fruit. Apples are a definite no-go because they’re too loud, and you can only ever risk eating salads when nobody’s around to hear you pop the plastic top off of the container, but other than that, it’s nice.

Jungkook has pretty good taste in food, too, which is an added bonus. Though anything is a leg up from what you normally eat.

And even though you’ve begun to start roaming around, exploring the nooks and crannies that line the clean-cut layout, your favorite place to be is Jungkook’s office. He’s got these magnificent floor-to-ceiling glass windows, with a view directly over the biggest park in the city, thousands of feet up in the air. From up here, it almost feels as though you’re looking down at a different world, a different universe. It’s difficult to imagine that everyone down there, every ant-sized person walking along the sidewalk or resting on a park bench or ordering from a food stand, has lives of their own.

Especially when they are but specks of dust in yours.

Jungkook looks at this view forty hours a week. You wonder if he ever gets sick of it.

The door to Jungkook’s office creaks open as you’re staring out of the windows, watching as the clouds pass overhead. They look like little white dogs, like cotton candy, like angel wings.

“Mr. Jeon?”

The owner of the voice is the same man you berated Jungkook for shouting at a few weeks ago, the one who had turned in an analysis report a day late. He seems just as frightened of Jungkook now as he did back then, and it makes you wonder if any of Jungkook’s employees aren’t afraid of him.

“Here’s the completed budget report for the Lee Corporation for last fiscal year,” the man says, reaching a trembling hand out to lay a manila folder on Jungkook’s desk. Jungkook only looks up once he sees it out of his periphery, hand pausing mid-write, pen still hovering over the papers on his desk.

He meets the man’s eyes, and when he does, he cracks a small smile, this sort of barely-there grin, lips curling upwards ever so slightly. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

It’s as if the man has won the lottery. He thanks Jungkook quickly before bouncing out of the room, steps much lighter, like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. You watch as he leaves the room, a smile etching itself onto your face. It’s rather incredible what a simple ‘thank you’ can do to people.

You don’t say anything to Jungkook, instead just turning back around to gaze out of the window. There’s an entire city below your feet, one that bustles around like bees in a hive, everyone with a place to be and things to do. There is this strange but comforting feeling of insignificance, one where you feel as though you could disappear and nobody would notice a thing. The rest of the world can and will move on without you. But that doesn’t mean that your life means nothing. It means that your life can be whatever you want to make of it, because in the grand scheme of things, nobody else will know what you have done.

History is like that, too. You must be remarkable to be remembered. But that doesn’t mean the unremarkable people were forgotten. They touched lives, too.

Staring out the window as the clouds swim over the sun, a light grey shadow casting itself over the park, you feel at peace.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

You jump at the voice, Jungkook’s presence next to you having gone totally unnoticed. You didn’t even hear him get up from his chair.

“How did you know I was here?” You ask.

“I could sense it," Jungkook says with a grin, making you raise an eyebrow. You’re invisible. “I’m kidding, I saw you come over here a bunch last week when you first got into my office and I figured you’d probably still be here.”

“You figured correctly,” you tell him.

“You know, I don’t spend enough time looking out these windows,” Jungkook admits, and you aren’t sure if it’s to you or himself. “I’m always staring at my computer or writing something at my desk with my head down. I’ve got the best view in the whole city and sometimes, I don’t even remember what it looks like.”

“You work hard,” you tell him, because that’s something that is undeniable about who he is and what he does. “But you deserve to give yourself a break, every now and then.”

“For lunch breaks, the first thing I do is get out of my office. I spend all day in there and when it’s finally time for me to put work on pause, I rush out of the room like it’s on fire,” Jungkook comments. “Maybe I should stay up here every once in a while instead.”

“It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere,” you joke.

“You can, you know,” Jungkook tells you. “You don’t have to stay up here all day.”

“I know,” you say. “But I don’t really mind it. I like being here. It’s calming, in a way.” In a way that you can’t explain. Like you’re stuck in freeze frame while everyone else moves around you. Like you’re watching a movie about everybody’s lives but your own. Like you’re a spectator in your own body. “Plus, the view is gorgeous.”

“It is,” Jungkook agrees.

You stand there in silence for a few more moments, the only sounds filling the room your inhales and exhales, soft and slow, your hearts beating in time. Jungkook is more than a foot away from you but here, in his office, looking out over the world, he has never felt closer.

“Thank you,” you whisper, letting the words hang in the air in front of you.

“For what?” Jungkook asks.

“For listening to me.”

You feel Jungkook turn to you, and when you dare to look up at him, you meet his hazy brown eyes, warm and sparkly. He looks like a goddamn celebrity, like a magazine cover come to life, crisp shirt collars and fancy Italian shoes, glossy brown hair and perfect skin. He smiles at you, this homey sort of thing that makes you feel like summer is running through your veins, like the rays of the sun are pressing against your skin.

“Of course,” he tells you.

Jungkook is a lot of things. He’s unabashedly gorgeous and outrageously wealthy. He walks around like he owns everything that he touches. His house is clean and chic and minimalist, almost like nobody lives there at all. He’s determined and a workaholic, and hates admitting when he’s wrong.

But maybe, just maybe, in the white afternoon light of his office, the rest of the world underneath his feet, standing next to you as the two of you stare out in a city you call your own, he’s not that bad.

Being alone in Jungkook’s penthouse is, to put it lightly, absolutely terrifying.

It’s hard to believe that Jungkook--and maybe a girlfriend for a brief period--has occupied this entire space on his own, no one else to talk to, no one else to spend time with, no one to occupy his massive couches or fill up the chairs in his dining room.

You’ve always wondered why rich people buy the biggest houses. Sure, it’s because they’re rich, and because they can afford it, but it’s impossible for one person, or even two, to make the entire place feel like their own. You leave countless rooms untouched, meant for guests that you never have and parties that you never host. It’s like you’ve moved into half of a house, a quarter of a mansion. What’s the point of having so much space if you don’t ever have anyone to fill it up?

Normally you wouldn’t leave Jungkook’s side, following him around the city whenever he has errands to run or needs to dash back to work to pick up something he had forgotten. But Jungkook hasn’t been turning anything lately, even when you sleep in four hours later than he does, even when he stays up into the early hours of the morning while you pass out before it’s midnight. It’s like he’s somehow lost the will for his magic entirely, like it’s vanished from his body.

Well, you’re not complaining. That just means you’re one step closer to finishing your sentence.

Jungkook’s penthouse feels bigger when he’s not around. Even though you hardly ever see each other while you’re at home, the mere knowledge of his presence makes you feel like you’re not alone. Makes you feel like there is someone else in this little corner of the world.

Everything in here has always looked untouched. Like it doesn’t belong to anybody, like a house listing come to life. His marble counters are always empty, his cabinets always closed and organized. His books are always alphabetized and the stack of art books on his coffee table has never been touched. All of the bedrooms look like they belong in a hotel. The bathrooms look like they belong in a museum.

Jungkook’s house has never felt like a home but then again, neither has yours.

Still, if you had to choose between living in your abandoned shack at the edge of town or living in an enormous penthouse in the center of the city, you would never look back at that old, dilapidated building. The difference between you and Jungkook is that Jungkook chooses to live in this tragically empty place.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to understand Jungkook’s life. Not just the technicalities of the company he runs, the economics and business that he has spent his whole life mastering, but also the way he sees the world in terms of money and power, how everything has some sort of value, even people. Even you. His biggest concern has always been himself. How much money he has matters, how many investments his company owns matters, how the public views him matters. He has spent so long crafting this perfect image of himself that he’s willing to spend as much money as necessary to maintain it. 

Jungkook doesn’t even look at the total on the card reader when he purchases things. He simply tugs his silver card out of a sleek black wallet and swipes, crumpling the receipt up in his hand before shoving it into the pocket of his jeans. He comes back home to a gigantic penthouse with a gym and his pool and more bedrooms than he can count on both hands, to a personal chef in his kitchen making him five-star meals to last him the rest of the week. 

Money is never on his mind, but it is always on yours. 

When will you get enough to pay off your phone bill, will you ever be able to afford a repairman to fix the broken, exposed lightbulb above the back door, how many Campbell’s soups can you buy and still have enough funds to last you until the next day? What if, God forbid, the city comes knocking on your door and either evicts you or orders you to pay up for the three years you’ve been living in that house, rent-free? What will you do then?

Life is by no means easy for either of you, but Jeon Jungkook has never had to want for anything. If it isn’t handed to him, he works for it himself. If he can’t buy it, he’ll just make more money. If he doesn’t already own it, what’s stopping him?

People dream of having Jungkook’s life. People fear having yours. 

Alone in Jungkook’s apartment, the differences between the two of you have never been clearer. 

Your greatest fear is the fact that, in the past few weeks you have spent here, you are already becoming used to it. You are dreading going back to where you were before, stealing money from people off of the streets and living in a house in such disrepair that local nons think that it’s haunted. You fear that you will never want to leave. 

It’s such a terrifying feeling, isn’t it? Becoming attached to something. Feeling as though your life will be worse without it. Knowing that your life will be worse without it. 

There are parts of you that make you wish that life wasn’t so unfair. 

The living room is three times the size of the dining room but you hate eating there, sitting at an empty table with no one to talk to but suede chairs, reminding you that you don’t even have any friends to invite anyway. At least in the living room you can sit on the couch and watch television and pretend that you have at least some semblance of a life. 

You pick at a pre-made salad that has too much lettuce and not enough everything else—Jungkook needs a new chef, you decide, plucking out all of the croutons and slices of cheddar cheese, when the front door swings open, slamming against the wall adjacent to it as Jungkook storms inside. 

“Oh my God, what happened to you?” You exclaim, eyes practically bulging out of your head as you jump off of the couch. Even from here, you can see the dark bruising around Jungkook’s eye, purple and blue, the busted up knuckles clenched around the bag he’s carrying. There’s even a small streak of blood on his upper left cheek, already beginning to scab. 

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he says, wiping away the blood on his lip with the back of his hand. 

“No, you’re not,” you tell him, rushing up to meet him in the middle of the foyer, standing in front of him as you look up at his face with wide eyes. He waits there patiently, avoiding your gaze, steely eyes looking elsewhere, as you reach up to hold his head in your hands, tilting it from side to side. “What happened to you?”

“Some dudes jumped me in the parking lot on the way back,” Jungkook says casually. You’d almost believe he didn’t feel anything if he doesn’t wince when you press a gentle fingertip along the bruise on his jawline. He meets your frightened expression and smirks wickedly, something glinting in his eyes. “Don’t worry, I got ‘em good.”

“Are you alright?” You ask him, even though it’s obvious he’s not. “You aren’t seriously injured or anything, are you?”

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N,” Jungkook says with a sigh, even as he obeys your movements and moves his body pliantly to the feeling of your hands pressing against his skin. Most of the visible damage seems to be to his face and hands, and quite frankly, you’re not exactly sure if you want to see what’s underneath his dress shirt. “I’m strong. I work out and eat healthy and everything. I’ll be better in no time.”

“No, are you kidding?” You say, reaching out to grab his hand without a second thought, pulling him towards the nearest bathroom. “You can’t just leave it like this. Here, let me heal you.”

“I don’t need you to patch me up or anything,” Jungkook resists, frowning as you sit him down on the edge of the bathtub and begin to fish through his bathroom cabinets. “First aid isn’t in that one.”

“No, you idiot,” you chide him. “I’m not gonna patch you up. Aren’t you forgetting that I’m a healer?” 

“So what are you gonna do, then?” 

You finally find the first aid kit and pull it out, revealing rolls of gauze and bottles of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant. There’s even a couple of rows of Ibuprofen. “Well, you should be patched up anyway,” you decide, turning back to look at Jungkook’s face as he waits obediently on the edge of the tub. “But I can heal you faster than what time and medicine can do on their own.”

“You don’t have to,” Jungkook says softly. 

“Please, of course I do,” you reply instantly. You’re not gonna let Jungkook walk around like that. “We can’t have your pretty face all messed up, now can we?”

Jungkook cracks a small smile but it’s obvious that the simple gesture alone pains him, making him wince slightly as his lips turn upwards. You wet a face cloth with cold water and press it against Jungkook’s bruises, looking intently at his features as you move the cloth around, letting the cold water draw out the heat that sizzles beneath his skin. Jungkook watches you the whole time, his eyes never leaving yours, even as your brows furrow in concentration, determined to fix Jungkook back up so he’s brand new. Slowly, the bruises begin to fade, going from an angry violet to a light lavender, and then to a pink that could almost be mistaken for a heavy blush.

It feels weird, knowing that he’s right there. Knowing that he’s watching you, eyes following yours as they scan his face. His clean-cut jawline is a little swollen, perfect skin angry and marked, but his eyes are still the same. Still wide and bright, like a young child, like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time. They look almost caramel in the yellow light of the bathroom, flecks of gold to mirror the accents in the room. 

There’s something about them that makes you not want to turn away. 

When the bruises have faded, leaving only petal pink remnants along his skin, you move onto the small cut along his cheek. It’s rough and jagged, like the skin had been torn right through, a nick from a fingernail or a knuckle. It’s not long, but it is somewhat deep. You imagine it might scar permanently. 

Kneeling down in front of him, you pull out some rubbing alcohol and a cotton pad, dabbing a gentle amount onto the round before moving closer, holding his head in your hand as you reach out. 

“This might sting,” you say, like he doesn’t already know. 

“That’s alright,” Jungkook tells you. “Fix me up, doctor.”

At his cue, you softly press the cotton pad against the scab, rubbing away at it until it comes off cleanly, leaving only fresh, exposed skin behind. For wounds like these, a cloth won’t do. Your mother used to tell you that healing didn’t come from your hands, it came from your heart. That even if your fingertips had the magic, it was your heart that had the power to wield it. 

Slowly, you rest your palm against his cheek, rubbing your thumb along the cut. Jungkook blinks, big eyes shimmering, as you do so, and you feel trapped in his gaze. Like you couldn’t turn away even if you tried. Like you almost wouldn’t want to. His skin is baby soft, perfect, a far cry from the calloused pads of your fingertips, worn from so many days and nights out on the streets. 

There is magic in your fingertips, surely, but there is something different in your heart. Something that you don’t think you have the words to explain.

The cut seals up instantly, the skin patching over itself until nothing is left but a mark, a little scar that will stay there forever. And yet, you stay there, locked in his magnetic pull, like tearing away will hurt you rather than him. The cut is healed, and his bruises are fading, and there is no reason to stay like this. 

And yet. 

“There,” you whisper, watching the words appear between the two of you, lingering like ghosts. “All better.”

Jungkook grins. It doesn’t hurt him, but something in you feels a sharp jolt, an ache. Like a spark in the pit of your belly. Like magic in your veins. 

Jungkook has been tearing his hair out over this one manila folder in front of him for the past twenty minutes. Every ten seconds he writes something down before scribbling it out, the ink bleeding through the paper to the next one. He flips through the files relentlessly, carelessly, until they’re all out of order and splayed all over his desk. He’s instructed the guard outside not to let anyone in, even if it’s some sort of emergency. 

You’ve seen Jungkook at work a lot, but you’ve never seen him like this. Even his anguished sighs are difficult to listen to. 

Creeping over to the wall that overlooks the rest of the office, Venetian blinds shielding the both of you from view, you crack open a slat, peeking out at everyone else. None of them pay any attention to Jungkook’s office, too busy worrying about the next report they have to complete and all of the office meetings they have to attend, so you take it as a good opportunity to turn visible. Just for a little bit. 

“You alright?” You ask, nearly making Jungkook fall out of his seat at the sound of your voice. 

“What?” He asks, surprised. “Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“What’s the matter?” You ask, because you’ve never seen Jungkook as stressed out as he is now. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to organize this new collective to monitor our investing habits so we can assess where investments need to be divvied up into in order for clients to find us worth of their own investments as opposed to other companies,” Jungkook explains, though he sounds positively exhausted while doing so, like the very mention of what he’s slaving over is enough to send him over the edge. “But no one can agree on how we can use this information to promote this company to our clients and the public. People invest in both of us either way.”

“You want people to invest more money in your company, don’t you?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well, yeah.” 

“How much money does this company give to small businesses? To nonprofits and charity?”

Jungkook frowns, scrunching up his nose as he thinks. He clicks around on his computer for a few seconds before saying, “About five percent.”

“And your investments are public, correct?”

“Yes.” Jungkook nods. 

“You should be giving way more than five percent of this company’s investments to small, local businesses and charity,” you tell Jungkook, already worming your way behind his desk to look at what he’s looking at. You point to the numbers on his screen, single-digit percentages, some even less than one, being sent to local businesses, nonprofits, and charities. “Look at this. Ninety-five of your investments go right into stocks. If you invested more money into nonprofits and local businesses, people would see you taking the time to help boost the local economy and the organizations that serve it for free. Then, those businesses would invest in you in return, and clients would see that you’re investing in noble causes and give you more money as a thanks, which can then be funnelled back to small businesses and nonprofits.”

It’s a rather roundabout sort of proposal and you’re almost positive that it has no real footing anywhere in real economics and finance, but it makes sense to you. If you had money to invest in major companies, you would choose the ones that invest in the things that will benefit you, like local businesses and nonprofits. If you saw that the companies you were giving money to were simply giving it away to the stock market, you’d pull your money out. 

You know that the stock market is nothing but the world’s biggest economic gamble, but that doesn’t mean that you have to gamble with it. Companies that stand for what you stand for are much more appealing than companies with a bigger investment bank behind them. 

You turn to Jungkook, who is squinting at his computer screen as he fumbles around with the numbers, flicking from Excel sheet to Excel sheet, bouncing back and forth between the information online and the files on top of his desk. 

“Is that stupid?” You ask, breaking the silence. It’s not as if people know you for your groundbreaking economic policies. 

Jungkook spares one more glance over all of his files, and turns up to look at you. “No,” he tells you with a shake of his head. “It’s not.”

“Really?” You’re actually impressed with yourself. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook agrees happily. “You’re right—I’d want to know that my investments were going to a company with good morals that lifts up local businesses. It would encourage me to invest more, too.”

“It’s not a very sound economic theory…” You admit. Jungkook’s probably seasoned in how investments and the stock markets work, charts upon charts of client behavior that shapes the way he organizes his company. And you? You don’t have enough money to even buy food some days. 

“It doesn’t have to be,” Jungkook assures you. “Theory is total bullshit anyway, because nobody can predict what will happen with the economy. But human nature has always been reliably good. People like to know that their money is going to a good cause.”

“So, it helps?” You ask with a smile. 

Jungkook nods. “It does. It’s actually a great idea, Y/N. You might have a future in business.”

You scoff. “Me? I don’t know the first thing about this stuff.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. You don’t need to. You’re a good person who thinks about everyone, Y/N. That’s why you’d be good at business. Because your clients can trust you, and you’ll actually put your money where your mouth is.” 

“I guess,” you say unhelpfully. Just because you think about others doesn’t make you especially remarkable. It makes you human. Isn’t that how everyone’s supposed to be? “I just don’t think about clients and money like you do. Money’s always been really valuable to me, since I’ve never had much of it, but you guys see it as expendable. I need to know where my money goes, I don’t want to see it just vanish into the hands of someone else.” Jungkook’s nodding along, eyes looking intently at your own, like he’s committing the words you say to his memory. “I just think that people and companies with tons of money have a duty to give back to those who are less fortunate. That’s all.”

“That’s noble of you,” Jungkook says. 

“It’s just common sense,” you explain. “Why wouldn’t you want to do something like that?”

Jungkook heaves a sigh, a long, winded sort of one, like there’s a whole conversation behind it that he wishes he could have with you. But instead, he just shakes his head, a fond smile lacing its way across his features. He chuckles to himself. “Maybe you aren’t cut out for business after all, Y/N,” he tells you softly. “You have too big a heart.”

And maybe that’s true. Maybe you’re too kind, too generous, to ever make it in business. To succeed without losing every penny to your name. 

But if that’s the case, then where does Jungkook stand?

When Jungkook stays at work late, the two of you eat dinner together. 

There’s just something so demoralizing about coming back to an empty house, letting the hollow sound of the door slamming shut echo throughout the room, and then marching off in different directions to spend the rest of the night alone. When it’s dark, and late, and you’re starving, it’s all you can do not to beg Jungkook to eat with you. Even if in silence. 

By the time you get home, your stomach is just about ready to consume the art books sitting in a neat stack at the top right corner of the coffee table. You begin to clear off some space for the both of you to eat as Jungkook heads towards the refrigerator, when not three seconds after, you hear him swear, “Oh, shit.”

“What’s the matter?” You call out. 

“We’re out of premade meals!” Jungkook shouts back. What? You could have sworn there were at least two full tupperwares still available. Actually, maybe you had eaten them for lunch… 

“Really?” You get up from the coffee table and make your way into the kitchen, where Jungkook is standing in front of a refrigerator with the entire middle section wiped clean, empty shelves mocking the both of you as you glare at them. “Oh, wow. Really.”

“I didn’t know we ate that much,” Jungkook comments, shocked at the sight before him. 

“What are we gonna do?” You ask. You’re hungry. 

“What do you mean?” Jungkook says with a laugh. He kneels down and begins to pull vegetables from the drawers, plucking different bottles from inside the fridge door and plastic cartons from the top shelves, the ones that you never dare touch. “We’ll cook something, obviously.”

“Can’t we just order takeout?”

“You don’t wanna cook something with me?” Jungkook asks, eyes wide and pouty. You shake your head guiltily. Is ordering a pizza really so much to ask? Jungkook narrows his eyes at you suspiciously, a grin pulling at his lips, before he nods knowingly. “Oh, I get it.”

“Get what?” You challenge. 

“You don’t know how to cook.”

“What? I know how to cook!” You cry out, aghast. True, your past meals have mostly involved warming food up in the microwave, but that counts, in your book. Jungkook frowns in disbelief. “I know how to use a microwave.”

Jungkook tosses his head back and laughs, this warm, hearty sound filling up the kitchen, before he starts placing all of the containers and bottles and vegetables he pulled out from the fridge onto the counter. “Okay, we’re going to make something together.”

“Seriously?” You say, borderline whining. “Can’t you just do it?”

“No,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, “because you have to help me. Kitchen’s orders.”

“You’re the kitchen!”

“Exactly,” Jungkook says, smiling to himself. He pulls out some more ingredients from the cabinets, hands deftly reaching for the exact ones he wants, until you have a collection of food, seasonings, and sauces on the countertop, and an apparent recipe to be made. 

“What are we making?” You ask, looking down at everything on the counter. All of these things can’t go into one dish… can they?

“An old family recipe,” Jungkook says. “Kimchi jjigae. It’s kimchi stew.”

“Is it easy?” 

Jungkook grins something wicked, something devilish. “It’s fun.”

He sets out to put a pot on the stove, turning the gas on, bouncing back and forth between the stovetop and the counter as you stand there like a floundering fish, waiting for him to either give you an instruction or do everything himself.

“Can you cut the green onions?” Jungkook asks as he adds water and what looks to be tiny little fish to the pot, reaching behind his back to gesture wildly at the ingredients sitting on the marble. 

“Which are those?” You scan the countertop. Your familiarity with food and recipes extends about as far as anything non-perishable that comes in a tin can. Never in your life have you seen so much laid out in front of you, all meant to go into the same meal. 

The metal lid clinks as Jungkook covers the pot to boil, turning around to join you at the counter, where you wait awkwardly in front of an unused chopping board, no knife in sight. 

“These,” he says, reaching over you to pull up several stalks of something that looks similar to the wild onions that grow in your backyard. He fishes through the drawers before he pulls out a kitchen knife, gently placing it in your hand as he moves around to grab all of the other ingredients he needs for the boiling water on the stovetop. 

Hesitantly, you line up the onions and begin to chop, carefully sawing through each one until it comes cleanly off of the stalk. It’s awfully time-consuming, especially since Jungkook seems to have already made the stock base in the time it’s taken you to cut one. Nevertheless, you persist, because Jungkook wants these to go in the pot, and you refuse to be seen as incompetent in the kitchen, especially when Jungkook seems to be rather proficient when it comes to cooking despite the fact that a chef makes the majority of his meals for him. 

Old family recipes die hard, you suppose. 

Jungkook turns around to check on you and grab a small red container of what looks to be some sort of spicy pepper paste. When he sees you carefully slicing through each onion stalk, he laughs. 

“Hey, what are you laughing at?” You say, pouting. You don’t think you’re doing a terrible job, even if you are a bit slow. 

“You,” Jungkook says with a grin, not even bothering to think of something else to say instead. “Here, let me show you.”

He comes to stand behind you, his torso pressing against your back, as he reaches his arms around you, hands gently resting atop your own. There is something in the way his breath hits your skin, tickles the part right behind your ear that’s always been sensitive, how he leans down to look over your shoulder. The rise and fall of his chest against you. Something strange and foreign and calming, like when you tense up right before you fall asleep.

Frozen, you watch with nervous eyes as he holds your hand in his own, grasping onto the knife. He stacks a few onion stalks next to each other on top of the cutting board and slowly begins to cut—thin, quick slices until he develops a rhythm, an imaginary beat to the drumming of his heart, to the pounding of your own. 

