#i hope she settles down with someone (i suppose bill's out of the picture) and has a nice peaceful life away from the chaos

[fazcinatingblog]

last halloween, last thanksgiving and now it’s last christmas. i really think that the end of season 11 is going to be when the three families all move away and it’s upsetting to think about

[subbykboys]

new to this | taeyong

↳ pairing : virgin!taeyong x reader

Genre ➞ pure smut oof

Warnings ➞ sub!taeyong, corruption kink, begging, mild degrading, handjob, fingering (m. receiving), public-ish(?), mild choking, running into walls

Word Count ➞ 8.3k

requested by @ninachocoo

posted ; 3.08.21

Hot. God, it was so hot. 

Then again, summer in your part of town always was. But this heat— this heat was different. It surrounded you, pulling perspiration from your pores and clinging to you persistently. It spilled down your throat, filling your lungs with every deep inhale. It robbed you of any and all of your energy, leaving you too tired to rouse yourself from where you lay on the cool tile floor of your kitchen in front of the open fridge (the absolute coldest spot you could find in your entire house). 

You didn’t cope very well in warm weather, if that wasn’t obvious. 

And, at the cost of your poor housemate’s sanity, you always found new and creative ways to cope with the excruciating rise in temperature, 

“Y/n a few of my— how many times do I have to tell you to stop doing that?!” You couldn’t bring yourself to so much as flinch as the fridge door was abruptly slammed shut, only managing to pull a whining complaint from the back of your throat as your only source of cool air was ever so rudely ripped away. 

“Fuck you, Mark. It’s too fucking hot to worry about the stupid electricity bill.” You huffed, peeling your eyes open just long enough to shoot an icy glare in the direction of the scowling brunette. 

He crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly, lower lip jutting out. “I think you forget that it’s a combination of both of our money going into paying them, so I think that I have a right to worry about how much is coming out of my pocket because you think that laying in front of an open fridge is a good way to ‘beat the heat’.” 

“Offer me a better solution, I’m open to suggestions.” You sighed tiredly. 

He only rolled his eyes. 

“Oh! I’ve got one,” you exclaimed suddenly, clapping your hands together as a gasp of excitement flew from your lips, “How about I just strip down and walk around butt ass naked? That should do the trick! Oh… but little Mark would like that a little too much, wouldn’t he?” You offered him a taunting pout, feigning sympathy as you glanced down unabashedly towards his crotch. 

Instinctively, his hands flew to cover himself as his cheeks throbbed a devastatingly obvious shade of red, bright enough to rival even the ripest of tomatoes. “Y–you—” 

Your lips curled with an amused smirk, but it faltered at the sound of thundering laughter coming from behind your flustered housemate. Your eyes followed the sound, finding its source in a group of about five or so men crowding up the foyer. Brows lifting in mild surprise, you shifted your attention back to an even more humiliated looking Mark. 

“You brought company.” An apology hung at the tip of your tongue. You really tried to keep your pg-13 teasing to a minimum around other people, especially knowing how susceptible Mark could be to his own embarrassment. 

“Hey Mark, I thought you said your roommate was a raging asshole with the sex drive of a teenaged boy on viagra? She seems pretty cool to me! And hot.” One of the taller boys chimed, a massive dopey grin plastered across his face. 

You turned to Mark slowly, brows raised. But he wouldn’t meet your eyes, head lowered. He wasn’t good at hiding his guilt. 

Welp. No apology for ole Marky boy today. 

“Please, allow me to properly introduce myself to our company.” Mark's eyebrows jumped all the way to his hairline as you pushed yourself off the floor and tossed an arm around his shoulder. “My name is (y/n), but I suppose Mark's asshole roommate with the sex drive of a teenage boy on viagra could work, too.” 

The look you shot him out of the corner of your eye had him shrinking in on himself, regret shining in his big brown eyes. But, you ruffled his hair, a silent reassurance that you weren’t all that torn up about the comment, especially considering it was hard to deny the layer of truth that lingered within it. 

You’d probably subjected Mark to more than his fair share of sleepless nights while you were up into the early morning giving the man (or woman) of the night the experience of a lifetime. A few scathing comments to close friends was more than understandable when looked upon in that light. Besides, you were never good at holding a grudge against your sweet, awkward, puppy-eyed housemate. 

The tall one that had spoken before chimed in eagerly, “I’m Yukhei, but my friends call me Lucas. Xuxi works, too. Or papi if you're feeling especially— ow!” Lucas yelped loudly as a hand connected to the back of a head with a sharp smack. You watched in amusement as another tall, charming looking man tugged him back, shooting him a warning glare before turning his attention to you. 

“Ignore him. He has a bad habit of forgetting his manners around attractive women. My name's Johnny, it’s great to finally meet you.” The sweet, disarming smile he offered you had any reservations melting away, and you easily returned the gesture before he proceeded with introductions. “This Haechan, Jaehyun, Doyoung, and— Taeyong?” 

Johnny pivoted around, brief confusion settling across his face before he spotted whoever he’d been looking for. Reaching behind Lucas, he grabbed someone's arm, tugging them into your line of sight. 

“And this is Taeyong!” He concluded with a grin, slapping a large hand down on the shorter boy’s shoulder. Taeyong dipped his head shyly, not meeting your eyes as he murmured a soft greeting that you were just barely able to catch. Soft tufts of dirty blonde hair fell over large brown eyes as he bowed politely, the air of meekness unmistakable. 

Oh, he’s cute. 

Your lips curled into an impish smirk. “Hi, Taeyong.” 

A faint blush darkened his cheeks and you caught a hint of a smile upturning the corners of his mouth. 

Really cute. 

Mark knew you well enough to see the gears beginning to turn in your head and coughed loudly when your stare lingered longer than necessary.

“O-kay, now that you’re all acquainted…” he stepped in swiftly, opting to intervene before you could get any wise ideas about his friend. “We have got a group project to work on and it would be extremely helpful if you’d refrain from providing any distractions. I already have a hard enough time trying to get them to focus for longer than five minutes as is.”

“Aww but I wanna hang out with your hot roommate, Mark.” Lucas whined loudly, practically throwing himself across Mark’s shoulders as the cutest pout you’ve probably ever seen fell across his lips. “She’s got a way nicer ass than any of you guys.” 

Doyoung sighed, his face screwing in second hand embarrassment for his friend’s shameless behavior. “Lucas, please.” 

“Have some dignity, man.” Haechan huffed additionally and you grinned in amusement as he grabbed the collar of Lucas’s shirt and began tugging him towards the living room. 

“Don’t worry, Mark. I’ll stay out of the way. I would hate to hinder your geek fest.” You teased, wrinkling your nose as you stepped past him. 

“Thank you, (y/n). I really— wait, Geek f– it’s a project worth thirty percent of our final grade!” 

“To-may-to, to-mah-to.” You waved a dismissive hand over your shoulder, before pausing briefly. Spinning on your heels, you turned back to face 

the cute boy, who visibly jolted the moment your attention landed on him. “It was very nice meeting you, Taeyong.” 

“Y- you, too.” He stuttered sweetly and you had to fight the overwhelming urge to reach over and pinch those adorable pink cheeks. Either pair. 

With one last sultry smile, and a wink just to fuck with Mark a little, you sauntered back into your bedroom. Miraculously, you were no longer concerned with the previously unbearable heat plaguing your apartment. Now, you had something —or rather, someone— far more interesting to occupy your mind. 

Taeyong was having a difficult time focusing, which was pretty out of ordinary. He had barely gotten anything done with his assigned part of the project, less than half a page filled out with what little information he managed to collect. Luckily, none of the other guys seemed to notice, too distracted by their own inabilities to focus to take notice of his. Otherwise he would have to concoct some lie. But he wasn’t good at lying. He was a terrible liar, in fact. So he would probably just end up blurting out the truth which was you. You were the reason he couldn’t focus. You with your mischievous eyes and your pretty smile and intoxicating laugh. Mark’s asshole roommate with the sex drive of a teenage boy on viagra. 

He’d seen pictures of you before. But they didn’t do you any justice. In pictures, you were pretty. In real life, you were beautiful, charming, witty, sexy, and you winked at him. Girls don’t wink at him. Not ever. But you had. You’d winked and smiled at him and he wasn’t sure if you were just teasing him because he flustered easily or if there was a chance it meant something a little more than that. 

… he secretly hoped it meant something a little more than that. 

But he shouldn’t be thinking about you right now. He should be thinking about finishing his research. Not your eyes. Not your smile. Not your voice of the way you purred his name and those shivers rushed down his spine and he could have sworn something twitched— okay. That’s enough. He really needed to splash some water in his face, cool down a little before his mind wandered to places it definitely should not. 

“Ah— Mark?” 

The younger boy lifted his head, brows raising. “’Sup?” 

“Where’s the bathroom?” 

He perked, tipping his chin forward. “Oh, it’s to the right of the k— shit, wait. That toilet’s busted. Um, just use the one in my room. It’s at the end of the hall.” 

“Thanks,” Taeyong pushed himself up with a soft grunt, nearly tripping over Yukhei’s long legs as he maneuvered himself around the cluttered coffee table, “I’ll be right back.” 

None of the other guys took much notice of how quickly he rushed out of the room, much to Taeyong’s relief. He let out a low breath the moment he turned the corner and found himself in a vacant hallway, but that relief was short lived. 

Mark had only said that his room was at the end of the hall. But, there were two doors at the end of the hall. Meaning one of them could possibly lead to your room. And you were in your room. Which meant if he walked through the wrong door on accident… he could walk in on you. Oh god. Heat rushed into his cheeks at the mere thought of such a humiliating occurrence. For a moment, he debated turning on his heels and returning to the living room. 

But, he wasn’t ready to go back to studying just yet. He was still feeling flushed and antsy and needed another moment or two to himself. Plus… he was actually starting to need to pee a little. Damn him and his tiny bladder.

Hesitating, he gently knocked on the door on the right side of the hall then waited ten seconds. No response. Just to be extra certain, he knocked twice more before finally turning the knob. Cautiously, he peeked his head inside. The black out curtains were drawn tight so the room was dark, too dark to make out anything defining outside of the vague shape of a bed and dresser tucked into the far corner. It took a few minutes of stumbling blindly through the inky blackness, tripping over clothes and extension wires until he found what he hoped to be the bathroom door. 

Without too much of a second thought, he opened the door. 

Then he froze. 

He thought it was Mark’s room. He really did. He thought he was tripping over Mark’s clothes and Mark’s wires. Though, he probably should have noticed the light coming out from beneath the bathroom door, indicating that someone might be inside. Or maybe he did but ignored it because– because maybe Mark just left the light on. That could have happened. That totally could have happened. 

But it didn’t. 

Because it wasn’t Mark’s room. Those weren’t his clothes or his wires and he didn’t leave the light on. 

He realized this all too late of course. Because now he was staring at you. You who was wet and naked and… wet and naked. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He could only stare, dumbstruck, mind short circuiting as billowing steam curled around the shape of your body like an iridescent veil, beautiful skin glistening under the soft golden light. Your head was tipped back, lips slightly parted, hands soothing your slick hair out of your face as the hot water cascading down the swells of your 

breasts and over the curves of your shoulders.

It was like watching something out of a pornographic shampoo commercial. 

“Oh—” it was somewhere between a whine and gasp, strangled and broken by the time it escaped his trembling lips. It was so quiet, you shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the hiss of water. So it took him off guard when your eyes opened and flicked in his direction. 

He flinched, body jolting backwards like it intended to make a break for it, but it was like your stare locked him into place. His brain was screaming at him to do something; to move, to  turn away, close his eyes, apologize, bash his head against the freaking wall, literally anything but stand there staring at you with his mouth open like a complete idiot. But he couldn’t. 

The corner of your mouth curled, forming into a downright devilish smirk that sent hot tendrils of desire spiraling through his veins. Then you quirked a brow and it was like a burst of electricity bringing him back to life. His hands flew up from where they’d been frozen at his sides, slapping so hard over his eyes that he yelped in shock at the sting. 

“Ohmygod I- I am so sorry! I am so—” he whirled around, spewing high pitched apologies as he scrambled for the door. Only, his eyes were closed so instead of bolting out the door he face planted into the wall next to the door. “Ow!” 

Your low laughter rippled through the small bathroom and red hot embarrassment raced up his neck and into his face. He could only whimper out one finally strained apology as he clutched his throbbing nose and stumbled back into the darkness of your bedroom, slamming the door sharply behind him. 

By the time he’d managed to scramble back into the hall, Taeyong felt like he was on fire. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and he was certain if he dared to look in a mirror he’d be the equivalent of a tomato. 

Humiliation gripped at his throat, squeezing painfully around his airway every time he recalled the previous events. He’d never be able to face you again. Not after that train wreck. Not ever. Groaning distraughtly, he sank against the wall, silently wishing that the floor would just swallow him up and put an end to his suffering.

But, there was something worse than the embarrassment. Something hotter and harder, throbbing shamelessly in the confines of his suddenly far too jeans. He saw you naked— wet and naked, looking like a freaking goddess beneath the stream of hot water, soap suds still clinging to your skin. He had never seen a woman like that before. Not in person, at least. And none as beautiful as you. 

Biting his lip, he squeezed his legs together, trying his best to will away his progressively hardening erection. That, of course, did not work. And it didn’t help in the slightest that every time he so much as blinked, the image of you in the shower came rushing to the forefront of his mind, still fresh and vivid and devastating. 

Oh god. There was no was no way he could go back to working on the project now. If he thought he was being unproductive before— he probably wouldn’t be able to get a single legible word written with the image of you and your body burned into the back of his eyelids. 

He was doomed. 

And he still needed to pee. 

Damnit. 

It was about nine at night when the low voices transformed into booming laughter, the walls practically vibrating under the barrage of stomping feet. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that they’d finished up on their project— either that or they mutually reached the end of their attention spans. 

Regardless, you were bored of remaining cooped up in your bedroom merely for the sake of your roommate’s econ grade and needed to stretch your legs a bit. Not to mention you were beginning to crave something greasy and unhealthy. You were almost certain the group of college boys lounging in your living room wouldn’t be opposed to some pizza, fries, and milkshakes from your favorite delivery place. 

“I don’t know about you boys but I’m starving!” You sang brightly as you all but skipped into the room. All eyes swung to you, wide and stunned as they watched you waltz over to where Mark sat in the love seat and throw yourself into his lap like it was the most normal thing in the world. He grunted under your weight, lip curling in annoyance but wrapped his arms securely around your stomach nonetheless. You pretended not to notice the lingering eyes of one particular boy, meticulously curled into the farthest corner of the couch. “Anyone down to order?” 

“Ugh please!” Yukhei exclaimed, throwing his head back dramatically. “I am dying of hunger.” 

The others were eager to voice their own agreement and you turned to Mark with an expectant smile. “Rubio’s?” He asked, already reaching for his phone. 

“Read my mind.” You hummed, pinching his cheek until he hissed and swatted you away. 

It was nothing short of chaos trying to get everyone’s orders, multiple overlapping voices making it hard to discern exactly who was asking for what, but somehow Mark managed to place all of the requests with only a handful of difficulties. Well, all but one. 

“Taeyong.” 

The boy’s head jerked up so fast at the sound of his name that you were surprised you hadn’t heard something crack. Up until then he’d been sitting quietly with his knees to his chest, staring at his feet, pointedly avoiding looking in your general direction. He could only hold your gaze for a few tense seconds before his cheeks flamed and he dropped his eyes. 

“I– uh– y- yes?” He coughed, blinking hard. 

You tilted your head, offering him an innocent smile. “Is there anything you’d like to eat?” You couldn’t stop yourself from adding an unnecessarily suggestive pitch to the question, words dancing wickedly across your tongue. 

Taeyong swallowed and pulled his knees tighter to his chest. “I– I’ll just have some of the- the pizza.” The words tumbled clumsily out of his mouth and your grin only widened as he became more and more flustered under the heat of your persistent stare. 

“Perfect. Then we can share.” 

The poor boy nearly choked on air when you abruptly pushed yourself off of Mark and sauntered over to where he sat, squeezing in between him and an eager Yukhei, who was more than happy to make room for you. His entire body went rigid, brief panic shooting across his features as you made yourself comfortable. It was tight with Jaehyun, Lucas, Taeyong and now you all squished onto the couch, so you were practically flush against him, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. You pretended not to notice that he was holding his breath. 

“Thirty minutes.” Mark announced, shutting off his phone and shoving it back into his pocket. 

“What should we do while we wait?” Jaehyun asked, ignoring Yukhei as he whined about how he’d be dead of starvation before the food even arrived. 

“Movie?” Haechan suggested. 

You perked. “I know a good one.” 

“No— no.” Mark cut in quickly, pointing a finger with the intention to reprimand in your direction. “Every time you pick a movie it’s either fucked up or really fucked up. So no.” 

“Don’t be a pussy, Mark.” You huffed, wrinkling your nose at him. “Just because you don’t like horror movies doesn’t mean your friends don’t.” 

“I, for one, love a good horror movie!” Yukhei remarked, a smug grin breaking across his lips as he shot a flirtatious wink in your direction. 

Haechan scoffed. “Bullshit! You couldn’t sleep alone for a week after we watched The Shining. And that wasn’t even scary!” 

“There was a tidal wave of blood.” He grumbled defensively, crossing his arms over his chest as he slumped, lower lip jutting out dramatically.

“No tidal wave of blood is this one, promise.” You snickered, snatching the remote from the cluttered coffee table and switching on the television. It only took a few minutes of browsing through Netflix before you finally located the movie you’d saved to your watch list a few weeks ago but had never gotten the chance to watch. 

Marked hopped up to flick off the lights as you pressed play, any excited or nervous murmurs coming to a halt as the opening credits rolled across the screen. Beside you, Taeyong tensed, squeezing his legs even tighter to his chest. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, not missing the nervous way he gnawed at his lower lip even in the darkness. 

“Not good with horror movies?” You hummed, nudging his knee. He flinched in surprise, eyes shooting over to meet yours before he quickly diverted his attention back to the screen. 

“No, not– not really.” He admitted weakly, clearing his throat. 

A playful smirk twirled onto your lips and you subtly leaned into him, whispering near his ear, “you can hold my hand if you get scared.” 

A fierce blush consumed his cheeks, illuminated by the soft grey light of the television. “I– I’ll be okay.” He coughed when his voice cracked and you chuckled under your breath, opting to cut the poor boy some slack… for now. 

The movie progressed with the usual eerie start before transitioning into something lighter, though the low hum of anticipation-building music never ceased. Even if at some point it became rather repetitive, you thoroughly enjoyed a good horror movie. Most of the time, they failed to meet expectations and you left feeling rather disappointed that your stomach hadn’t leapt into your throat any point throughout the film. However, every once in a while, you were pleasantly surprised. 

Now, was not one of those times. 

Boredom quickly settled over you as the plot developed, revealing itself to be almost identical to a number of horror movies you’d watched in the past. You slumped back in your seat, a subtle scowl staining your lips. But then… inspiration. Devious, unquestionably self indulgent inspiration that risked putting a certain someone in a possibly very awkward (but also very delightful) position. 

The slow slide of your eyes from the television over to the boy seated at your left revealed that not everyone found the movie to be boring and repetitive. Taeyong was practically trembling. He had both of his hands over his face, wide, uncertain eyes peeking out timidly from between his index and middle fingers. 

You had to sink your teeth into your lip in order to subdue the large grin threatening to break across your face. 

Fuck, he’s too adorable. 

Unable to resist, you allowed a curious hand to wander towards his leg. With a brush so subtle it could’ve been mistaken for a breeze, you traced a finger over the seam of his pants. But, with his senses on high alert, it wasn’t a sensation he missed. He jolted violently, head swinging in your direction. There was fear in his eyes, but it quickly melted into relief else once he realized it was you and not some demon. 

Then his eyes drifted to where your finger lingered, hovering over his clothed thigh, and the relief transformed into something else entirely. Something hot and shameful and desperate, something he tried to hide behind frantically fluttering eyelids and quivering lips. But it was unmistakable. 

You lifted your brows, a silent question swirling in your gaze. He swallowed, breath coming out in quick, shallow huffs as the unnameable emotion thickened inside of him, then he nudged his leg shyly towards you. The air you didn’t realize you were holding in your lungs rushed out in one quick exhale, a subtle smirk curling onto your lips as excitement swirled in your gut. Taeyong sucked his lower lip into his mouth as your open palm landed boldly on his lower thigh, fingers pressing gently into the clothed muscle just above his knee. 

For a few minutes, it remained there, not moving any lower or any high, simply resting on his leg and he found himself relaxing beneath your touch. The heat of your hand was a welcome –comforting, even– distraction from the horror movie that had progressed to the point in the plot where the reckless characters put themselves directly into the line of danger instead of taking the intelligent path that would help them avoid it all together. You could feel the tension returning to Taeyong’s muscles as suspense building music poured from the surround sound speakers. 

In a two sided attempt to both comfort and tease, you began gently massaging his thigh. His breath audibly hitched, gaze straying from the screen once more in favor of watching the slow, deliberate motion of your fingers squeezing around his leg. That alone was enough to set his long neglected desire to flames. It burned within him, hot and dangerous, turning his face a dark, flattering crimson. 

It was too much. He’d never been touched like this before. You weren’t even close to his crotch and he could still feel the distinctive hardening beneath the zipper of his jeans which were growing tighter and tighter with every passing moment. At this rate, he’d make a mess of himself before the movie even reached its climax. 

The mere thought of coming untouched was enough to make his head feel dizzy, a mixture of humiliation and heady lust licking at his nerves. 

He couldn’t believe he was feeling this way, in a room full of his friends no less. If one of them were to look over, even through darkness, it would be impossible to miss your hand laid across his lap or the feverish blush coating his face, illuminated by the dull light of the tv. 

Then, your hand shifted higher. It was a minute movement, couldn’t have been more than an inch or two. But it had his pulse spiking in his veins nonetheless, blood rushing downward. You gripped gently at the inside of his slim thigh, thumb tracing slow, calculated circles into the rough material of his jeans. He trembled beneath the teasing ministrations, jaw clenched to fight back the urge to moan as your curious touch wandered upwards once more. 

“Is this alright?” 

The question came unexpectedly, a sudden rush of warm breath hitting the curve of his throat. He sucked his lips into his mouth, shivering faintly at the low, rough sound of your voice, just quiet enough that none of the other men in the room could make it out. 

He offered a sharp, jerky nod, desperately heaving in deep breath through his nose. The corner of your mouth curled. 

“God you're shaking. Are you that sensitive? Or do you just get off on getting felt up in front of all your friends? How naughty.” You chuckled tauntingly, words borderline malicious. 

“I– I don’t— I’m not—” he swallowed, shaking his head frantically in denial of your words, despite the flames they ignited inside of him. 

“I think you are.” You purred, tracing your index finger lightly over his prominent bulge, eliciting a strangled moan from his trembling lips. He was fortunate enough that at the very moment the sound escaped, some ditzy bimbo began screaming her lungs out in the movie. Still, he slapped a hand over his offending lips, looking around frantically to see if anyone had heard his slip up. Luckily enough, it seemed they hadn’t. 

This was payback, he realized abruptly, this was payback for walking in on you showering. 

But even if it was— 

It felt too damn good. 

His head tipped back, hand surging to cover his burning face and stifle his whimpers as you suddenly gripped firmly at his clothed length. A low, appreciative hum thrummed through your chest as you felt him twitch, delighting in just how responsive he was to your touch. His thighs squeezed together, hips shuddering upwards as you mapped him out. 

The urge to set your teeth upon his neck was almost overwhelming, but you resisted only because it might draw some attention from the room’s other, currently oblivious, occupants. You doubted Yukhei would miss it, even if he was desperately hiding his eyes behind those astoundingly massive hands. 

But shit was it tempting. 

His pretty porcelain skin would look so good painted in varying shades of pink and red. So sweet and pure… you wanted to taint him. 

He couldn’t stop moving now, squirming and quivering in place. He was unraveling right before your eyes, and you were devouring it. What a sight… 

Warmth stirred in your belly, and you rolled your palm down. He jolted violently, then in the next second he was up on his feet. It happened so quickly that you nearly fell over, just barely catching yourself from falling into the spot he previously occupied. Yukhei shrieked in shock, throwing himself directly into Jaehyun’s lap. 

“Fuck, Taeyong! You almost gave me a heart attack!” Haechan shrilled, clutching a pillow against his chest. Instead of responding, Taeyong jerked forward, the movement sharp and robotic, like his body wasn’t quite caught up to his brain. 

“What are you doing?” Doyoung asked, squinting at him through the darkness. “And why do you look so—” 

“B- B- Bathroom!” Taeyong squeaked out abruptly. You could only watch with wide eyes and gaping lips as he proceeded to run out of the living room like his ass was on fire. 

“Movie must’ve freaked him out.” Johnny muttered. 

“It’s not even that bad.” Yukhei scoffed in a voice too high pitched for his words to sound believable, grunting when Jaehyun shoved him off of his lap. Noisy banter was quick ensue. Noisy and distracting enough for you to make a quick and silent escape without catching any of the other boys’ attention. 

“Taeyong?” You called softly, worry churning in your gut that you overstepped or upset him. “Tae, I’m sorry if I—” you gasped, words cutting off in your throat as a hand found your wrist and you were quickly tugged around the corner and into the unlit hallway. 

The motion was so unexpected you ended up tripping over your own feet, having to slam a hand against the wall to steady yourself. But it was only when you felt a rush of quick, warm breath against your face that you realized the position you’d gotten yourself into. Taeyong was standing in front of you, face flushed a feverish shade of red, faint perspiration glistening on his skin, and he was standing with his spine flush against the wall, effectively caged in by your body. And he was looking at you. 

Really looking at you. 

With the kind of eyes that had something tightening deliciously in the pit of your stomach, chills of excitement ricocheting through your veins. 

“Tae?” His name was less than a breath on your lips, laced with an unspoken question. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, fluttering gaze dancing across your face. 

“I almost…” he swallowed, shivering voice tapering off as he became overwhelmed by the proximity. He could smell your shampoo, a subtle, smoky-vanilla kind of scent that made his head feel dizzy. “I almost c- came.” 

The corner of your mouth swirled, both amused and charmed by the way he whispered the word, tone so innocent and shy that the filthy meaning behind it almost became misconstrued in your head. 

“Do you want to come, Taeyong?” You asked quietly, jutting a knee forward to press between his thighs. He gasped, trembling lips silently caressing the shape of your name as his hands shot forward, clutching desperately onto the sides of your shirt. A shy nod was all he could muster, the words feeling far too dirty to say aloud. But you weren’t satisfied. 

“Say it.” You murmured, nose brushing against his. His breath hitched at the command, warmth flushing through his veins beneath the staggering heat of your dark, hooded gaze. “If you want it, say it. If you don’t, tell me now.” 

“I want it!” He said quickly, only to flush and shrink in on himself, taken aback by his own outburst. Licking his lips, he repeated himself in a much softer voice, “I– I want it.” 

You let out a low hum, curving a gentle hand around his jaw. “Can I kiss you?” 

A shock ran through his body, his wide eyes snapping down to trace to soft lines of your mouth. “Yes.” He breathed, suddenly desperate for a taste of your lips. You didn’t deny him. 

The first brush of your lips against his is light, delicate… teasing. It made his knees tremble, fierce anticipation and wild desire running rampant through him. He opened up for you like a goddamn flower in bloom, melting sweetly when you applied even the slightest bit more pressure. His mouth was soft and warm, his kiss shy. And there was something ever so endearing about the way he clutched at your top like it was the only thing keeping him upright. 

You kept the pace deliberately slow, relishing in the soft moans that fluttered from his chest as you sucked his lower lip into your mouth, gently sinking your teeth into the sensitive flesh. He was wracked by a violent full body shiver when you licked over the seam of his lip. 

God he’s adorable. 

His strong reactions made you wonder if he’d ever been kissed like this before. Or, perhaps, this was a new experience entirely. 

“Taeyong.” He whimpered when you abruptly broke away from the kiss, but you ignored it. “Are you a virgin?” 

His eyes widened, a deep red flooding his cheeks. Then, he nodded, gaze dropping to the floor as the tips of his ears darkened. 

Wicked excitement curled in your gut, heat licking at your veins at the thought of being the first to corrupt such a sweet… innocent… 

“Have you ever been touched before?” 

He shook his head, chest pressing against your with every jagged inhale he drew into his lungs. 

You dipped a hand between your bodies, trailing teasingly down his stomach. “Would you like to be touched?” Your voice had dropped at least an octave, a low, rasping whisper that nearly made him keen. 

“Yes.” A devious grin settled across your lips at the quickness of his reply. Didn’t even need to think that one over, huh? 

You slid your hand over his crotch, feeling his hips buck uncontrollably when you squeezed. “Just looking at you,” you began, toying with his zipper, “I never would’ve guessed what a little slut you are.” 

“I- I’m not a slut.” He whimpered, digging his fingers into your waist. 

“Aren’t you, though?” You popped the button of his jeans. “I mean, take a good look at yourself, Yongie; letting yourself get felt up and teased by your best friend’s roommate while they’re just in the next room over. Seems pretty slutty to me.” 

Taeyong couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped his chest at the degrading word, his cock twitching within the confines of his boxers. Slipping a finger beneath the elastic, you tugged it away from his skin, letting out a playful coo when his weeping pink tip peeked out. The blush on his face intensified tenfold, both of his hands dropping down instinctively to cover himself. But you were faster, snatching his wrists and pinning them against the wall on either side of his head. 

“Don’t even think about it.” 

Shivering, he offered a compliant nod. 

“Good boy.” 

He barely had time to form a reaction to the praise before he felt you around him, stroking and caressing. The responding moan that burst from his lips was loud— too loud. You were quick to cover his gaping mouth, successfully muffling the series of succeeding gasps and whimpers. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” you clicked your tongue, watching the way his eyes fluttered and rolled as you tightened your grip around his cock, “you wouldn’t want your hyungs to find out what a little slut you’re being, now would you? Mark was so kind, inviting you into his home… How do you think he’d feel if he were to see you taking advantage of his hospitality, getting your pretty little cock played with by his roommate? How shameless...” 

Taeyong whimpered, and you felt the gentle press of his lips against your palm, followed by a meek flick of his tongue. He was looking at you now, really looking at you, with the kind of pathetic, wanting eyes that never failed to make your skin burn in excitement. You wondered if you could make him cry, overwhelm him with pleasure to the point where he couldn’t keep his emotions at bay. The desire to ruin him was almost unbearable. 

Swirling your thumb over his tip, you slotted a leg between his, pressing up against him from underneath. He nearly keened at the pressure, hips rolling greedily over your thigh, simultaneously pumping his cock into your closed fist. Heaven, this must be heaven. Honestly, you hadn’t expected him to succumb to his desires so readily, with such… enthusiasm. But this Taeyong surprised you at every turn. You’d thought he’d be shy, reserved, hesitant to give in, but here he was, riding your thigh and fucking your hand like his life depended on it, his muffled moans pulsing beneath your palm. 

It���d be a flat out lie to say you weren’t beyond turned on. 

There was a slick warmth building between your thighs, soaking into the fabric of your underwear, and tight knots in your stomach, threatening to burst at any given moment. The knowledge that less than thirty feet away, your roommate and all his friends were gathered and one stray moan from the crumbling man before you could give away all the filthy things you were doing to him stroked the lustful flames blazing through your blood. One glimpse into those hooded, glassy brown eyes told you he was suffering from a similar burn. 

“Turn around.” You demanded, somewhat breathless as you tore your hands off of him. A low whimper escaped past trembling lips at the loss of stimulation, a shiver rippling down his spine as his hard, abandoned cock swung through empty air. Regardless, he was quick to comply, spinning himself around and pressing his palms flat against the wall. You hummed a praise, pleased with his eager compliance, rewarding him with your touch. He gasped, forced to sink his teeth into his lip to stifle his whimpers as your hands slipped over his body: one returning to stroke his dick while the other pushed beneath the material of his top, venturing up to his chest where your fingers set to toying with his sensitive nipples. 

“(y/n)—” he moaned your name desperately, rocking his body back against yours as overwhelming pleasure pulsed through his veins. 

“Easy, sweetheart,” you chuckled darkly, splaying a steadying palm across his hips as they began grinding back into yours, “you sound like you're about to burst.” 

He moaned, shuddering when you caressed his sensitive tip, and an idea struck you. 

“Can you do something for me, Tae?” You asked, voice a low, rasping against the shell of his ear. “Can you suck?” 

Any short lived confusion dissipated from his mind when he felt your fingers nudging at the soft flesh of his lips. A deep blush flooded into his cheeks, but his mouth opened nonetheless, shyly taking your digits inside. 

“There you go…” you purred, feeling his tongue lick delicately at the pads of your middle and ring finger. He sucked, and you lowered your head to press slow, encouraging kisses laced with whispered praises to the juncture of his throat. You felt the soft vibrations of his muffled moans quivering through your knuckles and against your lips. He was shaking, the stimulation to his cock causing violent tremors to wrack his body. He wasn’t far off from release, you could tell as much by the way he was twitching and the slow increase in volume of his sounds. 

But you weren’t finished yet. 

Not by a long shot. 

You pulled your fingers from his mouth, the suction of his lips giving with a lewd, wet pop. A filthy sound coming from such innocent lips. 

Leaning forward, you nipped gently at the shell of his red tinted ear, hand releasing his dick in favor of venturing beneath the hem of his pants. You heard his breath hitched and offered quietly, “Tell me if you want me to stop.” 

Taeyong nodded in understanding, but offered no resistance as you pushed the thick denim down over the soft curve of his ass. His shoulders jumped, a gasp shooting from his lips when you slid a saliva soaked finger between his cheeks, coming to the abrupt realization of what your intentions were. 

“O– oh—” 

“Is this alright?” 

He swallowed, glancing back at you from over his shoulder. “I– I’ve never…” 

You soothed a hand down the front of his thigh, “it’s okay if you don’t want to.” 

There was no judgement in your tone, rather a gentleness to the reassurance that put his buzzing nerves at ease. “That’s not it,” he shook his head, gnawing at the corner of his lip as a soft pink crept across his cheeks, “j– just…” 

“Just?” 

Taeyong drew in a deep, trembling breath. Your furrowed brows shot to your hairline, heat twisting in your gut as he suddenly bent himself over, sticking his ass out, practically fucking presenting himself to you. “B- be gentle…” he whispered shyly, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow. 

Steam would surely start coming out of your nose if your temperature rose any further. This is fucking ridiculous. How was it possible for a man to be so cute yet so sexy all at once? This couldn’t be good for your health… 

Smirking deviously, you settled a palm between his shoulder blades, pressing down ever so slightly and watching as he delicately arched his spine. “I’m always gentle.” 

A hiccuping moan rushed from his chest at the first careful press of your finger, his brows furrowing deeply as his muscles tightened in response to the foreign stretch. 

“Relax, sweetheart.” You reminded lightly, settling soothing kisses across his shoulder. He drew in a series of deep breaths, allowing himself to adjust to the sensation of having something inside of him while melting into the tender caress of your cool lips across his feverish skin. You felt the slow dissipation of tension, felt the way he melted beneath you. “There you go…” you cooed, easing into him until your knuckle before allowing him a few moments to adjust. 

He was panting, forehead thudding softly against the wall as his hips trembled, a strange but not unpleasant feeling sparking to life inside of him. 

“Oh…” it was a barely audible sound, soft and breathless of shuddering lips. But you didn’t miss it, didn’t miss the way his shoulders drooped, his walls tight relaxing ever so faintly around the intruding digit. The corner of your mouth curled upwards in a salacious smirk, and you curled your finger experimentally. 

His reaction was instantaneous, a moan of surprise entwined with unexpected pleasure rushing from his flush throat. He glanced back at you from over his shoulder, eyes wide and trembling, hazy with an emotion you immediately recognized as pure, unfiltered lust. Your grin widened, almost triumphant as you whispered, “feel that?” 

He nodded rapidly, a gasp of breath wracking his chest. “Yes,” his hands were curling into fists where they were braced against the plaster wall. 

“Wanna feel it again?” 

The sound he let out was a combination of several things, keening and desperate for the sensation he’d never before experienced. “Please. Please.” 

It was impossible to say anything but yes when he begged like that. 

You rewarded him by stretching him out around a second finger, his knees nearly giving out when you thrust them in as deep as they would go. He was an absolute mess, forced to slap a quivering hand over his gaping mouth when his teeth proved insufficient at keeping his sounds in. You were enjoying yourself perhaps a little too much, enjoying watching him slowly crumble, enjoying watching his innocence shatter into tiny irreparable pieces on the floor beside glistening drops of precum. He was just too irresistible… 

“You’re about to come, aren’t you?” He was nodding before you even finished the question, muffled moans and sobs escaping through his fingers as he fucked himself back onto yours. You curve a hand around the shape of his jaw, tugging his head back at an angle that surely causes a strain in his neck, and slot your lips into his. Shoving your tongue down his throat proves a far more efficient means of keeping him quiet. 

But when you curled your fingers inside of him, subsequently stroking that sensitive bundle of nerves, even your mouth wasn’t enough to stifle the shriek of pleasure that burst from his throat. You were hoping the screams you heard emulating from the other room were enough to drown it out. 

“Keep your voice down.” You all but snarled, curling a hand around his throat. 

“I- I can’t— oh god, it feels so g- good.” He babbled, voice strained from the sheer effort of trying to keep himself from crying out in bliss. “I’m g- gonna come— I’m gonna c- come—” the sound of him choking on his words, gasping for breath around the added resistance of your restricting hold was even hotter than you imagined it would be. 

“Gone on, sweetheart. Let me see you make a mess of yourself.” You kissed the shell of his ear, deciding then to have mercy and offer his pathetic, weeping cock a helping hand. He was finished the moment your fingers grazed his tip, struck with an orgasm so powerful it had his knees buckling beneath the weight of his quivering body. 

His jaw when slack, unleashing every pent up sound he’d managed to keep bottled up thus far. They came rushing out of him too quickly to stop, not that you made much of an effort. You were enjoying the way he was moaning your name like it was his saving grace far too much to care whether or not the other boys were hearing. In fact, the thought of them hearing their sweet, innocent Taeyong whimpering like a bitch in heat, moaning your name, gave you an unexpected rush of delight. 

You didn’t stop fucking your fingers into his tight little hole until you were certain you’d milked him for all he was worth, until he was reduced to little more than a trembling, whimpering mess against your chest, barely able to keep himself upright. 

“Oh my g- god.” He murmured shakily, head falling back to rest on your shoulder. 

A low chuckle slid from your lips as you gently released his spent cock, simultaneously pulling out of him. He winced faintly, whining weakly at the unpleasant emptiness that ensued. 

“That felt pretty good didn’t it?” You teased. 

He bit his lip, humming airily as he melted into your hold. 

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Taeyong?” Your words danced over the curve of his throat, flooding his senses with the fluttering implication. Blushing, he nodded, a shy bob of his head that caused the sweat soaked fringes of his bangs to fall over his eyes, clinging delicately to his pretty eyelashes. “Words?” 

“I—” he swallowed, gaze flitting as his face reddened further, “I’m a g- good boy.” 

You mouth curled deviously. Holding your come covered hand up to his panting mouth, you whispered against the shell of his ear, “good boys clean up their mess.” 

His breath hitched, wide eyes jumping over to meet yours. You held his gaze boldly, cocking an expectant brow. Then, ever so lightly, his tongue dipped out from between red bitten lips, kitten licking his come from your fingertips. You could’ve come right then and there, watching him shyly lap his own release from your hand. Honestly you would’ve been happy to stay like that all night, his tongue tracing the lines of your palm, caressing your knuckles… 

But then the doorbell rang, and someone cleared their throat in the other room. 

“Uh… foods here.” 

Taeyong leapt away from you with a gasp, flushing deeply as his hands flew to tuck himself back into his jeans. 

“D- do you think they—” his voice cracked and he coughed as crimson crept up his neck. 

You smirked, not in the least bit ashamed. 

“Oh, definitely.”

