#and make me forget the shitshow that is work today

[jessieren]

This is relatable to me today (lying in the gutter drunk, not Evans looking hot 😁). I’m with you in work pain @season-77 😩

The Friday consultations with speech therapists are really exhausting, please share some relaxing Shaun’s pictures ….

Please 🙏 pretty please

[archangeldyke-all]

I miss CEO Sevika :(

What about Reader and Sevika going to...idk a dinner party/charity event with multiple companies in attendance. Sevika is one of the speakers for the night and while she's nervous, she knocks it out of the park. Meanwhile Reader is like "wow my wife is such a fucking boss and so hot for doing that on stage, I can't NOT suck her off and get fucked in a random, out of the way bathroom right afterwards."

i was thinking about this ask the entire time she was up there by vander's statue giving her speech. my sweet baby.

men and minors dni

sometimes, you forget just how important sevika's work is. most days you're stuck in your office together, making phone calls and signing documents.

but it's nights like this, when sevika's company has its annual ball, that you're hit with how much sevika does for the community.

the company built on the idea of giving low income communities low interest loans to build businesses and homes. there're several neighborhoods and families that you know personally that have had their lives transformed by sevika's work. but it's not just that.

it's parks built on the company's dime, community centers and pools and basketball courts sponsored by sevika herself. it's the team of social workers and accountants sevika's carefully hired over the years, who make sure that your clients are trained in financial literacy so they don't fall through the cracks. it's underfunded public schools-- the schools you went to as a kid-- being sent busload after busload of books and computers and supplies from your wife. it's medical bills being paid off by a mysterious, 'anonymous' source--the chickenscratch on the checks all matching your wife's.

and nights like this, with each lead team member of all the departments giving presentations of the differences they've made in the community this year, where it really hits you how incredible your wife is.

your poor wife. sevika's currently on the brink of passing out from her nerves, a glass of whiskey shakily clutched in her palms as she waits behind the stage. "baby." you coo, reaching up to cup her face.

sevika winces and pouts in your hold. "i hate public speaking." she whines. you chuckle.

"i know, love." you sigh. you'd give this speech for her if you could-- but it's kinda a requirement that the ceo speak at these big events. "it's just five minutes, talk about the good you've done this year, get some claps, get some laughs, then we can bail." you promise her.

sevika pouts even more, slouching down against you. "you remember the first time we put one of these shitshows on?" she asks.

you giggle and nod.

your second year working for sevika, a few months into dating, and the company had the first of it's now notorious annual balls. of course, back then it wasn't quite as sophisticated as today's is, but it was pretty memorable. after her speech (which she nailed, because despite how much she hates it sevika is good at talking) sevika ran off the stage, high on the applause she'd received, and practically leapt into your arms where you stood backstage. "fuck i can't believe i did that." she whispered against your scalp. "and they liked it!" she laughs.

you giggled and kissed her cheek. "course they liked it, you're very easy to like."

and then sevika said the words you'd been dying to hear her say, the words you were trying desprately to keep inside your throat until she was ready. "i couldn't've done it without you, y'know." she whispered. your smile got softer, and sevika leaned impossibly closer to you. "you kinda scare the shit outta me and... i think i'm in love with you."

you had just grinned and kissed her, mumbling a teasing "you think or you know?" against her lips.

and here you are, nearly ten years later, on the same little patch of floor backstage of your favorite venue, smiling up at your wife.

"course i remember, baby. one of the best moments in my life. right up there with meeting you 'n marrying you. think it'll be in the little montage that flashes before my eyes once i die." you say, giggling.

sevika smiles sweetly and kisses you. "yeah, me too." she whispers.

you hold her for a moment, hoping the touch will help her relax a bit, both of you swaying gently in your dark little corner as you wait for seamus to finish his speech and introduce sevika. "you're gonna do amazing, y'know. you do every year."

"ugh. i know." sevika huffs against you. you giggle.

"so then why are you so worried?" you ask. sevika shrugs against you.

"just. 's a lotta people. and i like when you baby me." she says.

you burst into laughter just as the audience on the other side of the stage bursts into applause. sevika groans, and you give her one last good squeeze and a smooch to her cheek before pushing her toward the stage. "go ahead baby. you got this." you encourage her. sevika smiles shyly at you, and you curse. "shit, sev, wait! i left a kiss mark on your cheek!" you squeak, scrambling to grab her wrist and wipe off the lipstick that must've transferred from her lips to your own, then onto her cheek.

sevika ducks out of her hold, though, her smile only growing. "good. let 'em see it." she says, winking at you before ducking under a curtain and out onto the stage.

the crowd bursts into applause at her appearance, and your heart melts as her words sink in.

she's such a fucking sap. you love her so much you think you might explode.

she nails it, because of course she does. by the time she walks back off stage, there are literally people chanting her name, like she's a rockstar or something.

you intend to tease her about it, but then you see her and her sweet shy smile, your very obvious kiss mark on her cheek, and her hands nervously clutching her note cards, and something ravenous courses through your bloodstream.

you nearly tackle her to the floor as you launch forward to kiss her. sevika gasps, and her notecards go flying as her hands reach up to hold you tight. fuck you love her. she's the most incredible woman you've ever met.

"sev." you whisper between kisses you can't stop pressing to her skin. "sevika."

"y-yeah?" she asks, her voice squeaky and excited.

"can i blow you in the bathroom, please?" you ask. "want you so fuckin' bad."

sevika shivers full bodied and lets out a shudder before she grabs your wrist and starts sprinting toward the bathroom. you cackle the entire way.

your favorite thing about this venue is that they have plenty of single stall bathrooms. you and sevika have used this feature to your convenience many times over the years.

sevika's already rock hard in her trousers by the time you lock the door and pin her to the wall. she's clawing at you, whimpering as she tries to catch your lips in a kiss. you giggle, cupping her jaw and kissing her soundly, shoving your tongue in her mouth to calm her down a bit.

sevika sighs heavily, and you pull away, gasping a breath before dropping to your knees.

"fuck. i'm not gonna last, baby, fuck." sevika whines as you paw at her pants. you giggle.

"you better. want you to cum inside my cunt, love." you say.

sevika makes a pained noise, and her dick jumps in her boxers. you laugh. "you better touch yourself while you're suckin' me then." she says. "want you to cum with me."

it's your turn to shiver. you claw at her boxers, a little growl escaping you when her cock's finally revealed to you. "fuck." you grunt, before leaning forward and just pressing your face against her cock.

sevika sighs dreamily, reaching down to cup your face as you nuzzle her dick. "so pretty on your knees." she whispers. you smile up at her. "lemme see you touch yourself." sevika requests. you shove a hand down your waistband, rubbing your wet clit with your fingers as you rub your face against her length. "that's it, baby. fuck. now put your mouth on me, love."

you're needy for her, so needy that you take a little too much of her at once, gagging loudly on her cock.

sevika moans at the feeling then laughs at the embarrassment on your face when you pull back and catch your breath before trying again.

"don' laugh at me." you pout, spitting on her dick and jerking her while you blink back your tears.

"'s just cute baby. so fuckin' needy for me you choke yourself on it." she sighs.

you shiver a little. you can't really deny that. "you did amazing, by the way." you whisper. "you always do."

sevika's shoulders scrunch up to her ears, and her eyes dart away from yours. you giggle. "shush. you aren't supposed to be talking right now."

you laugh and kiss her wrist, then try again, taking her back in your mouth and slowly working down her cock.

sevika melts against the wall behind her, and her eyes fly back to yours. you hum around her and she groans. "shit, i'm not gonna last, baby, fuck." sevika whines as she starts thrusting into her mouth.

drool is trailing down your chin and into a puddle on the floor, and when sevika's thigh starts shaking you sink two fingers into your cunt, getting ready to take her.

"fuck, i love you." sevika whines. "i love you so much, baby, love your fuckin' mouth, love fuckin' your mouth--" she cuts herself off with a little giggle, and then she groans. "off-- off-- pull off baby, i'm gonnahh!" sevika shudders as you pull away right before her orgasm. she glares down at you, and you giggle, kissing her clothed thigh. "get up here." she growls, tugging you to your feet and roughly shoving you back against the sink.

you grin, shimmying out of your pants with sevika's help, kissing her anywhere you can reach as she hauls you up.

"you ready for me?" she asks, rubbing her cock against your soaked folds. you whine and nod.

"been ready for you since you put that suit on." you tease.

sevika just chuckles and pushes in, both of you groaning at the feeling.

"oh fuck, please tell me you're close." sevika whines, ducking down to bite at your neck as she starts hammering into you.

your hand flies to your clit, rubbing quick little circles against it in time with her thrusts. "s-so close." you whimper.

sevika shivers at your answer, then lifts up to kiss you on the lips. "i love you so much." she whispers.

"p-please cum inside me, sev, wanna make you feel good."

"y-you always do baby, fuck!" she shouts as she fills you up, cumming and shivering against you.

you grin, satisfaction and pleasure filling you equally until you're falling apart around her, laughing and moaning as you pull sevika to your chest.

"you really did do amazing, you know." you sigh after you catch your breath.

sevika smiles against you. "i know. practiced really hard last night, my wife finds it sexy when i give speeches."

"your wife finds it sexy when you do anything, love." you correct her. she grins.

"can we go home now?" she asks.

you giggle and nod. "kinda have to babe. my shirts covered in drool, and i'm sure we got cum somewhere on your pants or something." you say.

sevika cackles.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz @strawberrykidneystone

[jealusty--movedaccounts]

Adore You

PAIRINGS : minho × gn! reader

WORD COUNT : 2.8k and some change

GENRE : angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, slightly suggestive (very very slight)

WARNINGS : mentions of anxiety/depression (not descriptive), the world showing the reader the middle finger, established relationship, minho calls the reader bunny, lots of hugging and cuddling, minho is whipped, and a very respectful gentleman (except for when he gropes the reader but he's just a touchy feely person, okay), they're so in love, minho gets emotional and cries :(, also gets a little horny and almost pops a boner lmao.

lower case intended.

A/N : hi! here is some fluffy whipped minho for you. this fic is my first baby so please treat it well. feedbacks and reblogs are very highly appreciated! proofread like a thousand times, so we should be good as far as mistakes go. still let me know if anything needs fixing!

feel free to let me know what you liked and what you didn't, I'll try to change my future works accordingly. enjoy!

Main Masterlist

"min?"

"mm?"

"thank you"

"what for, bunny?"

"no one's ever done this to me."

"done what?"

"adored me like you do."

what a shitshow of a day.

but you've been through worse, right? you can get through this, right? right?

as it turns out,

wrong.

oh so very wrong.

the day was jinxed from the moment you got up on the metaphorical wrong side of the bed. being sleep deprived was nothing out of the ordinary for you, but even so, today it felt as if someone had replaced battery acid for your eye drops you put in the night prior.

great, now I have puffy eyes on top of my dark circles. how cute.

the geyser broke down so you had to take a freezing ice cold shower at 6 AM on a Tuesday morning in February (the weather reports later told you that it had been the coldest day in the last 3 winters in your country, by the way).

love that for me.

you somehow managed to teleport your shivering form into the kitchen. you had no motivation to make anything edible, so cereal it is. you got the milk out, not bothering to heat it up and dumped it into a bowl. lazily kicking open the lower cupboard, you snatched the cereal box, and tried shoving the cereal into the bowl to then quickly shove it down your throat and get this horrible thing called breakfast out of the way... only, nothing came out. the box was empty.

okay, wow. are you serious right now?

you were starting to get irritated.

doesn't matter. I don't like eating anything this early anyway. it's good. perfect, even. I'll just have my morning coffee and be on my way.

you were out of coffee pods. and when you begrudgingly went to make instant coffee, you realised you were out of vanilla syrup as well. already running late, grabbing coffee on your way to work was not an option either.

excuse you!? I can't function without caffiene in my system. I'm practically a zombie without it.

getting ready quickly, you slipped on your favourite pair of sneakers, not caring about your work place dress code.

it can go fuck itself for all I care. I deserve to be comfy at least if I'm not having any caffiene today.

all set, just as you locked your gate, and took the first step forward, you noticed a weight dangling off right underneath your sneakers. glancing down, you were met with the adorable sight of your sole barely hanging on to the base of your shoe.

not my favourite sneakers!

that was just the beginning of the most horribly horrible day in the history of horrible days of your horrible life. and no, you were not exaggerating. the subway was incredibly crowded and you did not get a seat, hanging off the grab bars, bumping against sweaty bodies.

why are they sweaty this early in the goddamn morning!? did they forget the concept of showers?

you were standing right in front of a dude seated on the train bench, shamelessly trying to look up your skirt. you told him off, taking off a part of your frustration on him, with a teenage girl looking up at you in awe. you got to work about a whooping 34 minutes late, which your boss rubbed in your face all day (yes, no round offs here, "you were precisely 34 minutes late. every minute counts after all!"). your best friend called in sick. the canteen was out of your favourite acai. the dry as fuck bread might as well have been sandpaper. you zoned out during the meeting and made a blabbering fool out of yourself when asked for an opinion.

so yeah, when you came back home with a pounding headache - we have the lack of caffiene to thank for that - feeling like shit, wanting to drown in your blankets, and sob yourself to sleep, it was pretty reasonable, you supposed.

so you did just that.

minho was on his way over to your apartment after you had not replied to any of his texts all day. he sent you the usual morning message you loved so much, but never got a response. it was so unlike you. he sent another "are you alright?" message a couple hours later, only to be met with radio silence. figuring you were busy, he didn't bother you any further.

so here he was in an Uber with your apartment as his destination.

deftly climbing out of the cab, he knocked on your door softly a few times. and when he didn't get a response, he pulled the copy of the key you had given him and let himself in. even though he had a copy, he always preferred to knock. partly because he wanted to respect your privacy, which was very valuable to you. he had no sense of personal space or privacy when it came to dating, but it became clear pretty early on in the relationship, that it was something you deeply cared about. and he would always respect what was dear to you. the other reason was that over the course of time, he had come to enjoy seeing you open the door for him - wrapping him in your warm embrace, the blueberry scent that you carried with you everywhere flooding his senses and calming any lingering tension in his muscles - versus getting in himself.

entering your cozy place, he was immediately alert, fire alarms going off in his head upon seeing the darkness engulfing your apartment. the living room, kitchen, the small study room to the side, everything was plunged in darkness. you always kept the lights on and had some heavenly candle burning, which he had come to find comfort in. you never kept the lights off. he couldn't think of any other time when he came over and you had them off. never. except that one time when...

holy shit!

he dashed to the bedroom, swinging the door open, panic coursing through his veins.

at first, he thought the bed was empty with just a ball of blankets tangled together. but as he softly padded across the room to get to the bed, he saw a fluffy head of hair poking out from underneath the edge of the blanket.

gingerly, he tugged it down only to come face to face with your tear stained face. a look of pure horror flicked across his face, as against his better judgement - because you had clearly been through something and were finally getting some sleep - he softly whispers,

"bunny?"

you didn't even stir, clearly exhausted. he felt bad for trying to disturb you from your slumber but he just had to know that his nightmare was not unfolding right in front of his eyes.