The seconds seem to drag on for eternity, as if every cut through the vegetable is done in slow-motion, like time has slowed down just for the two of you. His breath tickles your skin, hot and tingly and filled with fire, lighting sparks everywhere it touches. You think that, if you concentrate hard enough, you can hear the way his heart thumps like a bass drum, ringing in your ears. Or maybe that’s just you. 

When four green onion stalks have been cut down to their very tips, suddenly the world speeds up, like the breaths that have slowly been leaving your lips come out all at once, like your heart picks up time to a universal metronome, desperate to realign itself once more. 

“There,” Jungkook murmurs from behind you. The words are soft and distant, almost like someone else had uttered them. “All done.”

You blame the tears welling in your eyes on the onions. 

Thirty minutes and an overwhelming amount of slicing different ingredients later, there is a boiling pot of kimchi stew on the stove, steaming up the inside of the glass lid that Jungkook has placed on top to keep it warm. He’s big on optimizing the time spent in the kitchen, cleaning up everything before you eat, stuffing all of the used plates and bowls and knives into the sink as they come, wrapping up the vegetables in the thin plastic bags that they came in and putting them back into the fridge. Jungkook says it’s because he doesn’t like having to clean the kitchen up after he’s eaten. You think it’s because he thinks you’ll run off and leave him to do all the work. 

You, admittedly, don’t make your own meals very often (or at all), but you can see the appeal. There’s something different about food that you make yourself, food that you turned from ingredients to a meal. Something rewarding. 

Or maybe it’s just because Jungkook did most of the cooking, and he’s got this inexplicable magic touch. 

“Good, right?” He asks when you’re finished, the both of you heading back to the kitchen to wash up the last of your dishes.

“It was okay,” you tease, even though your empty bowl says otherwise. There’s not a drop of soup, a scrap of food left inside of it, just an orange ring around the inside from the kimchi color. 

“Okay, Miss ‘Okay’,” Jungkook says, placing his bowl gently into the sink. “Hand me your thing, I’ll finish washing up.”

“You sure?” You ask. You feel like you’ve contributed absolutely nothing to the making of this dish. Not cooking it, not putting away the ingredients or washing the pot, nothing. The least you could do is clean up a couple of your bowls. Or put them in the dishwasher. 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says, hand already latching onto it. “Takes two minutes.”

“Okay,” you tell him, watching the bowls fill with soap as his big hands scrub away the remnants of a very delicious meal. 

You linger in the kitchen. Despite not really having anything else to do, you don’t want to go back to your room, or curl away in some corner of the apartment where Jungkook can’t find you. You’re finally spending time together. Isn’t that what you wanted?

“It was pretty good,” you add on belatedly, when Jungkook is just drying his hands on the dish towel. There’s a precarious stack of dishes, utensils, and pots on the drying rack, like adding one more chopstick will send the whole thing tumbling down, but Jungkook isn’t worried about it at all. Even though he likes cleaning stuff up, he doesn’t like putting it away. 

“Aha!” Jungkook shouts, pointing at you accusingly. “I knew you would like it.”

“You’re a good chef,” you tell him. Maybe kimchi jjigae is the only thing he’s good at making, but rather be a master of one than a jack of all trades but master of none. Though, you have to admit that Jungkook is a master of several trades, none of which you think you could ever do. “You should cook more.”

“I wish,” Jungkook says with a sigh. The two of you have retired to the leather couch, the conversation drifting away from the kitchen and towards the sofas. When he collapses on the cushions, he relaxes, like the feeling is sucking out all of the tension in his body. “Every time I get back from work, I’m so drained and exhausted. I just want to go to sleep.”

“You weren’t tired tonight,” you point out. 

“No,” Jungkook says. The words are distant and faintly register in his mind, almost like the realization has just dawned on him for the first time, “I wasn’t.”

“Is there something else you wanna do?” You ask, not feeling particularly lethargic either. Normally, you’d spend the rest of the night raiding the rest of Jungkook’s amenities, watching old shows on his television or taking a bath until your body looks like a raisin. Something you can do by yourself, something that you’d want to do by yourself to make up for the fact that Jungkook doesn’t ever want to do anything with you. Watching him at work is getting less boring, because you’re actually starting to interact, but at home, you go right back to square one. Or, you did. “Watch a movie, or anything?”

“Nah, I’m alright,” Jungkook shakes his head, scrunching up his nose. You watch him as he chews the inside of his cheek, finger tracing over the scar that’s been left from that night, the night you patched him up. You’re a healer, but some things are meant to leave marks. You almost think that Jungkook is going to up and leave, heave himself off of the floor and spend the rest of the night alone in his bedroom, but then, he turns to you and he asks, “How often do you heal people?”

“I haven’t in a while,” you admit. Not because the opportunity has never presented itself, but you never had anyone to heal. “I used to when I was a kid, a lot. You know, scraped knees and paper cuts.”

“What about you?” Jungkook asks. “Do you have to heal yourself as well?”

“No,” you explain, “healers’ bodies heal by themselves.” It’s why, whenever you get back to your shack after crashing into a tree on the sidewalk that you hadn’t spotted, or stubbed your toe on the leg of a table, or pulled a muscle from stretching too far, you let yourself rest, and your body does the work for you. “But healing isn’t… it isn’t something I do very often. I turn invisible much more.”

“I can tell,” Jungkook muses. “But you’ve been invisible around me so much that it feels like I can still see you.”

“That’s because I’m always in your office when I’m invisible,” you point out. Jungkook knows you’re there because you wouldn’t be anywhere else. Where would you even go, when the whole point is to watch him? “In a place like this, there is no way you would be able to find me.”

“You wanna bet?”

“You know what, yes, I do,” you say, because Jungkook can’t possibly think his human-snuffing skills are as good as yours. Especially when the only person he’s trying to find is invisible. “You think you’re such a hotshot, hmm? Try and find me, then.”

“First floor only,” Jungkook rules. “And, when I do, I get to turn something.”

“Fine,” you agree, only because you know that that’s not going to happen. “One thing. That’s strike two, though.”

“You won’t tell,” Jungkook chides, eyes narrowed. 

“Will I?”

“Twenty seconds!” Jungkook says, already beginning to count down. “Nineteen, eighteen—!”

You turn invisible at once, not wasting a second, scurrying off down one of the hallways. There are plenty of places to hide in Jungkook’s house, from the walk-in closets in every bedroom to the one-foot-tall gap underneath every bed. But you won’t go for one of those, because Jungkook expects you to. He’s going to hunt around his entire house, looking in all of the nooks and crannies, the armoires and cabinets and cubbyholes, because he thinks that that’s where you’ll be hiding. But the truth is that there is no way that Jungkook will be able to find you when he can’t see you, because he doesn’t know what he’ll be looking for. 

So, you pick the second-to-last bedroom down the hall, and you wait. You’d sit down on the mattress, but Jungkook easily be able to spot a dip in the comforter, so you stand, right next to the door, holding your breath. If Jungkook really does think he can sense your presence, or whatever psychic nonsense he’s on about, then he should have no problem finding you. 

You hear Jungkook’s voice echoing down the hallway, a sickly sweet singsong as he walks into every room. 

“Y/N…” He calls out, like a ghost in a horror movie. “Where are you?”

From your angle, you can peer down the corridor, watch as he trickles in and out of each room after five minutes, no doubt searching through every one with both of his arms out, desperate to crash into you. Good thing you’re standing, otherwise Jungkook might accidentally elbow you. Slowly, he makes his way out of the room right before yours, casually walking towards you. You suck in a quick breath, holding yourself perfectly still.

“Are you here?” Jungkook flips his head around the doorframe, a foot away from where you’re standing. He isn’t looking right at you, thank God, otherwise you think you might just burst into laughter. “Hmm, I think you are.”

He begins to walk around the room, one hand tracing over the quilted pattern on the comforter, the other reaching out, grabbing fistfuls of air. He looks like someone’s blocked his vision, wandering around aimlessly as he tries to find something to cling onto. You bite your lip, refusing to laugh and give yourself away as he makes his way into the bathroom, singing your name like a chant, a curse to be laid upon you. When he obviously has no luck, he returns to the bedroom, eyes narrowed, as if that will better help his vision. 

You don’t think you’ve ever held your breath for this long, lungs about to burst, but you can’t let Jungkook find you. There’s more than just your powers on the line, and his reward. There’s your pride, and his massive ego that you refuse to stroke. The fact that he looks absolutely ridiculous is also doing nothing to aid you, but giving yourself up would be a metaphorical death sentence. 

Jungkook has one foot out of the door, already heading towards the last bedroom in the hallway, when you crack. You sputter out a half-breath, this miniscule exhale, and he stops in his tracks, turning around. You freeze up, hoping that maybe Jungkook will just think it was a trick of his own ears. 

“Y/N?” He taunts. He looks around the room again, trying to see if the wind is blowing a different way, if there is something different. He almost doesn’t notice you. 

Almost. 

You turn in shock when Jungkook reaches a hand out, his fingers pinching at your lower torso, shrieking as you practically topple over, Jungkook’s arms the only things that prevent you from diving head first onto the floor. He encases you in his hold as you sink to the floor in defeat, laughing as he follows you, one arm holding your waist as the other wraps around your back. He chuckles to himself while you curl up in shame, desperate not to meet your eyes. Your skin sizzles where his fingers had touched it, like oil in a pan after it’s been taken off of the stove, like the remnants of a flame, embers left to burn into ashes. It feels like your body is on fire. 

“Found you,” Jungkook teases, but it’s soft and sweet and fond. “I told you, I just know.”

“You just heard me breathe,” you defend yourself, because the former is impossible to accept. 

“Whatever you want to say to make yourself feel better.” He grins, cheeky and prideful, making you shove his head away with the palm of your hand. 

“Fine, whatever,” you say, resigning yourself to the fact that you lost this round. “What do you want to turn? The bed frame? The door knob? That really ugly pot in the living room?”

“Hey, that pot isn’t ugly,” Jungkook exclaims. You frown at him. “Okay, it’s only a little bit ugly.”

“For someone with so much money, you sure don’t have the best taste,” you tell him, even though everything else in his house reads expensive like nothing else. That pot is just weirdly out-of-place. “Maybe the gold will make it look better.”

“What’s this?” Jungkook asks, reaching a hand out from behind you to toy at the bracelet on your wrist, this silver chain with a couple of charms dangling from it. It’s rusted beyond belief, from rain, from humidity, from wear, but you refuse to take it off, even when it loses what’s left of its shimmer, even when the silver fades to a scratchy red iron. 

“An old bracelet,” you say, fingers instinctively making to play with it, rubbing away at the metal. “From my mom.”

“You wear it every day,” Jungkook notices. 

“I never take it off,” you say. 

“It’s pretty,” Jungkook tells you, and you know that he isn’t just saying that. That he means it, despite its abysmal condition. The years have not been kind to it, but then again, they haven’t been very kind to you either. “It must be really special.”

“It is.” You shuffle the bracelet around so that all five of the charms are in view. “She would buy a new charm every year for my birthday.”

“I like this one,” Jungkook says, pointing to the milk carton charm. “It’s cute.”

“Yeah…” you trail off. The bracelet isn’t much, but it’s all you have left of a childhood that you had been robbed of. You had to grow up too fast, that you know, but at least this bracelet reminds you that you are never too old for your memories. 

“Can I turn it?” Jungkook asks. It’s as if you can see the words leave his lips, resting in front of you, waiting for your response. 

You turn around to face him, eyes wide. Your hand goes to rest atop the bracelet protectively, the idea of letting someone else touch it almost unfathomable. 

“You can say no,” Jungkook quickly stammers out, face beet red. “It was just—you wear it so much, and it looks like the silver is fading, so I was thinking maybe the gold would… fix it up a bit, or something. Make it look new again. Ignore me, you don’t have to say yes, it was just a suggestion.”

Your fingers drop into your lap as you look at him, expression softening. Here, in this unused guest bedroom, Jungkook looks nervous, lost, stumbling over his own words like he isn’t sure of himself anymore. He looks away from you, eyes already beginning to scan the room for something else to turn instead, doubtful you would even agree to such a wild request. It is your bracelet, after all. Why would he do something like that for you?

“You want to?” You ask him, hopeful and wishing. 

Jungkook nods, a smile tugging at his lips. “I do.”

“Then you can,” you say, holding out your wrist to him, the charms dangling over your laps. “Please.”

Jungkook’s shocked that you even said yes, but he scrambles to twist you around, moving your bodies so you aren’t pressed against each other like two peas squished inside of a pod. In this new position, you’re facing each other, staring right at each other as Jungkook reaches out a tentative hand, delicate fingers padding against your wrist. He breathes, and so do you, because you’ve gotten so used to the way this bracelet has looked, so familiar with every rust and crack and dent, knowing that it has remained unchanged for years. 

But this isn’t a change. It’s a rebirth. It’s something different, something fresh, something to remind you that not all is lost. That old memories can become new once more. 

Slowly, as Jungkook presses soft fingertips against the metal, sparks fly. A golden sheen wraps around the bracelet, inch by inch, leaving behind this unmistakeable shimmer, glinting in the sunlight. You can’t tear your eyes away, watching the magic unfold in real time, the silver vanishing before you. The gold consumes it, erasing all of the rust, the wear and tear, until it looks brand new.

Your mother would have loved it. 

“Is that strike two?” Jungkook asks, a cherry red blush decorating his cheeks.��

“Thank you,” you breathe out, not caring if it’s strike two or strike two hundred. Your fingers press against the metal, smooth and shiny, the bumpy texture gone. It must be worth thousands, now. But to you, it is priceless. “It’s beautiful.”

Jungkook nods, and you can distantly feel the weight of his gaze on you. 

“I know,” he says. 

You can’t sleep. 

You’ve slept better here than you have for the past three years of your life. At this point, sleeping on cement would be more comfortable than your bed back at your own house, but here, the soft, plush mattress takes away all of the exhaustion that manifests itself in you throughout the day. Not to mention the fact that for the first time in over a decade, you finally have a normal routine, an internal clock to direct your body, rather than the other way around. There is something soothing in knowing exactly what the next day will bring. Something that doesn’t keep you up with worry.

But tonight, you are wide awake. 

The golden bracelet on your wrist clinks against itself as you sit up, rubbing at the gunk that’s collected in your eyes. You’ve been keenly aware of its existence on your wrist much more in the past several days, ever since Jungkook turned it from its previous faded silver, fingers instinctively toying with it whenever there’s nothing on your mind—and even when there is. 

What you fear most is the fact that you feel as though you are relying on Jungkook to be there more and more, counting on the fact that you know he will be by your side no matter where you are, no matter what you do. You are relying on him to be there, on his house to be there, shaping the way that you run your life based on the belief that at the end of the day, he will be asleep under the same roof as you. 

You pull yourself out of bed. Maybe a night spent alone will remind you of the days where you would watch the moon move across the sky, sitting underneath trees and counting the stars that you can see. Remind you that no matter what, the moon will always be there for you, too. Remind you that this, all of it, is temporary. 

You know that you aren’t allowed to go up to the second floor of Jungkook’s apartment, and that you’ve never been solely because Jungkook requested that you stay downstairs, a promise you have kept throughout the weeks. But there must be some appeal to the rooftop, you think, because Jungkook never comes downstairs whenever he’s having a restless night. Besides, it’s not as if you have any plans to go into his bedroom. 

Softly, you creep upstairs, hand dragging along the golden rail, feet leaving creases in the carpet. The top of the stairs opens up into a general hallway, a dark wooden door undoubtedly leading towards his bedroom, while the walls on the other side turn to glass, leading towards the pool. You tiptoe down the hallway, making sure to avoid making too much noise by Jungkook’s bedroom door, passing by the gym that Jungkook must use all of the time, whenever he’s not around to bother you. The glass door at the end of the hallway must exit out to the pool, so you twist the doorknob and push it open, the cool summer atmosphere hitting you like a breath of fresh air. 

All of the lights are on outside, this soft white that reflects off of the metal railing and the pool water, crashing in waves against the tiled edges. You think it’s just for show, like how people leave their Christmas lights on twenty-four hours a day, visible through their windows, but then you round the corner and see him.

Jungkook sits along the edge of the water, legs swishing around in the pool, as he looks up at the sky. The summer breeze blows through his hair, messy and loose, the way it looks right when he gets out of the shower, before he puts any product into it. Whatever he’s playing with in his hand glints in the lights, that distinctive yellow glow. It must be a coin or something, something small, something to keep his fingers occupied. 

“Are we considering that strike three?”

He whips around when he hears your voice, hears the way the pool water carries it across to him. 

“I thought you promised never to come up here,” he muses back. 

“Then I guess maybe both of us can be forgiven,” you suggest.

You amble over to him, crouching down to dip your feet in as well. You seat yourself along the edge of the pool beside him as the water sloshes around, the sensation sending shivers down your spine despite the humidity in the air. 

“Can’t sleep?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “My body’s tired but my mind isn’t.”

“What’s that?” You ask, pointing at the coin in his hand. It isn’t a form of currency that you recognize, certainly nothing used here. 

“A family heirloom,” Jungkook tells you, holding it out for you to see. It’s covered in a thin layer of cold but you think that you can make out some sort of crest, an emblem or insignia above the coat of arms. “Apparently it had been stolen from someone of royalty or high status back in the day. My family turned it into gold and made it ten times more valuable.”

“Oh, but I pickpocket a few people and suddenly I get sentenced by the Realm to be a minder, I see how it is,” you joke, rolling your eyes. Your eyes glaze over the crest, tracing the lines of a lion, a spear, a shield. It must mean something to someone, but to you and Jungkook, it could be anything. 

“Hey, but being my minder hasn’t been terrible, has it?” Jungkook asks, mockingly offended. His lips curl down into a pout as he looks at you, a hand on his heart like it’s been punctured by your words.

“It’s…” You begin. You suppose that it hasn’t been terrible. In the beginning, it was positively nightmarish, left you feeling like there was no way you would ever complete your sentence. Now, there’s this weird, hidden part of you that doesn’t want to leave. The part of you that has become attached to this world, this lifestyle. The part of you that relies on there being another person in your life to be with. “It’s not that bad.”

“You know what, I’ll take it.” Jungkook grins. “Even though I know you secretly love me.”

You give Jungkook a shove, pushing him on his side. “You wish.”

He laughs, pulling himself back up off of the cement, knocking his shoulder into yours. “I know that we both kind of didn’t have a choice in any of this,” he tells you, looking up at the stars, watching their faint light, twinkling from millions of light years away. “But I think I really needed you here.”

“Oh, now he admits he needs a minder,” you say sarcastically, flinging your arms out in front of you. 

Jungkook chuckles. “I didn’t realize I turned so much until you forced me to stop cold turkey.”

You nod. The truth is, you can’t blame Jungkook for his turning habits. You can’t blame him for living the way that he lives, when it’s the only thing he’s ever known. When the two most important adults in his life turn like wildfire, when they taught him everything he knows. But Jungkook is his own person, now, not a product of his parents, anymore. He has his own choices to make. He can become whoever he wants to be. 

He has become someone he wants to be. 

Jungkook’s magic habits aren’t any fault of his own as much as yours aren’t, either. They were born out of ignorance, out of necessity. Out of the fact that neither of you have ever known a world where you didn’t have powers, where you didn’t feel as though you needed to use them. You couldn’t imagine not having your magic. You know that Jungkook feels the same. 

“Why did you?” It’s as if the words don’t even belong to you. Like someone else has spoken them—the moon, the sky, the stars. 

Jungkook purses his lips, and sighs. “It was all I had ever known.”

Jungkook grew up drunk on his powers. You wonder if he’s sobered up now. 

(You wonder if you had anything to do with it.)

“When I was little, my parents gave me that whole ‘you’re different, and that makes you special’ talk. They told me that my powers were valuable. A gift. And that people with gifts like mine must never waste them. That if we had been given this magic, we ought to use it, right? So that’s what I did. God, every day I would turn a new toy gold, and then I would get another one to replace it, and I would turn that one gold, too. My parents probably sold that to our banks, another hundred thousand dollars into their pockets,” Jungkook says, forcing out a laugh at the memory. The thought is rather endearing, when you think about it. Little Jungkook turning a stuffed bear gold, crying when it isn’t soft and fuzzy anymore. 

“And my parents encouraged me. They told me that I was doing the right thing, that I wasn’t letting my gift go to waste. You saw them that evening that they came over. They were turning things gold left and right. Things that I had wanted to stay their natural material. Like that bowl for my keys. Do you know how easily gold is scratched?” He exclaims, gesturing frantically in front of him. “I purposefully kept that as the clay it was made out of. And now it’s gold.”

“A modern day crisis,” you joke. 

“I guess…” Jungkook begins, but the words trail off and he pauses, almost like nothing he says will be correct. “I guess I just never knew the difference between not wanting my magic to be in vain, and not wanting to ever stop using it. Like you. You only heal when you need to. And even then, you don’t treat it like this precious gift. You treat it like something you owe to others.”

“That’s because without other people to heal, my power is useless,” you explain. Being able to heal others has no direct benefit for you. It doesn’t make you stronger, or faster, or better. It is a gift that is meant to be shared. “It’s different.”

“Every time I turn something, I feel like shit afterwards,” Jungkook admits to you. “Like I’ve turned so many things, that I don’t have the right to do it anymore. Like I’ve exhausted my magic.”

“You feel guilty,” you explain to him, resting a hand on top of his own, his fingers losing their grip on the coin he’s been tossing between them. “And that’s okay,” you tell him, meeting his eyes with your own. “Your parents are right—what you have, this power that you possess, it is a gift. It has made your life better in a way that nothing else could. But your fear of letting it go to waste, of not truly appreciating it for what it is, is a two-way street.”

Jungkook blinks at you, petal pink lips parted ever so slightly. 

“Wasting a gift by never using it is the same as wasting it by overusing it, because it loses its specialness. When you turn things now, it doesn’t feel amazing or blessed or exciting, because it’s lost the ability to feel like that for you. It’s almost second-nature, at this point,” you say.

“Then what do I do?” He asks, feeling helpless. “How do I make it feel special again?”

You squeeze his hand in your own, making him look up at you, the pool water reflected in his big brown eyes, like a warm chocolate ocean. “You only use it on things that make you feel like a better person.” Things that make Jungkook feel special, as opposed to things that make his magic feel special. “Not just things that will put more money in your bank account, or things that will make your house decor nicer. Things that you really, truly care about.”

Jungkook’s eyes glance downward at something, but he nods. He breathes out this exhale, this heavy sort of breath, like he’s trying to reteach himself the things that make him tick. Things like alphabetized books, and homemade kimchi stew. 

“Gifts like that only come once in a lifetime,” you say. “Remarkable things don’t happen to us all the time.” You know this, because it’s true. Because you’ve lived it.

Because in another life, in another universe, there is a you who can’t turn invisible, can’t heal people, and there is a Jungkook, too, one who can’t turn whatever he pleases into gold. And they would live their whole lives not knowing what it would be like to have these powers, to ease their way of life. And they would never meet each other, either. Too busy trapped on opposite sides of the world, too busy to worry about anybody but themselves. 

“So we have to learn to treasure them.” It feels as though you’re drowning in him. Like you’re floundering, barely staying afloat. “We have to make sure that they always feel special to us.”

You curl your hand around his own, lacing your fingers together as your palms rest against each other’s. You watch as his gaze drifts down to where your hands are interlocked, a bridge between the two of you, a lifeline that connects the two lives you had lived without each other in them. 

“Do you understand?” You ask. You can see the words as they appear, watch as they linger in between the two of you, hot summer breaths on a cool summer night. 

He squeezes your hands together, and he smiles, warm and round and real. He looks at you, and he is there, he is sitting by your side. And he is beautiful and extraordinary and remarkable. And he says, “I’m starting to.”

You wake up the next morning to find a shimmering piece of parchment sitting on the dresser in your bedroom. 

As declared by the Realm, its leaders, and its government, it reads, 

The recipient, Y/N, has successfully completed her sentence of community service as mandated by the courts. She no longer needs to serve as the minder to Jeon Jungkook, and may return to her former residence. 

Though the sentence has been carried out, The Realm, its leaders, and its government, reserves the right to re-charge the recipient for the crimes for which she had been originally tried should she commit them again. Should this instance occur, the option for community service will not be available. 

We thank you for your service.

Oh. 

Already? 

It feels like you just started. Like it was only yesterday that you stormed up to the front door of Jungkook’s penthouse, watched as he crumpled up the parchment and tossed it into the bin. Like it was only yesterday you reappeared at his office, this time with a declaration that won’t be so easily destroyed. 

You wonder why this one is all sparkly as well. 

You don’t know exactly what prompted the end of your sentence, what duties you had somehow fulfilled to earn you your freedom. What is the Realm searching for? What data are they using to determine whether or not you have met your goal? It certainly couldn’t have just been the fact that Jungkook hasn’t turned in a while. Not turning is not the same as not wanting to turn. 

So what changed?

You stare down at the parchment, each word leaving you more confused than the word before it. 

It isn’t over already, is it?

Knowing that you are now free to return back to your own house means that your worst fear has been realized. You don’t want to. 

