#every time i see my wife get the ipad out i know the result is going to knock the wind out of me

[lizmitches]

talk shit // get hit

[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.” 

[tanyawritesstories]

Living the Dream | Commander Wolffe x Reader Modern AU

So everybody knows about Wolffe and his breeding kink, so I brought the results of it to life! This entire concept may have come from a customer I see at work every so often with his kids. They're all so well behaved and adorable, and it seems every time I see him he's got more kids with him. So thank you, random customer. This is also the softest, cutest thing I've ever written. Enjoy!

Word count: 2,044

Warnings: pure unhinged fluff, Wolffe and his adorable kids, mentions the act of creating children, grocery shopping, even more fluff, it's just really cute

•••

Wolffe had never once thought about how he might look to other people, he didn't really care. At least not anymore. They usually smiled at him, some said hello, some still avoided him. He was convinced it was because of the scar and the prosthetic eye, it scared people. Though when they saw his entourage they thought differently. Wolffe may be intimidating, but it was the exact opposite when he was being swarmed with half a dozen children.

It might be a little troublesome wrestling so many children to the store but you weren’t feeling up to it and you needed a break from the kids. So your loving husband had volunteered to get the groceries and take the kids with him.

Wolffe loved every single one of his children. There were eight, four girls and four boys. They were perfect, all exceptionally well behaved, thanks to Wolffe’s military background. He kept them in line and taught them respect and manners. He was firm but kind, a perfect husband and father. You loved watching him with the kids.

Wolffe pushed the cart ahead of him with one hand, his youngest strapped into the seat in the front, his 3 year old balanced on his hip. The twins were sat in the cart itself sharing the iPad as they played a word learning game. Wolffe had sent his oldest two to a different part of the store to get a few other things. The last two, 7 and 9 years old, walked alongside him, getting distracted every few minutes.

"Ooh, daddy look at this!" His 9 year old, Kess, says as she points to a brightly colored box of cereal. "I see it, sweetie. Now c'mon, we need to find food for dinner," he replied.

He turned down an isle trying to find pasta sauce when he heard something being dropped into the cart. He turned to find that his 7 year old had thrown a package of cookies into the cart. "Zeke, we don't need those, bud," he admonished softly. "But I want them," the little boy said stubbornly. "I know, but we don't need them today, so can you please go put them back?" The young boy stomped his foot, "No, I want them so we're getting them." Wolffe kneeled down so he was eye level with his child, "Zeke Jason Koon, go put those back this instant or you're not getting your toys for the rest of the day. You will not talk back to your father and you will not disobey me," he said firmly.

Zeke lowered his head to the ground and took the cookies to put them back on the shelf. “Thank you,” Wolffe finished. He managed to find the right kind of pasta sauce and added it to the cart. His eldest two boys came thundering down the isle carrying things in their hands. “Hey hey, slow down, no running,” Wolffe corrected. “Sorry,” Tam said, “We couldn’t find the milk.”

“That’s alright, we should have enough at home,” Wolffe assured, “Can you two take Briea to pick out candles and decorations for her birthday please.” The two boys nodded and Wolffe set the youngster in his arms down on her feet. “Both of you stay with her and don’t let her out of your sight, ok?” Cardell nodded and took his little sister’s hand, Tam taking her other hand as they went on their way.

Kess helped her father, grabbing the noodles from the bottom shelf. The twins, who had since gotten bored of the iPad, were looking around and smiling at people that looked their way. The more rebellious of the twins, Lieda, decided to stand up in the moving cart and hang onto the edge. “Lieda, sit down!” Her twin brother scolded, pulling her shirt to try and get her to sit back down. “Liore, don’t pull on her shirt, please. Lieda, sit down, hun. I don’t want you to get hurt,” Wolffe said without taking his eyes off the list you had written up for him. Wolffe found three more items on the list when Zeke started pulling gently on his pants leg.

“What do you need, bud?” Zeke reached his arms up to his father, “Please.” Wolffe picked up his little boy with a smile, “You want the high ground?” Zeke nodded and giggled, Wolffe lifted him up higher and placed Zeke on his shoulders, the little boy squealing with laughter. “Hang on tight up there,” Wolffe cautioned with a smile, he felt his son’s hands anchor themselves onto his head and he held onto the boy’s leg with one hand.

Cardell and Tam came back with Briea, Cardell was carrying her while Tam carried multicolored plates, cups, and napkins. Cardell was having trouble keeping Briea from sticking the package of candles in her mouth. “She picked these out, all on her own,” Tam said, dumping the supplies into the cart. “Good job, Brie Brie,” Wolffe smiled, pinching the little girl’s cheek. He handed the list to the twins, “Here, can you guys make sure we have everything on the list?”

Liore took hold of the list and glanced over it, “Dada these words are too big,” he announced. “You can do it, sound out the letters, remember. Like how mommy showed you,” he encouraged. Tam ran further down the aisle to help Kess reach something on the shelf. Ariah, who had been content to sit strapped into the cart sucking on her pacifier, rocked back and forth and opened her mouth to gurgle, consequently letting her pacifier fall out of her mouth and onto the dirty floor. The now distraught tiny one year old scrunched up her face and began crying, Wolffe unbuckled her from the seat and held her against his chest. He gently rubbed her back and rocked her, “shhh, it’s ok, dada’s here,” he whispered.

Cardell picked the pacifier off the ground, “Want me to go wash it off?” Wolffe smiled gratefully at his son, “Please. Thank you, Cardell.” Lieda stood up in the cart again, “I wanna come too!” Cardell set Briea down in the cart and plucked his other sister out, taking her hand and wandering off to find a sink. Tam noticed his father had his hands full and offered to push the cart. “I wanna push too,” Kess added. “Ok, you push that side I’ll push this side,” Tam compromised. Kess was barely able to reach the handle but put her heart into the task nonetheless, Liore was still trying to pronounce the words on the list while Briea had gotten her hands on the iPad and was sucking on the corner.

Wolffe followed his children around as they pushed the cart and gathered the last few items on the list. He had gotten Ariah to stop crying after only a few minutes and she was now sleeping soundly in his arms, Zeke still perched high and mighty on Wolffe’s shoulders. They got to the front of the store and were rejoined by Lieda and Cardell, who gave Ariah her clean pacifier back. The twins started loading the items onto the conveyor belt, Tam watching to make sure they didn’t throw or drop the eggs or glass bottles. The cashier greeted them with a friendly hello which Wolffe returned.

“Alright Zeke, you’re gonna have to get down bud, dada needs to pay for our groceries,” Wolffe said, he crouched down and allowed Cardell to whisk his little brother off their dad’s shoulders. Kess and Tam took the full bags off the rotating holder and gave them to the twins to organize in the cart. Cardell put Zeke down and let him help put bags into the cart while he picked Briea out and held her to make more room.

“Are these all your kids?” The cashier, a middle aged woman, asked. Wolffe raised an eyebrow at her rudeness, “Yes, they’re all mine.” The woman seemed shocked. “They’re so well behaved,” a kind looking older woman said. She was behind them in the line, watching the children with awe. “Thank you, my wife and I are trying our best,” Wolffe smiled. “Well, you’re doing a great job,” she added, “You don’t see young people with well behaved children nowadays. These all the kiddos you have?” Wolffe smiled wider, there was nothing he loved more than talking (bragging) about his family. “Yep,” he chirped, “All eight. My wife and I are very lucky.” The old woman smiled at him and placed a hand on his arm, “You have a lovely family. God bless you, son.” Wolffe thanked her again and paid for his items.

~~~~

Wolffe knocked on the door, only having to wait a few seconds before you opened it. You gave him a weary smile, “My hero,” you said opening the door wider. Wolffe walked inside, setting one bag on the counter, followed by the rest of the kids carrying in the other bags. He still carried Ariah against his chest, the tiny girl still sound asleep. Wolffe told the kids what to leave out and what to put away before setting the sleeping child down on her blanket laid out on the living room floor. Finally being able to greet you again, he pecked you on the lips and pulled you into a hug.

“Are you feeling any better?” He asked. You sighed, “I was able to sleep for a little bit but now by back is killing me.” Wolffe smiled sympathetically, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. You want me to give you a massage later?” You rested your head on your husband’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. “Don’t be sorry, I’ve done this before. It’s all part of the experience,” you chuckled, looking up at your husband. Wolffe kissed your forehead and brought his hands around to your front. “You’d think it would get easier the ninth time,” he mused, running his palms over your enlarged stomach. You chuckled again, “It has a little bit. C’mon let's make dinner. And yes, I'll take that massage.”

~~~~

Wolffe whisked off his shirt and set the alarm on his phone before setting it on his nightstand. He thought for a moment before deciding he would sleep in just his boxer shorts tonight, he let the sweatpants he had been wearing fall to the floor and he slid underneath the covers of your shared bed. He rolled onto his side and perched himself up on one elbow, gazing across the room at you. You were sat at your vanity in only your panties and one of his t-shirts which was much too large on you. You loved wearing his t-shirts, especially when you were pregnant, they were so big and comfy.

This was his favorite part of the day, staring at you as you applied various creams and oils to your skin, the lights bordering the mirror made you glow even more. He was entranced by you, his own angel, someone who wanted a big family just like him. You finished your nightly routine and turned around to see him staring at you. “What?” You asked with a smile. He shook his head, “nothing” he mumbled. You turned off the vanity light and climbed in bed, laying down facing Wolffe.

“I swear you get more beautiful every time I knock you up,” he mused. You playfully swatted his arm, “oh yes because the weight gain, mood swings, and morning sickness are drop dead gorgeous,” you said sarcastically. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him. “It is, I think it’s sexy,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I love how you get so big from carrying my baby and how sassy you get sometimes, you know it turns me on." You tried to hide the blush on your cheeks as you smiled, but Wolffe moved your hands away. "And when you get sick that means I can dote on you even more,” Wolffe continued, sealing every reason with a kiss somewhere on your face. You sighed happily and brought a hand to his cheek.

“I love you, Wolffe, and every baby you’ve given me. I love everything we have. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“Neither would I, my love. I am living out my dreams.”

[the-end-of-art]

So why are we getting bullied into opening?

“I’m sorry, but it’s a fantasy” by Jeff Gregorich, Arizona school superintendent at The Washington Post

This is my choice, but I’m starting to wish that it wasn’t. I don’t feel qualified. I’ve been a superintendent for 20 years, so I guess I should be used to making decisions, but I keep getting lost in my head. I’ll be in my office looking at a blank computer screen, and then all of the sudden I realize a whole hour’s gone by. I’m worried. I’m worried about everything. Each possibility I come up with is a bad one.

The governor has told us we have to open our schools to students on August 17th, or else we miss out on five percent of our funding. I run a high-needs district in middle-of-nowhere Arizona. We’re 90 percent Hispanic and more than 90 percent free-and-reduced lunch. These kids need every dollar we can get. But covid is spreading all over this area and hitting my staff, and now it feels like there’s a gun to my head. I already lost one teacher to this virus. Do I risk opening back up even if it’s going to cost us more lives? Or do we run school remotely and end up depriving these kids?

This is your classic one-horse town. Picture John Wayne riding through cactuses and all that. I’m superintendent, high school principal and sometimes the basketball referee during recess. This is a skeleton staff, and we pay an average salary of about 40,000 a year. I’ve got nothing to cut. We’re buying new programs for virtual learning and trying to get hotspots and iPads for all our kids. Five percent of our budget is hundreds of thousands of dollars. Where’s that going to come from? I might lose teaching positions or basic curriculum unless we somehow get up and running.

I’ve been in the building every day, sanitizing doors and measuring out space in classrooms. We still haven’t received our order of Plexiglas barriers, so we’re cutting up shower curtains and trying to make do with that. It’s one obstacle after the next. Just last week I found out we had another staff member who tested positive, so I went through the guidance from OSHA and the CDC and tried to figure out the protocols. I’m not an expert at any of this, but I did my best with the contact tracing. I called 10 people on staff and told them they’d had a possible exposure. I arranged separate cars and got us all to the testing site. Some of my staff members were crying. They’ve seen what can happen, and they’re coming to me with questions I can’t always answer. “Does my whole family need to get tested?” “How long do I have to quarantine?” “What if this virus hits me like it did Mrs. Byrd?”

We got back two of those tests already — both positive. We’re still waiting on eight more. That makes 11 percent of my staff that’s gotten covid, and we haven’t had a single student in our buildings since March. Part of our facility is closed down for decontamination, but we don’t have anyone left to decontaminate it unless I want to put on my hazmat suit and go in there. We’ve seen the impacts of this virus on our maintenance department, on transportation, on food service, on faculty. It’s like this district is shutting down case by case. I don’t understand how anyone could expect us to reopen the building this month in a way that feels safe. It’s like they’re telling us: “Okay. Summer’s over. It’s been long enough. Time to get back to normal.” But since when has this virus operated on our schedule?

I dream about going back to normal. I’d love to be open. These kids are hurting right now. I don’t need a politician to tell me that. We only have 300 students in this district, and they’re like family. My wife is a teacher here, and we had four kids go through these schools. I know whose parents are laid off from the copper mine and who doesn’t have enough to eat. We delivered breakfast and lunches this summer, and we gave out more meals each day than we have students. I get phone calls from families dealing with poverty issues, depression, loneliness, boredom. Some of these kids are out in the wilderness right now, and school is the best place for them. We all agree on that. But every time I start to play out what that looks like on August 17th, I get sick to my stomach. More than a quarter of our students live with grandparents. These kids could very easily catch this virus, spread it and bring it back home. It’s not safe. There’s no way it can be safe.

If you think anything else, I’m sorry, but it’s a fantasy. Kids will get sick, or worse. Family members will die. Teachers will die.

Jeff Gregorich, superintendent of schools at Hayden Winkelman Unified School District in Arizona, shows results of a district survey. (Photos by Caitlin O’Hara for The Washington Post)

Mrs. Byrd did everything right. She followed all the protocols. If there’s such a thing as a safe, controlled environment inside a classroom during a pandemic, that was it. We had three teachers sharing a room so they could teach a virtual summer school. They were so careful. This was back in June, when cases here were starting to spike. The kids were at home, but the teachers wanted to be together in the classroom so they could team up on the new technology. I thought that was a good idea. It’s a big room. They could watch and learn from each other. Mrs. Byrd was a master teacher. She’d been here since 1982, and she was always coming up with creative ideas. They delivered care packages to the elementary students so they could sprout beans for something hands-on at home, and then the teachers all took turns in front of the camera. All three of them wore masks. They checked their temperatures. They taught on their own devices and didn’t share anything, not even a pencil.

At first she thought it was a sinus infection. That’s what the doctor told her, but it kept getting worse. I got a call that she’d been rushed to the hospital. Her oxygen was low, and they put her on a ventilator pretty much right away. The other two teachers started feeling sick the same weekend, so they went to get tested. They both had it bad for the next month. Mrs. Byrd’s husband got it and was hospitalized. Her brother got it and passed away. Mrs. Byrd fought for a few weeks until she couldn’t anymore.

I’ve gone over it in my head a thousand times. What precautions did we miss? What more could I have done? I don’t have an answer. These were three responsible adults in an otherwise empty classroom, and they worked hard to protect each other. We still couldn’t control it. That’s what scares me.

We got the whole staff together for grief counseling. We did it virtually, over Zoom. There’s sadness, and it’s also so much fear. My wife is one of our teachers in the primary grade, and she has asthma. She was explaining to me how every kid who sees her automatically gives her a hug. They arrive in the morning — hug. Leave for recess — hug. Lunch — hug. Locker — hug. That’s all day. Even if we do everything perfectly, germs are going to spread inside a school. We share the same space. We share the same air.

A bunch of our teachers have told me they will put in for retirement if we open up this month. They’re saying: “Please don’t make us go back. This is crazy. We’re putting the whole community at risk.”

