#I read a book a day when I’m not writing and probably a bout two or three books a week when I am

[corvis-crimson]

Every book I plan to read for this last stretch of September and into the end of November!!

As a writer I think it’s important to branch out and reach authors you’ve never heard of before! I typically go to second hand sales and buy lots of books or to smaller local shops and get them used. I have been trying to branch out genre wise with some success here and there but let’s see how this batch of books goes!

[grahstumhurts]

1. Ignition

Cheerleader!Megan x Loser Band Member!Reader

a/n - n/n basically means nickname

Rekindling Masterlist

“Hey” Lara waves a hand over your face “You good? Zoned out for a good five minutes. Anything you wanna talk about?” She questions the look on your face, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. Noticing the deepness in your thoughts in the way your face had scrunched up.

“I'm good, Dont worry about me.” You shrug her hand off your shoulder, standing up to put your guitar strap on. “What are we working on today?” All four of your band had gathered in Dani’s garage, which had become a tradition ever since forming your quartet. Meeting up every Tuesday and Thursday to work on music together, With Lara as vocals, Dani as bass, Yoonchae on drums and You on guitar and main songwriter. 

“We are voting on prom performance songs” Dani grins, “As the leader of our band, I say we should do either Still into you or Fender. if your done that is.”

“Either one works for me.” Yoonchae chimes in, quietly tuning her drum kit.

“I'm down to sing still into you” Lara shrugs and looks over at me expectantly. “What bout’ you? Still into you fits your vibes currently since you're still not over megan.” Dani slaps Laras arm, “Ow what its true!” She rubs her arm. 

“Fenders my vote, Dani?” you glance over at dani who is still glaring at Lara. “For the record I'm over her.” You go back to playing around with your pick, One that Megan had given you when you were kids. A pink hello kitty one with her worn out initials on the back. 

“You still using that pick says a lot, Yn” Dani scoffs “But i can ask if we do both? I’m sure Ms Grant wont mind us doing two” She shrugs, 

“Well some of the lyrics on fender need some reworking since i haven't finished it.” you add in, “I’m like, 80% done though. Shouldn't take too long” you glance into your notebook, the lyrics scribbled in, varieties of different coloured pens from when you had woken up and scribbled something down. You hand it over to Lara, who takes a quick read and nods. 

“This is probably some of your best work so far, Personally.” She smiles, “No offence to the other songs in this tragedy of a notebook”

“None taken, Some of those were horrid” You chuckle. “Lets work on still into you first though, I’ll finish up fender in the next couple of days.” You strum your guitar to check its tuning before turning on the amp. 

-

Wednesdays were always the worst. You shared one class with Megan and that was Psychology. On Wednesdays Psych was always first period, which means you had to see her with Greg. Greg is an asshole to say the least, He always teases Yoonchae, who's a sophomore while he's a Senior. Calling her a bunch of racist slurs and other things cause she's a transfer student from Korea, Not sure he realises Megan is also Asian. Pretty fucking ironic honestly. Greg always flirts with Megan any chance he gets. It's hard not to pay attention to his poor attempts at flirting with her when he's so bad at it. 

You sit in your regular spot waiting for Ms Ginberg, You open up your notebook and work on changing up some of the lyrics that didn't work. 

“Im hiding in the trunk im crossing my legs,” You mumble under your breath, “What's another word for crossing?” You rub your forehead as you repeat your question aloud.

“Pretzeling is a good word. If that's what you're looking for?” Megan stands by your desk, Close enough to notice the scent of oranges and persimmons, Her favourite fruits. “You write music now, That's pretty cool, N/n” She smiles at you, as if she hadn't been ignoring you for the past year.

“Thanks,” You avoid eye contact with her, scribbling down the word in place of crossing. “I'm hiding in the trunk, I'm pretzeling my legs. Sounds a lot better.” 

“Whats this song even about?” She questions you, looking into your notebook glancing around at the different lyrics. 

“Its nothing, just something i'm working on” You hastily close the book and shove it into your bag. “Since when do you care what i'm doing?” You scoff under your breath as Ms Ginberg walks in, Megan returns to her normal seat next to Greg with a slightly hurt expression.

-

Class goes as usual, Ms Ginberg teaches nothing, Greg flirts with Megan,Ms Ginberg assigns you way too much homework, and the list goes on. You gotta give it to Greg, he is persistent. Megan comes up behind you after class ends, Taps your shoulder to get your attention.

“Hey, Can we talk after school?” She asks, with a seemingly large amount of sincerity “I owe you an apology and an explanation.”

“What makes you care now?” You cross your arms over your chest and give her a disappointed look “You haven't seemed to care for two years, Megan.” It hurts to call her that when you’ve known her for all your life as Meg or Meimei. 

“Look, Just hear me out. You don't have to do anything afterwards, I'll leave you be. But just take a chance on me okay?” She pleads with you.

“Fine, I’ll meet you outside the gate and we’ll talk there.” You sigh deeply, “I’ve gotta go to my next class. I’ll see you around, Megan” You walk off, knocking your shoulders together as you push past her to your second class of the day. Lara ambushes you on your way to your shared ceramics class. 

“So, what's the deal with you and Megan anyway?” She gives you a knowing look “If you're not over her just say so, Saw you talking to her earlier.”

“She wanted to talk, I dunno what about but it seems important I guess.” You shrug “I’m not entirely sure if I'm totally over her now.” You sigh again and Lara rolls her eyes

“I knew it, Dude, seriously its not that embarrassing as you think.” She pushes your shoulder playfully “First girl crushes be like that for real.” she laughs after her last comment.

A/n EEEK SO HAPPY WITH HOW THIS FIRST CHAPTER CAME OUT WOOOWOWOOO

[cattlemons]

Third Fifth Time's A Charm

| You and Megumi have been dating for quite some time now. Almost half a year, give or take. Upsettingly enough, he has yet to say his ‘I love you's. This bugs him a bit too much so Megumi is now a man on a mission and that mission just so happens to be about confessing his love to you. Basically the four times Megumi almost dropped the “L” word and the one time that he did. I mean come on, fifth time’s a charm, right?

TW: None, I think? I wrote it with college!au in mind but can be read as just a normal jujutsu kaisen fic Just fluff after posting angst, megumi gets chased by a duck? idk what counts as a tw pls let me know if I should add anything, also actual big boy writing cus word count is 3k.

---

Crumbs, ducks and hold on a minute... 

It was around October when the leaves were finally falling and the air was brisk. Megumi had decided to take you out for a mini-date before finals week whisks the both of you away, each secluded in their own world of ink and paper. 

It had honestly gone mostly ok and as planned. The usual schtick, really. Compliment your pretty outfit, exchange loving banters on the way there, get to the park and enjoy your time together. Simple and easy, right? 

Wrong. 

Megumi and you had just finished eating the sandwiches he’s prepared for the picnic. They were wrapped so neatly in pink patterned paper that you can’t help but swoon at the time and effort it must’ve taken for him to prepare it all. 

Megumi took to the toilet a bit after that, or, he planned to. What he didn’t see coming is the fact that ducks started chasing him around right as he walked past the pond. You soon learned that they were chasing him because of the bread crumbs falling off of his jeans. 

After a few bouts of running on Megumi’s part (and giggles from yours), the ducks finally stopped following him. Opting to squawk at the couple on the other side of the pond that’s actually trying to feed them crumbs and seeds. 

Megumi soon found relief as he sat back down beside you still huffing and puffing from the unexpected marathon he ran. Of course, you being the compassionate girlfriend that you are, did not let him off easy. At least, not without teasing him a bit. 

“You know those ducks have really good taste in men,” you quipped. A few beats of silence pass before the two of you erupt into a fit of laughter. 

You were nearly in tears as you continued to giggle uncontrollably at the mental image of Megumi getting chased and flirted with by ducks. Though you probably won't find your laughing any special, Megumi found it absolutely breathtaking. 

From the way your eyes brighten at the hilarious image to the sound of your held-in guffaws, Megumi just can’t get enough of it. He wants to hear it over and over again. He absolutely loves it. 

And he absolutely loves you.

Wait, huh?

Watson, how do you say “I love you”?

“Finally! No more stuffy libraries and definitely no more books! I’m so happy it’s over,” you yelled as you stretched out your tired back. 

Finals are over and you can now rest without worrying. However, it’s a whole other story for Megumi. He is still stressed out of his mind but not because of the reason you might think. No, he is stressed because he has yet confessed the feelings hidden deep in the recesses of his heart.

I love you. 

Who knew such simple words could drive one mad. Megumi never would’ve thought the stress his feelings would bring could trump the amount of stress an exam would bring but he supposes that he can only be so many times. 

Megumi has decided that maybe he should tell you the three words that have been plaguing his mind. So a few days after some much-needed rest, Megumi proposes a little trip to the art museum. Who were you to refuse such a sweet request?

Dressed in his most academic-looking attire, Megumi readies himself for his little confession, going so far as to script it. 

Yes, today he will confess!

Today he did not confess.

It really was the perfect moment. Megumi feels absolutely horrible for letting such perfect timing pass him by but nothing could be done about it now. 

The perfect timing came by when you were nearing the end of the date. It was a really fun date, possibly one of the best ones so far! Megumi had shown you around the museum, giving fun tidbits of information on each art he sees. You were about to point out how knowledgeable your boyfriend was before it finally clicked. 

“Ah! My dear Watson, I think I’ve solved the mystery. It turns out the Duke of Information, Megumi Noritoshi, has done ample research before this date! Proof in the pudding, Watson, look at his palms,” you teased as you took his hands into yours and pushed back his sweater sleeves to see smeared notes on his earlier “fun facts”.

Megumi’s face turned pink as he flushed at your exposing of his secret. Muttering a small, “Blimey, I’ve been caught!” in response to your little skit. 

Seeing him blush and flustered has you grinning (not that anyone could blame you, it really is a cute sight). Taking your chance, you decide to tease him a bit more. Opting for light nudges of your elbow and soft kisses all over his face. This, of course, did nothing to ease the red spilling all over his cheeks. If anything it painted more colors on his face. 

Once the teasing died down, you decided to maybe be a bit more heartfelt. After all, he did prepare for your date and put in so much effort to learn these facts and information. 

“I might not say this enough but I absolutely appreciate you putting this much effort into our dates… maybe I have not been vocal enough  about these things but I hope you know I really do appreciate you doing this and… I love you,” you mumbled a tad bit quieter than you usually would. You’re even caught sporting a light blush of your own despite you trying your best to keep a nonchalant front. This isn’t your first time telling him you love him but, still, being so heartfelt like this has you blushing.

Megumi smiled at his usually unbothered girlfriend being so, well, bothered. 

Wrapping his hands around your waist, he goes to give you a small peck on the crown of your head before leaning in a bit more to whisper his confession. 

I love you!

Yet the words did not seem to tumble out. Although a bit disappointed in his lack of confidence, Megumi recovered quickly and instead leaned in for a sweet kiss. 

I wonder if fishes have confessions too?

“Megumi look! They’re so pretty,” you exclaimed excitedly as you pointed at a jellyfish swimming past. Megumi nods in agreement though he is honestly paying more attention to you than the exhibit.

Megumi has taken it upon himself to set up another good date  to confess on. Truth be told, he’s had far too many nightmare-ish thoughts about his recent failures in confessing and how he’ll never be able to say it. So, to take action, Megumi decides to take you on another date. This time he decided that maybe visiting an aquarium would be fun!

He is sorely mistaken, unfortunately.

As you continue to walk through the exhibit, you fail to notice Megumi lagging a bit behind you in the aquarium tunnel. Your attention was so fixated by the fishes swimming over your head and on each of your sides, that you missed the sight of your boyfriend darkly muttering (and struggling) on his confession script. 

Or so he thought...

“Honestly, why can’t I just be a fish-”

“Why would you want to be a fish though?” you asked as you leaned in towards him. 

Megumi’s eyes widen in surprise at your sudden intrusion. Megumi supposes that he’s been too lost to the world. He shook his head and just muttered a quiet “never mind”. 

The day continued as you enjoyed your day. You feast your eyes on magnificent sea creatures both great and small; you can’t help but awe at them as a child would. Not that Megumi minded, he thinks you look absolutely adorable when you coo at the sharks or clap at the seals when they would do a trick. However, Megumi couldn’t say he’s enjoying today as much because he continued to struggle with his little confession script, either chickening out at the last minute or completely missing the perfect timing. 

By the end of the day, Megumi decided enough is enough. Under the dim lights of the empty “deep sea” sector of the zoo, Megumi closed his eyes and steeled himself. Summoning every bit of courage he had within him, he blurted out his confession. It was a bit aggressive and loud, perhaps even a bit rushed. 

But he did it-

-not.

Megumi opened his eyes, to be greeted not by your soft smile. It wasn’t even your frown. Instead, he was greeted by a fish staring directly at him through the aquarium glass. It seems to be mocking him, almost. And as for you, you were already at the other side of the area, lining up to pay for a souvenir that caught your eyes. 

Ugh, why can’t he just be a fish and blow bubbles at you to show his love? 

Wine is a  poetic mood-setter, right?

Although tired and defeated by his numerous failed attempts, Megumi is not one to give up. This is especially true when it comes to you. So, if one plan fails then best be known he is already running back to the drawing board to come up with a new one.

This time around Megumi decided to pull up on all the stops. Sparing no expense, he reserved a table at one of the city’s most high-end restaurants. I mean what could be more romantic than a late-night wine-and-dine?

To Megumi it’s not the pricey menus that are troubling, nor is it the number of strings he had to pull to get the reservation. Nope. What’s troubling him is the confession he is secretly building up to. You see, it’s been a good handful of months since Megumi came to the realization that he absolutely adores you. 

He loves you.

Yet, somehow, saying it out loud is a whole different league than thinking and coming to terms with it. Something about admitting it and posing vulnerable seems so jarring to him. Of course, you’ve never given him any reason to fear being honest with you. He supposes that if anything were to cause him to be this certain way, then it’s probably the lack of touchy-feely emotions in his childhood. That aside, Megumi is still as determined as ever to tell you that he loves you. This brings us to the current situation. 

Megumi is seated opposite of you, decked in his slickest suit and tie. You had admitted that he looks ridiculously good in his outfit before the dinner (he blushes at the comment). Naturally, you were also in a rather stunning number yourself, with the scandalous-looking outfit only you could possibly pull off. 

As much as Megumi would love to just admire you and enjoy the amazing atmosphere, he has other things currently occupying his head. At first glance, you might’ve thought that he was flustered by your choice of outfit for the night if you didn’t know any better. This is, of course, one of the reasons why Megumi was a bit dazed but sadly that’s not the only reason why. 

You didn’t really connect the dots right away. There are a bunch of little crumbs and pieces that could’ve contributed to Megumi’s flustered and jumpy attitude in this particular evening but nothing defining. 

The evening progressed and more telltale signs showed themselves to you. You could honestly write a meter-long list but to keep it concise, the things you have noticed include Megumi’s inability to look you directly in the eye, the rather incessant twiddling of his thumbs, the stutter that accompanied his usually leveled voice, and finally (and the most telling) is his avoidance of the word “love”. 

Of course, it could all be a coincidence but you think not. Although you didn’t do much to garner his “suspicion”, you’re not daft nor were you ignorant. You knew of his struggles in dropping a particular “L” word. You had honestly known for a while. It’s not that you were a psychic or anything of that sort, it was actually because Megumi had not been the most secretive of his plans. You suppose he intended for it to be a “hush-hush” plan but unfortunately for Megumi, he had a tendency to think out loud when stressed. 

Though you were originally planning to let Megumi off the hook and let him figure things out on his own, you decided that leaving him to wallow on his own is doing more harm than good. So when Megumi choked rather aggressively at his pasta when you said the word “love”, you chose to bring up the topic. 

“So, when are you gonna tell me what’s been cooking up in that head of yours… hmm?”

Megumi’s eyes widened at the question you’ve just asked, though it seems more like a prompt than a question. Megumi looked down to his lap for a second before facing you again, this time sporting an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. 

Megumi struggled to confess before letting out a defeated sigh and a small apology. This caused you to shake your head, not in a dismissive way but in a way to tell him that there’s nothing to be sorry for. 

“Megumi, I know you know I know so I’ll just say it outright,” you huffed before continuing, “I love you’s aren’t something you can or should force out. I’ve said it to you on countless accounts because it comes naturally to me, love. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel cornered into saying it but please know that I don’t mind you taking your time, ok?”

Your little speech was met with a relieved sigh and soon followed by a laugh. You look up to see Megumi’s genuine grin in place, you can’t help but smile at the endearing sight. 

“Ahh, I should’ve known not to stress over these kinds of things when it’s with you, huh? Thanks. I’ll definitely take my time with it.” 

You nodded in agreement at his newfound determination. As much as you wanted to hear those three words tumble out of his lips and uttered to you, you knew better than to rush him into it. And besides, hearing it in full sincerity will definitely be better than hearing a rushed one. With all that said, you and Megumi enjoyed the rest of the evening with wine glasses raised and the air filled with happy chatters and laughs. 

And I thought it was difficult, huh?

A streak of light shone through the gaps in the curtains, making it known to you that it is time to get up already. Or, at least, it would be time to get up had it been a weekday. Thankfully, however, it is the weekend so you can take your time in getting up. While your boyfriend slept soundly beside you, his hand draped loosely over your figure, you can’t help but admire his features. As you did so, thoughts on what happened a while back popped into your head. 

 It’s been a few months since your last dinner date with Megumi and things have calmed down quite a bit. Although Megumi still feels a twinge of guilt from his lack of response whenever you whisper an “I love you”, he does remember your take on this situation, and those few words you spared have done immense work in calming him down. 

As you continue to reminisce on the events that have transpired in the last few months, you failed to notice Megumi stirring awake beside you. You only notice that he’s awake when he’s poking your cheek, asking, no, demanding petulantly for his morning kisses. 

Deciding to tease him a bit while he’s still in his morning daze, you uttered, “Sorry, love. Morning breath.” You went as far as sniffing at his general direction and fanning your hands over your nose and scrunched your nose up in fake disgust. 

Still in a sleepy stupor, Megumi pouts at you and goes to get out of bed. You decide to let your curiosity win and end up following your boyfriend to the bathroom, the cold linoleum tiles doing wonders in waking the two of you up immediately. 

Though he is now much more awake now than a few minutes ago, it didn’t dampen his pout one bit. With the handle of his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, Megumi babbled on about how his day is now ruined because you wouldn’t let him start it off with a kiss. You only giggled in response, your own toothbrush poking out of your lips. 

Being the menace that you are, you decided to playfully smear Megumi’s face with some toothpaste foam. One thing led to another and soon you two are on the bathroom floor laughing aloud. Somehow his laugh and expressions egged yours on and yours did his which caused a new bout of laughter to erupt every time you’d both fall silent. It went on like this for quite some time but neither of you minded it one bit.  

Now that the laughter has died down a bit, you both exchanged mini banters here and there, still seated on the floor with both your shoulders touching; with toothpaste in your hair and on his cheek. As you giggled at a particular joke Megumi muttered, he felt that odd feeling in his heart again, just like the time in the park and all those other dates he stressed over but this time, before he could stop it, he whispered…

“I love you.”

Your laughter immediately ceased only to be replaced by the happiest grin you’ve ever mustered. With new buzzing energy coursing through you, you tackled Megumi into a hug which effectively knocked the two of you down to the ground but neither you nor Megumi minded.

With his newfound confidence, Megumi repeated the foreign sentence over and over again as if he’s testing it out. He finds that he likes saying it. 

He likes it because your smile widens a bit more when he says it. 

He likes it because you’d give him kisses whenever he says it.

And he absolutely loves it because you’d always say it back to him.

With a wobbly and lovesick grin, Megumi says it one more time for good measure. 

“I love you.” 

a.n. I did not really proofread this bcs I had classes today and it KO'd me :"(

Hope you liked it!

[crowandmoonwriting]

Writing Questions Tag

I saw the open tag @talesofsorrowandofruin, and I couldn’t resist!

1. What is your absolute all-time favourite idea you’ve ever had?

Oh, dude. I don’t know. There’s too many ideas now. The best I’d say, the most unique, came from dreams. I dreamt often, for example, about massive subterranean cities. I have a few stories derived from them, and I like them quite a lot.

2. Is there a question you’ve been asked in the past that really stands out to you and you still think about sometimes?

Oh yes. It was fairly insulting. I write dark subjects quite a lot, as a way of dealing with and processing my own trauma in a safe and productive way. I was asked once, “What kind of a person are you, that you write these things?” I replied that I was a creative one. The question arises in a lot of discourse these days, and I always wince to see it. You never know why people do what they do, or what demons they’re exorcising. As long as they aren’t hurting anyone, and are in fact healing, there’s no issue.

3. What is your favourite part of being a writer? What parts could you take or leave?

Losing myself in it. Escapism is a a huge part of writing for me, and whether it’s rereading something or writing something, when I forget myself entirely, I’m happiest. Oh that sounds melancholy, doesn’t it, lol? The worst part of writing is not writing. Thinking about it all the time and not doing it is purgatory.

4. What is your greatest motivation to write/create?

A lot of things motivate me! Music is a huge one. It’s why I have literally thousands of playlists lol. A bout of writer’s block can be broken sometimes with one or two perfect songs.

5. What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever read or been given as a writer?

Ooh well. I’ve read Stephen King’s On Writing, which has whole chapters I could cite. But really? The first real advice I read from one of my favourite authors, Anne Rice, stays with me: “To write something, you have to risk making a fool of yourself.” It’s helped me embrace my creativity and let go of some of my inhibitions.

6. What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing?

I wish I had created a decent method for novel-writing. I get sidetracked by other ideas quite a lot and find it hard to focus on one story. When I started out, I was just a kid, and I only had one story, and I miss those times for my focus.

7. What is your favourite story you’ve written to completion? Link it if you’d like and can!

So my favourite short story hasn’t been released anywhere. I want to find just the right place and way to publish it. Not sure if I want to include it in a book of short stories or just publish it alone yet. It’s about werewolves, and I think it’s a solid, disturbing little horror yarn.

8. What is your favourite out-of-the-box quote?

From my own work, or from my favourite books? I have a lot of favourite quotes from authors that I return to over and over. There’s one from J.R.R. Tolkien that’s really infused my creation of fantasy: “A safe fairyland is untrue to all worlds.”

9. Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

10. If you when you first started writing met you now, what would younger you think?

“What happened to you?? You look terrible!” Lol. That would be the first reaction, from fifteen-years-ago me. But if we got to talking about writing, he would probably be shocked at how much I’ve built in my primary fantasy setting. “Languages?? Recipes? Wow this is a lot, where do you find the time?” And I’d reply, “Why do you think I look like I haven’t slept in 15 years?”

Tagging: anyone who sees this and wants to do it! If you haven’t already been tagged, also @writernopal, @sam-glade, and @contes-de-rheio.

[captainhysunstuff]

How do you deal with continuous, seemingly raging artblock? I want to draw but damn— my hatred towards my own art seems unforgivable. It's like whatever that was produced by my own two hands will cause carnage, a sin dissaproves by all humanity.

Hmmmmmm, I’m probably not the best person to ask for advice on overcoming art blocks unfortunately. It’s such a paaaain. I 100% relate to your feelings, and overcoming them isn’t easy.

Also, my methods aren't exactly the healthiest either, but I'll share regardless. Just keep that in mind. Ehehe.

(I'll put a Read More. It's a little lengthy.)

Whenever I find myself not drawing for a long period of time, I try to reinstate drawing as an addiction or habit. Have it become a craving that's only satisfied by actually drawing something--anything--regardless of quality. In recent days, my art block stems from a lack of being able to multitask and being unable to focus on the drawing process (being tired from work doesn't help either). Therefore, setting aside a space to draw helps, too. Putting on some music you find easy to zone out to or help your flow helps.

The hatred towards your own work is a very hard hurdle to jump. I suppose the key to this is to learn to stop criticizing every stroke you make. Be at peace that not every mark made in the moment is gonna be perfect. This is way easier said than done of course, but when I start falling into the "everything I do is crap and unworthy of eyes" hole, I try to remember that not everything I draw has to be shared. I'm not getting paid to do this (not sure about you, but that's my situation). It's a hobby, and it's supposed to be fun. It's not life or death for me if the character's eyes are skewed or their head is annoyingly asymmetrical. I'd love to be a master artist and have every work I make be a masterpiece, but I'm allowed to draw "crap." If you really feel like your subject isn't coming out the way you want, find or make references to work from and feel good about the effort you put in. There's never any shame in using references. The more you draw, the better you get. That's a straight fact. Eventually, you won't need refences, and that's a pretty cool feeling~.

Basically, if you're facing a bout of art block, try and doodle something with the mindset that it doesn't have to be perfect, and no one has to see it unless you want to share it. You could always surprise yourself and be like, "Hey, this is actually pretty cool~. Check it out!" But if that doesn't happen, it's okay. It's not a failure. Just add the drawing to the pile and bask in the satisfaction that you actually put strokes to the page, and you've gotten a bit better just by doing so. (That's kind of the point of my whiteboard to be honest~. I also use it to hold up my recent drawings or pages of my comic as a reminder to draw and of how far I've come along in whatever "project" I'm working on. It's neat to see it all hanging up in a physical space. It's a little bit guilt trippy to myself, but it does put a clear bookmark in where I am when I pick it back up, and I can edit it whenever I see something strange as I walk by it~.)

If the block stems from lack of inspiration rather than skill, try exposing yourself to some new media (a new show, movie, book, fanfiction...) or do something that stimulates your brain like going outside or talking to your friends. Don't feel like these activities are procrastinating from creating. They are necessary aspects of your life, and you shouldn't feel guilt for doing them instead of drawing something. Your art isn't made in a vacuum. While out in the "field," you may encounter something that inspires an idea that you can't wait to express through your medium ("Whoa. I HAVE to draw this when I get back!" Write it down if you can so you don't forget~). If you're really passionate about drawing, the urge will come back, and you'll find the time to try and sketch something, even if it's small. I'll admit, I don't do these life things as often as I should, so I need to take my own advice, lol. The list of new stuff I wanna check out is massive~. I am working on leaving my home and observing my surroundings more often though (Covid makes it a little difficult, but I get by).

I know your question was more about trying not to hate your own work, but I also addressed things that I felt were relevant because they make me want to draw regardless of how I feel about the end result. Try your best to not compare yourself to others too much and draw for yourself more. Acknowledge that you want to improve, but don't beat yourself up for not meeting your self-imposed standard of "perfect." So, draw with lower expectations sometimes, I guess? *shrugs and laughs* Like I said, the more you draw, the better your get. Even if you personally think it looks like crap, be like, "Yeah, I did that!" Just own it. Own your "carnage~." ^__^

(*laughs* Carnage. That's such a great way to refer to one's artwork~.)

[sanguineterrain]

Brooklyn Honey - Bucky Barnes x Reader

(Repost!) Hello, this is for the lovely @wkemeup​’s 9k writing challenge. I decided to go with the song prompt “Life in the City” by The Lumineers. It really reminded me of 40s Bucky.

Title: Brooklyn Honey

Summary: Life in the city ain’t always so pretty, but you’ve got Bucky and he’s got you.  

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: nah

***

“That’s so not how you do it.”

“Sorry, I must’ve missed the day you wrote the manual on how to put up curtains.”

“You sure did, and I can tell you as an expert, the nails aren’t supposed to resemble a mountain range.”

“Smartass. C’mere.”

Bucky’s palm opened and you took a nail, carefully tapping it into the wall.

“Or is it the skyline you’re going for?”

“You’re pretty mouthy for an assistant.”

“I keep it interesting, doll.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“James Barnes, what on earth are you doing in there?!”

Your eyes went wide and you hurried to scramble off the chair you were standing on. Bucky put a hand on your back, shaking his head.

“Buck—”

“I got it, don’t worry. Keep hammering.”

“But—”

“Honey, don’t you trust me?”

“Absolutely not.”

More knocking, faster and louder this time.

“Coming, Mrs. Anderson!”

Bucky buttoned up his shirt, smoothing his pomade-slicked hair back, and went to answer.

You stepped down from the chair anyway, daring to peek around the corner. 

He had his arms up, trying to fill the entire door frame and hide the obnoxiously yellow curtains you probably weren’t supposed to have. Mrs. Anderson, Steve and Bucky’s busybody next door neighbor, was a small, shriveled, old woman with a perpetually pinched face that looked like it had been stored in a jar of formaldehyde for the last twenty years. She kept trying to look over Bucky’s shoulder but he wouldn’t let her, moving when she did.

“—could’ve sworn I heard hammering coming from this apartment.”

“Oh! You must’ve heard me fixing my bike.” 

“You don’t have a bike, James.”

“Did I say my bike? I meant Steve’s.”

“Steve rides a bike?”

“Absolutely. Keeps him fit.”

“I don’t recall seeing him ever—”

“Well, bye, Mrs. Anderson! Always a pleasure to see you, ma’am.”

She gave another stern look before shaking her head, walking away.

You sighed as Bucky shut the door with his foot, a too sly smile on his face.

“Didn’t I tell you to trust me?”

“I think you might be a worse liar than Steve.”

“Well, ouch, doll.”

“First of all, who’s ever heard of needing a hammer to fix a bike?”

“We can be the first.”

“Next time, I’m answering the door.”

You clambered back onto the chair, returning to knocking in the nails. 

“I still don’t understand why you wanted curtains in the first place.” 

“It adds a homely touch, doll. Aren’t you the one who’s always complaining about how drab this place is?”

“Of course, but it’s not my apartment.” 

“It could be, with how often you’re over,” Bucky said sweetly. 

“Keep dreaming, Barnes.” 

“I will,” he assured with a smile that could melt butter. 