"hey, baby, you okay?" he gently nudged your elbow.

opening your eyes, peering up at him through tear drenched eyelashes, you go "minho?" voice groggy.

he gets into bed with you, sliding under the covers, wanting to comfort you. but he couldn't pull you into him just yet. keeping you at arms length, he mutters,

"you doing okay, bunny?" he studies your face and upon not seeing what he was fearing, relaxes a bit.

you don't say anything. instead, opting to slowly shift forward and sniffle into his chest.

"hey, hey, hey, talk to me, bunny. I'm here. I'm here. shhh." he started petting your hair, gliding his fingers through them, massaging your scalp just like he always did because it calmed you down.

"had the worst day." you barely mumble against his chest.

"it's okay. wanna talk about it?"

you slightly shake your head no, grip on him tightening.

"it's okay. everything's okay. I'm here now. we don't have to talk about it. just relax for me, yeah?"

you sigh at that, his hand in your hair lulling you back into the limbo between consciousness and sleep. your breathing evened out soon enough and you felt at peace at last, after the horrible fucking day - the day that could honestly go fucking fuck itself for fucking you over. the fucking irritati-

"woah, woah, bunny, what has you worked up again?" minho's words broke you out of the trance you didn't realise you'd slipped into.

"huh?"

"you're trembling." he wound the other arm underneath and around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, his other hand still in your hair, his chin atop your head.

"you're with me, baby. you're safe."

as your shivering started to subside, he couldn't help but think back to that horrifying thought again. although he did somehow relax a bit initially, his mind was once again plagued with the possibility.. what if-

"no!" he didn't catch himself saying that out loud, until your head snapped up to look at him with bloodshot eyes. the sight broke his heart.

"are you okay, minho?" you whisper, somehow feeling selfish for not noticing until now that he seemed to be worked up too. as comforting as his hold on you was, you were just now realising his body was tense. did he have a bad day too?

as he looked down at you, he scanned your features, carefully trying to gauge out what was actually going on. he didn't see that look on your face. looking into your eyes, he didn't see that distant, far off, aloof emptiness that he once did - all those months ago. he kept staring at you for what felt like hours, eyes never staying at one place for long, nervously raking over every one of your features. but then why were the lights off when he came in? surely history isn't repeating itself. surely you're not-

"minho?"

he jumps at that, coming out of whatever rabbit hole he had gone into. you were looking at him with wide eyes, still bleary from tears and sleep. he found his resolve crumble. he really did want to give you space, to not rush you into telling him what was wrong, but the panic bubbling in his chest was making him downright nauseous with worry. so he says,

"you... you're no- you're not" he gulps "you..." he trails off, words forming an ugly lump in his throat he didn't seem to be able to swallow.

looking into his eyes, you could see the panic, the tension, the dread, his normally handsome face pale with terror.

as if a light bulb went off in your head, you suddenly knew exactly what he was thinking.

you lunge forward, knocking him back a little, clenching your hands into fists and balling up the material of the shirt in front of his chest, burying your face in his neck.

"no, baby, no. I'm okay. it's okay"

you could still feel him tense underneath your fingertips, so you pull your head from where it was nestled in his neck, looking straight into his eyes. steeling yourself, mustering up what little resolve you had left after the day, you spoke with as much assertion as you could,

"I'm not having an episode, minho. that was months ago," you stressed on the word "that was months ago, baby. I went to therapy, I got treated, I got well. it's all in the past now. I'm all healed."

"you know there's no such things as healed. we- we did go to therapy but it can resurface anytime." his voice was barely above a whisper, wobbling around the edges.

we.

he always did that. even back then, it was always we for him. "we were suffering", "we went to therapy", "we'll get through this together", "we're doing better now", "we got over it", "we're gonna stay strong"...

when you look up at him, you see the beginning of tears starting to form in his sombre eyes. your heart clenched.

leaning forward, you softly cupped his face with both hands, voice low but still confident, if only to assure him,

"I know. but you know we can tell when it's happening, right? I can tell that I'm fine. but even moreso, you can see that I'm fine, right? you were always able to tell just by looking at me for a second."

he examines your face once again. after a beat, he's eyes droop into a relaxed stance, his body going limp beside you.

"yeah, you're fine. b-but i.. it scared me. I was scared, baby. it was a very difficult time for us."

there it is, us.

"I- I just.." his voice broke, tears now steadily falling down his pretty, pretty face, dropping onto the mattress, taking your heart with them.

you moved toward him once again, mushing him against you this time, his body plaint in your hold, seeking your warmth.

"I know, baby, I know. it was. but its over now, okay?"

he continued sobbing quietly.

"minho, look at me" he did. you forced a pained smile "I'm smiling, see?"

he let out a huff at that, what could've been a chuckle if he wasn't so out of breath from crying.

"that's obviously fake."

"but if i was indeed.. uh- unwell", you didn't know how else to put it, "I won't be able to fake it either."

which was true. if you were back to that state of mind where you felt breathless in your own skin - a place you might have still been dwelling in, if it wasn't for your boyfriend - you wouldn't even have the energy to talk, let alone try to fake a smile.

he just hummed and went back to snuggle his head in your chest.

"Mr. lee, are you using this as an excuse to cope a feel?" you attempted to lighten the mood.

this time, he actually did chuckle. the sound warmed your heart, healing all the exhaustion from your body.

"do I need an excuse to grope you, bunny?" he was back to his teasing self apparently, shamelessly dragging his hand down to your ass, cupping it and squeezing. hard.

you laughed at that, pecking his lips gently and let yourself relax, his hand still on your ass by the way.

you don't how long you lay there like that with him, listening to the quiet sounds of his breathing, once again floating in the blissful clutches of sleep, albeit, a lot more relaxed now.

and while you were still half awake, you felt something warm, and soft on the top of your head. the feeling travelled down to your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, warming you. it was only when it ghosted against your lips did you realise that it was minho peppering your face with doting kisses. in your dazed state, you could faintly make out his hands brushing your hair out of your face, tucking them behind your ear, tenderly caressing your back.

still more than half asleep, you murmur with your eyes closed, a stupid lazy smile on your face,

"min?"

he smiled at the nickname, the look in his eyes growing even fonder. you never call him that. that nickname is reserved for when you're either trying to act cute to get something from him or during your sleepy incoherent mumbling, apparently. he keens at that, heart fluttering, refusing to stay in one place.

while he's busy swooning, you call out again, pouting, with the same goddamn nickname, sounding entirely too sweet and cute for a grown ass woman. it's almost a whine and is enough to make his head spiral down the gutter. how you whine when you're under him, looking up at him with wide doe-eyes, your face contorted in pleasure, his di-

snapping out of his train of dirty thoughts about an unassuming you, he looks down and is met with your closed eyelids, looking so peaceful and fragile in his hold, and immediately wills himself to calm the fuck down. how humiliating would it be to pop a boner right now. taking a deep breath all he manages to say is,

"mm?"

"thank you."

"what for, bunny?"

"no one's ever done this to me." you mindlessly mumble, not really answering his question, clearly out of it due to your sleepy muddle.

"done what?"

"kissed me like this while I'm asleep. adored me like you do."

his heart swelled at that. wounding around you even more, he spoke into your hair,

"you've got me now. I adore you, bunny. so much."

blissful in your sleepy haze, you shift closer, drifting off into the distant slumber, knowing that you were adored. by a person you adored just as much.

Main Masterlist

© JEALUSTY 2022. All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting and translating any of my works are not allowed. Please do not claim any of my works as your own.

[dalicia-fay]

Not my pic, credit to the original owner.

That shirt looks like it's made out of boyfriend material...I'll see myself out..

Stressful Day- DPR Live

Today was one of those days; Sarah called out sick again, so your asshole of a boss decided to dump her workload into your lap to take care of. Deadlines, blablabla, teamwork, blablabla, more deadlines. That was all you could hear your boss say as he handed you more paperwork. "Great, another late night," you thought to yourself as you sat it on your desk next to your own workload. Placing your earbuds in your ears, you picked up where you left off, determined to finish everything today so you would not have to return to it tomorrow.

Before you knew it, the clock on your computer showed 12am ‘shit, worked till midnight again’. You stood up and stretched, your body aching from all the time you spent sitting in that cheap little black office chair. You cleaned up your workspace, saved all the files you were working on, and turned off your computer. You picked up your purse and water bottle that your boyfriend, Dabin, sent with you this morning because "you gotta stay hydrated, babygirl" his words echoed in your head. He was always worried about your wellbeing and you his, considering you both tend to work until ungodly hours when work requires it.

Walking out of the building and hearing the exterior doors' automatic lock click made a small smile start to pull at your lips while you stood momentarily in the cool night air, letting out an exhale that felt like it had been trapped in your chest all day. You were ready to be home and curled in bed with your boyfriend. With that warm, fuzzy thought in mind, you made your way to your car to make your way back home.

 - - -

Walking into your apartment, you locked the door behind you before kicking off your black leather pumps that had been suffocating your feet all day. ‘That damn dress code is going to be the death of me.’ you thought while untucking your blouse from your dress pants, and you walked tiredly into your little kitchen. Opening the fridge, you began the hunt for something to eat, not noticing the male figure quietly sneaking up from behind you.

Before you realized what was going on, you felt hands slither around your waist, making you jump as you turned to look at the culprit. As you turned, Dabin picked you up, pinned your body to the now-closed fridge, and wrapped your legs around his waist. "Hey baby" he said with that signature smirk on his face, "Dabin, what the fuck?! Don’t sneak up on me like that!" You yelled, more surprised than anything but wanting him to feel guilty for his actions. Laughing a bit at your reaction, Dabin took a hand off your leg, gently caressing your face as he laughed, "I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just missed my girl that's all." Moving your hands from his chest, you clasped them together against the back of his neck, playing with his short hair.

He always knew how to make you completely forget about the outside world, especially after a long day of work. ‘It’s like he can sense it,’ you thought as you leaned into his hand. "I missed you too" you said softly. "Today was an absolute shitshow," you sighed, running a hand through your hair, one of the many signs that signaled to Dabin that your work day was incredibly stressful. “Ah, well then...” Dabin spoke as he began carrying you to the living room, snagging a couple snacks and drinks along the way. “Tell me all about it, and don’t leave out any details!” He said this with emphasis on the details, as if you had watched the next episode of his favorite TV show without him. 

You and your boyfriend sat down on the couch, and you made yourselves comfortable by cuddling up on his lap. You then proceeded to recount the most frustrating aspects of your day at work, going into as much detail as possible. As you spoke, Dabin sat in content silence, humming and nodding in response to you every so often, so you knew he was listening to every word that you said. 

---

After your rather lengthy rant, you laid your head on Dabin's chest and let go of the day's stress while listening to his heartbeat. "Thank you," you said in almost a hushed tone, Dabin barely hearing you. "For what?" he asked, gently rubbing his hands along your back. "For listening, being here for me, and simply being you," you replied. When you lifted your head to look your loving boyfriend in the eyes, you noticed a smile and blush on his face. "Of course, Y/N, I will always be there for you, no matter what." 

Leaning in to give him a kiss, you smiled as you felt him smile into it. Pulling away after a few moments, you laid your head back on his chest. His hands continued to stroke your back in a soothing manner until both of you fell asleep.

---

(I hope you all enjoy this kind of short imagine...I will work on writing longer ones from here on out. Feel free to request anything and I’ll try to get to it as quick as possible! Thanks loves!!)

~Dalicia

[builtbybrokenbells]

Spitfire | vi

Rumours spread around the internet, causing turmoil like never before. In a desperate attempt to forget,y/n takes solace in the bar, making it a mission to forget him completely. Jake is left wondering if he’ll ever get a chance to explain himself. When her roommates try to do damage control, they’re left wondering if the Twitter feed and speculation is really the biggest issue, or her way of covering up her crippling fear of falling in love.

Read part five here

Read part seven here

Pairing: jake kiszka x f!reader

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: cheating/cheating rumours, Twitter, binge drinking, unhealthy coping mechanisms, lots of angst, crying, like a 2 second mention of throwing up (very short because i hate throwing up with a violent passion), basically this whole chapter is an angsty shitshow because I live for drama, sorry if I missed any!

so obvi i had to throw in some heartbreak to offset all the fluffy happiness, cause that’s just who i am. lots of projection in this one (hey, at least I’m owning up to my flaws) but this is just an angsty mess before we get to a happy ending cause I wanted to showcase how detrimental the internet/social media can be and how bad ldr sucks 😁 as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes 🫶🏻 (also thank you all so much for the love on this series. im having a lot of fun writing it and it overjoys me to see that other people like it, too)

~

Your feet carried you to the living room, speed faster than you’d ever ran before. When you turned the corner of the hallway, your footing slipped and you had to brace yourself on the wall. Eve was sprawled on the couch. She looked to you, eyes wide with panic, scared that something bad happened. “What has got you all riled up?” She threw her phone beside her, sitting upright.

“I-I, uh, I just…” you were breathless, heart pounding in your chest as you tried to formulate your words. “The… t-the-“

“Just fucking spit it out!” She laughed, clearly understanding that your rapid approach was due to good news rather than bad.

“Okay, sorry.” You ran your hand through your hair, pushing it away from your face. “I think I’m gonna throw up.” You laughed, fanning your face with your hands. Tears were threatening to spill over, and your skin was prickling with excitement. “So I started my internship on Monday, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” She said, waiting for an explanation.

“And I met everyone in the ‘office’.” You air-quoted office, knowing you’d only interact with them over zoom meetings for the four month duration. “But I met the head of the department today, the big boss.” She gave an eager nod. “He told me that he read over my research report. He said it was one of the best he’s ever read.”

“No way!” Eve was standing now, bouncing with just as much enthusiasm.

“Yeah, but that’s not it.” You stopped her. “I mean yeah, that’s fantastic, but it’s way better than that.” You felt the tears begin to roll down your cheeks, too caught up in the situation to care. “He wants to continue on with it. He told me he thinks the idea is fantastic and worth the money. I’m not going to be working on, or following up somebody else’s research this summer. They want to work on mine.” Her eyes were wide, her previous demeanour completely frozen. After a few seconds, she exploded into a scream and engulfed you into a hug. You held on to her, wanting to yell just as badly. “Can you punch me? Just to make sure I’m not dreaming?”

