Mr. Burns x Jungkook
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Hello, it’s SugarplumSky09! And a SUPAH special onyonghasayo to my Korean fans.
YOU GUYS!!!!! I am seriously blushing from all your comments. Ever since my parents split up, the only thing that can make me feel alive is returning to my happy place—here! ??º·(? ????????? )?º·?
Sorry about the late upload! The Queen’s death really impacted me, and I had a big science quiz. But that’s out of the way! So, without further ado, let’s pick right back up to my two husbandos. Bai-bai! *waves majestically at you* ??( ? ? ? )?
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A month had passed—no more time for unrequited daydreams of what-could-have-beens. Monty knew he should focus on the what-is-happening-nows. Still, his eyes always lingered towards the window. His sighs began with a slight “J” and trailed off.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!
“I’m busy! What is it?” Mr. Burns was feeling particularly scrooge-ish at the hour. The ornate double doors to his gaping bureau were struck open by none other than Waylan Smithers. His clothes were tattered, glasses cracked and crooked, and out of breath so imagine him panting.
“Mr. Burns,” Waylan sputters, “th—the workers. They’re rioting, sir!” A shock was sent down Monty’s spine. His inviting presence yet whip-cracking gravitas always kept them in line. His mind was so occupied, he didn’t even notice the hoard of protestors on the snowy pavement.
“Smithers, what’s the problem?”
“It’s the annual Christmas Ball, sir. It’s tomorrow and you haven’t announced the musical guest.”
“Tomorrow is… Christmas?” What was happening to Monty? Since when did such a shrewd man lose track of the days? “I guess I forgot to book our guest star.” CLAP! Smithers’ clipboard rattled as it hit the ground. “You’re telling me we have nobody?! Sir, you can’t have the Springfield Power Plant Christmas Ball without a musical guest!” The workers underneath his veranda wanted blood.
“WE WANT OUR MUSICAL GUEST!”
“TELL US THE GUEST STAR!”
“CATER BEER AND DONUTS” (that was Homer X3)
Monty sighed and opened his window. As the self-effacing, magnanimous leader he was, he would let them k*ll him to d**th. “Do not do it, Mr. Burns.” Smithers begged. Before anymore could be sayed, a sneaky silhouette snuck through the slit of the door.
“Umm. Mister. Burns.”
That voice. It played on the nape of Monty’s neck like a harp. “J- Jungkook?” Standing there in all his glory, Jungkook from BTS stood at the threshold of the office.
“Please, Jungkook, call me Monti-ya.”
All Jungkook could stare at was the paperwork he initialed at Monty’s desk. All Monty could stare at was his windswept hair. Like it was personally designed for Monty to twirl his fingers in. And his chin—so jagged and pointy, a commanding aura as if to say, “get down on all fours and wipe up this mess.” Monty had self-respect, but he was so deferential in the same room as Jungkook.
“That should be it.” The Korean popstar announced, standing up from his seat. “Jungkook.” Monty mumbled as he watched Jungkook walk out. “Thank you. For doing this for me.” Jungkook softly sighed and kept walking. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it for the people of Springfield.”
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The stars have never been so bright over the city of Springfield. But they all looked blurry to Monty ‘cause his tears were in the way. Jungkook had given an astounding performance of “Best of Me,” “Dionysus,” and “Not Today,” (ONLY THE JAPANESE VERSIONS!!) but wasn’t quite done with the night. He made his entrance into Monty’s office loud enough to make his presence known.
“Oh, Jungkook,” Monty sighed, eye contact never leaving the window. “My workers don’t like me. The citizens don’t like me. Everyone thinks I’m a villain.”
“I know what it’s like to be villainized.”
Jungkook places one hand on Monty’s back, the other outstretched in front of his face. The bronze amulet—he must’ve fished it out of the lake. “H—how? I thought I destroyed the amulet.” His thoughts were racing, but Jungkook looked calmer than ever. “Some things are eternal.”
Almost simultaneously, they both began to unbutton their shirts. They laughed at this realization. Screw Smithers, screw Lee Mi-joo, and screw anyone else who had found their love pointless. Monty was no longer using his brain, only thinking with his member. Pressed against the steamy glass, he reached up his arm and began to grab—
Okay everyone, I gotta publish this chapter unfinished—I’m being called down for dinner. Love you all (except for AirRaid38, I KNOW YOU’RE A TROLL! Get bent loser)! Hope you enjoyed this week’s update. Please rate five stars and drop a comment on what you think will happen next! If you’re a fan of me, SugarplumSky09, please consider sending donations to the Royal Family. Okay, toodles xP
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Jacob Orloff is a fourth-year cinema production major who is totally going to get published soon. You can reach him at [email protected].