You shook your head and returned to focus on the curtains. True, the first one was beyond help in terms of nail placement, but the least you could do was try and make the next one even. 

Bucky had offered at least ten times to do it himself but there was no way he was getting his hands on a hammer after what had happened when he’d tried to install some shelves last winter. 

Besides, you were better at decorating when it came down to it. At least, that’s what Bucky kept insisting, letting you do essentially anything you wanted to the apartment. 

The chair suddenly groaned under additional weight and you startled as you felt the side of a body press against yours. 

“How’s it goin’?”

“Bucky, this chair really isn’t meant for two people.” 

“You sure? Seems pretty sturdy to me.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist and you fixed him with a look. 

“What? Don’t want you to fall.”

“How valiant of you.”

“Ain’t it?”

He hopped off before you could scold him further, grinning up at you. 

“Beer?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Bucky disappeared and returned a minute later with an open bottle for you, holding it so you could sip safely while still perched on the chair.

Then you kept hammering, eyes narrowed as you focused on not hitting anything other than the nail.

Bucky watched from the floor as you did so, leaning back on his hands.

“What’re you looking at?” you asked after a while, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

He shrugged, a gentle smile on his face.

“The city.”

***

“Honey, I’m home!”

“What did I say about that, Barnes?”

“You said… you’ll love me for all eternity because you’re as sweet as honey?”

“I think it was more along the lines of, ‘don’t call me honey unless you mean it.’”

“I always mean it, Y/N.”

And that was a little more sincerity than you were willing to explore, so you pointed to the bag instead.

“What’s that?”

Bucky grinned, setting a giant paper sack on the counter.

“Lemons.”

“What?”

“Lemons. You know, the little yellow fruits that make you do this?”

Bucky puckered his mouth and smacked his tongue, eyes screwed shut.

“Lemon’s not a fruit.”

“It sure is! Fruit got seeds. Read that in a book about agriculture. We produce a lot of corn, did you know that?“

“Okay, Bucky, the presiding question still remains: why do you have every lemon in the city?”

“There was a good deal at the docks. Dirt cheap for produce. Some guys told me they were takin’ some home for their wives. Didn’t want you to feel left out.”

“I’m not your wife.”

Bucky just grinned. You rolled your eyes.

“I don't know who taught you this, but the way to a girl’s heart is not twenty pounds of lemons.”

“Think of all the lemonade we can make.”

“Unless you’ve also got FDR and his cabinet in those bags, we’re gonna have a lot of leftovers.”

“Look at it this way: no vitamin C deficiency. One less thing to worry ‘bout.”

“Bucky.”

“They’re not all lemons, doll. I got other stuff too. Tomatoes, cabbage, snuck some cucumbers, even bananas.”

You sighed, smiling tiredly. This ration was taking its toll on everyone. You knew Bucky was doing his best, had seen the vegetables and thought of you and how much you missed having cucumber salad and tomato sandwiches like you used to.

“Thank you, Bucky, really. I appreciate you.”

You brushed past him to begin preparing the excess vegetables you three wouldn’t eat this week to pickle. Salt and sugar was going to be hard to gather, but you’d manage. You always did.

“Welcome, doll.” 

He beamed, eyes full of warmth as he watched you. 

“You gonna stay for dinner?”

“I dunno. Seems like Steve’s gettin’ kinda tired of me,” you laughed.

“Never. ‘Sides, even if he was, doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, really?”

“Nope. ‘Cause you stay for me.”

“And where did you get that idea from?”

He shrugged.

“Seemed kinda obvious, doll. You’re smitten, admit it.”

“Oh dear, you’ve got me all figured out. However did you know?”

“I’m a bright fella.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You ain’t saying no…”

“Really, I have to say no? Can’t you tell I only stick around for the great deals you get on produce?” 

“But it’s me that gets the great deals, so really, you’re still staying for me.” 

Bucky was against the counter now, shoulder to shoulder with you. 

You sighed, hand on your hip as you stared at the table. 

“What the hell are we going to do with all these lemons?” 

“We’ll figure something out. Always do, don’t we?”

You hummed, leaning your head on his shoulder, aware he was talking about more than the lemons. 

“Yeah. We always do.” 

***

Steve had been home for a while, wordlessly letting you in when you’d shown up an hour ago. You didn’t have to explain anything to him anymore. 

The record player was on, crooning gently. Steve was in the corner, drawing, away from the window after the breeze had whipped his papers around one too many times.

“Can’t believe they’re building another skyscraper down on Lawrence.”

Steve frowned.

“Really? Won’t be able to see the sunset now.”

“Yeah. And Brooklyn’s not exactly known for its scenery to begin with. Saw a rat and a pigeon fighting over a pretzel this morning.”

Steve chuckled from the floor, shaking his head.

“Times are tough. Even for rats and pigeons.” 

“Sure are.”

“Nice curtains, by the way. I like the color.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Did Bucky ask—?”

“No,” he answered, smile evident in his voice. “But that’s alright. I know he’s just tryin’ to gauge what you like.”

“What?”

“Yeah, after the war’s over and all, he’s gonna try and buy a nicer place.”

“And he wants my furnishing tips?”

Steve shrugged, gaze soft and knowing.

“Guess so.”

You cleared your throat, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Want some lemonade?”

“Jesus, there’s more? I thought we’d run out of bushels.”

“You’d think, right? I put ‘em in the icebox so they won’t spoil so fast.”

“Sure, yeah. Thanks, Y/N.”

You were in the middle of stirring the pitcher when Bucky came in.

He didn’t greet you or Steve immediately, like he usually did, instead setting down his keys, then slapping the mail onto the table. 

“Well, hey there, mister. Fancy a drink? Today’s special is sour lemonade, your favorite.”

Bucky looked up, startled, and glanced at the pitcher before nodding, attempting a half smile.

“Sure, doll. Thanks.”

“Everything okay, Buck?”

He nodded, slipping away to the bathroom with a sigh.

You turned to Steve, who shrugged.

“Long day at the docks, I guess.”

***

June twelfth. That was when Bucky was being shipped out, somewhere in Europe, too far from you. This entire year you’d been holding your breath, hoping, needing the draft to leave him alone. 

Now they were taking him away from you in less than a week. 

You were in the apartment, lying on the floor, on Bucky’s second to last day. That’s how he found you upon coming home. 

“Trying to count all the cracks in the ceiling, doll? You’ll be here all night.”

You had a glass of lemonade by your head, spiked with a bit of rum. It was already warm, because it was summer and things were supposed to be warm in the summer.

The curtains danced in front of the window, yellow like sunshine and all those goddamn lemons in the freezer. The only respite from an otherwise colorless world.

“This city is so ugly.”

Bucky looked up at the sound of your voice. He walked over, crouching by your arm.

“Think so?”

“Yeah. Can’t find a single pretty thing in the city.”

“I can.”

“Can you?”

“Sure. She’s looking at me right now.”

“That was sappy.”

“Yes it was.”

Bucky lay down, rolling onto his side next to you, taking a sip from your glass.

“But I ain’t mean it any less.”

You hummed, closing your eyes.

“Well, for what it’s worth then, I think you’re handsome.”

“Oh, yeah?”

You could hear his proud smile.

“Don’t make me take it back.”

“No, I’m just surprised to hear it is all.”

“Surprised, huh? I’m certain I ain’t the first one to call you handsome.”

“You’re the only one I wanna hear it from.”

Something fluttered in your chest.

“What d’you say then? You and I, think we can take on a city as ugly as ours?”

He smiled.

“With you, doll?”

“Yeah.”

“With you, of course.”

“Good. I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Bucky propped his head up on his elbow. It was quiet again, with only your occasional sighs and his quiet breaths.

“What’re you looking at?” you breathed, opening your eyes.

“You.”

Bucky flicked a drop of lemonade from the tip of your nose.

You turned, now face to face.

And oh, Bucky’s blues. Those had been your color even before the curtains.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you blurted.

He smiled a little sadly.

“Gonna miss you too, Y/N.”

You pushed your lips together, taking a deep breath.

“You were right, you know.”

“‘Bout what?”

“That day when you brought home all those lemons. You said that I stay for you.”

Bucky’s lips quirked, gaze fond like it always was.

“All those times I stayed for dinner and pretended to know what I was doing putting up those curtains. I stayed for you.”

You wiped your nose quickly, sniffling.

“And I’m gonna keep staying.”

“Yeah? What if the bridge collapses tomorrow?”

“I’ll swim.”

“Even in the winter?”

“I’ll get myself a pair of ice skates.”

“You don’t know how to skate, doll.”

“That’s right. So you better come back safe and teach me.”

Bucky leaned in, nose brushing your cheek. He rolled over and carefully straddled you, holding his weight.

“I’ll be there, honey.”

“Now what did we say about that?”

Bucky’s eyebrows pinched in thought.

“Don’t say it if I don’t mean it?”

You hummed, pulling him closer, arms around his neck. Bucky’s lips were a millimeter from yours, breath fanning over your chin.

“Mm, I think it was something about eternity.”

Bucky was soft, tangy and sweet. His scruff scraped your cheek and your fingers curled into the baby hairs at the nape of his neck.

He slid his hands under your back and turned so you were on top, head on his chest. You lay like that for a while, listening to his heartbeat, arms strong around you. 

Yellow fluttered in the breeze, tacked unevenly onto the wall, catching your eye. 

Bucky glanced to the side, chuckling.

“Don’t let Anderson take our curtains away.”

“Of course not. I spent a weekend on those. She’ll have to fight me for ‘em.”

“Good God. Now I gotta worry about you brawling with old ladies and Steve getting into alley fights while I’m gone?”

“Nah. Steve’ll help me.”

“Oh, great.”

You reached up, brushing his jaw with your knuckles.

“Call me honey again.”

“Honey, honey, honey.”

You reached up to get just one last kiss, except it definitely wasn’t going to be the last. It couldn’t be.

“They’re not gonna take you away from me.”

Bucky shook his head, kissing you much slower this time, trying to memorize you before time ran out.

“Never. ‘M gonna think of you and I’ll be back ‘fore we know it.”

You nodded, wishing hard, hoping somebody was listening. 

“Then, when I come back,” he whispered, promise riding on the summer air.

“We’re gonna make the best damn lemonade you’ve ever had.”

And maybe this city could take away your sunsets, your tea and jams, even your summer.

But if there was anything that was yours and yours only, it was the lemon pulp on Bucky’s lips and the undissolved sugar on your own, as bitter and pretty as home.

[clover-the-awesomest]

Okay, now that I’ve been converted to a Loser Baby lover, I have to agree with what OP is saying here. And I also wanna add onto their original points as well. Reminder here tho that they basically read my mind after I fell in love with Loser Baby and they said everything that I wanted to say too so I’m either gonna be parroting what they said or saying something completely different. So yeah.

So we all know the kind of guy Husker is, right? He’s a drunken sloppy apathetic mess of a man, his powers were ripped away from him due to his own hubris, and he just wants to be left alone to his own devices. He also enjoys gambling. A lot of gambling. It seems as though he always has loved it.

Now let’s look at Angel. He’s usually a drunken, sexual, hypocritical mess of a man, his body ripped away from him due to his own hubris, and he just wants to be free. He doesn’t enjoy sex as much as he makes some believe, yet he’s forced to do lots of it for his work. Seems as though he always has been.

These two aren’t so different when you really look at them, and Husk can see that clear as day. He can see himself in Angel, might I add, and he pities the young man for it. Angel Dust, despite being loud and annoying most of the time, represents a much younger, much more open version of Husk before he was stripped of his power by Alastor. And see this, Husker decides he needs to help Angel.

“I used to be an overlord once.” He says this in a moment of vulnerability, a moment of weakness. Angel just opened up to him, so it’s his turn to open up to Angel. But why does he say this? Why does he reveal such a big secret when the two mutually hated each other just moments before? Because Husk knows that it’s what Angel needs to hear. And he then continues on with his story, telling the tale of how his own mistakes led him to where he is now. Broken. Sad. Alone. He says it was dangerous, being an overlord who commandeered souls on the regular while also being a gambler, and points out he probably gambled souls away just for a quick grab at some cash. And even though he loved gambling, it was pretty easy to tell the man was not good at it at all! He could read people like a book but that doesn’t do anything for his own skills in the game, so. Yeah. Failed miserably and ended up gambling away his own soul in a desperate attempt to win. But he lost, ending up in the chains of the Radio Demon himself.

(Sorry for the long paragraph I forgot to split it up and I never will split it lol)

Now, Husker can’t escape from his new, sad reality. He can’t get out of his chains, but when he sees Angel’s struggle, he knows that the spider can. Husker sees an opportunity to make up for his mistakes by helping Angel through his. Because when he finds Angel in that bar and when he sees him snorting coke and getting high, he sees himself right after his own downfall. So he helps.

Husker cannot get free from Alastor. That’s a depressing and sad truth that unfortunately must be accepted. His chains are too tight, too strong, too much for him to bear. If he fights he will be killed, and now that he has friends he can’t let that happen. But Angel… He still has a chance. And Husk will do whatever it takes to keep that window open, to keep giving Angel more chances to break free from his chains, because that’s all he can do to make up for the mistakes he made in his past. Husk is too far gone. But he can at least do his part to save someone else from the same exact fate.

—

MAN OKAY THAT ENDED UP A LOT LONGER THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD SORRY BOUT THAT HAHAHAHAHAAHA

OP I love ur writing plz keep talking-

In Response to Criticism of Loser, Baby

According to the yt comments under prime's upload of Loser, Baby, apparently some folks are taking offense to Husker comforting Angel by telling him he's a loser and to get over it and somehow framing this lovely lovely song as victim blaming??

the media literacy bar really is in hell

I do think the song plays out far better in the context of the show, and isn't really made to be a standalone piece of consumable media, though I will be treating it as such in the coming days by endlessly looping the video

anyway, this is a song that brings comfort and hope to both characters thanks to who each character is and what situation each is in. These are vital pieces of context that are important to understanding the message of the song. It's important to realize one method of comfort is not going to work for every situation-- the particular method in Loser, Baby works because of what the characters are looking for in the moment.

Husk confronts Angel on his self-destructive tendencies, to which Angel responds that drugs, sex, and immediate dopamine hits are his escape, and that, even in the worst case, even if he destroys himself, it'd be better than the situation he's currently in (a suicidal, scary thing to say)

In the previous scenes in the show, we've seen that Angel takes an almost comedic level of pride in his work, eager to drag the gang off to sex dungeons and show them his porn tapes. He delights in how uncomfortable his world makes them and constantly does bits, putting on a character that's hypersexual, that seems like he's in control and wants to be doing the sex work he's doing

This is very clearly an attempt at masquerading a level of power over his life that he doesn't actually have; in reality, he has no choice but to be sexually exploited, but if he acts like he chooses it, it almost feels like he owns his life. Or, really, it almost looks to others that he owns his life. It's all about performance and perception with Angel; he hates the idea of looking like someone who needs saving, hates looking like a victim, and hates being seen as powerless, so he tries to act like he's none of those things. Of course, he can't really lie to himself, so he resolves that inner turmoil (suffering that he completely internalizes because he doesn't want to break his facade) through drugs, sex, alcohol, and even pain as distraction.

Which is why "Loser, Baby," is so fucking wonderful! Husk is telling him, over and over, that he's not fooling anyone, that his little character he's sacrificing so much to play isn't worth it, that Angel's a loser and everyone can tell. If you take his words at face value, it's cruel and unkind and could make things worse--- that is, if this wasn't Husk and he wasn't talking to Angel.

It's freeing. Angel is being told that he doesn't need to do his bullshit performance, that he can be a loser, and that everyone at the hotel's a loser too, so no one's gonna judge him. It's a song about accepting where you are in life, about stopping Angel's denial of reality and refusal of vulnerability.

Most of all, it's a very kind gesture on Husk's part. It wouldn't have worked if Husk hadn't also loudly called himself a loser and opened up about his past mistakes. It's a wonderful song about mutual vulnerability and accepting imperfections and mistakes and accepting that you're in a shitty place so you can finally stop self-destructing and start finding solace in other people also in shitty places.

also it's gay soooooo not too much on my beloved huskerdust

[jeonfiles]

better left unsaid - jjk

genre: angst, rebounds

pairings: jungkook x reader (ft. namjoon)

warnings: arguing, alcohol, profanity, break ups, light smut, use of drugs, jungkook is a fucking dick, jungkook has major attachment issues, toxic relationships, oc cries a lot, namjoon has a heart of gold, unrequited love

synopsis: you knew you shouldnt have given him that second chance, not the third or the fourth either. no matter how much you try he always slithers his way underneath your sheets, arms wrapped around you.

word count: 2.7k

music: into your arms, so it ends?, you will fade, thinkin bout you, julia, my insecurities not yours, fuck u, goodluck, my dear i will think of you

note: uhh ive never written a y/n fic so bare with me, if u listen to the music you’ll be able to feel the story a lot more so yeah if u have time u should, not proof read

Light coming through the cracks of the blinds, making you squint your eyes when the daylight beams into your eyes, head resting on the kitchen island Looking up, you saw the clock ticking on the wall, 11:32 am.

You had stayed up till 5 am, waiting for him to come home, but seemingly, he never did. Reaching for your phone, you saw 4 missed calls from the one and only,

Jeon Jungkook, saved in your phone as “Koo <3″, Rows of messages too, all from the same contact.

Koo <3 [05:34 am]

baby pkck me up pleseee

im so wsated

Koo <3 [06.46am]

dont be mad at me jsut pick me up

i dont knw hewere the fuck i am

i love you

Koo <3 [07:31 am]

i got a rde home i’ll be home by 12

i need to talk to someone frsit

im sorry if i woke ypu dont be worried

You took a few moments to collect your thoughts, but there wasn’t much to collect. This whole thing, was a routine by now.

Standing up to make yourself a cup of coffee, you could literally not feel your own backside, you were so sore from the barstool you had been sitting on all night, and it made you groan in pain.

Two coffee cups right beside the kitchen sink, which you couldn’t bring yourself to clean up, because it was from the last time you had coffee together, which was 2 weeks ago.

The inside of the cup had a coffee crust at the top, and both your lip tint marks on the outside.

When you finish your cup of coffee while watching a bad telenovela, you go sit in your favorite chair and pull out a few books from the backpack hanging on the chair next to you, getting ready to get some studying done.

For a few seconds you imagine Jungkook hanging over your shoulder laughing at the way you write your A-s and R-s, or the way you always sign your homework at the bottom of the page.

And when you open them, there’s no one there. The only sound is from the refrigerator, making refrigerator noises.

You had met Jungkook 3 years ago, when you were at college orientation, senior year of high school. He also wanted to attend Yonsei, just like you.

And when he whispered to you about how bored he was, you couldn’t help but giggle, and then you got yelled at.

It was worth it though, because everyone was jealous of you afterwards,the  Jeon Jungkook had talked to you.

Jungkook was an all-rounder as they called it; great physique, intelligent, charismatic and great at sports.

And god, he had a beautiful face, and such a filthy mouth, and it didn’t go long before you gave in to his seductive ways and slept with him. The morning after, he wasn’t in bed with you, and your heart sank.

Luckily, he was in the kitchen making you breakfast.

It was all bliss from there, showering you with love, gifts and kisses for two years, and you even ended up moving in together.

And now? You barely remember what he sounds like, smells like and is like.

A distant memory, just as distant as him.

Your train of thought was suddenly interrupted as you heard 3 knocks on your door. The exact same way he had always knocked when he had forgotten (or lost) his keys.

And even though you should have let him suffer a little, you rushed to the door to open it, and in front of you, was your biggest nightmare.

It was your love, crying his eyes out, bleeding from one of many cuts on his face, looking nearly dead. He collapsed into your arms, and you could only utter a few words, along the lines of:

“How could you do this to us?”

As he was laying curled up in a ball on the couch, face plastered up, ice bag on his knee, wrapped up in a blanket, you realized. this was your que to cry.

So, you did. You cried in silence, sitting across the room from him. You weren’t mad at him for coming home late, or getting in another fight, probably the 5th just these past months, you had gotten used to that by now.

There was a whole other reason that made you cry.

He smelled like Victorias Secret Bombshell, you recognized the scent because it used to be your favorite,  however, now you’ve moved onto something less sweet, and more elegant, like Caroline Herrera.

He smelled like someone who wasn’t you, his girlfriend.

He smelled like another girl.

It didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. Maybe because the Jungkook that had come home to you that morning wasn’t your Jungkook.

Your Jungkook was varsity jackets, star of the american football team (which your school was known for), selfless and humorous, and he would always take care of you.

Your Jungkook was not ungroomed hair, cigarettes and worsening grades. He was not cold and lifeless, and he would never make you cry.

Despite this, you were carding your fingers though his hair, thumb wiping away the blood on his lips while he was sound asleep as you slowly fell asleep next to him.

Maybe it was time to let him go. 

Maybe.

You woke a few hours later from your phone vibrating.

Kim Namjoon (school) [07:01 pm]

Hey Y/N! Have you started working on the statistics assignment?

If you haven’t, would you be interested in meeting at the library tomorrow? You’re really smart and i’m kinda struggling ://

You [07:03 pm]

i finished it yesterday, but if you buy me coffee i’ll come help you hehe

Kim Namjoon (school) [07:04 pm]

You’re the best, I’ll bring you a machiatto!! :D

Maybe it would be nice for you to get out of the house, even though you hate the thought of it, and you would much rather just swim in your own sorrow.

But you did go out the next day, and you helped Namjoon get a decent grade, enough to pass with good margines, he thanked you by taking you out for ramen at a convenial store not too far away.

You thanked him for the ramen with a trip to the museum, and he thanked you for the museum trip with a picnic in the park at night, which led you to crying over Jungkook in his embrace, telling him every single little detail.

He made you realize it was time to let Jungkook go and make room for new people to enter your life.

You went home that night, and you found Jungkook passed out on the couch, and you could genuienly feel your chest tighten. Soft features which stood out under the moonlight glow, disheveled brown locks which hung down in his eyes.

He was gorgeous, until you saw the credit card on the table next to three bottles of soju and an empty beer can on the floor. And you knew what he had used the credit card for, though you didn’t want to say it out loud.

You cleaned everything up, and you threw the residue of the white powder right in the trash can, and you recycled his bottles and cans before finally, nudging him to wake up.

“Jungkook, wake up.” You spat coldly, or at least you attempted to.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes before opening his eyes, and s huge smile on his face. “Y/N, you’re home!” He reached to kiss you, but you backed away.

“Y/N?” Jungkook questioned, he didn’t quite understand what your intentions were.

“Don’t try anything Jungkook. This was your last chance, and you fucked it up, again.” The room turned ice cold. “I’m getting you help Jungkook, you need help. And then...”

He understood what kind of help you meant, and since he had now sobered up, he agreed, nodding. “And then...?” 

“And then.” Your words were ludged in your throat. “And then I’m leaving you.”

His whole face dropped, smile turned into the frowniest frown you had ever seen, and it was all silent before his lower lip starts trembling, and his eyes start turning glassy.

“It’s alright. Sorry for burdening you.” Was all he could say before tears rushed down his cheeks, and he started shaking.

So you did what you always had done, and you wrapped your arms around him, head resting on your chest as he sobbed.

“Is there anyone else?” he cried out before another wave of sobs hit him.

This exact question made your stomach hurt, and your throat burn. You really had no idea.

Or you did, but you didn’t want to.

You loved Jungkook so much, but you couldn’t be with him in this state. So you did what every rational person would do in this situation.

“Yeah.”

You lied.

“Oh ok. I don’t have the right to be mad do I?”

You shake your head no.

“I love you Y/N. I’m sorry I’m so messed up.”

“It’s ok.” was all he said before he fell asleep in your arms again.

That night you slither your way out of his embrace and you pack your suitcase in the dark, bringing all your essentials, trying to be as quiet as possible so you didn’t wake Jungkook.

Packing enough for two weeks or so, you make the bed and leave your t-shirt “accidentally” in the bathroom, and you make sure all his clothes are folded, and then you sort his pencil case, throwing out old pens and worn out erasers.

You leave a grocery list on the counter, and you tuck him in good under the blankets after you took his jeans and socks off so he could sleep comfortably.

You placed his vitamins and medicine by the refrigerator so he’ll see it when he goes to grab something to eat. 

Puffed up pillows, a pair of sweatpants, t-shirt and underwear is now placed neatly on his bed. Then you walk into the kitchen again, and you see Jungkook still sound asleep, sniffling a little still.

There’s one last thing, and it makes you cry. It makes you sob so loud you cover your mouth and muffle the sound you make. Sinking to the floor, your whole body is in contact with the cold tiles.

Only a year ago you could never imagine yourself even shedding a single tear over something as small as this, but here you were, on the edge of a panic attack.

Two worn out, matching couple mugs still placed by the counter. one if the first things you two had bought together, as well as the necklace hanging around your neck.

Finally, you stopped crying and started cleaning the mugs, lip trembling as you dried them and placed them in the back of the cabinet.

You unhooked your necklace and laid it down on the counter, and the biggest lump formed in your throat.

Actually, there’s a little detail you forget. 

You kiss Jungkook on the forehead and leave a note on the coffee table.

“Dear Jungkook,

If you want to make this up to me (this does not mean a new chance!!) you call the number at the bottom of the page. No matter what happens, I’ll always have room for you in my heart. You even have your own little VIP lobby in there. And - if it’s urgent, call. I still care for you, and I always have. You were the best boyfriend I’ve had, but good things always come to and end, don’t they? Anyways, I’m tired so this letter fucking sucks, but deep down you know how much I love you. Remember to get groceries, shower, get fresh air and study. If I forgot something you can keep it, as long as you call the number and tell them you’re my friend. They’ll help you love. Try and get a part time job too, your student loan and your dad’s money won’t last forever. Good luck Koo. Hwaiting!!

-L/N Y/N <33″

You cringe when you think of the letter’s contents, before you roll out your suitcase out of the front door, whispering a faint “Goodnight Love.” as you close and lock the door behind you.

Standing by the elevator, you cry again. This time, louder, but you still reach for your phone and type out a text to the newly edited contact in your phone.

You [02:13 am]

coming outside now, im a crying mess and im super cold, is your car heated?

sorry for making you wait btw :((

Joonie <3 [02:13 am]

dont worry about the crying part, i’ll hold you. and yeah car is heated, so waiting here wasnt all that bad. you ready for this?

You  [02:14 am]

i have no idea but i cant stay here any longer and i trust you sooo

lets start our new chapter. eh?

4 months later...

He had been good to you, great even.

You had been on expensive dates, picnics, had heart to heart conversations, and he’d been so understanding.

Today, it was your 2 month anniversary, and he had asked you on a magnificent date, which he had planned every second of.

At the end of the day, you told him how you don’t love him. He said it was alright. Namjoon loved you, so much, yet he understood you needed time.

You went to sleep that day, warm in Namjoon’s embrace, wondering how Jungkook was doing. 

You felt bad, but you missed Jungkook.

You were both with someone new now, and you knew he was in good hands with someone stable enough to care for him.

Before your eyes closed shut, you shed a few quiet tears and hoped that you’d fall in love with Namjoon soon, and deep down you knew you would.

[biracialdisaster]

Saturday

Pt 5 of the Jailbait AU

Pt 1 ~ Pt 2 ~ Pt 3 ~ Pt 4

Dear Arvin

I wish I could see you. You’ll know the security is even tighter since the riot. I hope you’re doing ok, and I hope you think about taking some classes, learning a new skill. It can make the time pass more quickly.

I think about you a lot. Every day, actually. Multiple times a day. Especially before I go to sleep.

I’ve (very prematurely probably) set up a PO Box so you can write me back. If you want.

Florence (like Florence Nightingale, you know?) x

*

Dear darlin’

Imagine my face when ol’ Warden Fisher says I have mail. I couldn’t think of who’d write me ‘cept Grandma, and she usually visits instead. She did send some cupcakes once.

I’ve read your letter at least five times since I got it this morning.

I think about you too. Every moment, seems like. Dream ‘bout you too. ‘Bout the last time we saw each other. Heaven ain’t got nothin’ on your lips.

I’ve signed up for a carpentry course. Reckon it’s no more’n doin’ the county’s work for no pay, but you’re right that it’ll keep me busy. The devil makes work for idle hands, or so my Grandma always says.

Arvin

*

Dear Arvin

That’s great! I hope you enjoy the course. I’ve seen too much alone time hurt inmates before. I don’t want that for you. Are you talking to anyone? Do you have any other inmates near you?

Tell me about your life before.

Florence x

*

Dear darlin’,

Spoke to a couple guys in my row. Just shootin’ the shit. It passes the time. Sometimes we play cards in our little section, if it’s deemed we’ve behaved well enough.

Warden says I’ve been here six months now. Hard to tell what day of the week it is, or even what month, when every day’s the same.

The carpentry’s good. You were right. Keeps me occupied. I like workin’ with my hands - always have. Did fix to be a mechanic one day, but guessin’ that avenue’s closed to me now.

My life before? Well, you know ‘bout Lenora. She was younger’n me. Fragile, sweet, too good for this piece of shit world. Creepy-ass preacher got his claws into her, got her pregnant, cast her off. I ain’t never fired a gun before that. I couldn’t let him live, not when he as good as killed her and her baby.

I had work, too, weren’t much but I earned a fair wage off construction by route 60. Was savin’ for a new truck.

I miss you. Tell me somethin’ good.

Arvin

*

Dear Arvin

I’m so happy you like the carpentry.

Something good? Well, my mama recently gave me a book of very old, handwritten family recipes. I’m working my way through them. The peach cobbler is amazing, I wish you could try it. The beans are pretty great too, I fried them up with bacon and made some hot biscuits. You’d like them, I’m sure.

