#after all my stuff is settled and i have more fish (my reward for getting them all here without killing one) i want to look into adoption

[nullwork]

losing my mind my new roommate just told me he'd love for me to adopt a cat to play with his cat. in tears so fucking excited

[alphinias]

SO GLAD YOUR ASKS ARE OPEN! I have a lot of thoughts lol and this is going to be super long and all over the place but I definitely need to just get it all out! Sorry in advance!! Firstly, I excitedly hopped onto the jiara tags after finishing and was surprised that so many people had problems with jiara?? Is that the majority or am I just seeing it randomly? Also I keep seeing people say they aren’t together in the end? But I don’t see why people are assuming that? They sat next to each other and kie looked down and smiled lovingly at j… also I’m hearing people complain about how jiara felt rushed but I definitely don’t see it that way. I think over all it was amazingly portrayed and angsty and represented their relationship so well! Keep in mind that they have known each other for yearsss, they have both deep down had feelings for each other and have spent weeks on an island being around each other 24/7 and bonding. I think for a friends to lovers trope, it was perfect because for them to decide to take the next step in their relationship and make the choice that it’s worth pursuing they obviously have to be in love! I will admit that I slightly missed their married couple banter but for people to be saying that they ruined jiara bc of the lack of banter is odd to me. Kie has always been soft with jj whenever they’ve been alone and away from everyone else… it’s definitely not a new behavior. Also, kie knows jj, she knows how he’s struggling and her being soft with him was her way of showing him that she cares and loves him which I think JJ really needed this season and she def knew that. He definitely didn’t need people banging on him like they usually do. He needed to be shown that he is worthy and that he’s understood, appreciated and loved. I absolutely loved the kiss and leading up to it! It felt like jiara! I just wish they had better lighting! (What’s up with shows always doing this with our fav ships?) also, it definitely ended a bit early but that’s my bad for assuming we’d get a full make out lol. (I might be slightly bitter that cleope got a good lighting and zoomed in kiss lol even tho I love them) JB’s dad’s storyline was really dragged and boring! It took up way too much screen time for sure! I actually ended up skipping a few parts after ep 5, and I didn’t care for him in general! He was a selfish ass I think. As far as the time jump, I definitely hated it! It felt like a rushed/lazy way to tie up loose ends which was unnecessary since we’re getting a s4. Like I get wanting to bypass some stuff and show us that the pogues won but by doing so you skip over the real rewards of seeing how they react/handle the next steps in their lives! We want to see all of jiara’s firsts! That’s the most rewarding part! And I hate when shows do this bc it just feels like a disconnect! They better serve us some good content to make up for it next season!

I agree with pretty much everything you said!!

From what I’ve seen, I think most people seem to have generally liked the Jiara. But I also think the finale petering off the way it did left a lot of bad taste in everyone’s mouth, and it was the last thing everyone watched. I think it’s going to settle with everyone a lot better after a few days have passed and we can better appreciate all the stuff we got.

I don’t think Jiara felt rushed. I had my concerns for a split second that they were acknowledging their feelings too fast, but the angle they were going for really settling in to Kie knowing in 2x10 and being so happy on the island worked. And the emphasis on JJ’s struggles of accepting that kind of love rather than a journey to those feelings really worked imo! I also missed Jiara banter, not gonna lie, but the angst was fantastic, and in the happy moments like the fishing scene we did get that more classic Jiara dynamic. So it’s still there. I think part of the reason this also felt lacking was because of the lack of good fun group scenes in general; that’s almost always when their banter shines because it’s more relaxed and not directly about them and their relationship.

And of course, a lot of people have had this ship getting together playing out in extremely specific ways in their heads for three years. The show is never going to hit all of those on the head exactly, and that’s also an adjustment period when a slow burn gets together I think.

[boct-kimerakal]

they should know better

AKA more aly & sonya ... 🐟 !! fish emoji win

it starts, i think, here:

sonya (fishing cat /malayan monitor lizard) is a brilliant spark doing anything to stay lit. a desperate overachiever who has come up from nothing by fighting tooth and claw to make it into science & academia, and is dead-set on contributing something. one of those sacrifices somehow wound up being posing as a heiress’s daughter (you know, in exchange for the money that had been paid to get you your fancy education. desperate academics, hell of a way to get yourself an operative)

aly (kingfisher) is wasted potential. a middle-class child offered the full smorgasbord of opportunities, only to do nothing with it. a picky caretaker who can’t find anyone who thinks enough like themselves to take care of - therefore they’re rather depressed? indifferent, because they’ve been told their whole life that they’re settling for less (but they never wanted much?!..)

and they were roommates! until sonya... went missing... and aly got pulled into a conspiracy... searching for her. best friends, but they get further and further apart the more they want to get back to each other

god okay, i’m going to ramble it up. it all sounds so much better in my head.. i hate putting stuff into words, they never describe the thoughts quite right.

missing nostalgia ✩

they’re both in their late twenties. aly’s dreading getting called old and fearing the mundanity of middle-age. sonya’s just reminded she’s got a deadline. for each their own reasons, neither ever had a connection with their earlier youth, you know?

so i figure aly and sonya’s memories of being together are the closest thing they each have to the nostalgia of adolescence? and i think about this sooo much. my weirdo peerless animals...

for the kingfisher //

aly never made it to higher education. even discounting that, in their early education, the kid was a shut-in. i think a corny photo montage at a cheap school reunion would actually move aly to violent tears.

the kingfisher doesn’t have many memories of graduation parties or slogging through exam week - cramming notes and snacks. going through hell with your buddies, yea? even outside of academia, petty childhood rivalries, playing ball with the neighbours. none of that. deep and lasting connections, if not to people than to places, or foods, or games, or - anything! after sonya went missing and all the maddening isolation that followed (chock full of contemplation, i fear) they’ve finally realised: they’re madly envious of moments like that - things to have nostalgia about.

why a shut-in? [god, let me think...] aly was always able to do whatever they pleased. amicable, friendly, lukewarm - never graced by much pressing responsibility as a result, always able to slide by, just by being polite and fulfilling “simple” responsibilities (household chores, little acts of labour like hauling books and desks back and forth, helping clean up messes) i think maybe it wasn’t finding anyone who was as easily content by these things. juvenile friendships probably don’t come easy to the kid whose idea of an exciting sunday is sweeping the floor downstairs? but, well, there could have been peers. aly just wasn’t very motivated to seek community - like all these little acts would have benefited aly more had they ... sauntered over to do some volunteer work, y’know? lack of social reward subsequently made the guy a shut-in, methinks? so they didn’t often dragged along to the Fun & Exciting things that they figure other people have nostalgia about - sleepovers, movies. (but the ones they did get dragged to mean everything to them)

for the fishing cat //

sonya had plenty of opportunities for close camaraderie in school (because how else would these two find companions, if they weren’t forced to?) but she never really paid attention it. between social life and a grade - okay, well, it wasn’t even a comparison she’d EVER have entertained. she was a boy, dead-set on his goals, like a living ghost. so focused on being something that he became no one at all. even her early childhood wasn’t much festooned with friendships & other such trifles. hmm. something like: was it watching his mother try to keep him and his siblings afloat, alone? did he become too-quickly old with responsibilities? was that what made him think he was superior, since he must have been so much more mature, as he’d become the struggle? he was a little boy outcasted not by his peers, but by his own disinterest in them.

i think, around aly, a sort of festering nostalgia is brought to the front. sentiment - something she stopped caring about when she ‘grew up’ (and she’d grown up all too soon!) but for whatever reason aly keeps tugging at it with their own reminiscing. (un)intentionally(?) unravelling things like her long-ignored homesickness, or the want to listen to her mother’s favourite songs - which are lying in dereliction in the backwaters of her mind, i’m sure. all this which she’d forsaken in pursuit of achievement before her time was up. part of her pities thos guy who envies missing things, just as much as she despises the idea - because she wishes she didn’t have the capacity to miss.

sonya probably hates being reminded she’s a human being, but can’t hate aly for it (because that’s too human) you better believe that makes her angrier! except, uh.. she refuses to even accept that she’s angry, because she’s set on insisting she’s an impersonal machine, a vessel for a goal.. ah. definitely not making it worse. anyways - another shut-in. lost in textbooks and timers, doing the avoiding instead of being avoided. peerless because she had a greater purpose, all bets placed on her future. she never wanted all this. she’s starting to regret the things she missed because of all that avoiding.

[oh! intellectual competition in her higher education .. that’s a good topic for a next ramble. when you get to that top school and realise they’re all smart + how sonya stayed in her own lane because she never wanted to be a genius - just able enough to fulfil her end goals, but how the need to compete also began to break her...]

it’s things like: sitting in front of a fan on a hot day, (sonya’s writing up notes and aly is playing a mindless word game) - walking back from the supermarket with groceries. very slowly eating food together and talking (wow, how have they never done that before with anyone else? at least, why does it feel that way?)

so it’s the mundane things that make them both rueful... sonya because she’s regaining her sentimentality (much to her own chagrin, of course); aly because their overwhelming sentimentality is being indulged at long last. they’ve never had anything like it - for better or for worse, so intimately cherished - to long to return to, and now they both do?

it’s this stuff that’s so wicked & evil to think up and that also captures my imagination so dearly... the boring things, suddenly and unexpectedly made obscenely meaningful. drawing them in comparison to what happens next for these two.. haha! pure evil!

whatsit means going forward? ✩

AUGH! like! sonya has a plan for what she’s going to do after she’s done with this favour. after her debt is settled, she’s moving on with her life, getting her old (but still fake) identity back and working for KERIS: researching, writing papers, applying for grants. for some reason, though, that future of scholarly focus is tainted by vestiges of aly.

at first, she’ll think nothing of it. that’s just how it was before, so she’s imagining it that same way for the future. aly is a blur, half a hand handing her a chart or the unseen person who must’ve put her lunch on the table. then, the longer she goes under her cover, the more? tangible? aly becomes? aly is making her her lunch in front of her, they’re laughing at sonya’s poor attempt at a joke, she can see every pore on their face. feathers crawling across their skin as a wing forms - then spreads, filtering sunlight - as they glide down a flight of stairs, then joke about it - see? a “flight” of stairs! it’s all too vivid.

she needs aly in her future. (whoops! sorry girl... must be so unflattering for an unattached academic) aaand while she slowly becomes fixed on a future with aly, aly is obsessed with re-imagining their own past.

all this haemorrhaging regret, plus the hopelessness that follows sonya’s disappearance and the TORRENT of conspiracies it’s muddied by, is why aly tends to conjure scenarios of themselves and sonya - snippets of a shared childhood they could have had. they’re marching on with the investigation ruthlessly, they won’t give up whatever the cost, but indulging the what-could-have-been-s has become a (rather crutch-like) sweet respite for them. even if they don’t get the love their of life, their best friend, back - at least they have someone as the subject of their manufactured memories. awful, isn’t it?

so? i guess this means aly spends their life drowning in the past and sonya, racing towards some unattainable future? hm. i think i like how that shakes out in the big picture. a few too many coincidences, got to throw a wrench or two in ... otherwise, i’m done! i think my next yap goes the opposite direction(???), the availability of education to aly and sonya’s envy of it.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲: 𝐑𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐥 & 𝐙𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐫

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Rewarding kisses.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

TW // None.

|°𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬°| |°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| • {𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧} • {𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐮𝐬} • {𝐒𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐯}

A quiet call echos out through the cave as water rhythmically drips from the stalagmites from above; landing back onto the stone of the cave with a tiny splat, it was almost like listening to some rain, but just in a underwater cave.

Another call sounds out again, sounding deeper and closer from the last. The scraping of scales becoming more audible the closer this creature gets. A clink of metal going off with each step this creature takes, not bothering to be stealthy like they have a couple times before.

“Rasul? Zazir?” I question through the dim cave. Wanting to know if it was the right creatures coming in as my own echo comes back before it is answered with a purr. Two, red and lumbering monsters coming out of the dark end of the cave with items and fish in their hands.

It was confusing on who approached first with their items until they come closer. A slight indentation on their scales telling who they exactly are as their body leaned down to show what they have gathered.

“What have you got today, Rasul?” I asked the towering creature that showed me him items first. Chittering at me as he try’s to explain what he has got before he realizes that I only know some of his language, a tiny coo coming out of him.

Feeling a little bad for him, I take one of the items in his hold and observe it attentively. Actually liking how vintage this item looked. An old pair of glasses it looked to be with the cracked lens still intact.

“What a great find Rasul!” I praised the creature. His scales shifting at the sudden praise, his body leaning down a bit as he gives me a questioning coo. Wanting more of a clear affirmation.

Smiling up at him, I took him by his helm and brought him down lower and gave him a lil’ kiss to where his neck would be if it wasn’t covered by his armor. His arms immediately dropping all his stuff on the cave floor with loud clinks as his brother whines for a kiss too. His body slithering closer for a kiss of his own.

“What? You want one too?” I ask, turning to look at Zazir. A coo coming out of him as he nods. “Come here then.”

Reaching out the Zazir, I took him by his helm and gave him a kiss on his cold armor near his neck too. His gauntlet settling on my hips before pulling me closer. His purrs growing louder in the cave; echoing with each kiss given to him on his armor.

After Rasuls’ internal shock, It was his turn to whine then. Not liking that his brother had way more kisses than him as he nuzzles against my back, wanting more kisses. His brother doesn’t need anymore than what you blessed him with.

“Alright, alright Rasul.” I huff, shifting in Zazirs hold to give him many kisses he wants as well, but it seems like Zazir doesn’t agree. His hands picking me up with ease and throwing me over his shoulder. A confused sound leaving Rasul who just wanted more kisses. :(

Zazir doesn’t even hesitate to take off and dodge his brother who goes after him a minisecond later. Their bodies rumbling and chittering at each other, more or so bickering at one another as they play this… game with me. Using the stalagmites to avoid one another.

This went off for an impressive while before I had gotten a little to dizzy for my taste and took their childish games into my hands. Sliding my fingers underneath a sensitive scale from Zazir armor; making him immediately stop and shiver at the sensation as Rasul takes his final chance to get all the kisses him wants. Even gaining a kiss for his rescue, and that he keens at.

At this point, it is clear that sometimes they just bicker and fight on purpose, and they absolutely do. It’s more kisses to them.

[tteokdoroki]

— “PANTY THIEF + BAKUGOU.”

author’s note(s): inspired by this fanart and everyone being horny on THE DASH !! dedicated to @honeykeigo n @lady-bakuhoe for enabling my horny behaviour ok ok. also this turned out longer than i expected so ,,, have fun?

warning(s): mdni, 18+, smut, dubcon, mentions of drinking, uhh sniffed and stolen panties, slight!exhibitionism, power play dynamics, fingering, pussy slaps uwu, fem!reader + pro hero!bakugou.

“y-you uh, you don’t haf’ta do this mishta—?“

“dynamight.”

“r-right, dy-ma-might!”

katsuki had rolled his eyes the first time you spoke to him, a sweet, darling little girl too drunk on whatever shitty alcohol you’d been served at the bar on friday night. you obviously didn’t drink much, maybe even drunk too much— the hero would tell by the way your eyes crossed with your legs as you walked and the fact that you couldn’t remember the right way to spell your own name and it was clear your friends were a bunch of assholes for abandoning their shit faced friend to find her own way home.

he hated, this part of the job but he’d have felt bad if the guy following you home had done something bad to you and besides— the way you pressed yourself to the explosive hero, breasts spilling out of your tight black dress, thick and juicy thighs exposed to the fresh night air makes the whole ordeal worth it. oh you’re so cute, got katsuki’s cock stirring in his pants— his baggy hero costume suddenly becoming way too fucking tight for his liking. you’ll pay him back, he knows that you will, all of his fans do in some way or another.

you’ll be special though, if the smell of your saccharine cunt is anything to go by. slick dripping down your shaky thighs while he guides you down the empty street, and of course you’d be attracted to him. bakugou will have to indulge in you; his reward for being such a gentleman, for being your hero. “this ish me,” you squeak when the pair of you arrive at the door to your apartment complex. your words are smooshed together by your own drunken haze while you unlock the door to let yourself in.

how rude of you, forgetting all about dynamight who’d basically saved your life tonight. without much of a fight, bakugou pushes you against the door, effectively keeping it closed, his eyes cloud over— a storm thick with lust as you look up at him so innocently he could break. “not gonna invite me up, sweet stuff?” he coos, amused at the shiver that runs laps down the base of your spine. your thighs jump apart only just, giving the hero an opportunity to shove his hand up your dress to cup your sweet little cunt.

“i— i didn’t know—“ your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, confusion etched so prettily across your face it makes bakugou want to bend you over and fill your hole to the brim. he’d save that for later though. “didn’t think you’d want to—“

the blonde growls, thick fingers easily finding your panties under that short dress of yours. the black lace is soaked to the bone, a sticky mess spreading across the digits that now pinch at your puffy clit. you jump and bakugou growls hungrily. “s’awfully rude don’cha think, sweet stuff? that’s okay though, i think you can reward me right fuckin’ here, don’chu?” a toothy smirk tugs at the hero’s lips when you dumbly nod in agreement, your body trembling from a mix of cold, neediness and excitement. “atta girl, spread those needy fuckin’ thighs for me then.”

you seem to have sobered up quickly, listening well for the hero that saved you and part your meaty thighs to let bakugou push your panties to the side and give him more access to your runny cunny. “p-please dynamight, d-do somethin,” comes your whiney voice as he lowers his to get a better view of your spread your pussy lips; he watches as your hole oozes just for him, desperate to filled and fucked. it’s too early for his cock, he needs to give you a taste of something else before you get drunk on him.

without warning, he pushes two of his expert fingers past your puckering entrance, immediately curling them in a come hither motion as his heated red eyes flicker up to watch your face. your ruby painted lips hang open in a silent moan while your fingers dig into bakugou’s shoulders so hard your nails form tears in his hero suit. “fuckin’ look atcha baby, barely even touched ya ‘n you’re already suckin’ down my fingers so greedily.” he snarls, sharp teeth coming down on your barley clothed breast.

bakugou’s thumb massages rough circles into your clit, pulling more honeyed cries from your lips as your eyes screw shut. “f-fuck, dynamight, need more of your touch, ‘m begging you please!” is all you can say, mindlessly babbling as you fail to keep yourself up right. the explosive pro hero steadies you with an arm wrapped around your waist, fingers curling again to explore more of your velvet walls.

“it’s katsuki, to you,” he barks out, using the arm around your waist to smack your sloppy cunt, the wet sound echoing across the street. “needy little thing, beggin’ me like this, who am i to deny your wishes?” bakugou grins, mercilessly scissoring his digits into your tight heat to stretch you wide open for him. he can’t believe his luck, the way you’re so pliant and responsive to him and him alone.

it’s too soon for him to be this addicted to your cute moans filling the crisp air but he can’t help himself, not when you clamp around his scarred fingers with every pump of them into your silken heat. not with the way your own fingers now curl in sun kissed blonde hair— pulling the hero upwards to suck on his bottom lip, followed by his tongue.

you cry out, the most beautiful sound katsuki’s every heard in all twenty years of living when his fingers press down hard on that gummy pleasure spot inside you, and like the good girl you are for him, you keep your shaky thighs open for him. “you’re such a good fuckin’ doll, letting me finger you out in the open like this, anyone could see us but you wouldn’t care, not when you’re creamin’ your panties for dynamight, right sweet thing?” bakugou’s lewd words go straight to your cunt, entangled with the squelching noises as he moves within you.

“yes! yes! wouldn’t care, don’ care...j-jus wanna cum for you, s-suki—fuck, please—“ you mewl into the night, doe eyes shimmering with tears as the knot in your lower tummy gets tighter and tighter until you can’t bare it anymore.

bakugou grins, curling his fingers once more to send you hurtling off of the edge. he can’t stop thinking about how soaked your little lace panties must be, about all the things he’s going to do with them once he gets them off of you.

“cum.” your pussy follows his orders for you, white flashing behind your eyes as a scream rips in your throat and shoots out into the quiet night. the knot in your stomach snaps, release splashing out against bakugou’s hand and hero suit— he makes you cum so hard you almost black out, a twitching mess in the hero’s arms.

when you finally come to, bakugou’s slurping your nectar off of his fingers, head cocked to the side as you shakily look up at him. “i, uh...t-thank you!” you breathe, blinking away the buzzing noise in the back of your head. “for...uh...”

you’re so cute, flushed with heat and slick dripping from between your legs. you obviously think that was a one time thing, but bakugou hasn’t finished cashing in his reward. the hero shakes his head, using a thumb and forefinger to tilt your own up to meet his ruby gaze. “give me your phone and take off your panties.” he orders, voice authoritative and never wavering— you’re confused, but don’t question him, just as a good girl should.

rooting around in your now discarded purse, you pull out and unlock your going for katsuki, who busies himself with your contacts. embarrassment crawls up your spine when you reach for your underwear, still wet with your arousal and release, you look to bakugou hesitantly. “do i have to—?”

“off.” he grunts, barely looking up from your device as you shimmy out of the lace garment and hand it to him. bakugou gives you the same evil smirk from earlier while you collect yourself against the door, sniffing the flimsily, wet material before shoving them into the pocket of his pants. his cock is hard as a fucking rock, but he’ll be able to deal with it appropriately after his patrol. “i’ll be keeping these. this is where we say g’night sweet stuff.”

the way you curl in on yourself, perhaps a bit humiliated at the idea of your panties being taken by the number two pro hero is adorable, and if he didn’t have patrol, katsuki would have eaten you up right then and there. “goodnight dynamight— i mean, k-katsuki, thank you for everything and h-have a safe night.” you squeak out quickly, moving to open the door again.

“not a problem, honey,” bakugou whispers with a lowered voice, pulling you in to swipe his tongue across your bottom lip, shoving his tongue down your throat in a kiss goodnight. “now get your cute ass upstairs, don’ want anyone to see your leaky cunt like this. that’s fuckin’ mine.”

you do as you’re told, bidding the hero one last farewell before dashing up the steps and into your apartment. your heart and mind race a thousand miles a minute, crazed with the fact that you had just been fingered to the best fucking orgasm of your life by the number two pro hero. you have to force yourself to shower, mapping out all of the spots that bakugou had touched you and growing giddy at the small burn marks he’d left against the inner workings of your thighs.

that night, or rather, early morning— you settle into the sheets, mind still plagued with thoughts of katsuki bakugou, when your phone pings with a text.

to: yn.

from: unknown.