You want to stay here, in Jungkook’s massive penthouse, relishing in the glory and wealth that comes alongside it. You want his chef to make pre-made meals for you and the extra kimchi stew he keeps in the fridge. You want Jungkook’s five thousand different streaming services and enough books to last you several lifetimes. You want the sense of normalcy that staying here has given you, the regular routine that you have so effortlessly fallen into. You want the late-night pool chats and rounds of hide-and-seek. 

Why would you want to give up all that you have?

“You want fried or poached eggs?” Jungkook knocks on your closed bedroom door, tapping softly with his knuckles, already awake and ready to make breakfast. 

“Either,” you tell him, glaring down at the parchment with furrowed brows. You’re too afraid to touch it, too afraid to even look at it any closer. Because that will make it real. 

“Alright,” Jungkook calls. “It’ll be ready in ten! Got freshly-squeezed orange juice too!” You can hear his footsteps as he heads back down the corridor, the thump, thump, thump of his fuzzy slippers against the hardwood floor. 

“Coming,” you say weakly, too focused on the glowing paper on the dresser. 

 Just because you can go back to your house doesn’t mean you have to. Just because you can go back to your old life, doesn’t mean you have to. 

You grab the paper and stuff it in an old tote bag, covering it with old clothes, memories of the former world you lived in. Not anymore. 

After all, isn’t this the life you’ve always dreamed of?

Kimchi stew is, as it stands, delicious, but it can’t be the only thing that the two of you ever cook together. 

Jungkook does all of the grocery shopping, mostly because the both of you know that if you went out to the store with a list of ingredients, you would be lost for days searching for them. So when he returns home with three tote bags filled with ingredients, your mouth already starts to water. 

“What are we making today, chef?” You ask, bounding into the kitchen as Jungkook begins to unpack. 

“Another Korean recipe,” Jungkook says happily, pulling out a bright yellow pack of thin grey noodles. “Japchae!”

“Sounds delicious,” you say, though at this point he could make you microwave mac-and-cheese and you’d snarf it down like nothing else.

“You bet it is.” Jungkook grins, slowly dumping out the rest of the contents of the bags. They are filled to the brim with vegetables and seasonings, peppers and zucchini and everything in between, the makings of a colorful little homemade dish. 

Jungkook seems to be making more time to actually cook things these days, fishing through the cabinets regularly to see what meals he can make with all of the ingredients in his kitchen. The chef only comes once every two weeks now, and usually brings with him any groceries that Jungkook has personally requested. He’ll ask you what you think of a new recipe that he wants to try, showing you the guide on his laptop screen, writing down whatever he needs to buy from the store. 

And you thought that the chef’s meals were appetizing. 

“Have you ever thought of meal-prepping?” You ask as Jungkook sets the noodles in a pot of boiling water, turning the heat on high. 

“Why?” Jungkook says. 

“I don’t know,” you tell him, washing the red pepper underneath the faucet, cutting board and knife ready and waiting on the counter. “So you don’t have to go through the process of cutting everything up and sauteing it, or whatever.”

Jungkook turns around, shakes his head. “No. Half the fun of cooking is making it.”

“But you could save yourself a lot of time when you come back from work,” you point out. Jungkook’s always so exhausted by the time he walks through the front door, keys scratching the golden bowl on the table on the way in. 

“But then we wouldn’t get to cook together,” he says like it’s obvious, like it’s the thing that he thinks about the most when he comes back home. The two of you, filling up his kitchen, leaving oil stains on the countertops and burnt vegetables at the bottom of the pans. The scent of spices, of onions, of sizzling vegetables wafting through the air. 

Another person to fill up this barren house. 

You never eat in the dining room, because two people still isn’t enough to make that room feel like it’s full, like there are people that regularly use it. But now, there are grease stains on the leather of Jungkook’s couch, and a little bit of ketchup on the rug that he doesn’t know about, reminders that just because Jungkook’s house is big doesn’t mean it has to be empty as well. 

“I’m a horrible chef,” you say, because you’re not quite sure what else to tell him. Up until a few weeks ago, you had never cut up an onion in your life. Things in the kitchen that take Jungkook five minutes to do take you twenty. You certainly aren’t any help, not when Jungkook has to pause whatever he’s doing to teach you something that you should already know. So what’s the appeal?

“You’re not that bad,” Jungkook assures you gently. “You just need to do it more.”

“Oh, so is that your mission? You don’t meal-prep because you want me to learn how to make my own food?” You ask, rounding on him. 

“You got me.” He grins guiltily, pinching the part of your waist where he knows you’re the most ticklish, making you laugh as you turn invisible for a moment, a sort of gut reaction whenever you’re sensitive. “And because I like cooking with you.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “It must be my infectious personality, right?”

“That, and teaching you how to cook stuff is fun.” Jungkook smiles, reaching out as he begins to chop vegetables beside you. Standing here, in the middle of his kitchen, you wonder if this is how life is supposed to be. Someone you can cook with, someone you can eat with. Someone who will teach you the things that you don’t know, who will help you master the things that you do. Someone who doesn’t care where you came from, only that you’re here now, that you are right beside him. 

Homemade meals make your insides warm and fuzzy, but having someone to spend the night with makes your heart feel comforted. Makes it feel like it’s been wrapped in a blanket, cradled in someone’s hands. 

“What happens when I learn everything?” You ask. “What will you do then?”

Eventually, this routine must come to an end. Eventually, there will be nothing left for him to teach you, nothing left for you to learn. You know that your days are numbered, that there is only so much time that the two of you can spend together. What will happen when you reach the last day? When there will be no tomorrow for you to rely on?

Jungkook must know that you can’t stay here forever, even if the two of you try to keep it that way. But he doesn’t miss a beat when he says, “Then, I’ll find something new to teach you.”

This arrangement has always been temporary. 

But for a moment, just a moment, an echo in time, he makes you believe otherwise. 

There’s a golden glint on your chest of drawers when you walk into the room, the glare flashing in your eyes as the sun hits it. 

You, admittedly, don’t go into your room very often, usually only to do the thing that bedrooms, at their most basic level, were meant to do: sleep. But Jungkook retired early to his room tonight, citing some ridiculous reason like he hadn’t worked out enough this week, and everything in the house suddenly becomes less inviting whenever he’s not around. 

When you step closer, you can see it. See the thin chain that rests on the dresser, the key that hangs from it, a similar size to the charms on your bracelet. The gold is faded, shine erased, leaving behind this gentle matte texture, smooth but worn. It’s much more vintage than the sorts of things you would find in jewelry stores today—bright, sparkly necklaces and shiny, lustrous rings. It was made to look old, to look worn. It probably is.  

There’s a little note next to the necklace, a torn piece of paper from a notepad, the edges rough and uneven. 

To Y/N,

Found this in my mother’s old jewelry that she always leaves here when she decides it’s not her style anymore. Didn’t really think of anybody else that would make good use of it like you. I think it’ll match your bracelet well! I hope you like it.

Jungkook

You smile as you read the words, take in this meaningful little gesture that Jungkook has done for you. The bracelet from your mother has always been your most prized possession, but with its new golden makeover, it reminds you that you don’t always have to look to your past to be happy. That what you have, right here, right now, is enough. Now, your mother’s charm bracelet has a matching partner. 

Standing in front of the mirror, you put the necklace on, fingers craning to attach the clasp to the chain, metal slipping from your grip. After a bit of a battle, you finally manage to connect the two ends, letting the key hang low past your collarbones, the gold resting gently against your skin. It doesn’t match your bracelet perfectly, but the two aren’t so much a matching set as they are a pair, two pieces that are meant to complement each other rather than complete. 

You seriously doubt that Jungkook’s already asleep. 

Sneaking up the stairs to the second story, you see that the door to Jungkook’s bedroom is wide open, revealing a little glimpse into the room he spends so much time in. It’s dark, empty, a signal that Jungkook is elsewhere on this floor. You don’t spend too much effort peering into Jungkook’s bedroom, not when it feels like you’re invading his space, his privacy. He’s already given up so much of his home for you. He deserves to keep his bedroom his own.

He’s not in the gym, you determine as you pass by, which means that there really is only one other place he could be found. 

You push open the door to the rooftop, rounding the corner to the deck to find Jungkook doing laps in the pool, wearing nothing but his swimming trunks. The water sloshes around his body as he swims back and forth, kicking up splashes as he goes. You watch for a few moments as he works out, not wanting to interrupt him he burns away the calories in his body. This is the closest you’ve ever come to seeing Jungkook undressed, but you don’t really mind. At least he’s got shorts on. 

When he stops, he stands up in the pool, sopping wet hands running through sopping wet hair, strands that frame the sides of his face, make his hair look longer than it actually is. He wipes away the water on his face, blinking the chlorine from his eyes, when he spots you. 

“What are you doing up here?” He asks, not even caring to fight away the grin that has laced itself on his features. 

“Came to say thank you,” you tell him, fingers toying with the key around your neck. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“I wanted to,” Jungkook says honestly. “Besides, my mother was never going to come back to get it, so I figured that it should go to someone who will actually wear it.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say, slowly sitting down along the edge of the pool, letting your legs dip into the water. Jungkook makes his way over to you, water splashing at his torso as he walks through the pool to stand before you. “Was it always gold?”

“It was, yes,” Jungkook says with a nod. “My mom liked to turn a lot of things, but she preferred her jewelry to be naturally gold. That’s why it’s pretty faded.”

“It looks nicer this way,” you say. “Shiny gold looks cheap.”

“Spend a couple of months in a mansion and suddenly you think gold looks cheap?” Jungkook jokes. “I think I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Can’t help that I’ve got an eye for nice things,” you tease, looking Jungkook up and down just to be dramatic. You have to admit that he’s got a rather attractive figure, fit, built, toned. You would be lying to yourself if you said that you weren’t eyeing him at least a little bit. 

Jungkook pretends that he isn’t paying attention to the fact that you are blatantly ogling his body and laughs. “You swim?”

“I learned when I was little,” you tell him. “But I haven’t done it in a long time.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Jungkook says with a disapproving shake of his head. 

“What? I like being dry,” you say, hands on your hips as you defend yourself. Besides, when you were little, swimming always meant showering afterwards, which sucked because then you had to waste water just to clean yourself of other water. Your mother always said that being able to swim would carry you far in life, would be an invaluable skill. You haven’t swum since she died. 

“But, you wouldn’t mind if I… oh, never mind,” Jungkook dismisses, being purposefully vague just to capture your attention. 

“What?” You demand. 

“If I…” Jungkook begins, leaning back down in the pool until all but his head is submerged. He floats towards you, paddling until he’s right beneath your feet. “Did this—?”

Without a second of warning, Jungkook’s wet hands are grabbing onto your ankle, pulling you and your fully-clothed-self into the water with a splash, making you shriek as you feel your skin freeze up at the cold temperature. Luckily, it’s shallow enough here that you can stand rather easily, but now you’re soaked from head to toe, sopping fabric sticking to your figure.

You come up from beneath the water, positively accosted, hands wiping across your face as you clear your eyes so that they can narrow in on your target. “Okay, that was uncalled for,” you say, splashing Jungkook furiously, even as the two of you fight off the laughter that is bubbling up from your throats. 

“Oh, but it’s such a nice night for swimming,” Jungkook grins devilishly, that cheeky sort of look reserved for when he knows he’s being a nuisance. 

“Maybe for you!” You say, punctuating every word with a splash. Jungkook takes them all in good fun, accepting his punishment for pulling you into the pool. “I’ve been betrayed.”

“Admit it,” Jungkook coaxes, “you love me.”

You refuse.

When the rage has died down and the water begins to feel less like an icy death trap and more like a pleasant dip, you and Jungkook paddle around each other, swimming in circles like two fish in a school. Looking up, it is a nice night, clear skies as a crescent moon hangs above your heads. There are seldom any stars in the middle of the city, but the especially bright ones still shine, flickers of white in an otherwise deep blue ocean. You wonder how many times Jungkook has come out here, spent the night underneath the sky when he cannot sleep away the hours in bed. 

You wonder how many times you missed the opportunity to spend the night with him. 

“I sort of wish that we could stay like this forever, don’t you?” Jungkook asks, the two of you floating on top of the water like light against the sea. 

There’s a lot of things in your life that you wish would never change. This is just another bullet point added to the list. 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, because out there somewhere is a timer, counting down the moments until you have to say goodbye. “I do.”

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” you say, looking at Jungkook. 

He sits across from you in the booth, face lit up in a warm yellow from the rustic exposed light bulb above your heads, this soft, homey glow to his features, sharp jawline but rounded cheeks. He’s cleaned up well, in a different way than how he gets ready for work, when he has to make sure his collars are crisp and his hair is sleek and straight. Here, his dark brown hair is bouncy, loose, like he had blown it out after jumping out of the shower and then immediately ran his hand through it a couple of times to mess it up. He wears a plain button down, nothing fancy or chic, no tie, no suit jacket. The beauty of how he looks is that it’s so simple, so timeless, like he doesn’t need to put any effort into how he looks because he is just naturally perfect. Like the cover of a magazine. Like a sculpture come to life. 

“I wanted to,” Jungkook says happily, fork twirling around the pasta in the dish in front of him. “We can’t just eat premade meals and leftover Korean food forever.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t complain if we did…” You reason, because you’ve been better fed in the few months you’ve lived with Jungkook than in the years you have spent on your own. Not to mention the fact that everything Jungkook makes tastes eons better than the meals the professional chef whips up, for some odd reason. “But you’re right, a night out is fun.”

“Sometimes food tastes better when you don’t make it yourself,” Jungkook points out, motioning to the dishes before you, these high-class servings of fish and pasta and vegetables that look like they belong on a cooking show rather than on the table in front of you. You and Jungkook may have mastered (or at least… gotten better at) cooking, but presentation is a whole other battlefield. Besides, it’s all going to the same place, so why bother?

“Mmm,” you murmur in agreement, savoring the flavor of the meal in front of you. A year ago you wouldn’t have dared step foot in a restaurant like this one, would have probably gotten kicked out after you walked through the door, so being here feels like a real treat. One that you think you could definitely get used to. 

“Thanks, by the way,” Jungkook pipes up, as if suddenly remembering something. 

“For what?”

“For your idea about the investment management,” Jungkook says, sending the both of you back to that day in his office, where Jungkook was on the verge of flipping his desk over because he couldn’t figure out a solution. 

“Oh, is it working out?” You ask, curious to know if your suggestion is truly paying off or if you just had too much faith in the goodness of humanity. 

“It is.” Jungkook nods happily. He seems very proud of himself. “It was slow going at first, because a lot of clients were starting to wonder why we weren’t investing in other stocks that would guarantee us a higher payout, but then they saw where the money was going. We aren’t bigger than our rival companies, but this levelled the playing field.”

“I’m glad,” you say, because it’s one thing for Jungkook to tell you you had a good idea, and it’s another for him to actually implement it. “That makes me happy to hear.”

“You’re not as bad at business or economics as you think you are, Y/N,” Jungkook informs you, waving around a nonchalant hand. “All they are is an in-depth study of human nature. Some economists assume that everyone in the world is selfish and cares only about themselves, but you’re different. You see the good in everyone, you believe that people can be honest, and selfless, and giving.”

Like Jungkook. 

Like Jungkook, who has given up his home, his work, his life just to deal with another person hovering around him. Who gifts you gorgeous pieces of jewelry and takes you out to fancy meals, who lets you screw up a recipe in the kitchen and obligingly eats peppers that have been charred beyond recognition. Who is so much more honest, so much more selfless, so much more giving, than you could ever be, sticking around because to not do so would cost you your freedom, because you would rather stay here than be anywhere else. 

“I don’t know what I’ll do when you’re gone,” Jungkook says, cracking this weak, terrible smile. He shakes his head as if to banish the thought from his mind, to exist only in this very moment, choosing to ignore both the past and the future. “I think I’m starting to rely on you being there.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, distantly. Something weighs heavy on your chest, pressing your heart down, slowing its temperate rhythm. The truth is that your heart stopped a long time ago, it stopped when you realized that there’s more to Jungkook that you want to know, when you realized that you can’t bear to imagine a life different than the one that the two of you share, no matter how temporary it is. But this weight, this burden on you, it serves as nothing but a reminder that without Jungkook, your heart cannot count in time. “Me too.”

You return home with plastic tupperwares in your hands, leftovers from the enormous meal that the two of you couldn’t have finished even if you tried. Jungkook takes the container from your hands as you excuse yourself to the bathroom, desperate to wash away the thoughts that rest heavy in your heart, cleanse yourself of the lies you can’t seem to stop telling. There’s this naive part of you that thinks, when you wash off the makeup, change back into your raggedy old clothes, all of the secrets you carry with you will vanish as well. 

You know you’ll have to come clean eventually. Eventually, Jungkook will get suspicious as to why you’ve hung around so long even though he is no longer turning. He’ll begin to wonder why you haven’t dashed out of the penthouse you once used to disparage, desperate to return to your old life, where you didn’t have to know him the way that you do now. When you didn’t feel like there was something else trapping you here. 

When all is said and done, though, it feels like here is where you were always meant to end up. 

You head back out into the living room, ready to settle down and wrap up the night by watching a movie or something, when you see Jungkook standing by the couch, your old tote bag sitting on the cushions from a laundry trip earlier today, a shimmering piece of parchment in his hands. 

“Jungkook—”

“How long?” He asks, voice cracking. He’s clenching the paper so hard that his knuckles are turning white, like he can’t believe the words that he’s reading. “How long have you been free to go?”

“Listen, I can explain—”

“A week? A month? When were you going to tell me?” He pleads. When you can’t even muster up the dignity to look at him, he shouts. “When?”

“A month,” you tell him weakly, desperately. 

“A month? You’ve been staying here for a month when you didn’t even need to?” He asks, and he isn’t angry, or furious, or full of rage. He looks helpless, like there is no longer light behind his eyes, twinkles in his irises. Like he’s in pain, like he’s hurt. Exposed, his walls broken down and nothing left to repair them. “When were you going to tell me? Were you ever going to say anything?”

“Yes, Jungkook, but I—”

“All this time,” he says, more to himself than to you, like he can’t believe how foolish he’s been. “All this time you’ve been using me? Using my money?”

“No, Jungkook, it’s not like that.” You are desperate, desperate to salvage what you can from this broken arrangement, desperate to start anew. 

“Then what is it like?” He demands. “If you weren’t using me for my house, or my money, or my personal chef, then what is it? What did you want from me that you couldn’t get on your own?”

You stop. Why did you stay? Normalcy? Opportunity? Company? All things that you never dreamed of having in a million years. And while being with Jungkook did provide you with all three, none of them feel quite right.

“I don’t know, I just—” You begin, scrambling for the right words and feeling like nothing you say will be correct. “I didn’t want to go back just yet.” It’s a pitiful excuse. 

“So you just decided to stay? To play along with me, with all of the things that I was doing with you, for you?” Jungkook shakes where he stands in front of you, blindsided. “Let me teach you how to cook and give you expensive jewelry and take you out to fancy dinners? Just for fun?”

“I never asked for you to do those things for me,” you remind him firmly. It’s not like you were scrounging for money from his pockets, selling insignificant gold sculptures on the black market to buff up your empty bank account. “You wanted to.”

“Because I thought we had something special, Y/N,” Jungkook admits helplessly, collapsing back on the couch. “I did those things because I felt it, Y/N. What you were talking about, that night at the pool, where you saw me sitting at the edge of the water. I felt it. With you,” he begs, hopeless and anguished. “I didn’t understand what it meant to make the magic feel special again until I did it for you. I turned your bracelet and it made me feel like I had something to give to others.”

“You know that that’s not what I meant,” you say, shaking your head. “I was talking about your gift, not us.”

“Aren’t they all the same, though? Magic? Powers? Love? Don’t they all make us feel like we have something special beneath our fingertips?” He asks, to you, to himself, to the moon and the stars, searching for an answer that none of you can give him. 

“Love? You don’t mean that,” you say, refusing to admit it. You have no explanation as to why Jungkook did the things he did, just as much as you don’t have an explanation as to why you did the things you did. They just happened. 

“I thought we had something,” Jungkook admits sadly, unable to even bring his head up to look at you, at the tears that are welling in your eyes, the ones you refuse to let fall. “And I thought the reason that you wanted to do all of those things with me was because you felt it, too.”

“Jungkook, you know that—”

“What?” He erupts. “What do I know? I know that you’ve been using me all of this time, that you did those things with me because you were getting freebies out of it. I know that I was foolish and—and stupid to think that maybe it was because you were falling in love with me just like I was falling in love with you.”

“Jungkook…” You reach out a trembling hand, wanting to feel the warmth of his body once more, the weight of his head in your palm. 

“Don’t,” he says, swatting it away and standing up. “I get it, Y/N. I was stupid and I thought that we had something, when we don’t.” He turns back to look at you, and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to get the image out of your head, the sight of him, broken and beaten and empty, a shell of the beautiful, vibrant man you had become so attached to. “There’s nothing left for you here. Your services are no longer required.”

He disappears down the hallway, leaving you with nothing but a tote bag, a necklace, and a bracelet left for you to remember him. 

When you step into your house for the first time in months, it feels even less inviting than it normally does. Which is, as far as you’re concerned, rather impressive, considering you’ve always dreaded coming back regardless of what happened throughout the day. 

But now, you can name no place you would rather not be than in this graffiti-laden house, a dangling light bulb above the back entrance and dirt and dust all along the walls. You’ve never had time to fix up this place and make it look even the slightest bit presentable, never had the money to paint over the walls and get rid of the big red X on the front door. Day in and day out, this would just be a place where you could sleep, a mattress on the floor and Campbell’s soups on the cracked kitchen counters. The first thing you’d do every morning is get out. The last thing you’d want to do every night is come back. 

No place has felt like home in a long time. Not since your mother died, when you lost how her smile would light up a room, how she would spin you in circles and kiss your forehead when you got scared that you were going too fast. You had almost forgotten what it meant to have a home, to have a place that felt sacred, like coming home to a warm hug and a steaming cup of tea. To have a place that you didn’t dread returning to, a place that you could gladly waste away in. 

The bracelet that dangles from your wrist is the closest thing that you have left to the feeling of home, of comfort and warmth and solace, of something that makes you feel truly happy. But now, the bracelet has been tinted with the memories of another, of the only other person you can think of that has brought you that same feeling of joy, of these rose-stained memories that rest deep within your heart’s attic. They have always been there, hidden, buried beneath the bad, but when there is nothing left they surface. To remind you of what good life can bring you. 

To remind you of the magic inside you. 

You hate living here. And for a time, you hated living with Jungkook, too. Hated how extravagant his house was, hated how he refused to even speak to you. How there were so many unused rooms, so many empty spaces. But what changed, there, and what hasn’t changed, here, is how people, and not things, are what fill up rooms. 

Living with Jungkook made you feel like coming back after a long day was worth it. Planted the knowledge inside you that you would always have him there, could always rely on another’s presence within the apartment. He’s only one person, but he fills up the room like nothing else, lights it up like New Year’s Eve. He’s funny, and witty, and gorgeous. He’s caring and honest and cheeky, just cocky enough for it to be charming as opposed to egotistical. He cooks like nothing else and spends his sleepless nights beneath the stars, looking at the same moon and sky as everyone else. 

You don’t hate living here because it’s shit. You hate living here because it’s lonely. 

There was a space in your heart that you didn’t even realize was empty. It had been overtaken by the part of you determined to make it to the next day, determined to stick it to the Realm, to its leaders, to all of the people that look down on you because you aren’t made of money. 

But when you left Jungkook’s house, you realized that that space had slowly been filled up with him. That over time, bit by bit, moment by moment, Jungkook returned what you had lost, revived what you thought had long been dead. 

The truth is that you wanted to stay with Jungkook because you couldn’t stomach the thought of being alone again. Of being forced to fend for yourself, forced to come home to an empty house with no one to waste away the night with. Of being forced to live like every day is a threat rather than a gift. 

Jungkook has magic in his fingertips and his heart. It was only a matter of time before it spread to you as well. 

Being hurt by someone you love feels like an arrow to the chest. Like a puncture wound, deep and piercing, but too painful to even want to pull it out, patch up the hole. You had already experienced it once. You didn’t have any plans on experiencing it again. 

But losing the opportunity to love someone feels like an ache throughout your whole body, this crippling sort of pain that spreads through your bloodstream, setting every organ it passes on fire. It feels like there is something tearing you apart from the inside out, like every piece of you is slowly crumbling. 

Jungkook’s biggest mistake wasn't falling in love with you. It was thinking that you were still falling in love with him, when the truth is, you had already fallen. It was letting you leave when both of you wanted nothing more than for you to stay. 

Loving someone is a gamble. It’s a risk, a toe in the water, a spark from your fingers. 

But not loving someone? That is magic, wasted. 

Who knew twenty dollars could get you one large pizza and extra garlic rolls? Certainly not you. 

The smell wafts through the hallway to Jungkook’s apartment, filling it with the scent of warm, fresh bread, of a hot meal waiting to be devoured. If you don’t knock soon, the pizza will go cold and you’ll probably eat all of it before you can even say hello to him. You have more food in your hands now than you have the past week you’ve been back at your old place. 

You ring the doorbell. 

 “Coming!” Jungkook shouts. Oh, is he expecting someone?