Please make an appointment with me. I want to see with my own eyes that you’re okay.

Florence x

*****

A few days pass after you send your letter to Arvin. You go to work, don’t see him in the yard, go home, worry about him. Think about his soft brown eyes and wish you could feel the lean stretch of his body above your own.

The next day, there’s a couple of messages on your desk. Including an appointment request from Arvin. Thank God.

The letters you’ve swapped over the last two months have kept you going, and in some small way, you had hoped that distance from him would help you put him out of your mind, and him you.

But neither of you seem to have succeeded.

In your heart of hearts, perhaps you didn’t want to put him from your mind.

You schedule him first, because you can’t bear to wait. You make yourself take several deep breaths a few minutes before his allotted time.

You had an idea last night, but in the cold light of day, you’re not sure if you can go through with it. Can you? Dare you?

The sound of the tumblers in the lock dropping as the door opens draw you from your reverie. You turn to see Arvin being led in by Warden Fisher.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” he says. His eyes are clear, darker brown than you remember. His hair has been trimmed, and he’s freshly shaven. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and you suppress a shiver, remembering the frantic, deep kisses you shared in your office.

“Good afternoon, Mr Russell. Please, sit.”

The warden takes a few steps back as Arvin, still cuffed, sits. His gaze finds yours and he looks up at you, the light from the small window catching on the flecks of gold in his cocoa-brown eyes.

“How can I help you?” You sit opposite him, brushing your hands against his as you do, hoping it looks accidental. The softening of his expression tells you he appreciates it.

“Been feelin’ under the weather lately.”

“All right.” Your fingers tremble a little as you reach for the usual equipment. “Let’s do the normal observations, shall we, take it from there?”

“Sounds all right to me,” Arvin agrees. You’ve missed his deep, syrupy drawl, sugar on grits, so much.

You take his blood pressure, listen to his heart beating. It’s heaven and hell, being this close to him, breathing him in, without touching him the way you want to.

“How about eating, drinking? Is that okay?” You hold his gaze while you say it, hoping he gets the message.

“It ain’t been that great,” Arvin says softly.

“Let’s have a look at your mouth, if you don’t mind?”

He opens for you.

You make a show of using your little torch. “Mr Russell, I think you might be quite unwell. Contagious, in fact.”

Fisher steps back, and then steps back again. “How contagious?” he asks.

“Potentially very.”

He takes another step back. “Do you suggest we implement quarantine procedures?”

You click the torch off. “I think it would be in the best interests, yes. I’ll oversee it, of course. You can use the quarantine cells down the hall from here.”

Fisher is already crossing to your small office and picking up the shiny black telephone handset. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

While his back is turned, you run a hand through the soft pile of Arvin’s hair.

“Missed you,” he murmurs.

“Missed you, too. The days seemed interminable.”

He makes a little sound of agreement, leans into your touch. You stroke your thumb over his cheek and he turns his head to press a kiss to your fingers.

You spring apart at the sound of the telephone being set back in its cradle, and Fisher ambles towards you.

Arvin looks away, down at the floor.

“Arrangements are made. One of the other wardens’ll be along with the quarantine keys for you, and I’ll stay here until then. Make sure you don’t unlock the cell for any reason, unless one of us is with you, are we clear?”

“I have worked here for six years, Warden,” you remind him, but gently. Fisher isn’t that bad.

“Just lookin’ out for you,” he mutters.

You nod and thank him, and try not to make too much eye contact with Arvin. Tonight you’ll be alone together. No one watching. No one interrupting. Your stomach is heaving with butterflies and your inner muscles are already fluttering greedily with the possibility of feeling him intimately. You shut your eyes and struggle for calm.

After all, there’s hours to go yet.

[lunar-wandering]

“this house is a frickin’ nightmare”

so i. decided to write something for the ‘Sitcom’ AU, which is basically just the concept that post-canon, everyone lives in the same house.... its Fun.

Word Count: 2.7k

Read on Ao3

-

"Monkey King, get down from the fridge."

"No."

This exchange is what drew MK's attention to the fact that something was happening in the kitchen.

In MK's opinion, it was far too early for something to be happening in the kitchen.

"Wukong, I swear, if you don't get down from there-"

"What- you gonna stab me? Pigsy, you know full well that method is ineffective."

"What is going on?" MK asked, entering the kitchen and, well, seeing exactly what he had expected; Wukong crouched on top of the fridge, staring down at Pigsy, who was glaring up at him.

Still though. Just because he'd expected to see it didn't explain why it was happening.

"Oh hey, kid." Wukong said, taking notice of him. "Everything's fine, you can go back to your room, breakfast will be ready soon."

"It would be done already if you hadn't burned it." Pigsy said, gesturing to the charred remains of what supposedly had been breakfast. "Seriously, can't you follow simple instructions?? Now we've gotta start all over."

"It's not my fault I'm a visual learner." Wukong said, his tail swinging back and forth.

"It was three steps-"

"What's going on?"

MK barely kept himself from startling at the new voice behind him, turning around to see a very tired looking Red Son.

"Breakfast burned." MK said, catching Red Son up on the situation. Red Son hummed in contemplation, walking into the kitchen, picking up a piece of the unrecognizable charred food, and, ignoring the other's growing horror, he ate it.

"...Tastes fine to me." He said, going so far as to grab and nibble on another piece as he turned and left, presumably heading back to his room. The remaining three watched him go in shocked silence.

"....This house is a frickin' nightmare." Wukong deadpanned. Pigsy nodded in agreement.

"Aptly put. Now get off of the fridge."

"No."

MK decided to go back to bed.

-

It was commonly known, within the household, that somehow, Tang and Wukong continuously managed to get out of doing their fair share of the chores. No one was quite sure how they did it, as the two of them kept coming up with new methods every day.

Today's method was..... interesting, to say the least.

Somehow, someway, they had managed to remove their names from the Chore Roulette Wheel, without leaving any trace that their names had ever even been there. Which was, in fact, rather impressive, considering that the roulette wheel was literally a giant wooden roulette wheel, built by Sandy, and there were no empty spaces were their names used to be, they were just. Gone.

To be honest, MK would've never noticed if Mei hadn't pointed it out.

Now, there was a house-wide search for the two chore-shirkers.

"Found 'em yet?" MK yelled down the stairs into the basement. A few seconds passed, then a unanimous call of "No!" came. MK sighed. If the Spider-gang couldn't find Tang and Wukong down there, then they probably weren't there. (.....Probably. Wukong did have a lot of tricks up his sleeves, and MK didn't put it pass his mentor to use them for something like this.)

That checked off the majority of the house.... which only left-

An enraged scream (courtesy of Mei) from upstairs confirmed what MK had concluded.

They were on the roof.

MK rushed to the stairs, running up them-

Only to pause as he heard a yelp, and a flash of gold fell past the window, followed by a loud thud. MK leaned on the windowsill to look outside, just in time to see Tang fall past it. Wukong, a few branches and grass in his fur from his rough landing, summoned his cloud to catch Tang, before zooming away.

As MK would later find out, in the haste to escape Mei's wrath, Tang had actually pushed Wukong off the roof. Wukong, in return, had unceremoniously dropped Tang on the ground the first chance he got.

Both of their names were back on the roulette wheel by the next morning.

....They still managed to get out of doing their chores though.

-

"Oh, hey Macaque." MK mumbled, tiredly rubbing his eyes, and Macaque, mid-way through stealing a snack out of the fridge, froze like a deer in the headlights.

"Uh.....hey, bud." He said, slowly closing the fridge door, glancing at MK, who was obviously very tired, then looking at the clock on the wall.

2:43 AM. Okay, he could work with this.

"What are you doing up so late?" Macaque asked, leaning casually against the fridge in an attempt to hide his nervousness. If MK had been more awake, he would've noticed and called him out on it, but as it was....

"Just woke up.... wanted to get a snack." MK said, and Macaque quickly opened a nearby cupboard.

"Here, have this." He said, putting a cookie in MK's hands, before grabbing him by the shoulders, turning him around, and gently shoving him back towards his room. "Now go back to bed."

"G'night, Macaque." MK said, nibbling on his cookie.

"Goodnight, MK." Macaque sighed, waiting until he heard MK's bedroom door click closed again before melting back into the shadows.

The next morning, MK thought he had dreamt the whole thing. After all, Macaque had vehemently denied the invitation to live in the house with everyone else, surely if he had changed his mind and started to live with them, someone would've noticed.

....Right?

-

"Monkey King?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you always sleep on the roof?" Red Son asked, "I mean, you do have a room after all, why don't you use it?"

"I just like watching the stars." Wukong said, reclining on his cloud. Suddenly, Mei and MK also appeared beside Red Son, with their arms crossed, looking unimpressed.

"You told me that beds were uncomfortable." Mei said.

"And you told me that you liked the breeze." MK added. Wukong's tail bristled a little, but he still didn't look over at them.

"Well, I mean, all of those are true." Wukong said, "Figured I would just... switch my answers up from time to time, keep things entertaining you know?"

"That doesn't explain why you slept out there in the pouring rain." Mei said, "In fact, the only time we've seen you sleep inside is when we have blanket fort night."

"...The rain was nice?" Wukong said, sounding uncertain. The trio narrowed their eyes.

"Is there something wrong with your room?" Red Son asked, and Wukong flinched.

"No." He said, finally sitting up and looking at them. "Really, my room's perfectly fine, I don't know where you're getting the idea that something's wrong-"

"You're doing that nervous smile again." MK said, and Wukong slammed a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide what the trio had already seen.

There was a moment of silence, and in that moment, each member of the traffic light trio came to a shared conclusion.

No matter the cost, they would get into Wukong's room.

Almost as though they had actually planned it, the trio took off towards the staircase, ignoring Wukong's yells for them to stop. Hurriedly, Wukong summoned two clones, then rushed after the trio.

Red on got caught on the stairs, the clone grabbing hold of the edge of his coat and dragging him down. It wouldn't be able to hold him for long of course, his fire could quickly burn the clone away, but it would still manage to slow him down.

Mei was captured in the hallway, the clone pushing off the wall to tackle her, accidentally knocking her right into Yin and Jin's room, pining her to the ground as the twins yelped in shock.

...Which just left MK.

Having trained with the Monkey King, MK found himself easily dodging Wukong's attempts to catch him. Slightly out of breath, he skidded to a stop in front of Wukong's door, turned the knob, and opened it.

"I don't really see what the problem is, the room looks fine to me-" MK said, stepping into the room.

"Kid, wait-" Wukong started to say, but it was too late.

MK tripped, tumbling into the room, dispelling the illusion Wukong had carefully crafted and placed over it.

Wukong's room was a mess, to put things lightly. There was stuff everywhere- books, clothes, antiques, food, you named it, it was probably there. It was to the point where there was no place to sleep, the bed being covered in stuff. Which, well, that explained the whole 'sleeping on the roof' thing, but still.

Wukong nervously shifted from foot to foot in the doorway. Red Son and Mei, who had succeeded in freeing themselves, as well as Yin and Jin, who had gotten curious from all the commotion, stared over Wukong's shoulders, taking in the state of the room.

MK sat there for a moment, looking at the mess (and sure, MK's room was messy too, but this-), before slowly turning around to look at his mentor, a serious expression on his face.

"Wukong." MK said, and Wukong stiffened, his nervous smile growing wider at the sound of MK saying his name instead of his title.

"...Yeah?" Wukong said, chuckling nervously as MK's look darkened.

"...I'm getting Sandy."

"Wait, no no no-"

The rest of the day was spent cleaning up Wukong's room, sorting through the piles upon piles of stuff.

Wukong, in a bout of spite, still slept on the roof anyways.

-

Yin and Jin stared in shock at the scene in front of them.

Everyone in the house knew that Wukong and Tang adamantly avoided doing their share of the chores. (The roof-pushing incident was still fresh in everyone's minds, after all).

So that's why seeing Wukong doing the laundry was very out of place.

"...What are you two staring at?" Wukong asked, snapping the twins out of their shocked reverie.

"It's just....weird to see you doing the laundry, that's all." Yin said, and that-

Well, surprisingly enough, that made Wukong actually pause.

"It is?" He asked, slowly setting the laundry basket down on the ground, subtly nudging it under a nearby table so that it was now out of view.

"Well, I mean, with how you and Mr. Tang utilize every method possible to avoid doing the chores, we never thought we'd actually see you doing one." Jin said.

"...I see." Wukong said, quietly. "Well, in that case. You two saw nothing."

"Wha-"

Not giving them a chance to respond, Wukong flashed a peace sign, then vanished, leaving the twins to sputter in disbelief.

(Later, Macaque returned to the laundry room to pick up the clothes he'd left behind.)

-

Syntax paused as he stared at the sight before him.

"...What is this?" He ased, drawing the attention of the occupants in the living room.

"A braid train!" MK replied, and honestly, that's what it was. MK sat on the floor, braiding Bai He's hair, Bai He braiding Red Son's, who was braiding Mei's hair. Mei pulled one hand out of Spider Queen's hair to give Syntax a little wave before returning to braiding the queen's hair. Spider Queen gently weaved Huntsman's hair into a braid that looked above professional level. Huntsman was twisted at an odd angle in order to put some braids in Sandy's beard. And Sandy carefully created some tiny braids in Wukong's fur."

"I....see." Syntax said, holding up his phone and taking a quick picture before any of the braid train participants could notice.

"Do you wanna join?" MK asked, "You can either braid my hair or get yours braided by Monkey King. Your choice."

Syntax took a moment to think about it.

He ended up braiding MK's hair.

-

There was someone in the shower.

Now, usually, this wouldn't be such a mind-boggling thing, but-

All of the house's occupants stared at the bathroom door in trepidation.

"You sure Wukong didn't just accidentally leave the shower on again?" Princess Iron Fan asked, prompting some indignant sputtering from Wukong, who was sitting on Demon Bull King's shoulder. MK shook his head in the negative.

"No, I'm sure I heard someone moving in there." He said, crossing his arms.

"Why don't you or Monkey King just use your true sight and get this whole mystery over with?" Jin asked.

"Yeah, we've already been waiting for like, 20 minutes." Yin said.

"They're in the shower." MK said, "I'm not just gonna invade their privacy like that, regardless of who they are."

The shower turned off, and everyone turned to stare at the door again, in silence. There was some rustling around, and then the door opened.

Macaque. It was Macaque. Who, upon realizing that literally the entire household was standing in front of him, froze.

And then immediately tried to turn and run.

"Oh no you don't." Wukong said, jumping off of Demon Bull King's shoulder, and outright tackling the other monkey to the ground. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, I live here?" Macaque said, sitting up and shoving Wukong off of him.

"You turned down the invitation to come and live with us though...." Wukong said, slowly standing back up. ".....How long have you been here?"

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks?!" Everyone went into various states of shock.

"How could we not have noticed you?" MK asked.

"You- you did notice me though." Macaque said, "Like, we had a whole conversation in the kitchen at around 3 AM."

"You think I remember what happens at 3 am?!" MK said, holding his head in his hands, and Red Son comfortingly patted him on the back.

"What happens at 3 AM stays at 3 AM." Red Son said, sounding like he was saying some ancient wisdom despite the actual sentence being utter nonsense. Yin and Jin snapped their fingers as a look of realization appeared on their faces. 

"That's why we saw Wukong doing the laundry the other day." Yin said, "It was Macaque in disguise!"

"....Yeah, I figured you'd notice if I didn't do some chores, just to clean up after myself." Macaque sighed, and Pigsy turned to glare at Wukong and Tang.

"See? Even the ex-villain does more chores than you two." He said, and Wukong and Tang purposefully looked away, whistling innocently.

"Wait." Mei said, "If you've been here for two weeks, and we haven't seen you use any of the bedrooms... then where have you been sleeping?"

As it turned out, Macaque had been spending his nights in the storage closet, curled up in the darkest corner of the room with nothing other than a blanket and a small pillow. The others, of course, deemed this as unacceptable, and pretty much near shoved him into one of the leftover bed rooms.

...Which he didn't even end up using that night, as it ended up being a night where everyone ended up falling asleep in the living room, blankets and pillows strewn about everywhere.

The next morning, Macaque wasn't there when the others woke up, and there was a brief moment of panic over the monkey's whereabouts-

And then said monkey walked back into the room, using the shadows to help him carry some trays with breakfast on it.

He paused when he registered that everyone was staring at him.

"....What?" He asked, "I woke up first, that means I had breakfast duty, right?"

"I mean.....yeah." MK said, graciously accepting his plate of food. "But, to be honest. I kinda expected you to burn it like Monkey King did."

"Hey, I did that on purpose. For Red Son." Wukong said, "Cause, y'know. He likes charred food. Apparently."

"You did not do that on purpose and we all know it." Pigsy said, "You were just as unaware of Red Son's dietary habits as the rest of us."

"...I literally just woke up and I'm kinda feeling attacked." Red Son mumbled, sitting up. "Should I feel like I'm being attacked?"

"No, you're fine, we're just calling out Wukong again." Spider Queen whispered to him, and Red Son hummed before rolling back over, clearly intending on getting a few more minutes of rest despite the argument starting to occur in the room. Macaque, for his part, remained standing frozen, with MK standing beside him, nibbling at the food on his plate.

"....Should I be concerned about this?" Macaque asked, staring at the fight taking place. MK shrugged.

"Nah." He said, "This is just the same shit as always."

[thatonesquintern13]

episode two - scar tissue:

• why did she sleep in 1999!! girl get back in that pond 😭

• yeah no, alice didn’t think about her mom’s trauma even once before running off

• okay now that i’m rewatching this, does dell know about the time travel too? like why’s she so chill

• oh never mind she’s just trying to play it cool for kat.

• “who’s your dad?” “ew! obviously not you, dude” alice please cut the boy some slack 😭

• i love the small town rumor mill. like ofc the whole school knows she was missing

• i don’t remember dell’s friends name, but i remember loving her.

• no, sorry brady, if you wanted minute by minute updates on alice MAYBE you shouldn’t have a girlfriend 😤

• not the true crime book on jacob.

• WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT LAST NIGHT alice please work on some decorum 😭

• although it could easily be explained that he’s friends with her mom so obviously they know each other outside of school. well but, everyone knows she was missing so that’s suspicious i guess.

• “do you know what i know?” “what do you know…?” okay rachel and joey

• “i’m alice like my mom’s friend alice, but also like me alice…” time travel is so confusing

• i love that elliot has been murder board-ing alice’s jumps for like a decade and a half

• yeah it can’t be healthy that dell won’t even talk about jacob 😭

• “you don’t have a job! you have nowhere to go.” she’s just like me fr 😔

• kat shit talking her friend’s husband lmaooo landry women always gettin themselves into Situations

• oh they were nemeses!!! my b. forgot about that

• the fact that no one has even told alice what happened to jacob!!! come on.

• “damn” number 2

• dell is absolutely right, kat should not write the book (even though i’d read the heck outta it)

• elliot and kat in the tree house 🥹 likely place for them to be 🥹🥹

• “do you remember our friend alice?” “ᵘᵘᵘʰ ʸᵉᵃʰ ᵏᶦⁿᵈᵃ” elliot’s subtlety strikes once again

• alice pulling a bella swan and googling “jacob missing”

• oh yeah i forgot she can only jump sometimes !!

• THE GILES TO YOUR BUFFY

• “the who to my what” i also cry for gen z, elliot

• “the pond works in mysterious ways. it sends you when and where it wants you to go” okay foreshadowing

• oh the friend’s name is rita!

• new guy byron that i remember being suspicious of

• “you just moved here” “six years, rita.” rita is so me

• not the hair tuck 🤭 dell, girlie GET UP

• the landry women DO need closure. you’re absolutely right, rita.

• dell keeps saying she didn’t ask kat to come home but like she did write the letter!! even if she didn’t send it, she had to kinda want this

• kat not only faces the mortifying ordeal of going back to your hometown and running into everyone you went to high school with, but also has to face the ptsd that comes with all of them knowing your brother and dad died 🤧

• present day alice being so much like colton bc she spent formative years hanging out with him in the past 😭😭

• “i wish that you had met her” oh buddy. it might be crazy what im bout to say…

• oh jacob was 9 when he went missing, not 6.

• how does alice not know buffy and giles but does know how to use a microfiche

• okay if i drove by the place my husband died every day, i probably also would do everything i could to move on.

• “i lost my whole world in three months” ugh poor dell 😭😭

• i honestly forgot how SAD this show actually is.

• “a landry never gives up hope” “she does. if she’s the only one left waiting” ☹️

• i see where kat is coming from, bc anything could have happened. but come on it’s been over 20 years…

• kat and dell just both miss their boys so much ): and it’s fascinating to see how they play that complicated back and forth of grieving in different ways while also avoiding just how much they need each other to do it.

• elliot is always gonna be there for kat 🥺

• woah wait the family almanac is from the same year the chase from the beginning takes place 😟 (it’s in huge font right in the middle idk how i didn’t notice that the first time)

• surely that’s not going to come into play in s2 🥴

• elliot taking kat’s hand WITHOUT EVEN LOOKING I-

• brady really never understood the landry family dynamic did he

• “maybe i’ll get see the best parts of my history repeat itself” UGH

• jacob’s teddy bear ):

fin.

📺 | the way home

live blogging a season one rewatch so i can remember everything for season two 🫡

episode one:

• i hope this show goes on forever bc they clearly have a full story planned for this witch hunt

• honestly forgot about this private school situation

• dad’s suck!

• do we learn about the “one hit” orrr

• chyler leigh in glasses. that’s it that’s the thought.

• “fReEs yOu Up fOr sOmE hOmEsChoOliNg” hey why don’t you hush.

• nah bc these two are like… not even divorced yet and his gf already moved in with him? i’d set the fire alarm off too

• oh the one hit was last year’s showcase

• hallmark letting a “damned” into the script. big slay

• i do really appreciate that young dell is just andie macdowell in a dark wig.

• sorry but it’s kinda a dream to have a farm in ‘nowhere canada’ to escape to, alice.

• i love generational mommy issues 😌

• one thing about andie macdowell, that accent’s gon’ be thicc

• wet dog foreshadowing 👀

• moving in the middle of the school year is wild

• omg and a “what the hell” !!

• mystery letter 😈 (i only vaguely remember how it got sent so excited to relearn that)

• the glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars 🥺

• LMAO OKAY dell was wrong for sending her out in her pjs but it was funny hehe 🤭

• ELLIOT!!!!

• “you got a lot in common… what with your divorces.” dell that’s so southern of you

• “and me?” OOF

• dell landry: bee keeping age 😗

• fair that kat wants to talk about her brother and dad but didn’t she also…. like. leave?? 🥴

• “if you ever need to talk i’m here. any place. any… time.” very subtle elliot thank you

• ohp. guess that’s why i don’t remember the bracelet. so rose from titanic of her

• wait that’s literally how she gets in the pond ?? okay that’s on me then.

• baby kat!! (A+ casting btw 🤌🏽)

• i could not imagine sitting on TIME TRAVEL for over 14 years. good on elliot

• elliot and kat better get back together in like the first 2 minutes of s2 🤧

• baby elliot!

• as someone who lost their grandpa when i was really young, alice meeting her grandpa and their whole relationship just hits different 🥺

• no bc the 90s ARE totally back in style.

• “alice will be fine.” “jacob wasn’t.” he was 6, girl 😭

• the white witch 😟 (me: wait why am i gasping i already knew that.)

• the blurry picture is actually very clever!

• elliot just standing over the pond ominously 🧍🏻‍♂️

• idk why but i love that kat called him to yell at him.

• kat, he just knows, okay!!

fin.

[leossmoonn]

No Weakness [Spencer Reid]

masterlist 

pairing - spencer reid x gn!reader

type - fluff, lil angst 

request / note -  “where the reader is new to BAU and they see dead body first time, and it kinda bothers them. and spencer noticed it, even when the reader tries they best no show it (bc they’re scared it makes the look like they’re weak) so when they’re just two of them spencer tries to make them feel better and tells them its okay and it does not make them weak.” this was so fun to write, ahhh! thank you @avrilstaro for requesting <3 *not edited lol oops*

summary - you’re embarrassed after freaking out from seeing a dead body, but spencer assures you that it’s okay

warnings / includes - descriptions of mutilated body, small description of case (child kidnapper case for this fic), crying, anxiety, nausea, little fighting, food mention. you and spencer are dating in this  

———— 

*gif isn’t mine*

“I can’t believe I didn’t get to sleep in,” you mumbled, throwing your purse down on your desk rather roughly. 

“Not like you would’ve anyways. Ariel was meowing for you five minutes before we got called in,” Spencer stated. 

“So? I would’ve fallen back asleep after,” you shrugged. “You would’ve stayed up all morning playing with her, babe,” Spencer chuckled. 

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t know that.” 

“I do! You’ve done it every morning since we got her,” Spencer argued. 

You scoffed, shaking your head at your boyfriend. You trudged over to the coffee machine, getting out a mug the size of a bowl and filling it to the brim. It was already your third cup of the day, and while it was probably unhealthy drinking that much coffee, you needed it. It was your first week on the job and you still weren’t used to waking up at five in the morning for a surprise case. This was your second case, though, so you weren’t very surprised that you were still tired. You knew you would get used to it as time went on, but you wished that your body and mind would adapt faster. 

“You’re coming on the field today.” Emily nudged your arm with a file. 

Your eyes widened and you sputtered out coffee, coughing to try and clear your throat. Emily chuckled, patting your back gently to help you. You set your coffee down, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand once you got control of your breathing.  

“W-What?” You asked, the words Emily said not processing in your brain. 

“I said you’re coming onto the field today,” she repeated. 

“B-But…” your trailed off, trying to find a reasonable explanation. “I-I wasn't supposed to be on the field for another week. I’m still technically in training.” 

“Well, part of the training is going on the field. You’re an amazing agent in the office, L/n, but you'd be even better on the field. You’re able to sympathise with the unsubs and solve the puzzles faster than most of us can, sometimes faster than your boyfriend. You’ll help us a lot better out there than in here.” 

You chuckled nervously, heat crawling up the back of your neck. “Thanks, Emily, but I’m not ready.” 

Emily rolled her eyes. “That’s what all the new agents say. You need to just get out there, and there’s no better time to do that then early in the game.”

“I guess,” you muttered, lifting your coffee cup and taking a sip. 

“You’ll be fine, Y/n. I have no doubts,” Emily smiled. 

“Thanks.” You have her a small smile. “No problem. And hey, don’t tell Spencer I said you’re better at the job than him,” she winked. 

You laughed and nodded, “I won’t, I promise.” 

She walked away, leaving you to lean against the counter and to drink the rest of your coffee before going to the briefing room. 

“So, I heard that Newbie is finally coming along with us today!” Luke exclaimed. 

“Newbie is your nickname, Newbie,” Penelope narrowed her eyes at Luke. Luke rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Anyways, you excited?”

You sat down in one of the chairs between to Luke and Matt. “Not really, if I”m being honest.” 

“Oh, why? You’ll be great!” Matt smiled. “So everyone says,” you sighed. 

“Hey, I heard you’re coming with us today. Can’t wait to have you on the field.” Spencer smiled as he walked past you. 

“Yeah, I’m excited to outsmart you, too,” you smirked. 

“Oh, Reid, looks like you have some competition!” Luke teased. 

Spencer shook his head and looked at you through his lashes. You gave him a challenging look, leaning on the table. 

“May the best agent win, Reid,” you dared. 

“Alright,” he shrugged. “Better have no weaknesses, L/n.” 

“Oh, I have none,” you smirked. Spencer replied to you with a hum, giving you an excited smile before paying attention to the case.  

Penelope and Emily delivered the case to you six, then leaving you all to pack up your things as you were going on the jet. You got out the small duffle bag of clothes you had in your car for traveling on cases, also grabbing your phone charger and the case files. You walked up onto the jet, placing your bags up over the overhead storage area. You got seated across from Tara and next to Spencer. 

You all talked about your plans to catch the unsub and where you all were assigned to. Tara, you, and Spencer were going to go to the crime scene to scope out the area. Emily and JJ would stay at the police station and work there, while Matt and Luke did witness and suspect interviews. 

You were sitting back in your chair, looking out the window and admiring the sky as the jet flew through the clouds. You still had an hour before you landed. Everyone was either sleeping or listening to music. You had thought about going back to sleep, but it seems as though the three cups of coffee you had finally kicked in.  

You regretted drinking so much coffee because now, your heart was racing and your hands were shaking. You weren’t sure if it was totally because of the caffeine or that you were nervous about being on the field for the first time, but you assumed it was a little bit of both. 

Spencer, who was seated next to you, noticed your jitteriness. He closed his book softly, setting it down on the floor next to his seat, turning to you and taking your hands in his. 

Your head snapped to him quickly, your eyes landing on his. He gave you a soft smile, beginning to rub his thumb over your knuckles. 

“You’ll do great out there, alright?” He assured. 

You sighed, turning away from the window and to him. “What if the lead I find doesn’t work? What if I can’t figure out where the unsub has the kids? O-Or what if I embarrass myself in front of the police chief?”

Spencer chuckled softly at your concerns, making you frown. 

“Don’t laugh! Hey, I bet you had all these concerns when you first joined.” 

“I did,” he admitted. “But, I learned that I worked with a team. It’s not just me doing the work, just like it’s not just you. You have seven people working with you on this. Try and relax, baby, alright? You do amazing work at the office. This won’t be any different.” 

You scoffed, “Please. It’s like, a million times different.” 

“Just try and relax,” he instructed, putting your hand up to his lips. 

You smiled widely, your heart fluttering as he kissed your hand. 

“Plus, even if it was just you working the case, I have no doubt you would figure it out quickly.” 

“Thanks, babe,” you smiled and leaned your head against the headrest. 

