#worked on enemies to lovers amongst other things today

[joequiinn]

The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 4

[all chapters here]

summary: You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

notes & tropes: fem reader, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

a/n: Oooh lads, here we are again! I was going to save this chapter for tomorrow, but I'm having a bad day, so I decided to treat all of us with an update today! Not too much happens in this chapter, however, it still charmed me very much, and I'm the one who fucking wrote it lol. As always, enjoy and let me know what you think!

taglist: @costellation-hunter @daisyridleyss @damon-loves-pie @damp4eddie @delilaaahhh @kthomps914 @lotrefcp @marrowfrog00 @mewchiili @munsonssweets @no-bueno-writer @rach5ive @sav12321 @steeldaisies

wc: 4.0k

“What the hell?” Amelia hisses while practically slamming down her lunch tray. You looked up at her with feigned ignorance, your eyes cool as you took both her and Janet in. You’d once again attempted sitting at your new lunch table, the same dorky couple sharing it with you, amongst a few of their friends. Although the group briefly eyed you, they’d been ignoring you for the past few minutes. That is, until your friends showed up.

“What?” You asked before turning your attention back to your food.

“You know what.” Amelia insisted, staying on her feet with an irate look. You were shocked she even dared to come out here in no man’s land to talk to you for a second time. Janet, submissive as ever, stayed back, looking between you both with worried eyes, “Did you hit your head or something? Why are you suddenly so interested in Munson?”

Annoyance jaded your features. You settle your glaring eyes on Amelia, your voice just as accusatory as hers, “Why does it matter?”

She scoffed as if it was the most obvious thing in the word, “Because he’s a loser. What’s everyone gonna think if they keep seeing you two together? You already made a scene this morning, they’re already talking.”

You shrugged, far too nonchalantly for Amelia’s taste, as you spoke around a bite of food, which was actually your way of hiding the glee you felt knowing that people were already talking about you and Eddie, “Does it matter? Does any of this shit matter?”

“Of course it does.” Janet finally chimed in, her voice calm compared to Amelia, “You could get yourself in trouble hanging out with someone like him.”

You rolled your eyes before shooting her a condescending look, “When have I ever gotten in trouble for literally anything?”

“It’s bound to happen eventually.” Amelia countered, and you finally dropped your fork to look at them both, your frustration growing.

“If it bothers you so much,” You start, your tone cold and direct, as non-emotional and harsh as you could manage, “start hanging out with someone else. Start hanging around Duncan, for all I care. We have loads of other friends who I’m sure won’t do something as stupid as talking to a boy.”

Amelia rolled her eyes at the way you mocked them, familiar with the tone of voice you were using. She’s heard you use it at least half a dozen times before when you two had gotten into stupid arguments in the past.

“Look, whenever you’re done PMSing or whatever, you’ll see where we’re coming from.” With a finite look on her face, Amelia picked up her lunch tray again and headed off back to her familiar, comfortable lunch table. Janet gave you an apologetic look before scurrying off a moment later.

You should be upset. And, yes, a part of you was irritated by the conversation, and yet, a large smile spread across your face - you didn’t anticipate that you’d piss Amelia off so quickly and acutely. You two have fought a number of times before considering how easily your personalities could clash, but this felt like you actually accomplished something. Your plan was already working wonders, despite your continued doubts.

As you went back to your quiet lunch, you couldn’t help but watch your group of friends from afar, mostly in irritation, although you felt a mild pang of loss in your chest. They all looked so happy, so at ease with one another, and a part of you suddenly missed that feeling. But you knew you were just being nostalgic, because you wouldn’t feel any of those things if you sat with them - you wouldn’t feel happy or at ease, rather you’d feel annoyed and tense.

Yet you couldn’t help but that bit of sadness you felt at the sight of them.

Even Duncan, that asshole, looked cheery as he shared a laugh with the guys, clapping one of them on the shoulder. You couldn’t help but glower at the sight of him. Diverting your attention, your eyes began to scan the lunch room, wondering where exactly Eddie and his band of rejects sat. You’d never noticed before considering that it didn’t matter in the past, but it was probably a good idea to start keeping track of these types of things. 

You eventually found the gaggle of geeks, watching as they excitedly conversed. The mean-spirited part of you made a judgmental face, assuming they were talking about D&D or the arcade or something else equally as nerdy. After a few moments of taking in the group as a whole, you found yourself studying Eddie’s face, taking in his ever-changing expression; he didn’t seem to notice you watching him, which gave you a better chance at observing him.

Eddie was always theatrical, you realized, always throwing his arms around as he spoke or raising his voice for particular emphasis. You found it strange just how big his communication style was, especially considering how tightly wound you always were. Where he had his exaggerated movements and his dramatic tones, you had your tight motions and controlled voice. Just thinking about how different he was dared to give you a headache, and you caught yourself wondering what the hell you’d be in for once you two moved your fake relationship along.

Eventually, Eddie seemed to sense eyes on him, because his gaze found yours curiously. You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was able to see the movement from halfway across the cafeteria; when he made a face in return, you figured he noticed. He, too, raised both brows as if in question, nudging his head ever so slightly - it appeared that he was asking you to join him, but you couldn't be sure if that’s what he meant. Nonetheless, you shook your head at him, deciding that you were enjoying your quiet lunch and that you weren’t quite ready to put up with his group of loser friends for even five minutes. Regardless of whether or not you wanted to, you knew you’d get to that point eventually. Eddie gave a shrug of his shoulders, as if silently saying “suit yourself;” and although he turned his gaze back to his friends, you two continued stealing glances for the remainder of your lunch break.

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Come Wednesday morning, Amelia wasn’t waiting for you at your locker. No one was except for Janet, who looked tense before she spotted you walking towards her. She tried to put on a brave face once you two met eyes.

You figured this meant Amelia wasn’t planning on talking to you anytime soon. Good. As for the rest of the group, it didn’t matter to you either way. Although, it was still surprising to see Janet here by herself - she must’ve been sent by Amelia.

As you approached, Janet gave you a sheepish wave. You couldn't help the familial smile you gave her - she was a much easier person to get along with than most others in your circle.

“How long before Amelia talks to me this time?” You jested with a mean quality to your voice.

Janet didn’t appear to be amused by it, though, as she responded, “She’ll hold out forever if she feels like it.”

You huffed out a laugh while opening your locker, “Good point. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

You two were silent for a few long moments as Janet nibbled at her thumb nail and you moved belongings between your bag and your locker.

“What’s going on with you this week?” She finally asked, out of curiosity, rather than with judgment. Nonetheless, you shot her a look, to which she quickly waved her hands as if to calm down whatever bitchiness was about to stir up in you, “No no, I’m not trying to be mean. It’s just… you’ve been weird since school started.”

So, Janet noticed. You wondered if anyone else had. Maybe they’d all been ignoring it, but now that Eddie was in the mix they couldn’t keep that up anymore.

You shrugged as the pair of you began the trek through the halls to your respective classes, your answer noncommittal, “‘Weird,’ huh?”

Janet watched you as if she was waiting for you to elaborate, before sighing and asking, “Is there something going on? Like, something you need to talk about?”

You laughed without thinking, a mean and dismissive sound even to your own ears, “Yeah right.”

Hurt flashed across Janet’s face, her tone clearly different than it was a moment before, “Geez, sorry I asked.”

“Just stop worrying about it, alright?” You insisted with harshness, your eyes cold as you looked over at her.

With a resigned expression, Janet dropped her head and sighed, muttering as she walked away, “Yeah, whatever…”

It briefly struck you that maybe you didn’t have to be so bitchy all the time. But, then again, you didn’t really know how to be anything else.

Your day went on as usual from that point. You discussed a boring book in first period, you wasted time in second period, and once third period rolled around, a vague excitement struck you as you remembered that that was the one class you shared with Eddie. You should not have been excited at that thought, not in the slightest, and yet it added something interesting to your otherwise stupid and monotonous day.

When you entered the classroom, Eddie was already there, sitting at his usual desk in the back corner, looking bored despite class not even starting yet, drumming his pencil absently on his desk. As you approached and he spotted you out of the corner of his eye, he sat up a little in his seat, a nearly cute smile crossing his lips. Once you reached his side, the kid next to Eddie glanced up at you curiously, to which you made a face; meanwhile, Eddie just appeared surprised that you were the one to initiate conversation.

“Didn’t see you this morning.” You started simply, crossing your arms in front of you.

“I was late.” He shrugged lazily before giving you a conspiratory look, “What, were you waiting for me?”

You narrowed your eyes a little at his teasing, responding in a flat tone, “Oh, I was absolutely heartbroken.”

“Figured.” Eddie grinned widely, to which you responded with a subtle smile.

You turned away and went to your desk in the second row, surrounded by other students who were part of your usual circle of acquaintances. While waiting for class to start, you looked around the room, your gaze unintentionally drifting back towards Eddie. You studied him for a few moments before a decisive look graced your features and you abruptly stood back up. The movement caused a couple of people to glance your way, but otherwise no one cared.

You walked to the back of the room, turning your attention on the boy sitting next to Eddie, who awkwardly looked between you and his desk as if he were nervous under your gaze, as if he feared looking you in the eye.

“Move.” You say harshly. He looks at you in surprise and confusion, to which you raise a curved brow as if challenging him to defy you, “Move.”

You didn’t have to repeat yourself again. With a surprised scoff, he collected his things and migrated to the next available seat, which was sure to throw off the entire seating arrangement of the class for the day. As you plopped down at the desk next to Eddie’s, he laughed halfheartedly, his expression just as surprised as the other boy’s.

“Jesus, you are mean.” He states, although his eyes seem to show at least a hint of appreciation. You shrug, pulling your notebook and pencil from your bag.

“Well, I wanted to sit here.”

“Ever heard of the word ‘please?’” Eddie teased, shaking his head at you. You gave him a look out of the corner of your eye, refraining from talking back.

As the bell rang and the stragglers migrated in, people began to notice your change of seat. Some people looked at you strangely, others with disapproval, and the rest just didn't seem to notice or care at all. Hell, even your teacher had to pause and search for you during attendance, realizing you weren’t at your usual desk. Her vague hum of disapproval was enough to get a few students to shoot glances your way. As if in response, Eddie stretched his leg across the aisle to rest his foot on the metal basket beneath your seat.

Math class came and went, and as you walked out of the room, Eddie followed right alongside. As you led the way to your next class, Eddie playfully bumped your shoulder with his, which was starting to become a common thing between you two already, a quick way for him to break the rules you laid out for him.

You glanced up at him with a raised brow, “Yes?”

Eddie shrugged, looking falsely nonchalantly, causing you to narrow your eyes in confusion and perhaps mild annoyance. The playfulness wasn’t something you were accustomed to, nor did you think you ever would.

“You gonna sit with us at lunch?” He asked, to which you pulled a face, causing him to laugh without amusement, “I take it that’s a ‘no.’”

“I didn’t exactly factor your friends into this plan.”

Eddie looked nearly amused, but also perhaps a touch critical, “What did you factor in?”

You made a face, but he continued to simply look down at you with a slight grin. You sighed in response, chewing the inside of your cheek with thought.

“I guess we need to come up with some more rules.”

“Do I get to make some this time?” Eddie joked.

You rolled your eyes smally, “I’ll allow it.”

“Then I guess it’s a date.” You paused momentarily to look up at him with narrowed eyes.

“You still have to actually ask me out, that doesn’t count,” The pair of you reach your biology classroom, so you pause outside the door. “I’m expecting those flowers and balloons, you know.”

“I’m sure you are.” Eddie mocked, that damned grin still across his lips.

Students brushed past you to enter the classroom, and you briefly wondered if Duncan - who you shared this class with - was already here, if he had noticed the two of you. But you didn’t dare to look into the classroom, because just your luck he’d figure you were looking for him. But as that thought crossed your mind, you took a small step closer into Eddie’s personal space, putting on your best look of interest as you stared up at him. Eddie first appeared flustered and confused, but he quickly brushed it off as he seemed to slowly realize what you were doing.

“You’re not half bad at this, you know,” Eddie teased, his eyes shining as he said in a slightly lower voice, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost believe you liked me.”

Despite yourself, your cheeks warmed a little, but you hoped that it wasn’t obvious. Or maybe you did want it to be obvious. There was just something about Eddie’s tone that threw you off your rhythm, and you mentally kicked yourself for it.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” The flirty expression on your face juxtaposed your flat tone, and Eddie’s face looked almost wicked in response.

“No, that’s supposed to be your job.”

You had to pull your eyes away from Eddie’s - you had absolutely no interest in him, but this performative flirting was starting to mess with you a little. That’s something you’d have to work on as well, because you didn’t need this plan to confuse you one bit.

You didn’t realize how long the two of you had been standing in the hallway, as the ring of the fourth period bell nearly startled you. You found Eddie’s eyes again, giving him as cute a smile as you could muster.

“Go before you land yourself in detention.” You instructed; Eddie grinned widely while shaking his head.

“I practically run detention.” He, again, brushed his fingers along the small of your back as he moved past you, holding your eyes as you watched him go, “I’ll catch you later.”

You gave a small wave before dipping into the classroom, eyes roaming over everyone as you walked to your seat. You caught Duncan looking at you knowingly.

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By Friday afternoon, Amelia was over your spat earlier in the week, insisting that you sit with them at lunch, to which you begrudgingly agreed after she kept pestering you. Well, maybe she wasn’t entirely over it - her snide little comments throughout the week made that abundantly clear. But, just as most teenagers do, she chose to pretend it didn’t happen and go on with life as usual. She ignored the little glances Eddie would shoot you in the hall, the little knowing looks you two shared, and you didn’t mention your new seat next to him in math class.

After classes ended for the day, you were amongst a group of students lingering in the parking lot, everyone discussing that night’s football game and other upcoming plans for the weekend. You actually managed to hold a half-decent conversation with a couple of the cheerleaders and a boy you once upon a time had a crush on back in freshman year; that never went beyond making out drunkenly a couple times at parties. Nearby, Duncan entertained a group with some story that probably wasn’t as interesting as everyone acted; he hadn’t acknowledged you this entire time, and had made it a point of ignoring you since Wednesday.

The group seemed to be in agreement that they’d all go out after the football game, and of course it was presumed that meant everyone, including you. You avoided saying anything on the subject so you wouldn’t be held accountable for it later.

At some point in your conversation, your former crush made a puzzled face at something past your shoulder. You mirrored his expression curiously, looking behind you to see what caught his attention.

Eddie was approaching the group. You had to give him credit, it was ballsy to come up to a dozen popular kids as the guy who was almost universally hated in this school. In that moment, you appreciated Eddie’s confidence and lack of fear.

You decided you’d rather spare yourself the headache of everyone ganging up on Eddie, so stealing a glance at the group, you slid off the hood of the car you sat on, walking away from them without another word. As you met him halfway, Eddie gave you a devilish grin, his eyes drifting from you to the crowd of kids just beyond your shoulder. You raised your brow challengingly at him, but managed a small half-smile at his presence.

You briefly wondered what they were all thinking, what they were all saying. You hoped it was nothing good at all.

“They sure look happy to see me.” Eddie commented, casually sliding his hands in his pockets with a lazy grin once you two came together.

Just like you’ve been working on, you stood closer to Eddie than you would have liked, giving a performance even as your back was turned to all of your friends and acquaintances. You needed to be convincing at all times, so you tried to think about all the little details that would suggest you were interested in Eddie, even if no one could see your face - leaning in as you spoke, twiddling your fingers, etc.

“So, are you asking me out now?” You tilted your head to one side as you asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

A small huff escaped Eddie’s nose, “You’re a real romantic, you know that, princess?”

“Aren’t I just?” You taunted, eyes narrowing.

Keeping his face cool, Eddie leaned forward so you were nearly eye level with one another, a smirk still resting on his lips as he responded in a prodding tone, “I’m going to ask you out now. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

You made a face at his mocking tone, but nodded nonetheless, staring at him impatiently. Eddie put on an extra charming smile for the audience inevitably watching your interaction as he stood back to his full height.

“Then in that case,” He paused to eye you up and down with an expression you’d never seen on his face before - if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve bought it, and you nearly flushed at that thought. Eddie projected his voice, not so loud that it was obvious, but just enough that some of your friends were certain to hear him, “So, what do you say? Let me take you out tonight, anywhere you want.”

“Tonight?” You asked with actual surprise while Eddie smiled at you with a charming look on his face.

“Unless you have something better going on.” Eddie taunted while stealing a glance at the group behind you, his expression growing almost too cocky considering that you both knew that you couldn’t say “no.”

You were certain the group was watching your conversation unabashedly, if Eddie’s attentive eyes were anything to go on. You traced your tongue along your lower lip as you drew out the moment just as Eddie had done to you before. When it seemed that you were taking too long, his gaze flicked back down to you.

“I really hope you don’t have something better going on.” He added as if he were getting nervous, as if this was real and the feeling of rejection was creeping up on him. You raised your brows tauntingly, your expression a little mean, and Eddie realized you did this on purpose. He just had to refrain from letting his impatience show on his face.

You finally show him mercy, adding a flirty smile despite the fact that your friends still couldn’t see your face, “Anywhere I want, huh?”

You could practically feel the impatient exhale that escaped Eddie, his eyes showing the slightest bit of annoyance at you. But he kept that charming grin in place.

“Anywhere.”

“Then it’s a date.” Your tone is a little brighter as you try to convey excitement.

You turn back in the direction of the group so that you could walk to your car, Eddie coming up alongside you. Your stride is confident despite all eyes on you, and you can see some of them whispering to one another. As you breeze past with Eddie beside you, you see Duncan shaking his head in disbelief, while another friend makes a harsh comment about Eddie.

“Pick me up at 7,” You start to instruct, letting your cool eyes look over the crowd of popular kids, “figure out if any good movies are showing, I’m craving popcorn.”

Once you two reach your car, you lean your rear back against the driver door while looking up at Eddie who now had his back to the group. You almost enjoyed the reversal, as you were able to catch every small glance sent your way by Amelia, Janet, and everyone else; now you could see just how harshly everyone had been staring at you before.

You whispered, forcing Eddie to stand a little closer, “We’re not actually going out tonight, I have something going on.”

“Damn,” Eddie teased with a false grin, “you got my hopes up.”

“But we do need to make plans soon,” You continue, ignoring his sarcasm, “We have to figure out how this is going to work.”

“And it’d be nice if your fake boyfriend actually knew anything about you.” Eddie added, to which you made a face despite knowing he had a point. A curious look crossed his face, as if what you said about having plans just a moment ago was finally setting in, “So… what do you have going on tonight?”

“Not telling.” You answer simply as you give him a wicked grin. Your eyes trail back to the group of your former friends for a split second, and in an impulsive act of defiance, you lean up to kiss Eddie on the cheek, his barely-there stubble tickling your lips. You pulled back with a flirty look, desperately fighting the impulse to make a face at the physical contact that you just initiated, “We’ll talk next week, Munson.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #em #dos and donts

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 0.6 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

In Verona, you’re an outcast. Bradley’s determined to make up for the day before.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance, professor / student relationship, age gap ( 22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity, them actually getting along for once?, kissing, bradley has a corruption kink and doesn’t know it. wc: 7.35k

…

“I don’t know why you’re bringing this up now.” His voice grew agitated on the other end of the line. Understandably, he expected a delightful update on your sunny summer in Italy and was blindsided by you bringing up a fight from last year. “It’s been months. We’ve moved on.”

The phone pinned between your cheek and your shoulder, you fidgetted nervously with the band around your finger, inspecting the expensive diamond that sits on top of it. Hearing the annoyance in his voice, you should have stopped there, and told him that it didn’t matter. You hadn’t.

“I know, I know we have,” Your voice trembled. Your fiancé sighed hard on the other end of the line. “But the last thing I remember is being at that party with you. If I hurt you, Malcolm—“

“I asked you to marry me.” He blurted out, abrupt and biting. There was no point lying to you. There never had been, you would never let something like this go. He was upset. You could tell. You had continued anyway.

Your brows knitted together. “No… you proposed to me at my parents’ house. O-On Christmas Eve.”

“I did,” Malcolm breathed out through gritted teeth. Thinking of how you had humiliated him that night isn’t a fond memory. “But I asked you to marry me that night, at that party, without a ring. I told you that you’re the love of my life and I asked you to spend the rest of your life with me.”

You had closed your eyes, trying to force yourself to think. You still don’t know how anyone is supposed to reply to that.

“And you cried your eyes out, then left me standing there like an idiot.”

This morning, you’re sitting silently in a library with a notebook in front of you, trying to fathom how you could have done that to him. You wonder if he told anyone but you about that. You had spoken with your mother about marriage not long before he had proposed on Christmas Eve — you had agreed to marry him enthusiastically that day.

How is it that less than a month before, he could have asked you the same question, and your instinct was to run? — Not only to run, but to kiss another man. To spite Malcolm maybe. To act out. Whatever it was, you can’t pretend that it isn’t a relief to know that Bradley wasn’t the reason.

You hadn’t kissed him because he mattered, just because you were drunk and scared.

He’s standing at the end of the table now. Is long and wooden, not dissimilar to the one in the university library. He’s wearing a plain black t-shirt and faded blue jeans, speaking confidently in Italian to the restoration technician that you’re here to work with today.

This is one of the first pieces of actual research that the students have been allowed to engage in so far on this trip. You’re not thrilled about it. Trying to piece together some old man’s memoirs so that Bradley can write about it.

Bradley’s in a world of his own anyway, deep in conversation about what’s in front of him. Since he got here this morning, all that he has done in terms of being a teacher was to list eight roles and tell you to decide amongst each other who would be doing what.

Deemed the least intelligent by all of your peers simultaneously, you’re just the scribe. Taking notes on observations that they have, that Bradley could one day use when he writes about this. It’s bullshit, and it doesn’t seem fair, but you won’t argue with them on it. They already dislike you enough.

And you’re still reeling from last night. No wonder Malcolm wouldn’t speak to you for three days. No wonder he hadn’t followed you out into the snow. You’d just broken his heart.

The day of no work passes by exceptionally slowly. Your only reprieve is Pasquale, telling you stories about his mother’s farm. It’s not something that you would care much about if you were back home, but here, it’ll do.

“So, what do you think of Verona?” Pasquale asks as he flicks through an anthology. His role is more important than yours and he isn’t even here for a grade.

You shoot a look towards the end of the table and watch Bradley pull a loose pair of glasses from his pocket, setting them on the bridge of his nose and leaning closer to examine a text. He doesn’t even have a case for his glasses.

“I, uh — haven’t seen too much of it yet. I stayed in last night, and I’ve been here all day today.” You explain to him, tapping the end of your pen absently against the page.

Bradley takes the page carefully from the technician and frowns as he brings it closer to his face. When he’s serious, faint creases appear between his brows, his lips point down. His eyes narrow slightly.

“You really should. It’s the city of love, you know. You could find your husband a souvenir, maybe. When we have time off tomorrow.” Pasquale tells you with a big grin. You offer him a weak grin in return. You’re lucky to even have someone that wants to be your husband after what you did. Either way, Pasquale seems to like you.

He’s about the only person here that does.

That’s only confirmed later when Bradley steps out of the bathroom in a towel and finds Luke buttoning a salmon coloured Ralph Lauren button up.

“Going out?” Bradley questions, walking over to the desk for his cigarettes before he thinks about his clothes.

“Uh-huh. We’re all going for dinner in the city.” Luke confirms as Bradley scrunches his nose at the obnoxious cologne smell coming from that side of the room.

“All of you?” Bradley checks as he puts the cigarette between his lips and lights it. Luke scoffs, angling himself towards the awkwardly short mirror on their vanity. He rolls one sleeve up to his elbow and squints.

“I’m not inviting her. They’ll kill me.” He shakes his head, glancing over at Bradley and trying to remember how Bradley wears his button ups. Sleeves rolled, definitely.

“She wouldn’t be as bad if she had friends to keep her occupied.” Bradley notes, stepping into a pair of blue boxers and draping the damp towel over his shoulder, exhaling through the corner of his mouth.

“And I wish her the best of luck in finding some. It’s not gonna be me. Anyway, I have to go. See you later!” Luke pats Bradley’s bare shoulder and steps around him, heading for the door before they can discuss this further. It swings shut behind him.

Bradley sighs, leaning his head back towards the ceiling, the lit cigarette dangling between his index and middle fingers.

As much as he would like to avoid you after you’d thrown him off of you last night, the thought of you eating alone in your room just doesn’t sit right with him. Or, even worse, you venturing out by yourself.

The thought of last night makes him want to drive to the nearest beach, dig a reasonably sized hole, and bury his head in the sand. He’s never felt dirtier. The thought that he went further than you wanted him to.

The fact that you’re his student. He doesn’t do that. He isn’t one of the creeps that drools over the girls on campus. Christ, you’re the first girl he’s ever kissed that’s more than a year younger than him. He just needs to put it behind him.

So, he pulls on a pair of faded, light blue Levi’s 501s and a white button up that’s tolerably ironed, then heads up a flight of stairs and down the hall.

You flinch at the knocking on your door.

Bradley blinks as you tug it open moments later. Then, looks you slowly up and down. You’re wearing a cute button up pyjama set. He furrows his brows at you.

“It’s 6pm.” He points out disapprovingly. He really can’t help it. He could have told you that he actually thinks the little hearts on them are kind of cute.

“So? I don’t have anywhere to be.” You answer back, frowning up at him as always.

“Yeah. About that, uh — me either,” He’s trying not to be patronizing about this. He doesn’t want you to feel like he’s taking pity on you. This isn’t necessarily pity. You also just started trying in his class and it would be a shame if you quit now. “Do you want to get dinner?”

“With you?” You gawk.

He shrugs. This is more awkward than he hoped it would be, but he can’t blame you after the way things went yesterday. “Yeah. Unless you know anyone else who’d like to join us.”

“I’ll get ready.” You decide quietly. He gives you a small nod and starts to step back.

“Alright. I’ll meet you in the lobby in… twenty?”

It’s a good thing that he gets down there early, because so do you. You’re more dressed up than he was expecting, but then, so is he. His shirt doesn’t even have any wrinkles in it today.

Bradley looks you slowly up and down as you walk towards him. He doesn’t know what to call the style of dress you’re wearing. Thin straps that tie at the shoulders, a sweetheart neckline and a lightweight georgette fabric. You’re wearing a pretty necklace that compliments the neckline, elegantly small hoop earrings with pearl drops. Those are probably real pearls.

You’ve dressed the outfit down slightly with summery loafers instead of heels. All that does is make Bradley have to tip his chin down to look you in the eye when you’re up close.