— never got your name sweet stuff, care to tell me who’s name i’ll be moaning tonight?

( one attachment ).

your heartbeat thunders in your ears, familiar warm pooling between your legs yet again as you open the image— knowing that there can be only one person that it’s from. a quiet moan slips past your lips as the picture loads to reveal bakugou in your very same black lace panties from earlier— the slick from your release pressed up against his barely covered cock, while he jerks himself off, precum oozing from his blistering red tip.

you exhale, typing back your name and hitting send— thanking whatever higher power that lead katsuki bakugou to steal your fucking panties.

[spinster-sisters]

Pushover. psh jwy

TW: exhibitionism, fingering, oral female receiving, dirty talk, praise, degradation, grinding, slight bondage, good ole fashion fucking, cock stepping apparently, daddy kink, mutual masturbation, probably other stuff that have escaped my mind cuz writing this felt like a fever dream. So wooyoung is involved pretty heavily involved in this, like many of the kinks listed are done on him and by him so there you have it. Also yeosang is directly involved for like 4 seconds, also please just assume any tags mentioned in the first part that are not listed here may also pop up.

Part 1 (this is a direct continuation of this timestamp)

WC: 5k words of pure smut.

-

You were hardly aware of your surroundings. Nestled into Seonghwa’s lap, your head fell back onto his shoulder and your eyes screwed shut. You could hear the garbled sound of your boyfriend’s voice rumbling next to your ear, but the slim fingers working in and out of your wet hole stopped any thoughts from entering your brain. Your panties had been pushed aside only enough for him to slip two fingers inside you but you were already keening.

Seonghwa knew how to work you, knew how to make you fall apart and he would usually take his time doing it. Normally you had to put in the work for this kind of treatment, you would have to be especially good and listen to him well during the day, a single misstep or disobeyed words would leave you hopeless, but you had gotten very good at behaving. Why would you when he treated you so well? Not to mention that Seonghwa had something to prove today, without an exchange of words you already knew to be on your best behavior today.

“So what do you say, Woo? It’s your call.” Seonghwa spoke with a cool calm tone. His free hand tapped your side and you knew he wanted your attention for the next part, so your head lifted up and you pulled your eyes open to face the room.

Seven pairs of eyes were glued to you and your boyfriend, all in various stages of embarrassment to downright turned on, but the ones that caught your attention were none other than Wooyoung’s. Because it seemed for the first time the man was at a complete loss for words. His mouth was flapping open and closed like a fish out of water but his complexion was suddenly very pink. He was watching with careful eyes the way Seonghwa’s fingers slipped in and out of you, each time pulling more wetness from you, where it pooled on Seonghwa’s pant leg and made his fingers glisten.

“Are you going to answer me? I don’t appreciate being ignored Wooyoung.” Seonghwa’s voice sounded again, this time with a much steelier tone. Snapped out of his reverie Wooyoung’s eyes flung up to your boyfriend's hard gaze and he made a confused noise. Wooyoung’s body twitched at Seonghwa’s disappointed sigh and somewhere in the room, you heard Mingi muttering to Jongho.

“I asked you a question Woo, do you have an answer?”

Wooyoung’s eyes flitted around the room, desperately looking for aid in the faces of his friends, but none came. They seemed perfectly content to watch the loud boy struggle for words. Eventually, he looked to you for help with pleading eyes, you weren’t quite sure what he wanted you to do but before you could even ponder Seonghwa slipped another finger inside you, stretching you open, even more, making your lips fall open with a pleased sigh and your brain clouded over again.

“Don’t look to her for help, she listened well and is getting her reward. You can’t possibly expect her to risk that to help you. Now, I don’t like repeating myself Woo, so I’m only going to do it once. Do you still think I’m too much of a pushover?” Seonghwa spoke with icy venom.

Wooyoung frantically shook his head ‘no.’ You almost felt sorry for the man when your boyfriend's face turned to stone. Wooyoung noticed it too, and in a moment of frantic panic he realized his mistake and pushed out the word “No!” With perhaps a little too much force. Your head turned to look at Seonghwa’s sharp side profile. He looked very pleased with himself. Rightfully so, taking charge was his forte in times like these.

Seonghwa returned your gaze with a smirk. Using his free hand he gently took your chin between his fingers and pulled you in for a deep kiss. The hand working inside you slowed it is ministrations, but you knew better than to voice your disapproval. Seonghwa’s lips effortlessly urged yours to open and his long tongue slipped between them. Seonghwa’s kisses were always so, strong? He put so much force into every press of the lips and every swipe of the tongue head spun with excitement. Your eyes feel shut almost immediately, moving your mouth gently along with your boyfriend.

It seems you got a little too lost in the feeling of the kiss and the gentle push of the hand working inside you because you were slowly becoming more and more vocal with each passing second. What started as soft groans were now developing into full moans that were only slightly muffled by Seonghwa’s lips. But a sudden squeal from across the room drew both of your attention. Seonghwa broke the kiss to peer across the room at none other than Wooyoung, whose pink complexion had turned bright red since you last looked at him. Also notable, was the way he kept clenching his thighs together and making small grinding motions.

He wasn’t completely alone in this, one quick glass around the room showed you that all of your friends seemed to be enjoying the scene before them, many of them sporting hard dicks of their own (San and Hongjoong especially had taken to slowly palming themselves over their jeans) but none seemed to be quite as affected as the boy directly across for you.

“Getting impatient?” Seonghwa asked with disinterest.

“No,” Wooyoung replied, trying to match your boyfriend's tone but failing miserably.

“We’ve barely started and you're already rutting against the floor like a dog, are you sure this isn’t too much for you?” Seonghwa asked in a tone of mock concern. Seonghwa pulled his fingers from you to instead gently circle your clit with care. You. Squirmed again. The truth was you were remarkably close to the cumming. A fact Seonghwa probably knew. You tried to reassure yourself, knowing that in the current circumstances a high reward was coming your way soon, but the sudden emptiness was disappointing none the less and while it showed on your face you dared not make a sound.

“Get on with it then,”

You winced. Knowing the kind of reaction Wooyoung’s words would bring. Seonghwa’s face hardened. Much darker than you had seen in a long time. One quick glance to the side told you that the younger boy's word had left Seonghwa seething. He stayed silent for a moment, but not inactive. His fingers dancing across your folds seemed to gain a sense of purpose, and with sudden and unexpected vigor, Seonghwa worked them in a way that made your legs twitch and your hole clench around nothing.

“Can I, please?” You asked aloud, though it was clear who you were talking to.

“Go ahead little one,” Seonghwa encouraged with a surprisingly gentle tone.

A loud whine came from your open mouth and the room watched with rapt attention as your body came undone. Even Seonghwa pulled eyes dangerous gaze away from Wooyoung who had been gulping with fear, to watch with soft eyes at the way his pretty girl fell apart for him.

It must have been a truly lewd sight. Your body spasming freely as your glistening core twitched, not to mention your chest covered with marks given to you by the very man who caused your pleasure. The helpless cries were only the cherry on top to the room of onlookers, Yunho had even let out a low groan of his own. But the man of the hour, as it seemed, Wooyoung had returned to his stunned silence, watching the way Seonghwa continued to toy with your clit, prolonging your orgasm as much as possible for the room to enjoy.

Seonghwa turned back to Wooyoung and stopped his work on you only after the majority of your orgasm had passed, leaving you breathless and panting. You felt Seonghwa’s hard cock digging into your ass, but Seonghwa had other matters to attend to first. He fixed Wooyoung with a hard gaze and gave a simple command.

“Come here,”

Wooyoung froze at his words, unable to look away. Yeosang, who had been enjoying Wooyoung’s torment far more than the others urged his forward with a small push on the shoulder, which snapped him out of his trance, and after a moment he slowly crawled across the floor to sit on the floor before you.

Everyone in the room seemed shocked by this turn of events, yourself included, but one quick look from Seonghwa’s encouraging smile settled your nerves. Besides, your brain way still basking in the aftermath of your orgasm so this all seemed much more exciting than you would admit out loud.

With a pinch on your outer thigh from Seonghwa your legs instinctively opened wider, giving Wooyoung an eye full of your now slightly swollen core. Seonghwa reached between your legs and spread your pussy open, exposing your still pulsing hole to the man on the floor, and with one simple sentence, changed the tone of the night for good.

“Get on with it then,”

“What?” Wooyoung sputtered helplessly, looking up to your boyfriend with wide eyes.

“Your attitude has done nothing but remind me how wonderfully obedient my pretty girl is,” as Seonghwa spoke you subconsciously cuddled further into his chest, his eyes flicked to you and he gave you a reassuring squeeze on your neck with his free hand, “and I think she should be rewarded before I deal with that mouth of yours.”

Wooyoung’s eyes shown with realization as it finally dawned on him exactly what his teasing had gotten him into. His eyes flicked around to the faces of his friends only to see them waiting expectantly for Wooyoung to do as he was told. He looked back to Seonghwa and opened his mouth, to apologize, to beg, to l say anything at all, but no words came out. Seonghwa frowned at him.

“Don’t you think she’s been good?” Your boyfriend asked accusatorily.

“Yes, she has-“ Wooyoung started.

Seonghwa’s finger slipped down to drag through your folds and collect the wetness gathering there. You were still incredibly sensitive from your orgasm and the movement made you shudder a gasp. Wooyoung’s eyes followed the action with a downright hungry gaze but something was still restraining him from acting. Seonghwa held out his wet finger in front of the boy's face, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight.

“I’m not going to say it again. Get. On. With. It.”

It seemed whatever defiant streak had been holding the boy back had finally broken. Wooyoung’s head snapped forward and took the Seonghwa’s long shining finger into his mouth and sucked it clean. A loud whinny groan came from the boy instantaneously and after a moment his lips pulled away with a loud pop. With his new resolve Wooyoung’s eyes zeroed in on your face blushing face and with an incredibly what look his eyes snapped back down and he dove in.

An unapologetic scream ripped from your open mouth. The first sensation you felt was pain, you have only fully come down from your high a minute or so prior and your clit was still incredibly sensitive as Wooyoung attached his lips to your cunt and rolled his tongue over the bud repeatedly. But the longer he kept at it, sliding his tongue over the length of your core in a wide lick, the more the full pain turned into biting pleasure.

“You look so pretty like this baby,” Seonghwa muttered encouragingly in your ear, but still loud enough for the room to hear over the obscene slurping noises Wooyoung was now making as he sucked at your entrance. “Doesn't that feel nice?”

Depends on how you define nice really, it felt like all too much all at once, it hurt yes, but every swipe of the younger boy's tongue brought more wetness out of you and made your body twitch and writhe with the slightest movement. Honestly, you should have been used to this by now. Seonghwa loved to do this to you, overstimulate you for hours till there were tears in your eyes and you had lost control of your limbs, he thought you looked best when completely at his mercy. But this was only your first orgasm, you had been trained well enough to keep some of your composure despite the abuse your aching core was suffering at Wooyoung’s hand. You turned to Seonghwa’s satisfied face, and gave him a weak smile,

“Feels good, Daddy.”

Somewhere in the room someone let out an “oh fuck,” and Wooyoung groaned particularly loud directly into your pussy and the vibrations traveled up your spine like lightning. Your mouth fell open as you looked into Seonghwa’s eyes with a dazed look. Your hips arched off your boyfriend's lap. It was Wooyoung who made the first move to push your hips back, eager to have his mouth back on you, but he had no sooner touched you than Seonghwa slapped his hand away from your body.

Wooyoung pulled away from your core, his chin dripping with your juices and his eyes shining with confusion. Seonghwa took your hips into both of his hands and pulled you back, flush against his lap and still hard cock, he then fixed Wooyoung with a glare.

“Your not here to touch. Make my baby girl cum in the next five minutes and I might just go easier on you.” Seonghwa spat.

Wooyoung blinked at him, before giving him the sweetest smile he could muster.

“Yes, Daddy”

This took you and the rest of the room by surprise. But you didn’t have time to ponder before Seonghwa took the boy by the roots of his hair and pulled his face forward into your swollen cunt.

“Times ticking, little boy, better get a move on.”

And so he did. Wooyoung ate you out with a burning passion you had never quite experienced. Seonghwa preferred to take hours going down on you, purposely going a slow and steady as possible to build up extremely powerful orgasms that would last for minutes. This was entirely different. Wooyoung was being incredibly messy. Wet sounds echoed around the room and into your ears, he seemed to be trying to eat you alive with the way his mouth moved desperately around your folds. His tongue had made its return to your clit. He sucked the bud between his lips and rolled it around with his tongue in such quick tight little circles your brain spun and if it weren’t for the iron grip one of your boyfriend's hand still had on your hip your sure you would flailing around like a madwoman. You certainly sounded like one with the way endless cries, whines, and groan spilled from your lips in increasing volume. Wooyoung had a clear goal, Seonghwa had given him five minutes? He would do it in three.

You were nearing the end of your rope, your entire lower half seemed to be vibrating with numb pain and pleasure it was almost unbearable but somehow nowhere near enough.

“Daddy? Can I cum please?” You spoke in a shattered voice. Seonghwa, who still had his hand twisted in Wooyoung’s hair looked down expectantly at the boy, who was already peering up at your face with wide eyes. Both you and your boyfriend watched as Wooyoung slid his tongue into your hole and began fucking it in and out of you in time with your breathy gasps. Your head flipped frantically to search your boyfriend's eyes, begging for permission.

“Please, please, Daddy, I can’t hold-“

“You can cum baby,”

And that was all it took. You practically screamed. Your eyes went white as your head fell back again. Having lost all control of the movement of your limbs Seonghwa took his hand from Wooyoung’s head and used both to hold your spasming body close against his. Your brain had gone fuzzy and the only two things registering in your brain were the gentle praise being whispered into your ear and the beat of Seonghwa’s heart against your back from how closely he held you.

Your recovery to much longer this time. To be perfectly honest, in your whacked-out brain it could have been hours.

Slowly you came back to reality. When you opened your eyes the first thing you saw was Yunho from across the room, he gave you a reassuring smile but it was offset slightly by the way his hand was down his pants, nevertheless you smiled back. You laid limp and spent across Seonghwa’s lap. His arm had come around your waist to hold you up and his other hand was rubbing soft circles on your inner thigh. He gave a gentle kiss to your temple as you stirred, leaving butterflies in your stomach. Shifting slightly so you sat sideways on his lap you curled yourself into him with an affectionate purr.

And then there way Wooyoung. He sat on his knees with his hands on his thighs looking up at you like he won a prize.

“You taste good,” he said with an almost happy hour lucky smile.

“Did you like it, Woo?” San asked from behind him, San was sporting his own wide eyes and looking overly jealous about the whole thing.

Wooyoung spun around to look at his best friend and spoke enthusiastically,

“She tastes so good Sannie, really, it was so much fun!”

“Don’t get too excited Woo, we’re not done yet.” Seonghwa chided. Wooyoung whirled around to face him.

“Didn’t I do good?” He asked with a confused look.

You nodded absently as Seonghwa spoke.

“Yea you did good, but that doesn’t excuse your attitude earlier. You still need to learn some respect. I’m sure our friends would agree all this attention you’ve been getting has gone to your head.”

Yeosang and Jongho snickered in agreement. Wooyoung turned to shoot them a glare but it was cut short by a strangled moan. Seonghwa had pressed the heel of his shoe onto the swollen tip of Wooyoung’s cock through his jeans. And to your surprise, Wooyoung’s hips bucked up into the sole of his shoe. Your brain short-circuited.

Wooyoung started to move away but Seonghwa took hold of his hair again and kept him in place.

“What’s the matter woo? Embarrassed? Embarrassed you almost got yourself off on Daddy’s shoe?”

Wooyoung shook his head no, but Seonghwa only dug his heel in harder and Wooyoung couldn’t help but buck against his shoe again with a pained moan. Your legs were clenching together as another pool of arousal pooled between them. Here’s the deal, you had always admired Seonghwa’s incredible level-headedness. In fact, it was one of the best qualities you could ask for in a lover. But for months now, you had been hoping for the chance that Seonghwa would show his true colors to the rest of the group. The idea had been a fantasy of yours for such a long time, but seeing it, here and now, and like this? Not to mention you had always wondered just how far Seonghwa would go if someone disobeyed him, perhaps you didn’t have the guts to do it yourself, especially since being good reaped such high reward, but this was far more than you ever imagined. You doubt whether you had ever been this turned on in your life.

Seonghwa noticed your reaction, of course, he could always read you like a book. He glanced around the room to the hungry faces of your friends till he found who he was looking for and locked eyes with them with a smirk.

“Yeosang, think you could help me for a moment?”

Yeosang returned the smirk and the room watched with bated breath as he made his way over to the scene, eyes zeroed in on Wooyoung’s mortified face.

“Who knew Wooyoung was such a pain slut.”

Yeosang’s voice was as cool as a cucumber, and if it wasn’t for the bulge in his pants you would think he was talking about the weather. Seonghwa dug his heel into Woo one last time before spinning the boy around to face Yeosang by yanking the hair in his grip. Wooyoung was whining pathetically at it all. Your hand was placed on Seonghwa’s hard chest. He glanced at you with a promising smile at your desperate face.

“Not had your fill yet, little one?” He asked you with a smirk. You shook your head ‘no.’

“No Daddy, you make me so needy.” You reply with wide eyes and a slight whine, grasping the fabric of his shirt in a tight fist. He grinned at you before turning to Yeosang again.

“I think it’s finally time to fuck my baby girl, but I don’t think Wooyoung has learned his lesson yet,” as he spoke Seonghwa began fiddling with his belt, pulling through the loops of his jeans. Handing the belt to Yeosang he continued, “Do me a favor, tie him up, make him desperate, don’t stop till he begs.”

Yeosang accepted the challenge with a smile. Seonghwa’s attention was finally on you and you alone. With his help as your body was still weak, he adjusted you to straddle his hips facing him. You looked a mess surely, there was no way you looked anything but obscene and sweaty, But Seonghwa took in your face with a smile.

“You look so pretty like this baby girl” As he spoke, Seonghwa’s hand came to your ass and kneaded it in his palms. The room could no longer see your face, but they could most definitely see this, and likely your still leaking cunt.

Directly behind you, you could hear rummaging noises and the distinct clink of a belt being done up. A quick glance over your shoulder showed you that Wooyoung was now facing the room, with his hands bound behind his back and a pillow between his legs, Yeosang sat to his side clearly satisfied with his work. After taking it in you turned back to Seonghwa who looked pleased himself.

“You’ve been so good baby, want Daddy to fuck you? Nice and deep how you like it?” You practically purred at his words. It’s true so far you had enjoyed yourself, but there was nothing quite like when Seonghwa filled you up with his cock.

“Please fuck me Daddy” you whispered, leaning in close to him with your biggest doll eyes, and your hands gripping his shoulder. Seonghwa smiled at you, content with your answer.

A moment later he had freed his duck from his jeans and was stroking it leisurely. Your mouth watered. Oh, the way he could make you feel, how many times he had made you cum. As Seonghwa sunk into the couch, taking a moment to watch you squirm on his lap he truly looked too powerful. The calm in the sea of chaos that had unfolded that night, it was unfair how he made your heart skip a beat. With one quick glance over your shoulder, he called out to Wooyoung one last time.

“I’d start doing as you were told Wooyoung, wouldn’t want the others to get impatient with you,”

At that, you heard the first grunt of Wooyoung grinding helplessly on the pillow, then whimpering at how the surface was too soft to gain any friction over his pants. The poor boy was at his wit's end.

But your attention was drawn back to the man in front of you before you had time to feel sorry for Wooyoung. One of his fingers had slipped inside you once again to test the waters. You flinched at the intrusion, your body was utterly spent, and the overstimulation would be hell, but as God, as your witness, you were going to take your boyfriend's cock tonight.

“Are you sure your ok baby? Wouldn’t want to push you too far after the night you’ve had.” He spoke with mild concern, but he already knew the answer.

“No! I want to! I can take it!” You spoke with urgency.

“Absolutely sure sweetpea?” He asked one last time. Your hand gripping his shirt twisted and shook. You looked at him with the most pleading look you could muster.

“Please fuck me, Daddy.”

“Ok then,” he replied with a smile. Not once today had you forgotten your manners or rules, after dealing with the whimpering boy behind you for an evening he was glad to have his perfect baby girl still being as good as ever.

Seonghwa hoisted your hips to be level with his. Seonghwa had a thing about eye contact while he fucked you, so you did your best to not break it as the tip of his cock teased your entrance.

To be completely honest, but the focus of the rest of the room seemed to now be on Wooyoung, who was still rutting against the pillow like a dog, and they all seemed to be enjoying the show far too much to notice the tender way Seonghwa pulled your body down flush against his hips and down onto his cock. Although the broken whipper that came from you at the feeling overwhelming sensation did turn a few heads.

Your knees were shaking and your hands trembling. You had been right, the overstimulation was making it too hard to move on your own. But Seonghwa was attentive as always. He wrapped an arm around your waist and used it to slowly work you up and down on his cock. Each thrust he made felt like pins and needles in the best way possible. After Seonghwa had worked up a steady rhythm a numbing pleasure had already begun to build. Looking deep into your boyfriend's eyes you placed and hand on your tummy and after moving it around for a bit you could feel him moving inside you. You groaned out, this position had always been the best for deep penetration anyways.

“Daddy I can feel you inside me,” you whipper as he picks up speed. The room was beginning to sound like a symphony of lewd cries and squelching noises coming from both you and Wooyoung. Not to mention the panting and groaning coming from the others in the room, who had lost any semblance of shame and were jerking off freely to the unexpected yet beautiful sight. The other boy's eyes kept flicking back and forth, unable to decide which one was more arousing to watch. Many of them had already gotten themselves off before now and were now sporting half-hard cocks as they were faced with the delightful scene.

“I know baby girl, I know how much you love to be stuffed full of cock. And now everyone else knows too.” Seonghwa replied clearly satisfied with himself. His hand came up to your jaw and he delivered a particularly hard thrust and pulled your hips down to match it. You were already losing focus of the world around you and the pleasure was mounting rapidly. At the force of the thrust, your eyes almost dropped closed but Seonghwa pulled your head forward and they opened a bit wider.