A/N; well i dropped off the face of the earth, sorry about that loves. but i think you’ll be happy to know that i have a number of wip sitting in drafts, should i tease the banners? 

[sergiovinazzi]

Stolen - Lando Norris x Reader (Chapter Three)

3.9k words - Rated M (language)

Here it is, my most favourite chapter to date, I hope you enjoy!

You smooth the skirt of your soft, black-linen sundress with shaky hands and pinch the bridge of your nose. You’re regretting not packing anything warmer than the denim jacket currently wrapped around your shoulders when you’re interrupted by the disgruntled sounds of your father calling your name through the phone speaker.

“What?” you ask, exasperated. “Sorry, I got distracted for a second.”

He repeats himself in annoyance, “I said, are you okay with staying at the hotel and ordering dinner for yourself?”

Staring at the restaurant in front of you, you debate whether or not to explain your situation to him. You realise, however, that he probably has enough to worry about after today’s events at Silverstone, and his daughter being out to dinner with another team’s driver probably won’t go over well.

“Yeah,” you lie. “I could use a quiet night in. Will you grab something to eat for yourself on your way back?”

Your dad hums, and you can tell that once he heard the confirmation that he didn’t need to get dinner for you, he lost interest in anything you had to say after the fact. It’s not difficult for you to understand why. Still, the lack of a verbal response worries you and you find it hard to evade the thoughts about Max and the accident. To most, the fact that he got out of the car and could walk was a good sign, but you’re still plagued by the various possibilities of what the hospital tests will conclude and just how bad the damage really is.

“Will you let me know if he’s okay?” you ask quietly, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing the phone closer to your ear, as if you could hone in on the doctor’s discussions in the background to find out whether Max was going to be alright.

Your dad simply hums again. “I’ll text you when we know more, but I’ve gotta go. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye, dad,” you murmur.

His quick Bye, love you is rapidly replaced with the end-of-call dial tone.

You slip the phone into your jacket pocket and take a deep breath, preparing to head inside the restaurant. You couldn’t help but clock the bright orange McLaren already stationed in the parking lot when your Uber arrived. You recognised it from a picture in the article you read when you first learned of Lando’s incident at Wembley. You’re thankful for the sign that he’s already here and you dredge up the remaining ounces of fake confidence left in your body, making an effort to quickly smooth down your hair before you open the door and enter the restaurant.

You’re immediately overwhelmed by the sheer atmosphere of elegance. Hand-painted horizons adorn the walls, encapsulated by swirling silver frames and accentuated by the small lights stationed above each piece of artwork, their job for the night to highlight the colours and shading the artist undoubtedly spent hours perfecting.

The savoury scents of garlic and soy originate in the kitchen and permeate across the premises with ease, challenged only by the rousing aroma of the stunning frangipanis adorning the entrance.

A woman you guess to be around your age approaches you with a notepad and pen in hand. She’s dressed in a black bodycon skirt with a hem that scrapes the top of her knees; her matching coloured button up shirt is tucked in smoothly. “Hi,” she greets with a small smile, “Would you like me to show you to the bar?”

“Oh, I’m actually supposed to be meeting someone here,” you tell her, eyes scanning the room for Lando.

You see him before he sees you.

He’s tucked away at a table in the corner, his brown curls peaking over the top of the large menu he's studying.

“Found him, thanks,” you tell the waitress and she returns to her station as you make your way across the restaurant towards Lando.

He looks up from the menu as your figure appears in his peripherals and he shoots you a wave when you’re a few metres away. You return his gesture with a small laugh and he stands, walking to the front of the table to greet you.

“Hey,” he says, enveloping you in a one-armed hug. “Glad you could make it.”

“Me too. I hope you weren’t waiting long,” you tell him, noticing the almost empty glass of beer in front of him as he returns to his seat.

“It wasn’t too long, don’t worry,” he reassures you.

The reality of the situation fails to present itself to you until you and Lando are seated silently across from one another. Your stomach is tightly wound with nerves but Lando appears just as anxious, noticeably fidgeting in his seat and frequently straightening his knife and fork. He’s dressed rather sharp compared to what you’d been treated to in the past, the blue and orange race suit discarded for a crisp white button down and black dress shorts. You wonder whether the outfit you picked out is suitable for tonight, although you cut yourself some slack. When you’d packed your suitcase on Wednesday, you’d hardly expected to spend any time outside of the Red Bull garage or your hotel room, let alone situated in a restaurant that was, now very obviously, out of your price range. The thought causes you to send a silent prayer to whoever would listen that you had enough in your spending account to pay your half of the final bill tonight.

The woman who greeted you earlier approaches the table to ask what drinks the two of you would like to order.

Lando asks for a cola and you look at him in confusion.

“You’re not going to have another one?” you ask him as he hands over his empty beer glass.

“No, I’m not a big drinker,” he replies, “Especially not during the season.”

“So why did you invite me to have drinks then?” you ask, clearly amused. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Lando Norris?”

He laughs, and raises his hands in mock surrender, “Hey! No, nothing like that. I just don’t really drink, I never have.”

“Yeah I kinda noticed that actually,” you tell him. “Even on your podiums you don’t drink the champagne.”

“I thought you didn’t watch Formula 1?”

You wish you could wipe the stupid smirk off of his face as you practically watch the realisation form in his head. “Have you been watching my old races?”

“No,” you retort somewhat unconvincingly. “I found some highlights on YouTube though, and your podiums from Spielberg and Imola were on there.”

“My podium finish in Monaco is pretty good too. I’d be happy to show it to you sometime, though, it’s a shame that you find racing so boring.”

You roll your eyes and laugh. “Shut up.”

The warm glow emitting from the industrial-style bulbs resting overhead doesn’t help the blush settling on your cheeks, and neither does the grin Lando shoots you. You shrug off your jacket and place it carefully on the back of your seat just as the waitress arrives with your freshly poured Caiproska. You thank her and trace your fingers along the cool side of the glass, collecting the droplets of condensation that form in hopes that they’ll provide some sort of relief from your keen fever.

Lando’s gaze is strong enough that you feel him watching you without having to look across at him, it transcends the need for observed confirmation and instead sets your body alight merely at the thought of it. The thrum of your heart threatens to escape the confines of your chest and you stupidly pray that he doesn’t hear it as the exposed skin of your chest flushes scarlet against the dark neckline of your dress. You clasp the charm that sits at your throat, pinching it between your fingers and allowing yourself to bask in the minimal relief the cold metal provides against your warm skin.

Lando wipes his sweaty palms on his shorts and takes a deep breath. “So, that was a pretty crazy race today, huh? I didn’t think I’d be able to hold onto fourth place, not with another Ferrari behind me and Daniel.”

“Yeah, it was crazy,” is all you can reply before delving back into your pocket at what you think is the sound of your phone receiving a message.

God, he thinks, he’s boring you half to death. He finally has you all to himself and the only topic he can string more than a few words together for is his job, treating you like a reporter he’s obligated to unpack his strategy for in the paddock. He doesn’t understand why he’s so fucking nervous tonight, he wasn’t nearly this wound up when he’d asked you out. Sure, it was an effort to keep his hands from shaking as he locked his car and crossed the parking lot, but he convinced himself it was just the gentle breeze passing through the city that set his flesh alight with goosebumps. He was simply excited, more than anything, to spend some one-on-one time with someone his own age, and if that someone happened to be a pretty girl, who could blame him for looking forward to it?

But then you showed up in that dress and suddenly the possibility that he’d see you out of it by the end of the night if he played his cards right became more and more realistic. His head spins at the thought of taking you home tonight. And the next night. And suddenly the thought is replaced by the images of himself coming home to you every night. After months overseas with nothing but timezone-dependent calls he returns to the comfort of your embrace, it’s your fingers that gently scrape the back of his neck as a confirmation that he’s home. It’s the warmth of your body and the lilt of no one else’s voice that cures the cavity in his chest that enveloped him the moment he shut the apartment door behind him all those weeks ago. He sees you seated on his kitchen counter, legs swinging as the coffee brews each morning, and asleep on his couch every night even after you’d promised if he let you pick the movie you’d stay awake this time.

He knows he’s in way over his head. He only just met you, what, three days ago? Yet here he sits, wishing there was some magic rule book that could explain how he could make sure his time with you never ends. He wishes he’d met you long before this week –honestly, it feels like he’s known you for much longer–so that the heat that rises underneath his shirt and the lump in his throat doesn't lend itself to the idea that he’s just some lust-fuelled boy. Your text messages make him laugh like no one else’s have before and the thought that you were watching him this afternoon, after you weren’t initially planning to stay for the race, had him feeling more confident than he has all season.

He knows he can’t tell you all that, it’s way too soon and you’ll think he’s crazy. He has to think of something interesting to talk to you about to fill the minutes before he feels it appropriate to ask you out for a second time, but instead he sits in silence as you refuse to meet his gaze. Your eyes won’t stop lingering on your phone screen, or darting around the restaurant, undoubtedly searching for distractions. Signs on the wall you could read to pass the time until the check comes, or maybe you’re searching for a saviour, a bartender to lock eyes with who’ll answer your silent plea: get me the hell out of here. He’s caught off guard when your eyes make their way back to him, his heart skips a singular beat like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He’s preparing himself to appear nonchalant in response to the immaculately crafted excuse you’re undoubtedly about to deliver in order to explain your sudden escape from his company, when a small smile forms on your lips instead.

He smiles back.

“Sorry,” he explains. “I know I talk a lot about racing. It’s kind of my whole life at the moment so it’s easy for me to get carried away.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m kind of used to it anyway. It’s basically all we talk about at the dinner table when my dad’s home.”

“Well, what do you like to talk about? I saw on your Instagram that you’re studying advertising, tell me something about that.”

You smile at his consideration and tell him all about your degree. How you’ve always had an interest in design and noticed how it could be used to turn a profit, right from when you would try your hand at creating the posters for your school’s bake sales and car washes. You tell him the story of your first paid commission for a digital advertisement, an intricately crafted Instagram post for an up-and-coming clothing boutique based in London. He asks questions in all the right places and offers his congratulations when you show him screenshots of some of your most successful work.

Conversation ebbs and flows easily throughout the night, the nerves that had you second guessing your decision to come earlier tonight eradicated. The food is tremendous, and your company even better. Your waitress returns with the final bill for the night and Lando hands his card over without hesitation.

“Hey, no,” you say. “Let me pay for my half.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells you. “This was my way of repaying you for bringing my watch back, remember?”

Oh. That’s all tonight was for. He felt obligated to spend money on you in return for the trouble you’d gone through to return his stolen timepiece to him.

“When I talked to the police they said they could get me the money back once the guy was caught,” you stress. “So, you don’t need to do that.”

He brushes your statement off with a wave of his hand and smiles when the waitress returns with his card and a receipt.

Your mind mistakes the reverberation of champagne flutes clinking together for the chime of your text tone and you instinctively reach into your purse, hoping to see the screen alight with good news. You’d settle for any news really, so long as it meant you would finally get a clear picture of what was going on, and you could stop embellishing the details of the worst case scenario you had designed in your head.

A 51G impact like the one you had witnessed today can do a lot of damage to the body, whether visible from the outside or not, and you hoped, more than anything, that the helmet and halo were enough to protect Max from anything more than a few minor scrapes and bruises.

You’re lost in a world of nightmarish outcomes until you remember where you are. Lando’s face is contorted in a concerned frown across from you.

“Everything alright?” he asks gently.

“Yeah, sorry, I thought I heard my phone go off but it must’ve been something else.”

“It’s getting pretty noisy in here, do you want to head outside?” he offers.

“Okay.”

———

In the slight summer breeze you observe the moonlight washing across Lando’s figure, illuminating his features softly and elucidating the closeness of his face to yours. The proximity allows you to easily breathe in the pleasant cedarwood undertones of the cologne that adorns his skin, and allows him to imagine the sweet ropy flavour undoubtedly lingering on your tongue from the maraschino cherries you’d so delicately placed between your teeth throughout night.

The crinkles that form at the edges of his eyes as he meets your gaze with a smile are priceless. You wish you could bottle the feeling they give you and save it for a day you need it most.

“I had a nice time,” he tells you, practically beaming. “I can’t remember the last time I went out after a race and talked about stuff other than racing.”

“Yeah it was nice, dinner was really good too.”

“Yeah.”

The two of you stand in silence while you wait for your Uber to arrive. Lando had insisted on driving you back to your hotel but you knew his car would cause a fuss so you declined and told him you had an Uber discount code that was due to expire. You make an effort to seem fascinated by the cracks in the sidewalk and Lando acts intrigued by the streetlights, both of you dancing around the question that lingers unspoken in the air.

Are we going to meet up again?

The alert on your phone informs you that your driver is only a minute away.

“He’s almost here,” you tell Lando. “Thank you so much for paying for dinner, you really didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s okay!” he insists. He shifts his weight on his feet before offering his arms to you.

You accept his invitation and hug him goodbye. You can’t help but notice the heat radiating through his thin shirt and feel his heart hammering between your two chests. His fingertips burn brands into your skin as they rest softly on your back and when he pulls back from you his hands don’t move an inch.

You catch his gaze and feel his thumb sweep softly over the fabric of your dress, underneath your jacket, before his lips meet yours in a searing kiss.

You’re caught off guard to say the least. His hands are hot on your back but his lips are soft and you’d be lying if you said they weren’t sending your head into a frenzy.

The rest of the day’s events are temporarily overruled by Lando kissing you; lying to your dad about where you are, wishing you could celebrate Lando’s fourth place finish with him in his garage, the repetitive questions aimed at you by the police that had you exhausted by mid morning, let alone Max’s accident.

Max.

And suddenly it’s not Lando’s but another pair of lips that are on yours, larger and hungrier and they come with a devastating reminder of what it’s like to sneak around with a Formula 1 driver. The lying and heartache that you remember all too clearly to feel like the kind of falling that jolts you awake from dreams.

You pull back and place your hands on Lando’s shoulders, staring down.

He’s instantly apologetic, bringing a hand through the front of his hair. “Sorry, I thought…fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say, removing your hands and wrapping them around yourself. “It’s okay, um my car’s here anyway so I gotta go.”

He just nods and shoves his hands into his pockets.

The slamming of the car door feels like a hammer pounding in Lando’s head. For a moment he had you. In his hand was the opportunity to make something great out of your meeting, but he wrapped his fingers inward and crushed it in an instant.

———

When you wake the next morning, your head remains sore from the screeching of car engines throughout your eventful weekend. Though not particularly unbearable at the time, the accumulation of noise over the three days you were at the track had definitely built up.

Instinctively, you check your phone, assuming that you would be confronted with your typical notifications: a recommended Instagram account, a liked Tweet, maybe even a text. You know you’re being optimistic to expect anything from Lando, your mind refusing to stop reminding you of how awkward you had made your time together the night before. Still, you yearn for any sort of reassurement that it wasn’t as bad as your overthinking had made it out to be.

You read the time and see that it’s almost noon. You know that your dad will be out until around two o’clock, already fussing about with work related ordeals in order to have things perfect for the race in Hungary. When you eventually awaken enough to read the notifications on your phone, you find it difficult to hide your surprise as you find a text and missed call from Lando, the nervous feeling that you endured last night returns, sinking into your stomach like a stone.

Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I had a really nice time last night :) Sorry if I was too forward at the end, I hope it didn’t ruin your night or anything.

Biting back a smile as you read the text, your mind is put at ease as you realise that he enjoyed himself as much as you did. You’re tempted to text him back immediately and tell him that he’s being silly, that of course he didn’t ruin your night. You wish you could explain your situation with Max and how, if it were any other night than the one your ex-boyfriend spent in hospital, you would have kissed Lando back. However, your plan to reply is thwarted as you notice the notification that informs you Lando also left you a voicemail. He must have called some time after sending his initial text message. Finger hovering over the play button, you are hopeful that it’s further kind words about your time together, or perhaps an invitation for a second ‘date’. If you could call it that. Nevertheless, you push the button.

The disappointed sigh he lets out causes your heart to stutter, before his voice crackles through the phone speaker.

“Hey, it’s me. Sorry for calling, I know I already texted you and um… I hate that I have to do this but I think it would be better for you to hear it from me instead of finding out online or something. I’ve just seen that someone got pictures of us together last night. I didn’t think anyone who knew me would be there but I guess it was still close enough to Silverstone that someone recognised who I was. I’m really sorry, but if it is any help I don’t think anyone recognised you because your face isn’t really in the photos. I’m trying to get them taken down and it’s not really on Instagram or in the news or anything, but lots of people on Twitter are talking about it. If there’s anything that I can do, please let me know. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen at his words, breath hitching in your throat as you process it. You replay the message over and over, as if hearing it multiple times will change the bad news Lando delivers each time. Instinctually, you close the app and scrub your hands over your face. You wonder about what exact kind of picture the photos he’s referring to imply. Does it paint a picture that could get you in trouble?

What about Lando?

Fuck.

What about your dad?

Your stomach drops at the thought of him seeing them. Getting caught lying about your whereabouts was one thing, but being caught with Lando Norris while you promised you were tucked up in the confines of your hotel room opens up a whole new world of possible consequences.

As if the universe can read your mind, it delivers your worst nightmare to you on a silver platter, piping hot and laced with venom.

A notification appears from your dad.

Call me when you’re awake.

-------

tag list @lovebynorth @its-astrotea-love​ 

[alwaysmarveling]

Too Late

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Warnings: None, but let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: In an effort to be the best girlfriend, Wanda holds in a major secret until it’s a little too late

A/N: I may have gotten a bit carried away, but Wanda is the cutest thing ever so enjoy! Also I’m now realizing this sounds angsty but I promise it’s just fluff :)

“Milaya, I’m so excited! We’re actually going! Just think, in less than an hour, we’ll be there!” You couldn’t help but laugh along with your girlfriend, who was practically bouncing off of the walls in excitement. 

“Wan, we won’t be there in an hour if you don’t hurry up and eat your breakfast. C’mon, before we get yelled at.” She let you pull her into the chair next to you and reluctantly scooped up some of the eggs she had cooked onto her fork.

“Do you think the lines will be long? I really hope not, I want to try to go on all of the rides. Which ones did you say were the best again?” Your eyes widened as you swallowed, wiggling slightly in your chair.

“I really like the big roller coaster they have. It goes insanely fast and has one of the biggest drops I’ve ever seen-” You stopped yourself when you remembered that you were supposed to have been done with breakfast twenty minutes ago. “Baby, let’s finish breakfast first. We’ll discuss this in the car, okay? I promise,” you added when she pouted at you.

“Alright, but I’m holding you to it.” The two of you ate in silence, both of you trying to shovel the food down your throats as quickly as possible. As you guys finished up, Clint ran into the room, his arms full of towels.

“There you guys are! Hurry up, we’re leaving! Also, have you seen the big tote bags anywhere?”

“I saw them in the closet a few days ago,” you answered, your mouth stuffed with food as you pointed to a door in the hallway. You shook your head as you watched him dash over to the door. Laura was definitely starting to rub off on him; he was becoming a full-blown mama bear. The two of you now done eating, you grabbed the empty plates to put in the sink while your girlfriend followed closely behind you, eager to return to your earlier conversation.

“Babe, we have to go on the ferris wheel! It’ll be so romantic. Maybe at night, you know, the last thing before we leave?” Her arms slid around your waist as she rested her chin on your shoulder. “Oh, do you think we’ll have time to play those games? I’ve always wanted to win one of the little stuffed animals. Do you think I could win you one?” You brought your now empty hands down to lay against your girlfriend’s and leaned back slightly, enjoying her touch.

“Love, slow down. You keep talking that fast and you’ll pass out from the lack of oxygen. And of course we’ll have time to play the games, but we should get to the car before someone else comes to rush us.” With that, you pulled her out of the room before she could resume bombarding you with more questions.

---

After a forty-five minute car ride with a very enthusiastic Wanda and Peter—you were convinced Nat was going to let go of the wheel and throttle both of them if it lasted even a second longer—you’d arrived at the park.

“Where’s everyone else?” Peter asked, looking around for the other cars.

“I’m sure they’re here somewhere.” Before the witch could wander off to look for them, you grabbed onto her arm.

“Actually, I just texted Steve and Rhodey and they’re still ten minutes away.”

“Ten minutes?”

“Well, uh, Nat did drive a bit…” You bit your lip, afraid of offending the still-annoyed redhead.

“You know exactly why I did it, Y/N.”

“Huh? I don’t get it. Why’d she do it, Miss L/N?”

“Um, nothing, Peter. She was just excited to get here,” you explained, stifling a giggle. You did know exactly why she did it, but Wanda and Peter might not enjoy the explanation that she was trying to get away from them as quickly as possible.

“You think we can go in first and have them meet us there? I just wanna look around.” Wanda flashed you her puppy dog eyes, complete with the wobbling bottom lip, knowing that you would choose to wait for them in the parking lot if it were up to you. 

“Yes. Please.” The former assassin looked like she was about to go back to her previous job as she pushed off from her spot against the car. Knowing better than to make things worse, you nodded, allowing Wanda and Peter to leave the way.

“I’m sorry about them,” you whispered to Nat, the pair now walking out of earshot from you.

“Don’t worry about it,” she glanced in their direction before continuing, “It’s actually pretty cute.” Nat smirked at the shock on your face. “Don’t you dare tell anyone, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“That’s why you looked pissed out of your mind? For your reputation?”

“Please, we both know Stark would never let me live it down if I acted the same way they did.”

“You’re insane,” you laughed, but she had a point. “You have any plans for what you wanna do today?” The redhead shrugged.

“I’ll probably go with Sam and Bucky on the thrill rides. That might get a little annoying, but it’s not like Steve’s going to come with me, the big wimp. Or maybe I can convince Pepper to leave Morgan with Tony and we could do something together.”

“You could always come with Wanda and I.”

“Eh, don’t wanna get in the way of you two lovebirds. And as cute as you guys are, I don’t need to see you guys kissing every two seconds.”

“We- we don’t do that!” you stammered, your face heating up.

“Dorogaya, come here! I wanna take a picture in front of the big sign of me kissing you on the cheek! Nat, can you take it for us?”

“You were saying?” Nat smirked, crossing her arms when you caught up to Peter and Wanda.

“Bad timing,” you grumbled, but you couldn’t help but smile when you saw Wanda bouncing on her toes, her hands clasped together in front of her chest.

“Bad timing my ass,” your friend mumbled. Before you could shoot some retort back at her, she held up the phone. “Alright, say ‘Nat’s always right!’” You settled for internally rolling your eyes at her as she took the photo, giving Wanda a kiss after the photo was taken.

“I love you,” the witch reminded you.

“I love you too. You ready for some fun?” Knowing the answer to that question, you slipped your hand in hers and began walking towards the entrance. You used your other hand for something else just as important: flipping Natasha off.

“Miss Romanoff, what’d you do?”

“Shut it, Peter,” the redhead warned him. Even though her tone was playful, you laughed as you heard Peter take a large gulp.

“Yes, ma’am.”

---

“Okay, so I was thinking we start- ahh!” If Wanda wasn’t still holding on to your hand, you would’ve completely fallen on your face when she tugged you off to the side. “Wands, what the heck was that?”

“Look, babe! It’s those game things! C’mon, I’ve gotta win you one.” You bit your lip to keep yourself from laughing and let her tug you over to the water gun game, most of the Avengers following behind you.

“Oh, you bet I’m getting in this,” Sam chuckled, rubbing his hands together before handing the attendant a crisp dollar bill. Bucky rolled his eyes but nonetheless produced a similar bill from his pocket.

“Babe, you gonna play?” You shook your head.

“I’d much rather watch you. Besides, if I play, you know those boys are gonna be some sore losers, and I don’t need to deal with that.” Wanda laughed, giving you a kiss on the cheek before she joined Sam and Bucky.

“Alright, but if I lose we need to go to another game because I need to win you something.”

“Wan, you don’t have to win me anything. We’re just here to have fun, yeah?” But your girlfriend paid no attention to you. She wrapped her hands around the handles of the gun, and her eyes narrowed as she focused on the target.

“For fun, eh?” Nat chuckled as you elbowed her.

“Shut up, she’s cute. And she means well.”

“Mhm… whipped.” As you leaned over to respond to Natasha, Sam jumped up in between you two. His arms were held up high above his head as he fist-pumped the air repeatedly.

“Take that, you two!”

“And which prize would you like, sir?” The attendant asked, their eyelids hooded and voice monotone. Obviously Sam’s excitement was not contagious. You stayed just long enough to see Sam point to a stuffed duck—”Redwing needs a friend! I’ll call him Yellowing.”—before Wanda was pulling you off to another game booth.

“C’mon, I can feel it, I got this one!” You looked hesitantly at the small pyramid of stacked milk bottles.

“Wands, I know this is your first time at an amusement park but, like, these games are usually rig-”

“Hi, I’ll take 5 rounds please.” Your eyes grew wide as you watched Wanda hand a five-dollar bill to the attendant, who handed her a bucket of fifteen balls in return.

“Wanda, these prizes are cheap, we can just-”

“Babe, I love you, but be quiet. I’m going to win you this. You like that one, right?” You followed her gaze to the stuffed dinosaur wearing a party hat and then to the sign immediately below it that stated that it was a “top-tier” prize. In other words, Wanda would have to knock down the entire pyramid of milk bottles to win.

“It’s cute, love, but-”

“Great, I’m getting it.” And with that, you sighed, crossing your arms across your chest. You knew Wanda wasn’t going to let you deter her from her goal no matter what you said, so you might as well support her.

“Alright. For good luck,” you winked before kissing her. Wanda flashed you a small grateful smile in return before turning to the bucket in front of her. You watched as her hand dipped into the bucket, pulling out a ball that she then let roll around in her palm for a moment. She grabbed her lip between her teeth, and before you could blink, she chucked it at the milk bottles. At this point, all of the Avengers had moved on to find you guys, and you couldn’t help but giggle when you noticed their astonished faces behind her. She hadn’t even knocked over any of the milk bottles—they must’ve been secured well—but, with her not being a super soldier or highly trained assassin, sometimes you guys forgot just how strong she was.

Unlike you, Wanda didn’t notice her teammates staring at her, and they didn’t make a peep, so she simply picked up the next ball and threw that one too. This time, she managed to knock one bottle down, but somehow the rest of the pyramid remained largely unaffected.

“I don’t understand why this isn’t doing more,” Wanda frowned, talking more to herself than anything. “If I was in training and these were daggers, the dummy would totally be on the ground by now.”

“You’re doing great, Wands. Besides, you still have 13 more tries. You can do it!” She turned to you, giving you a chance to admire the sparkle in her eyes.

“Thanks, printsessa. I’ll get you that dinosaur. You got a name for them yet?”

“Mm, no. Too busy being distracted by a beautiful, super badass woman.” Wanda laughed and pushed you away gently.

“Start thinking about it now.”

---

“Wanda, maybe we should call it a day…” Clint trailed off gently once Wanda had finished off the entire bucket without knocking down the pyramid. You watched as Wanda’s chest rose and fell a bit faster than usual.

“No,” she gritted out. “I’m winning that stupid dinosaur. Besides, I’ve only spent $6 so far. I’ll just do it one more time.” Getting three more balls in exchange for one dollar, Wanda clenched her jaw as she threw the ball at the pyramid. The milk bottles wobbled but didn’t fall. She tried a second—or technically seventeenth time—and they still stood firmly on the platform. Finally, with one hasty look at the attendant, who was distracted by a screaming kid nearby, you watched as her eyes flashed red as she threw the final ball, the rest of the tower immediately tumbling down upon contact with the ball. The attendant’s eyes went wide at the clatter before he grinned.

“Huh, I guess the Avengers really can do anything, can’t they? That’s the first time someone’s gotten the whole thing down in months. Alright, which one do you want?”

---

“Wanda, I thought we agreed to not using powers for stuff that’s not important,” Steve chastised your beaming girlfriend once you guys had walked out of earshot of the worker.

“But Y/N is important. She’s the most important thing in the world!” It took everything in you to not combust on the spot at your girlfriend’s words and the accompanying hand squeeze she’d given you when she said them. Steve simply sighed, rolling his eyes.

“We’ll talk about this later.”

“Oh, relax, old man,” Clint butted in. “They’re in love. Let them have this.” With the matter settled, Wanda turned to look at you.

“So, what’s the dinosaur’s name?”

“Huh?” You glanced down at the green plush in the hand that wasn’t holding Wanda’s. “Oh, um, Dino.” Wanda’s lips slowly flattened out before pursing together.

“Y/N. You had all that time to think of a good name, and you choose ‘Dino’? Babe, even Yellowing is a better name. I mean, like, not well thought-out at all, sounds more like it’s becoming yellow than having yellow wings, but at least the sentiment is there.”

“I like Dino!” You gave her a big grin as you tried to hold your laughter back. She wasn’t actually mad, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy riling up your girlfriend at least a little bit. Before Wanda could respond, you were both pulled off to another side of the amusement park.

“C’mon, lovebirds, we’re going on the big roller coaster!”

“Alright, alright, calm down, Sammy,” you laughed, patting his hand that steered you toward the ride.

---

Luckily for you guys, Tony had splurged on fastpasses for all of you so that you wouldn’t have to wait in any ride lines. Bucky practically jumped with glee as you walked past all the other visitors. Sweat trickled down their faces; some tried in vain to fan themselves with the maps that were handed out at the park entrance, and others leaned against the railing forming the line. Some of them must’ve been waiting for at least two and a half hours.

“Hey, Tin Man, try not to laugh so hard at other people’s suffering, will ya? Not all of them have the benefit of having a very rich, very generous friend, speaking of whom, never got a thank you by the way.” Bucky simply rolled his eyes at Tony’s remark and got in line to sit with Sam.

“You ready, babe? Your first amusement park ride ever.” You squeezed Wanda’s hand gently, giving her a smile that she couldn’t help but return. You had to speak loudly in order for her to hear you over all the noise on the crowded platform, but the distractions all seemed to fade away as you focused on the twinkle in her eyes and the way her cheeks rose as she grinned.

“And the biggest one at the park.”

“And the biggest one,” you nodded.

“I’ve been ready for this all day. Hands up, right?”

“If you think you can handle it,” you winked.

“Of course I can handle it,” the witch scoffed. With that, you guys shuffled into the carts. Wanda’s knee brushed against yours as the two of you sat down and she quickly buckled herself in before turning to you. Her lips were already parted, ready to share her excitement some more, before she noticed your furrowed brows and your tongue sticking out of your mouth like you did when you were immersed in mission reports. Except this time, you were simply trying to get the belt in the buckle.

“Need some help, love?” Wanda giggled.

“It’s not working!” Your girlfriend gave you a gentle smile before taking the belt from you and sliding it into the buckle.

“There.” She brought your hand up to her lips next, looking up at you through her lashes before pressing soft kisses onto your knuckles. “Don’t wanna hurt these, yeah? Tasha would be furious.”

“Yeah, she would,” Natasha interrupted from the cart behind you. “But I thought I taught you well enough to be able to buckle yourself in, Y/N.” You felt her smirk more than you saw it, and without a full glance back at her, you brought your hand up to her forehead and flicked her before she could react.

“Taught by the best,” you laughed, lurching forward so Natasha couldn’t grab you.

“Oh, just you wait for training tomorrow,” the redhead chuckled. You didn’t pay any further attention to her as you listened to the employee telling you to push the safety bar down. Just as the carts started to move, you called Wanda’s name and gave her a quick peck on the nose before she realized what was happening. She settled for a retaliatory poke to your side, and after your giggles died down, the two of you settled into a comfortable silence, your hands intertwined and laying on the safety bar. You quickly became busy with looking out over the side of the cart, watching as all of the things that once met your eye level shrunk down to a size that was half of your pinky finger. But a harder-than-normal squeeze of your hand had you returning your focus to Wanda.

“Um, detka, is this a bad time to tell you that I’m afraid of heights?” Your heart, calm less than two seconds ago, immediately began to race. You looked ahead through your wide eyes to see that you were near the top before quickly turning back to the panicking brunette who, sure enough, had her eyes glued shut.

“Wh- what do you mean you’re afraid of heights? You literally fly!”

“Because I’m more afraid of bad guys than I am of heights!” You could feel the coaster practically slowing to a stop as you rounded the peak of the coaster.

“Okay, uh, um, just pretend there’s a bad guy? I don’t know, Wan, it’s a little late to get o-” And with that, you rocketed down towards the ground. All blood flowing to your hand was stopped in its tracks as Wanda squeezed you as hard as she could, but you barely noticed since you were forced to focus on your race to the ground instead. A scream slipped past your lips for a second, quickly becoming a laugh that you couldn’t contain no matter how hard you tried. “Isn’t this great, Wan?” 

A slight turn of your head told you that, no, it was not great for Wan. Her eyes were still glued shut, her lips were pursed together so firmly they were practically white, and you could just make out the trembling of her torso. At this point, you almost couldn’t feel your left hand from how hard she was holding it, and you imagined that if the safety bar were alive, it would be feeling the same way from her left hand’s grip on it. So, even though you were moving at over 100 miles an hour, it was your turn to press your lips to the back of her hand. It was a small gesture of reassurance, but a gesture that Wanda appreciated nonetheless, especially considering there wasn’t much else you could do under the circumstances. 

You were just approaching the bottom of the first hill when Wanda’s eyes shot open, taking in your gleeful face, which contrasted heavily with her own terror-filled expression.

“Is it ov-” She didn’t finish her question before her face practically closed up, but she didn’t need to finish asking it anyway. The rushing of blood to her head told her all she needed to—she was going upside down, and it certainly wasn’t over yet.

---

After what seemed like a lifetime to her and a mere five seconds to you, the ride was over, and Wanda made sure she was the first one off of it. With her feet back on solid ground, she seemed much more relaxed, but you didn’t miss the way her knees wobbled with every step she took. You linked your hand in hers once again and pulled her off to the side of the group.

“Wan, why didn’t you tell me you were afraid of heights?”

“You looked so excited talking about the ride this morning, and I didn’t want to ruin it. And we’re a couple. Everything you love, I want to love too.”

“Well did you love it?” If you weren’t holding her hand, you would’ve crossed your arms to accompany the signature raised brow you gave her in situations like these.

“No, but I loved holding your hand,” the Sokovian admitted as she kicked the ground with her boot. You couldn’t help but laugh at that, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before responding.

“Wan, you are the absolute sweetest, but, please, I don’t want to put you through anything you’re scared of. Especially if it’s not for a good reason.”

“But you’re the best reason I could ever have to do anything.” And just like that, your face felt hot enough to cook an egg on. Seeing the pout on her face, though, you quickly regained your bearings.

“Alright, you’re not allowed to be sweet anymore. My turn. Wan, I’m excited about anything I get to do with you.”

“That’s not what you were saying when I asked you to clean the kitchen with me yesterday,” Wanda grumbled, looking down at her scuffed black combat boots.

“Okay, you got me there,” you admitted, leaning over slightly to meet her soft green eyes before continuing. “In my defense, cleaning is an inherently boring thing. Amusement parks are inherently fun. So when we’re here, we only do things that are fun. Which means, if you’re scared of heights, we don’t go on stuff with heights. Like the biggest freaking roller coaster this park has.”

“Are you sure?” the witch mumbled. “I know you like those rides.”

“I’m positive.” You met her lips with yours as one last reassurance. “Now, let’s go find those tea cups. And yes,” you smiled, not even having to look over at her to know what she was thinking, “You can still hold my hand.”

[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!

[luxekook]

okay, bloomer ❃ myg

❃ pairing: floral assistant/rapper!yoongi x reader

❃ genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, slight crack, light angst and smut

❃ summary: spin-off sequel to ‘petal to the metal’; in which the reader visits a flower shop on her way home from work to treat herself to a flower and then keeps returning just to interact with the shop’s cute tsundere floral assistant. the last thing she expects is to see him ~spitting hot fire~ and looking hot as sin at her friend’s music event. how is she supposed to get flowers in peace now?

❃ word count: 10.2k

❃ warnings: 18+, cursing, violent imagery, mansplaining, tattooed and pierced yoongi, jealousy, mention of drinking, lots of sass, yoongi is soft as hell, rapping, jungkook being an idiot, smut [biting, blindfolding, bondage, sensory play, oral (f + m receiving), unprotected sex (WRAP IT), slight dom/sub themes, yoongi and reader are swiches, dirty talk, workplace sex]

❃ beta’d by: the amazing and gorgeous phia @meowxyoong​

❃ banner by: the iconic and beautiful danica @dee-ehn​

❃ commissioned by: my angel bby sweetheart jess @floralsuga​ UWU ILY AND I HOPE U LOVE THIS YOONGI AS MUCH AS I DO!!!!

The first time you enter the flower shop, it’s on a whim after a particularly bad day at work. You stomp down the street towards your apartment stewing over how Darryl can go screw himself as far as you are concerned. You almost flipped your desk today after the fifth time he tried to explain your own job to you. 

It’s like you haven’t been working at the graphic design firm for over three years and know all there is to know about typography and how it reads on book covers. You knew the moment your boss paired you with Darryl for this assignment, you were going to be in for a bumpy ride. You just didn’t expect the bumps to be of Mount Everest proportions.

You probably look crazy as you stalk down the block untethered in your rage, mumbling something about shoving your stylus so far up Darryl’s ass he’ll choke on your creativity. 

Somehow you unconsciously turn your head to admire a display of flowers blooming in a shop window. The blooming bunches of color call to you like a beacon of light in the darkness. Fuck it, you are going to treat yourself.

You dart across the street, dodging traffic. You need a flower. You need something that will brighten your evening and remind you that there is still beauty on this earth after all that mansplaining. And it seems that Of Fern & Freesia Flower Co. will be your oasis of choice. 

Squaring your shoulders, you push open the heavy wooden and glass door of the shop. The sound of a bell chimes in the air as you enter. A smile forms as you take in the array of greenery and petals surrounding you. The air smells like summer meadows and deep forests. 

Wandering around, you realize that it’s going to be harder than you thought to pick just one flower to go home with. As you near the back of the shop, you notice the general shop counter with a cash register, a small jar, and an array of flowers scattered across the deep oak wood. It seems like someone is piecing together a bouquet.

“Can I help you?” A low, languid voice calls out to you. Slowly, a boy emerges from the back room. Your eyes widen at the sight before you. He’s of average height with lean muscle and tattoos winding up both arms. His ears glint with multiple piercings, his left eyebrow has an intimidating slice through it, and his hair is a messy array of silver with a sexy as hell undercut. Yet, despite all of that tough exterior, the second you look at his face you melt.

The boy has the cutest face you have ever seen. His cheeks are full and pink, his nose is the most adorable little button, his lips are a dusky shade of rose. He has the face of an angel wrapped in a sinful package. Honestly, it’s unfair.

After a few moments, you realize he seems to be waiting for you to speak. Slitted eyebrow arched, he stares at you, dark eyes flicking over your own body.

“I’m looking to get a flower, but I just don’t know which one to pick,” You sigh, eyes shifting to glance around the shop once more. “There are so many beautiful ones to choose from.”

“Well,” The boy murmurs, “Sometimes one beautiful flower just stands out from the rest.”

Your eyes return to him, finally noticing the name-tag haphazardly pinned to his apron. Yoongi. His name is Yoongi. “And do you know which flower stands out today?” You ask, hands gripping your work tote so that you don’t do anything embarrassing like squish his chubby cheeks between your palms.

“Without a doubt,” He quirks a small smile in your direction before walking around the counter. Without a word more, he wanders down the rows of flowers and stops at a particular bunch of blue blossoms. He carefully selects one flower from the bunch and extends it out to you.

You accept the flower, examining it closely. It’s beautiful indeed. Shooting a glance at the sign attached to the bucket the flower had originated from, you smile as you read the label of ‘rare blue-tinted orchids’ (rare and unique beauty).

Turning back to Yoongi, you realize he has already begun to walk back to the counter. Quickly, you follow in his footsteps, carefully holding your flower in one hand and digging through your bag to find your wallet with the other. Upon reaching the counter, you gently place your orchid down to finally retrieve your wallet from where it had been lurking at the very bottom of your tote. 

