#like to switch things up - like her bakery decorations

[sunshineandviolets]

[character who only shows up for maybe a scene or two per book, we know very little about - not even a surname - very much a minor character, not relevant to the main plot ]

me: ... its free real estate

[enchantedflameandflower]

Vincent Stevens x reader fic Part 2! by @kus-babygirl

mood board by @kus-babygirl

Vincent x reader multi-part romance! This was all entirely written by @kus-babygirl and her idea as well. I’ve done all the editing and added some bits here and there and she’s asked me to post for her. If you leave a comment make sure to tag @kus-babygirl!

tag list: @jynx15 @karlurbanism

(Part 1)

Part 2

The blare of your alarm wakes you early the next morning, reverberating loudly off the walls of your small apartment. You groan a little before switching it off and sit up in bed, instantly remembering what happened the night before with your new boss, Vincent Stevens. 

"Fuck," you groan to yourself. You hope you still have a job when you go in today. 

After grabbing a scolding shower to wake yourself up and getting dressed in a white blouse, black trousers and a blazer, you grab yourself a quick cereal bar to eat in the car. You check the time, 7:30, and pull on your sneakers. The heels last night killed your feet so you ware going for comfort today. You grab your phone and bag and make your way of out the apartment, locking it up. 

As you make your way out, you quickly say hi to Oliver, the doorman at your building. He is a good guy and always looks out for you. You rush to your car, and on the way to your new work building, you stop at a bakery that is about 8 minutes away and grab two coffees and a mixed tray of bagels, which consists of plain, cinnamon and raisin, blueberry, and poppyseed bagels. 

You get back to your car with your goodies, and make your way to your new office. Once there you find a parking space and head inside, stopping by the front desk to tell them you’re the new receptionist for Vincent Stevens. The woman gives a look of surprise and disbelief, probably because of the thought you would actually want to work under him. Secretly you can"t blame her. There’s probably many women that would refuse to work with him.

But you’re ready to look past the affairs because there might actually be a reason why he did it, bad marriage or something else. You can’t look past the murder accusation, though, if you found out that is true, but all the evidence seemed to suggest he was definitely set up.

The woman quickly composes herself before directing you towards his office, while also giving you a pass key for the building and your new login information for the computer. You smile politely, thanking her before making your way up to his office. 

When you arrive at the office, you put your stuff down on the empty desk, before walking over to Vincent’s door and knocking. You get no answer, so you figure he hasn’t arrived yet and you settle at the desk, logging into your computer while making a list of things you want to get for your office, if you are allowed to decorate it. 

Not even 10 minutes later, Vincent walks in with a border collie beside him. He startles when he sees you sitting there, shocked that you still wanted to work for him after last night. "Hey," he says, looking at you nervously. 

You lift your head up and smile slightly when you see him. "Hello, Mr. Stevens," you say, getting up and grabbing a coffee and the bagels, and offering them to him.

He looks at you curiously, obviously wondering why you would get all this stuff. 

"It’s a peace offering,” you explain quickly. “I wanted to apologize for what I said last night. I’m not going to make any excuses, but I was a tiny bit drunk. That still doesn’t excuse what I said, and I shouldn’t have said it to you, knowing you were my new boss. I’m kind of buttering you up to keep my job,” you admit. 

He chuckles softly, shaking his head while taking the coffee and a poppyseed bagel. "Please call me, Vincent. Mr Stevens makes me feel old. And don’t worry, sweetheart, your job is safe. I should be the one apologizing after flirting with you like that. I guess after all of the aff-" 

"I know what you mean," you interrupt, blushing at the nickname, but knowing he probably doesn"t want to talk about the affairs and everything else with you.

You put the tray back on your desk before looking at him, and his dog comes over and starts sniffing at you.

"That’s Finn, my dog. He comes to work with me, because I don’t want to leave him alone at home. I hope you’re okay with dogs," he says, looking at Finn, 

You smile, kneeling down and giving Finn some love. "I love dogs," you happily smile. 

"That’s good, he will take any amount of that," he chuckles, watching you. 

After a few minutes of petting Finn, you stand up, grabbing your coffee and taking a few sips of it. 

"You got your pass key and log-in information alright?" he asks. 

You nod, "Yeah, I did, thank you. What would you like me to do today?" 

"Just basically take my calls and set up meetings for me. Write appointments down, the usual stuff." He smiles, making his way towards his office with Finn in tow and taking a cinnamon and raisin bagel on the way. 

"Okay, that I can do," you smile back from behind your desk. 

After taking calls all day and scheduling meetings, it’s time to finally go home. 

Vincent walks you down to your car, waving goodbye when you leave the car park. You go into your apartment and crash on the sofa, feeling absolutely exhausted from the day. You can’t help but smile realising you might have a small little crush on your boss, but you decide to bury it deep, not wanting to ruin the friendship that is slowly starting to form.

[lady-ashfade]

What are their top video games?

-mha version. Pt.1

-characters: tenya iida, izuku midoriya, Rikido Sato, Tsuyu Asui, Eijiro Kirishima, Denki Kaminari

- this is my take on things. And my opinion. It’s not canon (kinda in my head) but don’t come after me! And if you have other ideas I would love to hear them!!

- I will be doing other fandoms and characters! Let me know if you want any characters!!

Lets start.

Tenya Iida

He is a big enjoyed of candy crush and you can’t tell me anything else against that. I don’t see him having games on his computer or almost anything, so he plays mostly on his phone. I have a feeling he actually can’t stop and he is so embarrassed over it. Come on? Man is waiting for the new levels every time.

Tetris? A thing for his brain to work and does it kinda fast. He has high scores. MAN IS A BEAST- and when he fails he will get so frustrated and get mad….someone take his phone away please.

Super Mario is a childhood game but he still has it on something. Like a old nintendo, old ds and stuff. He plays it sometimes. And the only thing I see him having new gaming devices wise is a switch, and only has Mario games and plays it only each few mounts.

Izuku Midoriya

Planet zoo I can’t really explain but it’s just feels so right. I think he’s a pro at it. I really wish i could explain why I feel this way….Please tell me you see it to?

Fortnite he only plays with his friends but it’s so often. He does love the game a lot, even has a skin of himself in the game. And he has merch. He just loves to laugh with his friends and vibe. Has never raged quit.

Minecraft….Do I have to explain it? He’s wholesome, the games wholesome. It’s a match. Deku has so many hours it probably scares people. He’s obsessed!!! Mention you found diamonds and he’ll flip.

Rikido Sato

Unraveled is a childhood favorite of mine and I see him playing it for the same reasons. It’s chill but makes the brain think. I think he would love it.

Cooking simulators. This is not just for the meme. Tell me why I think he would rage so much to this because of the controls being whack. If he wasn’t a hero he would own his own restaurant/bakery.

Apex legends- HAVE NO IDEA WHY I THINK THIS. I know nothing about this game. I think he would play a shooter, and he gives apex vibes.

Tsuyu Asui

She’s plays game for chill vibes and vibes only.

Animal crossing?! One of the best games ever. She loves to decorate her island and go villager hunting. Has the best island out of the whole class. (Has many frog villagers)

Minecraft, 100# loves to vibe to the music. She plays with izu a lot too, the whole group. And she’s like the camp mom? Makes sure things are organized and she builds a whole ass city.

Stardew valley….One of the best games ever made again. Farmer Tsu!! She is the person who takes her time and doesn’t stress about anything, she knows everything without the wiki- but she could speed run the whole game so fast.

Eijiro Kirishima

Fortnite bro. Spends so much time on there is so embarrassing. The type of friend to beg his friends to play with him when the say no. He is that guy who doesn’t get up from his seat for hours to play this damn game. Headset, talking to everyone. Random people? He’s befriending them all.

Medieval dynasty is a good game. I see him enjoying building a city up from nothing, he is the type of guy I see. It’s relaxing.

Animal crossing fan and he has no shame. He loves this game so much. Decorates his island. Be proud of him even tho it sucks, but he’s so proud of himself (I relate) and keeps a streak of checking in every day.

Denki Kaminari

HE HAS ALL THE DAMN GAMES!! He talks shit every match. Has fought a child and made them cry (then got his ass handed to him) and I stand by this. He is good at the game, but also then sucks so bad.

Fortnite, yes other shooters because I believe he loves them. But likes to play with the boyz mostly, kiris main bestie in this game because they both are annoying the others.

Minecraft…yes this is getting used a lot but it’s a amazing game. Turns his music down because he’s either falling asleep or crying for questioning his existence. MINING!! He spends so much time mining it’s like he never goes to the surface.

-want more characters? Want another fandom? Just tell me in comments or my inbox

[frostfall-matches]

[ hello autumn - paired ♡ ]

@daemontargaryennn : spending fall with…

✧ Takeru Danma

-> [ Going to a haunted house is definitely on his must-do list. ] A lot of them might be cheesy, not very scary at all, but he wants to go to at least one each fall as a test of courage. He definitely gets a bit competitive about it, claiming that he won’t even flinch once while you guys are making your way through the haunted house.

-> [ He insists on planning the biggest Halloween party. ] The man loves a good party, and it’s all the more entertaining given the spooky theme. He pulls out all the stops. His place is completely decked out, there are plenty of snacks and beverages and candy, and of course he’s going to be dressing up. Part of him wants to do a couple costume with you, but another part of him wants you each to pick your own so you can surprise each other the day of.

-> [ Of course Hatter isn’t going to let anything seasonal or limited edition pass by without trying it at least once. ] Maybe it’s a bit of FOMO… But hey, even though pumpkin spice and spiced cider roll around every fall, there are often slight variations to the things that bakeries or cafés bring back each year. In any case, you’ve got someone who will indulge in these seasonal treats with you.

-> [ Sometimes Hatter can be a bit of a baby when it comes to cold weather. ] Definitely the type to prefer the warmer months, feeling much more alive and energetic when the sun is out and the breeze is warm. If he doesn’t have to go out for the day, you’ll find him dressed warmly and likely bundled up in a blanket on the couch or the bed. If you get too close, he’s going to latch onto you and you’ll be stuck getting cuddled for a while.

✧ Robin

-> [ She absolutely adores decorating with you! ] Robin loves switching up the decor to suit the season, and there’s something special about decorating a place with a loved one so each of your styles and preferences are included. She has a great eye for detail and aesthetics, and she is able to seamlessly blend your preferred aesthetics as you two get your shared space ready for autumn.

-> [ Robin loves bundling up in cute, cozy outfits and heading out on walks with you. ] While it may get a little chilly with the cool, late autumn breeze, the temperatures are still comfortable enough to enjoy getting some fresh air. She loves seeing the warmer outfits you put together, knowing how much care you put into your appearance and style. On a side note, she loves whenever your outfits end up similar to hers - you two look all the more like a picture-perfect couple when out and about together.

-> [ She wants to try baking with pumpkin or squash, given they’re harvested in the fall. ] You can find plenty of pumpkin pies and breads at bakeries, but Robin really wants to try making something at home with you. It’s a plus that you rather enjoy cooking and baking! The two of you can adjust recipes to your tastes, and it’s just so rewarding being able to have a tasty treat after putting in all that hard work.

-> [ If you wanted to dabble in a bit of photography as the season changes, Robin doesn’t mind being your model. ] She’s so gorgeous that any photos you snap of her will look amazing. Leaves in reds, oranges, and yellows create the perfect backdrop for Robin, bundled up in cozy clothes. You’re not the only one taking photos, though - she insists on returning the favor, and she’s able to capture a lot of beautiful shots of you, too.

✧ Itadori Yuji

-> [ The best person to watch horror movies with. ] He loves horror films, from cheesy to gorey to psychologically unsettling - he’ll watch anything from any subset of the horror genre. Definitely down to have a horror movie marathon with you as Halloween approaches. And, if there are any horror films coming out through the month, you two absolutely make it a point to hit the cinema to watch them.

-> [ Putting together matching costumes for Halloween is very fun with Yuji. ] He loves the idea of matching costumes and thinks they’re super fun. Honestly, he could go for either a cheesy and lame couple costume or something a bit more intricate and cool. Just let him know if you have any ideas or suggestions! He might need a bit of help putting the costume together, though, if he insisted on his being up to your standards.

-> [ You two load up on discounted Halloween candy the day after Halloween. ] It’ll probably take ages for you two to actually eat everything you bought, but hey - cheap candy! Yuji isn’t really picky about what he eats, either, so if you have any candies you really dislike you can just leave them and he’ll eventually snack on them.

-> [ Coffee shop dates are frequent throughout the fall. ] The seasonal drinks are something you both look forward to, and it’s nice to warm up in a cozy café if you’ve been out and about for a while. Yuji insists on trying out a different drink each time you guys go somewhere, wanting to figure out what his favorite is. He’d love it if you two ordered different drinks so you could each try the other’s and compare.

[hellowhisperingstars]

Chapter Eight: The Deal

Summary: Time has moved forward and after months Eddie asks an important question. Unfortunately, your perfect little world starts to crumble.

Pairing: Rockstar/Bar Owner!Eddie Munson x Baker!Reader 

Words: 12K

Warnings: 18+, time skip, very slight dom/sub dynamic if you squint, smut, PinV sex, fingering, nipple play, cussing, overuse of pet names, Y/N used, hospitals, death of a family member, funeral, verbal abuse, name-calling (derogatory: reader gets called a whore), controlling parents, protective Eddie, angst.

A/N:  Here is chapter eight! This one took me so long to do and I am so sorry about that but here it is! It's sad. So maybe some tissues? I know I mentioned it in the status update but I am thinking of making some time stamps about what Eddie and our little baker did during the time skip. If anyone has any ideas you want me to write about, feel free to drop them in my inbox!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! <3

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! I will be double checking if you have your age in your bios! AGELESS OR BLANK BLOGS WILL NOT BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST!

Previous - Masterlist - Forward

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months, the frost of winter had melted away and the flowers of Spring were in full bloom, the promise of Summers' warm breezes not far away, and the bakery was exploding in even more bright colors and fun treats to mark the changing of the seasons. The little winter decorations on the cakes and cupcakes have been switched out for sunflowers and beach balls. The cake you had finished that morning for the display case was a fun one with ocean waves, a beach towel, and a little umbrella to set the tone of the scene. 

Moving behind the counter, you grabbed the empty plates from the cases and smiled at a small boy as he looked at the cake in awe. Chuckling a little bit, you placed the plates on the back counter and grabbed a baking tissue and took a cookie from the freebie jar behind you, and passed it over to him with a wink. “On the house.”

“What do you say, Colton?” His mother said as she smiled down at him, her hands filled with the small box of goods and a second much younger child who was perched on her hip. Much too small for a cookie. 

“Thank you!” Colton cried with big round brown eyes that reminded you of Eddie’s. 