“Now everyone knows how good you are for me, baby. My good little girl, who loves taking my cock.” Seonghwa was speaking in such a low grumbling voice it was almost like he was talking to himself rather than you like he was reminding himself of what he had accomplished today. You could tell that after waiting all night for stimulation he was also getting close to his own edge, and if you listen to the whiny panting of the boy behind you you could tell he was getting desperate for the release that would never come from the pillow.

You almost lost eye contact again when Seonghwa’s thrusts became sloppy. Increased pace but with less consistency was the tell-tale sign that Seonghwa was going to cum, but luckily for him, it was this exact treatment that made your head spin. Your lower half was numb with biting pleasure and it was all you could do to keep your eyes open to watch the sweat dripping down Seonghwa’s forehead as he carried on with determination. The others had caught on to what was about to happen and many were now speeding up their ministrations to themselves to climax at the same time as you and your boyfriend.

Seonghwa’s hand wound its way into your hair and used it to crash your lips onto his is a heated, wet, and messy kiss. Any second now and you would lose yourself to the pleasure. You detached your lips just enough to pant into Seonghwa’s lips,

“Daddy, in cumming”

“Damn right you are,” he moaned in response.

It was wise of him to reattach your lips before you came undone. Even with him muffling your noises there was no way the sounds you made didn’t echo around the room and ring In everyone’s ears. Seonghwa kept his pace, pushing more and more whinnies out of you till you almost jumped away from him in overstimulation, butter grip on your waist didn’t let you get far. There were tears in your eyes by the time Seonghwa finally came. Your orgasm had turned silent almost immediately after and your mouth hung wide open in an empty moan. Your brain had all but shut off when the feeling of your boyfriend's cum spilling into you registered into your brain.

Saying you blacked out would be a strong word. But when your eyes fell closed they didn’t seem to want to open. You and Seonghwa stayed connected for what seemed like an eternity before he pulled out of you with a groan and laid you gently down onto the couch to his side.

You were dead weight at this point. But when you felt Seonghwa stand up you pried your eyes open the slightest bit once you realized that the unmistakable noises of a begging Wooyoung had filled your ears.

Seonghwa walked around to stand in front of him. Most of the others in the room were now basking in the afterglow of their own orgasms but had perked up to watch.

“Please, please, please, Daddy. Please let me cum. I promise I’ll be good, I promise I won’t bother you as much, I promise, please-“

Wooyoung ramblings we’re cut short by Seonghwa taking hold of Wooyoung’s head and turning it up to look him in the eyes.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” Seonghwa replied. Wooyoung gasped a sigh of relief. Seonghwa motioned for Yeosang to come over and untie the poor boy and hopefully get him some relief. But Seonghwa didn’t care about that part, his eyes were now back on you. His sweet perfect, obedient little girl.

-

Tag List: @deja-vux @txtbbys @darlingmulti @emotionally-intellectual @mingishoe @eonghwa @galaxteez

@a-soft-hornytiny @yunhospuppy @barnesbabee @woowommy @hyetiny @multidreams-and-desires @spacepiratehongjoong @pikacuuuuuuu

if your wondering why your tagged, its either because you expressed interest in a part two or are otherwise a homie or I would like you to be a homie and this is my olive branch

[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!

[doubledgesword-2]

Can I get Vil Schoenheit x Rival Celebrity? They shoot insults at each other but end up flirting? Take it as far as you want! Any gender reader is fine lol

Oh, ma Gooosh!! This is the first Matcha Tea I've gotten, and I'm all for this. I had so much fun with this one, and I want to show you lil' sugar cubes the difference between characters I know and the ones that I don't. I do my research before writing a character that I'm unfamiliar with, but I will be sincere: I butchered the last request (Shalnark's). I will try to rewrite it, but other characters apart from the stated ones are a bit hard for me ( ˘︹˘ ).

I will always try my best for ya'll! Enjoy this steaming Matcha (❛‿❛✿)

“What a shameless potato,” nimble fingers scrolled down on their phone, looking at the menagerie of pictures from one single account: yours.

You and Vil were from the same industry, just not the same department per se. While he was a model and actor, you were a j pop star and actress. Your popularity and his were on the same level, but he was slightly higher if you asked him or his fans. Ever since the two of you met on set for a fantasy-like movie, you repelled each other’s presence like oil and water.

Amethyst eyes glared at your smiling picture, and a thousand critiques passed through his mind. Your make-up did not complement your features; what was your make-up artist thinking? That nail polish didn’t match with your skin, and your haircut didn’t go with your face and countless other thoughts. But that wasn’t his place to tell, and besides, you living in his head rent-free wasn’t good for his skin. Stress kills, and thinking about you was very stressful.

The subway doors opened, and Vil gripped his side bag, adjusting his beret and sunglasses and walking out with the amount of confidence and power it took to walk down the runway. The sea of people diligently coming and going parted for him without a cue. They just did like mindless fish around a predator. It was in their nature to give in, in the presence of something so regal.

Vil had a photoshoot to go, and he couldn’t miss a beat. His agenda was full and complicated; anyone who tried to follow it would surely lose their minds after the first three days of the same arduous pace. But he could handle it with the grace of a swan. He was the great Vil Shoenheit. He wondered if you could handle a week in his shoes. You probably would drop exhausted and disheveled, complaining about the hard work. The thought made him smirk smugly, and passerby fans who recognized him couldn’t even keep up to ask for an autograph.

He just couldn’t fathom how you had such a fan base with your attitude and manners. Sure, in front of the cameras, you were a sweetheart, stealing everyone’s hearts, singing like an empowered angel, and making them think you were as far from the villain he knew you truly were. Vil knew your kind and recognized it the moment he met you on set. Heck, you couldn’t even contain your disdain in interviews when the two of you had to sit side by side. It was uncomfortable, to say the least; the poor reporter was so painfully awkward trying to alleviate the tenseness in the room.

“So (Y/N), how do you feel being an actress in a big-budget movie while also singing and performing the next week? Is it exhausting?”

You sided glared at Vil, and gave the reporter a smug grin. “Well, I think I can handle a little bit of work. It’s not in me to sit around and look pretty, you know. But then again, I guess that’s what some people are into, so we can’t judge them. They might not understand hard work.”

Vil smiled with closed eyes. You were such an amateur. If it weren’t for the fact that you were actively throwing shade on him and being so annoying at it, too, he might think you were cute.

Of course, Vil wouldn’t back down; that’s not what he was taught. The crown was his, and he would take it with hard work and determination. Which means potatoes like you don’t really matter in the long run of things.

“Vil-senpai, how do you manage your modeling gig and your acting? I mean, it must be hard to run from one event to the next since they’re so close behind each other?”

“Well, dear, we models are more than just a pretty face. We represent big companies and events that many couldn’t even fathom getting into. My schedule might be a bit tight, but I was born into this lifestyle, and I have learned many skills to help me move and work in these types of environments. I can say one thing for sure not a lot of people can handle my agenda, one day in my heels, and they might slip if you know what I mean, darling.”

You scoffed under your breath, and it made Vil’s smile grow wider.

“Ahh, Vil-senpai is a hard worker for sure. Perhaps one day I could do an interview that can provide insight to one day of your agenda.”

“Anytime you want, darling, it would be lovely,” he knew with every word that came out of his mouth; you simmered even more.

“Are there any hobbies or activities that can fit into your schedules?

Vil was about to open his mouth when you beat him to it.

“Well, I don’t think he’s allowed to have any, you know, with his busy schedule. But I do love partaking in (hobby). I think it is a nice way to unwind and take my mind off of everything. Since stress it’s not good for your vocals, you know. I try to keep myself in top shape for my lovely fans.”

Vil was raging. How dare you interrupt him when he was clearly about to talk. Didn’t your parent taught you any manners, or are you so much of a spoiled brat to care for?

“Ahh, interesting. Does Vil Sendai have any hobbies in particular?

“As a matter of fact, I do” you were looking at him with an expectant smirk. You were genuinely curious to hear what he had to say. “I like to make beauty and make-up tutorials that are beneficial for a lot of my fans. I like to show them how to use brushes correctly what and what not to do with concealer. Those are bonding moments for me and my fans. I think they are important.”

At the end of that interview, a single question brought the anger and tense meter to burst. Now the tensions and dislikes weren’t palpable. They were visible.

“Oh, I’ve had some partners, but I like to focus more on my work, unlike some other artists who like to jump around; my projects come first, and I don’t want to ruin my partner’s and I relationship by not spending enough time with them.”

“Wow, he really doesn’t like to have fun.”

“I do just not with the likes of you.”

“Come on, pretty boy, you couldn’t handle me even if you were begging pretty on your knees.”

“Dream on, potato, you might be prettier than most potatoes, but you’re still that a potato with some potential. I bet if push came to shove, you wouldn’t last seconds with me.

“I bet you wouldn’t make it into the second round without having to retouch your make-up with me. Besides, it’s not like you’ll last long enough to even sweat that much.”

“Well, that’s a relief to know I wouldn’t have to put much effort into pleasing someone like you.”

The reporter was utterly flushed, and that was cut from the interview recording. Good thing that it was, or people might’ve gotten the wrong impression. That you liked each other or something.

Or something.

After that interview, rumors spread like they always do, and fans started gossiping about the two of you secretly together but having to hate each other in public to save face since it’s a big rumor that singers and models don’t actually go well together in the industry.

Such wild imagination and machinations fans have. It brought out a small chuckle.

Vil passed through the automatic doors telling the receptionist his name and guiding him to the set. Once there, he settled his stuff over the make-up table and sat back to look once more through his phone.

“Have you seen this?” A text notification annoying appeared on the screen.

Vil tch and opened the message to reveal a very well photoshopped photo of him and you sitting and drinking at some café. You were smiling like he just told you you were beautiful, and it was a good look on you.

This was outrageous. Who would go to such lengths? Suddenly a bag dropped right on the table next to him. He looked up to meet your eyes as you took off your sunglasses, slowly realizing who was sitting beside you.

“Oh no,” you faintly muttered underneath your breath but not faintly enough that Vil couldn’t hear you.

He scoffed and went back to look at the stupid picture, texting his manager as mad as he was.

“Oh, you saw it too,” you commented, sitting down and looking at your own phone.

Vil didn’t answer. He really didn’t care about your opinion on this; his credibility was on the line. He was supposed to hate you, and that’s how things should go.

“Well, at least they got a good angle of my face, not to mention I’m actually smiling for once.”

“Actually, smil- what are you talking about potato? All you do is smile in all of your pictures. That’s why you have to hide your wrinkles with make-up,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing.

“Well, as presumptuous as that was, proud little peacock, I actually never smile genuinely for the cameras. My genuine smile is reserved for good moments. I guess not anymore.”

At that, Vil felt like the two of you clicked. He knew the feeling, the invasive nature of fame, and the lack of privacy was very real in the industry. It’s the first thing you have to get through. But listening to you say made him realize you’re just like him.

“Well, if you behave during the shoot, I might feel inclined to reward you for good behavior” he grinned at you.

“Mmm, you make it sound as if you don’t like the way I make you crumble in front of everyone. It’s like you’re denying yourself the pleasure, and here I thought you liked the masochism.”

“Hahahaha, I’ll step on you once we’re done here. Maybe that and a little bit of discipline will put you in your place. However, your lack of manners and running mouth might be a problem; perhaps all you need is a nice pacifier. I can help with that.”

You both were so close to each other muttering salacious threats that you didn’t realize how flustered everyone else was in the room.

It was going to be another one of those shoots.

[kythed]

circus mirrors & stereo hearts

sugawara koushi x reader

this one goes out to my new friend, @twat-101 :) it’s a bit long, but I hope you still like it ! sending lotsa love your way <3

synopsis: (y/n) is struggling with her mental health so her best friend suga-san invites her over to study. general chaos and dumbassery ensues.

warnings: some swearing, mentions of mental health struggles, suga’s tone deaf singing.

word count: 4,226

--

Koushi always kept his windows open. Always.

In the winter, this transformed his room into a tiny Antarctica, replete with stray snowflakes, but in the summer, it meant cool tradewinds cutting through the typically stifling heat, creating a little pocket of the ideal climate. You often found yourself there in these warmer months, perched on the corner of his bed, contently listening to him blithely gossip about his teammates or playing a giggly game of Connect Four rife with not so subtle cheating.

Today, a sunny August Saturday, was no different. Koushi sat cross legged on the carpet. Sprawled out across his pale blue comforter, which smelled of fresh linen and that familiar Old Spice he’d been wearing since the eighth grade, you listened to him recite a chapter from your history book, something about post World War II foreign policy. Struggling to remain attentive, however, you found yourself spiraling into those cheerless resignations of hopelessness that had been far too frequent for you lately.

“--which resulted in Europe’s economic recovery chiefly in terms of raw materials, food, and fuel. The Soviet Union soon attempted to replicate a similar plan but ultimately-- hey, (Y/N)?”

You blinked hard and sunk back into reality, turning onto your cheek to look Koushi in his big brown eyes full of rather matronly concern. “Hmm?”

“Do you know what we’re learning about right now?” he asked, sounding both amused and disapproving. A strand of grey fell in front of his face and he quickly blew it away, smiling slightly. “Because it seems like you’ve been zoning out for the last ten or so minutes. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, but Mr. Shishido specifically said this chapter was going to be on the test.”

“Uh… something about muzzer Roosia?” you joked with an exaggerated accent.

Koushi rolled his eyes and flicked your forehead. You yelped and glared at him reproachfully. “We were talking about the Marshall Plan. The United States’ recovery aid program for Western Europe after wartime devastation.”

“Right, right, I knew that,” you protested as Koushi tugged on your forearms and you toppled off the bed, nearly landing right on top of him. With a soft laugh, he extracted his limbs from yours and plopped his head into your lap like he used to when you were kids, resting beneath the boughs of that little oak tree in his backyard, listening to a choir of cicadas croon under a late afternoon sun. The ghost of a grin flitted over your face as you looked back on those halcyon days of your childhood. Usually Koushi’s mom would come out onto the porch with a couple of already-melting lemon popsicles in hand, and the two of you would scramble out of each other’s embrace and tear towards her, breathlessly racing for a priceless reward of sweet smiles and sticky hands.

What you wouldn’t give to go back to that time of gleeful oblivion, before your world became characterized by that all too persistent self-consciousness and excruciating anxiety. What you wouldn’t give to once again feel worthy of Koushi’s innocent adoration…

“--(Y/N)!”

For the second time today, you shook yourself awake. Koushi gazed up at you, brows furrowed. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I was asking if you needed to take a little study break. Obviously, you do. I swear, your attention span gets shorter every day.” He pointed somewhere behind you. “Mind grabbing my phone? It’s on the bed.”

You leaned over as far as you could without disturbing Koushi’s position, head still nestled in your lap, and swept your hand over the covers before it bumped into his phone, which you promptly snatched and dropped onto his stomach. He gave a soft “oomph” at the impact before pulling up his Spotify and selecting a playlist, the cover of which was a selfie of the two of you at last year’s spring carnival. A blurred sakura tree provided the perfect backdrop for your smiling faces pressed cheek-to-cheek to fit in the frame. Sugar dusted the corners of Koushi’s mouth, the last trace of the powdered donut you’d shared right before.

“What’s that? I don’t think I’ve listened to that one before.” You reached for the phone, but Koushi held it out just out of reach as music began to play, batting your hand away. “I look awful in that picture; you could’ve chosen something a little more flattering.”

“Oh, shush. You looked pretty that day, wearing that blue sundress with the little flowers on the hem… blue really suits you, you know.” Koushi smiled fondly at his screen, and you blushed despite yourself. “It’s a compilation of all our songs. I listened to this a lot last summer when you were in France with your family for a month. Whenever I missed you. You were off climbing the Eiffel Tower or making croissants and I was lounging around here, bored out of my mind and wishing you were home so we could be bored together.”

“You sappy bastard,” you said, though you really felt quite touched. “I didn’t even realize we had a song.”

“Not just a song,” he corrected. “Songs. Plural. Most of the songs we’ve ever listened to together, I reckon. Anything that reminds me of you, I put on here.”

“Why in the world would you do that?” you asked, aghast at his effort.

Koushi laughed at your surprise. “You’re my best friend, (Y/N). And believe or not, you mean a lot to me. I just like remembering the stuff we’ve done together.”

You nodded slowly, letting your fingers rest on his forehead and gently play with his grey locks. His eyes closed as you settled into a brief, comfortable almost-silence, tainted only by the soft, muffled melody trickling from tiny phone speakers. You cocked your head. “What song is this?”

“You don’t remember?” Koushi asked, sounding almost offended. He turned the volume up a few notches and held the phone closer to your ear.

Let's Marvin Gaye and get it on

You got the healing that I want

Just like they say it in the song

Until the dawn, let's Marvin Gaye and get it on

“I don’t know if--” you cut off as it dawned on you. “Wait… no way. This isn’t…?”

“It is.” Koushi laughed as your face flushed a vivid crimson. “Uchimura’s party.”

Though embarrassed, you grinned, remembering that night. “The song that played at her twelfth birthday while we were in the closet during seven minutes in heaven.”

“We were way too young for that dumb game,” Koushi said with a smile, shaking his head. “God, I was so nervous. That was my first kiss, you know.”

“It was mine too,” you admitted. You remembered sitting on the carpeted floor of Uchimura’s rather cramped closet, knees touching, just barely able to see the outline of Koushi’s face illuminated by the smallest sliver of light shining through a crack in the door. He’d leaned forward, taking your hand in his own small clammy one. “It was really just a peck, though. It might not have counted.”

“It counted,” said Koushi firmly. “Whenever I get asked about my first kiss, I say it was ours. I say it was the best one I’ve ever had, too.”

You shook your head with a soft laugh. “Now, I know that’s a lie. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.”

“Neither did I,” agreed Koushi. He caught your eye, crinkling his nose cutely. “That’s what made it so sweet. It was innocent. I tasted your bubblegum chapstick on my lips afterwards.”

“Bubblegum chapstick, huh?” You rolled your eyes and poked him softly in the ribs. “I couldn’t look you straight in the eyes for like three weeks after that.”

“I remember. You kept running away whenever I tried to talk to you.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m not sure we would’ve even stayed friends if Ms. Miyato hadn’t partnered us up for the volcano project at the end of that month.” You recalled those afternoons spent in Koushi’s kitchen, newspapers covering every visible surface and a huge, paper-mache volcano resting on the dining table, splattered with orange and yellow paint and smelling strongly of Elmer’s glue and vinegar. Oftentimes, work sessions would dissolve into paint fights, staining your school uniforms with small, colorful hand prints.

“Nah,” said Koushi confidently. “I wouldn’t have let you go that easily.”

“Maybe you should’ve,” you said under your breath.

Koushi stared at you for a second, sighing. Then he reached up to grasp your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours and softly stroking his thumb across your palm. “You know, it was Uchimura’s eighteenth last weekend. You didn’t come.”

“Yeah. I had to study.” That was a lie. You just hadn’t thought anyone really wanted you there. Uchimura had been a friend of yours for years, but she had plenty of other friends to celebrate with. Probably didn’t even notice you weren’t there…

“She asked me where you were,” Koushi continued. “I said I didn’t know because you didn’t answer my texts that night.”

“Sorry,” you said quietly, avoiding eye contact. “Studying.”

“On a Friday night?” You didn’t answer, and Koushi squeezed your hand. “I had to choose Daichi for my charades partner… do you have any idea how shit he is at charades? He flopped on the ground and started convulsing, so I guessed ‘epilepsy.’ Guess what the word really was.”

“What?”

“Orgasm. The word was orgasm. You’d think he could just execute a simple pelvic thrust and make a face, but no, he had to go ahead and act like my great uncle Kaito when he had that heart attack at his ninety-fifth birthday last year.”

You cracked a small smile, imagining Daichi violently wiggling on the floor like a fish out of water. “Sounds like I missed out, then.”

“You really did,” said Koushi, eyes twinkling. He suddenly got solemn. “I missed you. Would’ve been a million times more fun with you there.”

“I doubt it.” You fiddled with the edge of your shirt, smile fading. “I can be a real killjoy sometimes.”

“Not to me,” said Koushi. “Whenever you walk into the room, suddenly that’s the only room I wanna be in.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you swallowed thickly. “Koushi… why are you telling me this?”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said simply. He took your hand again, the one that had been playing with his hair, and held it to his chest. You felt his heart beat erratically beneath your palm. “You’ve been avoiding all our friends in general.”

“That’s not true,” you protested, though your heart sank. He had noticed. You wished you didn’t have to drag him into all your problems. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy with what, (Y/N)? Homework? Our physics teacher came and talked to me at my locker after school, asking if you’ve been struggling with any personal issues, because apparently you haven’t been turning in your assignments.” Koushi glanced up at you. “It seems like you’ve just been locked away in your room whenever you’re not in class. Not doing work, not going out. Remember a couple weeks ago, when I asked if you wanted to go see that movie with me at the drive-in? You said you had a family dinner in town, but later I passed by on my bike and your bedroom light was on. And today, it took four separate phone calls before you finally picked up and I managed to invite you over… I’ve been worried.”

“Maybe I’m just changing,” you protested weakly. “That’s a thing that happens. People change.”

“I agree, you have been changing. Just not for the better.” Koushi squeezed your hand again, his skin warm on your own. “I haven’t seen you smile, really smile, for ages. You’re always faking these days. What’s going on?”

“I…” you trailed off, trying to think of some excuse. The last thing you wanted was for Koushi to see what was really going on inside your head.

“The truth, (Y/N).”

You relented, shoulders sagging. “Just been tired, I guess.”

“Tired of what?”

“Tired of…” Your eyes grew moist despite your best efforts and you fought to keep from choking on the sob rising up your throat.

“Tired of…?” he pressed on, eyebrow raised.

Your next words tumbled out in a rush. “Just tired of being me, okay? It’s like… it’s just like, whenever I look in the mirror… I don’t like what I see. I don’t like myself, so I don’t want to be me anymore. I’m so tired of it. And I feel like everyone else is, too. Everyone is tired of my shit, so I thought I’d just do you all a favor and disappear.”

Your words stunned Koushi into silence. He remained resting in your lap for a few long seconds before he felt something hot and wet roll down his cheek. A tear. But not his own.