“So. Do you know a place?” You exhale, hugging your purse closer to your body. It matches your shoes.

Bradley shakes his head dumbly.

“No,” He answers quietly. Then, he realizes he’s being ridiculous. He’s been on plenty of dates, there’s no reason to be nervous. Except this isn’t a date. Because you’re getting married. And you’re his student. He clears his throat like that will help clear the momentary fog in his brain. “No. But there are a tonne of places around here. We’ll find somewhere.”

The two of you step out into the still warm evening, the sun still pretty high overhead. It’s quiet out, quieter than when you had first arrived. It makes you feel exceptionally alone next to Bradley.

As the two of you walk in a painstakingly heavy silence, you consider briefly if you should apologize for calling him an animal yesterday. After all, you were the one to kiss him. But his hands are big, and they’re heavy, and you could feel them starting to trail along your skin.

You swallow at the thought, shooting a quick glance at the back of his head. His shoulders look wide, and strong, when he’s not wearing a shirt that’s a size too big. Not only could you feel his hands starting to roam, but his tongue too. That, you remember well.

It hadn’t been forceful, or even really too intrusive. Just like he would push his tongue out to wet his lips, he had pressed close to you and gently trailed his tongue along the seam of your lips. That hadn’t ever happened before. Malcolm doesn’t kiss like that. Really, he’s your only point of reference.

So, when Bradley’s tongue had flicked knowingly against your bottom lip, maybe you had parted them. Just a little bit. But then his tongue was in your mouth, trailing against your own and — nice girls don’t kiss like that. Not any nice girl that you’ve ever known anyway.

“How’s this place look?”

You’ve been following him blindly and daydreaming about his tongue long enough now that he has led you down a side street. Peach coloured stone buildings on either side, lanterns on the walls that aren’t lit yet and a string of mostly empty restaurants.

Bradley’s standing by one covered in plants. The awning is practically entirely green with foliage. The railings outside are the same, flowers tucked into small vases on each table. You’re surprised, honestly, that he picked it. It’s pretty.

You turn your head and he’s looking right at you. The first thing to cross your mind is his hands flexing around your waist, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips.

“This is fine.”

He doesn’t untuck your chair for you, but you wouldn’t have expected him too. This is the same man that would have happily had sex with a married woman on a balcony on a work trip. God, and you let him kiss you.

Bradley catches you grimacing at your menu. “What? — Not a fan of Italian food?”

You look quickly back up at him. There’s a caught look on your face that he can’t quite place. Like you’re waiting for him to tell you that you’re in trouble. “Huh? — No. I like Italian food. What are you getting?”

Bradley looks between you and the menu, wondering if he’ll ever get to a point where he understands you.

“Uh…” He has no idea. He hasn’t even read the menu, he’s just been looking at it so that he doesn’t have to look at you. He exhales. “Do you drink wine?”

Whether the wine helps is debatable. In terms of loosening the two of you up to the point that you can actually have a conversation without burning with embarrassment, it’s a great success. In terms of professionalism and keeping up with boundaries, it is not.

You’ve both eaten, you’ve finished an entire bottle of Malbec and you’re a glass and a have into the second bottle — and Bradley’s a lot funnier tonight than he is normally. There’s a connection between those two things, you’re sure.

Even if it’s just that he’s feeling relaxed enough to actually tell you something interesting about himself for once.

“I was taking a still life art class in Tuscany,” He brings the glass to his mouth and takes a drink of the sweet, red liquid. Relaxed back into the chair, it’s like you’re watching a movie star give an interview when he smiles at you. “Staying with a family outside of Siena. They had a daughter, Maria. She was about a year and a half older than I was, and um…”

He trails, biting his cheek as he sets the glass down on the white table cloth again. The candle flickers in its glass jar between you. With one leg crossed over the other, you’re watching him with your own glass sitting in your hand and a smile on your face. The pale blue of your dress makes your skin glow, your hair is tucked back on one side with a pearl barrette. Verona looks good on you.

Bradley chuckles and pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, she — she taught me a lot.”

There’s a brief moment of sense where he sits back and pushes fingers through his curls, shaking his head. Where you can see it in his face that he’s telling himself that this isn’t right. You’re his student.. He exhales amusedly, “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

He shouldn’t have had his tongue in your mouth yesterday.

“You can’t leave it on that cliffhanger! Come on, I won’t tell.” You grin across the table at him and he bites his lip, visibly grimacing at the memory.

You laugh at him, watching his cheeks turn red on the other side of the table. Breeze catches your hair and brushes it back off of your shoulders. Bradley feels himself grimacing as he thinks back to that time. He can’t believe he’s sharing this with you.

“Y’know, I was in the middle of the Italian countryside but this girl was… she was experienced enough long before I met her. But her father was the town’s butcher, and he had some livestock of his own, and one day Maria and I were… fooling around in the granary…”

“Oh my god, Bradley, no.” Your eyes go wide and you sit upright, breaking into a fit of laughter again. Red faced and reliving every moment of the embarrassment he had felt on that August day eleven years ago, he can’t help but laugh with you as he covers his face with his hands.

“He came after me with a meat cleaver, screaming about how I’d, uh, deflowered his little angioletto.” Bradley admits finally from behind his hands. Even with his face covered, that red blush is already spreading down his neck and onto his chest. You watch it go between the open buttons at the top of his white button up.

The sound of your laughter in front of him is the only thing that makes him pull his hands away from his face. He’s got to see the smile that goes with it. Blinking, he’s quiet for a moment. Candlelight from the lanterns overhead and from the table bathe you in a warm light. The centuries old buildings behind you. The smile on your face. He smiles back at you.

“You know what I find hardest to believe about that story?” You ask him, smiling as you lean forwards and set the wine glass down, propping your chin against your palm.

“What’s that?”

“That you were taking an art class for an entire summer.” It just seems so out of character. He’s all about facts and analysis, using sources to come to a conclusion. Sure, his focus is literature, but so far he hasn’t seemed especially creative.

Bradley chuckles, giving a quick shrug of his broad shoulders. “I can draw. I learned some interesting stuff, got kind of good. Painting… not so much. I failed that class.”

The admission makes your jaw go slack, eyes widening in excitement. He just sits back, lips quirked in amusement as you hit the table and point across at him.

“You hypocrite! Putting love before your studies!” You accuse, grinning at him. He laughs, really laughs, leaning his head back and shaking it at you. Your mind starts to wander in the absence of his eyes on you. Him, at your age. Here in this place, taking an art class.

Maybe the two of you would have liked each other. Maybe in another universe, you would be the kind of girl to be kissing him hard in a granary on a summer day.

“I wouldn’t call what Maria and I had love.” He’s still smiling as he makes the decision. If there was ever much of a decision to make in the first place. Bradley knows what being in love feels like, both in written fact and in personal terms. Head over heels, heart-thudding devotion.

“Sex. Putting sex before your studies.” You correct yourself, still grinning as you take a sip of the wine. Bradley watches your tongue leave your mouth to catch a droplet of the aged red intoxicant from your bottom lip. He studies you from the short distance between you. Sun kissed and with the kind of smile on your face that threatens to have you spilling over into laughter again any minute now.

There’s a small silence between the two of you. The bustle of Verona at night just a few streets away. The two of you, tucked away here. It feels private. Even with the wait staff, the few other guests, Bradley hasn’t looked at anything but you in a while now.

“I just don’t get it,” Bradley says softly, staring across at you like he’s searching for his answer on your face. On a good track to finishing this second bottle of wine, you take another drink from your glass and simply raise your eyebrows at him. “Why you’re waiting until you marry this guy.”

The wine sits on your tongue, still, as you blink at him. Shit. Bradley lifts his palm in defense. This is nice, the last thing he wants is to argue with you.

“It’s none of my business, I know — and it’s your decision. I just don’t get it.”

He watches you swallow the wine in your mouth and look down at your knees, silent for a moment. While you’re thinking, Bradley’s thinking too, of a million ways to apologize and change the topic as quickly as possible.

“There are two reasons.” You tell him quietly, sounding uncertain in yourself already. Bradley’s watching you intently when you look up. “But if you tell anyone then I’ll call you a liar to your face and make this entire trip hell for you. Understood?”

His lips twitch, almost smiling. “Understood.”

“The first reason is that it’s what’s expected of me. I’m a nice girl, from a nice family and nice girls don’t have bad reputations.”

“Having sex with your long-term boyfriend would give you a bad reputation?” Bradley questions, brows drawing together. It’s times like these that you believe he grew up in California. He doesn’t understand the social lives of these North-Eastern socialite mothers.

“Yes.” You deadpan, sitting up a little bit straighter. “And the second reason is that we tried, once. And never again since.”

“Tried.” Bradley repeats to you, squinting his eyes slightly. He mulls over the word, then wets his lips with his tongue. He’s preparing to speak again.

You beat him to it, giving a calm shrug. “We were eighteen. I wasn’t the problem. That’s all I’ll say.”

His lips quirk upwards into a small smile. Your hot shit boyfriend couldn’t keep it up. Bradley’s smart enough not to say anything else on the matter, and instead asks you how you’re liking the book that Pasquale gave you. The two of you finish the bottle of wine in polite conversation.

Bradley calls the waiter over and asks for the bill. It sounds like he’s polite about it. Once it has been set down between the two of you, you’re both quick to reach for your wallets.

“I’ve got it.” Bradley waves you off, opening up a brown leather wallet. You look at him through your lashes, squinting dubiously.

“Since when are you a gentleman?” You play, lips quirked. A week ago, this would have started an argument. Maybe you’re growing on him. He just smiles and shoots you a quick wink, dropping the notes onto the bill.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He jokes back, starting to close his wallet on the other side of the table.

“What’s that picture in your wallet?” Your eyes linger on the black and white photo booth picture in his phone. Bradley’s gaze shoots between the picture and you. He pulls it from the sleeve and passes it across the table to you.

Briefly, your eyes widen. The man in the picture looks so much like Bradley that you think the woman in the picture must be an ex. And then you look across to the woman, and somehow he looks even more like her than he does the man.

He watches your lips quirk softly into a smile as you inspect the grainy picture. No explanation needed, you know exactly who they are.

“You look like your mom.” You tell him gently. Her blonde hair is settled into short curls in the picture, the man at her side is practically beaming. He looks happy in a way you’ve never seen Bradley match, maybe that’s it.

“Really? — Most people say I look like my dad.” He comments, resting his forearms on the table to lean over and examine the photo for himself. You smile at him, lifting the picture up and holding it next to his face.

There’s a brief quiet between the two of you. Bradley’s still, trying to keep his face neutral as you study the differences. His lips twitch. The serious look on your face just makes him smile. Once he’s smiling, your decision is made.

“You do,” You nod, glancing between him and the picture. “You’ve got your mom’s lips. And her eyes, I think. She’s really pretty.”

You look up, picture still between your index and thumb. He’s pretty. Tanned from days strolling around northern Italy, the golden colour to his skin just makes his freckles more pronounced. It makes his eyes less dark, more of a golden honey colour. Everything, just a little bit warmer.

Bradley’s silent for a moment, watching you watch him. You can see the idea cross his mind. He smiles and reaches out for his picture back, pushing up from the table as he sets it into the wallet.

“You want to see something cool?” He pushes the wallet back into the pocket of his faded blue jeans and the look in his eye tells you that this night is far from over.

Your instinct should probably be to reconcile with your fiancé. To apologize, maybe. But, Malcolm told you to come back with stories to tell, and hiding in your hotel room isn’t much of a story.

The smile on your face is answer enough, Bradley nudges his elbow into yours and rests his hand against the small of your back to guide you in the right direction.

“It’s not that far, I promise. Across the bridge and up some steps.” Bradley tells you, dropping his hand from your back once you’re walking at his side.

He’s right. It’s really not that long of a walk at all. Not with him being your tour guide every step of the way. He walks you across the Ponte Pietra, which is a stone bridge built in 100 BC, making it the oldest bridge in Verona.

From there, it’s a short walk through some more paved streets and up some steps to the Castel San Pietro. Of course, not without first hearing a brief recount of its history. Bradley doesn’t really know much about this spot, much more than he has picked up as a visitor in past visits anyway.

Still, he’s a firm believer in leaving a girl impressed on the first date. He’s able to answer every single one of your questions with ease. As he had hoped, you sit at his side on a stone wall, facing the city, impressed.

It’s after a comfortable silence has fallen between the two of you that you ask him a question of your own.

“Do you believe in fate?” Your cheek presses into the muscle of his shoulder, staring out over the lights of the city. Bradley exhales an amused noise from beside you. Like the notion itself is something to laugh at.

“No. Do you?”

“I haven’t made my mind up yet,” You tell him, kicking your feet just slightly. There’s more of a breeze up here, a slight chill now that the sun is down. “Plenty of intelligent people believe in fate.”

He nods at your side. “Of course.”

“Shakespeare did. Romeo and Juliet’s all about fate.”

He makes a sound, but doesn’t shake his head. “It’s about human will and making the wrong choice.”

Bradley has a way of replying when it comes to discussions like this that makes it sound like he’s correcting you when he’s just stating his opinion. You fight the urge to roll your eyes and instead lift your head to look at him.

“Okay, so the prologue of the play tells the audience exactly what’s going to happen. It doesn’t just foreshadow, it explicitly tells us that the two families hate each other and that the lovers will die. Right?”

“Right.” He confirms to you with a brief nod.

“‘Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife’. The feud would never have ended if they weren’t to fall in love and die. The entire structure of the play is this tragic fate that neither one can escape from.”

Bradley’s eyes flicker over your face. He turns his head towards the city and smiles. “I know. I wanted you to explain it and I feel like I can’t get a straight answer from you unless I piss you off sometimes.”

Your mouth gapes. Bradley flinches as you jab a finger into his ribs and laugh at his side, making him turn back towards you grinning. He chuckles along, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe you just quoted Shakespeare at me. I’ve been busting my balls trying to get you a C in my class and you’ve got passages from Shakespeare memorized.” He muses. When he turns his attention back to the city this time, he leans back on his palms to observe it. Your cheek presses softly into his shoulder once more.

He feels you squeeze closer to him for warmth.

“My grades weren’t ever bad. I still got into an Ivy League. I’m not dumb.” It’s playful in the way that you say it, but you’re not joking.

“No, you’re not dumb.” Bradley agrees. You’re just wasting your potential on being nothing but that kid’s wife. He keeps his mouth shut. Even though the two bottles of wine are telling him that you need to hear it, he’s got enough sense not to.

Bradley lifts his palm and drapes his arm around your shoulder. You shift closer, pressing into the warmth of his torso. Silently, the two of you look out over the city.

You set the curve in your English literature classes once upon a time. Back when you were still trying. Your work was showcased at school fundraisers. It’s easy to convince yourself that you have wholeheartedly believed in every decision you have made so far. That at this age, you have no regrets.

If that were true, you would have been happy the first time that Malcolm had proposed. You wouldn’t have kissed Bradley. You wouldn’t have done it again yesterday.

This doesn’t feel like the right decision either. It can’t be, when it would cost you everything back home.

A light turning on in a bedroom across the river catches your eye. From here, you can’t see much other than her silhouette. A woman, changing alone in her room.

Turning your attention instead towards the sky, you think about the fate Shakespeare wrote about. Ill-fated love that ultimately leads to death, but is inevitable.

Malcolm wouldn’t lead you to your death. Life with him would be safe and comfortable. Close to home with a pleasant income — in-laws that get along with your parents just fine. And yet, that fate does nothing but make your heartbeat thud in your ears.

“You know that Shakespeare wasn’t the first to write about the Montagues and the Capulets?” Bradley interrupts the silence and almost makes you jump out of your skin. Your fiddle with your cuticles, staring down at your knees.

“Really?”

“Dante.” Bradley answers quietly. “This poem he wrote in the fourteenth century that he wrote, the Divine Comedy, he wrote about two warring Italian families. The Montagues and the Capulets.”

His thumb strokes softly at your shoulder as he nods his head. “Like two hundred and fifty years before Shakespeare did.”

“So?”

“So?” Bradley scoffs, pulling his arm back from your shoulder and squeezing playfully at the nape of your neck. You turn and find him looking at you. Your lips twitch. “So, I’m sharing a fun fact with you. So. You’ve got an attitude, you know that?”

The sun is down now and the thin tie straps, the soft georgette fabric, neither does much to ward the chill of the evening air from up where you’re sitting. Even pressed into Bradley’s side, the cold grazes you suddenly and makes you shiver.

“Come on. Let’s go.” He squeezes your nape playfully once more and gestures his head back the way you had come. Standing up, he almost drapes his arm around your shoulder again out of instinct. He pushes his hands into the pockets of his faded Levi’s.

Neither one of you really says anything, but the walk is far from quiet. It’s like he can hear you thinking. The soles of your cream coloured loafers are quiet along the paved streets, you trail just slightly behind him. He knows you’re just taking in the scenery, but it’s not in his nature to let someone walk alone in a foreign city after dark. He finds himself slowing to the point that he’s dawdling by your side.

“You know we have three more days here, right?” He tells you.

“I know, it’s just pretty,” You answer back, not bothering to turn your gaze back towards him. He watches you taking everything in. “Why, you have somewhere to be?”

“No, but you’re cold.” Bradley points out.

You just roll your eyes and stop walking to correct him. He bumps his shoulder into yours and grabs either side of your waist with both hands, guiding you abruptly forwards.

“Don’t argue. You’re shivering.” He leans forward to tell you softly. Biting your cheek, you push your elbow back into his stomach. He scoffs and nudges you forwards again. His hands are still on your waist when he’s guiding you through the hotel lobby and up the stairs.

Your floor is one up from his, but neither one of you says a word when he skips his all together and keeps walking. Bradley wouldn’t dare call this a date, but he has never let a woman walk home alone after a first date. He walks you to your door wordlessly.

As he opens his mouth to thank you, and tell you goodnight, he watches you pluck the silver key from your bag and push it into the lock. The latch clicks compliantly and you walk inside, leaving it open behind you. Bradley glances down at the threshold, and back at you.

“Here,” You breathe out, crossing to the small dressing table in the corner and picking up the sheets of lined paper there. Bradley rests his forearm against the doorframe, apparently taking the vampire approach after his overstep yesterday. “I finished the practice exam.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He blinks. The expectation is that you’ll turn and bring the paper over to him any second now. Instead, you turn your head and look at him over your shoulder.

“Are you going to come look?”

Fuck. Bradley nods. He swallows and dips his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans as he walks inside, a silent reminder to keep his hands to himself. You had told him no yesterday, and one mistake is more than enough. He’s old enough to know better.

His shoulder brushes yours as he leans around you to get a look at the paper. Reaching out, he rests his thumb beside the line that the first question begins. Glancing back, you watch his eyes scan the paper for a few moments.

“The first three are right.” Bradley notes. All that he can focus on is your perfume. The sweet notes, the expensive, layered undertones. You turn towards him, sitting down on the edge of the vanity. He swallows.

“When you failed that art class, did you know you were going to fail it?” You ask him. It’s eating you up, the thought that this might all be for nothing. You don’t know what you’ll do if you fail again. This time, it’ll hurt that much more. It’s one thing to fail because you hadn’t even attended. To fail after you have actually tried, that’s another thing entirely.

“Yeah.” Bradley breathes out, offering you a smile. He nods his head just to provide additional confirmation. “I couldn’t even paint a sunflower. I knew.”

For once, he doesn’t take a shot at the effort you’ve put into this class. You’re trying. He sees that.

“But you could draw.” You recite back to him.

“Yeah.” Bradley smiles. The top three buttons on his shirt are undone, you can see that he’s still wearing that gold necklace. His father’s necklace, his dad is wearing it in that photo. His cheeks are terracotta red, warm.

“Could you draw me?” Maybe it’s not the best effort at flirting, but you don’t have much experience with that. Your first kiss was with the man that you intend to marry. You shouldn’t flirt with him. Most days you’d rather hit him than kiss him.

But, your bed is right behind him and yesterday he had you pressed into that mattress by a fraction of his weight, and his hands on your waist, in your hair. You inhale softly, met with the increasingly familiar scent of his cologne.

Bradley doesn’t touch you, but he might as well have. His hand curls around the vanity beside your knee. He leans in just a little closer and gives a small shake of his head, smiling like something’s funny. “Sorry, honey, my specialty was human form. Posing nude.”

He’s just trying to get under your skin, see how old-fashioned you really are. Maybe you’re growing used to that by now, it doesn’t take you a second to come up with a comeback.

“Did Maria teach you that?”

Bradley’s eyes don’t move, staring right at you with that smirk on his face still. He chuckles softly, then taps your knee softly. “Alright. I’m going to call it a night. I’ll see you—“

“Wait,” You close your eyes and ransack your brain looking for what comes next. You know he’s still standing there, you can’t hear him moving. “What, um, what did she teach you?”

Bradley’s not stupid. Nor is he oblivious to the fact that for one reason or another, women seem to like him. He’s used to being flirted with. And he knows exactly what you’re asking of him. He’s smart enough not to tell you that the things he did with Maria would have you clutching your pearls.

Still, he’s not going to tell you no. Not when you’re looking at him like that.

Wetting his lips with his tongue, he looks downwards at your knees politely pressed together. Bradley reaches out tentatively, glancing up at your face as he curls his fingers into the hollow of your knee. Your eyes are just on his face, compliant as he tugs your leg just slightly to the side to make room for him to step closer.

Between your knees now, Bradley’s hand abandons your leg. He brings both up to cup your jaw, angling your head so that you’re looking up at him. He exhales softly. You close your eyes in anticipation. He doesn’t keep you waiting long.

He leans in close and kisses you softly, tenderly. Nothing like yesterday. It’s slow, just his lips on yours. Once more, another. Then, he pulls back and gently strokes his thumbs across each of your cheeks.

He swallows softly, opening his eyes. His intention is to search your face for doubt, annoyance — whatever had caused your freak out yesterday. His mouth twitches. Your eyes remain closed, lips pursed ever so slightly, waiting for him to kiss you again.

You lift your hands cautiously from your sides, resting them against his stomach over the cotton of his button up. Bradley kisses you again, just as soft. Building into it with gradually modern generous pecks. His hands keep your face exactly where he wants it as yours ball loosely into the fabric of his shirt.

This time when he pulls back, you chase after him, a small sound slipping your lips. Bradley bites his cheek, tenderly tracing over your jaw, reminding himself to be polite.

“You really want me to show you more?” He murmurs, lips grazing your cheek. Your daren’t open your eyes, fearing that it will give away your entire being. If you look at him, he’ll be able to tell how much your heart is pounding in your chest.

He’s already got a good idea, given the fact that you still haven’t uncurled your hands from his shirt.

“Mhm.” You manage, quiet.

He leans forwards once more and kisses you again, soft, slow. You lean into him, fighting a frown as he pulls away all too soon.

“Open your mouth, just a little, sit still.” With your eyes closed, all you’ve got is his voice. You’re okay with that. It still makes you shiver. You obey, parting your lips just a fraction.

Bradley’s eyes fall down to your lips. He blinks, studying the plush skin. But again, he doesn’t keep you waiting long. He presses closer, as close as he can get to the vanity, and tilts his head just slightly. He kisses your bottom lip, trailing it with his tongue this time.

Your thighs bracket his as you try to press them together. The next kiss he comes in for, it’s the same thing. His tongue doesn’t dare venture into your mouth, or brush yours. He’s just teasing you.

His hands are still cupping your jaw, keeping you exactly where he wants you. Then, finally, he kisses you again, deeper this time. His tongue dips just a bit further, slowly, gradually.

You’re taking the sit still instruction a little bit too literally.

“Copy what I’m doing. Just slowly, like that.” He mumbles against your mouth, his lips on yours again the second that he’s done speaking. Slowly, gradually, and his tongue touches yours once more.

It strokes along the tip of yours and curls just slightly. Nothing to complex to keep up with. One of his hands slides from your jaw to the nape of your neck, sliding his fingers into your roots.

Your tongue lets his do most of the work. He’s surprised when you’re brave enough to actually copy him and curl the tip of your tongue into his. All too soon, he pulls back and goes right back to the pecking. More urgent this time, still he finds time to be tender. Soft, with you.

And yet, you pull away from him with a soft frown.

“What? — What’s the matter?” Bradley’s face creases with concern, his thumb swiping softly over your jaw as he looks for the answer on your face.

“You stopped. Was I doing it wrong?” You ask meekly.

He almost smiles, but decides against it. A sincere shake of his head works instead. He leans in and kisses you once. “No. No, you weren’t doing it wrong. I just… like to go between tongue and no tongue, I guess.”

Bradley sounds uncertain. He hasn’t ever had to explain himself like this before. This is clearly a foreign process to the both of you.

“Okay.” You breathe out. As long as you’ve got the hang of it, you like the sound of that too. You sit upright, stretching up to kiss him again. Bradley leans down. You are rendered silent once more as he kisses your forehead.

“I should go.” Before this goes any further. Before you ask me for more, because I’m really not sure I could say no. Bradley blinks as you look up at him. He almost leans in one last time.

“Yeah,” You breathe out, barely a whisper. He’s more than close enough to hear you perfectly. Your heartbeat thuds in your chest. “Okay.”

He swallows. “I… I had a really nice time with you tonight. Thank you.”

You’re acutely aware that he still has one of those giant paws of his on the back of your neck. That he’s still standing between your knees. That he’s close enough to kiss if you reached for him.

“So did I.” You answer.

Bradley trails his thumb down until he reaches the top of your spine. He finally lets go, dropping his hand back down to his side.

“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

“Right.” You agree, curling your fingers around the edge of the vanity as he takes a step away from you. Bradley offers you a small smile, and takes another big step.

And you leave it at that. He leaves, closing the door to your hotel room behind him, wandering back down to his own room. He should probably feel guilty.

Any guilt that he should feel hasn’t hit him yet. It won’t. If it doesn’t go any further than teaching you what french kissing is — then, what’s there to be guilty about?

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @sugarcoated-lame @kmc1989 @cherrycola27

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #bradley bradshaw x female reader #Bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #the odyssey #professor bradley

[alovesongtheywrote]

Nightmare Academia | Spencer Reid x Reader

♥ Summary:  Have you ever seen the tiktok where that guy brings a typewriter to his class because his prof doesn't allow laptops? Yeah, it's that, but you are the source of the typewriters. In other words, you're Reid's worst nightmare. [Prof!Spencer Reid x GN-Prof!Reader]

♥ Warnings:  Descriptions of emotional vulnerability from a student to a professor, reminders that the world sucks and Gen-Z is fucked when it comes to housing. The reader is. Kind of Mean to Spencer, but I won't say he doesn't deserve it. Enemies to Lovers, but they're just Enemies right now.