Eddie. He had completely consumed you, body and soul, and when you weren't at work or with friends and family you were with him in your own little world where he made the rules and you obeyed. A world where you didn’t have to think of anything. You loved that world and though you were too scared to admit it out loud yet you loved him. The thought made your heart beat faster in your chest. Shaking the thought from your head you smiled at the little boy in front of you. “You’re very welcome!” 

Giving the little ones a treat was always one of your favorite things, they got so happy over a simple cookie. You wave as the little family leaves your shop, their forms fading into the night. You watched as Emma walked around the counter and locked the new door turning the open sign to closed before she turned and started to clean up the cafe tables. You had kept the old one for the hell of it and it’s currently living its best life in your office leaning up against the wall until you can figure out what you wanted to do with it. The light above you flickered before completely going out, frowning, you looked up glaring at it. That light has been the bane of your existence for a week now, you’ve changed light bulbs, called electricians, and not one of them has figured out what was wrong with it. “For fuck’s sake…”

“Light again?” Marty asked as he started to cash out the register.

“Always this goddamn light.” You mutter with a sigh. “Tried every damn thing to fix it and nothing.” 

“I can fix it.” A voice said behind you as two arms wrapped around your waist. 

Jumping you looked over your shoulder with a squeak. Eddie had a bad habit of sneaking in and scaring you when you least expect it. “Holy shit!”

“Hi, my little sugar cube.” Eddie laughed as he pulled you close to his chest giving you a kiss on the side of your neck before he looked up at the light. Cocking his head to the side as it flickered back to life before dying again. “Huh. How long has that been happening?”

“A week,” Marty said, passing you the bag full of money so you could put it in the safe in your office until tomorrow morning. “No one can figure out why and any bulb we change it to does the exact same thing. Dies.”

“It’s taunting me.” You glare at it.

Laughing, Eddie looked down at you, his hands squeezing your waist. “Want me to fight it? I’ll kick its ass for you.”

“Can you?” Turning, you put your hand on his chest, batting your eyelashes at him like a damsel in distress. 

“Get me a ladder babe and I’ll take it out.” He smiled as he pulled you close to him pushing his nose into your hair. 

“You guys are gross,” Emma smirked as she passed you both to throw away the trash. 

“She’s just jealous.” The rockstar laughed as he looked up at the light again. “But seriously do you have a ladder?”

“In storage.” Looking over at Marty you asked him to show Eddie where it was. Putting your head against Eddie’s chest you sighed when he put his hand on the back of your head. “I have orders to make. I’m super behind.”

“Go on,” Eddie said, kissing the crown of your head before pushing you towards the kitchen with his hand that dropped from your head to lay on the small of your back. Glancing up at the light again he narrowed his eyes at it. “I’ll take a look at this.”

Eddie grunted a little as he twisted the light back into place; it had taken him a little while to figure out what was wrong, got shocked a few times in the process, but he got it in the end. He’ll make the permanent fix tomorrow when the stores are open. Climbing from the ladder he closed it and pushed it up against the wall behind the counter before he followed the sounds of Madonna into the kitchen, to you. The music was playing at a decent level for the time of night. Peeking his head in he smiled at you as you sprayed some oil into four tins. Looking a little more stressed and tired than he left you. 

“Well, I found your problem with the light,” Eddie said as he wandered back into the kitchen rubbing his hands on his jeans to wipe the dust from them. “It’s something with the wiring. I’ll have to stop at the hardware store in the morning to get the supplies I need. Should be good to go by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll have to cut the electricity for a bit though.”

“How long?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Eddie thought for a moment. “Twenty minutes? Thirty tops. It’s an easy fix but I wanna make sure I don’t burn down the shop.”

“I appreciate that,” Looking up you smiled at him, new streaks of flour had appeared on your face as you moved about the kitchen getting two different kinds of batter poured into the freshly oiled tins so all four could go into the oven. “Thank you so much, babe. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Not a big deal, sweet thing.” He shrugged as he walked in further looking around the kitchen as he walked towards the island bracing his arms against it. The air smelled sweet, like chocolate and sugar cookies. "You amaze me, you know that? I wouldn't have the patience for this."

"You have like an entire Rolodex of cocktails in your brain and you can learn a song just from listening to it." You giggled.

"Yeah, but a little extra booze doesn't ruin the drink. Too much salt can ruin an entire batch of cookies."

"I’ve done that.” You laughed, “When I was in school. They were awful." 

"You really like baking, don’t you?"

"I do. It was kinda the one thing I was good at. Everything has a set amount of ingredients and once you get those down it’s simple science. It helps to relieve my stress. Most of the time anyway, right now I’m about six orders behind. Tiffany being sick and Ada out of town has really fucked me up schedule-wise. Plus with Nana being sick I’ve been very scatterbrained.” You said wiping your forehead on your arm as you picked up two of the now cake batter-filled tins. “Can you grab that oven door for me?'' You gestured with a tin in your hand.

“Oh yeah,” Eddie said, grabbing the door and pulling it open for you to shove the cakes in. He knew your grandmother wasn’t doing well and he could see how it was affecting you. The heat of the oven blew his hair back a bit and he watched nervously as you placed the tins in, scared you would burn yourself. “Careful.” 

“I got it,” You chuckled. Looking at the top rack you grabbed the oven mitts from the magnet on the side and pulled the tray of cookies out. Turning the opposite way to not burn Eddie you placed the hot cookie sheet on a round corkboard to cool. Tossing the mitts on the counter you turned the heat up and changed the time on the oven before turning and grabbing the last two tins and shoving those inside with the others.

“Cookies out and cooling, cakes are in. What else?” You mutter to yourself as Eddie closes the oven watching you walk over to the board hanging on the wall. Grabbing the list you pull the pencil from behind your ear and cross off three items from your agenda. “Mrs. Webber wants two dozen blueberry muffins.” 

Looking up at the clock you see that it’s close to ten and you still need to frost three dozen cupcakes, decorate the sweet sixteen cake when it comes out of the oven and cools, and start a strawberry cheesecake. “Fuck. I’m going to be here forever.” 

“I can help Sweetheart,” Eddie said coming around the counter and placing his hand on the small of your back letting his fingers knead the muscles there. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

Groaning at the feel of his fingers massaging the tense muscles you closed your eyes for a moment just enjoying the attention, all you wanted was for him to take you upstairs and turn your brain to mush. But that would have to wait. Blinking you looked over at the rack of cupcakes for a seven year olds birthday party. “How do you feel about frosting and sprinkling cupcakes?”

Looking over to where the trays of marbled cupcakes sat he nodded. “I think I can handle that.”

“You need to wash your hands though.” You said, glancing down at his hands. “And put your hair up.”

Bringing his hands up, Eddie's eyebrows crinkled together as he looked at them. They looked pretty clean. Shrugging he pulled his long hair up into a bun that sat at the back of his head a few loose curls falling back into place to frame his face. “They're not even dirty.”

You took his wrists in your hands, sighing still stressed. “You were just up on a ladder fiddling around with dusty wiring. Dirty hands will contaminate the food and I don’t have time to remake them.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows at your tone and stared you down for a moment before he smiled. He enjoyed it when you were feisty.

“You may be dominant in the bedroom, Sir.” You said with a smug grin as you examined his hands before looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “But I am dominant in the kitchen. My bakery, my rules. Wash your hands please.”

Chuckling, Eddie leaned forward placing his face just inches away from yours. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Biting your lip, you let one hand drop and dragged him with the other towards the sink, turning the water on you pushed your hands under it before pumping some soap into your palms and looked up at him to follow your lead. A little giggle bubbled up as he pushed his hands under the water with you letting you drop a pump of soap onto his palms before you both washed the soap away. Grabbing the paper towels from the counter you handed him two sheets before grabbing your own and drying your hands before tossing it into the trash can. Leading him over to the cupcakes you grab one off the rack and hold it out to show him. “Okay, so. This is the easy stuff, not that I think you couldn’t do it if it was complicated, it's just tedious. All you have to do is take a cupcake, spread the frosting on, and then roll the top around in the sprinkles. Like this.” 

You demonstrate for him, taking the knife you scoop a good dollop of teal frosting onto it before spreading it around. “The frosting doesn’t have to look pretty so don’t worry too much about that.”

Placing the knife back in the frosting bowl you grab the bowl of sprinkles and put the top of the cupcake inside, rolling it around gently letting the sticky frosting coat itself in sugar sprinkles. “Once it looks completely coated just put it to the side. We can box them up later.”

You pointed to the resting area and gently placed the finished cupcake down, looking over at him with a smile. “That’s pretty much it.”

“I can definitely handle that babe,” Eddie said with a confident nod. 

“Then I will let you get to it. Those muffins aren’t going to bake themselves.” You laughed and turned to go but stopped and looked back at him, watching as he grabbed a cupcake. Lifting up on your tiptoes, you placed a kiss on his cheek before you placed your heels on solid ground again pressing your forehead into his shoulder. “Thank you, Sir. You’re saving my ass here.”

Eddie smiled down at you when you used his title. “I’m always here to help you, sweetheart. All you need to do is ask. Now check those cakes and start on the muffins baby.”

Giggling, you nodded. “Yes, Sir.” 

The two of you worked in peace with only the sounds of baking and music filling the room. After a check on the cakes, you took them out when they were ready and placed them off to the side to cool, moving the cookies from the sheets and onto a rack and placing the baking sheets in the large sink to wash later. Moving about your kitchen you grabbed the items you needed to make those blueberry muffins. A few minutes later Whitney Houstons “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” started up making you dance a little in your place mixing the wet ingredients with the dry ones to form a batter.

A groan came from the side of the kitchen where Eddie was stationed with a cupcake in his hand. “Not Whitney Houston.”

“Um no, none of that, you do not disrespect the Queen in my kitchen!” You cried feigning offense as you looked up at him. Grabbing a spatula from the counter still coated in the muffin batter, completely forgetting the task at hand, you used it as a microphone as you sang the song as loudly as possible to get under his skin. Laughing, you started to dance around the area looking at him as he watched you, chuckling at your antics. 

He knew he should get you back on track if you wanted to finish all your orders but just watching you let loose in this moment wasn’t something he wanted to end so quickly. He has seen so many sides of you in the last few months and yeah, he loved your submissive side. But this side, the goofy side, was his favorite. Leaning back against the counter he smiled as you got closer to him.

“Oh I wanna dance with somebody, I wanna feel the heat with somebody, yeah, I wanna dance with somebody. With somebody who loves me.” You sing as you point at him, doing a little twirl you sway your hips, and walk back to your spot tossing the spatula into the sink as you go. 

Back on the baking wagon it doesn’t take you long to whip up the muffins and put them in the still-hot oven before you look over to see Eddie is almost done with the cupcakes. Looking back up at the clock you yawn, shaking your head to wake you up as you gather the ingredients for that cheesecake.

“I heard that.” He said, turning to look over his shoulder at you. “Is that last order easy to make?”

You shrug letting out another yawn. “Kinda, it takes an hour to bake a cheesecake unfortunately, and it’s for an early morning pick up so I have to get it done tonight or Mr…” You grab the ticket to look at the name. “Lewis is going to be pissy and I don’t have the energy to deal with it. I can frost the lemon cake tomorrow morning since it’s for a late pick-up.”

“Tell you what,” Eddie said as he counted the last few cupcakes, there were only about four left. Taking a moment to step away from the cupcake corner he moved towards you letting his hand cup your cheek and brushing some flour off your face. Dropping a kiss to your forehead he looked into your eyes. “Let me finish up with these and I’ll help you with the cheesecake. We can clean up and box orders while it’s baking. Then we can get you to bed. Sound good?”

“Stay?” You ask, grabbing onto the hem of his shirt. 

“Yeah, baby.” Eddie nodded, kissing your forehead again. “I’ll stay. Let's finish up, yeah?”

With the two of you working together and you showing him how to do a few things, the last items on your list were done, either sitting on the counter to cool or in the oven. You laughed at the jokes Eddie was telling you as you packed up already completed orders, putting a few on the shelves and the ones that needed to be kept cool in the fridges. Once the cheesecake was finished you took a knife to the edges to keep it from sticking to the pan as it cooled and set it under a cover on the counter as you watched Eddie move around the kitchen and shop double checking locks on the doors and windows, switching off any lights still on as he did. Back at your side he grabbed your waist and turned you towards the stairs. 

“Let's get you to bed, sleepy girl,” Eddie said as he followed you up the stairs to your apartment. His hand was on your back making sure you were steady on the steps. Once at the top of the stairs he leaned over you to open the door and let you in first before closing it and flipping the lock in place as you shuffled to your room exhausted, pulling off your shoes and clothes and tossing them on the floor like a Hansel and Gretal bread trail for Eddie to follow. You had even gotten your bra off without taking off your shirt. Chuckling, he toed off his boots by your front door and followed you picking up your discarded clothes as he went until he was in the room with you and dropped them in the hamper by your dresser.

You had already collapsed horizontally across the foot of your bed in just a pair of panties and a camisole you had under your shirt, a groan leaving you as your eyes closed. With a shake of his head, Eddie got ready for bed tossing his clothes on the floor by your dresser before he moved over to you his hands rubbing up and down the backs of your thighs trying to coax you into bed like a normal person. Speaking softly he smiled down at you, “Come on baby. You’ll be more comfortable with your head on a pillow.”

Groaning you lift yourself up on tired arms and with Eddie’s help you crawled to the pillows before flopping down again. His little laugh made you smile into your pillow as you felt him pull the covers out from under you and slip into bed next to you tucking you both into the cool sheets. Sleepily, you waited for him to get situated, once he was you cuddled up to him letting him pull you closer so you could hear his heart beating in his chest. A happy sigh left you and you felt him kiss your head as sleep pulled you under. 

Eddie smiled as he watched you, your breathing becoming even as you fell deeper and deeper into your dreams, the hand that wasn’t around you was playing with a lock of your hair. In a quiet voice, he whispered, “I love you, sweetheart.”

Rolling over you cuddled deeper into Eddie’s arms, your hand resting right over his heart. Blinking you opened your eyes, feeling your hair move as he breathed out, his nose buried in your locks. Smiling a little you looked up at his sleeping face, he looked so cute. Placing a kiss on his chest you carefully lifted his arm so you could crawl out from under it leaving it on his chest as you sat up. The bathroom was calling you, getting off the bed slowly so as to not wake him, you pull off the gross day-old camisole and panties and grab his shirt off the floor pulling it on over your naked chest before you wandered into the bathroom to do your business. It’s while you’re brushing your teeth that you get an idea. You were going to make him breakfast. Carefully and as quietly as you could you slipped from the bathroom watching him to make sure he didn’t wake up and tip-toe out of the bedroom, heading into the kitchen to get everything you needed out of your cupboards to make cinnamon rolls.