He looked up just in time for another one of your tears to land on his face, right underneath his eye. Quickly, he sat up and tenderly cupped your face in his hands, gently brushing the tears away with his thumbs. “Oh, (Y/N)... c’mere. That’s such bullshit.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you hiccupped as he pulled you into his lap by your waist-- facing him-- and gingerly tucked your head into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this. It’s gross, I know.”

“It’s not gross,” said Koushi, fiercely hugging you to his chest. “It’s much better than watching you try to pretend like you’re fine. I don’t care if your snot gets on my shirt-- that’s a small price to pay. So long as I can be there for you right now.”

You cried harder, immense guilt racking your body at his inexplicable kindness. “I’ve been treating you terribly these past few months, but you’re still so good to me. Goddamnit, Koushi. I don’t deserve you.”

Koushi pulled you back by the shoulders, narrowed eyes searching your face, though tears continued to stream down your cheeks. “(Y/N). You don’t have to earn my love.”

“I-- love?” you asked, eyes wide. You snatched a tissue from Koushi’s bedside table and blew your nose loudly.

“Yeah,” he said firmly, without missing a beat. “I said it. I love you. And don’t ask if I mean in a friend way or a girlfriend way, because the answer is neither. I love you like you’re the person I wanna spend the rest of my life with. I don’t care if that means as, like, your husband or just as your best friend. Whatever I can get, I’m happy with, because I love you like you’re a part of me. Unconditionally. I thought you knew that.”

“Please, don’t say that,” you sobbed, covering your face with your hands. “I’m not good enough for you. I’m really not.”

Koushi pulled your hands away so he could look you in the eye. “What don't you understand about the term ‘unconditional love’? It’s unconditional. There is literally nothing you nor anyone else can say or do to change that. Unconditional love is not a feeling, it’s a choice, and I’ve made that choice. I’ve had nearly two decades to think about it, so now I’m telling you I will love you no matter what. I always have, alright? This isn’t exactly how I wanted to say it, but it’s true.”

You stared at him, disbelieving. You hadn’t known he’d felt this way. Of course, you two had been partners-in-crime your entire lives, and you couldn’t count the number of times he’d materialized at your side as soon as you were in the slightest bit of trouble. Whenever you were a dollar short at the canteen, he’d stuff a five in your hand and push you towards the front of the line. That time you went camping with his family and you forgot your sleeping bag, he’d given you his and spent the night shivering. He always carried an extra pen for you because yours often inexplicably ran out of ink in the middle of a test. He’d been there for every crush, boyfriend, and breakup, cheering you on and drying your tears when the time came. He’d been there when your pet dog died and you planned a funeral in your backyard, complete with a little cardboard headstone, holding an umbrella above your head when it began to rain but you weren’t done mourning. He’d just always been there when you needed him.

You’d tried to be there for him, too, because, as you had begun to realize, his pain was your pain and vice versa. That time when you were six and he’d lost his favorite stuffed animal (a giraffe) it had felt like you’d lost yours too. That day in junior high when he fell out of the oak tree trying to retrieve a stray frisbee and broke his arm, you swore you felt the same pain in yours. Last year when he got dumped outside the gym on Valentine’s Day and you found him sitting in a corner, trying to hide the fact he’d obviously been crying-- you’d stayed late to crack stupid jokes and eat the chocolate he meant to give to his girlfriend, because he deserved a girl who would eat the damn chocolate. Not stomp on his heart and leave it to bleed. I love you like you’re a part of me. You understood.

“It’s okay to not be okay sometimes, but it’s not okay to bundle it all up and bury it deep inside when you have someone right next to you wanting to help you bear that burden.” Koushi’s voice shook just slightly. “It just… it hurts to see you like this, okay? (Y/N), if you love me back, then let me help you. Let me be there for you. Please.”

You were silent for a moment, staring into his pleading eyes. Those beautiful brown eyes.

Then you took a deep breath and started laughing through the tears. You were sure you looked insane, puffy eyes, red nose, and mascara running down your cheeks, but it didn’t matter. “I do. I love you, too. I love you. I didn’t know I loved you before, but now I do, because if you were torn away from me that heartbreak would probably kill me. No, it would definitely kill me. And it would hurt like a motherfucker while it did.”

Koushi let out the breath he’d been holding then, after a brief pause, began to laugh with you as you laced your arms around the back of your neck. “Oh, yeah? Well, losing you would probably hurt like a father-fucker to me.”

“Is that worse than a motherfucker?” you asked, giggling at the ridiculousness of it all. Here you were, bawling on the floor of your best friend’s room while you confessed your love to one another and cussed each other out at the same time.

“For sure. It’s a million times worse than a motherfucker. It’s like, if something hurting like a motherfucker is the equivalent of getting shot by a Nerf gun, something hurting like a fatherfucker probably feels like getting run over by a tank.” Koushi intertwined his fingers with yours yet again and smiled.

“You’re a dumbass,” you said, but you laughed anyways as Koushi looked proud of himself.

“I know,” he said softly, affectionately. “But I’m your dumbass.”

You sighed and shook your head. “I’d love you to be. But you could still do so much better than me--”

“Will you stop saying that, already?” Koushi took your face in his hand, stroking his thumb right beneath your eye. “You’re the most radiant person I’ve ever met. Notice how I didn’t say ‘beautiful’ because the word beautiful doesn’t even begin to cover it. Although you are that, too.”

“Oh, goodness. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again-- you’re so sappy.”

Koushi rolled his eyes with a smile. “Yeah, I am. You like it though.”

“You caught me,” you said as he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. You leaned into it, savoring the warmth of his lips on your skin. “I do.”

“But really, (Y/N),” he said seriously. “It astounds me that you don’t realize that.”

“Don’t realize what?”

“That you’re cool! You’re so cool and fun and awesome. And a zillion other adjectives I could sit here and list out for hours. You’re the only person who can make me laugh when I cry, and you make the best hot chocolate I’ve ever tasted, and you’re a literal god at Mario Kart, and you’ve got the prettiest eyes I’ve ever had the privilege to look into.” You flushed as Koushi thought for a moment, chewing on his lip before his eyes widened. “It’s kinda like a circus mirror, I think.”

“What?” You furrowed your brow.

“The way you see yourself is like someone looking into one of those circus mirrors. It makes you look too tall, or really squished, or just bent out of shape in general. And if that was the only mirror you’d ever looked into, you’d probably think that ugly, distorted reflection is how you actually look in real life. You can’t see yourself for how amazing you really are-- but everyone else can.”

“Well, aren’t you just full of relevant analogies today?” you teased. A circus mirror. Now that was something new. You had to give Koushi credit for the comparison-- it actually did kind of make sense.

“What can I say?” he said, puffing out his chest. “I’m a poet.”

“So I guess that would make you my real mirror then?” you offered shyly. Koushi looked confused for a second. “If the way I see myself is supposedly ‘distorted,’ then you can reflect to me how I supposedly really am.”

“Oh, yes!” he said happily. “I’m the mirror. I like that. Quit talking like you don’t believe me, though. You’re incredible. A little thick-skulled sometimes, yes, but incredible nonetheless.”

“It’s going to be hard for me,” you said quietly, gently running a hand through his hair. “Really hard. I haven’t liked myself for a long time.”

“I know. I know. But someday, you’ll be able to understand what a beautiful human being you are. I’m sure of it. I need you to promise you won’t give up until that happens.”

He held out his pinky for a pinky swear, something you two did frequently as children. You smiled and laced your pinky with his. “Alright. I promise.”

“Good.” Koushi stood up, brushed the wrinkles from his pants, and offered you his hand. You took it and he pulled you up. “Listen. Do you remember this song?”

His little playlist had been playing this entire time. You hadn’t noticed. You strained to catch the lyrics. “Turn it up a little, I can’t quite hear.”

...a stereo

It beats for you, so listen close

Hear my thoughts in every note

“Koushi.” A slow smile spread across your face. “Tell me this isn’t Stereo Hearts.”

“Oh, this is Stereo Hearts alright!” he responded gleefully. He took your hand and spun you around like a ballroom dancer, catching you before you tripped over his bedside table. “You remember when we--”

“When we performed it at the junior high talent show and got booed off the stage?” You giggled, remembering that awful night that was somehow hilarious in retrospect. “I still have nightmares about that.”

Koushi continued to swing you around in some sort of clumsy dance, pulling you this way and that while you laughed wildly. “It’s ‘cause you were such a shit singer.”

You gasped in mock offense. “No way! You’re a much worse singer than I am. At least I can carry a tune.”

Koushi just rolled his eyes and grabbed a hairbrush from his shelf, using it like a microphone. He sat you down on the edge of the bed and began to serenade you in his terrible, tone-deaf manner.

Make me your radio

Turn me up when you feel low

This melody was meant for you

Just sing along to my stereo

“God, you really do suck at this,” you said, but he just smiled and kept singing. You had to admit, it was sweet. As silly as the memory associated with the song was, it remained a nostalgic favorite even now. You had to join in a few times, just for memory’s sake.

I only pray you never leave me behind

Because good music can be so hard to find

Koushi sat down next to you and wound one arm around your waist, leaning close.

I take your hand and pull it closer to mine

Thought love was dead, but now you're changing my mind

You turned and leaned in too, nearly touching noses.

“Hey,” he said in an almost whisper. “(Y/N) (L/N), I love you.”

“Hey,” you whispered back, gaze flitting down to his lips and back up again. “I love you, too, you sappy bastard.”

...so sing along to my stereo

“I know.” He closed the remaining inch of distance. Your hand tangled itself in his hair while his tugged your body a little closer.

The kiss was almost as good as the one in Uchimura’s closet all those years ago. Almost.

[chockfullofsecrets]

Critical Role: Difficult

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: He considers for a moment and then pulls it over the back of Caleb’s head, leaving his arms dangling loosely in the taut pull of the fabric. “Be good or I’ll tickle you again.”

It’s something he’d say to one of his siblings, and it gets an equally petulant response - Caleb growls, elbows flailing as he tries to break free of his shirt prison. “Caduceus.”

Difficult. Caduceus eyes the bare and probably-ticklish - and currently burnt up - expanse of Caleb’s exposed torso and makes a decision.

Wordcount: 2.4k

A/N: Fill for this anon prompt!

---

Caduceus likes to think he’s pretty immune to nonsense, as things go - growing up with three siblings will have that effect - but that doesn’t mean he’s not frustrated when certain people decide that they’re going to walk away from a we-barely-survived-a-dimension-with-a-dragon-in-it healing circle.

Still, he knows how these things go. He sees everyone off to bed and reminds himself to come up with some tea for Beau later. He pulls thick green stalks of succulents from his pack, grateful that he’d thought to wrap most of his herbs up in oilcloth before his time with the group took a decidedly nautical turn, and crushes them methodically into paste before stirring in some warm oil and beeswax. He hums a quick prayer to the Wildmother, asking for the same patience it took not to sneak something annoying into Clarabelle’s food when she started putting worms in his bed at night.

Then, he goes to find Caleb.

Their guilt-ridden wizard looks even worse than he did before, if that’s even possible. He smells of soot, shirt scorched and blackened around the collar, and his cheeks are red and peeling with what might be mistaken for a particularly terrible sunburn if Caduceus hadn’t been in the room with him and a fire elemental and a whole entire dragon. But that’s not the worst of it - he’s hunched up at the head of his bed in the already confined space of the room he and Nott have taken over, knees pulled to his chest and a faraway look in his eyes that says he’s probably sat himself down and not moved since.

Caduceus tries not to sigh. “Hey, I brought you some stuff.”

Caleb’s head barely twitches in his direction. “I am not in the mood for tea just now, Herr Clay.”

“Well, good, cause it’s not tea.” He ducks through the doorway properly and brandishes the bowl of salve for inspection, cradling it gently in his hands. “For the burns - you’re going to have to take care of those sooner or later, or they’ll get pretty gross.”

“I will sleep it off, then.”

Caduceus very tactfully refrains from mentioning that Caleb has obviously not been sleeping. “Where’s Nott gotten off to?”

Caleb tends to be a little less guarded when Nott is around, he’s noticed, and the question gets him to shift just enough to reveal Nott hidden between him and the wall, high-pitched goblin snores muffled in the sleeve of Caleb’s coat that she’s wrapped herself up in. “We will let her sleep, ja?”

He turns away, clearly considering the conversation over. Caduceus takes just a little bit of smug pride in the way his head snaps back around when he climbs onto the bed to join them.

“She can sleep. You, though-” He settles cross legged at the foot of the bed, catches Caleb’s eye and pats the mattress in front of him. “C’mere.”

Caleb stares. Caduceus thinks he might be trying to intimidate him. “Herr Clay, we do not know each other so well, but I think I have been quite clear-”

Caduceus snags one of his ankles and starts towing him in, patiently watching him wince and sputter as he scrambles to keep himself upright without the support of the wall. “You - well, the group, but also you - asked me to come with you to heal you all.”

Caleb, just shy of his lap, makes an immensely frustrated noise - he looks like he wants to gesture angrily, but both of his arms are occupied keeping him from falling over. “Yes, but you cannot just-”

“You need healing,” Caduceus says firmly. He takes Caleb’s shoulders and nudges them around, leaving him to straighten the rest of himself out. “Hold still now, I’m doing the back of your neck first.”

All at once, Caleb seems to decide that it’s not worth the effort to crawl back to the other side of the bed - his shoulders bend under the gentle pressure Caduceus puts on them, and he looks away. “Jester has never been this dedicated to healing,” he complains, but he turns himself to sit on the edge of the bed and pulls his feet to the floor.

Caduceus hums approvingly and lets go of him- it’s important to reward good behavior. “Isn’t it nice that the Wildmother decided to bring you to my door, then?”

Caleb snorts.

It’s slow going. First Caleb won’t let him braid his hair up out of the way - he jerks his head away, and Caduceus can see the way his back stiffens with pain as he produces a twist of silver thread and yanks the reddish locks into a painful looking tail at the back of his skull. Then he bows his head and refuses to say a single word when Caduceus asks him if he’s pressing too hard. Honestly, he’s met more cooperative corpses.

“Does it help?” he asks, smoothing more of the salve over the taut muscles on either side of Caleb’s neck. Goosebumps spring up under his fingers, and he rubs a little more firmly to smooth them back down. “The sulking, I mean. Doesn’t do much, in my experience, but you seem pretty attached.”

Caleb, unsurprisingly, stays quiet. Caduceus has to laugh at that, doesn’t particularly bother keeping it quiet. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

It’s not a big area to cover, and he’s finished within a minute, but as he keeps rubbing his thumb over the bony jut of spine just under the fragile curve of skull Caleb relaxes ever so slightly into his touch - very much despite his own intentions, he’s sure - and he’s interested in chasing that rather promising hint of compliance. Another minute, and Caleb’s elbows unlock from their pillar-straight position by his sides. He’s curious what might come next, but the exhaustion of the day is starting to pull at him and he knows he needs to check on Beau too before he goes to sleep. Caleb’s a multi-step project, if anything.

He does take the opportunity to tease Caleb’s ponytail just a little looser, though. He doesn’t like seeing people mistreat their hair.

He pulls his hands away - Caleb sways in his direction, a quiet protest escaping, and he does make sure to hide his amusement at that - and reaches for the collar of his shirt. Tugging it away from the skin, he peeks down Caleb’s back and instantly hisses in sympathy. It’s not burnt, protected by two layers of cloth, but the skin still looks red and irritated from the heat. No wonder Caleb isn’t keen on going to sleep. “Okay, shirt off, let’s do your back too.”

And, just like that, Caleb locks right back up. “What? I thought we were done.”

He does permit himself an aggrieved sigh, at that - he’s sure the Wildmother will understand. “Yeah, no - I can see the burns on your back, you know.”

Caleb’s shoulders take on an especially mutinous hunch, fingers tightening on the hem of his shirt. “I will be fine.” He huffs in a dark, angry way that makes Caduceus’ ears want to flatten against the side of his head. “I’ve seen worse.”

Somehow, he doesn’t think his look-over-here trick with the mushroom will work as well here as it did on Beau. Instead, he flutters his fingers along the side of Caleb’s neck, on an unburnt patch of skin just below his ear. Tends to be distracting, even on people who aren’t ticklish there - and he’s fairly sure Caleb isn’t, after watching Jester try to blow a raspberry on the back of his neck and immediately gag on the taste of days-old sweat and earn barely a startle for her troubles.

Which makes it all the more delightful when the sensation takes right away - “Oh”, Caleb gasps, and instantly crushes his shoulders up against his ears as goosebumps bloom over the sensitive skin. “Ah- hffff-”

Caduceus keeps a watchful eye on his hands, yanking his shirt up as soon as his death grip on it loosens and - oh, right the holsters. He’d forgotten about those.

Caleb recovers quickly, pulling away from the tickling and jerkily tugging his shirt down from where it’s caught up by his ribs. “Okay, this is - I am low on spells right now, but if this is what it takes then I will fucking do it-”

Caduceus tunes him out, searching the visible stretch of skin on Caleb’s back for somewhere that’s not going to hurt him to be touched, and - ah, there it is.

Caleb’s tirade cuts off with a startled squeak as Caduceus wraps a palm around his side and wiggles a fingertip into the soft spot just underneath his ribs. Perfect.

He smiles triumphantly and leans over to fish for the buckle on the front of Caleb’s holsters - he’s tall enough to catch a look at Caleb’s face as he does, and finds the scrunched-up nose and twisted lips of someone trying desperately not to laugh. “Didn’t know you were ticklish,” he tells him, gently tugging at straps until he finds the ones he wants. “You could’ve said, if that’s what you were worried about.”

It’s definitely not, he knows, but he’s hoping to bait Caleb into trying to say something in the hopes of getting him to laugh - it’ll be easy enough to deal with him like this, squirming and distracted from the tickling, but he might at least have some fun in the meantime.

Caleb doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. “Sta - hhh - stohoppit” he grits out, swatting at Caduceus’ hand, and he does, but only because he’s got the buckle sorted out and can finally get Caleb’s shirt all the way up.

He considers for a moment and then pulls it over the back of Caleb’s head, leaving his arms dangling loosely in the taut pull of the fabric. “Be good or I’ll tickle you again.”

It’s something he’d say to one of his siblings, and it gets an equally petulant response - Caleb growls, elbows flailing as he tries to break free of his shirt prison. “Caduceus.”

Difficult. Caduceus eyes the bare and probably-ticklish - and currently burnt up - expanse of Caleb’s exposed torso and makes a decision.

Grabbing Caleb around the ribs to hold him still, he murmurs a prayer to the Wildmother and smooths his hands over the damaged skin. Lichen sprouts beneath his fingertips and webs across the irritated skin, a beautiful thing made all the sweeter for happening amidst the salty waves of an earthless ocean. He watches for a moment, waiting for the growth to crumble away as the spell finishes and leaves pink and tender flesh in its wake.

There’s a lot of dust. Caleb’s gone still under his hands, finally, so he lets go and starts to brush everything away - curls his fingers a little more than he needs to, while he’s at it, scritching lightly here and there to see if he can find anything particularly sensitive.

“You,” Caleb says slowly, the bright edge of a laugh squirming its way up under his words, “had spells?”

“Mhmm.” The grooves of Caleb’s ribs seem particularly useful, even if lingering there for more than a moment makes him start squirming again.

“Then - what - ahhf-”

“Well, you didn’t want them earlier. I thought you could use a little fussing over.”

“But - hfff-” Definitely a laugh caught in Caleb’s throat now, words jumbling uselessly on his tongue as he tries to fight it back. Caduceus chuckles and presses his fingers carefully into the bony ridges of his ribcage, rubbing nice and slow to give him a fighting chance of getting the words out. “But I - heh - I am healed now, so-”

He considers for a moment. “Now I’m going to make you laugh,” he decides, digging in a little harder, “and we’ll go from there.”

Caleb jumps hard enough that his shirt tumbles back down around his shoulders, revealing his flushed face as he turns around to gawk. “N - hnnn - no, no, but Nott is sleeping, please-”

“Yeah, she’s a deep sleeper,” Caduceus says. “Does she know how ticklish you are?”

“I’m not,” Caleb gets out, just as Caduceus goes to tickle under his arms and finds the top edge of his ribcage instead.

The resulting shriek of laughter sounds very ticklish to him.

“Not when you’re surprised, maybe,” Cad tells him. Caleb’s starting to wobble dangerously close to toppling off the bed, too tired or distracted to stay upright, so he wraps an arm around his waist and tugs him back to sit properly in his lap. “But if I spend enough time poking around-”

He kneads at the top of Caleb’s ribcage again and finds himself with a lapful of cackling wizard - his hands are under Caleb’s shirt now, but even with his arms free the poor thing isn’t making much of an attempt to get away. “Ahaah, ahahaaa - aaa! - hah, Caduceus - please - ”

Caduceus hums and lets his hands still for a moment. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Caleb’s face is nearly as red as his hair. “It tickles,” he pleads, squeaking helplessly as Caduceus twitches a finger a little too close to his ribs.

Caduceus grins down at him. “Sure it does,” he teases, drifting down to squeeze Caleb’s sides until he starts laughing all over again. “Maybe I should just heal you like this, from now on, so you can’t wander away. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“No! Noho, please, I’m sohorry - ahahaaa!”

Whoops, his fingers are back on Caleb’s ribs again. “Yeah? You’ll stick around next time?”

“Yes,” Caleb shrieks in an very un-Caleb like way, kicking frantically as the merciless tickling heads back up under his arms. “I will, I will, plehehease!”

His voice cracks on the last word, cresting into silent laughter, and Caduceus begrudgingly deems him repentant enough that working on any other bad habits will have to wait. He pulls his hands out from under Caleb’s shirt with one last pinch to his tummy, looking over the giggling mess in his lap with the serene satisfaction of punishment well administered.

He’s been on the other end of things too, often enough - especially from Calliope - but no one here needs to know that.

Caleb sits up, the giddy remnants of a smile lingering in the corners of his mouth as he scrubs his hands furiously over his ribs. “Herr Clay,” he says, breathless, “I think that I will stay very far away from danger for the time being. Just in case.”

Caduceus just laughs at him.

[glarnboudin]

Tiratola, the Long-Tailed Terror!

Aliases: the Dragon of Etna, the Serpentine Savior, Our Lady of Flame

Date Discovered: May 20th, 1954

Place of Origin: Mt. Etna

Notable Stomping Grounds: Mt. Etna, Messina, Pisa, Stromboli Kaiju Reserve

Height: Generally holds head around 15 meters above the ground, but can rear up to tower at around 34 meters at her tallest.