“Of course. I love you,” he said, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. 

“Oh, gross. You guys know I just became newly single,” Tara scoffed. 

You laughed and turned to her. “That was like, nine months ago.” 

Tara raised her brows, looking at Matt and Spencer, and back at you. “You weren’t even here back then. How do you know this?” 

“I just know things,” you winked. “Yeah, well I’m betting someone blabbed,” Tara grumbled. 

“We would never,” Matt disagreed. “Mhm,” Tara hummed, going back onto her phone. 

You smiled at you teammates and looked back at Spencer and putting your head on his shoulder. You closed your eyes for a few moments, opening your eyes again. You blinked rapidly, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You rolled your head around, your eyes settling onto Spencer who was back to reading his book. You turned your head back to the window, furrowing your brows as you noticed you weren’t up in the sky anymore. 

“Oh, good. You’re up,” Spencer spoke, putting his book away. 

“Are we here already?” You asked, your voice croaky and hoarse. 

“Yep,” he nodded. “We landed about ten minutes ago.” 

“Oh,” you frowned, sitting up and getting out of your seat. You stretched your limbs, yawning once more as you held your hand up above your head. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” You sighed. 

“You’re just so peaceful when you sleep. I couldn’t,” he explained. 

You smiled and went to get your luggage. “Thanks, Spence. But everyone is probably waiting for me now.” 

“No, it’s alright. We can’t go and see the crime scene yet anyways.” 

“How come?” You asked. “Not prepped for us,” Spencer answered. 

“Since when does a crime scene need to be prepped for the FBI?” You snorted. 

“You’d be surprised,” Spencer let out a breathy chuckle. 

You put your duffle bag over your shoulders and handing Spencer his, holding your hand out for Spencer to take. “Join me down the stairs?” 

“Of course,” he grinned, standing up and taking your hand into his and his bag.

You two walked off the jet, going over to the SUV. Spencer drove you two to the hotel where you dropped off your things, immediately going to the police station. 

“ ‘Bout time!” Matt exclaimed, seeing you two walking through the doors. 

You chuckled, “Sorry. Looks like the coffee wore off and I finally crashed.” 

“It’s alright. I think the scene is ready for you guys to look at now,” he said. 

“Great,” you smiled. 

You and Spencer found Tara, going into the SUV once again, driving to the house where the parents were killed and children taken. 

“Wow, I’ve never seen this much yellow tape in my life,” you chuckled. “Yeah. It’s definitely not an eye sore,” Tara chortled, stepping over the caution tape. 

You and Spencer followed her, going up to the police offers that were talking at the front door. 

“Hi, we’re FBI agent with the BAU. I’m Doctor Tara Lewis, this is Doctor Spencer Reid, and Agent Y/n L/n,” Tara introduced you all. 

You smiled and shook the two officer’s hand. “Nice to meet you two.” 

“Likewise. I’m Officer Santiago and this is Officer Reynolds. The parents were killed in two different places. The father in the bedroom, mother in the oldest child’s room.” 

“Lovely. Can’t wait to see,” Tara smiled sarcastically. 

“Oh, I bet. Go ahead and go in, let us know if you find anything, please,” Reynolds said. 

You nodded and stepped into the house, cringing at the heavy smell of bleach. 

“God. It’s like a hospital in here, but twenty times worse!” You held your nose. “I should’ve told Emily I needed to stay back with Penelope.” 

“Oh, this is nothing,” Spencer smirked. “Wait until you see where they all got killed.” 

“Ew, Spence!” You shrieked. “You’re supposed to protect me from all that.” 

He chuckled, “All part of the job, baby.” 

You nodded and sighed, knowing that he was right. As always. You three walked up the stairs, looking at where the father was killed. There was an enormous amount of blood of the bedsheets and some on the corner of the right nightstand, some splatters that were below on the floor. 

“So,” you started. “We’re looking at a team, right? I mean, there’s no way that the unsub could kill the father without the mom noticing.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking’,” Tara nodded. “Well, I could be possible,” Spencer contradicted.

You and Tara looked at each other, confused. 

“Yeah, how?” You asked.

 “Well,” Spencer said, walking over to the bed. “The unsub could’ve choked or suffocated the father in his sleep. I mean, there were ligature marks around his neck, right?” 

“True. And the mom was saying goodnight to her children, so she obviously didn’t see her husband get killed,” Tara added on. 

You furrowed your brows, stepped out of the parents’s bedroom, going to the child’s. 

“Yeah, but, what about the kid? I mean, wouldn’t it have screamed and fought and ran out of the house?” You asked. 

Tara looked to you, eyes widening in surprise. “Yeah, that is a good thought. So… unsub number one is killing the father while unsub number two is kidnapping the mom slash killing the child…” 

“No, that wouldn't work. Maybe it’s a group of three?” Spencer suggested. 

“Maybe,” Tara shrugged. 

You stepped into the child’s bedroom, scrunching your nose as a foul smell wafted under your nose. You walked around, covering your nose with your sleeve. You saw the blood on the bedsheets and nightstand table. 

“Looks like the unsubs all have the same MO’s,” you muttered. 

You opened the closet, seeing nothing but toys, clothes, and shoes. You closed the doors, looking around the walls, your heart sinking as you saw all the finger pantings and pictures of family and friends. You walked up to the wall, losing your balance as you tripped on a a long, soft object. 

You let out a yelp, falling on your shoulder. You groaned in pain, turning on your back while holding your injured side. You looked around for the object you tripped on, frowning as you couldn’t find it. Something pale caught the corner of your eyes. You raised your brow, getting up on your knees and moving closer. 

“What the —” You muttered, your voice getting caught in your throat as you realised it was an arm sticking out under the bed. “Oh, my —” You gasped, peering under the bed, seeing the dead body of one of the children. “Oh, my God!” You shouted, scooting back, your back hitting the wall as you stared at the lifeless body. Tears welled up in your eyes and you put your hand to your mouth, loud and broken sobs escaping your throat. 

The boy couldn’t have been more than a few days old, yet it was still lying there. You could see the lifelessness in his eyes, and still the fear. There was a slit across his throat and cheek, his upper chest red with with green and purple bruises. You felt nauseas and cold, your heart sinking all the way down past your stomach. Your body was shaking and you couldn’t tear your eyes off of the body, no matter how hard you tried. 

You heard the footsteps of your colleagues, their voices calling your name. 

“Y/n, where are — O-Oh, my God.” Spencer’s eyes widened as he saw you crying on the floor. He immediately dropped down to his knees, taking you into his arms. “What happened.” 

You were unable to move, your eyes staring wide at the body. Spencer followed your gaze, his own heart dropping down to his chest. 

“Oh, man. Um,” Spencer said, looking away from the body and to you. His heart broke as he saw you so horrified. He put his hand on your cheek gently, turning your face so you were no longer looking at the body. “Let’s get you to out of here, alright?” 

You nodded slowly, your breaths becoming laboured as you tried to calm yourself down in Spencer’s arms. He got up, taking you with him. He walked you out of the room, coming face-to-face with Tara. 

“What happened?” Tara gasped. 

“Looks like the unsubs left the older boy. Tell the police officers, I need to get Y/n out of here,” Spencer said. 

Tara looked at you, nodding without hesitation. She let you two go, Spencer walking you down the stairs slowly. You exited the house, still taking heavy breathes as the image of the boy haunted your thoughts. Spencer gently got you seated into the car, buckling you in. He went to the driver’s seat, getting in and starting to drive. 

You two sat in the silence for thirty minutes while Spencer drove around. You looked at the window the whole time, your eyes glossy and strained from crying and keeping them open. Whenever you closed your eyes, even to just blink, flashes of the dead boy raced through your mind. Spencer waited patiently for you to speak, understanding how shocked and horrified you were. 

He parked in a Burger King parking lot, sighing and looking at you. He gingerly put his hand on your shoulder, only for you to shrug him away. 

“Y/n,” he sighed. 

“No,” you grumbled. “Take me back.” 

“I think it would be smart if you took the day off. Seeing a dead body, especially a child’s and one you had no idea exited, can really throw you off. The first time I saw a dead body…. Man, I-I was sick to my stomach. I—” 

“Shut up!” You exclaimed, waving your hands in the hair. You looked at him, your chest heaving up and down. Your brows were furrowed and mouth open, your eyes glaring at him.  “Just shut up, Spencer!” 

His mouth went agape, hurt flashing though his eyes. He didn’t let your outburst  dampen his spirits, though. He knew you were embarrassed and still horrified, and that you didn’t like to feel belittled. So he gave you a small, comforting smile, taking your hands into his. You didn’t move away this time, but you avoided any and all eye contact. 

“I know how you feel, babe,” he sympathised. “Yeah, I bet,” you muttered, your voice hoarse and dry. 

He frowned and unbuckled, leaning closer to you. He put his hand on your chin, turning your head with strength and force. You eventually met his eyes, his smile dropping as he saw tears rolling down your cheeks once again, your lips pulled into a pout. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he assured, cupping your cheek and wiping your tears away with his thumb. 

“N-No, it’s not,” you sobbed, shaking your head. “I-I’m so weak. I should’ve been ready. This is what I’ve been tra-trainging for and I suddenly turn into a freaking wuss? I-I… I… It’s so embarrassing!” You shoulders racked with sobs as you hung your head down to cry. 

“Oh, baby,” Spencer sighed, taking your head in both of his hands. He held your head up again, bringing his face close to yours. He put his forehead against yours, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “It’s no embarrassing, alright? Your reaction was a perfectly normal reaction to seeing a dead child’s body. Honestly, if you didn’t cry and freak out, I would be worried,” he chuckled. 

You gave him a watery smile, laughing with him. “Y-Yeah, I s-suppose,” you sniffled. “B-But,” you started. “I-It makes me look weak. And I don’t want to look weak, Spence. A-All my life I’ve been told —” 

He smiled widely, leaning back so he could look you in the eyes. “You’re not weak, Y/n. You never could be, even if you tried. You’re just human, and that’s fine. It’s amazing, honestly. You know, I am so proud of you, babe.”

You frowned, “Why?”

“Because today was your first day out on the field, and you did fantastic. It can only get better from here.” 

“Y-You really think so?” You sniffed, wiping your nose with your sleeve. 

“I know so,” he nodded confidently. “And it’s okay to show weakness, Y/n. No weakness is the real weakness.” 

“Such wise words,” you laughed. He laughed with you and he shrugged. “I try.” 

You laid your head back on the headrest, looking a him through tired eyes. “Thanks, Spencer. It really means a lot.” 

He nodded with a smile. “Of course, honey. Now, why don’t you say we get something to eat, then go back to the precinct?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Sounds great.” 

He nodded and buckled himself back in, putting his hand on the gearshift and looking to you. 

“I’m proud of you, you know that?”

You smiled shyly, heat scorching your cheeks. “Yeah, I know. You’ve already told me.” 

“Just making sure you know, baby.” 

———— 

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@avrilstaro @andreasworlsboring101 @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @calm-and-doctor @kaitieskidmore1 @spenxerslut @spencerreid9 @thefandomchoosesthewizard​ @ronbrokemyheart

[hansolmates]

the proposal (m)

banner done by the ammmahhzzing @eerieedits​

summary; Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse. pairing; editor!Jungkook x assistant!reader (f) genre/warnings; the proposal!au, fake marriage au, enemies to friends(!!!), friends to lovers, bouts of flangst, dry humping, slight blood but not too bad, lang, alcohol, poor jjk discovers he has the ability to feel emotion, poor y/n is in the middle as always w.c; 20.1k of endless banter and koo hiding his romantic side a/n; yeah, it’s almost summer. But i think we need a lil holiday magic in our lives! I rewatched the proposal this weekend and whipped this up. Why is koo so gosh darn easy to write? This is my longest fic since i wrote maze runner back in 2014!! i rec this extension to get fully immersed in 2pov! Enjoy and pls tell me if there’s any errors im too poopied to proofread it again drabbles; 01

“When I hired you, you basically signed a contract that said you’d do anything for me.” 

“Yeah, Jeon. I did. That meant like, getting you coffee or working late hours—normal work stipulations,” you can feel the hair on your scalp growing thinner, “not commit fucking fraud!” 

Your boss looks moreso frustrated than you are, but you cease to care. Jeon Jungkook has been nothing but a thorn in your side since your employment at Big Hit Publishing two years ago. Being a budding author who wanted to graduate from online sites and freelancing, you accepted the job as the editor-in-chief’s assistant in the hopes of getting your first book published. 

However, your dreams of being an editor are quickly dissipating, especially when Jungkook corners you this afternoon and announces that he may have left America during the time his work visa was still processing. He may have to give over his editor-in-chief position because there’s no way he can get a work visa processed in time. As a result of this information, he may have told his supervisors that you seduced him on a late night one year ago, and you two fell in love and have been secretly engaged ever since. 

Because y’know, your citizenship to this country is an asset to the company. 

“We didn’t have to go to Norway to PR Emma Watson’s autobio,” you huff, fingers going pale from how hard you were gripping your iPad. Jungkook is an esteemed workaholic, and you have no idea where it stems from. You remember that trip to Oslo, Jungkook insisting that you and him both go to make sure everything goes smoothly.

“You weren’t complaining when we went to that restaurant with the open bar.” he runs a hand through his coiffed hair, making the pomade untack from its style. “You got so drunk that Emma held you while you cried about global warming.” 

Wholly unamused, you frown. “Jungkook, can you please take this seriously?”

“I’m taking this seriously, you’re not the one who’s about to be deported in two weeks!” Jungkook hisses, face dangerously close to yours. Not that anyone would know what he’s saying, but you can tell from his defenses that he genuinely is nervous. 

“You wouldn’t be deported if you had just set an earlier appointment to renew your Visa!” 

“I wouldn’t be deported if you had just set an earlier appointment to renew my Visa!” 

At least twenty pairs of eyes are watching your confrontation, probably making their own conclusions as to what you two were fighting about again. Curse this office for having full-walled windows, you often feel like an ant in a plastic farm. Your work relationship is an anomaly to the rest of the staff. Before you started working at Big Hit, Jungkook’s assistants did not last long. Within the first week of working, you understood why. 

Jungkook whirls around his desk, glaring at the glass doors as he puts himself between the staff and you. “If you don’t marry me,” he says lowly, close enough for his hot breath to fan your face, coupled with his fresh-scented cologne. It annoys you how good he smells. “You’ll also be replaced because they want to give the my position to fuckin’ Karen of all people,” you fight the twitch of your lips. The only thing you two mutually agreed upon is the hatred of his co-editor, Karen. “All of the late nights we’ve worked together, the gallons of coffees you consumed, putting up with my shit, your dreams of becoming an author,” his eyes flicker to the way the grip in your iPad trembles, “will go down the drain and turn to shit. Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together.” 

Pretending to be unfazed, you bat your lashes, “So are you saying, you need me?” 

“For fuck’s sake—”

“Ah-ah, Jungkook. I’m not going to ask you to get on one knee, but you should at least tell me how much you need me.” 

You assume with great confidence that the only reason you’re kept on Jungkook’s payroll is because you’re not afraid to stand up to Jungkook’s bullshit. He looks positively disgusted at the mere thought of paying you an iota of a compliment. You’d say on average, you get half a compliment a month from Jungkook. You say half because he’ll compliment you, then downplay it with whatever flaw he can fabricate to get under your skin. 

He loosens his lavender paisley tie, annoyed. “Fine. I need you. I need you because you’re the only one who knows me well enough to be my wife. You’re the only woman I’ve had full conversations with in two years and knows all my dietary restrictions, favorite books, foods, and hobbies. By process of elimination, you are my best candidate.” 

“Romantic,” you roll your eyes, “I guess I do,” you push him away with a finger to his chest, “but I want a raise. And after we finish Sorn and Mark’s project, I want you to read my novel.” 

“Done and done.” 

“Well Jeon, I guess you’ve wifed me up with your ways of seduction.” you muse sardonically, feeling more upset for yourself than anything. 

“Fantastic,” he sighs, finally throwing his tie across the desk and plopping in his armchair. “Cancel the call with Janet, call PR about Irene Kim’s interview on Ellen, and order me a medium rare steak from J.J. Bittings with a side of brussels.” 

“Right,” you mutter under your breath as you pull up your checklist, as if you didn’t just give away your life to the Devil incarnate. 

Jungkook’s back is already facing you, focusing on his computer displaying two new manuscripts. “Oh, and on your way to J’s don’t forget to pick up your ring at Saks.”

“Bitch, you’re asking me to pick up my fake wedding ring?” 

Unbothered, he shrugs. You see the planes of his shoulders stretch beneath the blazer, because he’s deemed this conversation long over and he has work to do. “Yeah, but it’s real diamonds.” 

You’ve been seeing red for days. 

While the rock on your ring finger is indeed beautiful because Jungkook has impeccable taste, it drags you down and arouses the elephant in the room everytime you show up for work. 

You get enough stares on the daily, and you were just getting used to the looks of pity and sympathy for working under Jungkook, but now there are only snickers and playful winks as you trudge down the cubicles every morning. Everyday feels like the runway at a shitshow, and you are the headliner. 

Taehyung clapped you none-too-hard on the back when you showed up to work the next morning, congratulating you on the engagement. “Can’t believe you’re fuckin’ the big boss!” 

The rest of the staff poke their eyes out of their cubicles like Digletts, and you shush them, using your hand to make them sink down. 

Coffee is spilling down your shirt thanks to him, and you reach for tissues in his cubicle. “Can you not say it like that, please?” 

“Oh, come on. I heard from the supervisors Jungkook went on about how you seduced him late at night and took charge,” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows approvingly, and you fight the urge to not throw up your coffee in his face. “How do you keep it so professional? Or do you save all that pent-up energy for after hours?” 

“You disgust me,” you grimace, stepping out of his cubicle and immediately regret wasting your five-minute break conversing with the typist.

Striding back into Jungkook’s office, he doesn’t hesitate to rattle off the next items on today’s agenda. He barely looks at you when you stride in, too focused on whatever corrections he’s slashing in red ink. 

“Did you get Taemin’s second draft?” 

“No, and I told him that if he can’t get me the draft by tonight he won’t get a publishing deadline and the number of copies published will be decreased by a third.” 

“And Taehyung’s author agreed to our stipulations?” 

“Of course, she’d be dead not to.”  you mutter, “she’s a nineteen year old Influencer, what would she know?” 

“Exactly, that’s why we milk it out as long as we can.” Jungkook throws the first draft in a large, intimidating pile, mixing in with all the others like a needle in a haystack. “Which is why it’s important we snag dinner with her this weekend, we can really—”

“What, this weekend?” your sense of equilibrium cracks, and you walk forward to put his hands on his desk. “I took this coming week off for Christmas. I’ve planned this for months.” 

“I know.”

“I can’t just cancel my flight! I saved up for that!”

“And?” Jungkook brushes off your fury like a piece of lint, “I’m Korean. Christmas is a fake holiday for me.” 

“You can’t just tell me I can’t go home to my family, it’s the fucking holidays!” 

“Why not, I’ve done it before. Remember on Valentine’s day when I told you the only date you have is a date with Kwon Boa’s publicist? Or on Secretaries Day when I argued that you don’t feel appreciated by society anyway and therefore why bother taking one extra day off? Or during Easter when your family screamed in my office on speakerphone that you should quit—”

“Okay,” no need to be reminded of how much you’ve wasted your life for this man, “but this is different. I’ve already bought plane tickets and this holiday is special. It’s a whole family reunion in the Poconos and we’ve reserved over five houses to fit all of us! I can’t just ditch!” 

“But I need you!” he replied just as hotly, in a tone that reminded you so many times of how tethered you are by this man. Two years have gone by, and the only thing that kept those strings together is the constant ache in getting your first novel published. “With all the marriage stuff and stupid extentions we had to make on these writers there’s no way we can get everything done before winter ends!” 

“You’ve done it before, why can’t you just ask Taehyung to assist—”

“Trouble in paradise?” 

A chill travels up your spine, and you and Jungkook exchange panicked eye contact. A tiny, pretty blonde lady struts in the room like it's hers, plopping a fruit basket atop Jungkook’s manuscripts. 

“If by paradise you mean our relationship, then no.” Jungkook’s the first to recover, meeting you at your side and stretching an arm around your waist. “I’d say work-wise things are getting a little rough, but nothing we can’t handle. We’re a team, after all.” 

“I just wanted to stop by as I was in the neighborhood,” the woman says, making herself comfortable in a leather seat reserved for guests. “Congratulations again on your engagement.” 

You tack on a smile, squeezing Jungkook’s arm a little too hard, but it’s enough to make the lady in front of you smile back. “What brings you here, Taeyeon?” 

Kim Taeyeon is Jungkook’s immigration liaison, AKA the person responsible for making sure you’re not breaking the law. She’s a pretty thing, with eyes sharp but a smile that’s soft and deceiving. 

“It’s just a shame you two have to rush a civil wedding,” Taeyeon sighs, looking at the window overlooking the city. 

“Ah, it takes some of the planning stress off my back, really.” you force a laugh, tugging Jungkook to sit on the couch opposite her. “At least one thing is done. The thought of planning a whole wedding with over two-hundred people is so stressful.” 

You weren’t really going to have a white wedding with Jungkook (however you may have entertained the thought, which is reflected in your Google search history) but you had to keep up the ruse that you were. A civil wedding in two weeks, then a quickie divorce a year later. 

“I know! My wedding was a real mess let me tell you, straight out of a movie!” Taeyeon is certainly the type of person to make you feel at ease, so at ease that it’s simple for you to melt your front. “But besides the point, are you two doing anything special for the holidays?” 

“Ah, well I bought a flight to meet my family in the Poconos,” you start, trying not to succumb to your nervous habit of wringing your fingers. You grab Jungkook’s hand as a reprieve. 

“And you’re not going?” Taeyeon’s gaze snaps, yes snaps, to Jungkook. 

You try to step in, realizing your flaw. “We’ve just been so swamped with work, all the immigration stuff and with these book delays Jungkook suggested he stay behind—” 

“But we’ve decided to prioritize our personal life and enjoy Christmas with our family,” Jungkook swoops in, threading his fingers between yours. He flashes Taeyeon a smile, and from the way his face lights up and his nose crinkles, you could’ve mistaken it to be genuine. “I’ve never experienced a big family Christmas, y’know. I’ve missed snowboarding too, I used to do it a lot in highschool.” 

“Oh, that’s just so sweet!” Taeyeon cooes, clasping her hands together. “Do send some pictures when you come back!” 

“Of course,” Jungkook stands up and attempts to leave Taeyeon out. You follow in tow, She obliges easily, mentioning something about just wanting to check in and she also has work to do. 

“Also,” Taeyeon’s head flickers to the people sitting outside Jungkook’s office. “You should manage those workers out there,” she looks at you, sympathetic. “Apparently, they didn’t peg you as the type of person to sleep their way to the top. And that’s just what I heard from walking down the hall once!” she laughs, tinkling brighter than a windchime, but you just tighten the grip on Jungkook’s palm. “Such a childish assumption. Things can be much more complicated.” 

She tips a “happy holidays” off her shoulder, and you both are smiling like the loving couple you are. As soon as the elevator doors close and Taeyeon is really gone, Jungkook moves to let go of your hand, but you hold him in your grasp. 

“She’s onto us,” you snap, tugging him closer to you so your co-workers wouldn’t read your lips. 

“Don’t you think I know that?” he bites back. He looks offendingly at the fruit basket adorning his desk. 

“What if we get caught, Jungkook?” you start to spiral, feeling your deepest fears crawl to the forefront of your brain. You’ve done extensive Google research on commiting fraud, and if you do get caught, Jungkook will never be able to come back to this country and you’ll have a fine of up to $250,000. Your boss doesn’t pay you nearly enough to get by with that kind of debt. “We’ll ruin this company, and our lives, and any hope of being published or credible.” 

“Hey, relax,” Jungkook whispers in your ear, the tone oddly comforting. He pulls you into his arms, and you barely have a chance to recover when he squeezes you extra tight around your waist. Jungkook only ever hugs you when doing PR, and even then it’s an awkward half-hug. Hell, he never hugged you on your birthday. “This is what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna book my flight to the Poconos, bring some manuscripts so we can work remotely, and no one will ever know.” 

You sigh into his arms, nodding tiredly. It feels nice to be hugged like this. His arms are strong and warm, and you feel small and protected. It’s been a while since you’ve felt like that. Maybe Jungkook did have a heart under all that muscle. 

“I’m putting up a good show, aren’t I?” he says, and you feel your heart drop just a little. Disappointed, but not surprised. 

From your view facing the cubicles, you see at least half the employees comically bugged with  heart eyes at you, enamored by your fake relationship. 

“Do not stretch your long-ass legs on this plane, Jeon,” you nudge your smaller leg away from your section of leg room, “Jesus, we’re flying economy!” 

It scares you how little you fought against Jungkook joining you for the winter holiday. It is the logical decision after all, Taeyeon is on your trail about your sudden engagement and you both needed to keep up the ruse. That includes going on family vacations. Also, the fact that Jungkook works through Christmas because he doesn’t celebrate it does make you feel a little bad. You can’t remember the last time the man took a vacation. 

The man in question barely moves at your weak attempt, and stretches his leg even further across your seat. “Sorry, babe,” he says, fishing around his seat for the included blanket. 

“It’s fine, Kookie.” You reply sweetly, and decide to kick off your shoes to drape a leg over Jungkook’s thighs, “you’re like a portable footrest!” 

He looks absolutely insulted at your objectification, but smartly decides to choose his battles and lets you keep your position. Tucking himself in with a scratchy blanket he waves you off, “Whatever, just wake me up when we arrive.” 

“What, no.” you pull up your iPad, shoving the note entry in his face. “I know everything about you, and yet you know nothing about me. I made this easy on you and just wrote everything down. You just have to read it.” 

“Seriously? I’ve known you for over two years, I’m sure I know enough about you.” 

“Really, then how do I like my coffee?” 

“Uh… hot?” 

You give him a look and he knows. With a sigh he grabs the iPad from your hands. Within seconds he’s giving you another dirty look, as if he’s skimming a conspiracy novel. 

“You know all this random shit about me?” Jungkook asks, scrolling down as to what feels like your life story. 

“Yes, because unlike you, I listen when you talk.” 

“Fine. What’s my favorite type of weather?” 

“A warm and sunny day, which correlates to your favorite kind of date which is walking along the beach at sunset. Cliché much?” 

“Okay, rude. Who’s my favorite artist?” 

“You like a little bit of everything, but since seventh grade you’ve been pining for IU. In the office, you like to sing along to Lauv and Hozier.” 

“Favorite movie?” 

“The Marvel Series. But you really like 5 Centimeters Per Second, you like the romance.” 

“And how do you know my favorite anime movie is 5 Centimeters Per Second? I’m pretty sure I’ve never told you that.” 

“Jeon, when we were promoting Momo Hirai’s self-help book at Anime Expo you were gone for two and a half hours at 1:50 sharp.” your boss’ Adam’s apple bobs and he swallows thickly at your admonition. “And low and behold, you gave yourself thirty minutes’ time to line up early because when I checked the schedule Makoto Shinkai had a panel on ‘The Otaku’s Perspective on Romantic—”

“Alright alright, I get it.” Jungkook slumps in his seat, as comfy as it can get with your legs draped around him and a seat at the far end of the plane. You know he’s trying to hide a blush, and you feel proud for making him a little flustered. “You’re lucky I’m a fast reader.” 

The plane ride goes relatively fast, with Jungkook asking quick questions about your family and other random things. It’s like playing a game of 20 Questions, instead it’s the final boss battle with 200 questions and if he doesn’t get them all right, the penalty is deportation. 

When you land, you’re both stiff and glazed over. Once you exit the terminal, Jungkook ditches you for the bathroom and says he’ll meet you at the luggage pickup. You give yourself a few moments, gearing yourself up for the long week ahead of you. At the luggage pickup, you see a tall man watch the revolving conveyor belt with interest. Either that, or he’s zoning out. 

“Joonie!” you cry, nearly dropping your phone upon seeing your big brother. He’s dressed comfortably in a grey sweat ensemble, as if he rolled out of bed and came straight to the airport. 

A bright grin takes over his face, and he doesn’t hesitate to smush your body against his. Under his tall frame you sway, your toes barely swiping the ground. “You’re alive!” he cheers, pulling back and holding your shoulders to get a real look at you. “I can see you’ve gained a little weight, eyes are a little dark, but I’m glad the Devil let you go. I still can’t forgive him for making you skip out on Jin’s wedding.” 

You don’t appreciate the way that Namjoon picks and prods at your exhaustion, but you know he means well. While he does not know your boss by face and name, he had enough artilerary from the billions of phone calls to learn about the Devil and the havoc he’s wreaked upon your life.

When you don’t respond he gets the cue that you do not want to talk about work this week, and he smacks his lips together. “But nothing a little R&R can’t fix! The ski resort nearby has a really nice outdoor jacuzzi and we could set an appointment for facials if you’d like. Or we could do absolutely nothing and turn into baked potatoes and watch movies until our eyes burn up.” 

“Both would be great,” you smile softly, catching two familiar suitcases make their rounds on your flight’s conveyor belt. You grab your pink luggage with one hand, and Jungkook’s black chrome one with your other. 

“So, where’s the new beau?” Namjoon rocks back and forth on his heels, hoping to get a glimpse of the mystery boy you mentioned you’d be bringing as of two days ago. 

“He really had to go to the bathroom,” you squint your eyes to make out the newcomers exiting the dropoff area. “Oh, there he is. Kook!” 