“How much do I owe you?” You look up at Yoongi who had been staring at you with a peculiar expression on his face. 

He just shrugs, fiddling with one of the many silver rings adorning his fingers, “Nothing. It’s on the house.” 

“What?” You tilt your head in confusion, “But the sign said these are rare, so I’m sure it can’t be cheap.”

Again, Yoongi just lifts a shoulder lazily and shoots you a half smile, “I get an employee discount.” 

“Oh,” Your eyes fall under his intense scrutiny. They land on the small jar sitting next to the register. It’s labeled with a sticky note that says: “Feed Yoongi’s Dumpling Addiction”. 

“Dumplings, huh?” You grin at the cute boy and quickly grab ten dollars from your wallet, shoving the bill inside the jar. 

“Hey!” Yoongi pouts, “That’s not fair.” His cheeks are shaded a bright pink, “You can’t use my weakness against me like this.”

“I just did!” You laugh, slinging your bag over your shoulder and picking up your orchid once more. “Bye, Yoongi.”

You send him a wave and head back out into the night. You don’t realize he had stared out after you for quite some time with a small smile and a gleam in his eye. No, you are too busy picturing what it would be like to go get dumplings with a cute flower shop assistant. 

The next day at work you bring your flower along with you. Your desk needs some life breathed into it, and your flower does just the trick. Plus, you can't help but smile each time you look at it. 

And so when cursed Darryl waltzes over to you to talk about your project, you kindly tell him to fuck off. You know, in a safe for work fashion. You don’t need his bullshit or his bad vibes. Not when you can draw up romance novel cover designs with a certain boy in mind. It comes as no surprise to you as you realize later on that you had been drawing orchids woven throughout the book title.

The rest of the week passes by slowly as does the wilting of your flower. Yet on Thursday, your boss praises you for your flower designs, so much so that she decides to give you the company credit card to go buy a bouquet for the office as further inspiration. You tell her you know just the place. 

Taking an extended lunch break, you trek over to Of Fern & Freesia. Stepping through its doors brings an immediate smile to your face. You glance around, noticing a few other customers scattered throughout the shop. No sign of Yoongi.

You weave your way around the rows of flowers and the patrons that dot the aisles. A heavy feeling of disappointment settles in the pit of your stomach as you notice that there is a woman at the counter instead of the cute boy from a few days prior. The woman glances up as you approach, “Oh, hello! Welcome to Of Fern & Freesia. How may I help you?” 

“Hi, yes,” You shoot a furtive glance around, “I was hoping that you could recommend a bouquet?”

“Hm,” She nods, “Of course! What’s the occasion?” 

“It’s just for my office,” You explain, “We need some inspiration, and flowers seem to have helped lately.”

“I see,” She smiles, “Well, let me ask you if—” 

“Hey, boss lady! Do you know what happened to the lace ribbons? I can’t find— Oh,” Yoongi halts as he emerges from the back room and lays eyes on you. “Hello,” He mumbles, running a hand through his hair.

The woman helping you looks at Yoongi and then looks back at you and then looks at Yoongi again. A sly smile forms on her lips, “Well, well, well. Why don’t I go look for those lace ribbons while you help this customer here.” She turns to you, “My very best employee will be sure to take excellent care of you.”

Chuckling slightly, she disappears through the door that Yoongi had vacated a minute before.

“I’m your only employee!” Yoongi calls after her, the small smile on his face betraying his complaint. Still grinning slightly, he turns his brown eyes back to you, “Hello again…” He pauses, clearly waiting for you to fill in the unspoken blank.

“(Y/n),” You extend a hand out tentatively, “And you’re Yoongi.”

“That I am,” Yoongi smirks and takes your hand in his. You glance down at your clasped hands and marvel at how his hand fully engulfs yours. The heat of his palm burns into you while the coolness of his many rings makes you shiver. Eventually, you let go, certain your cheeks are as red as the display of roses to your left.

“Well, what can I do for you, (y/n)? Back for another flower?” His eyes flit around the shop briefly before returning to yours.

“A bouquet, actually,” You smile, “For the office. On the office.” You flash the company card that your boss had given you, and your stomach flips as he laughs – his dark eyes crinkling and his gums showing adorably. 

“Didn’t picture you working in an office,” He mumbles, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as his tongue pokes his cheek.

“Oh, so you’ve been picturing me, then?” You tease and internally sigh as he blushes fiercely, turning away from you.

“Yah, you know what I meant,” Yoongi scowls without any real menace, “You seem like you do something - I don't know - weird.”

You stare at him a moment and then burst into laughter. Yoongi pouts as you continue to crack up over his brazen observation. “I mean I guess designing romance novel covers isn’t the most conventional job, but it pays the bills and it’s pretty fun.”

“Romance novels?” Yoongi widens his eyes comically, “Don’t say that around the boss lady, she’s obsessed with them.”

“I heard that,” A yell sounds from the back room, “And I’m demoting you!”

“I’m demoted just by being associated with you!” Yoongi calls back.

You think you hear his boss mutter something about shoving a branch of redbud (betrayal) up Yoongi’s ass but you can’t be sure. Yoongi walks around the counter to lead you around the shop.

“What are you looking for, (y/n)?” His gaze is heated as it rests on you, and you bask in its glory.

“I’m good with whatever you recommend,” You shrug, “I’m in your hands.”

“Not yet,” Yoongi mutters under his breath; and before you can question that remark, he stalks off down an aisle, practically mowing down innocent shoppers. You trail after him, watching as he seems to be picking flowers at random. However, once he brings them all up front to arrange them, the flowers combine effortlessly into a beautiful bouquet.

“Wow,” You say softly, admiring the colorful arrangement before you, “This is beautiful, Yoongi. What kind of flowers are they?”

Yoongi rapidly fires off a number of flowers, most of which you had never even heard of before: honeysuckle and alstroemeria flowers (devotion), lilies of the valley (return of happiness), and petunias (your presence soothes me). 

As you hand him the company card to ring up your purchase, you notice a stray flower set aside from the bunch. “That one didn’t fit with the rest?” You joke, pointing to the multi-petaled pink flower.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, “Obviously not, (y/n). That one is for you.”

You let out an embarrassingly high-pitched giggle, “Well, excuse me for not being an expert, flower boy.”

He groans at the nickname, shaking his head in disgust. But, you see his lips twitching. God, he is so cute. You almost don’t even know how you had been intimidated by him at first. Even his tattoos and piercings are endearing to you now. You see them as a layer of protection he has in order to protect his soft heart.

Yeah, you are fucking whipped.

In an attempt to distract yourself from your growing infatuation, you glance down. The tip jar catches your attention, and you grin immediately as you read today’s inscription: “Yoongi’s Nap Fund: One Dollar = One Nap”. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Yoongi warns, but it’s too late. You shove another ten dollar bill inside. 

“Goddamn you,” Yoongi sighs, and the way he says it sounds like a confession. And you are so losing your marbles. And your job. You catch sight of the clock hanging on the back wall, and you are so, so late to get back to the office.

Cursing softly, you grab the bouquet and accept the flower Yoongi extends out to you, “Thanks, flower boy. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

With that, you rush out the door, pulling a full Yoongi as you ruthlessly storm past customers on your way out. You unknowingly leave Yoongi in your dust, staring at you with what can only be affection. 

When you get home after your shift later that night, you quickly put your new flower in a mason jar with water and admire its beauty. After a quick google search, you identify the flower as a camellia. 

You fail to read further. But, if you had, you would have discovered the meaning of the flower Yoongi had gifted to you… My destiny is in your hands.

The next few weeks pass in a flurry of flowers - each prettier than the last. But that could just be the rose-tinted glasses you’ve been walking around with ever since you met Yoongi. You had visited Of Fern & Freesia such an embarrassing amount of times that you figured you should have a frequent flyer card.

But, who in their right mind could blame you when men like Min Yoongi exist? That’s right, you are on a full name basis now courtesy of one of Yoongi’s latest tip jars: “Support Min Yoongi in purchasing an off button for Jeon Jungkook”. 

With every visit came a new flower and a new post-it note on his tip jar. For instance, last Monday Yoongi gave you two stock flowers (you will always be beautiful to me), to which you immediately clowned him on for buying you stocks. He had just shaken his head at you - a common reaction from Yoongi that you had been on the receiving end of too many times to count. On that day, you had shoved a twenty dollar bill in the jar labeled: “New headphones for Yoongi’s silent, sad and lonely ears”. 

This Tuesday you had arrived at the shop right at closing. Your job had required you to stay for a late meeting because Darryl had fucked something up with his latest project. It’s honestly a wonder how he hasn’t been fired yet. After the meeting ended, you had practically run out of the office to make it to see Yoongi in time. When you stepped into the shop, you had been greeted with a growly yell of “We’re closed! Get lost!” And then when Yoongi came storming towards the front, he’d skittered to a halt, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find words.

You had just shyly waved like an idiot and then had turned to leave, only to be tugged back inside by Yoongi. “Come on,” He had said lowly, seeming quite exasperated with you, “I have your fix.” He had held your wrist all the way up to the counter as you blushed profusely behind him. He had handed you a zinnia (I mourn your absence), and you had added a couple five dollar bills to his jar simply entitled: “Do it. You won’t.”

And, finally, yesterday you had made sure to visit on time, clocking out of work at 5:00PM exactly. Your boss had even asked if you had a hot date. God, you had fucking wished. In all your hurry to get over to Of Fern & Freesia, you had forgotten one important piece of information that had been made crystal clear the moment Yoongi had locked eyes on you - you needed to do laundry.

Now, this might seem like an odd and offhand comment, but it meant that you had been wearing your more formal work clothes out of necessity. A form fitting pencil skirt with a tucked in button up blouse - both of which were on the tighter side from not being worn enough - paired with your favorite stilettoed ankle boots had been your outfit of choice and your last resort.

You had clicked and clacked your way up to the counter and had almost turned right back around at the look Yoongi had given you. His eyes had been the darkest you’d ever seen. You hadn’t quite been able to read the storm of emotions within them. Had it been anger? Annoyance? Attraction? 

God, you had prayed it was the last. 

When you had made it to Yoongi, he had let out a harsh breath before turning away from you for a moment. “Hey, flower boy,” You had said tentatively, “Are you okay?”

“I’m just peachy,” He had muttered, slamming down a few flowers on the counter. 

“O-o-okay,” You had responded, drawing out the word. You had stared quizzically at Yoongi as he fiddled with his rings, looking more on edge than you had ever seen him before. His eyes had flicked over your body, and then finally he had met your eyes.

“Sorry,” He had grumbled out, “You just caught me off guard. These are for you.”

As Yoongi had gathered the flowers he had slammed down on the counter, you had realized you still had your hair up and fastened with your stylus. Tugging it out of your hair, you had tousled your hair with your fingers for a bit and then had shoved the stylus in your bag. You had thought you had heard Yoongi choke slightly, but your ears surely had been playing tricks on you. 

You had grinned at him as you grabbed the flowers from his outstretched hands and then tucked a twenty in his tip jar inscripted with: “Help Yoongi endure Kim Seokjin’s presence for three hours.”

Later that night, you had realized that you really should have brushed up on your flower knowledge sooner because apparently the flowers he had given you were peach blossoms (I am your captive). While their meaning is still unbeknownst to you, you now appreciate the pun wholeheartedly. 

You had even tried to see him tonight, but he hadn’t been working for some reason. It’s hard not to assume the worst. Is he on a date? Oh god, has he had a girlfriend this whole time? A boyfriend? A partner? You almost call up your friend Jackson to cancel on his music event because all you want to do is sit down on your couch with the two men who will never let you down - Ben and Jerry. 

But, you can't.

Jackson would hunt you down and drag you there himself if he had to. He had done that very thing when you tried to bail on his last party. It hadn’t been your fault that you considered a midweek celebration of his five point increase on his credit score to be extra as hell. But that is just Jackson, and you adore him for it.

You met Jackson through your job. He sometimes models for the book covers that your company produces; because, let’s be real, Jackson is a whole snack. Unfortunately, you seem to be attracted to boys on the surlier side as opposed to those on the sunshine side of the spectrum.

Therefore, you and Jackson are great friends, and he brings out (READ: forces out) your more social side. Tonight, he is MCing a local music show at one of the bars downtown. It’s apparently some sort of open mic night. You just hope your ears are all in one piece when you return home.

The bar is crowded as hell as you slip through its doors. The entire back area has been converted into a stage, and you notice Jackson getting ready to begin MCing. Of course, he spots you immediately, waving incessantly. You can’t help but smile back widely and wave.

Squeezing your way through the crowd, you luckily spy a free barstool with a decent view of the stage. Quickly claiming it as yours, you order a beer and settle in for the night. Your eyes drift across the crowd, seeing some familiar faces of musicians you had seen before at events like this.

You even think you see the woman from Of Fern & Freesia in the back corner, but that’s probably just your brain playing tricks on you. Your attention is brought back to the stage as Jackson begins to announce the general lineup for the night and then the first performer.

As you listen to the first performance, your heart aches. The musician’s ballad is slow and soulful, its lyrics deep and jarring. What you wouldn't give to feel a love like that, too feel so deeply for another person and to have that returned unconditionally. Again, your mind turns to the damned flower boy who has been ruling your thoughts lately. And as the song ends, you clap along with the crowd like you hadn’t just planned out your entire future with a boy you had met just a handful of times.

You watch as Jackson introduces the next performance - some group called ‘Bangtan’ featuring some dude named ‘Suga’. What kind of name is that? A stage name, you hope.

Five boys jump onto the stage, and the crowd goes fucking wild. As you assess the boys with your own two eyes, you see the hype. They’re hot as fuck. 

Their performance begins with two of the boys singing. Your eyebrows raise as their sweet voices grace your ears. You almost fall into a sense of security as their vocals envelop you. And then the rapping begins.

Your jaw drops all the way down to the pits of Hades as you take in the sight of what can only be Yoongi, your sweet fucking flower boy, spitting crazy hot fire alongside two other beautiful boys. Had you somehow eaten an edible unknowingly on your way over here? Have you teleported into an alternate universe? Have you travelled into another dimension? Have you fallen into the fucking upside down?

God, he looks so fine. In all the times in the flower shop, you had only seen him in plain t-shirts, black jeans, and an apron. Therefore, your mind is fucking blown at the way Yoongi is wearing the shit out of a long white t-shirt, ripped blue jeans, a white and silver jacket, and silver chains. 

The boy is sauntering around the stage like he fucking owns it, all cocky and brash. Your attention is riveted by the sheer talent before you, but your sanity is in shambles. He drags a hand through his messy hair and his undercut peeks out from underneath. Damn, that hairstyle suits him well.

It seems the performance is over both too soon and not soon enough. And when Yoongi stays on stage all by himself, you silently pray to any higher power out there that you survive this. The low sound of the bass fills the bar as Yoongi lazily nods to the opening beats of whatever he plans on performing.

Almost by fate, Yoongi’s eyes meet yours. They widen as they take you in, and you are absolutely certain you also resemble an owl as you stare back. Like the dork that you are, you lift your beer up in a silent toast to him, and your stomach flips as his lips quirk.

And then he starts. You cannot look away. Somehow Yoongi rapping solo is just as good as the previous performance with the four others. It might even be better; but, then again, you are insanely biased at this point. 

As he performs, you lose the ability to speak, to cheer alongside the crowd. The way Yoongi commands the stage with his words, his presence, his talent is quite possibly the sexiest thing you have ever seen. The looks he sends you definitely don’t help. You might actually melt into a puddle on this very floor.

And you nearly do as Yoongi’s song ends and he sends you a wink as he hops off stage. God, you need to get it together before you track the boy down, tug him to you by his silver chains, and kiss the hell out of him and his talented mouth. 

Yeah, you need to leave ASAP. Shooting Jackson a text, you leave a twenty on the bar and haul ass out of there.

How are you supposed to face Yoongi after this? You can’t even pretend it didn’t happen because he had seen you. If you don’t go back to the shop, he might think you hated his performance. But, if you do go back to the shop, you’ll have to face the boy who had destroyed your ovaries on stage in front of multiple dozens of people. 

Lord, you are so fucking screwed.

Saturday and Sunday pass with many more existential breakdowns; and by the time Monday arrives, you decide that - fuck it - you are going to do some recon. 

You email your boss that you are running a bit late and head over to the flower shop. It is barely 9:00AM when you strut through the doors.

The woman you had seen once before startles as you burst in, “Oh hey, it’s you! Um, Yoongi doesn’t work until later.”

You swear you turn fifty shades of maroon, “I-I know.”

She also blushes, “Right, sorry. I haven’t had my coffee yet. How can I help you? Another bouquet?”

Before you can answer her, a boy bounds through the door holding two steaming coffee cups. He looks eerily familiar, but you can't quite place where you have seen him before.

“Morning, noona!” The boy beams at the woman, and then belatedly realizes you are also there. “Aish, sorry!” You gape as he somehow becomes small, huddling by his ‘noona’. “I didn’t realize you had a customer already.”

“That’s alright, Jungkookie,” She smiles at the admittedly cute boy who is now scrutinizing you for some reason.

“Aha!” Jungkook snaps his fingers, “I know you! You’re Yoongi-hyung’s g—”

The woman grabs Jungkook’s ear before he can continue, “Ignore him. Please.” She shoots the boy a dark look that sends him pouting.

You try your best, but the words are already flying through your mind. Yoongi-hyung’s girl? His girl insert-space-here friend? His gremlin? His goddess divine? His fucking Go-Gurt?

The possibilities are too endless; and so you pull a Spongebob and burn the memory from your brain for the sake of your rationality. You quickly grab the first flower you see - a love-in-a-mist (perplexity) - and pay for it before jetting out the door.

Your feelings? Unstable.

Your recon mission? Unsuccessful.

Your inevitable face-off with Yoongi? Unavoidable.

“I heard you came by yesterday morning.” 

You nearly jump out of your skin, barely having crossed the threshold of the flower shop before Yoongi slides right in front of you. “Holy sweet mother of god, Yoongi! Have you been lurking by the door just to scare me like this?”

Yoongi’s gaze darts around, decidedly not looking at you. “No?” He tries. You don’t let him succeed.

“Oh, really...” You arch an eyebrow and try to step around him, but Yoongi just matches your movements - effectively blocking you from advancing further.

“Stop trying to distract me,” He growls. His frown is admittedly cute instead of intimidating in the way he probably intends. “Why did you visit yesterday morning instead of last night?”

It’s your turn to avoid eye contact as you look for any possible avenue for escape. Yoongi gives you no room to budge or even any time to answer as he continues to question you. “Could it be…” He leans closer to you, “That you didn’t like what you saw on Friday?”

Your heart stutters in your chest as Yoongi grows closer still, his breath ghosting over your ear as he whispers, “Or maybe… it’s that you did like it.”

Before you risk it all and pounce on him while he’s working, you pull a spin move around Yoongi that would even make Lebron proud. Trying to put as much distance  between the two of you as possible, you power-walk away from him, calling over your shoulder, “Yes, I liked it, okay? God.”

You weave your way between the shelves of flowers with Yoongi trailing your every move. That little shit is relentless in his pursuit. You shoot him an evil eye between two buckets of flowers that he steadfastly ignores, “What did you like about it?” Yoongi grins widely, “Come on, tell me. Tell me. Just tell me, tell me, tell m—” You round the aisle he is on and clamp a hand over his mouth.

“Min Yoongi, for the love of reese’s peanut butter cups, shut your mouth.” Your glare strengthens as you can just tell he’s smirking underneath your hand. It’s difficult to ignore the plushness of his lips pressed against your palm. Did he just lick his lips? With your palm over them?

“I liked the collaboration you did with Jungkook and the other boys,” You shoot back at him, desperate to take him down a peg, “It was cute.” With a victorious smile at his darkening expression, you tug your hand away and turn to walk away. But déjà vu strikes as Yoongi’s hand envelops your wrist.

He pulls you back into his chest as he leans down. You can feel his words flow from his chest as he murmurs, “Oh really? And did you know that Jungkook is happily in a relationship? What a bummer.”

“Uh, I don’t recall asking,” You retort, “But that’s great for Jungkook. Should I send him a card in congratulations?”

“Fuck, you are so frustrating,” Yoongi groans and lets out an exasperated laugh, “Are you really going to make me ask?”

“Undoubtedly,” You grin like the menace you are.

Sighing, Yoongi presses closer to you. “(Y/n),” His lips brush against your ear, “What did you like about me?”

The way that Yoongi’s scent wraps around you, the way his lips move against your skin, the way his words drip with sensual intent makes you cave almost immediately. “Well, you had some fire bars, bro,” You blurt out.

He stills for a second and then a laugh bubbles up from his chest. You pout as he doubles over, clutching his stomach. 

“Hey,” You complain, “I thought that’s what all the youngsters are calling it these days.”

Yoongi laughs harder, “Oh my god, please stop. I’m going to break a rib from laughing too hard.”

You sniff, “Well, consider that the first and last compliment you will get from me. Ever.”

That shuts him up real quick. “Aw, babe,” He whines, following you as you move towards the counter in the back of the shop. Thank god there are no other customers to witness your complete degeneration into Min Yoongi Trash™. 

You slouch against the counter as you reach it, turning to face him. “Don’t ‘aw, babe’ me, babe. Now, get me my flower.”

Your sass does nothing but bring a smile to Yoongi’s face, and your frown deepens.

“I know just the thing,” He smirks. 

You don’t trust it. At all.

Yoongi goes behind the counter and grabs a little potted flower from behind the register. He pushes it over to your side slowly. “It’s a potato vine flower (you are delicious),” He says, like that explains everything. “It reminds me of you.”

You gape at the admittedly pretty triad of flowers intertwined together in the small silver pot. “A flower with potato in its name reminds you of me?” Your eyes narrow down into slits as you stare at him.

“Those are the words that came out of my mouth, yes.” His lips quirk at your growing ire.

“Hmph,” You turn up your nose, “Well, I will take it as a compliment. Potatoes are great, versatile, and goddamn tasty.”

“Indeed,” Yoongi smiles, running a hand through his hair. The rings adorning his fingers glisten under the shop’s lights, and you cannot help but follow his hands as they once again return to his sides.

You can feel your face warming as indecent thoughts of his hands on you fly through your brain. As your gaze remains lowered, it falls upon the tip jar. Today, it reads: “Help Yoongi fulfill his dream… of doing absolutely nothing”.

Before Yoongi can stop you, you shove a twenty into the jar. “Thanks for the potato plant, Yoongi,” You try to hide your smile as he - as predicted - gets into a huff over your incorrect identification.

“It’s a potato vine flower!” He yells after you as you walk away, “You know that, right? It’s important to me that you know that!”

“Po-tay-to, po-tat-oh,” You call back to him, laughing as you ignore his groan of protest. Provoking Yoongi might just become your new favorite hobby.

Work consumes your next few days and prevents you from visiting your lovely little flower boy. Obviously, that has contributed to your mood taking a turn for the worse. But, it’s also done a steep nosedive because fucking Darryl is back at it again with his misogyny. You really shouldn't be surprised at this point, but here you are, surrounded by cleaning supplies, one concerned model, and one indifferent photographer.

Your joint project is culminating tomorrow - book cover proposal for one of the industry’s top romance authors. The one job, the one fucking job, you had given Darryl was to buy props. And guess what Darryl had gotten? Fucking mops.

“I thought you just wanted to clean or some shit,” He had said and then had the nerve to shrug.

Oh, you are going to clean alright. Clean him right out of his office, you will. Using him as the broom you personally sweep the floor with. 

Now, your cover model Jinyoung is here, and there is nothing to make this shoot interesting. Jinyoung, one of Jackson’s close friends and fellow model, awkwardly tries to comfort you as you stew in your rage in the corner of the studio.

“What are we going to do?” You cry for the tenth time, getting ready to either burst into tears or to burn the building to the ground. At least Darryl had made himself scarce ever since you tore into his ass for a solid fifteen minutes. Honestly, that had been the highlight of your day.

“Are there any props around here?” Jinyoung suggests. You look around the studio only to find the photographer Mina scrolling through her phone and an assortment of lighting fixtures against the white backdrop. Suddenly, your gaze snaps back to Mina - more specifically to her floral patterned shirt.

“Come with me,” You grab Jinyoung’s hand and tug him out the door, “Mina, I’ll be back in ten!”

The photographer sends a thumbs up, and you and Jinyoung are on your way. “Where are we going?” He chuckles as you keep tugging him along out of the building and down the street.

“We are going to improvise,” You grit out as you stomp towards your destination, hand still grasping Jinyoung’s tightly. Finally, you arrive at Of Fern and Freesia. “We’re getting flowers,” You declare and enter the shop with Jinyoung in tow.

“Alright then,” He mutters, probably thinking that he doesn't get paid enough for this. And honestly neither do you - especially when you lock eyes with Min Yoongi and his face looks like thunder. You become hyper-aware that you are still clutching onto Jinyoung as Yoongi’s eyes fall to focus on your clasped hands. His jaw tightens. 

And then his expression clears like nothing had even happened. 

Your heart beats fast in your chest as you watch as Yoongi turns and walks into the back room of the shop without a backwards glance.

Had that been a display of jealousy just now? It could not have been. Nope.

You shove this whole thing aside. You aren’t Yoongi’s anything. Just like he isn’t yours. 

You clasp Jinyoung’s hand tighter as you haul him towards a selection of roses. “What do you think of any of these?” You ask Jinyoung and point to the different colored roses. 

“Uh, they’re nice,” Jinyoung doesn’t seem too committed to your search, but you pay that no mind. You have one goal: do not get fired. Actually, no. You have a second goal: get Darryl fired. 

You pluck a red rose (love) and a burgundy rose (unconscious beauty) out of their respective buckets. Holding them up next to Jinyoung, you try to envision the book cover. But instead of seeing Jinyoung with rose petals raining down around him, you see Yoongi sprawled out across your bed with petals scattered around him.

Not the time, (y/n)! 

Oh, god. The time!

You quickly grab the entire bucket of red roses and gesture for Jinyoung to grab the burgundy rose bucket. “We’ll get both and figure it out later,” You say, moving onwards towards the counter. Jinyoung follows you obediently. 

When you make it to the counter, you both plop the buckets down. 

“Couldn’t have just one, huh?” 

You and Jinyoung jump as Yoongi appears from behind you as he rounds the counter. 

“Had to take them both?” He continues, his expressionless face is worrisome. But, you do not have the time to analyze it or his confusing words right now.

“Uh, yeah? Yoongi, listen, we’re really late, and I need to pay quickly. I can explain later. Please.”

Your voice cracks on your last word, and Yoongi’s blank expression softens slightly as he sighs, “Okay, (y/n).” He accepts your credit card that you have outstretched to him and rings your flowers up.

“Thank you, Yoongi. You’re a lifesaver,” You say in a tiny voice, going to grab your wallet when you realize you don’t actually have cash on you right now. You’ll have to come back later.

“Yeah, thanks, man,” Jinyoung says, giving Yoongi that classic headnod that ‘bros’ do. 

Yoongi shoots Jinyoung one of the iciest glares you have ever seen; and yet, somehow, Jinyoung just smiles without a care. 

“You’re welcome, (y/n),” Yoongi replies, handing you back your card along with the receipt. “Oh, I also have flowers for you - for both of you.” He snags two different flowers from the shelf behind the counter and holds one out to each of you.

You accept the pretty white flower which Yoongi calls a polyanthus lily (pleasures that inevitably cause pain), while Jinyoung gingerly accepts a cluster of smaller yellow flowers. Yoongi smugly declares them to be tansies (I declare war against you). 

Thanking Yoongi again, you rush out of the shop with a bucket of roses in your hands and a model hot on your heels. You have a shoot to save and a bone to pick. It is time to get shit done.

Seven exhausting hours later, you emerge from your workplace with a sense of bitter accomplishment. Your shoot with Jinyoung had gone as well as it could have given the circumstances.

You and Mina had gotten as creative as you could have with the hundred roses you had bought from Of Fern & Freesia. You had showered Jinyoung in rose petals, you had made him place a rose between his teeth, and you had him extend one flower out like the Bachelor.

God, if you hadn’t been half in love with your flower boy you might have kissed Jinyoung for being such a good sport. Instead, you had settled for personally calling his agency to sing his praises and for making a note to send him a bonus.

Another win had come later this afternoon when you had been lucky enough to bear witness to Darryl’s termination. Your boss had been horrified to hear about Darryl’s fuckup and about all of the other bullshit he had put you through. As it turns out, she had already been keeping tabs on him for similar suspicions and this had been all the evidence she needed to seal the deal.

The look on Darryl’s face had been life changing. It had carried you through the last few hours of editing and arranging the final book cover proposal.

And so, finally, you drag your tired ass back to Of Fern & Freesia to both tip Yoongi for earlier and to give an explanation for the brevity of your afternoon visit. That is, if he is even still working at this hour. The shop is nearing its close, and you just hope you aren’t too late.

The bell chiming is the only sound that greets your ears as you enter the shop. The place is absent of the customers who usually roam around the aisles, examining flowers. Undeterred, you walk towards the back of the shop.

Yoongi is slouched over the counter, typing away furiously on his phone. He doesn’t look up as you approach as it seems he’s lost in his own virtual world.

“Paging florist Yoongi,” You call softly and smile as Yoongi is finally the one to get jumpy.

“Yah,” He cries, slapping a hand to his heart, “What are you trying to do, woman?”

“I’m trying to greet you, duh,” You roll your eyes, biting back a grin. 

“All alone this time?” Yoongi sets his phone on the counter, turning his full attention - and sass - to you.

“Alone? Please,” You scoff, “My FBI agent is surely tailing me somewhere nearby.”

“There goes that mouth,” Yoongi mutters darkly, his eyes dropping to your lips for a split second. He leans closer to you over the counter, “Tell me, (y/n)... Does your boyfriend like it when you talk back like that, too? Or is that all that attitude just for me?”

You mirror his actions, leaning over the counter and bringing your face closer to his. “He would like it... If he existed.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen slightly before narrowing, “Really? Then who was that boy you came in here with earlier? So you’re saying that you hold hands and buy flowers with just anyone?” His attention on you is hard and absolute, but you don’t flinch. 

You lean closer, lips only an inch or two away from his. “Hm,” You say, in mock confusion, “I didn’t realize that the last Daylight Savings had shifted us all the way back to the 14th century. Oh, wait. It’s still 2020, and I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

Before you can blink, Yoongi’s hands shoot out to cradle your face and his lips are on yours. A gasp slips between your lips, and Yoongi takes advantage of your shock to slip his tongue into your mouth, tasting you. He pulls back slightly, his lips brushing yours as he mutters, “You are so goddamn infuriating. You walk around here looking like a fucking thirst trap when I have to be Professional Yoongi™, and then you say these absurd things that only make me want you more, and then you show up at my music show and almost make me forget every word I have ever known, and now the only melodies and lyrics that run through my brain relate to you, and so I am just losing my goddamn mind over you—”

You kiss him. “Shut up, you giant adorable idiot,” You mumble against his lips, “And for the record, I liked you first.”

Yoongi pulls away from you and shakes his head, “No way, babe. I’ve liked you since the moment I saw you standing at this counter for the first time last month.” 

You cross your arms, “Oh yeah? Well, I’ve liked you since you walked out of that back room right there to help me for the first time last month. So, it looks like we’re even.” 

“Even?” Yoongi grins, ducking down to pull something off the shelf below the counter. “That’s cute. But, I win,” He straightens, placing a bigger tip jar that you’ve never seen before onto the counter between you. Slowly, he turns it around so that the post-it note attached to it is displayed for you: “Cute girl (Y/n) and Yoongi’s Date Fund”. 

“Wow, am I not cute anymore?” You joke, looking up at Yoongi who rolls his eyes.

“That was before I knew your name, babe, and (y/n) is too beautiful a name not to be written at every opportunity.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. Your cheeks flush traitorously as you smile, “You’re so full of shit, Min Yoongi.”

“Am not,” He argues, moving around the counter over to your side. Just when you think he’s trying to get closer to you, he moves past you.

“Where are you going?” You trail after him, pausing when you notice he’s pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. Your eyes widen to their full extent as you watch him lock up the shop and flip around the sign to read: “Closed”.

Yoongi turns back around. “Come here, (y/n),” He says, his voice deep, his lips tugging into a smirk. 

You resort to your instinctual reaction whenever someone issues you an order, “Make me.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Yoongi prowls towards you. You back up with every step he takes, and before you know it, your back is up against the counter. Yoongi’s arms cage you in on either side of your body. He’s so close. The heat from his body sears into you and you think you might just faint from proximity.

“What do you want from me?” You whisper as Yoongi’s head dips to place soft kisses along your neck.

“I want you,” He says without a pause or hesitation, “In any way you’ll give me.”

“And would I get you in return?” You sigh as Yoongi sucks lightly on the skin right below your ear.

You feel his smile before he answers, “Babe, you already have me.”

Your heart swells. He is yours. But in true (y/n) fashion you cannot help but to fuck with him further, “Ah, well that just disincentivizes giving myself to you. Since I already have you, why should I let you have me?”

Yoongi bites your neck lightly in response to your teasing, and you are too surprised to catch the moan before it winds its way out of your mouth. “Fuck, baby, I need to hear you make that sound again,” Yoongi growls, his hands gripping your thighs before lifting you onto the counter. “Let me have you,” He begs, pulling his head back to stare at you. His pupils are so blown out, and you are certain yours are the same way.

His hands are still gripping your thighs as you clench them together as best you can with Yoongi in between. 

“Oh,” Yoongi murmurs, looking too pleased, “Is my baby desperate for my touch already?”

“Puh-lease,” You reply, “Don’t act like you aren’t hard as fuck right now, Min.” 

“That’s besides the point. I’ve been hard for you since you walked in here in that tight as fuck skirt and those fucking heels,” Yoongi scowls. “And then you had the audacity to take your hair down like some sort of seductress. I had to jerk off like three times that night.”

“Oh,” You grin evilly, “You mean… like this?” You reach up to pull the pencil out of your topknot, successfully sending your hair tumbling down your shoulders. You shake your head slightly to help the strands settle and bask in Yoongi’s dark expression complete with clenched jaw.

“That’s it,” Yoongi’s hands slide under your thighs, and suddenly you are thrown over his shoulder.

“Yoongi!” You cry as he carries you into the back room of the shop.

“Shut it, you,” Yoongi spanks your ass once, and you let out a tiny squeak before you are set down on a marble island amidst a room full of flowers, ribbons, and anything even remotely related to bouquet-making. 

You’re too distracted by the beauty that surrounds you to notice that Yoongi is grabbing something from a nearby shelf. He returns to stand in front of you once more. “Let me taste you,” He says as if he’s asking for the time of day. 

“If you must,” You feign indifference, but your smile betrays you.

“Clothes off,” Yoongi says, his voice deeper than you’ve ever heard it. You don’t think twice before stripping out of your blouse and unbuttoning your dark jeans.

“You’re gonna have to help me, Yoongi,” You sigh as you stare down at the lack of room Yoongi is giving you to stand to take off your pants.

“It would be my honor,” Yoongi replies, and you groan at his dramatics. “Ass up,” He commands. You lean back onto your elbows and lift your ass up so that he can take your jeans off successfully.

“Damn, baby,” His eyes burn into you as he takes in the sight of your body covered just barely by your lace bra and panties. Tugging a scrap of ribbon from his pocket, Yoongi approaches you, “Can I blindfold you?”

“Kinky,” You breathe, nodding. Yoongi grins and gently ties the soft ribbon around your head, effectively surrounding you in darkness.

“Lay back,” He murmurs. You do so, shivering slightly as your skin meets the coolness of the marble. A soft kiss is placed to your cheek before you feel a brush of something else cross your neck.

You gasp as what you can only imagine could be a flower is dragged along your body, dipping in between your breasts, down across your stomach, ghosting over your hips. All of your senses are buzzing, hyper-aware of everything but your sight.

And so when you feel a finger slowly stroke you over your panties, you let out a gasp. “Yoongi,” You moan, your hips shifting in vain to bring his hand closer.

“Say my name again,” He growls, and you hear a snip along with a quick touch of metal.

“Yoongi,” You chastise, “Did you just fucking cut my underwear off?”

“Hm, not quite the tone I was asking for but it’ll do,” The grin is apparent in his voice and you open your mouth to lay into him when his tongue slides between your folds.

“Fuck,” You sigh, your hand winding down your body to clutch at his hair, “Yoongi, please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Yoongi mumbles, and then you are suddenly moved closer to the edge of the island and his mouth is on you.

His lips kiss over every inch of your pussy, his tongue flicks out every so often to drag over your clit. It’s slow and torturously sweet. Your back arches as Yoongi suddenly sucks lightly at your swollen bud. 

“Yoongi.” 

That sets him off. You feel Yoongi’s finger tease your entrance, lightly pushing in and out as his mouth continues to suck and caress your pussy.

“Please.”

His finger sinks into you, and you curse, moaning Yoongi’s name as he continues to push in and out of you. Though your vision is taken, you begin to see white as you hurtle towards the precipice.

Another finger is thrust inside you and you cry out. “Fuck, baby,” Yoongi growls, “You are so wet for me, so tight, so delicious. Tell me when you’re close. I want you to come in my mouth.”

Fuck, he’s filthy. You think you might love him.

“I’m already close, you little shit,” You groan as he sucks your clit harshly, making you somehow see stars.

Yoongi immediately switches things up, his tongue sinks inside you as his fingers rub your clit in quick, light circles.

You come with a scream, feeling Yoongi sucking and lapping up everything you give him. He carries you through your orgasm, and finally you sink back onto the marble.

And then you rip off the blindfold.

“My turn!” You grin, blinking furiously as your eyes readjust to the light of the room. You sit up. Yoongi is still kneeling between your legs, gazing up at you with wet lips and a feral expression.

“Your turn?” He arches an eyebrow and stands. You take advantage of his movements and hop down off the island.

“Those are the words that came out of my mouth, yes,” You throw his own words from a few days ago back in his face.

You can tell he remembers when he laughs slightly, his eyes crinkling adorably. 

“Now get naked, Min Yoongi,” You command, unhooking your bra and letting it fall to the ground.

Yoongi groans at the sight of you and then whips his shirt off, throwing it at you.

Laughing, you catch it and chuck it to the side. Before you know it, Yoongi stands naked before you. His torso is also covered in ink, his nipples are pierced, his cock is hard.

You slowly walk over to him, excited by how the tables have turned now. “Blindfold?” You ask, dangling the satin ribbon in front of you.

He shakes his head swiftly, “No, I need to see you.”

You grab his cock and revel in the hiss of breath he sucks in, “Baby boy, I don't think you understand who is in charge here.”

“Fuck,” He moans, both at your words and at the slow movements of your hand along his length. 

“Now, since you made me come particularly hard, I’m going to give you another option: I tie your wrists.”

Yoongi looks pissed, “I have to pick one?” 

You take your hand away, and he caves instantly. “Fine! Tie my wrists.”

“Good boy,” You smirk, “Now lay on the island like I just did.” You watch as he listens, grumbling all the while about how he wanted to touch you and how this was some bullshit. He’d learn.

Finally, Yoongi is in position and gives out a big sigh like he just went through so much effort. So extra.

You make quick work of his wrists, tying them above his head loosely. “Let me know it gets to be too much for you, okay?” You kiss him softly and swiftly and smile as he tries to chase your lips as you pull back.

You hop onto the island and slowly kneel over Yoongi. Your knees are on either side of his calves as you lean down, arching your back so your ass is high in the air, and then you suck the tip of his cock into your mouth.

The moan that Yoongi emits is so sexy that you almost skip right to sitting on his dick - almost. Instead, you just speed up, swirling your tongue around him and cradling his balls in your palm.

“Fucking hell, baby,” Yoongi rasps out, his eyes squeezed shut, “Your fucking mouth.”

You smile around him and take him further inside your mouth. Yoongi chokes out more curses than you have ever heard before. And when you swallow around him, he groans, “I’m gonna come. Wanna come on your tits.”

You release him with a pop. “No,” You say, sitting back on your heels. 

