#and after that i am going to the dollar store next door for a couple items i need . beloveds i am starving

[transgaysex]

i am so fucking hungry everypony

[venturethighs]

ALPHA FENNEC NONBINARY BUTCH LESBIAN VENTURE, WE LOVE YOU!!!

WE LOVE YOU, ALPHA FENNEC NONBINARY BUTCH LESBIAN VENTURE!!!

THEY COME WITH A BUILT IN STRAP, HURRAY!!!

Anyway, here's the "I got abducted by a rival mob boss and I accidentally went into heat at the same time" fic, lots of overly protective alpha!fennec!Venture, and I couldn't really decide on who the mob boss was so I just went with Talon as a whole. Could've went with JQ but nobody wants to get on her bad side, let's face it.

Features a very special guest appearance by someone equally as deserving of love as our dear Venture, in my opinion!

Yes it has a happy end! You know they always do. 🙂‍↕️ I could never hurt our sweet archeologist permanently. I love them too much– they deserve all the happiness they can get.

It would've been Juno but I really don't think mob boss fits her very well, plus I feel like Talon just fits more but blah blah blah

Reader is femme + uses she/her pronouns!

"Gah– I ran out of cigars again." They sigh, tossing the empty box into the trash.

"Want me to go get you some more?" You lean in and place a kiss to their cheek.

They shake their head.

"There's no need, I can get someone else to do it." They nuzzle you affectionately, returning the kiss with an equally quick one.

"It's okay, really. I need to grab some stuff anyway!" You reassure them.

Another sigh. You knew they hated it when you went out by yourself– but you were fairly independent and could handle yourself if required to do so. That's why they taught you what they taught you.

"Alright. You'll be careful, right muñeca?" They look up at you with their citrine eyes.

"Of course. I always am." You ruffle the hair between their ears playfully as a smile draws across their face.

Their tail twitches in response.

They watch as you leave the bar from the rear exit. Yet, something deep inside of them felt horribly wrong.

"I'll be back." They take off after you. "Close the bar until then."

The waitress nods.

...

"The usual." A woman says, leaning back against the table.

Her rounded ears perk forward as her spotted tail lays relaxed on her lap. The door bell rings as you step inside.

"Evening." She tips her glowing trim hat to you.

"Evening, Sojourn." You smile. "Hard at work?"

The server puts a warm latte with fancy decorative cream next to her, and she quickly looks both ways before cracking open a small bottle and pouring it inside. You pretend to look away for her sake.

"For the most part. What brings you here this time of night, [Y/N]?" She asks, though it sounds more like an interrogation from her tone.

"Someone ran out of cigars again." You place a few dollars on the table alongside a couple boxes of cherry cigars. "Just thought I'd be helpful and get them some more. I have one more stop after this."

The server checks you out and bags the cigars for you. You take it in both your arms, hearing the rain pattering against the window increase as the clouds roll in. Your ears lower in anticipation.

"Ah, I forgot my umbrella." You sigh.

"You wanna borrow mine?" Sojourn offers.

"That's sweet of you, but the next store is right around the corner. I'll be back in no time." You refuse her offer gently.

"It's no problem– really. You always know where to find me." She offers one more time.

"Oh... I guess it's okay just this once. Thanks again, Sojourn." You grab her umbrella in the rack by the door.

It shares her signature pink glowing trim just as her hat and shoes did. That's how you know it's hers, aside from her name written in one of the corners in fancy cursive writing.

"No problem, [Y/N]. Take care of yourself, alright? Call me if you need anything." She reminds you.

"Can do." You start to open her umbrella as you step outside.

...

You take your time walking the empty streets as the pouring rain falls around you. A soft pink glow illuminates everything you pass– street lights, wanted and missing posters, scattered litter on the damp concrete sidewalk.

As you pass by an alleyway, you hear rustling coming from a nearby dumpster and your ears perk up to listen further. Then, a small cat jumps out and limps towards you.

"Oh, sweet thing..." You kneel and share space under your umbrella for it. "Are you hurt?"

It meows loudly– as if warning you about something.

"It's okay! I can help!" You talk to it as if it understands English.

You search through your bag for a moment before pulling out a small first aid kit. You always kept it on you just in case moments like these happened.

"I rescued a little guy that looks like you! I wonder if you're related? Same mom, maybe?" You're talking to yourself as you prepare to bandage up the limping cat.

It meows again, hissing as it backs away. "Oh, no! Please! I'm trying to help!" You explain.

You turn and flick your tail, showing it to the young cat. "Look! We're not so different, see?"

A dark, looming figure approaches you from behind and takes you by surprise. You fall backwards into a puddle and soak yourself completely, Sojourn's umbrella spiraling out of reach. You're thankful the wind hasn't picked up. The figure wears a red helmet with a "T" shaped insignia on the front.

Where did you recognize that symbol from...?

"Are you [Y/N]?" A rough voice asks.

"Uh– what's it to you?" You grumble, attempting to stand up on your own.

The figure wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls you to your feet, suddenly yanking you along as you're forced to leave your purse and Sojourn's umbrella behind.

"Hey! Let me go, asshole!" You yell. "Let me go or else!"

Except– no one is around to hear.

"Stop!" You plea, drigging your heels into the wet asphalt.

You're quickly thrown into the back of a black, unmarked vehicle where you're tied up and blindfolded against your will. The whole thing happened in less than a minute. Now, you're disappearing into the raining, foggy night.

"Stop right there!" Sojourn slides in as the vehicle takes off and turns the corner, leaving her behind.

She takes a moment to catch her breath.

"I'm getting too old for this." She sighs. "Sorry, Sloan. Not as fast as I used to be."

Your beloved was following closely behind. Their ears perk up in the darkness.

"How did you know I was here...?" They step into the streetlight from the shadows.

She chuckles. "How long have I been doing this for again? I could tell you were following me from a mile away."

Her eyes scan the street and hone in on your dropped bag and her lost umbrella. She approaches it with caution. The cat from earlier is taking shelter underneath it– licking its paw that was clearly injured. Sloan follows behind once again.

Sojourn kneels and looks through your stuff– your phone, medical kit and personal belongings are safely inside. So are the cigars inside the soaked paper bag, so clearly Talon wasn't set on robbing you. Then, her eyes settle back onto the stray cat.

"If only Murphy liked cats." She sighs.

She takes a quick picture and sends it to someone alongside the address.

"Well, I'm glad that solves one problem." Your beloved crosses their arms in frustration. "Too bad my wife is actively being abducted."

What could they even do in this situation? Neither of them could run as fast as you were disappearing.

"Not for long. I know exactly where she's headed." Sojourn pulls up a holo screen with the location of the van on screen. "I tagged that van earlier today."

"What made you suspect it?" Sloan asks.

Another laugh. "No license plate– how more obvious can you get?"

...

"Oh GOD– that's disgusting–!" A female voice revolts at the sight of you.

Her face is also obscured and two giant blades are attached to her arms like claws.

"Are all omegas this gross?" She spats.

You feel embarrassment fill your flushed body as your heat overtakes your entire being. Slick gushes between your thighs as you desperately scent everyone and everything inside the van out of fear.

"She went into heat. Sometimes it happens when they get stressed out. We have suppressants back at base, just be patient." The same gruff voice from earlier speaks up.

"Ew! My shoes!" The woman lifts her wet foot and nudges you out of the way. "Ugh!"

The vehicle comes to a screeching halt. You feel someone's hand lift you up and hoist you over their shoulder. No one talks– you're still scenting the air in hopes your beloved would walk in at any moment and save you.

If only.

Footsteps echo down the hallways you're taken through until you're sat down in a chair and more restraints are placed on you.

"Good grief. Get the heat suppressants already, her scent stinks." Someone complains.

After a minute you feel someone rip the tape off your mouth and force pills into your mouth. You try your best to spit them out but water is crammed down your throat and you unwillingly swallow the suppressants they had given you.

"She ruined my shoes..." The same female voice complains in the distance.

Tears form in your covered eyes. You're terrified beyond belief. Your ears perk up when you hear someone entering the room. You can also hear something large and metallic moving alongside the footsteps. Whatever it is, it sounds like it's flexing.

"Remove the blindfold." The deep voice orders. It's accented, but you couldn't place it. Definitely not from New York.

Your eyes gaze upon a sharply dressed, larger man with bronze colored skin. The ears on his head belong to that of a cat– but not a domestic one. Every ounce of his aura radiates elegance, sophistication and intimidation. In place of his other arm is a giant gauntlet that sits almost out of place against his suit.

He turns away from you. His tail is bobbed.

"Very well. Begin the interrogation." He leaves without looking back.

Your ears fall flat against your head in terror. Several people dressed in matching red and black uniforms enter the room and wait for orders. You hear a voice on the intercom somewhere above you.

"You know what you're here for. So make it easy on yourself and tell us what we want to hear." The voice lacks any depth or emotion.

You take a deep breath in.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" You cry out. "I don't know why I'm here!"

Tears drop down your face as you look around at all the faceless soldiers.

"Wrong answer!" The voice grows cold and sadistic.

The crowd closes in on you as you shake uncontrollably in your chair. Your eyes squeeze shut as you brace yourself for the worst.

...

"So, this is Talon's base...?" Sloan looks up at the dark skyscraper.

"One of them. They have bases near everywhere these days– most of them run by the lower ranks." Sojourn explains.

She guns down an approaching agent like it was second nature.

"Kind of wish I would've brought my own weapon now." Sloan murmurs.

"Keep your eyes peeled, they'll be coming from all directions. Now let's move." Sojourn orders.

As soon as Sloan enters the first set of doors they can smell your scent lingering in the air– comfort momentarily fills their body before the two of them are surrounded on all sides again. She can only gun them down so fast, and more seem to be approaching quicker than she can fend them off.

Come on. There has to be something around here.

Another Talon guard falls to the ground and drops their weapon.

"What is this...?" Sloan picks it up with relative ease. "A drill...?"

"I don't think it really matters right now!" Sojourn slides her way out danger and continues rapid firing at the enemy.

They cock their newfound weapon before it fires a massive energetic blast into the crowd of approaching agents.

"Oh– Okay– so that's what that button does–" They shake their head to recenter themself.

It doesn't take long to adjust to using it, and it takes down multiple people in just a few pulls of the trigger. Whatever this thing was– drill...? Cannon...? Gun...?– they were definitely not going to give it back anytime soon.

It takes several more minutes to cut back the oncoming wave of Talon soldiers before either of them had time to catch their breath.

"Can you get a scent? Anything?" Sojourn looks at them.

"She's this way–" Sloan responds, heading off in the direction of your scent trail. "Downstairs."

"We have to hurry– let's keep moving." Sojourn slides her way down the staircase and into the darkness.

"Man... I gotta get me some rocket legs..." Sloan whispers to themself, taking off after her.

...

You had managed to wriggle free of the restraints that held you back when one of the assassins took a lunge at you. Now, you're surrounded by a group of enraged Talon agents ready to rip you to shreds. All you have in your hands is a tiny pistol that shot bullets of condensed energy.

You're cornered. You close your eyes and fire into the group and hit one or two agents before one inevitably reaches for you and knocks the weapon away. You kick them as hard as you can, knocking the wind out of them, and drag your tired body into the next room while your assailants were busy with their injuries.

Only... you find yourself once again surrounded by a bloodthirsty army.

"You gotta be kidding me." Your knees are weak, but the fight hasn't left your body just yet.

"Don't fire! The boss wants her alive." Someone shouts.

One of the agents approaches you, and growl reverberates deep inside your throat.

"Don't touch me!" You snap.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be!" He replies.

"No, I'll kill every single one of you!" You back yourself into a corner and bare your fangs.

You're not very intimidating– but it's a good try.

"If you touch me, I'll–" You're cut off.

"You'll what? Bite me?" The voice laughs.

"I'll kill you!" You grit your teeth and lower yourself even further.

"Sure you will, babe." The man nonchalantly approaches you before you hear the sound of a rail gun firing in your direction.

The soldier collapses.

All the agents in the room turn to the source of the firing.

"Sojourn–!" You choke, your injuries finally catching up to you.

You were bleeding heavily. Definitely not enough to kill you, but it was enough to slow you down for sure. You hug your knees close to your chest as you shake, eyes squeezed shut as the world around you begins to spin a little too much.

"Mi reina!" Sloan calls out. "I'm on my way!"

"I'm over here!" You yell back.

It turns into a firefight– energetic gunfire rapidly flying around the room like it was a science fiction movie. You lower yourself to the floor to avoid being hit and cover your head with your hands for extra protection, though it doesn't provide much. Your tail is huddled against your body as you curl into a scared ball of fluff. All that courage has finally left your body.

You just wanted it to be over.

Sloan does their best to fight their way over to you but continually gets pushed back by the onslaught of soldiers hellbent on killing them and Sojourn.

"That's it! I can't take it anymore!" A sniper calls out. "Just kill the bitch and get it over with!"

"The boss wants her alive!" Another voice responds.

"Fuck what the boss wants, I'm not risking my life for this!" The sniper aims their weapon directly at your head.

A laser settles right between your eyes.

In that moment, time slows down. Sloan is shoving their way over to you as their alpha side finally overtakes them.

"Don't hurt her!" They scream in their native tongue. "Don't hurt her!"

Sojourn's dominant eye focuses in on the sniper's laser, following it to the shadows where she lies in waiting. She can feel the heat of her gun on her fingertips as it enters into Overclock mode, and a blue laser of death shoots out as soon as the snipers head enters her scope. She gracefully falls to the ground with a lifeless thud.

One problem down– one more to go.

"Shit, they got our sniper!" One of the soldiers calls out.

One Talon guard lunges and grabs them by the waist. They struggle to keep hold of their drill, causing it to fire in random directions as they fight to free themself. It's only then does it turn into a melee weapon– driving it into the torso of the guard who holds them and drilling him heavily into the ground.

"[Y/N]!" You can hear their alpha instincts overtake their entire voice. "[Y/N]!"

It's intimidating– they sound so enraged, so distressed that your omega side instantly shows itself in return, letting off massive waves of scent as your nerves steel themselves. All of the anxiety flushes out of your body as your scent blooms like a garden. It fills the room with its silage to the point even Sojourn can pick up on it, and she hadn't felt her alpha instincts in years.

"Get her out of here!" Someone calls out.

"Don't you lay a hand on her!" Sloan growls.

And someone does just that– and it's made even worse by the fact it was another alpha. They could smell his disgusting stench from where they stood. Their finger lingers over the trigger for so long that they feel their arms shake, taking only one step back before it slams into the ground and creates deep cracks in the concrete floor beneath everyone. Sojourn is able to finish off the rest of the soldiers due to their displacement and confusion– and finally– the room falls silent.

All that remains is death and destruction.

They toss the drill aside and run to your aid. "Mi alma–!"

You're bloodied. You're tired. Yet, you're okay.

They cradle you in their arms and hold you close, licking your wounds as they scent you as heavily as they can. It instantly floods your senses: it's cherry tobacco at first, then it mixes into strawberry with a light scent of chocolate before fading finally into vanilla, ink and smoke.

There's also a hint of something else. It didn't smell like a mating smell... more like a friend. The scent of freshly brewed coffee with cream, new books and rain on dampened earth.

"Sloan...?" Sojourn calls out.

They snap back to their senses for a brief moment. They're panting and can barely think straight.

"Let's get you two out of here." She adds.

...

You're safely back at your shared beach house. Sojourn helped patch both of you back up before heading back out for more coffee.

And yes, she got her umbrella back, thank goodness.

"Mi vida– I'm sorry–" You place a finger over their mouth.

"Please, you don't need to apologize. Here–" You reach for a cherry cigar and light it for them. "I'm okay. You're okay. Let's focus on that instead."

They take the longest drag from their cigar and exhale with relief. The two of you huddle together on the couch in the living room and listen to the distant ocean waves for a while.

"Are you feeling up to building a nest?" They ask. "With your injuries and all?"

You're sore, but a nest sounds nice. Besides, it can promote healing in both alphas and omegas.

"I should be able to." You respond.

You carefully get off the couch and head towards your shared bedroom. The bed canopy curtains, mattress sheets and blanket were already scent retaining. Perhaps a few extra pillows would be good? You reach for some spare ones in the closet and toss them next to the main ones. Then you finish it up with some softer objects– mostly cutesy shaped pillows– for an extra sense of coziness.

You instantly dive into your readily made nest.

"Is someone nesting already?" You hear your beloved walking into the bedroom, scenting the air hard as a result. "That was quick!"

You giggle and peak out from behind the canopy curtain. They lean in and place a gentle kiss to your lips.

"Do you want some music? Maybe a drink?" They offer.

"That sounds perfect." You relax back into your nest and hold onto one of the pillows while you wait for them to return.

They set two bottles of water on the nightstand (alcohol is reserved for after the heat) and search for your favorite record. They adjust the needle on the record player and let it spin, filling the room with a soft and calming melody.

"Cuddle time!" They shout, bursting through the curtain and landing on the bed in full force.

Their tail twitches happily, scooping you up and kissing you all across your flushed face. Giggles rise from your chest as you welcome in their wholesome affection.

"How are you feeling? No pain, right?" They're extra careful not to hold you too tightly or put any of their weight on you whatsoever.

"None so far." You tell them.

"I'll be extra gentle whenever you're ready, okay? Please don't hesitate to tell me if anything hurts." They look at you in full seriousness.

You boop them on the nose. They smile and wag their fluffy tail.

"That goes double for you, too." You remind them.

The two of you spend a little more time cuddling and waiting for heat suppressants to wear off. It almost puts you to sleep: the sound of the distant ocean, the music playing on your vinyl player, enjoying all the warmth that your beloved was radiating alongside their signature scents filling the air. You feel them nuzzle into you and kiss you every so often so you don't doze off– though, all you really wanted was rest at this point.

Until you felt a couple drops running down your legs.

It started with only a couple drops before it quickly became a waterfall.

"Ugh." You vocally express your frustration.

"We'll get some good sleep after we get you taken care of. Just lay down and I'll handle it, okay, muñeca?" They reassure you.

They sit up and interlock their legs with yours as their length begins to protrude against your wetness. An inked hand roams across your chest and stomach while being extra careful to avoid any bruising or bandages. You start to feel your entrance widening in order to take your beloved in fully.

"Ready?" They ask one more time.

You nod, clutching onto a nearby heart shaped pillow for comfort.

"Okay. You know the drill." They smile down at you with love.

You can feel the further expansion of their cock until it finally settles nicely inside of you, and then they begin thrusting. You hold the pillow closer to your goosebump covered body as they gently rut into you, feeling their hands reach down to hold your waist as their scent continues to fill the tensing air.

"No pain?" They ask.

"No pain." You whimper.

They continue to stretch you out as slick pours across their hips, being extra delicate the entire time to ensure they didn't accidentally hurt you. Their hands are firmly wrapped around either side of your figure until you momentarily reach out for one to hold, and they happily clasp it between their tattoo covered fingers. The events from earlier are pushed from their mind and now they can truly focus on you.

"Mm– slower, please–!" You beg.

You were still sensitive.

"Sorry!" Their thrusts slow down to a more loving pace. "Better?"

"Mmhm." You moan.

Every stroke of their cock hits that sweet bundle of nerves inside of you and the pleasure begins to mount inside your tired hips. The hand holding your waist splays against your stomach before trailing lower, situating itself between your thighs and using their thumb to press against your aroused core. They start off with light stokes before gradually circling faster, feeling your hips lift into their touch and simultaneously taking them deeper inside of you.

Sweat drips down their forehead and atop your equally damp body, heavy panting fills the air as they continue to work towards building that sweet release. Growls sound from the back of their throat as you begin to purr as loud as you could from the satisfaction they're bringing you.

You take a deep breath in and smell that wonderful scent– the cherry tobacco, the chocolate covered strawberries, the vanilla and smoke mixed with your own.

"Are you still doing okay? How are you holding up?" They struggle to speak the further you both go into your lovemaking.

"Doing– good–!" You feel your ability to respond slipping quick.

"Be strong for a little longer, mi muñeca. It's almost over. I know you're tired." They comfort you to the best of their ability.

They don't dare increase their pace– otherwise you'd be ridden into the mattress already. Instead, they remain slow and gentle as that excitement continues to rapidly build inside the both of you.

They watch as you bounce against every thrust, your chest lightly swaying on every rebound as their deflated knot begins to twitch the closer they get to their climax.

It's hypnotizing– they could watch you forever.

"Close?" They ask, their voice gravelly from their alpha side.

"Close." You repeat.

They have to use every ounce of willpower and strength in their ink covered body not to rail into you like the world was ending. They simply just squeeze their eyes shut as the two of you rapidly approach the ending together, leaning lower and scenting you heavily with every passing second. Their thumb continues spiraling around your throbbing core, length continually buried to the hilt, hitting every spot in the most heavenly way.

You both share your orgasms not long after this. Their knot expands deep within you as you see stars lightly dancing about in your vision– clearing up quickly as you ride out the rest of your high against their hips. They clean their fingers inside their mouth and swirl their pierced tongue around to collect all the juices you gave them.

The heat inside your body finally dissipates for a little while.

They lean down to cuddle you close, extra careful to avoid putting any pressure on the injured parts of your body. You discard your pillow somewhere on the bed and opt to hold their head against your chest instead. Your fingers run through their tawny colored locks and playfully ruffle their curls as a way to signify a job well done.

"You did so well, mi angelita." They praise you between tired breaths.

"Mm. You, too." You let out a satisfied sigh as you continue playing with their hair.

Their tired eyes finally find rest atop your equally as tired figure. They slowly teeter in and out of consciousness, not wanting you to be left awake alone and vulnerable. It's only then do they realize that you had fallen asleep below them– and they let themself relax just a little to join you in that sweet slumber.

[tinygumdrops]

If you're taking prompts, might I request a meet-cute kagehina? In a coffee shop or convenience store? If not regardless I just want to let you know I'm big fan! Your fics pull me through whenever I'm in a dark place 🥺 Thank you and much love 💕💕💕💕💕

Gosh, hello anon!!!! I know it's been two years already and I'm not sure if you'll ever see this, but here you go!

You can also read it on ao3.

~O~

Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn Almost Summer

...

The store's door chimes ring at 12:15 in the morning. At the corner of his eye, Tobio spots a tuft of wild orange hair peeking out from the double-sided racks at the Hygiene section. He sets aside his textbook and gets up from his stool, waiting for the familiar stranger to show up at the counter.

In ten minutes, the man waltz towards the register and slides three packs of Salonpas with a five dollar bill. He has a nasty bruise blossoming under his left jaw, which moves like a taunt when he speaks in English, "No paper bag, please."

Tobio nods. He spares a glance at the man's shirt—a purple graphic tee with a screaming iguana in the middle—before scanning the purchases and giving him his change.

The man meets Tobio's eye before smiling widely. Under the bright fluorescent lights, his bruise appears almost as purple as his shirt. "Thanks. Have a good night!" he says and waves.

From the store windows, Tobio stares after the man's retreating figure and watches it get swallowed by the darkness of the midnight streets, before plopping back on his stool and opening his textbook again.

~O~

Tobio saw him again three more times before he realizes they live in the same neighborhood.

The first time, Tobio caught a glimpse of him locking his bike at the broken metal fences of a baptist church. Tobio had half a mind to warn the stranger that the next time he'll be seeing his bike, it's being sold for $145 in some shady ad website. But Tobio was running late for his 8 am statistics class, and the sky was ready to open up any minute—suddenly, it was too much of an effort to offer advice to someone who seemed too careless to heed them.

The second time, it was half past nine in the evening and Tobio was out for a quick jog. Somewhere in Madison street, Tobio ran past the careless, tangerine-haired oddball; the guy was crouching at the edge of the sidewalk in a yellow hoodie and denim shorts, stuffing himself with chicken tenders from Popeyes.

The third time happens today on a balmy afternoon, at the tail end of spring, at a dingy skating rink near Tobio's apartment. Tobio is waiting for his ten-year-old niece at the entrance when the man comes out of the door with a curly-haired toddler in tow. His distinctive hair bounces as he laughs at an unheard statement. Probably something the kid said.

Then, the man spots Tobio standing by the lamp post. Though his expression doesn't change, his eyes seem to cheerfully say, Oh, it's you again! The bruise under the man's jaw is almost healed, but this time around, he has a band-aid on the bridge of his nose.

Tobio fights back a flush and looks away, glaring insistently at the pavement.

~~O~

"Do you speak Japanese?" the man says the next time they meet. It's four in the morning, and they're at the convenience store again where Tobio works to make ends meet.

Tobio eyes him warily before replying "Yes" in his native tongue. He pats the mat over the counter with his palm.

The man grins. "Awesome." He places the bag of bean sprouts, bok choy and ramen on the counter. "I can speak English just fine, but I think I'm out of practice with my Japanese. I met a couple of Japanese folks the other day, but they don't speak the language very well."

Tobio doesn't know what to say to that, so he keeps silent.

The man is still smiling. His fringe is long enough to fall at the sides of his face, softening the sharpness of his cheekbones. "I'm Shouyou," he says. "Or, uhh, you can call me Hinata. Whichever you feel comfortable calling me."

Tobio nods and packs the goods in a black plastic bag. "That'll be fifteen eighty five."