♥ A/N: a couple things about this fic. 1) i have no clue when this takes place in the criminal minds timeline???? i just know reid took a some kind of leave from the bau, and this is what he's doing with it 2) reid isn't actually in this one that much. my bad. 3) i've got no clue what university these two teach at. i researched typewriters extensively for this, but i didn't bother googling universities.

♥ Word count:  2371

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

“Alright, my little chilli babies, that’s about it for today. If you have any questions, office hours start now, and please remember there’s an exam next week. It makes me sad when you forget. Got it? Got it. Cool.”

Your students immediately began to stand and file out of the room. They left in groups. Some of them chatted amongst themselves softly, and some called out a farewell to you, but most of them were silent. One or two lingered behind to ask about the administration process of the PCL-R, but that was about it.

Except for this one girl.  

You were pretty sure her name was Opal. She sat near the back of the room in the second to last row. She got good grades and performed well on tests and projects- although she was a touch shy during the one presentation project you assigned during the semester.

Usually, Opal was one of the first to leave, practically running from the room, but today she just sat there, staring straight ahead. You watched her for a second, vaguely assuming that she had a question or something. She didn’t get up to ask, though. She just sat still, staring at her laptop.  You paid her no mind.  Sometimes your students just needed a second, and that was usually nothing to worry about.

You were just about to pack up your own things and head for your office when you heard a sob. You looked up again to see Opal just sobbing into her computer. You winced. A pang of sympathy hit you dead in the chest. University was just like that sometimes- and she wasn’t the first or last student to cry on campus.  

Shit, you cried on campus. Like, all the time. As a professor.  The previous Tuesday you thought about the two-headed calf poem too hard and you ended up sobbing in your office.  

You headed for the back of the room, leaning a hip against the back of the seat beside her. She didn’t seem to notice your presence. Her laptop screen was covered with detailed notes- it was honestly an impressive collection.  

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow, “Everything okay over here?”

Opal gasped, looking up at you with wide eyes, “I-I’m- I-” she sobbed again, “I’m so sorrrrrry.”

“Sorry? What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I’m crying in your classroom, and I’m so overwhelmed, and my next assignment is going to be late, and I’m so sorrrrry.”

The poor thing put her face in her hands and hunched over in her seat. You pulled out the chair next to her and sat down.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. University is stressful. It’s easy to get overwhelmed and crying can provide a cathartic release from that.”

“I- I know. It’s just so- so embarrassing.”

“Again, don’t worry about it. I literally cried in here last week.”

“R-really?”

“Mhmm. Now, if it helps, I can provide an extension on that assignment. Your feedback might be a little less in-depth, but that’s really nothing to worry about. Your work has always met a high standard.”

Her eyes somehow got even wider, “Are you- are you sure, professor?”

“Absolutely. It’s not a big deal- it might not fix your whole problem though,” you pulled your legs up onto the chair, sitting criss-cross facing your student, “If you’re feeling overwhelmed, the school provides free counselling services. They can help you feel less… whelmed.”  

Opal nodded, wiping her eyes, “It’s really just- just this one class I’m in. Our professor doesn’t allow laptops so I have to take notes by hand. But my- my writing is really messy, so then I have to figure out what I wrote, and-”

She was working herself back into a frenzy. You had to intervene. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Which prof is it, maybe we can ask about getting an accommodation made?”

“It’s-” she sobbed, “It’s Professor Reid.”

You froze. Opal continued to sob as a dark, heavy storm cloud rolled into your brain.  

“That fucking bastard,” you hissed, effectively shocking Opal out of her stupor.

“Wh-what?”

“This isn’t the first time he’s- okay, come on, follow me, we’re going to my office.”

Wordlessly, Opal put her things in her bag. You ran to your desk to do the same, snatching your keys and water bottle before heading out into the hallway. Opal followed diligently, but she struggled to keep up with your purposeful strides. Her face was still tear-stained, but now, instead of sorrow, her expression was the ultimate picture of confusion. When you reached your office, you swung the door open wide and ushered the girl inside.

In all honesty, you were quite proud of the space you had created. It was warmly lit, a necessary contrast from the harsh white lights of the hallway (you fucking hated those lights). The walls were decorated with your doctorates and neat little art pieces you found in various places. It was colourful and pleasant, and now was not the time to focus on your choice of decor because you were on a mission.

Opal remained near the door, watching as you rounded your desk and reached for something below it. With a slight groan of effort, you quickly emerged with your prize.

A vintage typewriter.

A heavy vintage typewriter.

You placed the thing down on your desk as delicately as you could. Opal stared at you in confusion as you beamed at the fine piece of machinery.

“Which room is his class in, I’ll have someone bring this to you.”

“Professor-?”

“You use it for one class, just one, and I guarantee he’ll let you use your laptop. Damn, technophobe.”

“I don’t know how to use a typewriter.”

You placed your hands on the desk, leaning forward on it, “Okay, come here then, I’ll show you.”

Opal timidly made her way towards you. You made sure to leave her lots of space as you ran through the tech tutorial. She picked up on it quickly, being the good student that she was. When you were done, you collapsed back in your chair, another bright smile on your face. Opal looked significantly less distraught, but still vaguely confused.

“Can I ask why you’re doing this for me? You- you didn’t even have to give me an extension. Why are you-?”

“Because you aren’t the first student to have this problem.”

It was true. This was the seventh sobbing-student-style complaint you’d had about him in as many months- and Reid had only been there for seven months.  You’d received emails, phone calls, and office hour meetings where desperate and devastated students would explain to you that they were falling behind. It broke your heart a little bit- and it pissed you right off.  

It was ironic that Doctor Reid had come straight here from the FBI- his technophobic nature was slowly but surely murdering your students, and now, you were going to murder him.

“Now about that extension, does five days sound good?”

Opal handed in the assignment two days into her extension. You smiled as you looked over her incredible paper. Your little scheme had worked. You hoped that Reid was pissed.

–

He was! Kind of. Not really.  It was a bit of a disappointment to be honest.

You had only known Doctor Spencer Reid for the seven months he’d been teaching alongside you, and boy howdy were you starting to hate his fucking guts. At first, everything was fine. He’d seemed sweet, and polite, and you were willing to overlook the whole FBI profiler thing to maintain the peace.

Then one of your students passed out during class.  

Thanks to his high expectations and fear of computers, there was a lot of shit for his students to cope with. The worst part was, you agreed with some of his policies- of course, you didn’t agree with the tech thing, that was stupid- but there was other stuff that you liked. He taught your students things that could help them improve- but at what cost.

Your formerly dim-eyed and sleepy students (let’s be real, they were never going to be bright-eyed nor bushy-tailed, they’re fucking college students) were now going through life in a state of anxiety that was not good for their long-term health. That was enough to make you hate Spencer Reid.  

And then one night, over a very full glass of wine you looked up his FBI career. You learned that the BAU used a private jet.

A private. Fucking. Jet.

They didn’t need to use the private jet. They could’ve used trains and it would’ve done the same thing. Shit, they didn’t even have to leave Quantico. They could’ve done their job from their main office. Most profilers do their job from their main office.  Instead, Reid’s team had dumped fucking jet fuel into the damn atmosphere because they fucking felt like it.  Not to mention just. FBI. Ew.

So, yeah. Fuck Reid’s three PhD’s, and fuck his ability to teach. You didn’t give a shit about any of that. You hated the man. You wanted to eat his heart in the main atrium, and given your way, you would.

Taking all that into consideration, it was only natural for the expression on your face to morph into one of absolute joy when Reid came to your office with the typewriter in his arms, and his tail between his legs.

“Doctor Reid,” your smile was a plastic thing, a false beauty with venom hiding beneath it, “What can I help you with.”

“Please stop sending that typewriter to my class.”

You opened your eyes a little wider, playing dumb just to fuck with him, “Typewriter? Whatever do you mean? I can’t imagine anyone in this century would even own a little antique typewriter like that thing there.”

“Little? That thing has to be over a hundred pounds- and it’s not antique, it’s-”

“It is literally thirty-three pounds.”

“Oh, okay,” he nodded. It was very clearly a ruse, “But how would you know that unless you own the typewriter?”

“I do a lot of research. That’s a 1960s Vintage Royal Empress Typewriter measuring about twelve inches in width and weighing thirty-three pounds and eight ounces. Y’know, now that you mention it, I’ve actually been in the market for a vintage typewriter.”

You put your elbows together on the desk and placed your face in your hands, “You wouldn’t know where I could get one would you?”

“Dr. (L/N), this is your typewriter.  Please stop sending it to my classes.”

“Hm, I guess it doesn’t pay tuition, that’s not fair to the other students,” you opened your laptop, “What class do you teach again? I’ll sign it up and pay the price in full.”

Doctor Reid let out the most exasperated sigh you had ever heard in your life- and that was impressive. You taught college kids.

“Why are you like this?” he mumbled.

“Pardon?”

“I said-” he at least had the decency to look embarrassed, “I said, ‘Why are you like this?’”

Your smile split your face from ear to ear. You emerged from behind your desk slowly, carefully, like a predator eyeing up its prey.

“Why am I like this, Dr. Reid? I’m like this because in the past seven months, I have had to deal with seven emotionally wrecked students, and what did they all have in common? Was it personal tragedies? The pure state of the world and everything in it? The knowledge that very few of the students at this school will be able to afford houses once they enter the working world?  No, Dr. Reid. The thing they had in common was you.”

“What are you implying?”

“Implying- what are you implying, he asks me,” you muttered, “I’m saying that your fear of computers is fucking over your students.”

“Studies have shown that handwritten notes-”

“No, no, stop. You don’t get to talk.  I’m talking now. Handwritten notes might be better for long-term memory retention, but not everyone writes as fast as you talk. Most of these kids don’t have time to switch their notes to a digital format! And that doesn’t account for shit getting lost, or students who get sick and miss class. Look, I get that computers might be scary for you, but in a climate where most of your students are full-time students, who take a mind-numbing amount of courses that cover incredibly difficult material, go home and struggle with the steaming pile of shit that is reality, and then head out for their part-time jobs- or, in some cases, their full-time jobs- you might want to have a degree of sympathy.”

Reid stared at you. He seemed unaffected. You wondered if that was because you were like, an entire foot shorter than him. You pulled up a chair and stood on it.

“Let your students use their laptops, or I swear to god, I will never stop sending the typewriter to class.  You will hear the incessant sound of keys clicking in your nightmares, got it?” 

He paused, his eyes darting across your face from your lips to your eyes and back.

“How old are you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re standing on a chair like a child. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven. Now get out of my office.”

He did as you asked. You could see a small smirk on his lips as he shut the door behind him. The sight of it made your blood boil, and there and then, you decided you were gonna keep sending the typewriter anyway because fuck that guy.

Still, over the next few months, you never heard another complaint about Spencer Reid and his technophobic habits. Your students went from extreme emotional agony to regular, day-to-day emotional agony. He’d stopped making them take notes by hand.

You were still gonna kill him just… maybe a little bit less.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #x reader #holy shit two fics in two days that's fucking crazy #btw if you have an idea of when this should take place #let me know #im thinking it's around or just after season 9 #i might be biased since im like. halfway through season 10 #but if you've got ideas PLEASE SHARE THEM #anyway

[tasteleeknow]

ok so maybe… enemies to lovers (kind of) with switch!minho who happens to have accidentally taken some sort of aphrodisiac and reader offers to help him out?

º.☆・ ⇢ goddess of lust with minho

pairing: switch!minho x afab!reader genre: smut, enemies to lovers. word count: 3k minors dni, 18+ only.

aphrodisiacs are agents that are held to arouse desire. the word originates from aphrodite, the ancient greek goddess of love, lust, beauty, pleasure, passion, and procreation. 

“So each of these does something different?” Minho says, picking up and dropping the various crystals and gems your friend had perfectly arranged across her dresser.

“Mm, that one ignites passion and desire,” she says, watching him play with her possessions. 

He juggles the crystal between his hands, throwing it back and forth like a baseball. “So... like an aphrodisiac?” he says, a smirk pulling one corner of his mouth up.

“I mean, kind of.”

He looks up at the ceiling, closing his eyes in mock concentration. Then he looks at you, meeting your eyes directly. “I feel it.”

“Really?” your innocent friend asks, unaware of Minho’s nature.

“He’s messing with you,” you say, breaking eye contact with the irritating man across the room. “Ignore him.” 

You turn your back on him, guiding your friend out of the room and back to the rest of your groupmates downstairs. You’d been paired for a group project, Minho a late—and frustrating—addition. Progress had stalled since he’d joined, two of the girls in the group sidetracked by his pretty face and sweet tones. This was the third time today you’d had to track him—and his victim—down and guide them back to the living room. 

Minho grabs your wrist, halting you as your friend continues back down the stairs. “You don’t believe in magic crystals?” he whispers in your ear. You pull your wrist from him, turning to face him on the stairs. He’s a step above you, towering down over you. 

“Stop dragging them off, we’ll never get anything done,” you say, ignoring his question.

He waves a crystal in front of your face. “This makes people horny apparently, you wanna hold it?” 

You frown. “Put that back.” 

“Come on, hold it—just for a second. Then I’ll behave.” 

You look between his eyes then sigh, holding your hand out. He presses the small crystal into your palm, his skin brushing against yours a second too long. 

“Okay, it’s been a second,” you say, attempting to push past him to return it to your friend's bedroom. He lets you pass after a moment's resistance, following closely behind you. You place the crystal gently amongst the others, turning to find Minho leaning against the doorframe. 

“Didn’t feel anything then?” 

“You expected me to touch the rock and then want to shove you into the wall, consumed with lust?” 

He smiles. “Something like that.” 

“It’d take a lot more than a magic rock to tempt me to touch you.” 

He takes a step into the room, arms dropping from where he held them cross against his chest. “Yeah? What would it take?”

“A lot of cash.” 

He looks like a cat with a trapped mouse, inching closer. “Enough for a car? To pay for uni?” 

“Enough that I wouldn’t have to work ever again.” 

He’s in your face now, breath mingling. “That’s a big pile of cash.”

“You’re a big pain in my ass.” 

He reaches over to pick up the crystal again, inspecting it for a second. “I think there might be something to these things.” 

“No you don’t.”

“Why else would I be imagining what you look like under that little dress?”

You scoff. “Because you’re a perv. You had another girl in this room 2 minutes ago.” 

“But it’s making me want you.”

“And the thought that you might be attracted to me is so unbelievable that you’ve decided to believe in magic crystals?”

He grins. “Yeah.” He shoves the small rock in his pocket. 

“You’re stealing that?”

“Borrowing.” 

You push past him, finally heading downstairs to rejoin the rest of the group. He keeps his promise, behaving long enough everyone is able to actually get some work done. 

Your friend shouts in your ear, her voice almost totally drowned out by the loud music. She needs to pee. You take her hand, guiding her up to the bathroom—pushing through your drunk classmates as you go. 

You’re leaning against the hallway door waiting for her to finish, when Minho appears—a drink in his hand. “Thought I saw you here,” he says, joining you against the wall. 

You ignore him. 

You see him turn towards you out of the corner of your eye, his gaze trailing up and down your body. “Another little dress? Do you wear anything else?” 

“Go away.” 

He digs into his pocket, pulling out the rock he’d stolen from your friend a few weeks ago. “Don’t you want to hear my findings?” 

“No.” 

“I think it has evil properties.” You turn to look at him. He’s waving the small crystal around, like he’s attempting to cast a spell with it. 

“Evil properties?” 

“I haven’t fucked anyone since I first touched it.” 

You can’t help bursting into laughter. “I don’t think that’s the rock’s fault.” 

He shoves it back in his pocket. “Are you implying something mean, little dove?” 

“I’m saying it doesn’t surprise me if no one wants to fuck you.” 

“Plenty of people want to fuck me. It’s my interest in fucking them that’s the problem.” 

“See a doctor.” 

He grins. “I have no problem getting hard. I can prove it.” 

“No thanks.” 

“The problem…” he moves in front of you, one hand pressed to the wall as he leans over you. “...is that I can only get hard for you.” 

You look up into his eyes, a little taken aback. He teased you, for years. But not like this. You’d always thought of it as mocking. Making fun of you for never dating anyone among other things. The first time one of his little comments had gotten under your skin was at a party in early high school—during a game of spin the bottle. When one of the other boys had landed on you he’d spoken over all the chatter, voice loud and clear for everyone to hear. ‘Spin again. She’s a spectator.’ You’d been too embarrassed to do or say anything at all, curling in on yourself as his friend leaned forward to spin again. 

Your roommate pulls the bathroom door open, stumbling out into the hallway. You duck under Minho’s arm to catch her. “Alright?” you ask, taking her bag from her hand. She mumbles an incoherent response. 

“You need a lift?” Minho speaks from behind you. You look your friend up and down, clearly past her limit for the night. 

“We can get an uber.” 

“I’m leaving now anyway, it’s no issue.” 

“You’ve been drinking,” you say, turning to nod at the drink in his hand. He holds it in front of your face so you can look down into the cup. “It’s just coke zero. Sip it.” 

Your near empty bank balance flashes across your mind's eye. You sigh. “Lead the way, then.”

You help your friend down the stairs, Minho a few steps in front of you. She leans to whisper in your ear, far too drunk to realise the actual volume of her voice. “You should definitely fuck him,” she slurs. Minho turns to meet your eyes. He’d heard. 

You pull your roommate's shoes off her feet, tugging the blankets over her. Minho stands in the doorway, like it’s completely normal for him to be in your apartment. You push him out of the room, closing your friend's door gently behind you. 

“Thanks for the lift… and helping me with her,” you say, guiding him towards the front door. He turns just before you’re successful, smiling down at you. 

“You’re welcome,” he says sweetly, reaching into his pocket. “Can you give this back for me?” He offers you the small rock. 

“Fine.” You take it from his palm. He doesn’t move, rocking back and forth on his heels a little. 

“Anything else? Are you expecting a tip for your services?” 

He grins. “Are you offering?”

“What did you mean earlier?” you blurt out, regretting it instantly. 

“Hm?” 

Fuck it. “At the party.” 

“You’re gonna need to be more specific, dove,” he says, rocking forward towards you—one corner of his lips curved up. 

“You said…you could only…that I—I mean…” 

“That you’re the only one that gets me hard,” he finishes for you. 

“Yeah, that.” 

“Don’t know what clarification you’re looking for. It’s pretty straightforward.” He wraps his hand around your closed fist, the one holding the crystal. “This magic rock cursed me to spend my nights stroking my cock to the thought of you.” 

You think you get it now—what he’s doing, the game he’s playing. You were in a dry-spell, the man in front of you the only guy in your circle hot enough to be worth fucking. If it was a game, something you could both brush off—maybe it would be something you could get past. Getting each other off then resuming your mutual resentment.

You take a small step closer. “How do you think this curse is broken?” 

“Maybe I just have to give it back,” he says, squeezing your hand where he still holds you. 

“And if that doesn’t work?” 

His eyes drop to the neckline of your dress. “I have another idea.” Okay, yeah. You understood what he was doing.

“Mm?” you prompt.  

“Give it what it wants.” 

“What the crystal wants?” you ask. He nods. “What does the crystal want?” 

“Wants me to fuck you,” he mutters, sounding distracted.

You hold back a laugh at his deadly serious expression. “So…the rock—sorry, the magic crystal you stole from my friend’s bedroom dresser…it wants you to fuck me…”

“Mm.”

You can’t keep your lips curving up, amused by the whole scenario. The man couldn’t have just hit on you? “I guess I do owe you a favour.” 

His eyes snap up to yours. “You…you mean—”

“Well I can’t just let you go on afflicted by a curse…that would be cruel.” 

You head towards your bedroom, turning to see him still frozen to the same spot. “Come on then,” you encourage, turning to open the door as his soft footfalls finally move across the floorboards. You drop the rock on your bedside table then close the door behind him. “Take your clothes off,” you instruct, reaching to unzip your dress. 

“What?”

“You can fuck me clothed if you’d prefer.” 

He blinks slowly then reaches for his hem, lifting his shirt over his head quickly. You watch as he fiddles with his pants, finally managing to shove them down his legs. He stumbles a little as he attempts to kick them off. You can’t help giggling at the spectacle of the man who’d made you feel so small all those years ago shoving his clothes off in desperation for you. 

Power. It felt like power. 

You zip the dress back up as he struggles, stepping over to him just as he pulls his legs free finally. He looks up at you, lips parted—his two front teeth peeking through. “Should we do it on the bed? Against the wall?” you ask. 

He says nothing, blinking at you as his eyes widen slightly. You look down. “You didn’t finish.” His eyes follow you, looking down at his underwear. You drop to your knees, hooking your fingers in the waistband and pulling them slowly down his thighs. His breath hitches as his cock is freed. 

You rest your palm on his thick thigh, stroking up and down his skin gently as you reach for his cock. You look up. “This is the problem, then?” you ask, mouth close enough that you’re sure he feels your breath against his tip. He still says nothing. This was the longest you’d spent in his presence without hearing his voice. 

You halt your movements, raising your eyebrows a little—letting him know you expect a response. 

“Y-Yeah,” he stutters out. 

You squeeze slightly, fingers wrapped around his base. “It only gets hard when you think of me?” 

He nods. 

“Since you stole the crystal?” He says nothing, eyes closing as his lips fall open a little. “Since the crystal?” you prompt. He opens his eyes, looking down at you again—still saying nothing. 

Your brows draw together at his lack of response, then he speaks. “Bed,” he says, a very late response to your earlier question. You stand, releasing him so you can move to your bed—settling yourself against the pillow. He stands where you left him for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he sucks in and releases a deep breath. 

You reach into your bedside drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube and tossing it onto the bed beside you. He watches you from the end of the bed as you pull your dress up to your hips, revealing your panties to him. That spurs him into action, falling forward so he can crawl up the mattress to you. He stops between your legs, looking up at you for permission. You nod and he reaches for you, finger stroking over your centre gently before he pulls your panties down your legs. 

“The dress?” he asks.

“Leave it.” It added to the power, having him naked while you kept some of your modesty. As much modesty as one could have while spreading their legs for someone anyway. 

He nods, leaning forward to grab the lube then sitting back on his heels. You watch as he strokes himself, eyes fixed on your bare cunt. He doesn’t say anything, focused on his task—like this was all part of a plan you’d discussed and agreed upon. The sloppy sound of the watery lube being worked up and down his cock fills the room. You reach down, stroking one finger through your folds. 

His brows draw together, mouth opening a little more—his two front teeth visible again. “Gonna fuck me now?” you ask, watching as his eyes flick up to yours. 

He falls forward, aligning himself with your entrance before pausing. He looks up. “What if—what if this doesn’t work?” You frown, confused for a second. Right, the crystal. He was really into this little game. Was he…implying he wanted to fuck you again. Setting it up for another try at breaking this ‘curse’... all before he’d even got his cock in you. 

“We’ll try again.” 

Right answer, apparently. He taps his cock against you once, twice, then presses forward—a low moan escaping him as he bottoms out. He grabs your hips, lifting you off the bed so he can fuck into you—zero build up. You watch as he uses you, brows drawn together in concentration. You bask in it for a moment, the feeling of him fucking you deep. Then you miss it, the power. 

“Minho,” you say, voice uneven from his hard thrusts. He pauses, looking down at you, eyes hooded. “Let me see your cock.” 

He frowns, mouth opening and closing—like he wants to say something but can’t find the words. His hands still grip you hard, holding you to his hips. Then, “Why?” 

“We’re trying to fix the curse, right?.” 

“I—”

“Lie down,” you instruct, interrupting him. 

He pulls himself free of you, lowering you onto the bed surprisingly gently. You sit up as he lies down on his back, cock pointing towards the ceiling. You sit over one of his thighs, his warm skin pressed to your bare cunt. 

He looks up to you from where he rests against the pillow, a look of awe on his face. You reach for the bottle of lube, opening the bottle to begin pouring it over his cock as you begin speaking. “What do you think about? When you get hard…” you ask, being overly generous with the cold slippery liquid. 

“Uh…”

“We wanna figure this thing out, yeah? I need all the info.”  

You lean forward, gently touching his slit with the tip of your finger—pretending to inspect him thoroughly. You make sure your breath brushes his skin. “Fu-uck,” he stutters, hip rising off the bed a little. You’re jostled on his thigh, the muscle tensing against your cunt. “You’re torturing me, little dove.” 

“I’m curing you, remember?” 

“Just let me fuck you, yeah? That’ll fix it.” 

“You didn’t seem sure…”

“I’m sure. It’ll work. Just need your cunt.” 

You move your mouth directly over his tip, lips almost brushing against him. “You sure it’s my cunt it needs?” 

He throws his head back against the pillow, hips attempting to lift off the bed again—his tip brushing your lips before you can pull back. “God, fuck. Yeah, your cunt. Need your cunt,” he mutters. 

You climb over him, sinking down his length with no warning. His hands come up to grasp your waist, holding you down. “Like this?” you ask. 

He nods, mouth hanging open. He’s still holding you down, cock buried deep. You press your hands to his chest, leaning forward. “You’ll have to let me move if I’m going to fuck you,” you whisper. He releases you, hands dropping to his sides to grip the bed sheets. Then you move, rolling your hips as you lift and drop your weight down his cock. 

You have to stop yourself leaning forward and pressing your mouth to his, tempted by his plump upper lip. That’d be too much, pushing this little game too far. You watch his face as you fuck him. His eyes are tightly closed—allowing you the liberty to indulge in that temptation, at least. 

His cock pushes through your walls perfectly, filling the emptiness you hadn’t satisfied in months. You look over to the bedside table where the pink crystal sits prettily, looking perfectly at home amongst your belongings. A low moan pulls your attention back to the man underneath you.

a/n: this was supposed to be a drabble and i got carried away and then i was at 3k. i could easily make this longer if people like this enough. let me know!

please reblog and share your thoughts. caption, tags, replies, or ask box, i read it all. feedback is what motivates me to write more!

↳ masterlist

#lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know fanfic #minho smut #kpop smut #stray kids smut #kpop imagines #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #kpop scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios #x reader #* #my writing

[bearhugsandshrugs]

Gortash Smut Works (WIP List)

using this fucking gif again to promote my work (it's a great gif, the best actually)

Since I've just published my 5th smut fic with the rat man, here's a list of my works that feature this asshole. But. Before I go into my stuff, I want to recommend two writers that I absolutely ADORE for their Gortash fics, @discordsmuse (AO3) and @the-littlest-raindrop (AO3). First of all, they write so well it's infuriating and also intimidating as a writer myself. Second of all, their fics are hot, so if you read only one thing today go pick something from them.