Yoongi’s neck strains as he looks down at you, “Please, (y/n), baby, I need you. Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy.” His head falls back as he smirks slightly, “I can’t believe that you just sucked my dick and that I actually got to eat you out just now. Damn, I don’t know how I got so lucky. Maybe I saved someone famous in my past life. Or maybe I was Spiderman—”

Moving quickly, you settle further up his body, hovering over his cock. Your hand covers Yoongi’s mouth. “Are you malfunctioning? Oh my god, I broke you. And to think I was going to sit on your dick next… That’s too bad. I don't think you can handle it.”

His eyes widen to the size of dinner plates as he stares up at you, “Mmph!” His words are muffled by your palm.

“What’s that?” You tease, leaning down to slowly suck on his nipple, swirling the piercing around with your tongue. “You still want me to?”

This time, you remove your hand so he can reply fully. As soon as your palm leaves, Yoongi cries, “Please, please, please, baby. Take me inside you. I’ll make you feel good, I promise!” 

“Well,” You straighten, grabbing his cock and lining him up with your entrance, “Since you asked so nicely.”

Slowly, you sink down. Inch by inch you watch as Yoongi’s face scrunches up as he murmurs your name like a prayer. Finally, you take him all the way inside. “Well, how does it feel, baby?” You grin.

“Like fucking heaven,” He groans, his fists clenching above him as he tries to thrust into you as best he can.

“Relax, baby,” You place a palm on his chest, “Let me take care of you.” With that, you begin to move. Your hips swivel slowly at first and then pick up the pace. You feel him twitching inside you and you know that he’s already close from how well you sucked him off earlier.

You ride him hard, sliding up and down his hard cock and watching his face as you ruin him. His breathing is harsh and his legs begin shaking beneath you, “Fuck, shit, damn, baby, please.”

His words are a garbled mess as you clench down around him, beginning to feel your own orgasm rising. “Don’t you dare come yet, Min Yoongi,” You hiss, leaning back slightly to take him deeper.

“Baby-y, please.” You watch enraptured as a tear slips out of his eye. Yoongi’s abs are clenching and you know he is so fucking close to coming. 

“Look at me,” You order, sliding a hand down your body to circle your clit. He listens and groans immediately at the sight of you.

“Watching you ride me makes me want to come even more!” He whines, but nevertheless keeps his eyes on you. You smile and moan softly as you continue to ride him, flicking your clit between your fingers. You’re close now. 

Your movements become frantic as you bounce on his cock, your hips shifting over his. You hurtle towards your climax and you tighten around him, “Come.”

Immediately, you feel him come inside you, painting your walls and filling you with warmth. You light up as you come for the second time that night, your walls pulsing around his cock, milking him. 

Yoongi is undone underneath you, his head is thrown back, throat on full display. He is muttering something about the sweetest pussy ever and wedding rings. And he looks so good that you can't resist laying down on top of him, kissing his neck. “You good, baby boy?” You smile in between kisses.

“I think you did break me,” He mumbles, his hands settling on your hips. Wait a second…

“How did you untie yourself?” You pout, relaxing into Yoongi’s chest as his hands rub your ass.

“Silk is slippery, babe,” You can practically hear his grin, “But not as slippery as your pus—”

“Min Yoongi!” You cry, hopping off of him. He whines as he slips out of you but then licks his lips as he notices his own cum dripping down your legs. 

“Come here,” He crooks a finger at you.

“Make me,” You retort once again, smirking slightly. 

He groans, “I don't think I can even move right now if I wanted to. But come on, sit on my face.”

“Wow, such language!” You slap a hand over your heart, “My delicate ears will never recover!”

“You’re the worst,” Yoongi laughs, easing up to sit. “Damn, I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard.”

“Nice,” You nod proudly, “Leave that review on Yelp, please.”

His dark eyes narrow, “Who else is leaving reviews, (y/n)?” 

Laughing, you tug on Yoongi’s discarded t-shirt, “Oh, you know, the rest of my harem of flower boys.”

“What!” Yoongi makes a miraculous recovery as he jumps off the island and tugs you to him, “I’m your flower boy, baby. You’ll never need anyone else.”

Smiling widely up at him, you simply reply, “Okay, bloomer.”

a/n: flower meanings sourced from: The Complete Language of Flowers: A Definitive and Illustrated History by S. Theresa Dietz AND The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh [again, meanings differ depending on the source!)

[draggingthedregs]

Hello! I love your writing so much! Can you write some kanej with Kaz being protective of Inej? If not that’s completely fine :) thank u!

a/n: okay so I always really struggle with “protective Kaz” things because I feel like he knows that she can most definitely take care of herself and he respects her for that. So this is what I came up with to try and meet in the middle. There’s that scene in Six of Crows where Kaz sends Inej to get rid of Rojakke (is that how you spell it? Idk he was in one scene, his name is not the point) and then when they’re back in his office that night he asks like “Did he put up a fight?” and she says “Nothing I couldn’t handle” and he says “Not what I asked” so thats where the idea for this came from, thank you bye. 

word count: 2634

There was something about the floor of the Crow Club that set Kaz at ease.

Its endless cacophony of coins bouncing from table to floor, the spinning of Makkers Wheel, the laughter floating onto the street, and, his personal favorite, the flipping that only accompanied a deck of cards. Somedays he thought he’d be content to shuffle at a table forever.

It was then that Inej pushed through the entryway, shaking off the rain that rarely ceased to pour over the crowded city. She pulled her hood down, her inky hair braided into a long rope laying against her shoulder. Kaz traced every inch of her, as he often did when she entered a room: the slope of her nose, the smile she flashed to the greetings shouted in her direction, the knives strapped to her hips. He tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head that reminded him he’d also be content to be with her forever.

There were times he hated the things that he would notice, hated how his brain slipped past the innocent intention of watching to a sinister place of touch and consequence. He flipped the thoughts over in his head, studying them from every angle like he would a card trick, trying to mold them into different pictures. But the images froze in place anyway; the feel of her skin against his burned like fire, even in an illusion.

Most of all, he hated that he couldn’t force these delusions into reality, couldn’t touch her how he wanted, couldn’t force the bile down and only feel Inej’s warmth.  

As she approached him, nodding to the private game rooms at the back of the club, giving him a clear view of her, he saw that something was amiss. Scarlet bloomed through her vest and onto her sleeve, trailing down to her thigh. He followed her, shutting the heavy door behind them and turning its complex series of locks. She’s upright. That’s all you should care about. 

“The Exchange was crawling with Stadwatch. Security must be tight since the incident.” 

“Did they see you?”

Inej practically scoffed, leaning her weight against the wooden table. “No. But I’m sure they’ll find someone who fits their bill. You know as well as I do, the council will want this quieted soon.”

Kaz nodded. Two weeks ago, the Exchange had been robbed, and though it was never publicly released, Kaz knew exactly what was stolen. After all, he had all the stocks and shipment papers locked in his safe as they spoke. 

Roeder had been the one to pull off the job originally, this being one of the few things Kaz had required a spider for while she was busy at sea. He had done a mediocre job, but he was sloppy with locks and leaving the place as he’d found it. Going back to the scene of the crime seemed too risky a gamble but when Inej returned, she knew she could scrape it. And Kaz wasn’t going to start doubting the Wraith’s abilities now. 

He flipped through the file she handed him. To anyone else, it may have looked useless, just pages and pages of numbers and times, scratchy handwritten tables filled with nonsense. But to him, and to a mercher with half a whit, this was key to investing. With the talleys and dates in hand, he would know what shipments to bank on and where to place his shares for the next few months. 

“As always, the Wraith pulls through.”

Inej nodded and pulled her hood up once more. “You’re welcome.”

Kaz gave her another once over, slower than intended. “What happened?” He blurted, his voice sounding like a low growl in his throat.  

Inej looked down at herself, brows knitted, studying the blood on her trousers. “Bullet or two from a guard just shooting at shadows.” With her brief summary of events, she took her weight off the table, readying herself for the journey back into the wet.

Kaz felt a sinking in his chest at the thought of her walking away from him, even if it was just to her apartment, and he hated himself for it. Now especially with her covered in blood, he couldn’t stomach the thought of her leaving. Without meaning to, he had taken himself back to before she had left.

It had been Inej’s last night before heading to sea when they had tried to pretend they were normal, that there wasn’t still so much between them. Kaz sat next to her on his bed, bad leg out in front of him, avoiding her gaze. 

“We don’t have to do this at all.”

But he did. Kaz had to prove that he had come further than this. I can best this… 

When she set sail the next morning, the feeling of failure settled deep within him, right beside the feeling that this time, he may never get her back from the sea. 

Now, he couldn’t help but stop her. “Inej-” he began. 

She turned, her hand resting on the doors heavy handle.

He made up the steps between them to stand beside her. Kaz forced himself to give any semblance of explanation, knowing that he’d promised to give her what she deserved and knowing that he was currently failing. “Let me walk with you.”

Inej nodded, dropping her hand as Kaz unlocked the door and opened it for her. He felt awkward, and quite frankly stupid; opening it as if she was some pretty girl that couldn’t handle the difference between whether to push or pull. She strided through anyway and he followed, silently cursing himself and hoping the grimace on his face looked normal for his temperament. Once they’d made it to the street, she slowed to walk beside him. 

At first, neither of them spoke. Then, in her gentle and hushed tone, perhaps to avoid his inevitable questions about her evening, “Am I getting a personal escort through the Barrel?”

Kaz needn’t look down to feel the smile in her voice. “Is that what you’d prefer to call it?”

“It isn’t exactly an evening stroll down the canal, is it?”

“I suppose not.” He cringed at the sound of his own rasp, smashing against the lift of her voice like waves against stone. Though from what he could tell, she didn’t do the same. Inej only shrugged, tugging her hood forward against the drizzle. 

“I only meant that I should feel lucky to get the King of the Barrel to myself for the night.”

Kaz thought he might keel over. “I am a busy man, but I still find time to survey my kingdom.”

Inej only rolled her eyes and kept her gaze straight forward. A moment of silence nestled between them, leaving only the sound off the East Stave hanging in the air. After fighting with himself for what seemed like far too long, his gaze settled atop her.

“Yes?”

Kaz swallowed hard, “Did you miss Ketterdam?” Did you miss me? 

She considered his question, and to him, the silence stretched through the air like a rubber band about to break. 

“I did. More than I thought I would.” Inej finally relented. Her voice had drifted to a somber place, a quiet stillness replacing the humor she’d had minutes before. 

They had turned down a back alley, the darkness consuming them in sore contrast to the dazzling lights of the Stave. Their footsteps echoed in a syncopated rhythm, his awkward gait and cane paired with her near-soundless steps. 

Maybe it was the high of having her back, walking next to him through Ketterdam as they’d done so many times before, but he hadn’t realized the direction they’d been walking. They approached the Slat, its crooked frame jutting out from the foundation at a welcoming tilt. He glanced down to Inej once more, watching as she took in the building, trying to see it through her eyes, as he wished to see much of the world. 

“Is the Captain afraid of her old nest?”

If he had intended it as a jab, she didn’t take it as such. Inej shook her head once, “It just feels like home…” 

She moved before he did, taking a deep breath of the stale air inside as she stepped through the threshold. There was movement, as there always was, but the Slat was quiet this time of night and Kaz was thankful. It meant that, selfishly, he could keep Inej upstairs and to himself for as long as he could come up with things to talk about. Perhaps they’d even sit on his bed and she would allow him to make up for the last time they’d found themselves there. 

Kaz marveled at her as she took the creaky stairs ahead of him, the steps creaking beneath his weight after seemingly not registering her. His eyes once again wandered to the blood stains that covered her. He felt a hair-pin trigger go off in his chest and suddenly, there was anger. 

Stop that. She isn’t yours to save. 

Inej waited for him to open the door, sidestepping as they both now stood on the landing. If Kaz hadn’t just been studying her, he might have missed her change in demeanor and the way she shifted her weight to the wall behind her.  

“Inej.”

“Hm?”

Kaz attempted to even his tone. “How bad are they?” 

“What?”

His voice sounded like stones grinding against one another, “The bullet wounds.”

She shrugged but he could see the stress of the evening in her features. Her limbs seemed heavy and her eyelids fought to open with every blink. With a shove, Kaz unlocked his office door, forcing the warped wood open and, without hesitation, Inej followed him in, taking in the room as she clicked the locks back into place.

He leaned his cane against the makeshift desk and shucked his gloves off as he approached the cabinet beneath his wash basin, digging through its drawers for gauze and shears. Behind him, he heard the familiar creak of his window opening. The smell of rain against the cobblestones wafted toward him. 

“Your window seat has felt neglected. Your crows too.”

“Does that mean you stopped feeding them while I was gone?”

No. They reminded me of you. I couldn’t let another piece of you go. “They’re scavengers. I’m sure they managed.”

It was then that Kaz turned to see her standing by his bed. Inej looked up, her cheeks flushing red like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been. He only walked over, setting the bandages on the thin mattress. “So I don’t have to find a heartrender for you.”

“They really aren’t that bad-”

“You’ve bled through your clothes. They’re bad enough.”

Inej cleared her throat as she began removing layers of knives and clothes. Kaz’s eyes roved over her, the pounding in his chest growing louder. He hated it. 

 Her arms and shoulders were covered in fresh scars, some of them still red and scabbed, and the bruises on her ribs were still deep purple. 

“Slavers don’t give up their cargo easily.” Inej’s voice came out with caution, as if she was waiting to see his reaction. 

His gaze met hers, voice carving into the air like a rusted blade. “Where are they all now?”

“Dead.”

A sense of pride cracked through him as a rare smile settled on his lips. Kaz nodded. “Good.” 

She picked up a strip of bandage, wrapping it around the bullet wound on her bicep, silence filling the space between them. Inej didn’t need to look up to feel the weight of his eyes on her. A flush crept to the tops of her ears. “I didn’t want you to see.”

It was rare for Kaz Brekker to be confused and yet, here he was. 

“I thought you might kill someone. Or start to doubt that I could handle myself.”

“I could never doubt you. Only a fool would.” It was only after he said it that he realized it had been aloud. 

Inej tied off the bandage then glanced down to the blood on her pants.  

“I can-”

“No.” She said, finally making eye contact with him again. “Stay.”

For his sake and hers, Kaz turned his head to avoid staring as she shimmied out of the bloodied fabric. 

She sat on the edge of the bed and poked around for any bullet fragments, the muscles in her thigh tensing, the dried blood on her skin looking black. Inej was just as strong as ever; all her limbs built of corded muscle coated in the lithe grace of an acrobat, just as he remembered. Despite his better judgement, Kaz took a long look at her. 

It’s shame that eats men whole. He could feel it gnawing at him as he attempted to push away the image of her bare thighs against his sheets. 

“Kaz, can you-?” She nodded to the scissors, her hands stuck at an awkward angle around her leg, the apprehension on her face clear. 

He picked them up and took a deep breath before sitting down beside her. When he leaned over, he was careful not to touch her. Her breath stirred the hair on the back of his neck. One turn of his head and their lips would have been inches apart. This reminded him far too much of the hotel washroom; he only hoped it would end better. 

Kaz cut the bandage gently, taking the end from her and tying it, his knuckles grazing against her skin. Panic hit him before anything else, afraid he had overstepped. It took him a moment to realize there was no revulsion roiling through him. 

“Inej-”

“It’s alright… Thank you.”

He nodded, grabbing what was left of the bandages and the shears and placing them on top of his dresser. Then he opened one of his drawers, rummaging through the mess of clothes until he found what he had been looking for. 

Kaz handed her a pair of cotton sleep trousers. “I can’t imagine yours are salvageable.”

Inej smiled, sliding them over her legs. They were huge on her. And though they hadn’t discussed her sleeping arrangements for the evening, it appeared she would be staying there. 

He sat back down, staring at his bare hands; the hands that had just graced her without trouble or hesitation. She reached over, threading her fingers through his, and studied him, watching for the shift. But it never came. 

“Will you lay with me?”

At that, he looked up. 

In front of him was a girl who deserved so much more than Dirtyhands. A girl who made the sea cower and made the sun look dull. A girl who could have done anything she wished in life with ease and grace. And yet- she was sat in his bed, holding his hand, and patiently waiting for the semblances of affection he could provide. 

Kaz felt himself nod. 

She pushed herself back until she was against the wooden headboard. They both moved slowly, carefully placing their limbs so there was no overlap. 

Then, he was laying beside her; both of their heads turned to study each other.

“Thank you.” Inej’s voice nearly a whisper. 

The minutes stretched into hours, and Kaz lay listening to her breathing. I will have you without armor. 

Well after twelve bells, the cadence of sleep seemed to grab hold of him, weighing heavy on his body. As his eyes drifted shut, he hoped that there would be more nights like this: nights with Inej close by his side and stillness in his mind. 

He reached for her hand in the dark and promised he would not let go come morning. He would never let go of her again. 

[justcourttee]

hiiiii i don't know if you take prompts or requests or anything, but would you maybe consider writing a sequel to A Moment Too Late? maybe with a happy ending? i love your writing!!

I tried for what I’ll call a happy-ish ending, but I hope you still enjoy it! 

*WARNING* This piece and part 1 mention attempted suicide and can be difficult for some. Please, please, please be sure you feel comfortable reading about this topic before clicking below the title. 

In The Nick of Time

Damian took his first step into the city of love at 4:00 pm.  

He had a general idea of where to begin, but the combination of no sleep and jet lag was taking its toll. He had tried reaching out to her several times on the flight over, but she ignored his every effort. It could have just been the fact that she was in her classes. She may have been suicidal, but maybe she still took her education seriously?

It wasn’t likely, but it helped put his mind at some ease, hoping he still had time. His first order of business was renting a car. Technically speaking, his father had a villa on the outskirts of the city with a multitude of cars to pick from, but seeing as no one knew where he was, he wasn’t eager to tip them off.

He gazed over the taxis lined up, eagerly looking to take advantage of the tourists piling out of the airport behind him. He didn’t want someone to eager, he just needed someone who looked on the brim of exhaustion. His eyes landed on a poor man propped against his car, his eyes drooping like Tim before his first cup of the day. Perfect.

“Excuse me sir, but I’d like to rent your car from you for the day.”

The man peeked one eye open as he glanced warily over Damian.

“Scram kid, it’s a package deal, me and my car. You can’t just rent one or the other-”

Damian smirked as the man snatched the bundle of money from his hand, popping off the taxi light that stood on top of his car. As Damian slipped into the driver’s seat, he motioned for the man to step back over.

“Here’s a couple of extra bills to catch yourself a taxi home.”

The man’s mouth gaped as if he was searching for air underwater. Damian didn’t even bother to see if he would step back from the curb as he pulled off. The one benefit of the agonizing six-hour flight was Tim’s laptop. Damian had managed to hack into each of the high schools around the city until he narrowed it down to three Marinette’s. After looking at approximate ages and distance, he assumed she had to be the first; one Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Her family owned a bakery a little less than a mile from the high school and on the off chance she hadn’t stayed for any clubs or activities, she should be arriving there at any moment. Damian tapped the address into his phone ignoring the multitude of messages he had between his father and Dick.

It was a simple fifteen-minute drive from the airport.

Damian exhaled sharply as he sped down the exit. Fifteen minutes was enough time. It had to be enough time. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  .

“Welcome to the bakery! Is there anything I can interest you to today?”

The woman’s face wore a mixture of fake smiles and exhaustion. It might’ve been enough to fool the average customer, but to Damian, she simply looked one gust of wind from collapsing.

“Uhm, I’m looking for Marinette? Marinette Dupain-Cheng? Is she here?”

Instantly her fake smile dropped and the exhaustion settled into the creases of her face. There wasn’t even a hint of worry at the mention of her daughter’s name from a stranger’s mouth. It irritated him.

“Look, whatever she did now, we don’t have any money for a settlement. Maybe you can work out a deal with her, but we have nothing more to give.”

The woman offered him a half bow before pointing him to a small door at the back of the store. He assumed she meant for him to go through it and without another word, he stepped past her. As he made his way up the countless stairs, his irritation only grew.

He was well aware that there were parents out there indifferent to their children, but his soulmate wasn’t supposed to have one. She was always so happy and carefree when they were younger, abusing the bond whenever she could. He assumed it was because her parents had drilled into her that it was within her right too. But after that short interaction, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Finally, a white door came into view. Hesitantly, he reached out the knob twisting without resistance. Inside was a moderate flat with what appeared to be an attic access. As first impressions went, he thought it seemed like a warm and gentle place to grow up in. Very different from the windowless stone building he began in.

He slipped out of his shoes, placing them beside a pair of light pink ballet flats before taking his first step. Someone was home and by the looks of it, it should be his soulmate. Damian contemplated on whether to call out or not. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he thought it might be worse if he just opened random doors instead. Finally, he settled on attempting their soulmate link once more.

“Marinette? Are you there?”

There was no answer, but he couldn’t be sure if that was just the continued strike from his earlier efforts. Tentatively, he took another step forward, his eyes scanning the apartment. It was pretty much an open concept, so he could see everything quite easily. The only thing that eluded him was the staircase leading above.

That had to be where she was.

“Marinette? That’s how you pronounce your name, right?” Damian sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to hit himself. No matter how he intended it, he sounded like he was some stalker here to kidnap her. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just wanted to talk.”

It didn’t sound any better. Maybe he should've stuck with a gentle introduction through their bond. Speaking out loud only reminded him how terrible he was with people. Animals were easier. Everything that needed to be said could be expressed through body language.

Biting the bullet, he decided it couldn’t get any worse than barging straight up the staircase into the attic. As he pushed open the access, the first thought that crossed his mind was-

“A mess,” clothes were strewn across the floor, remnants of paper scattered within the piles. The walls were a soft pink at one point, but it looked as if someone had taken a paint scraper to them, mere flakes hanging on by a thread. For such a well-put-together apartment, the room almost seemed abandoned.

Pulling himself into the room, Damian left his legs to dangle, his toes longing for the security of the stairs just below him. It didn't seem that she was in here either. He remembered passing another floor, perhaps that was also part of their apartment? Just as he decided to plant his feet back onto the sturdy steps, his fingers brushed over one of the scraps of paper he had seen earlier.

Instinctively, he pulled his hand away from the floor, his eyebrows furrowing. Damian was fairly certain that wasn’t how paper should feel. Reaching back out, he gathered a few nearby scraps. Turning them over one by one, a picture began to form. A group of girls, all laughing completely lost in a moment of time. His curiosity bested him as he pulled himself into the room, gathering each of the scraps he could find.

A half dozen photos was all he could form by the time he collected the larger pieces. Most were group shots, but two were of a blonde guy. Upon further analysis, he determined that he was the son of the fashion dictator Gabriel Agreste. He had seen the boy at a couple of Bruce’s international parties.

Perhaps she thought he was attractive? After all, the photos seemed to be ripped from a magazine, unlike the other four. As he glanced around the room once more, he felt like he had finally found a straw to grasp at. A reason she dropped so far, so fast.

But as much as he gathered from her room, he still had no idea as to where she might be. Her shoes were at the door, but it didn’t seem as if she was anywhere in the apartment. Standing slowly, Damian took a step back toward the access he had entered through when a breeze tickled the back of his neck.

His entire body stiffened as his hand moved slowly to where he kept his emergency kunai.

“Is that you, Marinette? If so, you’re pretty good at masking your presence. I didn’t even sense you approaching.”

There was no response, but now that he knew she was there, it was easier to pick up on her shallow breathing. In one swift movement, Damian flicked his wrist backward, ducking to avoid any retaliation.

A soft grunt earned a glance backward, his eyes widening a bit at the sight. She hadn’t even tried to dodge it. Lodged into her right shoulder was his kunai, and just below it, centimeters away from her heart, was a pocket knife. A bright pink light blinded him and instinctively his arms darted out. When he could see again, a petite figure rested against his frame.

“Marinette?” She was unresponsive, a deep ruby dripping from her wounds. “Marinette!”

What was this panic he felt rising? He’d seen comrades die on the battlefield before, wounds more deadly than this. So why couldn’t he move? Logically, he knew he had to act fast, but his body wouldn’t inch.

“You’re her soulmate, right? Do something!” Damian’s head snapped up, but he couldn’t find where the voice came from. Whoever it was, it was enough to break whatever daze he had fallen into.

“Okay Marinette, I have basic medical training and I can patch you, slow the bleeding, but I can’t remove either blade. Do you understand? I’m going to have to move you, quickly and as stable as possible.” Her breathing was shallow, but her eyelids flickered in what he hoped was a response. As gently as her could, he lifted her into his arms, attempting to avoid moving either stab wound. Her soft grunt pulled at his heart. “Hold on a little longer Marinette, please, I need to apologize.”

The stairs were one agonizing moment after another and as he laid her into the backseat of his rented car, he felt winded himself. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Damian quickly pulled out his phone, cursing as it slid through his hands.

“Dammit, where did it fall?” He frantically searched, his heart rate rising with every passing moment. Was this the world’s way of punishing him? He killed and fought and argued every passing moment of his life. He pushed her away and now that he thought he was making a change, he could just waltz back into her life as if nothing had happened? He wasn’t going to make it.

“Just drive, I’ll guide you.” Had he finally lost it? It was the same imaginary voice he had heard before. Perhaps it was his subconscious, a guardian angel? Could he really trust it? “Drive boy, take a left at the stop sign.”

He couldn’t afford to wait another moment so he did what felt most logical; he drove. The drive was killing him, each painful breath becoming slower, a dagger to his heart as they escaped from her mouth.

“Just leave the car in the front, save my friend.” The only thing keeping him going was the voice.

Damian had barely parked, his feet already slamming on the pavement before the engine had stopped. Gathering her into his arms, he burst through the sliding doors, the fear rising in his throat.

“Help! I need help!” He knew his French was rusty, but he had to try. The nurse tentatively approached him, her gasp needing no explanation. A stretcher was rushed, and as they ripped her from his arms, Damian couldn’t help the anger he felt.

“Be careful with her! She’s going to die if they shift too much!” A security guard stepped over, his hands raised as if he meant to calm Damian. He took another step forward, trying to grip Damian’s arm. “What are you doing? I need to be with her! Marinette I’m right here! Can’t you hear me? I need you Marinette! Please don’t leave me!”

Damian watched as they placed the stethoscope on her chest, grim expressions hastening their step.

“Don’t look at her like that! Help her! Please!” It felt as if his lungs were collapsing, his vision blurring. Why was he reacting like this? He barely knew her. In fact, this was his first time ever seeing her.

“Sir, please calm down. They are treating your friend right now, the best thing you can do for her is sit and wait.”

The man led him to a couch where his legs finally caved, his back sinking into the chair. Damian lifted his hands to his face, wiping the tears he hadn’t even realized he had cried, but it only left his cheeks damper than before. Slowly, he pulled back his hands, his stomach plummeting. There wasn’t an inch of skin left uncovered by the red.

“Oh, oh,” Had he really not noticed how much blood she had lost? He was so focused on getting her here that he didn’t even consider if she would make it. “I thought I could make it, I thought I still had time.”

Damian recognized this feeling rising in his chest. It was the same as when he collapsed on the roof, the same as when he heard from her after so many years of silence. Was this what his mother meant by a soulmate bond being a distraction?

He had never understood why people took the insane challenge of fighting his Grandfather for a chance to leave the league in search of their soulmate. If he was honest, he thought it was a pointless endeavor and he couldn’t begin to imagine how someone believed they could pull it off. But, as his chest tightened with the rising waves of nausea, a realization washed over him.

A soulmate bond was so powerful that even if you just met them, you felt the need to protect them, to care for them. You became vulnerable for them, scared to lose them, terrified of how the world would be without them. It was a terrible weakness and a strong ally.

“Can you walk to the bathroom?” Damian felt his head stir, but it was as if it were being pulled by strings, out of his control. “I’ll explain everything if you could just meet me there.”

How could this voice be so all-knowing? Hadn’t it just surfaced from his subconscious as a way to kickstart his movement again? Yet, if that were the case, why did he find himself rising, stumbling toward the bathroom in a daze?

He slipped into the closest stall, collapsing against the door, the minute it locked. Why did he feel so drained? It was less than 500 feet.

“Do you need to sit down? I know that this must be hard on you.”

Damian’s eyes scanned the stall in search of a source for the voice, but alas, he came up with nothing. Sliding to the ground, he chuckled to himself, his hand clutching his shirt.

“I’ve finally lost it. Todd told me this day would come, but how could a dumbass like him even know?”

“You haven’t lost anything, I’m right in front of you, you just have to push through the veil.”

Damian perked up, squinting his eyes at the space directly in front of him. Slowly, but surely, his eyes focused on a red blur until the floating object came into full view.

“Holy shi-” Two paw-like things pressed his lips together, a disapproving look monopolizing its small face.

“Can you keep it down? And what’s with all this foul language? I can’t say I approve of you being my Chosen’s soulmate with a mouth like that.”

It floated a few inches away, crossing its arms as if trying to push the point across. Damian tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. He was positive that he hadn’t had anything. Perhaps this was one of those sleepless hallucinations that Drake constantly rambled on about?

“I know that look, I’m not a hallucination, I’m a kwamii! My name is Tikki and I am Marinette’s partner. Together, we merge to become the superheroine of Paris, Ladybug.”

Ladybug? He had heard Bruce mention a Parisian team. They asked for any heroes to stay out of Paris as their villain was one that manipulated emotions, turning his victims into puppets of his own bidding. No wonder Bruce and Dick were blowing up his phone. They weren’t just worried about him running off, they were also worried about him breaking an international treaty.

Damian blinked slowly as he processed the image in front of him. Kwamiis. He had heard the legend of them back when he was apart of the League of Assassins, but he had no idea they truly existed. Why was his soulmate in possession of the most powerful being in the world?

“It’s a long story soulmate of the Chosen. I have traveled long and wide and have had many wielders before, but never one as capable as Marinette. When I first found myself as her partner, she was clumsy and shy, but so friendly and kind, always going out of her way to help people. Together, we defeated the original Hawkmoth, but in the battle, his kwamii was reclaimed by one of his partners and a new Lady Hawk emerged.”

“Why are you telling me this?” The kwamii shot him a questioning look as if the answer was obvious.

“I’m trying to give you the full picture of where it all began. You blame yourself as the catalyst, but you were only a small stepping stone in her downfall, almost not worth mentioning.”

Damian felt an odd swelling in his chest. It almost felt like, relief? Had he really been this worried that he had pushed her down this path? A lonesome tear trickled from his eye, but he was quick to snatch away.

“Marinette had friends, a boyfriend even. She wasn’t completely lost without a soulmate. After all, her parents weren’t soulmates, and her best friend was rejected by their soulmate too. She was happy.” The kwamii paused, her smile reminiscing before it slowly morphed into a frown. But it all changed when a wretched girl transferred into her middle school.”

“Just one girl changed everything?”

The kwamii nodded, small tears forming.

“She was the real catalyst. The reason everything fell apart.”

Damian lost track of how long he sat listening to the small God. When he stood to return to the waiting room, he couldn’t help but clench his fist in an attempt to calm himself. Marinette had to pull through, she just had to. Damian had to show her that there was more to life than this shitty one in Paris. He had to rescue her like his family had for him.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was 36 hours before he was allowed back to see her.

She had been lucky, the knife had missed her vital organs and even though it had punctured her lung, she seemed to be on track for a full recovery, one that she needed to take slowly. Damian dealt with the police on her behalf and thanks to Tikki’s information, he was able to help them identify the mugger.

Tikki had gone ahead to talk to Marinette and to give him time to freshen up. He didn’t have much, but the little he had packed at least got him fresh clothing, clothing not stained with her blood. Alfred would not be happy with him once he returned.

Damian was unsure how to approach her. He had found some flowers in the gift shop he thought were nice and some chocolates as well. But as he stood in front of her hospital room, he realized he hadn’t figured out the first thing he should say to her.

I’m sorry? No, that sounded too arrogant after everything she had been through. My name’s Damian, I saved your life? No, that would be condescending. God, he really hated talking to people.

“Are you going to come in or just sit outside all day?” Her voice sent shivers down his spine. She hadn’t always been this cold, but he couldn’t blame her.

Hesitantly, he reached out, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. She looked angry, slight red emphasized on her pale skin, the dark circles under her eyes protruding as if they dared him to comment on them. There were a million and one wires and tubes poking out in different directions, some hooked to machines, some to random bags of fluid.

Yet, despite all of it, she still looked absolutely stunning.

“Well, sit down or something. You’re creeping me out just standing there.”

Damian shuffled awkwardly to the opposite side of her bed, his legs wobbling as he lowered himself into the chair.

“Uhm, I brought you some flowers-”

“I hate the color white.” Damian felt his eyebrow twitch, but he tried his best to hold back the expression he felt. Gently, he reached back, setting the flowers on the windowsill.

“I-Uhm-I also brought you some chocolat-”

“I’m on a liquid-only diet for the next two weeks.”

Damian could feel the red rushing to his face as he breathed deeply. He knew there was a chance that she would be spiteful, but he hadn’t been completely ready for it. His fuse was short, even if it was his soulmate, he wasn’t sure he could contain the explosion.

“Are you feeling any better?” Marinette scoffed, her eyes never leaving her hands.

“Did you fly all the way to Paris for small talk Damian?” He wasn’t sure how to respond, knowing his next words might be his last. “Ask what you really want to. Like why did I detransform before trying to face the mugger? Or why have I tried to kill myself multiple times even if each time ended in failure?”

“I-”

“Ask me why all my friends left me. Ask me why my master chose the easy way out, forgetting everything before passing on weeks later without even a single message about his death from him or his girlfriend. Ask me why I hate life so much that I just don’t see the reason in living anymore. Ask me if I think you’ll change my mind! Spoiler alert! You won’-”

“God woman, do you ever shut up? Give me five damn seconds to get my thoughts together.”

Damian instantly felt the eyes of Tikki fall upon him, the anger draining from his body only to be replaced by his rising fear. He felt the apology building up, but before he could even let the first word spill out, a bitter laugh cut him off.

“Yeah, I do shut up. But only sometimes. I figured Tikki told you everything. I also figured you’d have questions. I’m not interested in telling my sob story over again and I’m not interested in some knight in shining armor swooping in to save me, Got it?”

Damian tried to speak, but it was as if his voice were caught in his throat. What could he say to her? He wasn’t trying to be her knight? He didn’t need her explanations? Everything sounded so thoughtless, but he couldn’t string together one coherent and earnest sentence to save his life.

“What I am interested in is your nonsensical shouting. You ‘need me’? You just met me, how do you know that you need me?”

If he wasn’t already as red as a tomato, he was certain that was how he looked now.

“I,” he cleared his voice, praying to whatever was listening to keep the crack away, “I just had this feeling swell up in my chest seeing you like that. I was terrified and it scared me. It scared me to feel that way about someone who I had just laid eyes on. I had heard about soulmate bonds and how they affect you. They can strengthen you, but they can also be your downfall. I needed to get to know you, to know how our bond would affect me.”

He paused, the feeling of her eyes on him choking him up.

“I, uh, I know it’s selfish, but I couldn’t let you die. You don’t have to believe me, you don’t even have to listen to me, but I have been where you are before. But before I could even make my first attempt, I had a group of people come into my life, people who lifted me up and saved me. I was scared that you didn’t have that and I arrogantly believed I could do that for you. I’m truly sorry Marinette,  but I refuse to apologize for saving your life. If I could, I would do it over and over and over again as many times as it takes until you decide to keep living.”

The silence was deafening. Even if she just yelled at him and told him to leave, he would take it over this quiet. He didn’t dare look up, he barely felt the urge to breathe. It was as if everything fiber in him was holding their breath, waiting to hear her response, any response.

“You’re really not gonna leave me alone, huh?”

Her voice sounded tight as if she were holding back tears. The urge surged through him to reach forward and pull her into a hug, but he contained himself, defaulting to a simple nod instead. Again, the silence followed, but he was patient. He would wait all day if it meant hearing her speak again.

“Fine. I’m not guaranteeing a damn thing, but I can offer you a start.”

“A start?” Damian risked a small glance up, his heart racing at the sight. She was smiling, a genuine smile. It looked out of place among her tear-stained face, but he would be lying if he didn’t say it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

“Yeah, apparently I’m going to need someone to stay by my side 24/7 when they release me. Someone to take care of me. A stay-at-home nurse if you will. So, I nominate you, Damian. Your response?”

“Absolutely, it would be my honor.” His reply was instant, his smile unwavering even after she chucked her pillow at him, cussing him out in a manner that Todd would be proud of.

Yes, it was just a start. Yes, it didn't mean anything was fixed. But, there was one thing that put his heart at ease.

He wasn’t too late.

No, in fact, he was just in time to save her life. And at that very moment, he vowed to never wait till it was almost too late again.

Despite everything that had happened, he decided he could live with that.

Permanent Tag List:

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[voiceless-terror]

In which Martin and Gerry help Jon acquire a cat, among other things. 

“Martin, look!”

A phone is shoved in his face; on the screen is a tiny black kitten sprawled on a carpet with the headline “Free to a Good Home!!” Martin knows where this is going.

“Finally time to bite the bullet, eh?”

“We could surprise him!” Gerry’s voice is animated as he waves his phone in the air. Martin loves when he gets like this, unguarded and sweet. “You know how stressed he’s been. Honestly, I’m shocked we haven’t gotten one already.”

“Well, he’s certainly been hinting at it.” Martin gestures broadly at the walls of the bookstore, decorated with various cozy knick knacks and art they’ve picked up at charity shops. There’s no less than three oddly majestic cat paintings along with a shelf of tiny porcelain felines, not to mention the gaudy clock that has cat breeds instead of numbers. Jon has...particular taste. “Not very subtle, is he?”

“Should I message them, then?” Gerry squints at the screen. “We met them at trivia a few months ago - Mara, the one with the-”

“Green hair, yeah.” Martin remembers the night rather fondly. Gerry usually spent most trivia nights scowling in the corner and making snarky commentary with Jon, but on that particular occasion he had a few drinks and was considerably more relaxed. He managed to charm half of the bar with his stories and wit while Jon stared on, adoration clear on his face.  “But you know Jon would kill us if we didn’t let him have a say. You know how he gets, he needs to prepare-”

“-buy ninety toys-”

“-think up a ridiculous name.” They both laugh at that- Jon’s got a penchant for renaming their friend’s pets when he doesn’t think their moniker “suits them.” He’s gotten into more than one fight about it. “Text him so he doesn’t stay late, though. I’m not staying up until midnight again.”

“On it.”

_______

They hear Jon before they see him. 

The door creaks open, alerting them to his presence as Jon lets out his usual long-suffering sigh (Gerry fondly calls this mood ‘The Bouchard Blues.’) His clothes are wrinkled and his eyes are barely open; from the slight indent on his face, Martin reckons he fell asleep at his desk again. Gerry meets him at the door, grabbing his bag and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Rough day, love?”

Another sigh, this one a bit more huffy. “Elias came in at half past four with a box of ninety random documents and wanted them all organized by tomorrow. Impossible, of course, unless I stay the night-”

“But you came home!” Gerry says it with a sort of wonder in his voice; Jon very rarely stands up to his boss, no matter how ridiculous the ask. 

“W-Well, you said it was important,” Jon looks between them with large, worried eyes. Always assuming the worst. “It’s nothing bad, is it?”

“Jon, I thought the twelve reassuring texts and afternoon phone call put that to rest,” Gerry replies as he steers them towards the couch. “Suppose I should’ve just told you. I wanted it to be a surprise.” He unlocks his phone and scrolls until he finds the ad, handing it over to Jon.

His eyes immediately light up, alert and awake. “Cat!”

“Cat,” Martin agrees, settling down beside them. “We were thinking of getting one for the bookstore-”

“Of course,” Jon’s smiling that rare, bright grin and Martin melts just a little. “It’s only logical. And I do like black cats-”

“Damn it!” Gerry groans, startling them both. He throws his phone down on the couch, crossing his arms in a sulk. “Someone just claimed her. I knew I should’ve said something-”

But Jon’s already fishing his phone out, his smile not dimming in the slightest. “There’s a shelter not too far from here- I’ll see if we have to make an appointment. Martin, can you call Georgie? She’s got an excellent carrier for the Admiral, and she can probably recommend other necessities-”

They end up going to bed at midnight anyway.