The man forks out a twenty from his wallet. "Keep the change," he says, scooping the bag in his right arm. "It was nice meeting you—"

Tobio presses a handwritten note against the man's palm. "Go get a haircut, idiot."

~O~

Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn Summer

...

Tobio agrees to eat chilate de pollo with Hinata at the store's patio at around 3:40 am, a time he deems safest to leave the counter unattended. Outside, the humidity clings like a second skin, and the streets carry a faint scent of ammonia and rust—typical vestiges of summer rains in New York City.

Apparently, the chilate is too spicy for them to handle, but neither are willing to admit defeat and stop. Tobio fights off the heat with a small carton of milk, while Hinata arms himself with a bottle of cheap lemon juice.

"I can't believe I had to learn your name from your sister," Hinata says. He dumps a few tablespoons of rice in the remaining spicy chicken broth and mixes them together. "I like her. She was really nice."

"I guess she can be." Miwa did a good enough job with Hinata's haircut; it's less messy now and much shorter at the sides, allowing Tobio to see how much Hinata's ears have gone pink from the heat. Tobio supposes he has to thank her sometime later.

"What were you, uh—" Hinata sneezes. Tobio tosses a wad of napkins to him. "Er, sorry. What were you reading? Earlier, when I came in."

"Just a textbook. For school."

"You go to college?"

"Sometimes."

"What are you studying?"

"Math. Statistics."

Hinata mouths a 'wow'. After blowing his nose thrice, he comments, "That's pretty hardcore stuff."

Tobio shrugs. He takes classes at a community college from eight to five every Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays. Whenever he can, he sits in on the set theory classes after his shift during the weekends, but that's about it. Nothing fancy.

Hinata tilts his head towards the empty skies. His shirt collar shifts, revealing patches of Salonpas on the curve of his neck. "I really should start looking into college. Maybe the pay would be nicer if I get a degree or something." He scratches his ear. "You have any suggestions?"

"Why would you let other people decide for you? Why don't you think of something you're good at and choose that?"

Hinata tilts his head. "So you're good at Math?"

Tobio's parents were both professors in particle physics; he has to be. "It's my greatest strength," he declares, shoulders squared.

"Wow." Hinata grins. "Hmm. Wonder how I could start making money out of something I'm great at... I'm really short on cash lately."

Tobio gestures at the fading bruises on Hinata's face. "Getting into trouble seems to be a talent of yours."

Hinata's smile remains. "Yeah. This place takes some time to get used to. I guess I should have expected it. I'm in New York after all!" He then realizes something, "Woah. It's already four in the morning. Don't you have class later?"

"I do."

"But you're always working. Do you even sleep?"

Tobio blinks in surprise again. "I get enough."

"That's not—" Hinata frowns and shakes his head. He takes the chopsticks and empty plastic bowls and dumps them in the trash. "Sorry, don't mind me. I'll be heading out then."

Tobio licks his lips. "Okay."

"Say hi to Miwa-san for me!"

Tobio grunts.

For a brief moment, Hinata looks uncertain, but then he huffs out a chuckle and waves tinily at Tobio. Tobio nods once at Hinata retreating to the other side of the road.

After his replacement arrives at six in the morning, Tobio walks out the door when he spots a torn scrap of paper on the pavement. On instinct, Tobio picks it up.

Hinata had scribbled his phone number at the back of his receipt, perhaps at some point earlier this morning. Tobio discards it after memorizing it in one glance.

~O~

Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn Autumn

...

The winds bring a swathe of rotting sour gum and sassafras leaves on Tobio's doorstep, but he doesn't mind staying out an extra thirty minutes to clean them. This season, the air outside sometimes smells like burning candlewicks, and seeing the dark orange foliage in the mornings and afternoons brings him an odd sense of calm.

Autumn, overall, is an odd season for Tobio; it comprises of those unreasonably short, sublime weeks between the sheer heat of the summer and the exhausting cold of wintertime, and his defenses are down. He doesn't realize that he's been coursing through the streets distractedly all this time, searching for a face, until his shoulder collides with a man's chest.

"Son of a bitch," the stranger lashes out. "Watch where the fuck you're going."

Tobio nods, slightly embarrassed. "Sorry." He adjusts the straps of his bag and opts to take a shortcut in an alleyway at St. Felix, where he will harm less people with his absent-mindedness.

...

For this afternoon, only three out of the fifteen who signed up for the discrete structures class turned up; Tobio prefers sitting at the desk in the front row nearest the windows, but there's too many empty seats that he felt like he needed to sit at the center to make up for the sheer amount of space. He's about to leave the classroom when Mrs. Cunningham calls his name.

"You still haven't turned in your application, honey," Mrs. Cunningham says after he approached her desk. "I thought you said you were interested."

Tobio's eyes widen. "Oh, I didn't... I thought you were just letting me know they accepted transfers from out of state."

Mrs. Cunningham looks at him sternly. "It ain't just an announcement, Mr. Kageyama. It was an offer." She hands him a manila envelope. "Fill them up as soon as you can and I'll have Jimmy mail them ASAP."

Tobio slots the envelope under his armpit. He's about to take out his wallet when Mrs. Cunningham's sudden laugh stops him.

"Christ on a cherry, you don't have to spend a single cent on the processing fee. It's on the school's tab," Mrs. Cunningham says.

Tobio is too stunned to reply a proper thank you. He bows minutely and mutters, "See you on Thursday, Mrs. Cunningham."

"Yes, yes." Mrs. Cunningham adjusts her wire-rimmed glasses and ties her curly black hair. "And I sure hope I won't see you here again next fall."

~O~

Hinata, once again, turns up when Tobio least expects it. He's at the door of Tobio's department, holding out Tobio's take-out of poorly done Japanese food. He's wearing a loose, plain white shirt, jeans and a beanie, very un-Japanese like and very unfit for autumn weather.

"I guess I know where you live now," Hinata says. "Scared?"

"Like hell I am." Tobio takes the paper bag and narrows his eyes at it. "This better taste good."

"Wish I can hi-jack their kitchen when they aren't looking. Why add a bar of butter in curry?" He shudders as he pockets Tobio's payment. "It's really gross, I'm telling you."

Hinata's tendency to make off the cuff remarks will get him fired one of these days. "Thanks for that," Tobio says.

Hinata's eyes crinkle at the ends. "See you around, Kageyama."

Before he can walk away, Tobio calls out, "Hey, wait."

"Hmm?"

"When does your shift end?"

"My shift? Uhh, until nine, I think. Why?"

"Meet me at the park in Kingston. I'll wait there."

"Demanding, huh." Hinata shrugs. "Sure, I guess. But how—"

"I'll text you when I'm there."

Hinata's friendly expression turns slightly annoyed. "Text me when you're leaving so I can expect you, and I'll text you when I'm done."

"Alright."

Hinata shrugs again and, without another word, heads for the stairs. Tobio closes the door and immediately puts his long-delayed plan in action.

...

Tobio has done his research. There are around eighteen stores that sold Mexican food in Central Brooklyn, and three of them are close to Fulton and Nordstram. The past month, Tobio ordered chilate de pollo from stores that are within walking distance from Tobio's workplace, and judged the one at Brooklyn and Atlantic Avenue to be the most similar-tasting from the braised chicken Hinata bought for him last summer.

Tobio's plan is to take him there and make sure Hinata finishes a bowl of it. Tobio owes him for last time, and mathematically, this evens it out.

They're walking down Atlantic avenue when Tobio tells him this, and Hinata responds, "Huh. I guess that makes sense. Equivalent exchange, right? Like in that manga."

"What manga?"

"Oh. I guess you're not that type of guy." Hinata crosses his arms and wonders aloud, "Maybe I should have bought you a whopper or something. I'm kinda craving a burger right now."

Tobio purses his lips. "We'll go to Burger King if you're still hungry. You can buy me a whopper next time."

Hinata must think it's a good plan too for he agrees instantly.

The area has a good view of the autumn trees, and they take advantage of it by eating the bowl of chilate on the hood of an abandoned car at a gasoline station a block away.

Hinata's still hungry, so they head for the nearest Burger King. Tobio gets the questionable salad without the dressing, while Hinata orders a Whopper Cheese set with a large Fanta orange. Tobio pays for it all.

They eat without speaking for ten minutes until Hinata slides eight pamphlets across the table. "Uhh, hey. So you're a local, obviously. Do you have any suggestions?"

Tobio glances down. They're all enrolment brochures from community colleges in New York City. "This one's good, but the commute... you'll need to take the B train to Manhattan Beach." He points to another one. "This one's good, much closer. But it's expensive."

Hinata chews thoughtfully on his onion ring. "I'll go look for another side-gig then."

"It's not that easy to get a job around here, dumbass."

"Duh. I know that of course."

Tobio crosses his arms. "So?"

"What?"

"What are you planning to take?"

Hinata smirks. "Physical therapy, or maybe sports science." He flexes both of his arms proudly. "I actually have great upper body strength!"

Tobio can tell. "And what are you planning to do after?"

"Uhh, help a lot of people exercise, I guess...?"

"You should figure that out too."

Hinata grins and does a salute. "Gotcha."

Not knowing what else to say, Tobio opts to look at the large store windows instead, where he sees a cluster of teenagers in training gear dawdling outside, a pair of boxing gloves strewn over their shoulders. Hinata just laughs and continues munching on his burger.

They walk back to St. Andrew's park where Hinata left his bike. Most of the court lights are turned off, making it hard to see anything in the entryway shadowed by linden trees. But Hinata finds his bike easily enough and unravels the lock around the tire.

They pause at the stoplight in Fulton, and Hinata mounts his bike.

"You know, you should always ask first if people have plans before asking them out on dates. It's rude not to," Hinata says. "And I hate it when people tell me what to do. Boss me around again and you're in for a fight of a lifetime."

Tobio frowns. Logic dictates that Hinata is better off spending time with him than getting into scuffles with some random, but he'll consider that next time. "You owe me," he says gruffly.

Hinata scoffs, and once again, he gets swallowed by the shadows of the buildings as he pedals away. There's a twinge in Tobio's chest, and he takes the quiet sting with him for the rest of the night.

~O~

Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn Winter

...

Tobio gets fired from his job at the convenience store, but a retail outlet selling dodgy body jewelry and luxury brand ripoffs hires him a week later. His new workplace is a lot closer to his apartment so Tobio takes it as a blessing in disguise.

His co-workers are kind of nice, too. They're very friendly, especially Mrs. Rasmussen, who's a retired claims adjuster from Philadelphia, but they leave him alone when they see him arming himself with his laptop and his math textbook during lunch breaks. Dwayne and Chase, the younger guys in the group, can get a bit excessive with the dick jokes, but they clamp their mouths shut whenever Mrs. Rasmussen is in the room.

"Yo, Tobes." Dwayne lets out a stream of cackles from the adjacent register. "D'you see that?"

Tobio looks up from his phone. "Huh? What?"

Dwayne points at the convex security mirror. At the far end of the store, there's an old man in sweatpants trying to sneak a packet of hair gel in his hoodie before his eyes meet Tobio's. He then tries to awkwardly maneuver himself out of the store, his face flushing.

Dwayne laughs even harder. "Is that guy for real? Even I can cough up fifty cents for that shit."

Tobio stands up from his stool to stop the guy from leaving the store, but Dwayne waves a hand. "Nah, nah, lemme handle that loser," he says. "Gotta make this boring shift interesting at least."

As Dwayne heads out to confront the shoplifter, another customer carrying a paper bag from Burger King comes in. The man grins cheekily at Tobio while he approaches the counter, his red-orange hair almost bouncing in his delight.

"Hi there," Hinata greets. He jiggles the paper bag in front of Tobio's face, almost like a taunt.

Tobio narrows his eyes as he grabs the paper bag with a furious swipe. "Are you stalking me?" he demands.

Hinata rubs his nose. "I owe you, don't I?"

That is true, Tobio supposes, but he can't help but feel a little discomfited. His tongue feels gigantic and heavy in his mouth, and his throat is dry.

They face each other without saying anything for an awkward amount of time until Dwayne comes back. He takes stock of them for roughly five seconds before asking, "Jesus. You two gonna stand here all day or what?"

"Sorry, I'll head out now," Hinata says in English. "Nice seeing you again, Kageyama."

"What? No." Dwayne glares at Tobio and jerks his thumb up. "You too, good sir. Scram. Shimmy the fuck outta here."

"Our shift's not over yet."

"Yours is. I'm making it so." At Tobio's dumbfounded expression, Dwayne rolls his eyes. "Who the fuck's gonna come here for sequined underwear and cat piss candles at three in the afternoon? Charlie Sheen?" He grabs Tobio's backpack and pushes Tobio out of the counter. "Come on. Get your dick soaking wet for once."

Hinata chuckles softly at that, but his ears are distinctly red at the tips, which offers Tobio some relief. At least he's not the only one spectacularly mortified by this situation.

They stand at the storefront awkwardly for a few seconds until Hinata nudges his shoulder.

"What?" Tobio says rather sharply.

Hinata stares at him. "Anything you want to do?" he asks after a momentary pause.

Tobio tries to compose himself; he clenches and unclenches his fists. "Errands," he mutters. "I have shit to do."

"I don't," Hinata replies. "Can I tag along?"

Tobio shrugs.

...

Tobio runs through his list for the second time: cabbages, tofu, mushrooms, boneless chicken breasts, ground beef, olive oil, paprika, mirin, and toilet rolls. He also managed to pick up a gallon of fabric conditioner, which he only remembered he needed when he saw Hinata lurking at the household goods aisle. He ambles towards the cash register near the garments section when he spots a clearance rack full of neckties for $3 a piece.

"Are you looking for a suit?" Hinata suddenly says from behind him.

"N-no," Tobio mumbles, his cheeks warming. He coughs twice and stands straighter. "I don't need it right now."

"Yeah, maybe, but you will." Hinata crosses his arms and gestures at himself quite proudly. "I happen to know a thrift shop that sells a few nice sets, at a good price too!"

"Is that the place where you bought all your ridiculous shirts?"

"What did you say?"

Tobio eyes him. "I'll think about getting myself one, but only if you buy yourself a proper coat for once," he says, scoffing at Hinata's thin windbreaker and scruffy red scarf. "I get cold just looking at you."

"Whatever you say, gramps."

After they've finished putting the groceries back in Tobio's place, they walk to DeKalb and Bedford. The thrift store isn't as huge and varied as the ones in Downtown, but it's relatively inexpensive than the usual clothing shops Tobio frequents. It's a little disorganized with all the garish, rich people attire clogging up the entrance, but the second floor has a quality selection of well-pressed suits and evening dresses.

"Told you," Hinata says smugly when Tobio gets paralyzed by the immense number of choices in front of him. "Want me to help you choose?"

Not completely out of reluctance, Tobio begins perusing the clothes in the rotating hanger stand. "You dress like a ten-year-old on a field trip. I don't need your opinion."

"You're so rude, jeez. How have you survived being such a jerk for so long?" Hinata purses his lips. "I guess this city really is made for people like you."

"It is." Tobio flips through a series of ties. "And you're an asshole too," he adds, remembering how Hinata can disappear without a word for months on end.

Hinata pretends not to hear him. "Anyway, this place is awesome, right? My landlady told me about this. Her husband plays jazz music on weekends—he plays the sax, I think. Pretty cool, right? We can watch his band together if you aren't busy. They also have comedy night on Fridays if you're more into that. Also, my landlady says—wait a sec." Hinata picks out a dark blue tie with tiny, morning glory flowers. "Try this one, Kageyama."

Tobio nods and drapes it over his shoulder. He heads for the dressing room as Hinata prattles on about his landlady's sourdough donuts and how they're the best he's tasted.

There's an empty stall at the far end of the room. Tobio hangs the jacket and the pants before closing the door. It's rather cheap for a secondhand, tailor-fitted suit—Tobio always looks at the prices first before checking out the product—with just small, discreet stains at the hem of the pants. Nothing a bit of soda water can't fix.

Tobio doesn't bother looking at the mirror; he'll take this one since it isn't tight around his backside. He's about to undress when Hinata knocks on his stall.

"You should change," Hinata comments after one look at Tobio. "You look ugly and shabby in that."

"What? Why?"

"The blazer's too loose."

Tobio makes a face. "How would you know?"

"I have a sister." Hinata hands Tobio another suit made out of charcoal wool.

"I have a sister too, dumbass," Tobio grumbles. He starts taking off the coat and trousers, shivering almost instantly. It's cold in here.

Hinata helps him with the coat and tie, grinning widely when he steps back to inspect his handiwork. "Well, what do you know? It pains me to say, but you look amazing." He hums. "Wow. You have awesome thighs. Strong. I'm jealous. I wish I look like that."

"Shut up." Tobio allows himself a glance at the mirror. He has to admit, he doesn't look as bad as he expected. He feels a bit warm as he wiggles out of the suit and into his usual street clothes. "Alright. Your turn."

Hinata brandishes a long coat from a basket behind him, an audacious peacock blue with many pockets inside. "Tada! Already got myself one!" He laughs. "You take so long to change, old man."

Tobio's cheeks burn hotter as he marches down the stairs. Hinata trails behind him; this time, he's talking about his younger sister and her latest e-mails about wakeboarding in Florida. Tobio decides to give him the slightest indulgence by listening semi-attentively.

...

"You're not from here, aren't you?"

Hinata licks his lips before sipping on his smoothie. After burping loudly, he remarks, "Wow. How'd you figure that out?"

"Stop mocking me and answer the fucking question." Tobio takes a gigantic swig from his Peach Perfection. He hates peaches, and he hates Jamba Juice, and he hates how he can't tell what kind of situation he is in. Hinata is the most transparent-opaque person Tobio's ever met.

And the guy must find it fun irritating Tobio, for he takes his time chewing on his fake protein bar before replying. "I'm from Burlington, Vermont."

"Where's that?"

"I dunno. Somewhere above New York, maybe?"

Like Canada? That explains the relatively light clothing Hinata dons. "So why are you here?"

Hinata shrugs. "Seems like a good city to be in," he says. "No offense to my nana's place, but it's kinda dreary up there. There's hardly any sun. You really have to climb the mountains to get yourself some sunshine. All the way to the top, you know? It's super awesome—the view is just amazing! But sometimes you just gotta get out there and climb other places. See new things in a new place! You know? And I've always liked the idea of living in New York."

"And you chose Brooklyn?"

"I hopped along my friend who's driving to Montauk to see his online girlfriend, and his car broke down somewhere in Flushing. So I went out and asked around for any cheap single rooms but they didn't have any. They told me to move here, so I did."

This guy's a total lunatic. This shouldn't be a surprise, but the extent of Hinata Shouyou's insanity leaves Tobio feeling uneasy. "You—you didn't run away from home, did you?"

"I told them I wanted to live somewhere else, and they were cool with it. I guess Grandpops got a little mad though." Hinata cackles. "Ahh, he's so stingy, that old man! But I can tell he's happy to get postcards every month—he's a vet and I'm sure he misses writing to someone from time to time, even if he doesn't say it." Hinata starts stretching like a cat over the table. "I can't help but notice when we went back to your apartment... you don't live with your sister?"

Tobio takes the redirection in stride and answers promptly, "She wants to start her own business and a family. She can't do that while I'm there."

"Why not?"

Tobio shrugs. He knows his sister doesn't hate him, nor does he hold any animosity towards her. He can't explain it, but Tobio just finds it weird having her around in his place, even for just a brief moment. Miwa must feel the same.

"Any parents?"

"Both dead."

"Mine too." Hinata leans back against the plastic chair. "What are you planning to do after you finish school?"

Tobio tries to take a sip from his smoothie however there's nothing left but air. "Nothing yet."

"Really?"

The skin under Tobio's left eye twitches. "What?"

"No, uh. I just figured you already have something in mind."

"I'm keeping my options open," Tobio answers gruffly. There aren't a lot, if Tobio's being honest, but he's thinking about doing something about it. It's a bit hard to decide when Tobio feels he's still personally lacking.

"Right," Hinata says, slightly abashed. "I just thought—you seem like you know what you're doing most of the time. You know?"

"That's because I'm from here, you dimwit," Tobio points out. "If you were born here too you'd know your shit. All I have over you is experience. I'm not better than you. "

Hinata's eyes turn round and contemplative. "Huh," he mumbles.

"What?"

"Oh, uh. Nothing, nothing."

Hinata walks him home after the smoothie shop closes. Once again, Hinata fills in the silence as easily as rainwater in the street cracks—he talks about wanting to learn how to play an electric guitar, he talks about his friends at work, at the community college, at his home away from home. He mentions this guy named "Kenma" a lot. Childhood friend, it seems like.

When they arrive at Tobio's doorstep, a bitter, frosty wind blows, the chill seeping through Tobio's winter jacket. Snow is about to fall. Hinata has to get home soon.

Hinata inquires when Tobio brings out his house keys, "You have my number. Right?"

"Yeah." Tobio has all seven digits seared into his brain.

Hinata scratches his nape. "Thanks for your time. I feel bad for ambushing you earlier, so." He stuffs his hands in his pocket. "Text me if you... if you want to hang out or something."

"Okay."

Hinata smiles. "See you, Kageyema."

"Okay." Tobio waits for Hinata to slink back to the streets before closing the door.

~O~

They meet up almost every day after that. Tobio texts, and Hinata comes whenever he's free. They do whatever it is they think of at that moment: they eat out, pick up their clothes at a coin laundromat, skate at a local rink to see who's faster, serve noodle soup at a food bank where Hinata volunteers. A few times, they study together in Tobio's apartment. Hinata is absolutely horrendous at even basic math. Tobio wonders how he managed to graduate from high school.

Though Hinata is right about one thing: if there's anything he can be truly proud of, it's the complete control he has over his body. Tobio absolutely detests when they're at a playground and there aren't any kids around. It's December and there's a snowstorm coming according to the latest forecast, but Hinata will always do hurdles and cartwheels in nothing but a pair of cargo pants and a sweater. Tobio has no choice but to watch how Hinata's jaw and arm muscles will tighten before clamping himself at the high bars, at how he sneers at Tobio because Tobio can't do a handstand in this brutal weather, at how he easily climbs up a tall oak tree in record speed, his skin glistening in exertion.

The way he mumbles to himself whenever he thinks of something, his lips red and raw-looking. The way he laughs out loud because hanging upside down on a tree branch is fun.

Anyway.

Tobio doesn't know what's gotten into him. He must be bored out of his mind.

~O~

Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn Spring

...

He gets another e-mail from Mrs. Cunningham about university applications. Master's degrees. RA openings. Listings for jobs Tobio has never heard of. Scrolling down the list of attachments leaves him feeling out of breath.

Remember your fall term project last year? Mrs. Cunningham wrote. I noticed you've been keeping it up to date, which is excellent. I sent it to one of the professors I know in UMass.

"What in the..." Did she mean his blog? One of his classes with Mrs. Cunningham required them to keep an online journal on a topic of their choosing, and Tobio chose sports. He ran numbers on the Mets, Yankees, Rangers, Knicks—basically any team he can get his hands on their data.

Surprisingly, he has had some engagement even from his first posts—there were a lot of fans arguing in the comments section that Tobio had to disable it at some point as it was such a headache to skim through. Tobio doesn't deal with intangibles. He makes charts and runs simulations with hard data, and as far as Tobio is considered, numbers can only speak the truth.

Do you remember Prof. O'Neill? I've also attached their university's electronic application form. Forward it to me after you've finished, would you? I promise to look over it this weekend before we send it to their admissions office.

Tobio blanks for a moment, before scrambling to open his WordPress account.

1,722 profile visits? He frowns. His most popular post—J.R. Smith's 2013 playoff numbers in comparison with Carmelo Anthony's, which was riddled with passionate analyses and thinly-veiled racist verbiage in the comments section—has a new notification. With trepidation, Tobio opens it.

Hi, this is Sarina O'Neill. I believe we've met before in one of your classes; I was the guest lecturer invited by your professor, Genevieve. Please do e-mail me when you get the chance.

P.S. - You have a talent for wading through confusing data and stitching them together to prove your point, and your writing can be very unforgiving but nevertheless excellent. Have you considered a career in sports analytics?

Tobio closes his laptop slowly. "Shit," he mutters.

~O~

One day, Hinata basically coerces Tobio to buy a mirror in his apartment. Tobio knows he doesn't need one, and he personally dislikes inessential objects that break easily, but Hinata insists on having even a small one for "hygiene purposes". Which is a load of horseshit. He can tell if he has gunk stuck in his teeth just fine.

Right now they're at a shopping center, still arguing about the merits of getting one.

"I already know how my face looks like," Tobio gripes as he pays for the stupid thing.

"No, you absolutely don't," Hinata says irritably. He grabs the wall mirror wrapped in manila paper and gingerly presses it against his chest. "At least have something to guilt trip you into making yourself look nice. Jeez. I don't know if you're purposely making yourself appear less attractive or not."

"I don't give a fuck," Tobio says. One of the storekeepers is giving them the stink eye; he and Hinata are crowding the doorway. He takes Hinata's wrist and wrenches him out of the store.

They reach Fulton Park when Tobio is reminded of an encounter. He pulls them to a stop at one end of the bike path. "Is this about that girl in the diner?" he asks flatly.