And if you're still interested in even more smut after all this, here are my Gortash works under the cut:

Glorious: Tav and Gortash fuck in a Glory Hole brothel, without knowing it's them. (Chapter 1/2, Explicit, Glory Hole, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Painplay, Pinching, Scratching, Praise Kink, Talking, Slapping)

Not a Word: Tav gets fucked by Gortash while her mouth is magically sealed shut. (Oneshot, Explicit, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat,Anal Sex, Vaginal Sex, Masturbation, Forced Orgasm, Orgasm Denial, Mouth Sewn Shut, Blood, Scratching, Walking Canes)

Bound to you: Tav and Gortash biting, scratching, hurting each other until they come, both tied up at various points of this. (Oneshot, Explicit, Bondage, Handcuffs, Rope Bondage, Biting, Face Slapping, Riding Crops, Power Play, Dom/sub Play, Rough Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Facials)

Til Death Do Us Part: Tav enters an arranged marriage with Gortash. In their first wedding night he invites nobles to watch them consummate their marriage. Neither of them planned for feelings to evolve, though. (Series, Explicit, Dubious Consent with later Full Consent, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Scratching, Public Sex, Power Play, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers)

The pleasure of doing business: Tav and Gortash hate-fucking. That's the plot. (Oneshot, Explicit, Dubious Consent, Hate Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex)

Money well spent: Tav getting degraded first by Haarlep in Gortash's form, then by Gortash himself. (Oneshot, Explicit, Humiliation, Leashes, Collars, Anal Sex, Dildos, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Choking, Threesome - F/M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial)

Amuse Bouche: This is just guest-starring Gortash amongst many others as Tav is being used in an orgy. (Oneshot, Explicit, Rape/Non-con Elements, Light BDSM, Forced Orgasm, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Sex, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Crying, Nipple Clamps, Flogging, Dirty Talk, Bondage, Blindfolds, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat)

#enver gortash #my writing #smut parade yay #will add more here over time #also can't wait to add aura's fic here #no pressure aura i know it's going to be great i'm serious

[matthyeu]

marker of the end ― zh.

pairing ⇢ zhang hao x gn!reader 

genre ⇢ fluff, angst, academic rivals to lovers/enemies to lovers, college!au

warnings ⇢ like one swear word, mention of drinking

word count ⇢ 1.5k

synopsis ⇢ this would be the last time you and zhang hao crossed paths as rivals.

this was the moment you were waiting for the past few years. hearing your name called to walk across the big stage. shaking hands with several of the university board. most importantly, looking your rival in the eyes in a gloating way to celebrate your own accomplishments, your graduation at the top of your department. you had won. 

what you didn’t expect was for zhang hao to look back at you with a soft look in his eyes, a wide smile on his face, and two thumbs up for you once you made eye contact. for the first time, you could understand why he was the campus crush. you never understood such blasphemy because the two of you had always been at ends with each other in academics. 

at seven years old, you found the most pride in your ability to quickly do math, always completing the tests your teacher distributed every week in under 20 seconds with 100% accuracy. there was no one that could beat you. 

until the time you and hao both brought your tests up to the teacher at the same time, the first time he had caught up to you. by some miraculous twisted fate, you had gotten one question wrong, and he had taken the title of the week’s fastest perfect scorer. 

“ha, finally!” he exclaimed. 

“mmm just a fluke.” 

at twelve years old, you found the most pride in taking honors classes in secondary school. you were always placed with students who were older than you, many of them baffled at how such a young person could be learning the same material as them. 

but of course, there was also a certain someone who always managed to find their way into your class as well. in fact, the first time you had one of those classes, he plopped down next to you, his irritating aura being something you could always sense. 

“fancy seeing you here,” he jeered, taking out his notebooks and pencil pouch filled with various pens for note taking, “thought you’d be stuck in the regular classes seeing how panicked you were for placement exams.”

“shut it zhang,” you spat, slamming your own pouch onto the table and drawing attention to yourself, “you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

at age eighteen, you found the most pride in taking the podium at your high school graduation, doing a speech as the valedictorian. being able to stand there amongst your peers knowing you had worked the hardest and done the most for your position was everything you dreamed of. 

however, you had to share it with him. the teachers tried and tried, but they could not find even the slightest difference in your grades. you were practically the same student: studious, hardworking, and intelligent. there was nothing to set the two of you apart, so it was only fair for you to take the podium together. you only wished they had allocated more time for the venue because sharing your valedictorian speech was definitely not something you always wanted. 

“now don’t you try to push me off the stage in front of everyone,” he warned, “that wouldn’t be very top goody-two-shoes student of you now. let’s be civil today.” 

you rolled your eyes. “funny for you to say that when you’re always the one provoking me with your irritating voice. i already have to hear your voice blasting through the speakers, so why don’t you just save my ears from bleeding before i even have to hear that?”

at age twenty-one, you found the most pride in sitting at the library speeding through your assignments at a quick yet accurate pace. you tried not to procrastinate, but sometimes things did happen. at those times, there was nothing more satisfying than seeing the to-do list diminish into nothing. 

and for once, you didn’t mind your rival sitting across from you doing work. his presence actually made you feel more motivated to complete your assignments, wanting to finish your long list before he finished his. 

“finally off your spree?” he questioned, looking up to see you chewing on your pencil at a particularly hard problem, “too hard for you?” 

“please shut the fuck up. i can’t concentrate if you’re bothering me.” 

“okay chill,” he raised his hands up in defense, “i was just wondering if i could maybe help or anything. you look like you have a lot on your plate today.” 

“you? help me? you literally pray for my downfall, why would you do that?” you interrogated, believing he would somehow sabotage your problem by giving you some preposterous answer. 

“yeah, but you seem to be stressing a lot, so i thought i’d offer. one nice act in our rivalry won’t undermine the countless other things we’re at each other’s throats for, right?” 

you eyed him carefully, still wary, but you had no other choice. you couldn’t even comprehend the question. “fine.” 

looking back, maybe the rivalry was fading out at the end. nearing graduation, it seemed the two of you cooled down, not constantly trying to one-up the other in any class. in fact, you no longer shared most of the same classes and were basically in your own worlds. apart from the occasional glare you gave each other while walking across campus, your hatred had not been so apparent. even your friends had pointed out how you complained less about the equally-studious boy. 

that was why you let your guard down when he approached you after the ceremony, when you were taking pictures with your family and friends. they all wanted to capture the moment on your wonderful day. 

“well, we meet again,” he joked, trying to copy the once threatening tone he had the first time he said that to you in the second grade. though, now there was no sense of menace in his tone, only congratulatory. “good job out there. you deserve it.” 

“why thank you zhang.” 

“hao, you can call me hao,” he clarified, sticking his hand out as if to mimic a first interaction, “you don’t have to refer to me with my last name anymore. we’re not rivals now.” 

“are we not now?” you ask teasingly as you shook his hand.

“unless you want to apply to the same jobs and try to rob each other of opportunities, then sure,” he teased back. 

“i never thought i’d see the day you two get along.” 

the two of you turned around to see your friend, the one who had received the most complaints about hao throughout your college experience. there were so many nights where you went on tangents about how stupid your rival was, more of them drunk than sober. if anyone knew how much you hated hao, it was them. 

“i say we should save this as a memory. how do you two feel about a picture?” 

you looked at hao to try to see his stance on it, but he only gave a mere shrug as a response. you assumed that was a positive response, so you moved next to him for the picture. 

“get a little closer now you two! who stands a foot apart in pictures?” 

rolling your eyes at your friend, you inched closer to hao until your bodies touched. it was the first time you two had ever gotten so close. 

“now, let’s get a little arm around the shoulder!” 

once again, you wanted to strangle your friend for the nitpicky requests. it was just a picture! all that needed to be done was a simple click to capture the moment. though, to make it go faster, you obliged, swinging your arm around his shoulder while he did the same to you. it was an awkward position for you to be in after despising him for most of your life. 

as your friend tried to find a good angle, hao made conversation with you through his smile. “so what if i asked you for lunch as ex-rivals?” 

you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “ex-rivals in what kind of way? like are we hanging out as friends, or are you asking me out on a date?” 

he chuckled. “i didn’t even think of the second option, but if you want it to be a date, i can certainly make it that.” 

you stepped on his foot, but he had to hide the pain for the sake of the photo. “that is not what i meant. do not get ahead of yourself. i’m just making sure you’re not trying anything.” 

“yeah, like i would ever. so how’s next wednesday sound?”

“sure.” 

“awww you guys look so cute!” your friend complimented as they came over, showing the picture to both you and hao, “do you want me to send it to you?” 

you waved it off, “you can keep it. why would i want to have a picture of myself with a guy i spent my whole life loathing in my camera roll?” 

what you didn’t know is you’d be asking that same friend to dig up the picture from their camera roll when you and hao bought your first home together. that way, you’d both have a memory of the moment your rivalry ended and your love began. 

#🐨 ― matthyeu #zerobaseone #zb1 #zb1 x reader #zerobaseone x reader #zerobaseone imagines #zb1 scenarios #zb1 drabbles #zhang hao #zb1 hao #zhang hao x reader #zb1 hao x reader #zhang hao imagines #zhang hao one-shot #angst #fluff

[doorbloggr]

The Pikmin Series

Thursday 23/2/23

Media Recommendations #45

I've been in a really compulsive mood lately. I'm pretty sure I have some form of mild ADHD, but lack the initiative to actual go and confirm this. To me, this means joy in the completion of small tasks, and a low attention span. And although I've been waiting almost a decade for the next game, I feel the series that best scratches this itch is Pikmin.

Pikmin is one of my favourite series of all time, and lately, news of Pikmin 4 has me more hyped than news of Zelda Tears of the Kingdom. So in today's article, I wanna discuss what I love about Pikmin, and also just compare the different games in the series.

The Pitch

The Pikmin Games are classified as Real Time Strategy Games, but comparing them to other RTS's like Age of Empires is folly. Instead of large scale conflict on a huge scale, the Pikmin Games have you follow one guy with an army behind him, and while you can have several groups doing tasks at a time, you must physically approach each soldier to interact with them.

You control a space Captain of a tiny alien species who has landed on PNF-404, a planet of lush greens, and strange monsters. Each game has different reasons for your protagonist to be there, but essentially you are tasked with collecting things and bringing them back to your ship in order to leave the planet and go home. But you cannot do this alone. Amongst the various scary creatures that dwarf the player character, there are the Pikmin, small plant/animal hybrids that follow your every command. It is up to you to direct the Pikmin into defeating enemies and carrying your quarry home, while avoiding all the obstacles that get in your way.

The Gameplay Loop

Your Pikmin army is a fragile, but determined species that can easily die but also easily multiply. Defeated enemies or resources called Pellets can be carried by the Pikmin to their mothership, a structure called the onion, and when it absorbs nutrients, it spits out new Pikmin. Having more Pikmin is crucial because bigger items require more Pikmin to carry.

As an example, Pellets have numbers on their top that indicate how many Pikmin require to carry them. A "1" Pellet can be carried by 1 Pikmin, but a 5 Pellet requires 5 Pikmin. Small enemies might require 3 Pikmin, most larger intimidating enemies require at least 10, and if you defeat a boss, that could require at least 20. But the more Pikmin you have, the more they can carry, and this will produce more Pikmin. It is a positive feedback loop. But there is a cap. All Pikmin games allow no more than 100 Pikmin in the field at a time, but spare Pikmin can rest in the Onion, and be summoned to strengthen your ranks if others die.

In Pikmin, there is only so much you can do in a day, and this is typically between 13 and 18 minutes depending on the game and difficulty. At the start of each day, you will have to summon Pikmin from their onion to start work, and at the end of the day, you must bring them back to home base. Any Pikmin idle in the field when the day ends are left to die. Due to the ferocity of nocturnal life, the protagonist and the Pikmin's Onion leave the Earth's surface during night and take refuge in low orbit. So you must make sure you finish any tasks well before the final countdown, or risk losing tens of Pikmin who are not accounted for.

Each game has a different limit to the number of days you have to finish the game, but I will get into these differences later in this post. Depending on the state of your Pikmin army, some days may be more productive in terms of working on your main objective, while others might be spend just building up your army after a major loss. It is a balancing act.

The World

As a lover of Scifi, particularly Speculative Biology, the Pikmin series really tickles my fancy. The game's setting, PNF-404, is in fact planet Earth in the far off future. The continents have changed positions, and the climate is overall more lush and moist. But we only ever see the world at a micro-scale. This provides a unique take on speculative evolution.

When we think of how animals will evolve into the future, most popular culture focuses on megafauna, but when your player character is 2 centimetres tall, the most common type of threat will be creepycrawlies. There's quite a deep taxonomic web of genetic families with high biodiversity and adaptation radiation. The Bulborb or "Grubdog" family has about 10 unique subspecies in Pikmin 2 alone.

Starting in Pikmin 2, the Captains document each species of enemy in the Piklopedia, giving each a binomial scientific name and a general description. I've spent many hours just reading through these entries and observing the critters.

Beyond what has become of the world, we can also explore what used to be of the world. Leftovers from human civilisation, such as bricks, garden beds, and ceramic tiles form obstacles to exploration. Recognisable earthly fruit such as cherries, strawberries, and watermelons litter the forest floor. Knick knacks and junk such as AAA batteries, bottle caps, and NES cartridges can be dug up and collected. This is a world that was once lived in by humans, and like fossils, their impact is left to be found by future explorers.

Comparison of Games in the Series

At the time of writing, there are 3 main Pikmin games, with a fourth coming out later this year (thank goodness, it's been sooo long). Despite the same world and gameplay loop; grow pikmin, defeat enemies to grow more pikmin, collect thing to get to new areas and get new pikmin; each game tasks the player with a vastly different objective and restrictions on game time. Therefore, there can arise disagreements in which game provides the best experience.

In Pikmin 1, Olimar's ship accidentally crashes down to Earth and smashes to pieces. He cannot breath Earth's atmosphere, and his suit will only keep him alive for 30 days. He must spend these 30 days collecting as many parts of his ship as he can, so he has the capacity to leave Earth's orbit and warp back home. There are 30 ship parts to collect, but careful planning means you can easily get multiple pieces a day, and only 25 pieces are required. This game can feel very stressful with this looming time limit, but it is very unachievable to complete the game a few days early.

Pikmin 2 has Olimar and coworker Louie returning to PNF-404 on a treasure hunting mission. Their freight company is almost bankrupt, but junk from Earth can be sold on their home planet, Hocotate, for a fortune. There is no limit on how many days you need to spend on the distant planet, and you reach the first ending when you pay off the 10'000 poko debt. In addition, this is the only game in the series to feature Caves, underground sublevels of exploration. No time passes between entering and exiting a dungeon, but you can not go back to recruit more pikmin until you leave. Most of the game's treasure is found in dungeons.

In Pikmin 3, you take control of three spacemen from the planet Koppai, Alph, Brittany, and Charlie. Their planet is running out of food, and in their journey to find food on other planets, the three land on Earth. The three are tasked with collecting fruit, taking the seeds to grow back on Koppai, and the juice from the fruit are converted into rations for the three to continue their stay. There are 66 fruit to collect, and a few different endings depending on how many are collected.

In my opinion, Pikmin 3 achieves the best balance of time limit to challenge. Unlike Pikmin 1, there is not a hard deadline. 1 jar of juice means one day's rations. Different fruit will fill different amounts of juice; 20 grapes are needed to fill a jar, a cherry might only fill half a jar, while a watermelon can fill 3 jars on its own. Since there is a limited amount of fruit in the game, you can run out of new ones to find, but this gives the player upward of 50 days to beat the game. So unlike Pikmin 2, the time limit is not infinite, but actively pursuing the objective gives you more time.

Caves are an interesting way to pump extra challenge and content into a limited overworld, but since each floor is randomly generated, they are less deliberately complex and interesting than they could be. Pikmin 2 does offer the most main story content, and although I would like Dungeons in the next Pikmin game, I would like them better designed.

Conclusion

I am carefully optimistic for the next Pikmin game. These games scratch a mental itch no other series I've played can, and although I'm not a fan of games blatantly ripping unique concepts, it really sucks there's no "Pikmin-likes", because I would really love more of this type of game.

If you read this far, thankyou so much, this was really long. If you know any games that come close to replicating Pikmin's gameplay loop, please let me know in the notes. Also tell me what you want from Pikmin 4, I'm pretty damn excited for it.

#blog #blogpost #media recommendations #pikmin #pikmin 2 #pikmin 3 #videogame recommendations

[gaias-space]

The Maid and The God

Chapter Four

(Fem!reader, Enemies to lovers, angst, grief, 18+)

LOKIS POV ~ PART ONE

AUTHORS NOTE- { Hello loves! I do apologise for dissappearing life took a bad turn and I’ve been recovering. But I I have so much to write both for this story and for other characters from other franchises! As a treat I shall be releasing both parts one and two of this chapter today! Much love xx }

“And why on earth are you making her my maid?” This is disgusting news. Y/N has been the house maid for years especially after her mother passed away. This job is the only thing keeping her from loosing her mind I believe. “Oh loki, don’t be so dark. You’re both quite similar in age and I think you could really do with a friend”. She smiles at me hopeful. I hate this idea. It was such a bother seeing her around the kingdom but now I’d have to see her so frequently? In my room? Disgusting. I run my fingers through my hair aggravated. “Oh loki you two could be friends! Just give her a chance!” She gently lays my arm and I seat it away. “Mother…the last thing y/n and I will ever be is friends”.

“And why on earth are you making her my maid?” This is disgusting news. Y/N has been the house maid for years especially after her mother passed away. This job is the only thing keeping her from loosing her mind I believe. “Oh loki, don’t be so dark. You’re both quite similar in age and I think you could really do with a friend”. She smiles at me hopeful. I hate this idea. It was such a bother seeing her around the kingdom but now I’d have to see her so frequently? In my room? Disgusting. I run my fingers through my hair aggravated. “Oh loki you two could be friends! Just give her a chance!” She gently lays my arm and I seat it away. “Mother…the last thing you/n and I will ever be is friends”. I storm away to my room. As if my day couldn’t get any worse. Now I have to look at her everyday. Touching my things, using that annoying winey voice. I can’t stand her! All she does is mope around all ‘oh poor me my mother died, feel sorry for me.’ Pathetic fucking human. I spent most of the day in my room working on private business and unpacking my things. I had been away for some time. But my work on earth was done or atleast for now. I was quite eager to be back home in my surroundings, but now it’s been absolutely ruined. Why can’t I ever have nice things? Eh, she’s nothing anyway, a useless human. Perhaps if I kept my room tidy, or ignored her she would go away? she wouldn’t have to bother coming near me then. Yes, that’s exactly what I would do. It’s not like I could fire her, that would be the first thing I’d do. I spent the last few hours before supper cleaning, organising and making sure my room looked exactly how the maids would leave it, hell even better then they would. “Loki, dinner is ready” I hear. I take one last look at my room and smirk, my plan would work perfectly. And I’m not doing any harm so mother can’t get in the way either.

We sat at the large golden table. A platter of fruits, desserts, roasts, vegetables and much more lay among us. “Oh I am absolutely starving. Thank you Miyah” I wink at the chef. Oh how I enjoyed Miyah, she was a fun fling before I left home. She was great in the bed and a great chef. I watched as her hips swayed and her ass moved. I bit my lip, it had been quite some time since I had felt a woman…perhaps, no. I needed to focus on other things. I had other plans, like keeping Y/Nout of my business. We all talk amongst ourselves it was quite pleasant. I would never show it but being home was peaceful to me. Mother was happy and my father Odin always was in a better mood during supper. And when my brother Thor was around he would be the loudest always happy and sharing stories. It was home. “My, my this is quite tasty. Say…where on earth is that Y/N girl?” I ask. Everyone even the other staff were all seated tonight. Where was y/n? “Oh she ate earlier I think she’s actually doing her duties as we speak” Frigga says sweetly. “No” anger infuses in my tone. She can not be alone in my room, with my things. That filthy human touching a Gods things? I think with disgust. I needed to find her but not cause a scene. Anger and annoyance burns in me. The only thing I could do was astral project.

While my family believed I was eating dinner with them I was angrily marching my way to my room. And my assumptions were right. My door was open a crack. She was in there. I step inside, at first there was nothing. Everything was in place. Until I hear tiny breaths and movement coming from my bedroom. I quietly walk through and see her. She is completely unaware of my presence. Her fingers are tracing a drawer of mine. What was she expecting to find in there? And how dare she even snoop through my things? I don’t believe she would like it if I did that to her. I suck in a painful breath and step closer to her. Her tiny body so fragile and delicate. I pace close enough that I can smell the fresh scent of her shampoo up my nostrils. “"Well well what do we have here?" I smirk as I watch the little girl in front if me turn around and gasp. Fear ridden I watch her tremble and stutter her words. "Loki! I-shit uhh... I was just making sure everything was clean... your mother she-"

"Yes yes I am aware she informed me on everything... not that I think you'll be much useful if you are going to waste your time snooping around". I turn my head to the side. I love how intimidating this was for her. I notice the beads of sweat covering her forehead and her chest rising and falling too fast. Something about seeing her like this made me feel good. It was exciting and empowering to me. "N-no it's not what it looks like I swear. I was just-" I step forward and she falls back hitting the drawers. I loved watching her little eyes shake with fear. The poor girl was a shaking mess like a little mouse. Perhaps I had enough toying for one day. I believe I made my point quite clear. A chuckle escapes my mouth and I lean in close to her.

"Never the matter pet. The reality is you work for me now and you will do exactly as I say”. I lean back, standing up straight. The trembling girl nods and tears fill her eyes. But something in her demeanour changed. She sniffled her nose and wiped her tears, now standing straight. Her expression changing from fear to anger. “How dare you talk to me that way!?” She waves her hands in my face. "Just because I work for you does not mean you own me. You can not control me!" She spat. And I can’t deny, I liked seeing her angry. It was quite pathetic when she was a whimpering, sad mess. The girl can’t take a little feedback? She pushes me aggressively and mumbles words I cannot hear, storming out of the room and slamming my door.

I project back to myslef and am back at the dinner table. Not a single person noticed. ‘Ha! I still got it.’ I thought to myself. Everyone had eaten and maids were taking our plates. Mother turns to me now. “So Loki my dear. Have you and Y/N made any progress?” She smiles. I scoff “I still can’t believe you think I could even tolerate her! Why did you set her up as my maid? You know I can clean my room myself and I sure as hell don’t need friends. Who do you think I am?” I watch as her face saddens. “Loki. You’re too hard on her… “ I roll my eyes. “What do you mean? She’s absolutely nothing more and nothing less than any other slave here!” Mother slams her fists on the table and stands abruptly. “Loki Laufeyson! Do not speak about our staff like that! And do not speak of Y/n like that either!” I look, taken aback. Her voice softens and she grabs my hand “come with me for a moment shall we?” I follow her away from eveyone and we begin to walk down a hall, the glass windows gave us a perfect view of the nights starry sky. “Loki…you are quite hard on dear Y/n. I can’t ever understand why you’re so hard on her. She has been nothing but good to you. And she has suffered enough, I don’t think it is fair you make life any harder for her. In fact, you do realise she is quite like you?” I stop in my tracks and shake my head, A fake laugh escaping. “Pfft! Y/n? And me? Similar? You’re joking!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. All I could do was shake my head and disgust. She sighs hard and puts and arm on my shoulder. “Loki darling. She lost her mother. The one thing she had left. Her father betrayed her, she doesn’t even know that. We’re all she has. I believe in life there’s lessons we need to learn ourselves that others cannot teach. So I shall leave you with this. Perhaps your anger towards her isn’t anything she’s doing At all. Maybe this isn’t her. What are you so scared of loki?” Her words echo to me. I wasn’t prepared for what she said. She pats my shoulder and walks away. I couldn’t help but stand there for some time. No this is absolutely nothing to do this me… it can’t be.

I sigh. But perhaps I was a little harsh on her. I stumble my way back to my bed. “Pfft who does she think she is? Telling me I’m the problem. It’s Y/N! Anyone can see she is just a burden to us all!” I say to myself. It was much later and I lay in my bed. All I wanted to do was sleep and yet I found that almost impossible. Each time I closed my eyes I suddenly would remember what my mother said. I also had memories flash in my head of Y/N and I when we were children I toss and turned a few times and suddenly I gasp awake with a loud sigh of frustration. “Great now you’re haunting my dreams too” I mutter. I couldn’t help but start to think about today, and perhaps I was a little bit too aggressive with her. She was just doing her job and mother was right. She’s only ever been good to me. Why do I have to be such an arsehole to her? I couldn’t ever imagine loosing my mother. Perhaps that fragile little human had good reason to act the way she did…

I sigh and look down at the floor. There’s only one way I’m going to get any sleep tonight. I stand up and leave my room. My eyes were blurry from being half asleep, tired and exhausted. The kingdom was silent. I tiptoe my way through the house and stop by Y/N’s door. Sucking in a deep breath i think to myself ‘Your doing this for you, not her. This is just to help us sleep and get her off your back. Nothing more’ I chant. Shapeshifting was a neat gift of mine. And from remembering a photo on Y/N’s bedside table I transform myself into her mother. Light from the hall beams into her room, and she sits up rubbing her eyes. “M-mom?” She gasps. “What’s going on?” Her little voice cries out. Y/n believed she was in a dream, let’s keep it that way.

#loki x y/n #loki #author #loki fanfic #loki layfeson #angst #enemies to lovers #avengers #the maid and the god

[casualghostfan]

Poison, chapter 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

A/N: Reyna, half ghoul and half human, has always stuck out like a sore thumb. But not to cardinal Terzo. But what changes when the cardinal is to become Papa? (Largely inspired by Poison by Alice Cooper)

Warnings: friends to enemies to lovers, fuff, angst, not beta-read (this is my first fic so feel free to suggest other warnings)

Reyna, Nebula and the rest of the Clergy’s ghouls stood before sister Imperator, waiting for their assignments. The dimly lit underground room casted shadows on the old woman’s face which made her seem even older. And more evil, Reyna thought. Everyone knew the leader of the church was Papa, but the person pulling the strings was really sister Imperator. She insisted she would be handling the ghouls personally as she believed them to be vile untamed animals who, given the opportunity, would tear apart everything in their paths. That was, of course, a big lie carefully fabricated by her to keep the siblings and the ghouls separated, to create this idea of fear amongst the human members of the Clergy. Ghouls were thought of as dangerous but quiet servants often doing the dirty work. Ticking time bombs. Walking weapons. Murderers for hire. Reyna has heard many things said about the creatures of hell.