Like a goddamn model, he struts in your field of vision like nobody’s business. Unlike you who stayed in your apartment all day before leaving, Jungkook decided to spend a few hours at Big Hit in the morning to tie up most of the loose ends before your trip. He’s talking to what you assume to be is a client, noting the way his brow furrows as he clutches his phone with a tight hold. He’s changed out of his tie and leather oxfords, but he’s dressed crisply in a dark button up and blazer ensemble, still wholly overdressed for a family reunion. 

Namjoon starts behind you, “He looks...” 

“Handsome?” you goad, elbowing him, “Charismatic? Undeniable presence?” 

“Hard.” 

You don’t know what to make of that adjective, and you subtly shrink further in your jacket as you mull over the implications of his word choice. 

Jungkook steps up to the two of you, ending his call. His eyes float between you and your brother, and he manages to put two and two together. “Hey man,” Jungkook gives a practiced smile, extending a hand. “I’m Jungkook, I’ve heard lots of things about you.” 

“Good things, I hope.” Namjoon chuckles, returning the handshake. “I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you, though. Can’t wait to get to know you this week.” 

“Looking forward to it,” Jungkook takes his luggage and Namjoon grabs yours, leading you two out to his minivan. While Namjoon is preoccupied with getting the car started, Jungkook looks at you as if he’s already regretting making the trip down. “This girl has two braincells to her name. I just got off the phone with Sorn’s publicist.” 

“What trouble can an influencer do?” you reply in disbelief. 

“Exactly, influencing is the trouble,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “she did some mukbang and now she’s in the hospital for food poisoning.” 

“Ah, don’t get too worked up,” you help him lug your suitcases in the trunk. You spot Namjoon subtly eyeing you two from the rear mirror. Pressing a thumb between his brows, you make work to melt away the 11-shaped stress lines on his forehead. “Let’s just send her a Lush gift basket and she’ll be fine.” 

You ignore the way Jungkook’s gaze lingers on you longer than needed, running over to your seat at shotgun. 

The inside of his car smells like bergamot and lemon, and the sweet, vulnerable side of you wants to cry over how much you’ve missed your brother’s scent. It’s been way too long. 

Once you’re all safely in the car and driving Namjoon says, “So, are you going to hide the engagement ring or give the family a collective heart attack?” 

You tense, hands automatically floating to the teardrop diamond weighing heavily on your ring finger. The story that you two contrived about your relationship isn’t too complicated, but complex enough that it seems convincing. Instead of being your boss, Jungkook is your Literary Agent who gives you referrals to new and upcoming authors. You working closely together and bonding over the stresses of the publishing world, have kept a secret relationship under wraps for over a year to avoid any unprofessionalism or favoritism. 

“I was thinking about that the whole ride, actually,” you twirl the metal back and forth, watching it gleam in the light. “Mom and dad know, but I don’t wanna lie to the rest of my family. They’ll freak out because it’s the first time they’re meeting Kook and we’re already engaged. It’s just a location thing, y’know. You guys don’t live in the city so we’ve never had a chance to really talk it out.” 

Namjoon snorts, “Or, because your boss never gives you a break.” 

If Jungkook finds any offense, he doesn’t show it. Putting what should be a comforting hand on your shoulder, he says from the back seat, “I already told you babe, do what makes you comfortable. But I don’t want to lie to your parents early on, you don’t wanna make the situation any more complicated.” 

In other words, you better tell them about our engagement because Taeyeon could be hiding in the bushes waiting to catch us. 

“Smart man,” Namjoon says shortly, but you can’t tell whether it’s a compliment or not. 

“Yeah,” you exhale, turning to smile stiffly at Jungkook, “no use hiding the inevitable, right?” 

The next couple hours are overwhelming. There’s a party right when you walk in your winter villa, your parents throwing you a reunion party (not for your family, but for you specifically because you’ve been MIA since Big Hit) with the house filled to the brim with family members. Within seconds your favorite cousin checks out the rock on your finger and screams that you’re engaged. 

Everyone must be so high off the fact that you’ve made it to a family event that they’re elated you have a life outside of work. Jungkook is treated like a prince, charming the hell out of all your aunties and baby cousins. 

“Oh, pumpkin!” your auntie squeals, linking arms with you while you’re trying to eat your dinner, “I just hugged your fiancé, and he has abs! Lucky you!” 

“Auntie,” you hiss playfully, “you hugged him that tight?” 

“He’s part of the family, isn’t he?” 

“Right,” you force a smile, downing your glass of champagne. The bubbles burn your throat pleasantly. 

“Babe, can you come here for a second?” Jungkook manages to swim his way through the throng in the living room, holding out a hand for you, “your mom said that our room is ready, care to lead the way?” 

His smile, as pretty as you can care to admit, renders your aunt speechless, and she lets him whisk you away to a long hallway that leads to a set of bedrooms. Jungkook lets go of your hand as soon as you're alone, letting his palm run along the pictures that decorate your hallway. 

He stops at a picture of you and Namjoon as kids, faces tanned and lips cherry red from your twin popsicles melting on your hands. “Wow,” Jungkook pretends to be alarmed, “I didn’t know you used to be cute, what happened?” 

“Shut up,” you smack his hand away, walking ahead of him. 

“I thought you guys reserved a bunch of houses, why does the furniture look worn and there’s pictures of you everywhere?” 

“Our extended family has reserved houses, but this is actually my family’s vacation home. I used to go here every winter and summer break,” you reach a bedroom in the corner of the hall, smiling at your wooden name tag hanging on the front, “this is my old room.” 

It certainly doesn’t have that youthful charm it once had, but there are still bits of your childhood scattering the room. There’s ticket stubs and photobooth strips tacked to a corkboard near your desk. Books that you would reread cover to cover are organized proudly on your shelf, worn for wear. 

Jungkook groans in relief, plopping his body down on your freshly made bed. “Your family’s really clingy.” he sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes. 

You turn to give him a snappy answer, but it dies in your throat when you see what he’s laying on. The familiar family quilt sinks under Jungkook’s weight, mocking you. You shriek, throwing your arms over to lug his body to the other side of the bed. Bundling up the quilt in your arms, you glare at a very appalled Jungkook. 

“The hell is wrong with you, woman!” he cries, not loud enough to escape the room, but enough to have your body vibrate in annoyance. 

“Jeon, they put the fucking baby blanket in my room,” you mutter more to yourself than him, folding it under your arms. 

The blanket is comfy in your grasp and you’re sure it’s clean, but the fact that you weren’t actually married and in love made its appearance a whole lot worse. 

“So?” his eyes are wide in confusion, “my mom still has my baby blanket too, I’m not gonna shoot anyone because of it.” 

“It’s not my baby blanket,” you admonish, “it’s the baby maker blanket. A weird family tradition when someone gets engaged.”

“Which means?” 

“They’re expecting us to fuck and have children.” 

The thought of procreating and starting a family with you must’ve caused all the champagne to return to his throat, and he looks a little pale. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” he lies back down on your mattress, and you leave him be so you can chuck the blanket back in your parents’ room. 

You’re barely out the door when a young man is waiting out in the hallway for you, poised to knock. “Hey, baby girl.” they throw you an easy lopsided grin, opening their arms to you. 

In your haste, you slam your bedroom door a little too loudly. “Yoongi!” You let yourself sink into his waiting arms, reveling in the familiar embrace you missed so much. Yoongi is Namjoon’s best friend and work buddy, not to mention the man you’ve had a crush on since you were able to walk. While you can safely say at this moment there is nothing serious going on, a small part of you always wishes there could be. 

His voice husks in your ear, “Why are we hugging in between the baby blanket?” 

“Oh!” you brush past him, opening the door to your parents’ room and flinging the offending item as far into their room as possible. “Sorry, Jungkook and I were a little freaked out when we saw it. We’re definitely not thinking about children right now.” 

“Jungkook,” he hums, and your smile falters just a tad when you see the way Yoongi tips his head down in thought, “It was quite the news. Congrats though.” 

You want to say what you’re supposed to say, that yes, you should be happy. But the selfish part of you does not want this exchange between you and Yoongi to be happening. When you get your quickie divorce in a year, the small, hopeful part of you hopes you and Yoongi could be something. 

Before you have a chance to fabricate a response, strong hands encircle your waist, and you feel Jungkook’s chin digging into your shoulder. 

“Thanks, man,” Jungkook’s voice rumbles, “we really appreciate it.” 

Yoongi gives a nod, muttering something about catching up later before he walks back to the party. 

It’s then that Jungkook’s weight feels impossibly heavy on your shoulders. “You know, you’ve been doing a really shitty job of being my wife-to-be ever since we landed,” Jungkook whispers, feather soft lips dusting across the shell of your ear. It’s an act so intimate you can imagine your family passing down the hallway could be mistaking you two for speaking unthinkable acts. A toddler cousin spots you two and giggles, babbling something to your uncle about how you’re hugging. “You did so well when we were with Taeyeon and Big Hit.” 

“It’s not the same when I’m lying to my family,” you turn to face him, equally simmering. “These are people that actually love and care for me, unlike you.” 

“At least I care about what’s most important,” he grits back, “our jobs, our futures. Is that not enough for you to keep it in your pants?” 

“Excuse me? You don’t even know him!” 

“I don’t have to know him because I’m holding you right now and you’re practically sweating through your cardigan.” he grimaces, digging his chin further into your collarbone, literally trying to get under your skin. “Your face looks like a cherry tomato.” 

You turn your head to bite back, your noses touching. The staring contest seems to last for days. Unlike Jungkook who doesn't know how to register basic human emotion, you still have hopes for a life after this. Before you have a chance to answer, your favorite cousin enters the hallway, oblivious to your concerns. Jimin’s red all over, passing you two flutes of blush champagne. “Hurry up, we’re making speeches!” 

Champagne is overflowing like Niagara, and you and Jungkook are the reason for it as you’re thrusted into the living room. Your weird uncle is in the middle of a long-winded speech about his fishing business and how dreams are made from ‘bait and a dream’. You make eye contact with him, and he gestures wildly to you and Jungkook. 

The crowd proceeds to go wild, echoes of speech! Speech! Reverberating throughout your living room. You and Jungkook share uneasy smiles, unsure of where to go with this show. 

Deciding it’s your family by blood, you start first. “Honestly, when I moved to New York I wasn’t expecting to feel so lonely,” you clutch your flute with both hands, swirling your drink absentmindedly. You then turn to Jungkook, giving him a tender smile which he returns back just as fondly. “Until I met Jungkook. I’m really happy that I get to share this week with the people I love the most, so let's drink to family!” 

Jungkook lifts his glass, “Thank you for the warm welcome, I can’t wait to spend time with all of you. This is my first Christmas with a large, loving family. Cheers to that!” 

The room erupts in cheers, allowing themselves to clink glasses and chase down their respective drinks. Even the little ones crowding the kiddie table in the back are enjoying their apple juice while making silly faces at the new couple. 

Jungkook weaves his arm between yours, and you get the signal to do a couples’ drink. He eyes you with mischief, as if to say we did it. After you two take your drink, Jimin’s the first to drunkenly yell, “Ohmygod just kiss already!” 

“Kiss kiss kiss!” 

“This is going on my story so make it good!” 

“Kiss him before I do!” 

“Oh my god,” you groan, throwing your forehead on Jungkook’s chest. Your family really is something else. 

As if the chants can’t get any louder, it’s hard to focus on anything but Jungkook’s presence. Jungkook lifts your chin up, murmuring, “Let’s give the people what they want.” and he presses his lips to yours. 

It’s awkward at first. Why wouldn’t it be, you’re making out with your boss, in front of your family, pretending to be engaged. But Jungkook doesn’t let up, parting your lips slightly to deepen the kiss. As much as you want to make up how terrible and disgusting kissing Jungkook is, it really isn’t. His lips are soft and he tastes like the peach champagne, and his grip on your waist is strong and warm. 

He leaves you breathless when you pull away, a smirk on his lips for a brief moment before he turns shyly to your family who are probably foaming at the mouth now. 

Maybe it’s the champagne coursing through your veins, but why does it suddenly feel so hot in the middle of winter? 

The first day back starts off wholly uneventful, with Jungkook working on some manuscripts and you preparing dinner with Jimin. Most of your family is on the resort hitting the slopes, so you’re quite thankful for the reprieve since the party was so overwhelming. The blonde is all smiles as he bumps the oven closed with his leg, letting your lasagna bake to perfection. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” Jimin rests his head on your shoulder, “it’s definitely not the same when we’re adults. Frankly, it sucks balls.” 

“Big balls,” you agree, gnawing on a leftover baguette from last night. 

“Speaking of big balls,” Jimin wiggles his brows as you attempt to move farther from him.

“Please don’t say it.” 

“C’mon! Just tell me if the sex is good!” 

“No!” you cry, flicking your crumbs at him. 

“I will open this oven,” his hands are already on the handle, “and your dish will undercook.” 

“Don’t you dare!” he opens the oven a tad, and you slam your hand down. “Fine! The sex is fantastic, happy?” 

“Ewh, no!” The storm door swings open, revealing Namjoon, Yoongi, and Lisa, Namjoon’s lady friend. “I didn’t need to hear that, thanks.” 

Your face looks absolutely pained as you watch the two older men walk in. They were the last people you’d ever want to share about your sex life too, even if it is fake. You can only bear to look properly at Lisa as they kick off their boots and shake the snow off their heads. Lisa pokes her tongue in her cheek, looking at you with a wild look in her eyes. “I’ve heard so much about your current drama. Can’t wait to hear the 411 from you, though.” 

Yoongi looks unfazed, then again you never really know what’s going on in his head. “You guys wanna go to a movie tonight?” Yoongi asks, grabbing a slice of the baguette and dipping it in a dish of olive oil. “I think the one that’s showing is based on a book your company published.”

“Is it ‘Rotten Love’?” 

“That’s the one.” 

Pushing yourself off the counter, you nod eagerly. “I’ll go tell Jungkook to get ready. We can eat dinner real quick and then go right after,” you grab a bottle of water from the fridge, “Joonie, set up the table please.” 

Jungkook doesn’t notice you walk in, and you can hear the faint sound of Muse blasting from his Airpods. He’s on your floor, doing pushups while reading a transcript under him. This time he’s using your iPad, every few seconds taking a thumb to scroll down. Sweating through his shirt, you can see the beads running along his silver reading glasses. It’s completely contradictory, your muscle bunny of a boss getting in his reps while psychoanalyzing a potential novel, but somehow it works with him. 

“Maniac,” you mutter, bending down to place the cool water bottle on his cheek. He stops abruptly, like you’ve pressed the pause button on his seemingly robotic arms. Seriously, you can’t fathom how he manages to do both. You swipe the iPad under his body in place of a white towel, which he accepts gratefully. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to snap him out of it, sometimes you’d catch him at the company gym nearing 10PM, reading on the treadmill. 

“What time is it?” he asks, fluting the water bottle down his throat. 

Ignoring the way his neck glistens in sweat, you say, “It’s almost seven. C’mon, we’re gonna eat dinner and watch a movie. You’ve cooped yourself up in this room all day, time to interact with the world.” 

“What movie?” 

“The book we published in 2018, ‘Rotten Love’? They made it into a movie,” and you can’t help the wry grin that takes over your face when you say your next words, “guess who directed it.” 

He sighs, rubbing the towel over his damp hair. The normally styled strands fall limply at his forehead. “I don’t remember, I shifted over that project to PR. Any director’s fine, but please please please don’t let it be—”

“Jung Hoseok!”

“Son of a bitch, we gotta go.” And it’s the first time in a while you see a genuine smile graze his features, one not laced with you and your marriage. It’s an old pastime for you both to get picky over Jung’s work. “I swear, he better not put his scenes all over the place like last time, I got whiplash.” 

After a quick dinner you all pile into Namjoon’s minivan, making your way to the theatre. The drive is fast, and before you know it you’re waiting in line to get inside. It seems that the PR between the film studio and Big Hit did a good job assisting, because there’s a sizable line despite being half an hour early. 

“So honey,” Lisa leans into you, squishing you further into Jungkook’s shoulder. “Did you like, help out with the publishing of this novel? To be honest I don’t even know what your job is,” Lisa admits with a shrug, “you’re not a glorified coffee girl, are you?” 

“No,” her mixed enthusiasm never fails to stump you, “Ah, but I really didn’t do much in the production of ‘Rotten Love’,” you reply easily, relaxing into Jungkook as he moves to drape an arm around your shoulder. “I just told my boss to sign some documents n’stuff. It’s really nothing—”

“Babe, are you kidding? You ran the whole freakin’ project!” and you’re in shock, because for the first time in the history of ever, Jeon Jungkook is paying you a real compliment. “It was her first assignment when she got hired as the big boss’ assistant. A lot of people in the office doubted her,” he squeezes your shoulder, “but not for one second did I doubt her, you could see how hard she worked to make it perfect. I heard the boss was really impressed, too.” 

You remember that period of time. Jungkook made you dive headfirst into the publishing for ‘Rotten Love’, letting you sink or swim in his decision for keeping you employed. After a full month of meetings, negotiations, and debating whether you should have caffeine IV’ed in your body to save time on eating, you got Jungkook’s evaluation. You remember the stoicism in Jungkook’s frame as he surmised your work, throwing you a flippant “it’s decent” before sending you off to do more work. 

Relief flooded your system after those two simple words, because that meant you had a chance and you could keep your job. But this? If what he’s saying is true, you’re on Cloud 9. 

“Awh, thanks Kook.” you squeeze his arm, letting your fingers trail down to lace your fingers with his. 

Lisa’s face is all scrunched, and she doesn’t hesitate to stretch over you to smush Jungkook’s cheek between her two fingers. Her blue nails dig into his soft skin. “I like him, honey. Keep him, he’s so cute.” 

She leaves you alone after that, skipping over to bother Namjoon about buying an extra bucket of popcorn. 

“At first I was nervous having you near my family for a week,” you say brightly, rubbing a thumb over his hand, “but I kinda like seeing you try so hard to not rip other people’s heads off.” 

He puffs out his cheeks in an attempt to soothe the stinging. “Could be worse, I could be engaged to Karen.” 

With that you laugh, loud enough to turn heads and have Jimin and Lisa send you adoring looks. Jungkook sends you a nervous smile, the one that he’d always send you during team meetings when he was unsure of how to respond to something. Instead of giving him a smart answer, you get on your tiptoes to pat his reddened cheek. “But she’s right, you are kinda cute when you wanna be.” 

Instead of replying, he squeezes your hand tighter to lead you inside. 

Everything is smooth sailing after that. You, Jimin and Yoongi are saving the seats while Jungkook, Lisa and Namjoon are getting the refreshments. Jimin is prattling on about a new job interview and you’re listening attentively, while Yoongi shoots off advice every time Jimin says he’s nervous. 

Yoongi looks past Jimin to give you that gummy smile that always made your chest ache. “Chim, remember when she applied to work at Jamba Juice?” 

“Oh my god,” Jimin giggles, clutching your arm. “When you had to do a trial run in front of the manager? You forgot to put the lid on the blender and you sprayed the staff with green juice?” 

“The stains took forever to get out,” you pouted. “And I didn’t appreciate the snaps you saved of me. I got nervous because you were recording me!” 

“Am I hearing some juicy details about your childhood?” Jungkook appears, passing a huge tub of buttery popcorn to Yoongi. 

“Emphasis on juice,” Yoongi says tartly, popping a handful of kernels in his mouth. 

“Yes, do you wanna see a picture of your fiancé covered in green juice? She wore a low-cut shirt that day so it got deep, man.” Jimin says, using his hands to gesture obscenely to his own chest. 

You’re mortified, and you push down Jimin’s phone and cover whatever receipts he has on you. “Jimin, I’d like to stay engaged, if you don’t mind?” 

Your not-so-favorite cousin cackles in response, telling Jungkook that they’ll talk later. 

“Here,” Jungkook cooly hands you a King-Sized KitKat. 

“Awh,” you marvel, immediately opening the wrapper, “you actually read my notes and found out what my favorite candy was?” 

He scoffs, dark bangs blowing up. “Who doesn’t like KitKats?” but you’re giving him the look, and he sighs, “C’mon babe, just gimmie a break.” 

“Ha-ha,” but you break off a piece anyway, lifting it to Jungkook’s lips. It’s then that the theatre starts to dim, and the telltale signs of the movie begin. “Ready to rip Jung Hoseok to shreds?” 

“Always.” 

Barely fifteen minutes pass and Jungkook is spreading his legs. You’re about to kick him before he leans in to whisper, “They made Renee too dull,” he sighs in disappointment, as if he sincerely had high hopes they’d bring the novel to justice. “I mean, I get it, in the novel she’s supposed to be a plain Jane. But she isn’t grey.” 

“Right?” you lean into Jungkook, throwing your legs over his thighs like you’re back at the airport. This isn’t out of intimacy, you think to yourself, you just need to be close enough to Jungkook so you don’t disturb the other patrons with your talking. “She’s either a bad actress or they messed up her character. I really got upset when I read this part, but it’s kinda bland on the screen.” 

As much as you love Jimin, you know he’s not going to get your over-criticality over the media. Yoongi and Namjoon are on the other end of the row, but they wouldn’t be too pleased having you gab over the movie because you’re too much of an aficionado. Jungkook is the only one who can tête-à-tête, or in this case, Kit-a-Kat with you. 

You sigh into his shoulder, inhaling his clean scent. “Let’s pray Jung didn’t completely butcher the chapter where Kenzo reflects on his penniless journey.” 

“I’ll leave the theatre right then and there if that happens, care to join me?” 

“Already out the door, bossman.” 

Jungkook looks away from the screen briefly, reaching forward to take an obnoxiously big bite of the KitKat in your hand. You stifle a giggle, and before you can soak up his cheeky grin he’s already looking back at the movie. 

You wonder what Jungkook is like outside of work, if he has that side to him. A little part of you wishes that this playfulness he’s exuding is real. Not to your fake marriage, but a playfulness he can execute to a person that he really likes. Two days out of the office and you’re starting to see that Jungkook has the capabilities to enjoy life, however simple it may be. 

The movie is finished in a blur, and you and Jungkook are still bickering over the intricacies of the film compared to the novel. The night air is cold and burns your cheeks, reminding you exactly how late you’ve been out.

“Well, I thought the romance was so boring!” Lisa blurted, wanting an in. Her lime green ski jacket glares in your vision, and you move away from her immediately. “No one cheated on each other, there was no drama, or evil best friend!” 

“Whoa there,” and you see the little fire in Jungkook’s eyes, one you’ve learned early on to stay away from when you spent hours in his office debating over manuscripts and plotlines. He stares down at Lisa, really stares down. “You think every romance needs some sort of internalized conflict for it to be good? Why can’t they just grow and learn from the external conflict together? It’s literally useless for them to break up over and over just—”

And that’s your cue to walk ahead of them, because while you did agree with Jungkook, you’ve heard this debate one too many times. Ever the closet-romantic at heart. You hope Lisa doesn’t lose her patience and punch him out. 

“Hey,” you feel a hand pat your hair, and you look up at Yoongi. He looks absolutely fluffy in his long puffy jacket, and he matches your steps with his. “Do I look ugly tonight, or something? I feel like we barely exchanged two sentences with each other.” 

“What, never!” you chastise, “you always look good, Yoongi. And we have the whole week to catch up, remember?”

“Really, then why don’t we go out in two days to pick out a tree for your house? Joon and I are planning on going.” 

“I would love to go pick a tree!” you exclaim, “the last time we got a tree together was when your brother had to lift.” 

“Great,” and he pats your head again, but this time his hand lingers to finger the ringlets of your hair. “It’ll be just like old times, baby girl. I’ll pick you up at 9.” 

Unbeknownst to the both of you, Jungkook’s argument ended minutes ago and he’s mulling over a new type of internal conflict. 

“Owie, ow, ow—fuck you! Ow!” 

“Well if you just hold still,” Jungkook grimaces, taking his turns with both hands to simultaneously wipe the injury with a cloth and then pressing the affected area with an ice bag. 

“Buh ih hurths!” your voice is muffled by the cloth, stained red with freshly bloomed blood. 

The ski lodge started off great. You enjoyed a fabulous beligan waffle breakfast courtesy of Jimin’s parents, and then made the trek to the slopes. You’ve been here dozens of times, so you didn’t feel an inclination to gravitate to any of the fancy schmancy sports. You were fine playing shuffleboard inside, but your inner youth complained that it’s the holidays and you should be getting out more.

Jimin and Jungkook (who claimed he hasn't snowboarded since he was 16 yet he’s doing tricks like a goddamn Olympian) were shredding on the slopes while Namjoon and Lisa were skiing on a smaller hill. You and Yoongi watched safely from the lift, riding it like a kiddie attraction. You must’ve taken the lift at least ten times, complaining about how you’re both too lazy to function and you could really use a hot chocolate and a fireplace. 

After the fifteenth time on the lift, legs numb, you stumble over with heavy boots to where Lisa and Namjoon were waiting for Jimin and Jungkook. They wanted to walk around more and see if they could try a more difficult slope. 

While you were waiting, you had to admit that Jungkook did kind of cool all decked out in his gear. A competitive, playful smile was easily reflected in his gaze despite his helmet and goggles. 

That slight admiration is knocked right off your feet when Jungkook speeds by way too close for comfort and you’re in his path. Jimin had already slowed next to your friends and family, looking at you in anticipated horror.

It’s far too late, and despite the fact that Jungkook manages to pull your body to his while you wipe out, your face crashes into his helmet and you taste metal. 

Mildly disoriented from the impact, Jungkook’s muffled string of curses nurse you back to a decent consciousness as he tries to carry you to the lodge.

“Holy shit, I got that on camera!” Jimin cries, gesturing to the Go-Pro nestled in his helmet. 

So now you’re in pain and it’s all Jungkook’s fault. Your bottom lip is split, and the burn on your face won’t go away. 

You watch as Jungkook dotes on you, his bangs pushed up everywhere due to his grey goggles haphazardly being propped upon his forehead. His pink tongue sticks out as he concentrates on not getting blood on your sweater. It’s just you and him that are stuck around in the lodge after you got pummeled, standing by the fire while everyone else continues on with the fun. 

“Why were you over there anyway, in the middle of the slope?” he scolds. 

“It was the slow down zone, Jeon. You were the only one not slowing down, you speed demon.” 

“Sorry,” he says gruffly, pressing a little too hard with the ice and you wince. He lets up and presses the cloth to your lips to soak up the moisture.

“Did you say something?” 

“I said, I’m sorry.” 

You sigh dramatically, “I wish I had a camera to save that shitty excuse of an apology.” 

“Speaking of cameras,” he shucks his phone out of his pocket, handing it to you. “Jimin uploaded the video.” 

That man, you don’t know where he has the means to quickly upload and edit things, but if it’s for the ‘Gram, it’s worth it to Jimin. You open Instagram and immediately click on @chimmyboi’s story, immediately wincing as the first few seconds reveal the brunt of the impact. He should really put a disclaimer before uploading content. 

The tumble between you and Jungkook doesn’t look so bad, but it’s when you get up does it look gnarly. Your chin is dribbling in red liquid, and Jungkook’s throwing off his helmet and goggles in a panic. 

He makes a half-assed snowball where you’re lying on the ground, pressing it against your mouth. With his other hand he pulls you into a sitting position, not caring that you’re staining his clothes as he hauls you on his body. 

“Ohmygod,” you splutter, trying not to move your lips, “I look like I got decked with a hockey puck.” 

“It wasn’t that bad, don’t be a baby.” Jungkook sees the piecing glare you give him, and he sighs. “Okay, it looked pretty bad. I was a little worried back there, but now the bleeding pretty much stopped and holy shit—stop smiling! You’re making it open up further!” 

“You were worried?” 

“Shut up.” 

The ice bag is watery and not doing much anymore, but Jungkook still insists to cool your face down. You lift a hand to his cold ones, attempting to take the bag and cloth from his grasp. 

“You should go board with Jimin and the rest of them. I can take care of this.” 

“It’s fine,” he reasons, reaching for the ice bag but you hold on tighter. 

“C’mon, I know the only thing you were looking forward to this entire trip was going snowboarding. I’m a big girl, I can be alone for an hour or two.” 

Jungkook locks his jaw, gnawing at his cheek as he mulls on his decision. “Wouldn’t I look like a bad partner if I leave you?”

“Nah, this has happened before. Almost always someone gets injured on the trip. Last time something like this happened I was eight and I got five stitches on my leg. This is nothing. You’re fine.” 

“But still.” 

“Fine, you wanna make it up to me?” 

You scan the room for any ideas, and it settles on a trio of girls huddled by the register of the built-in café. They’re pretty snow bunnies, decked out in sweater dresses and fur lined boots. They remind you a little of The Powerpuff Girls, all in pastels and attached to the hip. Their gaze has taken hostage in Jungkook’s frame, blatantly ignoring the fact that majority of his attention is directed towards you. You wonder why you haven’t noticed them sooner, because now the staring is getting borderline discomforting. 

Slipping off his goggles with your free hand, you gesture subtly to the girls. “They think you’re hot. Go flirt with them a little and get me a free drink, I’m sure they’ll pay for you.” 

He doesn’t understand the correlation, “Why would I do that?” 

You shrug, separating the strands of hair that stick to his forehead. “Lisa and Namjoon do it all the time when they go clubbing. They compete and pretend they’re single for like two hours, and then they keep a tally of how many people offer to buy them a drink.” 

“That is completely different, but I’m open to trying it when we get back to the city.” he acknowledged briefly, getting up from his crouching position. “I got a better idea.” 

Puzzled, you watch him saunter over to the register. Like bees to the honey, the girls follow Jungkook with their eyes, watching him exaggeratedly mull over the menu. 

He spares the slightest of head inclinations to the drooling trio, “Hello ladies.” The smile is not flirtatious, but kind. 