Hinata chews on his inner cheek. "She was flirting with you."

Last Sunday, after Hinata got out of work, Tobio went out to meet him. They ate at Waffle House, and there was a girl who served them pecan waffles and hash browns. She had soft, curly black hair tied in complicated braids. She gave Tobio her number even though Tobio refused, and she smelled like peppermint. Tobio can recall clearly how Hinata had been distracted for the rest of the evening. "So?"

Hinata's eyes flash. "'So'?" he mocks.

"I am going to fucking murder you. Spit it out. I don't have the entire day."

Hinata inhales deeply. "I wasn't expecting that to happen," he admits. "The flirting thing."

"What the hell are you trying to say?"

"What I'm saying is it's strange. That I wasn't expecting it. I should have, obviously."

Tobio gapes at Hinata in bewilderment. "What?" he shouts. "Are you fucking serious?"

"I'm surprised it was just one time!" Hinata explains. "And it should've happened, like, way before. I mean, we've been going out a lot recently, and I thought... people propositioning you—it should have been more than once already. It's weird that it was just one girl we met so far. There should've already been tens. Hundreds!"

"You want more girls flirting with me?"

"Yeah."

The stab of hurt that comes afterward is intense, crippling, and completely unexpected. Tobio feels poleaxed. "What in the—what the fuck did you just say?"

"Girls find you attractive," Hinata says plainly. "And they should. Guys too, obviously—"

"No, shut up! Stop talking about—"

"—but I think they do already. There was that dude at the gas station... It's weird if they don't think you're good-looking—"

Tobio marches forward to close the distance between them. He grabs Hinata by the shoulders and pins him against the tall metal fences. "You think that's weird?" Tobio says. "What's fucking weird is you want total strangers to hit on me all the time, you sack of shit. Are you a pervert?"

"Can you stop putting words into my mouth for a second?" Hinata fires back. "Do you remember what I told you? About what I hate the most?"

"People telling you to do shit."

This must be the first time Tobio sees Hinata like this, his face devoid of cheer and good humor. Hinata places a palm over Tobio's wrist. It's angry and searing, like a brand. "I don't like holding myself back." He shakes of Tobio's grasp. "And I'd prefer it if people by my side would do the same."

"I don't know what the fuck you're getting at," Tobio says. "Say it plainly, Hinata."

"You're smart. You're tall. You're good-looking. You can be kind when you feel like it," Hinata says angrily. "All of that—I want more people to know that about you."

Tobio's fingers curl up. He badly wants to smash Hinata's teeth in. The inane shit that comes out of his stupid mouth...

"You're out of your goddamn mind," Tobio declares, before grabbing the front of Hinata's jacket and kissing him.

As far as first kisses go, Tobio thinks it's pretty non-standard—Hinata still carries that faint scent of athletic gear in his clothes and his lips are as dry as leather, and underneath his hoodie Tobio is also sweating buckets. But it's very telling that Tobio enjoyed it all the same; they have now traded blows, a declaration of war of some sorts.

If Hinata does the disappearing act again, Tobio now has an excuse to go after him, even if he has to turn over the entire city of New York.

"Stop talking about me with other people," Tobio says. "It's irritating."

"You don't get to tell me what to do." Hinata's mouth shivers into almost a grin, and Tobio has to kiss him again to stop it from coming back in full force.

...

(Tobio's parents had died in a manner a cop once described as "a scene from a bootlegged version of The Batman". It involved an unlit street in East Village, a couple held at gunpoint, and an obscene amount of blood.

Except Mr. and Mrs. Kageyama weren't as filthy rich as the Waynes and the Kanes were. Tobio had to sit down and calculate how much he could live off from the trust fund his parents had set up for him, and at sixteen, Tobio quite knew how the numbers weren't in his favor.

A day before the funeral, Miwa flew in from where she wasy staying in Wisconsin. She had her two-year-old daughter, Yuriko, by her side, who was staring at Tobio with wide interest ever since she met him.

"I'm sorry," Miwa said tearfully. The apology could've meant a lot of things, but at that time Tobio understood it as, I'm sorry, I can't take care of you all by myself right now.

Tobio shook his head. "You don't have to be," he replied. "I'll be fine."

But it was hard to keep promises when you're poor and an orphaned sixyeen-year-old. The police and social services were useless, as usual, and for Tobio, surviving alone in a city as cold as a jail cell had robbed him of any innocence he had left. As they all say in Flatbush—"petty crimes maketh man". And because life has a certain way of doing math, eventually Tobio got arrested a day before he turned eighteen.

Community service, rehab, and eight months of therapy. Sometimes, when Tobio was forced to ponder his situtation, he thought about how it didn't add up. How his parents were dead, and how their killers stayed alive somewhere. And why was Tobio alive with them, when all this time he had secretly hoped he'd run into them, in the dark alley with no witnesses, and let vengance rear its ugly head? It didn't make sense.

He told his therapist this on their last meeting, when he felt he owed it to her to be completely honest, and she replied, "It's funny, how we equate the life of one person to another. Is it because it's simpler to think that way?" She smiled. "Your parents' lives aren't equal to those who murdered them, the same way your life isn't equal to theirs. You're smart, Tobio. You know math doesn't work that way."

"I don't know anything anymore," Tobio replied honestly.

She handed him a pamphlet of a public high school in Bushwick. "Then why don't you try learning again?"

It was a first time in a while Tobio felt like he had a choice. Slowly, he took the lifeline, and imagined his parents chastising him for trying to hold out on his own for so long. His smile was wobbly as he held back his tears.)

~O~

Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn Spring

...

Hinata never seems to have any problems asking Tobio about personal things point-blank, except for those years he spent living in Manhattan. Hinata doesn't seem interested, anway. In turn, Tobio doesn't ask anything about Hinata's parents, or why he has a lot of bruises on his knees and elbows, or why he seems to know every single rock climbing gym in Brooklyn. It's a fair exchange.

And maybe that's enough for him.

"You should stay here," Tobio says after a long night of debating with Hinata about the pros and cons of moving to another state. Who knew Hinata had strong opinions about 'following one's dreams'?

Hinata, still royally pissed at him, replies with a curt, "I agreed to stay the night."

"No," Tobio says. "I meant permanently this time."

A long silence follows. Then, Hinata wrinkles his nose. "What? Like live with you?"

"You have a problem with that?"

"Obviously no," Hinata says. "Just thought you're the kind who needs space."

"I do," Tobio says. "But we can split the rent. 50-50. Or 60-40. Whatever we agree on."

"You, agreeing with me?" Hinata is looking at him completely now, clear brown eyes on cagey blue ones. "Kageyama, do you want to argue about rent with me?" he asks. "Even until late at night?"

Once again, someone is handing him a lifeline. Tobio sighs. "And about other stuff too," he admits, almost in a whisper.

"And about other stuff, huh," Hinata murmurs. He stares up at the ceiling contemplatively before slowly brightening. "Well, I do like your sofa. And your microwave. It has a lot of buttons."

"Miwa-san bought that for me."

"Ahh, of course it was Miwa-san...." Hinata smiles. "Can we have a cat in here?"

Tobio shrugs. "I don't like cats so you take care of it," he says. "If it pisses on our bed I'll throw it out."

"That's what they all say at the start!" Hinata sing-songs.

~O~

Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn Winter

...

Dwayne has been hovering around Tobio since their shift began, so he isn't surprised when Dwayne finally manages to blurt it out once they are all alone in the store. "I don't think I'm misreading nothing, so... are you, y'know, like." He stops. "You and that other Japanese guy... Do you...?"

Tobio gets what Dwayne's hinting at. A little grateful, Tobio tries to talk using his language, "Yes. I like dicks."

Dwayne gawks at him before laughing incredulously. "Jesus Christ, okay. Okay, okay. The fuck, I was worked up for nothing..." His shoulders sag in obvious relief. "Just dicks? Exclusively?"

"I'm not sure." Tobio's never had anyone's attractiveness hit him like a sack of bricks, until he saw Hinata for the first time in the convenience store, a pack of seaweed flakes tucked under his arm.

Dwayne flops his legs on the counter. "Well, I hafta say I know where you're coming from."

"You do?"

"Hey, man, fuck you," Dwayne says. "Look, I can appreciate people. My girl's a ten, but your guy seems tight as fuck too. Objectively speaking. Way better than that bald ass bitch my brother is seeing."

Tobio nods minutely. He kind of understands, somewhat.

Dwayne then regales him about the time his older brother got epically dumped a day after Valentines Day, and Dwayne and his pals in the theater club took him to a dive bar at Tompkins so he could drink and puke his brains out in a gutter. But after thirty minutes of talking, Dwayne stops shortly and then curses.

"Motherfuck, hold on. I'm going about this all wrong." Dwayne wipes his face with his palm. "I ain't saying I'm wishing you heartbreak, Tobio, but yeah. Whatever or whenever, I got you."

Tobio scratches his nape. "Um, thank you very much."

Before their shift ends, Dwayne hands him a box of Trojan condoms, and that's when Tobio realizes Dwayne knows it's Tobio's birthday today.

~O~

"He's cute," Miwa says in lieu of a proper start of a converstation, and Tobio knows exactly who she's talking about.

Tobio reddens, and is horrified to find the kind of face he's making in his reflection. He fights off the urge to fidget on his stool. "Thought he was your type," Tobio mutters unwillingly.

"Well, we have the same type, my baby brother. I guess it's in the family," Miwa clarifies. She takes the end of Tobio's overgrown fringe and snips it off cleanly. "As soon as I realized Hinata-san was asking about you, I just knew. 'Ahh, my brother is getting whisked away. Game over'. I do appreciate that you tried to set us up—he and Yuriko-chan would've gotten along."

Tobio grimaces. "You're awful."

Miwa places a hand on her hips, scissors dangling precariously on her fingers. "And this is the thanks I get, hmm? For not scaring him off and telling him how much of an ass you can be?" She tuts. "He seems to have a lot on his mind, though, when he first came here. Is he okay?"

Tobio licks his lips. He doesn't know the answer to that, but what he can say is this: "I'll... I'll make him better."

Miwa laughs in surprise. "Hmm. Interesting," she says. "Sure haven't heard you talk like that for a long time, Tobio."

"Like what?"

"Like a smug bastard." Miwa tilts Tobio's jaw with a delicate finger. "Hold your chin up a little higher, okay?"

Tobio sniffs but does as he's told.

~O~

Koreatown, Manhattan Autumn

...

Smoke coming from the gas-flame grill of samgyupsal places around 32nd street almost covers the night sky. It's hard to choose where to eat in the stacks of restaurants on top of other restaurants, and Tobio and Hinata have to fight amongst the crowd so as not to lose sight of each other. They seem to have come at a wrong time; Koreans are celebrating their own Thanksgiving, and everyone is scrambling for either a fine-dining spot or a homey place that serves classic braised pork and pan-fried perilla leaves.

"Let's just go somewhere else," Hinata says after another half-hour. His defiant expression from earlier has already deflated from hunger.

Tobio sighs. "If only you just listened to me—"

"Yeah, yeah..." Hinata grabs Tobio's wrist and pulls him out of one of the restaurant lines.

They settle with eating dinner at a nearby rice cake stand, a far cry from what Hinata envisioned the evening would go. "I just wanted us to eat somewhere nice for once," Hinata grumbles, wiping red sauce from his lips with the back of his hand. "Was that so much to ask?"

"There are a lot of nice places in Brooklyn."

"Sure, but it's the view, Kageyama! The view!" He waves at the full moon and the city skyline. The Empire State Building seems close enough to touch, if Tobio squints the right way. "Can't get any more 'New York' than that!"

Tobio snorts but doesn't argue.

It's nine in the evening on a Friday; it's still a bit early. Tobio and Hinata explore the lively neighborhood watching the people around them and secretly each other. The road is slightly cold and damp from the afternoon rain, and the smell of chili pepper and garlic wafting from the opposite street reminds Tobio of his mother, and the beef stew she makes during his birthday.

Abruptly, Tobio remembers that it's been an entire month since Hinata's birthday has passed. They weren't able to celebrate it together, not with Tobio staying in Masachussets for university and Hinata working full-time as a professional fitness trainer.

"I'll cook dinner tomorrow," Tobio offers. He's twenty-five now. He can afford to make a promise or two.

Hinata bounces on his heels. "I'll hold you to that, Kageyama," he says, much enthused.

They're at a crossing between 5th and 30th street when Hinata sees his shoelaces are untied. He stoops down to tie them back while Tobio forges ahead.

When Tobio notices that he's far along the lane by himself, he jerkily looks back and finds that Hinata hasn't moved an inch. "What the hell are you doing?" Tobio shouts.

Hinata is grinning from ear to ear. Under the streetlights, it's an unnerving expression to see. Almost scary. "I'm going to conquer this city!" he says. "Someday! Just wait for it, okay?"

Tobio doesn't know the reason behind that sudden declaration, but something in Hinata's face makes Tobio feel compelled to believe him. "Hurry up, then!" Tobio says.

Hinata laughs before jogging along the pedestrian lane.

~O~

~O~

Amherst, Massachusetts Spring

...

Back in his apartment, Tobio is flipping through TV channels when a headline about New York City catches his eye. Next Level Crazy: Man Climbs Empire State Building Without Any Ropes.

What in the world? Tobio wonders, munching on a breadstick. Someone has to be a special brand of idiot to attempt that.

A blond man in a beanie is being interviewed, and he seems to agree with Tobio, "Yeah, I've spoken to him. Trained with him too on weekends. To anyone, he might seem like just a normal guy, but there's gotta be a few loose screws up there... for someone to attempt to scale a massive building like that—"

Without thinking, Tobio is on his feet, his plate of spaghetti spilling all over his feet, on the carpet. On his screen is a live video feed of a frighteningly familiar figure with fiery, red-orange hair, climbing the Empire State Building with his bare hands.

Tobio drops his breadstick. "That dumbass—"

~Fin~

[pbandjesse]

I had a really nice day. I am really tired but it was a good day still. Though none of the timing was what we wanted.

I slept alright last night but James woke me up a lot. So they have decided to put an extra blanket on the couch for when they really can't sleep and want a more solid surface.

So this morning was tough. But I got dressed and felt pretty cute. I am not 100% sure I am going to keep this dress but I felt good about myself today. Though I would take off my earrings half way through the day because my lobes hurt. Ah well.

James drove us to the museum. We stopped for breakfast. That made me feel a lot better. And then we were at work. I went to get my programs set up. And Kristen was soon there to set up the other one we were doing today.

We had on our schedule that the group was coming at 845. But there was a typo in one of the emails that had been sent to them. And they weren't actually coming until 945. Oops. So we had a lot of time to chill.

So we hung out in the back and I did my embroidery for the day. Me and Kristen talked about cost per wear and trying to get the most out of the things we have. It was a fun chat. And I enjoyed making my piece for the day.

The group was still running late. So everything felt disjointed. But it was fine.

My group was excellent kids. And I really had a lovely time hanging out with them. We had city builders first and I did the story telling with their buildings at the end and I really think it helped us make connections about how neighborhoods work.

They had lunch next. I had a lot of emails to send. To Jessica and the nursery to try to figure out my schedule for the next couple weeks. And I'm going to be busy! That is good. It makes me feel more secure. Like it'll make our budget go father. But it is hard not accidently double booking things. But I got everything written down and confirmed best I can for now.

We had our neighborhood tour after lunch. And the kids were so cute. There was a regular tour happening so I had to change the order a bit. But that was fine. Because of that some of the kids ran out of coins so I started telling them they were buying things on credit. And they just did a great job listening and being patient. I have been very lucky with my groups lately.

I started really losing steam by the end though. And so I dropped them off at the lunchroom and went to the back while they waited for their bus. I had to sit down. I would sit and put away costumes and reset everything. I really wanted to go home.

I sat with James for a few minutes while I confirmed some work stuff on my phone. And then I got myself together and headed out.

I went up to the dollar store to pick up the Lego boards for the printmaking project tomorrow. And was really excited that they had the hash browns I like. I haven't been able to find them in our grocery store for a while so this was super exciting.

I had a fun little talk with the cashier about some snacks she recommended. And the. I was out and on the road again.

MLK was super backed up. So it took twice as long to get home. But that was fine because I was in such a good mood. Because that nice homeless lady was finally at the corner where I met her before!! And I was able to give her the molecar I had saved for her. I pulled over and o asked if she was who I spoke to before and if she remembered me. And I was like I have this for you and she just seemed so surprised and happy. And then I was super happy. I was like. I have been looking out for you since before Christmas!! When I drove off I looked in my mirror and she seemed to be excitedly telling the guy she was with. I hope she is doing okay right now.

My bright feeling was dampened a little when I got home and realized my package was stolen. I am so mad about it because the email said they left the package at the back door. We don't have a back door?? Do they mean the ally?? So I walked to the ally and didn't see anything. But it's just so stupid. I made a report with UPS. But I am slightly sad about it.

When I came back inside I had to made a new invoice for a workshop. And got cozy in bed. I wanted to nap but I was anxious about waiting for an email that never came. So I couldn't turn my brain off.

I knew we were going to have dinner at Jessica Lebowitz's house at 5. So I was prepared for that. But then James got stuck at work for a whole extra hour. And they were very stressed about that but it was fine. She ended up using the extra hour to tidy up the house and get a shower. So it worked out in the end.

And dinner over there was nice. I forgot she had a lot of animals and while I loved petting them I really should have taken allergy medicine before we left. Thankfully I was able to keep my hands off my face and didn't have a freak out.

Dinner was good. Pasta was very tasty. And I enjoyed the company though we were all tired so some of the conversation was a bit stilted. I still enjoyed it. We talked about work and memories and plans. We got a little tour of the house. And net her dog and her cats. Her roommate came down to say hi. And it was a nice night.

Around 8 we said goodbye and headed out. I was tired. And happy to be back at our little space.

I fed the aquatics. And got a shower. And fixed some stuff that needed gluing. But now we are in bed. I am texting Jess who was at a wedding tonight. And I'm thinking about having some before bed cereal.

And tomorrow I have my last workshop of the series for the national guard. It's the printmaking one and we all know I love printmaking. Wish me luck. I am excited for a good day. And then tomorrow night we are supposed to go see a professional wrestling match?? I loved wwf when I was a kid. So this will be very fun.

Sleep well my friends. I love you all.

[aajjks]

Bunny!Jungkook The end of May is just one week away. June will be starting soon, bringing beautiful warm weather. The tickets to Yokohama weigh heavily in her pocket. The only reason she worked so hard for the trip was for man she loved more than life but he’s not here anymore. She hasn’t spoken to him since he left that cold morning. She has no idea where he lives now or how he is but she knows he still works down at the game store. The manger, an old business partner of Noonas, had reached out to her once he changed his address. Out of respect for Jungkook, Yn chose not to ask about his new living conditions other than if he was okay. One week away from the trip Noona no longer had any desire to go on, she decided to send it to Jungkooks work. The trip was for him. He had been working so hard, he deserved a nice little vacation. Yn can always stay home for the next two weeks, she needs sleep anyways. Taking out the envelope and tucking the tickets and details for the hotel inside she writes a little note for Jungkook.

“Dear Jungkook, I know it’s been a while since we’ve spoken and I know we didn’t end on the best terms. Regardless of what was said, I still always want the best for you. Which is why I want to give you the vacation tickets that were bought for you. I honestly am not going because I have no wish to go but I can’t just let thousands of dollars go to waste. This trip was planned for you. The hotel is settled in the middle of all the stores you wanted to go to, all the restaurants you wanted to try, and the light show you always wanted to see. You deserve to go. That’s why I even thought about it. Planned it. Please accept this trip and have fun. You have an extra ticket, give it to someone who’s helped you through the pain I caused you. I’m sorry for what I’ve done. The pain I’ve caused. It was never my intentions nor did I wish for any of this to happen. I never wanted this to happen but it’s too late. Al I can do is give you one last wish you always wanted since I met you. Have fun. Use this trip as a way to start over. Move on, forget about me. Please always be happy. This is my last time ever contacting you so I just hope you accept and enjoy this last gift from me to you. I hope you find peace and happiness in your life. Goodbye, Jungkook. - Yn.”

She sealed the letter up and sent it down to his workplace. Hopefully he accepts the trip and has fun. That’s all she ever wanted for him. For him to be happy and have fun. Too bad she was no good for him.

When he receives your envelope, he doesn’t know what to think because he’s uncontrollably crying, what do you want from him? You broke his heart and You broke up so why do you think he would want to go on this trip?

So after he’s done with his work, he can’t help but travel to your place and he’s going to deny everything you’ve given him, of course because if you’re not with him, what is the point of all of this?

Do you really think he’s moved on?

Jungkook knocks on your door impatiently.

“Noona!! Noona open the door. I do not want to go on this trip. I told you I never wanted to go. You can give this to some couple. Please, I don’t want to go.”

[firstofmay23]

A trip to the bank

If there is one thing that you need to prepare before your trip abroad, it's cash. Although I'm going to a country that uses Krona (and Euro a little bit later), I happen to have mine in an envelope full of American Dollars. Don't ask why.

Of course, this poses a problem, especially in a world where everything is cashless. An even bigger problem is when you forget to sort this problem out before your flight. One easy solution to this is of course to find a money changer at Keflavik Airport and exchange everything. But me being me, and it was cold at midnight in my defense, I didn't do it. Another reason is that the airport fee is usually pretty shit, and I would like to avoid that situation. This left me with a small problem, which will grow bigger very soon because I didn't have much in my debit card to survive a couple of weeks. Even better that the bank in Blönduós doesn't have a currency exchange service. The best solution: go to the next town and exchange my $$$ there. Here is where the 5 hours adventure to Sauðárkrókur started.

Around 12 am, I went to the bus stop to check out the bus schedule, and I bumped into Lucy, Bethany, and Carolyn, other artists in residence filling up the gas. We happened to go in the same direction so she offered to drop me at the town next door. But since it's a private car instead of the bus, we managed to stop at a few spots and took some really cool pictures.

Majestic.

One of the stops was this monument in Skagafjörður. At first, I thought there was a bird sculpture on top of it. At closer look turned out it was a raven on the lookout. It was my first time seeing a raven in real life, and it was magical too. A few seconds later it cawed and fled into its nest on the cliff nearby. For a moment I believed it was an Old God. I was too busy finishing my hot dog to notice the details on the monument though, and it was very windy too.

The raven flew off the rocks

my Icelandic hot dog with onions

The second stop was these small houses that looked like hobbit houses minus the circle door. According to The Iceland Museum Guide, it's The Skagafjorður Heritage House. The houses were closed when we were there but the gate was open so we were able to look in from the window. Also there was a small church next to it, with small cemetery lot. I noticed that most people buried there were very old, born around the early 1900, with some passed away in the 2000-2010's. Amazing.

A few minutes later we arrived at Sauðárkrókur. They dropped me off at the bank and continued their trip. It was a nice town, definitely way bigger than Blönduós. The road was more lively, and more businesses as well. It felt weird when I entered the bank, although there were only 4 people in the room I can feel that they were staring at me. There were two bank clerks, one was a middle-aged lady and one is a younger guy. The lady doesn't seem to speak English well so she told the guy to speak to me. I remember he was humming the entire time. It was quite an easy exchange, though I wasn't able to exchange all the money I have. They only allow a maximum of US$380 on one time--a maximum of six times in the span of six months. Alright.

After my bank visit, I walked to the gas station to wait for the next bus, it was 1pm and the bus back to Blönduós doesn't show up until 6. So I decided to do the unthinkable: hitchhike. I quickly found out that in order to hitchhike you have to talk to strangers, a subject I'm really bad at. After spending an hour getting my shit together, I decided to walk to the end of the town and tried to get a ride from there. Bad idea. After what felt like a couple of hours I decided to give up and went to the grocery store to stock up the fridge now that I have enough to spend. Luckily, Bethany texted to offer to pick me up. So I prefer that than waiting for 4 more hours.

Waiting with a view

After waiting a while we're back on the road, with one final stop. We stopped by the side of one of the hills to take pictures. I got out of the car to enjoy the view as well, but the wind was too strong, and I didn't prepare enough so I decided to continue the sightseeing from inside the car. But it was beautiful, I think every corner in rural Iceland is just magical. Lucy managed to get some really cool images with her drone as part of her project.

We head straight home after, and just as we passed by the bus stop we saw the bus that was supposed to take me back to Blönduós was already there. At least I got to see some nice places, and it was free too.

[paradoxolotl]

CONCEPT: Neil and Andrew vs ULTIMATE KAREN

“Hey, Neil?” Robin stood in the doorway, hands shoved in the pockets of her black apron. She was chewing on her lip ring, a sure sign of her fraying control. “I gotta lady out here who would like to-“ her hands came out to make exaggerated air quotes- “‘speak to whoever runs this poor excuse of a store’.”

Dropping the pad he had been noting inventory with, Neil straightened, his back cracking as he went. “Andrew still out with Renee?”

“Mmm hmm,” Robin hummed, picking at her chipping polish.

Sighing, Neil ran a hand through his hair. “How do I look?”

Robins’s smile was a wicked thing. “Deplorable.”

“Perfect.”