________

“I still don’t see why we had to order so much,” Martin complains after another confirmation email lights up his phone. The credit card bill’s going to be astronomical this month. “Surely we’re overpreparing. We don’t have room for the deluxe cat tower in the shop, and we certainly don’t need one for the flat as well.”

“I assure you these are all necessities, Martin.” Gerry and Martin are both fairly tall, but even they have trouble keeping up with Jon’s brisk pace, sharing a fond look over his head. Jon managed to find them a Saturday appointment with a rather impressive combination of wheedling and charm. When it came to cats, Jon didn’t pull his punches. They made it to the shelter in record time and Jon burst through the doors, his next words full of self-importance. “We’re expected. Jonathan Sims.”

They’re led back to a large room by an amused assistant, Jon at the front of their little line. Martin watches as his eyes light up upon seeing the many cages that lined the wall; even Gerry seems a bit excited, though he tries to hide it by hanging back. Gerry’s never been much of an animal person; he shares Jon’s distaste of loud and jumpy dogs too unpredictable in their behavior. He only just started getting used to the Admiral, and that was through much prodding on Jon’s part. Jon’s love is surprisingly infectious. 

Jon peers into each cage intently, answering every inquisitive noise with a prim “Pleased to meet you.” One of the first cages contains a fluffy brown cat with curious eyes and Martin stops to poke a finger through the door. “Walnut” (as provided by a helpful nameplate) does not respond, though she seems interested. 

Jon’s already halfway down the row before he stops in his tracks, eyes trained on a large, grumpy ball of gray fur sitting right at the bars of the cage. He’s missing an eye, and he begins to growl as soon as Jon nears him.

“This one.” He declares, staring as if entranced. He hasn’t even touched it or attempted to pet it- they’re locked in some sort of silent standoff. Martin’s reminded of those romantic comedies Jon and Gerry hate, where couples lock eyes across the room and it's love at first sight. He surreptitiously takes a picture. Adorable. 

“Jimmy?” The assistant inquires. Jon scoffs at the plainness of the name. “He’s been here awhile. Not very friendly, I’m afraid.”

“No, not Jimmy.” Jon offers up a hand, and the cat comes closer, sniffing at it with suspicion. After a few moments, he butts his head against Jon’s hand, earning a smile. “Lance Corporal.”

“No.”

Jon swivels around, eyes narrowing at Gerry’s words. It’s the first time he’s spoken and he’s got one eyebrow quirked up in amusement. It’s a good look on him. Jon, however, is having none of it and he puts a hand to his hip. “And why not?”

“It’s such a mouthful.” Martin has to agree; it doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. “I’m not going to call him that. What about Lance?”

Jon wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

Martin sighs; Gerry and Jon get along like a house on fire but when they bicker, they bicker. He eyes the cat that’s now rubbing against Jon’s hand and purring; he hopes the its sudden geniality will extend to Martin and Gerry. Jon would pick a cat that’s just as prickly as he can be.

Martin gives it a good look, coming up beside Jon at ‘Jimmy’s’ cage. The cat immediately stops its gravely purr, it’s eye now trained on Martin. It’s unnerving, Martin never thought a cat could radiate authority but this one surely managed to. If any animal deserves a title, it’s this one.  “What about the Captain?” he asks in a fit of inspiration.

They both turn to look at him; Gerry amused, Jon thoughtful. “Go on.”

“It’s a title, you always liked the naval ones.” Jon nods in agreement, the beginnings of a smile on his face. “He looks like an old sailor, very distinguished. I dunno, I think it’s cute.”

“The Captain,” Jon whispers in awe as the cat resumes rubbing against his hand. “Martin, that’s perfect. Inspired, even.”

He can’t help preening a bit. “Thank you.” Gerry rolls his eyes.

And then there’s the moment of truth- the assistant opens the cage door and Jon steps forward with all the solemnity of a man about to be knighted. He reaches out his arms and the cat lets itself be picked up, going limp as Jon brings it to his chest. He sighs in contentment, giving himself one more moment of bliss before he perks up and opens his eyes.

“Now pick yours.”

_________

Three. They’ve got three fucking cats.

Martin and Gerry immediately began to refuse, but Jon was insistent. “The Captain is obviously very partial to me, and I think you should have some say in who we adopt. If we each get one it eliminates any favoritism. It’s only logical.”

There was nothing logical about it. Three cats and three people in their tiny flat, or worse, destroying their bookstore. They didn’t have the space, the cats might not get along, it would be too expensive. But Jon wouldn’t hear of it, countering every point in a calmness that was borderline unnerving. Martin shot Gerry a pleading look; he’d gone silent after the initial refusal, content to let Martin do most of the arguing, but he just shook his head in amusement- he knew how this would end, and Martin did too. As the final nail in the coffin, Jon deployed the eyes and that’s how he found himself in the front of a taxi with a lapful of Walnut. She’s a friendly thing, instantly purring on contact and meowing whenever he turned away. Martin hadn’t the heart to turn it away.

Gerry took more time. He slunk around the cages and the cats seemed to sense his reluctance. But soon he came upon a small, sleek black cat, not unlike the one from the Facebook post. It was a tentative thing, barely coming to the edge of its cage to sniff at his fingers, but Gerry was determined, patiently waiting the fifteen minutes it took to get him to warm up. Martin didn’t point out the similarities between it and a certain goth, though he shared a knowing look with Jon.

“I’ve got it - the Unfathomable Void.”

“Dear God,” Martin muttered, rolling his eyes. So dramatic, the both of them.

Jon snorted. “That’s a bit much.”

“Okay, Lance Corporal.”

“Excuse me-!”

“Settle down, boys,” Martin put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, he looked liable to pounce. “If that’s what you want, go for it. But we’ll call him Void for short.” Gerry nodded, seemingly satisfied. Jon continued to scowl, though without any heat.

The cabbie was definitely not pleased at having to cart around three men and three cats. He muttered the entire drive while Jon bounced in the backseat, cooing at his companion. Gerry sat much more stoically, though Martin didn’t miss the tiny smile as the cat nipped at his fingers. Jon’s insistence on multiple supplies was starting to make sense now. He definitely planned this from the beginning, sneaky thing.

“Oh no,” Jon suddenly said upon entering their flat, struggling with the carrier in his hand.  Martin’s starting to think he shouldn’t have picked such a massive cat. “I forgot this was for the bookstore!” 

“Well, yeah.” Gerry sat his cage on the ground, kneeling down beside it. “I figured mine or Martin’s would do. The Captain’s not very friendly, Jon.”

“But what if they get lonely? We can’t split them up.” Jon’s eyes dart around the room, growing more conflicted by the second. “Perhaps we should keep them all at home.”

“There’s no room, Jon! And no one’s here during the day.” Martin surveys the room- the three carriers already seem to take up an enormous amount of space, not to mention the living creatures inside of them.  And all of those packages, that damn tower…

“You can take them back and forth. Commute.”

“Christ, we did not think this through.” Gerry’s smiling even as he says it, watching as the Unfathomable Void slowly makes his way out, sniffing tentatively at the air. Walnut’s content to stay in her cage, and Martin tucks her in a corner away from the other two. Jon’s already got the Captain out, holding him in his arms and refusing to let him go.

“You’re right, we didn’t.” Jon agrees, tucking his face in the Captain’s fur. “We should’ve gotten four-”

“Fuck’s sake, Jon!”

“Let’s talk about this later, alright?” Gerry takes Martin’s place as the voice of reason, a rare occurrence. “We’ll keep them at home, let them get used to us, and then we’ll figure out the bookstore situation. No sense getting worked up about it now.” Jon sighs, cradling the mass of fur to his chest and plopping down on the couch. Martin’s sure they’ll be at it again tomorrow; Jon sniping as Martin tries and fails to put together a massive cat tower, Gerry groaning about whatever surprises the cats left for them in the morning. The next few weeks were going to be stressful, to say the least.

For now, though, he sits with his partners once again until midnight, watching their new additions roam about the flat and ignore each other. Jon frets, Gerry sighs, and Martin unsuccessfully attempts to steer the conversation towards anything but cats. By the end of the night, only Void manages to feel at home, curling up in Martin’s favorite armchair (much to his chagrin). Could’ve gone worse, Martin cheers himself with. They’ll get used to the flat. And the bookstore. Probably.

Later that night, once their partner’s asleep and snoring softly between the two of them, Martin turns to Gerry, borrowing Jon’s patented sigh. 

“We’re gonna get a fourth cat, aren’t we?”

Gerry’s voice is just as resigned. “Yeah, reckon so.”

“Christ.”

-------

Others in the JGM series:

What We’re Given and What We Make

At the End of the Day

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28945809

[obeymeluv]

The Bros as Dads

PSA: The boys would be very attractive dads (emotionally and physically). That is all.

Note: the headcanon also includes genders for the kids. I can see some of them having sons, and others having daughters. And, obviously, everyone is older (20′s-ish).

Lucifer

Takes a while to process the news. It’s kind of a big thing. His love life was something of a roller coaster (or nonexistent) until you. The ‘L’ word was a hurdle, now there’s a B word and a P word?!

When his brain realizes what you’ve said or if you show him some proof, the pride takes over FULL SWING (you can feel it explode in him, like his aura) and he purrs

You are truly his stars, his moon, and the heavens he so dearly misses

There’s this raw, vulnerable love in Lucifer’s eyes and it pretty much awes everyone because he’s usually so proper and reserved

The memories are old and dusty but Lucifer’s parenting instincts are strong

A type-A, fussy person. You may have 7 months left before you give birth, but the house will be spotless and perfectly proofed before you hit bed rest

Piles of parenting books suddenly sprout around the house. No one’s sure where they came from or how there’s even that many WRITTEN about parenting.

You and the child become his world. You’re his kryptonite, the only thing to convince him away from long hours or break him out of sour moods

Lucifer is very stressed, more than he thought he’d be, because you’re carrying his child and he worries for your health.

He’s with you every step of the way, from appointments to birth

He’d absolutely drop everything to tend to your needs, or appoint one of the brothers if he couldn’t.

Likes to busy himself with making a nursery and is actually good at themes/interior decorating

Has a tiny desk built in his study. The child won’t be able to join him for a while, but the idea of his tiny joy working on something beside him warms his heart

Hunts down obscure herbs and items from folklore that are supposed to bless pregnancies or benefit the unborn. Turns out he’s really nervous and superstitious.

Lucifer is the worst when it comes to shopping because his pride outweighs his logical restraint. If he convinces himself IN THE SLIGHTEST that his child would look good in something or the nursery could really use an item, it’s coming to the House of Lamentation

He ugly cries when he realizes you’re having a girl because he feels like Lilith has been given back to him.

Refuses to name his child Lilith because of everything that happened. Can’t settle for anything close to her name or any nicknames they gave her.

Makes you a sleeping space in his study. Loves to take breaks to watch you sleep. Unintentionally takes a break to kiss your stomach and talk to the baby.

Firm believer in ‘in the belly’ enrichment so you’ll have music playing and Lucifer will read to them all the time.

If the baby’s not with you, she’s with him. Lucifer has definitely shown up to a meeting with Lord Diavolo with his baby in a chest carrier. The meeting went flat because Diavolo wanted to play with the baby.

He’s the type of dad that demands total silence when the baby’s sleeping. Might have tied up some of his brothers to achieve it.

He’s not a total hard-ass (this kid has made a sucker out of him, okay?) but his kid will definitely have manners and knows to help clean up.

The type to take naps with his kid. He’ll get up at 2 in the morning and climb into their crib if they’re fussy.

Lucifer spent so much of his life being the primary caretaker for his bros that he forgets he’s not alone this time. When you push him back down so he can sleep, and tend to your daughter, his heart almost bursts with love.

On the fence about another child. The kid’s going to have pride in spades and he thinks a sibling will humble them (and make them less lonely). He’s also afraid of that prideful wrath and doesn’t want two prideful little demons always fighting

Isn’t the best with dressing up his kid but likes to give them fancy shoes. The shoes are always on point even if the rest of the outfit is a disaster.

Is 100% ready to receive any and everything “#1 Dad” because he IS, DAMN IT. He’ll use it regularly, too.

Mammon

He’s freaking out hardcore (”You sure? Really, really sure? Maybe you just have gas or something. Y-yeah!”)

Doesn’t believe it until he sees a test. Promptly faints. Dead-ass faints as soon as he sees it.

Kind of remembers it when he wakes up, and you have to remind him again.

This time he’s pretty excited because THE GREAT MAMMON will be having a child. WHAT A GIFT, RIGHT? THE BEST GIFT!

All the magazines are snapping up this gossip and, for once in his life, he puts the earnings away. Kid has a nice fund going before they’re even born.

His schedule is 50% work, 50% family because YOUR MAIN MAN HAS TO BE THERE. Work just pays the bills and pads the nursery account, okay?

The Devildom has something similar to a baby shower and Mammon puts all KINDS of high-dollar shit on there. His baby’s going to be stylin’, okay?

Some crying in front of others, but an entirely different kind of crying behind closed doors. Vulnerable, grateful crying about being loved and having a tiny someone who will love him, too

Pays someone to explain baby stuff to him. How to change them, feed them, what type of breathing you should be doing. It surprised his bros because Lucifer could just give him that info. The fact that Mammon paid for it means he’s pretty serious about learning.

Gets tons of free maternity photos because all his magazines want the scoop. He gets to pamper you and see you all dressed up and beautiful and EVERY magazine has a shot of him crying like a proud sap.

Mammon hoards all of those pictures. Has a pile of them in his room, totally separate from everything else.

Has a lot of nervous energy and can get frustrated with all the baby books, so he distracts himself with scrap-booking. Surprisingly good at it.

Mammon thinks you’re just the most beautiful thing ever. He loves taking pictures of you. Wants the kid to have no doubts about how much he loves them and their parent.

He’s so lovesick. When you sleep or hug your belly or just touch it he melts.

Stacks Grimm on your belly when you sleep. Thinks it’s fun. Likes to record how big the towers get.

Not the best at getting up for your random-hour cravings and has definitely made you cry with his bluntness. When he’s more awake he’ll apologize and you guys will work it out.

When he finds out he’s having a little boy, the bros throw a party. Mammon gets semi-drunk and has a huge, ass-chewing lecture about how the bros made him feel for centuries and how they better not say ANYTHING like that to his kid.

You shot down any and all attempts to name the kid anything money related.

Almost passed out when you had the baby.

Cried when he first held him. Calls him Mamm-mini.

Totally planning the baby’s first photo shoot. Has people on standby to make matching outfits.

He now has a partner in crime and the kid can charm the pants off of anyone!

Mammon is 100% devoted to this kid and he secretly hopes he’s the favorite parent.

Lives for any second of bonding he can get. NEEDS IT TO LIVE. 100% a sappy dad.

The most supportive dad, always saying nice things because he knows people didn’t always say nice things about him.

Levi

Brain stops working. You almost think you’ve given him a heart attack

Levi feels you take the controller from his hand and instantly has to fill it with something else, taking yours. He looks at you and asks you again if you’re sure.

He can see it in your eyes and he just crows. He doesn’t know if he’s excited or scared but he made the noise.

Worries A LOT about the idea of becoming a father. Can gross otakus be good fathers? How does he dad?

Gets pre-stressed about social interactions. Kids have to go to school and have play-dates and Levi’s going to have to talk to people...ugh! Gross!

Definitely has a few break-downs (feelings of inadequacy, etc.) before Lucifer or Satan comfort him. He’s better than he thinks, just insecure. Everyone learns as they go. They have classes (”They’re like cheat codes, Levi.”) and it makes him feel better

His gaming friends send their congratulations and he gets lots of themed blankets and onesies.

Wants you to have a water birth because the water is his child’s calling. Really attached to the idea.

He’s constantly looking up guides to baby-proofing, double- and triple-checking safety specs of anything before buying it.

Spends HOURS scouring Akuzon, comparing brands, and reading reviews for everything.

Akuzon noticed he was buying lots of baby books and looking at baby-related things so they sent him a onesie.

You get a lovely beach/water-themed maternity shoot and Levi is so love-struck he gets a nosebleed. Once he’s cleaned up it makes a darling photo shoot.  

Has already made lists of anime for the kid to watch. Some are his favorite, some are for the lessons and moments that stuck with him

Asmo messaged TSL on the down-low and Levi got some quality kid-sized merch.

Tries to get you to name the baby Henry if it’s a boy. When he finds out it’s a girl, he pushes for Henrietta.

Reads TSL to the baby and plays ocean sounds.

As you get further along in your pregnancy, he buys a fridge for his room and stocks it with your favorite cold stuff. Any snack foods are just added to his stash.

You are absolutely worshipped. Craving something? Akuzon has it and the fastest pig is on it’s way. Your feet hurt? Try a water bath!

You’re his Player 2 now and forever (always have been), and he’s keeping you in perfect health.

Probably keeps a video journal for the kid or of the two of you during your pregnancy. Big on preserving stuff digitally.

Probably makes a game for his kid just because. They’ll be able to play it when they’re older.

Bought a ton of Magical Girl-style hairbows and things for when their hair grows in. His daughter’s a fucking princess, okay?

Belphegor bought the baby a goldfish onesie and Levi loves it to pieces.

Bought the baby a seashell bassinet and rocks them to sleep with his tail.

Levi has a bad sleep schedule and wakes easily, so he’s usually the first one to get up and handle the baby.

He has this complex about being a good dad. People can call him a weird, gross otaku but they’re ALSO going to mention how good of a dad he is!

Super affectionate with his kid in a quiet, whispering, mumbling way. Just thinks they’re the best thing.

Having a daughter really makes him rethink some of the ways he viewed anime characters and made him super critical. If his daughter ends up liking anime he’ll make it very clear what he thinks and how she shouldn’t let other people treat her like an object. 

His demon form gets triggered REALLY EASILY if his bros hold her for too long. THAT’S HIS BABY, THANK YOU!

Satan

Secretly hoped to be a father one day. Wanted to prove so badly that he could be one, and move past the constant fear of his temper looming over him. He didn’t want wrath to be his only legacy.

Can’t manage more than a genuine smile and a lilting laugh when you tell him, but he’s literally almost sick with joy. He’s just not the type to jump from the rooftops or anything

Asmodeus and Mammon convince him into drinking because he needs to let loose and really show it!

Satan ends up drunk-stumbling to Lucifer and plunking his head into his chest and crying. He’s crying because he’s happy and mumbling something about ‘granddad’. When his tears dry he’s happy as can be, smugly calls Lucifer an ‘old fuck’ and promptly throws up.

They’re past most of their bad blood but even Lucifer wasn’t surprised Satan never got EVERYTHING out of his system. A lot of his childhood memories are tainted with pure wrath instead of coming into his cardinal sin through some other mean. Or naturally, like puberty.

Between his personal research and Lucifer’s expertise, the baby-proofing is totally covered.

His book binges are strictly about pregnancies, suspicions, rituals, parenting, and anything he can think of that has to do with kids.

He’s big on teas and brews that are supposed to help with pregnancies and pains. Uses his many connections to get ingredients for said teas

Reads the classics and big epics to his unborn child.

Buys you some Hellcats for protection. They’re fiercely loyal, so he’ll know you’re safe.

He’d be the type to nag you about your diet, but not to be mean. He’d support it with this absolute WALL of evidence that turns into a lecture that could last for hours.

Has to fight the Hellcats to sit next to you or touch your belly a lot more than he thought he would. He’d never say it out loud, but he’s starting to hate the cats (he doesn’t mean it though).

Starts cleaning up his book piles a lot more. The baby would get hurt if the stacks fell on them. His room becomes virtually spotless.

You pick books to read together. You end up reading Satan to sleep, too. He keeps a hand on your belly.

Gets nervous about you wanting to go out, and basically tries to keep you in the House of Lamentation. Relents a little because hormones make you scary. He was basically afraid of nothing because the walks were fine.

You like to sit in the Devildom gardens and he thinks you look picturesque and wonderful. It takes his breath away.

Asmodeus is your personal photographer because Satan doesn’t think anyone else will do you justice.

Finds out you’re having boy-girl twins and totally shuts down. What does he say? How does he respond? BELPHIE OR BEEL WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE TWINS! WHY HIM?!

Lucifer is BEYOND amused. This is definitely payback for everything Satan did in his childhood (so the saying goes).

It doesn’t bother him as much when he starts buying smart little cardigans, button-ups, ribbons, and bowties. He’s actually quite happy.

The Hellcats act weird and tip him off to your contractions before your water breaks. Satan gets you to the hospital and helps you give birth. The twins grow to look more like him than you, but if someone mistakes you for the nanny or says something derogatory, he’s pulling two ferocious kids off an idiot

Satan was afraid he’d be a short fuse, but he becomes the parent that explains everything to death (for better or worse). The kids will get a lecture when they’re bad, when the ask ‘why’ to something, he’ll explain why he gave the punishment he did, and be very clear with anything.

Asmodeus

Quickly falls in love with the idea of you being pregnant. It’s the best! Proof of his truest love, the thing that makes his heart beat!

He loved you to pieces before you were pregnant, and loves you even more now (if that’s possible).

Always wants to be with you, smothering your belly with kisses and touches and looking at it like it’s the next greatest love of his life

Takes names very seriously. “My child is a gift unto this world. People will know their name, so it has to be a good one!”

Gets really wrapped up in decor and aesthetic. He’d be a one-man force for all of it if you didn’t tell him to stop and breathe! Asmodeus just has lots of ideas, okay?

Has a really hard time understanding the value of baby-proofing until Satan smushes a few of his lipsticks in his hand and knocks around some finishing powder (”Now imagine that. All the time. With anything you love.”). 

Hires someone to baby-proof the room because that’s just not his thing. He’ll handle securing the valuables, okay?

Constantly reading about beauty rituals and things to do for his pregnant wife. She’s doing something really hard and deserves to be pampered!

You’ll constantly be pampered or trying ‘this and that’ because he read it was good for the baby. Good for beauty, good for health, etc.

Has a pretty decent diet, himself, and keeps you on yours.

You definitely have pregnancy sex a few times. Anything he can do to help you out, you know?

Asmodeus ADORES watching you grow round with his child and LIVES for helping you take care of yourself. He’ll let you lounge in his fantastic tub and has no issues sitting on the floor and doing your toes

Picks out all your outfits. Wants you to look your best! Don’t worry, you’ll be comfy!

When he finds out you’re having a girl he cries. A lot.

SO MANY BABY UPDATE BROADCASTS ON DEVILGRAM! There is an official ‘baby watch’. It’s trending more than you thought it would.

Takes TONS of videos.

His baby is easily the most fashionable child in all of Devildom.

Takes really candid, private photos that have a lot of sentimental value. A lot of your pregnancy photos are you looking comfy in bed or sitting at a vanity in breezy clothes as he does your makeup.

The type of dad to sit down in the middle of the store to play with toys (are they good enough for his kid? Like, really?). Must feel everything before he buys it. If he doesn’t like how it feels, he won’t buy it.

You end up giving birth earlier than planned and Asmo almost throws up because birth doesn’t look like he thought it would

Super nervous during your pregnancy because you’re in pain and there’s lots of noises.

Busies himself doing your makeup because that’s the only way he can handle the situation. You’re holding his tail and he SWEARS you’re going to break it off!

The bros help deliver his little angel and Asmo is SMITTEN. ABSOLUTELY SMITTEN.

Holding his baby 24/7.

Loses sleep just because he watches them sleep. Sometimes he loses sleep for real because DAMN, babies don’t sleep a lot, do they?

It’s really hard to adjust to and he’s surprised his skin isn’t god-awful.

Doesn’t regret a thing, fawning over their tiny nails and little curls, and OMG EVERYTHING! Cries a lot because they’re just perfect

His wardrobe reflects his dad status but he still looks like a DILF. You can give him the most classic dad attire and it just looks good on him.

Beelzebub

He’s excited about your pregnancy. Boy honestly tried for it, you know? Studied positions and everything.

Beelzebub has so much love and the idea of holding a tiny someone just warms his heart

Everything kid-related is totally foreign to him except for how to act with them. He and Belphie were the youngest so he was used to being taken care of until he got old enough to climb and eat on his own.

The type of guy to need explicit, step-by-step instructions on EVERYTHING. He doesn’t have a brain for it like Satan or Lucifer, so he needs help

Seriously. Give him a checklist for baby-proofing and he’ll get it done.

Gets pretty down about not being able to cuddle and snuggle like normal, but he’ll look into safe ways to do so.

Has special snuggles with the baby. Kisses your belly and rubs it. Talks to your baby like the little demon it is (even if it doesn’t have a name yet).

Lives for the times you talk to the baby, talk yourself out of bed, or how you absently talk to your belly throughout the day.

Works out to deal with stress and nerves, but also because he wants to be a good, strong dad

The doctors give him a list of exercises you can do and he does them with you

Can’t really take the nutrition advice seriously. He eats pretty much everything and you probably will, too.

When people ask him about your pregnancy, he uses very inclusive language (”We’re expecting, etc.”)

You make mini-dates out of your late-night cravings. Beel is totally in love with it.

Beelzebub becomes your food finder. There’s been times where you look at him so cutely, so imploringly, and all you can manage is ‘spicy and crunchy’. He’ll find you something, don’t worry! He’s an expert!

Big on massages and cuddling. Likes to cup his hands over your belly and trace it.

The type of dad to gain weight with you as your pregnancy moves along. Becomes soft, strong dad.

Finds out you’re having twin boys and has the happiest crying session ever. Belphie is the first to know and all Beel can say is ‘Just like us!’ as he nearly crushes his twin to death.

Likes to dress them in cute and comfy clothes. Animal onesies? Yes!

At some point yours twins are going to look like hotdogs and hamburgers. There’s no shortage of food costumes thanks to Levi, Asmo, and Beel.

Suspicious about baby food, bugs Satan about how nutritious it is, and tries all of it just to be sure.

Some of their teething toys look like real food. Beelzebub ate one on accident.

Is a perfect gentle giant. Afraid of hurting them, for they are tiny and precious, but gets over that pretty quickly.

Always wants to cuddle and hold them. You have to make him leave them alone to sleep. Gets kind of sad when they’re napping because he can’t make faces at them or hear them laugh. Right back to his usual self when they wake up, though.

You best believe they learn their alphabet by studying food. Beelzebub will stand in the kitchen and dig through the pantry until he finds things that match the letters of the alphabet 

Belphegor

He’s kind of surprised you ended up pregnant because the sex is usually lazy and casual. Yes, he has the moments where it’s pretty hardcore, but...wow. For some reason, he just didn’t see you getting pregnant.

Secretly hopes you have more than one kid. Something in him would just be happy if there’s more than one kid. You think it comes from the time he spent alone in the attic but never say it.

Sleeps a lot more. Not out of avoidance or anything, but because naps will be rare in the future. He likes to think he’s stockpiling sleep.

Makes sure you’re comfy at all times.

Would love for you to sleep and be cozy but apparently that’s not healthy for humans, so he takes easy walks around the house and keeps you semi-active.

He’ll give you his cow pillow to use as a back pillow. It’s his way of letting the baby use it until he can share it with them.

Listens to a lot of audiotapes about parenting. Looks at books, too, but does better with audio. 

Reads a new bedtime story to your kid every night.

Sometimes you guys sleep in the star room so he can talk to them about constellations. They can’t see anything, of course, but he still goes into detail.

Isn’t much of a picture person and doesn’t see the point in taking maternity pictures. It’s actually because Belphie has a photographic memory so he remembers everything.

The bros force him into taking maternity pictures.

The type to journal everything. He writes a big-ass, super-detailed diary for the baby.

Is kind of worried about his temperament, so he’ll take some classes on how to handle stress and stuff before the babies arrive

Becomes King of Lists. There’s lists for everything. Lists help. Lists are good.

When he finds out you’re having triplets (a boy and two girls), he doesn’t know how to react. You saw him smile though. It doesn’t sink in until you’re hugging him. “I’m never sleeping again,” he realizes with absolute terror.

Beelzebub is super excited. “That’s twins plus a bonus!”

Very snobby about the nursery decor. Also very tactile like Asmodeus. If it doesn’t feel good, it’s not going in the nursery.

Wants a barn-themed nursery (to include as many cow-related things as possible)

You get the comfiest PJs.

With three kids, he lives by embroidery. He has to have a way to tell them apart, after all (the girls, at least).

Can’t hoard the babies but wants to. Hates that he doesn’t have enough arms to hold them all at the same time.

Is very interested by their tendency to hold each other and nap together. Finds it super adorable.

Makes a super-sized crib he can climb in and sleep with them. It’s basically a Belphie-sized bed with little attachments his kids sleep in. Separates them all just enough so he doesn’t worry about hurting them, but there’s still contact

Thanks whatever god exists that they mostly stay on a schedule together. Makes it stressful for changing diapers, but very fun to feed them.

Almost dies laughing when Lucifer holds them for the first time because one vomited on him, the other sneezed in his face, and one pooped so much it got on his pants leg.

Lulls them to sleep with his happy purr, and gets woken up from a dead sleep by pure love when they make the sound back. Suddenly there’s three chirpy purrs rolling against him and he’s in love.

Proud they love their mama so much (to the point of being TOTAL mama’s kids), but also kind of relieved he can breathe.

The three trade off occasionally when they realize he’s free real estate and come to him for snuggles. They all love him so he doesn’t mind.

This house supports cuddle piles! Belphie got them hooked on group naps for a young age and they sleep together now. 

Hope you liked it :)

[bubblegumbeech]

Finding Home

Phic Phight Prompt by @hauntedozone

Sequel to Home with no Memories

He’d been alone on the road for a week now.

In all honesty he should be half dead, exhausted and starving and desperate to find something to eat or drink. But he wasn’t. Well, he was exhausted, just, more emotionally.

It would be easier, he thinks, if he knew who he really was.

His memories were still so fractured so damaged, he didn’t even really know what he was looking for. Just that he was following some vague idea, a concept, a feeling of family and comfort and home and everything a parent was supposed to provide.

So why was he walking away from them?

Easy, Danny thought, It’s because parents or not, those feelings of safety and comfort? Weren’t something they could provide. Even when they tried, even when all that effort was put forward to be those perfect, sitcom style parents, they couldn’t do the bare minimum and not lie to his face .

He wanted Jazz.

He didn’t even know who she was. Not really. But he wanted the feelings that came with the odd memory of her, the comfort, the warmth. The vague annoyance that he was so sure family members were supposed to feel towards each other instead of the full blown fear that held him in its grasp whenever Maddie- his mother - got near him.

In all honesty he wanted to know who he was. What he was. Daniel James Fenton. Missing for five years before being found, unconscious by his parents and brought to a hospital where they kept him for a month, planning their fake lives, their lies, and everything else.

That’s what he does remember. But who else was he?

Why didn’t he look any older? Where were the others? Why was he the only one found and why was it five years later?

But Danny didn’t have the answers. He might never have the answers. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to go look for them. First, however, he needed a place to start.

It was novel, being alone. It was pretty freeing as well, no pressure to pretend to be the child that someone else had been missing, no fear of being discovered doing something wrong. No fear of discovering something and it being wrong.

Danny had gotten used to being a wanderer, following a gentle tug in his core that seemed to pull him further and further away. There was no knowing where he was going, and he didn’t exactly have fair for a bus, or food, or really anything at all. So he had to just keep walking.

It took him a week before the hunger hit, and it hit harder than he’d expected. There was something wrong about it, he couldn’t help but think, he’d never heard of hunger being this deep, of seeping into one’s chest. His stomach growled, and he felt a tug towards something. He followed.

The tug took him towards a rest stop with a small diner, open 24/7 and full to the brim with truckers and other poor souls either caught on the road late at night or spending their lives transient and traveling. Just like Danny was now. He wouldn’t mind it, honestly, if he didn’t have the bone deep feeling that he was supposed to be somewhere, and that it was wrong for him to be away.

He walked in, hoping he passed for old enough to be driving on his own, and sat down at a table in the corner. The hunger was so much, just so much and he hadn’t eaten in so long. He’d been convinced that whatever it was his parents had done to him, it had taken away his hunger. It seemed now, that hadn’t been the case.

Maybe he could order food and run? There were plenty of places to hide in the woods, and he’d be good for at least another week right? Unless he just couldn’t feel hunger until it was pressing, didn’t he read somewhere that humans can go a week without food? He was still human, right?

“Hey sweetheart, where’s your parents?” asked an older lady in a waitress uniform, her hair was tied back in a tight but messy bun, and her apron was covered in stains. She set down a glass of water, looking worried and Danny smiled, tried not to look as tired as he was.

“I just got my license,” he lied, “so this is kinda my first roadtrip.”

A flicker of understanding passed behind her eyes and she smiled, “got lost huh?”

Danny ducked his head, an attempt at feigning embarrassment. She just shook her head and handed him a menu, “let me know what you want okay? And don’t let any of these old losers bully you, they’re the rough and rowdy kind.”

Nodding his thanks, Danny opened the menu. It was full of foods he couldn’t fully remember, things he wanted to try, but his eyes landed first and foremost on the burger on the top right. Out of all of them, that one felt the most familiar and he tucked the Menu away.

He sipped on his water, trying not to gulp it down too quickly. He didn’t want anyone to think he was desperate, they might think he was a runaway. They might call his parents. He needed to make it through this without being too suspicious, just eat, and run. Easy. People did it everyday.

When the waitress came back and he placed his order she didn’t look twice at his half empty water, just filled it quickly with the water from her jug and promised his food would be out right away. He waited eagerly.

Eventually, in an attempt to ignore the hunger eating away at the very center of him, he started people watching. He was in a small booth in the corner, so it wasn’t difficult to look around, see all the different people living their lives in the exact same place Danny happened to be.

There were a few sitting alone, silently reading the newspaper or some book, but most were sitting in groups, talking loudly and sharing exploits. Danny had no way of knowing if these people were strangers or friends with each other but he ached none the less.

What would Sam be like, sitting here surrounded by rednecks? In the few fuzzy memories Danny had, she always looked so elegant, all black clothes, sharp eyeliner, expensive fabrics. He couldn’t picture her in a place like this. Then again, he could barely picture her at all. The only truly solid image he’d had of her was from the article.

The one that proclaimed her missing. Along with Tucker and Jazz and Danny himself. He fought back tears, there was no use in breaking down now. He had to find answers, somehow.

His stomach growled again.

After he ate of course. The waitress came back with a huge burger and a whole plate of fries he hadn’t ordered and set it down in front of him. Danny had looked up at her, ready to tell her the mistake, but she simply waved him off and explained it was on the house. He looked hungry after all.

And well, he was. He tucked into the burger, and then the fries, and by the time he’d finished it all along with his third glass of water, his stomach was full to bursting and he had to sit back and take a deep breath. But despite the meal, he was still hungry. He could feel it, the pull in his chest screaming out for something, but he couldn’t eat another bite. He’d tried.

He fought back tears. What was wrong with him now?

The waitress walked over once she noticed he was done, “are you alright? Was the burger no good?” she asked and Danny shook his head, trying not to let her see his face.

“It was fine. Better than any burger I can remember,” he forced a smile.

She frowned, not taken in at all, “Sweetheart, I know our food ain’t that good. Something wrong? You want me to call someone-?”

“No!” he shouted, a touch too fast and far too loud. “No, I … I have to do this on my own.”

The waitress shook her head, she was practically flooded with worry and concern and it tasted almost bitter on his tongue. Tasted. Danny frowned.

“I- Do you want to hear a joke?” he asked.

Startled the waitress set down her jug, “of course sugar, let’s hear your joke.”

It was clear she was humoring him, but Danny didn’t care. He needed something, and there was an inkling of a possibility, a thought that maybe this might work, and he was going to jump on it with everything he had.

“Where does the General keep his armies?” he asked, banking on his knowledge from reading popsicle puns when he was sneaking out back home. No, not home. Back where his parents were.

The waitress rolled her eyes, “I suppose in the barracks?” she smiled.

“Nope, in his sleevies. Do you think glass coffins will be a success?”

“I don’t-” she tried to say, caught off guard by the pun and trying to humor him with a laugh, but failing, obviously, in her confusion.

“Remains to be seen. Did you hear about the guy who lost his left arm?”

“Uh no I-”

“Ehh, his hand writing’s all right now-” his joke was interrupted when he heard her bark out a laugh, a genuine one and Danny’s chest hummed with the sound. He breathed it in, and felt something ease, just a little, in his chest.

“I’m glad you laughed, my usual clientele don’t usually get my jokes. It's hard to explain puns to kleptomaniacs. They always take things so literally.”

This one had her snorting behind her hand and looking at him completely anew, “kid you are something else you know that? This your attempt at getting a free meal?”

Danny smiled awkwardly, “is it working?”

She rolled her eyes, “keep trying charmer. I’ll go get your bill.”

Danny absorbed just a bit more of her laughter before she left, letting it settle under his skin, comforting and energetic. It wasn’t enough, not nearly, he realized, but it took away the edge and he found himself feeling mostly normal again. Well, as normal as someone who could apparently eat emotions was.

He was gone before she returned.

It was an unsettling feeling to be sure. He still wasn’t fully confident he still needed to eat, if the only thing that had taken away the painful emptiness in his chest was going to be emotions. What else was wrong with him? He didn’t age, or if he did it was slowly, he didn’t eat actual food, the cuts and scrapes he had gotten while walking through the trees to follow that tug, that pull in his chest that kept him going, all went away as quickly as they appeared. He was almost tempted to cut his hand deeper and time it as the skin stitched together.

Was that something his mother had done?

One thing he did know, he needed sleep. It was to biggest hurdle in his entire time traveling, almost a week away from home and he’d needed sleep more than anything else and it was almost grounding. It helped him feel human even as he laid awake, looking at the stars and somehow knowing the names of every constellation but not remembering why.

He wondered if Tucker was okay. If he’d complain about traveling like this or insist they took some gas guzzling car. Would he have counter arguments to Danny’s fractured morals, comment on how one little meal won’t hurt a restaurant but it could be life or death for him. That felt like something Tucker would say.

Danny kept walking.

He’d prepared after the first stop at the roadside diner. First, he’d shoplifted protein bars and trailmix,then he’d charmed the rest stop cashier into a roiling laugh after defending her from a particularly rambunctious drunk that had wandered in and made a mess of things. She’d thought it was hilarious to watch a grown man get his ass handed to him by a teenager, and Danny’s chest had practically purred with the satisfaction. As if that right there had been the first meal he’d had in months.

After that he felt lighter, like gravity wasn’t affecting him as much, and the pull on his chest got stronger, leading him away and into a certain uncertainty. He was excited now, pushing all the thoughts of experiments and inhumanity aside, there was an adventure to be had. And he was going to have it.

Looking at the stars helped too.

It was secondary of course, but whenever he felt frustrated, or tired, or on the edge of just stopping and giving up right then and there, he’d look up at the stars. Orion was there, watching over him, the big dipper and canis major, and every other constellation he could point out with ease. It gave him the energy he’d needed to go on, keep moving forward. To find the answers he so desperately needed.

One of the things he stole had been a watch. It was a large, ticking one that had caught his eye as he walked around the large store, trying not to seem to suspicious. It reminded him of something, the analogue clock he'd convinced Maddie and Jack to buy before he ran away perhaps? Or maybe, it was the ticking that was familiar. Either way it had been a comfort when he wrapped it around his wrist, holding it up occasionally to his ear just to listen. He let himself have it, this one thing that brought him comfort as he fled the only possible home he could remember.

It helped him sleep at night.

The first time Danny disappeared, it was because he was scared.

He was in the middle of the woods, decently far off the trail and mostly unconcerned with being found. Most people wouldn’t be out this far, this late, and they certainly wouldn’t be so far off the trail. Which was why, when he’d heard voices, hushed and excited, he went still.

Danny knew why he was here, the instinct he was following, homing beacon, whatever it was, it didn’t care where roads were, and it cared even less for forest paths. He wouldn’t get lost, and even if he was out here in the woods for sometime, he’d figured out exactly how to keep the hunger at bay. At least, for long enough.