They’re right. I agree with them 100 percent. Teachers don’t feel safe. Most parents said in a survey that they’re “very concerned” about sending their kids back to school. So why are we getting bullied into opening? This district isn’t ready to open. I can’t have more people getting sick. Why are they threatening our funding? I keep waiting for someone higher up to take this decision out of my hands and come to their senses. I’m waiting for real leadership, but maybe it’s not going to happen.

It’s me. It’s the biggest decision of my career, and the one part I’m certain about is it’s going to hurt either way.

(https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2020/08/01/schools-reopening-coronavirus-arizona-superintendent/?arc404=true&campaign_id=9&emc=edit_nn_20200803&instance_id=20930&nl=the-morning®i_id=72340436&segment_id=35086&te=1&user_id=e60ae3c4dd2d7adddb2ce123ccc9fad4)

[goodeday2u]

Christmas Miracle

@vintagegoddess12  Happy Holidays Secret Santa! I hope you love it <3

Cordelia settled herself on the hospital bed, her usual stoic confidence replaced with worry, fear and excitement all rolled into one.  Y/N covered her and fluffed her pillows before sitting at attention beside her wife.  She was cool, calm and collected for her Cordelia...inside she was wreck. Cordelia offered her lover a smile before another contraction ripped through her.  "jesussss christ theyre getting stronger" Cordelia nervous laughed taking in her surroundings.  Its not common that the reigning Supreme gets nervous but here she wasn't the true paramount supreme of witches, today she was a vulnerable pregnant woman about to become a mother.  A role she had worn with ease over the last 9 months making her wife fall deeper in love with her every single day.  But today was the culmination of those long months and the many years of trying and failing even before meeting the woman who would become her wife.  

Y/N relaxed into her chair, the doctor indicating we were in for a long wait as Delia was only 2cm along.   They clicked on the tv and settled into comfortable silence while they waited for the pizza Cordelia begged they order to the hospital--her only true craving.  She was in early labor and they had read enough books to know her window of opportunity to eat was dwindling.  Cordelia sat in comfortable silence while the induction meds were hooked up.  Their baby had a mind of their own and was just too comfy to move and was going on almost 2 weeks late resulting in a planned induction.  Her mind wandered to her mother and how she must have felt at this moment, on the precipise of becoming a mother, all alone.  She was beyond grateful for someone at her side but for that person to be the love of her life, to be as amazing as Y/N is, well...she just thought herself to be the luckiest person alive. Despite the old wounds Fiona inflicted over the years Cordelia missed her mother and grieved for the missed opportunity to see her become a grandmother and love this little being more than she could have loved her.  But she wasn't. Fiona was gone, she was the supreme now.  She had to carry on and carry on she did.  She took on that oath to Supremacy more than any other; determined to be the opposite of Fiona.  She took her position so seriously that she almost lost a chance at a life for herself initially rebuking any of Y/N advances and ignoring any feelings for her until she lost her and fought hard for her return.  She'd never forget that lesson.  She swore on her soul she would never let Y/N go another moment not knowing how in love she was with her.  She smiled at the thoughts of their young life together and all to come; absentmindedly tracing circles on her wife’s hand who has not let go of yours in hours.  You give it a squeeze and smile at her.   "What?" Y/N laughs "Nothing....im just thinking about how lucky i am to have found you. And how excited I am for the rest of our lives," Cordelia replies, a hint of a tear threatening to fall.   "I'm the lucky one Delia. I love you so much" Y/N replies, squeezing her hand and tucking the hair behind her ear.   A phone interrupts their tender moment, "Must be the pizza!" Y/N exclaims, standing up and kissing her wife once and then again for good measure before getting a wink and heading off to retrieve the pizza.  Cordelia leaned back checking her phone for any signs of issues back at the academy but was instead met with texts of encouragement and congratulations.  Myrtle had been noticeably silent--she had moved back to the academy and took over as head mistress so Delia and Y/N could make a home for themselves and a life outside of the academy.  Her and Delia talked every day or at least every other as their surrogate mother/daughter relationship only became stronger over the years.  She treated Y/N like a daughter in law which is why its been so strange to Cordelia that her Auntie Myrtle had now been silent for about two days before the induction.  

They ate pizza in comfortable silence and even polished off a few episodes of the crown Y/N cleverly saved on her ipad. The pain had progressed now and she was no longer comfortable.   The doctor came in and did another check--fully dilated and ready to go.  Cordelia grabbed her wifes hand and squeezed out of sheer fear of the next step.  Her wife, fully in control, guiding her every move and thought.  Strong and fearless--what Cordelia loves most about her.  What her patients must think about her she muses constantly in awe of her wife.  "This is it D--we're about to become parents!" Cordelia musters whatever strength she can to begin pushing while her wife never loses contact with her--coaching her and telling her how amazing she's doing. "ahhhhhhhhhhhh why isn't this easier I'm the fucking supremeeeeee" she wailed, pushing with all her might "I know darlin, you're so strong.  So so strong. Come on look at me, look at me and push." Cordelia digs deep and musters any fight she has towards one final push before she collapses on her back to the music of baby cries. She cries herself, overcome with emotion, while Y/N kisses her wet hair and never lets their hands part. Cordelia wanted Y/N to be the one to announce the gender so she shaking looked over and cried to her wife, "Its a boy, Delia.  We have a son"They place the bloody baby on her bare chest and she sobs at the sight of him.  "Oh my god, he's beautiful. He's beautiful Y/N" "You did it baby, that's our son. I'm so so proud of you" Y/N gushes They take him to clean him off and check him out.  "Is the baby ok?" Delia asks already feeling the emptiness of her arms waiting for her little one.  "Your son is healthy and beautiful Mrs. Goode" as they hand this little pink fella back to his moms handing him to Y/N this time.  She looks down on him and smiles, "Hi my boy. I'm your mom" and tearfully laughs towards her wife.  Cordelia's chest aches at the sight--the love of her life holding the little life they created.  Pure bliss no amount of magic could ever compete with.  Y/N handed their son back to Cordelia who held him close to her skin and kissed his tiny head, smelling the newborn magic already.   A red headed firestorm burst through the doors, "Did I miss it?!?!" Myrtle exclaimed, bursting into the room and stopping dead at the sight before her.  "Oh my dear daughter, it seems I'm just in time.  Tell me--do I have a grandson or granddaughter?" she asked, arms clasped and tears in her eyes.  "Oh my god myrtle," she cried, "you came?!"  "Why of course I did dear, my only daughter was having my first grandchild.  Nothing could have stopped me plus your darling wife here ensured I make it." she said motioning to Y/N who now walked over to Myrtle and wrap her in a hug bringing her over to Cordelia.  Cordelia mouthed her love to Y/N for just knowing her so well that having Myrtle be there would be significant.  Cordelia hands her the child and she cradles him whispering a spell of protection over him.  "He's simply stunning ladies.  Well done." she cooed.  Delia leaned back into her wife’s arms, content that her entire world was complete.  She noticed the clock--”Its after midnight baby--Merry Christmas.”

[lyrazehedgieboiii]

Legacy

Yo, hedgie squad! I’m back with another quick one shot that I found in my Ipad, and decided to post it here! So, what inspired me to write this is the word ‘Legacy.’ Hamilton constantly repeated the same word throughout the musical, and he defined it in such a unique way. And I quote “Legacy...what is a legacy? It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see... I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me,” - The World Was Wide Enough; Act Two

That made me think about Sonic. I try not to think of a Hamilton crossover with Sonic, because Hamilton ends up cheating on his wife, and I can’t imagine Eliza’s pain go to Amy. Although Amy definitely fits the part of Eliza, I just don’t want to feel their heartbreak, as that’s what fanfiction does to me. I thought:

“Sonic doesn’t seem like the type to settle down, but he would need his legacy to be passed on to the future, for any villains that may rise when Sonic passes. What if he asks the woman most dearest to his heart to bear the son of Sonic the Hedgehog?” That’s right, folks. The foreplay and aftermath of how his legacy passes on. There is no lemon in this, but rated M for mature themes. If you want the more ‘mature’ version, I’m currently making it, and it’ll be on my Wattpad.

It was a summer night, and a thunderstorm had just passed Amy’s humble little cottage in the meadow, the sun peaking out from the dark clouds above. A 26 year old Amy Rose had opened up her curtains, smiling at the sight in front of her. It was Sonic. The sun’s rays were shining above his head, creating a halo in her innocent jade eyes. After watching him slowly approach her door, she realized that he was coming to her house.

She opened it to reveal a royal blue hedgehog with long blue quills. He wore a scarf, Amy personally didn’t think it was appropriate for the weather they were in. He wasn’t the only one to have grown. She wore a mature dress, a little tight, but that’s what makes her look like a woman, Rouge told her once. She had also grown her quills out as well. She smiled genuinely, Sonic doing the same. He slowly walked in when Amy moved to the side for him. They stood there, beside the closed door, the windows showing that the sun had become even more brighter. She decided to speak up, seeing as the awkward tension was rising.

    “...Wow, it’s not everyday we see the hero of Mobius walk into the abode of his number one fan...” She had hesitated, but Sonic could clearly hear a faint joking tone.

    “I like to think of you as good friend, but if you wanna go along ‘number-one fan,’ I’m not stopping ya.” Sonic could see the miniature glint of sadness appear in her eyes upon being called his best friend, but she covered it up with her cheery demeanor.

     “Just tell me what you’re here for?” This time, he heard her mature voice, something age gives you along the path of life. She smirked as she said it, but Sonic was not here to joke. He sighed.

     “I’m here to ask you a very big favor. If you need time to think about it, I’ll let you do so. Please, just hear me out.” Amy’s smug smile had faltered, wondering what he would ask of her.

     “What is it?” She asked, leading him straight to her living room. They both sat down, side-by-side, eye contact never breaking. There was a different type of tension this time. It wasn’t awkward, it was the type that raised the mood and emotion within the two people to the point it started to show externally.

      “I’m growing old.” Sonic simply stated, wanting to give the message to her slowly, but also fast enough so she could decide what her answer would be. Amy laughed, the tension only staying within Sonic. He couldn’t help but smile, the sight of Amy laughing brought a fluttering feeling to his heart, a feeling that only she was able to access.

    “Is that all? Of course you’d be growing old, silly! It happens to everyone!” Amy chimed. She got up to get him something, before she was pulled back down gently by her waist, something that surprised Amy.

     “I mean...soon enough, later on, I might die. I could die any day, and no one would be able to pass what I worked so hard to build. What we worked so hard to build. A world where everyone is safe.” He looked up to find a confused Amy.

      “I...I’m afraid I don’t follow, Sonic. Are you dying?” Amy questioned him worriedly. Sonic shook his head in denial.

       “No, Amy. I meant...I need someone to continue to be a hero once I’m too old to do anything.” Amy stared at him, trying to understand.

        “Why don’t you ask Tails? He’ll continue being a hero!” Amy told him.

        “He’s 22, Ames. He’s not that far along.” The corner of his mouth turned upwards, but quickly went back to a straight line. He sighed again. “I mean...I need a heir. Someone with my blood to continue on, fighting any villains that come to his world. What if Eggman also has a descendant, but no one knows about it? I need a child, someone with my speed to continue on.” He explained. Amy understood, but wanted to hear the favor being asked directly from his lips.

      “What are you asking of me, Hedgehog?” She stood up, and put her hands on her hips. He stood up as well, stepping closer to her.

       “Be the mother to my child, Ames. It’s your dream, right? Well, it’ll come true! I want you to give birth to my descendant.” Sonic took her hands in his own and his eyes pleaded her. She could never get herself to say no to those eyes. Hell, she wouldn’t say no anyways.

      “Th-This isn’t a j-joke, right? You’re serious? If you’re kidding I’ll never forgive you!” Her eyes showed the same pleading look as his. He smiled, bringing her in to embrace.

      “I’d never play with your heart like this, Amy. I’m serious about every single word. I want you to be the one that gives that special motherly compassion to my kid.” He whispered in her ear, seeing she was shorter than him. He felt his chest become a bit wet, and he pulled away to find that she was crying.

With a smile.~

He smiled too, leaning down to wipe her tears away with his thumbs. Gently, he tilted his head and slowly brought his lips onto her glossy pink ones. A lot was spoken in that kiss, something along the lines of:

    “I love you...”

   “I love you too. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier.”

    “I really do care for you...”

    “So do I, I want you to know that.”

     “Don’t run away this time, just tell me if you’re going to run.”

     “I won’t run away unexpectedly, I’ve fulfilled my boyhood fantasies.”

      They broke apart, absolutely no lust featured in those deep pools of green, one pair showed happiness to no end, the other showing slight satisfaction to how happy the jade pair was.

      “So, that’s a yes?” Sonic asked, one hand on her cheek, the other on the small of her back.

       “It was always a yes, Sonic. I’m surprised you even had to ask.” Amy giggled. He brought her in for another kiss, and another, and many more throughout that night.

The next morning Amy had found out that she was indeed pregnant with Sonic’s child. Or children, but they didn’t know that yet.

Sonic stayed by Amy the whole time while she was pregnant, and restricted her from even thinking about battling Eggman, although she had gotten away with it many times, resulting a strict lecture from him. She ordered sound proof ear plugs, put them in and Sonic wouldn’t notice that there was anything in her ear, while she closed her eyes and listened to his muffled voice.

He dealt with her mood swings, knowing that they were normal, but couldn’t help but feel a bit annoyed when she gets all irritated when he tries to touch her, but also gets clingy and depressed when he just goes out for something like buying necessary groceries. On Amy’s second month, she allowed him to sleep with her, but she seemed to get up a lot to go to the bathroom, but Amy assured Sonic that it was completely normal.

On her sixth month, her pregnant stomach really started to show. Everyone could see that it was not fat, but a perfect circular bulge. It was obvious she was pregnant. She was forced to tell everyone about what Sonic and her did. They were all happy about it, and congratulated them. She had a baby shower that only their friends knew about. They received many gifts, most of them being unisex, some being gifts for girls, some for boys.

Amy knew that with her symptoms, she would have more than one baby, and was worried about Sonic. How would he react to that?! He showered her with love, and made her feel special, because she was. As Amy’s stomach grew, she started to feel self-conscious at how she looked, and how she did basically anything in front of Sonic. Sonic noticed her behavior changed to all nervous and stuttering when he was in the room, and was afraid that she was feeling stressed out. After all, stress was bad for the baby...well, babies. He rushed back to their house, quickly looking around for her. He found her in the bedroom, looking at herself in the mirror.

When she closed her eyes, Sonic quietly walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, taking in her scent and beauty. He didn’t understand what she was so conscious about. She was gorgeous in his eyes.

Wait.

Not gorgeous.

Perfect.

This woman has fought off and has become friends with countless amount of enemies.

This woman always wears a smile on her face, even when things are going absolutely terrible for her.

This woman knows how to make everyone happy, even if it means she has to sacrifice her own.

This woman happily agreed to birth the descendant of Sonic the Hedgehog.

Just by looking at his eyes, Amy could tell he was lovestruck. Completely, and utterly lovestruck. The sweet everythings he whispered in her ear at night were enough to get her content and energetic self back.

Next came her last month. Any day now, she would give birth to Sonic the Hedgehog’s children. They weren’t just his children, but her’s too. Her water broke just as she she was cooking something for lunch, she felt something wet. She screamed Sonic’s name, who was luckily in the dining room, chowing down on a chilidog. He ran her to the hospital immediately, and stood by her side as she gave birth to three healthy baby boys. Amy apologized to Sonic over and over again, but Sonic cut her off with a kiss.

     “What are you apologizing for?” He asks, as he holds his youngest in his arms, cradling him a bit.

     “This was more than one baby!” She exclaimed, but before she could open her mouth, Sonic’s mouth was on her’s again.