*

Stepping out into the front of the coffee shop, Neil spotted the problem immediately. Entitlement dripped out of every one of her pores, from her pinched brows to her hand splayed over the counter. Her eyes narrowed in on Neil and Robin immediately, her chin jutting out in a false display of superiority.

Neil thought Allison could chew this woman up and spit her out without remorse.

“Are you the manager?” She asked, skepticism thick on her tongue and nail clicking against the concrete counter.

Neil didn’t bother to correct her, straightening a few displays as he made his way over. She scoffed, muttering under her breath about terrible service. There was only one other couple in the shop, a pair of regulars that Andrew had traded recipes with in the past. When the woman’s arms crossed over her chest, a frown pulling at her mouth, Neil finally dusted his hands off on his pants and stepped toward her.

“What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” she snarled, pointing a finger at Robin, “is that that girl is trying to rob me!”

“And how, exactly, is she doing that?”

“She’s refusing to give me my discount! I bought a coffee, so I get a free dessert!”

Rolling his eyes internally, Neil leaned back, resting against the counter. “That was a limited time promotion. It ended yesterday.” He spied the packed slice of cake sitting by the till. “Besides, it was only for our cookies.”

She glared at him, clearly unhappy. “I was here yesterday and got a free cake. And no one told me it was for a limited time.”

Neil knew she didn’t get a free cake yesterday. They had run out of cake before noon after a group of college students had cleared them out. He ignored this though; he had inventory to finish and he had plans for tonight he didn’t want to delay. “It was posted on the sign.”

She waved him off. “Whatever. Just give me my free cookie then.”

“They’re two fifty before tax.”

“I’m not paying that!”

Neil shrugged, “Fine. Then you don’t get the cookie.”

“Is this how you treat your customers?” She all but yelled. “I have never seen someone so disrespectful!”

“I haven’t even started being disrespectful yet,” Neil said stepping forward to lean over the counter and into her space. “Not that I could even manage that with you. Hard to be disrespectful to someone who garners zero respect. What is it? You feel powerless in your life so you take it out on workers who dare tell you that you’re mistaken? Do you wake up every day to a family who barely tolerates you, suffers under your bullshit, knowing that every time you open your mouth you drive them a little further away? Do you feel so stifled in your own pathetic mundanity that you lash out, hoping to feel in control of your life again? Even when it’s a hollow lie?”

The woman stared at him, mouth agape. For a blessed moment, Neil thought she would storm out and that would be the end of it. Then her jaw clenched, her nose turned up, and Neil knew she was going to double down.

“I demanded an apology! I know the owner personally and will have you fired! People like you should know your place! The customer is always right!”

It was in the middle of her screaming, face turning red, that the little bell over the door chimed. Neil flicked his gaze over to meet hard hazel staring back.

“Give me the number to your corporate office right now! I want your employee number and your name!”

Pushing off the counter, Neil watched as Andrew stalked around to join him, all but slamming the gate closed. The woman jumped at the noise, her eyes narrowing at Andrew’s heavy footsteps.

“I can’t leave you alone for five minutes,” Andrew said, staring at Neil.

“Are you the manager?” The woman snapped.

They ignored her. “She says she knows the owner,” Neil said, slipping into Russian. “Very scary stuff. Promised she’d have me fired.”

“Maybe I should listen to her,” Andrew said. “I could finally get rid of you.”

Neil laughed. “I own fifty percent of this place. Good luck with that.”

“Excuse me,” the woman hissed, “it is incredibly offensive to speak another language when dealing with a customer! You are in America. Speak English.”

“I find your very presence incredibly offensive,” Andrew said. “Leave.”

“I have never been treated like this! You should be ashamed of yourselves! I am a customer!”

“You’re an irritant fly. Buzzing around until someone smacks you dead,” Andrew said.

“Oh no,” Neil drawled, cutting off the next round of bullshit about to fall from her mouth. “You’ve done it. Now she’ll demand you be fired too.”

“Who the fuck is going to fire me? Myself?” Andrew said.

She blinked rapidly, a flush spreading across her cheeks. Neil gasped, placing a hand over his heart. “But ma’am,” he said, “I thought you knew the owner personally! Surely you didn’t lie to me?”

“How immoral,” Andrew tsked.

“I- this is extremely unprofessional!” She said, eyes flicked between them.

“So is pulling a knife on you, and yet you seem eager for that to happen.”

“Did you just threaten me?” she asked, eyes wide.

“No. Neil, did you hear me threaten her?” Andrew said, fingers dancing along the back counter.

“No. Robin?”

“Didn’t hear a word, boss.”

“How odd,” Andrew said, fingering the handle of a slim knife they used to slice the pies. “You should go and get your hearing checked, otherwise why would you still be here? Buzzing. Waiting to be smacked dead.”

She swallowed, taking a step back. “I’m never coming here again! I’ll be sure to tell everyone I know to take their business elsewhere!”

“You forgot your cookie!” Neil called at her retreating figure, but she was already out the door.

Andrew let out a bone deep sigh. “All of that over a two dollar cookie?”

“Two fifty before tax,” Neil corrected, earning a rag thrown at his face.

[marauderundercover]

The Strings that Bind Us: Chapter One

AO3

Marinette Dupain Cheng was tired. She’d fought the same villain for fifteen years. She’d been a hero longer than she’d been just Marinette. It was exhausting. And she was ready for a break. Two years after unmasking Hawkmoth, Paris was finally healed enough for her to move on. To leave.

Which was why she was currently putting fairy lights and pumpkins on the balcony of her new apartment in Gotham. It was quiet, and lonely, but at least she didn’t have the weight of a city on her back anymore. She hums as she places the last pumpkin. Perfect. Glancing across the city, she lets out a sigh. Here she was, in an entirely new city, no connections and no one to talk to when she needed to just talk. But it was worth it, the memories of everything in Paris still too fresh. It still hurt too much. Deciding it’s not too early to go to sleep, she walks back inside. She’s just closed the door when a loud crash from outside has her tensing. She peeks behind the curtain, frowning at the figure on her balcony. She opens the door.

“Uh, hello.” She greets the strangely dressed man. If what she’d read had been correct, this was Batman. Gotham’s resident hero, or vigilante as the papers called him. He probably wasn’t here to fight her, but you can never be too careful.

“My apologies.” He says, his voice gruff. Her eyes narrow at the way he favors his left side.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” She asks suddenly, her face instantly heating up as the words tumble out without her permission.

“I’m not-” He starts, but she shakes her head.

“I insist. You are out trying to protect citizens, are you not? The least I can do is offer you a coffee.” She says, turning and walking back inside. She doesn’t turn to see if he follows, but she does hear footsteps behind her. She figures he could walk silently, if he really wanted to. After all, even though he’d been around for eight or so years, few had ever seen Batman. She hums, moving around the kitchen and starting up her small coffee pot and grabbing a few of the leftover pastries from earlier. Placing the pastries on a plate, she pulls down two cups before turning to the vigilante in her kitchen.

“How do you take your coffee?” She asks, and she swears his lips twitch slightly.

“Just black.” He says, and she grins.

“Thank goodness. One of my friends in Paris refuses to drink coffee unless it’s half cream and sugar.” She says, trying to keep the conversation light. After all, what do you say to a random vigilante? It was different when Chat Noir, or Adrien, visited her back in collège. He didn’t start doing that until after she’d helped with Evillustrator, which helped it to not be awkward. Like it currently was with her and Batman. God, why did she even invite him in? She turns and almost sighs in relief when she sees the coffee is done. Quickly filling up both cups, she passes one to Batman and then pushes the plate of pastries towards him.

“I own the cafe downstairs.” She says as an explanation when she sees his lips purse. He nods and grabs a croissant, taking a hesitant bite out of it.

“Thank you.” He says, and she just smiles. She may not want to be a hero again, but maybe it would be okay to be friends with a hero again.

---

The bell over the door notifying her of another customer makes Marinette stick her head out from the back.

“Hello! Welcome to La Petite Tasse, I’ll be with you in just a minute.” She calls, not catching the response before she’s back in the kitchen, pulling a fresh batch of croissants out of the oven. She slides the tray onto the cooling rack before tugging off the oven mitts and rushing out to the front.

“I am so sorry about that, most of my workers are also students so they have class right now. What can I get you?” She rambles, freezing when she looks up into the most attractive blue eyes she’s ever seen. The man just smiles at her, and she swears her knees go weak.

“That’s fine. Could I have... a large black coffee and a croissant?” The man asks, glancing up at the menu before looking back at her. She nods and smiles, cursing the way her cheeks heat up. Sure, this was quite literally the most attractive man she’d ever seen in person, but she was not going to fall for a pretty face. Nope. Totally not. She turns and grabs a cup, filling it up before rushing to the back to grab one of the fresh croissants. After all, they were better warm.

“That’ll be three dollars and twenty seven cents.” She says, passing the man his order. He grins and passes her a twenty.

“Keep the change.” He says with a grin before he turns and walks out. She blinks, slightly confused, but takes the change and puts it into the tip jar. That was weird, she thinks, but she doesn’t think too much into it. It’s not like she’d ever see him again.

---

She had been wrong, and she was completely okay with it. The man came in almost every day for two weeks before she worked up the courage to introduce herself and ask his name. He’d seemed shocked, but had introduced himself as Bruce. And after two weeks, she was happy to say that Gotham had started to feel a little lighter, that she was a little happier in this dark city. The bell above the door chimes, but she keeps working on filling the macarons since Mack was manning the counter.

“Listen kid, open the register and I won’t shoot your fucking brains out.” A voice says. Oh hell no. She drops the piping back and picks up her rolling pin. Peeking out, she breathes a sigh of relief when she sees it’s only one guy, not an entire group. She tosses her rolling pin lightly before catching it, familiarizing herself with it as a projectile before she actually uses it. She watches as Mack’s hands shake, obviously panicked. Letting out a steadying breath, Marinette aims and manages to hit the man in the head with the rolling pin. He drops instantly, the gun clattering to the floor. She rushes out and grabs a couple zip ties from under the counter, walking over and cuffing the man’s hands behind his back before dragging him towards the handrail and attaching him to it. She glares at the man before she remembers Mack and gasps. She rushes over, frantically checking over the girl to make sure she’s okay.

“Mama M, I’m fine. I promise.” She says, though her voice shakes. Marinette breathes a sigh of relief before crushing the girl in a hug.

“I am so sorry, Mack, so, so sorry.” She apologizes, holding the girl close. She can feel the girl shake slightly, her shirt getting wet as the girl cries. Marinette just coos softly, whispering reassuring words to her. She barely hears the bell signaling a customer ring.

“What the hell happened?” A familiar voice asks. She glances over at Bruce and grimaces.

“Attempted robbery. Would you mind calling the police?” She asks, nodding towards the landline. He blinks, standing frozen as he stares at the tied up man in the corner. “Bruce!” She calls, his attention snapping to her. She nods towards the phone again and he nods, walking over to make the call.

---

After the police take their statements, Marinette sends Mack home with the tips from the day, despite the girl’s protests.

“Sweetheart, you were just held at gunpoint. I’m not gonna let you stay here. Go home, eat some junk food and watch something funny. I’ll see you on Monday.” Marinette says, giving the girl another quick hug before watching her leave. She turns to Bruce, who had been kind enough to stay, and winces. “You’re not gonna get in trouble with your boss, are you?” She asks. He just grins.

“I was actually off today, don’t worry about me.” He says, his smile falling as he looks her over. “Are you okay?” He asks. She lets out a shaky breath before nodding.

“Yeah, yeah. I was more worried about Mack, honestly. I was in the back, but I couldn’t just stay there. Not knowing she was in danger.” She says, her arms wrapped around herself as she tries to stay calm. It was the first time she’d had an actual gun aimed at someone she cares about.

“You were quite the hero today.” He says softly, and she snorts, shaking her head.

“No, Bruce, I wasn’t. I did what anyone else would’ve done.” She says, waving him off dismissively.

“Only you would actually believe that there are still people good enough to act like that.” He says softly. She blushes and clears her throat.

“Well, did you want your regular?” She asks, moving to go back behind the counter. He frowns.

“Mari, you aren’t seriously going to open the cafe back up today, are you?” He asks and she frowns.

“Why wouldn’t I?” She asks.

“Because your store was just attacked!” He exclaims, and she snorts.

“If my parent’s bakery in Paris closed every time there was an attack, they would’ve gone out of business.” She says flippantly. He frowns, and she worries she’s said something wrong, when his face suddenly twists back up into a smile.

“Spend the day with me.” He says and she blinks in surprise.

“What?”

“I had set out to ask you on a date when I came in today, but the whole attempted robbery stopped me. I know you want to just get back to work, but what if you spent the day with me instead?” He offers. She stares at him, wide eyed, before a wide smile forms on her face.

“I thought you’d never ask.” She says. It’d be fine to have the cafe closed for a day.

Next

Event tag list: @maribat-october-rarepairs

Permanent tag list: @stainedglassm​ @kittenmywaythrulife @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @queenz-z @deathssilentapproach-blog @literaryhiraeth @unoriginalmess

[chocominnie]

Wasted Times- Pjm.

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Warnings: A lot of Fluff, Angry Sex, Slight BDSM, Dom!Jimin, Jealous Reader, Fuckboy!Jimin, oral sex, Penatration, Foot Job?, kissing, spankings, seriously lots of jealousy and tension, use of the word ‘’whore’’, exhibitionism, cum in pants

Word count: 5.8k

Authors Note: So this is a draft of mine from way long ago. It was also posted on another account I used to be apart of, but no longer am. It’s an oldie but goodie. 

Copyright:  please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. If found doing so , it is considered as plagiarism and appropriate LEGAL action will be taken.

Summary:  Two weeks, five days and counting since you’ve last seen him. Two weeks since that sinful body was tangled in yours, where you both let out strings of moans and shared sloppy wet kisses. Two weeks.

If it wasn’t for Hoseok that whole night wouldn’t have happened. Despite you already knowing of Jimin, what you didn’t know is that looks can deceive. Oh yes, they deceived you very well. When you met him it felt like it was unreal? It felt as though you were talking to an angel. The butterflies in your stomach whenever he spoke made you feel the blood rush to your cheeks. So unreal.

A cute cheeky smile and a squeaky laugh. Someone’s who’s kind hearted, as what you previously had heard from Hoseok himself. Oh, but did he leave the major detail out from you.

He’s a fuckboy.

One that knows exactly how to play his cards right. Knows how to get into a girl's pants and make them melt with the sweet and dirty things that pout out his mouth like honey. He has the looks and charms for it. The hand he runs through his hair constantly, those pink full lips begging to be touched by someone else. 

You’ve only recently found out about most of the girls he’s slept with. It wasn’t a lot but enough for him to qualify to get tested every month. All because he can’t keep his god damn dick in his pants. And you, the fool, fell for it. You fell for his ways. 

Yet he pretends to know nothing. He pretends like he didn’t break your heart by saying he can’t commit to a relationship. He was just a one night stand. He fucking acts that nothing happened between you two prior to having sex.... and it hurts.

Now you’re sitting in your office stuck in-between whether to let that night go, or to bring it up with him. Because surely, he felt something too when you guys made love for an hour and a half right? Right?

‘‘Y/N. Did you hear me?’ ‘  

You quickly snap back to reality to the nagging voice beside you. Taking a sip of your peppermint tea, you turn towards the young girl. Her full bangs compliment her perfectly shaped face. Her long, straight hair that curls at the end a bit is jet black with no sign of split ends or damage. She holds a blue folder tightly to her chest with a cheeky smile upon her face.  

‘‘Mrs. Jane would like to see your work for this month’s upcoming project. Do you have the rough draft done?’ ‘  

You nod, ‘’ I’ve finished it already. Are you collecting?’’ The girl nods her head and holds out her dainty pale hand. Next to you is your documents drawer which you rummage through for a good minute or so before finding your pink folder with all the information and sketches.  

‘‘Thanks..’‘ She smiles, then walks away to her next prey. You let out a big sigh and place your hands in-between your head. Never have you had someone constantly be on your mind.  

It was killing you.  

‘‘ Child are you okay?’‘ 

You turn towards the voice to your left which sits next to you is your best-friend. Her smirk lets you know she knows what you’re thinking about. She knows. She also knows about that one night stand that you couldn’t shut up about two weeks ago. 

You try to hold back your laugh, ‘’ I’m. fine.’’ You manage to choke out. She shakes her head again with that damned smirk on her face. ‘’ Was he that good that he has you sitting here contemplating life honey?’’ 

Your eyes go eyes go wide and soon enough you find yourself swatting her thigh while trying to cover your face of embarrassment. ‘’ Stop! Geez I shouldn’t have even told you about it.’’

‘‘ I knew about him before you even did. Once you told me after the fact, I automatically recognized who he was by the way you described his features so well.’‘ She shrugs, swiveling her chair around to face you. You do the same.

‘‘ What?’‘

‘‘ I went to high school with him. Park Jimin right? He was a ladies girl. Everyone wanted him. Plus he was a former dancer.’‘ 

Former dancer? It all makes sense. The way his body was nicely toned, not to muscly but noticeable. The way his hips moved every which way making sure his sinful area poked and pried at every nerve inside your walls. Made you let out strings of moans and whimpers because of how good he felt inside you. You’ve never felt something like that before. How dare he.

‘’ Well he has a cute friend. His name is Tae... Tae something. I don’t know but they were also friends in highschool. He was a handsome boy as well. If you would like to you know... tap that.’‘ She giggles.

Who does she think you are? Some type of person who gives away sex for a living? Definitely not. By the looks of your face she quickly abandons the subject. You decide it’s best to get back on task before your whore of a boss comes back around.

Only before that petite girl, with the bangs and perfectly trimmed straight hair, comes back with your folder and a ton of papers for you. As if this this day could  get any worse.

‘‘ No I don’t want to go tonight.’’ 

It feels like you’ve said this on the phone more than ten times. You’re sure of it. He just doesn’t want to give up. You’d rather be in the comfort of your home cuddled up in a blanket watching Netflix all day. After-all, it is a Friday night and it has been a very stressful week for you in the office. A nice hot bath and a binge worthy tv show is all you want right now. It’s what you deserve.

‘‘ Come with us it’ll be fun. You can invite your hot best friend too.’‘ He says, and you know he’s smirking on the other line. ‘‘ Hoseok for one, you will not hook up with my best friend understand? Two, i’m tired. I want to sleep.’‘

‘‘ Oh come on Y/N it’ll be fun. It’s just a night out on the strip. It’ll be fun. I’m bringing Jimin.’‘ He tapers off at the end to wait for your reaction. 

Could this be it? Another chance to see Jimin. Your chance to ask him.. if that night he felt something. Surely he did right? 

‘‘ I’ll come. But that doesn’t mean i’m coming for Jimin. I’m bringing Scar with me as well.’‘

A few seconds of silence fills the other line. Which you know that Hoseok probably muted himself to scream in success. You take this time to think about what you’re going to wear. Something that’s eye catching? Or something that’s casual yet classy since it is just hanging around downtown. Why not do both?

Hoseok come’s back to the line and you notice he’s more cheerful. It makes you smile to yourself, how cute. ‘‘ Be there in 45 minutes. We’ll be waiting by Krystal okay? Meet us out front of that place.’‘

You two say your goodbyes and hang up the phone. Anticipation runs deep through you lacing your blood with it. Just the thought of seeing him again rubs you the right way. 

Going into your closet, you take a good look at it and decide on a casual yet classy outfit. One that will surely catch his attention but very presentable as well. You hope that it’s going to pull through. Taking out your phone, you send a text message to Scarlet telling her all the details and to meet you here. 

‘’This will be one hell of a night.’’ You smirk to yourself as you pull out the accessories to your outfit. 

It wasn’t until you heard the doorbell constantly ring that broke you out of your trance of admiring yourself in the mirror. You look ravishing. Delectable. Every thing in the book. Surely you must have been admiring for quite some time because twenty minutes had passed and you didn’t even know it.

The doorbell ringing comes to a halt once you open the door forcefully. Scarlet greets you with a smile and a hug before coming inside. 

‘’ Okay does this make my ass look bigger than it already is?’’

You glance over at Scarlet who’s posing in-front of the hallway mirror, earning a small chuckle from you. ‘’ Yes, that dress always look’s good on you.’’

Scarlet grins at you, ‘’ Thanks. I try I try. You look sexy Y/N. Who’s getting it tonight? ’’

You giggle once more before  adjusting your black dress ‘’ You look so good Y/N i’m not lying. Did you put some make-up on?’’

You shyly nod your head yes, ‘’ Just a little. Not one of my dramatic looks.’’

‘‘ It suits the mood for tonight. Nothing to dramatic, more neutral.’‘ Scarlet says, picking up her purse again. ‘’ The dress does bring out your curves.’‘ She steps back and pulls out her phone for a snapchat picture. 

The two of you pose in the mirror for a quick second then giggle afterwards. Scarlet brings her phone back down as her fingers begin to type at a rapid speed. ‘I’m going to caption it; Going out with my babe!’’ 

You on the other hand were to busy into the hearts snapchat filter with Scar in the background of your video. You tap her with a smile and she looks up with a smile as well. ‘’ We are so gonna be late Scar. ’’

‘‘ Okay. Let me just grab my purse and we can go.’‘ 

You can’t believe you’re actually doing this. The cool breeze is enough for you to handle. Not to cold and not to hot of a breeze. Downtown is busy tonight, especially the strip. The neon signs blare into your vision, the cars speed past with drunk laughing people. Music plays coming from each store or bar you two pass. There’s a jazz man who’s playing some cool tunes next to the giant water fountain. You drop a ten dollar bill into his case hoping to brighten those tunes up a bit. Couples are everywhere you look. You haven’t been downtown in such a long time. Everything feels so brand new to you. It’s so lively. 

Scarlet walks confidently in-front of you, hips swaying naturally. You see Hoseok down the sidewalk waiting at the entrance for your arrival. Behind him is Jimin who looks fine tonight. He wears a long sleeve white Stussy t-shirt with black distressed jeans that show off his thighs. The same thighs that flexed with each thrust two weeks ago. The same thighs you wanted to ride because they had you soaking wet. Oh geez.

‘‘ Y/N! ahhh you look so good tonight!’‘ Hoseok grabs your hand and twirls you around a little. ‘‘ You’re right. Wow Y/N.’‘ A voice comes from behind him.

Part of you just wants to melt right into his arms right then and there. Keep it together.

‘‘ You don’t look bad yourself Jimin.’‘ It’s like your eyes refused to make eye contact with him. You want to, but can’t pull yourself to do it. ‘‘ And this is my best friend Scarlet.’‘

‘‘ Hello I’m Scarlet or Scar for short. Nice to meet you.’‘ She smiles, Jimin takes her hand and gives it a kiss. His eyes never leaves hers when he does so.

Scarlet lets out one of her nervous giggles as he lets her hand go. ‘’ How sweet.’’ Jimin smirks at her, ‘’ No worries. I’m Jimin, Park Jimin my love.’’ 

You almost choke at those last two words. My love? Seriously?

‘‘ Okay enough now that you’ve met my flirty friend who doesn’t know boundaries...’‘ Hoseok glares at him, earning a shrug from Jimin. ‘‘ .. I’m Hoseok. I’ve seen you on Y/N’s social media.. and I must say you are very pretty.’‘

‘‘ Thank you Hoseok. You are handsome as well.’’ She says.

You decide to end this introduction and start off the night. ‘‘ Alright enough of the talking. Can we have some fun tonight?’‘

‘‘ I agree, let’s get some drinks first.’‘ 

Only one hour in and you’ve only had one long island ice tea that you haven’t even finished yet. Somehow you’ve got tricked into third wheeling. Hoseok and Scarlet seem to be hitting it off very well walking in front of you.  But walking next to you is a quite Jimin. He’s to busy scrolling and typing on social media for him to even notice you. Oh so you thought.

‘‘ Y/N...’‘

The butterflies in your stomach begin. What could he want? ‘’ Hmm.’’

Jimin locks his phone and places it in his pocket. He then looks at you with that oh so familiar warm smile. ‘’ They seem to be hitting it off well yeah?’’

Oh. ‘’ Yeah. I ship it.’’ You giggle, crossing your arms.’’ How have you been? Haven’t seen your pretty self in weeks.’’ 

‘‘ I’m fine. You know, work and stuff.’‘ 

‘‘ Yes I can say the same. I’ve got some things going on as well.’‘ His eyes shift back towards the busy city. ‘‘ I’d be lying if I didn’t say I missed you.’‘

You stop dead in your tracks. He missed you? All this time you had thought he didn’t care but he does? ‘’ Missed me huh. Or did you miss the idea of me.’’

He smiles, ‘’ Can it be both?’’

You decide to let that comment slide. ‘’ Well Jimin. I missed you too.’’

‘‘ Great so I can do this.’‘

You’re caught off guard by his lips connecting with yours. Both of you move in sync with each other. Jimin open’s his mouth more so his tongue can move more freely inside of yours.  Both of your tongues fight for dominance making you moan inside the kiss. His hands cup your face, sending chills up your spine. Soon you find yourself whimpering for more, but you can’t let it go this far so you break away first.

‘‘ Hmm I missed those lips on mine. Sorry if I spooked you my love.’‘ Those dark brown eyes look deep into yours. ‘‘ I missed us talking constantly before we..’‘ He trails off, looking away from you smiling shyly.