Nebula squeezed Reyna’s hand. The air ghoulette had feared the old woman very much. Maybe because of what she would do to the disobedient ghouls. In her office, there was a wall full of mounted ghoul horns that showed just how cruel she could be. One time, Nebula said that going back to hell would be merciful compared to a punishment dealt from sister Imperator’s hands. Reyna didn’t have the slightest idea of what hell looked like, but when she saw her friend shivering with fear, she felt goosebumps on her arms.

So there they stood, a quiet wall of bodies, everyone dressed in the same black shirt and black pants with silver masks on their faces. Ready to obey.

Sometimes Reyna wondered if human life would be easier. By giving into her ghoul nature she gave up a lot of benefits that came with being a human. Mainly being able to live a free life aside from the duties every sibling had. But they didn't have a strict curfew. They could go anywhere they wanted, wear anything they wanted, do anything they wanted - as long as they completed their assigned tasks. Ghouls had it the exact opposite way. Yes, human life was definitely easier. But Reyna had her reasons why she chose the exact opposite.

Some of them may or may not have something to do with the current Papa.

She listened as sister Imperator gave her orders to the ghouls. Some of them were not very pretty. They ranged from cleaning duties to… well, also cleaning duties, but different kind of clean up. Rather than polishing floors, they would be cleaning up unwanted individuals. But thankfully, Reyna’s task for today was the first kind of clean up. Even though she was to tidy up the crypt.

It was a rather cold place that gave goosebumps to many siblings of sin, though the ghouls rather feared going there. Soma said it was because they had more in common with spirits residing there than with the humans. If it was another lie fabricated by sister Imperator, Reyna didn't know, but she herself had an awful feeling of ghastly hands grazing her skin and twirling her hair the first few times she ventured there. Even now, she wasn't unfazed by the crypt’s cold aura, but she had more or less gotten used to it.

Reyna started throwing out the wilted flowers placed on the final resting places of those important enough to be buried there. She and her group worked quietly, everyone heeding their tasks. The only thing that could be seen in the poorly lit underground was the occasional glint of a silver mask hit by a ray of light from a candle. A grim, boring job, really. But it could always be worse.

As Reyna went to throw out the fourth trash bag full of dead flowers, she thought about how different she would have spent her day a few years ago. But she was determined she had made the right choice. That day when she begged sister Imperator to be reassigned with ghouls, to never be treated as a human again, was engraved deep in her memory. A few weeks after the low blow from Terzo she had awakened from the overwhelming pain searing her flesh and bones. It was as if someone flicked a switch that illuminated the whole room. Her thoughts and emotions went from self pity to anger and spite. She had relied on Terzo too much. It was time she showed him that he was just a man, while she could be so much more.

Lost in her thoughts, Reyna suddenly collided with a wall and the trash bag full of wilted and rotten flowers spilled on the floor. Only it wasn't a wall she collided with, but a rather large growling ghoul. And he looked angry.

“If you want to pretend you're a ghoul, at least watch where you're going,” he hissed, baring his fangs at her. Reyna immediately recognized him as Malec, a ferocious beast. Earth ghouls were usually quite mellow, but not this one. He was quite the opposite. And the fact they had a history together didn't help at all.

Still, she stood her ground. “If you want to pretend you're intelligent, at least try to communicate with words,” she snarled back, referring to his growling and hissing.

“You're lucky I didn't crush you like a cockroach.”

“Yeah, we do have similar hair colours,” she replied with a sweet smile.

Malec towered over her like a mountain. Reyna refused to look or even feel scared. “Do you know what else you have in common?”

“We have more brain cells than you?”

The ghoul gave out a guttural grow, his hand striking up to her shoulder. Sharp claws digged into her flesh undoubtedly drawing blood. Still, Reyna did not show even an ounce of pain or fear, though it was getting harder and harder to conceal it as he was pushing her back against a stone wall.

“You're a pest, Reyna. Like that cockroach, you invaded our community, our home, and you acted as if there was nothing wrong with that. Do you think you're a part of the pack? Because you're not. Because you would have to be a ghoul for that. And if you were a ghoul, you could fight back right now.” Malec’s second hand shot up to her hair and tugged hard, baring her neck right at the artery pulsating hard and fast. Reyna tried to keep her cool. He wouldn't hurt her. He could be sent back to Hell for that. He wouldn't risk it.

“But you can't. You're too human for that,” he hissed in her ear. She felt his hot breath fanning her neck.

“You didn't talk like that when you begged me to get in your bed,” she said in a strained voice but with a smug grin. Her neck hurt like hell from being stretched with such a force.

“That was before I knew you. Before I realised I could just take anything I wanted from you and you couldn't fight back.” His hand on her shoulder was now poking at her chest right where her heart was begging her to run. “Inside this, there's a beating heart. That's the biggest difference between you and me. I have never seen it in real life. Some say it still beats a few minutes after being ripped out of one's body. Maybe I should take a peek.”

His eyes shone with insanity and determination, pupils blown wide. Reyna knew that look. This was a hunting ghoul now and she was in big, big trouble. She knew none of the other ghouls cleaning the crypt with them would interfere. No, Malec had them all scared shitless. So she did the one thing that worked on every man, ghoul or human. Her knee shot up hard and fast, not missing its target.

The ghoul fell back with a loud cry of pain, clutching his groin. Reyna wasted no time. As soon as Malec’s hands left her body, she ran for her life. Judging by the silence behind her, her assailant didn't follow her. She turned round as she was about to turn the corner to see for herself but her gaze met with a large glass vase flying through the air towards her. She dodged the impact and the glass shattered as it collided with the wall behind her. Reyna closed her eyes as she saw a few shards flying her way but that caused her to tumble and fall. She tried to break her fall with her hands as she hit the ground hard. A painful yelp left her lips, her breath hitching with the impact.

Get up, get up, she thought. Now was not the time to think about pain. This was a matter of survival. So she scrambled up and got running again, adrenaline pumping in her veins. Malec still didn't try to follow her, but she knew this was deliberate. Despite the animalistic nature of ghouls, they were still sentient beings. He was playing with her fear, tasting it in the air, enjoying every second of it. As long as he didnt do anything really serious, the Clergy would not interfere. Ghouls were replaceable

Reyna ran with all her might. Her lungs burned and protested with every step, but her survival-driven brain didn't allow her to slow down. Not until she could get to safety. But not her room shared with Nebula. No, she needed to patch herself up somehow. She had to find a quiet place where she could cool off.

So she turned right as she ran out of the underground crypt. And even in her panic, she thought of how the stars were shining beautifully on her misery tonight.

#the band ghost #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus terzo #terzo #papa terzo #terzo x oc #papa emeritus terzo x oc #papa emeritus iii x oc #ghost band #copia #cardinal copia #cardinal terzo #enemies to lovers #friends to enemies #angst #hurt/comfort #terzo fic #thebandghost fic #fanfic #fluff #terzo fluff #terzo angst #nameless ghouls #original character #aether #dewdrop ghoul #sodo ghoul #phantom ghoul

[icanttakethemonmyown]

My period might be coming because my eyes just got so watery thinking about that last ask for enemies to lovers Andrew and his song.

IM THE ONE WHO WROTE THAT ASK! AND YOU DARE MAKE ME CRY BY ADDING TO MY EMOTIONS?!

THIS IS MASTERS!ERA ALL OVER AGAIN!

ASDFGHJKL IM SORRYYYY

if it makes you feel a bit better, i think mine might also be on her way bc i legit teared up the other day when one of my friends on here said something along the lines of "oh, don't worry about it, we are friends" and i literally turned into the 🥺 emoji

but thank you so much for reminding me of the song, i have become a sucker for enemies to lovers!andrew and the song makes me feel somewhat closer to him asdfghjk hopefully that doesn't make me sound insane but most importantly, i am here to cry with you!!

#worked on enemies to lovers amongst other things today #so if you all want any hints or have any questions lemme know hahaha #it makes me heart grow like three sizes to receive asks like this #like im sorry for making you feel things but also its an honour?? #omg i just went to reread the ask to make sure i mentioned everything and it REMINDED ME #i worked on masters!andrew today and i think i might've made it even more painful idk idk #added little bits of extra details and now im too scared to proofread lmao #these tags are all over the place but #it wasnt easy being happy for you by the lumineers is SUCH a masters!sam song!!! #her seeing how ^well^ andrews doing and being happy bc she still wants the best for him but everything hurts #really out here hurting my own feelings jesus christ #asks #also good luck if your period is actually on its way anon!! #hopefully i will be able to make you feel a bit better sometime this week #.....i had an idea for a blurb #but idk if i should keep blurbs for special occasions #or keep it and put it into a chapter somewhere idk #its gonna be a short little thing

[mercy-burning]

Myth or Movie

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Unbeknownst to the two of them, Y/N and Spencer's children have worked up a plan to get them to meet... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, oral sex (female receiving), penetrative/unprotected sex, someone is misgendered (nothing too bad, it’s very brief, and it’s sincerely apologized for by the person who misgenders) Word Count: 4.2k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This is my 2nd entry for Pom’s ( @imagining-in-the-margins ) Enemies To Lover’s Writing Challenge! This one was one of the prompts she provided: You and (Character)'s kids don't get along, so you have to have a talk. Turns out you... really really get along... and I couldn’t wait to tackle it! I believe my exact words were: “I’m gonna Parent Trap these bitches”... So do with that what you will lol

———

"I'm so sorry I'm late!"

Two heads turn to stare at me as I burst through the doors. I'm out of breath from running through the building, something the staff really didn't seem to appreciate, though their shouts and annoyed glances were the last thing on my mind.

As I try to catch my breath, the two heads stand, and suddenly I feel a lot smaller.

One of them I recognize— Principal Anteros. I'd met with her before over some of Sky's academic achievements, all positive things, which is why today's circumstances make being in this office rather uncomfortable.

It's also why I seem to shrink with embarrassment at my tardiness— and appearance. Waitressing has its benefits, but today's whirlwind of phone calls and a mention at meeting another parent are not any of them.

Speaking of, the other person in the room is one I've never seen before. He's taller than both Anteros and I, extremely well dressed, and probably the most intimidatingly beautiful human being I'd ever met. I can barely meet his eyes, and so I try not to think about what he's doing here—to think about having to talk to him.

I shrink even further.

"Ms. Y/L/N," Principal Anteros greets. Thankfully she doesn't sound too upset given the circumstances. "Please, have a seat."

I do, brushing off my uniform as if that will somehow help my appearance. The soft leather of the chairs, however comfortable they might be, fail to bring me any comfort at all.

"As I'm sure you've guessed already, this is Doctor Reid, Vivian's father."

Great, he's a fucking doctor? This already bodes well for me...

Regardless of my reservations, I turn to him and give a faint smile. He waves in turn, and for the time being I'm extremely glad he doesn't insist on shaking my hand.

"It's nice to meet you," he says, surely nothing but a formality.

"You, too," I say quickly, then turn back to Principal Anteros. "Your phone call sounded urgent... Is everything alright?"

As soon as I say it, I feel kind of dumb. Because of course everything isn't alright. My child's principal called a meeting with another parent, and that can never mean anything good, not to mention the fucking intimidation and awkwardness in the room right now. I almost apologize, trying to explain that that wasn't exactly what I meant to get across, but then I would have just been talking for way too long, embarrassing myself further.

Once again, I'm thankful for Anteros's ability to move the conversation along. "I'm not sure, but it doesn't seem so. I only bring this to attention because Sky and Vivian are both stellar students. They've never had any disciplinary issues or difficulties with other students..."

"No one's hurt, right?" Mr. Reid asks. I know he's just concerned for his child, but for some reason it feels like an attack on me, like he assumes my kid had something to do with it.

"No, no one's hurt. Thankfully there weren't any physical altercations. But it seems your girls are quite... loud."

The doctor looks like he wants to say something, but I'm quick to jump in before he can. "Sorry... Sky is non-binary. They use they/them pronouns."

I half expect one or either of them to make a big deal or just roll their eyes at me, as most people seem to do when I correct them on the matter, but Anteros gives a sincere apology and Reid probably couldn't have cared any less.

I still can't tell if I like him or not...

But that doesn't matter right now.

"What do you mean by loud?" I continue.

Anteros sighs. "Well, while there hasn't been any physical violence, your kids seem to have very heated arguments, usually during lunch or in the hallway in passing... We thought maybe we could resolve it here since, like I said, they're both excellent students, but then it started escalating to classroom arguments... It's a lot of screaming..."

I have never known Sky to raise their voice at anyone, not even in a situation where I probably would have. Lord knows I'm thankful they don't have my impatience and tendency to get pissed off easily...

So what happened that was so bad, it made them snap?

"You... You're sure you mean Vivian is acting out like this?" Reid asks slowly, and I can't stop myself from laughing out loud.

"Come on, she's a professional. This has been going on for weeks, in her school, I'm sure she would know if it was your kid having a screaming match with someone else..."

This time Doctor Reid actually looks over at me, an eyebrow raised, and though I very much believe what I've just told him, the way he's looking at me right now drops my heart straight down to my stomach, like he's the principal and I'm the student acting out—No, it's worse than that... I feel like he's a disappointed parent, but not with Vivian, with me.

I avoid his intimidating stare and look down at the ground. "Sorry... I'm just... This isn't like Sky, either, I don't know what to do..."

"Well, usually when we have these sort of disputes, we like to have the students talk it out amongst themselves with a moderator present. But we've tried that, and it seems that they still haven't made any progress. Now, I know your children are good at heart, and it seems like you both are excellent parents— You know your children better than anyone here ever could. So, I'm proposing the two of you take a meeting some time and try to figure out how to settle this."

Seriously? If it hasn't been made clear already, this man is a doctor of some kind, planets away from my league in any capacity, and I can just picture the two of us in a screaming match close to what I imagine our children's looked like...

Maybe we can just e-mail.

"Okay," he agrees evenly, and I'm surprised he seems this calm considering I've just practically yelled at him... "I have free time this afternoon if you want to talk it over."

"I have to get back to work, but I get done at five," I sigh, wanting to get this over with. "Are you free then?"

"Mhm."

"Good," Anteros chirps, standing and leaving Doctor Reid and I to follow suit. "Perhaps over the weekend we can get this settled."

I sure as hell hope so.

———

"Ms. Y/L/N, wait!"

I have no idea what he could possibly want from me now that we've set a time and place to talk tonight, but I'm just praying desperately that he doesn't want to take this time alone in the parking lot to get back at me for accosting him in Anteros's office...

Thankfully, his face when he approaches seems rather kind.

"You can call me Y/N..."

"Right," he says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and nodding. "I'm Spencer."

"Spencer... So, um... Did you need something?"

"O—Oh, I just... I know you have to get back to work so I'll make this short, but I wanted to see if you wanted to do, uh... dinner tonight?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I just figured since we probably didn't expect for our weekend to go this way... We should make it worth it?"

"Are you really trying to turn this into a date?"

"W— No, not really, I just... You know, I thought it might be nice to... make this less like a chore, you know? A—And don't feel like you have to say yes, it was just a thought, I'm sorry if I made this weirder..."

The fact that I still can't figure this man out bothers me, but right now he's blushing, and he looks like he's trying to save himself from embarrassment, and it's so fucking adorable that I don't really care that I was just annoyed.

So I tell him, "Sure. Why not?"

"Really?"

"Yeah... Besides, Lord knows I haven't gone out for dinner in a long time."

The doctor is relieved, a smile creeping up on his lips that suddenly tugs at my insides and makes me wish for a second that it really is a date he's offering... "Okay, good. Do you want to meet at Waterstone, seven o'clock?"

The excitement starts to drain from me as he says it, followed by an incoming wave of embarrassment. "Oh, man, that... That place is kind of expensive, I don't—"

"Oh, it's okay, I'll pay for everything. I'll even wait outside for you so we can go in together if you'd like..."

Why he's being so nice to me I have no idea, but it's making my annoyance melt and my heart start to beat faster, and I really don't know how to feel about that. In fact I'm pretty sure it's weird as fuck given the circumstances.

But all I have to do is make it through this weekend, hopefully all will be back to normal, and I won't ever have to think about it ever again.

"Alright... It's a date."

———

Out of all the scenarios I'd pictured for the end of the night, this definitely had not been one of them.

I finished my shift at the diner, imagining on my drive home the look on his face when I inevitably showed up with something on my face or stained on my dress; Instead I showed up to Waterstone and was greeted with wandering eyes and showered with bashful compliments.

I expected to get into some type of argument about how each of our kids were better than the other or something, but we ended up talking through their traits with compassion, interest, and pride, all while agreeing that we just have to sit with them this weekend and explain that there are easier, better ways to sort out disagreements than screaming at each other in public.

I expected not to have much fun at all, but by the time we gathered the check and headed out the door, Spencer and I were laughing, just a little tipsy on Cabernet, our hands gently brushing and sparks shooting up my arm at the feeling.

I expected to go our separate ways and walk to my car and drive home, but instead he ended up telling me he was taking the Subway home, and I offered to give him a ride to the opposite side of town where I lived (Waterstone was right in the middle).

I expected to walk through the door, stumble straight up to bed, and sleep until Sky inevitably woke me up with them saying I've slept in too late and needed to get ready for work, but instead I ended up following Spencer up to his door to say goodnight.

And now we're at a fork in the road, and I can take one of two paths.

I can say goodnight, watch him walk in, and then go home and forget about this whole thing.

Or I can keep letting him stare at me until I find myself leaning in to kiss him. Whether or not he'll actually reciprocate is another story, but the little bit of wine tingling in the surface of my body and the dark, intense look in his eye gives me more courage than I've had since I met him.

Before I can make a move, Spencer talks, his voice small and inviting. "Do you want to come inside?" The beating of my heart quickens immensely as he takes another step forward and brings his fingers out to graze my chin. "Vivian's with her mom tonight."

Yes. Vivian's mom, who divorced Spencer pretty soon in the marriage after she just decided his job was too much to handle. He'd quit and took a teaching job, but even still, she declined his pleading to stay married and eventually admitted that she just wasn't in love with him anymore. At least she had the decency to let him have joint custody once his schedule cleared up, and it seemed like they were decent co-parents. Maybe even friends.

I think about Sky, how much they wish their dad had stayed, and how much I wish he had too. I was devastated when he left without anything more than a note. For years it took a huge toll on us, and I barely had the headspace to even think about dating anyone since then.

But here I am now, standing with this man who has also lost a spouse, who's somewhat of a single parent, and who seems kind and genuine enough that I don't think I'd have to worry about bringing him into the life of my child.

Though, I don't even know it'll go that far. I'm getting too far ahead of myself, and so to slow down I look at what's right in front of me. Right now.

Spencer looks at me like he wants to devour me. My whole body is tingling from head to toe. I want to kiss him, and I'm pretty damn sure he wants to kiss me back. He just invited me inside, which means that if I accept, we'll most likely end up sleeping with each other.

Again... Definitely not one of the scenarios I'd had in mind when I left the school today. But it's a damn good one, and he's so hot I want to cry.

My flirty switch turns on so fast, it nearly gives me whiplash. "And what are you gonna do if I say yes?"

"Depends... How badly do you want to walk tomorrow?"

My first instinct is to jokingly tell him to put me in a wheelchair, but I settle for kissing him instead, hoping that gives the same sentiment.

The way he melts into my body tells me I've succeeded. My arms fly up to his neck and pull him closer, and he holds me tightly to him, waiting for my lips to part so he can expertly slip his tongue past them.

I whine out and take a step towards the door. Spencer comes with me and fumbles with the keys in his pocket before reluctantly pulling away to get us inside.

Once we take our jackets and shoes off, he clings to me like static, drawn to me like a magnet, and I let him near without a second thought. Our lips find each other perfectly, like they've always meant to fit together. And as pieces of clothing come off on our way through the house and up to his bedroom, our limbs fit together just as well. Nothing is out of place.

Hell, I don't even remember how inferior to him I felt earlier in the day. Our jobs and lifestyles might seem like polar opposites, but for right now, the two of us are on very equal footing, coming together like it's always been meant to be.

I nearly fall apart when his fingers gather wetness from my cunt, just enough to tease me before pulling away and bringing them to his lips. I watch with a whine waiting on the back of my tongue as he slips his fingers past his mouth and sighs.

"More," is all he manages, and I want so badly to tease him—tell him how I know he can be more eloquent than that—but words are all lost on me too, when he drops to his knees and spreads me apart with ease. I have no choice but to reach behind and grip the foot-end of the bed as he works his tongue expertly against me.

Each of my sighs and whines are met with more avidity from him, taking the form of sharp flicks of the tongue over my clit, and once he adds his fingers to the mix, pumping them expertly inside me, I'm a fucking goner.

I come with a silent shout, clenching my thighs around his face and gripping the foot of the bed so tightly it feels like my hands might go numb.

Once my body loosens, Spencer gets up and kisses me, nearly knocking me over. I'm breathless and dizzy as the tang of my arousal coats my tastebuds. His hands are gentle despite the hunger in his lips, and the medley of sensations of all of these things has me weak in the knees.

"Getting harder to stand already, sweetheart?" he laughs, catching me as I fall into him. His hands clutch at my thighs and he carries me to the edge of the bed, crawling over top of me and kissing down my neck. "That's okay... I'll take good care of you."

I still can't manage to speak as he gently pushes in, the slow burn of him splitting me in two rendering me utterly incapable of even thought. I gladly welcome the pressure, especially once he's inside me all the way and lowering his body to mine. Our chests press firmly together as he pulls back and starts a steady pace with his hips. He traps me with his arms, bringing them to either side of my face. And when his fingers brush the hair from my eyes, he stares into them with intensity as he fucks me.

It's slow and hard. It's heart-pounding. It's earth-shattering. It's everything that makes sex worth having. In that moment we're two equals, so wrapped up in the mere feeling of each other that everything else is just background noise. He breathes me in and I do the same, and with each cant forward of his hips, he brings me deeper into this world we've both ultimately created together.

I want more than anything to wrap my legs around him and keep him close to me, but he's fucking me so good that I don't have the willpower. Instead, they lay spread out, lazy and open as his hips move between them. I'm warm all over, tingling everywhere our skin connects. When he kisses me, swallowing my pathetic attempts at whimpering his name, I'm positive that this is what Heaven must feel like.

Whether it's hours or only minutes later, eventually my body tenses, unable to hold back any further, and two particularly deep thrusts from Spencer send me barreling over the edge.

"There it is, sweetheart..." he praises, caressing my face with long, gentle fingers and leaving little kisses wherever they trail. His voice only seems to help me along, each warm syllable soothing the muscles that pulled taut at his mercy. "That's a good girl..."

I feel tired, calmed, and relaxed, when he pulls out only to jerk off over my lower stomach. Through tired eyes, I watch as he lets go and covers me with his release. Hearing him grunt out my name as he does it nearly wakes me up again, and it even finally brings some words out of me.

"God, you're so fucking hot..."

Well... Not exactly elegant, but the feeling gets across.

Spencer laughs and rolls over so that he isn't nearly crushing me anymore. He kisses down my neck, my arm, and he ever-so-slightly swipes the tip of his tongue over the mess he made before kissing my thigh and getting up to leave— presumably to get me something to clean up with.

Sure enough, he returns shortly with a wet washcloth and tenderly cleans me up. I manage to sit, leaning back on my elbows once he's done and smile at him. He's practically kneeling in front of me again, smiling back as his lips press featherlight kisses to the inside of my leg.

"How're you feeling?" he drawls, letting me pull him up to lay down with me.

"Really good. I haven't done that in so long..."

"Me either... I um... I hadn't really thought much about seeing other people once Lena and I got divorced... I guess I just wanted to put all my focus into being the best father I could, you know?"

"Mhm," I answer, turning to face him and interlocking our fingers. "I know exactly what you mean."

We lay like that for a few moments in comfortable silence, hands and limbs tangled while we breathe the same air and revel in the afterglow we've just created.

Suddenly Spencer laughs, and I squeeze his hand. "What is it?"

"I was just thinking... We probably wouldn't have met if not for Anteros calling us in, right?"

"Yeah..." I piece it together. "Guess I never thought of it that way."

"I just think it's funny, because in Greek mythology, Anteros was an Erote, known as an avenger of unrequited love, and he punished those who scoffed at romantic advances made by others... You and I never even thought about dating after our separations, and yet... Here we are now, because of Anteros."

Hearing him educate me on Greek mythology only serves to remind me how different we are. Still, the little story brings a comforting smile to my lips. "Well... Remind me to send her a basket of muffins or something to thank her."

"And tell her what? That you're grateful she got you laid?"

"Yeah. And what about it?"

The two of us dissolve into laughter that eventually fizzles and leaves us silent again. Our fingers are still tangled, and somehow we've snuggled in even closer.

"In any case, I'm glad I got to meet you, Doctor Reid."

"And I, you, Ms. Y/L/N..."

———

In the past two weeks since that first meeting, I hadn't received any more phone calls from Principal Anteros, which bode as a good sign.

Spencer and I decided to see each other as secretly as we could, which meant only giving vague details to our kids as to what we were doing in our spare time— It seemed weird to spring it on them if they didn't get along, so we figured it was best to wait until the situation was handled.

I tried to talk to Sky about their progress with Vivian, but they only insisted that everything was fine and they wouldn't have to worry anymore. And after relaying this information to Spencer, he informed me that Viv had said the same thing to him.

It wasn't until we both realized that they'd said the same things verbatim each time we asked, that something odd was going on.

And that's how we end up right here, Sky and I sitting on a park bench bathed in the golden October sun while I patiently wait for Spencer to 'coincidentally' show up with Vivian.

Thankfully I don't have to wait too long, because almost five minutes after we sit, I hear the familiar sound of my name falling from his lips, and it's hard to contain the cocky, playful smile that appears upon my own.

"Spencer, hey!" I call back, standing up and going to give him a hug. He pulls me in and he's nice and warm. He smells like burnt wood for some reason, and I want to breathe him in forever. Instead, I settle for a sweet kiss on the lips, both because I simply want to and also because it should baffle the fuck out of our kids.

Sure enough we pull away and look to them, and they look panicked. They have no idea what to do, what to say...

"Oh! Sorry... Viv, this is Y/N, Sky's mom."

The pure amusement in Spencer's voice makes me feel even warmer than being in his embrace. I look to his daughter and give her a wave. "Hi."

"H—Hi..."

It almost seems cruel to laugh at their predicament, but as I turn to Sky and introduce them to Spencer, they have clear annoyance written all over their face.

"Okay, Mom, I think we get it... How did you guys figure it out?"

"What, that you two pretended to hate each other so your principal would have to call us both in to meet?"