      “So? I may not be showing it, but I’m really happy that I have more than one kid. I’m a triplet too, you know.” Amy smiled. She looked the two bundles in her arms, kissing their foreheads. Sonic knew he had made the right decision. Of course, she wouldn’t let him name any of the kids “Sonic Jr.” They all looked like Sonic, although the oldest looked a little more indigo, and the middle child had a few royal purple highlights and Amy’s bangs. The youngest had Amy’s eyes, but otherwise, he looked exactly like Sonic.

They named them from oldest to youngest. Flash, Dash, and Blur.

They would carry on his legacy.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

First Chance at a Family

Day 2 of 2020′s 31 Days of Ficmas.  Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for the list!

Prompt: ginger/gingerbread

Rating: T

Pairing: 9xRose AU; mini-sequel to Second Chance at Forever

Summary: Rose & John’s journey to parenthood, told in 4 parts.  Warnings for: morning sickness, pregnancy, etc

2020 31 Days of Ficmas masterlist  |  Second Chance at Forever

AO3

---

“Ugh.”  Wiping at her mouth Rose leaned back, closing the toilet lid and reaching for the flush.  Tilting over onto her side, she rested her heated face against the soothingly cold bathroom floor, feeling like death warmed over.  “This is the third morning in a row, and I’m starting to think it’s not the New Year’s hangover,” she mumbled into the tiles.  “I’m not ready to go there.”

Her one comfort was that John was surely already at work, blissfully unaware of the physical and mental turbulence occurring in her stomach.  No need to worry him before she had to.

“If I still don’t feel well tomorrow, I’ll go see a doctor,” she bartered with her stomach, hand hovering over it for a moment before clenching her fist and lowering it to the ground.  That, she felt, would be a tacit acknowledgement of the increasingly-likely scenario, and she wasn’t ready to face that yet.  “And if not, definitely the day after.”

She lay there for a few more minutes, eventually determining it was safe to resume her day.  Moving gingerly, she washed her face and brushed her teeth, pulling her dressing gown tightly around her as she shuffled towards the kitchen-

And froze, shocked to see her husband sitting at the table sipping from a mug and writing on a piece of paper.

“Morning,” he said flatly, not looking up.  “That’s for you.”  His head tilted in the direction of a steaming mug across from him, and she sank into the seat without taking her eyes off him.

Lifting the mug to her lips, she found ginger tea, her stomach clenching at the implication.

“I thought you had office hours this morning,” she broke the silence once she’d drunk half of it. “Why…”

“My wife is sick, I wanted to be here if she needed me.  However, I didn’t want to intrude if she wasn’t ready to tell me what’s going on?”

And just like that, she knew- that her fears were correct, and worse, John had clearly figured it out first.  Shit. In the back of her mind she knew this was a good thing, she should be happy about it, but we’ve only been married a year, it’s too soon!

She let out a sigh. “Technically, I don’t know what’s going on.  I just have… growing suspicions.”  Peeking up at him, she met his eye, his expression softening.

“I see.”  Setting down his pen John removed his glasses, rubbing at his face for a moment before rising, coming around the corner of the table to kneel beside her.  “I realized yesterday, and… it’s more than a suspicion.”

“That’s what I get for marrying a doctor,” she joked weakly, rubbing her thumb along his jawline.  “I wasn’t… keeping it from you, I just… hadn’t faced it yet myself.”

Leaning up, he pressed a kiss to her cheek.  “Okay. I’ve already called us both off, so why don’t we lie down for a cuddle, and not talk about it?”

“Okay,” she agreed, heart filling with love for such a wonderful, understanding partner.  “I’m gonna finish this tea, first, though.”

“Absolutely.”  John stood, resting his hand on her back and offering her a small smile.  “The ginger will help with the nausea.  So will a nap.”

Deciding to bring the mug to the bedroom with her, she let him guide her into bed, curling up in his arms with her head on his chest and his hands on her belly.

-

Seven nausea-filled days later found them sitting in an exam room, Rose aggressively chewing on a piece of ginger candy as she sat on the table looking around.  John was seated on the guest chair, seemingly enthralled with a pamphlet, though his bouncing leg gave evidence to his own anxiety.

“Oi.”

He looked up, blinking. “Yeah?”

“Why ginger?”

“What d’you mean?”

She gestured with the bag of candy in her hand.  “Why does this supposedly help?”  With every minute they had to wait she was growing more nervous, and nothing distracted her the way her husband could when he fell into ‘professor mode’.

John immediately abandoned the pamphlet on the countertop, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees.  “Well, first, it’s a traditional remedy dating back thousands of years, mostly in India and Southeast Asia, where it grows naturally.  It’s fairly interesting actually – it helps with a number of ailments, and isn’t limited to the digestive tract.  Current thought is that it’s an anti-inflammatory and anti-oxidant, and can cure sickness from motion and chemotherapy, not just-” he paused to wave at her, but was prevented from continuing by a rap on the door followed by it opening.

“Good morning,” the doctor said brusquely, stepping in.  “Noble?”

“Yes,” they chorused, Rose adding, “I’m Rose, this is John.”

The doctor nodded, consulting the iPad in his hand.  “Great, I’m Doctor MacMartin.  So, I have your test results.”  He sat on the stool, setting down the tablet and looking at her for the first time. “You’re pregnant.”

Despite having spent the last week coming to terms with the idea, the confirmation knocked the breath from Rose’s lungs.  Pregnant. A baby.  She looked to John, who was silent, eyes wide and surprised but pleased, with a silly smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  In response her own twitched, and suddenly they were beaming at each other, tears pricking at her eyes.

A baby.  A family.

And just like at the end of The Grinch, her heart expanded.

-

“I have literally never hated you more than I do at this moment.”

John, the bastard, had the gall to smirk, not pausing as he tucked her in.  “It’s just for two weeks,” he said cheerfully.  “Then our bundle of joy will be here, and you won’t want to get out of bed.  You should rest while you can.”

She huffed in response, folding her arms across her enormous belly.  At thirty-seven weeks she’d been placed on bed rest as a precaution, and two hours into it, she was already going mad.  John was fussing over her like a mother hen, and she already knew it would be worse when word spread and Donna and Jackie showed up to ‘help’. She was tired, and sore, and she hadn’t seen her feet in months, constant heartburn, and the most galling bit- “Why do you lie?”

“About what?”  Kicking his shoes off he settled himself next to her hip, one hand naturally settling to the bump and stroking, doing little to calm the rolling child within.

“‘Morning sickness’. More like ‘all day sickness’.  And why do you say it’s only during the first trimester?  Why am I still nauseous?  I mean, I know I haven’t actually been sick, but honestly, I don’t mind that so much- at least after I feel better, if only for a few minutes.  But there’s no relief!”

He clucked his tongue sympathetically, hand moving to caress her knee.  “I know it sucks, and you’ve had it rough.  But you’re doing brilliantly, really, and I’m so proud of you. You’re already such a great mum.” Leaning forward, he nabbed a ginger candy from the nightstand and handed it to her.  “Not much longer.”

“And to think, people say this is the easy part,” she muttered petulantly, unwrapping the candy and popping it in her mouth.  “I just wanna meet them.”  They’d decided, after weeks of squabbling, not to find out what they were having- the deciding factor had been when Pete had let slip Jackie’s plans for a gender reveal party, and Rose had put her foot down out of principle.

John was silent for a long minute, waiting out her sighing and grumbling until she settled.  “I know.  Me too.  But for now, can I tempt you with a movie instead?”

“Don’t you have to go to work?”  Even as she said the words she reached for her mobile, pulling up Netflix to broadcast it to the telly he’d set up.

“Nah,” he said easily, moving to sit next to her, close enough they were touching from hip to thigh. “And, I had one in mind.”  Nabbing her mobile, he held it out of her reach, typing one-handed.

Moments later the telly flicked on, Netflix opening on the movie credits, and she gasped.  “Top Hat!  My favorite.”

“I know,” John said smugly, dropping the mobile on the bed in favor of taking her hand.  “I know you and your Mum have Cliff Richards movies, and I want us to have something similar with little Florence.”

“Not happening,” she didn’t glance at him.  “Ginger and Fred- yes.  Florence?  No. We’re not having a grandmother.” The baby kicked then, and she smiled down fondly at her stomach.  “Isn’t that right, little one?  Daddy’s just being silly, you’ll see, Earl.”

Her husband scoffed. “Is that a pun?  We are not name our child Earl Noble, Rose Tyler- talk about setting him up for failure!”

“Shush.  The movie’s starting.”

Grinning, they turned back to the show- neglecting the dancing on screen to focus instead on the movement of her belly, the child within dancing to the music far more interesting.

Two more weeks!

-

Fighting back a yawn, John made his way down the corridor to the waiting room, stopping just out of sight to take in the room.  Everyone they loved most was gathered there, scattered around in small groups.  At first glance the only person missing was his godson August, the baby likely with Martha’s parents; even Tony was there, though the six-year-old was asleep against his father.

It warmed his heart to see them all together, waiting, already loving the little life they didn’t know had arrived, and was currently be weighed and cleaned up.  Slipping his mobile from his pocket he took a picture of the group, wanting to capture this moment, show his child how loved they were from their first breath.

Taking the few steps needed to enter the room, he bit back a smile when no one looked up or registered his presence.  “You all waiting on someone?”

In seconds he had everyone’s full attention, eager eyes waiting with bated breath, and he knew he was failing to contain his joy as they gathered close, instantly dropping their newspapers and books and mobiles to focus on him.

“Well?!”  It was Tony who broke the silence, eyes still full of sleep, and John crouched down in front of him.

“C’mere, mate.”

The boy stepped closer, watching impatiently, little brow furrowing.  “Is my Rosie okay?”

“She is.”  John took a deep breath, nearly overwhelmed with the moment, and the weight of the words he was about to say.  “So’s your niece.”

The room was silent enough to hear a pin drop for one heart stopping moment; and then Jackie screamed “It’s a girl!” and everything devolved into chaos, as he was pulled in every direction for hugs, kisses, and congratulations.

“Wait!” Donna commanded, loud enough to be heard over the chatter, drawing everyone’s attention. “More information.  Is Rose okay?  What’s the baby’s name?  When can we see them?”

“Right.”  Still hugging Martha, somewhat leaning on her for support, he organized his thoughts.  “Rose is fine- a champ, of course, though she’s exhausted.  Baby’s good, big and healthy.  And you can see them in an hour or so.”

Martha poked him viciously in the side.  “And her name?”

His smile grew, thinking of his little girl – for so long she’d felt like an abstract concept, despite watching Rose’s belly grow and actively planning for her arrival.  But now she was here, and beautiful, and his heart was fully.  “Genevieve Amelia.  Jenny.”

This brought on more gushing, and far too many questions for his tired brain to track, much less comprehend or answer, until once again, his sister’s voice broke through.

“Who’s she look like?”

“Rose.”  He grinned; every baby he’d ever seen had just looked like a squirming blob, especially at only minutes old, but not his little girl- no, his daughter already looked so much like her mother it was uncanny. “But she’s got your hair.”

“Yes!” Donna crowed, clutching onto Lee’s arms.  “Another ginger!  We need more of them in this family, I always said that.  Does this mean I get first dibs on meeting her?”

This sparked a new, lively debate between Donna, Sylvia, and Jackie, John just shaking his head with a grin. Catching his grandfather’s eye he tilted his head slightly, before grabbing his brother-in-law’s hand and slipping away with a wink to Pete.

Everyone would have a chance to meet the baby, but they’d decided the oldest and youngest would have first dibs.

Overwhelmed by the urge to see Rose and Jenny, he quickened his step.

His family needed him.

[rookieinbflat]

Ours

Ethan x MC (Levin Stern)

WC: ~1700

Tags: @writerapprentice @vickypoochoices

Summary: you guys apparently love the domestic fluff so I’m going to be doing a little mini series about some Mini Ramseys

Levin can barely contain her excitement as she walks down the halls of Edenbrook, towards Ethan’s office. She’s basically running at this point, manoeuvring her way through the patients with a huge smile, the sort of smile that hurts your cheeks. Levin and Sienna had done the blood tests yesterday and the results just came back in. Curling her fingers into a loose fist, she raps her knuckles on the door to his office gently. He calls out for her to enter and when she opens the door, he looks up at her over the lenses of his glasses, he looks so hot in his glasses, she thinks to herself silently, though she’s said it to him out loud numerous times.

He smiles softly, her beauty never failing to impress him, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She smirks at him, walking over to his desk and preaching herself by his left side, the skirt she’s wearing rides up over her legs and Ethan has to remind himself that they’re in the workplace. Ethan’s desk is littered with papers and medical journals, he’s writing his new book and the research seems almost endless, if only he could pull out of the contract with the publisher.

“I have some test results I wanted you to look over, the patient has been complaining of lower back pain, abdominal cramps and occasional nausea,” Levin hands him the stack of papers, printed in black and white.

Ethan looks over the blood tests, “Hm, I can't see anything wrong,” he murmurs, “except for here, c’mon Rookie, these are hCG positive,” he shakes his head, surprised she missed such obvious results, his eyes scan up to the corner of the page and looks at the patient name and age.

Stern, L E 17/09/1992

Levin braces herself as he puts the pieces together, his brows furrow and then he shoots out of his chair, gathering her in his arms and spinning the young doctor around his office. Levin squeals loud enough for the entire hospital to hear, but she doesn’t care, she’s excited and full of love. Ethan places her back down on the floor and holds her by the hips, “We’re gonna have a baby?” He asks with a twinkle in his blue eyes, the last time she saw this exact look was their wedding day.

“Actually, Dr Ramsey, I think you missed something in these results,” she smirks and picks up the results from the large oak desk, showing him the paper and pointing out numbers from the blood tests.

A small whisper escapes from his lips, “Twins?” Ethan is shellshocked, a baby was one thing but twins, my god, they were going to need to move, not to mention the cost of baby supplies and getting them on a waiting list for a good daycare, had Levin been taking prenatal supplements? She’s going to need a new car with a higher safety rating and cut back on the caffeine.

Levin looked up at him in awe, her gorgeous husband had been in this hospital since he was twenty-six and had rarely let his guard down, until now. Levin reaches up and places her soft hands on his cheeks, gently caressing them with her thumbs, “Babe, we're gonna get through this,” she reassures him with kind eyes, her voice is calm and soothing and Ethan feels like they’re the only two people in the universe, “together,” he lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding and leans down to kiss her softly, his stubble tickling her lips.

He sighs, “We're going to have a family,” he says the words like he almost doesn’t believe them, “how far along?” He queries, his gorgeous wife looking up at him with chocolate brown eyes.

“About three months, we’ll need to ultrasound to confirm twins, but they run in my family so I’ve got a pretty good idea,” she chuckles and he throws the paper over his shoulder and all but drags her to obstetrics, plants her in a chair and boots up the ultrasound machine.

The gel he spreads across her torso is cold and she shivers, but when two little blobs start to show up on the ultrasound screen, she’s struggling to hold back tears. The increased hormones haven’t really helped the fact that Levin cries at just about anything, from a cute dog on the sidewalk, to mildly sad stories she sees on the internet. These babies were going to change their life, Levin has wanted this since the day they started going steady, after growing up in a big family, she’d always dreamed of starting her own and now here they were - at the beginning of that journey.

Ethan reaches over to take her hand in his and he squeezes it hard like she’s the only thing keeping holding him to Earth, “Ours.”

—————

The months that follow are a blur and Ethan has launched into full doctor mode - it's endearingly annoying. Levin sighs and rolls out of bed, it's a little past five am and even though she has a day off today, she can't bring herself to sleep in. She sits on the edge of the bed and stretches out of arms and shoulders before standing up to look in the mirror on the vanity. She’s showing now, her belly is round and stretch marks are littered across her hips, she’s had to buy maternity bras which probably run the same price as their utility bill. Levin runs her hands across the skin there, picturing the two little babies growing inside of her. Pregnancy has been both a miracle and a really weird experience. No one prepared her for the feeling of having twins do somersaults in her body, kicking and moving all the time.