She pulled back, shaking her head and wiping your tears away. “Not a dream.” She laughed, pulling you in for another embrace. “Y/n, they picked your topic from an undergraduate, not even a masters or a PhD. Do you know how huge that is?”

“I know! He told me he’s been waiting to work with me since the end of my first year. Apparently I’m the at the top of the program.” You were almost lightheaded, not being able to process what was happening.

“I’m so proud of you.” She said, taking your hands into hers. She gave them a squeeze, bringing you back to reality. “Did you tell anyone else?” You shook your head.

“No, I was going to text the sibling group chat and get it all over at once. I want to call Jake, but I’m just not sure if he’s busy or not.” You explained.

“Call him! If he’s busy, he won’t answer. I think this is way too important to wait to tell him.” She encouraged you.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m gonna… I’ll go call him.” You breathed.

“Okay, but I’m taking you to dinner tonight to celebrate. We’ll go to The Garden, maybe get some drinks afterwards. It is Friday, after all.”

“Yeah, that sounds amazing. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You assured her.

“Good, now go call your loverboy.” She shooed you away. You jogged back to your room, letting the door fall shut behind you.

It had been almost two weeks since Jake left, meaning that your trip to Atlanta was right around the corner. Your brothers left the week prior, leaving your home quieter than you liked it. It was amazing having everyone there, but it was terrible when they all had to leave. You were adjusting, though, and knowing you were going to see Jake in a few days was really helping.

You slipped on the hoodie he’d so graciously left for you, and found the bottle of cologne, giving the front a small spritz. The smell immediately swarmed your senses, making you close your eyes in bliss. When your end of day meetings came to a close, you practically lived in his sweater. Him being gone this time was a little easier now that you had small reminders of him. You pulled your phone out, dialling his number off by heart. Your hands were vibrating as you clicked the speakerphone button. The dial tone rang a few times, but you couldn’t help but hope he’d pick up. You tapped your fingers on the wood of your desk, trying to remember if he told you he had a show or an interview that day.

“Hey, it’s Jake. Leave a message.” Your stomach sank with disappointment, but you didn’t let it last too long.

“Hey, rockstar. Big news, call me as soon as you can. Love you.” You didn’t let the voicemail linger, ending the call as soon as you finished speaking. As you stared at the screen of your phone, you realized you hadn’t heard from Jake since the night before. It was very strange of him not to send a good morning text, but you were so busy with work meetings all day you hadn’t picked up your phone at all.

You debated calling again, but decided against it. Instead, you went to your contact list and clicked on Josh’s name. You were expecting the same empty tone, but you were surprised when he answered after the first ring. “Hey, mama.” His usually happy tone was so comfortably familiar.

“Hey, Josh.” You couldn’t help but smile. Josh had rapidly become another brother to you, just the same as Sam and Danny.

“What could I have possibly done to deserve a call from such an angel?” You rolled your eyes, a laugh making its way out. Josh was a very verbal person, and extremely friendly, too. At first, you were a bit thrown off by his strong compliments, but you’d gotten over it quite quickly once you realized Jake never batted an eye about it. Clearly there was a lot of mutual trust between the two.

“Just missed your sweet voice, is all.” You joked. He let out a small chuckle.

“You’re too kind,” he said “but really, what’s up? Usually I’m the one calling you.”

“Don’t say it like that, that makes me sound like an asshole.” You replied.

“You know what I mean.” You could practically hear his eye roll through the phone.

“I know,” you assured him. “I was just calling to see if you knew where Jake was. I haven’t heard from him all day and I got some pretty big news. I called to tell him and he didn’t answer. I thought maybe you were all doing rockstar stuff, but it seems like you were waiting around for someone to call you.” You teased.

“Maybe I just drop everything to talk to you. Have you thought about that?”

“Whatever you say, Joshua.”

“To answer your question, I have no idea where he is. Today is kind of a day off, I guess. We’ve got a meeting tonight, but that’s more of us just hanging out with the managers.”

“Oh, that’s weird, then.” You said, uneasiness sprouting in your stomach.

“He could be asleep, or in music writing mode. I’ll get to the bottom of it for you.” He promised.

“Thanks, super-sleuth.” You laughed.

“What’s your big news?” Josh asked, changing the subject. You didn’t think the topic change was suspicious, more or less just Josh being nosy.

“I don’t know if Jake would forgive me if I told you first.” You were being honest. Jake wanted to be your biggest supporter, and you didn’t know if you telling Josh first would cause any issues. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him.

“Ah, come on, mama. He didn’t answer, so it’s his loss. Besides, we’re practically the same person. Same DNA and all, you know?”

“I don’t think that makes you the same person, honey.” You giggled. “I think you just want to know.”

“Duh,” he scoffed “I won’t tell him, I promise. I’m really good with secrets.” Somehow, you weren’t sure if you believed him. But you were so excited about your accomplishment that you were itching to tell anyone who was willing to listen.

“Fine, okay, but promise you won’t say anything.”

“I won’t, I swear!” You could hear the giddiness in his voice.

“Okay, I’ll hold you to it, then.” You told him. “Basically, I started my summer internship with the biotechnology society this week. Today I met the head of the department and he told me he’s been wanting to work with me for a long time. He read my report about non-invasive blood-glucose tests and he wants to take it a step further. He thinks it’s worth the time and money.” You rushed out, feeling the excitement take over again.

“Y/n, that is fantastic!” He said. You could feel his smile in his words. One thing you adored about the four boys is that they all seemed incredibly genuine.

“Thank you, Josh. It’s super cool. Usually they only study graduate topics, but I guess he thinks I have what it takes.” You breathed, barely believing your own words.

“You absolutely have what it takes, mama, and Jake is going to be over the moon when you tell him.” You felt a smile break out on your lips.

“Thank you.” You really meant it. Jake and his brothers were always seemed so proud of you, and it made you feel so important. “I can’t wait to see you guys this weekend.”

“We’re really looking forward to it, too. Jake’s been so uptight when we practice because he wants to impress you at the show. It’s starting to get unbearable.” You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief as if he could see you.

“I’m going to be the biggest fan there, even if he forgets how to play every song.”

“I know that, y/n. He just wants to show off for you. I, on the other hand, don’t have to practice. I already know I’ll win you over.” You rolled your eyes.

“Uh-huh,”

“Oh come on, what’s the matter with a little brotherly competition?” He joked.

“It seems more like a pissing contest.” You said. “Well, as nice as it’s been talking to you, I must go call my own brothers and tell them the news. They’ll be really upset if they find out I told you, first.”

“Like I said, my lips are sealed.” He promised. “I’m really happy for you, y/n.” His earlier tone of humour was gone, replaced with sincerity.

“Thank you, and thanks for picking up.” You said.

“As if I’d ignore you. I’ll find out what’s up with Jake and let you know. Talk soon?”

“Of course. Talk to you later, Josh.” You bid your goodbye. He hung up first, leaving you staring at the blank screen. Worry started to consume you, unsure of what Jake could be up to. The radio silence was extremely strange.

Before calling your own siblings, you decided to jump in the shower. You connected to your Bluetooth speaker, playing music softly in the background as you undressed and turned the faucet on. You climbed in, humming softly to the first song that came up on shuffle. You washed your hair and worked at getting all of the knots out. You took your time washing your body, letting the hot water sooth your stiffness from sitting in an office chair all day. You even took the time to exfoliate and shave. When you stepped out, you felt like a new person. You dried off, wrapping your hair in a towel, and throwing on an oversized t-shit and some sweatpants.

You went back to your room and threw your old clothes in your laundry basket. As you sat on the edge of your bed, your phone chimed from beside you. Your eyes fell on the screen, trying to make out who the message was from. Josh’s name was showing in the notification bar, so you picked it up to read what he said.

Twin Rockstar

Hey, checked on Jake. Don’t think he’s in his room. Will let you know when I find him :)

You typed a quick reply before clicking on your brothers contact. You figured you shouldn’t put off telling them the news any longer, and Sam would be the most likely to answer. You told him you needed him to call you ASAP, throwing your phone back on the mattress. You got up, moving to the closet and scouring through your heaps of clothes. Your hands settled on a simple red dress. Enough to look classy, but not enough to catch too much attention. You threw it on, spritzing some perfume and throwing on some deodorant. As you took your hair down to dry, you started on your makeup. You didn’t put on too much, just enough to accentuate your features.

You finished with swiping on the same lipstick you’d worn the night you met Jake. It was your favourite one before that night, but ever since it had caught his attention, it was the only one you liked to wear. Just as you were finishing up, your phone began to ring. You shuffled over, grabbing it off the mattress and accepting the video call. “Hello, Samuel.” You said, looking over his face.

“So you saw it, too?” He asked, forgoing any type of greeting. You raised an eyebrow, confused at what he could be talking about. He watched you carefully, quickly realizing that you did not want to call him for the same reason. “Oh, nothing.” He said, sheepishly. Your eyes hardened, not willing to play the game with him. He’d always done that; start a sentence or a story and try to change topics. Usually it was only when something bad happened. He hated giving bad news.

“What, Sam?” You pried, waiting for him to give in.

“Nothing, y/n. It was probably just a rumour anyway.”

“Just tell me, please.” You sighed. He shifted uncomfortably under your stare, but eventually conceded.

“I saw something. It’s probably nothing, I just thought you saw it, too, and that’s why you wanted me to call. You never send an urgent message.”

“What did you see, Sam?” Your stomach was twisting with anxiety the more the conversation went on. He let out a jumble of words that you had a hard time understanding. When you gave him a look of confusion, he rolled his eyes.

“I was doing my daily routine of stalking everyone on the internet.” He said, seeming to have trouble with how he was going to word his sentences. Leave it to Sam to spend an hour a day to catch up on everyone else’s drama. “And I saw a couple posts, a-and I think it’s just speculation and rumours,” he led into the topic as easy as he could. “But there’s a couple pictures of Jake going around. With another girl. And everybody thinks it’s a possible girlfriend.” He breathed. Your stomach dropped, but you held your expression firm, not letting a hint of emotion through.

“Oh, okay.” Was all you said. You tried to reason with yourself, wanting to believe that it was just a misunderstanding. Then, your brain immediately focused on the fact that you hadn’t heard from him all day, which was extremely unusual. That, and he hadn’t even told his brothers where he was. You were certain if Josh was lying to you, you’d be able to tell. He wasn’t very good at it. “Can you send me them?” You asked, clearing your throat to get rid of the lump that was forming.

“I’m sure it’s nothing, squirt. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” His attempt at deflecting the impact was failing miserably.

“Just send them to me, Sam.” Your tone was becoming more angry by the second. He let out a long sigh, but did so without another word. The incoming message popped up on the top of your phone, immediately drawing your attention. You clicked on it, the aforementioned pictures unpleasantly gracing your screen. You tapped on the screenshot, zooming in a little bit to get a closer look.

There he was, unmistakably Jake, sitting at a restaurant table across from an unknown girl. There was a familiar smile on his face, one that made you sick when you thought about him giving it to another girl. You swiped through the photos, quickly finding that it was a whole Twitter chain. ‘Damn, his fans are always on top of the game’ you thought to yourself. There was pictures of them eating together, one with his hand resting on her arm, one of them walking down the street a little too close for comfort, and the last one of her wearing his jacket. You felt an indescribable feeling wash over you.

You read through the comments of fans talking about seeing it, how pretty she was, how happy he looked, and some not so nice tweets. You couldn’t help but feel a small comfort at the unsupportive statements. Your rationale was completely gone now, filled with anger at the sight. More than anything, you felt like an idiot. You fell for him so hard, but he was a boy, and a rockstar, at that. You had no idea why you believed a insignificant girl in Baltimore could tie him down. He probably had a new girl falling for him in every city he visited. Panic started to seep in, realizing that everything you were afraid seemed to be coming true. The look in his eye when he was smiling at her sent a shiver down your spine. It was so similar to how he looked at you.

There was a small part of you insisting there must be more to the story. A bigger, louder part of you didn’t care. Your trust for men and significant others was already extremely low before you met him. You’d spent a lifetime getting treated like garbage and cheated on, and even if this wasn’t the case, you weren’t sure if you even wanted to know. It was easier for you to shut down, to draw the conclusion that boys would always be boys. Although the photos weren’t a tell-all, they certainly didn’t make you feel good when you looked at them. A tiny voice in your brain was telling you that you were being irrational, and that you were doing what you always did; you were using this as a scapegoat to jump ship before you got seriously hurt. Self-destruction was a very well acquainted friend of yours, but you thought you’d left it behind a long time ago.

You took a long, shaky breath before speaking again. “I gotta go.” You mumbled, not giving Sam any time to answer. You hung up, completely forgetting about the real reason you wanted him to call you. You turned your phone on silent, throwing on an old jean jacket. You slung your purse over your shoulder, making sure you had everything you needed before you walked out of your bedroom.

The door slammed behind you with enough force to rattle the wall beside it.

As you made your way down the hallway, your jaw was clenched hard enough to made your head ache. Another classic move of yours; burying the sadness in anger. You tried to break out of it your whole life, but having four hotheaded brothers that loved to pick on you made the emotion permanent. Eve peeked her head around the corner to see what created the loud noise, but recoiled at the look on your face. You walked past her, not able to even give a glance in her direction, scared if you did you would break down. You were sure Sam would tell her, anyway. You threw a pair of shoes on and disappeared through the front door as fast as you could. You knew where you were going, and nobody was going to stop you.

You made your way down the street, eyes set forward and unwavering. The tunnel vision made it easy to ignore all of the passerby’s. By the time you made it to the front door of your favourite bar, you were positively sick with despair. Your stomach was churning and your chest was aching. You wanted nothing more than to go home and cover yourself in blankets and sleep the pain away, but you were never so willing to let a boy ruin you. You pushed through the front door with such a force that everyone’s head turned to look at you once you stepped inside. You went straight to the bar, too determined to drink to pay any mind to them. You stopped once you got in front of the bar, pulling your card out. Mike approached you, giving you a look of curiosity.

“Awful early for you to be here. Usually you only drink before 8 if something serious happened.”

“Triple whiskey sour.” You muttered, in no mood to make conversation. “And two shots of fireball.” He eyed you with concern, but pulled the bottles out, anyway. He wasn’t worried that you couldn’t handle your liquor; he was worried about why you were itching to drink so badly.

“You okay?” He asked as he slid the shot glasses towards you. You took both back to back, ignoring the burning in your chest. It was nothing compared to the ache in your heart.

“Perfectly okay, Mike.” You promised. “Never been better, actually.” He handed you the solo cup, eyes never leaving your face.

“For some reason, I don’t know if I believe you.” He said, watching you take two long drinks out of the glass.