Ten seconds later the door opens to reveal someone you hardly even recognize. Gone are the soft loose strands of hair and oversized button down shirts. Jungkook opens the door still wearing his suit jacket, tie tight around his neck, like he hasn’t bothered to change since he got home from work over two hours ago. His hair is sleek and straight, a little shorter than you last remember it. He looks the way he did when you first met him, this rigid, workaholic guy that doesn’t care about anybody except himself. He looks like he’s done nothing but work for a week. Not even sleep. 

“Hi,” you begin, a short, quick intake of breath. “Did you order a pizza?”

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head, already starting to close the door. “I think you have the wrong apartment.”

“Wait, Jungkook, please? I need to talk to you,” you plead, a hand going out to stop him from shutting you out completely. All that you can see through the crack of space between the door and its frame are his piercing brown eyes, absolutely unreadable. He doesn’t budge. “Also, did you just get back from work? You must be starving. And as it so happens, I have an entire large pizza that I won’t be able to finish all by myself.”

Jungkook budges a little bit. 

“Please?”

“Fine,” he says reluctantly, opening the door. “I hope you aren’t planning on staying here too long, this time.”

The words are biting cold, send angry shivers down your spine. 

“Just enough for you to hear me out,” you say, placing the pizza box on the coffee table as Jungkook rummages through his kitchen for plates. He eventually manifests two paper ones—you didn’t even know he had those!—and returns, taking a seat on the carpet as he inhales the cheesy, greasy scent. 

Your stomach grumbles, but you can’t eat just yet. First, you have to explain yourself. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Jungkook asks, cold and distant, the same way he spoke to all of his employees before you encouraged him to do otherwise. “If it’s about my company, we can compensate you as necessary for your contribution. It won’t be much, though.”

“No, no, it’s not about that,” you say with a shake of your head. “It’s about us.”

“What ‘us’ is there to talk about?” He asks economically. 

“The ‘us’ that I left behind that day,” you say softly, a gentle reminder. “The ‘us’ I should have realized existed before I let the door shut behind me.”

“If you’re just here to tell me that you’re sorry for not loving me back, don’t,” Jungkook says bitterly. “I don’t expect you to love me back or anything. You can’t change how you feel about people.”

“You still love me?” You ask, a spark, a flash, a ray of light. 

Jungkook grumbles. “Yes. It doesn’t go away that easily.” 

“You aren’t stupid, or foolish, or idiotic for thinking that I was falling in love with you at the same time that you were falling in love with me,” you tell him, the words light and airy, like weights plucked off of your chest, like butterflies released from a jar. “You were stupid for thinking that I wasn’t already in love with you.”

Jungkook’s head jerks up, eyes blinking wildly. You can see the way that they glisten, with hope, with tears, with desperation. With the possibility that not all is lost. 

That old memories can become new once more. 

“You were right,” you muse, more to yourself than to anyone else. Even Jungkook. “Magic, powers, love, they’re all the same thing. They are meant to be treasured. Cherished. Protected. They are meant to make us feel special.” You breathe, reaching out next to you, an open hand for Jungkook to take. “But most importantly, they are meant to be shared.”

A small smile. A lip half-turned up, this gentle little grin. 

“I stayed because I wanted to keep sharing my life with you, Jeon Jungkook,” you tell him honestly, because it’s real and it’s true. Because, at this point, you can imagine nothing else. “And I’m here again because I can’t stand living without you anymore. I never want to stop sharing my life with you.”

“You make me feel like my heart is made of magic,” Jungkook admits, finally, finally, finally. “You make me want to use it just for you.”

“You don’t need to,” you say, pressing yourself into him, letting your lips hover above his own. He reaches a hand out, lets it rest on your waist, waiting desperately for you to close the last inch between the two of you. “You’re already made of it.”

With that, you close the gap, pressing your lips against his, the soft sweet cherry taste of his lip balm filling up your senses, leaving you gasping for air. It’s just a kiss, just a press of lips, this simple gesture, but it takes your breath away nevertheless. It makes you feel like magic swirls inside of you, like your heart is sparking, catching fire, sending it sizzling through your veins. Jungkook has taught you what it means for a house to become a home. You have taught him that magic is only special if he has someone to share it with. 

It’s hard to think about the lessons you would have never learned without the other. 

It’s hard to think about how different life would be, had you never even met. 

Jungkook kisses you and it feels like you’re finally whole. It feels like what has been missing in your life has returned. What you have kept locked up, in the dusty, cobwebbed corners of your heart, in the spaces between your bones, has finally been remembered. 

Jungkook takes your old memories and turns them new. He is the only thing you ever want to remember.

“I love you,” he whispers, watching as the words sink into your skin, leaving embers in their wake. “You are my most precious gift.”

“You are my home, Jeon Jungkook,” you murmur. “I love you, too.”

Pizza is good and all, but nothing beats homemade kimchi stew. 

You made it all by yourself for the first time last night to celebrate Jungkook donating over a million dollars to various different animal rescues and human rights organizations, taking the kindness that he has been given and paying it forward. Besides, he can make money at the touch of a finger whenever he wants, so he might as well, right?

You also don’t accompany Jungkook at his work anymore, because you’ve gotten enough of a taste of office life and have declared it not your ideal profession, but the nice thing about that is getting the whole house to yourself while he’s gone. Not that you want to do very much without him, but napping in different bedrooms is always exciting. 

You never realized how good love makes you feel. How it lifts you up from the inside out, brightens up every day no matter how dull it is to begin with. You had forgotten. What love can do to a person. 

Jungkook always comes home and tells you about how happy his employees make him whenever they’re happy. Good feelings like joy, like laughter, like love, they are contagious. It’s a wonder that neither you nor Jungkook figured that out before you met each other. 

Well, you suppose that there’s a first for everything. 

Jungkook comes home and you can hear the door slam, even from where you’re hiding. You listen as he stops at the door, picks up the note that you left for him. 

Loser washes the dishes! ♡

You hear his keys clink in the bowl, metal on metal. He pauses for a moment, for dramatic effect. 

And then he shouts, 

“You’re on!”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[untaemedqueen]

Third Wheeling

CEO!Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 21.

Warnings (Updating Still): Smut, Cheating, Unexpected Pregnancy, Unfaithful, Emotional Damage, Love

Warnings For This Chapter: Yoongi and Sera heart to heart?, Lots Of Money Thrown Around, A Surprise Guest, Suggestive Content, Crying Yoongi, Fluff

A/N: Always the biggest thanks to my babes @ladyartemesia, @xjoonchildx, @ppersonna

There is nothing Yoongi hates more than public spectacles. He really detests it.

He hates how fake people are at these events. Especially when they're looking for something to get out of them.

People use these specially coordinated events to prove how much money they have and to show how much better they are then the others attending. It's all smoke and mirrors.

But this event today is different. It's practically painful for him. For him to have to go with the leech and not you… it hurts his entire being.

You didn't speak much at breakfast. You didn't speak at lunch. He could see you practically vibrating with nervousness and it breaks his heart.

He knows you well enough now to know that yesterday won't mean a goddamn thing when you get into the thick of it. When you see the sea of rich stupid fucks -- you'll forget everything. And he can't bear to see your face when it happens.

"I love you," he tells you for the umpteenth time as he fixes his skinny black tie.

The gown that covers your body is simply breathtaking. You're breathtaking.

"I love you too, Yoongi." you whisper, turning to him.

He can hear the nervousness in your voice and it renders him almost incapable of looking at you.

"Y/N." he breathes out.

You smile at him then and he scoffs.

"Don't… Don't do that. Don't do that fake shit with me." he practically begs.

You snort gently, wrapping your arms around him. "I'm sorry. I'm trying to be positive. But it's hard."

He nods, running his hands over your belly. "I know you are, little dove. Listen, it's only one night and when it's all over I'm going to come into bed and lay with you and only you. I'm going to sleep beside my woman and my child. Alright?"

"YOONGI, LET'S GO!" Sera screams and his eyes flutter shut.

"In a few months, we won't have to be apart. Alright? We can go to these ridiculously tedious events together." he mumbles, tilting your chin up to look at him.

You hum in agreement, nodding to him. He kisses your lips passionately and it grounds you even for a moment. He loves you and you love him. That's what will get you through this evening.

"Just a few hours." you speak aloud, more for yourself than for your boyfriend.

"That's right, gorgeous. Just a few simple hours." he replies, kissing you once more.

"ARE YOU FUCKING DEAF?!"

His teeth grit as he pulls away from you and he shakes his head slowly.

"You'll be having much more fun than me I'm sure. I have to chaperone a kid all night long." he jeers and finally you smile properly.

"Ready Freddy?" Jin asks peeking into your closet.

You hum to him, watching Yoongi fix his suit jacket.

"Just remember how much I love you, hmm?" he quips, bending down to your belly.

"I love you, kiddo. I'll see you in a few hours. Don't miss daddy too much okay, I'll be around." he tells your son, kissing at your clothed stomach.

He scoffs loudly when he hears Sera scream once more. "Stupid fucking bitch," he whispers, kissing your forehead.

"Love you!" you call to him as he leaves.

"And I love you, little dove. So much so it hurts me."

"HELLO?!" Sera screams.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP LEECH. I'M COMING. GODDAMN!"

Not even the biggest limo would give Yoongi enough space from his wife.

He can barely stand to look at her. But she takes up such a large chunk of his peripheral vision and her constant huffing and puffing is irritating.

When she huffs again, he just about loses all of his sanity. "What?! Why are you stealing so much oxygen?! Jesus Christ!"

Sera turns to him, scowling at his calm demeanor. "I hate you!" she seethes.

"Same. So stop huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf." he retorts, crossing his legs.

God, he misses you.

Sera watches him pull out his wallet and she can hardly contain her scoff.

His thumb drifts over the sonogram picture and he sighs loudly, leaning back into the leather seat. He misses his son.

"Why did you take my money away?" Sera barks out.

Her grating voice makes him cringe and he feels offended to have to look away from his son's photo to have to look at her. "Because you make enough money on your own and it's time you stop leeching."

The car is riddled with tension and the driver puts up the soundproof glass between them and him. Yoongi finds it fair, he wouldn't want to listen to Sera either.

"That's my money too." Sera bickers.

Yoongi pulls out a cigar, lowering his window. You're not around and he can finally smoke just one again which will probably help with his anxiousness and anger.

"It was your money. Now it is not." he replies simply, lighting the Cuban cigar.

"You were always fine with our arrangement! I don't know what's changed!" his wife scoffs.

The CEO's eyes flutter shut. Fine? He hasn't been fine since their wedding day.

"Excuse me?" he growls, turning to look at her.

"You always seemed like you were perfectly content with us being the way we were. Now everything has changed." she says flippantly, looking down at her nails.

"I fell in love. Of course I wouldn't be happy with you beating me over the head for money and using me for status. After the night before our wedding, I've been stuck with you. You think I wanted to be in a loveless marriage?!" he chastises.

She blushes furiously, pulling her shawl tighter over her shoulders.

For fucks sake, he cannot get through this night without you. He doesn't know why he pretended he could. You're the only thing tethering him to the fucked up planet and now without you he's going to just fly away.

"Well, you never got rid of me." the actress caterwauls, folding her arms.

Yoongi begins to laugh, ashing his cigar out the window. It's a humorless, cold laugh but a laugh nonetheless.

"I couldn't get rid of you. Because you threaten people and use them for your liking so you can get what you want! You're honestly the most disgraceful, undignified thing I've ever met in my life. You're an actual fucking bloodsucker. You always bitch and complain about Y/N and how she's a 'gold digger' but my woman doesn't even want my fucking money. It's you, who always has. And that's probably the reason why Jin doesn't even fucking want you."

Ouch.

That's gonna sting.

"EXCUSE ME?!" she screeches at the top of her lungs.

It feels good for Yoongi to get all of this off his chest. It feels like the biggest relief in ages. He's always held it in so he wouldn't have to hear her incessant screams but at the end of tonight he'll get to cuddle up in bed with his woman and his growing baby and he couldn't really care any longer.

"Jin. He said you have no relationship to my grandmother because he hates the person you are, Sera. I should tell him about what you did to me the night before our wedding. That'd really make him run for the hills." Yoongi fumes.

Sera is fast, especially in the way she jumps across the whole long limo to sit beside her estranged husband.

"P-Please. Don't tell him." she stutters.

Your boyfriend snorts loudly, clamping the cigar between his teeth and looking down at the sonogram picture once more.

He rolls his eyes gently, this isn't his fight. He couldn't give a care in the world for what Sera wants. He hates her… But if she can get out of his hair…

"Maybe." he replies, shrugging his shoulders.

"Yoongi." Sera whines, grabbing for his wallet.

He takes a sharp breath through his teeth, widening his eyes at her. "Never touch my wallet. Never touch my son's pictures." he seethes, pushing himself across to the opposite seat.

Sera swallows thickly, watching his anger expand ten fold. He really loves his baby… As any father should.

"Please don't tell Jin!" she whines, gripping her clutch to her breasts.

He can sense her fear, he can practically see her shiver and it humors him.

"Why not? He already knows you're a bitch." he jeers, lowering the window.

She's an incessant whiner. Apparently when it comes to Seokjin.

"But, I don't want him to look down on me for it."

"And why not? Everyone that knows you already does?" Yoongi jeers.

What's with her being so nervous? Does Seokjin actually mean something to her?

"I want him to… see me differently." she replies, turning her nose up to her husband.

"Then change how you behave. Men don't want a fucking brat every day of their lives. All the men you liked, all the men you've had under your skirt… They didn't really like you. They just wanted your attention for a little while. You have to change yourself. That's what would make a man want you." Yoongi murmurs, throwing his cigar out the window.

"You liked me!" his wife accuses.

"That's before I knew who you actually are. You'll never get a real man if you continue on this way. You'd better make sure Seokjin knows how much you want to be with him or like him for that matter… he will leave the mansion if you don't."

Sera opens her mouth to retort but she can think of nothing. Because Yoongi is right. She's always been this way.

"We're here, Sir Min." Sera's driver announces and he hums in agreement.

"I don't know what the fuck happened to you when you were a kid Kim Sera. But be a better person." the CEO announces, gripping onto the door handle.

The constant bulbs of flashing light remind him of where he is and he groans long and low, shoving the door open.

You really don't want to do this. You struggled against Seokjin the whole way he dragged you to his car.

"If you look upset when you get there, the camera will catch it. What will you do if your son looks back at these pictures from tonight? He's going to see how sad you were, Princess." Jin chastises, pulling up to the large museum.

You're more than grateful for the black tinted windows that shroud you from the flashing lights that seem to assault from all angles.

"God, I hate pictures." you breathe out.

"Just smile and wave, you're an upcoming artist. Think of it that way. Instead of worrying about Yoongi and Sera. Okay?" your best friend asks.

That's a good idea.

"Sesame, we're going to see daddy in a few minutes. Okay?" you whisper, putting your hand to your stomach.

Jin chuckles gently, smoothing his hair down in the rear view mirror. "Good. I like that, just keep thinking about the baby above all." your best friend says finitely, opening his door.

You watch him round the car, smiling and waving handsomely to the many cameras that capture his every move. You take note of this. You can remember a time when you ran away from cameras with Leena around… Maybe you should embrace them this time.

"Okay, let's go bid on some overpriced garbage, Sesame's mom." Seokjin jeers, opening your door.

Planting your foot outside of the car, you accept your best friend's hand to help you climb out. The flashes from the cameras are positively blinding.

"Jesus," you whisper.

"Just smile and wave. Like you own the universe," Jin whispers through clenched teeth as he waves.

You take his advice, smiling and waving to the multitude of people that call for different angles of you.

"MISS THING!"

You turn quickly to the scream, a genuine smile plastering to your face. "Leena Beena!" you whine happily.

She practically throws herself out of the Bugatti she arrived in. You were so nervous about tonight that you didn't even ask who would be here, but now that both of your best friends from childhood are here you can maybe relax. Just a little bit.

"Look at you!" Leena cheers, pulling you into a tight hug.

Her hands falter to your belly and you roll your eyes at her excitement.

"My nephew is getting so big!" she coos, pulling you towards the entrance.

"Yu Leena," Taehyung calls her, getting out of the Bugatti.

"Look at her belly!" Leena calls back, stamping her feet on the ground.

You give Taehyung a small wave and he does the same, flashing a large smile.

"Come on!" your best friend cheers, pulling you into the museum.

The loud classical music that sweeps through the entire hall makes you feel as if you're at home. You know Yoongi really cherishes classical music, it was a way for him to keep calm after interacting with his parents when he was younger.

"You just stick with me the whole night!" Leena announces, hooking her arm underneath yours.

There's so many faces and so many different colors that you could practically have an overload on your senses. If Leena wasn't practically joined at your hip, you'd want to run away almost immediately.

Your eyes linger on all of the pieces on sale for auction, they're all lined up on carts with white fabric draped over them for secrecy.

"How much of my money are you going to spend?" you hear Taehyung jeer.

Your best friend clicks her teeth, grabbing a champagne glass off a tray as a waiter whizzes by.

"As much as I'd like to, Kim Taehyung." she replies, flashing him a brilliant smile.

"As you wish, my lady." he replies sweetly, winking at you for extra effect.

You find yourself giggling at their silly interactions before your eyes reach your boyfriend. Your stomach rolls at the sight of him hooking his arm around Sera's waist. He doesn't seem to be paying attention to her though, he's having a heated conversation with Jeongguk. Your heart aches at the sight, especially when Sera's hand, adorning her large engagement ring, slides over his shoulder.

To comfort yourself your hand slides below your stomach but it doesn't stop your anxiousness.

It's hard to rip your gaze away. But you only do so when someone calls your name.

"Y/N? Is that correct?"

You feel pitiful when Yoongi doesn't notice you. Like he's in his own world and he couldn't care less about anything around him.

"This is her!" Leena exclaims, turning you towards the voice.

"Y/N, this is So Kyulsoo. He's a very famous art distributor who works with upcoming artists." Taehyung notifies you.

You bow your head to him, trying to find something to smile about. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. So."

"It's me who has the honor! I saw your paintings at Luck Art Studio and I was floored at how simply gorgeous they are." Kyulsoo gushes.

The compliment makes the tips of your ears burn. It's so rare to hear compliments and want to accept them. But the man that stands before you is chic and unyielding.

"Thank you so much, that's so sweet to hear. I'm so glad you liked them." you whisper, clutching onto Leena harder.

"I'd give you my business card but that would be rude at an event like this. I'll call Myeyoung on Monday to talk about buying some of your art!" Kyulsoo says happily, grabbing an hors d'oeuvre off a waiters plate.

"That'd be wonderful. She's also creating the art for the new Gangnam Mall and Hotel." Taehyung announces.

You are so not great at business talk but you're grateful for the hotel CEO at this moment.

You watch as Kyulsoo's eyes widen at the news. "Well! I'll have to buy as much art as I can! I think we have a new famous artist coming up in our midst!" he cheers and you smile gratefully.

"There's a piece up for auction tonight," Jin adds, rubbing your upper back.

"Well my wife will have to deal with losing a couple thousand, won't she?" Kyulsoo jeers, winking at you.

Your giggle makes the others around you brighten up and you're incredibly grateful for your friends.

You give the art distributor a wave goodbye before turning back to the large crowd who continues to chat loudly.

When you spot Yoongi's grandmother, you bow your head to her and you don't miss the coy smirk she gives back. She's on the arm of an older man that you deem to be your boyfriend's grandfather. He looks incredibly serious and dominating.

"Please don't come over here," you whisper under your breath.

Turning back to the CEO, you watch as he laughs with Jimin. His arm is still nestled around Sera and his fingers are splayed out as if he's comfortable.

"Why don't we go mingle? Hmm?" Leena asks, noticing how wrought you become on her arm.

You scoff gently turning away from the sight before you.

"He doesn't even notice that I'm here." you accuse, grabbing a sparkling water.

"I'm sure he does, he's just playing a part, princess." Jin assures you, pulling both of his best friends away from the sight.

"Can you let me go?" Yoongi seethes through his teeth, trying to wriggle his arm out from beneath Sera's.

"No." she says simply.

He scoffs loudly, looking away from Jimin to search for you. You're nowhere to be seen and it fills him with dread.

It's been maybe twenty minutes since the start of the night and he feels so empty.

"I should introduce Anna to Y/N before we leave." Jimin calls the father of your child.

"If you can fucking find her, I've been looking for her for forever." Yoongi whines softly, turning to his friend.

"She was watching you but I don't think she liked what she saw." Anna announces.

Yoongi's heart plummets at her words. Jimin shushes her gently, placing his hand on her large stomach.

"Anna." he chides softly, pushing some of her hair behind her ear.

"I'm just saying. Why spend your time with a peasant when a queen is in your midst." Anna calls loudly, kissing Yoongi on the cheek goodbye.

Sera looks over with wide eyes, sneering at Jimin's pregnant wife.

"It's… It's the pregnancy hormones." he bleats, widening his eyes to his friend as an apology.

Your boyfriend chuckles, gripping onto his estranged wife's side and pulling his arm away from her.

"Min Yoongi." she seethes through her teeth, turning away from the group of girls that have flocked around her.

"I need more liquor to be in your presence." he replies with equal grit.

He fixes his suit jacket, looking over the crowd. Shaking his head, he sighs. You must be upset… And his heart breaks at the thought.

When he approaches the bar, he's grateful for the small freedom he's gotten.

Hearing Sera talk so incessantly is like having a mosquito constantly flying by your ear that you swat at it but it doesn't ever go away.

"Whisky on the rocks." he tells the bartender, turning towards the large crowd.

He's said hello to most of the people that litter the floor but not all of them and he dreads knowing he'll have to.

"Yoongi."

The sound sends chills through his body.

"Mother." he addresses, grabbing his glass of whisky.

He can feel his whole internal system shutting down. No one puts fear in him like his parents. It's just a conditioned response to fear them at this point.

"I hear you're ruining our family." she announces.

His tongue licks at his lips nervously and he doesn't know if he has the strength to look at the woman who watched him get beat without a second thought.

Sometimes he can't remember what she looks like and it's the most comforting feeling in the world.

"Oh?" he asks, keeping his back to her.

"Will you continue to cower in front of me? People might think you hate me." she scoffs.

His shaking hand clutches the whisky glass tighter and he downs the burning alcohol in two large gulps.

"One more, please." he practically begs the bartender.

"What do you want?" he inquires, turning to look at the crowd.

He can see her out of the corner of his eyes and he can feel his stomach become queasy.

"An explanation." she says simply.

"I'm doing what's best for me and what's best for my family." he insists, pushing off of the bar.

"Well. Looks like you've grown into a man with my help." his mother says, folding her arms.

He lets out a loud laugh. "You mean Maya's help. Stay away from the mother of my child, Mother. She isn't one for you to think so lowly of." he threatens, walking away.

"Are you threatening me, son?" she calls to him, pulling his arm to look at her.

He's taller than her by all accounts and so it's easy to look past her and keep his eyes trained there. He couldn't stomach looking at her.

"I'm not threatening you, Mother. We all live our own lives. You live with your four young boyfriends and your decisions and I live with my decisions. I hope you have a safe flight back to France."

He bows his head to her and the scoff she emits makes him want to whimper.

"Well… I guess I'll send you a wedding present when the time comes." she says, fixing her shawl.

"Please. Don't bother." he seethes through his teeth, catching sight of you.

He sighs with great relief, heading off towards you.

"I have so many new pieces of furniture you must see!" Go Artemis gushes.

You've become fond of this woman in such a short time. She went to school with all of you and you never noticed how absolutely quirky she is.

"I'd love to see them." you reply earnestly, sitting down on the marble bench.

Your ankles were really starting to fucking hurt.

"I'll send you a catalog!" Artemis cheers, pulling her phone out of her handbag.

"Okay, Art. Take a breath. This isn't the last time you'll be seeing Y/N." Yoona says with a laugh.

Artemis nods happily, clutching onto her handbag tighter. She seems to be vibrating on a frequency you've never seen before.

"Alright, cousin, why don't we get you a glass of champagne." Namjoon says, pulling her away with a smile.

"Bye, Y/N! See you later!" Joon's cousin exclaims.

"Bye Art!" you reply with a giggle, waving her off.

"She's fun," you tell your best friend who leans against the marble column.

"You should see her at family dinners. I learn every single material a piece of furniture can be made from." Yoona jeers, nudging Leena.

"Little dove."

The voice makes you want to weep. You stand up quickly, meeting eyes with your boyfriend. He looks flustered and completely incapable of standing on his own.

"Are you alright?" you whisper, widening your eyes at the CEO.

He looks around quickly, making sure no one notices him before he's pulling you away from everyone.

"Yoongi!" you hiss, looking back at the crowd.

You notice his grandmother narrowing her eyes at the both of you and you swallow thickly at how much in trouble you could get in.

You let yourself be pulled by him throughout many hallways until he reaches a blocked off room. He shoves the door open, pulling you in with him.

There are old Greek and Italian marble statues that sit artistically dotted around the large room.

When he closes the door without a sound, he turns to you. His eyes are soft and his expression looks so terrified, you don't know what to do.

"Baby," he whimpers and you open your arms immediately.

He accepts the invitation, wrapping himself in your embrace.

"I saw her. I was so scared." he gasps, burying his face in your neck.