Seven months down, two to go.

Levin used to cry a lot - sad movies, cute dogs, adoption videos, you name it and she’s probably cried over it, but since the ultrasound, she hasn’t cried once. Ethan jokes that the pregnancy hormones were better than any anti-anxieties he could prescribe. Ethan has cut back on work, he only goes in five days a week now, he leaves early in the morning and is always home by seven, usually six. They spend their weekends in the park or wandering around the city, looking at boutique baby stores and figuring out what they want their future life as a family to look like. He comes home with sorbet a lot, draws her baths and massages the tension out of her shoulder. They day he tells Naveen the news is the best day of his life, Naveen looks between the two of them with stars in his eyes, his dream of seeing his mentee living his life to the fullest more rewarding that any case he’s ever solved.

Levin attempts to pull her robe around her and walks out to the kitchen where Ethan is preparing breakfast. He does this every morning, no matter what time he has to be at the hospital and he's back every night for dinner. Levin thinks he's more nervous about the pregnancy than her, he spends all his spare time reading parenting books, medical journals on parenting, talking to obstetricians at the top of their field, childhood behavioural analysts. She knows that he's worried about being a good dad, but Levin has no doubts at all. She wouldn’t have gotten this far if she wasn’t completely and utterly sure of the fact that he was going to be the best dad for their children. Levin smiles and turns down the radio slightly, its Mozart and just a little bit loud for five am. She walks over to where he’s cooking eggs on the stovetop and wraps her arms around him, despite the obvious protrusion coming off of her torso.

“Morning,” she sighs lazily and he turns the heat off on the eggs so he can turn around to face her, kissing her softly.

“Morning Rookie, sleep alright?” Ethan brushes stray hairs out of her face and watches her with blue eyes that make her weak at the knees, “sorry if I woke you,”

“No, my body clock is still running on early morning wake-ups,” She shuffles him out of the way and places two eggs on her plate, along with a side of veggies and baked tofu. Ethan hands her a capful of the three different prenatal vitamins he's got her on and she washes them down with some water, “Thanks for making breakfast,” his smile could light up the city, she’s sure of it.

They sit down at the table and Ethan is flicking through his emails when something catches his eye, “Lev,” he lifts his chin, asking her to join him on the other side of the table, “the realtor just sent me this,” he turns the iPad so she can see and her eyes light up.

She gasps softly, “Oh my god, Ethan, it's beautiful,” she tells him, her smile is stretched bright across her face. They’ve been looking for houses since they found out she was pregnant but they’ve struggled to find the perfect place. Everything was too small, or too big, too far out of town or not enough space. Great real estate in Boston was not an easy thing to come by, and when it did come around it often didn't stay on the market for long.

Ethan feels anxiety bubble in his gut - it's getting closer and closer to go time. They were talking about baby names, nursery colours, preschools to send them to. He’s wracked with nerves but then he glances at Levin from the corner of his eye and he sees that smile that gives him a reason. If angels exist, she’s got to be one of them, Ethan is sure of it.

He wraps an arm around her and uses his other hand to navigate the webpage, “They have a viewing on Saturday,” he points out the dates and times, “I’m supposed to be at work but I’m sure I can swing an hour or so off to go with you,” he's smiling now too.

“If you can't make it I’m sure Sienna would come with me, it's not a huge problem,” before she can argue anymore he cuts her off with a kiss, his eyes soft.

“I’ll be there.” He says it with no room for protest so she relents, leans in slowly and tells him she loves him.

[heartists]

to take from those who have nothing.

it’s not something you see every day: a limousine drops off a lady dressed in skintight violet and silver furs at a seedy little poké mart whose rooftop doesn’t even light up at night half the time. she’s famous, clearly, but she slips inside before the paparazzi can show up to badger her: the only stares she gets are from the few people on the street at this hour of morning who notice her, do a double take and go wait, is that lila derosier? the automatic sliding door to the poké mart is locked--but luckily, she has the key. she inserts it into the lock, turns it, and pushes the obstacle aside.

“we aren’t even open yet,” says the manager. “how the hell did you get in?”

“oh, sweetheart, don’t you know?” she says with a sanguine smile. “my husband’s cousin’s wife is the one who owns poké mart incorporated. i’m a derosier, in case you haven’t recognized. you ought to know better.”

the manager drops the iPad he’s holding once he realizes his mistake. the only thing that stops it from smashing is the protective case that surrounds it.

“lila,” he mumbles as he dips into a bow. “your--your majesty. i’m so sorry.”

she smirks as she moves toward the offices in the back. she’s heard from her cousin-in-law that this particular manager was the sort that treated his subordinates as lowly and insignificant……how distasteful. how dare a lowly and insignificant person such as he attempt to hold himself higher than those who were ultimately, from her perspective, in the same peasantlike position? well, all power is relative, as she will soon teach him. no matter how much weight you think you hold in the world, there’s always someone stronger (unless, of course, you’re a derosier and the globe is at your feet).

he steps in front of her, gesturing frantically to where his office is. he’s as eager as a puppy, a terrified puppy but still--a dog that would bite off its own tongue to follow her orders. she enters the room and sits; her delcatty leaps on top of his desk and plants herself on top of his papers.

“how may i serve you, your majesty?” says the manager, not daring to meet her eyes.

“a little bird tells me that you are about to employ one ursula derosier,” she purrs, stroking her delcatty’s head.

“pardon me, but--how do you know this information?”

“i am her mother, dear. it’s my job to know everything about her.”

for a moment, he’s at a loss for words. o……kay then.

“um.” he says when he finally speaks again. “what would you like to do with this information?”

“i was here merely to warn you against hiring her,” she says. “given her high publicity, surely you must be aware of her arrest record as well as the results of the illegal power grab she attempted a few months prior. i know from being her mother that she will do anything to get what she wants--perhaps even attempt to oust you from your position. can you really trust such a person to encompass the values of integrity, loyalty and reliability that your store seems to prize in its employees?”

“well--” 

what she said about ursula attempting to take his power…she does have a point. but still…

“i’m so sorry, ma’am--er, i mean, your majesty. we’ve been looking for help for ages and she was the only one who answered the call. nobody wants to work here, you know. we’re in a bad part of town, we don’t get a lot of business, and honestly i was surprised as hell that of all the people who could possibly take the job, it was a princess. her arrest record was indeed a consideration that i had to take into account, but considering the fact that we really, really needed someone to fill that spot……”

“i completely understand.” her pleasant tone is laced with tainted malice. “the pressures of running a business are such that one must sometimes do things one does not want to do. however, if you do choose to keep ursula on as your employee, you may find yourself facing pressure of a different sort. one that might make you think twice about your decision.”

“such as?”

she draws her delcatty onto her lap, and scratches her under the chin. 

“i’m sure you’re aware that when someone is as famous as ursula, word spreads quickly about their goings-on. not two minutes after she starts working here, all of kalos will know about it--if not the entire world. people will know this store as the one that hosts the girl who stole the title of kalos queen, and they will know you as the manager who did it. is that really something you’d want attached to your name?”

“she’s a total nobody nowadays, though. no offense,” he says. “are people even going to care about what she does anymore?”

“well, i know one man who cares.” the delcatty starts to purr. “surely you’ve heard of my husband, alexandre derosier.”

“wh-what about him?” he’s not even sure if he needs to ask, but the fear in him forces out a question--one last hope that she’s not about to threaten what he thinks she is.

“what i’m saying is, he’ll pick up the story of ursula’s arrival in this poké mart. he’ll have every major television station blaring it on the nightly news. you won’t have any more customers than before--in fact, you may probably have less--but your store will still be packed. packed with the camera crews swarming here day and night, asking you why you did it, why you gave such a wretched criminal a second chance. certainly, that’s not what you want. but if you move forward with this course of action, that’s what’s coming to you.”

“so…you want me to fire her, otherwise you’re going to tell your husband to spread this all over the global news, and send reporters to my store to…”

“precisely,” says lila, her eyes glittering like shards of amethyst. “and spread the word to every business you know that if they wish to hire her as well, they can be expecting this as well.”

he looks down and purses his lips. underneath his desk, he fiddles with the hem of his shirt. 

“done and done.”

[drmicrochp]

A Marathon trip to Havana, from the depths of the Chilean south.

A MARATHON TRIP TO HAVANA FROM THE DEPTHS OF THE CHILEAN SOUTH

Everything and everyone will pass you by in an airport if you wait long enough. While waiting for the plane to travel to Lima, I spent a short while in the Santiago airport. Chile’s main airport is about as busy as the Sacramento airport (14 million passengers in 2014 versus 11 million passengers in 2017), but an immense amount of construction is going on. Like the rest of Chile, it is growing rapidly. Trying to talk to strangers there is a lost cause. Everyone is paranoid that you're going to try to sell them something or con them.

It has been isolating for me. I have been able to get to know very few people outside of my wife’s circle. I hold back somewhat with them because we have such different ideas. Little signals tell me when I have strayed beyond the limits of polite conversation. However, outside of Chile, I can see the difference between conversation which is always to create a certain impression and talking to engage the other person.

What will the Cubans be like? I´m sure it will be different than living in this cold country to the south. I'm also wondering what it might be like to talk with educated people about politics. Usually I must bend to the right to avoid confrontations with the conservatives. In Cuba will I be able to find common ground with people who have a true revolutionary heritage, or would it seem that everything that I have to say is a repetition of a lie or completely uninformed? I've been practicing my little speech mentally; that people on the left should find common ground, between liberals, socialists and communists in the hopes of defending the small gains in justice and equality that have been won. All around the world, it seems that the forces of reaction have the upper hand, with racism and greater inequality being the result.  In the U.S., where it is so polarized, it seems that the only interaction these days is shouting and name calling and… it seems that there is no interest in facts. How do you even talk to someone who denies climate change and the thinks that racism is a made-up excuse to harass white people. After that type of interaction, a Cuban viewpoint might be refreshing.

 ARRIVING IN CUBA

I had so many impressions from my trip and I was so tired that I just let them wash over me and tried to live in the moment. Even so, there were so many amazing events that the images just stuck with me and, only now, do I realize what was so special about them.

There were three long flights with long layovers to bring us to our destination, from Temuco, Chile to Havana, Cuba. Spending six hours in the Lima airport was nice because it was so huge and interesting to see all the shops. The Lima airport was the antithesis to what awaited in Cuba. The most expensive luxury goods, duty free, beckoning me to spend money, any single purchase enough to feed a family in Cuba for a week. Like Chile, Peru has had a commercial explosion and the place is about ten times larger than it was the last time I was here. And, of course, there was construction going on all over the place. Drinking coffee was always my main activity as I can’t abide the thought of being sleepy and disoriented while having to keep track of my possessions, worry about schedules, and to be on the lookout for thieves.

Raquel, who is of a different mindset, concentrated on capturing moments of rest, sleeping here, there and everywhere she had a moment. Checking out the passengers in the waiting area in the airport for the group that was bound for Havana is one of my favorite pastimes, sleuthing the origins of the passengers around me. It seemed to me that they were mostly from Brazil, Peru and Argentina with a smattering of Cuban expats.

They were more Bohemian in appearance than the rest of the passengers at the airport. One young woman, with multiple tattoos and a hipster vibe, was very nice and explained the tattooed portrait on her arm as Celia Sanchez, an icon of the Cuban revolution. Surprisingly, there were several families with babies and small children. Bringing my crutch with me (a kind of strategic move as I rarely use it these days) earned us the right to jump ahead at each line at boarding time. I was grateful for every small favor as the trip was already becoming a grueling experience. Sitting amid strangers on mid-sized jets that were packed full of passengers gave me claustrophobia.  

When had passenger planes ever flown so full? What enormous quantity of fuel was being consumed to lift all this weight into the sky and fling us to our destination? We were a smelly lot as sitting around in the same clothes for days on end can produce that effect. I don't much care about that as I’m not bothered by smells and find them to be an ordinary thing. The women seem to opt for spraying perfume and air fresheners everywhere. Raquel had a bottle of eucalyptus scent which, although it had a piney medicine smell, was a welcome alternative to all the other odors that were accumulating. I'm always reminded of medieval Europeans who rarely bathed and always carried around little handkerchiefs with orange peels and cloves in them. I can imagine the intensity of those olfactory onslaughts from my encounters with the truly homeless in Stockton, California. Just another indignity of poverty.

Finally, we arrived in Havana and I noticed that our cell phones, iPad and portable chargers were depleted. I have tried meditation, watching everything and everyone, mindfulness and conversation to pass the time, but it never seems to go quickly enough. Like the rest of my over-stimulated generation, I depend on small electronic entertainments to keep my mind occupied so I don’t have to think.

Havana airport! Smaller than I would have thought and about the size of the airport in Stockton, California. There were long lines for customs, baggage checks, and visa checks. My mind was filled with so many doubts and questions. How was it that all these people were doing their jobs with salaries of $25 dollars a month? Although the Cuban government doesn't let anyone actually starve, it doesn't seem possible that people would care about anything without getting paid more than that. Yet here they were, and they actually seemed to be enjoying themselves. We could hear laughter and joking from the baggage handlers from the other side of the wall. Although everyone was dressed in crisp khaki and blue uniforms, they were far from the rigid, military postures that I remember in other international airports. They sat comfortably in their chairs. Many were enjoying conversations. They kept everything moving, but it was not like the work, work, work, hurry, hurry, hurry attitude that I remember from other customs experiences.

My happy observations came to a halt though when I realized that the airport had few seats. Also, there was no way to call our hotel people and our son’s flight was delayed. To add to that, the whole situation seemed confusing as there were so many people wandering around the exit area -taxi drivers, passengers, and people waiting for their friends and family to appear as they disembarked. Also, the lights in the airport kept flickering on and off. I concluded that this would be a trip of unexpected little problems, sudden surprises, and great beauty.

Finally, our son, Joaquin, arrived on a separate flight from New York and we were all reunited at last and, amazingly, nothing was lost or stolen, nobody injured, and no obstacle had proven too great for this encounter.

 OUR FIRST NIGHT

Sure, we were exhausted when we checked into our beautiful hotel in old Havana. But stay in our rooms and rest? Never! Our ground zero was within the overwrought, grandiose, but decaying old sector, leaving us within walking distance of all the most interesting places in the capitol. I experienced déjà vu seeing these streets again, after having seen them in so many YouTube videos before the trip. We found a top restaurant not far from the hotel and, after checking out the prices, selected three cocktails and three appetizers. Even with judicious selections our bill came to around $50 dollars. We were surprised and amazed at the gourmet offerings and the three musicians who serenaded us. I was in disbelief at the prices of suggested wines handwritten on chalkboards; one of them selling for as high as $60.

Other contrasts confronted me as a member of a privileged group. The indifferent tourists, enjoying the musicians playing magnificently throughout, who would neither tip nor applaud.  A single bottle of wine selling for two months average salary in Cuba. The impression I had was of two completely different sets of people, each one a stranger to the other. Perhaps they would never really see one another. Perhaps they could not.

I realized that I wanted to reach out and talk to everyone, to know their reality. Could they see me as someone who applauds their courage and their sacrifice? I think that everyone who comes here has some level of respect for the Cubans, how they have faced every trial with their dignity and ideals intact. Even so, when do tourists cross the line into disrespect? When will the Cubans get tired of this other group, a group that cavalierly enjoys and discards so much, so much denied to them by an accident of birth?

 THE HOTEL

On our first day we enjoyed the softest of landings -a bathroom with hot water, air conditioning, a beautiful room in old Havana. There was so much to be grateful for, including friendly hotel staff, nearby restaurants, and impressive two-hundred-year-old architecture throughout this sector of the city.