The pre-teens look at each other and sigh, truly defeated once and for all. "Yeah," they mutter simultaneously.

"Well, it surely didn't make any sense when you got in trouble for yelling at each other in the first place," Spencer points out. "And then when we asked you how things were working out, you both said the same exact thing..."

"It wasn't that hard to figure out, but we appreciate the effort," I add, reaching out to ruffle Sky's hair. They jerk away playfully, and I can't help but notice their smile as they peek over at Vivian.

"Our plan worked, though, so I call it a win," Vivian says with a shrug.

"As long as you two don't plan on causing any more disruptions at school..." Spencer looks between the both of them, and then at me, his eyes softening as he takes my hand and squeezes it. "Then yes. I'd call it a win, too."

I lean into him and laugh. "Turns out it wasn't Greek mythology that brought us together. It was The Parent Trap."

He raises an eyebrow, like he doesn't get what I mean, and before I can ask or explain, Vivian does it for me. "He's never seen it."

Spencer looks between the three of us like a lost and confused puppy, and we all laugh.

"Well, then, maybe we'll have to have a movie night sometime soon," I offer, reaching out for Sky.

Hand in hand, the four of us continue down the pathway, walking away from the setting sun while dried leaves rustle under our feet.

———

PERMANENT TAGLIST (tags not working are struck out):

@elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes @rainsong01 @yourmisosoup @liveloudwriteloud @mcureid @la-vie-en-amour1 @edgycowboy666 @averyhotchner @centiaaa @lizziechaseee @coffeeandendlesswords @usuck @spenxerslut @goldensonlyangel @emilyprentisslittlewhore @takeyourleap-of-faith @reidyoulikeabook @spencerreid9 @b-a-utiful @jareauswifey @flipperpenguins @pansexualthing @donald4spiderman @awesomebooklover17 @shemarmooresfedora @izraahh1 @bakugouswh0r3 @singularityjc @xoxospencerreid @thatsonezesty13 @big-galaxy-chaos @mggskneescrew @youabitchhhh @spencersjello @moonlight-2-6 @starrylang @foreveryoungxx3 @spencerreidscoffeecup @morganwilliams @emilyprsntiss @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @gubswh0re @mrsobrien888 @loveeee2134 @umbreonwolfy @ayla-1605 @reidsbabe @not-that-kind-of-dr-spencer-reid 

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds smut #enemies to lovers

[snow-in-the-desert]

Dramione Recommendations

Ok so, 2020 has been A LOT but on a personal note one of the most surprising things to happen was me discovering Dramione fanfiction and becoming unashamedly obsessed with it. I really didn’t see that coming but I’m here now and I’m here to stay. 

I think I started reading in the Dramione fandom around mid July last year?? (In all honesty I’ve lost any true sense of time’s progression at this point so I could be well off the mark with that) And I’ve decided to compile a list of all my favourite fics I’ve read so far. Why? I really just want to gush over all the amazing writers I have found through this fandom because y’all deserve it. 

Side note: If any of the authors actually sees this post just dm so I can buy you coffee or post you writing supplies or something idk I feel like that’s the least I can do for all your amazing work x

Remain Nameless by @heyjude19-writing

Ok I have to start with RN because this fic is pretty much the sole reason I decided to create an account with A03 or a tumblr or just decided to get involved with this fandom at all. 

I headcannon this story hard. But I think even if you aren’t a fan of Dramione you should just read this because it is so unbelievably good and well written and poignant and Draco’s sarcastic personality in this is truly a thing of beauty in this - I relate to his inner monologue’s on a deep personal level. 

I could rave about this story any time, any day of the week, just ask me. In fact, maybe I’ll just start a HeyJude19 fan club to fulfill that urge.

There are so many elements that I love but for the sake of brevity, RN is a beautifully told story of Draco and Hermione finding love and healing in a post-war HP setting. Heyjude19 had the very special ability of making me want to simulatenously laugh, cry and swoon with the power of her words. Just stop what you are doing and go read it now if you havent already, ok?  

I also really enjoyed reading Bells on a Hill, Beers, Potions and Unwise Notions and A Shift in Focus, if you are looking for smaller fics, definitely give these a go. They are all funny and heartfelt stoires that will make your tippy toes wriggle with glee. 

The Rights and Wrongs Series by @lovesbitca8

The Right Thing To Do, All The Wrong Things and The Auction are the holy trinity of Dramione writing. I have christened it thus, so mote it be. And frankly I’m not interested in any other opinion than that one, thank you very much!

After reading this series I don’t think I’ll be able to look back on the orginal HP books without thinking of Hermione’s and Draco’s memories of their time at Hogwarts in these fics as anything other than strictly cannon. 

So many things to love about this series but I think one of the major highlights was Hermione and Draco’s use of occlumency. LoveBitca8 created such beautiful visuals with how occlumency works as a magical practice and seeing Draco and Hermione so devoted to eachother to the point of safeguarding their inner most feelings to protect eachother was unbelievably romantic and poetic. 

Also the smut is divine ;)

Manacled by @senlinyu​

My heart will never be the same after reading this story. Like I actually can’t think about this fic without getting a lump at the back of my throat. I have never felt so emotionally ruined after reading anything, compared to the likes of this fic. Just please, please read it. To badly quote HP, reading Manacled will make you suffer but you’re going to be happy about it.

The flashbacks are a rollercoaster in of themselves but the way Hermione inadvertently refers to them when she is still in a state of memory loss was so heartbreaking to read. My heart still aches for them both. Also its a truly satisfying to see Draco and Hermione written in a way were they are both so fiercly protective of one another. They make my insides go soft. 

I also really enjoyed Snow Fall, Now Is A Gift and All You Want by the author but to be honest anything written by Senlinyu is always thoroughly enjoyable and worth a look. 

The Erised Effect by @adaprix​

Ada is QUEEN of dramione smut but ‘The Erised Effect’ is top tier. Its equal parts funny, romantic, sentimental and oh so sexy. Ada really knows how to build and build on sexual tension and doesn’t disappoint on the final delivery. I’m a big admirer of her writing style and just veraciously read whatever she posts but ‘The Erised Effect’ is just golden. A must read. (Also Pansy’s sexual fantasy in this story is a visual I don’t think I’ll ever be able to remove from my brain so thanks for that Ada)

Also quick side note: Adaprix’ stories were the first I read when I was looking into this fandom and it was enough to get me hooked on the pairing from the get go so I have that to thank Ada for too. I remember devouring all the stories she had posted to A03 and when I was done I was like... now what am I supposed to do with my life?? And that’s basically when I began to look deeper into the fandom and thus the course of my life in 2020 changed for the better. 

Some other stories I love by her are Break for Me, All My Sins, The Big 4-0, The Fucklust Series and The Flat in Bath. 

Clean by @olivieblake​

This 6th Year AU where Draco and Hermione work together on a class assignment and end up falling in love had me feeling all kinds of ways when I read it. I almost don’t know where to start but I think one of the stand out things for me was how immersed I felt in reading it. 

Hogwarts is captured really well, you get a good sense of class atmospheres, character nuances and behind the scenes of events that happen in HBP but from a Draco and Hermione’s perspectives. It’s well executed and intricate tapestry of a fic. With an excellent plot twist ending! 

Also Hermione and Draco’s relationship in this is equal parts fluffy and smutty and it just ticks all the right boxes that you want to see for those characters ;)

Breath Mints / Battle Scars by @onyx-and-elm​

The angst in this one is just *chef’s kiss*

God I love this fic. The way Draco is portrayed is very true to his defensive and tetchy character in the original books but he is also given so much more depth. The way his diary entries are written are just so well executed. It’s a true testament to the author’s creative writing skill. And I LOVE how even though Draco is clearly in such a messed up place, he still has a basic level of self respect and dignity that he won’t tolerate being used or undervalued in his relationship with Hermione. 

Yep, I really love Draco’s characterisation in this one if you can’t tell.  But Hermione is also well written too. Her stuggles and trauma of returning to Hogwarts after war is described in a believable and grounded way. And my heart definitely ached for them both. I just wanted to wrap the pair of them in a big fuzzy blanket and tell them that everything will be alright. 

WANDS OUT! by @persephonestone​

This murder mystery / Dramione / Theo x Harry / AU crossover is everything I didn’t know I wanted until I read it. I felt like I was picked up and plonked right into an alternative dimension where all the characters of HP are just living it up in an Agatha Christie novel. 

It’s a funny and clever story that I found refreshing to read amongst all the other fanfics that are usually cemented in the HP timeline or universe. Theodore Nott in this fic is perfection he should be written like this in every fic from now on in my opinion. I couldn’t stop giggling any time he had a scene in the story.

And the ‘only one bed’ trope in this fic is 10/10. I don’t want to give spoilers but ohmygod. It hits all the right notes. 

The One With Technical Difficulties by cassielassie 

Cassielassie has an excellent three part series of Dramone called ‘The One with...” but I have to give special credit to this story in particular for one main reason. ELEVATOR TROPES. I can’t get enough of em. I think I have my early childhood viewings of NCIS to thank for my obsession with elevator tropes they just do something to me that simply cannot be explained with mere words. The palpable sexual tension of being in a broken down elevator with an ‘enemies to lovers’ pairing, a heated arguement breaks out followed by a discovery of mutual feelings and a romantic embrace...

Eugh. It gets me everytime. And this fic is no exception. I loved it for all the reasons I’ve already stated above but also for the attention to detail in Draco and Hermione’s careers makes this one particularly immersive. The dynamics between them established in this one-shot are convincingly portrayed and the chemistry between them is so undeniably hot. 

The Light is No Mystery by @masterofinfinities​

Yooo if you want to read a dramione fic that is a deep dive into Pureblood culture and Post-War recovery but is also a perfect allegory for discrimination and today’s political landscape of moral grandstanding for votes then look no further than this one. 

This story has a bit of everything. Intrigue, mystery, ptsd and recovery, enemies to lovers / secret relationship, government conspiracy and humour, to name a few. I eargerly await every update to this story and am anxious to know how it ends!

The Eagle’s Nest by HeartOfAspen 

Finally! A fic that gives me the Ravenclaw representation I crave. I think I could recommend this fic on the lore depicted of Ravenclaw house alone. ‘The Stacks’ and Rowena Ravenclaw’s own ‘come and go room’ are just such cool details that I could see being real in the HP universe. 

This fic is so cosy and makes me feel like I’m just popping back into Hogwarts for another year. You get to see all the usuals like prof. Mcgongall, Nearly headless Nick, PEEVES, Hagrid, as well as learn more about minor characters from the other school houses. The story follows Hermione going to her day to day classes and there are interesting concepts about magic and alchemy that are explored. 

Draco and Hermione’s relationship in this one is of course very fluffy and heartfelt. But it’s the attention to detail that really makes this fic outstanding and the experience of reading it feels fleshed out and true to HP universe.

A shorter fic by HeartofAspen that I recommend is one called Set in Stone, it has an adventurous, Indianna Jones vibe to it, that I am so down for. 

Teachable Moments by @purplesugarquills

In this fic Hermione is an innocent little virgin determined to learn everything about sex. And Draco Malfoy is her tutor. If that isn’t enough to get you on board then I don’t know what is. Both Heartfelt and Steamy. PurpleSugarQuills writes smut so well but it’s the progression of their growing attachment and the nervous treading of new uncharted waters of romantic relationships for both of them that just adds a whole other level of feels to the story. Also chapter 9 is like reading poetry - its so good. Eugh just give it a read if you haven’t already.

Les Pèlerins by @pacific-rimbaud

This story is high art. It’s transcendent. Reading this story feels like the emotional equivalent of standing around a hundred glowing fairy lights, sipping hot cocoa and being wrapped in the loving embrace of a s/o. I can’t speak my praises highly enough or even become passably coherent in my words when I try to articulate a review. 

From the very first paragraph I felt like I was just whisked away on a Parisian holiday and I’ve never even bloody been to Paris but damn it if this story didn’t make me feel like I was there. The writing style is just so tactile and intense it’s like I could feel the cold winter air brush against me as I read it. Eugh I just completely fell in love with the story and the writer. 

New Year’s resolution. Read everything PacificRimbaud has ever posted online. 

#This post is the online equivalent of me thrusting a pile of books into your hands and poking at you until you every single one #A behaviour I may or may not already be prone to #dramione #fanfiction #fanfic recommendations #I think I may have missed a few but I think I'll try to make a habit of gushing over new writers as I find them #Doing this just satisfies a deep inner urge in me to just compliment the everloving shit out of writers #who made my life a little more bearable with their words

[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!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #w: midas #FINALLYYYY #this fic gave me a hernia!

[twentytarot]

hi everyone! today we’re going to be doing a quick reading about who your forever is. i didn’t specify what information i wanted from the piles so each pile will touch on different parts of your connection with your forever. pick the image that sets your thoughts off and scroll down to your respective pile for your reading~ 💞

PILE ONE: CASTLE

hello, group one! okay, so your cards are all circling around an event. someone that you trust betrays you and leaves you feeling like you have nothing. what you maybe didn’t realise until this point is you can’t keep juggling all of this at once; one of the balls will drop sooner or later. and so, with this betrayal comes a moment where you must take a step back and reevaluate. it’s an “oh my god, i need to take a break from everything before i explode moment”. i can’t say i know 100% why this event is related to your forever, but it is key. maybe it gives you the opportunity to look around and realise they were there all along, a calm, unassuming friend you never realised could love you more than anyone else.

your forever is likely a pisces or a leo. on the outside they may seem very... hmm. boring? slow? like they will never make an impulsive step in their lives. they’re quite a bit more exciting once you get to know them for real, though. they’ve gotten the balance of work and play down much better than most. they will be a stabling force in your life. if you haven’t met them yet, you will within the next 9 months to 3 years!

PILE TWO: HAIR PIN

for a very split second there, you will be heartbroken by the revelation of a secret. but just as quickly as you cut off whatever was built upon that lie, this person comes along. they’re likely a pisces or a virgo, possibly cancer as well. this person is overflowing with stories to tell you, feelings to share with you, comfort and advice to give to you. if you ever get insecure and consider retreating to your old ways, hiding yourself away and dimming your own light, this person will pull you right out of it. they’ll be the first to tell you how much they appreciate you and how proud of you they are. all at once, they are your wish come true, they are everything you were waiting for. however, they’re not the most adventurous person. they’re a bit of a homebody, and honestly would rather just stay home and work than go out camping or something. they probably couldn’t give a damn that most clubs have shut indefinitely. you’ll have to drag them out if you want to go somewhere further than a 20 minute drive for dinner. they’d do it for you, though.

PILE THREE: DRESS

you will have to cross mountains and swim across rivers to be with this person. they’re not someone that’s really like the people you’re around right now. are your friends and family serious overachievers that are all successful doing their 9-5 thing? your forever is an artist, and you are their muse. you embody art and beauty to each other, and you love each other also in that intangible, impossible way. but because of that, you will get some pushback from those around you right now. in particular, friends and malicious family members will burden you by spreading their opinions of your relationship as rumours and facts. your mother, in particular, comes across as someone who could save or end you. regardless, you will find it is safer to be further away physically. i get the feeling that you don’t entirely have your own physical space from everyone right now. people impose upon you easily. you’re kind of desperate to leave but you don’t know how. with this person, there won’t even be a question— into the scary world you will go with them, and, amongst the bad, you will build your own little heaven with this person, because you love each other in a way everyone you left in the past will never know, and that’s all that matters. prominent zodiac signs are taurus and libra.

PILE FOUR: COUPLE

it looks like it might take two tries with this person to get it right, but when you do, it’s so romantic and fated. the first time you’re with this person, it will already be romantic, but you both will be a little immature. there will be lessons you learn from each other— divine lessons— and there may especially be a problem in the competition department. the both of you are probably neck and neck in terms of success in your individual lives, so you will naturally see each other as competitors. there will be moment where you accidentally see them as a competitor before a lover, and the relationship will break down. alone, you will realise it wasn’t worth it. after learning important lessons from each other, your relationship will grow again, and this time it will be so much stronger. your forever will only have eyes for you. they’re very intense, likely a scorpio (though pisces did turn up for your reading too). when one of you is going through a hard time, the other will feel their pain and lift them up instead of feeling like they just defeated an enemy. your souls are connected in many ways, and you will be in a relationship that’s very much like the romanticised “twin flames” people talk about nowadays. don’t feel like a bad person for the lessons they will teach you, you’re both learning about loving someone wholeheartedly, and it’s a tough one that very few people have the opportunity to witness, much less experience.

#pick a card #pick a pile #pick a card reading #pick a pile reading #free tarot reading #tarot reading

[citydreamgrls]

bloody handprints

fred weasley x fem!reader 

words: 3,887

a/n: this was requested by @weaslcyx​ , i hope it’s good enough and not awful! please please please keep sending me requests, it gives me such a motivation to keep writing and i love doing it for people!! <333

warning: 18+ , smut , mentions of blood , enemies to lovers , swearing

George flinched at the sound of her voice, echoing down the hall, still not accustomed to how piercing the small girl’s shriek could really be. Fred Weasley had no reaction, he was used to this shrill sound as if it was his daily alarm, because that was how often he’d hear it.

“Fred! You git, I know you can hear me!” She yelled down the hall, students that were passing by seemed unfazed by her rage towards the one twin as she weaved amongst them.

“Did you need something?” He sneered, turning on the spot and towering over her. His brother stood behind him, hoping this one wouldn’t take all day.

“You need to stay away from Angelina, you freak.” She glared, her arms crossed over her like a stern librarian.

“Ah, I knew this day would come…” The boy began, his theatrics obvious to anyone who knew him, “You’ve finally become jealous of the girls I flirt with.”

“Have you lost your mind?” She scoffed, raising her eyebrows. “I pity the girls that think they like you, because in reality they’re kidding themselves into thinking that someone as vile as you could ever be boyfriend material.”

“So you pity your friend then?”

“Angelina could do a thousand times better than you Fred, we all know it.”

“Yet it’s me that makes her laugh SO much.” He winked going to leave, George saying a prayer that this ordeal could be over so they could eat dinner.

“You’ll never be good enough for any girl at this school, especially not Angelina and never in a million years me.” She smiled sweetly, and turned away to slip back into the crowd of students once again.

“God she’s so jealous.” Fred muttered once the girl had gone, his brother refraining from commenting on their ridiculous feud and instead just rolling his eyes.

For as long as he could remember Fred and y/n had been at each other’s throats, always thinking up new reasons to hate one another and piss the other one off. While George had asked his twin many times to recite when they began despising each other, Fred swore he himself couldn’t recall. But he had reasons to think otherwise.

His brother wasn’t one to hold grudges against anyone, in fact he was usually quite a nice guy, but the second y/n appeared it was like a switch went off and he had years of hate behind him.

-

“God he’s a prick.” Y/n muttered, eyeing up the redhead a few people down from them in the great hall. Beside her Angelina chuckled at her friend, used to seeing her glare at Fred whenever he was in sight. “He is!” “I said nothing. I’m not getting into this with you again, we’ll be here all night.” She was right, there was a lot of resentment between the two.

“I just don’t understand how he has any friends, he’s so arrogant.” She stabbed her food around in front of her, the once grumbling stomach now turning as the rage within her boiled up.

“He’s not that bad y/n come on.”

“Is everyone else just blind to it? Well, they must be.”

“He’s just a charming guy, that’s all.” The girl turned to Angelina, watching her closely as she spoke.

“Don’t tell me you actually like him?”

Angelina scoffed, unable to hide her amusement at how gullible her friend could be sometimes.

“He just said that to wind you up,” She leaned in closer, dropping her tone so no one else could hear them. “I’ve told you, I'm more interested in George.”

“Well just be careful, he could be just as bad as Fred.”

“When will you realise this is just one long grudge, for something you can’t even remember.” They sat up straight again, y/n avoiding Angelina’s gaze.

“I said I was gonna figure it out okay, so I will.” Her friend couldn’t help but laugh.

“I will admit, those girls do just throw themselves at him. It’s a bit embarrassing to watch.”

Two Ravenclaw girls had gone over to the twins, giggling and whispering, tapping Fred on the shoulder. As usual he’d been a big flirt, telling them how nice it was to see new faces and how they should hang out sometime. Not that he ever did, he always bailed on them for his brother.

“I really don’t get what they see in him.” Y/n huffed, wanting nothing more than to be rid of Fred’s presence in her mind.

-

“Come on y/n!”

“Woooo go y/n!”

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!”

Fred couldn’t concentrate over the irritating noise. Her name boomed across the quidditch pitch as she weaved amongst the Hufflepuff players as if it was nothing. He hated to admit it , but she flew better than anyone on their team let alone their opponents.

Another bludger flew at him, almost knocking him clean off once again.

“Concentrate Fred!” George shouted over to him, pointing to a Hufflepuff chaser coming his way. He beat the bludger as hard as he could, but the chants were playing louder now as they cheered on their ‘star player’, and he missed them. He cursed out the girl beneath his breath as she scored them another goal, feeling no need to celebrate this victory.

“What was wrong with you today?” Harry asked the boy as he tried to escape the end-of-match swarm on the field. “You were all over the place.”

He knew better than to take his anger out on the younger boy, so he just shrugged, his best to ignore the way Cedric Diggory was eyeing up their team’s chaser.

“I’ll work on it!” He called, heading for the castle, unable to stand the sight of the Hufflepuff boy looping his arms around y/n and picking her up off the ground.

“You were great!” Cedric smiled at her, and she blushed at how lovingly he held her around so many people. “I’ve gotta go talk to the other’s but I’ll meet you later?”

“Before dinner?”

“Our spot, okay.” He winked and sauntered off to console his house’s team after their devastating loss.

-

She ended up taking a bit longer than she thought getting cleaned up after the game and realized it was already dinner when she ran from her dorm. Fred turned in the common room, hearing the footsteps boom down behind him.

“Oh. it’s you.” He groaned and went to leave. “You’re lucky we won Weasley,” She said smugly, following him into the hallway and down the steps. “Or else you’d be in a lot of shit.”

“Oh yeah, and why’s that?”

“I saw you out there, you barely moved an inch, if it wasn’t for your brother then you’d have given them the lead.” She chuckled, watching his face harden as he tried to think of a comeback.

“Yeah well next time tell your braindead followers to shut it, I couldn’t hear myself think over their awful voices.” He snapped, not stopping to look her way. She followed him until the end of the hall and then stopped, calling after him with an unusually cheery tone.

“I can’t help that the people love me!”

Fred frowned at her.

“Where are you going, great hall’s this way you dumbo.”

“I’m meeting ced, in fact I’m already late.”

“God I feel bad for that boy,” Fred grumbled, hoping he could keep her away from him just a little bit longer.

“I couldn’t care less Weasley!” She waved and walked off.

The boy stood alone in the hall and thought over whether he wanted to piss off Diggory that much that he would follow her.

“He doesn’t like you!” Fred ran after her, catching up quickly with his long legs and her naturally slow pace.

“Leave it Fred, I’m not bothered about what you think.”

“You’re a charity case to him, and now he’s in too deep. He probably thinks you’d kill him if he tried to end things.”

“He’s not my boyfriend Fred you idiot!” She laughed, and a part of him thanked lord that the rumours about the couple weren’t true.

“Still, he probably just wants to get in your pants then.” He scoffed.

Y/n stopped at the bottom of the astronomy tower, looking up and seeing Cedric leaning against the balcony waiting for her.

“So what if he does Fred, what does it matter to you?” The boy just shrugged, unable to think of any reason that he could tell her without revealing the truth that he just hated seeing them together. “Are you jealous Weasley?” She teased him, leaving the boy behind stuttering some denial as she raced up the stairs. Fred glared at them together, hating himself for not thinking quick enough to respond to her.

-

“God, you’re here!” Angelina cried. “About time too, we thought you were gonna ditch us for lover boy.” She screamed, a beer in hand for y/n and a cup full of god knows what.

It was a Hogwarts ritual to host a house party whenever a quidditch match was won, and this particular one was no exception. The common room was loud with hoards of voices and the blasting music, and people everywhere were either dancing or talking or getting off with one another.

The girl had noticed Fred in the corner of the room, sulking like a child and chugging his drink as if he was dehydrated. But she couldn’t care less about the boy and vowed to enjoy herself and the win she’d earnt the team that day.

Ron and Harry stumbled around the room, saying hi to every person they passed and then forgetting they’d done so and starting the whole thing again. Y/n was laughing at Ron, who’d been apprehended by Hermione, as she told them how embarrassing they were, when a tap on her shoulder caught her attention.

“Hello?” She asked the random girl, who she presumed was at least a year younger than herself.

“You’re y/n right?” Angelina had come to her friend’s side, having seen the girl walk up to them like it was important business.

“Yes I am.” She laughed, very confused. The girl got closer, wary of the many people around them and spoke quiet enough that only y/n and her best friend could hear.

“I’ve just seen Cedric Diggory go up the astronomy tower with a Ravenclaw girl.”

She didn’t react much, knowing it would cause a scene if she did, but Angelina hadn’t muffled her gasp in time.

“Oh god y/n.” She comforted her friend, a hand on her back.

The girl who had delivered the soul-crushing news went off again, her job done.

“Whatever,” She scoffed, putting on a cold exterior. “It’s not like we were serious.” She told Angelina.

“Are you alright though?”

“Yeah of course I am, I’ll be a minute though I just need to grab a jumper.” y/n faked a shiver and gave her friend the drink in her hand.

“I can come up with you,” “I’ll be fine Lina.” She laughed, leaving before the girl could insist on joining.

-

Once the door shut behind y/n she broke down, her hands shaky and cold as she clambered over to her bed and sat down heavily. Everything felt empty as she thought about the boy she trusted taking someone else up to what he had called their spot. How naive was she to believe he would really like her, and her alone.

The door flew open and she was about to tell Angelina she was fine, hiding her tears, when she froze at the sight of Fred in the doorway. He looked too tall for their room.

“What do you want?” She turned her head away, not wanting him to see her upset, she knew he’d use it against her for the rest of the year.

“Angelina told me.” He stood in the same spot, not moving an inch as she snapped back at him.

“Come to tell me that you told me so?” Fred could see the tears in her eyes and felt angry at Diggory for every doing that to her. “I couldn’t care less!”

“Seems it.” “If you’ve come to take the piss Fred then leave, now isn’t time.” It sounded like a plea.

“God forbid I try and be nice for once?” He scoffed.

“You’re not nice Fred, you annoy me everyday and half the time it’s right. Which makes it fucking awful!.” He was caught aback by her honesty, regretting all the nasty things he’d said about her and Cedric’s relationship. “Leave Fred, you only make things worse.” She mumbled, not looking up as he nodded and walked away, leaving her door wide open.