Your eyes flutter shut at how his body wracks within your grasp. "Who?"

"My mother." he breathes out and you sigh gently.

You hug him tightly, running your fingers through his hair.

When he feels your fingertips against his scalp, he thinks he might be able to breathe again.

"I c-couldn't… I had to… I needed you." he whines, running his hands over your back.

The simple terror in his voice makes you want to cry. He's so fragile.

"I'm right here." you whisper, kissing his cheek.

He nods softly, running his hands from your back to your belly. He scoffs gently, kissing the soft skin of your neck.

"You must be so mad at me." he murmurs, pulling away to look at you.

You were annoyed, you were hurt but now when he's in your arms like this… it isn't possible to be upset with him.

"Not anymore," you reply honestly.

He hums gently, cupping your face with both of his hands.

"I love you." he breathes out, leaning in to kiss you.

"I love you, too." you reply.

His lips are gentle and soft against yours, you could feel all of his emotions so far from this night passing to you and you accept them willingly.

Then from his soft touch, it becomes needy. It becomes sharp and demanding.

"Little dove," he gasps, shoving you back against the closest wall.

His forehead presses to yours and his hands are absolutely quick with lustful intentions as he balls up the skirt of your gown in his hands.

"God. I've been so fucking lonely all night." Yoongi groans, running his fingers over your soft inner thighs.

"Yoongi, we shouldn't, someone could catch us!" you whisper fiercely.

Your head lolls back when he cups your pussy.

"I don't care. I feel like I've been away from you for years." he seethes, kissing down your neck.

You whimper gently, your back arching off of the wall at his touch.

"I'm so upset that you were mad at me, I'm so sorry, little dove." he groans, running his hands over your bump.

You gasp gently, eyes fluttering shut at how sensual his hands are on your skin.

"HI MRS. MIN, I'M LOOKING FOR YOUR GRANDSON!" you hear Jimin scream.

Yoongi takes a sharp breath between his teeth, backing away from you in an instant. He fixes your dress, eyes on your face as he cringes.

"As am I Park. Have you seen him?" Seyoung asks through the door.

Yoongi holds his breath, pulling you behind a large statue. You cup your hands over your mouth, looking up at your boyfriend with wide eyes.

"No, I haven't but if I do see them, I will let you know!" Jimin calls to her.

You can hear her muffled hum through the door and the distant sound of heels clacking on the floor.

"You're safe, you perverts." Jimin whispers fiercely through the door.

You smack Yoongi's chest a multitude of times before looking back into his eyes. There's silence for a second before both of you burst forth with a case of the giggles.

"Oh my God," he chuckles, pulling you towards the door. "Come on, gorgeous."

It's gotten a little easier to be alone with your friends without Yoongi.

It's just the simple fact of knowing that you had a secret rendezvous not long ago that keeps you going. You notice that he's also made an effort to look at you from time to time, even secretly.

"Hey guys." you hear from behind you and your whole party turns to look at him.

"Hey Yoongles," Yoona cheers, setting her glass of champagne down.

"A lot of people have been coming up to me about the artwork for the mall." he quips.

And everyone realizes this is all a ploy to be able to talk to you.

"God, it's like we don't even exist." Leena teases, pulling her boyfriend's arm around her waist tighter.

"Looks like you're already more famous than we thought." the CEO quips, sipping his whisky.

"Oh yeah! Speaking of famous. Kim Bongjoo came by the office yesterday and was very interested in my latest painting." Namjoon announces, raising his glass of brandy.

"THE Kim Bongjoo?!" Taehyung gapes.

The lawyer nods, nudging you with a smile.

"Kim Bongjoo is so famous, even his kids that are in kindergarten are held to a higher esteem than the President!" Leena gushes, leaning into the group.

"Guess my woman will make more money than me, hmm?" your boyfriend whispers conspiratorially to the others.

You roll your eyes with a snort, elbowing him.

"Why are you over here anyway?" Taehyung quips to the father of your child.

"Because I'm all by myself with the leech, all of my friends have left me." he whines.

"That's because we'd rather spend time with the baby. No one wants to hear your… whatever she is, bitch and whine all goddamn night." Leena retorts, earnings nods from everyone in your group.

Yoongi sighs loudly. "Fine. But you guys fucking suck."

But then finally, as if the Lord was tired of keeping up the charade, you all finally hear the words that will get you out of here quicker.

"Everyone, the auction is about to begin! Please have a seat!"

Somehow, in some way, Yoongi sat down right beside you. It's comforting to feel his knee pressing into yours even if it's just the slightest touch.

The only annoying thing is that Sera is sitting beside him.

"Whatever you want, little dove, just bid on it and I'll transfer the money over to your account." Yoongi whispers softly.

His wife scoffs loudly, folding her arms. "I fucking hate the both of you." she seethes through her teeth.

"Fucking relax, mouse. Don't start a scene where there shouldn't be." Seokjin seethes from behind you all.

She huffs out softly, rolling her eyes.

You lay your head on Leena's shoulder, watching as the first item up for auction is revealed.

"This first item for auction comes from Go Artemis. It's from her latest collection of furniture from 2021. This piece of furniture is a black and grey chaise lounge with pure diamond and cerulean beryl studs that compliment whatever room you would choose to place it. We'll start the bidding at fifty thousand dollars."

The price practically makes you choke on your own spit but you try to hide your surprise. Yoongi chuckles beside you, tilting his head in your direction slightly.

"Money is nothing here, little dove." he whispers.

You stare at the chaise lounge and your boyfriend speaks your thoughts for you.

"Baby boy's room." he whispers and you hum in agreement. It does go with the aesthetic.

But you can't bring yourself to raise your hand, the thought of spending that much money makes you feel sick.

"Leena, do the honors." Yoongi whispers to your best friend.

"No! Wa-" you gasp as she raises your hand high up in the air.

"One hundred thousand. Going once… Going twice-"

You cringe in anticipation, elbowing Leena when you hear her giggle.

"Sold to paddle 73!"

You sigh loudly, pulling your arm away from hers. "Are you crazy?" you hiss, folding your arms.

"Naturally," she jeers, raising her champagne glass to you.

The constant ebb and flow of money being released in the room is a complete contrast to how you've lived your life. You've spent your life saving money and these people spend it on fancy dog collars and one day trips to vineyards in California like it's nothing.

Yoongi has even purchased some items that you don't deem necessary like the finest cigars and a trip to a secluded spa and hotel in Japan. When you shook your head gently at the price he'd just repeat the same thing.

"It's for charity."

While you can try to understand, it's pretty much going over your head.

"The next piece we have is from Kim Sera."

Sera's eyes widen and she sneers at Yoongi when he snorts into his whisky glass.

"What have you done?" she growls softly.

Her estranged husband shrugs and you sigh gently at their childish tit for tat.

"Having fun," he quips, leaning back in his chair.

"This is a one of a kind Alexander Shin piece made of pure diamonds. It was her first wedding present from her husband Min Yoongi. It was given to her two days before their wedding and it's said that Alexander found it so beautiful he almost couldn't sell Yoongi the necklace. We'll start the bidding at three million."

"My prized necklace?!" she hisses, shock written all over her face.

When paddles go up immediately, you cringe. Yoongi is being a brat.

"Yoongi." you mumble embarrassed and he shrugs in reply.

"I have four million. Going once. Going twice-"

"Six million." Seokjin announces from behind you and you turn around to him with weary eyes.

You can see Anna and Jimin chuckling amongst themselves and you hold back the great sigh that threatens to tear forth from your body.

How absolutely petty of your boyfriend.

"Sold to paddle 81!"

Jin looks over at you, sticking out his tongue with a wrinkled nose.

He too couldn't give a fuck about money.

"Finally the last piece of the evening belongs to an upcoming artist."

Your head whips around and you try everything you can to make yourself smaller. This feels like you're being called out in class to answer a question, you know nothing about.

"This art piece entitled Glass House," your cheeks heat up and you feel quite faint in this very second. There are a multitude of eyes on you from strangers that you don't yet feel comfortable with, "was created by Y/N. She is creating the art for the Gangnam Mall coming into creation soon. And she also has gorgeous pieces at the Luck Art Studio. Many say she's on the list to become one of the greatest expressive and artistic minds of this generation."

WHAT?!

This man cannot be serious. How could he say such high praise about you when he doesn't even know you?!

"Oh jeez," you murmur, cupping your stomach.

"We'll start the bidding at two million."

Oh, that price.

You're going to faint. You're about to pass out.

Holy shit.

"I have two million. Anyone for two and a half?"

Your breathing slows down and the voices in the room seem to echo in your ears. This is an out of body experience like you've never had before.

You paint for fun and now one of your pieces is going for millions!? It's absolutely insane!

"Five million. Do I hear five and a half?"

When you met Yoongi… you certainly didn't think this was going to happen! You didn't know anything would transpire and now look at you. Pregnant, cowering in a comfy armchair while people bid on a picture of a glass dome filled with roses. It's completely ridiculous!

"Jimin, buy me the painting!" you hear Anna whine.

Turning to her, you shake your head. "I can just make you one!" you whisper fiercely.

She giggles in turn, pointing to the painting on stage. "I want that one." she says with the flourish of her hand.

"I have nine million. Do I hear nine and a half?"

Sera scoffs and for once you agree. This is completely absurd. When Yoongi raises his paddle with a humorous expression, you elbow him without a care for others.

"It's for charity." he murmurs, chuckling above the lip of his glass.

"I hate you," you mumble, looking around at all the raised paddles.

"I have thirteen million. Do I hear fourteen?"

"Just put me out of my misery." you gasp, rubbing your stomach as your son kicks inside of you.

"Twenty million!" Anna calls loudly, shoving Jimin's hand high up in the air.

You groan long and low, putting your shaking hand to your forehead. She cannot be serious.

"Sold to paddle 95."

You give a small smile as people clap demurely turning their heads to look at you. When you meet eyes with Min Seyoung, she sends you a small wink.

"Good girl," she mouths, turning back around.

You want to run and hide quite soon after that but the amount of people that come up to you and congratulate you are too many. After the wild display of money, people make you out to be the next Van Gogh or something.

"Anna!" you gasp, bowing your head to all the people surrounding you when she grabs your arm and tugs you away from everyone.

"If you want her art, you can find it at Luck Art Studios!" she calls to them.

"I can't believe you just spent so much money on one painting. I could just make you one!" you gawk as she pulls you towards the entrance.

"I wanted it for the nursery. Besides, you make money when people flaunt theirs. This was my last hoorah before I give birth next week!" she giggles, waving over Jin.

He rushes over, shaking both hands happily at you. "You did it Princess! You're famous!"

Slapping him with your clutch, you narrow your eyes at him. "Shut up! You're embarrassing!" you bark out, looking around with shy eyes.

"Come on, let's get you home. I'm sure today was just a whirlwind for you."

Anna waves at you, accepting her fur shawl from her doting husband.

The night chill is welcome as you wait on the steps for Seokjin's car to arrive from the valet.

A whirlwind is right but maybe you could equate more to whiplash than anything. You can understand just how this was supposed to set you up for success when the time comes for Yoongi to leave Sera but you didn't think it would be this explosive.

"Well, looks like you're coming up in the world."

The voice is not one you've heard before and you turn to it without a second thought.

The woman is simply gorgeous with a younger man clasped to her arm. Her dark blue gown with sapphire accessories stand out to you and she looks like the epitome of money.

"I'm sorry I-"

"Yes, of course. You don't know me, but I know you." she says, stepping down the marble stairs.

When she gets closer, her facial features resemble Yoongi's almost perfectly. Your blood runs cold at the sight of her.

This is Yoongi's mother.

Oh no.

"It's nice to meet you Mrs. Min." you say softly.

Her eyes light up and she points her clutch bag at you with a wide smile. "So you are a smart little bird."

You'd hate for Yoongi to see her talking to you. You know how much he despises her.

"Well, I guess I'll welcome you into the family. It's not like I have much of a choice, what with my grandchild in your belly and your legs being spread for my son." she muses, accepting a long cigarette from the boy toy on her arm.

Jin goes stiff by your side, eyes widening at the pavement at her truly free mouth.

"What's the gender?" she inquires, pulling from the cigarette.

"A boy." you reply as kindly as you can.

"Good. Then you won't have to try again. Lord knows I was over the moon when Yoongi came out of my twat and I was finally free."

You shiver at how completely crude she is. No wonder Yoongi hates her. You hum gently, giving her a pleasant smile.

"Cars here." Seokjin says quickly, putting his hand to your back.

"It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Min," you say, bowing to her.

"Yes. And you… small bird." she mumbles amused, turning to her boytoy and patting his suit jacket.

You can't get to the car fast enough and when you climb in, you can feel your body shuddering with weeping intentions. Your hands shake as you put on your seatbelt.

"Jesus Christ! What the fuck is her problem?! Holy shit!" Seokjin breathes, putting on his seatbelt and backing up as quickly as he possibly can.

You open your mouth to reply but nothing comes out. You're truly stunned in silence.

"No wonder Yoongi grew up the way he did! His mother is the fucking devil!" Jin gawks, driving towards home.

You were first to get home and it was such a relief to take off the heavy gown.

Now laying in your comfortable bed, you can't hold on to a thought long enough before you're on to the next.

The night feels like such a blur. You were introduced to so many new people, you mingled with some of the richest people in society. Your boyfriend spent more money than you would know what to do with. You met his absolutely despicable mother. You were mad at him for some reason or another in the beginning… It's all just so fleeting.

But the one thing that's probably stuck the most with you is how high of a pricing one of your paintings went for. It wasn't the most perfect painting, it wasn't your greatest piece, but it still went for twenty million dollars. All of the emotions from that moment still resonate deep within you.

You find yourself thinking that maybe you can do this. Maybe you can be worthy of Yoongi and his lifestyle. Maybe this fate is pure and as grand as you'd like to think.

"Where's my babies?"

The sound of his deep voice makes you smile and when he steps into your bedroom, all of your worries just melt away.

His body is highlighted by the great moon that hangs high in the sky.

His gummy smile breaks your heart to bits as he pulls his tie off with a quickness.

He strips down to his briefs in what seems like seconds and you can see the utter joy and excitement he feels to lay in bed with you.

"Look at the greatest expressive and artistic mind laying in our bed." he quips, pulling back the covers.

You giggle gently, giving him a second to get comfortable before laying on his side. He sighs gratefully, putting his chilly hand on your warm belly.

"God, this is amazing. To come home and lay in bed with you like this beats everything in the world." he breathes out, kissing the top of your head.

You hug him tightly, laying your head on his shoulder.

"My little dove."

His voice is filled with warmth and love. And now you know that no matter how things start to shape and form, the end of the road always ends with your boyfriend.

"Missed me, kiddo? Daddy missed you and mommy a lot." Yoongi mumbles sleepily, burying his face in your hair.

The comfortable smirk that sets onto your lips is welcome and you're thinking of your family as you drift off to sleep.

Next Chapter ------>

Third Wheeling Taglist -  @wickizer, @imluckybitches, @slothykreuger, @claireelise19, @ggukkieland, @rspbrryy, @iv-bts, @bambuzlee, @chanelbts, @mxxngxdss, @bluewhale52, @milesjeon11, @diamonddia-mond, @vinylphwoar, @xnxy97, @hubbytaehyung, @140503at-dawn, @bts-7beauts, @jadeblackwoll, @sunshiine-hobii, @creatorspalace, @eclectically-esoteric, @nikkiordonez12, @kaitswrld, @skamlover200, @sevgilove98, @kooeuphoria, @jikooksgirl19, @hobbledehoy26, @singular-itae, @dchimminie, @lowlifeoeuvre, @sugaslittlekookies, @bloopbloopb, @pjmcth, @softysuho, @codeinbelle, @jaiuneamesolitaiire, @betysotelo18, @jeonmisha, @iwanttohitmyself, @ayyyocee, @neverthefirstchoice, @itsbangtanoclock, @little7bitchh, @veryuniquenamegoeshere, @deathkat657, @firstlovesuga-93, @namjoonia, @paperpurple, @muzikabijou, @liebeoppa, @veronawrites, @kleff03, @ruinsofangels, @brightwingr5, @leekanchol, @rkivemagic, @ithinkileftmycoatoutside, @melaninkpops, @y00ngisbabygirl, @ungodlyjoon, @prochnost513, @dunixxd, @athenakyle, @igotnotype, @chxmachxps, @tinymintyoongi, @vangameren-blog, @alpaca1612, @ohcarolinamin, @thegreatestsushi, @eltrain80, @btsmylife21, @deeepvibes, @httpminyg, @deliciouslydisturbed365, @rkchmestizangmaldita, @jimin-chu, @pimpnameyannie​, @preciouschimine​, @daughterofthequeen, @monetsberet​, @vanillamyg, @aamxxrii​, @kooafraid​, @ladykadyrova​, @singjisu​, @yazanii​, @moonlitmyg​, @justzeera​, @absolutefantrash​, @whocaresarchives​, @loosewindmill, @vantesfx​, @bt21chim​, @flowerboyhobi​, @kozuume-kenma, @taepiper​

Sorry for those it didn’t tag!

[thelastspeecher]

I've been mentioning a little bit about a new AU where Angie becomes a Criminal and meets Stan and they do crimes together and I'm sad and tired so I wrote some for that AU. Enjoy.

———————————————————————————————————–

              Stan walked down the sidewalk, trying to think of what his next “business venture” could be.

              I’ve already done tennis rackets and vacuum cleaners.  I’m running out of things to sell to make a quick buck.  Other than blood, I guess.  But I don’t think any hospital wants my blood.  At least, not a good hospital.  He sighed.  There’s a bar around here somewhere.  Crowded bars are a damn good place to pickpocket.  I can at least get some cash that way.  His ruminations were interrupted by something bumping into him.  Rather roughly.

              “Hey, back off, buddy,” Stan snarled, spinning around to glare at whoever had slammed into him.  He blinked in surprise at the short young woman standing before him.

              “Oh, pardon me,” she said in a vaguely European accent.  “My apologies, I didn’t mean to run into you, and certainly not that hard!”

              Her accent sounds familiar…maybe French?

              “It’s fine, I guess,” Stan mumbled.  From the woman’s caramel-colored hair in a bob cut to her blue sundress to her white sandals, she gave off a kind and innocent aura.  She blinked her bright blue eyes at him a few times, fluttering her eyelashes coquettishly.  Stan felt his cheeks warm.  He cleared his throat roughly.  “Just, uh, be more careful.  Y’know?”

              “I will,” the woman said.  She held out her hand.  “My name is Angela.”

              “Uh.  Stan.”  Stan shook the offered hand.  “Seriously, you’ve gotta watch yourself.  The next person you run into might not be as nice as me.”  The woman’s eyes widened.

              “Yes, you’re right.  And unfortunately, the Lord didn’t gift me the kind of physique someone, well, someone like you has.”  Angela’s eyes trailed over Stan’s arms appreciatively.  “I’m a bit too small to defend myself well.”  Stan grinned at her.

              “If you ever wanna learn some tips, bump into me again, toots,” he said with a wink.  Angela giggled.  Stan’s flush was now spreading across his face and down his neck.

              Man, I haven’t had a chick be this interested in me in ages!

              “I’ll have to keep that in mind!” Angela said playfully.  She winked back at him, then turned around and pranced away.  Stan watched her leave, saddened.

              I wish she stuck around.  She was damn cute.  He sighed and continued walking down the street.  The bar he was hoping to do some light pickpocketing in was right around the corner.

              “Can I see some ID?” the bouncer rumbled at him.  Stan frowned at him.

              “Do I have that much of a baby face?” he asked.  The bouncer scowled.  “C’mon, I’m obviously over twenty-one.”

              “Gotta card everyone.  Either show your ID or leave.”

              Great.  I hate stick-in-the-mud bouncers.

              “Fine, fine,” Stan muttered.  He patted his pockets, searching for the wallet containing his many fake IDs.  No wallet.  Now panicking, he shoved his hands into every single pocket in his pants.  Every pocket was empty.

              “Get outta here,” the bouncer snapped.  Stan stepped away from the bar, his mind racing.

              My wallet’s gone!  Sure, I can get another fake ID easy.  But it’ll take at least a day, and I had some cash in there!  Where the hell did it go?  His blood ran cold.  No way.  No fucking way.  Did that cute chick steal my wallet off me?  Stan looked in the direction Angela had gone.  Damn.

[bigballofstress]

Pickpocket Part 3(Avengers x Child!Reader)

Description: You have been allowed to stay in the Avengers Tower, but your trials aren’t quite over yet. You still have one major hurdle you’re going to have to get over if you want to make this thing permanent.

To @sweetpeaflower01 and to anyone else who wanted to be tagged in this, I’m sorry I don’t have your usernames! It’s been a while since I’ve been on here!

A few weeks later, I woke up to the sun shining on my face through a nearby window.

“Good morning to you, too, kid.” I turned to see Tony, still lying in the bed beside me with his hand placed gently over mine.  He had spent every night since I’d arrived in there with me except for one, which had immediately resulted in a nightmare, with my screams waking up the entire tower.  “You think you’re ok to get up?  We’ve got someone who wants to meet you.”

Immediately, my entire body tensed, and I could feel myself pale.  My vision went blurry, my heart hammering frantically in my chest.  “Hey, hey, it’s ok, kid, I’ve got you.  Nothing’s gonna happen to you, I promise,” Tony spoke gently, his tone even as though he was attempting to sooth a wild animal.  I nodded slowly, doing my best to calm my heart.  He had promised me.  He promised they wouldn’t send me back.  I’m not sure why, but I trusted Tony.

Tony helped me to my feet, but my knees were shaking too much.  Slowly, he scooped me up into his arms, careful not to move to quickly and frighten me, and wrapped his arms around my back.  His arms were still so warm.  

“Ah, miss (Y/N), I presume.” I lifted my head from Tony’s shoulder to see the rest of the Avengers surrounding a large African American man in a black trench coat with a patch over his eye that was grinning back at me.  My heart almost stopped as I stared back at him, fear clawing mercilessly at my chest.  He reminded me of Nat in how he regarded me with nothing more than cold, merciless calculations; except, unlike Nat, he didn’t have that small spark of empathy.  Instead, there was excitement -- greed almost.  I made my decision then and there.  I didn’t like this man.

“I’ve got a question for you, kid.  How exactly did someone like you manage to steal from four of Earth’s mightiest heroes?” he asked, glancing me up and down.

I didn’t want to answer.  I didn’t want anything to do with this man.  

“It’s ok, just answer the question,” Tony nodded reassuringly.  I could feel his worried eyes on me, trying to grab my attention, but I refused to take my eyes off of the newcomer for a single second.  Still, I didn’t want to go against Tony.

“I have small hands,” I said slowly.  “And I know how to read people.”

“What do you mean read people?” Steve asked.  “What does any of that have to do with stealing a wallet?”

“It has everything to do with stealing a wallet,” I responded monotonously, still stubbornly refusing to drop my gaze from the man.  “Reading people helps you pick a mark -- someone with their guard down who isn’t expecting to actually be targeted.  More than that, though, reading people is what actually lets me get away.  With Steve, I was sweet and innocent, but with Tony, I was sarcastic but pitiable.  If I had been the opposite, Steve would have been more annoyed and therefore more aware of what I was doing, and Tony would have been less distracted.”

“You figured all of that out by talking to them for a few seconds?” Nat asked, taking a small step forward as she surveyed my curiously.  I nodded silently.

“Show me,” the man said.  Finally, I tore my eyes away from him to glance at Tony for confirmation.  He nodded back, gently setting me down.  I grabbed his hand instead.

“Who do you want me to mark?” I asked softly.

“Try Natasha,” he smirked, crossing his arms.  I glanced over at the redheaded woman and frowned.  “Something wrong?” he asked.

“I would never mark her,” I responded, glaring up in annoyance at the confidence in his tone.  “She is guarded and always in a stance to protect her vital points.  Someone like that is too aware of their surroundings not to notice a pickpocket.”

“Do your best anyways,” he smirked.

I grit my teeth in frustration and turned to Nat.  As I looked over at her, an idea slowly began to form.  I smirked inwardly.  It was perfect for dealing with this man.  Sunglasses, a phone, a watch, a ring, a swiss army knife, and a custom pen.  If I did everything perfectly, not to mention getting a bit lucky, I might be able to grab everything.

I squeezed Tony’s hand to draw his attention to it as I pressed my body into his slightly so that I could grab his sunglasses, which were hooked onto his pocket. “Fine,” I growled.  “But don’t blame me when it doesn’t work.  Now move out of the way.”  I grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him backwards, using that split second to simultaneously put Tony’s glasses on my head and slip my hand into the man’s opposite pocket and pull out his phone, flicking it upwards into the overly-large sleeve.  I took a deep breath and approached Nat, tucking my hands, and the phone with them, into my pockets.  I flicked my eyes carefully over her, looking for any loose item that I could grab.  Finally, I noticed that I could just barely see the edge of a few dollar bills in her back pocket.  It wouldn’t be easy, and I would have to stay in front of her the entire time to avoid her suspicion, but it wasn’t impossible.

“Excuse me, miss?” I asked softly, glancing up at her with wide eyes.

“Yeah?” She responded, lifting a brow.