The owner of the hostel (less than a hotel, more than a lodge) is a Spanish entrepreneur married to a Cuban woman who purchased the two-story home and rebuilt it into a hotel with twelve rooms. In the morning we enjoyed a full breakfast with fruit, bread, eggs and CUBAN coffee (delicious).  Joaquin, my son, reproached us for looking at our cell phones during breakfast, but it was the best time to check the internet as the hotel provides a strong signal, as long as you’ve paid up your Wi-Fi access keys and figured out all of the steps to configure it. The public internet service here, less than five years old, requires that you buy little connection cards, each with a scratch off code good for one hour. Once you enter the code, the clock is ticking. Breakfast time is intense: eating, talking, connecting devices onto the net, answering email, checking web pages. Command central for planning out the entire day.

The staff at the hotel shared directions, recommendations, and chit chat. We felt close to them. I know that Raquel gave away some toothbrushes and toothpaste. I, myself, have been donating USB drives with collections of Chilean music on them. In an act of solidarity between old time music lovers, one gentleman even gifted me some of his prized Nueva Trova records, Cuban folk music from the 70’s records.

The street where we've been staying is an eclectic mix of private residences, private restaurants, hostels, government offices and other services. The streets are very narrow in Old Havana, full of pedestrians. When a car, taxi or pedicab comes by we all have to jump on to the narrow sidewalk until the vehicle goes by. Garbage trucks and water trucks are even wider and can be a challenge to escape.

The streets are an amazing combination of young Cubans, tourists, mobile salespeople with pedicabs full of bread or fruit, people just chilling and sitting on stoops, and a few homeless or derelict-looking people that just wander around. And nobody bothers anybody! And there aren’t any police. I'm told that there are a lot of police wherever you go, but that they dress in civilian clothes so as not to be recognized. I couldn't say for sure.

I enjoy talking with everyone that I meet and find an astonishing amount of honesty in every conversation. Sure, some of the people are just trying to hustle me to eat at their restaurant, take a ride in their taxi or buy whatever they're selling, but it always morphs into a conversation about Cuba, politics, or the United States. As I've said, I highly respect everyone I meet, and they reciprocate.

There is some apprehension in the air as our current government is trying to limit remittances and tourism. At the same time, Venezuela has reduced petroleum shipments here by two thirds. Cubans are expecting a return of the “special times,” a period during the 90´s when Russia cut off all support and the country endured hunger, unemployment and shortages. If the White House goes through with its plan, things may get a lot worse. They won´t be as bad as the 90´s, though. Still, hearing of a return to the “special times” sends a shiver down the back of any Cuban.

 OUR FIRST TOUR

We met with our tour guide, a lawyer that had been employed with the television and programming ministry who had to leave a job that she loved, paying $25 a month, for a job as a freelance tour guide, paying ten times as much. She took us to the University of La Habana where the revolution began with a student uprising. Later we saw the Plaza of the Revolution and a nature preserve in the middle of the city, the Almendares River, where tall ceiba trees overrun with vines overlook the sleepy river. It's probably less sleepy when the rainy season arrives. We also visited a couple of street art projects, one named “the tank” (from a repurposed water tank) and one called “Callejón Hamel.” Both places featured sculptures, painting and art in open air galleries, using recycled metal or ceramics, free to visitors. The creations were ingenious and surreal, framed with poetry by José Martí or other messages promoting love, friendship, and patriotism. I was very impressed. I could only compare it to a neighborhood in Valparaiso, in Chile, where my Chilean niece convinced a dozen muralist and graffiti artists to paint everywhere throughout the sector, making the whole neighborhood a giant open-air gallery. Perhaps the movement to bring art to the people is something common to Latin America.

Finally, our guide took us to her apartment in the largest, most popular part of the city, 10 de Octubre, taking its name from the date when slavery was abolished in Cuba. It was eye opening to see this part of the city with the more affordable homes and the state stores with people queuing up for bread, eggs, or other foods sold at subsidized prices or redeemed with ration cards.

On the way to our guide’s home we picked her son up from kindergarten and traveled to her home on the third floor of a little cement building. Her husband gave me gift of a Cohiba cigar, one of Cuba’s prized exports. A quintessential experience in Cuba is to smoke a Cohiba cigar while drinking rum. It doesn’t get more Cuban than that.

 THE BUENA VISTA SOCIAL CLUB AND ART GALLERY TOUR

We had reserved tours to see a “Buena Vista Social Club” style concert and to visit the commercial art galleries in central Havana. The Buena Vista concert was a pale reminder of the musicians I remember from the movie. The musicians were uneven, some spectacular and some less so. We were also hindered by sitting sixty feet away from the musicians with pillars blocking the view no matter where you sit. We arrived early, but all the best seats were blocked off and reserved. The show was a lineup of a dozen different singers, each one singing a song, followed by another with an orchestra backing them and an emcee introducing the acts. Following the magic of the movie, a reunion of the best musicians and vocalists in Cuba, is a bit like capturing lightning in a bottle. The best songs evoke nostalgia for a time gone by, the sultry rumba of Cuban rhythms and the sweet sadness of lost love.

The art galleries ranged from modernist themes with ironic overtones and political messages, to wonderfully complex panoramas of men, machines and urban landscapes. One gallery specialized in amazing woodcuts of sugar plantations and refineries. Sugar production is a resource that once carried the country’s economy, but now has a fraction of its previous production and export value. Since the time of the Chanel fashion exposition (May 3, 2016) and the Rolling Stones’ concert (May 26, 2016) a few years ago, art masterpieces valued in the thousands or hundreds of thousands of dollars, seem less out of place. The glitterati and the literati have discovered Cuba and now walk these streets, perhaps disposed to pick up an expensive collectible piece, just as in any major city.

We weren’t able to include the “Museo de la Revolución” or the “Museo de Bellas Artes” in our tour but have heard that they are spectacular exhibits. We plan to return to see these sights at a later time.

 A FAILED EXPEDITION TO VARADERO BEACH While planning our trip and scanning the possible destinations for our travels in Cuba, a constant lodestar was the chance to visit a beach considered by many to be the best in the world, Varadero. I was struck by the high price of the outing as listed on our AirBnB internet options and had the bright idea of bypassing these tour guide run operations and buying the tickets ourselves from whatever transportation service in Havana offered trips to said location. Ha! What we discovered is that buying a ticket on a bus to the beach from a public transport agency, the one available named ViaAzul, is next to impossible.  We spent $30 on taxi fare to and from the bus station, wasted time with a phone number for the bus station that nobody answers, and an indifferent ticket sales office. It proved to be too much for us. We found the bus terminal, but the agent wouldn’t sell us a ticket until the “official time” to open, requiring us to wait a long time at the bus station. Remember, the ticket lady, the bus driver, as well as everybody else working at the bus station is on a salary of $25 a month. It seems that regular Cubans don’t buy tickets to travel to the most expensive beach in the country. Most of them don’t do any traveling at all, concentrating on how to procure food, money or other scarce, but vital resources. No wonder the ticket lady stared at us with indifference.

As some have said, “the government pretends to pay us, and we pretend to work.” So, long story short, we never made it. As weird as it sounds, the only way to organize a visit to anyplace in Cuba is from some other country than Cuba. From Chile or the U.S. one can buy a ticket and pay for it online. Trying to do it in Cuba is an exercise in frustration. We did, however, travel to one of the little beaches to the east of Havana, Santa Maria and had a good time splashing in the water, drinking rum from a coconut and getting sun burnt. We enjoyed talking with medical students from Gambia and took pictures together. For $5 we even paid a trio to sing us a song which I joined in on for the refrains. A little more frugal. A little more authentic. Memorable.

 FROM VICTORIA, CHILE TO HAVANA, CUBA, METHODIST CHURCHES CONNECT TWO CONGREGATIONS It´s not in the Lonely Planet guidebook but making a direct connection with the congregation of the Methodist Church of Havana was probably the most authentic moment of our trip. Our little Methodist church in Victoria (a congregation of less than a hundred) charged us with outreach to the Methodist church in Havana. It´s common for people of certain faiths to visit with a sister church in another part of the country or even in a different country. A sense of belonging to a universal creed follows this kind of visit as people feel the connection that their church is part of something larger.

We arrived in time for Bible study and listened to the pastor´s wife tell us of the attributes of the “good wife” from Psalms, appropriate for this “Mother´s Day” service. Just as in Victoria there was plenty of joyful singing, the verses appearing synchronized on television screens throughout the church. Women wore elegant dresses and the men mostly wore shirts and ties. The pastor spoke and the congregation was rapt with attention. At one point he filled a glass with water and continued filling it as the water spilled to the ground. We grasped that someone that is already full up could not accept anything new (grace, knowledge, God’s presence). There is a Buddhist koan that teaches a similar lesson. Finally, the pastor moved to recognize visitors from other congregations. Some came from the east. Others from the west. Raquel, Joaquin and I stood up and introduced ourselves as visitors from Chile. People stared at us. How often do the curious hipsters and tourists in Cuba spend a day visiting a church and sharing in the service?

Raquel, never at a loss for words, said that her church in Chile sent greetings to this church in Havana. It felt electric. A more genuine regard for solidarity with Cuba couldn’t be expressed. I was asked to speak as well and used the moment to ask of the pastor if he could help me to find someone in the congregation who needed a cell phone. I had brought my used iPhone5 to give to someone in Cuba. The pastor asked the congregation if they knew who should receive the phone. On everyone´s lips was the same name, a praise leader who was also a fourth-year medical student who needed a cell phone. Nothing seems more miraculous than a prayer answered. Apparently, the church had been praying for this and now received a reply. He joyfully, tearfully, accepted the gift. There are no cell phone stores in Cuba and few people with the resources to buy one. We hadn’t visited every place on our list, but we made more real connections with people than we had ever hoped.

[lickmeleclerc]

|Falling Short| H.H {Chapter 3}

Characters :Highschool!Harry Holland x Y/n (female reader)

Summary: Y/n & Harry were inseparable hence the verb were. Near the end of 8th year they started to drift apart, Now Senior year of high school they’ve completely been out of each other’s lives for three years. This is a normal occurrence with friendships but not so much for two people who have been best friends since the age of two and happen to live next door to each other. What event can reunite them?

Playlist: Here

Warnings: cussing probably, nothing yet

Y/n’s manicured thumb lingers over the send button on the screen of the small device i her hands, but she can’t bring herself to push it. Her eyes scanned the text again;

‘Hey Harry, I’m sorry for storming out on you today. It’s a touchy subject for me...to talk about Kyle. Him and I don’t really connect anymore. I just wanted to say I’m sorry again. I hope you can understand. See you tomorrow, bye.’

“Ugh!” She exasperates before pushing the lock button and discarding the device it to her side. A simple text to Harry shouldn’t be so hard to send, she’s always texted him. With an adjustment of her hair tie and moving to sit criss cross on her bed she sighs and grabs her phone.

“One...two...three!” She closes her eyes and sends the message. The whoop noise notifies her that it's been sent, a small sigh leaves her lips as she opens her eyes again. A small time appears underneath her message, he’s read it. But no dots appear so she closes her phone and rolls over in her bed to try and sleep.

~

Harry yawns and looks at the two cups of coffee sat before him on his desk, one for himself and one for Y/n. She wasn’t in class yet and he definitely acknowledges how awkward he must look. A glance at the clock above the door shows there’s only two minutes left of passing period. Before he turns away though he spots Y/n but she’s not alone. Kyle roughly grabs her forearm and jerks her toward him, he harbors an angry expression and a vein is protruding in his neck and pulsing. The girls face is shocked and an angry expression is on her features as well. Her hair is pulled half up in a small bun, showing her face and the sundress she’s wearing clings to her body in the right spots but also has a nice flow above her knees. She’s dressed how Harry would have expected her to dress yesterday. Her love for fashion has worn off somewhat into Harry’s decision making and he hopes she’ll notice. His maroon cardigan over a black Tee are two colors he likes together and his favorite pair of black denim jeans matched. He was proud of it today and he needed to be.

Y/n turns away from her boyfriends and tries to reset her emotions before crossing the threshold into her English class. She spots Harry and eyes the items on his desk and can’t help but let a smile start to form in the corner of her mouth.

“Hey.” She says as she slides into her desk, Harry turns and smiles at her and she doesn’t feel awkwardness in the air between them anymore.

“I’m sorry.” The two both saying in unison as they look at each other, laughs follow in suit and Harry finds himself looking down, he sees her arm still red and looking like it will bruise. He feels more anger build up toward Kyle but his focus is on Y/n right now. He makes a mental note to talk to his old buddy later.

“Here.” He says as he hands her one of the coffees, it’s still warm to the touch and the excitement on Y/n’s glossed lips and her makeup enhanced eyes makes Harry’s day. Her love for coffee was never too over the top but he knew it was one way to her heart and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want that.  “Vanilla latte with almond milk.” He recites her order and she smiles more as she takes a sip.

“Ahh. The best, thank you Harry.” The girl appreciates before the bell rings. Mrs. Hall stands from her desk and calls the two forward. Y/n and Harry share a look of inquiry and walk up to the desk.

“I have zero tolerance for drinks in my class, detention after school today.” Her stern voice explains as two pink slips are in her boney hand. The two nod and take them walking back to their seats. A snort is heard behind Y/n’s shielded face from her hair and Harry results to biting his thumb to hide his giggles. Something about the two always ending up in trouble together wasn’t a surprise. When the two diviants were both 16, before the accident, Harry and Y/n snuck out to a party and came home to discover both their parents in Harry’s room arms crossed and disappointed looks plastered on their mothers faces, and looks of sleepiness on their fathers. It wasn’t a highlight of their childhood but definitely a memory to tell in the future.

“Watch out Y/n Mrs. Hell is out to get us.” Harry whispers to in her ear still sporting a bright smile. The very fitting new nick name Harry has deemed the teacher earns more laughter from his desk partner.

“Lets hope she doesn’t hold a grudge we need a good grade.” She adds opening her notebook. A small square note is falls to the floor like a feather in the wind. Harry’s eyes land on it first and he quickly realizes its a prescription but before he can read the stringy cursive of the doctors writing she’s scooped it up and tucked it away in her bag. He wants to ask questions and get answered but he decides against it and looks ahead as Mrs. Hall begins a new lesson.

Y/n after tucking the note away hopes Harry won’t ask questions as long as she doesn’t make eye contact with him, it’s not something she’s ready to speak aloud, or else it will be real and she’s not ready to face that. As long as it's not really ‘real’ yet the roller coaster that life is for Y/n is still on the pull upward but as soon as the truth leaves her lips it’ll be the pivotal downward spiral, the kind of straight drop on the similar coaster that makes ones stomach flip. So, for now, Y/n will continue on the easy route as the nerves build along with the rising of the coaster. Even if it means hiding a secret from her newly rekindled best friend. She feels his eyes on her though and can imagine his worried expression on his face, his curly hair flopped over and eyebrows furrowed while his bottom lip is pulled between his teeth. If she looks at him she knows she’ll cave.

“Talk to me if you need to okay Y/n.” He reassures and goes back to listening to the lesson. Hot tears brim her eyes as she crosses her arms over her chest and looks down at her notes, thankful that she has hair long enough to hide her face from Harry. A few deep breaths later she’s calmed herself down as she focuses on soccer tryouts after school. With a deep breath she faces Harry before the bell rings.

“Hey, would you want to, um possibly come to my soccer tryouts after school? Cause then we could work on our project?” She asked nervously as she fiddled with her hands. A large smile is now on the boys face at her offer. He’s nodding before he can even reply.

“Yeah! I can take pictures too for the yearbook and maybe we can get some food afterward.” He adds and she instantly knows where they’ll be going. A small kind of run down place in the middle of the city’s downtown area. It serves burgers the size of their hands and the amount of fires cover the bottom of the plates. The sitting area is small because the old husband and wife owner’s like people to sit at the counter. They really care about their customers even if the place looks like its about to be closed down anyday by a health inspector and desperately needs a makeover. It has character and the two have been going since they were little and Y/n’s grandpa was in town.