You got to work, it was so easy for you now, you could do everything from muscle memory. Flour, sugar, brown sugar, cinnamon, salt, yeast, milk, butter, and eggs are all you needed. Prep was quick and soon you had a soft dough that you had kneaded to perfection and set aside to rest for a moment as you were getting the cinnamon sugar filling ready. Once that was done you grabbed the dough and started to roll it out into a large square on the counter. Not long after you had started that process, a pair of arms wrapped themselves around your waist from behind. 

“Hmm, didn’t scare you that time, I must be losing my touch.” Eddie chuckled as he placed his chin on your shoulder.

Laughing, you looked over at him dropping a kiss to his cheek before leaning over to grab the butter that you had left out to soften and a knife, scooping up a good glob to spread over the rolled-out dough. “Well, good morning. Sleep well?"

"Absolutely. Cuddling up with a pretty girl? The best sleep ever. Plus I got to wake up to you baking in nothing but my shirt. It's a good morning." He smiled, kissing the side of your neck. "Need any help?"

“Not with this. Think you can handle the coffee?” You eyed him over your shoulder.

“Can I handle the coffee?” He scoffed, before smacking you on the ass as he moved to the pot. “Just watch babe, this is going to be the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had. Oh, it was hot in the room so I opened your windows to get some air. Hope you don't mind."

The only thing he was starting to hate about this apartment was how hot it was getting with summer just on the horizon.

“That's fine.” You chuckled as you got back to work dragging the knife around to spread the butter then added the brown sugar and cinnamon to the dough using your hands to spread it evenly. Moving to your sink, you do a quick scrub of your hands, drying them on a towel before you start rolling the dough into a long cylinder, grabbing the little plastic pack of unflavored floss you rip off a good strip and push it under the dough, carefully cutting it into 12 little rounds, before placing them evenly into the pan you had previously greased. Placing a clean towel over them you backed away. "Those need to rise for about an hour."  

To make it easier on yourself later you mill about your kitchen cleaning up the mess, wiping down the counter, putting bowls and utensils in the sink to wash, and throwing away the bit of floss and other trash. You felt him watching you the entire time. "I hope you like cinnamon rolls."

“Love cinnamon rolls. Don't worry about the dishes. I got 'em.” He said as he finished the coffee prep and turned it on to brew. He waved you away as you started washing, physically moving you by placing his hands on your waist.

“No, it’s okay. Most of these are from yesterday anyway.” You laughed shaking your head but let him move you.

“You just took the time to make us cinnamon rolls from scratch. I can do the dishes, I don’t care how long they’ve been sitting there.” With his hands on your waist, he lifted you up with ease placing you on the counter by the sink, his hands caging you in as he placed them by your thighs on the counter pushing your legs apart to stand between them. “Now you sit your pretty ass here while I get these dishes done.”

You playfully glared at him and gave him a little salute. “Yes, sir.” You said with slight sarcasm. Yelping a little as he slapped your thigh with just enough force to get his point across. 

“You were being so good. Don't make me punish you this early in the morning.” He said with a smirk and narrowed eyes as he moved away to clean up the dishes in your sink.

“So I realized that I never actually asked this,” You said, with a giggle pulling a thread at the hem of his shirt. “But why aren’t you guys on the road right now? It’s been months of you guys just living in the bar.”

“Well, we had just finished a world tour and all agreed that it was time for a break. We've pretty much been nonstop since we got big. Wanting to kinda play catch up with all the big names, never wanting to be the problem band, we just kept saying yes to anything they threw at us and never really stopped. It was a lot of tours, albums, interviews, and music videos. Then we bought the bar about four years into this weird fame we had found ourselves in. Then there was all the construction, permits, paint colors, wood flooring, and all of that to deal with. It was just a lot. But Gareth was getting married, Jeff and Lizzy wanted some time to just be a couple, Brandon had that family reunion he wanted to go to and I was just burnt out.” Eddie said as he scrubbed at a bowl. “Just needed some time to decompress and be normal for a while. Ya know?” 

You nodded in understanding. You were thankful for this little break, you would have never met him if it didn’t happen. “I get that.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as you watched him finish the dishes and dried his hands on a towel. He moved towards you caging you in again as he leaned in for a kiss. “You’re beautiful you know that. Bedhead and all.”

You giggle as you wrap your arms around his neck placing your forehead against his. Your legs wrapped around his boxer-clad hips pulling him closer to you. “So are you. Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”

Eddie smiled, “How long did you say those cinnamon rolls would need to rise?” 

“About an hour and that was maybe ten, fifteen minutes ago... We have a bit of free time. Why?”

His smile turned into a smirk as he grabbed your waist and flipped you over his shoulder holding onto the backs of your thighs with a firm grip as he took you back to your room. It’s not the first time he’s done this but you’re amazed every time that he can hold your weight. ”I wanna have a little fun with you.”

Laughing, you risk the chance of punishment and reach down along his naked ink-covered back, giving his ass a good slap before he can deposit you on your bed. You bounced on the mattress when he threw you down gently. You love how he can just manhandle you like that. 

“That was cute. But that's your one.” He said, holding up a finger with a smirk. “Next time you're getting your ass beat with my belt. I know how much you hate that.” 

You pouted at him which just made him chuckle before he pounced on you practically ripping his shirt in the process of getting it off of you.

“Good morning ladies,” He said to your breasts as he cups them in his large hands, his thumb and index fingers squeezing your nipples into little erect buds in greeting. 

You moaned a little when he brought his plush lips to one of your nipples, his tongue swirling around it. You found your hands on his hair and you were surprised when he let you stay there. He usually pinned your arms down but you weren't going to complain if he just let you hold on to him. A whine left your lips when he bit into the soft flesh using his tongue to soothe the abused bud. You huffed as he switched to the other side, never one to leave all his attention on only one of his favorite things for too long. You felt the heat start to simmer in your belly as little shots of pleasure went straight to your core. You needed him. Bad. “Oh... Sir please.” 

“Nuh-uh,” Eddie said popping his mouth off your breast before he crawled up over you a bit to be face-to-face with you. “No, Sir today. Today, I'm just Eddie. I like hearing you call my name.” 

“Eddie,” You sighed as you ran your hands through his hair bringing him closer to you so you could kiss him. “Eddie. Fuck me. Please? I need you. Please.”

“Shit baby,” He laughed as he kissed the tip of your nose. “When you beg so pretty like that how can I not?”

You smiled up at him as he leaned back straddling your waist for a moment before he moved off you to remove his boxers and toss them on the floor. You laid back on your bed getting comfortable as he pulled open the drawer of your nightstand where he has stashed away some condoms. Looking over at him you licked your lips as you watched him pump his fist up and down his length a few times before you held your arms open for him. “Come here, big boy.”

He smiled at you as he climbed onto the bed again laying next to you, placing the condom on your stomach as a way to tease you, a promise that it will be used, before pulling you close with the arm that slipped under your shoulders, letting his free hand caress and grip your tits, going back to abusing your nipples before moved his hand up and he ran his thumb across your bottom lip. “Open up for me, Princess.”

You obeyed, your lips parting as your bottom jaw dropped down so Eddie could shove his fingers into your mouth, your tongue getting to work, twirling and licking at the digits for a few moments before he moved them down where you wanted them most. You huffed a little laugh as he swung one of his legs over yours and pulled it towards him so he could easily get between your thighs.

Widening the space for him you hummed at the first touch of his wet fingers against your folds, he stayed there for a moment just letting his fingers play and collect the slick that was starting to drip from you. He could play you like a fiddle at this point. He was the only one that could get you this wet this fast, whatever magic he used you prayed to whoever was listening that he never stopped using it.

“Gotta get you ready,” He mumbled into your skin as he kissed your forehead. “Don’t want to hurt you now do I pretty girl?”

You shook your head as your hands reached up to pull his face down to your lips so you could kiss him as he pushed his now-soaked fingers into you, pushing and pulling in and out until he felt you relax into his touch. His lips caught your moans as he kissed you, his tongue invading the space between your lips to dance with your own. 

Eddie took his time, working you open and winding you up until he was satisfied and he pulled away, carefully laying you back against your rumpled bedding as he kissed his way down your body to settle between your legs. Grasping his cock in one hand he tore open the condom package with his teeth and rolled the latex down his shaft, rubbing the tip of it against your wet pussy, coating the rubber with your slick before he settled it at your entrance and gently pushed in. 

Your back arched as he settled inside of you letting you get accustomed to how full he was made you feel. God, he always felt so fucking good. His hands grabbed your hips as he started to move his hips thrusting slowly as he watched your face, the look of complete ecstasy on your features was enough to make him cum right then. But he wanted to draw this out a bit. 

It was the slowest, softest, sex you’ve ever had with him and you loved it. You loved the tie me up, tie me down, tease me, and make it rough sex but this was like a breath of fresh air for you both as you just enjoyed the feeling of other, but you needed more. You rolled your hips and clenched down on him making him grunt as his hips stuttered a little. “Careful baby, keep doing that and this’ll end sooner than we want.”

“I want you to cum.” You moaned as his tip hit that spot that made you melt. “Wanna feel it. Eddie, baby, please. Faster. Want you to cum for me..”

“Jesus fuck,” He muttered as he leaned over you capturing your lips with his. One arm braced against the bad as he leaned over you while the other drifted down to play with your clit. Circling that little bud just the way you liked, the way that made your hips buck up against him causing him to go just a little deeper. 

“Eddie!” You whined, a little too loudly, as he played with you. You were being pushed closer and closer to that edge but he was dragging it out driving you crazy.

“Shhh,” Eddie said with a chuckle. “Not so loud baby, your windows are open. Do you want all your customers to hear what a good girl you're being for me?”

You shook your head, no you didn't want them to hear you. You wouldn't be able to look them in the eye if they did.

“Then you have to be quiet,” Eddie smirked, dropping kisses and little nips to your neck. “Only I get to hear you fall apart. You're my good girl, yeah?”

You nodded a small uh huh falling from your lips.

“I want you to-oh shit- say it.” He said as he sped up, the tip of him continuously hitting that perfect spot in you, driving you higher and higher as he went faster and faster. “Say-say you’re my good girl.”

“I-I’m your good girl,” You gasped out, your back arching off the bed as the coil inside you twisted so tightly it was about to break. Just saying those words almost made you lose it. You were so fucking close. “Gonna cum. Shit. F-fuck. Eddie. Eddie!”

“Go on baby, cum for me. Cum all over me.” Eddie moaned, burying his face into the spot between your shoulder and neck and biting down on it to cover his own groans of pleasure when you both fell together. The feeling of his dick twitching inside you filling the condom up with his warmth made you slap your hand over your mouth to cover your loud moaning as you convulsed under him, your hips rolling as he continued to thrust brokenly, both of you riding out your highs. "Oh fuck. That's it. That's my girl. Such a good fucking girl for me baby."

Your hand slipped from your lips and you buried it in his hair as his forehead fell to your sternum. His name whispered into the air like a prayer. His weight on you felt amazing and all you wanted to do was stay like this forever. Both of you groaned as Eddie pulled out of you so he could get comfortable laying down between your legs. For a few minutes, it was quiet between you two, just the sounds of the outside and your heavy breathing, but Eddie’s muffled voice broke through the silence and made you look down at him. “What?”

He looked up at you then, nervousness clear in his eyes, you didn’t like that. Eddie wasn’t nervous, he was cocky and charming, but not nervous. Taking your hand in his he kissed the back of it and pulled it to his chest. “Be my girlfriend?”

A bright smile spread across your features as you grabbed his face pulling him up to kiss him. Pushing your forehead against his you nod as a laugh left you. “Yes, absolutely yes!” 

The smile on Eddie’s face was enough to make your heart beat faster in your chest. “My girl.”

“My boy.” You whisper as you rub your nose against his. “We should get up baby. I have cinnamon rolls to make you.”

“Oh fuck yeah!” Eddie whooped as he sat up on his knees pulling you with him. “I got myself a girl that can cook! Shit, I’m gonna have to start running or something and I hate running.”

Laughing, you push him away from you a little as you got situated on the edge of the bed, you bite your lip as you watch him walk to the bathroom to get rid of the condom and grab a washcloth for you. Your head was cocked to the side as you not so subtly stared at his still naked form. Your hot-ass rockstar dom boyfriend. 

“Whatcha staring at babe?” Eddie smirked as he walked back to you washcloth in hand. Pushing your torso back onto the bed he chuckled as he opened your legs to clean you up.

“Just my super sexy boyfriend.” 

“Super sexy?”

“The sexiest.” You smile, letting him wipe you down before he helps you back up and you move toward your dresser to grab some clean underwear and clothes. Eddie was by your side in an instant after tossing the washcloth in the bathroom and opening the drawer you had cleared out for him a month ago so he could grab some of his own clean clothes. He was at your place enough you felt it right for him to have his own space.

Once dressed you kiss his shoulder as you walked by and head into the kitchen to finish up those cinnamon rolls. Preheating the oven and grabbing two mugs from your cabinet and pouring the coffee for you and Eddie. Setting his on the counter for him as he came out and smiled at you while you fix up yours the way you like. Taking a sip of the brew you made a noise as the oven beeped telling you it was ready. Placing your mug down you grabbed the tray of cinnamon rolls and opened the oven shoving the treat into the hot cavern and closed the door. Setting a timer you grab your mug again and lean on the island counter to enjoy that buzz of the coffee and the afterglow of a good orgasm. 

Soon the scent of cinnamon was filling your apartment as you placed your mug down to start on the cream cheese frosting. Whipping that up quickly you laughed as Eddie walked up behind you, leaning around to grab a finger full of the topping, and chuckled when you go to slap his hand away but miss and the icing-covered finger popped into his mouth. A shocked laugh left you. “Eddie!”

He smirked and kissed your cheek making an obnoxious sloppy kiss noise that made you laugh more. Chuckling, he backed away to let you work but his eyes never left you. You. His girlfriend, his sub, god he loved you. He had no problem admitting it to himself but god help him if he had to say it out loud, it was too soon. But he’s known for months how he felt. Smiling to himself he took a sip of his coffee and looked at the timer as it beeped. “I got it.”

“Thank you,” You smiled as you finished up the icing and smiled at him. Soon the rolls were covered in sticky icing and both of you had a plate of the warm gooey treat. Taking a seat at your dining table you got comfortable with your legs up on Eddie’s thigh as he rubbed your calf. You licked your fingers clean as you chewed on a piece, a hum of contentedness leaving you. “Damn, I’m good.”

“Oh, so humble.” He smiled as he ate his own piece. 

You stick your tongue at him as your landline started to ring. Wiping your hands on a napkin you carefully moved your legs off Eddie and stood up making your way over to the phone. Picking it up you placed it to your ear. “Hello?”

Eddie turned in his seat so he could watch you but his heart started to thud in his chest when the happy expression on your face fell and he stood up walking over to you in concern. 