“I-I was wondering if you had any food,” I croaked, allowing my body to shrink in on itself so it would look even smaller.

“Sorry, kid, I don’t have any on me,” she shook her head slightly, furrowing her brows.

“Ok, I understand, thank you,” I muttered softly.  “I’m sorry to bother you.  My mommy says bothering grown-ups is bad.  I-I don’t have the belt with me.  But I’m sure I can find a stick,”  I offered quickly, as if to try and placate her.  I stumbled to the side a bit, pretending to look for a stick.  I forced my toes to catch on my other shoe, falling right in front of Steve’s feet.  “I-I’m so sorry, sir,” I winced, making sure not to meet his eyes.  I took his outstretched hand and pulled myself up, wrapping one hand around his wrist, where I slipped off his watch.  “T-thank you so m-much,” I gushed, my voice shaking ever so slightly as I brushed the nonexistent dirt from his shirt.  Quickly, I put his watch onto my own wrist while his attention was focused on his shirt.

Nat frowned slightly at this.  “Your mommy, did she hurt you?” she brought my attention back to her, studying my face carefully.

I glanced back at her, before quickly looking back down to avoid eye contact.  I knew what I had to do -- that I had to tell the truth if I had any hope of doing this.  So, I forced myself to remember the face of my old caretaker.  “O-only if I’ve been really bad,” I shook my head slightly.  “A-and only if she’s at home.”  My voice had gone hoarse, tears building up in the backs of my eyes.  It was easy to cry when I thought about that terrible woman.

“How often is she not at home?” Nat asked.

“N-not that o-often,” I shook my head again.  “I-I think she just f-forgets sometimes.  She’ll come home soon, though.  She’s almost never gone for more than two weeks,” I smiled up at her softly, wrapping my arms around my torso to accentuate how small my waist was as well as provide a sense of insecurity and fear.

Nat frowned slightly, falling silent for a moment.  Finally, she looked up at the man and said, “Alright, I believe her.  I’d probably go take her to get some food then call the cops.  I’d imagine you’d be long gone before they arrive?” She added with a slight chuckle.

“Really?” I asked, my face lighting up in a wide smile.  “Thank you!” I gasped, wrapping my arms around her torso.  She immediately tensed, and I took the opportunity to grab the few bills, tucking them into my opposite sleeve.  “U-um, sorry,” I stuttered and quickly released her, my face growing red.  I stumbled backwards and straight into the arms of Thor.  I grabbed his hand in my own as though in an effort to keep my balance as he righted me gently.  I thanked him softly and slipped my hand out of his grip, taking the beautiful golden ring from his finger in the process.

“How would you escape, though?” Nat asked.  “I wouldn’t think you’d want to go to the police.”

“O-oh, well, it’s not too hard,” I smiled slightly.  “I just need to lose you in the crowd.  I would probably do something like this.”  I walked forward, and slipped between Clint and Bruce, using both hands to grab the swiss army knife from Clint’s pocket and a gorgeous custom pen that was clipped to Bruce’s.  “Then, once I’m out of your sight, I’d start running-”

“It was a good scam, kid,” the man cut in.  “But I thought I asked you to pickpocket her.”

I whipped back around to face him, suddenly feeling vulnerable again with all of the adults surrounding me.  “You’re right, I’m sorry; you asked me to pickpocket only her,” I hissed, my teeth grinding together.  “But I thought you wanted me to show you what I could do.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” he frowned, narrowing his eyes.

“As long as I’m not seen as a threat, I can steal from anyone,” I said, walking up to Tony and handing back his sunglasses.  “And I would do anything to keep myself from being seen as a threat.”  I took the watch off my wrist and handed it back to Steve.  “Everyone has something that brings their guard down.” I pulled the ring from my finger and handed it back to Thor.  “And whether they acknowledge it or not, they all want to see the good in people,” I pulled the swiss army knife and custom pen from my pockets, handing them back to Clint and Bruce.  “They all want to see me as some innocent little kid,” I returned Nat’s money to her.  “Even you,” I held out the man’s phone, staring up at him in defiance.

Every one of them stared at me in pure, unadulterated shock.  All of them, that is, except for Tony, who grinned and welcomed me back into his side, wrapping a strong arm around my shoulders.  Finally, the man chuckled a bit and snatched his phone back from me.  “Not bad, miss (Y/N), not bad at all.  Natasha, from now on, you’re training her to be a new agent.”

My eyes widened, and I frowned, subconsciously shrinking further into Tony’s side.  He squeezed my shoulder gently.

“Hey, Thor, why don’t you take (Y/N) for some poptarts.  She hasn’t had breakfast yet,” Tony said with a small smile.

“I’m not hungry,” I frowned.

“Just go with him for now, ok, kid?  Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this.”  I blinked up at Tony and frowned before nodding slowly, allowing the large blonde god to take my hand and lead me out of the room, away from the rest of the adults.

As soon as the door closed, I turned to the god with wide, pleading eyes.  “Mr. Thor, could you pretty please toast the poptarts for me?” I asked sweetly, gazing up at him.

“Of course, young lady (Y/N),” Thor grinned and ruffled my hair, moving towards the cabinets.  As soon as his back was turned, I pressed my ear to the door, concentrating on trying to hear what was going on in there.

“Did you really think I’d let you make her an agent?” I heard Tony snap.

“I didn’t think you had a choice,” the man from earlier responded casually.  “The girl’s got a gift, Stark.  She could help us.”

“She’s just a kid!  I brought you here to give you a heads up that she’d be staying with us, not to give you a potential recruit.”

“Look, it’s very simple, Stark.  Either you allow her to start training, or I deem her a threat to the team.  I will inform the police of the location of a criminal and unsupervised child.”

“So what?!  I’ll just adopt her!”

“Adoption takes a long time, Tony, especially for someone with a criminal record and a history of alcohol abuse.  Do you really want to send her back to an orphanage while you go through all of that, if you’re even granted custody at all?”

Oh, god.  This couldn’t be happening.  I couldn’t be going back.  He promised me I wouldn’t go back!  I stumbled backwards, barely making it a few steps before my knees gave out and I was sent crashing to the ground.  

“Lady (Y/N)!” Thor shouted, rushing over, but I could barely hear him over the deafening sound of my heartbeat and the blood rushing through my ears.  I could feel the tears streaming down my face and the burning in my chest from my hyperventilating breaths.  I curled up tightly, my muscles shaking from how tense they were.  I couldn’t go back there -- I wouldn’t!  Tony promised me I would never go back again!

“(Y/N)?” The familiar voice cut through the haze.  Immediately, I reached out and clawed at the air, trying to find him, but with blur of tears in my eyes, I couldn’t see him anywhere.  Suddenly, my head was resting against a chest, a pair of arms holding me tight and close.  “It’s ok, just breath with me.  Focus on me, ok?  In and out.”  I forced myself to breath in with him, struggling to slow it down like he said.  Slowly but surely, my breathing evened out, until finally, it had returned to normal.

As the panic slowly faded away, I could feel the energy drain from my body, and I nestled further into Tony’s embrace.  He stroked my back gently, murmuring comforting words into my ear.

“Tony?” I didn’t even open my eyes as I whispered softly, my voice still thick and shaking.  My hands gripped his shirt tightly, afraid that if I let go for more than a second, he would disappear.  “Do I have to go back?” 

“Never,” Tony answered immediately, his voice firm.  “I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

“Ok,” I whispered back, relaxing slightly.  Tony pulled me even closer, and I let out a soft sigh, my muscles slowly relaxing.  My hands released the shirt’s material, falling numbly into my lap.

Just before my exhausted body quickly slipped back into unconsciousness, I was barely able to make out a few words from Tony.  “Fine.  You win.”

“She’ll start training tomorrow.”

- - -

That was about four years ago. Since that day, Natasha had been training me constantly in different fighting techniques, target practice, the works. Of course, the lying and deception I’d already had down pat. Originally the plan was for me to be homeschooled, but Tony had thrown an absolute fit when he’d heard that, and considering I wasn’t exactly lacking in the mental department, we settled on just a bit of extra tutoring from Bruce every day after school.

Fury’s interest in me never went away. Because I had been so malnourished as a kid, I ended up being way too small for my age. To Fury’s absolute delight, this meant that I was more than capable of squeezing through the smallest of spaces. In other words, thanks to my size, training, and natural intelligence I was absolutely perfect for covert missions focusing on gathering information.

Tony had been absolutely furious when I’d been called on for my first mission. He’d screamed at Fury nonstop for three days until, finally, he was assured both that Nat would be with me the entire time and that he would be allowed to have a direct connection to my earpiece. He couldn’t decide whether he was thankful or disappointed that my first mission went perfectly. Of course he was happy I came back completely unharmed, but his fear that I would be forced into more and more missions due to my overwhelming success was only proven right at every turn. Still, he was always in my ear, talking me through the every single mission I ever went on.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I wasn’t exactly a normal teenager. Still, that being said, I don’t think I would want it any other way.

Except maybe for the Fury part. Nothing would make me happier than seeing that man get what’s coming to him. But I could worry about that later. For now, I’d just spend my time grateful that I was blessed with the best dad in the world.

[closedafterdark]

Conflicted

BLΛƆKPIИK Chaeyoung x Male Reader

7929 words

categories: smut, oral, angst

note: special thanks to @sharpfeelings​ for all the help with this.

Read on AFF

“Open up! We know you’re in there!”

Two women look at each other, nodding before the taller of the two kicks the door open.

Drawing their guns, they use the built-in flashlight and search the apartment.

“Bathroom’s clear.”

Bedroom’s clear too.”

Reconvening back in the living room, the two look around at the apartment. Despite it being empty, it was evident someone was living here.

“They’re gone. They probably knew we were coming.”

“Goddamn it! First lead we have in weeks and the prime suspect is already gone.”

“Jooyeon unnie. It’ll be alright.”

Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Son Jooyeon looks to her side and sees Detective Lee Jinsook staring back and giving her a weak yet reassuring smile. Jinsook was sort of an anomaly. Not exactly green enough to be considered a rookie, yet not having been with the squad the necessary amount of time to be classified as a Senior Detective. Graduating from the academy at the minimum age required to do so, Jinsook was assigned to Starship Precinct as a bright, wide-eyed rookie. Having accumulated several years of experience under the guidance of you, Jiyeon and Jooyeon, Jinsook grew to be much more serious. Still maintaining her friendly demeanor when not on the field, she learned to approach situations cautiously and address all possible outcomes when making a decision.

“You’re right.” Jooyeon said, tapping Jinsook’s hand softly and responding with her own soft smile. “It’s just… this is my first assigned case for the Senior Detective promotion. Usually oppa or Jiyeon unnie would be the one leading everything. And with the Captain wanting to promote you and I... I just don’t want to fuck up.”

“Fucking up is a part of learning.” Jinsook began. Jooyeon’s eyes widened slightly, surprised at hearing how casually her partner cursed. “You guys taught me it’s okay to mess up so long as you use it to improve yourself.”

“Since when have you begun giving life advice? Usually it’s the other way around.” Jooyeon teased.

Jinsook pouted at her, giving her the cutest angry glare before heading for the door.

“Hmph!”

Jooyeon softly laughs as she also heads for the door.

“Oh, unnie.”

“Hmm?”

“Jiyeon unnie called the Captain today. She should be returning in a few days.” Jinsook said, turning back as she gave a genuine expression of worry to Jooyeon.

“You haven’t talked to her since the incident, right?”

Jooyeon shook her head, smiling slightly.

“She and I rarely talk to each other anymore.” Jooyeon began, her eyes beginning to glisten. “If anything, she’s closer with the Lieutenant nowadays. I can’t remember the last time Jiyeon unnie and I hungout, just the two of us.”

“Doesn’t help that you slept with her boyfriend, either.”

“H-Hey!” Jooyeon said, softly hitting Jinsook. “She and oppa are on a break.”

“I know you like oppa, unnie. But all three of your relationships will change if you and him get together. You know oppa will prioritize you and unnie’s friendship.”

“I know.” Jooyeon sighed. “It’s just… I really like him. And when we slept together, he made me feel so loved. I just want him.”

“Unnie…” Jinsook said, pulling Jooyeon in for a hug. The two embrace each other for several minutes, Jinsook rubbing the older woman’s bag as she comforts her. When the two let go, Jooyeon wipes away the tears built up. This causes them to laugh slightly and has relaxed her worries.

“Come on unnie, let’s go get some food. Nothing like a tall glass of beer and some spicy barbecue to calm our nerves. Plus, it’ll be fun listening to you talk about oppa while buzzed.” She said, heading for the door. Taking one last look around the empty apartment, Jooyeon is about to leave when something catches the corner of her eye. Kneeling down, she finds a thin piece of slightly durable paper. Black in color, only four words are printed on it in a pink color with a crown emblem.

“How you like that?” Jooyeon read aloud. Taking out her phone, she scrolled through her camera roll and found a photo of the first calling card left behind during the Gangnam Precinct escapes. Contrasting the one she just found, it was a pink background with black font and a square emblem.

“BlackPink in your area…” She said, scrunching her nose. “Just what are they up to?”

You wandered the empty Gangnam streets, surprised at the lack of foot traffic on a random Wednesday afternoon. Not even a full 12 hours have passed since your date and subsequent intimate moment with Son Jooyeon, a colleague you have grown close to ever since she joined the squad, confessing her feelings for you. Not to mention the fact that you and your girlfriend Kim Jiyeon were currently going through a break. Your thoughts are interrupted as you see a woman with long, blonde hair struggle to pick up various congratulatory flower pots. Quickly going to her, you pick up the pot from her arms and bring it inside the shop.

“Oh my, thank you so much!” the woman said, wiping the sweat on her forehead.

“It’s no problem.” you said. “Always happy to help someone in need.” When the two of you make eye contact, you realized she seemed familiar. Stealing a few more glances at her caused you to figure out she was the same woman who helped you choose flowers to bring to Jiyeon at the hospital. It seems she has recognized you as well.

“Oh…” you said to each other.

“Nice to see you again.” the woman said, giving you a smile. Her appearance has changed from the last time you saw her a few days ago. Her long brown hair was now a silky gold color. Her striking makeup was replaced with more natural tones, opting to equip herself with a thin eyeliner and rosy pink lips.

“It’s nice to see you again as well. Didn’t realize I walked all the way over here.” you said, carrying the last of the flower pots inside. As she followed you, she grabbed a spray bottle and tended to the various plants that lined the walls of the boutique. Her side profile caught your attention, as you took notice of her sharp eyes and cute pointed nose.

“So, what brings you by? Did your girlfriend like the flowers you picked out?” She said, returning to the back of the counter to sort through customer’s orders. When she didn’t hear you respond, she turned around and saw the sadness in your eyes. “What happened?”

“She liked the flowers you helped me pick out. But... decided we should take some time apart.” you said, remembering how you accused Jiyeon of being involved in Luda’s case.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry…” she said, sincerity heard in her voice.

“Don’t be, it’s alright. She’s a very emotional person so I understand. We’ve had fights before but I kinda messed things up this time so I’m willing to give her all the space she needs.”

“I’m sure everything will work out between you two.” she said, flashing you her trademark smile. She possessed an elegant vibe to her, a classness you could exactly pinpoint specifically. She spoke in a lower register, which was easily complemented by an exotic accent that made every word sound like honey to you.

“Thank you. I couldn’t help but notice your accent. I guess you aren’t from here?” you asked, wanting to smoothly change topics.

“Ah, yes. I’m actually from Australia. I was actually born in Auckland but moved to Melbourne when I was 7. My parents still live out there and my sister visits me here from time to time. But in my heart, I will always be a Kiwi.” she replied.

“I take it you didn’t move all the way over here just to run a flower shop.” you said.

The woman laughed. “No I didn’t, actually. I came here because I wanted to be a singer. I went to many auditions and went through the training process to debut, but it wasn’t my thing. The extreme dieting, the company pointing out every one of my “flaws”. And the hair dye. God, that stupid fucking hair dye. I had to bleach my hair so many times, my scalp is so dry and my hair is fried.” She picked up strands of her hair to show you how damaged it had become, losing its natural oils. Her hair was slightly frizzy and riddled with split ends.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” you said, unsure of what response would be appropriate.

She shook her head. “You know, despite all of that. I don’t regret any of it. The company I was signed to allowed me to meet some really great people. The final lineup for the group I was in contained myself and three other girls. And although we never got to debut, I’m happy. We went through a lot together, and while we now all live separately, it’s in the same apartment complex so we’re practically neighbors.”

“Sounds like all that trouble was worth it if you made such great friends.”

“It was. Although, sometimes I kinda wished we debuted you know? They were planning on having me be the main vocalist.”

“I’d love to hear you sing sometime.”

“Mmm, that depends.”

“On what?” you said, tilting your head in curiosity.

“I don’t sing for free.” she teased.

“I don’t seem to have any money on me at the moment…” you said, rummaging through your pockets and opening up your wallet.

“I’m just kidding.” she said, laughing. “I don’t need the money. Although, I could never say no to a nice meal.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, miss?” you said, raising your eyebrow slightly.

“What, me? I would never.” she replied, feigning innocence. You noticed her cheeks begin to blush slightly as she coughed cutely and turned away.

“I never said it was a bad thing.” you said, laughing slightly. “But I don’t even know your name. Would be rude of me to not know the name of the person I was going on a date with.”

“I-It’s Roseanne.” she said nervously. “Roseanne Park. But here in Korea, I go by Chaeyoung.”

“Roseanne… that’s a pretty name.” you said. “Any preference on what you like to be called?”

“My friends usually call me Rosie or Chaeng. And I formally go by the name Rosé. But you can call me whatever you like. Just as long as you call me later.” she said, handing you a black business card with pink colored font on it. You observed it, taking note of a rose with the petals designed in the shape of a crown.

“I didn’t expect you to be so smooth. Do you always flirt with customers like this?” you asked.

“No no, I’m not that kind of girl. Well... maybe only to the cute ones.” she said, winking playfully. “Just wanted to share a meal as a thank you for helping me out with those pots my friends sent me. And it seems like you could use someone to talk to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” you said, waving the business card in the air as thanks before heading for the door.

“I’ll be off in a few hours. Call me then.”

You smiled at her and waved as you left. When you disappear from sight, Chaeyoung returned to tending the flowers inside the shop. She hears the bell chime as the door is opened once more.

“You’re back already? I didn’t expect you to-”

Turning around, Chaeyoung is met by a woman with dark hair slightly taller than her. She quickly bows her head in apology, the woman doing the same.

“I’m so sorry. I had a customer leave just now and thought you were them.”

“It’s alright.” the woman said, smiling.

“What brings you in today, ma’am?” Chaeyoung asked.

The woman fumbles around her pockets before taking something out and opening it up.

“Son Jooyeon, Starship Precinct Senior Detective. I was wondering if you’ve seen anything out of the ordinary recently.”

“No, nothing at all. We’ve been closed the past few days as I was recovering from a bad case of a cold.”

“There’s been a string of high profile robberies lately and we’ve been going to each business asking if they’ve seen any suspicious activity. I apologize for the intrusion.”

“Oh no, it’s perfectly fine. You’re just doing your job. I haven’t been here due to being sick. I even have these terrible tasting capsules I have to consume daily.” Chaeyoung said, holding up a bottle with a disgusted look on her face.

Just then, Jooyeon’s phone began to ring.

“Detective Son speaking. Really… Understood. I’ll be there shortly.”

Hanging up, Jooyeon returned her attention to Chaeyoung. “Sorry about that. Thank you again for your cooperation. Have a good day.”

“Wait, Detective!”

Jooyeon turned around. “If you don’t mind me asking, where did you get that flower?” Chaeyoung pointed to the one currently resting inside her hair.

“Ah, it was given to me by someone very special. Have a good day, ma’am.” Jooyeon said, bowing. As she left, Chaeyoung couldn’t help but think about how familiar that specific flower looked.

It didn’t take very long for several hours to pass. You indeed called Chaeyoung, slightly nervous that you would be viewed as desperate to accept her offer if you did so too early. She told you to give her an extra hour in order to freshen up and prepare for the date, texting you her address and the location of the restaurant you two would be eating at. You decided to take the time to have yourself presentable as well.

Arriving outside what you believed to be was her apartment complex, you were barely able to release a hi as Chaeyoung excitedly told you to start driving. Neither of you spoke during the car ride as she cycled through the various radio stations and recited the lyrics to the various songs she liked. Her sweet voice filled the vehicle with happiness as the two of you drove to the restaurant’s location.

Once you arrived, and earned compliments from Chaeyoung by placing your hand on the passenger side headrest while reversing the vehicle with your left hand, you arrived at the location of your date. The outside of the restaurant looked dated, paint chipping on the walls and windows that have been scratched up. Getting out of the vehicle, you quickly ran to the passenger’s side and opened the door for Chaeyoung.

“Such a gentleman.” she said, accepting your hand to help her out of the car.

Park Chaeyoung wore a very elegant look - black skinny jeans that showed off her long legs and nicely sculpted thighs, a white button up shirt tucked in with a skinny black tie, a heather gray blazer that complimented her outfit nicely even though it was slightly big on her, and a white designer bag that she wore on her body. Her blonde hair that she cursed about was neatly combed, not a singular hair out of place. The black knee high boots she wore were so perfectly fitting, you weren’t sure where they ended and her jeans began. She wore minimal makeup, choosing only to equip herself with pink lipstick. The people who passed by began to silently whisper to each other about how beautiful she looked. Chaeyoung looked ready to have her photo taken on a fashion runway in any minute, not having dinner with a customer she asked out.

“Your finest bottle of red wine, please.” Chaeyoung said as she handed the menu to the waiter. Looking at you, you quickly told the waiter your order and followed suit.

“Isn’t this place a bit too fancy?” you asked, scanning the room.  All the employees wore black ties. You knew this was a fancy restaurant the moment you saw the waiters draping a towel on their arm as they tipped the wine bottle without letting the tip hit the rim of the glass. But what really tipped you off were the prices and the various plates of food arriving. The small portions of food inside such large plates.

“The steak here is amazing. And the lobster is caught fresh everyday.” Chaeyoung said. “Plus, it’s your treat.”

“I’m sorry, what?” you said, coughing after you drank water too quickly while listening to her talk. She looked at you confused.

“You’re the one who asked me out. Shouldn’t the person who does so pay?”

“But you’re the guy. Think about how people would react if I had to pay for the meal.”

“Wow, you really are something Park Chaeyoung. Times really should change. Women are able to pay fully for dates too.” you replied.

“So tell me about yourself.” Chaeyoung said as the food arrived. She cut into her steak delicately, the meat sliced with little pressure from the knife as your eyes are met with a perfectly medium rare center. Taking the piece in her fork, she uses it to wipe the sauce on her plate before putting it into her mouth. Despite the elegant environment, Chaeyoung stuffed her face. You smiled seeing her cute cheeks expand with food as she hums in satisfaction with each bite. And while you still weren’t sure if this was a date or not, you were happy to spend time with a beautiful woman who could eat well.

“What’s there to say… my life is pretty boring. Everyone thinks being a detective means I get to experience dead bodies or intense hostage situations on a daily basis. But really, it’s a lot of paperwork and sitting in front of a computer. I graduated from the academy a bit later than others. Being a beat cop for a year was very boring. During my very first field assignment, I forgot to carry a set of cuffs. I’ve had the same routine for the past four years up until three days ago. For the first time in forever, I have more time to myself than I know what to do with. So, I’m just taking things day by day.”

When you finally finished talking, you saw Chaeyoung staring at you. Her mouth was agape as the piece of steak on her fork was raised midair. You laughed at seeing her in shock. Snapping your fingers, her attention returned to you.

“Was I boring you?” you said, laughing.

“No! No, it’s just... that sounded so cool.” Chaeyoung said, choosing her words carefully. “I wish I had more structure in my life. It feels like I’m finally able to do what I want but don’t know where to begin.”

“Sometimes it’s nice to be free. Live in the moment and let things happen. Too much structure and routine is a hard habit to break.”

Chaeyoung smiles at you as she finishes her glass of wine and flags down the waitress to ask for another bottle. You sighed, your wallet was going to cry by the time the meal was over.

With both of your stomachs full - Chaeyoung’s more than yours, you sat inside your car and relaxed. You almost went into cardiac arrest once the waiter arrived with the final bill, but seeing her beautiful eye smile caused you to shake your head and smile as you gave them your card and signed the check.

At her insistence, the two of you drove to a bubble tea shop. You claimed to be full - an obvious excuse as you didn’t want your wallet to bleed any further. Chaeyoung hit your shoulder as she realized what you meant and told you she would pay. After waiting several minutes, Chaeyoung hears her name being called and picked up her order. Holding onto the tray, she hands you a bubble tea.

“What’s this?” you asked.

“Something sweet as a thank you for paying.” Chaeyoung said as she sipped her bubble tea cutely. You watched her cheeks huff as she closed her eyes in excitement.

While the two of you consume your drinks, you tell her about a story from your rookie days when you overslept and left your house so quickly, you forgot to put on pants. She laughed at every joke, even some that weren’t funny at all. You were thankful, enjoying her company as it provided you a distraction from your current struggles in the romance department.