“Quit it with the concerned act. Business is business.” You scolded, mustering a small smile to lessen the blow of the harsh words. You tapped your debit card against the machine once he pushed it towards you, taking a seat in one of the chairs. Tonight was not a dancing night, you decided. You felt your phone vibrating in your purse. It hadn’t stopped since you left the house. You were sure it was Sam, and you cared so little that you didn’t even bother taking it out to check it.

Your first drink came to an end pretty fast, and Mike, knowing you well enough, kept a steady stream of refills in front of you. By the time 9 o’clock rolled around and the bar began to get busy, you were already hammered. The anger in your body was still raging, but you were drunk enough to bury it deep under the surface. Mike had got a bit more talking out of you as the time passed, only making his concern grow more. You were very elusive as to why you were so desperate to be intoxicated, making him believe that whatever the reason was, was really bad. He’d only seen you drink like that on a few occasions, and rarely ever did you go to the bar alone.

“I think you should answer your phone, darlin’.” Mike said, eyeing your purse on the counter as your phone vibrated. As he sat with you, he took note of all the calls you were ignoring.

“You can.” You giggled, nudging the bag towards him. He sighed, reminding you of your dad when he got upset. “I’m not worried about it.” He reluctantly opened your purse and took your phone out, figuring it was better to let your friends know you were alive. You were good enough friends with Mike for him to feel comfortable enough to answer your phone for you. It definitely wouldn’t have been the first time. He tapped the screen, lighting it up to reveal the extensive list of missed calls and texts.

“Eve sent you a bunch of question marks then asked where you went. She’s called you probably a million times. Sam is very worried about you and says he’s going to fly back here if you don’t answer him. Uh, whoever ‘twin rockstar’ is called and texted a few times. Ally called. And ‘Rockstar’ called you about… fifty times.” He listed off. All you could do was laugh. ‘Fuck Jake’, you thought to yourself.

“That’s nice. Can I get another shot with my next drink?” You asked.

“Y/n, you should at least tell Eve where you are.” You played with the straw in your cup, pretending not to hear him. He gave up, sliding your phone back to where it was before. After a moment, he obliged to your request, placing both drinks in front of you. You threw the shot back, feeling someone slide into the chair next to you as you placed the glass back down. You looked over, not recognizing the boy now in your company. You weren’t sure if you were too drunk to place the face, or if you’d never met him before.

“Hey,” he smiled at you. ‘Pretty smile’ you noted.

“Hi.” You replied, not really feeling up to making conversation. You kept your eyes on your drink, not willing to look up at him again.

“What are you drinking? I’ll buy you one.” You almost laughed out loud.

“No, thanks. I’m okay.” You told him, taking a long sip from your straw to avoid any further trouble.

“Why, you have a boyfriend?” He asked. It wasn’t harsh, more of a genuine inquiry. “He must be a lucky guy.” He spoke again before you could answer. You looked over to him, an unfamiliar feeling settling under your skin. You opened your mouth to respond, but you weren’t sure what to say.

“Uh, no, I don’t.” You decided in a split second. As the words came out of your mouth, it felt like someone had punched you in the stomach. “Not anymore, so I’m just not looking for anything.” You explained, gloom casting over you again.

“Sorry to hear that. He must be real stupid to let someone as pretty as you get away.” All you could do was chuckle at his statement. When silence ensued again, he took it upon himself to fill it. “If you change your mind, come and find me.” He quickly scribbled his number down on a bar napkin and slid it your way. Your eyes fell over it, almost finding it humorous. Once he got up and walked away, you handed it to Mike after ripping it in half.

“So dark and broody broke your heart?” Mike asked, tossing the paper in the garbage.

“Don’t say it like that. Makes him sound more important than he is. You have to love someone for them to break your heart.” You explained. Mike eyed you, a knowing look on his features.

“I think you’re lying to yourself, honey.” He said, handing you another shot. He was hyper-aware of your state, wanting to recognize when he needed to cut you off. “It’s okay to get hurt. Makes us human.”

“No lies and not human.” You told him, a sweet smile on your lips.

“Whatever you say.” He shook his head, moving on to serve the next customer. You lost yourself in the music playing over the speakers, finally seeming to rid yourself of the overwhelming emotions. Your face was hot and your body felt light. Your head was swimming with words, but none of them came together to make a worthwhile statement. The intoxication had reached a point where all of your inhibitions were gone; it was a dangerous situation for someone hurting so badly. Just because you weren’t currently immersed in the hurt, didn’t mean you weren’t trying to suffocate it for good.

You walked over to the pool tables, grabbing a cue and racking the balls. You sipped at your drink, shooting aimlessly and sinking shots intermittently. After a while, a group of people joined you at your table. You had no idea who they were, or what their names were. You were sure they told you, but you were in no state to remember them. There were a few girls and two guys, and they all seemed super friendly. They were a good tool to pass the time with, or perhaps more of a distraction than anything. Either way, they were buying pitchers of drinks and sharing, and they were quite funny.

As the hour neared midnight, Mike had turned the sound system up as he usually did. You retracted your much earlier thought, realizing that dancing was the best sounding activity at the moment. One of the boys from the group took his chance, moving closer to you and dancing alongside you. Instead of recoiling, you allowed it, ready to reap the consequences later. He twirled you around, pulling you closer to him so your chest was pressed to his. You both sang the song to each other, faces dangerously close. His hand was on your hip, eyes never leaving you. You were having a good time, but couldn’t shake how wrong it felt. Sure, it was fun, but it was absolutely meaningless. You never wanted to feel something meaningless again after feeling what you had with Jake. He leaned in, attempting to catch you in a kiss, but you withdrew, suddenly feeling dirty for even letting another guy get that close to you. You were lost in thought, almost furious again knowing that Jake still had your entire heart. As bad as you wanted to rid yourself of him, you were more terrified of feeling like you weren’t his anymore, or him yours. The thought didn’t last long, because someone grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the group.

You looked to the source of the disturbance, only to be met with the fuming faces of your roommates. You took a moment to process it, blinking hard to rid yourself of the double vision. “We’ve been calling you all night.” Eve said, dangerously calm. “We didn’t know if you were dead, or if you got kidnapped, or what, until Mike called us and told us you were here.”

“Why would he-“

“Do not get mad at him for looking out for you.” She snapped. You felt a wave of nausea run through you as your face burned with heat. “I’m taking you home before you do something you’ll regret.” She pulled you towards the door, not willing to listen to any sort of explanation. When you got outside, the cool night air hit you like a million knives on your skin.

“Eve,” you mumbled. She continued walking, not listening to your warning. “M’gonna be sick.” You told her. She stopped, looking back at you. Her tough exterior faltered, now really seeing the state you were in. She pulled you back in an alleyway, gathering your hair in her hands. You braced yourself with your hand on the brick of the building, heaving until there was nothing left in your stomach. When you straightened up, there were tears in your eyes. Some from throwing up, but more from crying.

You took a step back, leaning your whole body against the wall and letting out the sob you’d been holding back all night. Ally was standing guard at the end of the side-street, making sure nobody could witness your crisis. You were consumed with the memories of the pictures you saw earlier that night, feeling a non-alcohol related sickness in your stomach. Eve dug in your purse, finding a small pack of tissues. She pulled one out and cleaned off your face as best she could before discarding it on the ground. Normally, she’d be appalled at the thought of throwing garbage on the ground. At the moment, she was willing to sacrifice her morals rather than hold on to the repulsive piece of paper.

She brushed the hair from your face, for once being completely unsure of how to help you. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen you so upset. “Let’s get you home, okay?” She whispered. You managed a nod through your inconsolable state. She led you back to the main road after helping you take your heels off. She kept a supportive hold around your back, making sure you didn’t stumble and fall. Ally took to the other side of you, also offering her support.

The walk was treacherous and much longer than it should have been. By the time the two girls got you through the door, you were nothing short of a mess. Eve whispered something to Ally that you didn’t quite catch. Then, Eve helped you to the couch and Ally disappeared from sight. Eve took a seat next to you, gently wiping away the tears staining your cheeks. You tried to catch your breath, feeling completely out of control. Within a few minutes, Ally had rejoined the group holding a plethora of items in her arms. She put them down on the couch, making fast work at her mission.

First she pulled out a few makeup wipes, handing them to Eve so she could rid you of the mascara running down your face. When she was done, she placed the wipes on the coffee table. Ally handed her a hair tie next. Eve turned you slightly, combing her hands through your hair and quickly braiding it. “Next parts gonna be a bit harder.” She mumbled. “Gotta stand for me, okay?” You gave a nod. She helped you to your feet, steadying you before unzipping the back of your dress and slipping the sleeves off. When it fell to your ankles, she pulled a large t-shirt over your head. “There.” She sighed. You slowly sat back down on the sofa, feeling the world spinning around you.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, squeezing your eyelids shut. Tears were still making their way out with no sign of stopping.

“I know.” She said, thumb brushing them away as fast as they were falling. “I know you’re hurting. We all do stupid stuff when we’re hurting.”

“I told him I loved him. He said he loved me, too.” You cried, feeling the ache settle in your bones again. “He promised.” You blubbered.

“I know, honey. We’re gonna get some sleep and sober you up a bit, and we’ll fix this in the morning, okay?”

“I’m supposed to go to Atlanta next weekend.” In your drunken state, you unintentionally disregarded everything she was saying. “He said he was gonna take me around the world with him. I knew this was going to happen. I never should have opened up. I never should have let this happen.” You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t even know if he did it, or not. All I know is that it hurts. ‘nd m’so scared because I hate when people have this much power over me.” She knew you were really fucked up over this, because it was nothing like you to come out with all of your feelings so willingly. “I love him. I really love him. I’ve never felt like this before, and it just made me realize that he makes me so happy, but he has the power to take it away whenever he wants. And he’s this big rockstar who can have anybody he wants. All he has to do is say the word. He can have girls who looks like that. Why would he settle for me?”

“Hey, that is not true. Anyone who ends up with you will be the luckiest person in the world.” She scolded, not willing to accept that.

“He’s just… he’s Jake. And he’s perfect. And I adore him. A-and I’m so scared of losing him that… that I feel like I have to leave first, to spare myself from the worse hurt, later, you know?” You hiccuped. “I always do this. M’gonna ruin it for myself because m’always so fucking scared! I tried to get rid of the feeling, to get rid of him, but all of the stuff that usually works just made me think about him even more. I don’t want him to have that power over me, don’t want him to be able to flip my world upside down whenever he wants, but it just felt so good being loved by him and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forget it.” You let your head fall back into the cushion of the couch, completely defeated by how you were feeling. She quickly caught on to the fact that this whole situation may have had a lot less to do with the pictures from earlier, and much more to do with your fear of being in love.

“I know, baby.” She practically winced. She didn’t know the full story. She only knew what Sam had told her, then Jake’s incoherent babbling on the phone when he called her earlier. He was so out of his mind with worry she was surprised he didn’t jump on a plane and fly back just to make sure you were alive. Then, when she finally calmed him down enough to tell him she would make sure you were okay, Josh called and voiced his worry and defence of his brother. Eve was completely in the loop from all sides of the battle, but she had no idea what was really going on. “Ally is going to get the air mattress and we’ll all stay out here tonight. We’re not gonna leave you.” She pulled you into her, holding you close. Ally disappeared once again, off to gather more necessities. Eve rubbed your back, soothing you as you worked through your emotions. Her main concern was you, and it would always be that. Once you were asleep, she’d worry about everyone else.

The two girls banded together to pump up the large air mattress, having to take turns every now and again. Eventually, they had it set up and decorated the top with comforters and pillows. They prompted you to get in, wanting to get you to sleep as fast as possible, hoping if you got enough rest you’d feel better in the morning. They turned on a speaker, playing gentle music in the background so you could focus on something other than your hurt. It didn’t take long for the alcohol in your system to lull you to sleep, soft snores falling from your mouth.

“What the fuck happened?” Ally asked, finally winding down from the eventful night.

“I… couldn’t tell you, really. Sam sent me some suspicious pictures of Jake and another girl. Apparently Twitter thinks they’re together. And you know her, she doesn’t really believe in explanations or second chances. I guess it probably reminded her of last time. And I think she may be using it as a cop out because she’s really in love with him, and that terrifies her.”

“Do you think Jake would do that to her?” Ally asked, genuinely curious.

“He seems to be head over heels for her, but the pictures did seem kind of incriminating. He wasn’t kissing her or anything like that, but he was pretty close with her and she was wearing his jacket. Whoever she was, he looked quite enthralled in her. If i were her, I’d probably be pretty hurt, too. I don’t think she’s wrong to feel upset, especially if she didn’t know about it or who she was before she saw the pictures. I do think she should talk to him about it before running away.” Eve explained. Ally gave a nod. “Jake called me and he was super upset. Could barely understand what he was saying. He was just all over the place. Told him I’d make sure she was okay, but I didn’t ask him about it. I’m on team y/n, always. I’m not going to vouch for him, cause that will only make her mad at me.” She shrugged. “Even if he didn’t cheat on her, she’s still hurting. Maybe a bit more from her internal battles, but she’s still hurting.”

“I get that.”

“Josh called, too, trying to explain on behalf of his brother. It’s just a mess. I hope that Jake does have a good explanation, because I really like them together. But I’m not sure if she’ll listen to him, even if he does. She doesn’t listen to anyone but herself.” Eve chuckled. Ally nodded, knowing that all too well. “She already has the idea in her head, and every one of those feelings are multiplied by a thousand because she’s in love. Like, really in love. I don’t think she’s been this crazy for anyone, ever.” Just as she finished speaking, your phone began to ring in your purse again. Eve pulled it out, inspecting the screen. She sighed, rejecting the call and picking up her own phone. She dialled back the number that called you and waited for him to answer. She didn’t feel the need to completely block Jake out, but she’d be damned if she was going to let you know she was talking to him.

“Hey,” a raspy voice said from the other side of the phone.

“Hello, Jacob.” Eve said.

“Is she okay?” Her eyes looked towards you sleeping soundly on the air mattress.

“That’s a relative term, I think.” She grimaced slightly, recalling the state you had been in. “Alive, yeah, but she’s really fucked up.”

“Okay.” Jake said, clearing his throat a little bit. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“That’s also quite relative. I’d like to say I know, but I can’t.”

“I didn’t cheat on her.” He said firmly. “I’m not cheating on her. I would never do that.”

“Okay.” She replied, mimicking his earlier statement.

“I absolutely know why she’s mad at me. If it was the other way around and I saw those pictures, I’d… yeah.” He trailed off.