“What? Is she okay?” You muttered into the phone, tears starting to collect in your eyes. “I'll leave right no- oh… okay. Well, um. Thank you for letting me know Evelyn. I’ll be by the hospital to see her later today... Bye.”

Taking a deep breath you hung up the phone and stared at the wall for a moment. You thought she was doing better… 

“Baby?” Eddie asked his hand landing gently on your back. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Nana’s been sick.” You sniffled looking around, feeling a little lost. “She seemed to be doing okay recently but she was rushed to the hospital last night. But they aren't allowing visitors yet. So I can't see her.”

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry.” He said pulling you to his chest. There goes the peaceful morning you were having. 

You had left a few hours after that phone call the need to see your grandmother was driving you crazy. That was a few days ago and he hadn't seen much of you but Eddie understood. Your grandmother was important to you, he wasn't about to get mad about the lack of attention. Steve even took a few days off. You and Steve needed to be there for her. He just hoped for your sake she was gonna stick around for a little longer.

Eddie stood leaning back against the bar counter cleaning a glass, barely listening to Gareth as he told him about an idea he had for the next campaign when the phone rang bringing him out of his thoughts. Sighing he put the cup down and flipped the rag in his hand over his shoulder, holding up at hand to get Gareth to quiet down, before he grabbed the phone. "Hellfire."

“May I speak to Mr. Munson please?” An older tired female voice cracked over the line. He could hear beeping and other noises in the background. 

Narrowing his eyes Eddie braced his empty hand on the counter. “Speaking.”

“Mr. Munson my name is Margaret Y/L/N. I'm Y/N and Steve’s grandmother.” She coughed then making Eddie stand up straight a tingle going down his spine. Why would your grandmother be calling him?

“Are you alright?” He asked concerned, that cough didn’t sound good.  

“Fine, thank you.” She sighed as she cleared her throat. “I was wondering Mr. Munson, when you get a moment if you could come and meet with me? I have a favor to ask you.”

“What kind of favor?” Eddie asked as he checked his pocket for his keys and wallet. He would go right now if that’s what she wanted. 

“It’s for Y/N.” She said quietly like it was a secret. 

“Is now a good time? I don’t have anything I need to do.”

“That’s perfect actually.” She agreed. “I’m at IU Health University Hospital. Room four, eight, four, nine on the West side.” 

“I’ll leave right now. See you soon.” Eddie said as they made quick goodbyes. Looking up at Gareth, he pulled the rag from his shoulder, dropped it on the counter, and moved around the bar quickly, heading towards the front door. “I’m going out.” 

“Everything okay?” Gareth asked as he looked up from the paper he was working on. 

“Yeah. Just something I gotta do. Don't destroy the place while I’m gone, ya?” 

“No promises,” Gareth yelled back as the front door closed.

“What was that about?” Jeff asked as he peeked his head out of the kitchen.

“No idea.” Gareth shrugged.

Eddie stood in the elevator nervously watching as the number ticked higher until he was at the floor he needed. Fuck he hated hospitals, the overly clean smell assaulted his senses as he walked from the elevator out onto the floor. Looking at the plaques on the wall he was able to find Room 4849 fairly easily. Peeking his head inside he knocked on the door of the room announcing his presence. "Mrs. Y/L/N?"

“You must be Eddie.” Your grandmother said as she looked him over. Assessing him. He scuffed his boot against the linoleum floor feeling like a child in trouble. 

“That would be me.” He nodded, shoving his hand into the pockets of his jeans to keep from fiddling with the rings he had on his fingers. He walked farther into the room and stopped a few feet away from her bed. She was smaller than he imagined, frail, definitely sick. Wires and tubes were attached to her chest and arms tracking her vitals as the nasal cannula supplied her air. But she was still the same woman in all your photos. The person you loved the most. “It's nice to finally meet you. Y/N talks about you a lot. I see where she gets her good looks from.” 

“I can see why she likes you.” Nana smiled as she pointed to the chair next to her bed. “You're quite the charmer. She talks about you too you know. I know all about the great Eddie Munson the rockstar.” 

He chuckled as he took the seat, getting as comfortable as he could in this uncomfortable situation he found himself in. “I'm not that great.”

“I see fame hasn't gone to your head. That's a plus.” She laughed a bit, turning her head to cough. Clearing her throat she looked over at him. “Now I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you here.”

“That did cross my mind.” He nodded with a smile as his leg started to bounce. 

She sat in silence for a moment before she took a breath and looked over at him with sad tired eyes. “I'm dying, Mr. Munson. There's no reason to hide it. I'm scared that after I’m gone my son will use it as a way to get Y/N to do what he wants. And he'll start by taking away one of the things she loves the most.”

“The bakery…” He knew it instantly. You loved that place. It was your heart and soul. You worked so hard to keep it running like a well-oiled machine. It made his blood boil just thinking about it being taken away from you. 

“The bakery.” Nana nodded, coughing a little as she took a deep breath. “Now Y/N owns the company but I own the building that Sugar Cloud is in… My grandchildren tell me you own a bar. So you know something about property management.” 

“I do,” He nodded. 

“Mr. Mun-Eddie. Is it alright if I call you Eddie?” When he nodded with a quiet ‘please do’, she continued. “I would like to sell you the building the bakery is in. My only request is that you allow Y/N to continue to work and live there.” 

Blinking, Eddie sat up straight, confusion settled on his features. Sell him the building? “Why me? Why not just let Y/N have it?” 

“One thing you need to learn right now if you are going to be in Y/N’s life is the fact that my son is a selfish bastard. If something doesn't benefit him he wants nothing to do with it. He hates the bakery and always has. It's something Y/N has that he can't control and if given the opportunity he will sell it out from under her and she will lose everything. But if someone outside of the family owns the building he can't touch it.” 

“Should we tell Y/N?”

“That would be up to you. She’ll just offer to buy it from you.”

Eddie nodded his head slowly, the gears turning. It was a no-brainer he would do anything for you and if that meant spending a shit ton of cash to let you keep your home and business then so be it. “I'll do it, I'll buy the building. I’ll tell her at some point. I don’t want her to stress about it right now.” 

She sighed in relief, a small happy smile on her face that quickly turned into one of worry as she looked down at her hands in her lap. “Thank you, Eddie. I worry about what will happen to them, my grandchildren, when I'm gone. Chippy, I'm sorry Steve, can handle himself but he needs support and an understanding ear. Y/N, I'm afraid, will be railroaded by my son. Do not let her be pushed around.”

“I won't.” He shook his head. “I promise. I'll take care of both of them.” 

“I know you will. You are a good friend Eddie. I can see why Y/N loves you.” 

“She loves me?” He gave a surprised chuckle. His heart beat a little faster in his chest.

“You tell her I said anything and I'll deny it,” Nana said, pointing at him with a shaky finger. “I know my Birdie. She loves you. Just give her some time.” 

“I will.” He nodded.

The two of them sat and chatted for a little longer. Just getting a feel for the other, it almost felt like Nana was still sizing him up to see if he was good enough for you. He won her over in the end, even getting her to laugh a few times. Eddie liked your grandmother; she was quick-witted and funny. He was sad that he probably wouldn't see her again after this. He smiled a bit when Nana handed over a piece of paper that had the information for the real estate lawyer that would take care of the transfer of the deed. Eddie put it in his wallet for safekeeping. When he left he took her hand promising once again to take care of you and then he was off.

Giving her a little wave Eddie stepped from the room and headed down the hall, his head in the clouds as he thought about what was going to happen now when he passed an older man and almost knocked into him. “Oh shit, sorry man.” 

“Watch where you’re going!” The man snapped as he fixed his suit jacket. 

Raising an eyebrow at the well-dressed older man, Eddie watched him walk away before he shook his head and went to the elevator. He didn't notice him walk into your grandmother's room. He had almost collided with your father but he brushed the interaction off; he had a guy to call and a building to buy.

Between the bakery and helping your grandmother get comfortable back in her room at your father's home, you didn’t have much time to see Eddie and it made you feel incredibly guilty. You had just started a relationship with him and then you basically vanished off the planet. Steve tells you that Eddie understands and he’s sticking around, all you had to do was call if you needed him and he would be there in minutes. That made your chest bloom with warmth, you loved that man. 

Over the next few days, Nana’s health started to decline even more. The real estate lawyer had called and informed her that Eddie had gone through with his promise and bought the building; knowing that you would be protected in at least one aspect of your life, she was ready. Your grandmother passed away in her sleep two weeks after her talk with Eddie. She went in the comfort of her own room with you and Steve by her side. 

You weren't handling it well. Over the next week, you had thrown yourself into your work, or cleaning your home, or your office, or Eddie’s home, hell you have even washed your car at least three times, anything to keep your mind off the fact that she wasn’t just a phone call or a drive away anymore. And sleep well, that didn’t come easy.

It was the night before the funeral when Eddie rolled over in your bed, his arm reaching out to pull you closer so he could cuddle you. He knew you needed more love now than ever and he was more than willing to give it to you, but when his hand landed on cool sheets he sat up on his elbow looking at the empty space next to him. You had been up for a while it seems. Wiping the sleep from his eyes he looked around the room, you weren't in bed and you weren’t in the bathroom. So where were you? That’s when he noticed light coming from under the closed bedroom door and pushed the blankets off his legs so he could go to you. The closer he got to the door the more he could hear what was happening on the other side. You were crying. 

Frowning, Eddie opened the door slowly so as to not startle you and moved into the dining room so he could comfort you. A cup of water was in your hand as you sat at the dining room table the only light coming from the kitchen, giving him some way to see you. “Oh, baby. How long have you been up?”

Sniffling you shrugged, “I don't know. I’m so tired but I can’t sleep.”

You looked up at him with watery red eyes as he placed a hand gently on your back rubbing it softly as more tears ran a familiar path down your cheeks. Your face crumbled when he moved a lock of hair from your face. In a stuttering whisper, you muttered, “I m-miss her so m-much.” 

“I know, sweetheart,” He shushed you as he wrapped you up in his arms letting you cry into his stomach as you clutched onto his sides. “I know. I'm so sorry.”

He let you cry a little longer just holding you as you sobbed, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head every once in a while. After a while he reached his hand out and grabbed the cup of water leaning back a bit so he could see you better he offered you the cup. “Drink some of this baby.”

With a stuttering breath, you leaned back wiping your face with your hands before you carefully took the glass and brought it to your lips, taking slow steady sips. His hand went to the back of your head his nimble fingers massaging your scalp a little to soothe you. Once you were done he took the glass from you, placed it on the table, and helped you up. “I know it’s hard but you have to try and sleep baby. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.” 

“I know,” You nodded and let him guide you back into bed before he left again to turn out the kitchen light and he was back quickly. He slid in next to you, pulled the covers up to your chin, and wrapped his arms around you again getting you comfortable enough to hopefully sleep. Quietly he started to hum, it was a song you recognized and just the sound of his voice was enough to lull you to sleep as he started to sing under his breath. 

“You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off of you…”

The morning came too soon and it brought the annoying sound of your alarm blaring into existence. Groaning you rolled over practically throwing your clock against the wall to shut it up. You felt Eddie’s arms tighten around you as he kissed the back of your neck. Sighing, you looked over your shoulder at him. “We have to get up. Need to grab Steve and Robin on the way to the church.”

Eddie nodded and let you go so you could get ready. He watched as you got off the bed looking more tired than you did last night as you staggered to the bathroom. Wiping his hand down his face he looked over to the window that faced out onto the street and sighed before he got up. He knew there wasn’t much he could do but be here for you but he wished he could take your heartbreak away. Moving to the closet he pull out the nice suit and tie that he had brought with him for the funeral. When you asked him to come he didn’t hesitate to say yes. He knew you would need him today, Steve was bringing Robin for support so it was only fair that you bring him. Plus he promised Nana that he would take care of both you and Steve. Placing the suit on your bed he moved back to the closet and pulled out the black dress you were planning on wearing and placed it on the bed next to his suit. 

He looked up at you as you walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later looking a little more put together with your hair and makeup done in a subtle but pretty way. Walking up to you he cupped your cheek and gave a peck to your nose before he traded spaces with you leaving you to get dressed as he went to the bathroom to get ready. Once he was freshly shaved and his hair pulled into a bun at the back of his head he wandered back into the bedroom to see you sitting on the bed in your pretty black dress, putting your black heels on. The same heels you wore to the bar on New Year's. Eddie dressed quickly, letting you straighten his tie once it was around his neck so it gave you something to do rather than just sit there idly. Grabbing his keys and wallet off your dresser he turned to you. “I’ll drive okay?”

You nodded and took his hand letting him lead you to the front door and down to the empty kitchen. You had closed the shop today, not in the mood to deal with the hustle and bustle of the normally busy bakery. He held the back door open letting you out first and closed it behind him locking it with the spare key you had given him. Leading you to his car he opened the door for you, helping you in, and putting your seatbelt on for you like he always did. He was in the driver's seat in a flash and soon you were both on the road to Hellfire to pick up Steve and Robin before you were back on the highway towards Indianapolis to say goodbye to your grandmother.

You went through the motions at the church greeting and thanking all the people that came to say goodbye to your grandmother. You wanted to cry, but at this point, you weren't sure you had enough water in your system to produce them so you stood there stoically between your father and Steve when all you wanted to do was sit with Eddie and let him hold you. You felt your father seething silently next to you, he wasn’t happy with you. The look on his face, when you introduced Eddie, was one of anger and recognition. They had seen each other before. But you didn’t know where. You tried not to let it bother you but the curiosity was eating you up inside. You glanced over at Eddie to see him give you a small wave. You gave a sad little smile back.

Eddie was watching you from the pew he sat in with Robin, she was fiddling with her hands, she hated funerals but she was here to support Steve and you. His eyes moved over the line of your family greeting everyone as they entered. He recognized your father as the guy he almost ran into that day at the hospital when he met with your grandmother and he knew by the look on your father's face that he was pissed. Eddie being there threw some kind of wrench in his little game with the Malloys and that didn’t sit well. His eyes moved around the church until they stopped on Peter Malloy. The man was shocked when you introduced Eddie as your boyfriend and the handshake he received was one that showed his frustrations. He expected to see Peter staring at you but instead, he was glaring at Eddie. Eddie narrowed his eyes at Peter almost daring him to start something. But he wouldn’t. He knew that. This wasn’t the time and place for a fight, he wouldn’t embarrass the families like that. 

Soon it was time for the funeral to start, both you and Steve joined him and Robin in the pew, you tucking yourself under Eddie’s arm. Your father looked over at you with narrowed eyes before he turned around and the priest started to speak. You felt Eddie squeeze your shoulder in reassurance, with him here your father wouldn’t say shit to you, he would make sure of it.