‘‘ Yeah me too. We spent a lot of time texting and calling each other before that. But after that night we sort of.. stopped? I’ve been meaning to bring this up without it being awkward.’‘ You bite your lip, fiddling with your fingers.

Jimin looks around you guys. Scarlet and Hoseok are nowhere to be found. As he expected. ‘’ Well it looks like our friends ditched us. Have you eaten?’’

‘‘ I munched on something before I came here with you guys.’‘ You say, eyes shifting towards the city again. ‘‘ Well if you’re up for a little bit more of a walk I know this good place on the boardwalk. We are getting closer and closer to the beach.’‘

‘‘ Is this you asking me on a date Park Jimin?’‘ You giggle, covering your mouth with your hand. ‘‘ It can be considered our first friendly date. I would love to take you out some other time where it’s not last minute my love.’‘

‘‘ Stop saying that.’‘

‘‘ Saying what?’‘

You roll your eyes playfully, ‘’ My love. Stop saying it.’’

Jimin raises his eyebrows at you in amusement, ‘’ Did you just roll your eye at me.. my love?’’ Your cheeks have never hurt this much before from constantly smiling, but tonight you just cant stop them. ‘’ And if I did?’’

‘‘ I suggest you don’t do that again.’‘ 

The walk wasn’t as far as you thought. Jimin had linked his hand in yours on the way there. It surprised you for a minute but you let it happen. He hasn’t let go since. The two of you are sat down at a table outside by a waitress who cannot keep her eyes away from Jimin. Only if she knew how much of a sex god he was. Then she really wouldn’t be able to keep her eyes away.

‘‘ The moon looks beautiful tonight.’‘ He nods his head over towards the sky. Your eyes gaze over the sandy beach and waves that crash onto the shore. The moon lit sky peering over it looks beautiful.

Jimin brings both of your hands onto the table and intertwines them with his. A smile appears on his face when he sees you shyly try to hide your smile from him. Jimin’s most favorite feature of you is your smile, and moans of course, but your smile brings him happiness. It’s something about the way your lips curl up into a smile and your eyes narrow a little bit with it. Or when you laugh at one of his comments or jokes. It makes him happy inside and out.

‘‘ So, what were you saying earlier my love?’‘

You playfully roll your eyes again at that nickname. Before you can roll them again, Jimin’s smile drops and he let’s go of your right hand. You furrow your eyebrows at him for a second until you’re caught off guard with a tiny slap to the inside of your thigh. You hiss at the pain.

He says, ‘‘ Stop rolling your eyes at me. playful or not my love, I don’t like it.’‘ 

‘‘ Fine but stop calling me that nickname. You said it to Scarlet. Now I don’t want it anymore.’‘ You say, attitude high with your arms crossed.

Jimin chuckles and lets his tongue swipe across the inside of his jaw, ‘’Someone’s jealous.’’

‘’ I just see the name is useless is all if you’re calling other girls that.’‘

‘‘ Hmm jealous now aren’t we?’‘ He smirks, leaning back in his chair. ‘‘ Says the one who was all over me that night. Practically craving me. Now, what If i let someone else do that hmm? Equivalent to you calling other girls that name.’‘

His smirk never lets up. You know you trying to act all tough isn’t going to last. It’s just not in you. But what you can do is make him jealous and tease him for a while. You consider it a payback for those two weeks of hell you went through.

‘‘ I’m enjoying our night out Jimin. Thank you for taking the time to catch up with me tonight.’‘ Your face is innocent as ever, sipping on your water. 

His expression changes when your foot travels up his leg and onto his crotch and slowly grazes over the tip of his dick. Jimin glares and bites his lip at the constant friction between the head and your foot going in agonizingly slow circles. He let’s both of your hands go to try and pry your leg away but you increase pressure making him choke out a small wince.

‘‘ Aww. Cute.’‘ 

Jimin’s head pops up with a death glare on his face, ‘’ Don’t call me that after you just tried to pull some type of stun-’’

Your foot begins it’s slow circles again. It’s fun watching him stop his sentences. The way he holds in his moans and bites his lip. It turns you on very much.

“Fuck,” He grunts, eye’s closed.

You stop once your food arrives. The same waitress that can’t keep her eyes off of Jimin. She makes eye contact with her, and he winks as she places the food in-front of him. Your face drops into a stone cold expression. Once the waitress leaves his head slowly turns towards you with his famous sly smirk. He knew just how to press your buttons. 

You start back up again, going at an even faster pace at this point. He curses at himself and his eyes close again. You smile when he starts to shake his legs and breathe heavily. Only for Jimin’s eyes pop open with a devilish smile that confuses you. He grabs your leg and makes sure that your foot is positioned right ontop of his dick. He rolls his hips to the movement of yours, looking you dead straight in the eyes. You go along with it for now. But your eyes almost buck out of your head when he starts letting out moans and grunts as he throws his head back.

‘‘ Mmm fuck Y/N you do this so well.’‘

You’re at loss for words. The risk of being caught mixed with the sight you’re seeing now has your panties becoming wet.It takes all your might not to just jump over the table and devour him when he sighs in relief. You watch his body convulse of the aftershocks. So fucking sexy. 

And as if nothing had just happened, he picks up his fork and begins to eat his pasta. The rest of the night is silent. You both eat in silence but in the inside you want to say something but you know better. The stunt you just pulled has something coming for you. Maybe payback wasn’t such a good thing after all.

After Jimin comes back from the restroom, assuming he cleaned himself up well down there, he sits back down at the table with a warm smile. It confuses you.

‘‘ Do you want to leave now? We can go to my place and just chill for the night. Looks like the two love birds might have already went back to one of their place’s.’‘ He says, grabbing your hand once again.

You nod your head dumbfounded at what you didn’t know that was going to happen at his place. But you agree to go. What can go wrong?

The moment you guys enter his luxurious apartment, he pins you against the wall and raises your hands above you head. He tilts your head and nips at your neck, alternating between kissing and sucking. He hit one of your sweet spots that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

‘‘ Please Jimin.’‘ You cry out. Slowly pulling away, he pulls you from against the wall and bends to dip an arm under your legs to lift you up bridal style.

He deeply chuckles into your ear, ‘‘ You have an eventful night planned out for pulling that stunt at the restaurant sweetheart.’‘ His words sends shivers down your spine. 

Jimin closes the door behind him, giving you a taste of comfort before he has his way with you. He places you on his bed and you stare into those dark brown eyes that you love oh so much. 

‘‘ Face down, ass up now.’‘ He growls. 

You nod your head and do as told. Soon you feel your dress being unzipped and thrown to the floor. You’re in nothing but your bra and baby pink lace thong. His hands run up and down your spine, then to your ass. 

‘‘ You ruined my pants today. Made me cum inside them since you wanted to feel like you had control over me.. babygirl.’‘ He says, hands stopping right above your ass.

‘‘ Count for me Y/N.’‘

You don’t even have time to take a breath in when the first hard impact comes. It wells tears in your eyes but you love it. You love every smack and every second of it. And so you count for him, you count all fifteen hits to your sore,red ass. 

‘‘ You’ve taken your punishment well.’‘ Jimin says soothing the pain by rubbing over it softly. ‘‘ You looked so pretty doing what you’re told my beautiful girl. You deserve every inch of me. You deserve all of me.’’ His voice is soft and low. It intoxicates you. 

Jimin shifts you onto your back, his hands tracing every inch of your body. You prop yourself up with your shoulders and you don’t jerk away, instead you let him lean in and kiss you passionately. The lewd sounds of the two of you sharing a wet, sloppy kiss can be heard throughout the apartment. You whine in his arms wanting more than just the kiss. He growls in return, yanking your head back to mark up that pretty neck some more. His hands swiftly makes their way towards your nipples, you moan out in response.

“mmm so cute and hard for me.” He flicks your hard nipples with his index and middle fingers on both your breasts. The way he speaks is sinful. Your panties grow even more wet as he pinches your nipples to make you whimper. “ Making pretty sounds for me hmm? Got you all wet baby?’’

With his hands dropping to your hips, he pushes you to lay down on the bed. Your breasts look so captivating to him. Your back arches when his lips connect to your right breast and soon to your left.

“Jimin...’’ You whimper, tugging on his hair to get him to look at you. He pauses the swirling of his tongue on your breast and looks up with lust filled eyes.

“ Yes sweetheart?” He coos.

‘’Off... t-take it off.’’ You whine, moving your hands towards his clothing and tugging on it firmly.

Jimin smiles before balancing on his knees to lift off his shirt. You watch him strip his shirt off, revealing his beautifully toned stomach and sharp v-line. You want nothing more than to run your tongue across him, leaving hickies behind.

Once he takes off his shirt, he dips back down to you to kiss your lips once more. ‘’ Your reaction was instantaneous, your back arching as your hands flew to his hair in shock at the pleasure it gave you. You really were sexually frustrated. Just him kissing you was all too much for you to handle.

As if he could tell what you wanted, his hand found its way to the hem of your lace thong. He feels how wet you were with his index finger sliding up and down your entrance. Your breath hitched as he slid them off with his teeth.

Your mouth instantly falls open when one thick finger slides inside you, your wetness pouring out beneath his finger. Once his finger is coated in your juices, he pulls out of you leaving you whimpering at the loss of friction. You watch him slide his wet finger into his mouth, his eyes close as he hums around it.

“You taste so fucking good. Let me have more of you yeah? He says, waiting for some type of consent from you. 

You nod, wanting him more than ever.

Jimin props both your legs up onto his shoulder, licking his lips at the sight of your glistening core. You are left exposed to his lustful gaze as he took in the appearance of your swollen lips. Your lips spread apart to expose your clit that desperately seeks attention.  

And so he provides it. His head dips down to get to work on your cunt.  The pleasure you feel is outrageous, it has you clawing at his back, not even letting up, before letting out your never ending moans. You knew for a fact that Jimin’s tongue was a work of art when put to the test.

“Oh fuck! ” You yell out, arching your back when his lips begin to suck harshly on your clit, that bubbly feeling in your stomach appears. 

“Do I make you feel good ? Hmm, use your words.” He encourages, using two fingers to spread your folds apart to lick and suck on your clit.

“It feels so good Jimin, oh my gosh, please don’t stop. Fuck!” You cry out, tossing your head back as you clutch onto the sheets once more, leaving his hair alone. As soon as he hears that, he seemed to lose control. His fingers start abuse your g-spot in sync with his sucking on your clit. That’s all you took for you to explode around his fingers. Your body spasms when you close your eyes. You can practically hear your heartbeat pounding in your head.

That doesn’t stop Jimin though. He continues to abuse your hole but you can’t handle the over-stimulation. You grip his wrists to stop him in which he obliges. He pulls his fingers out of you slowly and shows you them before sucking on them harshly.  

“ Such a naughty girl now aren’t we.” He coos, rubbing your thighs that shake endlessly. “Want more princess?”

You nod your head, to busy lost in a trance. His words always get to you. A boy who knows his way with his words. The things that come out his mouth laced with either sweet venom or sugar. Damn him. Damn him for making you feel like this. Damn him for letting you fall under his ways. 

You don’t realize all of his clothes were off until the head of his cock is sitting at your entrance. He’s a nice size, as you remember, but it’s the thickness that gets you. He has a lot of girth and it damn sure stretches you out. 

“Shit, oh my gosh.” You moan, letting your head fall back as he starts easing into you. 

“ Mmm babygirl,” He growls, using one of his hands to spread your lips, giving him the bes view of you taking him all the way. “Fuck just look at that baby. Your little pussy stretching to take my thick cock. Feels good yeah?”

“ Yes Jimin, fuck, it feels so good please. ” You whimper, wanting to feel all stuffed and full. Finally he bottoms out and you definitely feel it in you.

Jimin’s hands grip your hips as he starts to move inside of you. Since your previous orgasm residue was still there, mixing with your fresh juices,  every time moved in and out your juices would drip.Lewd, wet slaps filled the room as the pace quickened, wanting to get you to cum again.

Your cries of pleasure filled the room. There was no point in hiding them now.  With his hips moving at a fast pace, and his dick murdering your g-spot, it makes you feel that familiar feeling again. 

“My good girl, you’re doing so well for me.” Jimin smiles, praising you as you become undone around him. Your hole spasms around his length and it feels like heaven for him. Jimin holds himself up on his elbows, resting his face against yours while he gently eases you through your orgasm. 

“You don’t know the things your body does to me Y/N. The faces you make when i’m fucking your brains out. You look like you’re in pure ecstasy because of me and only me, baby.” He whispers, his lips hovering just above yours. You nod and press your lips against his. Smiling into the kiss, his hips begin fucking you  again, getting up to his previous pace.

Your body is automatically put into over-stimulation mode. “Are you going to cum again for me?”

“Mhm, oh my god!” You whimper, closing your eyes shut harshly. Jimin pulls out of you, and starts to slide his cock up and down your folds to bring you to another orgasm. You let out a scream as Jimin watch your juices fly and soak everywhere around you both. Your death grip on the sheets havent left and your back is arched so high from the bed that he has to bring you back down. 

“Fuck, that’s it. You’re squirting princess.” He praises you, smiling as he doesn’t stop movement, juices everywhere. “You’re squirting so much baby look at you.’’

The feeling is too much for you so you shut your legs around him. Jimin smiles at you when you finally open your eyes. They hardly stay open but long enough for you to see him get himself off using his right hand. You open your mouth to say something, but he interrupts “Shh princess, you’re too sensitive. Maybe next time.”

You nodded with a small pout on your lips. You want him to cum inside you. To feel his hot sperm coat your insides. Your body says otherwise. You are spent, exhausted to the max..

Just as he is about to cum, you sit up and climb over to him. Your mouth quickly finds it’s way to his length and as if a habit, you begin to suck. ‘’You don’t have to princes- fuck.’’ He groans, releasing his load inside your mouth while you deep throat all his length.

Soon you pull away from his cock after he cums. You open your mouth to show him and then swallow it all down. ‘’ Filthy whore.’’ He smirks, pecking your lips.

Jimin kisses your forehead once more, before lifting up and disappearing into the bathroom. He returns with a warm, wet towel to clean up the mess between your legs. Your eyes flutter open and close. You catch a glimpse of his nicely toned back when he turns to disregard the towel. He comes back again with a green t-shirt which makes your heart flutter as he pulls it over your head. Another forehead kiss, then those nose, then the lips. 

‘’ Jimin?’‘ You coo.

He climbs in bed beside you, ‘’ Yes?’’

‘’ We never discussed what we are...’’ You say quietly, picking at your fingers. 

He laughs softly, ‘’ You know I can’t commit right now. I have too many things going on and-’’

‘’ Excuses Jimin.’’ You pout, turning away from him. ‘’ Aww come on don’t be like that. Listen, if I ever get my life together and the ladies off of me you’ll be the first one I run to, my love.’’ 

‘’ Promise?’’ 

‘’ I promise.’’

Oh so you had thought. Another two weeks had passed and the same thing happened. Now you’re stuck in your office again contemplating life, as Scarlet would say. The only difference is, he texts you more often. Usually good morning and goodnight texts. An occasional ‘how was your day.’ 

You can’t help but to wonder what he’s probably doing with other girls. Feeding them empty promises. Saying sweet nothings in their ears. Letting them hear what they want to. It’s no doubt he knows what he’s doing. No doubt.

Only if he hadn’t wasted your time.

Two weeks and counting since you’ve last seen him. Two weeks since that sinful body was tangled in yours, where you both let out strings of moans and shared sloppy wet kisses. Two weeks.

[ragingbookdragon]

Time Stops When I Look At You

Barry Allen x Wondersis One-Shot

Word Count: 1.8K Warnings: None

Author's Note: Based on the ask I received! Love this pairing now! -Thorne

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

When he opened the door at seven AM after getting in at three that morning, he wasn’t happy. And Hal Jordan certainly wasn’t happy to see her with a bright smile on her face as she greeted, “My dearest friend! What a blessed morning we are having, yes!”

He blinked blearily at her. “It was a blessed morning…when I was still sleeping.”

“Are you telling me you do not rise with the sun and train?” she asked. “I thought that was standard for the warriors of the United of American States.”

“United States of America, (Y/N),” he corrected, opening the door. “And to answer your question, I haven’t been in the military for a few years now. I get to sleep in before I go to work.”

(Y/N) hummed as she stepped inside. “That seems like a waste of valuable time.” She glanced back at him. “I have something important to discuss with you.”

Hal merely made a noise low in his throat and lumbered down the hall, her on his heels, into his bedroom; he collapsed back onto the bed and pulled the covers up to his ears. “What’s on your mind, Princess?”

She quickly unhooked her greaves before climbing onto the bed, laying across his body. “I am unsure of how to show affections for someone.”

He adjusted his body so that her head was on his stomach. “Really? The Princess gifted by Aphrodite doesn’t know how to show you’ve got a crush on somebody? Who woulda thought?”

(Y/N) dug her chin into his gut. “You mock me, my dearest friend.” She let out a sigh. “I was going to offer him a blade forged by my mother and sisters and recite Sappho’s Ode to Aphrodite to win his favor.” Her eyes drifted to his. “But I do not know if he likes poetry.”

“Who is ‘he’?” Hal asked.

“Bartholomew.”

He blinked. “Wait…you mean Barry? Like…our Barry?”

She nodded. “Yes.” (Y/N) stared at him. “Does Bartholomew enjoy poetry, Harold? I have more pieces prepared. The Iliad for example.”

“Please, God, don’t call me Harold.” He shuddered. “Makes me think my mom is scolding me.” He sighed, laying his head back. “Barry’s…not exactly a poetry guy. He’s more the ‘take me to a science museum’ type of guy.”

(Y/N) hummed thoughtfully. “Interesting! What is a science museum?”

“Big building with a bunch of things that make lovers of science all tingly inside.”

“And you think Barry would like that better than a sword and poetry?”

Hal snorted. “(Y/N), let’s get one thing clear. You could give Barry a dowry of a million dollars, and he’d still not get the hint.” He glanced down at her. “You’ve literally gotta tell him you like him or he’s not going to get it. Hell, probably though a science line. That’s one way to get through to him. Actually, that’s probably the only way to get through to him.”

“Hmm…and to think I had a dowry prepared back home.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Of course. Many animals and a great deal of gold.” She turned over onto her back, resting the back of her head on his stomach. “Where is a science museum I can take him to? I do not know if there is one in the city I live in.”

“There’s a really cool one in Chicago,” he offered. “I know Barry’d get a hard-on for that place.”

“A hard-on?” (Y/N)’s brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“Uh…”

“Is that another euphemism for arousal?”

“…Yeah.”

“You are such a man.”

“Thank you for noticing,” he chirped, glancing out the window. “Well…you woke me up and since I’m awake…wanna get pancakes?”

(Y/N) jumped up, excitement crossing her face. “YES! I LOVE THE CAKES OF PAN! THEY ARE DELICIOUS!”

Hal chuckled, tossing the covers from his body. “Lemme shower really quickly. Hey, and make sure you text Barry about going so he can put it in his schedule.”

She pointed at him. “That is a wonderful idea.”

***

(Y/N) glanced at the watch on her wrist for what seemed like the millionth time, holding the umbrella with her other. The rain poured around her, thunder rumbling above, but she stood hopeful that the Scarlet Speedster would eventually show. They had talked about the museum for days and she’d been anticipating it ever since they agreed to meet up.

Barry had texted that he would be there in the morning, but that had been hours ago, and he hadn’t answered his phone after she’d last called. (Y/N) pursed her lips as the sky darkened, and not from the storm, wondering if he had forgotten.

Perhaps I should have given him the sword and recited the poem? She frowned and looked around, seeing couples walking around, sharing umbrellas and laughing, joy etched onto their faces. No, I must wait. He said he would be here.

But as the hours dwindled and the day turned into evening, she realized he wasn’t going to make it in time. With a sigh, she turned to the doors of the museum; most of the lights were being shut off and the workers were leaving to go home for the evening.

(Y/N) smiled sadly and gripped her umbrella, turning to walk down the street. There was always tomorrow.

***

Barry rushed back to his house, speeding into his bedroom to yank out a dress shirt, a pullover sweater, and a pair of khakis that he hadn’t yet ruined. He’d completely forgotten all about the museum trip (Y/N)’d invited him on, getting so caught up in cases and running around Central, that by the time he remembered, it was already a quarter to six.

He changed and sped through his door, the streets of Central City turning into a blur as he headed for the museum in the next state. He skidded to a stop outside the museum, eyes widening when he saw the doors shut and the lights off.

“Oh no,” he whispered, looking around for (Y/N); she was nowhere to be seen. “Oh no.”

He sprinted down the street, trying to remember if she’d said she was wearing a blue dress or a red one. He should’ve remembered earlier. He should’ve sent a text. He should’ve called. He should’ve—

WHAM!

Barry went barreling to the ground, landing atop something warm and soft. The scent of flowers and metal oil flooded his senses, and after he caught his bearings, he looked up, cheeks flushing when he realized he’d landed on a woman and more importantly, face first into her chest.

“Good evening, Bartholomew.” His eyes darted to the woman’s face, and he saw (Y/N) smiling at him. “You are late.”

He floundered. His mouth opened and closed but nothing came out except a pitiful burst of air as he scrambled off her, face as red as his suit. He bent down, hauling her up. “I’msosorryIdidn’tseewhereIwasgoingandIlandedonyouandIputmyfaceinyourchestandI’msosrry!”

(Y/N) blinked at him. “I…I did not catch that, Bartholomew. Can you repeat that? Slower, perhaps?”

He raised his hands to his face, covering them as he apologized profusely, “I am so sorry, (Y/N). I didn’t mean to be late or land on you or—or stick my face in your—I’m really sorry!”

She giggled. “I am not offended.” She reached out and took his hand, pressing it to her chest. “Many friends have rested their heads on my bosom. They are comfortable, are they not? Like the finest cushions.”

Barry’s jaw dropped and this time all that came out of him was strangled noise. “I can’t feel my face,” he whispered, and she pressed her free hand to his cheeks.

“Hmm, your face is very hot. Shall we go find somewhere cool to rest?” she asked, taking the hand still pressed against her chest; she laced their fingers. “I saw an ice cream store down the street here.”

He let himself be tugged along. Every circuit in his brain had been burned out and his heart was fluttering way too fast for him to think about anything other than calming it down. But it was impossible. Barry could feel the warmth from (Y/N)’s body, could smell the delicate fragrance of roses, could see the beauty that threatened to blind him.

(Y/N) led him around for a few moments, then stopped in front of an ice cream parlor that had a big blue sign. “Here we are.” She led them inside and glanced at the menu. “Do you want anything?”

Barry blinked, looking up, though it was all a blur, still shell-shocked. “I, uh, a milkshake? Chocolate?”

She smiled. “I will order for us. Please, go sit.”

He did as she said, collapsing into one of the seats in the corner, immediately rubbing vigorously at his face to will the blush away.

After a few moments, (Y/N) sat down across from him and placed a frozen drink down. “Here you are, Bartholomew.”

Barry glanced up to see her with her own straw in her mouth, eyes shut, face drawn in joy as she sipped her milkshake. “Thank you,” he replied. “How much was this?”

“Please do not worry about repayment. I do not need one.” She looked at him with a smile. “You came.”

Suddenly he remembered how late he was. The entire day had gone by; Barry lowered his head. “(Y/N)…I’m so sorry about not making it here earlier. I never meant to leave you here all alone.”

“You are a busy man and I understand, Bartholomew. You need not apologize to me.”

He looked up and gazed at her. “You weren’t there. I thought you’d left and gone home.”

“Of course not,” she said, eyes wide. “We said we were going to meet. I was waiting for you.” She coughed slightly. “But I had to use the restroom, so that is the reason you did not see me immediately.”

“Wait,” Barry said. “Were you…were you waiting here all day?”

(Y/N) blinked. “Yes?”

Now Barry felt like a bigger jerk, and he let his head drop again. “I feel terrible, (Y/N). I’m so sorry.”

She merely stared at him, heart beating against her rib cage and the words of her people’s poetry came back to her, but so did Hal’s words. You have to tell him.

Reaching out, she rested her hand on his, urging, “Bartholomew, will you look at me, please?”

He did as she asked, meeting her eyes. “Yeah?”

(Y/N) smiled. “You must be the speed of light, because time stops when I look at you.”

For what felt like the millionth time, Barry’s mouth dropped open. She didn’t know if that was a good or a bad sign. “I…figured you would like, a line as Harold calls it, that was scientific.” (Y/N) smiled awkwardly. “I care for you, Barry. More than the bonds of battle have forged between us and…I would like to spend more time with you. Intimate…close time with you. Just us.”

Barry nodded dumbly, turning his hand over so his palm touched hers; he brushed his thumb over the back of her hand. “I would love to, (Y/N).”

“Oh, you would?” she inquired, face full of joy and he nodded, a smile crossing his own lips.

“Absolutely. But I have one request.”

“Yes?”

Barry smiled at her. “Call me Barry.”

[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!