“I’ll see you in theater and then after school.” She confirms and exits as she throws her bag over her shoulder and walks to her next class as she tries to avoid Kyle in the hall.

“Hey you!” A high pitched voice calls that causes Harry’s ears to perk up as he feels arms wrap around his waist. His hands move on top of hers as he turns around.

“Oh hey Y/n-Julie hey.” He chimes through a shocked a expression but quickly tries to mask it and the fact he called her Y/n. He actions from being all love like quickly changes as an angry expression forms on her face.

“What did you just call me?” She questions. Harry knows he’s messed up big time but he can’t dig himself out of this hole.

“I’m sorry I was just talking to her in class and I just got it confused, I’m sorry babe.” His words are sincere but he can’t deny the actions she’d done he did want it to be Y/n.

“Well it better be just an accident because she better not be stealing my boy.” She laughs her actions changing immediately.causing Harry to emit an awkward laugh.

“Course not babe.” He answers pulling the short girl to his chest for a hug. He may want Y/n and him to be more than friends but he feels something when he looks at Julie and he doesn’t ruin that for something that’ll never happen with Y/n.

The day goes by slow for the two and Y/n feels the nerves in the pit of her stomach build with every minute, not only over the moment in first period but for the tryouts. She’s practiced all summer besides the trip she took with Kyle and she’s counting in a scholarship next year. As theater rolls around though she tries to push it all aside and have some fun.

“Class today we’re picking out monologues! They can either be modern or in old english. Feel free to work in groups and you must check it with me first.” The teacher explains briefly before walking into her office after adjusting her thick framed glasses that didn’t seem to match the boho outfit she had on. Harry spots Y/n sitting over on the steps on the large stage and heads over to her ipad in hand.

“Is this seat taken?” He asks as she looks up while brushing stray hairs behind her ear.

“By you.” She speaks softly not wanting to draw attention to the two in the quite work setting. He returns her smile and sits down there legs slightly touching now. “You’re so warm.” she laughs as she feels his body heat through her thin dress. Before responding he looks quizzically at her, it’s quite hot out today and the audition feels suffocating to him, maybe it's the mop of curly hair on his head or the layers he has on but either way he can’t believe she’s cold.

“Well here.” He offers as he shrugs off the cardigan and draps it over her shoulder before she can refuse. A light blush dusts her cheeks at his gesture as she slips her arms into the sleeves instantly being greeted with warmth. Before they speak again Harry admires how she looks in his clothes, the sleeves hang over her hands and it definitely looks oversized, she couldn’t look any more adorable.

“Okay you have to let me take a photo.” He demands while pulling his phone from his pocket and opening the camera.

“What no way! Harry no.” She laughs hiding her face the sweater paws. He pauses a silent laugh leaving his lips as he holds the camera up waiting for her to peak out. Right when she does he takes the photo.

“Ha! Got it!” He expresses as he clicks to enlarge it. Its blurry around the edges from her movement but her cheeks are covered from the sweater paws but you can tell she’s smiling brightly. Her alluring eyes are peaking out and they look full of happiness, and no Harry is positive she definitely could not be any more beautiful.

“You’re beautiful Y/n.” He speaks with no laughter or joking like tone to his voice. She pulls her hands away from her face and her smile falls but a very prominent blush resides on her cheeks from his comment.

“Thank you.” She finally manages to say. Never one to take compliments but the way Harry said it made it a true compliment. It wasn’t a lie or him just being nice and when she’s with him she does feel beautiful. He looks up from staring at the photo and give her one of his signature smiles that's so contagious she smiles back.

“C’mon let's pick out our monologues.” She changes the subject and bumps his side with hers as they share a ipad screen, Y/n even ends up leaning her head in his shoulder and he wants nothing more than to wrap an arm around her back but that’d be too far. He pushes the thoughts away and looks seriously to fulfil his current assignment. The two still joke around trying to pick out the funniest monologues for eachother but in the end before class is over find serious ones they both like.

“Ready for tryouts?” He questions as the two slowly walk down the hall headed toward the field, Y/n still has the cardigan slung over her arms and the boy feels proud she’s walking around wearing his clothes.

“Yeah! I’m trying not to be nervous. I’ll see you on the field?” She confirms and breaks away from his side to head to the locker room. He only nods and pushes out the metal doors and heads to the bleacher on the field.

“So when did you and Kyle break up?” A girls voice rings through the stingey room as Y/n slides her shorts on.

“What? We didn’t break up.” She laughs dryly as she spins around to face another girl in a soccer uniform.

“Hm. You just seem pretty comfy with that yearbook guys guess i was just confused.” She ends the conversation with a flip of her ponytail and walks away. As Y/n puts her jersey on she rolls her eyes not buying the fake confusion the other girl used as an excuse. But in her mind she wishes she was broken up with Kyle. A she pulls her hair up into a tight ponytail her she feels some pain just under her ribs from the stretch but brushes it away as nerves as she exits the locker room.

Y/n spots Harry and she feels the nervous tension in her body fade away as he gives her a thumbs up and an encouraging smile. She not only wants to impress the judges but him too. After taking roll and showing of their individual skills they start a schrimage. Harry who's been snapping photos the whole time mostly of number 17, Y/n, is now trying to get shots of all the players. He enjoys taking action shots, taking a still of a moving object or person can turn out interesting looking and he likes the challenge of having to snap the photo at the right time.  A whistle blows as someone makes a goals and the coach calls everyone up, thanking them for their time today. Y/n jogs over to Harry as she catches her breath he high fives her.

“You were amazing as always but I will say you’ve gotten much better since fourth grade.” He jokes as they begin to walk toward the front parking lot. She laughs her cheeks flushed from all the running.

“Thanks.” She smiles proudly glad she impressed him.

“Where’d you park?” He asks as they stop on the sidewalk and he looks around for her car.

“I didn’t.” She laughs and he catches on she carpooled with Kyle today. He’s not in the mood to talk about him so he changes the subject.

“Okay well then right this way, you chariot awaits.” He calls as he heads toward his parked car and open the door for her.

“Why thank you good sir.” She laughs as she slides into the passenger seat. Again she feels a slight pain under ribs again

Taglist (Ask to be added here)  @spideynora @spideymood @painted-soulss @tomsfireheart @rosemiltionundercover @smexylemony @parkerstan  @living-dead-parker @typicaltrashbagg @painted-soulss @redhoodparker @spiderman-n @damnhisfaceislikethenightsky  @fuckyou-imspiderman @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell @beautiful-holland @lovelyh0lland @cherryhollands @quitetommy @futureparker @thesciencebabe

[steverogersbrooklynbabe]

Better than me

Gifs not mine ——> Credit to the owner

Summary: (Y/N) Stark is trying to live her teenage life as any normal girl could do but she doesn’t realize that she is no normal girl and some people just want to hurt her but her dad isn’t one of them.

Requests open Masterlist

"Mr. Stark, (Y/N) has overridden my commands and she is currently out of the tower. Sorry, but I couldn't discover her current location" Damn that girl! Always as intelligent and determined as her father meaning me. This the third time she has to sneak out because she was grounded, everything has been upside down since her 17th birthday because she thinks that she is already an adult, of course I know she needs to have friends, enjoy her teenage years and all of that but I don't like the choice of friends she has made. I know what it's like to grow as a rich kid who has everything and although I have tried since she was born to give her a normal life it's very complicated and everyone tends to use you because you are an Stark... I don't want the same to my daughter.

"Thank you, Fri... Tomorrow I'll do you a new framework to try to stop (Y/N)" The AL goes to sleep and I should do the same but I can't do it knowing my girl is God knows where doing God knows what. I make myself down to the bar on the lobby waiting for her as I enjoy a glass of scotch in order to calm my nerves but before I even know it's 7 a.m already and (Y/N) is nowhere to be seen. I've decided to search for her and the results on the internet make me see red.

I open the video "(Y/N) Stark making a fool of herself" and I regret doing it immediately. My little girl is dancing on a table with her dress up showing some of her panties drunk off her ass, everyone is laughing at her and there are a lot of boys behind her also filming her.

"F.R.I.D.AY are there any news related to my daughter on the TV?" The TV turns on and too news tabs open showing me she is in every one

"6 local news, 7 national and 19 international Mr.Stark. Want me to call your image manager and lawyers?" Fuck fuck fuck, I need to do something about it or Pepper is going to be so mad at me when she sees our daughter going crazy over my supervision and the damage she could do to Stark industries now that we are on the good side of the government and a scandal with a minor drunk would not be good for us. As I was about to give F.R.I.D.A.Y instructions the door of the elevator opened showing me, my drunk daughter.

"(Y/N) Stark! What the fuck you were thinking?" She instantly groans at my shouting

"Dad c'mon tomorrow we'll talk I just want to sleep" Of course she has a fucking migraine

"Listen to me young lady you are ruining your reputation-" She interrupts me

"Dad it was just a party and some drinks it wasn't anything bad! I just want to spend some time with my friends"

"Friends? You call this bunch of ass-holes your friends?" I take the iPad turning off the TV that shows every news, gossip shows and even political shows that are using my kid as something to make their TV spectators don't leave the channel and my girl's eyes widen at her image.

"But- why? I- I was with my friend's dad..." 

"They are not your friends (Y/N)! They were all making fun of you, filming you and they sold that videos to the media in order to embarrass you on national and international TV" 

"But... you were just like this dad and you didn't care about anything"

"I just want you to be better (Y/N)! They are not your friends and you are even better than me, you are so intelligent, charming, beautiful and courageous. I don't want you to be like me kid" She instantly throws herself at me hugging me and I can feel my shirt getting wet by her tears.

"I'm so sorry dad, I promise you I'll never do it again" I take her cheek on my hand and I kiss her front.

"You can go out and have some fun (Y/N) but with the correct people, I know Peter, MJ, and Ned love you and you have been ignoring them for fake friends" She nods "Just be careful, you are a Stark after all" As we were hugging a voice interrupts you.

"(Y/N) VIRGINIA STARK!" I laugh at my wife's voice 

"And she is also Stark, sorry kid but I can't free you from the punishment you are about to receive"

[misakishishido]

Project #3 - Android/Clone (Teaser)

Hello hello :D

I hope everyone has seen my Project #1 post prior to this but if not, please do so here, as I won’t go through most, if not all, of what I’ve said over there haha. Sorry for being lazy. 

Anyways. This is the third ‘project’ from my long lost document of drafts I had prepared in the past for WMatsui that I have decided to revive especially when I think it’s well... sort of a waste to never publish it. I spent quite a lot of time on this back then and what you will be seeing is pretty much a part of the actual first chapter of the story. 

Moreover, I decided to revive this project in conjunction with the release of the Playstation 4 game Detroit:Become Human. Seems like a good time to put this out there especially if you readers out there have actually played the game and loved the whole android plot though I highly doubt mine will be that much related to existential crisis nor the state of the world in the near future and whether having androids is a good or bad idea.

Then again mine’s more on cloning so... I dunno why I just HAD to mention the game. Oh well~

This is basically, tl;dr, a love story for mainly JuriSaku *laughs*, so no deep stuff. I hope. Maybe sprinkles of it, who knows? :v Also note how I say mainly ‘cuz there may be other ships in this thing with Sayanee relevant in it hehehe.

Okay, I think I’ve said my piece. Again, it’d be great if you all can let me know which project you’d like to read as a priority so I can be a lot more focused on one than splitting my attention to all three and screwing things up in the process >< 

Hope you enjoy this little teaser! 

“I’m back.”

“Welcome back, Jurina dear.”

Matsui Jurina, an adolescent who had just started her first year of high school who sported striking red frame glasses that protected her cool black, but slightly lifeless, orbs, shrugged off her backpack which made a soft thump onto the floor as she swiftly took off her shoes and handed her mother a folder.

“Got my results. Straight As as promised.”

Her mother flipped open the folder and read through Jurina’s results, smiling at what her daughter had produced and gave her a loving pat on the head.

“Well done, Jurina dear. I’m sure your father would be proud of—“

“Don’t bother telling him. As if he cares about me anyways,” Jurina quickly grabbed her bag that was still lying near the entrance and walked past her mother when suddenly her mother grabbed her by the hand, stopping her daughter in her tracks.

“Jurina… about your father. He has something urgent to tell you at the lab. Please go see him.”

Jurina, as bright as she is, noticed her mother’s eyes turning slightly reddish as if she was holding back her tears. She knew straight away it was not going to be good news. She sighed and just gave a quick nod to her mother before heading towards her father’s lab which was in the basement of her bungalow.

She used to be close with her father until one day he got too immersed with his research that he began neglecting both his wife and daughter and had always stayed cooped up within his laboratory with a few of his assistants that would come every day but leave every evening. It all started when his thesis for cloning was recognised by the government and not only he got a status in society because of that, but he also got more and more projects relating to cloning research by the government which made his life rather hectic, hence causing a rift between his wife and daughter.

Jurina’s mother was more understanding but Jurina, being the only child of the family, wanted to feel even more loved deep down, and acknowledged by her father. After all, when she was asked to write about what she wanted to be when she grows up when she was still a kid, she had made being a scientist her first choice due to how cool she thought her father was and then a teacher as her second choice since she liked teaching people things that they were having difficulty with. She used good academic records as an attempt to impress her father but to no avail. He used to praise her back in what, kindergarten? And it all ended after that.

At the lab, she could see all of her father’s assistants busy with their work. Some were running around from machine to machine, some were busy at their own ‘station’ tapping away on the keyboards before them and some were busy asking one another questions, obviously relating to the experiment at hand.

It was just another normal day for Matsui Jurina’s father, Matsui Junichiro, a man who has the status of a world renowned scientist. Jurina, despite her strained feelings towards her father, would always be in awe whenever she stepped into his lab. It wasn’t every house that had a huge laboratory with huge machines or capsules that could fit people in their basement. Sure, she was thankful she was living in such a special home provided by the government but… she still wanted that one single element that her father had not given her expressly in a long time.

Jurina felt a pair of eyes which noticed her presence in the busy room and quickly nudged the head of the experiment that was in front of him. Jurina’s father turned around abruptly and gave Jurina a stern look, a look that would always make Jurina clench her fists involuntarily. Don’t give me that look… stupid dad…

“Jurina. You’re here.”

“What do you want?” Jurina shot back, returning the look that her father is giving her but the latter did not pay his daughter’s current attitude to mind and just closed his eyes calmly.

“You will be leaving this house for the course of six years and will be studying in UK.”

The adolescent could not believe what she just heard, “W-What did you just—“

“Your aunt has already been notified and you will be staying with her,” Jurina’s father turned his back on his daughter after finishing his piece.

“O-Oi! You just blurt all that without telling me a good reason why?!” Jurina exclaimed.

“This project… was personally asked by a government councilman, as well as my best friend,” he looked over his shoulder with cold eyes, “It required your DNA. And the clone to be produced would be you, six years earlier.”

“Y-You’re cloning… me…?”

“And as such, there could not be two Matsui Jurina living under the same roof. Especially when this project is for a ‘patient’ suffering from anthropophobia.”

Fear of people… “Why me and not someone else?!” Jurina pressed on.

“Because when you were ten, you were quite the Good Samaritan. Many have learned good qualities from you and adored you as a perfect example. An angel. My only daughter too, of course,” he turned back to face his daughter once more, “… Henceforth, you are perfect for this experiment.”

“That wasn’t even a good explanation darn it!” Jurina felt like wanting to storm out of the lab immediately after giving her father a few punches but held it in, inevitably bursting into tears in the process.