The funeral was progressing as planned, the priest spoke, saying kind words and prayers, family, friends, and people you didn’t know all got up one by one to talk about what a lovely person your grandma was. With every person, your eyes narrowed until you just closed them and leaned into Eddie more, you were positive Nana didn’t even like half the people here. If any more of these fake ass people told you ‘I'm sorry for your loss’ one more time you were going to lose it. Throughout the entire funeral, you didn’t look at the casket. You couldn't. It would make it real. 

The church part of the funeral ended and you watched as Steve and a few of the other men in your family, your father included, carried the coffin out into the waiting hearse before you were all ushered into your cars to follow it to the cemetery. Your stepmother waved you towards the limo they had rented but you shook your head and walked back to Eddie’s car, you weren't going to step foot in that car, your father was already mad at you, and you didn’t want to give him the space to yell at you. Not today. With the four of you now back in Eddie’s car, Steve refused the limo as well, you followed the hearse to the cemetery. The rest of the day goes on without a hitch and you had to admit you always thought the spot your grandparents chose to be buried was beautiful. There was a nice big tree that covered them in shade, and a pretty stone bench right under it, plus the view was beautiful, you could see right into the heart of the city. At night all those lights would look magical. 

You had barely paid attention to anyone that wasn’t Eddie, Steve, or Robin all day, and when you finally looked up your eyes quickly caught on Peters. Why the Malloys were here you didn’t know. Your grandmother wasn’t a fan of them. She didn’t like this game your father was playing and she made it known. But Peter was glaring at Eddie. How long had he been doing that? Did he think you bringing Eddie was some sort of slight against him? A way to show that you were indeed not interested in him? If so good. Maybe he’ll get it and continue to leave you alone. You looked up at Eddie as he passed you a rose to put on Nana’s coffin and as the line of mourners went by you waited until you were one of the last people to put your flower with the others. Your hand found Eddie’s as he walked with you and together you placed your roses. “Goodbye Nana.”

There was to be a reception with food and drinks at your father's house after the funeral, but all you wanted was to just go back to Hellfire and have a drink; forget today ever happened but you also knew your father would have a fit. So Eddie convinced you to go just to save yourself the ear full you would get over the phone. As you pulled up into the large driveway you looked over at Eddie as he whistled. “Damn, this is your house?”

“My dads but yeah,” You nodded as you got out of the car. “This is where I grew up.”

“It’s so fancy,” Robin said as she looked around giving Steve a little smile. “Why isn’t your parent's house this fancy?”

“Have you seen Hawkins? This would look like a castle out there.”

Taking Eddie’s hand again you pointed to the left side of the house towards the backyard as the four of you walked up the front steps. “My old room is on that side of the house. You can see the entire backyard from it.”

“I would love to see it,” Eddie smirked as he pulled you close. “Wanna see all the New Kids on the Block posters you have on those walls.”

“Oh, those are long gone.” You chuckled a little, your first laugh in days. “Replaced them with a better band.”

“Oh?” Eddie smiled, he had missed your laugh. “Got posters of a cool new band up there?”

“Mhm!” You nodded. “My favorite band… The Red Hot Chilli Peppers. Dave Navarro is so hot. I was so sad when he left.”

Eddie practically fell over his hand on his heart. “Please say sike…”

Sticking your tongue out at him you opened the door and ushered them in. “You know I love Corroded Coffin. So hush.”

“You are just asking for a spanking baby,” Eddie muttered in your ear as he walked by you. You hadn’t been in the best headspace to play and whenever you tried to initiate it, Eddie had gently pushed you into just cuddling. You were upset at the time but after a long talk with Eddie about it, you understood and appreciated it. He was always looking out for you. 

“Maybe,” You shrugged. “Keep that in your back pocket for a little while.”

“Oh, I will.” He nodded with a smile at you. “I got a tally going.”

“Fuck.” You mutter as you walk into the house. You needed a drink. 

You were successful in avoiding your father and the Malloys for most of the reception but that came to an end when your dad found you speaking with an old friend of Nana’s. Eddie had wandered off to find a bathroom leaving to speak with the lady. “Mrs. Anderson, thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me.” The older woman said as she gave him a little smile. “Your mom was such a lovely person.”

“She really was.” He nodded with a sad smile. “Would you mind if I stole my daughter for a moment?”

“Of course not.” She shook her head and gave your arm a pat. “I’m sorry for your loss dear.”

“Thank you.” You said and she waddled away, your dad's hand came up and gripped your elbow tightly. Keeping your arm close to him so no one would see he ushered you quickly into the library, closing the door behind you sighed as you pulled your arm away from him. “What?”

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“Excuse me?” You asked looking at him with confusion. 

“Bringing that man with you?” Your father's face was completely red at this point. You knew he was pissed but to yell at you at the reception with all these people around who could hear? He was being bold. “Did you do this to just rub it in Peter's face?”

“On today of all days, you’re worried about Peter?” You snapped, “I’m sorry if my boyfriend, who is here to support me, has thrown your plans out the window. What? Did you expect me to just fall all over Peter in grief?”

“I expected you to behave better.” He snarled. “You’ve barely spoken to the Malloys and I have been fielding questions all day about the two-bit rockstar my daughter brought with her. I know who he is! I saw him on those posters you had in your room!”

“He’s not a two-bit rockstar!” You hissed. “He’s an award-winning musician and a great fucking person, who by the way has shown me more love and care about Nana dying than you have!” 

“Is that it? Is this some way to get back at me? You think I don’t care about how you’re feeling so you whore yourself out to the first man that looks your way?”

“Hey!” 

Your head snapped to the left to see that the library door had been opened and Eddie stood there looking pissed with Steve and Robin behind him. You breathed a sigh of relief and practically ran to him when he held his hand out to you. “Babe... it’s okay...”

“No, it’s not okay,” He muttered, shaking his head, making sure you understood that fact before he turned to your father, pushing you behind him.

"Excuse me but this is a private conversation between my daughter and myself."

"I don’t give a fuck about your conversation. You could be the goddamn Queen of England for all I care and I'll still interrupt you cause you don't talk to people like that. And you sure as shit don’t get to talk to her like that.”

“Eddie, baby, let’s just go… please?” You ask putting your hand on his shoulder. You just wanted to get out of there.

“Yeah, okay.” He nodded with a glare to your father before he turned around and pulled you close making sure you were okay as the four of you walked to the front door and out of the house towards home. 

“Oscar,” Your father said as he glared at the spot you were all just standing at. 

“Yes, Sir?” Oscar asked as he came around the door frame, he was never too far from your father in case something was needed. 

“I need you to do some digging.” He muttered as he looked over at him. “Find me anything and everything you can on Eddie Munson. He’s in the way and I need him gone.”

“Yes, Sir,” Oscar said with a nod as he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. He had work to do.

Tag List:

@eddiesprincess86 @haylaansmi

[desperatemeasures-if]

Care to tell us some facts about the ROs?

I don’t mind at all! I already shared some facts for Stevie here!

Heather Grant

Has two dogs named Shadow and Ghost— Shadow being a Black German Shepherd and Ghost being a White German Shepherd.

Like I’ve mentioned, Heather tends to stick to herself, and her dogs, but she knows how to work a room when it comes to her parents social events— something she’s been trained to do since she was young. Though, she’d like nothing more to be far away from said events.

Painting and music are some of her greatest passions in life. One of the few things that make the world seem less hectic somehow.

Loves to bake but she absolutely adores decorating cakes— she volunteered at a little bakery during her teen years.

Doesn’t have many people she’s close with, many have simply used her for her status, but there are a select few that she can confidently say she trusts. I’m excited for you to meet them.

Damien Frost

Originally wanted to become a Lawyer, but went to got talked into going to a training seminar for potential recruits for the Academy. He absolutely fell in love and hasn’t looked back since.

Has only just recently earned his spot of being a detective, which is part of the reason he’s willing to try so hard to prove himself. Plus, he wants to get justice for the victim.

When he’s not at work, and it’s the appropriate season, he volunteers as a coach for his nephew’s little league team. Pizza parties are a given whenever they win.

Can be quite oblivious at times, depending on the situation, and it took his Captain a good couple of minutes to make it stick that Damien had been promoted… Vote of confidence right there.

Absolutely adores cats.

Gabriel/Gabriella DeLuca

Fluently speaks Italian and enjoys conversing with their mother about her time back in Italy. It’s a country that holds a special place in their heart and they always try to visit every few years.

Despite their reputation, they’ve been in two serious relationships. Both crashed and burned horrifically, but it’s not something they’re incapable of. It’s just something they choose not to do.

Joined the Vipers to help take care of their ailing mother— though they always say it’s because of the sweet tattoo and the Vipers credibility— but you’ve been around them long enough to know how much they care for her.

Is quite the sharpshooter, having a keen eye that let’s few things slip by.

Their Viper tattoo is located on their right shoulder blade.

Leon/Lena Prince

Has been the boss for the Southside Dragons for the last two years— something that happened on the down low because it was a switch that they didn’t wish to have a great deal of attention attached to it.

Has a soft spot for animals. You’d be able to notice them faltering when walking past a dog park or a place that’d have an abundance of them.

You were their first love and losing you nearly destroyed them, but they know that it was for the best. Though that didn’t mean they didn’t build their walls back up in order to protect themself.

Has a strained relationship with their family— despite stepping in to help the Dragons.

Every Sunday morning, without fail, they go to the coastline of Riverwood and surf. It’s one of the only times of day that they can alone with their thoughts and simply let go.

[giggly-squiggily]

OH THIS IS SO CUTE!!! CUTE CUTE CUTE BEYOND CUTE AHHHHHH! @nutzgunray-lvt Thank you so so much for this submission! I loved every word!

Here it is! I hope you like it! Since I headcanon Nelly's face claim to be Aimee Garcia, a Puerto Rican-Mexican American actress, I attributed that to Nelly as well.

How To Cure Jet Lag In One Easy Step

The smell of baked goods and cleaning products practically overwhelmed the house, as did Nelly's 'Now That's What I Call A Puerto Rican Christmas!' playlist. It wasn't doing a whole lot in helping Vlad get a handle on his roller-coaster of feelings and laundry list of things to do, but he figured that pretending his aunt was in the vicinity would help get his motivation going.

Unfortunately, the knowledge that she was currently in the trenches of a double shift at the hospital really killed the attempted immersion.

As did the timer for the cookies.

Growling in frustration at the contrasting smells and sounds, he switched off the music and turned off the timer. After he set his fifth batch of chocolate chip cookies on the already crowded kitchen table, he sank into his spot and put his head in his hands as he sighed heavily.

For glob's sake, why did his life have to be such a mess?

In between the existence of a vampire slayer who was hunting him down, his upcoming finals, his vampire homework, and the Christmas decorations that he promised Nelly he'd get a head start on, his brain felt like a used up, messy clump of Play Doh - and that wasn't even counting how he was adjusting to being back in the United States after his week in Siberia.

On top of adjusting back to the human sleep cycle that always left him the slightest bit grouchy, he also had jetlag to contend with. Jetlag and just under 24 hours of a sleepless flight that consisted of layover after layover.

It left him a frazzled, sleep deprived mess.

A brush against his leg startled him to the point that he banged his knee on the kitchen table, and the loud swear that left his mouth was one that he wasn't really sure if Otis would be proud of or disapproving of.

"Vladimir?"

And given how unimpressed his uncle appeared to be as he stood in the foyer, cradling a spooked Amenti in his arms, it appeared that he was the latter.

Great.

"It's not like I know what that word means, Uncle Otis," Vlad sheepishly tried justifying himself as he got up and went to give Amenti an apologetic scratch behind the ears. He was pleased to see her close her eyes and purr happily as she butted her head up into his hand.

Apology accepted, and he got cat purrs as well.

Nice.

"I heard Vikas say it once, and… I don't know, it just came to me. Look, aren't you more happy that I'm remembering spoken Elysian Code better?" he asked as he gave Amenti's nose bridge a gentle rub.

Vlad had thought that it wasn't possible for his uncle to look anymore unimpressed than he already was, but as he set Amenti down, the look he gave his nephew as he stood back up said it all.

"Remind me to remind Vikas to watch his language around you," Otis muttered moreso to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed heavily. "You may not technically be a child, but I won't tolerate any foul language coming out of your mouth, Elysian Code or not. Agreed?"

The teen barely held back from rolling his eyes as he nodded and echoed, "Agreed."

As the older vampire opened his eyes and straightened back up, his brow furrowed and his nose wrinkled as he finally caught the conflicting scents permeating the air as well as the sheer number of baked goods crowding the kitchen counters and tables.

"Vladimir…" he slowly asked as he approached the table and took a cookie for himself. "Why does the kitchen look like you're in the process of opening a bakery?" 

On any other day, a (relatively) well rested Vlad that wasn't battling jet lag and a large to-do list would have taken the question as it was: an admittedly leading question from an incredibly concerned uncle. But today, Vlad was battling jet lag and a large to-do-list, which made him suck his teeth in as he snapped, "Well it sounds to me like you already know the answer to that, don't you, Uncle Otis? You know I bake when I'm stressed, and given how you think I'm trying to go behind Nelly's back and open an at home bakery, I'm clearly really stressed out!"

He stormed into the living room and collapsed onto the couch, hugging a pillow to his face as he screamed into it. It… didn't do much to help him feel better, and really, it only made him feel ashamed at snapping at Otis the way he did. Since day one, his uncle was nothing but patient with him. From being accused of being a crazy murderer to nearly being blasted to kingdom come with the Lucis, he took it all in stride - even before he told him they were related.

When was he ever going to be a nephew that Otis would be proud of? 

From the way things were looking, It looked like it was going to be never.

As Vlad tried suffocating himself with the pillow, he could sense his uncle's swirling thoughts of guilt and worry before he entered the room. He could feel the pillow being pulled off his face and see how sad he truly was before he was exposed to light and air again, and he could tell what Otis was going to murmur before the words left his lips:

"You look exhausted, Vladimir. How much sleep have you gotten?"

The question was quietly asked with no force behind it, but it took the wind out of Vlad's sails all the same. He closed his eyes and muttered, "I don't know, Uncle Otis. I haven't been able to sleep since we got back from Siberia a few days ago, and-and with everything else going on like the finals and decorating the house and the slayer -"

"You're jet lagged," Otis patiently explained as he moved around the couch to sit by his nephew's legs. "You're already dealing with much more than a fifteen year old boy should have on his plate, and trying to readjust to the time zone difference isn't helping."

The teen grunted as he grabbed the pillow and placed it over his face again.

"Well, that along with the fact that I have to actually sleep at night now," he sniped, his voice muffled by the fabric. "It's hard, Uncle Otis. It's hard, and it's really not fair."

The sympathetic chuckle from the man in question made Vlad's scowl deepen, and before he could put up a proper fight, the pillow was once again snatched away from him. 

"We need to tackle one problem at a time, as well as divide and conquer, Vladimir," Otis explained. "Why don't I get started on the Christmas decorations while you get some sleep?"