The voices grew louder and Danny tried to think of what to do. Did they know he was out here? He hadn’t exactly been bothering to keep quiet, and if he could hear the crunch of leaves and foliage underneath the stranger’s boots as they walked nearer and nearer, then surely they had heard his own, far less careful steps.

Thinking, quickly and with no small amount of panic, Danny stayed still and calmed his breathing. If they knew he was in the area but he didn’t make a sound, it would take luck to find him, or some kind of tracking skill, shit. His eyes started looking around at the trees, picking out branches he might use to climb, but none of them looked like they’d hold his weight. Even if he himself felt lighter, it was unlikely a tree would agree with him.

He struggled to calm his breathing as the voices stopped, but the steps grew louder. What should he do? They were coming straight towards him? Why would they stop talking if they were trying, somehow, to sneak up on him?

His heart beat in his chest, an uncomfortably fast rhythm and Danny squeezed his eyes closed just as he heard someone break through the thick of trees in front of him.

“Brett there’s no one here,” a voice spoke, less than a foot away and full of gravel.

Danny opened his eyes.

There were two men in front of him, both holding weapons, one was a large pistol that had Danny’s heart almost stop once he caught sight of it, while the other was holding a large machete, likely used to make traveling through the wood like this easier.

“He’s hiding then,” said the stranger with the gun, “you saw the snag of blue fabric on the tree. He definitely went this way. Just, look in the bushes or something.”

The other guy, the first one to push past the trees and into the small space Danny was now standing, sharing with them, started swinging his weapon around and calling out in a sing song voice that had the hairs on the back of Danny’s neck rising.

“Come on out kiddo~.” he said, “we’re just worried about you. It isn’t safe getting lost alone in the woods at night. I mean, who knows what kind of scary people you could run into-”

Bret had slapped him on the back of the head, and ignoring his partner’s cry of outrage, said “you idiot. Do you even know how not to run your mouth?”

“Oh come on,” he’d said, carelessly waving his machete around, inches from where Danny was standing, back flush against the bark of a tree. Danny sucked in his breath to avoid being nicked. Even if they apparently couldn’t see him, the last thing he wanted was them getting a bit of blood on the blade and wondering where exactly it was from. “What’s he gonna do? Run? It’ll be easier to catch him then.”

Danny had to admit, that was certainly true. But he was eying a small trail between two of the trees nonetheless, maybe even if he made noise, if he was still invisible they wouldn’t be able to find him right?

The blade slid through his chest and into the tree.

He didn’t breath, didn’t risk the rise and fall movement of his chest, and braced for the pain. Like an idiot he’d gotten distracted, let them put a giant knife through him, and now he was going to bleed out in the middle of the woods on some quest for answers he didn’t know existed. His thoughts raced past, half formed memories that he’d been holding onto with desperation and emotions he didn’t properly remember feeling, interspersed with the image of his parents, crying on the driveway as he walked away. Was this what happens when an amnesiac watches their life flash before their eyes?

The blade got taken out of the tree, a thick piece of bark falling off and onto the forest floor before the man sheathed the thing. Danny raised his hand to his chest, confused. The pain had never come.

In fact, it was like nothing had happened at all. The blade had simply gone through him.

Like a ghost.

He ran away, running through trees and their branches, his steps silent and weightless, his hands barely there and transparent as he lifted them in front of his eyes. This wasn’t possible. It didn’t make sense, people can't just stop existing like this. That’s something he’d know, someone would have mentioned it as a possibility.

Right?

Something was wrong, horribly wrong and Danny fought against the feeling bubbling up in his chest, tried to force it down, and ran face first into a tree.

Groaning, he felt around his tender nose. Apparently being incorporeal wasn’t a permanent thing, it was just… something he could do now. Or maybe, it was something he could always do. How much of him as he currently existed, was from his parents experimentation, and how much was from when they’d tried to “fix him”. Would he ever get an answer?

Danny let his head fall back into the grass and listened for the sound of anyone following him. It would be quite a feat, he supposed, if they even realized he’d left with the way it went down. So instead he looked up at the sky, started counting stars, and let himself fall asleep right there. This dream was of an endless forest and a strange, guttural language he’d never heard before, but found himself understanding.

After he got out of the woods he went to a small town. It was nice, cozy even and the people were pleasant to be around. Even if they threw him the occasional odd look due to his filthy worn hoodie and unwashed hair. He took the chance to sneak into a gas station bathroom and try to wash some of the dirt that had caked on his face, there was nothing he could do about the dark circles though. They were a permanent fixture at this point and Danny almost wouldn’t recognize himself without them.

Once he was finished with that, he walked around a bit more, looking for stuff he could do, people he could help. The ache in his chest had come back after his long stint in the woods, and he was eager to take this opportunity to try and soothe it.

Unfortunately, a filthy stranger walking around town wasn’t exactly the most trustworthy character and Danny struggled to find anything he could do that wouldn’t just scare someone off. It was when he’d asked around outside the arcade if anyone needed help with something around town, that an adult man had stopped what he was doing, looked him up and down, and said “you trying to get a job?”

Danny, not knowing really how to answer, just nodded. He was, in reality, just trying to find someone to help payment not needed, but he wasn’t going to turn down an offer like that either.

The man just sighed and said that he’d needed help moving some of the machines into the back and that, legally, it was a two person job. He offered twenty bucks and Danny shook his hand eagerly, a large smile on his face.

The man introduced himself as Marsh Hangreeve and explained that there were about half a dozen machines that needed to get moved, either they were broken without repair, no one really played them any more, or they were so outdated that all the cords were starting to fray and become a health hazard to the younger kids that sometimes wandered around the arcade.

The first one they lifted had been lighter than Danny was expecting, and they were able to easily maneuver it exactly where Marsh had wanted it in the back storage closet. Once they’d set it down, he’d had given Danny an approving look, nodded, and led him to the next one.

They were on their way back from carrying the fourth, and Danny was feeling pretty pleased with himself, when a kid no older than six had ran past them and tripped over the wire of one of the damaged games, pulling it off balance. The entire machine tipped back, towering over the fallen child and Danny couldn’t stop himself from running forward if he’d wanted to. His very being hummed and pulled, and he was there, one arm holding up the machine and the other curled around the child, protective.

Marsh had screamed a warning, but it hardly mattered. Danny lifted the machine easily back into place and gently picked up the child in his other arm, before stepping away and setting him back down.

“Hey,  are you okay?” he asked the frightened child, concerned.

“Is he okay?” Marsh scowled, “are you? Boy I told you those were a two man job why would you run over trying to get yourself squished like that!”

Danny rolled his eyes, clearly it wasn’t as heavy as it had been made out to be, “and let him get crushed instead?”

Looking over at the kid Marsh breathed out a frustrated sigh, “I guess you have a point. But don’t do it again or you can forget the twenty bucks I owe you. Here kid, let’s find your parents.”

Danny smiled, it felt good, helping people.

Was that the human part of him though? Or was it something else?

When Danny and Marsh finished the job he’d gotten his twenty dollars and a free dinner, and Danny gratefully accepted. Despite everything, he really did like being around people. Humans were kind by their very nature, and Danny basked in that feeling as much as he could on his journey. Sure, sometimes he felt more like he was taking advantage than anything else, and it was selfish almost, to seek out civilization only for his own needs.

But he tried not to think about that too much either- it sometimes caused a physical ache in his heart- and let the free meal settle as he fell asleep again, under the stars. They were particularly bright that night and he could have sworn he heard the ticking off a clock as he drifted away to sleep.

It was getting colder. It made sense really, he was headed north afterall. And he’d made plans for that, for the winter cold and the snow. He’d gotten a winter coat from walmart by sneaking in through the walls, it turned out he could spread that particular power to anything he touched, and fought the wave of guilt that hit him every time he did something like that.

He justified it in his mind with two different familiar voices. One that was easy going and carefree and told him, “hey you need that more than anyone else does, besides who’s going to miss one silly coat if it’ll save your life it’s worth it right?” The other was more steady, almost righteous and it said that “large conglomerates like Walmart and other stores gain most of their fortune on the backs of workers. They could stand to lose a bit of merchandise.”

His plan, once it got too cold to stay outside, had been to use the truck stops and sleep there, insulated from the cold at night before heading out again in the morning and continuing to walk. He’d had the fleeting thought, that perhaps he was headed to the north pole, and that there was no way for him to get there, no matter how long he walked, because that just wasn’t what humans can do.

Then again, he should have known better than to think himself limited to what humans can do.

It was when he woke up, covered in snow and more comfortable than he’d been any time Maddie had tucked him into bed under layer and layer of warm blankets, that he realized the cold didn’t just not affect him: it was a comfort.

Danny had held the snow in his hand and marveled at it. It didn’t melt, nor did it’s cold sting at him, and Danny found himself sitting, enraptured, by the intricate detailed designs that every flake formed as it fell. He blew the snow from his hands and watched as more formed, icy and solid and buzzing with the same kind of energy he felt just underneath his skin. Could he make ice now?

Was he Jack Frost or something? It certainly made sense, Jack Frost could apparently turn invisible and supposedly took the form of a young man riding on the wind. Then again, he’d never read anything about Jack Frost being able to turn visible, and Danny didn’t think he could fly.

Could he?

How would someone even go about discovering that?

As eager as he was, Danny wasn’t about to go jumping off cliffs or anything, not when he was so close to his answers. To the end of the rope that’s been leading him, tugging at his chest. So Danny just shook the snow out of his hair, marveled at the comforting soft feel of it, and continued his trek.

Amity Park had a sign on the outskirts proclaiming it “a nice place to live” and Danny felt something click into place as he walked past the town’s boundary. His emotions were suddenly running wild, as if he’d been starving them, and suddenly he could feast. He had to take a step back but there was something stopping him, a cry for help and he ran towards it, energy flowing all around him too much to keep inside too much to hold and he felt as a bright light surrounded him and he flew forward, his legs fading behind him until he came upon a scene straight out of his nightmares.

It was a monster, terrorizing a young woman, probably in her early twenties if that. The monster was large, glowing, and only just opaque enough to not look like some kind of hologram. Danny flew in front of it, putting himself between it and the girl and growling a warning. He wasn’t thinking about how his feet weren’t touching the ground, he refused to question it for fear of the ability going away without his control. He didn’t look down.

The monster stopped, a stunned look on its face, “ghost boy?” it asked. Danny frowned, why did that voice sound familiar? Was he really something from his dreams? How much had he dismissed as fantasy only for it to be reality, law of nature breaking reality?

“What did you call me?” Danny asked, risking a glance to see if the woman had run yet. She hadn’t, instead she was just standing there, smiling, and when she noticed him looking, she waved. He fought a blush, what the hell?

The monster laughed, “I knew you hadn’t Faded! They all told me I was crazy to hunt for prey long dead, But I, Skulker, was right! And here you are!”

Danny didn’t know how to react to that. Did he know this thing? Wait, no, clearly he knew this thing. It was somewhere, scrambled with the rest of his memories. Flashes of cages, and fights, constant paranoia, and Danny felt his hand grow cold as he built ice in it to attack with.

The woman called out though, no longer afraid, “oh please. He’s only been gone, what a year? Weren’t you crying just last month about how much you missed him?”

Danny turned around to face her, “weren’t you scared? Why are you still here?”

At the same time the monster, Skulker, sputtered, “I was merely lamenting the loss of such rare prey!”

The woman just giggled, “how can I leave when my hero has finally retuned to save me~”

There was something weird going on here. For one, everyone seemed to recognize him, but neither of them had used his name. For two, he and this Skulker were clearly floating in the middle of the day and almost no attention was being paid to them at all beyond the woman who’d originally called for help.

Who clearly no longer felt she needed it.

“Hold on,” Danny said, struggling to sort through the information he was being given, “you two know me?”

Skulker’s grin dropped and the girl gasped.

“What do you mean by asking such an absurd question! You and I are mortal enemies! Of course we know each other!” geez, he didn’t have to get so offended.

Danny crossed his arms, “what’s my name?”

“Uh,” Skulker looked down towards the woman before looking back at Danny, “you know you’re usually a bit more tightlipped about that. It’s really not sporting to hunt prey that isn’t in it’s right mind.”

Danny scowled, “why would I be tightlipped about my name? Ugh, this is a waste of time. Just,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “leave the lady alone and go do something I don’t know, Hunter-y that won’t piss me off.”

“Why would I-”

“Or I can freeze you into a block of ice that doesn’t melt,” Danny threatened, feeling the energy build behind his eyes.

At Danny’s glare, the hunter gulped and feigned looking at his watch. “Huh, looks like it’s time to go feed that gorilla, I’ll uh, be back to hunt you later Welp!” He flew away.

Danny sighed and let himself float gently downward until his feet touched the floor. The woman ran over to hug him, eager, and Danny just let himself go intangible, unwilling to be touched so casually by someone who basically amounted to a stranger.

“Do you know my name?” he asked, warily.

She blinked, “Of course! You’re Phantom, ghost boy and savor of Amity Park. Did you hit your head or something?”

“Or something,” he answered, still stuck on something she said, Skulker had called him that as well, “what do you mean when you say ghost boy?”

Her eyes widened and she brought one of her hands, slender and perfectly manicured, to cover her mouth as she gasped. “There is something wrong. I knew you wouldn’t leave for so long without a reason!”

Quicker than he could react to, she grabbed his shoulders and led him to a store front window. Whatever she was trying to show him was probably inside, but Danny was struck instead by his own reflection, ghostly and glowing with bright green eyes.

He disappeared.

The woman called out to him, not thrown at all by his display of power, or by how much a freak he must be. Was he the same as the monster he’d almost fought earlier? They’d called him ghost boy, was Skulker a ghost? Was he?

But he couldn't be. That didn’t make sense.

Someone couldn’t be alive and dead…

Unless…

Experiments…

“We were trying to fix you Danny.”

His chest hurt again. And he followed it subconsciously, taking a path through town on auto pilot, and trying not to think about his changed appearance. When had it happened, why? Was it something he could undo, like the other powers he had?

Why did this town feel so different from all the others? What was the giant spike of energy drawing him like a moth to flame in the center of everything. Was that what was pulling him here? Or was this just where he needed to be?

How long was it going to take to get him memories back anyways. There wasn’t even a clock tower here! Hadn’t that been his goal, the one thing he knew to look for?

His path had brought him to an old torn down building on the end of a residential street. It hurt, for some reason, to look at the rubble around him and not know what happened here, or even what it used to be. But he knew there was something here. He could feel it. The energy buzzed around him and he looked around, checking if there was any other crazy people or dangerous “ghosts” before he simply, let himself fall down through it.

He found a lab.

Not just any lab, but the lab from his nightmares. The beakers, the buttons, the ominous table with thick metal cuffs and dark green slime long dried on it. He put his hand to his chest, almost feeling the scalpel as it sliced into him. Taking a breath, he pushed it away, buried and hidden, he could think about that another day.

For now, all his attention was on the glowing green and purple swirling mass of energy that was singing at him like a song. It pulled him in, and he floated towards it, this power newly discovered and yet second nature, just like all the rest.

He hesitated for a moment, before he went through it. What if what he was looking for was over here, on this side of whatever that was, and he couldn’t get back out? What if he really was dead, and that led to the afterlife? What if he was missing the answers to his questions by going through?

But he’d followed the pull to this town and he’d found familiarity as foreign as it was, and now he was following his gut.

He braced himself and flew through.

What he found was a swirling green void that made no sense and defied what little laws of nature Danny remembered existing, like gravity and sense. Danny had the feeling that it went on, winding and stretching, for an eternity and that no matter what way he went, he could get lost forever and never find his way back.

That didn’t matter though, because right in front of him, larger than life and bigger than anything around it, was the clock-tower he’d been searching for.

It didn’t look like it belonged there, in fact, with it’s size and the relative barrenness of the collections of floating rocks and doors around him, it seemed rather ill placed. Like something had forced it somewhere it didn’t fit and Danny approached it cautiously.

There was no reason to believe that this was safe, just because he wanted it to be, just because his shattered mind had somehow put together that it was. He stood at the doors. In all reality they were ominous and foreboding. The entire tower was, sharp angles, deep purples and glowing greens. He didn’t feel scared though, so he lifted his hand to knock.

The door opened before he even touched wood and there, right in front of him, was another ghost. One he’d never seen before, with blood red eyes and a nasty, twisting scar hidden partially under a deep purple hood and a clock, ticking, familiarly, in his chest.

Danny felt tears build, his lips wobbled, his hands trembled as he clenched them tightly into fists, and when the ghost lifted his arms Danny flew into them clutching tight and crying. He heaved large, ugly sobs into his shoulder and felt a hand stroke down his back to comfort him.

“Welcome home.”

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Black Umbrellas

Josh Lyman x Reader

Words: 2277

Part One

Summary: The funeral arrives and everything seems to fall apart. Josh tries to keep his temper in check with Celia, but soon the reason behind their ongoing feud is revealed. 

Notes: Josh is definitely one of my favorite fictional characters and it seems like more of you are liking his imagines. As always, comments are always welcome!- Side note: I know that it’s been forever since I posted part one to this, and I’m very sorry. I hope to be writing for more West Wing, including more characters. 

-

It was just like he would have wanted. The morning was bright and sunny and began with laughter. Josh was standing in the kitchen with your mother and something he had said made her laugh, making the rest of you feel a little lighter on a day that would leave a great deal of weight on your hearts. It’s how your dad would have wanted his funeral to start. Not with sorrow, but with the sense of being together. 

Your mother made blueberry pancakes for breakfast using your dad’s famous recipe and  the three of you had coffee on the porch. Celia and Thomas were still asleep, so there was no danger of an argument breaking out for now. 

“It’s a beautiful day.” Marissa hummed, taking a sip of her coffee. Josh nodded in agreement, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, drinking in the morning sun as it rose over the trees. 

“How are you feeling?” He whispered as you rested your head on his shoulder. You shrugged. 

“Best that I can be, I guess.” He nodded in understanding and sweetly kissed the top of your head. 

“I’ll be here the whole time.” You placed a hand on his leg, drawing circles on the denim. You loved it when he wore jeans. It made him feel like he was yours for the day and not rushing off to assist in a national crisis. But even now, he was still the Deputy Chief of Staff. 

You probably noticed his pager buzzing before he did. He looked at you mournfully, his tone apologetic. “I’ve got a call from Leo.” 

You gave him a small smile and a node. “You better take it.” 

He moved out onto the lawn for some privacy and your mother gave your hand a gentle pat. 

“You picked a good one.” She smiled. You both watched as he ran a hand down his face, his expression morphing from saddened to angered to calm in a matter of seconds. 

“Is he seriously working right now?” Your sister’s shrill criticizing voice emerged from inside the house. 

“He’s the Deputy Chief of Staff for the President,” You scoffed, “the world didn’t stop just because he’s here.” 

“Sorry, I forgot. Not all of us are lowly small town journalists like me and dad.” 

“Are you serious, right now?” 

“No, you’re right, I’m sure it’s a matter of national security.” She spat and you stood up from the swing. 

“It very well could be!” You shouted. You wanted to slap her. Who was she to criticize Josh? 

“Girls!” Your mother finally interjected. You both turned your heads towards her and you immediately felt guilty, seeing the tears welling up in her eyes. “Don’t do this today. Please.” 

“Sorry mom.” You both said, hanging your heads. While you could feel everything start to burn up in your chest, you pushed it down. You had to be strong today. Luckily, your own pager went off before any more arguing could occur. 

“Hey Sam.” You sighed in greeting, grateful for a distraction. 

“Hey, how are you doing?” His voice was sympathetic and sweet. Typical Sam. 

“Okay, all things considered.” You laughed lightly, hoping to keep the conversation from getting too emotional. “How are things there?”

“Crazy as usual.” He chuckled. “I just wanted to call and check in.” There was something in his tone that told you there was more. 

“Sam… something is wrong with the speech, isn’t there?” 

“Well,” He blew out a breath, “Since you pushed it back, we’re speaking after Congress is handing us our asses which means that Toby needed to make some changes so we don’t sound like-”

“Kids trying to start a fight on the playground?” You finished. Josh had said the same thing. 

“Yeah…” 

You thought for a moment, but couldn’t focus on any one thing. “Just make sure that he sounds like we’re still coming out on top.” It was the only thing you could do. 

“We’ll try.” He paused, but you already knew what he was going to say. “And Y/N-”

“I know.” You smiled slightly to yourself. “Thanks Sam.” 

You strolled along the wrap-around porch, hoping to avoid Celia for at least a few more minutes, telling yourself it was the stress of the day. She would cool off eventually. 

“I hope everything is doing okay.” Your mother’s comforting tone helped to calm you down. You shrugged. 

“As okay as it ever is.” She nodded with understanding. She knew how messy the political world was. It didn’t stop because someone died. 

Josh came back, the stress clear on his face. When he locked eyes with you, he tried to brighten up, but you could tell that there was something weighing down on his shoulders. You implored him with a look, but he shrugged it off. 

“The usual.” He whispered, draping his arm around you again. “Don’t worry about it.” He turned to your mother with a sad smile. “Leo McGarry and The President send their deepest sympathies.” 

“I appreciate that.” She nodded and looked out over the orchards. How was she so strong through all of this? You felt ready to fall apart at the seams, but your mother was the picture of grace. She always did everything for everyone else and now she wasn’t giving herself the chance to grieve. 

Celia had gone inside to make calls to the funeral home and Thomas was in town picking up groceries. He wanted there to be one less thing for all of you to worry about. 

With a few hours until the funeral, all you wanted was to make it through the day without any more arguments. Josh had a few more calls with Leo and did his best to hide it from your judgmental sister but there was still that tension between them. You took a few sympathy calls from Donna and C.J.- both of whom were very kind in expressing their regrets in not being able to make it to the funeral. 

It was about noon when the President called. Your mother must have spent an hour talking to him in her office before she came back into the living room, passing off the phone to you. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. President.” You started, forcing yourself to keep it together. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch you the other day before you and Josh left.” He sighed. “I wanted to give my condolences in person.” 

“My family and I appreciate it nonetheless, sir.” 

“I am truly sorry for your loss, Y/N.” His fatherly tone made you want to cry. Truthfully, you’d always seen President Bartlet as your work-father more than your boss. “Bill was a good man and a good friend.” 

“He would have been honored to hear you say that, sir.” There was a long moment of silence between the two of you as you both let those words sink in before he concluded. 

“He was always very proud of you, Y/N. I hope you know that.” 

Your breathing hitched as you held back a cry. “Thank you, Mr. President.” As you hung up, you tried to keep the tears from falling. Your quiet moment to yourself was interrupted by the sounds of whispers growing into shouts on the front porch. Celia and Josh. 

As you approached, their words became more and more clear. 

“When are you going to stop treating her like a child?”

“I’m sorry, but I figured I would let her go on thinking that her sister is a crazy lunatic!” 

“Keep your voice down! She’ll hear you.” 

“Let her hear, Celia.” Josh’s voice became a growl. “Let her hear that after all these years, you’ve just been jealous of everything that she’s been able to accomplish and you couldn’t.”

“I don’t know why we’re even having this conversation.” Celia scoffed. You opened the door a crack and watched her step closer to him. “I’m not jealous, Josh. I’m right. Y/N has had everything handed to her since the day she was born. She doesn’t deserve her job.. And she doesn’t deserve you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Josh ran a hand down his face and turned away, but she was persistent.

“We met first, Josh. We started seeing each other and then you fell for her little charms just like everybody else.” 

“You two were seeing each other?” You gasped, finally stepping out from behind the door. Josh let out a frustrated groan. 

“No, honey, we weren’t-”

“Is that why you two are at each other’s throats all the time? Because you were together?”

“We were never together!” He exclaimed. He reached to put his hands on your shoulders, but you stepped away, staring down your older sister. 

“You really think I don’t deserve my job… my husband… my life?” 

She said nothing. Her mouth formed a thin line as she gave you a silent, hard stare. You wanted to slap her. You wanted to scream. Instead, the sky let out a low, tumbling growl of thunder that served as the final straw. You looked up at the darkened clouds as the first raindrop landed on your cheek. 

“No no no no no. This isn’t what he would have wanted.” You cried, holding out a hand as more water fell. “It’s supposed to be sunny and beautiful and… and…” 

“Y/N,” Josh started, but you didn’t hear him. 

“I can’t deal with this right now.” Was all you said as you took off down the steps and towards the road. You didn’t know what to think, but the rain hitting your skin was enough to fuel your fury to hide your sadness. 

“Where is she going?” Marissa asked, feeling the tension in every thunder roll. Josh slammed his hand against the porch railing. 

“I don’t know. But I’ll take care of it.” He gave Celia a glare that could halt an army before running after you.

-

You ended up in an old tool shed somewhere in the orchard, your cries drowned out by the rain pounding against the wooden walls. Your clothes were soaked but you didn’t care. There was just an hour until the funeral and the storm didn’t show any sign of stopping. This was all wrong. 

Your dad was the only one who could have fixed this mess. Whenever either you or your husband fought with Celia, he was the one that could settle everyone down and make you all laugh until your sides hurt. What if you never laughed like that again? 

The rain turned into a soft- but consistent- drizzle and you were sure you heard the sound of a car approaching the shed. You heard your husband calling your name before you even opened the door. 

“How did you know I’d be here?”

He gave you a long, sad look. “When you ran off, your mother said it’d be best if I took a car so we’d have someplace warm to sit and talk. She said you’d probably come here.” He opened the passenger door of his car and just waited. 

Instead of running into the warm heat of the car, you ran into his arms. While you felt like you had no more tears to shed, your body just shook with silent sobs. After a while, he picked you up and put you in the car, quickly going over the driverseat so he could take you in his embrace again. 

“I feel so stupid.” You sniffed. “We’re supposed to be mourning dad and I’m running off like a child.” 

“Don’t beat yourself up.” He muttered into your hair. “Grief does something to our heads… everyone has to deal with it.” He pulled away to look at you. “I shouldn’t have argued with Celia.” 

“No.” You shook your head. “No, I’m glad I know what she really thinks of me. Of us.” 

He pushed a hair behind your ear and gave you a small smile. “You have to know that I would never hide something like that from you unless I thought it didn’t matter. Celia and I got drinks one time before I met you and now she likes to hold it over my head.” He sighed. “And don’t beat yourself up about what she said. You’re one of the hardest working, badass women that I know. You deserve everything that you’ve built.”

He kissed your forehead and you fell into silence again. Without any words, he knew that you believed him about Celia and that the whole thing was blown out of proportions by your sister’s need for attention. He just hoped that you and Celia could start over. As much as he despised her most of the time, he knew what it was like to lose a sister. 

“Why don’t we head back to the house and try and dry off before the funeral?” He suggested softly. You just nodded, laying your head on his shoulder as he drove back to your childhood home. 

-

It wasn’t the sunny day that you wanted it to be. Everyone stood with black umbrellas and somber faces and you did your best to keep it together. Josh held your hand the whole way through, his support not faltering for a single second. You knew this couldn’t be easy for him either and yet he was your rock through all of it. 

The clouds blocked the sun for the rest of the day but you told yourself that it was okay. They were the cloud-kingdoms your father always talked about. The ones he wrote in those little books tucked away in the house. And you took comfort in the fact that you knew, now, that he was up there with them. 

[jeonsjiddies]

apodyopsis (m) | jjk

summary- apodyopsis (n.) ; the act of mentally undressing someone

alternatively, Jungkook is a nude model in your art class

rating- explicit / 18+ word count-  12k pairing- jungkook x reader genre- smut Warnings- daddy kink, slight degrading?, mild health concerns, very light bdsm?, masturbation, oral (female and male receiving), rough sex, kind of dom!jungkook, a little name calling?, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it bb)

blkjmn & dontaskshhhhh ( weak&wet ™) ;  2020 all rights reserved©

a/n: our lovechild is born! We worked so hard on this, we hope you love it as much as we do. Currently thanking my lucky stars that @blkjmn​ agreed to collab with me, and that she saved my life with that glorious sex scene because I can’t seem to stop writing mushy fluffy smut. I love you so much thank you for being by my side and co-writing this with me. <3

“There’s one last thing we need to discuss before you are signed, Mr. Jeon. Do we need to backtrack for a moment to review, or shall we continue on?” The business contractor asked, using his thumb and index finger to push his glasses up further onto his nose bridge.

Jungkook wasn’t registering a single word that left the man’s mouth. His eyes were glued to the fine print on the page that described the job he’d be keeping for likely most of his (young adult) life, or at least until he was able to successfully rid himself of the guilt that's been resting on his broad shoulders for the last ten years.

He would never be able to forget the way his mother’s face fell every time he was discharged from the hospital. Not only did she have no answers and a still sick child to take home, but she also had a weighty hospital bill to add to the others that she received about once a month. She worked her ass off to take care of him as best she could, even with the gigantic debt she kept under her belt for the entirety of his childhood.

All of this was hidden from Jungkook until he was told he had celiac disease at the age of ten. His symptoms had gotten worse the longer his condition remained unnoticed, even though he would complain to his mother of constant pain everyday, tearful eyes locking with hers as if begging for her to give him any sort of relief.

“Mommy, my stomach hurts!”

“I’m not hungry! It makes it worse to eat!”

“Can you please make it stop, mama?”

He cringes every time he thinks about what he must’ve put his mother through as a child, and how she always managed to push a smile even though she was fighting to make ends meet.

Even after all of that, he was hesitating on signing this contract because he was too shy? Bullshit. He’d be selfish if he were to deny this opportunity because of his underlying fear of being seen naked in front of a large audience of people.

He knew he had no real reason to be afraid, though. After constant teasing in school for being extremely thin due to his illness, he built up the courage to get himself a gym membership when his condition became less overbearing.

He ate more often, built up more muscle, and managed to become more confident in himself and his abilities.

So, what did he have to be nervous for?

Jungkook no longer had any issues with stripping himself down. His body was sculpted perfectly, and he had a massive dick to accompany the figure he had worked for so many years towards.

Sure, everything was all set for him, but not for his mom. Jungkook knew that she barely managed to make her rent last month.

He needed to sign this contract.

“Mr. Jeon?” Jungkok’s glossy eyes were blown wide. He hadn’t moved an inch in the past minute.

“Mr. Jeon…” The man rolled his eyes, obviously knowing that it would take a bit more than calling the young man’s name to get him out of whatever trance he’d put himself in. He slammed his fist down onto the table, and Jungkook’s eyes crossed for a moment before he jolted to his senses.

He cleared his throat, and immediately began sputtering apologies.

“I-I’m so sorry. I’m not quite sure what came over me, I-” The contractor held his hand up, effectively silencing the boy as he picked up the pen that sat to the right of him while offering it to Jungkook with a raised brow.

“If this is something that you are not going to take seriously, then you may escort yourself out of my office. If you’d like to begin your career in this field, then take this pen and sign this contract.” Jungkook didn’t hesitate in grabbing the pen from the man, immediately apologizing for the way he snatched it out of his grasp.

He gnawed on his bottom lip, eyes scanning over the words on the thin paper as if he hadn’t been in this chair reviewing them for the past three hours.

This job paid well, and he had nothing to risk.

Except for the probable denial of any office job he’d try to apply to.

Why would he want an office job anyway?

Probably because--

“Any day now, Mr. Jeon.” He cast an annoyed glance toward the man. Couldn’t he see that he was contemplating on signing the damn thing?

He sighed, stretched his neck from side to side, and lifted the pen to the paper with a shaking hand.

The moment he finished signing, the crumpled sheet was ripped from under his fingertips, and tucked away into the desk of who Jungkook really hoped wouldn’t be his boss.

“It’s nice to have you along, kid.” Jungkook smiled nervously.

“You’ve got a great look, but of course, nude modeling is about what’s under the clothes.” His face instantly began to pale as he gripped the armrests of the chair he sat in.

Was this old dude asking to see him naked? Right now?

“You can step inside of the bathroom behind me to change. There should be a robe hanging on the door. Put it on, meet me outside, and we’ll take a few pictures for your portfolio.”

Jungkook sat still in the chair, staring at the man across from him with those adorable eyes widened in slight panic.

He was trying to pull himself up so he wouldn’t look like a fumbling idiot, but he couldn’t move a limb.

There was no turning back now, and he was fully aware of that.

“Am I… am I supposed to be naked for the f-first photo shoot?” Jungkook asked, his voice weak.

The contractor raised an eyebrow. It was normal for newcomers to be nervous, but he couldn’t understand why it was so difficult for him to follow directions.

In due time, he supposed.

“No, Jungkook.” The contractor sighed, pressing his thumb and middle finger against his temples in distress. Jungkook noted that this was the first time the man had addressed him formally as well, so it was probably in his best interest to go get changed if he didn’t want to get fired before he officially started the job.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He said, standing from the chair as he looked over the contractor’s shoulder to the bathroom. It seemed to be decently sized, and he could really use some time alone to get his nerves settled before he had to… well, pose naked for the camera.

Well, not naked. Not this time. That’s what the contractor said.

He looked toward the man one last time, before he began pushing himself in the direction of the bathroom. Upon approaching it, he could pick up the smell of lavender coming from the candles that were lit inside.

He opened the door, and immediately turned around to close and lock it.

He checked to make sure the door was locked before he pulled his shirt over his head and carefully pulled each of his shoes off.

He checked once more as he unbuckled his pants.

He checked one final time as he threw his belt to the floor.

Jungkook slid his thumbs in between his hips and the fabric of the jeans as he tugged them down toward the ground. He had no issue with this as of yet, seeing as he was still in his boxers.

He pressed his body up against the wall, giving himself something to lean up against as he took his jeans off and threw them toward the pile of his clothes he created on the floor.

The boxers were all that were left.

“Come on, man.” He whispered to himself, glaring at his reflection in the mirror as he began to get annoyed at his own anxiousness.

It was just a couple of pictures, and he’d be covered by a robe. He was acting like a wreck for no reason.

He closed his eyes and yanked the boxers down in one swift motion, knowing that if he hesitated, he probably would’ve just left them on.

Jungkook shivered as the cold air went straight to his dick, and he almost knocked one of the candles over and sent the bathroom up into flames as he lunged for the robe that was near the door.

It was soft and fluffy, and it also carried the faint scent of the lavender that engulfed his senses. It was warm as well, like a heated towel.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad, then.

He noticed that there were a pair of flimsy sandals sitting near the door as he prepared to leave. He was never told to put them on, or to mess with them at all, but he’d rather not walk around with his bare feet, so he slid them on anyway.

He checked his reflection once more, adjusting the robe a bit so it hung loosely around his waist, and so more of his chest could be exposed.

Sure, he was nervous, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to put on a good show.

He ran his hands down his sides, purposely brushing them over his cock as he considered giving it a few quick pumps before he made his way outside.

That’d be sure to leave a great first impression, which was what he was going for, but it’d be obvious that he was touching himself because his face would blush bright red.

He reached down to grab his clothes, folding them somewhat neatly. He grabbed his shoes and sat them on top of the stack of clothes he’d made.

Worry began to bubble in his stomach once he stepped out of the bathroom to find himself alone in the large office room, but he quickly remembered that he was told to meet the guy outside.

He hummed a small tune as he took quick steps toward the office door, placing his large hand upon the knob and opening it slowly, just in case his boss (Jungkook decided to assume that’s who this man was going to become. It’s better to wish for the worst anyway, right?) was right in front of the door.

Once he didn’t feel any force being pressed against the door, he opened it carefully and shimmied his way out of the office. He pressed his back against it to close it, and this small action caught the attention of his boss, who was sitting on a small bench a few feet away from the office.

“Great! You’re all changed.” The man smiled gently at him, clapping his hands together as he stood up and quickly approached Jungkook.

Jungkook stumbled back a few steps, confused by this sudden change of behavior. Was it because he was finally complying, or was it because he was about to be used for profit?

Either way, he didn’t mind. It’d be a hell of a lot easier to work in a less stressful environment, so he’d take what he could get.

“Uh, yeah… I wasn’t sure of where to put my clothes,” Jungkook began, holding up his clothes as he spoke, “so I decided to—“

“Ah, thank you for the reminder!” The man spoke, retreating back toward the bench he sat on to fetch an unmarked black bookbag from behind it.

He handed it to Jungkook, who took it thankfully and with a small smile.

“When do I return this to you?” Jungkook asked, not bothering to look toward his boss as he spoke as he was busy stuffing his belongings into the bag.

“It’s yours to keep, son.” Jungkook closed the bag and stood up, tossing it lazily over one of his shoulders as he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, thank you so much.” He smiled sincerely. He was especially thankful that it was unmarked, because if he were to wear the bag out in public, he’d hate for someone to actually read the company name and google it, only to find pictures of him covered with only a robe on the home page.

He shivered at the thought.

“The studio is actually on this floor, so we haven’t got far of a walk at all.” His boss began to walk, and Jungkook followed a few feet behind him as he began to survey his surroundings at each turn they took.

“Now, there will be a handful of people in this room with you. Other models, photographers, of course, lighting specialists, stylists, and a few possible employers.” Jungkook hummed as the man spoke, ignoring every word that was coming out of his mouth as his heart began to thud loudly in his chest.

He didn’t need this explanation, anyway. The average person knows a little something about how a photo shoot works.

Even though he was a considerable distance away from his boss, he was almost sure that he could hear the thudding in his chest.

“Every single one of the people waiting in this room are going to do their best to make you look good, so there’s no need to worry. Relax, and you focus on making the company look good.” He laughed throatily, and Jungkook laughed stiffly from behind him.

‘Make the company look good my ass,’ Jungkook thought.

He rolled his eyes, almost crashing directly into the short man in front of him as they abruptly stopped at a door tucked away into the corner of the hallway they were on.

“This is it. Do you have anything else to ask of me?” Jungkook hurriedly said no, his nerves being replaced by the excitement to show himself off a bit.

“Alright.” The man nodded once before he opened the door, and once again, Jungkook was slapped in the dick with a blast of cold air.

He raised his eyebrows in interest as he surveyed the few models that were scattered about the different sets that were spread apart in the room. One set was sexy and seductive, dripping in elements of crimson and black, another was a bit more fun, which used orange and yellow to contrast against the white, and Jungkook couldn’t even conjure up the words to describe the other sets.

He continued to watch the models pose as if this was natural for them, flinching every now and then at the bright light that would flash every time a picture was taken.

He also noted that all of the models were nude.

They seemed to be masters of their talents, so maybe Jungkook got to leave the robe on because he was an amateur?

“Shit.” Jungkook cursed under his breath. Another cool draft of wind ran through the room, and he scurried to look down and pull the robe over his thighs.

Jungkook heaved a sigh of relief once he successfully covered himself, and his boss quickly strolled over to him to grab the bag off of his shoulder. Jungkook immediately looked over to ask him what he was doing, but before he got the chance, he was being whisked away by a manicured hand.

Everything moved quickly, but this should’ve been what Jungkook was expecting. This wasn’t just about his money.

He was thrown onto a couch near the center of the room, which was white just like the walls.

As soon as his ass touched the couch cushions, there were at least four people crowding over him to add some blush to his cheeks, and add some hairspray to his hair.

He was startled, but he didn’t mind the chaotic environment. It reminded him very much of the hospital he frequented when he was younger, and the thought of him finally being able to help his mom out after so long brought a smile to his face.

After the clutter of bodies went away, Jungkook was left alone on the couch with a camera pointed directly at him.

He gulped, his mouth suddenly dry.

The man behind the camera snapped a few shots of Jungkook to test the quality of the photos, and once he was pleased with what he saw, he stared expectantly at Jungkook with a raised brow.

“Uh…” Jungkook began.

“Take your robe off.” He stated bluntly. Jungkook choked, and immediately looked to where he saw his boss last, but he was nowhere to be found.

That fucker.

“I—I thought that I—“

“You may want to be quick about it, too. Time is money, and the more pictures we take of you, the better your chances are at being promoted.” Jungkook sighed.

If there was one thing he needed, it was money.

Hell, that’s what he got the job for.

He slowly brought his hands down to the sash that was holding the robe together and undid it, tossing it next to him on the couch.