Length: 115 meters

Biology:

A prehistoric varanid of enormous size from the same lineage that produced Kraydi, Tiratola brings to mind the dragons of yore, slinking and serpentine and adorned with a crown of fearsome crests and horns. Indeed, her Mediterranean location closely matches with depictions of dragons from the ancient Greeks and Romans, although her demeanor is hardly that of a rapacious devourer of maidens and hoarder of gold.

Rather than her jaws, Tiratola’s primary weapon of choice is her tail - even for a reptile, hers is incredibly long and dexterous, making up more than half of her total body length and as flexible and powerful as the body of any snake. With it, she can lash at targets several hundred feet away, coil and constrict her opponents, and even pick up and hurl objects as big as buildings or handle very small objects with the very tip of the tail like an elephant’s trunk. Indeed, her style of combat is very similar to that of the American kaiju Gorgolisk, preferring to coil and constrict her opponents with her powerful body.

As a kaiju, Tiratola also sports a fairly standard powerset:

Super strength

An enhanced healing factor

Immunity to radiation

She also has one more trick up her sleeve - like many other prehistoric varanids as well as Tyrantis himself, the Terror of Italia sports venom glands within her jaws that she can either ‘chew’ into her opponents or spray like a spitting cobra, and like Tyrantis, this venom has further honed into a flammable compound like something out of the pages of myth and legend.

Of course, comparing Tiratola’s fire spitting with Tyrantis’ flaming breath would be akin to comparing a firecracker with a flamethrower - rather than napalm-like torrents of ignited venom, the enormous reptile’s sprayed venom ignites into a cloud of scalding sparks and embers that explodes outwards in a shotgun-like blast with a loud crack and a blinding flash. While it’s not the best at actually damaging opponents, it still stings and burns quite painfully for targets, especially if hit in the eyes and other sensitive areas, and the sharp rapport of the venom combusting can cause a few seconds of disorientation. Injecting the stuff into the bodies of opponents, however, produces rather more grisly results as it reacts with oxygen in the bloodstream, causing the wounds inflicted by her teeth to burst open a few seconds after she lets go. To a kaiju’s durability and regeneration, it’s not nearly as harmful as it looks unless Tiratola injects a truly immense amount of venom or her opponent is considerably smaller than herself, but it’s still quite painful to experience.

History & Personality:

When the Superquake of ‘54 rocked the world, the actual tremors weren’t the only force behind the resulting destruction - tidal waves lashed the coasts, avalanches and rockslides buried towns, and a number of already-rumbling volcanoes were roused to erupt once more, pushing up not only molten material but all manner of strange new landforms forged from the Yamaneon tunnels beneath the earth. Home to several volcanoes as they are, Greece and Italy were particularly subject to this, disgorging an assortment of subterranean environments alongside quite a number of kaiju. Among them was the great reptile Tiratola - emerging from the volcanic aftermath of Mt. Etna, the serpentine saurian made herself known to the public at large when she swept through the outskirts of Messina and smothered a major fire when she settled herself on top of it for warmth, inadvertently saving much of the city from burning to the ground. In the aftermath of the fire, she would go on to save even more lives as she nosed around the rubble, unearthing nearly two dozen people that had been trapped beneath fallen debris.

Since her awakening, Tiratola has come to roam across Italy and Greece, frequently digging people out of rubble wherever she went and frequently engaging smaller mutants emerging from local Yamaneon tunnels as well as the occasional full-on kaiju - her most famous scuffles include preying upon a hoard of Paleozoic invertebrates that emerged from a Carboniferous swamp in the Greek Kassandra Peninsula and engaging a hulking one-eyed hominid kaiju that had been menacing the city of Taranto, dragging it down to its doom beneath the waves before it could do anything worse than superficial damage to buildings. Aside from an incident involving the Leaning Tower of Pisa, she’s been responsible for relatively little destruction, and has become somewhat of a local hero to the populace of the regions, something that Tiratola has come to notice.

Low to the ground as she is, the Whip-Tailed Terror is by her nature literally closer to human beings than many other kaiju, and is more aware of their activities as a result. She’s come to recognize how people react to her presence and realizes how easily she can reshape the tiny world that she now finds herself in. Were she a more malevolent sort, this awareness and her ability to easily wind through city streets could potentially make her an incredibly dangerous thrat to human beings, but the ultimate result of this is that Tiratola has come to realize that she quite enjoys the attention and praise she gets from acts of heroism. Being a reptile, she is by nature a very energy-efficient creature, conserving her strength when she does need to exert herself… but being a kaiju, acts of aid towards humans are trivially easy for her. A couple sweeps of her tail can smother a major fire beneath dirt and water and pulling people from danger can be easily accomplished by simply pushing her head into, say, a burning building and using her keen senses to locate survivors in the same way that modern varanids break into termite mounds and locate warm chambers to lay their eggs in or mother crocodiles dig out their young from nests. It costs little to the great reptile to lend her aid to others, and the reward for doing so is more than worth it - adoration and cheers whenever she enters a populated area, occasional offerings of fish and other treats, even occasional cleanings by teams of volunteers that scrub her down and aid in peeling off any lingering bits of unshed skin. The latter task has also provided another boon to the people of Greece and Italy - analysis of Tiratola’s shed skin has shed a lot of light on kaiju cellular biology, and the scales themselves are durable enough to be shaped and worked like metal or glass, fostering a small but lucrative industry of decorative items made from the kaiju’s scales.

However, there may also be another reason for her gentleness towards humans - while unearthing survivors from rubble, Tiratola frequently makes vocalizations not unlike those of crocodilian and alligator parents when unearthing their buried young, even scooping them up in her jaws in a similar fashion to carry them to safety. It may be that trapped survivors reminds the the whip-tailed dragon of her own offspring, buried in sand and soil - joint Reptodite-human expeditions into the collapsed tunnels where the kaiju emerged have even found the crystallized remains of ruined nests and cracked eggs, suggesting that she may have produced several clutches of offspring before via parthenogenesis in the same manner as some species of monitor lizard, although none seem to have survived. 

Behind the Scenes:

Behold, my entry to @tyrantisterror ’s ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest 3D, Tiratola! I’ve entered both of his previous contests, and I didn’t want to miss out here, although this is admittedly my first time posting one here to Tumblr; there’s a bunch of really creative kaiju already entered into the competition, and I highly recommend checking them out. My entry really isn’t the best by far (I wanted to make Tiratola a lot lengthier and more serpentine, but I didn’t have the space to do it, and I can’t really do detail work for shit), but I’m still reasonably happy with how my girl Tiratola came out!

Tiratola is meant to be an homage to that tried-and-true staple of the monster movie genre - movie companies from other countries trying to cash in on a trend! It’s how the world got creatures like Gorgo, Paleosaurus, and Reptilicus - creatures whose movies were far from the source material, but were packaged as being the same thing in their posters and translated titles overseas, leading to weirdness like Godzilla vs Mothra becoming ‘Watang and the Fabulous Kingdom of Monsters’ in its Italian release, the infamous cut of ‘The Volcano Monsters,’ and so on. As such, she takes the basic concept of Tyrantis - ‘giant green prehistoric reptilian monster with a long tail and horns that breathes fire’, and reconstructs it through that lens. To that end, she’s also somewhat based on slurpasaurs and on cheap rubber props, staples of Italian monster cinema.

Designwise, I based her quite heavily on, well, monitor lizards as well as the classic LEGO dragon model plus the movie poster design for Reptilicus - both are a nice combination of reptilian features that doesn’t really lend itself to any particular order, with Kraydi factoring in as another reference. Indeed, Tiratola’s meant to be a cousin to that kaiju, another of the varanid lizard lineage that would have lead to dragons and their kin in the Lost Epoch - she’s meant to be a bit farther down that evolutionary line than Kraydi is, but still not exactly a direct ancestor.

I was struggling to get a feel for Tiratola’s personality at first, but I managed to get something when I reread ATOM and the way that its reptilian stars think, plus some takes on protective dragons and why they defend humans so much smaller and weaker than they. A big part of this series is about how the kaiju are far more intelligent and empathetic than they let on - I thought it’d be neat to play off of that. While her motivations come from a very different place than they would in a human being or a similar creature, the end result is still the same: if it feels good to help others, and doing so is relatively easy, why not do so? I also added a good deal of Ogra and Reptisaurus as well - I figured it would be only fitting.

The thing about her visiting Pisa is a nod to Dinosaurs Attack, the card where the Rhedosaurus and Giant Behemoth teamed up to destroy the Leaning Tower, while her battle with the giant is taken from the battle between the dragon Taro and the Cyclops in The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad. The date of her discovery is also the date that Reptilicus was released in theaters, albeit moved back a few years.

[p4lparker]

Practice Makes Perfect;

Put up a poll on who you all think Y/N should end up with... and John B is getting none of the love!  But you guys want a poly relationship with the OTP... we’ll see!  I just want to say thank you so, so much for reading this! I really appreciate it! And if you guys ever want to talk to me or chat or anything.. I’m game!  I’m also going to try and put together a Prompt list for you guys to request stuff from in between my series’ that I plan on writing..  If you have any requests based on songs or anything.. send em in and I’ll give it a bash!! 

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                                                  Gentle Hands;

                 You weren’t sure what woke you; whether it be the heavy arm draped around your middle, the breath fanning across your neck and brushing the hair that had loosened itself from your braids against your skin, the birds chirruping loudly or the blinding sunlight beaming through the open curtains. Or maybe it was the accumulation of all of that? Or possibly it was the plush lips scattering kisses across the top of your shoulder. You sighed happily an wriggled closer to the heat radiating from behind you- a smile tugging at you lips- feeling all kinds of fuzzy, butterflies fluttering madly in your stomach, you felt him wrapped around you- his bare chest pressing to your back. His entire body molded against the back of yours.

               “Good Morning..” He whispered against your skin, barely letting his lip leave you- his nose brushing against you; he couldn’t get enough of you, and he wasn’t sure he ever would, or if he would ever want to let you go. The way you felt pressed against him, was the most content he’d felt in months. Especially since his father had disappeared- you made the empty husk of a house feel like a home once more; you and JJ. He felt like that’s all he would ever need.

               You giggled at the feeling of his soft lips tickling against you skin. You tried to wriggle around so you could face him, but his arm just held you fast- lips still attacking any skin they could come into contact with. Until he let his arm unwrap from around you- he let you roll onto your back before hovering overtop of you, his toned arms holding him above you. His sandy brown hair dangled around his face and tickled your blushing cheeks, as he pecked at your face instead, leaving a kiss teasingly close to your lips.

               “I changed my mind… It’s a great morning!” He whispered- his eyes scanning your face, his own lips smiling cheesily at you. “You look perfect by the way.” His eyes held a sincerity that made you want to hide your face from him- he was gazing at you, there was something else lingering in there, something you couldn’t place. You bottom lip tucking itself between your lips as you stared at eachother.

               “Shut up!” You whined bringing your hands up to hide your face from his grinning face. He laughed and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

               “Seriously, I mean it.. Naked is a good look for you, in fact I think it’s the best look. And I think you should wear it more…” John B teased, as he let his lips lazily kiss against your own. You felt a heat rush up your body- not only from the embarrassment of his comments but also at the feeling of his lips meeting yours and your skin. You felt your body react to him immediately; hands tracing up his smooth back to tangle in his hair, one of your legs hitching around his hip and pulling him closer to you as you both got lost in the feeling of lips meeting lips. Tongues meeting tongue and teeth nibbling. You could feel a swirling sensation in your stomach and a slickness begin to settle between your thighs- you couldn’t help but buck against him slightly trying to create some kind of friction in hopes of relieving some of the pressure building.

               “Like all the time… Clothes should never be an option for you again..” his voice was husky and breathing ragged as he continued to let his lips- the fire spread trough your body, where his skin met yours it felt like an electric current was thrumming. You felt your nipples pucker as they brushed against the hard planes of his chest. You sighed as his lips found their way to the column of you neck. Kissing, licking and nibbling his marks into your skin- when he was sure there would be evidence he had been there he pulled back to admire his work; eyes lighting up as he saw the purple bruises blossoming over your skin like petals on a vibrant bloom. His Cheshire cat grin was contagious and you could feel your own lips tugging up to follow his own, tugging on his hair and pulling his lips to your own once more. Giggling at the rough noise to leave his lips, but kissing him all the same.

               And dear lord, you could never get bored of this boys lips. They were perfect. Chapped but soft, teasing but careful- just right, making you feel like a character form a children’s book. One of his hands ventured down your now familiar body; tickling and grazing against your skin. Teasing up and down your waist before his fingers found the hardened peak of your nipple; he brushed over it carefully before rolling it under the pads of his fingers. Pulling back to watch your face as he pinched at the peak. Tugging at the sensitive bud- his eyes wide and scrutinising your blissed out expression, before dropping his lips to your chest, wrapping them around the bud and nibbling before laving his tongue over it soon after. His efforts were rewarded by you bucking your hips in to his and the loud moan that echoed around the room. You found yourself getting lost in him once more, his hair tickling against your flushed skin as he ventured down your body, peppering kisses as he went- differing soft and sloppy until he landed on his destination. Lips suckling and teeth nibbling obvious marks into the tops of your thighs before his lips delved in. Tongue swiping against your slick slit, gathering some of your juices as it flowed from you- letting his tongue explore your folds, laving them with attention. Your breathing hitched and moans flew from your mouth as you fell deeper in to the pleasure. You could feel his tongue circle your most sensitive nerves, before his plush lips closed around it- pulling it into his warm and talented mouth, his teeth nipping gently, only heightening the arousal and pleasure sweeping through your body. You could feel the coil begin to knot itself within your lower stomach- tightening as he pushed you closer to the precipice of pleasure. John B was figuring you out, and he was enjoying every moment of it- he was learning if he moved his tongue slowly within you and then added his fingers when you least expected it, you would tug and pull harshly on his hair, and it drove him mad- the sounds that slipped from your lips fuelled him on, as he moved himself into the mattress, not even embarrassed as he could feel himself chasing his own high, knowing it wouldn’t be long.

               His fingers slipped within you easily and pumped quickly, nothing like the languid laps of his tongue against your clit. He pulled his fingers out of you and pushing them back in rapidly, crooking them to hit you at a new angle- one that made you moan his name desperately and fist his hair as he pushed you over the edge. Legs going numb and shaking all at the same time. You were a panting shaking mess when he lifted his face from you, after cleaning you to his satisfaction- he was smirking at you as he shuffled up slightly and rest his chin on your stomach as your tried to calm your racing heart and laboured breathing.

               “Definitely the best morning.. I think we should stay here and let me do that all day long..” John B stated lifting one eyebrow as he continued to smile cockily at you. You shook your head lifting your hands to hide your burning face. “That sounds like the best plan I’ve ever heard!” He laughed peppering kisses along your hips and lower stomach.

               “I thought Pope was the brains and came up with the plans..” You laughed- his head lifted from you quickly, face a picture, eyes wide mouth slightly agape.

               “Okay. One; please don’t talk about Pope when I still have your taste on my tongue.. And Two; I come up with plenty of good plans, like the one previously mentioned..” John B stated as his fingers found their way to your waist and began tickling the soft skin there. You giggles spurred him on and his fingers were relentless in their onslaught. He was still wedged between your thighs, most of his weight resting on his elbows, as he dropped his lips to your lower stomach as it quaked with laughter, he pursed his lips and blew a raspberry on to the skin- making you laugh louder as your hands tried to pry his away. When you were a gasping mess; laughter tears leaking down your face, mouth gaping wide but no sound escaping you he stopped. Moving himself up to hover over you on his hands and knees pressing a kiss to your forehead as you calmed. He moved his face level with yours, ghosting his lips across your own before pressing his forehead against your own. The room had silenced, and that was when you heard it; the incessant buzzing of your phone on the floor beside the bed, you sighed and let a hand drop from the mattress blindly groping for the device. Your fingers brushed against it and pulled it towards you, peeking at the notifications; there were a couple of messages from Kie, and you pushed the boy smothering you with pecks once more away from you. He frowned as your hand pushed against his chest, but he sat back on his feet regardless.

               “So much for your genius plan..” You stated showing him the messages, reminding you of your extra shift at The Wreck. He puffed air into his cheeks, looking like a puffer fish and let the air out nodding, with a forlorn look in his eyes. He grabbed the phone from your hand and tossed it behind him on the bed and kissed you quickly once more, before gripping your hands and tugging you to sit up with him, his arms wrapping you up in him and holding you close.

               “Alright… it was a genius plan, but I have a better one… You can only leave this bed on one condition..” John B sighed pouting his full lips at you, you rolled your eyes but nodded gesturing for him to continue. “You can only leave this bed to do boring work as long as you wear the shirt you were changing into last night!” He stated, staring you down- hazel eyes alight with mischief, an eyebrow arched at you challengingly and his lips teasing a grin he was trying to hold back. You thought it over for a moment before shaking your head.

               “I can’t wear your clothes John B, remember the rules. We can’t tell the others. You and JJ came up with the rules in the first place.” You stated pushing him off you and rolling to gather the abandoned shirt on the floor. A part of you longing to wear his shirt but the other part of you scared that the smartest two of your ‘family’ would work out the whole situation.

               “I said wear my shirt… not tattoo our agreement on your forehead. Besides, you look amazing wearing my clothes- its like you have a part of me with you all day even though I can’t be wrapped around you, my shirt can be… And now I’m jealous of my shirt..” John B started strong, rolling his eyes, but by the end of his last sentence he was frowning in such a cute way. You bit your lip to suppress the giggle waiting to erupt. Your fingers were playing with the collar of the shirt- thumb brushing over it gently. You turned to see him still flopped on the bed- pouting like a toddler and you could feel yourself nodding before you even realised you were doing so. He sat up and whooped, rushing from the bed to grab you around the middle and spin you in a circle. You patted his shoulder and rolled your eyes at his antics- he pressed a sloppy kiss to your cheek before letting you down but not letting you go; his eyes glancing over your naked body once more. A hungry look settling in his eyes, as you pushed him away and began collecting your clothes. Dragging them on; the bikini from the day before, along with your now dry shorts and converse- before pushing your arms through his stripey shirt. John B came and stood behind you, sliding his arms around your waist and buttoning it up for you- his chin resting on your shoulder. He buttoned half of the buttons and left the shirt open from just below your bikini top, slapping your hands away as you tried to do more up- after his hands slapped at you a few times, you just let them be, allowing John B to have his way again. You moved on to take your hair from its haphazard braids; leaving your hair in a wavy mass. He was just beginning to leave kisses on your neck again, groaning as he caught sight of you in his shirt in the mirror- when a loud honking came from outside the ramshackle building. You bent at the hips and pushed away from him, prying his needy hands from your body. Once you were free you ran from his bedroom and through the house towards the covered in porch- you could hear him following behind you, laughing at your antics. you continued to run out the wooden home and towards the Jeep Kie was situated in and leaning on the horn. Just as you were pulling the door open he had made it to the path leading up to the chateau.

               You clamboured into the car before pulling your body out of the sun roof- raising your hand to your forehead you gave him a two fingered salute as Kie began to drive away. John B clutched at his heart dramatically and you laughed- Kie taking one hand from the wheel to pull you back in to the now moving vehicle and into your seat.

               “Seatbelt… cause apparently you wanna kill yourself..” She grumbled, you laughed- rolling your eyes but doing as she said non-the-less. Kie turned her face to you, a questioning look painted on her beautiful face- which you happily ignored in favour of playing around with the radio controls. She sighed at you ignoring her but allowed you, your privacy; besides, that display could have just been friendly, she needed more evidence before she confronted you with her theories. Once the pair of you got to The Wreck- you were both whisked up in work. It was a busy day- the earlier days of summer usually were, not that the busyness eased off any during the summer, but the first week the staff were exhausted by closing. You and Kie were rushing around from the get-go; taking orders, filling them, cleaning and clearing tables. You and Kie had a system; and were able to manoeuvre around each other as if dancing in a ballroom. Pirouetting around each other and customers with full trays of food and drinks. Mr C offering you both high fives as you passed at a job well done- you both dancing an swaying to the beat of the happy tunes playing form the speakers. The breakfast rush had been and gone- allowing you all to breath a small sigh of relief, but it didn’t last long as you all glanced at the clock; the lunchtime rush was imminent. You laughed as Kie ran a hand through her curly tresses and tugged. And so the dance began again; you both dashing around each other carefully. You were helping an elderly couple pay for their meal when John B and JJ strolled through the doors and plonked themselves down at the counter in front of you.

               As you took the couples payment and they left you a hefty tip- which you’d share with Kie as it was way too much- you raised a brow to the two boys who were trying to smile ‘innocently’ at you, and you felt nerves settle in your stomach. You turned to the two, and just stared- trying to channel as much of Kie’s attitude as you could.

               “What can I getcha boys?” You asked, when Mrs C looked over at you, the boys looked at you questioningly at your change in demeanour- you tilted your head and smiled widening your eyes, and they seemed to get the message. Laughing as they turned to wave at Kie’s Mom before ordering fries and shakes a piece. You nodded and sent the order to the kitchen, before wandering back to them. As you stood in front of them and began wiping down the counter top; JJ held up a hand, you let your eyes look at the dangerous and familiar key chain dangling from his hand.

               “What the hell JJ… Your dad is gonna kill you!” You whispered frantically, your body going cold but sweating at the same time. JJ just shrugged and smirked.

               “The asshole raided my cash-stash.. so I’ve temporarily misappropriated the Phantom keys as collateral..” He stated, there was a shadow in his eyes- which chilled you, John B just smiled.