You suppress a giggle, burying your chin in your scarf as you watch the whole interaction. You don’t even know why you asked Jungkook if he would flirt with those girls, as he kept most of his dates private over the years. You picture a college-aged Jungkook getting his daily breakfast on his way to class, ignoring the way his presence attracts heads. 

The barista hands Jungkook a tray filled with a plastic cup of ice, and a cup filled with something hot, and a chocolate croissant. He grabs a straw from a tray, stabbing it in the hot drink’s lid. 

“Excuse me,” one of the girls coquettishly puts her hands behind her back, puffing her chest out as she leans over Jungkook’s order. “The regular croissants actually taste better in my opinion.” 

“Well my wife’s had a hard day, so I think she deserves something sweet.” 

He doesn’t even turn around as he makes a beeline to where you’re seated on a loveseat, carefully placing the tray on the coffee table. 

“Your better idea was making them jealous?” you ask, unsure of his intentions. 

He shrugs, “College-Jungkook always wanted to show off his girlfriend like that, so indulge me for a second, alright?”

Rolling your eyes you reply, “My life is about indulging you. Don’t forget the trips I’ve made to the grocery store when your personal fridge was out of banana—”

“I thought I said we don’t speak of those hard times,” he cuts you off, “ever.”  

You stop him from filling up your ice bag with the ice he brought. “C’mon Jeon, you’re burning daylight out there. I got this. You’ve stalled enough, go have fun in the snow with Jimin, you adrenaline junkie.” 

He scrunches his nose, but relents when you throw him his jacket and goggles. Before he pulls on his gloves, he cups your face with both hands to pull you in a kiss. His hands are cold from the ice, gluing you in place in fear of him kissing you too hard. But it’s barely that, a brushing of lips so tender as he takes extra care with your open lip. 

“Is this also a self-indulgent request?” you pucker, “who knew there was a hormonal teenager under that editor-in-chief’s body.” 

His eyes flicker to the audience in the back, and you don’t need to look behind you to note that they’re glaring daggers in your head. It’s like you’re straight out of a rom-com. 

“You’re leaving me to the bunnies,” you say teasingly. 

“Then hurry up and get better so you can join us,” he taunts, “or else you can’t help me bury Jimin in the snow.” 

It’s a tempting offer that makes you down your drink so you can enjoy the rest of your day. 

Light seeps through your windows, rays kissing your eyelashes and willing them to open. You groan, hand splaying out to wake up Jungkook. When you find his space empty and cool, you sit up and search for your fake-fiancé. 

He’s on the floor, smack in the middle of his morning workout. Your iPad is under his body, and somehow he’s managed to find a setting where the document scrolls for him automatically. He’s not wearing his Airpods, so you rasp, “Jeon, you’re crazy. I get the morning workout, but you don’t have to look over any more transcripts. I think you’ve read enough for this week.” 

“It helps me ignore the burn,” he says shortly, and you see the ripples of his back flex with every push-up. “And I wouldn’t have to do so much reading if my assistant would just do her job.” 

“I already told you, I’m not working during my vacation.” you throw off the sheets, padding to your closet. “I’m going to pick the tree today. You should go to the mall with my mom and Jimin to pick out some new ornaments.” 

“What?” he gets up, and you ignore the perfect view of tight muscles decorating his abs. Exactly how long was he awake for to have sweat clinging to his shirt? You’re going to short-circuit and it’s barely 8:30. “But I wanna go help pick out the tree.” 

“You don’t have to do that, Joon and Yoongi got it.” 

“Yoongi, really? You think he can carry a tree?” 

“This isn’t a pissing contest, Jeon.” you settle on a burgundy Patagonia jacket and grey leggings. “Besides, Yoongi and I are just friends.”

“You sure about that, baby girl?” 

You whip around to poke at his chest, and you ignore how smug he looks. “Do not test me, Jeon. Like you said, I’m with you every step of the way in this marriage. I’m not going to jeopardize that over some childhood crush.” 

“Wow, your life is really turning into a Wattpad entry,” he admonishes, “fake-fiancé still pining over his older brother’s best friend, really high-qual stuff.” 

“I’m serious.” you grit, “I took a week off so I can get away from you and that was ruined, so I would like a little bit of space today.” 

And that gets Jungkook to back away. His face deflates a little, and you feel a little guilty for making him upset, but you stab that thought down and convince yourself that he deserves it. It’s not like he cares about you, he just wants to show off to the boys.

“Fine,” he turns around to put on a fresh shirt, and you almost notice the pout marrying his face. “You could’ve just told me you wanted space. I’m getting kind of tired of you too, you know.” 

He flops on the bed and you huff in reply, quickly throwing on your attire inside your closet while he watches a YouTube video. You check your phone, and at 8:59 a knock is at your door. Jungkook doesn’t bother to get up to answer, and you open the door to see a sleepy Yoongi with a paper cup in his hand. 

“An English breakfast with two sugars and a dash of milk, baby girl.” 

You mask your wince at the pet name. It hadn’t bothered you when you were young, but its starting to feel coddling now that Jungkook is making you hyper-aware of the attention. “Perfect,” you faux-beam, the hot beverage warm your fingers. 

“I’ll just warm up the car and—”

“Babeeeeee,”  the deepest, sexiest voice echoes from your bed and out in the hallway. He sounds absolutely tempting, and needy. You freeze at the way your boss can so easily pretend he’s exhausted and wanting you, “come back to bedddddd. I’m not done with you yet.” 

Yoongi’s ears are red, “Aaand, I’ll let you finish whatever business you have.” 

The older man bolts out of there, and you snap your head back to look at an innocent Jungkook. He tilts his head at your bout of anger. 

“You know, I have half a mind to fling this tea down your shirt.” 

“What?” he looks at you like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “He can’t be the only one who can call you baby.” 

Honestly, you didn’t mean to lash out on Jungkook like that. You did need to put up a face as you were each other's significant others, but it doesn’t mean you have to be together all the time. To top it all off you’ve been feeling weird as of late, and you can only attribute these terrible feelings to a certain brunet who’s been sleeping in your bed. 

But you pin these feelings for another time, because you need to enjoy what little quality time you have with your brother. 

“Hey, whaddya think of this one?” It's just you and Namjoon picking the tree, and Yoongi’s sitting in the cabin keeping warm. He said to call him once you’ve decided, since it is your house. 

“Hm, it’s fine.” you shrug, inhaling the pine. “Maybe a little too tall.” 

Namjoon nods, and you follow him to the next row of greenery. He’s been pensive this whole time, and you have a feeling he’s hiding something. Surrounded by pine and the fresh winter air he says, “Hey, I just wanna say sorry.” 

“Why, did you like that tree over there? I don’t mind it, we can go back!” 

“What, no? I’m sorry for being weird around Jungkook.” 

“Huh?” sure, you noticed the weird language and terseness he gave Jungkook initially, but you chalked it out as big brother issues. 

You two continue to walk around the forest aimlessly, not really tree hunting. 

“I was just upset that the engagement was so sudden,” Namjoon starts, and you feel the guilt start to set camp in your stomach. “And I don’t know, at first he just didn’t seem like your type? I always thought you wanted to date someone gentle, someone you could hold and depend on. He looked so serious, and maybe a little immature.”

“He is a little immature,” you agree softly, digging your boots in the snow, “but I don’t love him any less because of it. We’re growing together.” Shit, why was that so easy for you to say? 

“Figured,” and Namjoon stops to place a hand on your shoulder, “I see the way he looks at you, and you can’t fake love like that.” 

Namjoon’s admonition is so convincing that you almost convince yourself that it is something. 

Something is bothering Jungkook, and he doesn’t know why. 

It’s not the billions of charges he made on his credit card for new ornaments, because it simultaneously inflated his ego and impressed your mom. 

It’s not the way Jimin hangs onto his every word and doesn’t let up, because it is refreshing to have your cousin find a genuine interest in him. 

Jungkook, Jimin and your mom have been taking laps around the mall for the past hour. They’ve floated around here and there, picking out whatever catches their eye for the tree. 

Jimin’s in the middle of explaining the Jamba Juice story when a glimmering window display catches his eye. 

“Hun, have you not bought her a present yet?” your mom says over his shoulder. 

“No,” he exhales, embarrassed that he just admitted he didn’t think of getting you anything in front of your mom. “She doesn’t ask for anything, really.” Besides her book published, a raise, and a potential promotion as editor, but they didn’t need to know that much. 

“Good thing you’re with the right people!” Jimin cheers, ushering him into the jewelry store. 

Funny enough, he knows exactly what to get you. Once he points it out, Jimin and your mom “ooh” and “aah” respectively, agreeing that what he chose was perfect. If you had asked Jungkook a week ago what kind of jewlery you like, he’d give you a dumb look and say “something shiny.” But that’s what’s bothering him. He just walked right into the store, saw what was right, and everything just clicked. 

Jungkook pins that thought for later, because once their shopping is done they’re back at your villa, arranging the ornaments and detangling the lights that have been holed up in the closet for eleven months. 

Jimin and he are sitting on the living room floor, stabbing thread through popcorn. He really only saw this craft in the movies, and the small part of him is amazed that you and your family go through the hard work to make your holidays so warm. 

Your mom appears from her bedroom, clutching something in her hand. She sits in front of Jungkook, a huge smile on her face. 

“Before you say anything,” and it strikes him how similar you are to your mother. There’s that tone he always receives before he gets new news, or the way you’re eager to share something that will make him happy. “I don’t want you to think this is a luxurious gift or anything. But I realized that you don’t have a wedding band so I went through my old cases and found this.” 

She opens her palm slowly, revealing a simple black band. 

Jungkook’s lips part to form words, but his vocal cords betray him. At first glance, this ring could’ve been mistaken for one of Jimin’s plentiful rings adorning his fingers. Upon closer inspection however, Jungkook notes that this band is thinner and more worn. The metal looks strong and old, the slight scratches and faded color revealing that it was a well-loved piece of jewelry. 

Your mom is offering Jungkook a wedding band. 

“If you don’t like it, that’s okay!” your mom says quickly, nerves radiating because of Jungkook’s silence. “It was my grandfather’s. Don’t feel as if you have to accept it. It’s not a wedding band persay, but I think it matches and it looks about your size and we didn’t get you a Christmas gift so—”

“It’s perfect.” Jungkook tells her firmly, sending him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, I guess we kind of rushed the engagement so I didn’t think of getting a band of my own.” 

Your mother is grateful, dropping the ring in Jungkook’s awaiting palm. “I think my daughter should be the one who puts it on you, don’t you think?” 

“Right,” he echoes, and he just stares at the ring in his hand, feeling weird in his chest. He can’t remember the last time someone put this much thought in getting him something this significant. He can’t accept this ring, but he can’t refuse it either. “I could never find something with this much value from a little shop in New York, so thank you.” 

“Oh, and while we’re on the topic of New York,” Jimin puts down his completed popcorn wreath, “y/n said she already put in her off days for Easter, so you should too. It’ll be at my place this year, and I live by an indoor skydiving zone. She mentioned you’re an adrenaline junkie.” 

“She also mentioned that your birthday’s in September.” your mom pops in, “We were thinking we could take Friday off and stop by for the weekend. I’ve always wanted to see Hamilton!” 

Jungkook knows they’re trying to cheer him up. They’re trying to make him feel part of the family, feel wanted. But he can’t remember the last time he’s felt wanted unless it’s for a book deal or a business exchange. It’s been so long since he’s felt this warm, and he didn’t realize how much he yearned for it until he proposed to you.

“Hey man,” Jimin puts an arm around his trembling shoulders, “are you alright?” 

“Fine,” he’s crying, and doing a shit job at hiding the tears. “It’s alright, I just,” he can’t even find the strength to get up and walk away from this. Is it pathetic that he’s breaking down in the comfort of your cousin and mom, starved for affection? “I just, I miss my family. It’s just the four of us, but they’re all the way in Korea and it’s been awhile since I’ve really celebrated anything with them. They visit sometimes but it’s not the same, y’know? And work is so stressful but I’m not in a position to say that. And your family is just so, so nice and it makes me miss them even more. You’re all so lucky to support each other like this.” 

Jimin and your mom sandwich him like an Oreo. It’s almost funny, how two smaller humans are comforting this big human and not the other way around. “Poor baby, it’s your family too.” 

Pathetic. It’s pathetic how much he wishes to have a family like yours, but he can’t have that. 

“Can we please not tell y/n about this?” Jungkook wishes, leaning his head on your mom’s. “She’s going through a lot right now with work and stuff, I’d rather just talk to her about this after the holidays, if that’s okay.” 

“It’s quite alright, sweetheart,” your mom runs a hand through his hair, and his eyes automatically flutter closed, “just remember, your feelings matter too, okay?” 

You and Jungkook slip into bed at the same time, murmuring half-hearted “how was your days” and brief descriptions of your outings. It’s a little awkward considering the morning’s events, but not unbearable. 

“The tree smells really nice,” Jungkook tries, looking up from his phone. 

“Yeah, makes the whole room smell like Christmas.” 

“Yeah.”

“Did you have a good time shopping, find anything good?” 

“Yeah.”

“That’s nice.” 

[11:29] Jimin: hey, you know my room’s right next to yours right? 

[11:29] Jimin: we share a goddamn wall and im NOT hearing shit

[11:29] Jimin: are you putting that baby blanket to good use ;)

[11:30] You: YOU”REE DISGUSTING are we even family!!!!  Can i disown a first cousin?? 

[11:30] Jimin: i’m just sayin.. U said it was fantastic

You throw your phone away, letting it slide off to the mattress and onto the baby blanket. Yes, the baby blanket is unfortunately here to stay. Over the course of three days, the quilt is like a ball in a tennis match between you and your mother. You’ve given up and just kept it on the floor. 

“I have a question,” you say aloud, motioning to your bed partner. 

“Shoot.” 

“Was it true when you said I was the only girl you knew well enough to be your wife?”

“Of course, that’s why we’re here.” 

“I’m just wondering, because I really thought you could pick any girl in the office to be yours.” you stuff your hands under the covers, playing with your ring. “I mean, you’re kinda-sorta handsome. You could’ve picked someone just as pretty and they would have studied your whole life story for you.” 

Jungkook's phone falls in his lap, and he looks at you like you’ve lost a couple brain cells. “Normally, I would eat up the fact that you admitted I was attractive. But do you realize you’re just as beautiful, if not more?” 

What? 

“I know it’s unprofessional, but how professional can we get when we’re married, but you’re the whole package, y/n.” and he says it with such fervor, you can’t formulate a response. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else. No one else can take my shit and throw it right back in my face, or debate with me for hours on end about a novel’s direction. Only you can do that.” 

“I’m sorry,” you shake your head, “thanks, you’re right. I’m just clouded, and stressed. And Jimin’s being an ass and it’s really bothering me.” 

His chocolate eyes flicker in the darkness of your bedroom, making note of your phone on the floor. “What’d he say?” 

“It’s stupid, he said that he thinks it’s weird he hasn’t heard us bang all week,” you force a laugh, “it’s my fault though, he wouldn’t get off my back so I gave up and told him the sex was fantastic.” 

“Are you worried he’s unconvinced?” 

“A little, maybe? I don’t know.” you’re wrinkling your bedsheets now, turning the cotton into putty as your sweaty palms wring at the edge. 

“I don’t mind giving him a show.” Jungkook blurts, and you instinctively pull the covers closer to your chest, even though you’re fully clothed. 

“What, like fake moan into the wall?” 

“There are things you can do over the clothes,” he says matter-of-factly, pulling the sheet of his bedside down slightly. “And you just said you’re stressed. I’d be a bad fiancé to not let you relieve some of that tension.” 

Jungkook opens his arms and gestures for you to get on his lap. Your body is hot all over, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re horrified or aroused. Maybe a little of both. 

“Are you kidding—you’re my boss!” 

“And we’re consenting adults!” he narrows his eyes at you, “don’t say you’ve never thought about it before.”

And the sick, twisted part of you has, a lot. There’s something about a man in a tailored suit and owning up to its power that’s really attractive. Not to mention all those times they’d be traveling for work, stumbling for a quick McDonald's bite at 12AM and he’d be dressed casually in tight black jeans and combat boots. The energy really kept you on your toes. 

“Wow, I really hate late-night talks. All the secrets come out, don’t they?” 

“If it makes you feel better, your ass looks great in pencil skirts,” you turn to him with flared eyes, “what? I’m just trying to let you know I mayhaps find you attractive.” 

“Mayhaps you should stop talking before I regret this.” 

His eyebrows lift and disappear from his bangs, the hair freshly dried and fluffy from his late night shower. He then pats his lap with a little blasé as if to say “hop on”, and you ignore the way how good the seat looks, his boxer briefs doing nothing to hide his unmentionables. 

Trying to fight alongside your last drop of dignity, you take your time. 

“C’mon y/n, don’t make it weird.” 

“It’s been weird, Jeon! Jimin’s next door!” you hiss, backing away slightly, “Give me some time, I can’t just hump my boss!” 

“You’re not humping your boss.” Jungkook has the audacity to grin, the expression looking absolutely sinful in the moonlight. “Think of it as your lover wanting to make you feel good.” 

The bridge between love and hatred is a fine, fine line stemmed by passion. 

Careful, you lift your blankets up and slip out of them, moving to sit up. It’s ridiculous, tiptoeing around your bed to avoid any sudden creaks in the aged wood of your mahogany headboard. 

“We’re out to prove to your family we fuck on the reg,” Jungkook snips, “you can make noise.” 

Within seconds, he’s hauling you on his lap. You squeak in surprise, feeling the thin material of his boxers seep through your thin silk shorts. You wriggle around, monitoring Jungkook’s expression. He does not allude too much, but you take note of the way Jungkook secures you with his hands between the swells of your thighs. 

“I’m not a rollercoaster, stop adjusting like you’re gonna buckle up.” 

Jungkook’s dry humor lightens the mood considerably, and you can’t help but smile timidly at his attempt to make you feel at ease. He lets you take your time, and you never imagined someone so demanding in the office can be so… kind in bed. 

You dip forward to kiss his lips once, twice. He looks needy, but lets you set the pace. You appreciate that. You’re salivating at his willingness to make you feel good, and you whimper as he nibbles on a sensitive spot on your neck. 

You need more. Sensing your urgency when you jerk his chin up, he muffles your sounds with a harsh kiss, taking care to moan deeply into your mouth. The heat is luxurious on this winter night, burgundy kisses exchanged between the sheets like secrets. His tongue slips between your teeth, tasting every inch of you and exploring you like the deepest texts. 

He pulls away slightly, and you’re drowning in his gaze. “Am I still just kinda-sorta handsome now?” he nips at your neck, sucking on a spot between your jaw. 

“N-no,” and you pull him up by the chin, taking in his messy hair and glazed eyes, “you’re fucking sexy,” and you tug your mouth to his once more. 

You don’t even realize that you’re rolling your hips until Jungkook breaks the kiss in favor of grabbing your hips, making sure your core is nestled perfectly between his hardening length. It doesn’t take long for the both of you to get wet, and the silk glides easily between your thighs like butter.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he encourages, one hand reaching up to cup your breast, “use me, make  yourself feel good.” 

“Please, don’t call me that,” you whine against his mouth, trying to keep the mood in, “Babe is fine, but baby girl makes me feel like a little kid and I’m not a little kid.”

“You damn right,” and he lifts his hips to meet yours in a sharp thrust, and you gasp hotly into his mouth. It’s too late to muffle your moans, not when you’re drenched with two pathetic pieces of fabric stopping the both of you. “You’re a gorgeous, intelligent, strong, amazing woman.” 

With every compliment, he does all the work, thrusting with each adjective like he’s blessing poetry into your body. 

“J-Jungkook,” the name is muffled against his shoulder, too fuzzed in ecstasy to be embarrassed by the drool coating his tank top. His hair tickles your shoulder as he nips at your clothed breasts, swirling around your nipple. “I-I, m’gonna come,” 

“You’re almost there huh?” and he slips a hand between you two to find that sweet spot, swirling designs between your shorts. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

And you’re shaking, collapsing into his embrace as he rides out your high. He cradles one hand in your hair as you rub furiously against his other, chasing your pleasure like a starved animal. 

“K-Kook,” you murmur into his neck, finding the strength to roll your hips one more time to check. “You’re still hard, do you want me to help?”

“No.” he’s forthright, and as tired as you are, you force yourself to pick your head up. Sweat lines his brow and his face is flushed, but he’s already helping you off and handing you a tissue from the nightstand. 

“What?” you’re hurt, and don’t want to admit why. 

“Don’t feel like you need to,” he grunts into your forehead, dipping a chaste kiss right in the center. “Just let me do something nice to you for once.” 

As much as you want to, you don’t complain as he tucks you in. You don’t complain when you see a wet stain on his Kirby boxer briefs. You don’t answer back when he checks his phone one more time and pulls you in to press a kiss to your cheek. It’s 12:31. 

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs into your skin, and turns over so his back faces you. 

Christmas is a loud and eager affair. The entirety of your family piles into your house while still in pajamas, aunts and uncles from other villas running in with their children with their newly opened toys and gadgets. There’s a buffet style breakfast piled on the kitchen island, and you’re all eating in the living room while watching holiday movies. 

Jungkook melds right in, unsurprisingly. He has your baby cousin Dante in his lap, teaching him how to use the controls of his new Nintendo Switch. 

Despite only meeting Jungkook a few days ago, you notice that some of your family have taken the liberty of giving him small presents. You spot a simple silver chain around his wrist, courtesy of Jimin, and a fluffy grey scarf wrapped around his neck, courtesy of your aunt’s impeccable knitting club. 

“He fits right in, doesn’t he?” 

Yoongi hands you your usual cup of tea, and you accept it gratefully. You’re sitting right next to the tree, and you notice that some of the ornaments are miniature books. You absentmindedly run your fingers over the carved wood, especially on the ones that are your favorite titles. 

“Yeah,” you hate to admit, so you whisper it into your mug. But Yoongi can hear, he always does. “I didn’t think it would be this easy.” 

“Easy to love him, or easy to fit into this family?” 

You splutter into your mug, and Yoongi does the right thing by patting your back. It feels a little bit like he’s burping a baby, but otherwise, it soothes your lungs. 

“I am happy for you, you know.” he says, knocking knees with you. “It might not seem like it now, but I truly am.” 

Deciding not to dwell on his subversive confession, you thank him for the tea and excuse yourself. Dante seems like he’s got the hang of MarioKart, so you tug Jungkook by the hand and lead him back into your bedroom. 

“I got you a present, but I didn’t feel like making a scene about it,” you pull out a pink gift bag, tufts of white tissue paper sticking out. “Also, it’s kinda cheap and it was a last minute thing, so don’t have any high expectations.” 

“Gee, you’re really making me feel deserving of this gift,” but he takes his time in unraveling the bag anyway. 

He pulls out a shiny onyx black mug, rolling it between his hands. On one side it’s engraved in gold cursive “World’s Best Boss” but on the other side it’s engraved, “World’s Best Husband”. 

“Subtle,” he grins, pulling you into a hug. He gets that it’s a gag gift, but because it’s from you, it's a lot more meaningful. You could’ve easily delved into his bank accounts and see what he buys for himself, but you decided to take the more personal route. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs into your hair. And to really throw you off he says, “For my gift, I’ve decided to publish your novel.” 

You shove him away as if you’ve been stung, and you barely have the voice to ask, “Are you serious, you’ve read my novel? I didn’t even send you the first draft!” 

“We share the same Google Drive, it was easy to find. If you had noticed, it’s the only thing I’ve been reading this week,” he shrugs as if it’s nothing, but he’s in actuality giving you your lifelong dream. “You deserve it, really. I’m sorry if you felt like it wasn’t ready to be read. But it was wonderful, you’re a real wordsmith.” 

“I’m not upset,” you can’t be, not when he smells so good and he’s trying to hug you all over again. “How many copies?”

“10,000.”

“20,000.”

“15,000, and I’ll even give you permission to dedicate your novel to me.” he raises his brows irreverently. 

You scoff at his arrogance, but you don’t admit to confessing that along with professors and your family, you would be dedicating it to him. “Well my gift feels like absolute shit,” you deadpan, “can I have a do-over tomorrow? We can go to the mall or something.”

“You’ve done enough for me,” he disagrees, breaking away from you to place the mug on your desk. “Agreeing to my farfetched proposal, letting me into your home. I think that’s an amazing gift.” 

“You’ve been way too nice,” you look at him wearily, noting the rosiness in his cheeks. 

“You say that like it’s not possible!” 

“Who knows? Maybe the Christmas spirit has performed a miracle, who am I to judge?” and you can’t get enough of the man, running into his heart one more time. Pressing your ear to his chest you sing, “Well, in the Poconos they say, that Jeon Jungkook’s heart grew three sizes that day.” 

It may have not grown three sizes, but if the living room wasn’t so loud, maybe you could’ve heard his heart beating three times as fast. 

The calm after the storm is your favorite part of Christmas. Most of your extended family has left to mull in their own homes, leaving your family to laze around until it’s just you and Jungkook that are awake. 

Jim Carrey’s version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas is playing on Netflix, arguably the only superior rendition of the children's book. The tree is still glowing by the fireplace, soft white lights trickling in the darkened room. 

Earlier in the night, you and Jungkook had cuddled up in the middle of the couch under a blanket, and were too lazy to move even when the entirety of your family vacated. Either of you could’ve easily shoved each other off and went to bed, but here you are, making offhand comments over hot cocoa. Each second that passes by, you’re more aware of how well you two sink between the fabric like you’re meant to do this. The domesticity terrifies you, but you don’t dare to point it out. 

“How does his face do that?” Jungkook turns to you, contorting his face into funny expressions. It’s a poor attempt at the green creature on the screen, but it makes your mouth twitch and you fight the urge to giggle. “It’s like he’s made of rubber.” 

“He has a sense of humor, unlike some people.” 

“Very funny,” he says, turning away to take a sip of his cooca. 

Sinking further into the couch, you unconsciously latch onto him more, savoring his body heat. “Can I confess something?”  

“What’s up?” 

“A week ago, I loathed you. I used to have recurring dreams about you getting run over by a Wonderbread truck. And I was driving the truck.” 

“Wow, that makes me feel so much better.” 

“No really, if I had the opportunity to watch you get hit by a cab, I would’ve paid for it.” 

“If it were possible for me to file for divorce at this very second, now would be time. You are a walking red flag.” 

“Okay, but!” you shush him with a finger to your lips, and he goes cross-eyed at the touch. “After seeing your stellar performance this week and an impeccable display of human emotion. I think after all of this, we could be friends.” 

“Fwends?” he says through your finger, mouth smushed. “Why whuh we?” 

Instead of lifting your finger right away, you swipe at his cherry lips, getting rid of the marshmallow sticking to the corners. 

“Because we get along.” you say simply.

“Because we’re supposed to be getting married.” 

“No! We’ve always gotten along! We’ve just been too up our asses to notice!” you sit up, appalled. “Here’s my theory, a change of setting has suddenly spurred on your character development—”

“—y’know I really don’t appreciate your use of literary jargon, it’s really pretentious—”

“—because without your external conflict, you have a chance to let loose and enjoy your life for once!” 

Jungkook frowns, adjusting his frame so he slightly hovers you. He’s pretty like this, dressed in fluffy black pajamas and his face soft. His eyes absorb the Christmas fairy lights, and you notice for the first time in two years that there are no longer purple bags under his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, voice so small you wonder if he’s worried to crush the moment. “Friends are hard.” 

You shake your head vehemently, “Friends are easy, keeping them is the hard part.”

He doesn’t know why he’s being so weird about this. You’ve worked for him for over two years, you know him as well as you know your skincare routine, down to the last detail. 

“Jeon, don’t think too hard about this,” you try to get him to lighten up, the intense look in his eyes throwing you in for a loop. It makes the little hamster wheel in your head spin rapidly, and you wonder if you’re really crossing a line. “Jimin said you had a really good time yesterday, I was almost jealous I couldn’t come shopping with you.” 

He cracks a smile at that, “Yeah, Jimin and I shared a moment,” and he leans down to the shell of your ear, “and he said he really enjoyed our moment last night.” 

“Oh my god!” you grab a nearby throw pillow, chucking the rough fabric in his face. 

He breaks into a laugh, but not the wine and dine chuckles that he’d have between terse negotiations for work. It’s a full out giggle, like he’s proud to have riled you up enough to break your resolve. Who knew your angry face could be so cute? 

“I guess if we’ve crossed a line, might as well make it all the way to the end,” Jungkook says easily, running a hand through his chocolate tresses. 

You and Jungkook are leaving the day after tomorrow. Most of your stuff is packed and ready to go, and you’re currently spending the rest of your night at a sit-down dinner with your immediate family plus Jimin. 

It’s peaceful, you muse. Jungkook even offered to help cook. Back at Big Hit not once did he ever bring leftovers from home, always insisting you order something for him during work. Kimchi fried rice is a simple dish, but Jungkook had taken great care in making sure it was cooked properly and adjusted to your family’s tastes. 

Your parents are glowing and enjoying their time with the whole family, a rarity that grows more valuable with age. The meal soothes you like a balm, reminding you of old conversations that had you spew milk out of your nose or Namjoon accidentally spilling beans on your lap. 

“Oh, you should also clear your schedule for the first week of September,” Jimin says absentmindedly, shoving another mouthful of fried rice. “Besides Easter, Jungkook says we can celebrate his birthday and visit for the weekend.” 

“Seriously,” Namjoon balks, sitting up straight as he regards you in disbelief. “You’re sure your Devil of a boss will enjoy you out of his chains for two vacations, god forbid you take the holidays off again.” 