The teen didn't mean to look so disgusted at his uncle's honestly helpful suggestion, but the way the man burst out laughing only made him double down even more, especially as he felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment.

"I can't take a nap!" he protested. "I'm fifteen, not five! Fifteen year olds don't take naps! Besides, do you even know how to set up Christmas lights? You almost started a fire trying to make atole, so I think I should be on the lookout for more Uncle Otis mishaps, especially if they involve gas or electricity, wouldn't you say so?"

On any other day when Vlad's internal clock wasn't running thirteen hours behind, he would have realized that he made a horrible mistake in saying that. He would have noticed how his uncle's brow rose in amusement before he smiled - bared his teeth really - and went for the kill. But today - for the past few days - Vlad's internal clock was thirteen hours behind, so the only thing he noticed before his brain completely dissolved into goofy mush was the fingers gently but firmly digging into his ribs.

"Nohohoho Un-Uncle Otihihihis!" he screamed through his frantic laughter, his body twitching like he had just been struck by lightning. "What-WhatdidIdo?!" he hurriedly screeched as he tried and failed to pull his uncle's hands away from him.

"Why don't we run through them together, dear nephew of mine?" Otis playfully asked, chuckling when he spidered his fingers down to that terrible, awful spot on his lower ribs that turned his laughs into something resembling bird chirps. "First, you've had quite the foul mouth on you today. Second, there's the sass I got from you for expressing my concern about your wellbeing. Third, you're tired and jet lagged and this is the one way to help you go. To. Sleep."

He punctuated each point with a pinch to that awful, horrible spot, and what could Vlad do when that happened? He could do what he always did when that particular death spot of his was being attacked:

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing other than laugh, scream, squeal, flail around, and chirp like a bird.

"Why don't we go over your recent homework?" Otis asked conversationally, as if he wasn't being the evil uncle that Vlad first saw him as. "We can use that as a gauge to see whether or not you're ready to go to sleep. Won't that be fun, Vladimir?"

As the teen desperately nodded through his teary eyed, squeaky laughter, he gasped for air as the gentle yet agonizing pinches to his lower ribs came to an end. He rubbed his flushed face and took in air like had spent an eternity underwater, and after a minute, he gave his uncle a thumbs up.

"Alright then, where is the one continent in the world that vampires don't live -"

"Antarctica!" 

The way Otis evily smiled at him threw Vlad for a loop, and before he could protest - that was the right answer! - the spot right above his kneecap was being assaulted with awful squeezes, and the teen was a mess of shrill laughter.

"Bu-But wahahahait!" he frantically begged. "Tha-Thatwasright, thatwasright!"

"I never said you needed to give me the right answer, Vladimir," the older man wryly remarked as he scribbled his fingers behind Vlad's knees. "Why don't we move on to the next question?"

"Do-Do I eheheven have a chohoice?" The teen asked through his breathless giggling as his uncle gave him a reprieve.

"No, I'm afraid not," Otis answered with a smug smile. "I need concrete evidence that you're finally tired enough to go to sleep, and I also need to make sure you're keeping up with studying the Compendium. It kills two birds with one stone."

Vlad shook his head, though the smile on his face really said it all.

"You're evil, Uncle Otis. You know that?" he asked.

The man in question shrugged.

"You may have told me that a few times, but if my evil ways are what gets you to sleep, then so be it," he remarked. "Now for the next question… who is the youngest vampire to sit on the Grand Council since the Black Death, and what is the minimum age a vampire can be to be voted onto the Grand Council?"

Vlad's eyes widened, and before he could answer, his uncle's horrible hands shot up and under his shirt and his fingers began dancing across his belly.

"THAT'S-THAT'S TWO QUEHEHEHESTIONS!" Vlad shrieked through his hysterical laughter. "NOHOHOHOT FAHAHAIR! NOHOHOHO!"

"The clock is ticking, Vladimir!" Otis teased, poking and prodding at his nephew's stomach. 

"I CAHAHAN'T! I CAHAHAHAN'T!" the teen wailed, his laughter going near silent from how agonizingly ticklish everything was. "I GIHIHIVE UP! PLEHEHEASE!"

"Are you sure?" The older vampire teasingly asked, feeling a twinge sadistic as he scratched a finger into his nephew's belly button. "Are you absolutely sure that you don't know the answers to these questions?"

All Vlad could do was tap out like his very life depended on it, and when the tickling finally stopped, he curled in on himself and gasped for air in between yawns. 

"You're… so mean… Uncle Otis," he muttered as he rubbed his eyes and got himself comfortable. "Did I… Did I ever tell you that?"

"You just did a few seconds ago, Vladimir," Otis answered as he gave him back his pillow from earlier. He nodded in thanks as he placed it under his head, and he couldn't help but happily sigh as he felt himself being covered with a blanket. The last thing he registered before finally going to sleep was a hand brushing his hair out of his face and a caring voice softly saying,

"And if being evil is what it takes to ensure you get some much needed rest, then so be it."

Was that Uncle Otis? 

His dad?

It didn't matter. 

What mattered was that by now, they were one in the same, and that knowledge was what was letting him sleep in peace.

That, and getting the life tickled out of him.

[missmvrder]

It was hard to miss the hint of possible sarcasm, or maybe more dissatisfaction, in his words for his fellow guard. Yes, Decker had an habit of being incredibly discreet and there had been moments when Valeria wondered if he was there at all. And moments like tonight, she knew it was disinterest that made him that way. They were highly paid, or so she assumed knowing her father, but it was also a relatively easy gig, even more when on the days she barely left the mansion. After all, there was also guards outside, at the gate, so anyone trying to get in would have to pass them first, which must create less of a sense of urgency in some. It was Valeria's way of extending some kindness, to give others the benefit of the doubts. But having Thomas rush in like that, it made her heart race in a way that was hard to describe. The idea that even when not on duty he was prepared to do what was needed made her feel safe, a feeling she was no longer used to.

"I have trouble sleeping and the internet can become a black hole at 2am," she said with a smile. "I get this fascination for bakery. Watching people decorate cakes and all. Have you seen the show Is it Cake? Amazing the things some people can do." The question was more for conversation, Valeria doubted it was the kind of things Thomas enjoyed. He was impossible for her to read, which made him perfect at his work. He wasn't just some guy with muscles who thought he could do the job. Thomas was a professional, with a background more complex than she could imagine. She also read a lot, often lounging with a book. Her life was not as glamorous or fun as many thought it would be. There was a time when it was everything, and more, than was anticipated of her. And it shamed her, of many of those moments were absent from her memory, entirely blacked out. There were many things she had done that made her want to cream at the top of her lungs, situations she had put herself in, or had let others put her into, that covered her with cold sweats just thinking about it. Tonight had been one of these times when things started to bubble back to the surface and this, baking, had been the first thing she could think of to escape.

"It's buttercream, basically all sugar and butter. I can go light on yours if you want." She liked that he was willing to try it, to do this with her and even if it was only out of pity or guilt for barging in, she didn't care. Her aching need to never be alone was one of the reasons it had been so easy for her to surround herself with people who didn't truly care about her. Thomas felt safe and Valeria could relax and try and be herself, the real her. "You know what, if these really are good, we can made a special non-good batch for them." It felt childish but she didn't care, anything to try and keep him in the kitchen until she felt like laying in her bed in the dark would not draw up demons. "Switching sugar with salt." Maybe Decker would regret not having been more aware when he was supposed to be on duty. "Ready?" she asked as she handed him one of the cupcake. There was something funny and endearing about the situation, Thomas most likely having faced things scarier than her baking. Valeria looked into his eyes as she bit in her own cupcake all smile, icing thicker on hers, some of it ending on her nose as she did so. There was a soft sound of satisfaction has she tasted it, knowing she hadn't failed and ruined the recipe.

While there was something undeniably ridiculous in her means to bake at such an hour and under such circumstances, Thomas wasn't one to judge. He understood very well the need to do something, to occupy the mind and activate the body to do something to find a distraction from stress and state of distress. Though the former soldier might've found himself a job that required a certain type of discipline and demand to remain still, it still took his focus from his own inner demons, his position as someone who guarded and constantly observed for any potential threads took all his attention to what he was doing. So, in that sense, he could understand Valeria's need to do something other than dwelling and stress about the circumstances she had no control over. For him it was his work and constant need to focus on something other than his inner turmoil, for her, it was baking, even if it was only a short-term distraction.

" Suppose Decker is taking his task of being very discreet seriously, considering you haven't noticed his presence. ", he mused casually though with a dead-pan expression; he made a mental note to find out about Decker's whereabouts at a later time. While yes, they had been told to be discreet, they still should have made their presence known enough to ensure that their client knew they were, in fact, guarded. " The things you learn from the internet, hm ? ", he quipped as he watched her genuine delight. It was rather daring, he could admit as much.

Thomas didn't know the woman well enough to have a solid read on her and what she was truly like; but, he had gotten a briefing about what was in her past and what the stakes were now due to her father's current position of power. Though, regardless not knowing her well enough to get a read on her mind, he could see that she wasn't used to having such security around her. All of the assigned men knew that their current position was more due to Valeria's father and not because people would come directly after her. They could attempt to get to her, to get to her father, but directly she had done nothing to gain too dangerous enemies. Or, that was what they had been told. He had a feeling there was much more about her than she let on, something more complex hidden away, but he wasn't there to figure any of the sorts out about her. " Depends on the icing. ", he never mentioned that he wasn't too much into sweets, though right now he found himself entertaining her regardless. " How about we go at it at the same time ? ", he suppressed his amused smile, seeing that she was thinking this was something he'd consider a great risk. He held out his hand so she could hand over him one. " I don't know, if they're really that bad, I wouldn't mind seeing their faces when they'd try to be polite about the cupcakes. ".

[writingwithcolor]

Gingerbread man as golem

@yaronata asked:

I would like to write a character who is Jewish and uses a Golem. She's based on the D&D class of the artificer which looks magic but isn't, because they produce all their effects with inventions, like the "any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic" quote. Her story is that her very Jewish town was under attack from a terrible monster when she was little. Her Rabbis made a Golem to protect the town, and it succeeded but was torn to pieces in the process. She was fascinated by the Golem and as a kid didn't see a big difference between it's sentience and person's so was really thankful for its sacrifice like you would a person's sacrificing their life for you. They thought all the pieces had been devoured by the monster before it died, but she went looking and found the piece used to animate the Golem, which she, kinda misunderstanding called its "heart". She kept the piece and grew up to be an incredibly skilled cook, specialising as a baker in the town. I imagine she would make a lot of really good food for the Jewish holidays, or to break fasts on ones like Yom Kippur or Tish'abav. But she also made a town specific holiday to honour the Golem's sacrifice and the town still being alive, because I feel "we are not dead woo" is a big theme for Jewish holidays from my research, so it could fit, for which she invented ginger bread men to be the golem, and gave them little "hearts" of fruit or honey, and you're meant to eat them limb by limb like the beast did before eating the heart. This would be the inspiration for using the "heart" piece later to make her own giant gingerbread Golem to help her save the world.

These are my questions 1) would it be considered bad or disrespectful for someone who isn't a Rabbi to make a Golem, or is this method of taking an animating piece someone else made disrespectful? 2) Her journey will take her far from her town and her Jewish family and friends and she will likely travel with gentiles. Would it be disrespectful for a Golem to be used to protect a lot of gentiles and one Jew in the course of saving the world? I don't want to fall into the stereotype of someone putting all their effort into valuing and protecting very specifically the group that in real life is oppressive to them. 3) While she is not using magic and is actually mimicking its effects with technology she invents, is this drawing too close to the line of "magical Jew"? 4) I like to "play test" my characters in ttrpgs to really get a feel for them before I write. Would it be disrespectful to play a Jewish character when I am a gentile, and would it be disrespectful to play a Jewish character in a setting where there are demonstrably real gods other than the one of Judaism?

I really like this character idea and I think it's cute and fun and rooted in Jewish culture but I really want to make sure it's respectful and as good as I, a gentile researching on the internet, thinks it is. Thanks so much! Have a nice day!

My answer to this is very complicated because there are things I both like and do not like about this premise. First of all, I love the idea of a cookie golem, and I'm even imagining the magic word that brings him to life (EMET/truth) would be written in icing. And I'm okay with the part about how she found a piece of the old golem and used it to build a new golem, because that makes sense for a golem made from a baked good when you think about how people use sourdough starter to make a new batch of sourdough.

However, here are the thing that make me cock my head to the side like my little sister's German shepherd:

1. re: "magical Jew" - that's not a trope I've ever heard of. Remember, marginalized groups don't receive identical disrespect across the board. It is indeed a trope to use Black people or disabled people as supernatural plot devices who exist only to further the stories of white main characters or able-bodied main characters. But I can't say as I've ever seen anyone using Jewishness that way. Usually if we are someone's one-dimensional plot device it's as someone's lawyer, fixer, "money guy", etc, not a supernatural force. So this isn't something you have to worry about.

2. I have a certain level of discomfort with you playing as a Jewish character just because playacting as a marginalized culture you're not part of strikes me as off, but I understand that that's how you gain insight into a character you're about to write so it's more of a writing exercise than anything else. (I wonder if D&D regulars from marginalized groups have written about this -- I've only played a few times casually with family so if I did run into this type of discussion in my social justice reading I wouldn't have absorbed it. If anyone is curious I played first as Captain Werewolf, and then switched to playing as Cinnamon Blade because lawful good was too hard. :P )

3. I would prefer you omit the detail about eating the cookies piece by piece symbolically, for two reasons: a. it unintentionally evokes Communion by having appreciative people consume a baked good symbolic of an entity who sacrificed his life for theirs, and b. focusing on the details of flesh consumption reminds me too much of Blood Libel (yes, a gingerbread man is in the shape of a person but how many of us actually think about it literally, the way this act would cause?)

As to your first question: I'm fine with her making a golem even though she's just a rando. Second question: I see what you're saying and maybe it could be more okay if it's really clear how well these gentile folks are treating her? And questions three and four are answered above.

I really do love the idea of a giant gingerbread man golem. Cookie golem T_T <3

--Shira

I would like to second Shira’s point about not ripping apart the gingerbread cookies. I honestly would prefer they were used as decoration, and other cookies eaten instead, since that part just feels so not-Jewish to me, but I don’t have golem-specific issues other than that. It seems like you have already been doing a lot of research, which is appreciated.

As far as the ttrpg/DnD aspect… I bounce back and forth on the topic of playing characters that are so very different from our experiences, other than in fantasy-related ways. However, I am aware that a lot of people will play with, and experiment with gender in game, and learn something about themselves in the process (the number of trans players of ttrpgs who tried out their gender in game before they were out is high). It’s different with Judaism, and even more significantly different when it comes to things you can’t convert into, like various actual, real-world races. But because people do sometimes experience growth from experiences like this, I’m hesitant to dissuade players completely. I do urge you to, at a minimum, bring the same care, research, and willingness to learn, that you brought to this question.