               “We’re gonna take her for a spin tomorrow.. You, me , Jay, Pope and Kie.. Pogues in style baby!” John B laughed, it was obvious that he probably hadn’t helped JJ with this particular scheme, but he was supporting it which was just as dangerous. You had an unsettling feeling seat itself within you, as you stared helplessly at John B, who shook his head slightly. Just as you saw their order be put on the side to be delivered to them; Pope walked through the door and Mr C placed a hand on your shoulder and nudged his head to where Kie was clearing your usually booth. You smiled gratefully at the older man before leading the boys to the booth, Pope stopping off to give his order to Mr C on his way past. John B slid into one side of the booth, tugging on your hand and pulling you in after him- JJ then shoving you closer to the brunette as he slid in after you; leaving you sandwiched between the two. Kie raised a brow but followed Pope into the other side regardless- and shortly after you were all seated comfortably, Mr C delivered food to the table; fries and shake for JJ and John B, chicken nuggets for you with a coke, Kie a veggie burger and pepsi and Pope had a sub. JJ reached for the Mayo and John B reached for the ketchup, both squeezing some from the bottles on to your plate- the two sauces touching, before JJ reached over and mixed the two together for you with a fry. John B reached a fry over and dipped it into the pink sauce before popping it into your mouth and wrapping an arm around you.

               A cough brought your attention from the nuggets in front of you; you looked to Kie and she stared at you, brows raised, eyes wide, and chin pointing to her chest. You could feel the heat race through you, as you felt her gaze focused on you and JJ hand squeezed your thigh under the table. Pope also looked at you, like he was trying to figure something out. And you quickly looked away from the pair and tried to focus on the food. The two boys either side of you either pretended not to notice the inquisitive pair in front of you or they simply ignored it. JJ offering you his shake to sip from- and the meal continued with only mild discomfort for you; as JJ let his finger draw aimlessly on your thigh under the table and John B let his fingers twist in to your hair. It was only when a small food fight started between JJ, Pope and John B did Mr C come over to you all and tell you and Kie your break was over. You waved the boys off as they were leaving the blonde and the brunette of the group blowing you and Kie obnoxious kisses over their shoulders- you held up both hands and flipped them the bird before slipping back into work mode; and with that the afternoon rush began, progressing in a similar way to the busy morning.

               By the time the end of your shift rolled around and Kie had dropped you off back at home- you felt dead on your feet. You barely registered the fact that your dad’s car was in the driveway. You moved like a zombie through the house; having a sleepy and barely coherent conversation with your dad, who pushed you up the stairs. You sluggishly moved your way through your shower- yawning all the while. You stumbled back to your room and pulled on a shirt which definitely wasn’t yours, the deep arm holes clueing you in as to who it belonged to. After tugging it on and a pair of underwear sleepily you then flopped on to the bed and let unconsciousness claim you.

   You awoke later in the night- mouth feeling dry and a desperate thirst in need of quenching, so you trudged your way downstairs- turning on a few lights to aid your venture to get a bottle of water, when the condensed bottle was gripped loosely in your hand a tap at the back door nearly made you drop the slippery bottle. You turned and tried to look through the glass panes in the door, you could see a shadowy figure lurking in the darkness- you stepped cautiously towards the door brandishing your bottle as a weapon. You stepped towards the glass door, one hand hovering over the handle to check it was locked when you caught sight of familiar blonde hair. You sighed out relieved and unlocked the door- before pocking your head out into the muggy air.

“JJ? What are you doing here?” You whisper shouted, as he stepped forwards and came out of the shadows to stand infront of you. You could barely make his features out as your eyes strained to adjust to the lack of light. But you could hear him sniffle slightly as he let his body fall into yours- your arms immediately lifting to wrap around his shaking form, you dragged him inside and urged him to follow you. You let him go as you locked the door once more and turned to the lights and flicked them on; the air that had been in your lungs left you in a painful rush as you took in the sight of the blonde boy. He stood before you, hood covering his hair mostly but the sides and font stuck out wildly, his face almost unrecognisable under all he swelling, bruises and cuts that littered his usually beautiful face. You could see he was favouring one side of his body; he was leaning to the right and your heart clenched as your foggy mind connected the dots.

“Hey.. You should see the other guy..” JJ muttered and tried to smile- it came out more like a grimace as the movement made blood seep from his split lip, so he tried to huff out a laugh- that also failed as he winced obviously clutching his arm to his ribs. After staring briefly you moved around the room collecting supplies; ointments, alcohol wipes and a few butterfly strips- pushing him in to a chair and you kneeled before him.  You shook your head and bit your lip as you began to try and first aid him to the best of your minimal ability. He hissed and groaned slightly as the alcohol wipes made contact with the weeping cuts on his face, and he tried to keep from flinching as your gentle fingers rubbed bruise ointment into his delicate skin. You were trying to keep your hands gentle; not wanting to cause anymore injury or pain for the Maybank boy. Your heart felt like it was breaking for him, as the shadowy sadness settled within his baby blues.

“JJ… What happened?” You whispered to him- words feeling as if they were getting stuck in your throat as it constricted. He looked into your eyes before turning away from you- the shame rolling off his body in waves, not calming like the ones he loved to surf- these waves felt roiling and harsh.

“You should be saying ’I told you so!’, cause you were right.. My dad found out I’d took the Phantom keys and he didn’t take to kindly to that- so he showed me just how much he appreciated it..” JJ muttered, there was a bitterness to his words and eyes as he spoke- and it made you want to both cringe away from him and wrap him in your arms tightly. Your breath hitched and you could feel our head shaking back and forth.

“I never want to be right about that.. ever..” You whispered back, your voice simply not strong enough, as your bottom lip quavered, you sank your teeth into it to stop its wobbling. Before you could stop yourself, you wrapped your arms around his neck and you dragged him towards you, and he didn’t resist- letting you engulf him, he needed to feel you- he needed to be surrounded by you. When you made contact with him- he pulled you from your knees and into him, continuing to tug and pull at you until you were sat in his lap- legs and arms holding him close; as he nuzzled his nose into the skin of your neck, breathing you in. You let him drown in you and felt large dollops of water drip onto your skin. Pulling back, you lifted your hands to his face, lifting it to your level and staring into his tear-filed eyes; you kissed his stained and bruised cheeks, before moving to his lips trying to pour everything you felt into it. When you parted, you just gazed at each other, and breathed. You placed a delicate kiss to his forehead before standing from his lap and unwrapping yourself from him- clasping your hands together, you pulled him behind you, he followed you without question- though you gave one anyway.

“Come to my room… The ‘Sheriff’ is in so I can’t very well leave you to sleep in here..” you murmured over your shoulder,  as you moved around the room and cleared up after yourselves- before dragging him up the creaky stairs and into your room. He closed it softly behind him and shuffled to the bed behind you. You let go of his hand and moved to lay on the bed, throwing the covers away and opening your arms for him to crawl into, which he did. He laid on his stomach- as you laid on your back, he got comfy; arms snaking around your waist, head resting on your stomach and his chin tucked into his bicep. You let your fingers trail through his salty tresses, twisting- both of your breathing in time and calm. You were beginning to believe the blonde had fallen to sleep as he was still, but just as the thought flittered through your mind you felt his lips press into you, his lips meeting the worn and soft t-shirt material that covered your body. After that first contact, his lips began a dance across your stomach, his fingers gently rooking the shirt from your torso so he could get at your skin. He nuzzled his face in to the bare skin of your stomach- before sitting up abruptly and tugging his own hoodie and shirt off, he laid himself back down- and let his body contour to your own. The heat from his skin nearly overwhelmed you, it was already a sticky evening and his added warmth was almost stifling, but you bit your tongue and allowed him to soak you in.

You were wrapped around each other; and you felt content. You felt his ring clad fingers explore your skin; soft like the wings of a butterfly, barely ghosting over you, tracing unrecognisable patterns, lines and swirls. The feeling of his calloused fingertips was dizzying, especially when accompanied by him being pressed against you- and his scent enveloping you. His face again met your skin and his lips began to worship you once more. His kisses were mainly focused on your shoulders and neck before venturing to your own lips. At first it was a simple brush of a barely there kiss- but soon his lips became more fervent- more desperate in his attempts to taste you. His tongue sweeping against your bottom lip begging for entrance, and who were you to refuse him. His kisses were needy and imploring you, searching for something. He was a flurry of hands and lips and movement, and he was simply intoxicating to you. You were like putty in his hands- melting at his touch, and completely malleable to his whim. His lips trailed down your neck and his fingers danced across the band of your underwear- heat rising between you, the air felt heady- the passion growing between you palpable. Those calloused tips dipped below the elasticated band and teased you, slithering through your soaked slit. As his hands wandered, so did yours; through his salted hair, up and down his slightly sweaty back, tickling around his waist before trekking along his abs- them flexing as your own delicate fingers explored. The slipped lower and ran along the band of his own bottoms making his breath hitch as he pulled from your lips to stare at you wide eyed.

“We go at my speed? Show me how to love you…” you whispered, scared he would say no and reject you. Scared of the unknown, scared it was too much too soon. You were only just beginning your journey with him and John B; but you wanted, no needed to show him that hands can love as well as hate.

“You don’t have to do this.. This was all about you remember..” He whispered back, voice wavering and breath coming out in short pants. You shook your head and smiled in what you hoped was a reassuring manner- before holding his bruised face carefully between your hands and kissing him gently on the lips. He pressed himself against you from lips to hips, his body weighing on you in a comforting manner- as your hands began to wander once more. You dragged one hand from the curves of his lower back to slip between you both; fingertips and palm flush against his taut and toned stomach, abdominal muscles flexing as he felt the contact. His breathing was erratic as the kiss you shared became more passion fuelled. Your fingers lingered on the waist band of his shorts, tracing along it before moving cautiously to the button holding them closed. Your fingers trembled slightly and fumbled the button through the hole before dipping to the zipper below and easing it down. You hand grazing against him- he gasped at the slight contact, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder as he panted lightly. Your heart was racing, but you weren’t sure whether it was to do with the boy falling apart above you at the slightest touch or if it was to do with the nerves building within. You let your fingers dance across him; trying to explore him, he was hard and pushing against the confines of his boxers and shorts, there was a heat radiating from him and he felt large- which intimidated you. His lips began nibbling and sucking into your shoulder and neck as you became braver.

Your hand cupping more firmly and giving an experimental squeeze through the last couple layers of his clothing. Before sliding up and into the soft material of his boxers; at the first contact you almost withdrew, the skin here was softer than you imagined or cared to think about. You gently tugged your hands from him and pushed him off you; he looked startled and his own hands moved to re-fasten his shorts, thinking you’d changed your mind. But you slapped his hands away and pushed him to lie on the bed- kicking a leg over his hips and pressing yourself into him. lips attaching to his and kissing him fully and whole-heartedly. You moved your hips over him and let one of your hands drop from his shoulders to his waistband again, shuffling off him and lower down his body as you tugged his boxers and shorts to follow- leaving them to rest on his thighs. You looked at him and felt your eyes widen, and your mouth go dry. There he lay in all his glory; he laid against his stomach, the tip was a rosy colour- the middle glistening as drops of pre-cum gathered. You bit your lip and lifted your eyes from him, to look at JJ in the face. He in turn was watching you closely, a matching rosy colour on his cheeks as below.

“How can I make you feel good?” You whispered as your cheeks flushed more red. JJ just stared at you wide eyed with a small smile on his face.

“M-maybe use your fingers to touch the top.. you need to make me wet..” JJ stumbled over his words, and you giggled lightly before following his instructions- you used the pads of your index and middle fingers to spread the wetness over as much of him as possible, but he didn’t seem wet enough yet. So you removed your fingers and slipped them into your mouth tentatively- getting a small taste of him, and it wasn’t unpleasant, in fact you wondered if he’d let you taste him fully at some point. You looked to JJ for approval as you licked your hand; fingertip to heel of your palm, JJ watched blue eyes dark and wide- mouth dropped open and cheeks rosy. You moved your hand towards him, his hand wrapping you around him, and squeezing before moving your hand slowly along the length of him from base to tip. The change in him was almost instantaneous; he fisted his other hand in your sheets below him and his teeth clamped down on his bottom lip harshly. You were entranced by him, his hair seemed even more wild as it splayed against your pillow- some tendrils tickling against his forehead. His hand continued to move your up and down, showing you how to hold him- how tightly to squeeze. When you reached the tip once more, your thumb swept over it again to collect the liquid leaking there. He moaned at the contact and it gave you a boost in confidence you didn’t expect; you pushed his hand away from yours with the unoccupied one. And you took over; you hand moved over him at a leisurely pace, allowing you to familiarize yourself with him and the amazing sounds slipping from his slightly chapped lips.

“F-f-faster p-please?” His voice was needy and heady, and you could do nothing but comply. You picked up the pace, hand running over him quickly, thumb tracing over the tip from time to time. Your eyes left his member and looked towards him; his face was screwed up in the most glorious way you’d ever seen, eyes pinched closed, bottom lip clutched between his teeth tightly- though it didn’t stop the delicious noises escaping him and echoing throughout your room. And his moans and groans only spurred you on, you couldn’t tell who wanted the climax more; him or yourself. As you watched him with rapt attention; taking note of how he whined when you altered your angle slightly. You felt your own excitements and arousal simmer within your blood- he was just so breathtakingly beautiful like this…

 You wished he could stay like this forever. But it was coming to an end, and soon it appeared- if the whimpers and pants coming from him were any indication. Your hand never slowed, but your fingers flexed, squeezing him slightly more. And with a twist of your wrist- you weren’t quite sure what made you do it, but it was appreciated greatly. As his stomach clenched and his knuckles wrapped around the bed sheets turned white- he let out an almost sinful noise, deep from his throat that had you gasping and ravishing his lips with your own. And then he stiffened as hot spurts of him dotted along the palm and back of your hand. Your lips were lazily and sloppily kissing each other- tongues and teeth meeting languidly. His hands twisted into your hair and held you against his lips and his body- he needed you close to ground him once more. His breathing calmed along with the kissing it became less needy, and more like gentle pecks. He reached for his abandoned t-shirt blindly as he kept you pressed against him lips- his need for constant contact made your heart swell and melt all at the same time. He gripped the shirt with one hand, collected your other one and wiped away the evidence of what had just passed between the two of you. Once he was content you’d been cleaned enough, he pressed a chaste kiss against your lips, and continued to wriggle his shorts down his legs and pull up his boxers. Before he settled back into the bed beside you and tugging you close. He wrapped his arms around your waist and settled his head on your stomach, once more brushing his lips against you. Your fingers tangling in his blonde tresses and twisting gently until both of your breathing slowed and sleep over took you both.

____________________________________________________

Taglist:

@fobobozobo​  @nikki082489  @softkidinlove  @poguesforlife   @belledutchess   @yourforeveryoungblog   @brilliantbecca94        @n1ghtsh4d3-67      @Lasnaro      @whoreforouterbanks @kaelyn-lobrutto24

[anachronisims]

New posts resume tomorrow, so refresh on all your favorite cave-dwellers’ plotlines in the ultimate tldr catch up post!

When the last snows melted and it was safe to travel again, six couples set off in search of a perfect place to found a settlement of their own.  They could not believe their luck when they stepped over a the crest of a hillock and saw before them the lush, rich river valley upon which they would soon bestow the name “Meraki.”

After passing a large meadow with wild berries and evidence of recent animal activity, when the group found six caves at the foot of the next hillock, they knew this was their place.  They spent the next few weeks chopping down trees, settling into their new cave homes, and working together to create some common amenities at the Fishin’ Hole.  Then, their new lives began in earnest...

Tammuz:  “Howdy, neighbor!  How goes it today?”

Kimba:  “Oh, you know, the usual.  Working in the garden, trying to pull forth some food from this sparse and spotty terrain.  We’re going to need to start thinking about storing food away for the winter if we’re all going to stay healthy and strong.”

Tammuz:  “Huh.  Yeah, I guess summer probably is ending any day now…”

Lehabim:  “Yeah, I’ve got this whole five-year plan for expansion.  We fill out the area here around the Fishin’ Hole with some huts, get ourselves out of these caves and everything, then start spreading out towards that meadow we passed when we came in?  There will be plenty of space for the next generation and any newcomers we can attract.  Which we will, because Pallu and Junia are going to spread our reputation as a strong, prosperous place to settle far and wide!  It’s as easy as child’s play, when you think about it!”

Lehabim:  “Hey, so, you’re trying to be like, a shaman now, right? Like, tell us all this mystical shit from up in the stars and whatnot?”

Noel:  “Yeah, I mean, a little bit of what’s in the stars, a little bit of what’s in the trees, like that sacred bloodleaf tree there on the island in the middle of the Fishin’ Hole.  There’s a lot of ideas out there about why this is all happening, where Meraki and the rest of the world came from and who moved mountains and dug rivers and why we walk and talk and do what we do all day long.  I just love talking about this stuff, I could go on and on all day!  ALL DAY!”

Lehabim:  “If you do, you know, get in touch with the spirit world, you think you could ask them if they know how to make this bread stuff? That guy Pallu has been talking about it ever since we got here, it’s like he’s absolutely obsessed with bread. I think half the reason he’s trying to become a trader is so he has an excuse to run away from home and look for this mythical village where they supposedly make it. It’s supposed to be warm and filling and kind of soft but also solid enough to hold other food in it?”

Noel:  “Oh my stars, that’s absolutely THE most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!!” Lehabim:  “I know, right?!  But. Seriously, though, if you get in touch with the spirits, ask them for me. I’d love to beat Pallu to it… if, you know, it turns out it’s real.”

Nadii’ya:  “Good morning, Kimba!” Kimba:  “Hallooo, Nadii’ya! Sleep well?” Nadii’ya:  “Honestly? I’ve been better.  Maybe it was something I ate?  I threw up this morning.  Got any ideas?”

Kimba:  “Oh, well, it definitely might have been something you ate, but that’s not the only explanation.  You might have… you might be pregnant, new friend!  The best medical science available today says that it happened because you WooHooed. You did WooHoo, right?”

Nadii’ya:  “Uh, yeah, of course.”

Pallu:  “Did Stachia tell you her idea about giving special medals for acts of val -”

Nadii’ya:  “Let me stop you right there.  The proper reward for someone who, say, slays a boar that has roamed into the village, is to let them keep the carcass.  They risk getting gored to death to protect everyone, and then what? The village splits up the boar and hands the hero a shiny rock for their good deed?  No way.  The one who saves the village should be rewarded with the boar, they and their family should get to feast!  Why is this so difficult to comprehend?”

Pallu:  “Well, but, I mean, that’s what the boar-slayer signed up for. Protecting everyone, not feasting on a boar.  When they do the job, why should not everyone share in the feast?  Isn’t that how a community works?” Nadii’ya:  “But I could have hypothetically died!!!!!”

Kimba:  “I can see it both ways. On the one hand, you, as the warrior, are risking certain death for the benefit of the entire community, and as such, you feel like the reward should be equal to that risk.  On the other hand, Death is all around us, all the time, and we pretty much are all subject to certain death with every step we take.  We made a community to ease the burden of living with this knowledge, to share our many burdens and attempt to ward off Death as best we can.  Life is short, and why should we not all share its bounties as fully and fairly as we share our burdens?”

Nadii’ya:  “…Kimba, you’re not going to die from kissing a boo-boo. Some of us are sharing the burden of death a little more than others.”

Tammuz: “So, you’re a carpenter, eh? That means you work with… wood?”

Gandu: “That’s me, the wood master of Meraki! What can I do you for?” Junia: ::loud eyeroll::

Gandu: “So, you know my partner, Junia -” Junia: “Hi!” Gandu: “-she’s going to work on finding this village that makes this amazing drink out of wheat that makes you feel like the king of the world and makes everybody friendly.  Isn’t she great?”

Rubati:  “The reason we must light fires every single night is to protect us from dangerous animals, and also, from the spirits of dangerous animals, which can cause us even more harm!  There’s a wolf-like beast with extra scary horns that likes to terrorize Sims at night and disturb their sleep, but it’s completely terrified of fire!  Isn’t that great?”

Pallu:  “I cannot wait until I know how to make bread, holy ogres.  Mushrooms are just pretentious dirt.”

Stachia:  “Can I just say, I’m so so so so glad we all found each other and became best friends?  For months, the only Sim I had to talk to was Pallu, and, creator knows I love him, but he can be such a bore sometimes.  Can you imagine?  Endlessly traipsing through snow and forests, crossing rivers and mountains, and just ‘bread bread makeouts bread woohoo bread bread bread,’ constantly.  At least now that we’ve established a home, he can leave and go look for it and I can have some peace and girl talk!”

Saphir:  “Hey, love, guess what!”

Lehabim:  “You want to make out with me?”

Saphir:  “Well, yes, but also, Stachia asked me to be in the hunting party she’s putting together.  We’re going to start making trips to the meadow and bring back loads of food for the whole village to share.  Isn’t that a great idea?”

Lehabim:  “Sure… kinda wish I’d had it, to be honest.”

Tobiah:  “Hey!!!  Hey everybody!!  Look what I caught!!” Nadii’ya:  “I curse this pole to the depths of this Fishin’ Hole for ever and all time, may it never see the light of day or feel the breath of a cool breeze or do anything but rot into nothingness in the mud and the muck amongst the fish it so thoroughly refused to catch.”

Lehabim:  “Do you think I should make a pact with a demon to consolidate power?” Saphir:  ::record scratch::

Tobiah:  “Wait a second.  Special wheat drink.  Beer?  Are you talking about beer?”

Pallu:   “Are… ‘beer’?  Are you saying you know how to make the special wheat drink?”

Tobiah:  “I mean, more or less.  We had wheat fields all around our homeland, and you basically just take some wheat and seal it in a jug with some water and let it sit for a while and then you have beer.  It’s really not that complicated.  Anyone can do it in their own cave.  And the longer you forget about it, the better it ends up being!  It’s kind of perfect for me, lol”

Pallu:  “And this information has just been inside your head this whole time?”

Tobiah:  “I suppose so.”

Pallu:  “Did y’all make bread back there, too?”

Tobiah:  “No, no no no.”  

Tobiah:

Tobiah:  “But we did hear rumors of a village that did.  We were planning a raid on it right before Nadii’ya and I left, actually.”

Pallu:  “Did… did you find out where it was?”

Tobiah:  “Of course.  I was a Raiding Party Commander back home.  It’s actually not too far from here, now that I think about it.  Want me to give you directions?”

Rubati:   “WooHoo is weird, right?  Like, so strange how we get in the bed and you put your censored bits with my censored bits!  Is it weird, or is it just me?”

Noel: “So, like, WooHoo, amirite???”

Tobiah:  “Everybody, look how pretty!”

Gandu:  “Not really the most interesting thing going on at the Fishin’ Hole right now, bud…”

Tobiah:  “I think it’s just a little bit rude of Saphir to proposition Noel right there in front Kimba.  I mean she’s literally right there.”  