[geminisholland]

yessss your request are open!!!!! could you do a tom blurb where he is super clingy and just wants to spoil you because he is going away again soon and buys you all these nice gifts which are wayyyy to expensive

a/n: um yeah this was something else, tom spending an insane amount of money on his s.o. is hot to me 

word count: 1815 

warnings: references to sexy time and angst and fluff and also cursing cause i like cussing

join my taglist!

“Tom, did you make sure to pack your lucky shirt?” You asked, digging through the drawer the two of you share. He stood behind you, sliding his hands around your waist, spinning you around to face him. You laughed as you put your hands on his chest, the two of you smiling.

“You worry too much, Y/N,” He said. You shook your head in disapproval as he gently pushed you against the drawer, pinning you against him.

“What is this?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Trying to get more time out of me before you go?”

“Oh, yes darling,” His voice turned into a growl, “but that’s not the only thing I want from you.”

You looked at him, then giggled, realizing what he meant. You started kissing him, and he picked you up to bring you onto the bed with him. Your hands tangled in his hair, his hands on your waist; pulling you closer into him. He couldn’t let you go; not now, not ever. Your lips moved in a way so thrilling, the sensation sent chills down your spin. You loved feeling his warm lips on yours, you did your best not to think about how long he would be gone as both of your clothes were left in a pile off the bed.

Your bodies moved together through muscle memory, you’ve been together on this bed a hundred times before. Yet, this time felt different. Almost as if he couldn’t let go of you, he couldn’t let you out of his sight. Everything you did, he was behind you, watching you like a little kid. Perhaps this was a metaphor for how Tom felt about you, like a little kid again. You made him feel that puppy love, the love that people search their entire lives for. You have had your arguments, like any couple would, except your fights were mainly about his status in Hollywood. How busy he was because of this, how closely everyone watched the two of you. You and Tom did your best to keep your relationship as private as possible, but that was only to a certain extent. He was never able to promise you a normal life, but he made sure to give you a grand one.

“I think we should go shopping,” Tom said as he put his clothes back on again. You smiled, Tom’s insane job came with plenty of benefits- the wealth being one of them.

“Where should we go?” You asked, raising your eyebrow as you began to pick out an outfit.

“Wherever you want, darling,” He answered, walking over to were you stood in the closet. Your eyes met, and a smile grew on his face.

“Wherever?” You probed, keeping eye contact with him.

“Yes, wherever,” He confirmed, then placed a kiss on your forehead.

“I know you like to keep a low profile...” You trailed off, you realized you didn’t want to complete that thought. You would never put him in a situation were he was uncomfortable. “Actually, never mind.”

“No, what is it?” His eyes met with yours again as you turned to face him, only half of your outfit on.

“There’s just a place in the city I’ve been wanting to check out,” You revealed. “But, I know we’d be seen there, and I don’t think I want to deal with that on the last day here before you leave.”

“Oh, I remember you telling me about that store,” He responded.

“Yeah, it’s okay though, I’ll go after you leave,” You explained. “Should we get some food?”

You moved your attention back to getting dressed, rummaging through countless outfit ideas. Tom was awfully quiet, and you wondered why he didn’t respond to you.

“Tom?” You called out, but there was no response. You finally decided on an outfit, then left the closet to see that Tom wasn’t even in the bedroom anymore. You rolled your eyes, how nice of him to just leave in the middle of your conversation. You walked down the stairs of your home the two of you shared in his hometown. Your shoes echoed on the floors of the quiet house, the place was too big for just the two of you. When Tom would leave for projects that were months on end, you were miserable. Nothing to fill the silence, except your own thoughts- and that wasn’t always pleasant.

You turned the corner to find Tom putting his coat on, and texting someone on his phone.

“Ah, finally love, are you ready to go?” He asked, then pulled you into him. He kissed you, softly, before returning back to his phone.

“Where are we going?” You questioned. You stared at him as he started gathering his things, not answering your question. “Tom?”

“Huh?” He shot back. You tilted your head at him, confused.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you’re playing dumb,” You smiled at him. He flashed you a grin, then put his wallet in the pocket of his jacket. He grabbed his keys, and put a hand on your lower back.

“Are you ready? Do you have everything?” He questioned as the two of you walked towards the door.

“Yeah, I think so,” You responded. 

“Perfect!” He exclaimed, then the two of you walked out to the car. He was being overly nice right now, opening and closing the car door for you. Putting on your favorite music- which, for the record, he never does when he’s driving. You wanted to question it, but honestly, you didn’t want him to stop.

“I can’t remember,” You started. “How long are you filming this next movie?” You asked, looking at the window to be welcomed with the typical English skies, grey and gloomy.

“Uhh,” He let out. Your eyes darted to him, and he had a questionable look on his face- like he didn’t want to answer.

“How long?” You deadpanned.

“Long,” He whispered. You licked your lips, you were growing annoyed.

“Thomas.”

“Fine,” He shook his head. “Five mont-“

“Five months?” You yelled. “What the hell?”

“I know! I’m sorry!” He yelled back. “I didn’t know it would be that long!”

You shook your head. “I thought you said three months just a few weeks ago, what happened?”

“I thought you didn’t remember,” He shot back, giving you a glare.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” You said.

“Let me make it up to you,” He whispered, he was trying to move the conversation. “Please.”

His eyes met with yours again, and you nodded your head. You were annoyed, but you could never stay mad at him. He placed his hand on your thigh, rubbing small circles into your leg. The rest of the ride was just the two of you singing along to music, and him moving his hand from your leg, to your face, to your neck, all over. He never failed to make you feel loved.

He pulled his car into a spot, and the two of you stepped out into the cold atmosphere of London.

“You didn’t have to do this,” You explained to Tom. “You know people will recognize you here.”

Tom shook his head, “I don’t care.”

He pulled you into him, his hand around your waist, your hand around his. The two of you walked into the shop you were talking about earlier, it was just a small boutique that you saw on Instagram, but their clothes were really cute. You spent a few minutes looking around, holding up clothes to Tom, asking what he thought. He was never the most helpful with shopping, he thinks everything looks good on you.

“Wait a damn minute,” You said. You grabbed a sweater that had caught your eyes, then held it up to Tom. “I think I need this.”

“It’s really cute, babe,” He agreed. You smiled at him, then added it to the collection of clothes he was holding in his arms for you. You kept looking around, adding more clothes and jewelry to your pile. You finally gave up, determining you have successfully looked through the entire store. You walked over to Tom, and your mouth flung open.

“Um, I am not getting all of that,” You said to Tom. “That’s way too much, let me put some back.”

He shook his head, then started walking towards the cashier.

“Tom? What are you doing?” You called after him as he kept walking. He ignored you, placing everything on the counter as the cashier started ringing everything up.

You looked at him, and he looked back at you. He had a smirk written all over his face. You tried to be discreet in front of the cashier as you whisper-yelled, “Are you crazy?”

He looked down at you, “Let me do this for you.”

“Thomas,” You began, then your eyes widened as you saw the cost. “It’s almost a thousand dollars, you’re not doing this!”

“Yes I am,” He shot back, his smile growing.

“Thomas Stanley Holland,” You growled out. He kept ignoring you, and gave the cashier his credit card.

“I wish my boyfriend would do this for me,” She joked as she took the card from him. You and Tom gave a half-hearted laugh, as you gave him a side glare. You couldn’t believe how much money he was spending right now, you knew he felt bad for leaving, but there are plenty of other ways to make it up to you. Like, sex, or a date night. The cashier handed you your bags, and the two of you walked back to the car.

“You’re ridiculous,” You let out, but you had a smile on your face.

“I know,” He agreed, looking at you. He couldn’t stop smiling as he opened the car to put the bags in. You started to walk towards the door, but he locked the car.

“Where are you going?” He asked. You looked back at him, confused.

“What?”

“We’re not done, we haven’t even hit Saint Laurent yet,” He responded. “That’s my favorite store!”

You laughed, then walked over to him. You pulled him into you, rubbing your hands on his back. Your cheeks were tired from smiling so hard, and you pulled out to look at him.

“I love you baby,” You said. You placed your hands on the back of his neck, pulling him into you. You kissed him, and he kissed you back. His warm lips tasted like mint, and he smelled heavenly. His arms moved up your back, landing in your hair, gently tugging as his kissing turned more rough. You laughed against his mouth, breaking away from the kiss.

“Slow down there, big guy,” You whispered, your eyes sparkling despite the gloomy skies. “We’re in public.”

“Yeah, I don’t give a shit,” He responded, then pulled you back into him.

taglist;

@zspideyy @lilhoodhippie @hollandfanficlove @th45 @lmaotshollandd @lovely-blackinnon @white-wolf1940 @tomshufflepuff @minejungwoo @thehumanistsdiary

[esperosisdoeswriting]

Victory Pizza (500 follower cellebration)

Here is the ~3300 word story for the 500 follower celebration! The prompt being "Chaotic Villain group accidentally adopts child". I hope you all enjoy and thank you again for 500 followers!

"[Other Villian].... what the hell are you doing?" [Villain] hissed as they popped the cash register open with their crowbar. [Other Villain] just turned to look over their shoulder from their perch on top of the arcade's glass prize pannel.

"I'm robbing the place, duh." [Other Villain] said as they started to shimmy the mini go-cart from atop its perch.

"Of money! We are robbing the place of money! not dusty ass go-carts, why would you even want that?!" [Villain] hissed as they shoved bills and coins into their backpack. [Other Villain] scowled at them as if they had just said the most offensive thing they had ever heard.

"I have come to this place my whole childhood! And do you wanna know the one prize I had scrimped and saved and stole tickets to get for years!?" [Other Villain] violently pointed at their looted go-cart, "And do you want to know what prize I was never able to get, for years?!?!" [Other Villain] pointed even more violently at the go-cart.

[Villain] pinched the bridge of their nose, "Childhood vendettas are not the priority here! We need cash!"

"Why are you yelling at me anyway? [Dumb Villain] is looting a claw machine." [Other Villain] pouted, pointing their head at [Dumb Villain], who was currently prying a claw machine open with their bare hands.

"Those things have like a hundred dollars in quarters in them!" [Villain] defended them, before turning to [Dumb Villian], "good wor-" they cut themselves off as they saw [Dumb Villain] happily loading the plushies into their backpack. They dared not look at [Other Villain], already feeling the smug grin on the other's face.

"Just... Get anything valuable quickly and get it in the van. If we take too long, the pizzas going to get cold." [Villain] sighed, moving over to the next cash register.

"Victory Pizza!" [Other Villain] hooted as they jumped on the counter. Suddenly as they landed, the force of their body sent them crashing through the glass cover of the prize counter, topping them over among the candies and plastic toys. Alarms began to ring out around the store as the three villains froze and stared at [Other Villain].

"Whoops." [Other Villain] laughed nervously before [Villain] sprung into action.

"GRAB EVERYTHING WE GOTTA GO!" they shouted at their two companions as the three scrambled to pack everything and start running for the exit.

[Leader] groaned in boredom as they flipped through another page on their magazine, waiting for the others to get back. They wished they could be in there too, but someone had to be the getaway driver, and they had learned from their mistakes when they had appointed [Other Villain] and [Dumb Villain] to the role the other few times. So here they sat, waiting in the back alley with the van doors open, being tortured by the smell of a pizza they couldn't eat.

[Leader] was about to let out another groan of boredom when the alarms started blaring. Their groan of boredom quickly turned to one of frustration. They knew this would happen, but it didn't make it any less more annoying when it did.

They watched out their rearview mirror as a minute later there three teammates burst out the back entrance into the alleyway, full-on sprinting into the van.

"Go go go!" [Villain] shouted, out of breath from the run.

"Shut the back doors first, and everyone buckle up. I'm not having people slamming into each other again." [Leader] sighed as they started up the van.

"But the heroes and police will be here-"

"In a couple minutes, we still have a bit of time. Now, buckle-" [Leader] pushed [Villain] into their seat, "-up."

After the van was started, [Leader] unlocked the brake and switched the van into gear but kept their foot on the brake as they called out, "Everyone buckled up?"

[Villain] groaned in the affirmative as [Other Villain] enthusiastically agreed, however [Dumb Villain] did not respond.

"[Dumb Villain]. Are. You. Buckled. Up?" [Leader] asked as they looked at [Dumb Villain] in the review mirror.

"Oh, uh... yeah." [Dumb Villain] replied, ripping their eyes away from the victory pizza they were staring at a few moments earlier.

[Leader] rolled their eyes, "Right then, here we go!" they said as they put the pedal to the metal, speeding out of the alley and onto the abandoned streets.

[Dumb Villain] looked at the seat next to them and couldn't help but feel something was wrong with what they were looking at. Usually, they just put the victory pizza there so that [Dumb Villain] could hold onto it during the escape, but today someone else was holding the pizza. Sat next to them was a small child, no older than eight, staring up at them as they slowly munched on a slice of the pizza.

[Dumb Villain] narrowed their eyes at the child, the feeling of something being out of place knawing at them. Was it because the child was eating their victory pizza? No, no, children like pizza, so that was perfectly reasonable. Was it the distant sound of police sirens slowly becoming closer and closer? No, no, they just robbed an arcade, so it was perfectly natural the police would be chasing them. So what was it...

[Villain] began shouting something [Dumb Villain] wasn't paying much attention to when they finally realized what the problem was.

"Safety first, kiddo." [Dumb Villain] smiled as they reached across the child and buckled their seat belt.

"Beleive me [Villain], I am perfectly aware that the police are on our tail!" [Leader] shouted as they swerved the car to the right.

"Would these help?" [Other Villain] helpfully offered, holding up two grenades.

"Why do you have those?!?!" [Villain] squawked as [Other Villain] laughed manically.

"I thought they might prove useful!"

"For robbing an arcade?"

"Every situation is improved with grenades!"

"No, it isn't, put those somewhere they won't explode," [Leader] barked at [Other Villain] who pouted but complied, "And [Villain]... do that thing where you make us invisible."

"I can try, but I've never done the whole van before!"

"I believe in you." [Leader] smiled confidently at them before looking back on the road and continuing, "Plus, I really don't want to be here when the heroes show up. Getting sent to prison for robbing an arcade... not a good look."

[Villain] sighed as they began to concentrate, their field of invisibility expanding and expanding before it encompassed the entire van.

"Amazing! You really outdid yourself this time [Villain]!" [Other Villain] marveled.

"Can't keep this up... for very long..." [Villain] gritted their teeth, sweat beginning to pour down their face, "Make it count!"

"Will do." [Leader] smiled as they made a sharp left, the now five of them disappearing into the night.

"Is everyone alright?" [Leader] asked once they finally parked the van in the underground garage attached to their lair. Everyone affirmed. [Dumb Villain] looked down at the child to find them nodding as well, satisfying [Dumb Villain].

"Good good. Alright, everyone, grab your haul, and [Dumb Villain] you get the pizza." [Leader] said as they put the car into park.

"Victory Pizza!" [Other Villain] hollered as [Villain] sighed.

"Sorry everyone, we're gonna have two fewer slices of pizza tonight. The kiddo here ate them on the way."

"Oh, ok, that's fine." [Leader] nodded for a moment before reeling back and yelling, "Wait, what?! What kiddo?"

"The kid." [Dumb Villain] stared blankly at their team as they pointed to the child sitting next to them, who also stared blankly at the rest of the team.

"How long have they been there?!" [Villain] cried out in alarm.

"The whole time."

"And you didn't see anything wrong with the kid being in the car with us?" [Leader] asked [Dumb Villain] desperately trying to find some logical reason [Dumb Villain] would let them kidnap a child.

"I did." [Dumb Villain] replied. After a long moment of silence, [Leader] frantically gestured around as if trying to summon the explanation from [Dumb Villain].

"They weren't wearing their seat belt, so I strapped them in." [Dumb Villain] grinned, proud of themselves. [Leader] deflated as they just nodded,

"Yeah... yeah, I guess I should have expected that."

"CAN WE KEEP THEM????" [Other Villain] suddenly shouted, startling everyone.

"I... No!" [Leader] yelled.

"Please! Pretty please! I swear I'll take good care of 'em!" [Other Villain] batted their eyes at [Leader].

"They aren't a dog! They're a child that needs to go back to their home and parents."

"I don't have any parents," the child spoke up for the first time.

"See!" [Other Villain] hoped on immediately, "They don't have parents to go back to, so that means we can keep them!"

"Still not a dog! And anyway, they probably have guardians or..." [Leader] trailed off as they saw the child begin to shake their head and pout.

"We have no idea how to take care of a child." [Villain] tried to reason, "We could never-"

"I'll be good!" the child cut them off, "I promise, I just don't wanna go back to the orphanage."

[Other Villain] scooted [Dumb Villain] out of the way and scooped up the child, holding them to their chest while giving [Leader] the biggest puppy dog eyes.

"You're not just gonna send them back to the orphanage, are you? That's no place for a child to grow up."

"But..." [Leader] trailed off as the child looked at them with their wide doey eyes.

"Please..." the child asked, both the child and [Other Villain] huddled together, batting their eyelashes and giving their best puppy dog eyes.

"I like the kid!" [Dumb Villain] added.

"Oh alright, fine!" [Leader] finally gave up. The child, [Dumb Villain], and [Other Villain] cheered while [Villain] looked at them in disbelief. "But you two are in charge of getting them into school, making them food, setting up their room, all that stuff, got it?"

[Other Villain] nodded enthusiastically, and the three hoped out of the car as [Villain] sat there, staring at [Leader].

"Are you really going to let them keep that child?" [Villain] whispered, horrified. [Leader] screwed their eyes shut and pinched the bridge of their nose for a moment, then took a deep breath.

"I mean... We kept [Other Villain]."

[Villain] just stared at the floor of the van, only nodding in response, before exiting the van. They really hoped [Other Villain] and [Dumb Villain] knew what they were doing because they were not, I repeat, not going to help raise this kid.

"How was school today [Child]?" [Leader] asked as [Child] shuffled into the base.

"It was ok," [Child] shrugged.

It had been nearly half a year since [Child] had entered the picture. Even though [Leader] said they wouldn't, they wound up being [Child]'s primary caretaker after a week and a half of chicken nuggets, 3am bedtimes, and almost playing with various dangerous objects. To [Other Villain] and [Dumb Villain]'s credit, they did set up [Child]'s room and pick out their school, as well as take them to and fro. But ultimately, all the work that had to be up in to ensure [Child] wouldn't die of malnutrition or unfortunate accident was left to [Leader].

"Did something happen?" [Villain] asked, looking up from where they were reviewing the floorplan of their next big heist. [Child] merely shrugged in response as they shrugged their backpack off and sat down on the couch.

"Was it [Bully] again?" [Other Villain] asked, [Child] shrugging for the third time.

"Whose [Bully]?" [Leader] and [Villain] asked at the same time.

"Just some asshole ki-"

"Language! No swearing in front of [Child]!" [Villain] cut them off. [Other Villain] rolled their eyes before continuing,

"They're just some mean kid that likes to make fun of [Child]."

"It's fine." [Child] mumbled as they watched the tv, the news talking about another one of [Hero]'s victories over [Super Villain].

"We can take care of them!" [Dumb Villain] supplied.

"No!" both [Leader] and [Villain] shouted at once.

"I draw the line at fighting children. How old is this kid? Like nine?" [Leader] said,

"They're ten." [Other Villain] replied

"Whatever."

"Soooo...." [Other Villain] drew out, [Leader] already not liking where this was going. "Does that mean we can give [Child] some 'situation improvers'?"

"I don't care what you call them," [Leader] pinched the bridge of their nose, "You cannot give [Child] hand grenades."

"But we can give other weapons?" [Dumb Villain] asked.

"No! No weapons! no child murder, directly or indirectly!" [Leader] shouted.

"It's ok. It's not that bad." [Child] smiled at the team, "As long as I have you all, I'll be happy."

The team all smiled at their youngest member, feeling their hearts melt as [Child] smiled at them.

"We love you too, my little angel!" [Other Villain] grinned, scooping [Child] into their arms and hugging them tightly.

"Although I was wondering..." [Child] said into [Other Villain]'s chest, their words muffled until [Other Villain] loosened their grip. "When can I start training with you?"

"Training?" [Villain] asked, "What for?"

"So I can be part of the team!" [Child] replied.

"Right now!" [Other Villain] squealed at the same time as [Leader] said,

"In a couple years."

Silence descended upon the team for a few moments before [Leader] cleared their voice, "I know you want to be a part of the team, kiddo, but you're still very young. You should focus on your school work and playing games and watching tv for now."

"Ok..." [Child] mumbled disappointedly as they went back to watching tv. A few silent minutes later [Child] piped back up again.

"Some of the kids in my class are taking karate lessons. Can I take some too?" [Child] asked innocently. [Leader] couldn't help but smile at the transparency of [Child]'s intentions.

"That's a perfectly reasonable hobby to pick up!" [Other Villain] added.

"Plus, it would help with bullies, and it's non-lethal." [Dumb Villain] added as well.

[Villain] sighed and said, "As much as I hate agreeing with [Other Villain], they are right, it's a good hobby that keeps children active, teaches discipline, and [Child] can use it for self-defense if need be."

"Well, I suppose I'll just have to allow it then." [Leader] smiled and shook their head as [Other Villain] hooted in victory.

"Let's look for dojos in the area!"

"I think I know of one," [Dumb Villain] agreed, "I remember hearing about it on tv one time. I think because it was good."

"Then it's perfect!" [Other Villain] grinned as they grabbed their laptop. [Child] snuggling in happily between [Dumb Villian] and [Other Villain] on the couch while the three looked for dojos.

"Is this the place?" [Other Villain] squinted at the store's sign.

"The name matches the website." [Dumb Villain] replied.

"Good enough for me! hop out, kiddo, our appointment is in five minutes." [Other Villain] grinned as they hopped out of the car, [Child] bouncing shortly behind them, practically vibrating with excitement. The two of them entered the small storefront. They sat on the hard plastic chairs, both excitedly awaiting their meeting with the instructor.

"The instructor will see you both now," the receptionist said shortly after another parent and child happily walked out of the studio. The pair happily stepping into the karate studio, where they finally got the lay eyes on the instructor.

[Other Villain] immediately felt themselves go rigid as [Child] bounded up to [Hero], their maybe new instructor.

"Well, hey there kid, whats your name?" [Hero] smiled at [Child]

"I'm [Child], and this is [Other Villain]." [Child] smiled back. [Hero] looked back at [Other Villain], who at this point was sweating bullets and trying to act natural.

"Hello, it's very nice to meet... you..." [Hero] said, slowly trailing off by the end as they narrowed their eyes at [Other Villain].

"Nice to meet you too!" [Other Villain] replied nervously. [Child] looked between the two adults, somewhat confused before saying.

"I really wanna learn karate! Can you teach me, please?"

[Hero] snapped their attention back to [Child] and smiled, "Of course! That's why we're here, although today is just so I can get to know you and your..." [Hero] side-eyed [Other Villain] before turning back to [Child] "...parent. As well as assess your skill level and prior knowledge. Does that sound ok?"

[Child] nodded enthusiastically, and [Hero] finished out a pamphlet from their pocket, "Perfect! Now, could you start with reading this over? It gives you an idea of the kinds of things you'll be learning in the class. I'm just going to talk to your parent for a moment over here, ok?"

"Ok!" [Child] replied, happily taking the pamphlet from [Hero]'s hands and bouncing over to the other side of the studio while [Hero] guided [Other Villain] to the opposite corner.

"What the hell are you doing with that child?" [Hero] hissed at [Other Villain].

"I have no idea what you're talking about." [Other Villain] lied,

"Don't give me that. I know you're [Other Villain], and I know you don't have a kid!"

"I adopted them."

"Really?" [Hero] asked, disbelief and sarcasm dripping from their voice.

"Well, it was a... surprise adoption..." [Other Villain] averted their eyes.

"You kidnapped them." [Hero] scowled.

"The surprise was on us! They just climbed into our van while we were..." [Other Villain] coughed, catching themselves, "getting pizza. They were drawn to the scent of the pizza and hopped in too."

"And then you just... drove away with them."

"Well, we didn't know they were in the van!" [Other Villain] defended themselves.

"Did they hop in the trunk? How did you not notice an eight-year-old in your van?" [Hero] asked incredulously.

"Well [Dumb Villain] noticed but didn't say anything."

"Why."

"They... didn't think it was important at the time." [Other Villain] winced. [Hero] looked like they wanted to argue but then seemed to just deflate.

"Ok, knowing [Dumb Villain]... I believe that." [Hero] said, a bright ray of hope appearing before [Other Villain] before [Hero] squashed it with their following sentence. "That still doesn't excuse the fact that you just... kept them!"

"They didn't have anywhere to go! No parents, no relatives, they were just living in some slummy orphanage!" [Other Villain] pleaded, "We're giving them a better life, school, food, friends, a family [Hero]. Don't you want them to have a loving family?" [Other Villain] batted their eyes, trying to give [Hero] their most adorable puppy dog eyes. [Hero] just stared back at them, unamused, for a long moment for sighing.

"I'm going to talk to the kid. If even a single thing seems fishy, they're going straight back to where they came from. Oh, also, I will take them in as my student to monitor them. If you try to move them or take them out of lessons, I will take them from you so fast your heads will spin. Got it?" [Hero] scowled and [Other Villain] nodded vigorously. [Hero] let out a long sigh,

"If it was any other villain or group, I wouldn't even consider letting you keep them, but seeing as it's you lot and the kid seems happy... I'll let it go, for now." [Hero] side-eyed them before walking back across the studio and talk to [Child].