“I can’t defend you to her, Jake. She’s been my best friend for years. I barely know you. Even if she’s overreacting, which I am absolutely not saying she is, I’m on her side.” Eve explained. “Unless she did something really fucked up, which she didn’t, and she won’t.” She added quickly, wanting to clarify that she wouldn’t blindly stand up for you in every context. “She’s a spitfire. She goes from 1 to 100 faster than anyone I’ve ever met. Yeah, she’s upset about what happened today, but I think she’s also having a hard time with being in love. She’s scared of it. Always has been. She’s so independent that it’s actually infuriating, and I believe she may be struggling with depending on someone for once. This whole thing might have been the excuse she’s been waiting for, to run away.” Eve explained. “I think maybe if she just saw the pictures, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But all of those Twitter comments were pretty hard to read, and I’m not even dating you.”

“I know. That part of fame sucks. Everyone speculates, and stories spread before we even know that it caught someone’s attention. And I get it. I understand why you and her both feel the way you do. I would feel the same if one of my brothers got hurt.” She did feel quite bad for him. She didn’t think Jake was a bad guy, but perhaps not the best at communication. In this instance, at least. “Can you at least try to get her to come to Atlanta? Just so I can talk to her. I’ll fly her back as soon as I do, if that’s what she wants. I just can’t leave things like this, and I know she’ll never answer my calls.” His words were met with a staggering silence. After a while, Eve spoke again.

“Do you swear on your life you didn’t cheat on her?” She asked, picking at a string that had frayed from the hem of her sweater.

“I promise.” He said, quite firmly.

“Cause if I get her to go Atlanta and I find out you really did fuck her over, I’ll kill you.” She replied as a matter-of-fact.

“I would never do that to her, Eve.” She believed him, for the most part. If he was lying, he was really good at it. “I love her.” He finally admitted. The sincerity in his words took her off guard.

“I’ll try, rockstar. It may not work, and I’m not going to force her, but I’ll try to get her on that plane. Only because I think you guys are cute together, and you made her so happy. She’s never had that before. It took a lot for her to give you a chance, especially after the last guy. If this ends like this, I don’t think she’ll ever recover.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t. And also, this conversation never happened. I’m not defending you, I’m not going behind her back, nothing like that. The only reason I’m doing this is because I think it’s in her best interest. Even if it’s just closure, that’s fine by me.” She warned. “Now think up a real good apology, rockstar.”

“Will do.” He said. There was no room for any more words, because she’d already hung up. Ally gave Eve a look of caution, worried that Eve was going to rock the boat even further. Eve brushed it off, standing and flicking the lights off in the living room. She climbed on the air mattress and wrapped herself up in a blanket. Ally followed suit, both of them falling asleep not long after with the hope that the morning would bring some form of clarity.

TAGLIST: @gvfpal @jakesgrapejuice @hellowgoodbye

[artcommunityvent]

heres my rant for today: (sorry in advance for long post)

i hate how modern art communities have to “fandom-ify” every single new trendy thing literally DAYS (and sometimes even hours) after it drops. i know this is a lot of the same sentiment as those people that just go “popular thing bad” but honestly it really puts me off some medias because i dont want to associate with anyone else who likes it

do we really need a million different fan ocs and aus for EVERYTHING? and like, i know its nothing new, obviously we have the onceler and undertale aus to look back on, but its exhausting at this point because while those communities were presumably genuine, in the present day it just feels like the fandom equivalent to an industry plant. and most people dont even stick with the thing they decide to make their entire personality!!

remember when spiderverse came out and everyone made spidersonas? who can you name thats actually drawn their spidersona more than once? it feels like everyone just trend hops, and yes i know thats how the internet is but its just exhausting especially when it brings down otherwise creative and inspired works

fnaf security breach: everyone makes fnaf aus and glamrock animatronics, then spiderverse as previously mentioned, then welcome home dropped and thats becoming a shitshow with how yall are fandomizing what is essentially a small creator telling their ocs lore in a creative way, and now its happening with digital circus. im so tired of seeing projects that are cool and visually appealing becoming a cesspit of bland, unoriginal aus and piles of fanart only to get dropped when the new shiny comes out

and i wanna elaborate on welcome home for a second because i know damn well if one of these people who makes “daddy dom priest wally is actually the devil” aus had an oc they loved, and someone came along and made their own aus of it in the same way, that person would bitch and cry oc theft. some people dont even change up the characters design, like how entitled do you have to be to essentially just steal someones oc and call it your own? it disgusts me how people are treating clown and honestly i wish they would put the series on indefinite hiatus or complete their story privately to teach these people a lesson

another thing that puts me off is how every piece of media has to have the “fandom daddy” for lack of a better term. glamrock freddy, hobie brown, wally darling, or jax, its all the same thing repackaged; someones gotta be the tumblr sexyman. its so tiring—ESPECIALLY as a lesbian who doesnt really wanna center men in my life at all—to wanna see fanart of the media you like and its only: “heres the one character everyones horny for drawn in a totally different and more sexualized body type” with everyone in the comments salivating over them. i really like digital circus! but all i see are people who would walk across a mile of broken glass just to suck a fart out of jax’ ass. what about the other interesting characters? why does EVERY conversation with popular media have to be about “which guy is the most fuckable” (guy specifically because come on, when has a female character been the highlight of attention; using the previous example have you seen ONE person talking about digital circus that even remembers zooble exists)

it feels like nobody can appreciate work anymore without having to claim some form of ownership over it, to say “hey this thing is so popular and important that it is now a part of my identity!! look at my millions of ocs that i will draw one time and never again!” im just tired of people being unable to passively interact with media they enjoy and everyone seeming to fight over and prove some connection to the things they like

tldr: im tired of everyone in the art community making heaps of fanart, aus, and fan ocs for stuff the second it gets popular and then totally forgetting about it the next time something else gets popular

(and before yall bring up hyperfixations: i am autistic; i understand having so much love for a piece of media for a short while and then dropping it for no reason and its heart shattering; BUT AT THE SAME TIME this pattern is on oxford to me and its on such a large scale that it infects the greater art community as a whole)

That is indeed the nature of media consumer at its finest. I do feel like it is more appearent now due to the way most social media algorithm works. They only show what is trending at the moment, so naturally, we are exposed only to this specific thing until another trend eventually takes over.

Even artists who never create fan content can be influenced to do so by looking at the other artists, be it to dive in along the hype for the popularity of it, for the geniune fun, for the sense of community, and many more reasons.

- ☁️

[unhingedwomandiaries]

Got myself trapped in a fucking elevator today like some budget metaphor for modern life's absolute shitshow. Wasn't exactly on my to-do list, sandwiched between 'pretend to give a toss about x's weekend plans' and 'this one random film on Netflix that X says I would like.' But there I was, living out some twisted social experiment designed by a proper sadistic bastard.

It all kicked off after lunch when I needed a piss. Chose the lift over stairs because my uterus was doing its monthly impression of a serial killer with anger management issues. Isn't that just fucking perfect? Using technology to dodge the consequences of having a body - like taking paracetamol for a hangover you got from drinking to forget you hate your job.

So this metal coffin decides to go properly avant-garde on me, treating vertical movement like it's some optional extra you have to pay for. There I am, finger-fucking those buttons like they owe me money, when it hits me: I'm not just stuck, I'm starring in some twat's idea of performance art. Started wondering how long before I crack and start chatting to my reflection like it's my new best mate. Probably about the same time I begin naming the dust bunnies in the corners.

The emergency button was about as useful as a car without petrol. Pressing it felt like trying to get an opinion out of a Brexit voter - lots of noise, zero actual function. Had to resort to my phone, that little rectangle of false hope that connects us to everyone except the one person who can get you out of a cunting elevator.

Two hours later, I emerged like a slightly unhinged butterfly from its chrysalis, except instead of being transformed into something beautiful, I'd just developed a new trauma and an intense hatred for confined spaces. Felt longer than a double episode of EastEnders, but with marginally less emotional damage.

Next time I'm taking the stairs, not because they're any less likely to fuck me over, but at least they're honest about it. They don't pretend to be your mate while plotting to strand you between floors like some passive-aggressive gatekeeper of vertical movement. They just make you work for every step, like life, that cruel bitch.

P.S. If anyone needs me, I'll be drafting strongly worded letters to elevator manufacturers about installing mini-bars in their death traps. Might as well make the eventual mental breakdown more enjoyable.

P.P.S. To the dust bunny I named Chairman Mao during hour two - you were a better conversationalist than most of my dates this year.

[harmonyckrs]

Day 2 of Twisted Pleasantview: Fallen Family

THE PREVIOUS DAY

NAME: ANGELA PLEASANT

LIFE STAGE: TEEN

STATUS: ALIVE, FUNCTIONAL

SPECIAL NOTES: Little Miss Perfect. What else is there to say?

---

Dear Diary,

You won't guess what happened today! Mom got fired from work and caught Dad sleeping with the maid! And now they won't stop arguing, Mom's threatening a divorce while Dad's having some kind of breakdown about how his "needs aren't fulfilled" or whatever, and Angela's fucking crying in the corner!

Truth is, though, I do feel kind of bad for her. Angela, I mean. I don't know why. We never really got along, since Mom and Dad make it abundantly clear that they love her more. Dirk told me that it was a normal feeling to have, and offered to let me stay with him and Mr. Dreamer if things get really bad.

The offer's nice, but I'm really curious on how much worse this shitshow's going to become. Despite Mom's threat, both of them seem to want to remain married. I guess they want to continue with that "perfect family" facade. Would be pretty bad for Mom's nonexistent career, I guess. At least they'll start using each other as punching bags instead of just me.

Also, Aunt Jen and Grandma called today. Said something about her and Uncle John moving back to Pleasantview and to let us know when we plan to come to visit. Just for fun I decided to tell them both everything about what happened and they were both horrified but seemingly unsurprised. I guess Dad's always been an ass.

Grandpa apparently overheard and got super mad alongside Grandma, and I think they called the maid a slur at some point while swearing through the phone. Aunt Jen tried to calm them down but I could tell she was also kinda pissed about it. Wonder how Uncle John and Lucy would take it lol, knowing Uncle John and his family oriented way he would probably be FUMING lol

Either way shit's going down, and I'm here for it. Good thing Angela's not here to lecture me about it, since she decided to go out with her boyfriend. Mom and Dad are always so fucking lenient on her, I swear. The only times I get to go out is when they forget I fucking exist.

Anyway, I'm going to end this here. Mom said she's got big news tomorrow, and that I have to wake up early for it. I'm betting money that it's a divorce.

THE NEXT DAY

[brianbrianbrain]

when folks say you must vote blue in the presidential election, that "at least biden is better than trump" – i think it's safe to say that since the beginning of the "united states," every single president and their administration has been a proponent of the expansion of the US empire, of our perpetration of constant warfare and violent extraction. the slightest differences are found in domestic policy. so when you say that "at least biden is better than trump" – you say that your temporary comfort, given as the barest measures of appeasement, is more important than the lives and dreams of the global majority.

and perhaps someone will whip out the analogy about "put on your own oxygen mask before you help others" – and i say that this is also the time to break the mythology of the presidency (and also the mythology of the supreme court). presidents can do executive orders willy nilly and all that. but their actions have no power if people locally do not enforce them. the same goes for supreme court decisions. don't you all remember brown v. board of education, where many locales just kept on segregating, and how many schools today are still effectively segregated? so yes, put on your own oxygen mask, but not at the cost of other people's oxygen... it is our responsibility to build networks of local resilience to break away from violent extraction, the police state, the military industrial complex, industrial agriculture, and so on...

i won't pretend to know exactly what these networks might look like. i've been thinking a lot recently about how people will do things like quote Marx but not really discuss class, especially in university organizing spaces. i feel like a number of folks who have a decent measure of family privilege take a separatist mentality – i don't care about convincing you, i just want to be able to make our own space – but they don't really think about the technicals of what it really takes to make that space, and in doing so just create a space with the aesthetics of breaking away but that still depends on colonial and imperial structures. i feel like there's the implication that they feel that they're above technicals and that technicals are to be taken care of by a "lower class," as they currently are. like i'm sorry but you cannot "vibe" your way out of imperialism. you will starve or die of drinking sick water before anyone ever needs to pick up a gun and shoot you. i don't know how much this is colored by my own measure of family privilege and impression of urgency in the face of a lack of technicals, but there's my two cents. and it makes for a really strange blend: if you don't care about convincing people, then are you going to do the technical work, or are you just going to wait until people who have to work 9 to 5 are suddenly struck by lightning and flocking to you, or what? and at the same time these same people are focused on "well what's going to be my career"... so please, can you tell me what it is you really want? do you want liberation, or do you want to keep playing the game forever, or have you thought about how to play the game on the way to liberation?

university organizing, and i think plenty of politics at large, is rife with talk with no action, with people screaming past each other. sure, your voice has power, but so long as politicians and businesspersons own you, own your home, own your job, own how you get your food, own how you get your water, they couldn't give less of a shit. the people you're screaming at are not going to suddenly change their minds. the people who are watching just see a giant shitshow. those feel good stories about "at least we didn't forget, we didn't lose hope, we didn't let up" – that's great. but you didn't remember that you could do more, you failed to hope beyond nebulous dreams and make them reality, and you let up on pushing for more. it's an argument for moral purity to tout these stories. the dead and the wounded and the starving have no use for your moral purity. and while there's value in upholding your convictions and expressing your frustration, if you're being stonewalled by politicians, why don't you also move toward stonewalling them? it's an abusive / neglectful relationship on the macro level. you don't cry and beg and scream for the abuser / neglecter to take you back. you build your support network to get away, and maybe in the future you can consider if there's a possibility of healing that relationship and if so, how you might do so.

and more on the talk with no action, or perhaps more on hypocrisy and/or thoughtlessness, and on the lack of understanding of class: one of the people i know was going on about community based participatory research for one of their projects. they're super interested in doing research on a specific area and a specific group, but they've already built a timeline for their whole project before successfully making contact, and doesn't seem to have a plan for if the group doesn't even want this research to be done. "we'll just look at literature reviews first, and hopefully they'll respond sometime..." that's... very much not participatory. and i think on a broader level this comes from a misunderstanding that different groups and different individuals within those groups still have different thoughts and drives. it's disingenuous to say you're not trying to be a savior when you go in with preconceived notions of what someone needs or wants instead of asking them first. and maybe you do ask them first and you think that their plan isn't the best way, and that's fine! but if you offer suggestions, you need to understand that they are very much suggestions, the same as they would be for any other person you might give your two cents on their life to. and circling back to the bit about class and how Marx is discussed, i think this mentality is something that comes up a lot. like, so if a poor person isn't instantly radicalized in the way that you want, their views are totally invalid or some shit? that's an absolutely miserable, unconstructive, and narrow-minded way to go about life.