Junia:  “Why would that be rude?  Noel and Kimba both know that their partnership isn’t based on exclusively WooHooing each other.”

Tobiah:  “Sure, Nadii’ya and I feel the same way.  But that still doesn’t mean I’d want to SEE it happening, right in front of me!  Saphir’s not being brave, she’s being brazen!”

Junia:  “Hold on, how is it all Saphir’s fault?  It takes two to woo, boo.  If Saphir’s being ‘brazen,’ Noel’s being just as bad.”

Tobiah:  “Everyone expects it of Noel, but Saphir should know better!”

Junia:  “Do you hear yourself?  Of course we expect it of Noel - so does Kimba, you idiot!  She knew he was a major horndog when she decided to partner with him!  This is just the way things are!”

Kimba:  “I heard you were talking about me?  Don’t talk about what you don’t know about, Tobiah.  I don’t need anyone else to defend me, and I DEFINITELY don’t need to be protected from Noel.  So butt out.”

Tobiah:  “All I did was - ”

Kimba:  “Butt.  Out.”

Tobiah:  “Every time I see your face, it makes me angry all over again!  Just stay away from me!”

Kimba:  “Then why did you even come here?!”

Tobiah:  “Because… because… to support… because… birthday… Noel… Gaia… UGHHH just leave me alone!”

Noel:  “Everybody looking??”

Tobiah:  “Stop! Standing! Next! To me!!!”

Tobiah:  “Oh, Chipmunk, Dada’s sorry about tonight.  I’m not proud that you saw me like that.  When you’re older, maybe you’ll understand.  Sometimes sims have so many emotions at the same time that they don’t realize what they’re doing or saying to other sims.  I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.  Ms. Kimba is really a very good sim, but it makes me so confused and frustrated to think… you know what, I’ll tell you when you’re older.  Just be nice to Ms. Kimba whenever you see her, okay?”

Linus: “Okay, Dada.”

Gandu: “Did you know the Creator made me attracted to all brown-haired Sims, and that’s like, half the village?  Turns out I want to make out with just, like, everybody.” Rubati:  “…Interesting… everybody?  I never thought about kissing… everybody.”

Gandu:  “Sometimes it can be hard to tell another Sim you want to kiss them, especially for a Sim as shy as you.  Maybe it would help if you could feel like you weren’t really being yourself.  Like, you’re from the Green Eyes lands.  From what you’ve told me about it so far, you were raised not to kiss a lot of different Sims.  So just pretend you are a Sim who isn’t from the Green Eyes lands.”

Rubati:  “But… my eyes ARE green, Gandu.”

Tammuz:  “I was having the most interesting dream, I was on a date - with you, of course - and I was - I mean, we were - running after a deer, and it kept darting this way and that, and then it reached a stream and I couldn’t make the jump across it but Ga- you could, and the deer was getting away and you were telling me to come on and jump over but I couldn’t, I just couldn’t make it over.”

Lehabim:  “Saph, I’m really really sorry about before, I didn’t mean to make you think I want to rule this land with an iron fist - or any fist at all.  I want this to be a place where Sims want to come and live their lives and I think I’m the one with the best ideas to make that happen, and I know with you by my side we’ll make it happen together, and I don’t ever want to do anything to hurt you or scare you.”

Kimba:  “Have you tried summoning the dee- spirit with music?  Noel is always talking about how powerful the magic of music is.”

A Voice on the Wind: ♫ Spirits, Spirits, in the trees ♫ please come out and talk to meee ♫ I have needs and you have powers ♫ If you help me I’ll give you flowers ♫ Spirits, Spirits in the trees ♫ let me indebt myself to theeeeee ♫

.

T̲̟͔͍͙̘͖ͣ̽͒h̩̣̱͋ͧ̈ͪͨͨ́̚i̩̜̗͔̖̮͎ͣ̃̂̆͊̀̆ͮ̀s̞̯͕͍̟͎̞̦̓̓͋̀̽̐͑ ̭̳̲̲̿ͧ͊̌ͮͨc̥͈̼̺̎̇͑ͨͬ̑o̗̲͕̘ͥͫu̲̝̩͊͆͊̔ͫ̓̌̀l̦̟̭̍͌͐d̙̑͊ ̮̟̠̼͊̈̊͊ͣ̓ͧ̀b̻̲̺̝͂̂ͥ̚ͅḛ̲̮̗ͦͥ̓̿ ͈̞̯̗̭̠̬ͬͩ̊̈́̍͌̿̄f̼̹͚̲̐ͧ̍̑̽ű̹͔͑ͭ̓n̫̰̣̈ͩ̽̐̾͆

.

Noel:  “Everybody, I have to warn you to be on the lookout for ogres, or demons, or any other evil spirits of the forest… I don’t want to point any fingers - so I won’t tell you which person not sitting at this table tried to summon the supernatural today without help from me or Rubati… and so it probably wasn’t successful, of course.  But.  Just in case.  Be on the lookout, and come get me immediately if you see anything out of the ordinary.”

Dan:  “Lehabim of the Golden Eyes, the sound of my true name cannot be heard nor comprehended on this mortal plane.  Suffice it to say that I am the one who can make all your dreams come true, so long as it pleases me to do so.  Do you want riches?  Unfathomable riches?  I can make you so prosperous your mind would explode.  Power?  Dominion over this forest and all its minor creatures, dominion over your fellow sims, even unto Death itself?  Speak it, and we shall see whether I want to make it so.”

Lehabim:  “I mean, that all sounds really great, and I’d love to talk over my ideas for the village with you, but, seriously, what do I call you?  It feels weird not having a way to address you.”

Dan:  ::huff::  “Fine.  You may call me Dan.”

Lehabim:  “Dan, can I ask you something?  Are there really ogres in the forest?  It would be a huge help if we knew exactly what threats to be on the lookout for.”

Dan:  “Ogres, elves, tomatoes, toh-mah-toes.”

Nadii’ya:  “Do you ever wonder if you’ll be able to remember all the names of the new babies?” Tobiah:  “Probably.  Eventually.  I mean, I really only need to know our kid’s name at first, right?  I’m sure I’ll pick up the rest in time.” Nadii’ya:  “…what if we have twins?” Tobiah:  “Uhhhhhh.  Then, uh oh, I suppose.”

Pallu:  “So, which one is this, again?”

Stachia:  “Darah.  I think Darah.  I think we decided if you always do everything for Darah, and I always do everything for Hasrah, then we’ll never get them confused.”

Pallu:  “Right, right right right.  Okay.  Darah for Daddy and Hasrah for Mommy.  Makes sense.  We’ve got this, Stach.  We each do a diaper, we each do a cuddle, we each put one down for a nap… they’ll be toddlers in no time.”

Tammuz:  “Thanks for being here, Japhia.  I didn’t even know how much I missed you.”

Nadii’ya:  “Look at you!  How did you fit inside me?!  You look like a Linus.  Your father missed the whole birth, so he doesn’t get a say.  And I say, you look like a Linus.  Hello, Linus, who’s the biggest baby to come out of the tiniest mommy?  You are!  Yes, you are!”

Noel:  “Kimba!  You’ve done it!  You’ve birthed the most perfect bundle of perfection I’ve ever seen!  Can I name her?  Please, pretty please?  I promise you’ll like what I pick!”

Kimba:  “Ok, wha-”

Noel:  “GAIA!  The mother of the world!”

Kimba:  “That’s a lot of pressure to put on one little baby, Noel.  You sure?”

Noel:  “Gaia!  I can feel the Creator whispering it in my ear.  Gaia, the first goddess. Gaia, the progenitor of the entire future. Gaia, the mother of all simulated life.“

Kimba;  “Yeah, you’re right, that’s no pressure at all, love.  I’m sure she’ll turn out just fine.  Gaia it is, then.”

Saphir:  “Tziviah, shhhhh shhh shhhh!  Time for sleep, little doe!  I’ll be right here next to you the whole time, and when the sun comes up, we’ll start your first day on this crazy plane of semi-existence!  I have so many things I didn’t even know I wanted to teach you!”

Rubati:  Literally WHAT have I gotten myself into??

[pot-scenarios]

Hi there! Can I request for a date night at the Summer Festival where they wear yukata, hunting for food and stuffs for Shiraishi, Yukimura, Atobe, Niou and Tanegashima 🥺

Could be any headcanons or scenarios i dont really mind though, THANKIES 💙

HI!! I really hope you enjoy it ^^ I settled for headcanons, was planning on three X character but... I got carried away XD Well, enjoy! 💕

Night Date Festival:

Headcanons:

- SHIRAISHI

• He's quite good at all the games, unless they're rigged.

• He got a fish, after seven attempts. Apparently the Bible does not work for this.

• Will walk very close to you, with an arm over your shoulder or intertwining your arms and fingers.

• Will kiss you on the cheek as a congratulations every time you win a game.

• He knows the best food stalls

• He watches the fireworks, but without letting you go for a moment.

- YUKIMURA

• He's quite good at catching fish, and will try any game you want him to. But he's fine with just watching you play, as long as you have fun.

• He actually watches the fireworks, but will turn to look at you just because he really enjoys seeing you happy.

• Walks hand in hand with you through all the Festival.

• Will place little kisses in your hair at any given time just because.

• A boy thought you were two girls and started flirting with you... Both. Legend has it that no one saw him ever again.

- ATOBE

• If you have social anxiety or simply don't want to be around too much people he can and WILL rent the whole venue for just the two of you.

• Won't necessarily hold your hand, since there's not much risk of you getting out of his sight, but he will if you come through a particularly crowded part. Or just because.

• He'll let you try as many times as you want on the games, but won't participate himself unless you dare him. "That's not fit for a Ki-- AHN? What do you mean Ore-sama can't do it? Of course... Be awed by my prowess"

• He's HORRIBLE at those games.

• Somehow he managed for there to be a firework with your name followed by a heart one. Because he's extra like that, and really, you have to love him.

• After the fireworks he'll place a kiss on your forehead while holding you against his chest.

- NIOU

• He's REALLY good in ALL the games, so you end up with a lot of plushies and a goldfish.

• He's banned from some of the stands. Better not ask.

• He's not particularly interested in the food stands but won't say no if you want to eat something.

• Looks at you, not the fireworks

• Will walk hugging you from behind, perched on your shoulder. If you complain he'll settle for going arm in arm. But he's REALLY into PDA.

• Will also claim kisses as rewards for winning. Which means... Lots of kisses.

- TANEGASHIMA

• He picks you up on his seaway. You go like that through the entire festival.

• Mostly interested in the food, since the games aren't really a challenge for him.

• He will play if you actually want something though, AND HE WILL WIN. Because he's super good at it.

• He's not even pretending to pay attention to the fireworks, he waits for the moment when you're more focused and steals a butterfly kiss grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

[jaxsteamblog]

Comfort

Click here to read the full fic on AO3

The last week of her summer, Katara stopped working at the Ice Blossom. Her days would be spent packing everything up and getting her new apartment ready. The cable and internet needed to be switched over, and there was a problem moving over her electric bill. A Katara paced around her apartment - her steps confounded by partially filled boxes - she waited on hold with the electric company.

Stubbing her toe on the coffee table she had pushed out of the way of her cable box, Katara tried to keep her swearing under her breath.

When she heard knocking at her door, Katara wordlessly walked to it. Opening the door, she waved Zuko in before turning back toward her living room.

“Hello?” Katara asked when the hold music cut off. “Ah great, thanks.”

Zuko raised his eyebrow at her and Katara shook her head, gesturing to the living room. She watched him close the door, crossing one arm over her chest and nodded as she listened to the man on the phone.

“Mmh hmm. Mmmh hmm. Yes I-.” Katara rubbed her eyes. “Yes, I understand that. But I’m not, yes, I’m not cancelling my services. I’m just trying to remove one address and add another to my account.”

Zuko walked to the living room and peered into a couple of boxes.

“No, that’s where I live now. I need my account to be moved to the second street address.” Katara said. Zuko watched her as she paced and she turned her back to him.

“Yes, exactly. Now wait.” Katara said in a rush. “I don’t need the switch made until the end of the month.”

She listened intently, not turning as she felt Zuko walk up to stand next to her.

“That’s perfect, thank you.” She said and clicked her phone off.

“UGGGHHHHH.” She groaned and rubbed her face vigorously.

“I am really glad I never have to deal with stuff like that.” Zuko said. Katara blew a raspberry and walked over to a box in the living room.

“It’s not always a pain. I can usually do it online, but they were having a problem with this move for some reason.” She said.

“Well, what do you need me to do?” Zuko asked.

“I need to pack up a lot of the non-essentials, like my books, and start dismantling the furniture.” Katara replied.

“Okay. Where should I start?”

Katara set him to work on the living room while she packed up her bedroom. In the South Pole and during the war, there was never a reason to accumulate a lot of stuff, so her packing was usually done fairly quickly. She left out a week’s worth of clothes and folded everything else up into a box. Everything else was categorized as miscellaneous and she wrapped them if needed. Otherwise, she tossed everything into a box and moved on.

After a while, she went out and helped Zuko dismantle her bookshelf. As she started to vacuum up the formerly hidden dust, Zuko headed into her kitchen. She followed him and they started wrapping up her dishes in old newspaper.

“I really appreciate the help. This would normally take me all week and then we’d have to rush the move in one day so Sokka wouldn’t take too much time.” Katara said as she moved a stack of wrapped plates into a box.

“Not a problem. And if you wanted, I did bring the van. We could take some stuff over tonight if you wanted.” Zuko said.

“We can’t take the trolley through the center of the rings, we’d have to take the highway.” Katara remarked.

“That’s only a three hour drive to the opposite side of the ring.” Zuko said. “I mean, we’d only be able to take one trip, but that’s one less to do on the weekend.”

Katara looked at her watch; it was five-thirty and she was starting to get hungry.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” She rolled her head and stretched her arms out behind her. “Let’s pause here and load up.”

“Did you want to do any of the furniture?” Zuko asked hesitantly.

“The furniture is the easiest.” Katara said with a smile. “Don’t you remember the factory?”

Confused, Zuko watched as Katara turned on her sink. As the faucet opened, she pulled the thin rope of water. More and more pooled in the air, enough to easily fill a bathtub, and Zuko stepped back. When she judged she had enough, Katara used the water to shut off the faucet.

“You might want to head down first and open the van.” She said. Zuko nodded and made a quick dash to the door. He looked back in time to see Katara envelope the couch in water.

In the parking lot, Zuko laughed quietly as Katara used her bending to slide the couch into the back of the van. When it was settled, she recalled the water and sent it shooting down a sewer drain. In awe, Zuko ran a hand over the back of the couch, feeling the dry fabric.

“We can’t do that with the boxes because the initial grab would ruin some things.” Katara said with a sigh.

“Guess we’ll have to do it the old fashioned way.” Zuko said.

The van was a delivery vehicle and so they weren’t able to fit much more in the back. Zuko and Katara stepped up into the cabin of the van and she pulled up a map on her phone.

“Where do you want to eat?” He asked, turning over the engine.

“I don’t care. Somewhere quick.” Katara replied, fitting her phone into the holder on the dash.

“Fast food?” Zuko asked, sounding offended.

“Okay rich boy, calm down.” Katara replied. Zuko smiled but didn’t say anything. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed onto the main street.

They got food through the worst drive-thru Katara could find and Zuko demanded that she feed him his fries so he could keep both hands on the wheel. The interstate itself was fine, but they hit construction traffic about forty-five minutes in that made it a slog.

Zuko swore a blue streak under his breath as he flipped his turn signal on aggressively. He was trying to merge in front of a blue car for the third time since they had seen the orange construction signs.

“You’re in a van,” Katara said. “You’re only just above semi-trucks in car hierarchy.”

“So I just have to go for it?” Zuko asked. He shoved the front of the van into the tiny space the blue car was just about to lurch into and Zuko smiled triumphantly.

“I wanted to ask, how to manage to get around so freely as the crown prince?” Katara asked as Zuko straightened out the van and let out a breath.

“I have a security detail, of course. But a lot of it just comes down to the fact that I live a very mundane life here. I’m a Firebender, so I can take care of myself in close quarters, and any larger attempt on my life is most likely going to get picked up by my babysitters.” Zuko explained.

They drove for a time in silence and Katara watched the cars sway like fish in front of them.

“What about you?” Zuko asked.

Katara looked at him, curious.

“Me?” She questioned.

“Where are your babysitters?”

“Why didn’t the crown prince of the Fire Nation know about Arnook’s new heir?”

“Hmm.” Zuko nodded, looking intently through the windshield. “Fair.”

“People had no idea who I was at the end of the war. And it’s not like the Fire Nation wanted to talk about the Waterbender that…” Katara trailed off and Zuko didn’t move. “Anyway, I was easy to hide.”

“Probably not for much longer.” He said softly.

“Do you think I’ll be able to finish medical school after my coronation then? I mean, it’s pretty mundane.” Katara asked. Zuko glanced over at her quickly, but she was able to see his pained face.

“Katara, again, you’re going to be a ruling monarch. I doubt they’re going to let you do anything other than that.” He said. Katara huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and sinking down in her seat.

“I don’t even know what being a queen means.” She muttered.

“Well,” Zuko paused as traffic started to clear up and he changed lanes again. “You’re going to have a lot of ministers, and I’m sure Arnook is going to stick around.”

“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do. All of the tribes have been self-governing for a very long time, and I don’t see them unifying just because I’m a Waterbender.” Katara said.

“Sure, but the tribes are small, and the war wasn’t that long ago. Being united might seem pretty attractive right now, and with the Avatar being born in the Swamp, it might be that Arnook is trying to keep power in the North Pole.” Zuko replied.

“So what?”

“So nothing. Really, it’s because the Water Tribe will look bad if the head is some random person for a literal backwater place.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Katara jerked herself upright but Zuko stayed firm.

“You know I don’t mean anything by that. Only that no one knows anything about the Swamp Tribe, and two nations are going to be sniffing out their loyalty.” He said.

He looked at her and Katara turned her face away to look out the window. The sun was sinking behind the wall of the middle ring and the sky seemed brighter on that side.

“Does it actually bother you?” He asked. Katara sighed and rested her forehead against the glass.

“No. I know what people say. I just don’t want to be queen.” Katara said. “This wasn’t supposed to be my reward.”

“Reward?”

Katara closed her eyes, listening to the road underneath the tires. She could conjure the image in perfect detail, right down to the smell. The ocean spray was metallic; the sunken ships blooming like tea leaves under the waves. The sky was a blinding orange. Sozin’s Comet ripped through the sky and burned up the oxygen, leaving Katara to gasp as she ran over the howling water.

Sky Pirates clashed overhead and sent more ships tumbling down, their hulls ablaze. Sokka and Suki had infiltrated the Fire Nation air force and Katara watched with her heart in her throat as the flagship went down.

She had to trust them, had to trust that they would be able to get out safely.

And so she ran, waves pushing her up over rocks that pierced the depths. It was after one massive swell that Katara found herself airborne. Flipping around, she dove into the water. It covered her and became her. La rose with her and they ripped ships out of the sky, dragging the seabound ones downward as they did.

The Firebenders were more powerful at that moment, but a fire could always be put out with a big enough wave.

When she landed on a boat, she ran over the deck, sheering it apart with her bending. The sailors that got in her way were forced to kneel when she used her knowledge from Hama. At the prow, Katara would jump again, and La would receive her.

It was only by chance that they were at the invasion site. They had just been trying to get home when Sokka had noticed the fleet.

“What do you know about the final battle?” Katara asked, opening her eyes and watching the reflective lines pass underneath the window.

“Only that two-thirds of our air force and navy was sunk.” Zuko said. “I actually almost lost my father then.”

“Yeah,” Katara croaked. “Sorry about that.”

“Were you,” Zuko paused and Katara looked away. “There?”

“I was.” She said.

“And La?”

Katara didn’t answer and Zuko didn’t say anything further. Silently, Katara rolled onto her back and stared up at the sky through the windshield.

“They only want me to use my power.” She said.

“No one else knows about your connection to La though.” Zuko pointed out. Katara groaned and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

“Can’t you be upset?” She demanded.

“Why would I be upset?” Zuko asked.

Sitting up, Katara slammed her hands on the edge of her seat.

“You literally just told me that I almost killed your father in the war. It didn’t bother you when I told you I drowned Zhao, but this? He’s your father Zuko!” She said.

Zuko sighed, but he looked sad.

“What happened to your mother, Katara?” He asked. Shocked, Katara sat up.

“What?”

“She died in prison right? Protecting a horrible woman, or so Sokka told me.” Zuko said. Katara faced forward again, her hands gripping her arms.

“My father ordered that the Water Tribe forces be captured and sent to POW camps. It’s his fault she was there.” Zuko said. Katara lowered her face as tears welled up hot in her eyes.

“He took my mother away too.” He said.

With a gasp, Katara’s head snapped up.

“What?” She asked.

“I don’t know why, but my father is behind her disappearance. He told me as much. He also told me that I will never see her again.” Zuko said. He turned his face to steer the van onto an exit ramp. His jaw was set but he still only looked sad.

“So, we have something in common.” He added gently.

Katara started to cry and Zuko flipped up the center console, yanking a tissue out of a box and handing it to her. She took it and he kept his eyes on the road, occasionally looking at her phone for directions.

“Katara, you are an amazing woman and I think you’ll be an amazing queen.” Zuko said. He finally looked at her as they stopped at a stop sign and he smiled. “Want to get some ice cream?”

Sniffling, Katara nodded.

“I’m going to need you to find a place because I have never been here before.” He said, pulling the van through the intersection. Katara chuckled and grabbed her phone.

“So, we should probably find out what else we have in common besides the mom thing.” She said as she looked up an ice cream place.

“What kind of flavor do you like?” Zuko asked.

“Butter pecan.”

“Well it’s certainly not that.”

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

[justcallmehitgirl]

Good Woman Part 4 (Peter Parker x Female Reader Smut)

Summary: Peter knows he’s getting in too deep.

Word Count: 4700

Warnings: smut, language, fluff, and some angst.

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I meant to get this chapter out sooner, but I’ve been bar prepping during the day so my writing has been limited to my nights. I’m excited to see where this story goes so I hope you enjoy this chapter. Things are about to get interesting is all I can say for now. As always, thank you for reading! Your support really means a lot to me and inspires me to continue writing. 