The grip on your fork tightens, but you steel yourself. Honestly, you were wondering why it took Namjoon this long to let it all out. He was always vehemently against your job, as he was the person who got the brunt of your vents when you were stressed. Probably for the sake of Christmas he let it go, but now that it’s over, the topic’s fair game. 

“Oh, c’mon Joonie,” your mother frowns, “not at the table.” 

“He isn’t that bad, Joon.” you reason, completely ignoring Jungkook as you stare straight at your brother. “He means well—”

“Means well?” Namjoon barks a laugh, as if it’s the most laudable thing. “Sis, you cried everyday for a straight month after you were hired.” he places his hands on the table, regarding you carefully, “I had to personally call your doctor in New York to get you sleeping pills, and not to mention that two weeks ago, you were crying again because you were worried he forgot your vacation and would make you work! Don’t tell me he ‘means well’ when I’ve been busy picking up the pieces!” 

At this point, you’re livid. Jungkook’s right here, and while you can’t go ahead and out the fact that he is your boss, you can still have his back. 

They don’t know that you’ve picked the pieces back up, reinforced yourself to create a better version of the person you once were. 

“He does mean well,” you cry, matching your brother’s red tone to a T. “He’s just stressed and genuinely cares about the company. I choose to work long hours because he takes his time in making sure the work we publish is worthwhile, and I support that. He’s hard on me because he knows I have potential. He’s going to make sure I succeed.” 

Namjoon looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. “You’re seriously defending your shitty boss?” 

Jimin puts a hand over Namjoon’s in an attempt to placate him, but he shoves it away.

“Honestly,” Namjoon spits venom, “how can you possibly stand to be around someone who makes your life so miserable?” 

Your meal has gone cold, and your fists clutch desperately at your jeans. The breath is robbed from your lungs, and you can’t look at anyone for fear of them regarding you with guilt. You know since the day you got hired that your family wasn’t exactly enthused at your boss’ level of expectation and work output. But they don’t know the industry, and they don’t even really know Jungkook past the surface level. . 

But you know in their eyes, they’re right. Their daughter left their comfy home to pursue her lifelong dream, only for it to be broken in a matter of weeks. It’s natural to feel protective, and while you’re resilient and were able to get it together as of late, it wasn’t enough for them to understand. As someone who loves you, it’s obvious they’d want to blame your boss, blame Jungkook for your suffering. 

You imagine your father would ask Namjoon to step outside, or your parents would make Jimin pull you and Jungkook out. Neither of those things happen.

A warm, large hand is placed on top of yours. You look towards Jungkook, face unreadable as he squeezes your thigh. 

“Namjoon’s right.” Jungkook utters, pressing his lips together. “You deserve to be treated with respect. The boss has never appreciated the hard work you do, at least not out loud. You’re too good for him.”

“Jungkook,” you gape, putting your other hand over his. 

He pulls away at your touch, glancing at the clock. “This dinner was wonderful,” he says gently, looking apologetic to your parents. “Excuse me, but I promised to call my parents at this time.” 

The excuse is completely half-assed, but no one says anything as he leaves, walking out the door without a coat. The table is terse, with your parents attempting to coax out dessert while Jimin clears the dinner table. You refuse to look at Namjoon, who has no idea why you’re so upset. You wait five minutes before you mumble about getting Jungkook a jacket. 

However, when you open the door he isn’t sitting on the porch. He’s all the way up the street, too far for you to be heard with a yell, and walking farther into town. The black hoodie falls to your side, disappointed. 

Jungkook does in fact, call his parents. Your mother suggested it when she gave him the ring, thinking it would ease his homesickness if he made a better effort to communicate his feelings. 

And so he spends over an hour huddled in a cafe, talking about nothing and everything with his mom and dad. He tells them about the little novelties he’s experienced this week, like making popcorn strings and picking out themed Christmas ornaments. He tells him how he promises to book a flight back to Korea as soon as his work visa goes through. While he doesn’t mention the proposal, he mentions you. He prattles on and on about how strong and beautiful you are, and how you’ve crept up on him and made him realize how awful of a person he was. 

His mom prattles excitedly through the line, saying that women make you realize how much better you can be for them, but she doesn’t know the half of it. 

Jungkook sat there in your dining room, Namjoon boldly telling you off about how miserable he’s made you. 

And yet still, you defended him in ways he never imagined. Your relationship has always been mutual, and prickly at best. You balanced each other out, but he knows he doesn’t deserve you. When he first hired you, he rendered you indispensable like all the other assistants that couldn’t handle it. You’d break eventually. 

And you did break. But you picked up the pieces and put yourself back together, and you didn’t resent him for it. He hated that. How can you trust someone who’s hurt you so much? 

He can’t let you go through with this marriage. You’re wrong. You don’t need him to be successful. 

[11:09] You: mom unlocked the door for you. Jimin and i went out for drinks so idk when ill be back

[11:09] You: please don’t be mad at me

Silly girl, why would he ever be mad at you? 

His plan is simple, Sneak into your villa, grab his luggage, and try to book the earliest flight back to New York. Then, he can come clean to Taeyeon and spend the year in Korea while they work out his visa issues. He’ll quietly pack his things and clear out the office before Monday.  Hopefully by the time he makes it to Busan, he can forgive himself. He’s going to regret missing your expression when you get to hold the first physical copy of your novel. 

This plan proves difficult when he sees Namjoon waiting outside for him, sitting on his luggage and reading a book. His long legs are splayed across the porch, and he doesn’t spare Jungkook a glance.

“Knew something was off,” the older man doesn’t look up from his novel, “found the mug on her desk, bossman.” 

Muttering a curse under his breath Jungkook opens his arms, “Are you gonna beat me up now?” 

“What? No, I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Jungkook scoffs, and watches Namjoon roll his luggage to the back of the van. “And out of the kindness of my heart, I’ll save you the Lyft fare and drive you to the airport.” 

Is he that predictable? He flinches at the sudden jet of the ignition, and he takes heavy, snow-laden steps to the passenger seat. Once buckled in, Namjoon tosses the book in his lap. “Some light reading for the drive.” 

If Namjoon wasn’t the driver, he wouldn’t hesitate to chuck the book at his big, intelligent head. Instead, he glowers, clutching the book tightly. It’s only when they round the corner to a house brightly decorated with lights, does he see what novel Namjoon’s plucked. 

A Mutually-Assured Attachment. Jungkook tosses the book back and forth between his palms, noting the soft cover is so worn it could melt apart in his lap. It feels tended and loved from years of use. 

It’s Jungkook’s first novel, and you had a copy. One of the first editions, if he remembers the cover art correctly. Granted, he thought you had some of his books purely because of your job, but not one from your childhood. Frankly he thought this should have never been published, but he was nineteen and that in itself was a large feat. 

He carefully peels the pages, and takes out his phone to shine the flashlight mode. At the very front, blood red ink is scratched next to the title: “this is THE most pretentious title i’ve read in my life! Don’t disappoint me jeon!!” 

Your handwriting’s all over the place. He sees graphite, gel, and glitter pens mark the margins, as if you’ve come back each time to write something new. The annotations vary, from “this part sucks” to “shit, that’s good i should do that”. You draw little pictures of the objects he’s contrived, from the little brass locket one character cherishes to the facial expressions you imagine they hold. 

And at the very end, your handwriting sits neat and bold on the inside cover: I can do better than him. 

Jungkook chuckles to himself, turning off the light. You’re always right. 

Namjoon senses the younger one is done, and he clears his throat. “I really really don’t understand what she sees in you.” 

“I don’t understand either,” Jungkook agrees easily, his finger tracing your handwriting. He muses that you were always out to get him, even if you didn’t know it. 

Namjoon masks his surprise by clearing his throat. “But I’d rather seek to understand than live the rest of my life having my sister resent me. I don’t really know what you two are going through, but if she trusts you with her life, I’ll try. Emphasis on try.” 

“I don’t deserve your trust.” 

“You damn right you don’t,” succumbing to his impulses Namjoon makes a sharp turn, and Jungkook holds his stomach together before it flies out the window.  

You come home to find your room cold and barren. All of Jungkook’s things are gone, except your Christmas mug. 

You at least thought Jungkook would spare you a goodbye before he ditched you. You hoped you’d at least consider each other friends who provide explanations after all of this. 

Lifting the mug off the desk, you hear a little clink in the glass, the chime unfamiliar. Hurriedly, you pour out its contents. A heavy, tungsten black ring lands in your palm. You clench the metal between your fingers, hugging it to your chest. 

Mind made up, you dash out to the hallway, nearly bumping into your cousin. At the same time you and Jimin blurt, “We need to go to the airport.” 

Apparently Namjoon warned Jimin that something fishy’s going on. Namjoon didn’t know what, but he had the inkling that Jungkook was hiding something. Once Jimin received the text to meet them at the airport, he flung you in his sedan and floored it. Flushed with adrenaline, Jimin is speeding with a fervor you’ve never experienced. 

“Can you please, take the edge off and tell me what the hell is going on?” 

Just like how Jungkook didn’t want Big Hit to go down the drain, you didn’t want this week to be in vain. You can’t wait a year for Jungkook to come back, and you didn’t want to publish your first novel without him by your side. 

“Long version or short version?” 

“The in-the-middle version. I don’t think I have the brain capacity to absorb all your drama right now but I really need some answers.” 

“O-kay. Basically, Jungkook isn’t a Literary Agent. He’s my god-awful boss. Or was awful, I don’t know. Jungkook left the country before his work visa was fully processed. That’s a breach, so he needs to live in Korea for a year to come back. But he can’t run Big Hit remotely, so he proposed to marry me to attain citizenship.”

Your head whips to the dashboard and you cry out, barely stopping the impact with your hands.  

“Sorry, sorry!” Jimin’s eyes are focused on the red light, absolutely terrified. “Bitch, you’re committing fraud with your boss! You could go to jail, that’s like, the hottest love story ever!” 

“But he’s going back to Korea because now he suddenly realized he can forge basic human connection.” you mutter, “so no, we’re not going to jail because he’s decided to do the right thing.” 

“So what you’re saying is, Jungkook has achieved self-actualization and decided to peacefully move to Korea and sacrifice the company for you.” Jimin is carving his free hand in the air, gesturing wildly. “Don’t you see! He really likes you.”

“Yeah, so now we need to go to the airport and tell his dumbass this isn’t the time to be selfless.” 

Once you find a spot you’re rushing out of the car, weaving between carts and people to find the correct terminal. This airport is much smaller than JFK, so it’s easy for you to navigate and get past the TSA. It also helps that Jin’s wife is an attendant. 

“He chose the 1:45 flight in Terminal 31A,” Mijoo chirps from her tablet, leading you in the right direction. She’s dressed impeccably, the odds and ends of this airport glued together by her impeccable organization. She points to the clock, which glares a digital 1:18AM. “You have time.” 

“Thank you Mijoo,” you exhale gratefully, “and I’m so so sorry I skipped your wedding!” 

“This is the 300th time you’ve said it,” Mijoo rolls her eyes, pushing you and Jimin forward, “But I’ll make sure not to miss your wedding.” 

You’re sweating from your down jacket, and you can’t believe it’s really all come down to this. The one person you’ve spent the last two years of your life doting on, and you didn’t want to stop. You wanted him not just for the publication of your novel, but because you needed him. 

Jungkook’s sitting in the waiting area of Terminal 31A, looking wholly inconspicuous as he reads a book and has his hood propped up. 

Fists balled, you stride forward only to have Jimin tug you back. “What?” 

Jimin pulls off your thick coat, making haste to wipe the sweat off your brow with his sleeves and flatten your messy hair. “What?” he tilts his head to the side, “you need to look good before the big confrontation. I’m recording this for archival purposes. Do you have any lip balm by any chance? You look chapped.” 

You slap his hands away, but those grubby fingers just come back with a vengeance. “My life is just a big show to you, isn’t it?”

“Living vicariously all day, every day.” 

While Jimin parts your bangs, the intercom cuts through the air. 

“The 1:45 flight to John F. Kennedy International airport will now commence boarding. Please line up according to the ticket class.” 

Jimin smiles at you, squeezing your shoulders and gestures for you to go. To your horror, Jungkook is first in line. Panic bubbles to your throat.

“Jeon Jungkook!” you cry, voice echoing throughout the terminal. “If you so much breathe in the direction of that plane I will call Mark Lee right this second and tell him the book series is off!” 

Like a deer in the headlights, Jungkook heeds to your voice immediately. In his stupor you jog forward to snatch his wrist and pull him out of line. You don’t let go until you’re away from the long line, and Jungkook tugs his wrist away. 

“Don’t you dare call him,” Jungkook looks serious, as if you didn’t drive all the way to stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life. “I will never forgive you if you terminate Mark Lee’s contract.” 

“And I won’t forgive you if you get on that plane.” 

Pain flashes in his eyes, and he shakes his head. “I need to. I can’t let us—let you go through with this. You and your family deserve better.” 

“What? Jungkook, I agreed to this just as much as you did.” 

“No, you didn’t.” he’s adamant, and steps back with every step you take forward. “As your boss I threatened you, held it over your head like an ultimatum. I’ve hurt you,” his voice cracks, looking at you desperately, “why would you want to be stuck with me when I’ve made your life miserable?” 

“If I really wanted to leave, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” You reason, “Do you really want to leave the company behind? To fucking Karen?” 

“Of course I don’t!” Jungkook exclaims, “but it isn’t worth hurting you, hurting your family and everyone that loves you.” 

“And what about you? You’ll be hurt when you leave,” and you step forward, so close that your chests are touching. You take hold of his hands, clutching them between your small ones. “Don’t go, stay with me in New York. We’ll both work hard and try to not run each other to the ground. Let’s be better together.” 

You’re practically begging, biting your lip raw and hoping Jungkook understands how good this change is for the both of you. 

Jungkook is conflicted, looking back and forth between the airline boarding for JFK and your watery eyes. He hates seeing you like this. He can’t imagine you, the strongest woman he’s ever met, crying because of him. Namjoon’s voice echoes in his mind and he tries to smash it to the edge of his memory. But as always, you’re right. 

He replaces your grip with his own, and gets down on one knee. 

Jungkook says your name like it's the sweetest of songs. You’ve never seen him so terrified. “y/n, I didn’t do it right the first time, so let me try again. Please, marry me. Marry me because I want to date you. I want to take you out and give you what you deserve, what we deserve. I want to do better for myself, do better for you. I’ve realized you’re the only person that makes me feel like I’m simultaneously on fire and on thin ice,” he pulls out a velvet box from his pocket, revealing a thin band with interlocking black and clear diamond studs. It’s a pretty little thing, with a groove in the center so it stacks perfectly with your engagement ring. “This was supposed to be your Christmas present, but I chickened out at the last second,” he says sheepishly, tucking his head in. “But if you let me put this ring on your finger, I promise to be your home away from home.”  

With a sob you fall to your knees, throwing yourself onto Jungkook. A small “oof” escapes his lips, and he struggles to hold your waist so you both don’t topple over. “Yes, yes, yes!” you cry, pulling away to cup his face with both hands, pulling him into a sweet kiss. 

Jungkook’s smile takes up his entire face, and he eagerly pecks your lips one more time before ripping the ring from its holder and stacking it on top of your engagement ring. The teardrop diamond is nestled perfectly between the thinner band’s V. “Pretty,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. 

“Wait,” you pull out the black ring that you found in your room, holding it to his face. “I’m assuming this is yours?” 

“Yeah,” he replies, “your mother said it was your great grandfather’s. It’s not an engagement ring, but it’s the thought that counts.” 

“It matches,” you hum, placing his simpler band in his ring finger. Once it’s on, you take a deep breath. “Shit, we’re really doing this?” 

Jungkook pulls you to stand, wiping the happy tears from your cheek. “We are, we’re a team, remember? We’ve crossed the line and we gotta finish it.” 

And he picks you up, the workouts definitely paying off as he spins you around like you’re the leads in La-La Land, drunk off the happy chemicals firing in your brain. Jimin whoops and hollers, along with all the other patrons in the vicinity of the airport terminal. 

Your real-fiancé puts you down, the both of you now hyperconscious of the stares people give you. Other people have filmed the proposal as well, completely smitten by your confessions. 

“Jungkook,” you giggle into his shoulder, “you were right. Our story is straight out of a Wattpad entry.” 

“Down to the super cheesy in-public airport proposal?” he chimes, pressing his forehead to yours. “Couldn’t have asked for a better love story.” 

“I can’t wait to fall in love with you,” you whisper, quiet enough for his ears only, “for real, this time.” 

“Not that it’s a challenge,” he teases softly, “but I’m already halfway there.” 

some months later.

“Like the new office, boss lady?” your new assistant (yes, you have an assistant!) asks kindly, his bubbly presence uplifting you immediately. He leads you to the window box, filled with tiny plants. “I figured you like succulents, because you have no time to water them and they’re prickly like you.” 

“Very funny, Seungkwan.” you chide good-naturedly, picking up a succulent with a yellow flower in the middle. “But thank you, your interior design skills are outmatched. I can’t wait to work with you.” 

“Me too, your social commentary you published on the literary industry? And you managed to lace it all up in an inconspicuous fantasy novel?” Seungkwan boasts, “I applied for this position right then and there.” 

“Thanks Seungkwan, why don’t you take your lunch and we’ll meet back at one to discuss our plans for next week.” 

“Sounds good, do you want me to pick you up something?” 

“I’m good, I’m meeting with the bossman.” 

Seungkwan gives you that look, his lips jutting out in a suggestive manner that almost makes you burst into giggles. Your assistant decides not to bother you until after you’ve eaten, and bids you goodbye. 

Just when you get a moment of peace, a handsome face pokes his way inside. “Hello editor,” Jungkook knocks on your door for the sake of attention, but you’re already dragging him into the office and shutting the door tight. “Like your new office?” 

“Love it,” you moan, gesturing to Seungkwan’s light filtering curtains. They’re not dark, rather a tasteful sea green, but they’re opaque enough to stop wandering eyes from peeking into your space. Your personal space was a qualm that immediately needed to be mended after your experience in Jungkook’s office. “A lot more private than your office.” 

“A little part of me hates how much you deserve this promotion,” he sits on your desk, and doesn’t hesitate to pull you between his legs, letting you lean into his chest, “but I do love the added privacy.” 

You fiddle with the buttons of his navy collar, his strong thighs trap you between him, “Why, miss me already?” 

He shrugs, “Taehyung doesn’t look as good as you do in a pencil skirt.” 

You laugh, brushing the strands of hair that fall from his coiff. “No one looks as good as I do in a pencil skirt.” A firm grip confirms that, two strong hands cupping your backside. “Mr. Jeon!” you gasp playfully, pushing him away slightly to pinch his cheeky grin. “Can we save this for later? I’m hungry, but we can always continue this for dessert.” 

He groans in your neck, “Love the sound of that, Mrs. Jeon.” 

bonus.

“FUUUCCCKKKKKK YEEAAHHHHH!” Park Jimin’s voice bounces off the walls of Taeyeon’s office, his face taking up the entire screen of his desktop as the camera shifts harshly between him and you and Jungkook at the airport. “My cousin’s not going to jail! WOO!” 

Taeyeon pauses the YouTube video at a particularly unflattering screencap: Jimin’s nostrils are flaring wildly and he looks fairly high mid-scream. 

A low whistle escapes Jungkook’s lips, “Wow. That video’s viral,” he looks to you appreciatively, “if Jimin kicks off his YouTube career, you think we can milk a memoir outta him?” 

“Potentially,” you reply nonchalantly, playing with your rings. 

“So,” Taeyeon’s voice is icy, slashing between your casual conversation, “you’re getting married, for real this time?” 

“Yep,” Jungkook pops. 

“Alright,” and from her desk she pulls out an ungodly stack of documents, one that mirrors your own back at the office. “Jungkook, you’ll stay with me. y/n, you’ll go to Vernon’s office and he’ll give you the same spiel. We’ll interview you privately with the same questions. A hair out of place and you’re in trouble. You sure you want to go through with this?” 

You and Jungkook exchange looks, betting your own company that you got this in the bag. 

“Hit us with your best shot.” 

[messrmoonyy]

The fluff 49 with Remadora!!

I literally used to always just write from Doras thoughts yet here I am now obsessed with writing outta Remus’ head. Jealous Remus. We love to see it. Prompt from this list.

Prompt: ‘ is somebody jealous? ‘

Pairing: Remus lupin x Nymphadora Tonks

Warnings: mild language

You can find all my other writing on my masterlist and remember my ask box is always open, so drop me a request! Check my masterlist for who I write for!

Remus didn’t think he was a particularly jealous person. And he had plenty to be jealous of when he thought about it. But it just… never crossed his mind to be jealous. He was too far past having an emotion so useless, jealousy would never get him anyway. Being jealous of a man with more money than he had wouldn’t magically make a hundred galleons appear in his pocket. Being jealous of other people his age who were settled down with families wouldnt make his family return from the dead. Yet…. There he was, sat at his desk in the Grimmauld place library, practically seething.

He knew he was being ridiculous. Completely. But watching Sirius and Nymphadora laughing on the other side of the room was making his blood boil. He felt a little stupid in fact, they were related after all. But. The Blacks did have a bit of reputation for that didn’t they. And there was the matter that he’d heard Harry talking to Hermione about how he thought Nymphadora and Sirius were secretly a couple. And of course to top it all off Sirius had, and probably always would be, an absolute ladies man.

He didn’t really have a right to be jealous. Yes he and Tonks had been getting very… close, if that was even the best choice of words. He didn’t think close did justice right the several bouts of snogging he had found himself in a multitude of places around Grimmauld place. Only the previous night on the exact sofa she was pratting around on with Sirius now. Not to mention the nights Tonks snook into his room, or cornered him in the back of the library. And there was that one time he’d practically jumped her in the drawing room after a meeting. But there hadnt been any real discussion on what they were.

The only vague discussion being after their first kiss, when Remus has avoided her for a good four days after. Wracked with guilt that he’d let his self control slip. But she’d cornered him in the kitchen and forced him to confront the situation head on. He’d tried to tell her it was probably a mistake. That he wasn’t exactly the best of choices for her. But she’d told him he was ridiculous, that she didn’t care about his age. His condition. But there hadn’t been a talk on their situation since. He didn’t like to bring it up. Maybe it was simply casual for her. A late night hook up when she had stress form work to blow off. So he couldn’t be jealous could he.

But he was. Insanely so. His grip tightening on his quill as Sirius flung another awful joke at her and she threw her head back with laughter. Remus didn’t get it but she clearly did. He tried to distract his jealousy away by focusing on just how beautiful she was when she was laughing, how her eyes crinkled at the corners and her cheeks flushed pink. But it didn’t work as well as he hoped. Because if he noticed those things. Sirius must too.

“ if you two are going to continue being so noisy then would you just leave. Some of us are trying to work “ he snapped, slamming his fist to the desk for good measure. Sirius made some grumbled remark about Remus being a bore. But he didn’t care enough to pay attention.

“ ooo Tonksie that’s his professor tone “ Sirius said in a loud whisper before laughing again and nudging Tonks with his elbow “ sorry sir. Detention for talking in class? “ they both burst into laughter, Tonks steadying herself with a hand to Sirius’ shoulder. Remus sighed and tried to ignore them, his knuckles turning white around his quill. “ oh come on Re. Have a drink, lighten up “

“ I’m not in the mood. I’m trying to work “ he grumbled, purposely not looking over at she’d Sirius now had his arm slung around Tonks shoulders. He was being ridiculous. Though Tonks seemed to pick up on it.

There was then some hushed talking between the two of them, that his heightened senses would’ve allowed him to hear if he cared enough. But instead He huffed and looked back down at his mission report. There was the creek of the library door as Sirius left with another remark about how boring Remus was and then quiet. Assuming that Tonks had followed Sirius out of the room he debated on going to find her. But a few moments later her arms looped around his neck from behind him, her nose brushing against his cheek.

“ is somebody jealous? “ she said quietly, mischief evident in her tone. He’d hoped he hadn’t been so obvious. Clearly he had. Of course he had. He wasn’t exactly well practiced in the art of hiding his affections for someone. And besides, Tonks could read him like a book.

“ I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about “ he felt her smile against his cheek and she tightened her hold on him, bringing her chin down to rest on his shoulder.

“ he’s my cousin Remus. I might technically be a Black by name, but not by nature. Not really into the whole ‘ fuck your family members ‘ thing you know? Especially not Sirius. Merlin. It’d be like shacking up with a brother or something. Nasty. Ugh now you’ve put that imagine in my head “ she shivered at the thought and he couldn’t help but smile.

“ you said yourself he’s handsome “ he pointed out, remembering the conversation that had actually lead to their first kiss, in a much similar situation to the one they were currently in. His so thought non existent jealousy coming out to bite.

“ doesn’t mean I wanna shag him Remus “

“ you always have such a way with words “ she laughed lightly and moved around in front of him, hopping up onto the desk and folding her arms.

“ I’m quite offended actually “ Remus sat back in his chair and watched her intently. Her cheeks were flushed slightly from drinking “ I mean come. On. Remus. You’ll be saying I’m shacking up with Arthur next because I laugh at his dad jokes “ when she put it like that he guessed he had been a bit irrational with his thoughts.

“ I heard Harry talking about it with Ron and Hermione. I think most of the kids believe you and Sirius are up to something “ she scoffed at that and quirked an eyebrow.

“ so you’re listening to the theories of the most unobservant boy in the entire country? I mean I love the boy I do, but I think he needs a new pair of glasses. His clearly aren’t working well “ a small smile tugged at his face then, Harry was a bright boy but he did have a tendency to be quite…. Oblivious. To everything. Tonks was quiet for a few more moments before tilting her head to the side inquisitively, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. She looked deep in thought “ so what’s this really about then? “ Remus frowned and raised his hands as if in mock surrender.

“ nothing. I told you I heard Harry and the way you were with Sirius.. it’s nothing “ she rolled her eyes and hopped off the desk, stepping either side of his legs and wiggling to get comfortable in his lap. His hands flew to her waist, unable to stop himself as she placed her hands to his shoulders and titled her head again.

“ Remus “ her voice was slightly sterner but she was smiling at him “ you can talk to me. You know you can “ he debated telling her the truth. That he was just getting jealous because she could do far better than him. She could have whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted. And he was scared to lose her. What they had, whatever it really was, was great. Remus hadn’t been so happy in a long. Long. Time. He didn’t want to push too far and send her packing. But he didn’t want to hang too far back and have her run off to someone else. It was a constant dilemma in his head.

“ you and I “ he started, not really even sure where he was going with his speech “ it’s good. It’s. It’s marvellous “ she laughed a little and nodded with a tight lipped smile.

“ it is. Though I sense a ‘ but ‘ incoming “ he sighed and fiddled nervously with one of the beads on her shirt. They were haphazardly sewn all over it and he wondered if she’d added them herself.

“ I’m just waiting for the inevitable “ he said after another short moment of silence. Deciding now was a better time as any to tell her. She was stubborn and she had him right where she wanted him. So it was going to come out there and then whether he liked it or not really.

“ ‘ the inevitable’ being?…. “

“ finding someone better- no now before you make that face let me finish. Please “ she had sighed as soon as the words left his mouth, sitting back slightly with an eye roll.

“ Remus we’ve talked about this. Can you just get it into your head, that I fancy you. Not Sirius. Not some random ‘ someone better ‘. You “ he couldn’t lie that the words made his heart pound just that bit faster. The confirmation being all he’d really needed. But there was always going to be that worry in the back of his mind. It would never go away.

“ I know. And maybe I’m a fool to keep bringing it up. But you have to admit that I’m not exactly at the top of most peoples most eligible list “ she took his face in her hands then, making him look her in the eyes. He’d noticed she didn’t change their colour very often anymore after he’d made an offhand remark about how beautiful her natural brown eyes were. They were captivating.

“ no one else bloody matters though. You’re at the top of my list. That’s all that matters. Maybe I’m mental. Maybe I’m not. All I know, is you’re one of the only truly decent man I’ve ever met. You don’t make me morph. You’re so respectful it’s practically dripping off of you. And you’re proper fit too which is totally just a bonus “ he hoped she couldn’t feel his cheeks heating up under her hands. But her smile told him she probably could.

It was odd for him to look at her and think that some one could ever even have the nerve to make her morph for them. To fit their idea of what was perfect. He thought she was marvellous in whatever form she thought was best fitting for her each day. He’d never dream of making her change. In his eyes, there had never been a more perfect specimen of a person to walk the earth. She made him laugh. Made him feel normal. Cared for. He couldn’t believe she would ever have eyes for him. But she did. And he guessed that miracles must truly be real.

“ I’m sorry for being so jealous “ her face softened again and the backs of her fingers brushed over his cheek.

“ it’s fine. I mean. At least it shows you care? “ she laughed a little and he felt his tension melting away a little.

“ I do “ her hand crept towards the back of his neck, her fingers slipping into his hair and she shuffled a little closer again.

“ good. Now stop being a mope and realise we’re on own again “ she whispered the last part, her face inching closer so he felt her breath on his lips. And with a smirk she caught his lips in hers.

[chiliiscereal]

Here’s your GIF for the writing challenge!

Prompt: “It’s not safe to be out here by yourself.”

Good luck and thanks for participating!💛

Thanks for letting me do this challenge again @crossbowking !

Pairing: father figure Daryl x reader AGAIN cause I’m a sucker for that lol

Setting: season 2

Type: fluff and angst I guess?

Summary: when looking for Sophia, Daryl finds reader holed up in a cabin. Reader doesn’t speak, doesn’t listen, and doesn’t trust them at all. No one can figure out why but reader sticks with them anyway. One day, Daryl follows reader when they sneak out of camp, hoping to find out what could possibly have happened to make them like that

——————-

Silent world

Sophia’s tracks had begun to fade like the afternoon sunlight. They had gotten faint but Daryl didn’t want to tell Carol the truth. Eventually they disappeared and he was only left with a direction.