--Dierdra

This sounds like a creative storyline that you could have lots of fun with 😊

At first I was confused by this part:

She also made a town specific holiday to honour the Golem's sacrifice

But then you really got me thinking about different types of Jewish holidays and how they come about, so thank you for that!

Because it’s often the little details that either make a story super powerful or kind of nonsensical, I think it would be a good idea to decide what type of holiday is being created here:

A full-blown chag with restrictions on labour and halachic obligations? These are commanded in Torah and new ones can’t be added.

A minor yom tov with halachic obligations but no restrictions? These were instituted by the rabbis prior to the destruction of the Temple, so again new ones can’t be added.

A public holiday or equivalent? This would usually be declared by the Knesset in Israel, and filter to the rest of the Jewish world from there.

A community-based yom tov with specific customs only for people in the know, such as certain Chasidic groups celebrating the birthdays of their deceased leaders? I asked around, but no one can really tell me how these holidays get started, which is probably a good indication that they arise quite organically from a group of people who all just feel that it should be celebrated. Probably not created by a single person, as such.

Something she runs from her bakery, not religion-based, but more like a day of doing special products and deals the way many small businesses do on their anniversary?

Now, if the people of a modern-day town were actually saved by a real live Golem, that would arguably be the most overt miracle for many generations, so there would be a decent chance of options 3 and/or 4 happening. It’s entirely plausible that there could be special foods for this day that become a tradition, including Golem cookies. People who directly benefited might also return to the site where the Golem fought the monster and recite the prayer, ‘Blessed is Hashem, Master of the Universe, Who performed a miracle for me in this place.’

Alternatively, if it’s important that your MC created the holiday, something like option 5 might be the best. Hopefully this will still fulfil what you need: you describe her as incredibly skilled, so I can imagine the day when she goes all out on the Golem cookies being one of the most exciting events of the year for the townspeople, just because her baking is that good. Plus, they already have a personal stake in the Golem’s sacrifice, so I definitely think it could be a thing without being an official holiday. Also, if she is outside of an all-Jewish environment, don’t forget that she would have to decide whether to commemorate the anniversary in the Hebrew calendar or the local one.

Coming back to the cookies, sorry if we’re getting a little repetitive on this point! But I don’t see the cookies being torn limb from limb as part of a celebration. First of all, this doesn’t sound like a very celebratory thing to do, to say the least. Can you imagine explaining that to a three-year-old on their first Yom HaGolem? They would be terrified! (I don’t read this suggestion as accidental anti-Semitism so much as getting carried away with a metaphor, which I’m sure as writers we have all done!)

But also, it’s worth pointing out that our commemorative foods aren’t usually that literal. If you think about hamantaschen, maror, or apple in honey, they’re all symbols. That’s not to say that having Golem-shaped cookies is a problem, as this sounds like just a bit of fun that the MC is having and not something that is directly at odds with Judaism or Jewish culture. But it’s worth bearing in mind that the more literal you go from there in terms of tying the cookies to the event they commemorate, the less culturally aligned your holiday food becomes.

Finally, about the Golem protecting non-Jewish people: I like this idea! There’s a stereotype that we only use whatever is at our disposal to help ourselves and other Jewish people, so a Golem being created by Jews but helping others as well is a big plus for me. Of course, as has already been pointed out, this would be an odd choice if her Saving The World team were anti-Semitic or otherwise disrespectful to her/her community, but I don’t think you were headed that way!

-Shoshi

I have to come back in here just to squee over the phrase “Yom HaGolem.” Well done :D

--Shira

[endlessymphony]

draco spoiling the reader nonstop like even after they’re married he brings her something everyday??

spoiled.

draco malfoy x reader

summary - ok just draco being an absolute sweetheart and treating the reader like a princess

warnings - maybe some cussing?

a/n - i don’t usually write for draco but i’m honestly starting to warm up to him

it started with random arrangements of gorgeous, colourful, and fragrant flowers- draco bringing you a new assortment every week, followed by a kiss on your forehead and a ‘these are for you, my princess.’ by the end of the month, every vase in your house was occupied, each homing a different bouquet.

he made sure to replace each one once they started to wilt, choosing a different flower each week. the first week it was roses, then tulips, followed by sunflowers and lilies. your home could be compared to living in a flower shop.

the gifts didn’t stop at the flowers as draco figured that you grew tired of them by the second month, and the upkeep was getting to be a hassle, so it was ‘necessary’ for a switch-up. you assumed that the gifts had stopped once the flowers disappeared, but you couldn’t be more wrong - then came the sweets and pastries.

you started off your day by getting out of bed and wandering down to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, but something caught your eye. a soft baby-pink box was sitting on the counter, the label written atop the box cursively in french. a small handwritten card sat next to it, you couldn’t help but smile at your husbands antics as you realized it was his immaculate penmanship.

‘my beloved y/n,

i figured that you had grown tired of the flowers, and honestly, they began to become quite a hassle to upkeep.

i hope you enjoy these in place of the bouquets.

i hand picked them from a bakery that my parents always adored, perhaps they may rival your sweetness in the way that flowers rival your beauty.

i love you-

forever yours,

draco.’

you felt your face heating up as you read the card, shaking your head slightly as you placed it back down on the counter. you had long forgotten about your tea as you opened up the box, longing to take a peek at what he had gifted you this week. the smell was the first thing you noticed- it was sweet, light, and started to make your stomach rumble.

sitting in the box was an assortment of macarons, tarts, eclairs, madeleines, and other pastries you had never even seen before. “holy shit.” you mumbled to yourself, wondering how you got so lucky in life to have a husband who spoils you on the daily.

you knew draco came from money long before the two of you wed, but that was never what enticed you. you instead fell for the way he carried himself so elegantly, the way he spoke- which never failed to charm everyone in the room, and the way that he looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

soon the pastries stopped, and you couldn’t help but ask yourself ‘what is he up to next?’. you had been reading on the couch when you heard the door open, immediately recognizing draco’s footsteps as he walked into the corridor. “my love, i’m home.” he chimed, peeking around the corner to see if you were in the living room. draco slipped off his shoes, and hung up his coat before practically bounding over to you with his hands full of bags, like an excited puppy.

you set your book down and smiled up at him, “what do we have here?” you asked as you cocked an eyebrow. “just some presents for my pretty girl.” he replied smoothly, sitting next to you and placing the bags in his lap. “alright, let’s open these, shall we?” you only nodded in response.

you soon found your skin adorned with newly purchased jewellery which included two new rings, one containing your birthstone and the other had a band decorated with small diamonds, as well as a customized locket with your initials carved into the back. draco urged you to open it, which you did, and it revealed a photo from your wedding.

you had a hard time stopping the tears from spilling, placing the necklace back into its container carefully before embracing draco. “oh draco, i love it, it’s beautiful...” you said, trying to keep your breathing steady. he rubbed your back, a low chuckle sounding from his chest.

“i’m glad you like it, my angel, but this isn’t the last of the presents.” he pulled away to press a chaste kiss to your cheek as he began to wipe away the tears, “don’t you want to open the rest of them?”

“merlin, i’m so spoiled.” you said softly, laughing slightly.

“you deserve it.” was his only reply.

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[extremelyblackandwhite]

close | chris beck.

pairing: chris beck x reader

warnings: 18+ topics, smut (18+)

can we always be this close forever and ever?

Chris was a perfectionist. Ever since he was a child, he enjoyed to do things with a medical like perfection. He enjoyed things to be set and prepared so when his girlfriend’s birthday appeared on his calendar, he was ready. He’d gotten flowers, a cake in her favourite colour from a famous bakery downtown and what he had considered had to be the best gift ever. He’d manage to even decorate the room while she was asleep, getting big balloons and some banners. It looked perfect and he hoped she enjoyed it. It was her first birthday the two were spending in their shared flat, and she had gone above and beyond for his birthday; he was still wondering how she’d gotten Mark Hamill to call him happy birthday. Granted, it was probably creepy of him to be watching her asleep but he was too  anxious. She stirred in her sleep, grabbing his pillow while opening her eyes. 

       - You creep. - she playfully said, smiling as his hand caressed her cheek. She moved around in bed, looking at their bedroom which was now decorated. 

       - Happy birthday, star. - he leaned to kiss her. - Do you like it?

       - Chris, it’s beautiful. - she sat against the bedframe. - When did you do all this?

       - When you were asleep. - he kissed down her neck. - You will find I’m very stealthy. 

She hummed, smirking at his comment and eagerness as he kissed down her neck and to her shoulder, past the strap of her nightgown. She was always intoxicating to him, from the moment they had met to every waking moment. The scent of her perfume still lingered in her skin, invading his senses as he continued to kiss down past her collarbones and towards her breasts. She moaned wantonly as he pulled her nightgown to pool at her hips, revealing her pantie-less core. 

      - Are you finally learning? - he chuckled, kissing down her tummy to her hipbones. 

      - All my pairs are either in the washer or you’ve ripped them. 

      - Hum ... - he ignored her remarks, merely putting her legs over his shoulders, the tip of his nose dragging through the middle of her folds. - You smell fucking delicious, star.

He licked a slow stripe through the middle of her folds, the texture of his tongue having her grab the sheets under him. After a few more teasing licks, he began to suck on her clit, his hands pushing her hips closer to his face as if his life depended on it. 

      - Chris, fuck ... - she moaned, her head moving to the side as he switched between sucking and licking.

Her eyes were glued to the ceiling, the movements of his tongue and his moans against her core making her moan loud enough for the neighbours to listen and most likely complain. They didn’t care, Chris specifically. He brought her over to a tipping point, pulling back just as she began to see white spots in her vision. She whined, lip pouting as he kissed up from her belly to her lips. 

      - Can’t let you have all the fun at once. - he kissed her once more. - Happy birthday, star. 

[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!

[whatisthiswritingthing]

Mood Octopus - Christen Press X Reader

Prompt: Okay I have an idea and I really think you’ll do it justice. R is dating Christen and after a while R buys christen one of those mood octopus. So christen carries it everywhere and the second she turns it to mad R is doing everything she can to make Christen feel better. One instance at camp everyone kinda takes notes cuz why didn’t they think of getting SO one

“Hey Chris, check out this video I saw of a dog,” Y/N handed her phone over to Christen, briefly pausing her conversation with Ali who was standing in front of her, “sorry Ali, what were you saying?”

Ali just watched the interaction confused; Christen’s blank face slowly changed to have a small smile on her face, though not quite reaching her eyes yet. Christen handed the phone back to Y/N wordlessly, the smile dropping. Y/N shoulders slumped while she watched Christen sit in her locker next to her.

Continuing a casual conversation with Ali, Y/N rummaged through her bag at the same time. She pulled out a small bag of gummy candies, wordlessly placing them on Christens lap. Y/N looked back towards Ali and continued talking as if she hadn’t stopped talking. Ali furrowed her eyebrows, hesitated but kept talking as well, glancing back and forth between the couple.

Christen just slowly picked at the candy, squishing the gummies between her fingers, playing with them before tossing them into her mouth one at a time. Her eyes stayed focused on the ground, her leg anxiously bouncing up and down.

Y/N kept glancing toward her girlfriend, she bit her lip, trying to think of why Christen would be so quiet today. Everyone was slowly getting changed after practice, Christen has practiced well, nothing stood out that would upset the older woman during it. But she didn’t even smile in the direction of the group of younger players attempting to learn another new Tik Tok dance.

Y/N leaned over, tugging Christen’s sweater off the hanger, replacing it with her own. Christen quickly pulled her practice jersey off and slipped Y/N’s sweater on. She left the hood up, nestling her nose below the collar over her nose, she fisted the cuffs of the sleeves her hands and leaned back in her locker.

Satisfied her girlfriend was content for now, Y/N began to change as well, Ali watching confused and slowing getting ready herself. Once both were ready to go, Y/N immediately grabbed Christens bag from her as they made their way towards the bus. Christen kept the hood up and face partially tucked into the collar, burrowing herself into the larger frame of her girlfriend.

As they walked into the hotel, a staff member called Christens name, “this was delivered about a couple minutes ago,” they handed off a small, decorated bakery box and coffee cup.

Christen pulled her face from the sweater, thanking the staff and taking the box and coffee, tilting her head towards her girlfriend, “thank you Y/N.” she mumbled, leaning back into her side while they entered the elevator.

“Hey Y/N, I like coffee and baking too,” Alex nudged the couple as she walked in behind them.

“Hmm you do?” Y/N smiled at the forward, tightening her arm around Christens shoulder.

“I do,” Alex nodded.

“Meh too bad you aren’t my girlfriend then,” the doors opened, and they all walked out, Christen giggling into Y/N’s neck.

Y/N glanced down, smile wide, satisfied she had cheered her girlfriend up for the time being.

Y/N’s eyebrows creased when she walked into Chritens room later that night where a group of them would be watching a movie. Christen had her mood octopus flipped to the upset side sitting on the end table next her bed. She stopped talking to Tobin and focused on her girlfriend instead.

“Good talk,” Tobin mumbled and moved to the other bed. Ali and Ashlyn laughing at the girls pout.

“Don’t take it personal Tobs, she did that to me too in the change room today,” Ali chuckled.

They all watched as Y/N gently lifted Christen, sliding her body in behind, then tugging her into her chest, leaning down to whisper something softly into her ear. Christens lips shifted into a small smile the more Y/N spoke, the couple the only people aware of what was being said. Y/N’s hands rested on Christen’s thigh, slowly and gently massaging them. The tension in Christen’s body slowly released and she leaned more of her weight into Y/N’s chest, not saying a word the entire time.  

After a few minute of gentle massaging, Y/N shifted her hands to Christens forearms, working the muscles there. Pulling one wrist into to her lips, kissing the palm, before guiding her hand back down and working both hands up and down Christens arms.

Christen pulled herself out of Y/N’s arms slightly, leaning to the end table and flipping the octopus to the happy side before settling back into Y/N and pulling arms around her.

“Alright you two weirdos, what is your deal today? You guys are always sickly sweet, but it’s excessive today,” Alex teased them from across the room.

“Christen was having a bad day,” Y/N shrugged, hold tightening slightly.

“But what’s the octopus for?”

“It’s a mood octopus, I got it for Chris so she could tell me how she’s feeling without having to say anything. She can flip it to the upset side based off how she’s feeling that day,” Y/N placed a gentle kiss to Christen neck, more to settle herself than anything. It was a cute idea that was supposed to stay between the couple. A way for them to communicate without everyone knowing what was going on. Y/N wasn’t always the best at displaying her emotions or feelings, but she wanted to be able to be there when Christen needed her, so she got her the mood octopus.