The man did not budge but instead, handed Jurina an iPad that an assistant quickly handed to him after he had subtly nodded. Jurina bit her lips, looking into the screen and a video footage of a young girl was shown. She assumed she was about six and felt chills down her spine when the footage showed how violently she acted in front of a group of people who tried to approach her, which included footage outside of her home and inside, where it seemed like a family gathering. Another footage showed how she was in her room. She would be at a certain corner of her room with the lights off, hugging her legs without doing anything, just, sitting there. Her parents enter her room periodically and individually. Fortunately, she does not retaliate violently and acts rather lifelessly when her mother feeds her or cleans her up.

Jurina pitied the poor girl. Just what happened to her that made her this way?

“The patient’s name is Miyawaki Sakura. She had been diagnosed with that phobia after being kidnapped once. I heard they were child rapists. But her father, being a councilman, managed to cover up the story and prevented any leakage of the story being published on the media. The men have been jailed but the horrifying experience she had to go through remains,” Jurina’s father began explaining after the video repeated itself.

“It would explain as much then…” Jurina’s sympathies for the girl managed to overwhelm her anger and frustration towards her father. 

If cloning me would help her and give her a brighter future… I would definitely sacrifice myself... even if it’s for someone I don’t know… but that’s what I would have thought as the ‘me’ from years ago... now I......

“You do understand the situation now then?”

Jurina looked upwards into her father’s eyes before looking away, having mixed feelings circling around within her, “… When am I leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he handed the iPad to an assistant who just passed by him, “Your contribution would help society and change the life of this girl if everything is successful. You do realize that, don’t you?”

Jurina ignored his question and turned around, facing the exit, “… I hope your experiment succeeds. Goodbye… Father,” and she left, taking big steps towards the door.

“… Sir, weren’t you a bit too direct with your daughter just now…?” A female assistant squeaked when she approached him. She had heard everything, working rather close to where the father and daughter were conversing a moment ago.

“A scientist must let go of his emotions and attachments if he wants to succeed. Do not pester me with insignificant familial issues. Get back to work!” He glared at the woman and she quickly bowed apologetically and returned to her ‘station’. Jurina’s father massaged his temple and felt a burning sensation starting in his eyes. 

There is no time for tears. This project must succeed.

[gallery0022]

Cleveland Locavore

Wednesday, December 9, 2020 - Update 

Cleveland Locavore Domain Name, free to a good home...

www.ClevelandLocavore.com

Monday, February 17, 2014

Urban Organics / SweetPeet

Hello All,

I found this lively thread that Maurice started in November, 2010.

I have fond memories of meaningful conversations with all of you about sustainability and local food from local farmers.

Since November, 2010 I made several changes in my life, as I am sure many of us have. Annette and I sold Morgan Farm Stay, my relationship with Urban Organics was paused.

Although both were tremendous success stories on many levels, the good fight is often made more challenging by a different form of sustainability, economic sustainability. It was Robert Kennedy Jr. who made it clear to me, at an annual EcoWatch event, environmental and economic sustainability MUST go hand in hand.

My whole life has been about selling a service, photography. Of course I have certainly had my challenges continuing to keep this profession "sustainable" due to the changes in the industry. If you don't believe me just ask Karl Skalak, or George Remmington.

The past three years I have focussed on getting my Photography house in order.

Just last week, Mark Bishop, the founder of Urban Organics, contacted me to see if I could help him again with his social networking and PR needs.

Well I have to say, I can't help myself, I am happy to be back, I never really left of course...

I am proud of what I have done for Urban Organics, writing and designing the web site...

http://www.urbanorganicsohio.com/

Urban Organics hopes to sell more of its flagship product, Sweet Peet, in bulk and bags. There are many newcomers to the organic mulch market, but nothing beats Sweet Peet! Sweet Peet is a great way to charge up any community garden, school garden, corporate garden, rooftop garden etc...

I am hoping to write a few stories based on testimonials from happy customers, which there are many. If anyone can help me with media contact information, at Cleveland Magazine, Edible Cleveland, or similar local media contacts, I would appreciate it.

Also please put me on your E-Blast lists, I want to know what you are up to!

All The Best,

Dan Morgan

rex@straightshooter.com

http://clevelandlocavore.com/

10:54 am est

Sunday, May 26, 2013

Cleveland Plain Dealer Article Published...

Dan Morgan on Vermicomposting

5:09 pm edt

Friday, May 10, 2013

Vermicomposting Story For The Plain Dealer

Hi Judy,   (Judy Stringer -PD's rental section of the Sunday paper)

Vermicomposting is a great way to create a soil amendment that is 10 times better for the garden than traditional back yard composting without red wiggler worms. A backyard compost pile that has to be turned regularly, while a vermicomposting bin, a "worm farm" does not. The worms do all the hard work.

Why best for renters?

Clean, compact, self contained and what is the best advantage for renters, LOW MAINTENANCE. The bin can be left undisturbed for weeks at a time, or can be "fed" every day. General maintenance can vary widely if you just follow a few simple rules, very important rules.

The right worms are the key! Red wigglers or the formal name Eisenia Fetida, are a very specific type of worm needed. The worms are expensive, and widely available for sale on the internet. The best way to start a worm farm, is look for a local sustainable gardening blog community,   https://www.facebook.com/localfoodcleveland   is a good one on Facebook.  Ask around, and you will find someone who wants to share their worms, and you will suddenly have someone to help you get started as well. Vermicomposters LOVE to share ideas and even recipes.

The simplest way to make your worm farm is to find 2 identical plastic bins. drill holes in the bottom of one of them, the one that will go inside the other. The holes are for drainage when the soil gets too moist. Proper drainage and soil moisture is CRITICAL for the whole process to work without becoming a horrible experience. The other most important factor to make a renter's worm farm a clean success, DO NOT PUT FRUIT SCRAPS in the bin. Most vermicomposting web sites will encourage all organic material including fruit and veggies but believe me, not a good idea!

Recap:

Two things that will ruin the experience,

1) Soil that is kept too moist,resulting in a stinky bin!  These anaerobic conditions can also kill the worms (by drowning)

2) Fruit will attract / breed fruit flies, something nobody wants in their apartment (especially a landlord)

The finished product, after separating the worms from it, can be added to indoor plants or outdoor gardens. The best thing to too with the final product is to make a "teabag" from an old t shirt and bunch the t-shirt around a garden hose to make compost tea, right into a watering can. This tea can be sprinkled right on top of gardens, acting as both a fertilizer and insecticide, NATURALLY. There is no reason to use synthetic fertilizers or insecticides in any garden, or lawn for that matter.

Got unsightly weeds in your garden? PULL THEM.

My wife Annette and I are apartment renters in Lakewood (the Carlyle) and we have an Adopt A Spot garden at the entrance to Lakewood Park, part of Keep Lakewood Beautiful's Adopt A Spot program, with over 40 volunteer maintained gardens on publicly owned property around Lakewood.

http://www.onelakewood.com/Boards_Commissions/KeepLakewoodBeautiful.aspx

Let me know anything else you need.

Dan

10:41 am edt

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Morgan Farm Stay Sale...???

Hello Friends, and Family,

Here is an update of our day to day efforts to sell our farm to some, while continuing to make it a "once in a lifetime" vacation experience for others.

Since early May we have had some great guests this season. Sophie Brun came to the United States from France a few years ago. She and her family settled into a posh northern suburb of Detroit, Royal Oak. Spotting our vacation rental property listing on HomeAway.com, she was reminded of the farm stays she visited in Europe.

Sophie and her family had a great Easter dinner at our farm, feasting on Buckeye Chicken eggs, Berkshire grass fed ham, and cookies baked in a wood burning stove across the street by Edna, our Amish neighbor.

In late May we had guests staying at the farm who made reservations over a year ago. They have a daughter who is graduated from Oberlin College and wanted a very special family get together at this important time.

The rest of the summer has been mostly filled in with various guests, as usual. July, which always fully books, had grandparents coming from Germany to meet a new grandchild at the farm.

On a regular basis we have had a varied crew of family, friends and neighbors working together to clean up the gardens and plant some new flowers, veggies and herbs. The grass, well it kept on growing, and growing, and growing.

We have several educational components in place form the past few years. The Blue Orchard Mason Bee Box has almost half it's holes housing eggs ready to burst out and begin the process joining an army of beneficial mason bees, pollinating nearby flower, veggie and herb gardens. Amy Roskilly, with the Cuyahoga Soil and Water Conservation District, hooked us up last year with a rain garden kit, containing several types of beautiful plants that thrive in a wet spot while filtering storm water runoff before reaching the stream nearby.

Our composting, both vermicomposting and traditional "back yard" composting operations are thriving and our rain barrels are very useful in areas our garden hose does not reach, particularly our companion garden, way out away from the main house. This year the companion garden will contain a few new plants. Comfrey is a great new addition, if I can manage to keep it from taking over the entire garden. Also this year I am cutting back on the heirloom tomatoes and adding some nice herbs.

In May we had a great deal of interest from a few interested buyers, one young man from California wants to take over the entire business, turnkey, keeping our furnishings, decor, web site and photos to promote. The only problem is, he is having some trouble getting financing. Sure the rates are great right now but banks are hesitant to lend. At the end of June we took our first nice vacation since moving back to Ohio in 2005. We of course worried about the Farm Stay rentals we had booked, but friends and family again came to our rescue.

On our second day in Europe, in Montpellier France, we got word from our realtor Teresa. She had an interested buyer making an offer. We spent a few hours on the iPad countering and the sale price was agreed on. After several anxious weeks awaiting financing approval for our buyers, it looks like the end of an era.

We have a closing date scheduled for this upcoming week. Our fingers are still crossed, because ya never know...

This has indeed been a great journey for Annette and I.

Au revoir for now, Thanks for all of your help and support over the past 7 years!

Dan and Annette Morgan

Dan Morgan

Straight Shooter

646-621-6434

www.AboutDanMorgan.com

10:22 pm edt

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Here is an update of our day to day efforts to sell our farm to some, while continuing to make it a "once in a lifetime" vacation experience for others.

We have had a great deal of interest from a few interested buyers, one young man from California wants to take over the entire business, turnkey, keeping our furnishings, decor, web site and photos to promote. The only problem is, he is having some trouble getting financing. Sure the rates are great right now but banks are hesitant to lend.

And so we keep on going, and going and going, while the grass keeps growing and growing and growing! This has indeed been a great journey for Annette and I. This summer we have made arrangements to visit the south France region and Spain, a nice little rest from all the political rhetoric and bickering here in the states.

Au revoir for now!

Dan and Annette Morgan

8:07 am edt

Thursday, April 26, 2012

2012 Season at Morgan Farm Stay

Check out our revamped web page with more about the farm, area attractions and recent stories "In The News"

Click Here, www.MorganFarmStay.com

3:11 pm edt

Sunday, February 27, 2011

 Thank You Chris Hodgson -Dim and Den Sum for your support  Now booking 2011spring summer fall season!

Our Farm Stay...

www.MorganFarmStay.com

Find Your Perfect Farm Vacation at www.FarmStayUS.com

11:05 pm est

Saturday, November 20, 2010

New Logo

Been a long time since I posted here. Now that the holidays and winter are coming I have decided to get back on my Cleveland Locavore horse. Check out the logo.

I am designing a great reusable bag that will help get this brand rolling. Cleveland local food advicates in many product and service areas are welcome to participate in this unique program. Come and have a seat at the table!

7:40 am est

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Local Farm Superstars

E4S held a great event Last Night

Click Here

Eight NEO Farmers told thier stories, pretty great. Common thread...Hard work that NEEDS to be supported by more and more of us at summer and winter farmers markets and CSAs

2010.03.01

Hello, I have found myself increasingly interested by how our food is produced since 2005. Annette, my wife, and I retuned to Ohio from NY and bought a farm in Ashland County. It did not take long to notice the backwards attitudes of most of today's farmers, urban planners, educators and politicians. During the Nixon administration, Earl Butz, Ray Crock and others had a seemingly harmless, goal in mind, produce and distribute the most amount of food for the least amount of money.

It has taken us a complete generation to figure out that this model just does not work, for so many reasons. The broken farming system effects everyone in profound ways, all connected. From healthcare to the economy, the way we produce and distribute food must change, and change dramaticly, NOW. Small scale farmers and farmers markets are the tip of the melting iceburg that will save the planet!

From Wikipedia...

The locavore movement is a movement in the United States and elsewhere that spawned as interest in sustainability and eco-consciousness become more prevalent.[1] Those who are interested in eating food that is locally produced, not moved long distances to market, are called "locavores." The word "locavore" was the word of the year for 2007 in the Oxford American Dictionary.[2] This word was the creation of Jessica Prentice of the San Francisco Bay Area at the time of World Environment Day, 2005.[3] It is rendered "localvore" by some, depending on regional differences, usually.[4][5] The food may be grown in home gardens or grown by local commercial groups interested in keeping the environment as clean as possible and selling food close to where it is grown. Some people consider food grown within a 100-mile radius of their location local, while others have other definitions. In general the local food is thought by those in the movement to taste better than food that is shipped long distances.[1]

Farmers' markets play a role in efforts to eat what is local.[6] Preserving food for those seasons when it is not available fresh from a local source is one approach some locavores include in their strategies. Living in a mild climate can make eating locally grown products very different from living where the winter is severe or where no rain falls during certain parts of the year.[7] Those in the movement generally seek to keep use of fossil fuels to a minimum, thereby releasing less carbon dioxide into the air and preventing greater global warming. Keeping energy use down and using food grown in heated greenhouses locally would be in conflict with each other, so there are decisions to be made by those seeking to follow this lifestyle. Many approaches can be developed, and they vary by locale.[8] Such foods as spices, chocolate, or coffee pose a challenge for some, so there are a variety of ways of adhering to the locavore ethic.[9]

Join me in promoting this just cause, starting right here in Northeast Ohio!, where we have already been recognized internationally for our efforts! Click here for Sustain Lane ranking

 Dan  Morgan, Cleveland Locavore Rex@StraightShooter.com

[steamishot]

Habits

I’ve been making some lifestyle changes lately. Most, if not all my life, I’ve done things in a rush. I tend to value speed (maybe because I find the task more challenging and more fun if I race against time lol) when I complete tasks, and I realize I’ve been quite unaware that I do this. Little everyday things, like getting ready in the morning, taking a shower, peeing, washing my hair, combing my hair, applying lotion, blow drying my hair- I realize I rush through it and just hope I show up presentable. I wasn’t that aware until Matt pointed it out a few times, and I realize it when I’m on a trip with a few other girls and how quickly I’m able to get ready and how little effort I put in. I’ve been taking small but promising changes towards self-care. I’m slowing down during the shower and enjoying my time there more instead of viewing it as task that I just wanna get over with (kinda like how I view washing dishes or doing laundry). In a sense, I’m learning to embrace my feminine side and be okay with the time and effort I spend on myself. I only get one face and body in this lifetime after all.

I’m also translating this onto my hobbies/work out goals. In the past, I’ve focused on results, and wanted results quick. I would work extra hard in the beginning and then burn myself out and then stop altogether. I’ve been listening to a podcast called GeniusBrain. The hosts are Asian American youtube entertainers, and I think they provide a lot of good life advice and insight, while presenting it in a way that is authentic and funny. In one episode, as they talked about fitness, they mentioned that it is very common for people who are new to working out to want to see results quickly. And they described the same thing I went through multiple times. Their advice for someone who was completely sedentary and wanted to become more active was – JUST START WALKING EVERYDAY. Easy enough goal right? I only realized that more important to having big goals was the ability to be disciplined and form habits. My work out endeavors in the past didn’t really work for me, in hindsight, because the routine was too complex for me to absorb. I would follow youtube videos with weight training and cardio, but without the videos, I was at a loss. Maybe around Fall 2019, I started doing a mile run after work. I remember taking like 13 minutes to run a mile, but being so out of breath and lightheaded after I completed it.