Your conversation is cut short when the both of you feel droplets hitting you. Looking down, you see the cold sidewalk begin to be pelted with polka dot stains that gradually increase into pouring rain. The customers enjoying their drinks and the nighttime ambience quickly enter the shop, as you look to Chaeyoung and seemingly tell her to head to the car with your eyes. Neither of you carrying an umbrella, you do your best to shield her from the rain with your hands while the two of you run to the car.

The two of you set off aimlessly, the windshield wipers set on the maximum setting as you try your best to make out the road ahead of you. You look to your side and see Chaeyoung visibly nervous. She looks back at you when she feels your hand placed atop hers as you gently squeeze it and give her a warm smile.

“It’s pouring out there. I don’t think we’ll be able to get home. It’s not safe to drive right now.” you said.

“There’s a hotel a few miles from where we’re currently at.” Chaeyoung said, scrolling through her phone.

“You sure that’s okay?”

“It’s either that or we risk our lives in the blinding rain.”

“Fair enough. Just input the address in the navigation system.”

What should have been a 20 minute drive became 40 as the directions sent you off in a route that was longer than needed. Wanting to give up half an hour in, Chaeyoung provided moral support and cheered you on when you took a 5 minute breather. Luckily, there was one open vacancy available when you arrived.

The room was simple yet fairly spacious. One bed, a large desk with a built in television and writing area, a mini fridge fully stocked with overpriced snacks, and a balcony with what normally has a nice view of Seoul’s downtown area. Entering the bathroom, you noticed it fully stocked as well along with two pearly white bathrobes. Grabbing a towel, you freshen up by splashing cold water on your face. Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you wondered how you got into this situation. 

You were thankful for a fun day with Chaeyoung, but expected to be relaxing in your own apartment by now, not in a hotel room very late at night. When you exited, you saw Chaeyoung trying to reach for the window curtain wand to give the room more privacy. You laughed softly seeing her struggle and chose to observe her. She tries with all of her might, standing on her tiptoes. Finally getting the wand she turns around and is greeted by you smiling at her. Feeling embarrassed, she turns around quickly before stumbling her footing. Seeing her about to fall, you managed to grab onto her before the two of you landed on the bed. The two of you locked eyes, both of you having neutral expressions. You can hear your heartbeat rapidly increasing as you feel Chaeyoung’s soft breath coming from her nose.

“I should go take a bath…” you said, trying to excuse yourself from the situation. Slowly getting up, you feel yourself pushed back onto the bed as Chaeyoung’s expression has changed. No longer was the shy, innocent woman staring at you. The look you saw in her eyes was one you knew all too well, a look that Jiyeon gave you at work whenever she felt stressed. Lust.

“Stay. I… I want you. Please.” Chaeyoung begged, her accent lacing each word with pure seduction. 

The seriousness of her tone left you far more aroused than you would like to admit. Chaeyoung leaned down and pressed her lips against yours. They had a unique softness to them, feeling like they could melt away from the heat your own were providing. Your breaths began to get heavy as your arms wrapped behind her back and pulled her closer to you. Chaeyoung nibbled on your lower lip, allowing further entry as she pushed her tongue inside your mouth. The two of you fought for control over the other as you helped her out of her coat. Chaeyoung rolled over so that you were on top of her as you both began unbuttoning each other’s shirts. She quickly loosened her tie and threw it into a far off corner of the room.

Both of your tongues and hands explored and searched each other. Your mouths locked together the entire time, with your hands wanting to explore her milky soft skin, slightly annoyed at her cute yet still present clothing being worn. Freeing each other of your shirts, you see Chaeyoung shyly brush as her lacy red bra is exposed to you. Her breasts were on the smaller side, but enough of a handful for you to play with.

Wanting to be back on the bottom, the two of you free each other of your pants until you are both left in your underwear. Chaeyoung’s cute bubble butt complimented her thighs, which were now locked onto your lap. You felt her rub her crotch back and forth against your cloth imprisoned shaft. Running your hands across her smooth thighs, you stop when it is in front of her underwear. You felt the heat radiating from her, Chaeyoung’s perfume hypnotizing you with its intoxicating smell. Grabbing onto her hips, you gently lower her back onto the bed. Your hands move back down, grasping the helm of her sheer laced panties and pull them down. You find, much to your delight, that she is already leaking as it dribbles out of her.

Pulling you back in for a kiss, you reciprocate her earlier action and bite her lower lip while simultaneously sucking on it. Chaeyoung moans as you leave a trail of kisses down her neck and chest, coating her skin and faintest amount of cleavage with your saliva. Your kisses continue as you make sure not to leave out her tummy. Chaeyoung’s moans rapidly increase in volume as you get closer to her thighs. Upon reaching the inner apex of them, you add strong licks and paint her inner creases with your tongue. You lick your lips in satisfaction upon being face to face with her inviting warmth.

You marvel at the sight of her long, milky legs as her soft thighs do little to prevent them from being closed. As her lips glisten from her juices, you watched Chaeyoung gently run her middle finger between her folds until it reaches the bottom. Dragging it slowly upward, she adds her index finger and traces the outline of her lips. She touches herself softly, her erotic moans complemented by her accent. You watched her eyes slowly close as the pleasure began to course through her body. Her breathing becomes hitched, but she manages to regain enough composure to open her eyes and smile seeing you enamoured by the show she is displaying for you. Her voice has become soft, but no less lacking in desire.

“Please… taste me.”

You returned to the previous position you were in when you removed her panties, swiftly removing your boxers and freeing your hard cock. Controlling yourself, you began by planting soft kisses on her thighs. You enjoyed the feeling of her soft, milky skin each time your lips made contact with them. You caressed her legs, taking note of how muscled yet tender her skin was at the same time. Chaeyoung’s body was slim, but her thighs were a sight to behold.

You continued leaving kisses, repeating the process on her other leg until you were finally back where you started - in between her legs. Believing you have given an adequate amount of time for foreplay and teasing, you dive right in. You stick your tongue out to taste the bottom of her slit. Chaeyoung gasps as she feels you make contact with her for the very first time. Her gasps quickly turn into long, satisfied moans as you press your tongue against her lips and give her deep, strong licks.

You wanted to savor every inch of Chaeyoung, a woman you’ve only met twice and were technically still on a date with at the moment. Her drawn out, erotic melody moans keep your attention focused on what is in front of you. Giving her slow licks, you savor the rapidly dampening flesh until you finally suck her clit.

“Oh fuck, that feels so good.”

Chaeyoung runs her fingers through your hair until it rests behind your head. Using both of her hands, you feel her nails digging into your scalp. It is painful, but is well worth it knowing you’re giving her body pleasure. The moans that escape her mouth each time you lick and suck her delicious folds motivates you to continue.

You hold onto her hips as your thumbs gently part her lips even more. The wet flesh feels so soft and inviting. You move your tongue in a wave motion as you give her rapid fast licks. You consumed the nectar leaking out of her, savoring its sweet taste. Getting accustomed to you eating her pussy, Chaeyoung was not prepared when you surprised her by biting her clit.

“Oh… fuck!” she shouted, closing her eyes as her voice was so intense that the pleasure coursed through her body. A bit surprised at how suddenly she came, you are quickly pushed between her legs. Chaeyoung feels the same way as she wraps her legs behind you and pushes your head deeper. Her taste and aroma felt intoxicating, the both of you experiencing a high that could not be replicated by any drug.

Eventually, her body stops violently shaking as her body tense up. She was unable to move her limbs from the pleasure. You were content with yourself, satisfied at your partner’s reaction to your oral skills. You consumed whatever you could, replacing her leaking juices with kisses all over her lower body as you waited for her to recover.

“Fuck… that was… fuck…”

She finally opened her eyes and saw you licking your lips, enjoying the taste of her juices on your tongue. You gave her pussy a deep, long kiss before mirroring your earlier actions and replacing your soft kisses on her tummy earlier. Reaching behind herself, Chaeyoung unhooks her bra and finally frees her chest.

Her eyes were a mix of slight satisfaction and another emotion you couldn’t quite tell. It looked like an unquenchable lust. But it carried a heaviness to it, an appearance of a woman who wanted to be loved.

You climbed back upwards until you were both at eye level, your arms supporting yourself on the bed. Chaeyoung gives you the same sweet smile from earlier at the bubble tea shop that warms your heart as you lower your face to hers and press your own lips against hers. The two of you shared a rather passionate kiss, her arms wrapping around your neck as you feel her legs spread open. She whines softly when you break the kiss, but it quickly becomes a moan as her soft skin is given copious amounts of kisses on her cheeks, neck and upper chest.

Bringing your hand to her right breast, you fondle it as your mouth takes in her left breast. Her nipple begins to harden as you tease it with your tongue. The breast you are fondling is given the same treatment as you gently rub it between your index finger and thumb, pinching it gently. Although they were small, her breasts were inviting. You truly wanted to savor Chaeyoung’s skin, as her long, drawn out sultry moans let you know she was enjoying it as much as you.

Your eyes were on Chaeyoung the entire time. Seeing her head tilt back as the steady stream of moans continued. She looked down and seemed to have read your mind.

“C-Can… Can you fuck me now? Please. Fuck me, please baby.”

As you line your bodies up, you are about to tease her when you feel Chaeyoung grab onto your thighs.

“I… want to be fucked from behind.” she said, her words mere needy whispers.

Giving yourself a few quick strokes, you roll Chaeyoung onto her stomach before pushing yourself forward into her wet pussy. Few feelings could outdo the sensation of entering a woman for the very first time. Despite the many times you’ve done so, it always gave you genuine excitement and satisfaction. Jiyeon and Jooyeon were tight in their own regard, but Chaeyoung made them feel like a hollowed out cave.

Chaeyoung’s body reacted to you being inside her by moving her hips and cute round butt against your cock. Both of you savored the feeling of your hard flesh inside her pussy.

“Oh fuck, baby… Fuck me… Please fuck me…”

Removing your cock from her body, you are delighted to see it glistening in her juices as it appears from between her soft buttcheeks. You withdraw yourself until only the tip of your cock is left inside her before thrusting back inside, your shaft spreading her lips and entering her warm, inviting flesh.

It doesn’t take very long for you to establish a rhythm with which to fuck Chaeyoung from behind with. Having sex with a woman on her hands and knees in front of you was your favorite position - next to a woman being on her knees with your cock in her mouth. And while you’ve had your fair share of women before Jiyeon that you considered to be tight, all of them would be put to shame by Chaeyoung. Unlike sex with Jooyeon, a coworker and close friend, sex with Chaeyoung was quite possibly on par with Jiyeon - an affirmation of a romantic relationship between two people who discovered feelings for each other. While it was still the physical action of sex, it was a way your bodies spoke to each other to confirm your feelings through pleasure.

You felt Chaeyoung’s hips wriggle with each thrust of your own inside her body. Her moans increase in volume while being what you believed, individual in the way you were pleasuring her. The wet, hot feeling of her pussy wrapped around your cock was incredible.

Having used her hips for support, you bring your hands to her ass, firmly squeezing her cheeks with both hands. You were delighted to see them create soft ripples with each collision of your crotch against hers. Chaeyoung gasps in surprise when she feels you give her ass a spank.

“Baby, fuck me… Fuck me harder.” She gasps. Chaeyoung no longer wanted to be fucked by you. She wanted pure pleasure.

You satisfied her desires, giving her hard, deep thrusts as your cock moved in and out of the tight grip of her pussy.

Holy fuck… Yes! Oh yes!” she screamed, throwing her head back as you increased the pace. “Fuck me just like that!”

Through your repeated thrusts, you seemed to have discovered a sweet spot that gives Chaeyoung the most amount of pleasure. It takes you a few tries, but soon your cock is repeatedly hitting that spot as you maintain the same speed and depth of your thrusts. You know it won’t be long until her orgasm arrives, having seen the same signs from Jooyeon and Jiyeon - the ever increasing volume of her moans, the way her fists grasp onto the sheets for support as the pleasure courses throughout her entire body, and of course the way her hot, tight pussy maintains a firm hold on your cock.

“Baby… I’m about to cum! I’m gonna cum so hard!”

“Do it, Chaeyoung. Cum on my cock. Surrender yourself to pleasure and cum for me!”

“Baby… I’m cumming! Oh, fuck!”

Chaeyoung’s body tightens up as the pressure explodes, her pussy clamps down hard on your cock. You wanted to keep thrusting into her hard, but her orgasm has made her pussy far too tight for you to continue. Her cute, small fists form a deadly grip on the bedsheets below as her face sinks down onto the soft cotton pillow. You see her arms give out as her upper body collapses onto the bed.

The sound Chaeyoung made is the same sound you hear when a woman orgasms, an erotic sound that will never be old to you.

Chaeyoung’s second orgasm of the night was even more intense than the first, and as such, takes her several minutes to recover from. You relished at the sight of her body still bent over in front of you, your cock still inside her tight pussy. The light from above gave you a good view of her toned back that was lined with sweat.

“Baby… holy fuck, that was amazing.” she said, panting heavily.

You smiled at her words, giving a gentle squeeze on both of her asscheeks as a response.

“I want you to keep fucking me, baby.”

Drawing your cock out of her body, you watch as Chaeyoung straddles your lap. Thinking she was going to turn around and face you, Chaeyoung shoots down that theory as she strokes your cock before lowering herself onto it. You are given an alluring view of her sweaty back as she starts riding you. Her round ass slams down against your crotch with each movement of her hips. She was slim, but contained a small amount of curves in the right locations as you slap her ass cheek with a flat palm.

Chaeyoung throws her head back and lets out erotic, satisfied moans with each slap on her ass.

“Does Chaeyoung love getting her ass slapped like this?” you asked, knowing full well what her response will be.

“Y-Yes, ah!” Chaeyoung moaned. “Is my p-pussy tight enough for you?”

“I think it could be tighter.” you teased.

“Make me cum again and it will.”

Chaeyoung fucks herself on your cock for a few more minutes before regretfully removing her body from yours. You whined softly at the feeling of no longer being inside her, but it is short-lived as Chaeyoung gets off the bed and gets on her knees. She extends her hands out for yours as you take them and stand in front of her.

Her eyes remained fixed on you, taking her position between your spread legs. You looked down and saw her beautiful face filled with lust.

She takes you inside her mouth, your cock drenched in her juices. She bobs her head quickly, working on your cock as her tongue paints your underside and her hands massage your balls and thighs. Her tongue swirls around the tip of your cock, satisfied at how sensitive your tip is to her touch.

Chaeyoung’s moans send vibrations of pleasure throughout your cock, as you savor the delicious tingles of her mouth around your shaft. Her ultimate goal was to give you the very same pleasure you gave her.

“Chaeyoung… I’m… I’m close.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to last much longer in my tight pussy. And while I’m sure you want nothing more than to cum inside me, I want you to watch me swallow your cum.” Chaeyoung said softly as she took your cock back inside her sweet, wet lips.

Her beautiful brown eyes met yours as her lips formed an airtight seal around your cock. Her slim fingers massaging your balls was too much for you to handle.

“I’m cumming…” you say as your orgasm finally arrives. You bobbed her head up and down as quickly as you can before pushing her head all the way down to your base. Your cock throbbed as it releases hot, thick semen into Chaeyoung’s warm and inviting mouth. She manages to push her head back from your hold, opening her mouth to allow you to see your cum shoot into her mouth, painting her tongue and back of her mouth a milky white color. Her eyes crinkle in satisfaction, seeing your face riddled with pleasure.

You were surprised you managed to keep your eyes open the entire time you came. This was the first time you ever saw yourself cumming inside a woman’s mouth. And it was safe to say, it certainly wouldn’t be the last. When you finally finished, you watched Chaeyoung wipe her lips to catch the remaining droplets of cum before closing her mouth and swallowing your load down her throat. She sticks her bright pink tongue out at you with a satisfied hum and laugh, letting you know she enjoyed your tasty treat.

You collapsed back onto the bed, completely exhausted. Chaeyoung climbed on the bed shortly after, licking your cock clean before making her way on top of you. Your foreheads rested against each other, before she cupped your cheeks and gave you a deep, passionate kiss. You opened your eyes and found yourselves staring at each other longingly.

“That was amazing…” you said, mirroring her earlier sentiments.

“You were too, baby. You made me feel like a lovesick girl.” she said, pushing back her damp blonde hair.

“What does that mean?” you asked.

“It doesn’t matter.” she said. “You really were amazing, though. I’ve never been fucked like that before. That was the most incredible sex I’ve ever had.”

You smiled as she began tracing a finger across your chest.

Chaeyoung gave you even more loving kisses as she feels your cock slowly start to harden underneath her.

“Bad boy…” she said, reaching behind her to grab a hold of your shaft. “Already so hard for me again.”

“What can I say, you know how to make a person want more.” you said, resting your hands on her ass before giving her a firm squeeze. Chaeyoung playfully hits your shoulder in response.

Just as she is spreading her legs and lowering her body back onto yours, your phone suddenly rings. You give each of her asscheeks a slap before gently removing her body off yours.

You grabbed your phone from the desk and quickly headed out to the balcony.

Chaeyoung sits up on the bed and wraps her body in the comforter. At the nightstand next to her, she hears her own phone begin to ring.

“Hello?”

“Mudkip, it’s Hyunjung.”

“Hi, Lieutenant. You know I hate that nickname.” you sighed. “What’s up?”

“I’m not even supposed to be doing this since you’re still suspended, but I cashed in my redemption. Your request has been fulfilled.”

“Really? That’s great news. Thanks so much.”

“Are you sure this person can help us? From my brief conversation with them, they didn’t seem too happy when your name was mentioned.”

“They can… if anyone is going to be able to help us, it’s them.”

“Understood. Be safe, okay? Your suspension ends on Monday.”

“I know. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“You’re welcome. But if you really want to thank me, bring me some bubble tea when you return. Hyunjung loves bubble tea.”

“Hyunjung really does love her bubble tea…” you replied. “Thanks again, I’ll see you Monday.”

“Chaeyoung… is your mission complete?”

“Yes, unnie. I made contact with him and got the digital imprint of his phone like you asked.”

“Good. So… how was he? How big was he? He better not be like that last guy you slept with.”

Chaeyoung sighed. “Yes Jennie unnie, he was big. I don’t know why you have to ask that every time I sleep with a guy.”

Seeing you enter from the balcony, Chaeyoung whispers quietly into the phone. “I’ll call you later.”

“Are you ready for round two?” she asked, ending the call as she turns around and cutely wags her butt at you.

“Chaeyoung…” you said. Noticing the seriousness in your voice, she turned around and faced you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Something came up, I have to leave.”

“What, right now? But we were about to start round two, where we get in the shower and fuck me until I can’t stand.”

“I know, and I really want to. But it’s important. You understand, right?”

“I do…” she said, pouting. She smiled weakly as you planted a long, tender kiss on her lips.

“I’ll be back soon.”

As you quickly dress up and leave Chaeyoung by herself, you give her one final wave before exiting the room. Chaeyoung sighs as she stares at a black domino mask and pearl necklace.

“I really like him… but we can never be together. Especially when he finds out who I am.”

The meeting location the Lieutenant gave you was not too far from the hotel. Thankfully, the storm has passed as the smell of rain perfumed the nighttime air. You finally reached your destination 10 minutes later.

Entering it, you scan the cafe until you find the person you were looking for. Approaching them, you see them sipping on a piping hot cup of tea. You timidly sit across from them.

“Thanks for agreeing to see me on such short notice.” you said.

The person doesn’t respond, sipping their cup of tea instead.

“How have… you been?” you continued. You watched as they finally lowered their cup.

“You know she will kill me if she found out I agreed to meet you.”

“What can you tell me about the robbery that happened a few days ago?” you said, your tone becoming serious.

They looked at you intently, before sighing and taking out a case file from their bag.

“Four women. They hit hard and strike like thunder. They wore masks and left no traces of print or hair. They clearly know what they are doing. Stole a couple million in jewels and denominations.”

“What about the security system?”

“Disabled. Along with CCTV. One of them was believed to be disguised as a repairer. They work in pairs. Two act as bait while the other two sneak underground and execute the plan.”

“They’ve never been ID’d?”

The person shook their head. “Nothing in our database at all. Whoever they are, they’re a ghost in the system’s eyes.”

“But…” they said, causing your eyebrow to raise. “I have a hunch on who. Interpol sent these in this morning.”

They handed you another envelope containing four photos. The first three seemed unfamiliar causing you to pay no attention to them. That is - until you reached the last photo.

“Are these legitimate?”

“You know Interpol wouldn’t send us fakes. Why?”

“This person.” you said, holding up the photo.

“She has the second highest bounty. Interpol has a file on her in several other countries, namely Australia and New Zealand.” They noticed your expression changing. “Why?” they repeated.

“I was just with her…” you said. 

“How is she?” you said, changing your tone to let them know you were talking about someone else.  “I heard she’s Captain now.”

“I still don’t know why I’m here. Your Lieutenant told me you were still suspended. I could lose my job for talking to you about work off the clock.”

“You know she and I didn’t end on good terms and that affected a lot of my relationships with people. Especially ours, you and I were best friends.”

“Please…” you continued. “You know I wouldn’t ask you in this way if I had any other choice.”

“I need your help. I need your help, Kim Bora.”

[somerpmemes]

Disenchantment S3 Starters

Change as needed

“Who can resist a creepy mom hug?”

“She’s not an ugly, evil bitch. But she is sluttier than I imagined.”

“When I last saw you, you were a lot more dead.”

“Is your life so awful you have to keep wrecking mine?”

“You were a model of regal barbarism.”

“Something’s going on.”

“Like any two numbers, this don’t add up.”

“You’re a bloodthirsty bastard.”

“I’m no decision-maker, I’m an action-taker.”

“Oh, I wanted to gloat directly over our victim’s corpse.”

“Hand me a murder stick.”

“For a dying man, he’s making a lot of noise.”

“World domination can wait.”

“I’m allergic to pandering.”

“Trust me, I’m not playing mind games with you.”

“Just promise you’ll think about giving me another chance.”

“Hallelujah, amen, and ka-ching.”

“You realize you’re all I have.”

“I know you’re lying but I hope one day you’ll mean that.”

“Is it still true love if your wallet is missing?”

“I just figured out this is a bad idea.”

“Oh, this ruins so many fantasies.. but opens up so many new ones.”

“Actually, pretending to care about your feelings was exhausting.”

“___, do what you do best. Take your mommy issues out on somebody else.”

“This is the sinister plot that just keeps giving.”

“Souls are meant for damnation, not soup.”

“Fooling foolish fools is so satisfying.”

“Oh, that’s delightfully craven.”

“Okay I get it, I have a hot mom.”

“It’s not even good cake.”

“Aww, he spelt it ‘yer’.”

“I believe it’s pronounced ‘skedaddle’.”

“I always wanted to get lost in a labyrinth. It's like a puzzle you solve with your feet.”

“If someone else is plotting without us, I will be really miffed.”

“Aren’t boots supposed to bend at the knees?”

“They’re just being really hurtful.”

“I’ll never fall for one of your tricks again.”

“I won’t say that doesn’t hurt.”

“And now, I just wanna lie down.”

“I think we’re getting away with it.”

“Ugh, I swear these tight, sexy clothes were designed to cut off cognitive thinking.”

“Disappointment’s a form of caring.”

“Who you are is a nobody and what you are ain’t nothing.”

“Stop being so agreeable!”

“I dreamed of this moment for so long, but I’m more worried than validated.”

“He looks so different with his head sliced off.”

“You have the worst luck I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know how this could get any more degrading.”

“Don’t ever walk barefoot around here. And never eat at the strip clubs.”

“But often the craziest thoughts are the most true, you nutloaf!”

“This is a classy affair, more cleavage.”

“This means so much to whoever I am.”

“I’ve got a nice thing going. I don’t wanna mess it up by opening up my big mouth.”

“I would love to have you as one of my exes but I think it’s best if you think of me as your slutty grandma.”

“The faster you run the more beer you get.”

“Sorry, I’m a little damp and cranky.”

“I’m addicted to stealing wallets now.”

“A veritable sandwich of danger.”

“Neither of us are cats.”

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna knife you in your throat.”

“Now swim for it before the crabs swarm over you.”

“Wow! You can really taste the rage.”

“So it’s agreed, we don’t get caught.”

“Man, after-work drinks taste so much better than instead-of-work drinks.”

“If I were afraid I wouldn’t be here.”

“I know a lot of psychos.”

“Pretend like we planned on meeting here so no one yells at me for cutting in line.”

“It’s as educational as it is moisturizing.”

“Ha! That’s what you get for believing in love!”

“You were always good at sticking to things.”

“I know you don’t trust me, but whatever you do, do not trust him.”

“If I can’t trust you, how can I trust you to tell me who to trust?”

“What are you offering here?”

“This is big, I really need some time to drink about this.”

“Who is interrupting my insomnia!?”

“You act angry on the outside but deep down you’re lonely and inadequate.”

“I look like a macho flowerpot.”

“Like, I’ve hear of fashion disasters but you, sir, are a genocide.”

“Now to blend invisibly into the crowd.”

“I’m your knight in rusty armor.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way but, shut up ___.”

“Oh my god, I’m insulting myself.”

“We’re all ashamed of some flaw we can’t change.”

“Nature is full of green.”

“I bring good old-fashioned psychological torture to the party, okay? Just like your grandmother made.”