“Then Y/N just does little things for me to make me feel better, until I feel ready to flip it back to the happy side,” Christen gave Y/N’s hands both a discrete squeeze, knowing how her girlfriend felt about displays of feelings.

“Ash, why don’t you do stuff like that for me?’ Ali playfully smacked the keepers chest, smiling when the keeper pulled her phone put.

“Already ahead of you babe,” Ashlyn turned the phone so the defender could see the screen with Amazon app pulled up, mood octopus already in the cart.

“But how do you know what to do for Christen?”

“I don’t,” Y/N shrugged again, shyly burrowing her nose into Christens neck, “I just start small and see what works and doesn’t. Her love languages are words of affirmation and physical touch. But they’re hard to do with the whole team around, so I usually have small things she likes with me,” she blushed, pressing her face closed to Christen.

“You are talking to Servando next time you see him and teaching him this,” Alex told her seriously. Y/N nodded, blushing even deeper.

Christen twisted her head and kissed Y/N on the forehead, Y/N dipping her head down even more, blush spreading further up the back of her neck.

“I didn’t know that,” Christen scratched her nails into the baby hair at the base of Y/N’s skull, “what all do you carry to give me?”

The other girls all leaning forward to get their own ideas.

“A variety of stuff, I never know what you’re going to need, so I want to be prepared,” Y/N sighed and leaned back, pulling her face out of Christen neck. “I have a bunch of videos and memes for when you need a laugh or a smile, little snacks you like if you’re hungry, or I’ll switch out my clothes with yours because I know you like how they smell.”

Christen pulled back a little bit, surprised at how much thought her girlfriend put into the small plush toy.

“Can you write me instructions for when mine arrives?” Ashlyn teased, partially serious. Ali smacked her on the chest again, chuckling.

[frostfall-matches]

[ hello autumn - paired ♡ ]

🌸 anon : spending fall with…

✧ Gaius

-> [ Seasonal treats are an absolute must. ] Of course. He’s definitely not going to shy away from indulging in such treats! If you also have a sweet tooth, he’ll be willing to share with you… in exchange for a kiss or two. Gaius seems to know which bakeries have the best baked goods; which stalls have the tastiest candied apples, or themed candies. You correctly assume it’s because his insatiable sweet tooth has led him to be quite the connoisseur, as he ends up sampling practically anything in sight over the course of several weeks.

-> [ Aside from buying treats, he’ll take some time to make them as well. ] Gaius may surprise you by gifting you some candies or baked goods out of the blue once he figures out a decent recipe - but if you wanted to spend a bit of time with him, he’d love it if you helped him out in the kitchen for a while. Making tasty sweets with him is incredibly fun, even if it gets a little messy. He’s definitely the type to dab flour or frosting on your cheek and then keep you held back at arm’s length so you can’t reach him to retaliate.

-> [ Gaius is so in love with the cute outfits you put together. ] The cooler allows for a lot more comfort and flexibility, and you really run with that when you can. You’re able to bust out all your favorite cozy sweaters, pairing them meticulously with cute pairs of boots. Your dear partner can’t help but think you look absolutely adorable, and he looks forward to seeing how you style yourself for the day, especially if you two are planning on going out to town.

-> [ If there are any festivals, he’d be happy to accompany you. ] On the one hand, he doesn’t love how crowded and busy it is - on the other, it’s a really nice break from the usual routine. Besides, the foodie in him will be curious. The evenings can be a little chilly during the fall, especially as winter draws ever closer, but he cheekily reminds you that you can always hold his hands and snuggle into his side as you two roam the event.

-> [ He doesn’t put much emphasis on spooky events such as Halloween. ] Just keep any bugs - real or fake - away from him, please. Gaius cannot stand creepy crawlies and he will hold a bit of a grudge if you try to tease him about it. Other than that, if you want to get all festive, he’d love to see how you decorate or dress up. He’ll go along with anything as long as you promise him some treats for his efforts.

✧ March 7th

-> [ Going shopping for cute fall outfits is one of the first things you two do. ] It’s either the cooler weather rolling in wherever you two may be visiting… or she starts seeing sales for warmer, cozier outfits and accessories. The two of you absolutely go all out, and you can’t help but gush over each other’s outfits. She loves the sweater and boot combo, and she likes picking outfits that coordinate with yours when possible.

-> [ Halloween and costumes! ] March definitely does something cute - whether it’s pure cuteness and sweet, or something creepy-cute, it doesn’t matter. Though even if she tried to do something scary and creepy, she’d unintentionally make it seem cute. She keeps her costume a secret so you two can surprise each other during a last-minute costume party you two plan (it may be just a private party for you two - or perhaps you invite the rest of the Astral Express crew!). She looks forward to seeing your costume as much as she looks forward to putting her own together.

-> [ March absolutely falls into the pumpkin spice and apple cider craze. ] She genuinely does like them, too, and always gets pouty whenever you two are somewhere that doesn’t carry seasonal beverages like that, or once the season passes and they switch over to peppermint and gingerbread flavors for winter. Either way, though, cafés are frequented by the two of you. Even if you’re not into pumpkin spice and apple cider, you can’t help but enjoy March’s enthusiasm.

-> [ She may have ice abilities, but she isn’t a huge fan of the cold. ] March definitely loves the warmer months and the amount of vacation-like things one can do (she loves being able to go to beaches if there are any available on the planets you two are visiting). If the day is particularly chilly, she’ll oh-so-sweetly request if you two could stay indoors for the day. It’s a good way to get some quality time and cuddling in, at least, and she can show you her most recent pictures on her camera roll.

-> [ Speaking of photos, she is your personal photographer. ] Fall really suits you well, and she loves being able to capture you as you indulge in your favorite season. All the cute outfits you’ve put together, all the fun themed or seasonal snacks and beverages you two have shared, and the events and festivals you’ve attended - she’s got it all documented. March definitely puts together a cute little scrapbook together with all your adventures and sweet moments.

[joi-in-the-tardis]

Yesterday my supervisor heard how "drastically overscheduled" we actually are for the first time. That Wifey's 40 hours currently don't count because they're an experiment and we should only have 120 hours as a department. Her response was to ask how everyone was supposed to have a 40 hour week that way. The answer is that everyone wouldn't. She asked how we would have a closer with 120 hours. The answer is that we wouldn't.

I tried to explain to her that this is why we were failing under our last supervisor: they enforced this scheduling until two of us started claiming hours in other departments and bakery fell apart.

In other news, I've encouraged Wifey to take on a role (which she's now accepted) as cake decorator trainer. They'll be sending people to her for weeks at a time as a kind of cake decorating boot camp. Is it good for the department? Probably not. Is it good for her? I think so. She gets a raise and, I would like to think, it lines her up to move up and out without running a department in the store. I won't always be here and I want better things for her. Yes, in spite of the water under our bridge.

However, between this and the new set up they've got coming for my donut case (turn overs, cinnamon rolls, pastries, and new muffins) a lot of work is going to go undone. I took on more early morning work when they switched Wifey to cakes. And she's gradually taken on an increasing load of not-cake work over the last couple months. We're both going to have to drop that when these new systems start up. There's no one else to pick them up.

I'm still not sure how this new donut case is going to work out. Some of the new things in it need to be proved before they're baked, to the tune of 50 minutes. I've told them and my supervisor has told them that if they want an overnight baker, they need to find someone else. I am still on medications I had to start the last time I worked nights for an extended period.

[zeldaelmo]

Read day 22 here or start with the masterpost

************************************

Day 23

The next day, Link had baked another three loads of cookies, a pie, and a tray full of baguettes. And maybe he had switched from appetite loss to eating out of frustration. From this cookie, however, he only managed to get a bite.

Unbelieving, he scrambled to his feet when his gaze flickered into Beedle's Street once more. Smoke!? 

Why was there dark smoke coming out of the backdoor of his bakery? 

He had never been in his shoes and coat so fast.

Not a minute later, he yanked said door open and began to cough through the thick air. "Mipha! What in Hylia's name are you doing here?" His workmate had volunteered to take the morning shift in case he got home late after his holidays, but he had not expected her to make a mess. 

Fresh air flowed into the back room, but before he could make out the scene in front of him, a voice ordered him around. "Can you hold this?" And just like this, he was clutching onto a bowl before he could get a word out. "Oh, Goddess, is that you, Link? You weren't supposed to be here for another hour!"

"Zelda?!"

"Uh…"

Link quickly shut his mouth and tugged strands of loose hair behind his ear.

"Zelda… I��I know I've been rude, but… THAT IS NO EXCUSE TO COMMIT ARSON IN MY BAKERY!"

"I didn't—I'm making—it was an accident!"

Link shook himself out of his stupor and went back to close the door. Zelda seemed to have the source of the smoke under control, at least there weren't any more dark clouds pouring out of the oven. He glanced into the bowl he still had in his hand. Frosting. Or… something like that. Putting it onto a free space on his counter, he crossed his arms and faced Zelda.

"Okay… what are you doing here? In my bakery? Who let you in?"

Zelda shoved a plate with a very dark… thing over the counter and snatched the bowl with the frosting. "A surprise. As… as an apology." Sheepishly, she glanced over her work to him. "Mipha let me in."

Link did a double-take. "Mipha?!"

"Yes… I explained to her what had happened. Everything." She waved with the tool she used for applying the frosting, sprinkling the whole workplace with white drops. He bit his tongue so that he didn't correct her that she couldn't apply frosting on a hot cake. "We talked for a long time and she let me in because she said she wasn't keen to get another earful from you." Zelda chuckled and applied the frosting, mixing it accidentally with black crumbs. "Did you know that she’s Sidon's sister?"

"Yes, actually."

His gaze followed her attempt to apply frosting to the sides of the cake. Well, it was more smacking it against the cake and hoping for the best.

"Seriously, Zelda, why are you here?"

Her gaze flickered over to the open baking book without really taking a look at anything before it reluctantly settled on him. "Uh… I… I wanted to apologize for…" She sighed and rested the spatula against the cake. "For keeping my history from you. I didn't realize it would be that important to you, but I understand why it's upsetting."

"Okay. And the… cake?"

She smeared frosting over her cheek, and now that she brought Link's attention to her face… she looked different today. More self-confident, like she was at exactly the place she wanted to be. He decided not to comment on her lack of make-up.

"Well, it was planned as a surprise, but… I wanted to…" She trailed off again. "Sorry. I had a whole speech prepared, but now I'm confused."

Link snorted and handed her a smaller bowl with decorations. "I can go and talk to Mipha until you're ready."

"No! I'm happy that you’re here, please don't run off again."

"Yeah, about that… I'm sorry, too. I should have given you the time to explain yourself."

Zelda nodded, but her attention was elsewhere. She fished a slightly squishy wildberry out of the bowl, placed it on the cake, and made a revealing hand gesture. "Tadaa!" 

Scrutinizing the image in her book next, she muttered, "Well. The result never looks like the pictures because they use wax and such for the photos, right?" She perked up again. "Do you have forks?"

"Sure."

Link turned to fetch some and came back to Zelda, who presented one piece of the cake on a small plate.

"I wanted to surprise you with something that I've made myself. Unlike all the other gifts. To… to prove that I care about you and that—oh will you look at this disaster."

The cake crumbled into several smaller pieces, and Zelda was quick to put it down again. "Forget about the cake. What I want to say is that I faked nothing that was between us. That was all the real, messed up, little me.”

Relief flowed through Link’s veins and replaced the sour feeling in his stomach. All their flirting, the closeness and togetherness—she had felt it, too. Thank Hylia. But he wouldn’t let her get away without a little tease.

"You faked nothing?” he asked. “Not even curling up in my arm at night?" 

"Uh, not faked."

Link leaned closer. "And the kiss? Fake or not?"

She cleared her throat, looked him in the eyes before her gaze flickered away again and she began to draw circles on the frosting with the fork. "Not—not fake. Especially not the kiss."

"Especially not, you say?" Link smirked and stepped up to her, trapping her between him and the counter. In a sudden rush of boldness, he raised her chin with the back of his fork, oh, and he couldn't get enough of her green gaze burning into his. She blushed violently when he leaned in, coming so close that their legs touched and their faces were merely inches away. 

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Tasting my apology cake." He sneaked his fork behind her, leaning in until their breaths mingled, and pierced a big chunk without looking. He balanced it all the way to his mouth and tried to keep his face straight while he chewed the odd mixture of overripe wildberry, burned and simultaneously raw cake, and too warm frosting. 

"And?"

His sugar-smudged mouth turned into a grin and he didn't miss how her gaze lingered on his lips and her tongue darted out to wet her own. 

"Definitely not fake," he stated.

She drove her hands over the front edge of his coat, resting one close to his pounding heart and moving the other to his neck. 

"Just—just kiss me already," she whispered, reducing the space between them until the warmth of her renewed blush hit his cheeks.

"Someone doesn’t like teasing? Shouldn’t have told m—" 

She didn't let him finish. With a swift tug on his coat, she urged him to close the gap between them and he all too willingly obliged. The silent sigh of relief that came from both of them was lost in their shared breath. Eventually, she pulled back and rested her forehead against his, smacking her lips.

"The cake. It tastes awful." She chuckled, biting her lip to catch a smudge of frosting from her bottom lip with her teeth. He shrugged, leaning in for another kiss. "I don't mind," he muttered, now serious. "You made it for me."

"I thought I needed a little more than words."

"I’m sorry for being so rash yesterday." He sighed and kissed a sugary spot from the corner of her mouth. "I guess my faith in relationships took more damage than I thought."

"Link." She traced his lips with her thumb, causing his lashes to flutter. "I will tell you every little tale I made up if you want that. You were the first to look behind my facade in years and I will share everything else, too, if that's what you need to make this work."

"Thank you…" he breathed.

"No. Thank you for reminding me what is important and what isn’t.”

He tugged her in his arms and she melted against him like the whipped cream he put in her coffee. Smiling, he stuck his nose into her messy bun. “I like the woman who can’t braid dough and gets flustered when I tease her. Who loves robot jokes and hugs.”

“I always told myself, ‘next week I’m asking him out’ when I came in to get my breakfast.” She chuckled into the collar of his coat. “And once I realized that you might like me and not a twisted version of me, it was too late for me anyway.”

Link hummed, squeezed her, and pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Let’s go in the front room and drink a coffee. I still have an hour until my shift starts and I shouldn’t be in here with my street clothes anyway.”

Zelda nodded and changed out of her work coat once he had let go of her. Before they slipped through the door to the café, Link grabbed the plate with the cake.

“Link, just let it be. It’s awful, we can’t eat that.”

“You bet I can,” herecollecting held the door open for her. “My girlfriend made it for me and I wouldn’t swap it for anything in the world.” When she took his face in both hands and kissed him plain on the lips, he added, “I just might need a really big coffee to wash it down.”