He smirked lightly when he heard a few of the women standing behind the photographer gasp, quickly scanning every one of their faces to see their shocked expressions.

Jungkook could read the women easily. They all bit their lips, winked, or waved flirtatiously as he made eye contact with them, except for one woman.

She smiled teasingly at him, although she was seemingly unimpressed with his level of confidence. She raised an eyebrow tauntingly, pretending as if she didn’t understand why everyone was reacting as if they’d never seen a penis before. Though her cool exterior radiated disinterest, Jungkook could see past her facade, her eyes gave everything away. He could see the desire in her y/e/c irises. Jungkook understood, he felt it too.

Jungkook returned the smile, oddly at ease by her presence. He absentmindedly licked his lips as he raked his eyes up and down the curves of her figure.

She wore a long sleeved shirt that hugged her frame perfectly, a tight skirt that rested a few inches above her knees, and a pair of black heels that made her legs look absolutely stunning from where Jungkook was sitting.

He was sure they’d still look delicious if he were to take a closer look, which he wouldn’t mind in the slightest.

His mind wandered, images of her naked body flashing behind his eyelids. He lost himself in his daydreams of kissing up her legs while she squirmed underneath him.

What the hell is wrong with him? He was made to be the one receiving suggestive glances, but here he was, blatantly checking out the cute girl that was just trying to make him comfortable.

The girl broke eye contact with him, and he immediately looked away as well, squirming slightly in his seat as he felt his cock harden between his legs.

He made no effort to hide it, but he did close his legs a bit to make it less obvious.

He did not just get a boner because he made eye contact with a pretty girl.

Well, on the bright side, he didn’t have to worry about getting himself hard in the bathroom.

He glanced over in the lady’s direction once more, pouting once he noticed that she was no longer paying any attention to him, instead scribbling something down on a notepad she held in her small hands.

Why did he want her attention so bad?

“Alright,” The photographer began, bringing Jungkook back down to earth, “Keep it natural. The more relaxed you feel, the better your photos will turn out.” Jungkook nodded, a bit more eager than he should’ve been to begin his first session.

“Perfect!” The photographer yelled, snapping one last photo of Jungkook before he closed the lens of his camera and began to pack up his equipment.

Most of the other models and workers filed out already, and Jungkook was overly thankful that it would be his turn to leave this room next.

Jungkook thought the shoot went very well, as it was very easy for him to… keep himself encouraged throughout, thanks to that pretty lady.

He relaxed from his position, in which he was leaned forward, his elbows propped onto his knees as he smirked cockily at the camera.

He wasn’t sure of what to do just yet, waiting for his liar of a boss to make himself shown again.

Especially considering that the man had his clothes and shoes.

Jungkook sighed and closed his eyes, pressing his back into the couch as he breathed in and out slowly. He continued like this for a few moments, until he could hear heels tapping against the floor in his direction.

He opened one of his eyes, taking a peek at who was walking toward him.

Jungkook immediately sat up upon noticing that it was the woman with the sexy legs that kept his dick hard through the entirety of his shoot.

She approached him with a friendly smile, and Jungkook returned her sincerity with a smile of his own.

“Could I take a seat?” She motioned toward the empty spot on the couch next to him. Jungkook nodded once.

“Of course.” He moved over a bit, his cock swinging against his inner thigh as he did so.

It was then that he realized that he was absolutely naked still, so he grabbed the robe that laid over the arm of the couch and threw it on, as if the woman hadn’t already seen everything he had to offer— and more.

“Thank you!” She smiled at him. ”I’m Y/N.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I’m Jungkook.” She chuckled at this. Jungkook was confused as to what she found funny, maybe his name?

He gripped the robe between his fingers, nervously running the pads of them over the soft material as he pondered over what could’ve made the tempting woman in front of him giggle so sweetly.

“Why’re you laughing?” She noticed his nerves return, a knowing smirk on her lips as she watched the way he shyly avoided eye contact with her.

“I already know who you are, Mr. Jeon.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. It’s almost as if she knew she was enticing.

“You did some great work today, you know?” She flashed him an adorable smile again.

It was something about the way that ‘Mr. Jeon’ rolled off of her tongue that was driving Jungkook up the wall.

“Look, I know this may seem a bit forward, but you radiate great potential.” Jungkook nodded, thanking her quietly, as she pulled out that notepad that she was scribbling in when she was too busy to give him attention while he was posing sexily.

“I conduct an art class at a community center, and I’d love it if you were to drop by and model for me a bit, since you’ve gotten the swing of things fairly quickly.” She giggled, as she ripped out the page from the small book and handed it to him gently.

“Please, feel free to decline if you’re uncomfortable, but if you’d like to give it a try then give me a call.” She eyed him carefully as he picked up the paper and read over it.

“That’s my personal number, so you can call me whenever you’d like.” Something about that sentence put an image into Jungkook’s head.

“Alright, I’ll get out of your hair now.” She stood up, collecting her belongings as she did so.

“If I never run into you again, then it’s been a pleasure, Jungkook.” She proceeded to walk away, leaving him on the couch alone.

Jungkook lingered just outside the door of the art room, his stomach twisting with nerves. When he’d first been approached about modeling, he’d laughed it off. It started off with easy stuff, brand deals and commercial advertisements. How did he end up here? Posing nude in front of a group of strangers to pick apart his body for their art? This was the best paying gig he’d ever been presented with… the small advertising gigs had been a couple hundred at best but this one would put a sizable dent in his mother’s debt, easing her misfortune. Jungkook had to do this. For her.

He held his head high and strolled into the room with a confident air, any trace of his uneasiness washed away. He glanced around at the unfamiliar faces, carefully watching his every move. He smiled in a greeting, until his eyes landed on you. His face lit up at seeing your familiar face and your heart clenched at the sight.  Should Jungkook have found comfort in your deceptively soft eyes? No. Did he? Absolutely. Your sharp tongue didn’t phase him too badly, not when he could see the tenderness in your eyes.

“Good morning, Mr. Jeon.” you smiled, extending your hand in an invitation.

Jungkook reached out, enveloping your small hand in his own larger one, shaking it professionally. He reveled at how soft your skin was.

“Good morning, Ms. Y/L/N.” he greeted. “Good morning, everyone.” he addressed the rest of the room. “Please call me Jungkook.”

“Alright. Jungkook here is going to be our model. Long gone are the days of fruit baskets. Here is where the fun begins.” you smirked, sending a raised eyebrow Jungkook’s way.

In spite of himself, Jungkook blushed under your suggestive gaze.

“Now, don’t forget that this is for art.” you emphasized. “The human body is a work of art and I expect you to treat it as such. Take this seriously. Okay?”

Most heads nodded automatically, a few older women rolled their eyes or stole looks from each other, mocking you. You were placing a young, muscular man in front of them without clothes. How did you expect them not to ogle?

“For this particular piece, we’re going to be exploring how to use charcoal to get those little details. Don’t forget your shading!” you chimed happily. “Ready, Jungkook?”

“I think so.” he smiled.

“Show us what you got.” you grinned, stepping back and sitting at your own easel.

Jungkook’s hands trembled a bit as he unbuttoned his shirt, trying his best to 1. Not look like a total basket case and 2. Not make it super sensual. Deft fingers worked their way down his shirt and soon the material was sliding off his body in a way he felt was unceremoniously, but judging from the mouths hanging open around the room, might’ve been a bit more enticing than he’d intended.

Jungkook’s chest was absolutely flawless, in your opinion. You were one of the few who managed to keep your tongue inside your mouth for the show, but that didn’t stop your eyes from wandering over his toned physique. Sure you’d seen him at his photography shoot, but he was wearing a robe and you were trying to be professional. Now, hidden behind your easel, you were free to really take him in.

His chiseled chest, the deep ridges of his toned abs, the smoothness of his skin, the light dusting of hair that teased its way under his jeans. He was a walking wet dream. Your mouth watered as your gaze followed the lines of his V. Jungkook popped open the button of his jeans, tugging the zipper down as well. You’d never been so entranced by a simple movement in your life. The man radiated sexual energy.

He shimmied his hips free of the denim, his every movement captivating his audience.  Firm hip bones, luscious thick thighs, deliciously tanned skin were all slowly revealed as he tugged the jeans off in one fluid motion. Maybe he should be a stripper instead of a model… You shook the thought away, but it lingered. Jungkooks movements faltered for a moment, his eyes seeking yours for comfort. You smiled reassuringly at him, and that was all he needed to tug his boxers over his delicious thighs and let his glorious cock free.

“Holy shit.” you heard from somewhere behind you.

“He reminds me of a lover I once had in Prague. I’d sneak him into my hotel room and we’d make love until the sun came up. I miss being young.”

Jungkook coughed and brought his arm up to cover the flush spreading across his cheeks at the older woman’s inappropriate comment. You bit back a laugh.

“Alright Jungkook, just make yourself comfortable and we’ll start drawing you, okay?” you instructed, attempting to take his mind off of the earlier comment.

“Okay.” he nodded, settling himself on the stool you’d set out for him, resisting the urge to strike a pose he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold.

The room grew quiet save for the scratch of charcoal on canvas as the class began attempting to do justice to Jungkook’s beauty in their renditions of him. You began by tracing an outline of his body, opting not to attempt any details yet. The pink tint that rested upon the apple of your cheeks was hard to ignore, and you weren’t sure you could handle trying to get details of certain areas just yet.

You did your best to ignore the effect Jungkook’s naked body was having on your own fully clothed one. He was ethereal, beautiful, the kind of man you could lose yourself in. He had charisma, a way about him that just drew people in. Or maybe it was just you. Every time your eyes locked with his, it was like he was the only thing you could focus on. Everything else was obsolete.

Jungkook held a power over you that honestly scared you a little, and he didn’t even know he did. He didn’t understand how magnetic he was. Sure, he was sexy and he knew it. He’d obviously spent hours painstakingly sculpting his body to perfection, but it wasn’t even just his flawless physique, it wasn’t just his gorgeous, greek-god-like face. His power was inside of him, his strength, his determination, that spark in his gaze.

Jungkook was different from the rest, whether he realized it or not. He was special. Everything about him invited you in and coaxed you to give all of yourself to him. You couldn’t stop your thoughts from wondering as you lazily sketched the outline of him. How would his skin feel under your touch? Heat flooded your veins as you imagined what his touch might feel like in return. You shook these thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand and trying to see Jungkook as nothing more than art you were depicting. You were going to make certain you got every detail correct. And for that, you needed to focus.

Jungkook forced himself to look anywhere but at the people who were gawking at his naked frame. He couldn’t stop himself from watching you though.  He found himself wondering what you thought of him. He wanted to see what you were doing on your canvas. He wanted you to look at him. As if reading his thoughts, you lifted your gaze and faltered when you found his already upon you. When your eyes met and he bit his lip in a nervous smile, you knew you were screwed.

The next time you saw Jungkook was a week later. Your class had nearly doubled in size as word spread of the toned man with the impressive cargo. You rolled your eyes to yourself but greeted your new arrivals with the same professional smile. You couldn’t blame them, not really. Would you have passed up the opportunity to see him naked again? Hell no. He was already undressed when you’d arrived, running late after a meeting with the program director congratulating you on your ability to gain interest in your class.

“Sorry I’m late!” you announced to the class, then to Jungkook specifically with an apologetic look.

“That’s alright dearie.” one of the older women commented, and you sent her a gracious smile.

“So! For those of you who are new, you can partner up with someone and observe or you can find your own Canvas located on the tables in the back. If you need any help please let me know, since you weren’t here for the introductory lessons.”

“Does she really think we’re here just to draw?” you heard a whisper from the back of the room.

“I know. I didn’t believe Karen when she told me an asian boy with a giant dong was modeling for her community center art class. I had to see for myself.” another voice giggled.

“If I were 15 years younger, I would climb that boy like a tree. I may be old enough to be his mother, but I could still give him a run for his money.”

“Mmm.. I wonder what he can do with those fingers. I bet he has stamina for days.”

You glanced up at Jungkook, who was actively trying to hide his discomfort, shifting a little on the stool as he attempted to stay still. You cleared your throat, loudly, sending a pointed look to the two women in the back.

“I just want to remind our newcomers that this class is about art, not objectification. Please remain respectful. If you can’t manage that, I’m sure you can manage to find the door.” you nearly hissed.

They shrugged sheepishly and grew quiet. You huffed in annoyance, glancing back at Jungkook again, who sent you an appreciative smile. You nodded, focusing on your canvas in front of you once more.

Once class was over and the others had filed out, you walked up to Jungkook as he was buttoning his jeans. He looked up from his task and greeted you with a warm smile.

“Hey, Y/N.” he grinned, apparently forgetting he still needed to put a shirt on.

You used every brain cell you had to keep yourself from staring at his chiseled chest.

“Hey Jungkook.” you smiled. “Are you okay? Did those women make you uncomfortable? I can ask them not to come back.”

“Oh it’s okay!” he assured you, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I appreciate the offer but I don’t want to be a bother. It did make me kind of uncomfortable but they stopped so it’s okay.”

“Are you sure? They said some pretty inappropriate things.” you pressed.

“I don’t mind that what they said was inappropriate,” he explained, “it’s more that they were talking about me like I wasn’t even here. Like I was some sex doll or something. I don’t mind women finding me attractive, but I do have sustenance.”

“I get it. You shouldn’t be objectified while you’re doing your job.” you told him.

“Kind of hard to remind people I have dignity when I’m standing in front of them in all my naked glory. I can see how that might be distracting.” he winked playfully.

“Ah, there’s that cocky personality.” you threw back at him with a grin.

“Seriously though. Thank you for being on my side.” he told you sincerely.

Electricity shot through your body when he leaned in and gave you a gentle hug. You took a deep breath to steady yourself but that only resulted in breathing in the scent of him, musky and woodsy, yet sweet. It reminded you of cinnamon.  It was intoxicating.

You desperately ignored the ache between your thighs and wrapped your arms around him to reciprocate his affections. His body seemed to relax against yours and the embrace lasted a little longer than a hug between mostly strangers should. He pulled away but held you at arms length to watch your features for a moment.

“See, now that’s the kind of look I don’t mind from a woman. Especially one as beautiful as you.” he smirked, turning and grabbing his shirt off the stool before sauntering away and shooting you a shit eating grin as you stand frozen in place.

You shot up, waking with a fright. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath. Images flashing through your mind once more. Your subconscious thoughts led way to the hottest sex dream you’d ever experienced, and of course the star was your male model. You couldn’t stop picturing  his mouth on you, his hands on you. You shook your head to clear it. Alone in your bed, you couldn’t get that cocky grin out of your mind. You tried to fight it, you really did. You tried to redirect your mind anywhere but his plump lips, his perfectly sculpted jaw, the way his warm skin felt against yours when he’d hugged you…

Shrouded in shame but overcome with desire, you let your hand dance down your stomach underneath the elastic of your pajama shorts, your fingers finding their way to your slit. You closed your eyes, imagining it was Jungkook’s fingers inside you instead. You pumped them slowly in and out of yourself.

“Ungh… fuck. Jungkook.” you whined, writhing against your fingers, trying to find that spot that drove you crazy.

You picked up the pace, letting your fingers find a delicious rhythm inside of you, wondering what it would feel like if it were Jungkook inside of you instead. His cock was so pretty. It took everything you had not to stand up and start sucking it every time you saw it.

“Jungkook.” left your lips as your whines got louder, moving your attention to circle at your clit with your juices as lubrication.

You wished you had a picture of him to look at while you pleasured yourself to the idea of him, but you let your imagination take control, replaying images from your dream, and creating new fantasies about the model with the sultry eyes. You were close, and the closer you got to the edge, the louder you became. You swore you could almost hear the faint sound of Jungkook’s labored breathing along with your own, but it must’ve been your imagination running wild.

Your orgasm crashed over you, Jungkook’s name leaving your lips repeatedly, like he was the only thought you could muster when your brain turned off and your high took over. You fucked yourself through it, soft whimpers leaving your mouth as you pulled your fingers out. You padded your way to the bathroom to wash up, climbing back into bed not nearly as satiated as you’d hoped to have been. You drifted to sleep anyway, thoughts of Jungkook and the hope of seeing him again soon on the forefront of your mind when unconsciousness took over.

Jungkook was early today, you noticed as you walked into the art room. You were the first two to have arrived, you wanted to make up for being late the previous week.

“Hey. What are you doing here so early?” you asked, setting your bag down as you made your way over to him.

“Needed to talk to you.” he responded, voice low and husky.

“Everything okay?” you asked, concern filling your chest.

“No. Everything is not okay.” he hissed, trapping you against the wall.

You shivered at the sudden change in his demeanor, at his body so close to yours, at the dominating tone of his voice.

“I’ve been horny as hell all week.” he grunted, rutting his hips into yours.

“O-oh.” was all you could muster for a response, your body immediately reacting to his movements and sending moisture to your core.

“Imagine my surprise when I got a call from you late Saturday night.” he smirked, lips ghosting over the hollow of your throat, allowing his cool breath to fan against the area. He watched your skin flush crimson and felt your heart rate pick up.

Saturday night? You hadn’t called him. Saturday night you were… oh.

“Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you sound when you’re moaning my name?” he teased, rolling his hips and pulling them back before pinning you to the wall with them once more, his erection pressed firmly against your aching heat.

“I-” you began to explain, but he cut you off.

“Fuck, the way you sound when you cum… I nearly came too. Listening to you fuck yourself for me. Tell me, what were you thinking about when your fingers sunk into that pretty little pussy? Was it my mouth?” he questioned, letting his lips graze along the shell of your ear.

“Was it my cock?” he ground his hardened member into you once more. “Maybe it was my tongue.” he mused, licking a bold stripe from the swell of your breasts to your collarbone.

A whimper was forced from your throat at his ministrations. You were hyper aware of every breath Jungkook took, feeling his body move against yours. You were also aware that at any moment, people were going to start filing through the door for class.

“Jungkook.” you breathed, a warning.

Or was it a promise?

Jungkook groaned, biting down on the side of your neck and sucking a purple bruise into the exposed flesh, then blowing cold air over the injured spot to soothe it. Your entire body shivered. Jungkook’s head turned as he heard footsteps approach the door. With a pointed look directly into your eyes, he stepped back from you and put much needed space between his body and yours, just in time for the first arrival to walk through the door.

You must’ve been a sight to behold, flushed and breathing heavily while pressed up against the wall. You hadn’t been able to make yourself move after Jungkook stepped away. He looked unbothered, but you were about to burst. You could feel your arousal slipping down your leg. You cursed yourself for wearing a skirt.

Jungkook, however, was thrilled with your outfit choice for the day. Especially since once you’d taken your seat at your easel, he had a front row view of your white lacy panties. Jungkook had already stripped naked for today’s modeling session, having put all of his effort into calming his dick down so he wasn’t hard in front of everyone. However, his efforts were moot when he noticed the dark wet patch imprinted on the ivory fabric that covered your heat.

Jungkook bit down on his lip, nearly drawing blood as his eyes latched onto your core. You shifted in your seat, attempting to press your thighs together to find some relief, an action which made Jungkook smirk to himself. Until his cock started reacting. In front of everyone. Jungkook wasn’t sure if he was more turned on or more embarrassed when he noticed your gaze unwavering on his hardening member. Your mouth hung open slightly, drool pooling at the edges. Jungkook chuckled to himself.

The other members of the class were just as astonished as you were, but Jungkook paid them no mind. All he could think about was getting inside of you. He couldn’t stop picturing the way your pupils had blown out just at his words, the way your breath hitched when he touched you. He bet you’d be so responsive when his fingers came to tease along your folds. He wondered how tight you were, if you’d be as loud as you were on the phone or even louder? Surely he could make you scream if you’d been that loud with just your own fingers?

Jungkook gave up trying to control his raging boner the moment he saw your arousal pooled at your core on display for him. Suddenly, he saw your hand sneak between your legs and tease along the ivory fabric. His gaze snapped up to your face, your eyes alight with mischief when they met his own. Your fingers pushed the damp fabric aside and began circling around your clit. Jungkook was the only one who could see from his position at the front of the room.

You were putting on a show for him, torturing him when he could do nothing about it. His eyes narrowed as he glared at you, but your face remained impassive, the epitome of feigned innocence. But like always, Jungkook saw the real you behind your heavy lidded gaze. You couldn’t hide from him, he could read you like an open book. There was nothing innocent about the way you were licking your lips, slowly dragging the swollen flesh between your teeth teasingly.

Your fingers spread your folds so Jungkook had a perfect view of your clit as you began rubbing it in slow circles. Jungkook’s eyes were glued to your bundle of nerves and the way your fingers teased at it. You gathered some of your slick to coat your fingers and lubricate them so they slid along your cunt with ease. Your digits were shiny, covered in your arousal. Jungkook nearly came when he watched in agony as you inserted two fingers into your entrance, pulling them back out and twisting them so he could watch the light reflect off your wetness. You stuck them in your mouth and sucked your juices off seductively before going back to your sketch.

Jungkook could not wait to punish your naughty behavior. He couldn’t wait to wipe that satisfied smirk off your face with an expert flick of his tongue. You had an attitude now, but once he was balls deep inside that soaking wet pussy he was sure you wouldn’t be quite so eager to tease him. You weren’t going to cum until you were crying and begging for it, he’d already made up his mind.

The minutes ticked by excruciatingly slow, each passing second felt like an eternity as Jungkook waited for class to be over. It felt like his dick twitched every time the little hand on the clock did. No matter what he did, no matter what he thought of, Jungkook could not get his erection to subside. His thoughts only led back to the lewd way you’d sucked your own arousal off your fingers.

Jungkook thought he might cry tears of joy when you finally dismissed the class with a chipper wave of your hand and a sweet smile. The second the last person walked out the door, Jungkook shut it and you heard the click of the lock echo throughout the empty room. You swallowed nervously, bending over to grab your bag, earning a hearty laugh from Jungkook.

“Oh baby girl… you really think I’m just going to let you leave after the little show you put on for me?” he purred, advancing toward you quickly until his body was flush against yours, breath tickling the space below your ear. “So naughty, teasing daddy like that.” he tsked.

His fingers trailed their way up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You shivered under his touch, though it was barely even there. His skin danced along yours, coming to rest at the curve of your breasts.

“Mmm… I think I’d like to taste these.” he grinned, suddenly yanking your tank top down so that both of your nipples were exposed to the bitter cold of the room.

A smirk played on his lips at the gasp that snuck its way past yours. His head dipped, and you thought he’d immediately take one of your nipples in his mouth, you were salivating over the thought of his warm, wet mouth on your perky buds. Instead, his pillow soft lips found yours, his tongue roaming along until you parted your lips and granted him access.

His tongue danced with yours as he brought his hips closer to grind into your aching center. You had never wanted anyone as badly as you wanted Jungkook. The man pressed against you had you brainless and ready to do anything he asked with a  simple roll of his hips.

Jungkook decided he didn’t like being the only naked one, and pulled your shirt above your head. Were you shivering from the cold air or Jungkook’s predatory gaze? Hell if you knew. Jungkook’s nimble fingers had your bra unhooked in a suspiciously short amount of time but you paid that no mind. He flung it across the room and his mouth was on your breast in an instant. Slick tongue working against your erect nipple while the other was massaged by his large hand. Every movement of his tongue, every playful pinch of his forefinger and thumb against your sensitive skin was sending lightning bolts straight down to your heat.

Jungkook’s mouth left your breast with an audible “pop!” since he sucked the flesh as he pulled away, switching his efforts to the neglected side, this time mixing it up by grazing his teeth ever so softly along the most sensitive part. Soft whimpers left you and you effectively became putty in his hands... and mouth. His tongue darted out to give a final flick against your sensitive bud before his hot kisses descended south. He kissed along the expanse of your stomach, slowly working his way down, sucking and nibbling as he went to leave small bruises dotted over your skin. He flipped your skirt up, exposing the lacy white panties that had been taunting him for hours, and the dark wet patch where your arousal soaked through them. Jungkook let out a growl, ripping the ivory fabric from your body and tossing it aside, revealing your pussy to him.

“So fucking beautiful. Better than I’d imagined.” He praised.

Without warning, his tongue darted out and swiped along your folds. Your knees buckled but Jungkook’s strong arms held you up, hands on either of your hips to keep you still and pressed against the wall while he worked his tongue along your slit then against your throbbing clit.

“Shit!” You cried out, body jolting forward and hands coming to rest on his shoulders when his plump lips wrapped around the sensitive bundle and sucked harshly.

Jungkook showed no mercy, devouring your cunt like it was his death row meal, the final wish of a man with nothing to lose. He lapped at your juices as if it were the last thing he’d ever do. Your entire body was thrumming, shaking violently as your orgasm was wretched out of you with no warning.

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, or a curse, you weren’t sure. The only thing you could focus on was the blinding white euphoria his tongue had shoved you headfirst into. You would’ve collapsed if Jungkook hadn’t held you up, allowing you to slowly sink to your knees to meet his posture as your body twitched and shook at the aftermath of your mind blowing high. Your breathing ragged and your eyes wide, you watched the satisfied smile appear on his angelic face. Cocky bastard. Sexy, skilled, ridiculously beautiful cocky bastard.

“Still feeling like a tease?” Jungkook asked, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip as he raised an eyebrow at you. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, and all of his words sounded like another language at the moment.

“What?” You asked, causing him to laugh a bit at your clearly fucked out state of mind. Although the both of you were stripped down to almost nothing (save your skirt) and on your knees in the ground, it was clear who held the power between the two of you.

“You wanna taste yourself on my tongue?” He offered, already beginning to lean forward as he reached his arm out to pull your body closer to his, but you shook your head, an idea playing in the back of your head as you quickly conjured up a plan that’d have him weak and panting instead.

“I’d rather taste you on my own. Stand up.” You ordered.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by your cute attempt at telling him what to do as if he hadn’t successfully put you in your place a minute or two ago. He stood nonetheless, vaguely interested in whatever you had up your sleeve. His goal was to make you suffer, but he supposed you could have a bit of fun before he fucked you brainless over that desk that sat a few feet away from the two of you.

You shifted yourself around a bit, as did he, so he now had his back pressed against the wall. You sat submissively under him, although Jungkook was anything but while he had ravaged your sweetness with his tongue.

“You’re pretty with your thighs around my face, but there’s just something about you on your knees.” Jungkook teased, his cockiness never failing to make an appearance as he ran a hand through your hair in appreciation.

You hummed to thank him, a sly smile of your own playing on your lips as you slowly lifted your small hand up to his cock. This small action alone had him tensing up completely, hissing quietly as you squeezed your hand loosely against his length repeatedly until he had to intertwine his fingers with your locks and pull your head up.

“You’d better stop unless you want to walk out of this room with my cum dripping down your face.” He warned.

You shrugged, leaning forward a bit, placing your free hand on his thigh while you stroked his cock slowly, your eyes honing in on the clear liquid that leaked from the tip of his length. You licked your lips at the thought of swiping it away with your tongue, but you weren’t supposed to give in this easily. This wasn’t a part of your plan, but you’d give anything just to keep seeing the expression of pure ecstasy on his face.

You continued to stroke him with your hand, purposely digging your nails into his thigh to see if it’d bring a reaction out of him. A shiver ran from his spine to the tips of his toes as you did this, and you couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past your lips.

“You like a little pain?” You teased, narrowing your eyes at him in defiance as you stuck your tongue out, pressing it slowly against his shaft.

You licked a stripe from his balls to the angry tip, looking up at him through your lashes as you swiped the precum away like you originally intended.

It was just as salty as you expected it to be, but you didn’t mind at all. You closed your eyes as you brought your tongue back into your mouth, pressing your lips together and swallowing slowly as you allowed the taste of him to burn down your throat.

“You taste just as good as you look.” You commented seductively, pressing a chaste kiss to his cock head and swirling your tongue around it once more before you began to spread your lips over the expanse of his cock.

Now, you’d definitely had your experience with this sort of thing once or twice before, but Jungkook was big, and there was no way you were fitting your pretty mouth over all of him, no matter how desperately you wanted to. As much as you were dying to get all of him in your mouth, for your own safety and wellbeing,  you opted to use your hand to continue to apply some relief to what you couldn’t quite reach with your mouth.

“Oh, shit. That’s so good, baby.” You weren’t sure if he was just in the moment, but your heart fluttered a bit at the pet name.

You hollowed your cheeks as you struggled to take more of him into your mouth. You gagged a handful of times, but Jungkook didn’t seem to mind. He even pulled all of your hair into his hands, using it as a sort of makeshift leash as he pushed you further down onto his cock, wanting to hear you gag on him again.

You worked quickly with your mouth, alternating the flicks of your wrists with your hand to keep Jungkook guessing. He had pressed his weight fully against the wall behind him, his leg twitching occasionally whenever you ‘accidentally’ dragged your teeth along the underside of his dick, not enough to cause any real harm, just enough to ignite a spark.

“Oh my God…” He whimpered.

You did yourself the favor of looking up at him while your mouth was stuffed full, your pussy spasming at the sight. His mouth was hung open in a silent moan, his eyes were screwed shut in pleasure, and a few of his sweaty black locks were stuck to his forehead. You figured you could make him cum just like this, but you’d rather be his personal cumbucket. Was it a bit selfish? Maybe, but you couldn’t care less at the moment. He looked absolutely delectable above you.

He cracked his eyes open just as you slid his cock out of your mouth, gathering up the saliva that built up while your lips were stretched around him and spitting it back out onto his manhood. You were deliberately slow with this, wanting him to feel it the moment it made contact with his head. You watched his face as your saliva spilled down onto his shaft, using this as lubrication as you continued to pump your fist against him.

You sank down further onto your knees, only able to give his balls a few licks with your tongue, and a short lived massage before you were yanked backward, head first. Your immediate reaction to this was a rough squeeze to his cock, since it was the only thing in your grasp at the moment. You let out a strangled groan as he clenched his jaw while looking down at you, cock standing at attention as he debated his next movement.

“Get the fuck up.” He commanded you, although he pulled you up off of the ground by the grip he had on your hair on his own.

He pressed your back to his chest, ensuring you felt every ripple of his muscles pressed against your naked skin. Making a path with his hand from your stomach, in between your breasts, then finally to your neck,  he held you firmly against him, so you had no space between your flushed bodies. You felt every rise and fall of his toned chest, his breathing just as ragged as yours.

“I’m going to bend you over that desk there, alright?” He whispered into your ear, his cool breath fanning over your cheek as you nodded eagerly, just wanting him to follow through with his plan instead of telling you the process. After all, actions do speak louder than words.

“When I let you go, I want you to walk over there like a good little slut and bend over. Flip that skirt up and show me your cunt. Can you do that for me?” You felt his cock twitch against your inner thigh, and you nodded again with a quiet moan.

“Go.” He let you go with one word, watching you swiftly walk over toward the desk as he took his length in his right hand and stroked it quickly while approaching you with loud, threatening footsteps.

You weren’t sure how that was possible since he didn’t have shoes on, but it only excited you further. You complied with his orders easily, pressing your cheek against the cold surface of the desk. You  hiked the skirt up a bit around your waist and wiggled your ass teasingly as you waited for him to come ravage you.

“You’re cute, but you’re so annoying.” He grunted from behind you, slapping both of your ass cheeks with his heavy hands, massaging them afterward before delivering two more harsh slaps.

“You work me up in front of a room full of people, and then try to collect your stuff afterward as if you weren’t practically begging me to use you? Bullshit.” He spanked your ass again, relishing in the way you hissed after every hit and gripped the edge of the desk tighter.

“I’m going to make a mess out of you, you know that?” He pressed his chest against your back, pushing his weight onto you as he whispered into your ear.

You nodded, his eyes scanning over the expanse of your back as his long fingers momentarily kneaded your muscles.

“What’re you waiting for, then?” You quipped, although your voice sounded a bit flat because of Jungkook’s body weight. He laughed as he pulled himself up off of you.

Silently, he grabbed his cock and lined it up with your pussy as he pressed the head against your tight hole. You moaned at this, inhaling sharply as he just barely slipped himself inside of you. You whimpered in defeat as he pulled out quickly afterward, not wanting to give you the time to savor the feeling of being stretched out by his length.

“I swear, if you wait any longer then I’m going to fuck myself on your dick.” You threatened shakily, to which he smirked at.

“Is that so?” He let go of his cock. “Be my guest, then.” He shrugged, although you couldn’t see him.

You turned around swiftly, beyond irritated at whatever game he was trying to play. You were turned on, and you wanted to be fucked silly, but he was acting like a brat.

“You know what? Fine, I will.” You challenged, looking over your shoulder at him to see the intrigued smile on his face.

You rolled your eyes, roughly grabbing his cock and pushing yourself back onto him hastily. Jungkook disapproved of this, landing a sharp slap to your right ass cheek he gripped your hips roughly. He held you securely, preventing you from sliding back any further onto his cock.

“You’d better slow down, sweetheart.” He warned shakily, his nails leaving small imprints on your skin as he moved his hands down to your ass. “I haven’t cum yet, and your little hole is so inviting.”

You gulped, although something about his threat to cum inside of you was one step closer to pushing you over the edge.

“Take it slowly. Take me in slowly, so I can feel you.” With this he let go of your ass, watching with lidded eyes as your arousal coated more than half of his manhood.

He licked his lips at this, loving the way your juices spilled onto him, and onto the desk. Perhaps he’d make you lick his cock clean afterwards. That’d be a sight to see.

Your hips stuttered before you could take the last few inches, which sent a gigantic boost to Jungkook’s ego. Of course, he knew he was big, but something about seeing you struggle to take him in fully even after you talked all of that shit previously was egging him on.

“You at your limit, baby?” He mocked you, and as soon as you tried to respond, your voice cracked.

He hummed, chuckling slightly as he slid his hands up from your ass to your back, scratching his stubby nails at your flesh before threading his fingers in your hair once more. He roughly yanked your head back with a malicious smile. Your body jolted at this, which sent the rest of his cock plunging into you in one go.

“God, that’s fucking it. Look at you, swallowing Daddy’s dick like a good girl. You look so pretty stuffed full like this.” You were incomprehensive, your entire being filled with thoughts of Jungkook pummeling your pussy out of existence.

“Not so eager to use that fucking mouth now, are you? Hm?” He asked, pulling your head back a bit further.

Your back was so arched that you could see the ceiling and a bit of his face, and this new position made it so much easier for his cock to brush against that spot that made you a mumbling mess.

“You should be ashamed, really.” He said, dropping his head down to look at your ass as he slowly began to work his hips against it. “Have you got anything to say for yourself?” You were taking him so well, but he couldn’t let his unbothered persona falter just yet.

“Well?” He let go of your hair, and you immediately dropped your head forward, your eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as you struggled to hold yourself up on your elbows while he ruthlessly fucked you.

“You’re s-so fucking big.” You mumbled pathetically, causing Jungkook to twitch inside of you.

“I know. You like Daddy’s big fat cock inside that tight little pussy.  Tell me, baby. Tell me how much you like it. Tell me how good you feel.” He pushed one of his hands down against your back, silently telling you to press your breasts against the desk. You obeyed, hissing as your nipples hardened instantly after making contact with the cool surface.

“I like—o-oh, oh shit.” Your jaw fell slack as Jungkook began to pick up the pace of his thrusts, his expert hips moving with such sharpness that you could feel it each time he pulled back a bit to fuck himself into you again. Although you didn’t do what he asked of you, he didn’t pressure you any further, his only goal to use you as his cute little cocksleeve.

“Spread your legs for me.” You immediately moved to follow his request, unable to balance yourself on your feet now. This was no problem, as Jungkook easily took a secure grip around your waist to keep you pressed against the desk.

“You feel so good around me like that, oh shit.” Jungkook whimpered, his tongue hanging out of his mouth slightly as he jabbed his fingers into your sides and pulled you onto the tips of your toes. You were startled at the sudden change, although it allowed for him to drive deeper inside of you.

“Put your hands on the edge of the desk now. Do it right fucking now.” He growled like some sort of feral animal. You scurried to follow his orders, just as he began to slam his cock so powerfully inside of your cunt that your hips banged against the metal desk with every other thrust, and you knew there would be bruises.

“F-fuck!” You screamed, and Jungkook responded quickly by throwing his hand messily over your mouth to quiet your moans.

“Shh, Y/N. We can’t let you get caught being a little slut.” He chuckled breathlessly, short moans and growls leaving the back of his throat as he continued to piston his hips in and out of you, your ass slapping against his abdomen every time the two of you connected. You were teetering over the edge, desperately wanting to lose control underneath him.

“I’m cumming, I’m gonna c—JUNGKOOK!” You yelled out in frustration as he slipped his cock out of you.

He grunted, pushing some of the clutter on the desk away before picking you up and setting you on top of it, so he could see your face.

“One,” He said, his voice raspy which caused you to shiver, “You’re not cumming unless I get to see your face when you do. Two,” He continued, slipping himself back into you with ease due to how fucking soaked you were, “You’re not cumming until you beg for it.” He reached for one of your legs and placed it over his shoulder, gripping onto it as he sustained the rapid pace of his manhood plunging into your inviting heat.

“I-I wanna cum, Daddy.” You whispered in defeat, a twinkle in Jungkook’s eyes as he was beginning to finally get you where he wanted you. You weren’t begging just yet, though, which was unfortunate for you because you wouldn’t get an orgasm, and Jungkook was going to cum inside you either way.

“You do, Princess?” He whispered back, still holding your leg while his other hand moved to the back of your head. He pressed your forehead against his, your noses bumping as Jungkook fucked you. You nodded, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes at having to hold your orgasm back.

“You aren’t begging for me, baby. Beg me to give you permission to cum on this dick.” You cried out weakly, knowing that you’d have to give in to his rules in order to achieve that sweet release. It was right in the tip of your tongue.

You placed your arms around his neck, hanging them there loosely as you gazed into his eyes, which were full of lust and carnal desire.

“Can I cum o-on your c-cock—a-ah!” You failed miserably to finish your sentence, as Jungkook began pistoning his cock inside of your cunt with such force that the desk began to screech against the ground a bit, knocking at one of the metal racks behind it.

“I’m so close to cumming, pretty girl. Talk fast.” He warned, thrusts quickly becoming unorganized. You nodded.

“Please let me cum! I-Iv’e learned my lesson, I swear I have! I’m so close Jungkook, p-please!” He grunted his approval, nodding once and delivering about a dozen more thrusts before he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, biting down on the skin there as he began to shoot rope after rope of his cum deep inside of your greedy cunt.

You came with him, your body tensing up for a few moments before your release smacked you like a bus, heavy and unapologetic.  Due to the wild fuckfest the two of you had, though, a few utensils hit the ground, and a can of paint was wobbling on the edge of the rack that the desk was smashing against a few seconds ago.  Jungkook finally lifted his head up, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. He placed one final kiss to your forehead before locking eye contact with you.

“I know for a fact that was the best fuck of your life.” You laughed, shaking your head at the fact that his cocky attitude would never settle. Not even after using up (what you assumed was) all of his stamina.

You didn’t mind it, though. In fact, you were starting to grow fond of it.

“It certainly was, but look at all the—“

The can of paint gave way to the pull of gravity, and tumbled to the ground with a deafening crack, the contents of the can flying out and splattering directly onto you and Jungkook. You knew what it was as soon as it hit your skin, and you immediately wondered why someone would leave a damn can of open paint on the top shelf.

It was brief, a big splash, so neither of you really had time to react to it. When you finally lifted your head up, Jungkook’s chest was covered in black paint, as were your legs and skirt. Seriously, the one fucking day you decide to wear pink?

“—Mess. Look at all the mess.” You finished your sentence with a giggle, thankful that you kept towels in the room during your classes. It’d never come out of your skirt, but at least you could wipe it off of your skin.

Your gaze met Jungkooks and you both burst out in a fit of giggles. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lit up when he laughed, the polar opposite of the domineering man who’d just rocked your world minutes before. This Jungkook was soft, open, lighter. His laughter was the most beautiful melody that had ever graced your ears and you wouldn’t have minded listening to it for a very long time. His joy was contagious, and you couldn’t stop the goofy smile from spreading across your lips as he wrapped his arms around you in a playful hug.