[wherestarsfallaway]

I feel like this is a scary place. It holds some of my deepest hurtful memories. Memories of anger and spite. Memories of loneliness and sadness. It holds everything I wish to forget. Yet why do i find rereading my horrible thoughts so comforting?

Is it because I’m so goddamn alone that reading someones darkness… even if its my own.. feels comforting. Because someone out there is feeling that darkness too. Except. Its all just me anyway. Sometimes i feel like I come back here because I can look at these memories and think wow but I dont feel like that any more… so ive healed and grown.

Sometimes… I come back here to read all my thoughts about being hurt. And literally validate myself. Reread those thoughts and think ok. Well. She documented this years ago. So it mustve actually happened. Instead gas lighting away my own hurt. And chalking it up to nothing because thats easier

Today is the 20th.. well 21st now of December. In a few short days itll be christmas time and ill be back at my parents. I typed home first. But… i just really cant consider that true.

It hurts me so so much that I can’t truly love my family. It just does. I have this fantasy that I go on a podcast and I admit all the trauma I grew up with and people comment on that video that they understand and thank me for my vulnerability. What the therapist in me says that means is, i just want to be asked how Im actually doing and feeling for once without lying. And then get the chance to vent my true feelings. And then be thanked for being honest and vulnerable because I never got that experience growing up.

Its so complicated. There are months even that we are fine. Months where i think life is okay. Months where i finally feel like ive moved on and learned to get over all this bullshit. But that isnt true. And i fucking know it. Because the smallest randomest things will trigger me and I realize I havent healed at all. Im just hoping that the passage of time will dull the pain. But it wont. At least not fast enough for me.

I want to elope. And thats mainly because I feel like the only people who truly made me safe deserve to be there on my biggest most special day. And that person happens to be the person im actually marrying. And literally no one else. Why should I pay for people who didnt do the absolute bare minimum to celebrate my day? What did you do to earn the plate of my dinner because this isnt some fucking charity event.

I just saw someone say if youre considering ending it all because you think your family will be better off, dont because it isnt true. Yeah. I sometimes feel that. Ive felt both. Ive felt that sheer loneliness so deep and bitter that i think my family will be better off without me. But other days I know it would ruin them and that makes me happier because I actually wanna end it all out of sheer spite. Can you believe that. Sometimes. I was so angry at it all. Angry at the facade everyone else seemed to believe about us being the perfect family, that i wanted to die just so people would have to attend my funeral and realize what a shitshow it all was. Can you imagine how much fucking pain you have to put someone through for that to literally be their dying wish.

I’ve been paying rent on my own for months now. Which. At some level I understand. Im grown. But im literaly addicted to living here on my own because im terrified now of ruining the one space that makes me happy. If i have to hold my breath any longer Ill just pass away. I cant stand to compromise any more because I’ve just done this shit for too fucking long. I dont wanna hold my breath and tiptoe around my own house. I wanna relax and feel something other than anxiety in the space thats supposed to be my home. But im also exhausted. I finished my final two days ago but I’ve already worked so many hours. Ive been falling asleep midday because Im so emotionally exhausted. I just cant.

And meanwhile my family is fucking partying in las vegas. That shit builds so much resentment in me. I dont have to explain it. You know it. You understand. You dont wanna feel the betrayal anymore of knowing you were going thru a crisis just as deep and bad as your sister. But you just shut your mouth better about it. And nobody ever apologized for what they put you through. So you dont ever get closure.

At this point im so tired and sad I cant even continue this letter. Even though i have so much I want to get off my chest. My head hurts. My head hurts so bad from staring at a screen for 9 hours.

I have the sinking feeling this xmas season… sigh. I dont want to manifest it. But I wish I didnt have to go. I wish I could spend that week here. I’m tired. I barely have the strength to do anything anymore. And now Ill have to spend this break pretending. I wish I didnt want their approval so much. And i wish I could just let them go and live the life i truly want to live. Im tired.

Sometimes I fantasize about moving somewhere in secret. Turning off my location. And just vanishing. So i would have no more obligations.

But i never get what i want.. so heres to more hopeless dreams

Gnight

[belethlegwen]

The Faerie Spell - Chp 3

Chapter One: Click Here Chapter Two: Click Here Chapter Directory: Click Here

Words: 2831

Summary: Cal comes over for a smoke break to try and offer their friend some companionship, Daphne continues to struggle with being treated as small as she is.

Even the lightest taps on the window pane sounded like something trying to come through the side of the house. Normally by this many hours into a shift I’d have gotten used to everything being stupidly loud, but I didn’t exactly have a lot of conversation happening around me today and that was more my fault than anyone else’s. The sound startled me so badly that I shot straight upright and stared at the window, my eyes landing on the massive brown ones of Cal.

Their face lit up with that lopsided, cocky grin they always had when they saw me, their shaggy dark-blonde hair poking out at odd angles from beneath their beanie. I had been coasting in the zone of too-pissed-to-sleep-but-too-tired-to-be-awake for stars-only-know how long, so all I could do was blink as they held up a grocery bag presumably full of snacks in one hand and their weird wooden pipe in the other.

I stood, trying to fix my messy tangle of a bun and my PJs a little as I heard the familiar sound of Cal jostling the window in the way they knew would bypass the broken lock on it. I’m positive that if today hadn’t been such a shitshow already that I would’ve been happy to see them, but right now I was just tired and still cranky.

“Shmoke break~” they sang once it was open, the pipe clamped between their teeth, smoke already drifting up from the bowl.

“Not in the house!” I shouted, making my way down the stairs to the desk again. “If Sheri smells it I’m gonna have to listen to her bitching all--”

“Wha-?” Cal asked, trying to push themselves up and through the window, brow furrowed as they looked at me. They hauled the pipe out with a hand as they dangled partially in the house. “D’you forget your stones?”

“Yes!” I yelled, gesturing toward my pajamas, Cal taking a second to look me up and down. “DON’T. SMOKE. IN. HERE.”

“Oh, right, fuck,” Cal muttered, shoving themselves back out the window and putting the pipe on the ground before shoving themselves back through the window again. “You need PJ pants with pockets,” they said through grunts as they slipped onto the floor awkwardly with a couple of loud, desk-shaking thuds.

I waited until they were back up to eye-level at least, a hand slamming onto the desk near me and making me jump as they pulled themselves from the floor. Cal wasn’t the most… delicate or considerate about my condition, but honestly that was better than Gem acting like I was liable to shatter under the lightest surprise movement. “They do, I don’t like having to move the stones too much between outfit changes because I’m worried I’ll forget them,” I called to them.

“Worked well for you today,” they groaned, trying to take deep breaths but only able to do so much with their binder on. 

“Fuck off,” I snapped, flipping them the bird.

“No, you,” they quipped back, flipping me one in return next to that cocky grin. 

Ok, maybe I was alright with Cal being here today.

“Where do you keep ‘em?” They asked, pulling themselves up to stand and shifting the desk just a little, making me stumble beyond their notice while their eyes scanned the long studio-bedroom situation I had going on. “Ah.”

I didn’t have time to tell them not to bother before they walked off to my bedside table and poked at them, picking up the turquoise one and heading back to me with it. “I can’t exactly carry it with me!” I called up to them as they came back, frowning up as my neck craned.

“Just sit on it while we’re outside, I don’t wanna spend the whole time guessing what you’re saying out there,” they said, reaching for me.

“I don’t wanna go outsi--” I tried to shout but it was no use, Cal’s thumb and fingers pinched around my torso and lifted me, knocking the wind out of me enough that the words just died in my throat.

“Naw, c’mon,” they said, their voice like thunder as they swung up toward their chest and dropped me in the breast pocket of their coat. “Smoke break.”

The motions of being in the pocket were always rough, and I hated how routine it had all become. I was fine with it at the start because hands and being lifted and carried were terrifying; at least in the pocket I couldn’t see anything, so some of the vertigo was at least negated. Being in Cal’s pocket though was a whole other kind of nightmare as I felt them bend and turn and twist and slide themselves out of the window, my gravity changing in a dozen different ways. I swung and slammed and bounced off of their chest a number of times; this was a coat they wore even when they weren’t wearing the binder, so there was a notable amount of slack.

“Use your whole hand,” I tried to request bitterly as the pinching-fingers came back into the pocket to pluck me out, Cal having walked to one of the big wooden lounge-chairs on the deck and plopped into it. They gave me a curious look before tipping their hand and letting me go enough that I dropped into their palm, the breath getting knocked out of me again.

“This better?” They asked, their fingers and thumb coiling around me and pinning my arms to my sides. Their grip was at least loose enough that I could wiggle my arms free and throw them over the top, pinning the digits to me as I looked at them.

“Less rough next time, but yeah,” I managed to get out once my lungs were working right again. I didn’t wanna look at them yet, especially this close to their face. Faces were so terrifying from this size, and while I had gotten a little more used to it over the last six times this had happened, I just didn’t want to have the conversation about how having to look at it while I was literally dangling in their hand was a bit too much. Plus, Cal had a bad habit of staring when I was zonked like this.

“Sorry bro,” Cal said, and I felt myself shifting just slightly as they obviously gave me another full look over. My cheeks were red and my stomach was doing backflips, and whether it was because they noticed I was uncomfortable or they had just sated their curiosity again, they plopped me down on the armrest of the lounge and started to re-light the pipe. “So Sher’s bein’ a pill again today, huh?” They asked with the pipe between their teeth.

“I tried to talk to them about the--” I started, before Cal held up a finger and reached into one of their other pockets, plopping down my blue stone next to me and pointing at it. I sighed and took a seat, rubbing it with a hand and muttering the activation word. “I tried to talk to them about the vacuuming,” I said, my voice amplifying to a regular speaking volume for Cal as they nodded approvingly. “Didn’t go great.”

“Of course it wasn’t gonna go great,” Cal muttered before taking a long drag off of the pipe, holding the smoke in their lungs and wiping off the mouthpiece with the bottom of their shirt before holding it out to me. I took it in my hands and frowned, trying to hold the thing steady as Cal swayed. I didn’t even know if I was up for a hit right now, but arguing about it was just going to make me more tired. “The bitch hates cleaning. She always has. You were already doing almost all of it before this shit happened.”

I pressed the bottom of my face to the mouthpiece; Cal saved this pipe for me because it was the only thing either of us had that I could manage at my size. I sucked in a huge breath, the long stem still full of smoke after Cal’s pull, and let it out slowly through my nose as I let the pipe go back to them. “Yeah but I didn’t really care before--”

“Bullshit~” they sang again. Despite the patchy, stubbly beard they had finally started to grow, Cal could still hit those Soprano notes when they wanted. Not even falsetto-- just like they hadn’t gone through either of their puberties at all. “You did and I know you did. It just wasn’t worth the fight before now.” 

“Yeah well,” I admitted bitterly while they took another long pull, “maybe if I hadn’t waited so long it wouldn’t have been so much of a fight.”

“Naaaaw,” Cal breathed out on the exhale, smirking at their own smoke plume. The pipe swung back to me and I tried my best to not get hit by the stem as they turned it without looking. “It would’ve been. Y’knew that, s’why you didn’t bother before now. I’m just pissed on your account that the bitch got to pretend she won because your flitty friend decided to go hit the town early.”

“She didn’t pretend she won--” I started back after finally managing to take a pull, feeling a little bad about shit-talking Sher so much.

“You’re not in the other group chat,” Cal said bluntly, sinking into the chair and actually turning their eyes to me with a frown. “I imagine I’m about to be uninvited, too, but yeah she absolutely thought she won today and jumped in to vent that you had been giving her a shit time about vacuuming when she ‘has to take care of you all the time now’.”

“Are you fucking serious?” I shouted, my own voice rumbling so loud around me through the amplifying stone that it vibrated me a bit closer down the armrest toward Cal’s elbow. Some birds in the trees near the apartment took off, getting both of our attentions for different reasons, just emphasizing how pissed I was.

“I told her off. Gem was trying to do her centrist-horseshit but was also on your side, for whatever that’s worth, and Mak hasn’t been in the chats yet at all today but I assume he’s gonna be on your side as well despite him also being a lazy sack of shit when it comes to cleaning.”

“Mak lives alone,” I said pointedly, waving for the pipe again while Cal seemed to gaze off into the treetops in search of more birds. “He’s allowed to be a fuckin’ slob on his own time.”

“Yeah that’s his angle on it,” Cal agreed, swinging the pipe back around and smirking as they watched me take too big a hit and start coughing. They passed the pipe to their other hand and pressed the free one to my back, tapping me annoyingly with a finger. I didn’t wanna bother telling them it wasn’t a help; I knew what they were trying to do and the thought was nice enough, I guess, for the situation. “When me and he were roomin’ though he did put in the effort, he just bitched the entire time to the point that I gave him like, two or three jobs to do weekly and did the rest myself just to save on the fuckin’ headaches, y’know?”

“I always forget you two were roomies,” I said with a sigh as the coughing dissipated. Cal wobbled the lip of the pipe in front of me tauntingly, wordlessly asking if I wanted another hit and I shoved the thing away while they laughed.

“That’s by my request,” Cal said, taking a look at the bowl and reaching into their pocket for the cap to smother it and save whatever was left for later. “Told him to think of me as a whole new person now, and it’s to the point when he’s tellin’ stories about his roommates I never realize he’s talking about me half the time anymore.”

“...I don’t think I’m cut out for roommates,” I said after a minute, trying to duck away from Cal’s idle fingers as they poked at me.

“Shit time to figure that out,” they said, raising an eyebrow at me skeptically. “You’re not gonna be able--”

“I fucking know, Cal,” I snapped, their hands leaping into the air defensively with a massive sigh that washed over me. “I’m very fucking aware I’m not gonna be able to live without a permanent babysitter, thanks.”

“...If it makes you feel any better, I egged that witch’s house over the weekend.”

They had offered the information so casually I could’ve sworn it was a joke. I turned to face them a bit better, sliding the stone back up the armrest to get an easier angle as I kicked back a few steps with my feet. “It would make me feel better if it happened, yeah, but--”

Cal’s cocky grin came back and they reached into their pocket for their phone.

“No,” I breathed, brow furrowing. “Cal you didn’t actually throw eggs at a witch’s house, please tell me you didn’t.”

“‘Course I fuckin’ did,” Cal laughed, pulling up the photos and spinning the phone around to show me.

“You’re a fucking lunatic,” I laughed, shaking my head and realizing how dizzy the weed was already making me. “You’re going to get a curse put on you if she finds out.”

“Yeah that’s a pretty big if, though,” Cal said, shoving the phone back in their pocket and resting their head back against the chair, closing their eyes. “...’sides, figured you’d be ok with a curse buddy.”