It took about ten minutes for y/n to compose herself, luckily before Angelina came up to find her friend with a worried look.

“I’m coming now, sorry.” The girl smiled and took her hand, walking down the stone steps to the common room where the sheer volume helped numb her head from any sad thoughts.

With one look around the room she couldn’t see Fred, who was usually easy to spot. In a room full of people, him and George were always the first ones you’d see with their blazing ready hair and heights that towered over everyone.

“Y/n!” Speaking of George, he was looking quite worried. “Have you seen Fred?” He asked.

“About 10 minutes ago, why?”

“He’s gone off somewhere, he seemed angry.”

“Yeah well he was pissing me off, so he’s probably gone to sulk.”

“No you don’t get it, he looked like he was going to kill someone!” George was being serious and the girl could only frown. “Can you help me find him y/n? Please.”

“Fine, let me just grab my wand.” She ran back up to her room, and met the twin by the common room door.

“You go that way, I think I might have some idea of where he could be.” Y/n told George and he nodded, running off into the castle as she headed in the direction of the astronomy tower.

-

Fred’s hands were covered in blood, dripping from his knuckles when he saw the girl at the other end of the dark hallway. She sighed, a brief look of relief on her face, which was quickly replaced with fear as she saw the state he was in.

“What the hell have you done?” The girl picked his hands up from his sides and he winced ever so slightly.

“Nothing.” He grumbled.

“Oh yeah it really looks like nothing.” She rolled her eyes. “Tell me Fred.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I mean it.” She glared, with a lot less anger than was usually inside of her. “Please,”

“Y/n it’s fine. It’s my problem.” He tried to walk past her but she grabbed his arm, careful not to hit his hands in the process. She noticed the spatters of blood on his face then, and his neck, and all over his clothes.

“Fred tell me the truth, what have you done?” He could hear the fear in her voice, and wanted more than anything to just hold her close and keep her safe.

“He isn’t worth it you know,” Fred’s voice sounded weak, as if this was breaking point.

“Who isn’t?” “Cedric.” He finally admitted. “He’s a dick.”

“Did you hurt him?” y/n asked.

“He used you.”

“What so you beat him up?” She scoffed.

“I had every reason to,”

“Come on, you know we weren’t serious!” She tried to play it off, but he’d already seen her upset about it.

“You cried about it, that’s enough.”

“That’s overeating Fred, is your reaction to everything just to punch it?”

She turned to leave, deciding she’d just tell George where he was rather than spend anymore time trying to bring him back to their dorm.

“He was kissing her!” Fred shouted, making her freeze on the spot. “I was just going to yell at him, that was it. But he was kissing her.”

“That’s it, you leave me alone.” Y/n huffed, walking the other way and past the bloody boy.

“What!”

“If this is your sick idea of a joke Fred, I swear to god you’ve gone too far.” She was going for the astronomy tower steps when he reached out, ignoring the searing pain of his cuts and taking her hand in his.

“Stop it y/n, don’t.”

“I want to see him, if it’s true then I wanna know.”

“I’m telling the truth, I swear!” He boomed, making her gulp a little. Fred was normally laid back and unbothered by anything she did, which infuriated her. But seeing him actually care was a rarity. “You could do so much better than him.”

“What, like you’re so much better Weasley?”

“I didn’t say me,” He scoffed and she felt relieved to see his cocky nature return.

The girl stepped down from the steps, unaware that she hadn’t let go of him yet, and he too was still holding on.

“You meant yourself though, didn’t you?” She smirked, noticing how deep his eyes felt when she met them with her own.

“Yes.”

“Who’s there!” The dark halls hid whoever shouted after them, but Fred knew immediately who the voice belonged to.

“Fuck, it’s Filch.” He whispered, gripping onto her even tighter as they started to run together. She couldn’t help but giggle, not one for midnight adventures like Fred was. He heard it and hid a smile, scared that she’d see how much he wanted her to be happy.

They sped round a corner, y/n not sure where they were running to, but knowing they had to be fast as Filch’s footsteps were catching up to them.

“In here, quick!” Fred whispered, pushing her into a store cupboard and closing the door behind them both. They heard the caretaker rush past, his heavy breaths getting quieter as he ran away from their hiding spot.

“Was this your plan all along Weasley?” She whispered, still worried that they’d get found out. He just shook his head with a laugh, realising his hand was still closed around hers.

Their eyes locked, what little light that filtered in making y/n’s sparkle. Fred had let their feud stop him from noticing how beautiful the girl right in front of him truly was, he’d let a smile slip.

“If this was some elaborate plan to get me alo-”

“Shut up and kiss me.” He blurted out.

Maybe it was the adrenaline of running through the castle together, or their suppressed feelings finally coming to light, but y/n didn’t hesitate for a single second. She leant up to the boy and pressed her lips against his own, as he reached for her face he forgot about the blood and left blatant handprints all over her.

“I can be so much better than him.” He whispered to her between kisses, not wanting to be apart from her for more than a second.

“Then be with me.” She panted back, amazed by his confession, but overjoyed that he shared what the girl really wanted since she’d figured out what he’d gone to do earlier that night.

Fighting against the shooting pains in his arms; Fred picked the girl up off the ground and held her as tight as his body would allow him. They were pushed for space as it was inside the small cupboard, but neither of them cared as they knocked shelves over.

“Shhh.” Fred laughed, making sure no one had heard the commotion they’d created.

“You’re the clumsy one.” She bit back, kissing down his neck

The girl groaned as he kicked a can of something, making her jump in his arms.

“We’re not really gonna fuck in here are we?” She huffed.

“Always the subtle one y/n,” but she noticed his pink cheeks. “I bet we could.” He smirked.

“Alright, you’re on.”

Fred grinned again, rushing to take his clothes off as y/n did the same, both of them out of breath already. He grabbed her as soon as her top was off, pinning her body up against the one wall without a shelf on. The boy’s fingers toyed with her, floating between her legs and teasing her clothed pussy.

She gasped out desperately, his tongue licking stripes along her neck as she inevitably squirmed beneath his teasing.

“Fred, p-please don’t make me wait.” She begged, gripping onto his shoulders.

“You’re impatient.” He chuckled, enjoying the control he had over her body.

“Just fuck me f-fred I need it.”

That had been all he needed to hear before he wordlessly picked her up, her legs wrapping around him as he steadied her. His cock was pressed between them, hard and throbbing for her while he took it out. Fred moved a hand to her mouth, covering it lightly before slipping inside.

Her muffled scream made him push deeper, wanting to prolong that stretched out feeling for as long as possible. Then he started thrusting, pushing her back against the wall and she held onto him for life. As much as he would’ve hated to get caught like this, Fred’s need to hear her whine for him overpowered that risk and he released her mouth, instead resting his hand perfectly round her neck.

Y/n began dragging her nails down his bare back, basking in the feeling of his naked skin against hers. The boy threw his head out, her wall’s closing in around him and pushing him closer and closer.

The girl screamed, catching him off guard, but he didn’t dare stifle it this time. She gripped him harder, releasing around him with a final silent cry and he felt just how good he was fucking her. As she fell against the wall he finished up, her body limp and worn out yet still so irresistible to him.

“We better get back,” the boy whispered, his forehead resting against her own as they collectively tried to catch their breath. She nodded, whining slightly when he pulled out.

They dressed in silence, worrying Fred as he thought that maybe she’d begun to regret it so soon. But in the dark of the hallway, she found his hand and held it tight, not wanting to be apart from him after he’d done so much for her.

-

The common room’s light was a stark contrast to the dimly lit castle, and the couple squinted in the glow as the crowd turned towards them.

“There they are!” Someone called, possibly Harry.

“Oh god what happened to you two?” George cried, pushing past people to get to Fred and y/n, stopping when he saw their hands interlocked. “D-did you both kill someone?” He stuttered.

Fred frowned, then looked down at y/n and finally saw what his brother meant. In the passion they’d failed to remember about all the blood that had been on the boy’s hands. In the light he could see it all properly, the red hand prints all over y/n’s body.

“I think they’ve done more than just murdering tonight.” Ron scoffed, noticing the smudged stains all across the girl’s chest.

“I’ll kill him later.” Fred whispered to her, making her giggle slightly.

“I’ll help.”

#fred weasley #weasley #weasley twins #fred and goerge weasley #fred x y/n #fred x reader #fred smut #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fanfiction #the weasley twins #weasley twins smut #the weasleys #the weasly twins #weasley smut #harry potter smut #smut #enemies to lovers #enemies #lovers #harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #weasley angst #angst

[streetlight11]

Her Promise

Summary: It wasn’t a secret that you have disliked Sangyeon since you were in diapers. He was your mother’s best friend’s son. Though he was born just 27 days after you, it seems like he was a lot older than you in terms of his maturity. You don’t understand why the bad blood between you two. Until one day, you had been arranged for a marriage with him so suddenly.

Theme: arranged marriage au, enemies to lovers

Genre: angst, sad, fluff

Warnings: mentions of leukaemia, death, alcohol, swearing

WC: 10k

Pairing: Lee Sangyeon x Fem!Reader

a/n: Hello! This plot just randomly came to mind. It's kind of sad and a little angsty but you'll get through reading it. I promise! also, the words in italics is a flashback :)

Your family has been a close family friend to the Lee’s family and that was because your mother and Mrs Lee were best friends since high school. Also the reason why you were only 27 days older than Mr and Mrs Lee’s only son. However, not everyone has a happy friendship. In this case, it was you and the said son. His name was Lee Sangyeon and it was pretty obvious that you two could never get along since you were in diapers.

Despite your mothers being best friends and have been for the past 30 years, give or take. It’s no wonder that when they were pregnant with the both of you, they kept fighting with each other over small silly things when they barely got past even the slightest of arguments throughout their friendship.

And yet, it seems like luck was never on your side to begin with because throughout your whole education life up till today, he always ends up in your school or at least the school that you chose specifically hoping to be as far from him as possible.

It always baffles you how he would be the first person you spot amongst the crowd during the first day of school.

Did he do all these on purpose?

Why would he go to this extent just to annoy you if you both hated each other?

Maybe he didn’t in fact do this on purpose, but still, what are the odds that you end up in the same campus amongst the hundreds of schools available? That was a mystery you never plan on solving.

It was a bright Tuesday afternoon, students were scattered all over the large campus of Hangang University. You had just parked your car in a free space, exiting your vehicle before proceeding to lock it and walk towards the Computer Science building. You were halfway through the parking lot when someone suddenly swung an arm over your shoulder.

“Good morning my favourite person in the world!” Lisa giggled to your left as Rosie appeared on your right with her usual beaming smile that could melt hearts with just a glance.

“Hey girls, you’re early” You asked with a soft chuckle knowing Lisa was always late for class.

“Yeah, I wanted to leave my apartment now like I always do but Rosie begged me to drive her today because her baby is in the workshop.” Lisa huffs, only for the blonde girl on your right to defend herself.

“Hey, at least we got here on time. You’re welcome.”

With that, Lisa stuck out her tongue at Rosie, earning a laugh from you. The three of you continued to walk to the CS building, only to find Jennie and Jisoo chatting by the lockers while Jennie scavenged through her locker.

“Ew, is it just me or is the barbeque chicken a little dry today?” Jisoo scowls as she drops the chicken leg back onto her plate.

“No, I agree. It’s foul.” Lisa’s face contorts in disgust before you speak up.

“Do you guys want my salmon instead? I'm kind of full already.” You said, only to find them staring at you in concern. They began asking you if you were feeling okay and if you needed any medication of any sorts. To which you shook your head and just told them you were already full from the breakfast your mother made for you before she left for work with your dad.

Lisa and Jisoo ended up sharing your salmon piece, making you smile. At least your food wouldn’t be wasted, you thought.

A few hours later, your classes for the day were finally over. All you know is that your bed has been waiting for your arrival since the minute you left for school. You left class slightly later, telling the girls you had something to discuss with your lecturer regarding the assignment.

You told them to just head home first and not wait for you.

Almost 20 minutes later, you finally left the lecture room to head towards the parking lot where you had parked your car earlier. Your mind was clouded with the assignment requirements as you scrolled through the soft copy of the assignment through your email, too caught up in your thoughts to notice the group of boys walking down the hall.

That wasn’t until your shoulder roughly collided against someone’s back. It sent your whole body to stumble back from the impact. You were about to apologize when you heard a snicker coming from whoever it was.

So you glanced up and lord behold, it was just the person you were looking for…

Not really.

“Can you pay attention to where you walk? It’s not that hard to use your eyes.” Sangyeon’s voice was monotonous yet a pitch higher than others, just like his ego.

“That’s because you’re in my way, Lee.” You said sarcastically as you walked past him, not forgetting to purposely bump into his arm. He let out a scoff under his breath, fiery glare burning a prominent hole into the back of your head.

God, you can be such a pain in the ass sometimes. Him included.

A few days later, it was finally a Friday. You heard words going around campus saying that one of the seniors in the school’s football team was having a frat party at his place tonight. He invited everyone in the football team, and people that he knew. Turns out he also told his teammates to bring whoever they wanted whether he knows them or not.

Lucky for you (or maybe not), Rosie’s boyfriend happens to be one of the football players. If you remember correctly, his name is Yunhyeong.

And so you already know where this is going.

Hence, the reason why you were now standing right outside the house where the party was held.

No doubt the house was a beautiful landed property at the hills that overlooked the city, it still didn’t give you complete comfort knowing that you would be surrounded by drunk young adults who have no care in the world once the alcohol takes over their system.

Sure you sometimes go to these parties but you weren’t really that type of girl. It’s always an unpleasant surprise to others who aren't your girls, when you decline their offers of alcohol saying you don’t drink.

Though there were instances where you’d have some people still insisting on giving you a drink, you rejected them firmly whether they liked it or not.

And today was no different.

One moment, you were talking to your friends. Another moment, and you were suddenly left alone by the kitchen island. Isolating yourself from the countless intoxicated bodies, dancing freely without a single care in the world.

It suddenly dawned on you that you were indeed alone, with no other individual that you recognize in that huge house. Your friends were scattered around the main living area, each of them either with their significant other or just randomly hooking up with someone. Using alcohol as an excuse to be brave and approach someone at a party like this.

You sighed, reaching into your back pocket to fish for your phone. You were so close to texting them you wanted to head home first, when a deep voice broke your little bubble of thoughts.

“Hey… Y/N right?” The handsome boy asked as he smiled down at you softly.

He clearly didn’t seem too drunk, nor was he completely sober like you.

“Yeah… you are?” You asked, hoping you didn’t sound like a bitch.

“I’m Changkyun. I see your friends have left you so I thought maybe you’d want some company?”

Well, at least he’s being considerate enough.

“About that… I was actually about to-” As you were talking, your eyes were searching the room for at least one of the girls. But instead, your gaze was locked on a specific individual who was leaning against the staircase railings just staring at you with a subtle frown on his face, making your voice halt in your throat.

It was Sangyeon.

You should’ve known he would be there tonight. He’s the freaking midfielder in Hangang U’s soccer team for goodness sake!

For some reason, the moment you met his eyes, it was as though you got sucked into a black hole with no way to escape. That wasn’t until the warm touch on your arm made you jolt away and soon turned back to Changkyun who was now staring at you with worry.

“Hey? You okay? What’s wrong?” He asked, hoping he didn’t scare you away by that simple touch.

“Y-Yeah… Sorry Changkyun, but I think I’m gonna head home. See you around.” You gave him a sincere smile before turning to leave after he said his goodbye.

There is no way you’re gonna stay there any longer. It’s not like you were drunk or anything. Not like you’d expected him to show up in black leather pants, dark grey button down shirt tucked in, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hair parted close to the middle to frame his face and show his forehead, attractively. And definitely not like you felt as though your stomach was doing a flip in your abdomen after seeing him there physically.

Right?

No. You still hate him. He’s just a walking nuisance in your life. You don’t feel anything for him. Maybe he needs to stop appearing in your line of vision every 5 minutes.

It’s been two weeks since that frat party in which you had texted your friends saying you were already at home. Of course you didn’t get a response immediately but they still replied to you the next morning, telling you they were safe and they were glad that you were too.

It was a rainy Wednesday afternoon where students were all stuck on campus with nowhere to go. You were just seated at a wooden table alone with your laptop and scattered notes on the surface when the ray of sunlight that was previously shining down on you, got blocked by a figure.

You glanced up and not surprisingly, it was Sangyeon. He was alone. For once. He was always with his friends, so you wondered why he chose to walk around alone today.

“What?” You asked nonchalantly before looking back down at your laptop.

You heard a scoff from him only for him to speak up, “Did your parents tell you?”

You got confused as you looked back up to him and blinked, incredulously at what he just asked you.

“Tell me what?” You asked. He wasn’t sure if he was faking it or not but he figured with how genuinely confused you look, it was quite clear you weren’t pretending to not know what he was referring to.

“My parents are coming over to your home this weekend to discuss ‘something serious’. I’m not going. I’m not about to sit there and listen to what the ‘something serious’ is, let alone sit there trapped and stare at you the whole night.” Sangyeon said blankly as he burned holes in your head.

“Good. I wouldn’t want you there anyway.” You scoffed, only for him to push himself off the table and smoothed down his shirt.

Sangyeon left without saying anything else, watching as he turned his head as though in search of his friends. However, the minute you looked back down at your laptop, it seems like you missed the way he glanced at you subtly before turning back in front.

That same day, you went home to find your parents in the living room. Your father was watching the news on the flat screen tv while your mother was just watering the potted plants on the shelves.

The minute you stepped into the living room, your father turned to you and smiled brightly, “Oh, sweetie you’re back. We wanted to tell you that Mr and Mrs-” but before he could finish, you did it for him, stunning them in the process.

“-Lee are coming over this weekend to discuss ‘something serious’... I know.”

With that, your mother and father glanced at each other before a smile appeared on their faces again. You already knew what they were about to ask so you beat them to it.

“Sangyeon told me… So what’s so serious that they wanna come over here and talk about it?” You asked, not knowing what to expect but all you got was silence.

“We have to wait till everyone’s there.”

“Not everyone’s gonna be there…” You said.

“What do you mean?” Your mother asked.

“Sangyeon said he’s not coming. He doesn't want to.”

“B-But, he has to be there. It’s important.”

“What’s so important that he has to be there for?” Your voice laced with annoyance at the thought of having to sit in a room with him for minutes too long. Your parents got quiet before your mother spoke up again but for some reason, her voice sounded weak.

“You’ll know on Saturday.” She gave you a weak smile. Too weak to the point that she almost looks… pale?

Why is she pale?

But your mind was too jumbled up with what the main topic for this said family dinner would revolve around. Hence, why you were now sprinting up the steps and to your room. You didn’t want to think about it anymore. You just hoped the weekend passes by before you know it.

Saturday came in a flash and to say you were ready for whatever family gathering this was, is definitely a lie. You were curious. You were desperate to know just what important business is there to discuss with you and Sangyeon. Despite knowing he won’t be there for whatever this meeting is about, it still rendered you curious on just how important this said matter is.

You were told to look presentable even though you’ll just be at home. So you pulled out the nicest outfit you could find and just opted for a simple blouse and your denim jeans.

Once you were done getting ready, you left your room only to hear your mother calling out to you from downstairs, “Y/N sweetie, the Lee’s are here!”

You made your way down the marbled steps, ready to greet the elder couple when your eyes fell on their son who clearly said he wasn’t going to be here. But of course, it looked like he had been forced against his own will to be here and you were right.

“Oh! My sweet Y/N! It’s been so long. How are you my dear?” Mrs Lee asked as you broke your gaze from Sangyeon only to smile happily when you looked at his parents.

“Hello Mr and Mrs Lee. I’m doing well despite my crazy uni life. I hope you’re both well and healthy!” You said as Mrs Lee hugged you warmly like how she had been doing since you were young.

After greeting them, the 6 of you began walking to your dining room. You then turned to Sangyeon who was walking beside you, only to ask out of curiosity, “Didn’t you say you weren’t gonna come?”

With that, he turns to you and shoots daggers at you through his glare but it does nothing to scare you away.

“Do I look like I wanna be here?”

“Clearly.” You said, just to get on his nerves and it did.

“Fuck you.”

“I’d gladly fuck myself too.”

Sangyeon frowns at your comment despite knowing it was sarcastic. But he still found it amusing that it came out from your mouth. Sure you’ve cursed him a lot of times when you fought with him, but this was a different thing.

All of you finally sat down in the dining room, you helped your mother set the table.

A few minutes went by and everyone was just chatting amongst one another. Well, more specifically the elders while you and Sangyeon simply sat there across each other in silence. You were absentmindedly picking on your food, suddenly losing appetite.

All you wanted was for them to start discussing the very important business. Which is why your patience has run thin, making you blurt out the question that has been floating in your head since Wednesday.

“What’s the important thing you called me and Sangyeon here for?”

The room fell silent as you kept your eyes on your plate of untouched food. Completely ignoring the way Sangyeon had his eyes trained on you. After what felt like hours, your mother finally announced it.

It made your heart stop for a moment.

“We have decided to marry you off with Sangyeon.”

That was the last thing you ever wanted to hear from them. Never did you expect it to be this. Why were they doing this to you? Of course you know you’re single and not dating anyone but still… How could they?

“What?!” Both you and Sangyeon said in unison.

Tension filled the air, thick in its wake. You couldn’t look elsewhere except for your mother who had announced the news.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” You mumbled under your breath as Sangyeon got up, letting the chair drag painfully across the wooden floor. His mother grabbed his wrist to stop him but he roughly yanked his wrist from her and simply replied with his firm answer, “There’s no way I’m marrying her. I’m out.”

Sangyeon stormed out and you were so tempted to do the same but all you could do was glare at your parents in disbelief.

“Sweetie-” Your mom began but you were quick to interject.

“No! That’s not happening! Mom, you know we hate each other! How can you ask me to marry him when I don’t even love him?!” Your voice was raised as you stood up from your seat. Blood boils in your veins, heart pounding rapidly in your chest out of pure anger. You wanted nothing more but to scream.

You turned in your heels to leave but your mother caught your hands when you were about to reach the stairs. You pulled your hand from her grip, throwing your arm behind your back from the force.

“Sweetie please, listen to me-”

“No mom! I’m not marrying him and that’s final!” You yelled, too furious to even notice the way your mom had clutched her chest as her breathing started to become shallow.

Before you knew it, your mother collapsed to the ground but you were quick to catch her body right when she was about to crash onto the hard wooden floor.

“Mom!” You gasped as your dad and both of Sangyeon’s parents rushed over to where you were.

Mr Lee called the ambulance in which they came just 10 minutes later, carrying your mother’s unconscious body onto the stretcher and bringing her into the ambulance. Your father followed her in the vehicle while Mr Lee offered you a ride there.

Hours passed and you were waiting patiently outside the ER when a doctor came out. Your dad rushed over so you could only guess that she was the one who attended to your mom.

“Doctor, how’s my wife?”

“Your wife’s still under constant checks but so far, her heart is beating stably. However, it seems that her abnormal white blood cells have rapidly multiplied since her last check up.” The doctor said, making you frown.

“White blood cells? What’s going on? What’s wrong with my mother?” You asked desperately, still not sure of what’s going on.

“Your mother was diagnosed with Leukaemia stage 2 but from what I saw today, I believe it’s now up to stage 4.” The doctor announced, making you even more confused.

“What?” You whispered as you stared at your dad, hoping that it’s not true. But all you got was a disheartened smile that broke you into a million pieces.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You whispered to him sadly, upset that they’ve been keeping this a secret from you.

“I’m sorry baby, but your mother told me not to. She… She didn’t want you to get worried.” He replied.

You don’t understand. You knowing about this was better than keeping it hidden from you. If you had known about this sooner, you wouldn’t have shouted at her. Instead, you would have taken extra care of her. You would have given her more love than what she gave you. And you wouldn’t have to stand here, right now, hoping for your mother’s safety and health.

You slumped onto one of the chairs, staring into space as your father rubbed soft circles into your back to calm you down.

Three days passed and you have been visiting your mother at the hospital diligently after your classes. You stayed till night time, allowing your dad to fetch you from the hospital after he also came by to visit your mom.

You were currently alone in the room with your mom as your dad went out to buy dinner for all three of you.

She was just lying there sleeping peacefully after having a deep conversation with her about some things, her eyes now closed, breathing consistent, chest heaving up and down according to her oxygen intake.

You were just about to doze off when the heart rate monitor suddenly began beeping rapidly. It caused you to panic as you ran out of the room to call for the nurses.

When you came back, your mother was shaking on the hospital bed. Tears started streaming down your face as you found yourself curled up in the corner just watching the hospital staff do whatever is necessary to help your mother.

You didn’t notice your dad who had just come back, only to rush to you after putting the food down on the desk. It was when he cupped your face, that you finally realized his presence.

He pulled you against him as you couldn’t tear your eyes off your mother’s figure, shaking violently on the bed.

It was as though someone had dropped a bomb just a few feet away, a deafening silence pierced your ear drums followed by the single beep sound that was continuous without a pause. The sound soon became a mere ring in your ears.

You slowly brought your line of sight towards the heart rate monitor beside your mother’s bed and that’s when you saw it. The painful straight line with no spikes going up or down.

That’s when you knew, she was gone.

No. This can’t be real. This is just a dream. Wake up Y/N. Pinch yourself. Slap yourself. Do whatever it is to wake yourself up from this nightmare!

And yet, you’re still there in your dad’s arms listening to the nurse who wrote down the words you never hoped to hear.

“Patient is Jeong Hyemin. Time of death, 2143hrs.”

All the more you cried harder against your father’s chest. You were broken. Completely and utterly broken. Your mother left you before you could even say goodbye. She left before you could even tell her that you love her unconditionally even though you told her that everyday.

As much as your heart hurts, you knew you had to accept it. You knew you had to be strong for your mother. And that was exactly what you did.

The next whole week, you didn’t come to school. You emailed your lecturers personally and told them about your loss. They all sent you their well wishes for you and your dad, to which they excused you from school to attend your mother’s funeral. It broke you but you couldn’t collapse just then.

Your mother would want you to be happy, to continue living a wonderful life, with or without her. And that’s exactly what you were gonna do.

The next two weeks came as a blur and you were dreading for the day to finally arrive. You couldn’t bring yourself to look in the mirror and see what you looked like. Because at that very moment, you were in an item of clothing where you never thought you would wear anytime soon.

It was a wedding dress. Your wedding dress. It has finally come to this.

Your makeup stylist did a few touch ups to your eyeshadow whilst another lady adjusted the bow on your waist that separates your laced top with your beautiful silk gown that drops to the floor elegantly behind you.