[Other Villain] let out a long sigh of relief as they watched [Child] smile excitedly at [Hero], the two talking about the [Child]'s future at the dojo, as well as some subtle inquires about their home-life.

"Did you have fun today?" [Other Villain] asked as [Child] and they left the dojo, [Child] waving goodbye happily to [Hero], who waved back.

"Yup! I can't wait to learn karate. It's gonna be so fun!" [Child] beamed.

"It sure will be kiddo!" [Other Villain] smiled back as they helped [Child] into the car.

"How did everything go?" [Dumb Villain] asked. [Other Villain] thought about it for a second before simply replying,

"It went great!" deciding to not tell the others about [Hero]. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them... probably...

[sevlgi]

bubblegum pop

requested: no

group: twice

pairing: sana x fem!reader

genre: fluff

contents: rich girl!sana, college!au, cashier!reader.

warnings: none

synopsis: An unfortunately hostile encounter with the school’s sweetest rich girl might just lead to more than you ever expected.

a/n: inspired by @pearicot​‘s mean girl rosie series! (by the way, i’m not trying to feed into the “dumb sana” stereotype with this; i just thought that her personality fitted the character i was trying to achieve! does anyone wanna request continuations or scenarios in this universe 👀

word count: 3.3k

Something about Mondays the week of finals always got you in a bad mood, especially when you had  to work double shifts at the same stupid ice cream shop you’d worked at for the past 2 years of college. 

So maybe, just maybe, there was reasoning behind you snapping at the love of your life during your first meeting.

Actually, there really, really wasn’t.

There were plenty of mean girls on campus who you wouldn’t regret yelling at whatsoever, but you just happened to blow up at one of the considerably nicer rich girls.

Minatozaki Sana didn’t mean anything bad when she innocently held out a hundred dollar bill to pay for a $5 ice cream. She didn’t mean to seem pretentious, nor did she mean to mock you and your minimum-wage job, but you just so happened to take it that way.

“Really? You have to rub it in my face like that?”

Sana stared at you, the money that she held out wavering in the ear. “Sorry?”

Pinching the space between your eyebrows, you huffed out an exasperated breath. Luckily, there was no one else in the shop about to witness the stupidest meltdown of your life. “You think I don’t know that I’m poor? It’s five dollars for God’s sake, no need to bring out the big guns. Oh, or are you doing this to avoid seeming more pretentious with your daddy’s black card?”

The brunette’s hand retreated quickly, the heels of her Louboutins clacking softly against the pastel-toned linoleum of the ice cream shop. Fuck, you hated that linoleum. “I... I didn’t mean any of that, I swear! Um, is there an ATM near here?”

Once again, the girl meant well, and you took it badly. You scoffed, glaring disbelievingly at her. Some part of you was screaming out that you were putting your entire job at stake, and your morals as well, but you disregarded any common sense remaining in your brain. “An ATM for 5 bucks? Dude, just don’t.” Dipping your hand into the tip jar, you scrounged out a lousy crumpled bill and threw it down on the counter, shoving the bubblegum-flavored sweet to Sana. “Okay? Now get out, I don’t want to see your privileged ass anywhere near here.”

The dense gray clouding your mind somehow missed the hurt expression on the girl’s face as the staff door swung open. Wendy’s hands, though gentle on your shoulders, shoved you behind her with surprising force. “I am so sorry, Sana, it’s finals week. Surely you can understand? The ice cream’s on the house.”

“No, of course it’s okay!” Sana sounded genuine enough, that was for sure; you caught her glancing worriedly at you a couple times, nothing malicious whatsoever in her eyes. “I can pay though, are you sure?”

“I’m sure. See you in class,” Wendy called out, smiling all the while until the girl disappeared into the Lamborghini parked by the curb. As soon as that happened, she turned back to you, concern tugging at the corner of her lips. “Y/N...”

“Yeah, I know,” you mumbled as you crossed your arms. Already, you were regretting what you said, though you were far too stubborn to actually apologize on the spot. “No arguing with customers about capitalism. Sorry, Wendy.”

The girl bit her lip, scanning the store to make sure that there wasn’t about to be an influx of customers. Usually she enjoyed working with you; you just had absolutely terrible mood swings sometimes, and those days were nothing short of hellish for her to deal with. “Just head home. Focus on your finals, and come back next week. Okay?”

You hesitated to agree, knowing that you needed the money, but the grim expression on Wendy’s face told you that you had no other option. “Okay. Sorry.”

As you snatched up your stuff and shoved the door to the street open, you missed the sight of Sana watching you through the tinted windows of her 6-figure car.

“Really? Sana?”

“I know,” you groaned, biting down on the plastic spoon in your mouth. The flavor of the month (the only one you could eat completely free) lingered unpleasantly on your tongue, the taste of it oddly salty. “She was so nice about it, too.”

Jeongyeon and Mina exchanged glances, not touching their respective cups of “Ocean Caramel” either. It was extremely kind of them to come and accompany you on the slow days, both of them even offering to suffer through the gross ice cream with you.  “If it was Park Roseanne I might understand, but Sana,” Mina winced. Jeongyeon nodded in agreement; after all, everyone on campus knew about the reputations of Roseanne and Sana.

On one end of the “rich girl” spectrum, Roseanne was quite possibly the bitchiest one of all. She and her Bugatti Veyron, the college upgrade from her old McLaren, absolutely weren’t to be messed with. People who went to high school with you often told story of the G Wagon she smashed, the locker room she lit on fire, and so many other horror tales of a spoiled girl gone wild. You were sure that had you gone off on her, even Wendy wouldn’t have stopped you.

But on the other end, Sana was notoriously kind. Sure, her family raked in an income close to that of the other girl’s, and her wardrobe was just as expensive, but she made a point to donate to charities every time she went shopping. She tipped in the hundreds, and she didn’t ever ask for her designer clothes back when she lent them to strangers. She paid any dinner bill in full when she was there, and sometimes even when she wasn’t invited.

No one was entirely sure about the relationship between the two, but Roseanne seemed to hate Sana more than she did other people. The two fought publicly occasionally, but Sana’s kind heart made it so that even Roseanne couldn’t carry a fight very long. She didn’t respond to insults, it seemed, nor did she ever seem to actually take them personally. 

Stirring her half-melted soup, Mina continued, “Hopefully she doesn’t hold it against you. She doesn’t seem like the type, but...”

Jeongyeon shook her head, opening her mouth just as the doorbell rang. You froze when you looked up to find a designer-dressed bombshell, a sweet smile outlined in Chanel Rouge Allure. She looked completely out of place amidst tired college kids spending their last paycheck on ice cream, white gauzy sleeves and blue dress shimmering under LED lights. If you were being honest, you’d say that she was the most beautiful person you’d seen in your life, but you were always well versed in lying to yourself. “Y/N, you better go.”

“Why?” you whined, pouting at your much more responsible friends. They ignored your puppy face, though; Jihyo was usually the only one you could sway, Momo sometimes if she was feeling merciful. “I’m on break.”

“Only when there’s no customers,” Mina argued, shoving you to stand. Jeongyeon smiled at you, waving you away. “Go, and don’t screw it up this time.”

You forced a smile onto your face when you reached the counter, bowing and adjusting your name tag. “Hi, what can I help you with today?”

“Hi, Y/N!” Sana grinned, bowing back. The fact that she remembered your name only made your guilt worse; if she forgot who you were, you could at least pretend that she didn’t remember the incident at all. “Ah, could I have the same thing as last time? Bubblegum Pop ice cream, on a sugar cone today. 3 scoops?”

Nodding, you moved to open the case, avoiding the girl’s gaze as you did. “Of course.” She was quiet at that, staring at the ceiling so as not to rush you. Without prompting, you blurted, “I’m... I’m really sorry about last week, by the way. I don’t know what I was thinking, blowing up at you like that.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay!” she protested, waving a manicured hand in the air. “I promise I understand you. We all have our bad days.”

You wanted to apologize again, if just to assuage your guilt, but you held off on it, joking, “How do you deal with them? Yell at Gucci assistants?”

Sana looked honestly offended as she accepted the cone proffered to her, eyes widening in shock. “I’ve never done that, I swear! Besides, I don’t like Gucci much.”

A light smile quirking at the corners of your lips, you handed the receipt to her as well. She didn’t ask for it, probably not caring about the measly price or having the space for it in her tiny bag, but took it anyway. “I’m sure you don’t. Your total is $5.23, will that be cash or card?”

“Cash!” She held out a 10 dollar bill, pride shining behind that gorgeous face as you raised your eyebrows in surprise. When your hands brush together, you were reminded of how much better she was than you, how you probably weren’t worthy at all to be touching her with your shop-issued baseball cap and grimy apron. But Sana doesn’t seem to mind, still smiling that airy smile at you and not moving away. She broke your stare by offering, “I don’t want to sound rude, but keep the change.”

“Not rude at all,” you fully laughed that time, dishing out the remainder to stuff in your tip jar. You still felt terrible that she felt the need to apologize about such a normal comment, asking, “Are you sure it’s okay? You can have this one free too, if it makes up for me shouting at you...”

Sana shook her head, sugary light pink already mixing into her lipstick. She walked away, still waving with that gorgeous smile on her face. “It’s okay. I’ll see you soon, Y/N, you look really pretty today!”

Turning back to your friends, you whispered, “Damn. She’s really nice.”

You planned on spending your one day off from school and work cozied up with a good book and your favorite hot drink, but you supposed that getting into a fight with Park Roseanne wasn’t the worst way to go either.

As soon as you entered campus, book in hand and blasting music in your earbuds, you found a crowd of at least 3 dozen people right in front of the library building. It was unlike you to butt into others’ business, especially when it might lead to a ruined day, but Roseanne’s voice carried loud over the hushed whispers of everyone else. “--huh, Sana?”

It wasn’t any of your business, but for some reason, Roseanne’s tone when saying Sana’s name angered you immensely. Frowning, you shouldered your way through the crowd. The closer you got to the center, the more expensive the clothing that brushed against your own rough jean jacket was, cotton and leather becoming silk and velvet. You originally planned to just fit in with the other spectators, but with a shove at the small of your back, you were thrust into the center too.

To your shock, Sana’s eyes were red and shining with tears, the tip of her nose cherry-colored as well. Her head was almost bowed as she stared at her shoes, but she looked up to you when you almost bumped into her. You stuttered out, “H-hey. What’s going on?”

Instead of an explanation from the Japanese girl, though, your gaze was drawn to the blonde across the courtyard. “Didn’t you hear? Little Miss Perfect here got broken up with,” Roseanne scoffed, an infuriating smirk on her perfect face as she tilted her head at you. “By a future CEO, no less. I guess she isn’t a gold-digger, or maybe there’s some other reason that he didn’t want her anymore.”

Your hand shot out to protect Sana, a scowl making its way onto your own face. “Excuse me? From my standpoint, any future CEO is still way outta her league, so forgive me for doubting that he’s the one who didn’t want her. You’re the one dating someone who makes a tenth of what you do.”

Roseanne rolled her eyes, lips thinning. “Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that, Y/L/N, or you’ve got another thing coming. There aren’t many lesbians in this damn school.”

“You know me, don’t you?” Sana’s voice was wavering as she spoke, but it was strong enough to echo in the courtyard. To your surprise (and somewhat satisfaction), the blonde  girl’s eyes widened as Sana stood forward, her lips jutting forward. “That’s why I’m not dating him anymore. I like girls, too.”

Somehow, you’d never expected that Sana was attracted to girls, but it made perfect sense. An irrational part of you wanted to cheer, but instead, you forced yourself to speak.

“R-right.” You continued to glare at Roseanne, who finally seemed to be speechless. “Yeah, so how come you’re tearing Sana down? We should be supporting each other, but you’re being so rude to someone so kind, and that says all I need to know about you.”

Reaching out, you latched onto Sana’s upper arm and pulled her out of the circle, people parting to let the two of you through as Roseanne wasn’t able to conjure up something to respond with. You didn’t stop walking until there was only silence surrounding you under the shade of a swaying tree, finally stopping to let the girl sit. “Are you okay?” you asked, brow furrowed as you knelt to be mostly face-level with her.

Somehow, there was a smile on her face; a slightly snotty smile, but nonetheless the most beautiful one you’d ever seen in your life. You ignored the uncomfortable leap of your heart when you reached out to take her hands into your own, somehow forgetting about the hostility you’d felt towards her from the beginning. “You- you stood up for me.”

“Yeah. I did, I guess,” you shrugged, smiling slightly. “I’m sure that was rough, though, to come out. How’re you feeling?”

“Honestly, much better,” Sana sighed. She leaned back, fingers curling slightly around yours as the afternoon sun shone golden brown in the locks of hair spread out on her shoulders. “It was good to get it off my chest. I didn’t even know you were into girls, you know.”

Reaching up to scratch your head, you chuckled, “Well, I am, if it makes you feel any better. What happened between the two of you, by the way? She seems to hate you so much.”

The girl laughed, as bubbly and airy as her regular voice. “I may or may not have dated her girlfriend before. But it was a long time ago, and I’m still friends with her! Roseanne just can’t forgive me.”

You feigned shock, swatting at her arm. “How terrible of you! I’m so disappointed.”

You were stuck simply smiling at each other for a good minute or so before you looked away, picking at your shoelace for something to do. “So. Uh, Roseanne knew the whole time?”

“She did,” Sana confirmed, nodding. “She just never talked about it.”

“Well, it’s good to know that she isn’t the only other one in the school with me,” you sighed, sitting back on your heels.

Sana lurched back forward, hands clasping together at her chest. “Then we should celebrate! We can go shopping or something, and we can just be happy that we aren’t alone anymore.”

It suddenly struck you how quickly you could change the girl’s entire outlook, a smile coming onto her face with no effort from you whatsoever. But even more surprising, you smiled even larger than she did just looking at her. 

Laughing, you sat back on your heels and shook your head lightly. Seeming to take it as a rejection, Sana’s eyes widened. “Oh, only if you want to, of course! We can go wherever you want, we don’t even have to go shopping if you don’t want to!”

“No, we can go shopping,” you answered, reaching back over to squeeze her hand and pulling her up with you when you stood. “Come on, then. Let’s go celebrate.”

Sana wasn’t a great driver, but you didn’t expect much else. You were practically sick to your stomach by the time that you reached the mall, face green as you swayed out of the car.

“Ah, Y/N, I’m sorry!” Her hands rubbed lightly at your back as you squatted in the parking lot, fist held tight to your mouth. It wasn’t like you were actually going to throw up, but you didn’t want to risk ruining the girl’s expensive shoes. “I’ll let you drive next time.”

Next time? you wanted to ask. But you managed to stand, nodding quickly to ease Sana’s worry. “Yeah. It’s fine, I’m fine. Should we go?”

Immediately, she latched onto your hand, swinging between the two of you as she started to rush forward. “H-hey, lock your car first!”

Sana had unsurprisingly expensive tastes, but also surprisingly understated ones. She was fun to shop with, that was for sure- she loved to offer you clothes and also to offer to pay for them, but you didn’t necessarily hate a pretty girl telling you you’d look gorgeous in a certain sparkly dress.

She didn’t do any of the typical stuck-up things you expected her to- Sana carried her own bags, and she never forced you to follow her instead of doing what you wanted to. She did like to try on outfits and show them to you, but that could be ignored when it was just another opportunity for you to stare at her.

Eventually, you ended up having ice cream at one of the stores in the mall. You balked at the price, but Sana swiped her credit card without hesitation. “I have to admit, this bubblegum doesn’t taste as good as yours,” she pouted.

Chuckling, you savored the rich flavor on your own tongue. “You should’ve picked an expensive flavor then. Vanilla and chocolate are always good in these kinds of stores.”

“You know a lot about ‘these kinds of stores’ for someone who claims to be poor,” she teased, eyes widening as soon as the words slipped out of her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean-”

“Nah, it’s fine,” you smiled, leaning on your palm. “I’m good with it, since we’re friends now.”

Sana grinned at that, her eyes curving charmingly. “We’re friends? Most people don’t want to be friends with me, I’m really glad you’re willing to.”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

Looking down for once, the girl mumbled, “They say I’m dumb. You know that everyone says I’m nice, but they also think I’m dumb because I pay for everything. I just want to be kind, but no one takes me seriously.”

A wave of guilt rushed over you for previously feeding into the stereotype. The more time you spent with Sana, the more you realized that she was as brilliant as any other, and far more kind. “Well, that’s stupid. You are kind, Sana, and you’re amazing. I’m lucky to be your friend.”

She clasped your hand over the table, soft skin warm over yours, pink flushing in her pale cheeks. “Thank you, Y/N. You know, this is the best time I’ve had in a while. My boyfriend didn’t even listen to me this well,” she laughed.

Despite the fact that she treated it as a joke, you felt horrible. She was all too used to thinking the worst about herself and not believing that she was worth any better, and that was the worst possible thing you could imagine for a girl with a heart of gold. Jabbing your spoon into the remaining ice cream, you blurted, “Then go on a date with me. A proper one, not just a normal hangout like this.”

Sana instantly blushed, looking down as if it’d hide her face at all. But she missed the heat that rose to your cheeks too, the nervous biting of your lip as you waited for a response. “I would love nothing more,” she smiled, her eyes shining brilliantly. “And I can’t wait.”

[everlarkficexchange]

Hold Me Up

Prompt 42. Group of friends. Economic disaster, no jobs; eventually in desperation someone in the group suggests making a porno for $, the idea takes off, as they work on a script and put out ideas, a lot becomes clear, like who has kinks, who has tried a lot, and that one is an inexperienced virgin. Does the writing experience have consequences to the group dynamic, will they actually film and sell it, will they stay friends? Are any couples or siblings part of the group? Are secrets revealed through brainstorming?

Submitted by @567inpanem

Author: JLaLa

Rated M

Summary: “What the hell are you suggesting?” Gale asked.

“I thought it was obvious,” the woman next to him said. “I’m suggesting we make a porno.”

Strapped for cash, a group of friends—plus two strangers—decide to go all out.

Multiple pairings, and of course, Everlark. 

“Hold me up in the palm of your hand Lying to you is a river of sin Your metaphors, your silent calls Your feelings are too real…”

                                                -Live

Hold Me Up

Part One

Katniss closed her eyes as the rush of hot water hit her face. It had been a hell of a day.

Her boss cut her hours at the record store due to the lack of sales. She had done everything short of offering to blow the man—wouldn’t have worked, he was gay—to get as many hours as possible. However, everyone was suffering due to Panem’s economic disaster and Heavensbee’s hands were tied.

All she wanted to do tonight was eat the leftover Chinese in the fridge, binge watch Bridgerton for the hundredth time and use her vibrator until she climaxed to the image of Simon Basset eating her out—

“Katniss!” There was a quick knock before the door opened. “Sorry, but I have to piss like a racehorse—”

She pulled back the shower curtain to the sight of her roommate and friend, Peeta, unzipping his jeans.

“Seriously, couldn’t you do that somewhere else? Like, maybe get a plastic cup or do it in the sink?”

“Last time I did, Gale totally flipped out on me,” her friend replied. “It’s not like you haven’t seen my dick before. You’ve seen it plenty of times, most of the time it was erect.”

The peril of living with two boys was that you always seemed surrounded by morning wood…any kind of wood really.

“Fine.” Katniss closed the curtain. “Try not to be loud about it though.”

“How am I loud while I pee?”

“‘Oooh fuck, finally…I’ve been holding that in all day!’ Katniss mimicked mockingly. “You’d think that you were doing something else instead of emptying your bladder.”

“Honestly, sometimes a good pee is better than sex,” Peeta retorted. “I don’t think that I’ll be able to stop it once it starts so just sing something really loud or you’ll be hearing me hitting the porcelain pretty hard.”

Katniss walked under the shower to rinse her hair and belted out the first song that came to her.

“I got a new life

You would hardly recognize me

I’m so glad

How could a person like me care for you?

Why, why do I bother

When you’re not the one for me

Is enough enough?”

“I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes…” Peeta sang along and Katniss giggled hearing his melodic baritone. “I saw the sign…life is demanding without understanding—”

“We should start a group,” she offered as she turned the nozzle and the water stopped. “Especially since I’ll likely be laid off soon.”

“Oh shit! I’m sorry, Katniss.” A hand peeked through the curtain, holding a towel and she took it, quickly wrapping it around herself. “We’re all taking it up the butt, aren’t we?”

She pulled back the curtain and stepped out. “What do you mean?”

“Haymitch and Effie will probably have to close down with everything happening,” he informed her. “The rent for the bakery space is just too much for them. I mean, we still have our regulars, but they’re not making enough to pay me to make a dozen danishes and scones.”

“That sucks.” Peeta was still wearing his apron around his waist, a red bandana covering his blond locks, along with his usual baking uniform of a fitted white tee and jeans. “I know how much you love that job. Not to mention, Haymitch and Effie are pretty kickass.”

“Well, at least we have Gale,” her friend replied as he opened the door, letting her step out first before putting a companionable arm around her waist. “Old reliable Gale—”

There was a cough and they found Gale sitting on their couch lighting up their emergency joint.

This was bad.

++++++

“My whole department was pretty much eliminated,” Gale explained once he stepped out of his daze. “They led us in, one by one, into that small office and gave us the whole spiel about making cutbacks before handing us our severance checks. This will hold me for about six months of my piece of the rent—”

“This is probably the worst time to tell you,” Katniss started. “But Heavensbee reduced my hours at the store and I’ll probably be getting the boot soon.”

“Effie and Haymitch can’t afford to keep me at the bakery,” Peeta told him. “They’re also likely to lose the business, too.”

Gale nodded, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. “Well, we’re fucked.”

“Now there’s that positive attitude that we know and love,” a sharp feminine voice said.

The three looked up to find the rest of their friends stepping into the apartment led by Johanna, who lived across the hall from them. Madge, her roommate, followed in with a pizza box and the group was finished out with Finnick, who lived downstairs and was—until today—Gale’s teammate.

“Well, we’re fucked!” Gale repeated, his voice hitching up at the end. He looked to Johanna. “Good enough?”

“We’re all getting it,” Madge said, sitting next to him calmly. “The Forever 21 I’m working at is closing. So, I’m screwed, and I won’t even have severance like you and Finnick.”

“I have thousands of dollars in debt over the camera equipment I just bought,” Finnick told her. “I’m supposed to be working on my documentary.” Their friend was a budding director. “Now, I’ll be using the rest of my severance to pay it off.”

Johanna plopped down in their lone seat, putting her feet on the table.

“Not that I don’t love you guys, but I’ve been out of a job for months, so your sob stories mean nothing to me,” she said. Grabbing the joint, their friend took a long inhale and breathe out in relief. “The job market is non-existent at this point.”

“God, maybe I should’ve pushed on blowing Heavensbee,” Katniss muttered.

Finnick snorted. “What?”

“He’s gay, but probably not getting any,” she replied, next to Peeta. “If you close your eyes, it feels the same.”

“You might have something there,” Johanna suddenly said, her oak eyes contemplative.

Peeta glared at her. “Not funny. You really want Katniss turning tricks for rent?”

“Hardly,” their friend replied. “No offense—” Johanna looked to Katniss. “—you alone have no sex appeal, and this is coming from a full-fledged lesbian.” She turned to Madge. “She would—with the pouty lips and the big titties. Not to mention those golden locks. Put a little red hood on her and you’ll have those Fairy Tale freaks begging to see what’s underneath.”

Katniss crossed her arms. “Well, thank you for telling me that I’m undesirable.”

“I didn’t say that.” Johanna looked between Katniss and Peeta. “I said you alone would have no sex appeal but put you with him—” She nodded at Peeta. “—or her.” A hand waved over at Madge. “People will pay big money to see that. A nice little ying and yang.”

“What the hell are you suggesting?” Gale asked.

“I thought it was obvious,” the woman next to him said. “I’m suggesting we make a porno.”

++++++

Several beers in, the idea started to make sense.

“Babe, if this thing took off, we could pay off the camera equipment,” Annie, Finnick’s fiancée, said. She had joined them a little after the major freak out over Johanna’s idea. “Also, you could get some experience in handling the equipment and I could get experience with the boom mic.”

“That is true,” Finnick mused.

“Guys, do you know how many different types of porn there is out there? How would we make one that people would be interested in?” Gale asked. His voice had taken on a rough slur, five bottles in, as he leaned against a drunken Madge.

“Simple,” Johanna smirked. “We do our research. This neighborhood is full of not-so-reputable places; it’s why rent used to be freakishly low. We can ask what men and women would like to see. Also, we’re all decent looking.”

“What about the fact that you’re talking about us having sex with each other?” Peeta asked, eyes bloodshot. Katniss laid on his lap, singing along to the music on her phone. “No offense, but I don’t want to have sex with you. You scare me a little.”

“Well, who would you want to have sex with?” Madge asked with a buzzed grin.

“Easy.” Peeta looked at the giggling woman on his lap. “Katniss.”

“Really now?” Finnick leaned forward in interest. “Why her?”

“I’m comfortable with her,” he explained. “We were each other’s first kiss, granted we were only five—but also, she’s seen my dick plenty of times.”