“Wouldn’t mind it if y’all had a bit better idea how this feels, I won’t lie,” I said with a bitter shrug.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Cal replied, adjusting themself and shaking the seat so much I had to brace my feet on the wood to stop from slipping.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell them that if they had any idea they wouldn’t grab me like they do, or they’d probably quiet down at least a bit when they were talking. I couldn’t dredge up the energy to tell them that if they had any clue what this was like they’d be trying to find a better witch or someone to help break curses set by fae, instead of just egging the house of the one that ran me out of her shop when I came in to ask for help.

I couldn’t bring myself to do any of that, so I just sat on my lumpy rock in the sunlight of the apartment’s open backyard and tried not to look into the windows of my neighbours in the row-house styled building. At the risk of being evicted, they hadn’t been informed there was a walking curse in the complex yet, though we had some excuses lined up if any of them ever got wind of it.

“I brought twinkies,” Cal said, almost apologetically, and I blinked before turning my eyes back to them. I didn’t realize they had been staring again, or that I had been staring off for stars-only-know how long. “You want?”

“Yeah,” I said, offering a tired smirk. “It cool if we eat it inside though? I don’t want the neighbours or the birds seeing me.”

“Can I kick it on your bed?” Cal asked, fingers already moving to grab me again. I made a face, ready to just suck up the pinching, when they seemed to remember the request from earlier and wrapped their whole hand around me. A bit too high-- my whole back end felt like it was dangling-- but it was just a short ride to the pocket so I didn’t bother to say anything.

“Yeah you might as well. I’ll just bitch if there are crumbs in it when I finally get to use it again.”

“I’d tell you to just use it now, but I imagine you’re still pretty triggered from the first time,” Cal offered as they pushed themselves out of the seat and grabbed their things, heading back to the window.

“It was twenty minutes at least,” I called, Cal dropping the stone into the pocket next to me. “I felt like I was going to suffocate. It was the worst nightmare I had ever had… up until I found my way out.”

Cal laughed, sliding through the window on their back awkwardly. “I’m not sayin’ it probably wasn’t terrifying or whatever,” they said, plucking me and the stone out of their pocket and plopping us both onto the bedside table next to the other enchanted rocks before they tossed themselves onto my mattress and blankets. “...But it’s a double. Could you imagine if you had a Queen?”

“I don’t wanna think about it,” I muttered, sitting down on the rock again. “Pass me a twinkie and let’s talk about something else.”

----------------------------------

Next Chapter

[bleep-bleep-richie]

They don't talk about it.

After Eddie mashes their lips together to wake Richie up from the deadlights, there isn't time to discuss it- they're too busy trying to kill It and stay alive at the same time. It slashes Eddie's side, just a quarter of an inch away from nicking his lung, the doctor said. Then, later, when Eddie's recovering in the hospital and Richie presses his mouth to Eddie's, gentler than Eddie thought he was capable of, and with more desperation than Richie knew he had in him, they still don't talk about it. And even later when he's recovering in a hotel room in New York, they keep not talking about it. They still don't talk about it when Richie accompanies him to said hotel room. Richie's surprised they still find the words to bicker with all the not talking they're doing.

He knows he can't stay forever. He's got an apartment, a life, back in LA. And Eddie has the business to tend to and a divorce process to start. Eddie drives him to the airport one rainy morning exactly three weeks after they left Derry for the last time. The giant bandage is making an impression through his thin henley.

"Call me," Eddie tells him when he puts it in park at the entrance, "when you land. Or when you get home. Or both. So I know you're safe."

"Yes, mother," Richie jokes, because it's expected of him. Eddie's looking at him with the giant doe eyes that he does and Richie wants to beg him to get on the plane too. He barely stops himself. "Don't miss me too much," he says, going for playful but missing by a mile.

"I won't miss you at all," Eddie lies.

They hold the gaze for about thirty seconds longer before Richie thinks 'fuck it' and leans across the gear shift to kiss him. Eddie's fingertips ghost over Richie's cheek and then it's over.

"I'll call," Richie promises a minute later, out of the car and duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

Eddie nods and shifts back into drive, not trusting his voice.

Richie resolutely does not breakdown watching Eddie drive away. He won't forget, this time, so it's not a goodbye.

*

He calls. They still haven't discussed what they are to one another but he thinks they must be something so he keeps calling. They talk on the phone for at least an hour every night for six months before it occurs to him that they could have been video chatting the entire time.

"It's a little button that looks like a camera. It'll probably have a slash through it, so you just have to click it and-"

"I don't see it. It's on the keyboard?"

"No, not the keyboard, you absolute moron, the screen."

"Well, you never fucking specified, asswipe."

"I'm sorry, Eds, I was under the impression you were 37, not 97, my mistake." Eddie's face pops up on the screen, looking as disgruntled as ever. "Hey, there he is!"

"You look tired."

Richie's grins. "Gee, thanks for the reminder that I look like shit, man." He leans closer to the camera. "I'm fucking exhausted."

"I didn't say you look like shit, I said you look tired." His eyes are shifting all over the screen, like he's checking to see what, if anything, has changed about Richie since he's seen his face last.

Richie studies him right back, noting that his hair is longer and he's got some semblance of a five o clock shadow. "You look good. Your hair's hot like that."

Eddie runs a hand through it. "I kind of hate it actually. I was thinking- Stop doing that."

Richie blinks. "Doing what?"

"That!" He points. "There, that. You've got a tell."

"A tell for what?" Richie asks with a smirk.

"In the grand total of three times that you've kissed me, you wanna know how many of those times you've stuck your tongue in the corner of your mouth right before? All three of them. You've got a tell, Tozier."

Richie's full on grinning now. He purposely wiggles the tip of his tongue in the crease where his top lip and bottom meet.

"Quit it!" Eddie all but growls. "You can't kiss me, so just quit it."

Richie leans in. "But I want to."

"Well you can't."

Richie smiles at him a moment longer before settling back in his seat. "How's business?"

"Good. Great, actually. Better than ever."

Richie looks away from him. "That's great."

"You don't have to sound so disappointed about my success, ya know."

"It is the only thing keeping you on the other side of the country," Richie says. He gives the camera a pointed look. "The only thing."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"And don't play stupid, either," Eddie gripes. "I've got a business to run, Rich. I'm trying to find someone to manage it, so I can come out there. And I'm trying to find a spot in LA to open another branch. And, lookie here!" He grabs something off camera and brings it back into focus. "Divorce papers!" He shakes the stack. "Sent to me by my fucking lawyer today. Myra's refusing to sign them, she wants half the fucking company." He tosses them down. "I've got to be here for all this shit. And it doesn't make it any easier when you-"

"Eddie," Richie interrupts, raising his hands, "I'm not fighting with you."

"You are! You drop those little comments, like you don't believe- like you think I would be dishonest-"

"Eddie! I don't not believe you." Richie watches Eddie's face scrunch as he works out the logistics of that sentence. "I'm not fighting with you," he repeats.

"You're trying to."

"No, you're fighting, I'm not. You're fighting with nothing."

Eddie looks at him a moment, jaw set. He sighs. "You know, don't you, Rich? You know I want to be with- that I'd rather be there."

He's doing that doe eyed thing again. Richie's palms itch with the need to touch him. "I could always come there."

"I don't want you to uproot your life for me."

"How is it any different from you-"

"Because I'd be building a business there, the same way I did here. I want to leave this whole shitshow behind and never look back. That's not uprooting my life, that's starting over. Besides, if you came here... I just can't give Myra any ammunition to say I've been unfaithful."

"You haven't been."

The edge of Eddie's mouth lifts. "Don't sound so bitter about it."

Richie huffs a laugh. They're quiet a moment. "Do I really look like shit?"

Eddie rolls his eyes. "No, you look good. You always look good. Fuckhead."

Richie smiles, leans closer, wishes his laptop's picture quality was better. Wishes he could kiss him. "I miss you," he says finally.

Eddie smiles back, close lipped and sad. "I miss you too. I'm trying, I swear I'm trying."

"I know, it's fine." He shifts back and threads his fingers together behind his head. "Now, take your shirt off. Gimme a show," he says, effectively ruining the moment on purpose.

"You first, asshole."

Richie yanks his shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the ground next to him, never one to back down from a dare.

Eddie laughs, shakes his head.

They still don't talk about it, but maybe they don't really need to. Maybe they already know. Maybe they'd known all along.

part two

[cloudytamaki]

bnha » a kick in the balls drabbles

warnings. cussing, crack, mentions of balls companion piece. drabble version of the hcs a/n. a lot of this was based on my own family 😭 anyways enjoy..

KATSUKI BAKUGO.

You mindlessly scrolled through Instagram as you waited for your glass to fill up with water, lifting your head to take it to the fridge as it dispensed some ice in.

You scoffed at this one woman’s post; it was so fake. Caught up in your Instagram feed, you didn’t look up as you walked down the hallway to your bedroom. As you rounded the corner to get into the bedroom, a scrunched face met your own and a loud snarling snort left the creature.

You shrieked, dropping your phone and your glass of water, your hands flying up to shield your face as your feet acted on their own, slamming themselves into the thing’s crotch. Did it even have a crotch??

Another loud sound could be heard as the creature dropped to its knees, now revealed as your boyfriend Katsuki as you turned on the light.

“What— what the fuck was that for?” He choked out, his voice barely above a pained whisper.

“You scared me, dumbass!” You scoffed again, walking into the bathroom to grab a towel, using your foot to wipe up the spill as you picked up the surprisingly unbroken glass.

You went into your bedroom, laughing at Instagram videos and whatnot until Katsuki burst into the room, demanding cuddles for his suffering.

KEIGO TAKAMI.

“Keigo! Stop!” You screamed, your voice pained but still happy as his fingers attacked your sides ruthlessly. Your breathing was messed up, your limbs flailing about as he dug his fingers into your ribs. He recently added his feathers into the action, the long plumes tickling other parts of your body he couldn’t focus on.

“I – I can’t fucking—” Your voice was stuttered as you laugh-shrieked, your chest heaving as you tried to scramble away.

“I’m gonna pee myself, Keigo! Stop it—” Your boyfriend cut off your words with more tickles, his half smirk - half smile growing.

“Never!” His wings were fluttering as he watched you, the cerise feathers glossy in the light.

You were floundering uselessly under him, your legs and feet thrashing about in different directions. He was laughing too, your expressions and sounds hilariously cute. 

“Keigo—” He laughed maniacally, his fingers pressing into that one secret spot on your side, the sensation driving you over your limit. You squirmed even more, your foot now colliding with his crotch.

Keigo’s fluttering wings had stiffened as he groaned in pain, dropping onto you, his fingers forgetting his mission at your sides, his feathers settling on the bed. He was on top of you, his body on your own, pretty much crushing you under his weight.

Well, at least he’d stopped tickling you.

TAMAKI AMAJIKI.

“Those fuckin’ bills and receipts can kiss my ass,” You declared, your voice raspy from sleep. You were alone in the dark kitchen, no light at all. You had just woken up from a restless slumber to drink some milk to relax your body.

It was a known practice to drink warm milk to sleep. Would it really work?

You poured the white liquid into your glass, opening the microwave and setting it to thirty seconds as you placed the glass inside, closing the door. You capped the milk jug, placing it back into the fridge as you slumped against the counter, waiting.

The microwave beeped in no time, letting you take out the warmed glass. You took a sip, sighing as the warmth loosened your tight muscles. With the colored glass in hand, you began to walk out of the kitchen to slip into bed beside your boyfriend Tamaki.

Just when your blood pressure was slowing, a figure appeared right in front of you in the darkness. It let out a surprised sound, something like a gasp and a squeak. You on the other hand, mind groggy from sleep, immediately thought of the sticker on the blue car you saw today.

Not today, Satan!

Determination and fear fueled you as you screamed, gripping the glass tightly as you swung your foot into the demon’s groin, landing a perfect and square hit. The demon squawked and yelped at the same time, sounding a lot like a cat that got its tail closed in a door.

The sound echoed throughout the apartment, your eyes checking over your glass to make sure you didn’t spill it; not a drop had left the cup. 

You were about to get Tamaki until you realized: demons don’t squawk.

The thing completely crumpled to the ground, falling onto its knees. It was practically doubled over, panting as pained sobs left its lips. 

Shit. You had attacked the wrong demon. You hastily placed the glass back onto the counter, sliding down beside the now identified creature. “Tamaki?” Your voice was soft and had completely changed since the attack.

He winced in response, shying away from your touch as he clamped down on his lip, trying his best to stop the cries leaving his lips. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, bunny. That was a complete accident.”

“I – I was just going to ask what you were doing up.” He stated, looking down at his hands as he spoke, the area between his legs throbbing now.

“Oh. I was drinking some warm milk, they say it helps you sleep. I was just a bit stressed and worried. You startled me.” You kept your voice calm and neutral, not intending to blame him at all.

“Are you okay?”

Tamaki exhaled, wiping the tears from his eyes, slowly getting up. “I guess.” You hugged him, slowly walking him over to the couch. “Do you wanna watch a movie or something?”

He nodded silently, sitting close beside you as he crossed his legs, watching you turn on the television.

SHOTO TODOROKI.

“—Yeah, I was talking to Marcus, the guy who runs the coffee shop near my office. He said he’s only been there a few years, can you believe that? There are so many locals that go there.”

Shoto hummed, sitting cross legged. He looked towards you, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “That’s interesting, Y/N. Coffee places are really popular, as well as tea shops.”

“We should go to the tea place downtown,” You suggested, “It’d be so much—”

Your words were halted when you saw a large, brown thingy skitter across the floor. Your jaw dropped, your thoughts immediately leaving your lips.

“Holy shit. Is that a fucking cockroach?” You didn’t swear much, so when you did, Shoto knew something was going on.

“What? Where?” He leaned down a bit, looking at the grey wooden floor. Your feet were touching the floor, making you shriek.

The wind blew outside and seemed to startle the roach, prompting it to move closer to the couch. You jumped up immediately, shrieking as you scrambled to get behind Shoto so he could kill it. You stepped on some bones and soft flesh in your panic to get away. You clung to Shoto, sitting on the top of the back couch cushion, your eyes wide with fear.

He let out a guttural groan and yell, pulling you off of him; your balance wasn’t quite correct at the moment, since you ended up on the ground, beside the cockroach.

You screamed, Shoto screamed, and the wind screamed outside. (You were sure you heard the cockroach wail as well, but maybe that was in your head.)

It was a complete shitshow. There was screaming, yelling, cursing, and groans from Shoto. You noticed something off about the cockroach; why didn’t it have antennae or eyes??

You took a closer look, inspecting it closely – then you realized that it was just a ball of fluff and lint from one of your many sweaters. You picked it up and showed it to a glaring Shoto, who was massaging his ankle as his lips turned up in a frown.