“Wow! This malnutrition is really slimming.”

“Oh my god, enough with the romantic fantasies.”

“That hot trash is with me.”

“I will never find that boot again.”

“Love is risky. That's what makes it so great, it pays off!”

“All I have is nightmares now.”

“How do you want to die? Slowly or extra slowly?”

“We’re one step away from happily ever after.”

“___, who have you pissed off this time?”

“Everything is either trying to kill me or kiss me.”

“From what I’ve heard, I’m both obnoxious and amazing.”

“Chalk one up for ignorance!”

“Here, drink this coffee. It’s been boiling for hours.”

“I’ve got so much love and nobody to give it to.”

“Apparently I’m not film friendly… or friendly.”

“Tell me what drugs you’re on so I know what to do when you pass out.”

“I got a lot of experience with relationships coming to a grinding halt.”

“Wait sorry, what were we talking about? Oh, wait, yeah, your pathetic love life.”

“Stop looking at me like that! I’m so vulnerable and you’re so mean.”

“Why’d you come back for me?”

“I left because I didn’t want to get hurt again and I came back because... I’ll never learn.”

“I’m not gonna ask where you pulled that from.”

“___, I tried to get help but nobody wanted to.”

“I would say it’s good to be back but I can’t shake the fact that life is meaningless and I’m gonna die alone.”

“I’ve got a lot to do now. Like go to my room and cry in the fetal position.”

“Don’t say “wink, wink”. Just wink.”

“You can bother me again when I grow a new heart.”

“Wallowing is underrated. People no longer expect things from you and you get to stop showering.”

“Sweetie, you’re young and beautiful and sandy.”

“Someday the right man or woman or creature will mate with you. Then you must eat them.”

“Oh my god, I want to shower again. That means I’ve regained the will to live!”

“Love the homicidal impulse but no.”

“But I only like gratification when it’s instant!”

“Oh, this ain’t good.”

“Oh god, they’re getting uglier.”

“Hey ___, who do you think I should punch first?”

“Sorry, I tend not to notice things that aren’t me.”

“I’m crestfallen and I can’t get up.”

“Don’t you know you can’t trust anyone but yourself?”

“I’m not kneeling, I’m dying.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna die soon.”

“You know, you have an impressive number of enemies for a girl your age.”

“Don’t be a drama queen. That is my job.”

“Well those are mixed messages.”

“My needs outweigh your scorn.”

“It’ll either cure him or kill him.”

“You do not wanna go in there unless you’re a fan of, like, dying.”

“Any operating instructions or ominous warnings?”

“You’re afraid to let people in and you hide behind sarcasm.”

“___, work on your issues.”

“So, this isn’t gonna get more normal anytime soon, is it?”

“You don’t have to die at home but you can’t die here.”

“I’ve had a lot of people leave me in my life but I’ve never ever ever not had you before.”

“I always thought you’d be dead in a ditch by now.”

“Why is it, ___, that every time you’re braiding my hair you tell me I’m going to die?”

“Braids hurt my brain.”

“Oh, you’re so going to die.”

“The key to getting dumped is not knowing how to take a hint.”

“Stop tempting fate.”

“I have resting sinister face.”

“I don’t know who to disobey.”

“Haven’t you ever seen an enchanted broom before?”

“Wow. Brutal honesty, that’s true friendship.”

“She blindsided me. While I was looking right at her!”

“I don’t know why you always bring the good half out in me, ___.”

[stardusttkachuk]

Santa’s Workshop

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: fluff, swearing,

Summary: JJ picks up a holiday job, working as one of Santa’s elves. He doesn’t expect to meet another elf there, but isn’t disappointed in who he’ll be working with all season.

A/N: This is day 1 of starduststarkey’s 12 days of Christmas. Find other fics in my masterlist

Wanna be tagged? click here!

“You look fucking ridiculous,” John B says as JJ stands in front of the broken full length mirror that JB picked up from a junkyard.

“At least I have a job, asshat.” He fixes his hat on his head, grimacing at the way the tights hug his body. He’s uncomfortable in every place imaginable and is already dreading the 5 hour shift.

“Maybe if you’re a good elf, Santa will bring you a girlfriend this year!” Pope teases.

“You better shut the fuck up before this elf beats you to a pulp,” JJ threatens, fists raised.

Pope laughs. “I don’t think elves are supposed to be getting in fist fights.”

JJ huffs and rolls his eyes. Pope is right. He can’t show up to this job covered in bruises, that would scare the kids even more than he probably already will.

“Will you please drive me?” He asks John B. 

“Maybe you should ask Santa for a car,” John B says, grabbing the keys to the Twinkie.

“Why do you think I even took this job in the first place? Please. I don’t want to be seen in public like this.”

You set your bag in the provided cubby, checking your phone one last time before your scheduled session. When you had signed up to be one of Santa’s elves at the local mall, you were ecstatic. You and your best friend had been doing this for the last two years. But this year, your best friend ditched you for the hot chocolate stand. Really she ditched you for the cute girl who worked at the hot chocolate stand, and now you were stuck working with some kid named JJ Maybank. You crossed your fingers in hopes that he wasn’t some loser like the guy they hired last season.

“Santa arrives in 10 minutes! You better be out there in 5!” Natasha, the showrunner of Santa’s Workshop yells through the improvised locker and changing room. “Where’s your other elf?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. He hasn’t shown up yet.”

“Well when he gets here tell him he’s a dead man if he isn’t here 15 minutes prior to his shift.” She storms out, clipboard in hand. 

The first day is always one of the craziest. Things don’t settle down until a few weeks in. And by the time they do settle down, it’s already the week before Christmas and they get crazy again. 

“Hi. I’m JJ Maybank. I think this is where I’m supposed to be?” You hear someone say, likely talking to the nutcracker that’s posted outside the green room.

“In there. Find Y/N. You’ll know it’s her because she’ll be dressed just like you.”

You roll your eyes. At least he showed up. Ten minutes late but he did make it.

He passes through the curtains, blonde hair a mess under his elf hat. You’ll have to remind him to brush it before he arrives. You have an extra brush in your bag, but you know you won’t have time to make it look perfect.

He spies you easily, strutting towards you. “I’m JJ. Are you Y/N?” 

“That’s me. You’re late, by the way.”

JJ looks at his watch, eyes wide and mouth agape. “I’m five minutes early! That’s the earliest I’ve been for any job!”

“Natasha’s rules state all workshop employees must be present 15 minutes prior to their shift.”

JJ rolls his eyes. “It’s only ten minutes.”

“And if it happens again, you’re a dead man. So you better be here 15 minutes early next time.”

“Okay but why 15? Aren’t we just sitting around those 15 minutes until our shift starts?”

“It’s for costume malfunctions. Like your hair. It needs to be brushed. If you had been here 10 minutes earlier, maybe we would’ve had time to brush it and make it look better.”

“My hair looks fine,” JJ grumbles, though he does attempt to smooth down the ends with his hands. 

You lead him over to the cubby next to yours, gesturing to it. “Put your stuff in here. And that includes your phone.”

JJ places both his phone and wallet into the cubby. He then takes his jacket off and puts it on top of the two valuable items.

“No one is going to steal your stuff, if you’re worried about that. This place is heavily monitored,” you say. “And no one but Santa’s crew is allowed back here anyway.”

JJ is about to speak when an elderly woman with white hair tucked under her hat enters the room. “Looks like Mrs. Claus has arrived,” he jokes.

“That’s Natasha.” You grab JJ’s hand, pulling him out to Santa’s corner before Natasha has a chance to yell at him for his tardiness.

“So what exactly do we do?” JJ whispers, eyeing the line of children and their parents that seems to wrap around the entire display.

“We help the kids from their parents to Santa’s lap and then back out to their parents again. And don’t forget the candy cane before they leave.”

JJ grimaces. “You mean we have to interact with the kids?”

“Yes. Now smile and act like an elf,” you say.

“How do- ohf!” JJ grunts as you elbow him and immediately reach forward for the hand of a little girl.

“Hi! I’m elf Y/N! And this is my friend elf JJ! What’s your name?” You ask in a high pitched voice. 

“I’m Sophie,” she beams. She grasps onto JJ’s hand and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing at the face he makes. It’s clear he isn’t a fan of kids and you can’t wait to watch him interact with them for the next 30 days.

JJ pulls his booties on over the tights, chuckling to himself as the bells jingle. They jingle every time he walks. He’s grown so used to the sound now though. He’s grown used to looking absolutely ridiculous in his costume. He’s even grown used to the kids, which he thought was impossible.

But the way Y/N smiles when he coos at a baby or holds onto a preschoolers hand has helped him get over his dislike of the kids. He’d do just about anything to see her smile.

“Ready?” John B asks from the doorway, keys looped around his finger.

“Actually a friend is picking me up,” JJ says, grabbing his phone and wallet.

“What friend? You don’t have any friends besides us.”

“Well that’s very rude of you to think. I have plenty of friends. And her name is Y/N. We work together.”

“Work together or sleep together? Or both. Do you guys like, get it on in the costumes?”

“Ew, no,” JJ scoffs.

“Okay, you know elves is somebody's kink,” John B adds, shuddering as he does.

“I didn’t want to know that. I don’t want to think about that.”

“Okay but Y/N… you like her.”

“No. We’re just friends. We’re coworkers. We work the same shift and she offered to give me a ride, okay? Now can you make yourself disappear before she gets here? I don’t want her seeing your face.”

John B pouts. “Why not? I have a very likable face.”

“Just… please?” JJ asks, but it’s too late. 

The beat up Ford truck pulls up in front of the house. JJ knows it’s hers. On days when they work late and it’s dark outside by the time they leave, he walks her to her car. They once spent two extra hours after work sitting in her car and talking. She even gave him a ride home once, but he made her drop him off down the street. It was too risky for her to pull up to his actual house, especially if his dad was home. 

JJ knows John B is in the doorway when he exits the house. He watches as Y/N waves, a courteous smile on her face. JJ walks to the passenger side, hearing the familiar squeak of the old door.

“Who’s that?”

“John B. He’s my best friend.”

“He’s dating Sarah Cameron right?” she asks.

“Yeah. You know Sarah?”

“Everyone on this island knows Sarah,” Y/N laughs. JJ knows she’s not wrong. Everyone did know the Cameron's, especially after the huge scandal that went down last summer. People don’t typically forget about a murder and stealing of millions of dollars worth in gold.

“Right,” JJ laughs nervously. 

You tear your elf hat off as soon as you reach your truck. Today was a hard shift. Multiple crying kids, lines that wrapped all around the mall, parents who didn’t understand the concept of patience and waiting, and then there was the kid that peed on Santa Claus and made everyone wait even longer while Santa went to change. It was a nightmare. 

If it wasn’t for JJ, today would’ve been the day you quit.

But he insisted on stopping for dinner before you dropped him off, so here you were, sitting at a booth across from him, the both of you still clad in your elf costumes.

You probably looked ridiculous but you didn’t care. JJ was your sole focus tonight. He let you vent to him about the craziness of the day and when you weren’t talking he was telling you about the funniest wishes he had overheard while on candy cane duty. 

“All their missing socks?” You laugh, hand covering your mouth.

JJ nods, laughing harder. “He-He couldn’t understand why the dryer monster needed his socks more than him. He even asked if-if monsters were on the naughty list!” JJ bursts out laughing, as do you. If there was one thing that could cheer you up, it was this.

“Kids got a point,” you giggle. “Why does the dryer monster only take one sock and not both? Do you think he only has one leg?”

JJ nods, his smile wide. “Yeah, instead of one eye he’s got one leg.”

Your laughs die down slowly, but you can’t wipe the smile off your face. The smile that was forced all throughout the day was now a real one.

“I’ve missed that smile,” JJ says, reaching his hand across the table.

You blush but take his hand without hesitation, lacing your fingers through his.

JJ nervously clears his throat. “Do you think when this is all over, I can take you on an actual date?”

You’re not sure your smile could get any wider. “I’d like that.”

You both stare at each other for a while longer, before JJ can’t wait anymore. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, leaning over the table.

“I’d like that too,” you respond, meeting him halfway.

Tags: @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @serpentbaby @etoilesnoor @k-k0129 @maybanksbaby @talksoprettyjjx @canibeoneofthepogues @multifixx  @theonetheonlyalexbrown @glux64 @shy-1234 @sleepyhollands @cognacdelights @ilovejjmaybank @blueeyedbesson @cheshirecat107 @myrandom-fandomlife @makebank @ifilwtmfc @obxmxybxnk  @kookkyra @rafej-cambanks @blindedbypeaky @ahiae @repostcentral @midnightzonzz @blxndeprincess @dracosbbygorl @itsagurl @Poguesinablanket @amandaburris @tovvaa @sunnsettee

[giorno-plays-piano]

Money, Money, Money Part 1

Pairing: mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader, slight Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: lots of swearing, silly drunk mobs, mentions of alcoholism, parody, Peter is adult, is this a crack fic??

Words: 2578.

Summary: When Steve finds out somebody has stolen their money, Bucky realizes he has to take his ass off the leather couch in his office, finally.

P.S. This is my first attempt to write humor and I’m sorry in advance for everything I’ve written here 😅

_________________

“BITCH, DID I STUTTER WHEN I SAID TO KEEP THAT SAFE CLOSED AT ALL TIMES?”

Allyson massaged her temples softly and let out a groan: if Mr. Rogers continued to yell like that, he would definitely choke soon. This morning he had been pretending to be the death, vengeance and fury, ready to kick the ass of her immediate superior, James Barnes, who acted like he was deaf, unable to pull himself from the couch where he slept after getting drunk as a fish last night. Oh, poor Bucky. Apparently, he fucked things up again if Mr. Rogers stormed into his office like he was getting chased by a 200-pound dog.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, you son of a...” glancing at a pouting man-child with a three-day beard, Steve covered his face with his palm and let out an exasperated sigh, “... respectable woman who would die of shame if she saw you now!”

“Come on, Stevie,” the man yawned, finally moving his huge, muscular body up to sit instead of just laying on the couch since he felt a little guilty Steve was getting all riled up while he just chilled, “why so serious? Yeah, somebody took a bit of cash from the safe, it’s not a big deal.”

Allyson heard everything as if they were speaking right in front of her - Bucky was a real Mr. Cheapo who didn’t want to rent an office with decent walls - and quickly closed her ears, wishing she had taken her earplugs today. Her boss just made a grave mistake, and now both of them were going to pay for it with their eardrums.

“NOT A BIG DEAL? NOT A BIG DEAL, YOU MASSIVE BAG OF DOUCHE?! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY WAS THERE, HUH?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THOSE MONEY WERE FOR?!”

Seriously, she considered getting a new job, but these free daily standup shows were both tiring and so fucking funny she was afraid she might wet her seat.

“Oh my fucking God, Bucky, I swear I’ll kill you, I’ll... no, I have a better idea!” Steve gave his best friend a dirty look. “I’ll call your uncle. Yeah, you know which one. He’ll be sooo happy to take you drunk ass to jail and then give your mama a call. I bet she has a cure for both your attitude and alcoholism.”

“You wouldn’t do that!”

Suddenly realizing the danger he was in, Bucky quickly got up, almost falling to the floor but holding on the leather chair in the very last second. When Steve talked about calling his uncle, a chief of police of the neighboring town where his whole family lived, it meant things were going bad. Real bad.

“Bucky, it was the part we were going to invest into Pierce’s casino. I have to take it to him tomorrow morning. TOMORROW FUCKING MORNING, DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU STINKING DRUNK?”

“I’m drunk but not deaf, Steve!”

“Oh my God, I’m driving you to a rehab, go gather your stuff right now!”

Allyson sighed, getting up and proceeding to choose the most beautiful cup to fill it with fresh coffee: when their conflicts escalated to threats, it meant her boss would soon start to sweet-talk, apologizing to his best friend and promising to sober up and get things right. Every time she felt like Mr. Rogers would really do something to Bucky, the guy used his natural charisma and charm and got away with anything by just reminding Steve how he fought for his best friend in the dark alleys when Rogers was a sick, skinny kid. It worked every damn time.

There they were again, talking about same things with Bucky swearing on his mother’s life that he will find the money and bring it back to Steve. Usually it meant the threats were coming to an end, and soon Mr. Rogers would open the door and come out red as a lobster, breathing heavily as if he just ran a marathon. There he would see her with a cup of nice coffee with cream and two spoons of sugar just like he preferred, gladly accepting it and saying nobody understand him but her. Then Allyson would smile compassionately, listen to his small talk before he went out the office, and wait until her grumpy boss would fall out the room, reeking alcohol, and ask her what the fuck had happened yesterday.

After that in a couple of minutes things would finally settle down, and Allyson would have a chance to give a call to her best friend.

_______________________________

Your day couldn’t start better: you had finally received your Amazon order - hooray to the stupid makeup tools you would use, like, once a year - and even watched your favorite Netflix series with a cup of a fragrant coffee with marshmallows because it was Sunday and you were finally free from both work and cleaning the apartment. It felt so nice to just do absolutely nothing, laying on your couch with a piece of pizza in your hand. Seriously, even a workaholic like you had to do it more often.

Your lazy morning was interrupted by Peter, a sweet college student who was getting into troubles more often than a drunk in a local bar: you seriously considered calling him Harry Potter after you found him half-naked with a scratch on his forehead standing in the corridor of your building and holding a broom. To protect himself from bullies, he said, by the look on his face you could tell it was as good as a magic wand against 6"4 ft tall guys, seriously.

Since he rented an apartment with other unlucky nerds who had zero skills how to survive in this cruel world, you ended up nearly baby-sitting Peter, patching him up after he was getting in a fight and lending him some money time after time when he struggled to pay rent or buy food. His parents were elderly people with income below average, but they still did whatever they could to give him an education, so you decided to give the guy a hand.

Now that baby was standing in front of you, lit up like a Christmas tree, with a bouquet of wonderful pink roses, big box of hand-crafted chocolates and a whole bag of what looked like some very fine food, even a bottle of champagne clinking inside.

"Good morning, Fairy Godmother! I came to bring back what I owe you!" His smile was a mile wide when he looked at your face, happy to the point he couldn't stand still, dancing like those Duracell rabbits in the tv ad.

"You're up early, Cinderella."

You yawned, laughing when you saw the guy pouting at the nickname you gave him - tf he expected for calling you Fairy Godmother?

"Don't stand there, come in."

When he actually handed you the flowers and chocolates, giving you a quick peck on the cheek shyly, you froze, finally realizing he brought all this for you. Wait, what? Where the heck did he get so much money to buy that expensive stuff? You thought he was helping his other neighbor who was planning to finally propose to his girlfriend. Perplexed to the point you nearly missed that peck, you blinked at tomato red Peter.

"Please don't tell me you robbed your 90-year-old paralytic professor."

"Why don't you ask if I robbed a bank?" He pouted again, putting the bag on the floor and getting a hundred dollar banknote out of his old leather wallet. "I actually came to thank you for everything you've done for me. And I didn't rob anyone! I got a real job!"

"Real job?" You eyed him curiously. "But don't you already have a job in delivery?"

"Pfft, you can't call it a job. It was getting one nasty smelling pizza from one place to the other while looking miserable."

You barely held your laugh, leaving the bouquet and chocolates on the side table and rubbing guy's back. Poor Peter, nobody was giving him a hand - while you couldn't question people's decision since the guy wasn't the most reliable one, it was still a shame he wasn't treated decently as if all of them weren't young and careless once.

Wait, but who on Earth gave him such a well-paid job all of a sudden? He must have spent hundreds of dollars on the bouquet, chocolates, food and champagne, not even counting those 100 dollars he owed.

Oh God.

"Please don't tell me you're working for some shady business." You looked at him in horror, your hand flying to your mouth. "Peter, is it Tony's band?!"

"Jesus woman, why would I work for some stupid mob." The guy rolled his eyes, and you sighed in relief, not knowing what to except from this trouble on two skinny legs. “I’m telling you, it’s nothing bad! I just have to keep it a secret before I get a contract. Once I figure it out, I’ll explain everything, I swear!”

“Alright, alright, don’t stress over it, I’m not your Ma.” Smirking, you went to take a square glass vase you hadn’t use in ages, filling it with water to drop the bouquet inside. “Let’s celebrate it, then! Woah, careful there, give me that bottle until you drop it on my clean floor, I’ve been scrubbing it for hours yesterday!”

_______________________

Bucky still felt like Steve was making too much of a big deal out of it: obviously, it was Tony who went to him at night when Bucky was already drunk like a monkey, celebrating the birth of Clint’s daughter. Nobody else had the courage to steal from him, Steve’s right hand, an ex-soldier who had a reputation of a man killing with the first punch. Not that Bucky ever killed anybody, actually being a ex-trumpet in an army band...

Anyway, the man was heading over to Stark’s Tower, a motel where he and all his guys lived when his wife Pepper was out of town. Pepper had definitely been out of town lately since Tony didn’t call: when she was coming back, Steve and Tony were having a two-day truce with nobody getting in a fight because it was making Mrs. Stark upset, and when she was upset, both Steve and Tony didn’t risk getting out of their holes to face this enraged blonde woman who could make anyone wet themselves with one her glance. If there were anyone killing with just one punch in the town, it got to be Pepper.

As he got closer in his Cadillac that looked like it went through fire and water before being sold to Bucky, Barnes stared at the motel suspiciously: it was strangely quiet with everyone hiding inside, not a man guarding the motel’s entrance. What the hell happened? Tony loved showing off, pretending he ruled over the town, and he would definitely act like a king after stealing Steve’s and his money. It was unbelievable Bucky so nobody welcoming him with a smirk.

Hoping he didn’t use all that money for emptying a liquor store, Bucky parked the car and went to the motel, dying to have some beer: one heartless blonde boss of his emptied his fridge.

“Oh, more drinking partners returning to continue the fun, huh?”

Bucky froze immediately, staring at Pepper who stood in the doorway with a face of an iron maiden. Jesus fucking Christ. She returned to the city way before Tony told him, and it was clear she found him not in the condition she expected to. While Bucky considered whether it was better to run, Tony’s head appeared somewhere behind his wife, and Barnes saw Tony was as drunk as him, if not even more. He could see a huge blue mark from Pepper’s heavy hand on Stark’s cheek.

“Who’s that, honey?” The man asked innocently, earning an enraged glance from his wife, and Bucky thought he should have run. “Hi, Buck! Come on in, it’s ok if you didn’t bring beer even if I asked twice.”

Oh. Something was going on. Of course, Bucky could rat the man out immediately, telling Pepper he wasn’t drinking with Tony yesterday’s night, but he wasn’t such a heartless bastard - by the look on Stark’s face Barnes could see his sweet blonde wifey would beat poor Tony to death with her Dior handbag.

“Sorry, I blacked out for a couple of hours in my car.” He mumbled, bowing his head in respect. “Pepper, such a pleasure to see you.”

“Come on in, alcoholic.” Her gaze was heavy, and Bucky shivered a little, carefully leaving his shoes near the door and scurrying away to the coach where Tony sat, nervously biting his fingers. “Well, do you wanna tell me something, huh? How many hookers have you brought here yesterday?”

Glancing to Tony and back to Pepper, Barnes suddenly realized his frenemy had been so drunk he had no hecking idea whether somebody really brought hookers to the motel - it was a total taboo, but once they got drunk they could barely control themselves. Once they literally woke up to a Santa Claus singing Jingle Bells in the tub in the middle of June because Tony missed Christmas.

Of course, Stark would never slip up the night before Pepper was coming back to town, but, apparently, she didn’t stay with her mom for as long as she planned, and Tony was royally fucked.

“I’ve asked you a question.”

And now Bucky was, too, if he didn’t think of something quick. Of course, he could tell her the truth, but it meant losing Tony completely, and Barnes didn’t want that. A real mafioso should have at least one strong enemy, right?

“I’m sorry, Pepper, but I don’t think there were any hookers here last night.” He said, carefully choosing words. “You see, first, Tony never allows us to. Second, we’re good Christians. We would never invite some hookers when we celebrated the birth of Clint’s daughter!”

As he got silent, enjoying the effect his words were having on Pepper, Bucky looked at the man sitting to his right, watching Tony’s eyes watering: it was definitely God himself who sent Barnes his way that morning, saving his from near death. Nothing would work better than this excuse. Clint and all Bucky’s guys were so drunk to the point they barely remembered what had happened, and it would be easy to convince them Tony and his gang came to see Barnes for something and ended up staying with all of them.

Besides, there was a nice bonus Bucky could add to make it work even better.

“By the way, Clint named her Natasha. That’s also the name of your mom, right?”

By the look on Tony’s face the man realized he was ready to sing.

“How did he know my mom’s name?” Pepper eyed Steve’s right hand distrustfully, but he could tell she was less irritated.

“Oh, you know, he and his wife couldn’t choose the name, so we started saying whatever names we knew, and Tony mentioned Natasha.”

For a second Bucky thought Stark was going to kiss him through excess of joy.

When he finally left the motel, getting his pack of beer given him by lovely Pepper who changed the anger to mercy, Tony ran out of the house after him, giving him a pat on the shoulder and whispering quietly, “I own you one, brother.”

Bucky sighed. Stark didn’t take the money.

______________

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