He found a set of footsteps the size of Sophia’s about thirty minutes later. It had to be her. Judging by how they weren’t set in one specific direction, whoever it was must be lost.

He followed the footsteps to an old cabin. She had to be in there.

You, however, hadn’t realized you were followed until the door was opened. You felt the thumping of cautious footsteps on the floorboards and immediately jumped into action. You pulled yourself from the floor quickly and hid yourself beneath the dusty bed in the corner, dragging the blankets down to obscure you from their vision. If there was one thing you’d learned in this new world it was that you couldn’t trust people. Strangers, family, doesn’t matter.

“Sophia?” Daryl called out as he peered around the corner cautiously. He glanced about the room, taking in the living conditions.

Old food wrappers...

Empty water bottles...

A few blood stains...

An old backpack that CLEARLY wasn’t Sophia’s...

Whoever had been there it wasn’t Sophia. They’d been there longer than the girl had been lost.

He tightened his grip on his crossbow. “Whoever’s in here better come out now.” He ordered.

The only response was a slight shuffling noise from under the bed. If it had been Shane or Rick they wouldn’t have heard it. But Daryl had been hunting out in the woods since he was a child, trained in hearing the sounds of hiding creatures.

Whoever they were they were alive.

“Gonna hide forever?” He growled, raising the crossbow so it pointing at the bed.

Nothing.

He was absolutely tired of this person acting like their cover hadn’t been blown.

“Get out before I drag ya out myself.” He ordered, stepping closer.

Still nothing.

Finally, he had enough of it. He reached over and pulled the blanket away from the floor. He waited... thinking they’d come out.

No movement at all.

He grabbed the bed by its headboard and shoved it away from the wall, causing a small gasp to come from underneath it.

You were no longer in darkness.

You opened your wide eyes and backed up against the wall, chest heaving with panic.

This man looked dangerous to say the least.

Mean expression.

Weapon out and pointed at her face.

Knife hanging at his belt.

Suspicious blood stains on his shirt.

“You gotta be shittin’ me.” He groaned. “I go out lookin’ fer one kid and then I find a different one?”

You didn’t respond. You just watched him with wide eyes.

“Ya seen another girl ‘round here, kid?” He asked, trying to calm down.

Still nothing. You just pulled your legs closer and tried to press closer into the wall.

“Got a family?” He interrogated with a firmer tone. “A group? Parents? Hell, even a weapon?”

You watched him carefully. Almost too carefully in Daryl’s opinion. Once he’d finished you shook your head, eyes drifting back to the crossbow in his hand.

He hadn’t even realized it was still pointing at her. He lowered it but still kept the weapon in his grip. “The hell am I ‘sposed to do now?” He asked himself out loud. “Don’t need another mouth to feed.”

You didn’t offer any suggestions. All you did was stare.

After a moment he groaned, his morals speaking louder than the selfishness of a survivor. “Damn it. C’mon. Get up.” He waved you to follow after him.

You shook your head, backing away. You didn’t know this man! He could hurt you! Do bad things! No way in hell would you willingly go with him.

He frowned. “Can’t ya talk?”

Nothing.

Just wide eyes.

“Listen, I’m ‘bout to leave yer ass alone in the woods if ya don’t give me a good enough reason why ya can’t.” His temper began to flare. “Got a group, got food, got water, an’ other kids. Seems like a pretty good deal ta me.”

You seemed to react to the word ‘kids’. You sat up a bit and seemed to watch him with interest.

“Yeah. We got another kid at our camp.” He nodded. “It’s safe.” He swore he was about to leave right then when you said nothing.

You looked down at the floor, thinking. Was this a good idea? He could easily be lying. Very easily. He seemed to know exactly what to say. That was dangerous. Very dangerous.

But other kids... safety... and water... that was something you hadn’t seen in a good long while. Might as well give it a try, right? You could always run if things went south. You were good at that.

Needless to say, Daryl was surprised when you pulled yourself off the ground and picked up your bag. You gave him a wary look but followed him anyway.

“So, ya ever talk?” He asked as the two of you walked through the woods.

You didn’t answer. You just surveyed the woods carefully. He could have men out there waiting to jump you and do bad things. Or there could be walkers. You didn’t know.

Your racing thoughts were interrupted by a tap on your shoulder, flinching you out of your state of mind.

“Gonna answer me or what?” Daryl asked, getting more and more frustrated.

You just frowned at him, unsure of what he was saying. He was talking too fast for you to follow along with it.

“I asked if ya ever talk.” He shouldered his crossbow, no hope whatsoever in you answering.

All he got in return was a shrug.

“I’ll take that as a no.” He sighed. Whatever. At least he’d be able to walk to the farm in silence.

—————-

When they arrived everyone was confused on who you were or where you came from.

The people living in the farm house asked you many questions and you could only catch a few words here and there.

Where

Who

Name

Girl

Sophia

Seen

Group

Woods

You just stared at the floor, unsure of how to respond.

“Is there something wrong with her?” Maggie asked quietly. “She’s not answering anything.”

“Been like that since I found ‘er.” Daryl shrugged. “Ain’t sure ‘a her name, family, or if she even got anybody.”

“Where’d you find her?” Lori frowned. “Surely she has parents somewhere out there.”

Daryl wanted nothing more to leave and return to his tent. But he answered anyway. “Was in a cabin. By the looks ‘a it it’s just her.”

“Sweetie, can you tell us your name?” Lori bent down so she could see your face. “Or where your parents are?”

Your eyes didn’t leave the floor.

Lori sighed. “It’s almost as if she can’t hear me.”

“Or don’t want to.” Shane snorted, leaning against the wall. “Kid doesn’t seem too happy to be here. Probably just thinks ignorin’ us is gonna make us mad or some shit.”

“Damn right it’s makin’ me mad.” The hunter watched the kid in front of him. “Can’t tell if it’s on purpose.”

“I’ve heard ‘bout kids shutting down an’ not speak in’ when they’ve been through somethin’ traumatic.” Hershel informed the group. “It could be like what happened to Beth earlier, an’ it’ll just take some time for her to come around.”

That was the answer everyone seemed to settle on.

They gave you time as well as plenty of opportunities to talk to them. They tried asking questions or telling you things but you didn’t respond no matter how hard anyone tried.

Daryl began to suspect what the real case could be when you didn’t even respond when Shane yelled at you.

He’d been trying to hurry up the process by forcing you to talk. When he got no response he finally snapped.

You’d been reading a book Maggie let you borrow, unaware that anyone had been talking. But you caught on quickly when the book had been slapped from your hands.

You gasped and stumbled away, face to face with an angry Shane.

You weren’t close to anyone in the group so you ran to the person who had brought you there, hiding behind Daryl.

Daryl had been surprised. He didn’t think you liked anybody there at all. After all, you never talked to anybody. Never answered any questions. Being there for five days hadn’t changed anything.

“The hell’s yer problem man.” Daryl growled. “Ya always go ‘round tryin’ to scare kids or what?”

“It’s not my damn fault she won’t talk.” Shane yelled. “She’s gonna learn some respect if she wants to stay here.”

“Yellin’ at her won’t get ya any damn respect.” Daryl bit back. “Hershel said it’d take time, didn’t he?” He glanced down at you as you hid your face from the fight.

“It’s takin’ too much in my opinion.” Shane rolled his eyes and turned to walk away.

From that day on you steered clear of Shane and stayed by Daryl’s side. He wasn’t too sure why you’d chosen him out of everyone else and neither were you. But it seemed to be the right choice. The man never forced you to talk. He never yelled at you when you didn’t react.

It seemed like he simply enjoyed peace and quiet.

You helped around the farm house by washing dishes and feeding chickens. You helped Maggie and Lori make dinner and always helped them clean up after.

You picked flowers for Lori.

You showed Carl how to climb a tree.

You played cards with Glenn.

If Daryl didn’t know better he’d say that you were enjoying your stay at the farm.

But you still weren’t talking.

You interacted with everyone, yeah, but you still never spoke.

Not even when the farm fell.

—————

You and everyone had spent almost a month out in the woods once the farm was gone. You bounced from house to house and never stayed in one spot longer than needed.

One house you stayed at, you found a pair of small batteries. Even wire and tweezers. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give you hope.

So that night you snuck out to the back yard once you were sure everyone was asleep.

But everyone wasn’t.

Daryl wasn’t.

He’d noticed the moment you disappeared.

He’d gotten up and walked outside, crossbow in hand. Maybe you’d ran away. Or got taken. Maybe you went outside and gotten lost.

But he found you leaning against a tree instead.

“It’s not safe to be out here by yourself.” Daryl stated, even though he knew you wouldn’t respond.

You did however react to feeling his footsteps vibrating the ground. Quickly, you stuffed whatever had been in your hands into your pockets and looked at him with wide eyes.

“Damn, kid, I ain’t gonna bite.” He held up his hands in surrender. “The hell ya doin out here?”

As always, you didn’t say anything. You looked back at the forest floor almost guiltily.

“Somethin’ wrong?” He frowned.

You knew you should tell him. He’d proven himself trustworthy after all. You just... you were scared you were wrong. That he’d be just like every other adult I. Your life.

“What’d ya have in yer hand before?” He tried, gesturing to whatever you’d stuffed in your pocket.

You tore your gaze away from him and reached down to pull out an object wrapped in cloth.

Daryl sat down beside you. “Can I see it?”

You held it a bit closer, brain still thinking in circles.

“I ain’t gonna break it or nothin’ if that’s what yer worried about.” He rolled his eyes.

Finally your mind was made. You set it down in his hands and waiting for his reaction.

Carefully, aware that you were watching his every movement, he unwrapped whatever it was.

He didn’t know what it was at first. It was almost as long as his smallest finger and was colored silver and tan. He realized what it was when he finally turned it over.

“Hearin’ aids?” He asked, turning to you.

You took a deep breath and nodded. “D-deaf.” You spoke, nerves at how he’d react making you stutter.

He jerked back a bit in surprise. “Ya been deaf this entire time?”

Another nervous nod.

“Damn, that’s impressive.” He gave you a sort of half grin. “How’d no one catch on? An’ why didn’t ya tell nobody?”

You reached into your pocket and pulled out a notebook, scribbling on a couple sentences. You showed him once you were done.

‘Lip reading. And I didn’t trust you.’

“But why didn’t ya talk like ya did now?” He frowned. “I wouldn’t ‘a known the difference.”

You wrote down more, hesitantly.

‘I’ve been told I sound stupid when I talk. So I don’t.’

You fiddled with your shoelace as he read.

“Who the hell told ya that?” He practically growled. “And why don’t ya know any ‘a that sign language?”

You took the notebook back and wrote down a few more sentences.

“And why don’t ya use the hearin’ aids?” He added.

You turned the book back to face him, only one word written.

‘Dad’

You felt ashamed to be admitting this. This wasn’t anything he needed to know. He would probably react the same way your dad reacted when he was given the opportunity.

“Hell no yer gonna explain more than that.” Daryl pushed the book back into your arms. “Can’t just half ass an answer.”

You sighed and began again.

‘He thought being deaf was a weakness. No sign language, no hearing aids, and no talking the moment my mom turned. He broke them when I broke the rules.’

You swallowed the emotions rising back up in the back of your throat.

He was a horrible man.

It was sickening, but you were almost glad that he was gone.

Daryl’s expression darkened when he read those words. “Sounds like an ass to me.” He handed the notebook back to you again. “So you tryin’ ya fix ‘em?”

You nodded and pulled out the batteries and wire, shrugging.

Daryl sighed. “Sorry, but that won’t be enough to fix these.” He examined the hearing aids once more. The wires were pulled apart and some of the plastic had snapped.

“... I know.” You managed to speak again, summoning your bravery. “Just wanted to try.”

Daryl’s expression didn’t change when you spoke. Maybe your dad was wrong. Maybe you didn’t sound as stupid as he told you you did.

Daryl handed the hearing aids back to you gently. “M’sorry kid.”

You shrugged again, placing them back in your pocket carefully.

Suddenly, Daryl had an idea. I’d require a run for sure but it’d be worth it. For now, he’d keep quiet about it. He didn’t even know if it’d work. But he might as well try.

——-

For the next few weeks on the road Daryl was on every run. You were curious about why but you dismissed it as him trying to make sure everyone would survive the coming winter.

By now, everyone knew you were deaf. They all reacted as Daryl had and treated you the same as they always did.

It was relieving to be honest. And a bit of a surprise. But the bigger surprise came later when Daryl told you he wanted to show everyone something in the woods.

You’d followed along, assuming he’d found more supplies.

Instead of revealing more supplies, he knelt down so he was at your level.

“I know it’s been hard without yer hearin’...” he started, reaching into his back pocket, “an’ I hope ya don’t mind I did this without askin’...” he pulled out an object wrapped in a familiar cloth.

You realized what was happening the moment you saw it.

“I gave it my best shot.” He pulled away the fabric and revealed the newly repaired hearing aids. “Found a book an’ some supplies on the last run.”

You hadn’t even realized tears were running down your face until they dropped onto your shirt.

Daryl reaches over and placed the hearing aids in your hands. “Give ‘em a try?”

You glanced at the faces of your new group. They must have known. Not a single one of them looked surprised. Just expectant and...happy. Happy for you.

Slowly, you tucked your hair out of your way. You set the small machine in place. You placed your hand over the on button tentatively.

The Hunter you’d grown attached to gave you a nod.

Finally, you pressed the button.

You waited and held your breath.

It was as if everything came crashing in at once.

The wind that rushed through the trees was giving out hollow rattling noises.

The birds above were chirping shrilly, each whistle harmoniously fitting together like a puzzle.

And you... you could hear yourself gasping in surprise as you spun in circles. You could hear the leaves crunching beneath your feet. Did that always happen?

“I’ll take it that it works?” Your thought were interrupted by a raspy southern accent.

You spun around, facing Daryl once more.

He stood back up, tip of his mouth tipped up in a half smile.

You couldn’t speak.

You couldn’t even thank him with your words.

So you thanked him the only way you knew how: with actions.

You wasted no time in running in his direction, more tearing spilling down your face as you wrapped your arms around the surprised man.

He returned the gesture after a moment of hesitation. “Wasn’t no problem.”

You buried you face in his shoulder, overcome with emotion. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you!”

He rubbed your back comfortingly. “Was nothin’.”

You shook you head and hugged him harder. “No, it was everything.”

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 51

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,279

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

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Author’s Note: Holy crap, can y’all believe I dove back into writing this fic after almost two years with no updates?! I’m still shook over it haha. I will say that this fic has gone way off canon at this point (I haven’t watched the last few seasons of the show and also didn’t finish the last few issues of the comics). However, I’ve had a vision for certain characters and events for the last how many years, so I don’t plan to change them just to try and fit canon. I also now realize that while I tried to make “you” as nondescript as possible, there are physical traits and actions of her character that haven’t been as inclusive of all potential readers as I had thought when first starting the fic 5 years ago. I apologize for that, and plan to be more aware of those things with any reader characters I write in future fics. My plan is to post a chapter update every Friday from here on out, until it’s over, so fingers crossed I can accomplish that. Enjoy! :D

Cloud Nine

You surfaced from the depths of sleep slowly, rather than the more abrupt jolt to consciousness that usually started off your days. Feeling cozy and relaxed, a slight smile tipped your lips in contentment. It didn’t take long to realize that the reason for your positive mood was the large, warm body with which you were currently sharing the tiny, twin-sized bed.

Eyes blinking open, you took in the delightful sight of masculine bare skin. You were curled up against Negan’s side, cheek cushioned on his chest and both legs were wrapped around his nearest thigh. The bedsheet was pulled up over your back and ended teasingly right above his hips. One of your hands lay palm-down on his stomach, fingers twitching slightly in delight at the feel of the hard muscles beneath the soft skin. You could tell from the curve of his body that he was sitting with his back reclined against the rickety headboard. You might’ve found his positioning odd, but you were still a little hazy from sleep and so could only feel happiness at not waking up to an empty bed, like last time. 

You were on cloud nine after talking things out with him last night. Being able to work through a conflict together had been major progress, and you had been proud of yourself for laying down your boundaries regarding your here-to-stay friendship with Ben, as well as standing your ground regarding the situation with Trixie and the pregnancy test. It was important that Negan learn to trust you when it came to situations such as those, and it seemed as though that message had finally gotten through to him last night. 

The fact that he had even come to your room and taken the huge step of apologizing for his hasty reaction still had you a bit in shock. The evening had panned out much differently than your original plan of going to bed angry. Instead, you had gone to bed very satisfied, and then woken up next to the man who was very quickly becoming essential to your daily happiness.

He must’ve felt you shift against him, one hand coming down to rub your bare shoulder as he gave a soft, “Mornin’, doll.” 

His raspy morning voice sent tingles down your spine, even as your brain fought to stay awake. It still felt way too early to be sitting up and conversing, so instead of returning the greeting, you buried closer into his side and grumbled, “What time is it?” The words were muffled against his skin, nose pressed into his chest hair as you inhaled the glorious male scent of him. 

You felt him lean over towards the side table. He must’ve been checking your watch, because he replied, “‘Bout 6:50.”

“Jesus Christ.” 

“Language.” 

“Hmph. Do you always get up so early?”

“It’s more productive than sleeping half the day away and being late to everything.” 

That got more of a response, as you finally lifted your head to glare up at him for the jab. However, he didn’t notice, as he was too focused on the book held in front of him. It was then that you realized why he was sitting up in bed, a smirk crossing your face at the novel he had open and was intensely reading. You felt a spark of desire low in your belly, the sight of a sleep-tousled and naked Negan lounging in your bed while reading Harry Potter an unexpected, but welcomed, aphrodisiac.

“Thought you didn’t read ‘fucking kid books’?” you sarcastically asked, quoting back his initial description of the series. 

You received only a low grunt in response, his eyes not leaving the page. You weren’t offended, since you’d probably react the same way to someone trying to interrupt a reading of Harry Potter. In fact, you were a bit jealous that he got to experience the magical world for the first time. His curiosity must’ve gotten the better of him when he saw it lying on your bedside table, and it appeared as if he had already read a small chunk of it. 

He didn’t seem to notice you staring, his attention still focused on the book. In fact, he held the page a scant few inches from his face, eyes squinted into slits. The sight was a tad humorous, though you wondered how long he had been struggling to see the words. 

“I thought you needed glasses to read?” you asked. 

“Fuck, you always so full of questions this early in the morning, doll?”

You pinched his side hard enough to make him jump and growl out another expletive, before giving him a saccharine smile and lifting a brow expectantly when he glared down at you.

Attention finally taken off the book, he reached over and plopped it down on the side table before rubbing his eyes with both palms. “I do. Felt like it took me a fucking hour to get through that last page.”

The fact that he had continued trying to read and hadn’t easily given up, despite his struggle to see the words, told you more than anything how much he must’ve been enjoying the novel. A warm thrill settled in your chest at the thought of him taking an interest in something he usually wouldn't bother with simply because you enjoyed it. 

The warm thrill morphed into more of a low heat and traveled down your body as your gaze refocused on his bare skin. Moving the hand on his stomach upward over his chest, your fingertips traced the outline of the tattoo on his left pec.

“What prompted you to get this?” you asked, curious if there was a meaning behind the skull and criss-crossed rifles.

Giving a low chuckle, he replied, “Youth and stupidity.” 

Giving a huffed laugh in return, you trailed curious fingers over to the other tattoos on his arms, inquiring about each one as you went. Some had a story behind them, others not so much (you had tried not to roll your eyes when he explained that the revolver on his right forearm was the same one he had handled once and thought was ‘fucking cool as shit’). He also had a few scars on his upper body, some from before the apocalypse but most from after. You listened intently as he opened up about each one, drinking in as much personal information about the man beside you as possible.

Not wanting to stop the exploration just yet, you pushed up on your other elbow and journeyed over his throat, tracing his Adam’s apple before running your fingers delicately through the surprisingly soft beard framing his gorgeous mouth. 

Capturing the questing hand in his own, he brought your fingers to his lips. The breath caught in your chest when he kissed the mostly-healed scar from the knife injury you had acquired a few weeks prior. Heart beating frantically at the gentle gesture, you smiled up at him when he released your hand and allowed it to resume exploring.

“So,” you tried for calm and casual, fingers moving up to lightly trace his ear before diving into his thick hair and mapping the streaks of salt within the pepper. “What are your plans for today?”

It took him a few seconds to answer, his eyes having fluttered closed as your nails gently massaged his scalp. You smiled at his obvious enjoyment of your touch, at how he had lowered his walls in this moment and was allowing himself to be both physically and emotionally vulnerable. 

“I wish they were to stay here and enjoy this fucking delightful body of yours all day, but I have a meeting with my Saviors at eight.” 

The thought of spending an entire day frolicking in bed with Negan caused a dreamy sigh to leave your lips. His eyes opened and zeroed in on your mouth at the sound, that magical tongue of his coming out to lick his bottom lip as he added, “Though, that’s still about an hour away…”

At that, he quickly rolled over so his lean body was pinning you into the mattress, his lips cutting off your squeal of surprise before it even left your throat. The hand still in his hair tightened, causing him to give a low groan and grind his hips down into yours. You tried to make a mental note of his reaction to the touch, but seeing as how there were no barriers keeping his quickly-hardening erection from pressing into your thigh, all higher levels of brain function quickly flew out of the room. 

Bracing above you, he leaned down and started kissing your neck, a move guaranteed to make you melt. When his mouth descended over the curve of your breasts, you tried to lift your head to watch his downward progress but a sharp pang of discomfort at your scalp made you wince and try to jerk away, which only succeeded in making the pain even worse. 

“Ow, wait!” you blurted, causing Negan to instantly freeze and look up at you in alarm. 

“Doll, what-”

“You’re on my hair! Move your hand!”

Quickly realizing his mistake, Negan moved the hand that had accidentally been pinning a large chunk of your hair, and by proxy your head, to the mattress. 

“Fucking hell, I’m sorry, doll,” he cursed, making as if to lift his body off you entirely. 

Now wanting his faux pas to ruin the moment, you pushed his shoulders sideways and hooked a leg up over his hip before commanding, “Roll over.”

He hesitated for a moment before relenting, the two of you somehow able to switch places on the narrow, twin-sized bed without falling off. Once the semi-awkward resituating was done, he was on his back and you were straddling his hips. The move caused the sheet to fall off, exposing your entire body to his gaze. Based on the way his eyes grew hazy with lust as they took in your bared curves, not to mention his obvious erection, it was safe to say that he didn’t mind this change in position one bit. 

Warm, calloused palms drifted up over your thighs, hips, and the sides of your waist, before cupping breasts that were begging for his touch. Leaning down, your already-hardened nipples pressed into his palms as you kissed him hungrily. Shifting your hips, you started rubbing forwards and backwards over the erection pressed between both your lower stomachs. You moaned into each other’s mouths at the sensation, pussy lips parting around his girth so that your wetness coated his cock, the fat head bumping against your clit with each slide. 

“I think I like being in charge,” you purred. 

Giving a dark chuckle that sent shivers down your spine, he replied, “Enjoy it while it fucking lasts.”

Planning to do just that, you reached over to pluck a condom off the side table, incredibly grateful to whatever deity helped you successfully open the foil packet and smoothly roll the latex down over him on the first try. Tossing the empty packet over the side of the bed, you wrapped slightly trembling fingers around his swollen cock and lifted your hips, lining him up with your entrance. Maintaining eye contact, you slowly slid down his length, mouth falling open on a whimper at the feel of him parting overly-sensitive flesh that was still a bit sore from the activities of the previous night. Despite Negan’s initial threat over you stealing both coconut oil from the kitchen and condoms from his room, his only “punishment” last night had been fucking you relentlessly into the mattress until you had multiple orgasms and could barely even remember your own name.

In spite of the slight burn as sore muscles again stretched around his thickness, you didn’t stop until he was fully seated inside. His cock felt so big in this position that it was almost overwhelming, but you sat up so that your hands were braced on his chest and used your thigh muscles to start a slow up and down rhythm. 

His fingers reached up and pinched your nipples, causing you to clench around him. He groaned at the sensation, gaze becoming more intense when you slightly picked up the pace. It felt magnificent, but at the same time you craved more of the hard, rough friction that he had given you the night before. Body trying to find that friction on its own, your hips swiveled in a circle as you sank back down, which must’ve felt just as amazing for him as it did you, since he gave a strangled moan at the same moment his hands immobilized your hips in a bruising grip. 

“Alright, doll. My turn.”

That was the only warning you got before he braced his feet against the mattress and moved up in you, hard. Falling forward onto your palms with a gasp, fingers curled into the bedsheet and hips writhed in pleasure when he repeated the move. He continued the sharp, deep thrusts, watching your face closely before wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and pulling your mouth down to his own. His tongue thrust into your mouth possessively, as if trying to claim as much of you at once as he could. The pace was brutal yet unhurried, each thrust feeling like a deliberate attack on your sanity as his movements drew fire over your skin and consumed you, body and soul. 

Pressing down into him while leaning forward caused your clit to grind against his lower abdomen in the perfect way with each thrust, building up the orgasm that had previously hovered just out of reach. Breaking the kiss with a cry, you saw the expression of intense concentration on his face as he continued to move your bodies together in perfect rhythm. Breasts pressed into his chest and mouth panting at his ear, your body gave into his, letting him drive you up and over the edge, into the abyss of pleasure. 

“Negan,” you moaned, muscles tightening then releasing as the orgasm washed through you. His answering grunt and curse signaled his own release, though he continued his driving rhythm through it all, wringing each drop of pleasure from your body until it collapsed limply on top of his.

Resting your head on his shoulder, you again traced over the tattoo on his chest, waiting for your heartbeat and breathing to slow back down to normal. Glancing up his body, you found him already looking back down at you, a relaxed and satisfied grin on his lips that was only witnessed behind closed doors, when the two of you were alone. His hand idly stroked over a piece of hair laying on your shoulder, the gesture making you think back to earlier when he had accidentally pinned you to the mattress, and the resulting ungraceful maneuvering to switch positions in a bed that was entirely too small for two adult bodies. A light laugh escaped you that caused Negan to raise an eyebrow in question. 

“Just remembering your super smooth move from earlier,” you teased. You wouldn’t admit this out loud, but it was actually a bit of a relief to know that even Mr. Harem-of-Wives, Sex-God Negan wasn’t always flawless in the sack. 

“Making fun of me, doll?” he growled. 

“Maybe.”

Whack. The loud crack, accompanied by the slight sting of sensation against your left asscheek, caused you to jump and look at him in wide-eyed shock. 

“Did you just spank me?!” you exclaimed.

“Maybe.”

Before you could form an appropriate reply, he silenced any retort with his lips. Shallow creature that you apparently were, the move worked, and when he pulled away a long minute later, your brain conveniently forgot why you were supposed to be coming up with a retort in the first place. 

Negan glanced over at the side table, where your watch sat. Also looking over, you saw that it was now almost 7:30am, which meant he had half an hour to go back to his room and become presentable for his 8am Savior meeting. You were curious what the meeting was about, but didn’t want to ruin the perfection of the morning by bringing up a potentially serious topic. 

“Much as I hate to say it, doll, duty fucking calls.”

Your expression must’ve showcased more than you thought, since he gave a chuckle and said, “How about I make it up to you by finishing our fucking chess bet?”

Interest instantly piqued, you sat up on his chest and replied, “The third outing?! Can we go today?”

He looked at you consideringly, before giving a slight nod and agreeing. “We fucking could, but I won’t be free until the dinner hour.” 

Much as you didn’t want to skip out on your duties, even if it was with the leader of the establishment, you also weren’t about to turn down more alone time with Negan, especially outside of the Sanctuary. 

“I could meet you at the front gate at 5?” you suggested. That would give you just enough time to make sure dinner was fully prepped and almost ready to serve, since the community ate their meal from 5 to 7pm. It lessened the guilt, since you wouldn’t be completely leaving Ben and the staff short-handed. 

“Works for me, doll,” he said, gently rolling you off his body and to the narrow strip of mattress free beside him.

Biting your lower lip to keep from gasping at the empty sensation when he pulled out his now-flaccid dick, you watched him rise slowly from the bed. You took possessive pleasure in viewing his naked body, thighs clenching at the sight of him stretching muscular arms up towards the ceiling with his head tipped back. The pop of his back and resulting grunt made you comment, “I think from now on we might be better off in your bed. I have no clue how we even managed to fit in mine all night.” 

“Thank fucking god. If I have to spend any more nights in that fucking thing, I’ll be stiffer than a cock in a brothel.” 

Rolling your eyes at his that’s-so-Negan one-liner, you pulled the sheet up over your chest and settled in to watch him get dressed. You felt a bit like a voyeur when he removed the condom, tied off the end, and tossed it into the little garbage can. You felt a lot like a voyeur when he leaned down to pick up his boxer briefs and the sight of his bent-over ass almost made you whimper out loud. 

“You sure you can’t skip the meeting and stay here?” The words left your lips before your brain could even stop them. 

Turning to look at you, the desire must have been written all over your face because that muscle in his jaw ticked and he ran a hand down over his beard in obvious frustration. You swore he started to take a step back towards the bed, but he caught himself and instead returned to the task of getting dressed. 

When he was done putting on the navy tee and dark grey pants, complete with his signature black boots, he did finally come back over to the bed. Leaning down, he cupped a warm hand possessively around the side of your neck and placed a heated kiss on your lips before slightly pulling back and saying in that sinful, husky voice, “5 o’clock, doll. You better be ready for me.” 

With that, he straightened, crossed the room, and let himself out. As the door clicked softly shut behind him, you replied with a dazed, “Yes, sir.”

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