Though his touch still sent electricity through you, this was different. It was sweet and gentle. You let yourself melt in his embrace, drinking in the way he made you feel so secure, so wanted. You sighed happily. You grinned mischievously then, collecting some of the paint off of the surface of the desk and wiping a thick stripe of it across his cheek. He froze in shock then glared at you, a hint of a smile playing on those gorgeous lips.

He reached out to grab you, but you were too fast, shrieking in delight as you ran away from him. Jungkook chased you around the small art studio, his laughter floating through the air like your favorite song. His arms snaked around you and he pulled you close, rubbing his cheek against yours to spread the paint over your skin. Your giggles dissolved as he placed a tender kiss to your lips.

Pulling away and placing a peck on his nose, you began pulling your clothes back on. Jungkook watched you, admiring the way your body moved, how much sweeter you were once your attitude had been properly taken care of. You smiled at him over your shoulder, and he couldn’t recall a time when he’d ever seen such a beautiful smile on any other woman. He couldn’t recall seeing another woman who even compared to you.

Then realization brought a similar smile onto his own lips, and Jungkook thought to himself, that he just might have found the one.

[onewithnomightypowers]

clandestine (chapter 2)

PAIRING: Tom Holland x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Y/N is an up and coming actress, married to a once hotshot actor, Harrison (Haz). What happens when her co-star, Tom, makes her realise that she is stuck in a loveless marriage. A marriage starts crumbling and a new romance stars brewing.

chapter 2: portrait of a dinner

A/N:  the characters in no way portray how these ppl are in real life. i do not encourage cheating. i hope you guys like this chapter!! i would love to know how you guys feel about the story. feedback is always appreciated.

warnings: drinking, smoking, cursing

word count: 1.6k

important: the whole chapter is a flashback, character thoughts are in bold italics

masterlist   series masterlist   chapter 1   chapter 3

“I rent a place on Cornelia street”, Tom said casually in the car. They were sitting in the backseat of a black town car, going for their shoot. Y/N had suggested that they travel together, in an attempt to get to know each other better. She said, “It would help with the on screen chemistry”, the whole production team agreed. But that did not become a norm for them, mostly because of their different call times.

Both of them had hectic filming schedules and only saw each other when they had scenes together. Sometimes they would bump into each other at the craft service, but otherwise, they were on their own.

During the last few weeks of filming, Tom had started getting her coffee. He had noticed how she took her coffee during the shooting. Black with one sugar.

“There you go”, Tom handed her the coffee. “Thanks Tom.” He gave her a smile. She was walking towards the door, and Tom started following her behind.

“I’m going to hair and makeup, do you wanna tag along?” she asked him.

“Sure, I have a 15 minute break anyway”

“Have you seen Hot Rod? I watched it last night” she didn’t know why she asked that silly question. She found it embarrassing.

“That Andy Samberg movie, right?” Tom nodded, “Yeah I watched it a long time ago, it’s a classic”

“I totally watched it for Bill Hader” She found herself easing up to him.

“Valid reason. Loved him on SNL. Do you know Stefon? from SNL?” She reached for the door handle, a gush of cold air was felt by both of them.

“Don’t even get me started on Stefon. I used to watch Stefon compilations on YouTube all the time. It became a problem” she chuckled, remembering how Haz used to get pissed off whenever she’d talk in a ‘Stefon’ tone.

Oh, I love it when she chuckles like that. I wish I could kiss her. NO. She is fucking married, Tom.

“Yes yes yes, New York’s hottest club is…” Tom tried to imitate Bill Hader as Stefon. He looked around a bit and pointed towards the paparazzi, who were trying to take pictures of anything worth money. “New York’s hottest club is paparazzi” he continued.

“If paparazzi is the hottest club, then I’m fine staying at home” Y/N was laughing so hard that she couldn’t breathe. She clutched Tom’s arm to avoid falling down while trying to contain her laughter. She hadn’t had a good laugh with Haz in a long time.

--

Tom found himself at Y/N’s doorsteps with cheap wine he bought from the convenience store last minute. Y/N had invited Tom and his partner for dinner during the last week of shooting.

“Oh, I’m not seeing anyone actually, but my lonely heart and I will be there”, Tom replied to Y/N’s invitation.

He rang the bell and waited for someone to open the door. Tom was met by Haz’ charming smile, as he opened the door. Tom could see right through his fake smile. Clueless to Y/N and Haz’ fight prior, he entered the two story building.

“Why did you invite him without asking me?” Haz screamed, slamming the plates on the table.

“I didn’t think you’d be home tonight, you never are” Y/N replied in the same tone as Haz

“So you were going to have dinner with him, alone?”

“Yes” she said in a crude way.

“Are you fucking him?” Just as Haz asked her, the doorbell rang.

It would be better fucking him than fucking you. At least he’ll be home.

Y/N entered the kitchen leaving Haz to open the door. “You must be Tom” said Haz, in his most likeable voice.

“Yeah and you must be Haz. I got this for you guys”, Tom handed him the wine bottle.

He’s a bloody hotshot and brought us cheap wine.

“Hey Tom, I’m so glad you could make it”, Y/N said, taking Tom in for a hug. She could feel Haz burning a hole behind her head with his gaze.

She pulled out of the hug, “do you want red or white wine?”

“Red”, Harrison and Tom said in unison. Y/N let out a little chuckle and went into the kitchen. Tom started noticing the little things in their house, like how there were film and Polaroid cameras scattered everywhere. There was a vinyl shelf right above an old golden gramophone, adjacent to their brown leather couch.

He noticed a collage of pictures and recognised some of the photos from the time they were taken on set. There was one with him and Y/N. He felt a sense of pride knowing that their picture hung on Y/N’s wall and the possibility of her looking at it every day.

“So, what do you wanna hear?” Harrison was standing next to their vinyl collection. “Since Y/N lives here, we have everything Taylor Swift, I don’t suppose you’re into that pop shit, are you?”

“Actually I do like pop but more like alt-pop”

Harrison wasn’t surprised. He seemed like a ‘Beach House’ kinda guy anyway, to him.

“So you like alt-pop?” Y/N walked towards the boys with two glasses of red wine in her hands. “Have you heard of ‘peter cat recording co.’?” she asked Tom

“Yes I have! Oh, I thought nobody knew about them. I’m glad I found you”, Tom was filled with giddy excitement.

“PCRC it is, then”, Haz said in an annoyed tone. He grabbed the vinyl of ‘portrait of a time’, their first album, and placed it on the gramophone.

“Babe, where is your glass?” Haz asked Y/N.

“Oh I, shit I left it in the kitchen”

“No worries I’ll get it”, Haz kissed her cheek and left the living room.

Even though Y/N knew it was fake niceties, she still craved it. It felt nice, behaving like a normal couple instead of fighting over every damn thing, and him storming out of the house almost every night. Sometimes she felt that Harrison was a hypocrite. He would accuse her of cheating with every guy in her life, but wouldn’t be home nine out of ten times.

They were now seated on their wooden dining table, with dried flowers in the middle. Haz and Y/N were sitting opposite to Tom. There was Chinese takeout in their fancy china.

“Sorry about the take out, neither of us are good at cooking and we didn’t want you getting sick”, Y/N tried to justify the absence of a home cooked meal.

“It’s fine as long as I’m getting fed”, Tom chuckled.

“No actually all this food is only for Y/N and me”, Haz said, trying to sound serious.

That was a bad joke, all of them thought.

There was an awkward silence. Haz cleared his throat, “So Y/N, are you seeing someone?”

“Haz, you can’t just ask someone that!”

“It’s okay Y/N. No Haz, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.” Tom said, blushing at the personal question.

“So you are single”, Haz said looking at Y/N, in an attempt to imply that she might be having an affair with him.

Trying to hide her annoyance, Y/N started serving the food. The rest of the dinner was normal. They talked about the movie and Haz did not spontaneously combust. In Y/N’s mind, it was near to a success. When Tom started to leave, Y/N offered to drop him to his apartment building, but he settled on walking him one block.

Y/N grabbed her jacket as they left the house. She pulled out a box of cigarettes from her pocket and offered Tom.

“Oh, I don’t smoke”

Y/N scuffed with a cigarette between her teeth.

“What kind of an English man are you?” she said, lighting her cigarette.

“Well you know it’s a common misconception, we don’t all smoke”

“That’s good to know”, she took a long drag.

“Also you might not like the wine I brought you. I realised pretty late that I should be getting you something because I was visiting your house for the first time, so I bought the best wine I could find in that convenience store”, he pointed towards the store a few metres away from them.

“Its fine, it’ll remind me of my youth”, they both laughed.

“I guess this is one block, you should go back home now”, Tom said while trying hail a cab by waving his right hand frantically, at the edge of the curb. He looked ridiculous.

“You clearly have never done this before” she laughed at him, turning Tom’s face red.

She stepped off the curb, to be seen clearly by the oncoming traffic, put out her arm and a cab was there in seconds.

“So I guess I’ll see you around” he said while pulling Y/N into a hug.

His touch made her hyper aware and same could be said for Tom. Y/N started to pull out but stopped half way. It felt like they were both looking inside each other’s soul through their eyes.

“Ay, lovebirds, you comin or not”, the cab driver screamed making them break away. He got in and Y/N closed the door for him. That’s when her phone pinged.

Haz: where are you, I’m going out.

[freddie-weaselbee]

E3: The One with the Wedding//F.W.

Series Summary: FRIENDS but with Harry Potter characters after Hogwarts graduation, trying to figure out their lives and relationships. Non Voldy AU. 

Pairing(s): Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader, Ron x Lavender, Romione

Warnings: Language, mentions of food, drinking (legal), mentions of sex, nudity

Summary: As Hermione hustles to interrupt Ron and Lavender’s wedding in New York City, Fred and Y/N have a heart to heart which quickly turns into something much more. 

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: This may or may not be 9 days late (my b) but it’s the 5th and final fic in Abby’s Week of Weasley !! The FRIENDS series will continue!

Message me to join the FRIENDS taglist or my general taglist

-Episode 1-  -Episode 2-

~Abby’s Week of Weasley Masterlist~  ~Masterlist~

May 2004

Previously on FRIENDS

“Hey Luna?” Hermione called from her bedroom. She and her friend had spent the day discussing her feelings for Ron and trying their best to help her get over him. Apparently recounting the horrors of their relationship was not helping in the slightest. 

“Yeah,” Luna called back from the kitchen. 

“Do you remember where the pygmy puff food is?” Her muffled voice sounded rushed and anxious, even more so than Hermione usually was. 

“Yeah, it’s under the front counter of Fred and George’s shop. Why?”

Luna turned her head to see Hermione come flying into the room dragging a packed suitcase behind her. “Because I’m going to New York.”

The pregnant girl nearly had a heart attack at Hermione’s declaration. “What? What do you mean you’re going to New York?”

Hermione grabbed a few more essentials from around the apartment, rushing in order to catch the next flight. “Yeah, I have to tell Ronald that I love him. Now Luna, you take care, you don’t have those babies until I get back.”

“I--but what about all of the finding his flaws and burning his picture rituals we’ve been doing?” Luna asked, straining to stand up and chase after her friend. 

Hermione easily moved past the slow-moving girl, zipping up her bag and heading to the door. “Yeah, that didn’t work. I know he loves Lavender but I have to tell him how I feel! He deserves to have all of the information and then he can make an informed decision.”

Phoebe shook her head and continued to hobble around the room. “No, Hermione, it’s too late, you missed your chance! I’m sorry, I know this must be really hard, it’s over.”

The other girl paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “Y’know what? No. It’s not over until someone says ‘I do.’” And with that she took off out of the apartment and to the streets of Diagon Alley, on her way to another country to declare her love for Ron Weasley. 

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

“Would you look at this place,” George sighed in awe, staring around at the beautifully decorated dinner hall. There were chandeliers hanging everywhere and everyone was dressed in clothes that looked like they cost more than everything the Weasleys owned combined. Fred and George twisted uncomfortably in their mediocre suits. Sure, they were successful businessmen with some money to spare, but they could never compete with this. 

“Holy shit,” you said, coming up behind the twins. They turned around, startled to see you suddenly appear. Fred took a second to look you up and down, mouth hanging slightly open in surprise. 

“Holy shit is right, Y/N,” he said. “You look bloody amazing!” You glanced down at your outfit, a slim fitting long dress that hugged your form perfectly. You smiled and did a little twirl for the boys who whooped and whistled at you. 

“While I appreciate the compliment,” you said, “I was talking about the hall. How rich is Lavender’s family anyway?”

Fred shrugged. “Apparently loaded. I mean, it’s not like our family could ever compete with this. How Ron was able to pull someone this high up is a mystery to me.”

He and George picked at their clothes self consciously, trying to straighten their ties and smooth out their suits. 

“Oh come now,” you said, “you two are perfectly successful. Who cares if the Browns could afford to buy all of London if they wanted to? Let’s just enjoy the night and eat all of the expensive food they bought!”

“Y/N, you’re my dream girl,” Fred said, putting his arm around your waist. “If you ever want to marry a Weasley, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“I appreciate the offer, Weasley, but I do think George and I would be a couple to be reckoned with.”

“Ha! Suck it Fred, I get Y/N and you’re stuck alone,” George said, kissing your cheek and stealing you away from his brother. 

Fred was about to reply when a loud voice echoed through the room and everyone turned to see a short red haired woman come hurtling through the door. 

“Mum!” cried Ron from across the room. He grabbed Lavender’s hand and they made their way over where you and the twins were standing, now accompanied by the latest arrivals, Molly and Arthur Weasley. 

“Sweetheart!” Molly squealed, pulling him into a tight hug. “Oh sorry we’re late, Muggle transportation is such a hassle, especially in this country. Your father spent 20 minutes trying to figure out how to call a taxi and he wouldn’t stop asking the driver everything you could ask!”

“I still never got an answer to my rubber duck question,” Arthur grumbled before a warm smile appeared on his face. “Hello, Lavender, it’s lovely to see you again.”

“You as well!” she said before hugging Arthur and then Molly. “Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, here come my parents.”

Sure enough, two very wealthy looking people were walking over to join their daughter and future son in law. 

“Hello, hello,” said Lavender’s father, shaking the hands of the Weasleys. “How do you do? Very nice to meet all of you.” He glanced over at his wife. “Darling, it’s the Weasleys.”

“Sorry, what?,” she said, finally looking up at the family, a hint of distaste in her gaze. “Oh, lovely to meet you.” Her snobby look never faltered, making the rest of the Weasley clan even more uncomfortable. 

Arthur cleared his throat. “It’s great to meet you both. I’m sorry we couldn’t help pay for much of the wedding, but we hope that we can at least cover the cost of dinner tonight.”

“Yes of course,” said Molly. “We know how expensive weddings can be, besides this may be the last time I watch one of my sons get married.” 

Fred and George rolled their eyes at their mother, who wouldn’t stop pestering them to settle down since Bill, Percy, and now Ron were all either married or close to it. 

“We’ve heard the complaints, mum,” said Fred. 

“But hey, at least we’re saving you money!” George said. 

“And not giving me grandchildren,” she mumbled, but loud enough for everyone to hear. 

You decided to jump in and defend your friends. “At least you’ve still got other kids who are starting their own families, Molly. And besides, do you really want to have these two bring little Fred’s and George’s into the world?”

Molly smiled and put her hand on your shoulder. “I suppose you’re right dear. They were, and still are, quite a handful.”

“Hey!” they both shouted, clearly offended.

You giggled and wandered off with Molly, telling her the latest stories of the many troubles the twins had gotten into. 

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

Hermione, never one for athletics, was suddenly an Olympic sprinter, flying down the halls of the London airport. She reached the ticket counter, cutting off some very angry travelers, and threw her bags onto the scale. 

After a few long seconds of leaning over and catching her breath, she finally muttered a “hi” to the ticket agent. 

“Hello,” she replied cheerfully. 

“Oh, umm, hello!” Hermione replied, mirroring the chipperness of the agent. “When is your next flight to New York City?”

“There’s one leaving in 30 minutes,” she replied. 

“Oh, thank Godric,” she muttered, earning herself a few odd looks from passersby at her unique choice of language. 

The woman behind the counter typed a few things into her computer. “The last minute fare on this ticket is twenty seven hundred dollars.”

Hermione reached around in her purse, fumbling with gold and silver coins. “How about galleons?” she asked. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Nevermind,” Hermione sighed, sprinting off again to apparate to Diagon Alley and exchange her galleons for Muggle money. There was no way she was going to miss this flight. 

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

“I’d like to make a toast!” Fred announced, standing up from his table with a wine glass in hand. “Ron and Lavender. Of course, my big toast will be tomorrow at the wedding, so this is kind of my little toast or Melba toast, if you will.”

He was only met with silence and you and George very visibly facepalmed. 

“Okay…” he continued hesitantly. “I’ve known Ron for a long time. His whole life, actually. See I got the first two years of my life without my baby brother, but nope he’s always had me, and I know he’s so incredibly grateful for that.”

When once again there was no reaction, Fred decided it was time to up the performance. 

“I remember when Ron was going out with his first girlfriend. And I thought things were going to work out for him. Until the day he over inflated her!” Fred winked at his little brother, whose face was redder than his hair. For the third time in the last minute Fred did not get anywhere close to the reaction he had expected. “Oh dear Godric…”

“How about I take over for you, Freddie.” George said, taking the microphone from his slightly older brother. “Everyone knows I am the more charming twin, isn’t that right?” He was met with some soft giggles and a whoop from one of the bridesmaids sitting a few tables away. Fred begrudgingly plopped down into his seat, leaning his head on your shoulder as he pouted for the rest of the dinner. 

As everyone finished their speeches, you giving one about your friendship with Ron that even brought Molly to tears, you found yourself sprawled out on a fancy couch still consoling Fred. 

“I was laughing,” you said while patting him on the knee. 

“Out loud?” he asked, crossing his arms and shoving your hand away. 

You looked down at your wine glass guiltily. “Well I didn’t want everyone to think I was stupid.” Fred groaned and buried his face in his hands, ruffling his hair in frustration that you knew went deeper than a few poor jokes. “Hey, how are you doing?”

He looked up at you questioningly, cocking his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t try to hide it from me, Freddie, I can tell when something’s bothering you, and I know it’s not just that your jokes sucked arse.”

“No, the audience sucked arse, I’m fucking hilarious.” You kicked him lightly, urging him to tell you. With a long sigh Fred sat up and turned to face you, his big brown eyes void of their usual cheerful gleam. “Mum’s driving me crazy! I mean, I get it, she wants me to get married and settle down and have kids, but she has 6 other children, two of them with kids of their own already! I don’t know, this whole wedding thing has just put a lot more pressure on me, that’s all.”

You tenderly rubbed his shoulder, feeling him relax slightly at your touch. “Don’t listen to her, ok? Marriage isn’t for everyone. Same with kids. You’re independent and carefree, and you shouldn’t feel like you have to settle down if you don’t want to.”

He mumbled something under his breath, too quiet for you to hear. “What?” 

“I said…” he began slowly, “I said that it’s not that. It’s the complete opposite actually.”

Fred glanced across the room at his youngest brother holding hands with his fiancée and whispering something into her ear. “It’s just...he’s my younger brother. He’s Ron, for Merlin’s sake! How did Ron get a girl before me?”

“Aww, is Freddie jealous of his little brother?” you teased, knocking your shoulder into his. When he didn’t answer you tried to sober up, not used to seeing this side of Fred. 

“I’m 26, Y/N,” he cried out. “And I know that’s not old or anything, but I just figured I’d have my life together by now. Maybe a long term girlfriend, or even--” he paused for a moment, continuing to watch Ron and Lavender. “--or maybe it would’ve been me walking down the aisle with someone I love.”

“Come here, love,” you cooed as you pulled Fred into your chest. “You know there’s no rush. Sure Ron’s getting married, but I think he found himself the only person in the world who’d ever date him and he had to tie her down quick.”

Fred shuddered into your chest with a small laugh, bringing his hands up to aimlessly play with your hair. “Yeah,” he said, “and we all know that the girls are lined up just waiting for me. I guess I’ve got time.”

“Exactly. And plenty of it.” Fred continued to play with your hair as you did the same with his, occasionally scratching at his scalp and listening to the quiet whimpers he would let out. 

He shifted so he was looking up at you, mere inches away from your face. “Y’know, you’ve been acting strange lately too. What’s bugging you?”

“It’s nothing Freddie, I--”

“Uh uh.” He shook his head. “I poured my heart and soul out to you, the least you could do is do the same to me.”

Sighing, you checked around you to make sure no one would be able to overhear. “Promise you won’t tell Ron? I don’t want it to make anything weird in our relationship.”

Fred snapped his head between you and his younger brother, eyes growing wide as he jumped to the nearest possible answer. “You’re bloody in love with him, aren’t you?!”

“What?” you asked, laughing at the ridiculous accusation. “No! Oh, no no no, not at all! I’ve known him since we were 11, and trust me, watching young Ronnie throw up slugs will turn anyone off of him.”

Fred smiled down at you and breathed a sigh of relief, glad that you weren’t getting your heart broken by being at the wedding. “So what is it then? Promise I won’t tell, swear on George’s life.”

You rolled your eyes but snuggled up next to him, feeling much more comfortable with your best friend as close as possible. “Fine. You’re not the only one having to deal with parent problems. Like I said I’ve been friends with Ron since my family first found out I was a witch. My parents, being Muggles, immediately fell in love with your family, and Ron as well whenever he would come to visit over the summer. My mum has this whacked out idea that it should be me that’s marrying him tonight. She’s so disappointed, told me I’m passing up the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But he’s just Ron! I could never see him like that. He’s like a brother to me.”

Fred sat silently throughout your whole rant, rubbing small circles over your knuckles with his thumb. When it seemed you had finally finished, Fred had no idea what to say. He had never been the comforting sort and had always managed to make it worse. As he did this time as well. 

“Do you see me like that too?”

You looked at him with scrunched eyebrows, trying to understand how he decided on that as a response. 

“As a brother, I mean.” He stuttered through his words. “Am I just another brother to you?”

“‘Course you are, Freddie. I love you like family.” He gazed at you lovingly, wondering what he had done to have a friend like you in his life. 

“How about this then?” he asked. “How about, since your mom wants you to marry a Weasley, if by the time we’re both 40 and still single, why don’t we marry each other?”

He looked so sweet offering this to you, so kind and thoughtful. You knew that the deal would benefit him as well, but to you it felt like he was doing this only for you. And you knew he would do anything for you. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I actually only promised George the same thing,” you said, making Fred’s jaw drop and a scowl appear on his face. 

“George! My own bloody twin? How could you, Y/N? I revoke my proposal.”

“I’m practically in tears,” you said stoically. Deciding it was time to go out and mingle instead of throwing yourselves a pity party, you grabbed Fred’s hand and made your way over to find George, only to be stopped by a very obviously drunk man. 

He put a hand on your shoulder which made both you and Fred tense up. “I just want to say,” he said through slurred speech, “that Ron is a wonderful young man.”

Fred eased his grip on your hand a little bit, sensing that this man wasn’t going to do anything to you. You gave him a thankful look before turning your attention back to the hammered American. “Well thanks, we like him.”

The man stepped closer to examine your face, his booze breath going straight up your nose. It took all you had not to throw up because of it. 

“My God!” he exclaimed, “you two must’ve been teenagers when you had him!” 

You and Fred both stared straight ahead, insecurities and doubts increasing tenfold at the misunderstanding. You gritted your teeth and held back from slapping the man, who luckily made his way to another table to insult someone else. 

Fred turned you to face him and gripped your shoulders tight, leaning down so he was eye to eye with you. “The guy was hammered, okay? There’s no way that you look like Ron’s mum. Nor I his dad for that matter!”

“Then why would he say it?” you grumbled, pushing Fred away from you and going to get rid of your sadness by gorging on some food. 

“Because he’s crazy!”

“Oh, my mother’s right. I’m never going to get married.”

“Ahh, you know what?” Fred touched the small of your back softly, turning you around to face him, his breath growing heavy in exasperation. “This is...who wouldn’t want you?”

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

The next morning, the biggest day of Ron’s life, he was racing down the hallways practically bouncing off the walls. He was getting married. After a failed relationship with Padma years before, Ron had finally been able to heal and pour his love onto someone else. Lavender Brown. 

Sure, the relationship had moved fast. Really fast, actually. They had only been together for a few months before Ron popped the question, to which a very ecstatic Lavender happily agreed. He knew it was unorthodox. He knew it was impulsive. But he didn’t care. Because someone loved him. 

He shot through the door of Fred and George’s hotel room, making Fred jolt awake with a start. 

“I’m getting married today!” he screamed. “Whoo-hoo!” 

Fred scrambled around in the bed sheets for a few seconds before scowling at his brother. “Morning, Ron.”

“I’m getting married. To-day!” he said, ignoring the annoyed looks Fred was shooting him. 

Relaxing a little Fred smiled. “Yeah you are!”

Ron jumped around and sprinted out of the room, screaming as he ran down the hall to announce his feelings to all of the other hotel guests. 

The bed in which Fred was sleeping shifted once again, but it wasn’t Fred’s doing. You shot up from under his covers, holding the blankets to cover your naked chest and panting heavily in worry. “Do you think he knew I was here?”

Fred slowly shook his head, refusing to make eye contact with you. He shifted in the bed, his leg accidentally brushing yours. You yelped and he quickly moved away, apologizing profusely. 

After a long awkward silence, Fred finally spoke. “Well, I’ve--I’ve never done that with you before.”

“Nope,” you replied, popping the ‘p’ and sinking down further into the bed, trying to disappear. 

“So, ahh, how are you?” he said slowly. “You okay?”

You nodded, clutching the sheets so hard that your knuckles were turning white. “Yep, yep. You?”

“Yes, yes, uh huh. You?” The two of you finally made eye contact, faces equal shades of vermillion. “We did you. I did you. I--umm, sorry not the time.”

It got quiet once again. You let out a long breath, wondering how you were supposed to move on from sleeping with your best friend. You wanted to blame the alcohol from last night, but neither of you were drunk. You’d only had one glass of wine, just enough to make you a little more confident than normal. Apparently that was enough to do the trick. 

“Well… I’d better get going,” you told him, starting to sit up before remembering you and Fred were both naked under the sheets. 

“Oh, yea yea, absolutely,” he stammered, gesturing for you to leave. 

“Could you not look, please?”

“I don’t want to look.” Fred covered his eyes, not even pretending to peak through them. It was uncomfortable enough as it is, he really didn’t want to be joking around at the moment. 

You slowly slid off the bed, taking a moment to let what had happened last night fully sink in. Had you ruined your friendship with Fred? Was it going to be this weird from now on? You hustled to grab your clothes from yesterday, ready to complete the infamous walk of shame. Thankfully, your room was just down the hall so any chances of you being caught were slim. All you had to do was put on a happy face for the wedding, pretend to enjoy yourself, and forget any of this ever happened. Yeah, that would work. Right?

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

Lavender’s eyes went wide as she took in the scene around her. The wedding hall was absolutely gorgeous, decorated in elegant fairy lights and flowers hanging from baskets on the ceiling. It was like she was a princess in her own personal fairy tale. 

She spun around in her wedding dress, not even caring about the weird looks some of her parents’ friends were giving her. She never cared for them, or the family status, anyway. She just wanted to live her life as her own person, taking each step with someone she loved holding her hand. 

“Hey.” Lavender was interrupted by the voice of her lover, standing bashfully a few feet away with his hands in his pockets. 

“Ron!” she chastised playfully. “You’re not supposed to see me in my wedding dress, it’s bad luck!”

“I think we’ve had all the bad luck we’re going to have.” Lavender grinned and jumped into Ron’s arms, giggling as he swung her around. He finally put her down kissing the top of her head as he did so.  “I’ll see you in a few hours, when you’re finally mine forever.”

“It can’t come soon enough.” The brunette was then distracted by Parvati calling her name, so she bid Ron goodbye and skipped over to her maid of honor. 

She didn’t notice the unexpected guest standing at the end of the aisle, listening to their entire conversation. Or maybe if she did, she chose to ignore it. After all, her and Ron’s bad luck was over. She was finally getting the one thing she wanted most in life. To be loved. 

Ron stared longingly at the girl he loved so deeply talk to her best friend, before the same unexpected guest that Lavender hadn’t noticed caught his eye. “Oh Merlin, Hermione!”

He ran up to her and kissed her on the cheek, ecstatic that his friend had decided to come to New York for his wedding. “You’re here. I can’t believe it! What happened? Why are you here?”

Hermione took a quick glance over at where Lavender was standing. She had seen everything. Heard it all. She knew how much they both cared for each other, and who was she to stand in the way of their love? She had missed her chance with Ron, but Lavender hadn’t. 

“Well I just came…” She touched his chest right near his heart, tears threatening to spill. “I just needed to tell you…” 

She couldn’t do it. It wasn’t fair to either of them. Hermione took a deep breath and put on a fake smile. “Congratulations.”

Ron grabbed her tightly and hugged her with all of his strength, tears of joy pooling in his eyes. Tears continued to grow in Hermione's, but for completely different reasons. Today was the day everything changed. Today her chance was gone. Forever. 

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

If the chapel was beautiful before, it was even more extravagant with all of the lights lit up and the band playing soft, romantic music. Any normal day you would’ve enjoyed the site, wishing that someday you could have a wedding just like this. But unfortunately the only thing on your mind was the events of the previous night. 

“Ready?” George whispered to you, getting ready to walk one of the other bridesmaids down the aisle. He could tell something was wrong, but he didn’t want to push you. You nodded your head, sending your friend a thumbs up before it was his turn to make his walk. 

“Ready?” asked a nearly identical voice to the one before. Fred stood behind you, his hair styled for once and his clothes neatly pressed and cleaned. He did clean up well, you had to admit. But, not that you would ever say this to anyone, you quite liked it better when he wasn’t wearing anything at all. 

“I’m ready.” He linked his arm in yours, guiding you slowly down the dimly lit aisle. 

Fred couldn’t help but steal a few glances at you. Your eyes were focused straight ahead, refusing to look at anything except the alter at the end of the walk. If you just made it to the end of the walk, everything would be ok. Everything would be over. But maybe Fred didn’t want everything to be over, just not yet. He sucked in a breath and decided to take a chance. 

“What he did last night,” he whispered, slowing down as to elongate the conversation as much as possible. 

“Stupid,” you muttered. 

“Totally crazy stupid!” Fred got a few rude glances at his loud volume, so he checked himself before continuing. “I...I’m coming over tonight though, right?”

Your breath hitched in your chest. You were so close to the end of the aisle. You could ignore him and ignore whatever was going on between the two of you. It could all go back to normal, just a few more steps. 

But your heart took over, and you said something that you knew future you might regret, but you didn’t care. It was worth the risk. 

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

Fred squeezed your arm as you made your last steps to the front of the chapel, separating and taking your places in the rows of wedding participants. 

You scanned the crowd, seeing Hermione fidgeting nervously in her seat. You felt awful for what she must be going through, but proud that she decided to accept it. Hermione was tough, that was for sure. She could handle anything. 

“Friends. Family. We are gathered to celebrate here today the joyous union of Ron and Lavender. May the happiness we share with them today be with them always. Now Lavender, repeat after me. I, Lavender.”

“I, Lavender,” she said with a grin so big it looked like it would jump right off her face. 

“Take thee Ron,” the minister continued. 

“Take thee Ron.”

“As my lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, till death parts us.”

“As my lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, till death parts us.”

She giggled and squeezed Ron’s hands tighter, mere seconds away from being united with the one she loved oh so much. 

“Now Ron,” said the minister, turning to the groom. “Repeat after me. I Ron…”

George winked at him and Fred gestured for him to speak. No matter how much they teased their little brother, they were so proud of him for finding someone to spend the rest of his life with. “I Ron…”

“Take thee, Lavender…”

“Take thee, Hermione…”

Gasps filled the room. You covered your mouth and looked out to the crowd at Hermione, who looked as if she had seen a ghost. Fred and George started whispering frantically to each other and Molly seemed as if she was about to either faint or slap Ron into another country. 

But nothing compared to Lavender’s reaction. She stood there, frozen, hands going numb in the grip of the person she thought loved her. The one who only thought of her. The one who chose her. 

“Lavender!” Ron corrected, nervously chuckling in order to hide the growing humiliation. “Lavender.”

The minister looked between the bride and groom, having no idea where to go from there. “Uhh...shall I go on?”

Hermione couldn’t take her eyes off of Ron. He had just said her name. Her name. Not Lavender’s. Hers. 

What was supposed to happen next?

Tag List: @fandomhideout @amourtentiaa

[thinkingimmensely]

Before Dinner (Charlie Weasley x Reader/MC | Bill Weasley x Reader/MC (onesided)

A/N: Hi guys! It’s been forever! So the pandemic’s still a thing and I’ve been coping with nothing else but games. (It has also been a while since I last played Hogwarts Mystery huhu) So, as you can tell, I haven’t been writing lately and I’m rusty as hell but this was in my drafts and when I read it again, I realized it was almost finished, and I’ve got some inspiration from listening to TSwift’s evermore album. So tadah!

This could be read as a sequel of After Breakfast or as a stand-alone. This happens way before Bill meets Fleur, and I like to imagine that he’s been hung up on our cursebreaker until then.   

I sure hope all of you are well out there and staying safe!  

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything in the Potterverse!

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Sweat beaded down his forehead as he blasted the practice dummy with Incendio again. It was one of his best spells, and it was also the first spell he taught her.

BLAST!

Every little memory they had together during their time in Hogwarts replayed in his head, particularly on the time when he asked her if he was her favorite Weasley brother. She had flushed then, totally caught off guard, saying she hadn’t even met all his brothers yet. He really wished he was her favorite.

BLAST!

“Bill we want to tell you something-“

BLAST!

The dummy swayed and nearly toppled over as the spell struck right home but eventually regained its balance as expected.

“You trying to kill that thing?”

He stopped and turned to the owner of the voice– Charlie; his younger brother, best friend, and the person he’d absolutely do anything for. He was fiddling with his wand as he approached, his brown eyes unsure.

Bill wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and tried to catch his breath; he hadn’t realized he was out of breath until now. “Where’s Y/N?” It was surprising to see the two apart after they had decided to announce their joyous news after breakfast earlier. A wedding with him as witness, and it was to take place tomorrow. Bloody hell.

Joyous... it was supposed to be joyous, but why did Bill feel anything but joy?

“She’s writing a letter to the old gang back at the cottage.” Charlie replied nonchalantly. “Are you okay?” He immediately followed up, dropping the previous topic.

Bill raised a brow at him. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno,” His brother shrugged, “maybe because you look like you could murder someone right now?”

Bill sighed and looked down at the ground for a moment in thought. Was he really that obvious?

Charlie bit his lower lip nervously, “Is this about the family? I know it’s sudden and mom would probably hate me for not telling her, let alone inviting them all but I didn’t want to pressure Y/N.” His shoulders slumped, “I don’t want her to feel like she has to live up to any wedding expectations and invite people she doesn’t like to keep up appearances.”

Oh, of course Charlie didn’t know. He shouldn’t be surprised though since his brother was so painfully oblivious most of the time that it took him years to realize his feeling for Y/N; but he wasn’t one to talk either since he’s practically the same.

He could tell him. But he wouldn’t. He knew how deeply Charlie felt for her, and he knew he’d probably never feel that way about another person ever again.

Patting his younger brother on the shoulder, he mustered out the sincerest smile he could, “It’s nothing Charlie, just worried I might be losing my curse breaking partner is all.”

Charlie let out a sigh of relief and chuckled, pushing his arm lightly. “You’re impossible.” The both of them shared a laugh and after what seemed like a couple of minutes Charlie let out a small smile, “You’re never going to lose her... I mean, she’s going off to Egypt right after.”

Bill raised a brow at that. He assumed the couple would want to spend at least a week more together. Before he could question it further though, Charlie had already excused himself when Y/N stood by the doorway of the cottage. He watched as his brother took full strides to reach her immediately, they smiled at each other and exchanged a couple of words before Charlie went inside.

Y/N turned her attention to him then and he could feel something inside him quench. As she approached him, with a totally different demeanor than Charlie did earlier, she looked breathtakingly happy with a smile that reached from ear to ear, her bright eyes twinkling with delight, and a light skip in her step. “Hey, you.” She greeted when she reached him and her smile was so contagious that he couldn’t help but let out his own.

“Hey, you.” He answered, noticing how giddy she looked. “Done writing those letters?”

She bobbed her head up and down, “Yeah, they’ll no doubt flip when they receive it.” She started to chortle.

Bill grinned at her, yeah he could just picture the old gang doing just that; he wouldn’t even be surprised if one of them showed up out of the blue tomorrow for the occasion. Silence hung between them and he noticed Y/N biting her lower lip, anxiously swaying around on her heel.

“Want to talk? I reckon we can spare a few words before dinner.”

She immediately nodded her head so they stalked off towards one of the few uprooted tree trunks (courtesy of Norberta according to Charlie) and sat down. The crickets had just started to ring out and they looked at the pink and orange hues of the sky as the sun slowly drifted off for the night. Smoke escaped the stone chimney of the cottage; Charlie must’ve started making dinner.

Bill sighed and ran a hand through his no doubt, messy ginger locks in an attempt to tame it, but it just stuck to his still sweaty forehead. Y/N must’ve noticed his plight because she dug out a handkerchief from the pocket of her jeans and handed it to him together with one of her elastic bands around her wrist.

He immediately tied his hair back into a ponytail, wiping his forehead with the handkerchief and pocketed it.

She gave him a look and he raised a brow in question. She shook her head, “Nothing.”

He nudged her with his elbow, “Come on, I know that look, I’ve seen it a million times. What’s on your mind?” He did pride himself in knowing a lot about her, maybe sometimes even more than Charlie, and it brought him some sort of comfort.

She breathed deeply, “I just can’t believe we’re really doing this. My mind’s still reeling. I mean, what if we’re heading into this too fast without really thinking it through?”

If she only knew that his mind was reeling as well. Putting on his best older brother facade, he placed a hand on her shoulder in encouragement. “It’ll be fine Y/N. Charlie and you... you’re two pieces of a puzzle. Besides, both of you are head over heels with each other even during our Hogwarts years, so it’s not exactly a surprise to see the both of you decide to settle down early.”

“What? Charlie did not like me back at Hogwarts.” She laughed as she shook her head, “It was always dragons with him. However frustrating it was, it’s part of his charm.”

“Ha! Please, Charlie liked you even if he didn’t realize it. I mean, other than dragons, he only talked about you for most of the time.” He saw the blush rush to her face with that newfound knowledge

His words seemed to do the trick as he saw her visibly relax and flash a smile at him. “You’re the best, Bill.” She pulled him into a hug and though surprised, he found himself hugging her back.

“You know you’ve always got me.” He told her through the cracks forming in his heart.

They were family now and she would be the best sister-in-law he could ever have asked for. 

The hug didn’t seem to last long enough as she pulled away. She soon stood up, signaling the end of their conversation and so he did too. 

Was he still smiling? He didn’t know, and if he wasn’t, Y/N chose not to comment. “You know I’ve always got your back too.” She said before the both of them slowly made their way back to the cottage.

“Y/N-” He called out to her just before they reached the doorway. Y/N stopped and turned back to him, raising a brow in question. “You should take another week off after the wedding, I’ll cover for you at work so you don’t have to worry.” 

She beamed at him which made everything worth it. If she only knew he’d do anything for her. “Did I tell you that you’re the best?” 

He grinned, “You did earlier actually,” He moved ahead and opened the door for her, “but I don’t mind hearing it again often.” 

She let out a hearty laugh and playfully struck him on the chest. “Oh, you!” She went inside, running her boots on the welcome mat. “Charlie! Guess what!” She called out and proceeded to the kitchen where her fiancé was waiting for them. 

Bill shook his head and let out a soft chuckle.

Y/N may not be his ever after but he was glad that Charlie, and not anyone else, was hers.

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Related Stories: No Expectations | After Breakfast

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