If you were being honest, you had hoped for this very day to come when you would walk down the aisle with your arm linked with your dad’s while your mother stood at the front row, watching you proudly. Witnessing you entering a new life with your chosen partner whom you’d love with all your heart.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the case for you and it hurts you. But you kept telling yourself the same thing over and over again.

“I have to stay strong.”

That was the last thing you mumbled to yourself as you left the bride’s room, only to head towards the outdoor wedding ceremony where your parents had already booked an incredibly beautiful mansion located at the highest hills of the city.

It was a small ceremony with only your family and his, and very close relatives of both sides but that was it. None of your friends were there but you already told them about today.

Little did you know, his friends knew about it too.

You were approaching the outdoor garden where everyone was waiting for you when all of a sudden, your emotions started swirling in you.

A tear rolled down your cheek the minute you saw your dad standing at the doorway which leads you directly down the aisle. Your dad gave you a soft smile before cupping your face and kissing your forehead. He wiped the tear away with his thumb as he whispered, “You look so beautiful, sweetheart. I’m sure your mother would be so happy to see you like this.”

With that, you had to force your tears back, swallowing them as you nodded before linking your arm with his.

The song started playing and soon, both of you began to walk down the aisle. The first thing you saw was Sangyeon standing at the foot of the platform. He was wearing a navy blue tuxedo, looking quite handsome if you were being completely honest.

But the frown on his face was evident enough for you to know that he didn’t like this as much as you didn’t like this either.

Once you were standing just two feet away, you turned to your dad who kissed you again on the forehead before putting your hand in Sangyeon’s outstretched ones. After your dad left your side, Sangyeon guided you up the steps carefully.

His touch was soft, almost as if he wasn’t touching you at all. Minutes went by and right after you’ve both said your vows, it was time for the exchange of rings and sealing the deal with a kiss but of course, neither of you agreed to it. So when you were officially announced as husband and wife, you both looked at each other with a familiarity in your eyes which screamed “I hate all of this”.

Sangyeon lets out a soft groan before planting a chaste kiss to your temple, pulling away as soon as he kisses.

Both of you walked back down the aisle and once you were in the mansion, it took you less than a second to walk away from him and make your way straight to the bride’s makeup room.

Sangyeon didn’t bother to call for you as he too made his way to the common room, wanting to be as far away from you as possible. He hated every single minute of this. He never wanted this. But he was being forced to. And he doesn’t even know why.

When he heard from his parents that you accepted the arranged marriage, it baffled him.

You were both so adamant on rejecting this whole fiasco during that night of the dinner so what changed your mind?

That was a question he could never solve.

Days became weeks and you had moved into the new home that his parents and yours bought for Sangyeon and you to live in. It was a beautiful one story home that had 3 bedrooms, one study room, one living room and a backyard complete with a swimming pool. You were thankful for the home but you didn’t think it was necessary considering the state that you and Sangyeon were being put in.

Nevertheless, you didn’t want to disappoint the elders. Hence the reason why you moved in with Sangyeon without a single argument with your dad and in-laws.

Unfortunately, the fact that you two were now living under the same roof, it was quite expected of you to end up fighting over the smallest little things. If being within radius of each other on campus brought unnecessary snickers and curses to one another, living under the same roof only heightened those said things by 80%.

There wasn’t a day where you could walk around the house peacefully unless the other wasn't home.

It has been 8 weeks since you lived there with him. Despite the constant fights and heated arguments that the two of you often get into, none of it leads to the other doing unfaithful things behind each other’s back.

Before the marriage, it was quite clear that you weren’t in any sort of relationship with anyone nor were you the kind to sleep around with strangers you just met at a club or parties. Whereas, Sangyeon on the other hand was completely that, except he too was single. He tends to sleep around with girls he met at a party or the clubs he went to.

But never did he actually pursue any of his one night stands because he simply didn’t feel that way for them.

However, when he got married to you despite being against it, he made a promise to himself that he should not do all those things to you even if he doesn’t love you. Because he knows that it’s wrong and that he despises people who cheat on their partners.

For that, he told himself not to be that monster.

And he didn’t. Thankfully.

But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t storm out of the house after an argument just to get fresh air and be away from you at that very moment.

This goes both ways as sometimes, you would do the same if you couldn’t stand being in radius of him.

But tonight was different.

You were just washing the dishes when the front door opened to reveal a very drained Sangyeon who had just gotten back from the gym.

He strolled through down the hallway with his duffle bag strap resting on his right shoulder, the wet patches on his grey tank top sticking to his torso, black track shorts resting on his hips. His hair was slicked back from being drenched in sweat.

You spared him a quick glance over your shoulder before you turned back to the dirty dishes. Unfortunately for you, he caught you glancing just in time.

He walked past you to go to the fridge after putting his bag down on the floor, opening it and immediately grabbing the bottle of iced water sitting there patiently for him to take it. He downed half the bottle in less than 5 seconds, only to hear him let out a satisfied sigh right after.

You remained quiet as he looked at you for a moment, a small part of him wanted to ask you if you’ve eaten but a bigger part of him, more so his ego, was telling him to walk away.

For some reason, he decided to go with the former. Something he hasn’t been doing all these years.

“Had your dinner yet?” He asked, making you turn off the tap after setting down the clean dish onto the rack above your head before turning to him with a slight confusion on your face.

“Mhm. You?”

“Not yet.” He said as he leaned his hip against the counter top.

“What do you feel like eating?” You asked, wiping your hands dry with the towel hanging off the hook on the wall.

“I kind of have the feel for kimchi fried rice… I’ll just make do with what is there in the fridge. No worries.” Sangyeon said with a soft smile on his face before he left to take a long shower. Something he always did when he had a lot going on in his mind.

The minute he left, you stared at his descending back for a minute before turning back with a confused frown on your face.

Sangyeon was in the shower for almost 20 minutes. Taking a warm bath to calm his tensed muscles due to the intense workout he did with Juyeon and Hyunjae earlier. After his stress relieving bath, Sangyeon changed into a pair of sweatpants and his oversized shirt he normally uses to sleep.

He towel dried his hair, leaving it in an utter mess on his head with no care whatsoever.

He simply brushed through his wet locks with his fingers haphazardly before leaving his bedroom toilet. Sangyeon and you weren’t sharing bedrooms. It was just a mutual agreement right from the first night together.

You took the master bedroom in this house while he took the second bedroom.

Sangyeon was just walking down the hall, scratching the back of his head randomly when he caught a strong whiff of something delicious filling his nostrils.

“What the?” He whispered to himself as he cautiously made his way closer to the end of the hall. The minute he made a right turn, that’s when he saw you scooping out the contents of the pan into a clean plate. To his surprise, it was the exact dish he told you he was planning to cook earlier.

He finally stepped out of the shadows, only to startle you.

You flinched but that was it.

“Hey… I figured you’d be too tired to cook so I made it for you. Just leave the plate in the sink after you’re done. I’ll wash it later.” You pressed your lips into a small little smile before placing the dish on the kitchen island together with a spoon.

Right when you were about to leave the kitchen, his voice stopped you from walking any further only to hear him whisper a soft “thank you” to you.

You gave him a nod and soon left.

Sangyeon stares at your descending back before you disappear from his trail of sight, only to then tilt his head in amusement at your sudden kind act. For some reason, he found himself smiling as he took a mouthful of your delicious fried rice.

Another 3 weeks went by and you had just gotten back from your night study session with Lisa and Jennie, only to find Sangyeon slumped on the couch. He had his face buried in his hands as he looked like he hadn’t slept for days.

You frowned as you locked the door and soon went over to stand behind the long couch, diagonally from the couch he was sitting at.

“Rough day?” You asked quietly, but all you got was silence so you tried again.

“Have you eaten?”

Silence.

“Do you want anything to eat?”

Silence.

“Sangyeon, even if you hate me, at least say yes or no so I can-” And that’s when he bursts.

“Shut the fuck up!” Sangyeon yelled as he glared at you. His nostrils flared upon every heavy breath he took. You were stunned by his harsh tone, clearly not wanting any argument when you first asked the question.

“Excuse me?” You asked with a tone that was pretty obvious to anyone that you were clearly offended by his words.

“Didn’t you hear me?! I said shut the fuck up!” Sangyeon stood tall, his face red as you could only imagine he was stressed about something. A scoff left your lips, feeling the anger seeping through your skin with every word he said to you.

“Why? Why do you want me to shut the fuck up so badly?!” You asked as you stared at him with mixed emotions.

“God, you’re so fucking annoying!” Sangyeon growled as he began to storm off but you stopped him by grabbing his wrist.

“Answer my fucking question, Lee Sangyeon! I was just being nice and caring about your well being and all I got was to shut up? You’re a fucking asshole you know that?” You said, your words filled with venom as he gritted his teeth, jaw clenching tight.

“Who taught you to be such a brat? Your mother?” Sangyeon accidentally blurted that out of sheer anger. Your grip around his wrist left and the next thing he knew, your eyes were glossy from the tears threatening to fall.

“Don’t bring my mother into this.” You warned but he was still fuming with anger.

“Why? Why can’t I?! She’s the only reason why we’re in this stupid marriage anyway!”

You didn’t know what ran through your mind but the minute those words left his mouth, you couldn’t help but swing your hand onto his cheek. This shocked him to a certain extent as he simply glared at you but never did anything to hurt you physically.

“Do you know why I accepted the marriage proposal? Do you wanna know why I decided to walk down that fucking aisle and have myself being called as your official wife?! Well here’s the reason why. I promised my mom I would.” You paused as he remained quiet. You could almost see the cogs turning in his brain as though trying to process your words.

“My mom died wanting me to marry you. She told me she wanted to see me walk down the aisle one day and into your arms. Until now, I don’t understand why she specifically wants it to be you, but that’s what she wanted. So I promised her that she would be there for when that day comes. But she left me before she could even witness that for herself. She left before I could even say goodbye. It broke me. It fucking broke me Sangyeon! That’s why I chose to accept the proposal even when…”

You stopped for a moment, not realizing that you had been crying until you tasted salty tears on your lips.

“...even when I didn’t love you. I did it because I made a promise to her. I don’t want to let her down, Sangyeon.... I never wanted any of this to happen. And I know you feel the same so I’m sorry.” Those were the last things you said to him before going to your bedroom and locking yourself in there.

Sangyeon was left standing there, feeling completely shitty with what he said to you earlier. He never meant to hurt your feelings. He should’ve known better not to mention your mom but he only said that out of pure anger.

He knows it’s his fault but his ego was too high for him to simply give in to his mistake.

He was about to just brush this off when he heard the door click and soon, you were seen leaving your bedroom with a cross body purse on you. You didn’t give him the chance to speak as you just left the house with a soft slam of your front door. He watched as you took your white mini cooper and drove out of the driveway.

“Sweetie, why don’t you want to accept the proposal?” Your mother asked weakly as you sat on the chair beside her hospital bed.

“Mom, you know I don’t love him. We’ve been fighting since we were kids. I don’t see why I should marry someone who I don’t love.”

“Oh sweetie, you can only learn to love by loving.”

“Mom, that’s just fairy tale talk.”

“Do you wanna know something?” She asked as you stared at her quietly while you caressed the back of her hand with your thumbs as he took this silence to continue.

“Your father and I weren’t on good terms too when we first met each other. We always fought in high school and it went on for quite a while until Mrs Lee set me up on this blind date and it was with your father. At first we found it ridiculous, but after that first date, I realized that maybe your father wasn’t as bad as I thought. And so, we started to slowly understand the process of loving someone and soon enough, we fell in love. Love doesn’t always come to you directly. Sometimes, you need to find it yourself.”

She paused, studying your facial expressions carefully to make sure you weren’t angry or about to burst at her for the next thing she was planning to say.

“Can you promise me something sweetie?”

“Anything… Anything at all mom.” You said with a glint of hope in your eyes.

“Can you promise me that you’ll marry Mrs Lee’s son? I don’t care when. Just… as long as it’s him. Even if I’m not around anymore...”

“Mom-”

“Please? For me?”

Your heart broke hearing her pleading voice. You don’t understand why she was so persistent in you marrying him but for now, you couldn’t bear to say no. You couldn’t bear to break her heart. So, with a heavy heart, you chose your mother’s happiness before yours.

“Okay mom… I promise. But you have to promise me too that you’ll be fine and that you’ll come back to me and dad, okay?”

“I promise, sweetheart. I love you so much.” She said.

“I love you too mom.”

That night when you came back to your old house, your dad greeted you at the door with a shocked look on his face. He asked you why you were there at such a late time so you explained to him that you got into a big fight with Sangyeon and that you wanted to stay there for the next few days. Of course your father was happy that he would finally have someone in the house with him, but he was also worried that Sangyeon would be concerned over you.

You told him not to tell Sangyeon anything and that you wanted time away from him for now, in which your dad just nodded understandingly. The next few days, you spent your days diligently avoiding Sangyeon as much as you can despite being in the same campus. Lucky for you, he had very different schedules than you.

Which means, better chance for you to avoid him and not accidentally bump into him on campus grounds. And so far, your plan is working.

It’s been at least 3 weeks since you last went home to your shared place with him and you were starting to run low on your clothing supply back at your old house. Which means, you probably had no choice but to go back there now.

In all honesty, you weren’t mad at him anymore.

You were just too stubborn to face him after that argument. But it looks like you have no other choice now.

Hence, the reason why you were currently standing outside your doorstep at 8pm, noticing the vehicles parked outside your gates. By the looks of it, those probably belonged to his friends. And you were right. Because the minute you unlocked the door, you were immediately greeted by the chattering and laughter coming from the living room.

You walked in further, carefully after taking off your shoes and placing them in the shoe rack. Right when you had just made it by the end of the hallway and the living room was in full view, that’s where you saw the 6 figures scattered around the room.

The TV was playing a movie while the coffee table was filled with boxes of pizzas and other snacks for them to munch on.

Before you could speak up, two of them noticed your presence, making the blonde haired one to say hi, “Oh, hi Y/N.”

With that, the rest of them finally turned around upon hearing their friend greet you. Sangyeon, who was standing right in front of the TV, checking the cables, whipped his head around only to lock eyes with you. He froze in his spot, unsure if this was real considering you’ve been avoiding him like a plague the past 3 weeks.

“Y/N…” Was the only thing he managed to whisper under his breath as you awkwardly chuckled, hoping you didn’t create an unsettling atmosphere for them.

“Hey…” You whispered as he carefully made his way to you. The moment he was standing right in front of you, neither of you spoke. Both of you are afraid of saying the wrong thing which could potentially lead to another argument. But Sangyeon was smart enough to know not to make unnecessary comments to you after what happened the last time. So instead, he opted for an apology.

“Listen, about that night… I- I’m really sorry… I didn’t... I didn’t know.”

You could only give him a small smile that he could clearly see was weak and almost drained as you spoke up, “It’s okay. Anyways… I think I’m gonna rest.”

He simply nodded, resisting the urge to pull you into a hug and tell you how sorry he was for treating you like crap all these while. These past 3 weeks have made him realise that he wasn’t the nicest of people to you, that he said a lot of things that had definitely hurt you in the past, that he has been nothing but mean to you.

Upon hearing your bedroom door close, Sangyeon lets out a defeated sigh before walking back to his friends who then asked him if everything was okay. After he told them that everything was indeed okay, he plopped back down on the couch but it seemed to worry his friends seeing how sad Sangyeon looked at the moment.

Whenever he was with them, he has always been the goofy, savage, often picking on the others to get a reaction out of them, kind of guy. They’ve never properly seen this softer side of him.

It’s been nearly an hour since you came home and yet, he hasn’t caught a single glimpse of you anywhere. He got worried for you, not knowing whether you’ve eaten or not. So he decided to check on you. He got up from the ground to excuse himself, telling them to just continue what they were doing.

When he arrived at your supposedly shared bedroom, he found you seated on the window couch just staring into the night sky. However, before he could even knock on the door and push it wider, he heard soft sobs from you that gradually grew louder. He stayed by the door and unintentionally listened to your whispers.

“I miss you mum… I’m sorry if I couldn’t live up to my promise just like you wanted me to. I know I’m not the best wife to him, but I’m trying… I’m trying… for you. I wish you were still here beside me. To guide me on how to be a good wife. To love someone without feeling trapped. To love someone the way you and dad loves me. I’m so sorry mum… I’m so truly sorry…”

Sangyeon’s heart shattered into a million pieces for you. That’s when he realized that his feelings for you had changed. That all he wanted to do right at this very moment was to protect you. You were broken, fragile and yet, he’s been treating you horribly all these while.

He couldn’t take it any longer. With that being said, he carefully and quietly made his way to you. Not making a sound as you had your head buried in your knees, cries getting louder the closer he came to you. However, when you felt his soft hands caress the sides of your arms, you looked up. Your eyes glistened under the moonlight, your cheeks soaked with your freshly falling tears.

At that moment, you looked so vulnerable.

So when he pulled you into his embrace, you easily let him. Burying your face into his chest as he gently rubs circles onto your back, caressing your head comfortingly.

After a few seconds of silence, you finally whispered against his chest. Just loud enough for him to hear, but soft enough that nobody standing outside the door could hear.

“I miss her Sangyeon…”

Sangyeon wasn’t sure how to respond to your confession but he tried as best as he could to make you feel better.

“And I know that she misses you too. But it’s okay, she will always be with you. You’ll be okay… I promise.” He whispered and almost immediately, you pulled back as he frowned in confusion.

“You shouldn’t promise me anything…” You said, your tears slowly getting lesser and lesser by the minute.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the last time someone made me a promise, they promised me that they’ll be okay and that they’ll never leave me… And yet she did...” Your voice hushed. He could tell that that was your trauma. Making promises.

He felt a tear threatening to roll down his cheek but he managed to hold back. Sangyeon softly reached up to cup your face and caress your cheeks with both thumbs before he spoke up, “I’m sorry she did. I’m sorry that promise got broken. But it’s not her fault. You know it wasn’t. So let me make a promise to you now and this time, it won’t be broken.”

With that being said, you cried even harder as he just pulled you against his chest almost cradling you like a child. After almost 20 minutes in the room, he finally let go of your fragile figure and asked if you wanted to eat.

You told him you weren’t hungry and that you just wanted to rest. Sangyeon nodded, bringing you to the bed as he carefully tucked you in to make you cosy. He was about to leave you alone when you grabbed his wrists. Sangyeon turned around with such a soft gaze on you, it nearly melted you.

“Where are you going?” You asked with a soft voice, almost shy. Sangyeon found it so endearing that he couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“I’m gonna go back to the boys and maybe call it a night early.” He smiled, to which you felt his other hand come to wrap its fingers around your extended wrist, gently pulling it away before caressing the back of your wrist with his thumb.

“Can you come back after… please?” You whispered as you saw him smile again before putting your hand down on the mattress softly.

“I will.”

Soon enough, Sangyeon left you in the room to rest for a bit while he went back to his friends and relayed the message to them. Thankfully, the boys were very understanding. They told Sangyeon to send their well wishes to you in which he definitely would. After they left, Sangyeon went ahead and cleared the leftover trash.

Silently thanking the boys for cleaning most of the mess up before he even came back into the living room. He was almost done cleaning, not forgetting to brush his teeth before going back to your room only to find you already asleep with your back facing the door.

Sangyeon couldn’t help but smile as he closed the door behind him and soon made his way quietly to the other side of the room.

He carefully pulled the duvet up, climbing into bed after putting the duvet back down.

He very gently lifted your head up to let his right arm slide under your neck as a pillow, proceeding to pull your body closer against his chest. Once you were both in a comfortable position, he gently wrapped his other hand around your waist. Caressing your side in a comforting manner.

“Goodnight Y/N.” He whispered as he soon drifted off into slumber.

Ever since then, both of you had stopped the constant arguments. You weren’t always annoyed by every little thing the other did. In school, when you’d accidentally bump into one another, either one would smile and acknowledge the other. Some people who witnessed this, found it strange but your close friends didn’t.

It’s been a good 4 months since you’d reconciled with Sangyeon. Though there were disagreements at times, those arguments would however, be resolved as quickly as it came.

But one thing’s for sure, is that during the past 4 months, you and Sangyeon had slowly found yourselves falling for each other. Neither of you said it out loud, but apparently those around you could visibly tell. Especially your friends.

It was a Thursday afternoon, you and the girls were just walking to the lunch hall when Lisa spotted Sangyeon and his friends just walking down the main building. It seems like they were heading towards the lunch hall as well. With that being said, Lisa called out to Sangyeon’s name, causing him and the rest to turn.

The minute Sangyeon’s eyes locked on Lisa’s and then on you, his gaze softened as you saw the corner of his lips curving upwards into a cute smirk.

They stopped walking to let you girls catch up and once you did, Lisa immediately went to Juyeon and began talking to him casually. The other girls went to walk with the rest while you came to a quick stop beside Sangyeon before you continued walking with the others ahead of you.

“How was class?” He asked, his arm accidentally brushing against yours as you walked further down the building.

“Horrible. Can you believe he wants us to submit 10 codes by the end of this week? I swear that man wants me dead.” You groaned in annoyance, only to hear him chuckle. But what he said next, caught you by surprise.

“But I don’t want you dead.”

With that, you turned to him as a small smile appeared on your face despite the frown you had. Both of you walked in silence, just basking in the conversations of your friends when you felt a soft tickling feeling on your fingers.

You glanced down to see that his hand was playfully brushing against your fingers, making you look up to catch him already staring at you.

Sangyeon smiled at you innocently, not sure if he wanted to say anything else until he felt you slide your hand into his, lacing your fingers with his easily. Now it was his turn to look down and then back up at you. All he did was chuckle, a sound you could definitely get used to.

A week passed and it was finally the weekend. You and Sangyeon didn’t have anything planned for the day.

Or at least you thought.

You were just lounging on the couch on a beautiful Saturday evening when Sangyeon came over to plop down beside you with a cheeky smile on his face.

“You’re oddly happy? What’s going on?” You asked with a raise of your eyebrow.

“I have a surprise for you but you have to go get ready okay?”

“Get ready? It’s already 7 o’clock. Where can we go?” You asked but all you got was a soft whine from him telling you to just do it. You opted to listen as he reminded you to wear prettily. You weren’t sure where you were going so you didn’t want to either overdress or underdress.

So you opted for simple denim skinny jeans, a baby blue sleeveless top, a white long knit cardigan and a pair of beige chunky heeled sandals.

When you left your shared bedroom to go to the living room, you were surprised to see him dressed handsomely in his black skinny jeans, a white button down shirt with the first few buttons undone, along with a navy blue bomber jacket. You saw him look at your outfit from head to toe, only for him to smirk playfully at you.

“Damn, who knew my wife could look this beautiful?” Sangyeon teased, making you giggle.

“Sangyeon, I literally wear jeans everyday.”

“Exactly.”

When you realized what he was trying to say, you soon found yourself blushing as you walked over to him and gently slapped his chest with your hand. Urging him to go before you slapped that cute smirk off his face.

Sangyeon couldn’t help but laugh but nonetheless left the house in his matte black Bentley. You watched as he drove down the street, bringing you to a part of the city where you don’t remember going to before in your life. The car ride was filled with jokes and laughter coming from both of you. He distracted you too much to the point where you didn’t even notice you were already at the location he wanted to bring you.

You looked out the window and that’s when you realize, “Is this an outdoor cinema?” You gasped when you saw the open field with a large screen at the centre, along with the endless rows of couples seated on their own blankets with snacks and drinks of their preferences.

“Sangyeon… This is…” You were speechless and he could see.

He chuckled as he just stared at you with such endearment in his eyes. Some people would just call it love.

“It’s wonderful.” You finally got to finish your sentence, turning to him with a smile.

“I’m glad you think so. Now let’s go! The movie’s about to start.”

Two hours had passed and you were now a few minutes in of the second movie. You noticed some couples were starting to get comfortable on their blankets. You were starting to get tired just sitting up straight and Sangyeon noticed your subtle shifts, desperate to find a comfortable sitting position.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah. I’m okay, just a little tired from sitting up.” You explained with a bashful little smile. Just then, Sangyeon thought of an idea that was completely beyond your imagination.

Hence, when he patted the space in between his legs, you glanced down and then back at him who was seen smiling softly to you. None of it was making you feel creeped out. In fact, you felt safe and that you could trust him. After all, he was your husband anyways. Of course you trust him.

“Come here.” He said as he stared at you calmly. He wasn’t sure if you were entirely up for this but before he could take his words back, that’s when he saw you carefully crawling towards the space he patted earlier.

Once you were seated in front of him, Sangyeon scooted forward a little before he slid his arms around your waist.

He soon pulled you against his chest, before he whispered in your ear, “Comfortable?”

You turned your head to look at him but instead got slightly flustered by the close proximity that led you to feeling his lips accidentally brush against your own. You got quiet for a moment, praying that he didn’t hear the way your heart was pounding against your chest.

You couldn’t trust your voice so you opted for a soft hum to answer his question. The next few minutes, you found yourself getting more and more comfortable in his arms, putting your hands on top of his forearms as you unconsciously caressed his skin in a calming manner. All the while, Sangyeon was behind you, completely distracted from the movie in front of him.

Instead, his mind was fuzzy with how close you were to him at that very moment. This was something he never thought would happen back when he was still young.

But now that he was here with you, just cuddling at an outdoor movie theatre, he couldn’t help but want more of this. Sangyeon found himself smiling as he couldn’t help but give your sides a gentle squeeze, telling you that he was there with you and that he would never leave you.

Thankfully, you got the silent message.

Because right after he did that, you turned your head to look at him. His eyes held the galaxy. You found yourself getting lost in his eyes.

Both of you were silent but it wasn’t awkward. You didn’t know what came over you but a sense of confidence washes over you. With that being said, you carefully leaned forward to close the gap and soon pressed your lips on his.

To say he was taken aback slightly, is definitely an understatement.

But it took him less than 3 seconds to finally move his lips against yours in a smooth rhythm. You brought your right hand up to gently cup his face as you kissed him.

Sangyeon tightens his hold on you, pulling away from the kiss only to look into your eyes with such adoration. He wasn’t sure if now was the right time to express his feelings for you, but he thought, what was there to lose. So with that thinking, Sangyeon took a small breath before he uttered the 3 words he never thought he’d say to you but he did. And every single word he said at that moment, was as sincere as ever.

“I love you.”

You couldn’t help but smile softly at him before you kissed him again in a longing kiss before pulling away and replying to him with the exact emotions you felt for him genuinely.

“I love you too, Sangyeon.”

~~~

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