Katniss drunkenly waved her finger at him. “I’m not scared of it…”

“Dude, why aren’t you together?” Annie asked.

Peeta shrugged. “Seemed better to stay friends.”

“Those two are such chickens,” Gale called out. “They just tiptoe…and tiptoe…and it’s all like ‘I think Katniss is beautiful’…or ‘I want to have Peeta’s babies’…and I’m just like why don’t you just fuck already?”

“Fine.” Katniss slid onto the floor and held her hand out, palm down. “We’ll do this. I get to fuck Peeta because everyone is so invested…but we all have to be in this.” She looked at the rest of the group, her eyes landing on Peeta. “Do we agree?”

Johanna placed her hand over Katniss’. “I’m in.”

Madge followed immediately. “Me, too.”

“Fine,” Gale muttered before his hand landed on the pile.

“We’re down,” Finnick said, adding his hand.

“But only as the filmmakers,” Annie added before placing her hand on top of her fiancé’s.

Katniss looked to Peeta; nervousness laced in her grey eyes. “And you?”

He examined her, almost losing himself in her gaze before placing his hand down to seal the pact.

“Let’s do this.”

++++++

“Do you like oral?” Katniss asked the scantily-clad waitress. “Giving? Getting?”

“Yes, to both,” the pretty blonde answered.

Johanna and Gale had gotten to work quickly, both making up the questionnaire that they were using for research. While that was happening, Annie and Finnick put up an ad looking for available actors and actresses to add to their production.

Two days ago, their questionnaire had revealed that threesomes, double penetration, and girl-on-girl were high on the list. Unfortunately, they didn’t know who would be doing what except for Katniss and Peeta.

“And anal?” Katniss continued as Peeta joined her at the table.

“Sure,” the woman answered. “I’m pretty open. Me and my ex used to film ourselves all the time.” She looked at the two. “You two looking for tips?”

“Maybe,” Katniss replied. She turned to Peeta. “Did you want anything?”

“Coke, please,” he told the woman. “I’m still recovering from the past few days.”

“Coke for him and a Lagavulin for me,” Katniss told the waitress.

“You like the good stuff.” She gave Katniss a saucy wink. “I’ll be right back with your drinks. I’m Delly, by the way.”

“Katniss.” Katniss gestured over at Peeta, who gave Delly a light wave. “Peeta.”

She nodded. “Nice meeting you.”

As soon as Delly walked away, Katniss turned to her friend. “What do you think?”

“Decent rack, sweet face, and she has experience apparently,” Peeta replied. “Thoughts on having her on the team?”

“Well, she seems friendly,” Katniss replied. She eyed him. “Would you do her?”

“If I had to…sure,” her friend replied. “How about you?”

“Me and Delly?” Katniss looked to the woman at the bar, awaiting their drinks. She was pretty with wavy, shoulder-length hair and wide eyes. Not to mention, her body was banging—the bejeweled bustier made her breasts look incredible—and her personality was easy. “Sure. Why not? I mean it will make me more…desirable.”

“Are you still pissed off that?” Peeta asked. “Johanna loves to rile you up.”

“I hate that she can.” Katniss sighed. “Are we really going to do this?”

“Haven’t you ever been curious?” Peeta’s gaze fell warmly on her. “How it might feel like between me and you?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “We kissed that one time, but nothing came of it. I thought maybe you didn’t like it…or me.”

“I do like you. I love you.” Peeta reached for her, pulling her onto his lap. “I guess we were just both too scared to explore what kind of love we could’ve had.”

Her arms wove around his neck as Katniss pressed her forehead to his. “I love you and I like you, too.”

“Your drinks, lovebirds.” Delly approached them, a bright smile on her face. “Anything else I can get you?”

“Actually.” Katniss stood up, pulling out the business card with Johanna’s number on it. “I have a proposition for you.”

++++++

“What are your special skills?” Johanna asked as she looked over Delly’s resume.

Delly gave the group a bright smile, her eyes landing on Katniss with a wink.

The group gathered the following day for auditions for the two additional actors at Finnick and Annie’s place.

Currently, Annie and Peeta were reviewing resumes and headshots in the hallway while the rest of them assessed the auditions.

The group had agreed to hold them at Finnick and Annie’s since it looked the most professional. The couple’s apartment was stylishly decorated thanks to Annie’s chic but budget-friendly taste—most of their furnishings from Target and IKEA.

“Can you look into the camera?” Finnick asked from where he stood in the center of the living room.

“Sure.” Delly looked straight into the camera, smiling into it. “Well…I can do a handstand and suck dick at the same time.”

“Can we see?” Madge asked from where she stood next to Finnick.

“The sucking dick part or the headstand?”

“How about we just see how it looks?” Finnick suggested. “Have Annie bring the next male audition in.”

Gale stood from his seat. “I’m on it.” He quickly came back, followed by a tall, dark-skinned man who flashed them all a handsome smile. “Everyone, this is Thresh. Thresh, why don’t you join Delly in front of the camera?”

“Sure,” he said easily and walked over to Delly, holding out his hand. “I’m Thresh.”

Delly shook it, her mouth widening in a grin. “Delly.”

“Okay, whenever you’re ready,” Johanna told the two.

Nodding, Delly bent over, pressing her palms to the floor. Then as she steadied, the woman easily lifted her hips…then her legs…before straightening them, her toes pointing in the air.

“Amazing,” Madge whispered.

Next to her, Gale nodded in agreement.

Katniss stood from her seat, going to Finnick, and looked at the camera’s viewfinder.

Delly and Thresh made a strikingly good couple on camera. They were at ease, chatting as if Delly wasn’t in front of the man’s crotch and at a perfect angle to go at his junk.

“Thresh, any special skills?” Gale asked, handing Johanna the man’s resume.

“I can get an erection on command,” Thresh told them.

“Okay, we all need to see this,” Johanna said. “Someone get Peeta and Annie in here.”

“Delly, you can get off your hands now,” Katniss said.

“Let me help—” Thresh held her hips as Delly eased down. As she did, the crotch of her leggings met his groin, and she wrapped her legs around his to steady herself.

“The perfect standing wheelbarrow,” Finnick remarked from behind the camera. “Bravo!”

Peeta and Annie stepped inside as Thresh helped Delly onto her feet. She smiled gratefully, kissing his cheek before dashing over to where the rest of the group was gathered.

“Even if you don’t hire me, I need to see this,” she told them.

Peeta joined Katniss’ side. “What are we looking at?”

Finnick signaled Thresh. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The man simply undid the top button of his jeans, unzipped, and holding the sides of his jeans lowered them down.

Taking a deep breath, the man closed his eyes, as the group watched his cock—a rather thick one—go from half-mast to full in less than a minute.

“Well, that deserves some applause,” Peeta told everyone and began to clap.

The group quickly joined in, but not before hiring both Delly and Thresh.

++++++

“Okay, two things,” Gale announced, going to the easel and whiteboard that he had set up in their living room. He wrote out ‘Location’ and ‘Plot’. “First, location. Any thoughts?”

“We can’t just do it in one of our apartments?” Finnick asked.

“Would you want to sit on your living room couch thinking that Johanna ate Delly out on it?” Gale asked him. “Or Katniss and Peeta on your kitchen counter—”

“True,” Annie said. “Let’s not shit where we eat.”

“Maybe we can rent out space for very cheap,” Thresh said. “I might know some club places where I work security that might be in our price range.”

They learned that Thresh was a part-time security guard and a returning student at the local community college. He was trying to get his Business degree and planned to open a gym after he graduated.

“Great idea,” Gale wrote down, ‘Thresh-club spaces’. Anyone else?”

“That bar I work at might be willing,” Delly told them. “I might have to give the owner a boost—”

“No way,” Peeta interrupted. “We don’t want you doing those kinds of favors just to get us a workspace.”

“Definitely,” Katniss agreed, smiling at the girl. “We’ll figure it out together.”

“Okay, what about a plot?” Johanna went to the board. “Every porn needs one to entice an audience. Why don’t we do a round robin and everyone says one thing that turns them on? I’ll start.” She turned around and wrote on the board—‘A clean bush’.

“Doesn’t everyone like it to be clean down there?” Finnick remarked before looking to Annie. “I mean you keep it pristine—”

“No need to tell everyone about my cat, love,” his fiancée retorted.

“I mean, I don’t mind it being wild down there,’ Gale told the group. He took the marker from Johanna and scribbled, ‘Bossiness’. “I like a dominating woman.”

“Definitely a good BDSM storyline,” Madge remarked as she walked up to the board, writing ‘Rough play’. “I like manhandling and being manhandled. I worked with this guy and we use to hook up all over the office. Once after everyone left, we were going at it and he takes me and lifted me—” She mimicked her lover with her hands. “—onto the copy machine before pounding the living daylight out of me.”

Everyone stared in shock at the seemingly sweet blonde twirling a tendril of her hair.

“Come Monday, everyone was trying to figure why there were a hundred copies of someone’s bare pussy on the copy machine tray,” she said in a daze.

“Damn—” Gale swallowed harshly. “—thank you for your contribution.” His gaze went to the person sitting next to Madge. “Katniss?”

“I…I…” Katniss bowed her head. She wasn’t thrilled with everyone knowing just what got her going. However, at some point, they were all going to be seeing her being thoroughly fucked by Peeta. “I like…dirty talk.” She shifted in her seat, aware that next to her sat her soon-to-be co-star. “I don’t have any experience, but when I’m…masturbating, the voice in my head is usually whispering very depraved things in my ear.”

“Care to expand, sweetheart?” Thresh asked from where he sat across.

“Well—” Katniss folded her hands in her lap. “The voice will tell me how much he loves feeling his fingers being squeezed by my cunt, how drenched I am around his dick, how he wants to fuck me until I can’t feel my legs…sometimes he talks about fucking me in both holes…his dick in my pussy and his thumb in my asshole—”

Peeta suddenly jumped from his spot. “I’m going to grab some water from the fridge. Anyone?”

He quickly disappeared into the next room before anyone could even answer.

“You just gave Peeta a boner,” Delly cackled from her seat on the carpet. “Why aren’t you dating?”

“Because—” Katniss searched for a reason, finding herself unable to answer. “—let me check on him.”

She found him bent in front of the fridge.

He pulled back sans water and turned just as she stepped in.

“We ran out of water.” Peeta met her eyes fully, watching as she approached. “I didn’t mean to run off—”

“Peeta, what turns you on?” she found herself asking.

Katniss stopped in front of him and her gaze took her friend in—swept-back blond waves, a firm jaw, and blue eyes…hazed with arousal. They never really talked about the fact that they had admitted to their friends that they were curious about fucking one another.

To be entirely truthful, the voice in her ear, the one that spoke such deliciously sinful things—was Peeta’s voice.

She didn’t know when the mystery man had morphed into her best friend, but sometimes the image of him—in his usual uniform of a pair of jeans, a tee, and an apron—would cause a heat that threatened to burn her to the very core.

However, this precipice between friendship and whatever it was, scared her.

So, Katniss held back.

Peeta shook his head. “It’s kind of stupid.”

“I just told everyone that a mystery voice gets me wet with talk of double penetration.”

He laughed roughly. “That is true.”

Meeting her eyes, Peeta leaned back against the door of the fridge.

“I like sex in different places…the element of danger…of being caught.” His golden complexion tinged with pink. “It’s a major turn-on.”

She nodded, toeing in closer to him. “Have you ever—"

“No, just fantasies,” Peeta said. “Compared to the rest of our friends, I’m pretty daisy fresh.”

“Tell me the last place that you’ve fantasized having sex in,” Katniss said. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” he replied, his hand reaching to cup her cheek.

His thumb grazed the corner of her mouth and she resisted the urge to take it into her mouth to taste.

“The bakery.” His gaze fell to her lips. “Specifically, against one of the ovens as it’s warming up and y—whoever and I just get so caught up in the smell of sugar…of rye…and one another that we don’t know where the heat is rising from—”

Katniss suddenly straightened. “Ohmigod…the bakery.”

“What?”

“The bakery,” she repeated.

His eyes widened in realization. “The bakery.”

END OF PART ONE

This will be multiple parts, not sure how many though.

Yes, before you ask, this is loosely based on Zack and Miri Make a Porno which I think is a hilarious movie with some great music.

Speaking of music, the title comes from Live’s ‘Hold Me Up’, which was used in the soundtrack of Zack and Miri. It also plays during a pivotal scene.

Other music used: ‘The Sign’-Ace of Base

I hope you’re enjoying it so far—as if now, I have just completed the second part.

Thanks for reading!

-JLaLa

[charmingyong]

Noxious Cherry (1)

Part 1 | Part 2

Genre: criminal!Taeyong x fem!reader

Warnings: psycho, deception, theft, shootings, swearing, car explosion

Word count: 2.7k

Plot: You found a pink haired man lying on the ground and decided to check up on him when you should have run away. 

A/N: I AM OBSESSED WITH TY’S GTA! This genre reminds me of @taeyongtime’s Pre: Ace of Fools so do check that out if wanting another psycho read.

Gif: mine

- ❀ -

Finally home time!

The feeling of settling into your car after the end of your night shift was a pleasant one. You relaxed your head against the headrest and let the exhaustion from having to stand hours preparing the endless coffee orders leave your body before starting your car. You drove down the empty streets, a few nonfunctioning streetlamps creating a dim lighting along the sidewalks. Mindlessly, you passed by a park where a dark figure laid still on the ground.

Reaching a red light of an intersection, you thought back to the thing you caught a glimpse of earlier and something itched in you to go back and check it out. When the lights turned green, you made a U-turn and found the figure still there, unmoving.

Walking closer to it, you realized it was a boy with pink hair, eyes closed looking unconscious, though his chest rhythmically rose up and down. You squinted to get a better look of his face under the low lighting and did not spot a single scratch on the skin to hint any signs of him being injured.

Is he okay? you thought. Should I wake him up?

Worried that he could have been bruised under his clothes, you called for him. “Hello? Are you okay?”

Hearing your voice, his eyes fluttered open and his breath hitched upon seeing a beautiful face up close. You were relieved that he was alive, but grew uneasy when he merely stared at you, not responding back to you with words.

“Um, are you okay?” you asked again, hoping he would say something about why he was on the ground in the middle of the night.

He only groaned as he shifted his weight to sit upright, rolling his neck and shoulders in circles to alleviate the tensed muscles.

“Should I call the ambula-”

“Don’t,” he cut you off with a small glare. He couldn’t afford getting caught if he were taken to the hospital, especially when he didn’t even need to go there in the first place.

You bit your lip nervously, unsure what to do next. You didn’t want to be rude and leave him alone all of a sudden, but you really wanted to go home. Should you drop him home? Get a grip, Y/N! He was a stranger, and you couldn’t tell if he was safe enough to bring him inside your car. “But are you hurt?”

“It’s not that bad,” he replied. “Just take me home.”

Shit.

Looked like you were taking him into your car.

“Where do you live?” You hoped he didn’t live somewhere too far so you could get under the covers of your cozy blankets as soon as you could.

The boy cocked his head to the side and gazed at you in amusement. “Take me to your home.”

You were thankful it wasn’t summer just yet. Otherwise, mosquitoes would have entered your jaw-dropped mouth. Was he crazy? Why would anyone in their right mind ask to be taken to a complete stranger’s home? Especially one where you lived alone. “Why my home? Don’t you have one?”

He propped his upper body up with hands resting beside him, watching you with a dark glint in his eyes that you failed to notice. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

The boy was adamant and wouldn’t take no for a response, making you pray to the Lords that nothing bad would happen when taking home the pink haired whose name you learned was Taeyong.

-

Your keys repeatedly failed to connect with the lock of your house. It was hard to when Taeyong’s intense gaze was fixed on your side profile. “Sorry,” you nervously chuckled. “I’m really tired from work,” you tried reasoning.

After struggling for a while, he snatched the key from your grasp and unlocked the door, pushing it open and inviting himself in. You stay rooted by the entrance, shocked that Taeyong casually opened the door and simply walked in as if it were his house.

Taeyong looked around your place, interested to see the soft-hearted person you were with various photos of your loved ones hanging on the walls.

“Do you need the first aid kit?” you asked.

He touched himself in the stomach and hissed. “Yeah.”

You nodded and went to search for the kit in the bathroom. When out of his sight, Taeyong plopped down on the sofa, letting out a long exhale and half smiled. He found it new and amusing with someone being concerned for his well-being.

With the kit in your hand, you took a moment to calm down your racing heart. Taeyong was not letting you feel comfortable for a reason that you failed to decipher. You met your gaze in the mirror and told yourself that nothing bad should happen. How could a wounded boy harm a girl?

You walked back into the living room and were relieved to see Taeyong resting on the sofa with his eyes closed. If he wanted to harm you, then he wouldn’t be lounging around like that. “I brought it.”

He hummed and opened one eye. “You can leave it there and head for bed,” he said nodding towards the small table in front of him.

“Don’t you need any help though?” What if he had any wounds on his back that he couldn’t reach?

Taeyong clicked his tongue. “I’ll be fine.”

“I have a guest bedroom. You can sleep there,” you offered.

He shook his head. “I’m fine here.”

“But the sofa isn’t-”

“I’m fine.”  

You bit back your tongue, letting him decide on his own what was best for him. It was odd that he wouldn’t opt for a bed to let his body relax and heal faster. “Okay, I’ll bring you a pillow and blanket then.”

“I don’t need them. That throw will be fine.” He pointed at one draped over the armchair.

Were you being too pushy? Why was this guy refusing everything that you were kindly offering? “Okay… I’ll head up then. G’night.” With that, you hurriedly went up to your refuge and finally called it a night.

Once the coast was clear, Taeyong pulled off his denim jacket and shirt over his head, observing his skin.

Flawless skin.

Not a single wound spotted.

You’re a cute one, he thought and smirked to himself.

- ❀ -

You took Taeyong out for shopping the next day, as per his so-called request. It was more of a demand. You didn’t understand why he was staying at your place but decided to keep your mouth shut and hoped that he’d leave you soon.

While you wandered around the cosmetics section, Taeyong left your side, his eyes catching interest of the sparkling diamonds department.

“Hello, sir. What would you like to see?” the woman behind the counter asked sweetly.

Taeyong paid no mind looking at her and locked his gaze on a specific 2 carat round eternity engagement ring in 14k white gold. “How much is that?” he pointed at the ring enclosed in the display case.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars, sir.”

Taeyong let out a whistle and propped his elbow on the casing. He turned around to search for you, finding you try on a couple of samples on your skin, and his lips curled up when seeing you pleased with the products.

The man not being by your side gave you some time to calm your heart down. You didn’t know why you felt that way with Taeyong when he hadn’t done anything to harm you. Something warned you from the inside to not trust him, even though he hadn’t done anything to invade your privacy at home. You were glad that he chose to sleep downstairs and so a part of you grew fond for him despite the short time.

Then what was this feeling that you probably made a grave mistake for helping him out last night?

You put away the product testers and searched for Taeyong, spotting the pink one easily as he leisurely passed by two security guards and picked out a pistol from its holder without them knowing.

“What the…” you breathed out. What was this guy going to do with a gun?

Taeyong made his way over to the fire alarm system and pulled it down. A loud, 3-beep pattern resonated throughout the store and numerous customers panicked, dashing out the building while the guards tried to figure out what was going on. The boy walked back to the diamonds where the employee was still there, frantically locking everything up before leaving for safety.

“Give me the ring,” Taeyong ordered. His blank expression made the woman not take him seriously and ignored him. Just when she was about to leave the counter, Taeyong held up the gun at her forehead and repeated. “Give me or I’ll shoot you.”

“B-But th-there’s a fire!” she cried. She didn’t want to die from the fire, or from the gunshot, or from her boss that she gave one of the most expensive rings away for free.

“There’s no fire. Quit wasting time or I’ll shoot.”

The guards caught up on the situation. “Hey you! Put that gun down or I’ll shoot you!” one said, while the other informed the situation through his walkie talkie.

Taeyong grabbed the woman in the blink of an eye, holding her as a shield with the gun pressed against her temple. “If you come near me, she dies.”

The guards backed away and held their hands up. “Okay okay! Let her go, man.”

I will, but after I get my ring, he thought.

He pulled the worker behind the counter, keeping her in front of him, and ordered her again. She obeyed, the fear of having to die from his gun scariest than any other consequence she’d have to face later. “D-Do you want the r-ring casing?”

“Just the damn ring.”

She handed it over with shaky hands. He shoved it inside the pocket of his jeans and shot the two guards down. The woman screamed and he pushed her away.

“Chill. I won’t kill you unless you get in my way.”

He sprinted to your rooted spot where you silently watched the scene unfold. Taeyong pulled you out of your shock self when he grabbed your hand and darted for the exit, letting your feet automatically respond to his action.

“Pass me the car key,” he instructed.

You didn’t want to, not when he shot two people in front of your eyes. But you chose to trust him than get caught now that you were technically his partner in crime. You both rushed to your car with him diving into the driver’s seat while you in the passenger. The police sirens could be heard from a distance and Taeyong wasted no time and slammed on the accelerator without putting on his seatbelt.

He went over the speed limit, overtaking the slower cars in the lanes as he tried to widen the gap between him and the flashing red and blue lights. A red traffic light was fast approaching, and cars were lined up ahead. But the boy made no plans to pull the brakes.

“You need to slow down!” you screamed.

The pink haired peeked at the rearview mirror, spotting the cops not too far behind them.

“Taeyong, stop!” Right before he could touch the stopped vehicles, he swerved the car abruptly to the empty lanes.

The lanes for the opposite direction.

You pulled at your hair, close to losing your sanity. “Are you fucking trying to kill us?”

The cops took a while to decide on the next course of action before following suit. He smirked, pleased with himself. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m good at this.”

Traffic was ongoing perpendicular to your direction and you were horrified with what the psycho was planning to do next. Without slowing the speed, Taeyong sped through the intersection once spotting an opening. Cars screeched to a stop and honked at the maniac driver.

This was a nightmare.

The very nightmare that the pink haired found thrilling.

Once on a street clear of any other vehicles besides yours and the police, you shouted, “I’m feeling fucking sick!”

“Hang in there. The show’s almost over.”

Wait…

What?

He checked the rearview again and the spacing was perfect. There were only two cars after them, making it easy for his plan to work.

Taeyong slammed the brakes and turned the steering wheel all the way, spinning the car 360 degrees. You screamed and held onto the handle tightly, shutting your eyes.

“Hold the wheel,” he said.

“What?”

He grabbed your hand and placed it on the steering wheel. “Hold it,” he directed. After you did, Taeyong pushed your head below the windows, clear from his aim. He lowered the glass barriers and shot at an incoming auto, aiming perfectly at the one in front of the other which resulted it to swerve out of control. This caused the one behind it to collide and flip over onto its roof. And not too long after-

BAAM!

It exploded into flames, ending the chase.

-

Taeyong stepped out of your new car and you followed, slamming the door shut angrily. “Why the fuck did you do that?” Your eyes moisten from the intense anger that built up inside.

He rounded the vehicle and stopped in front of you, alarming you when he suddenly grabbed your hand.

You tried to yank your hand free, but his grip was tight. “What the hell are you doing?”

His hand dug in his pocket for the stolen ring and slid it onto your ring finger. “I got this for you,” he spoke quietly while admiring the beauty that rested on your hand.

Your rage died for a moment, puzzled that he’d do such a thing to get you a ring. “Why?” Tears fell from its place and you wailed. “Why did you do it?” You never asked for any of this, from the theft to the shootings, to him even changing your car at a dealership who he was well acquainted with.

Taeyong shrugged coolly as if it was no big deal. “Just felt like it. I saw it and I wanted to get it for you. Usually I steal cars, so be honoured that I stole a beauty like that for you.” He winked at you and walked inside your house.

You took a moment to scream your frustration out, almost kicking the car before deciding against it. Walking in, you found the boy sprawled on the sofa, eyes closed.

“If you wanted to get me it, then you should have paid for it like a normal person would!”

He peeked at you through one eye. “Do you know how much that’s worth?”

It was a no brainer that it was expensive. But exactly how much… “No.”

“Twenty-five grand.”

Talk about getting all the wind knocked out of your lungs. That was nearly how much you’d make in a year and you were not going to wear it.

Especially when it was involved in a criminal act.

You ripped it off your finger and chucked it at him. He swiftly caught it as if he expected that reaction from you.

“Get the fuck out of my house! And don’t you dare show me your face again!”

Taeyong slowly sauntered to you, a predatory look in his eyes. You backed away from him trying to keep a distance until your backside met the wall. He trapped you in his arms, resting his hands on either sides of your face and wore a smug smile. “I can. But what will happen to you?”

You blinked and attempted to gulp down the ball forming at the back of your throat. “W-What do you mean?”

He lifted one hand off and showed you the ring. “They’ll be looking for this and footage from the security cameras will show that there was a boy and a girl that left together with the ring.”

Oh crap.

“I’m an expert at running away without getting caught, sweetheart. But if you don’t want to get caught, then you’ll have to keep me around. I’ll make sure both of us will be safe.” Taeyong leaned close to your ear, whispering with a hot breath that sent a shiver down your spine, “It’s my specialty.”