“I’m so sorry,” You apologized deeply, placing a cool hand on his warming ankle. “I kinda just... got scared for a minute.” You hugged him, scooting closer to him, confused when he closed up his legs.

DENKI KAMINARI.

“Fuck! Someone help me!” You shouted loudly, your chest burning as your feet pounded against the dirt ground. “Anyone! Help me!” Your breathing was unsteady, the sounds of the rampaging beast behind you getting closer.

Denki yawned, opening his eyes as he slowly smacked his chapped lips. He stretched, the sun shining down on his face. Ah, how he loved waking up in the sun with you.

“Shit! Where are the tranquilizer darts?!” You dug through your bag, now currently perched on a wobbly tree branch while the large beast clawed at the trunk below you, roaring loudly.

“Good morning,” He turned to you with a soft smile which immediately faded when he caught sight of your clenched and slightly moving fists, your furrowed expression. “—Babe? Wait, is everything okay?” He placed a hand on you, gently shaking your shoulders.

“No, no, FUCK!” Branches and leaves whipped your face as you fell twenty feet from your now broken tree branch, awaiting the beast below. You landed hard on your back, scrambling to your feet when the beast approached you. It had the head of a chicken, teeth of a bear, and body of a bear. The arms were feathered, the back feet chicken feet. Suddenly it dawned on you – you were facing the Bearicken.

“Baby? Please wake up.” He continued to shake your shoulders, worry shooting through his mind at your sweating forehead and balled fists.

“Get away from me!” You yelled, backing away in fear as it came closer to you. There were no weapons; you had nothing to defend yourself. Your fists clenched, anger surging through you as you raced forward towards the Bearicken.

Now your legs were moving as if you were running, the speed picking up gradually as your fists clenched and unclenched. Denki just laid there, unable to do anything else.

You slammed your fists into the beast’s meaty chest, your feet coming up as you kicked it in the lower stomach, legs and arms. You heaved for breath, not even bothering to address your bloody nose as you kept on, pressing forwards with the attacks.

Denki was watching curiously now, still worried but mostly intrigued. Why were you ‘running’? When he saw you punching the air and kicking your feet he stayed silent, confused as ever. He placed a hand on your shoulder, shaking you a bit harder. “Wake up, babe. It’s okay; I’m here.”

In your dream the Bearicken clawed at you and swiped your shoulder, leading you to deliver a hard kick to your left; where Denki lay. Your heel slammed into his balls, eliciting a scream of surprise and pain from the blonde.

He clutched his shorts, groaning as he buried his face in one of the many pillows on your bed. His scream startled you; your eyes snapped open and you screeched, still absorbed in your nightmare.

This startled Denki, who started yelling in pain about his nuts while you started yelling that you’d never order Chick Fil A again. More screaming and chaos; in your panic you fell right off the bed, as did Denki.

EIJIROU KIRISHIMA.

“Crap!” Eijirou jumped forward, internally shrieking at the subsequent back pain that followed the sudden movement. He gritted his teeth as he began groping his right thigh in the dark, his fingers stopping at the sudden pain.

His muscle had completely tensed up and was aching so badly that he couldn’t help the yell that slipped past his lips. Curse words left his mouth as he fumbled to get into a comfortable position, the stiffened muscle making his movements much harder.

“Fuck!” His loud cursing which he hadn’t bothered to muffle woke you up, confusion etched into your face as you sat up quickly. Your red haired boyfriend was doubled over, clutching his right thigh as he spewed profanities from his lips.

“What the hell?” You hair was wild and you were tangled in the mess of sheets and blankets as you rubbed your head, looking towards the clock. 2:48 am.

“M-my thigh!” He shouted, bewildering you even more. He continued going on about his leg while you tried to ask him what was wrong in between his moaning and groaning.

You placed a hand on his shoulder, calling his name to try and get him focused on you so he could speak normally. “Babe?” No answer. “Eijirou?”

Another curse word left the male’s lips, as if you weren’t even there. The hell was going on?? “Eijirou!” Worry was bubbling up inside of you - what was happening?

“Eijirou, take a deep breath.”

He barely exhaled before another wave of pain hit him and his entire body jerked in response, his grip around your wrist tightening. So, like any rational sleep deprived person, you delivered a hard smack to his right thigh to get it to loosen up.

Except your hand hit something much softer and you didn’t hear the loud smack that should’ve accompanied the hit. “Fuck, Y/N!!” His thigh had loosened and now he was... holding onto his crotch???

You screamed, Eijirou’s anxiety riling you up further. After a few minutes of shrieking and yelling and cursing, you two finally settled down enough to sit down and talk.

“The hell happened earlier, Ei?”

“Charley horse.” He rasped, “I could be asking you the same thing. What was with that slap to the balls earlier??”

“That was your crotch?”

“Yeah...”

“Oh shit, sorry. I was trying to get your attention or at least loosen your thigh up. Sorry.”

“Please don’t slap any places where I have a spasm.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” You moved closer to him, hugging him as you gently stroked his face.

a/n. yeah so kiri’s was inspired by my dad’s 2 am screams over his muscle spasms, the car sticker in tamaki’s was something i saw today, katsuki’s was inspired by my dad’s constant jumpscares tf.

[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.” 

[mwagneto]

sigh. top idk how many things that happened in jungle cruise

they tried to recreate the amusement park ride. like within the movie there was a whole ass scene that was just the ride but irl. it does not work at all ever

dwayne the rock johnson somehow has a tamed jaguar that respons to like a dozen voice commands and wags her tail like a dog

the gay character (macgregor but that's long so I'll be calling him mcgee) is. the worst stereotypes ive ever seen like seriously something straight out of an at the time progressive but in hindsight very homophobic early 2000s movie

the rock tells the woman (lily?) she cant bring all her luggage on board. turns out she only brought one bag and the 20 or so giant boxes of clothes belong to her brother because.... gay people right. haha

mcgee uses the words "i keep my eyes elsewhere" to describe himself being gay. the rock mhms and says well. to elsewhere and drinks and then passes the bottle to mcgee. this is supposed to show acceptance but it just makes it look like the rock is gay

the rock is perfectly fine with gay people but he draws the line at women having rights despite having spent the past 400 years in the jungle (with a tribe whose chief is a woman)

literally some of the worst body horror i have ever fucking seen in a pg13 movie it is far beyond enough to traumatise a child

mcgee kills a man

in her first scene lily is perfectly okay with killing 5 innocent old men who were just standing around. the only reason they survive is bc all 10? swords she threw at them miss by an inch

the villains all speak accented english. the rock, despite being the villain's brother and a native spanish speaker, speaks perfect unaccented english

the german villain says scheiße before being graphically killed on screen

way too many jokes about someone pissing their pants. like seriously mcgee non jokingly says he pissed his pants while covering his crotch TWICE and later they show someone w their pants soaked

also like. an insane amount of innuendo??? especially in one scene i will do my very best to forget (and that post is NOT all of it just the homophobic parts)

multiple jokes so homophobic they would've made me gasp and say fuck off even if this movie was 20 years old. but it came out today

what an utter shitshow

[pedrosbisch]

My Sun and Stars

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Reader w/ nickname

Chapter 1- Call Signs

Chapter 2

Summary:You go out on a Friday night with your buddies, and meet Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia for the first time Rated M for Mature themes, but would prefer the fic stayed 18+ since it gets a little spicy later 👌

AN: Hello everyone! This is my very first fanfic I’m posting, and I hope it’s up to par 😅 I’ve been delaying posting it for so long but I’m so excited to finally get this posted and starting this journey.

TW! Alcohol, Slight Violence. Please let me know if I need to add anything else!

It was just another Friday at the bar after a dull day at work. Your friend Will invited you out for drinks with him and a couple of his buddies to celebrate a friend coming home.

“Where is this guy anyway, aren’t we supposed to be celebrating him?” You ask, frustrated by the fact the person they were celebrating was nearly an hour late.

“Pope’s always late, he runs on his own time. But he’ll be here.” Will took another sip of his beer before glancing toward the door.

“He better be, I can’t stay late. I have to go back home to Maria, I promised her I’d help with the baby after I got back tonight.” Retorted Frankie.

“Speak of the devil.”

Up walked a man with curly hair and sun kissed skin. He's undoubtedly handsome, smiling before he claps a hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“What’s up cabróns? Sorry I’m late, there was traffic coming from the airport and then there was this girl out in the parking lot who had this ass that-“

“Ah-hem.” You clear your throat, hoping to cut off whatever vulgar story he was about to tell.

“Pope this is Hail. We met through the VA, thought I’d invite her out with us.”

“Hail? Cute, what’s that short for, Hailey?” He pours himself a mug of beer, barely looking your way.

“Hail Mary.”

“That’s a hell of a name. Parents were religious huh?”

Benny snickers and Frankie leans back, preparing for the shitshow to unfold.

“Call sign. Hail Mary, as in the prayer most people say before they’re about to die; A last ditch effort. For a man whose nickname is Pope, seems like you’d know better”

“Oh baby, people call me Pope because I bring them closer to god, whether it’s out in the field or in bed.” He side eyes Benny and they fist bump behind your head.

“Classy.” You roll your eyes and look over to Will who pinches the bridge of his nose and mouths 'sorry' over to you.

“Anyways- glad to have you back safe man, but I really gotta go. Wife’s gonna kill me if I don’t help with the baby like I promised.” Frankie fixes his hat and slaps Pope on the back before walking out.

“Yeah man me too, I’ve got my fight tomorrow and I already got too drunk waiting for you. You gotta come though!” Benny says as he wobbles standing up.

Will quickly stands after and steadies him propping him up on his shoulder. “I better drive Benny home, what about you Hail? You need a ride?”

“I’m alright, I’ll probably stay a little longer. I need to decompress from work.”

“Whatever works for you darlin, text me to let me know when you get home safe.” He says goodbye and shakes Pope’s hand before walking away with his brother.

“And yous better be coming to my match tomorrow!! I need my Hail Mary!!” Benny yelled with his head flopping back and forth.

“I’ll be there Benny.” You punch his ass and send them off, leaving you entirely alone with the menace of a man you’ve just met.

“So uh— you and the Miller brothers seem close.” Pope eyes you up and down, clearly trying to figure out what he’s missed while he was god knows where.

“Sure. Like Will said, we met through the VA. We’ve been pretty close since then.”

“I take it you’re a vet then, with your call sign and all?”

Was he actually trying to get to know you? “No, my dad served. 20 years in the Marine Corps, I just drive him to the meetings. He tried dragging me in one day to set me up with Will.”

“So you two are together then?” He looked up quizzically.

“Ha! If he’s interested he sure doesn’t show it. Plus I don’t think he’s really my type.”

“What is your type then?” Pope raises an eyebrow and a wide grin spreads across his face.

“Definitely not a man some of whose first words around me were ‘there was a girl who had this ass’”

“So you don’t like me because I appreciate the female form?”

“Ha! I don’t like you because you make assumptions. Like how you just assumed that you could get me to go home with you.”

“I’m offended you think so lowly of me Princesa, and how are you so sure I want to you to sleep with me?”

“Don’t call me Princesa, and because if you didn’t want to— you’d be off chasing that girl with the ass down. But you’re here, talking to me about if I’m taken and what my type is. Now if you excuse me, I’m going home.” You gulp down the rest of your beer before grabbing your purse and speed walking to the door.

Pope rushes through the crowds and grabs your arm before you raise it to hail a taxi. You break from his grasp and slam your palm into his chest before realizing it was him.

“Agh! So you’re not all bark after all.” He rubs his shoulder and winces. “Listen, I truly am sorry for this bad first impression. But I don’t think Will would be happy with me if I didn’t at least offer you a ride home in your inebriated state.”

You roll you eyes before you look in your purse and realize all your cash went toward tipping the bartender; You sigh and toss your head back in defeat. “Fine. But you’re not coming in for a nightcap.”

He leads you to his Jeep and you buckle yourself in as he pulls out of the bar parking. You punch your address into his GPS and lean your head against the cool window as the music plays softly. The alcohol hits you all at once like a tidal wave, and your head starts to spin.

You’re thankful the ride home is quiet, and even more so when the car comes to a stop. The car door opens letting the fresh night air hits your face waking you slightly.

“Can I at least walk you to your door?” Says Pope, but this time his tone is different. It’s not assertive or defensive, almost like he cares you get home safe. And he has this look on his face, what is that look? You’re too drunk to tell.

"That would be great, actually." He walks beside you, careful not to touch you unless you expressly needed help. You were doing better than expected, swaying slightly and bumping arms as you walked side by side. You were about to send Pope off, all up until you came to foot of the stairwell.

“Shit. You can go, really I’ll be fine. You’ll be here all night watching me climb these stupid things. Without an ounce of of dignity, I may add.”

He chuckled as you planted your palms on the stairs and began to crawl up them like an overgrown toddler.

“I have all night to help you up the stairs Hail, but I’ll have to touch you. If that’s ok?”

Why did those words send fire through your cheeks? ‘But I’ll have to touch you.’ You quietly nod your head in defeat and feel two strong arms lift you from under your knees and behind your back. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck and press your head to his chest. The world is spinning and you’re doing anything to anchor yourself, even if it’s to him.

You turn your head and shut your eyes, taking deep even breaths into his chest doing everything in your power to calm yourself. ‘Focus’, you tell yourself. Focus on literally anything but the spinning. You take another deep breath, but this time you take a second to appreciate the scent of Pope’s cologne. It smells expensive, but sooo nice. You hear his heart beating, or—wait. Is it yours? Your mind continues to wander further as footsteps echo off the stairwell. His arms feel so nice, maybe you could invite him… No, you decide. You won’t just be another drunken conquest.

You reach the second floor of your apartment complex and tell him your door number. He steadily places you down, and keeps a steady hand on your back as you dig out your keys. You open the door and catch yourself on the frame turning yourself to face Pope.

“Thank you for taking me home, and for carrying me up the stairs. This is so embarrassing, I swear this never happens.”

“Shh, it’s alright Princesa. Drink some water and get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow at Benny’s match. I’ll bring my best manners, and hopefully we can forget about today.” He gets you a glass of water and places it next to your couch where you ungracefully plopped yourself down.

“Mmhh. Pope?” You reach, as if trying to reach him without knowing where his is.

“Santiago. My real name is Santiago, but you can call me Santi if you want.”

Your brain is far gone, blacked out in a half asleep state with no filter attached to your mouth. “Well then Santiago, thank you again for bringing me home. Sorry it wasn’t in the context you wanted. Next time if you want it to go more smoothly, ask me to dinner. You smell too good to say no.”

He chuckles and looks at you with a soft expression before locking your door behind him as he makes his way back to his car. For the rest of the night, he replays the way you said his name in his head and makes a mental note to wear the same cologne again tomorrow night.