(4/21/20): I fixed some typos, grammar mistakes, character inconsistencies, etc. from my original posting. I also made some stylistic changes.

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE // PART FIVE / PART SIX / PART SEVEN / PART EIGHT / PART NINE / STORY PAGE 

“You wanna come over and watch ‘Batman v. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ after school? I just downloaded it yesterday!” Ned exclaims, bouncing on his feet excitedly.

Peter glances over, readjusting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder as students hastily brush past them towards the entrance doors, signaling that it’s the end of another day.

He gives Ned a half-smile. “Sorry man, I can’t today. I gotta work on some stuff.”

Ned’s eyes dart around cautiously before leaning in and whispering, “Spider-Man related stuff?” 

Peter shakes his head. “No, just academic decathlon-related stuff.”

Ned knits his brows. “Academic decathlon? But you haven’t been to practice in weeks.”

Peter massages the back of his neck, his forehead creasing. “Yeah about that, I talked to Mr. Harrington and I’m stepping down from the team—”

“Dude, you can’t! You’re the only one who aced Physics, you can’t leave us!”

“Relax Ned, it’s all good cause I’ll be helping out with coaching instead.”

Ned knits his brows. “But Y/N Y/L/N’s in charge of coaching?”

“Yeah, I’m actually meeting up with Y/N after school.”

Ned stops in his tracks, placing a hand on Peter’s arm.

“Wait, I think I hallucinated for a second. What are you doing after school?”

“I’m meeting up with Y/N.”

“Holy shit, you’re seriously going to hang out with Y/N? When did you start talking to Y/N?!” 

“Chill, Ned, it’s not a big deal,” Peter shrugs, continuing to walk forward as Ned follows.

“Not a big deal? She’s one of the prettiest and smartest girls in our school. And you were just saying how hard you’ve been crushing on her for years.”

“Shhh, Ned! Besides, that was like a month ago.”

“So you don’t like her anymore?” Ned asks, raising his brows.

“I never said that.”

“So you’re in love with her?”

“Ned,” Peter groans. “It’s complicated.”

“How? When? I need details, Peter!”

Peter licks his lips, contemplating whether Ned should know the entire story. 

“She just sat next to me in art class the other day and we started talking and then she asked me for help.”

“I can’t believe she asked you for help. You know she doesn’t give any guy at this school the time of day, right?”

“Gee thanks, Ned. And so what? She has a right to spend her time as she wants. She’s a busy person with a lot of responsibilities. She wants to go Ivy League you know.”

Ned just shakes his head. “You got it bad for her, huh?”

Peter rolls his eyes, stopping outside the doors of the library.

“I’m meeting her here.”

“You are one lucky dude.”

If he only knew, Peter thinks.

“Let me come with you,” Ned beams, tugging on Peter’s arm.

“What? No way!”

“C’mon, I need some entertainment this afternoon since you’re bailing on me.”

“Ned. . .”

“Alright, alright, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone then.”

Peter playfully shoves Ned’s shoulder. “Thanks man, I’ll see you later.”

Peter heads inside, taking a quick look over his shoulder to see Ned still watching him intently. He motions for Ned to leave, who throws his arms up in mock frustration as he walks away.

Peter scans the library, his breath quickening as his eyes land on you. sitting at a table by yourself. You’re sitting alone, your chin resting on the palm of your hand with your eyes cast down at a textbook. Peter’s eyes are wide as he gazes at you for a few moments, admiring your serene expression. He’s become so used to being with you alone in the confines of your cozy bedroom, where it’s just the two of you wrapped up in each other, that it’s a bit jarring seeing you in such a similar state in public.

His hands feel clammy, imagining how to interact with you outside your bubble. He wonders if you’ll figure it out. Peter knows you’re smart—he’s sure you’ll figure it out eventually. But lately he’s been wondering what sort of image you’ve built in your mind as to Spider-Man’s true identity. He wonders if you think he’s some sort of suave Tony Stark-type, or a rugged Steve Rogers. 

But he knows for a fact that you’ve probably never considered it could be him: Peter Parker. Peter Parker from Queens with no parents and no money who lives with his aunt in a cramped two-bedroom apartment. The same Peter Parker who spilled milk all over himself in the third grade, got teased every day in middle school, and was too much of a coward to tell you to your face how much he likes you.

Peter frowns and wonders if he’s actually jealous of his alter ego—his alter ego who got to hold you, kiss you, and touch you all over. He thinks he’s going crazy. But he knows that even though him and Spider-Man are one in the same, one got to call you his while the other would only ever pine for you.

The more he ponders, the more he just wants to turn right back around, walk out of the building, and watch “Batman v. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” with Ned. He briefly thinks it’ll be easier to just make up some excuse to stay away from you at school. 

But there’s a part of him that simply aches to be around you as himself and give you the things that Spider-Man can’t. His heart pounds, silently hoping that maybe one day he will.  

Peter draws in a deep breath and rakes a hand through his hair before continuing towards you. He grips the strap of his backpack. “Hey.”

You look up and smile, eyes bright. “Hi Peter.”

Peter gulps, tugging on the collar of his shirt as he slips into the seat across from you. “What’re reading?”

“U.S. Government,” you respond, lifting it up to show him the red, white, and blue cover like you’re Vanna White. 

He chuckles lightly and unzips his backpack to take out his laptop. “Who do you have?”

“Mr. Grant. He’s tough, but he really prepares you for his exams. Plus,” you lean in close, voice hushed, “I think he’s secretly a softie, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Duly noted.”

“Are you taking U.S. History now with Mrs. Taylor?”

Peter nods, booting up his laptop. 

“Focus on the chapter takeaways at the end of each section. That’s where she usually gets her exam questions from. Oh, and try to volunteer a lot. She usually bumps up your grade if she sees you making an effort.”

“That’s super helpful, thanks,” Peter smiles.

“Of course,” you smile back and close your textbook. You both just smile at each other for a moment before you blink, looking away to start up your laptop. Peter clears his throat, cheeks flushed as he looks back at his computer screen.

“So, I was thinking,” you continue, “that we could go off of Mr. Harrington’s practice questions first. Then we can look online and compile some of our own. I found a bunch of older questions that they’ve asked in the past which we can use as a guide or something. Sound good?”

“Yeah definitely. I mean, I defer to the expert.”

“Great. Oh!” You reach down to dig through your backpack. “I brought index cards. I usually write the questions down on them so it’s easier to go through later.” 

You fish out a few unopened packs before reaching across the table to offer them to Peter. He reaches over to take them, fingers lightly brushing against yours. 

“Sorry,” he blushes, gripping the index cards tightly in his grasp.

“You’re fine,” you wave. “Thanks again for helping me with this. I was thinking about it more, and I realize I may have cornered you into it. I can be a little pushy.”

“Not at all,” Peter blurts quickly. “You didn’t corner me into it and you’re not pushy. I’m happy to help, and I’m pretty glad I can apart of the team in some way so I guess I should be the one thanking you for asking me.”

You smile. “We’ll call it even then. I feel the same too, by the way. I really miss being on the team if I’m being honest.”

“Why did you quit?”

You sigh heavily and shrug. “My course load is more intense this year so I had to make some changes. Plus I tutor after school so that’s absorbed a lot of my time.”

Peter cocks his head. “You tutor?”

“Yup, sixth and seventh grade math at Queens Rock Middle,” you beam.

“That’s really cool. Do you like it?”

“I love it. I feel like I’m really making a difference in their lives, which is pretty rewarding.”

“Yeah, I. . . uh. . . I wish I was helping people like you do,” he says lamely

Well, besides saving New York from impending doom from time to time, of course, he thinks.

“Well not to sign you up for something else, but they could always use more volunteers.”

Peter squints his eyes playfully. “I feel like you have a secret agenda going on here.”

“Of course, I need to groom a protege to take my place. It’s part of my evil master plan.”

“I doubt you have an evil bone in your body.”

You raise your brow. “Wanna bet?” 

You eye him deviously, and Peter gulps—feeling a wave of tension blanket over you both. You suddenly laugh.

“I’m just kidding! Lighten up, Peter,” you tease.

Peter gives you a lopsided grin. He watches as your gaze lowers onto his mouth. Your smile falters. 

He furrows his brows. “What?”

You blink and look away. “Nothing, it’s nothing. I was just thinking we have a lot to get through this afternoon so we should get on it,” you murmur, voice tight.

Peter simply nods in response, mouth settling in a hard line as you turn your attention towards your computer screen.

You sit in silence for the next hour. Peter chews on his bottom lip while occasionally stealing a few glances over at you. You keep your eyes cast downward, attention fixed on scribbling down questions on the index cards laid out in front of you. He watches as a piece of hair falls over your face, and he clenches his fist to stop himself from reaching over to tuck it behind your ear.

“Hey Y/N.” 

You both look up. Peter’s eyes immediately narrows while his jaw tightens.

“Hi Brad,” you greet, voice even and stoic. Brad’s eyes dart between you and Peter before settling on you, ignoring Peter entirely.

“So, are you ready for the Calc test on Monday?”

You give a half-shrug and respond, “I think so, although I’m struggling a bit with derivatives.”

“Same,” Brad breathes, throwing his hands in the air. “I was struggling like crazy when Mrs. Park was first explaining it."

You chuckle, “Agreed.”

“Well, if you’re still struggling with it, w-would you maybe want to study together this weekend? I’m a big fan of study buddies.”

Peter grips his pen tightly, feeling it start to snap in his hand. He wants to shout, Back off, Brad. She’s mine. Peter immediately admonishes himself—recognizing that such an outburst would be entirely weird and inappropriate. He knows you aren’t his, or even Spider-Man’s. You didn’t belong to anybody.

“Oh that’s so nice, I really appreciate the offer, Brad. But I prefer to study by myself. I’m not really great studying with other people, tend to get too distracted and stuff.”

Peter can sense that you notice Brad’s look of defeat so you add politely, “I’ll definitely let you know if I change my mind though.”

“Yeah, of course. It’s no problem, Y/N. I’m free whenever.”

You nod and plaster a smile on your face. Peter’s forehead creases as he watches Brad continue to gawk at you. You blink and smack your lips together.  “So. . . um, me and Peter have to get back to writing up questions for academic decathlon.”

Your voice shakes Brad out of his stupor, face flushing. “Oh yeah sure, I’ll. . . uh. . . see you later.”

He waves awkwardly and hastily scurries away. You shake your head and continue working.

“I think he likes you,” Peter pipes in, eyes cast down as he busily scribbles on an index card.

You glance up, nose crinkling. “Brad? No way.”

“He was practically drooling over you,” Peter remarks.

“You think so?”

Peter purses his lips. “I’m sure of it.”

You smile. “Brad’s not a bad guy.”

“Are you. . . like. . . interested?”

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh. “No, not at all. Brad’s nice, but I wouldn’t want to go out with him.”

“Oh, okay,” Peter mumbles.

“Plus, just between us, I—I’m already seeing someone actually.”

Peter perks up at your response, but he keeps his eyes cast down. “Really? Do I know him?”

“No, he doesn’t go to Midtown.”

“College guy, huh?”

You laugh. “Umm… no. Well, I don’t think so actually.”

“Is it serious?”

You bite your lip. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Well, he sounds like a really lucky guy.”

“No, I'm pretty sure I’m the lucky one,” you beam, a flush creeping on your face as you turn your attention back to your index cards. 

Peter quickly glances at you while the corner of his mouth subtly lifts.

—

Peter does not move at first, body pressed near your window as he observes you.

You’re lying on your bed, a pillow tucked under your chest as your eyes scan your computer screen. He takes in the sight of you, from your oversized sweatshirt to your form-fitting black leggings. You toy with a lock of hair, the light emanating from the computer softly illuminating your face.

Peter finally lifts his hand to lightly knock, watching your head jerk in his direction. You smile brightly, waving your hand to motion for him to enter. He obeys, pushing open the window and slipping inside. You quickly shut your laptop close, moving it aside. You sit up as he approaches you, lifting up his mask to give you a kiss.

“How are you?” you ask against his lips.

“Better now that I’m with you.”

“You’re such a sap,” you tease.

“I can’t help it, I’m with the girl of my dreams.”

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. “Are you just trying to butter me up?”

“Me? Not at all.”

You shake your head and look away bashfully.

“Hey,” he says, lifting your chin up with his finger so you’re looking at him. “I want to show you something.”

You tilt your head, and he grabs your hand. You stand up, and he leads you towards the window, gently tugging you along as he pulls his mask back down. You turn your head, and quickly glance over at your bedroom door. Will your parents notice that you’re gone?, you think. Would they freak out? Call the cops? Should you risk it? 

But those thoughts are quickly squashed by the warm feeling in your chest as you bend down to crawl through the window, his hands lightly grasping your hips in support. As your feet land on the fire escape, your body straightens, your eyes looking up at the night sky.

Peter stands beside you, and you turn, brows quirked. “Where are we going?”

“Do you trust me?”

You nod in response, and he pulls you close to him. He wraps his arms around your waist. “Hold onto me,” he whispers, voice hot and soft against the shell of your ear.

You loop your arms around his neck. “Okay,” you breathe. 

You glance down, body tensing and bottom lip trembling. 

“Are you okay?” He runs his arms over your hips.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Ready?”

“No,” you chuckle nervously.

Peter peers down at you, his voice soft and soothing to compensate for his covered face. “Hey, I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

You reluctantly nod and Peter exhales deeply. He takes a few steps backward before leaping off the fire escape, your face immediately burying in the crook of his neck as you shut your eyes tightly. Your hair whips in the wind as Peter swings over the bustling city below, your grip tightening around his shoulders as you let out a surprised shriek at he momentum.

“Don’t be afraid!” Peter shouts, glancing down at you.

You breathe in deeply before lifting your head and opening your eyes. You blink as you hesitantly looks down, your eyes roaming over the cars zipping through the streets, the lights shining from street lamps, and the crowds of people drifting down the sidewalks. 

“Everything looks so tiny,” you murmur, awe transforming your face.

“It’s cool, right?”

You look up, your eyes glistening as you nod excitedly. He grins underneath his mask, tightening his hold on you as he continues swinging from building to building. Your wide eyes dart around, mesmerized by the sight as you clutch him close as your heart beats wildly.

Neither of you had been in love before, but the thought crosses both your minds: “Maybe this is love.”

He feels you nuzzle your face against his chest, your body still and relaxed as you continue absorbing the sights and sounds surrounding you.

Peter eventually slows his movements, spotting a good place to stop and rest. 

Once his feet meet the rooftop, you untangle yourself from his arms, jumping up and down exuberantly. 

“Holy shit, that was amazing! I can’t believe you can do that all the time!”

“It’s one of the perks of the job.”

“Does it ever get old?”

Peter shakes his head. “No way, sometimes I’m just jumping out of my skin to get out here. To be above the ground, it makes me feel like a bigger part of the world.”

“Thank you for this.” 

“I know I can’t give you much right now, and I can’t take you out on dates dressed like. . . this, but I wanted to show you a little piece of my world.”

“I really appreciate that.” 

You pause for a moment, your forehead creasing before you continue, “Do you think you’d do this forever? The whole superhero thing I mean?” 

“I honestly I don’t know. I feel like I should though. You see, when you can do the things that I can do and you don’t and then the bad things happen. . . they happen because you didn’t do anything to stop them.”

“That sounds like quite a lot to carry on your shoulders.”

Peter gives you a half-shrug. “You get used to it.”

You nod before looking away, your head tilting as you gaze up at the dark sky. 

Peter watches you, your mouth 

“It’s quite a sight,” you murmur.

His eyes never leave you as he responds, “It is.”

You hug yourself, your body shivering as a cool autumn breeze envelopes you.

“Cold?”

“Just a little.”

He pulls you into his arms, hugging you close as he strokes your back. He feels you relax against him, enjoying the warmth emanating from his suit.   

“My brown-eyed boy,” you hum softly.

You both begin swaying to the tune. Peter’s movements are a little clumsy, but your smiles encourage him to continue, even extending his arm to spin you around, earning him a giggle. 

He slides his hand down your back, his fingers brushing against your bottom. As he starts to move his hand, you look up.

“You don’t have to stop. I like it when you touch me,” you whisper. 

Peter licks his lips, feeling the familiar heat rising in his belly. His eyes dart around the empty rooftop over to the surrounding buildings.

“But. . . “

You take his hand, placing it over your covered center. He tilts his head, pulling his mask above his mouth as his throat bobs.

“Are you sure? What if someone sees?”

“I don’t care. I want you,” you say, your voice husky.

Peter just nods dumbly, gently grabbing the back of your neck to press his lips against yours. The kiss is slow and soft, his hand resting below your ear as your breaths mingle. You press into him, your heart beating rapidly in tandem with his. Your tongues dance for dominance, the intensity building as your hand travels down his spine, his body quivering from your touch.

You pull your mouth away, turning your body in his arms to press your back against his chest. He runs his hands along your body, feeling his way from your waist up to your chest. You turn your head to kiss him again, moaning in his mouth as he massages your breast through your sweatshirt. 

Your lips fall away from his, your mouth gaping as his other hand hovers over the waistband of your leggings.

“Please,” you whine. 

Without missing a beat, he dips his hand beneath the fabric, his teasing fingers making you tremble. You lean your head back to rest on his shoulder as he runs his fingers over lips, parting them slowly. He start to massage your clit, your wetness trickling onto his hand to help his movements. 

The hand massaging your breast snakes underneath your sweatshirt, your nipple hardening instantly under his thumb. You arch your back, pushing your ass against him.

You grip onto his forearms as you rock against his hand, increasing the pressure on your clit. Your eyes flutter open, your eyes fixed on the stars above you.

His fingers briefly leave your clit as he pushes them inside you. Your face flushes as your tight opening clenches around him, his touch drawing even more slickness from your folds.

“Do this feel good?” he asks, his voice strained.

You nod. “You make me feel so good,” you moan. “You make me feel beautiful.” 

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.”

He removes his slick fingers from inside you, and you softly mewl. He continues caressing your clit, finger rubbing in steady circles. You tighten your grip on his arms, body tense. You grind erratically against him, his hard length nestled between your cheeks. 

You start to babble incoherent words, filled with breathy gasps and moans.

“I want you to come for me,” he whispers, quickening his movements on your clit.

He places his lips on the side of your throat, licking and sucking your pulse point. You cry out loudly as you start to shake in his arms as you cum. He slips his fingers back inside of you, and your pussy clenches around him. He rocks against you, increasing the pressure against his crotch.

His lips leave your skin, head falling forward as his orgasm follows. He grunts, thrusting against you in short jerks as he releases.

He holds you firmly against him, cupping your pussy in his hand as his thrusts slow. Your body slumps against him,  He turns you around in his arms to softly kiss you, as you practically melt in his embrace.

“You really know how to show a girl a good time,” you smile dreamily.

He smooths his hand over your hair. “You’d be the first.”

“You’re just being modest. I bet you get all the ladies in real life.”

Peter chuckles. “Maybe in a different life.”

“In a different life, huh? Well maybe in a different life I can say that I met you somewhere? Like when those couples say they didn’t meet on Tinder or something.”

He smiles. “Okay, where did we meet?”

You bite your lip. “Umm, how about on the bus?”

“The bus?”

“Yes, ‘Speed’ was one of my favorite movies growing up so I thought it was kind of romantic that Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock got together at the end.”

He shakes his head and chuckles. He strokes your lower back. “Mental noted. Please continue.”

“Okay, hmm. . . how about I was coming home from school one day. All the seats were taken so I had to stand. . . but then you saw me and you were such a gentleman that you gave me your seat. Then we introduced ourselves, and you complimented my sweatshirt, which happened to be my favorite Mickey Mouse one.”

He hums in approval as you continue, “And then you saw the math book in my hands and—”

“And we talked about your love for math,” he finishes. 

You look up and grin widely. “Yes, exactly. And then I noticed your Star Wars shirt and we talked about how I haven’t seen the new Star Wars movies.”

“Wait, how have you not seen the new Star Wars movies?”

“I’m a sucker for the originals. I still refuse to watch the prequels.”

“Blasphemy I tell you,” he teases. “But please, keep going.”

“But alas, we arrived at my stop so I had to leave, but you followed me even though your stop was blocks away. You walked me to the doorstep of my apartment building and then we exchanged numbers.”

“And we texted all day and night,” Peter murmurs.

“And then I saw you on the bus the next day, and the next day, and the next day. And then you finally asked me out.”

“I like our story.”

“Yeah, me too,” you yawn.

“C’mon, let’s get you home. It’s getting late and I gotta get out of this suit,” he softly laughs, placing a delicate kiss on your temple.

You knit your brows together, opening your mouth but the words fall from your lips as realization dawns on. You glance down at his crotch, your cheeks reddening.

“Are you sure you can take me home in that. . . state?”

“I’m not sure, this has never happened before,” he blushes.

You bite your lip to stop the giggle from escaping your mouth. You place a chaste kiss on his lips as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Ready?”

You nod as he pulls his mask over the rest of his face. You inhale deeply as he leaps from the building your body still buzzing from your orgasm. You close your eyes, resting your head against him as the wind rustles through your hair.

Once Peter lands on your fire escape, he nuzzles his face against your hair before easing you down gently, his arms still wrapped around you. 

“When will I see you again?”

He strokes the side of your face, closing your eyes as you lean into his touch.

“I don’t know. My patrolling schedule is. . . unpredictable.”

“Okay,” you smile weakly, shoulders slumping.

Peter bows his head, wishing he could wipe the disappointed look from your face. “In our story, I take you to my favorite pizza spot.”

"Go on.”

“And then we get ice-cream. . . go to Astoria Park and sit in one of those benches to watch the sunset.”

“Does this date end with a goodnight kiss at my front door?”

“Sure. . . then I can awkwardly explain to your parents why I’m kissing their daughter.”

“My parents would love you.”

“They would?”

“Mhmm, as long as you don’t tell them that we sneak around at night, of course.”

He laughs. “Sounds fair.”

Peter wants that more than anything. He craves normalcy with you wants—he wants to meet your parents, walk you home from school, take you to the movies. He wants you to hang out with him and Ned and show you all the Star Wars prequels. He wants to call you his. 

Peter closes his eyes, hoping this never ends. But soon another thought creeps up in his mind that makes his throat feel tight and chest hurt. He frowns, instinctively clutching you closer in his arms. 

He knows that everything ends eventually.

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