In December, I made a goal to do 10k steps at least 5x/week. This is easy to accomplish during a workday, but I don’t track it as much during the weekend. I’ve consistently been taking my two breaks each work day to walk, and my body has significant improvements. Most days (excluding the days when I’m super exhausted from lack of sleep and/or traveling) I run 2+ miles on a treadmill at home. If I have a hours of free time over the weekend, I’ll do 5 miles. This is mindless, as I don’t have to think too much about following a youtube video, but instead I get to run while watching a show, which makes exercising much more bearable and fun. Now when I get home and don’t work out, my body feels weird and craves a workout. I’m happy to have formed a habit!!! I didn’t even run this much when I “trained” for a half marathon a few years ago. I eventually want to incorporate this ten minute muscle toning work out into my routine, but I’ll wait until my running habit has really developed. But my lesson is, doing less consistently is actually more in the long run.

This is the same with drawing. It helps when I am drawing things for other people, as it holds me accountable. At the same time, it is much more fulfilling to draw for a purpose – to bring joy to others. I know that I try harder when I’m drawing for other people than for myself. It’s only been a few weeks so far, but I’ve been drawing more consistently than I ever have since like high school. I think as an adult, hobbies can easily be seen as a waste of time if you’re not it for some monetary or health value, at least IMO. But I think illustration is a valuable skill in the design world, and it’s something I can add to my portfolio. In any case, I think doing something/building on any skill is better than not doing anything at all.

Notable events-

My bro and wife just bought a pretty expensive house in Gardena. They will probably move into it the end of the month. It is by far the nicest/biggest house in our family and they were able to do it with their parents’ help (mostly her parents). There was a joke that Trevor Noah did, about what college degree is the most useful- and the answer is rich/successful parents. I am happy for them. At the same time, I feel like there was no struggle on their part, but kinda leeching off parents. Her parents are still fairly young, so I don’t mind too much, but I get sad seeing that my parents are getting old, and they sacrifice so much just for their child to have a less stressful life. I am happy to know that my parents give what they can “for the next generation”, but they also have firm boundaries.

My grandma has 7 kids, and some send her money every month. Lately, my grandma has been giving me more money than before. She always wants to pay when we eat out, and gives me money every time I go on trips. I used to be uncomfortable accepting it, and always declined it. But now, I understand that it makes her happy that I accept her support. So now I just take it and say thank you. In my perspective, I think she thinks her time left is limited, so she’d rather “invest” in me because it’s more worthwhile.

Also, my SIL told my mom she’s pregnant.

I am leaving to NYC tomorrow! The more I go, the less ideas I have of what to do when planning out our itinerary, but I am just excited to be able to cuddle and give each other tight hugs and be there physically with each other. We had one of our worst fights over the weekend, and it spanned like 4 days, just because our free time doesn’t overlap enough to finish arguing lol. It is funny but it also is a really sucky feeling, because we both end up going to sleep upset and can’t talk about it until after work the next day. I am trying to make light of it now, but I felt pretty depressed going through it. Deep breathing helped. 

I want to document this so I can remember in the future - what happened was during/after night shifts, he just never “bounced back”. I stayed getting not as much attention (which may be the normal amount of communication in some LDRs, but it was a drastic change for me, perhaps because he used to spoil me before). We barely texted, barely got to talk in depth, and he was learning to be more efficient with his time and have more self-care (sleeping early, unwinding more, drinking less coffee) that he came off cold and distant to me. I accepted it as the norm during night shift, but was expecting that he return to “normal” afterwards. Anyway, because I was already in an insecure state of mind due to the perceived difference in behavior, I took it really personally when I was trying to plan out moving in together and he couldn’t give me an estimated timeline. I started feeling like he had some reservations about me that was preventing us from moving forward. His explanation was that - he doesn’t know what program he will be going to (will find out if he gets in on Match day), and doesn’t want to plan ahead because he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. I didn’t understand this, because to me I was just talking hypothetically. However, I didn’t really consider how emotionally heavy Match day could be to him. He did work very hard for a decade to get where he is at, and his future is still not guaranteed. So, even though I feel like my life is “on hold”, I can be patient and wait another month to find out. 

Got a pap smear done yesterday. 

Work updates: there was a period of time when things were quite slow for me. I noted in a blog post about how guilty I was feeling, and how odd I felt around my supervisor. I tended to hide in my room and not interact with my supervisor. Thankfully, work is picking up as we are preparing for the incoming and terminating housestaff. I’ve been making a bigger effort to build relationships with people, and interact more with my supervisor.

Edit: these days feel pretty sucky to me. I think I’ve been extra lonely because my best hometown girlfriend has a boyfriend now, and we barely hang out anymore. Although in the grand scheme of things, I am very fortunate. I told my coworkers I was going to NYC this weekend, and one of them responded, “you’re so lucky!”. These days have been more challenging, with more questions of “is it worth it to put up with this relationship” as I’m feeling pretty neglected and unhappy. But I know it’s the combination of things - feeling stagnant with my life, not as challenged at work (although work is sometimes quite enjoyable), not having my close friend around a lot, etc. 

Sometimes I look at how my bro and his wife just lounge and relax and go out on dates. And I think about how that different that is from my life with Matt. Everything between us is fast paced, we are always on the go, and tired. Today, I received notice that I got a speeding ticket in NOLA. I also received a fine from the car rental company. Driving there was stressful and tiring already. I was also a bit salty that I drove the entire trip, and no one offered to help out. This is my first ever speeding ticket and I’d hate to have to pay it fully. This news made me feel shittier. I tried to think of positive things, like that I randomly received a tax refund from 2016, and the check would cover my tickets almost exactly. And another positive thing was that I forgot my iPad on the plane and was able to get it back. Lastly, if these are the things I am sad about, then I have it pretty good. 

Second edit: I realize I feel better when I talk to friends/acquaintances/work friends about things. It helps put my situation into perspective. I was feeling like a victim regarding my parking ticket, but $140 isn’t bad compared to the $300-500 speeding tickets in LA. My work mom just laughed at me saying, you? speeding ticket? HAHAHA congratulations. It reminds me that I do take my life too seriously sometimes. My friends on the trip are also “donating” to this cause, so it also takes the load off and I appreciate it a lot. 

[msbigredmachine]

The Sweetest Thing (A Roman Reigns Story) - Part 1

Raising children is a lot tougher than it looks. And with two babies in the picture and one parent virtually out of it, things are twice as difficult. So how have Joe and Sasha coped? Or have they not? Mini-sequel to 'Into The Deep End' and 'Nothing Better'. Two-shot. Roman/OC.

Comments are greatly appreciated!

"Damn. You look crappy."

Frowning at his smirking wife through the iPad screen, Joe rolled his grey eyes. "Our first FaceTime session in a while and you had to start with the negatives." Huffing with annoyance, he picked up his bottle of water and chugged down half of it, then tossed it aside. "Glad to know you find my broken nose funny."

Sasha sighed, fighting the urge to roll her own eyes. Ever since he lost the World title for the second time, her husband of over a year had become the crankiest motherfucker on the planet. The past week had been even rougher for him and she was only trying to lighten up the mood. However it was clear that he had little appreciation for her effort. Again. "I didn't say it was funny," she said.

Was he sure about that? From the way they'd been bickering lately, barbs and jibes seemed to be all they had for each other these days. "Right," he murmured, sitting up straighter on his way-too-small hotel room bed. "So what's up? How are the babies doing?"

"They're good. Asleep for now."

A small smile spread across his face at the thought of holding his infant twins in his arms again. "I can't wait to see them. I miss them so much."

It no longer surprised her when he made no mention of missing her, like he used to before. "So...how are you doing?"

"Tired." Lifting his tattooed shoulder, he rotated the appendage gingerly. "I've been up since the crack of dawn working on this new toy ad. Took photos all damn day in this hot-ass warehouse. I think I did the same damn pose for about five hours straight," he grumbled.

"A lot of people would be happy to do the same pose for five hours straight," Sasha pointed out, "Especially if they're doing it for something they love to do, like you are. You should appreciate it."

Joe raised an eyebrow, not liking the tone she used to address him; the tone she would use on her daughter Mia when the pre-teen was being stubborn. But he forced himself to let it slide. Again. Steering down a calmer path, he said, "So what are you up to right now?"

"Just got out of the shower," She waved the towel she was using to dry her short hair, "The yoga session was great today. I feel so much better after every class," she added, her voice lilting with enthusiasm.

For the past number of months, Joe noticed that the gym had become one of Sasha's favorite places to be at. Every time they spoke she was out running. Every time he was home, she was at one workout session or another at Pam's gym. It was great to want to stay in shape but he couldn't help but believe that this was now a bit of an obsession for her. "Where were the babies while you were out?" he asked.

Sasha's brows furrowed. "With Gin's folks like always. Thought you knew that."

Joe frowned. "I don't like when they're so far away from you."

"It's Elgin's parents, babe. And it was only for a couple of hours. Relax."

"I am relaxed," he shot back.

Raising an eyebrow of her own, Sasha scrutinized her husband. "You sure about that?"

His reply was terse. "Yes."

Sasha pursed her lips at his attitude. It had been like this for some time now, the sniping and the arguing and the overall tension between her and Joe. Both when he was at home and on the road. Every time her iPhone or iPad rang and it was his caller ID, she found herself cringing with trepidation as she didn't know what mood he would be in. It was difficult enough dealing with two infants on her own and running low on sleep and energy every day as a result. The added drama did not help matters and it certainly was not welcome. He obviously was not relaxed, but for the sake of peace she let it be, because asking questions led to more unnecessary drama. Maybe for once they could have a conversation that didn't end with them blowing up on each other. "When will you be home?"

"I'm back Wednesday like always, and lucky for me, I get to stay home till Sunday since the house shows are cancelled," Joe said.

"That's nice. I'm sure you're looking forward to coming home."

Honestly...if it only meant getting into more meaningless fights with her, then not really. He spent most of his time with the babies and Mia mainly so he could avoid getting into it again with her. Ninety percent of the time, the plan failed. It was the story of their lives as a couple lately and it was starting to get tiresome. Joe cleared his throat, about to bring up a particularly prickly topic of contention. "By the way, I got a red carpet event next Thursday in New York." He paused, wetting his lips briefly as he met his wife's gaze through the screen. "When can you fly out? I want you to be there with me," he asked, but the moment he saw her gaze shift from his, he knew what her answer would be.

Sasha swallowed. Oh no. Not this again. Joe was, by all intents and purposes, the number one guy in WWE right now. That honor came with a lot of responsibilities, mostly involving the media, and in the times when her presence was required, Sasha was happy to accompany him. She was well aware that her status as his wife meant she was under constant scrutiny no matter what, but it didn't make her any more comfortable. Things started to escalate after she had their children, Giselle and Micah, and gained a few pounds in the process. Last time she checked, it was perfectly normal to carry a bit of extra weight after childbirth. But Joe's fans didn't seem to agree, judging from the way they trashed her when a picture of her surfaced a month after having the twins. She'd pretended to brush off that little incident but it ate at her every day from then on. She couldn't bear the thought of accompanying her husband somewhere again and have people tweeting about how fat she had become. She feared that Joe himself also felt the same way and was only asking her out of obligation. Like now.

"Sash?" As if on cue, his deep voice prompted her back to reality, and she cleared her throat.

"I um...I don't think I can make it," she murmured.

And he was right on the money. Again. "Here we go. What's your excuse this time?"

Refusing to meet his gaze, she picked at her towel. "You sayin' I had an excuse before?"

"Please. You always got some excuse. This is like, the third event you've turned down. Are you gonna keep backing down every time I wanna take you somewhere? I can count how many times you've come out with me in the last couple of months with one hand. What are you hiding from?" he demanded.

Sasha crossed her arms petulantly. "Fine. You wanna know? I'll tell you. I'm not going anywhere until I get rid of this baby weight."

Joe gave her a strange look. "What are you talkin' about? You ain't even that big," he said flippantly.

If that statement was meant to make her feel better, it didn't work. In fact it had the completely opposite effect. "Gee, thanks, Joseph. And you should tell that to your lovely fans," she retorted, "Did you read what they were saying about me last time we were out together?"

His free hand clenched into a fist as he felt himself get angrier. "Who the fuck cares what the fans say? You're the one who tells me to ignore them. How about you follow your own advice for once?"

"It ain't that simple, Joe."

"Yes, it is that simple Sasha. Stay off the fuckin' internet. I've told you that a million times before," he responded harshly, thoroughly irritated now.

Sasha blinked rapidly, shocked. "Are you kiddin' me? What the hell is your problem?"

"You are!" Joe shot back harshly. "You are my problem, Sasha! You don't listen to me anymore. When I wanna talk you either avoid me or start a fight with me! You always gotta have everything your way. When's the last time we did something I wanted to do? You never want to do anything except work out." The words continued to tumble out of his mouth in a heated, angry rush. "I'm sorry but I don't see why you should be going to the gym so much. Your job is to stay at home and take care of the babies, not spending all your damn time exercising."

It was like watching a clip from a movie, the way Sasha's face transformed at those last words. She looked like he'd slapped her.

"Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean? So me going to the gym trying to get back in shape, trying to feel better about myself, makes me a bad mother? Makes me a problem? Is that what you sayin'?"

"What? Of course not! I-"

But it was too late to backtrack. All hell had broken loose, and Sasha was in a complete rage. "I am at home taking care of your children, barely able to work, and you got the goddamn nerve to utter that bullshit because I don't wanna go to your stupid party? You asshole!"

"For fuck's sake Sasha, I didn't mean it like that! Will you just-"

"You never mean anything 'like that'!" Her hands flew up angrily to make sarcastic quotation signs. "That's always your fuckin' answer for all the dumb shit you say! I always knew you could be an ass but I didn't know you were an insensitive ass."

Hurt stabbed the Samoan's insides at her stinging words. "Oh, we're calling each other names now? How mature."

"So I'm the one being immature? Of course! Pin it all on the useless wife and incompetent mother!"

"When did I even say any of that? For fuck's sake Sasha, you are completely overreacting as usual!" He realized he should be placating her instead of fanning the flames, but he really didn't appreciate her putting words in his mouth.

Sasha shot him with an incredulous stare. "Overreacting? After the way you been treating me, the way everyone else has been treating me like I don't know what the hell I'm doing, like I can't handle the babies? You think I'm overreacting? We can't even talk without gettin' into a fuckin' fight, so you can kiss my black ass with that mess!"

Joe groaned loudly, exasperated. "This is insane. You are being completely asinine."

"Go to hell." Her voice broke at the last word, and Joe felt his heart splinter as he watched the tears spill down her cheeks. His heart lurched at the look on her face, a gut-wrenching mix of pain and fury that made him suddenly uncomfortable. "Sash...come on, what the hell are you cryin' for? Sasha, stop it," he attempted, cringing when she pinned him down with another murderous glare.

"Don't tell me what to do," she snapped, "Why does everyone keep trying to tell me what to do?" Taking yet another deep, ragged breath, she turned away and wiped her face with trembling fingers, unable to look him in the eye any longer. "I am so sick and tired of your shit. You don't even give a damn."

"Babe-"

"Do you know why I'm in the gym so much?" she interrupted him again. "Why I care about what your fans say? Because I have to care. Because I have to look and act perfect for you and for them and when I don't, I make you look bad."

"That is not true...Sasha, listen to me-" He was close to pleading now. This was nothing like their previous squabbles; this was much, much worse. He cursed inwardly, wondering how this conversation had spiraled out of control.

The mother of four started on another heated retort, but was distracted when something across the room hijacked her attention. The baby monitor was on and the sounds of crying filled both their ears. Exhaling tiredly, she pushed the tears from her face. "Gotta go. I'm off to take care of your kids like the good little wife I am," she said, her tone clipped and bitter, and as she rose to her feet, she jabbed her finger forwards, turning the iPad screen black.

"Fuck!" Joe knocked his iPad aside, too incensed to worry about where it landed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He pressed his fists to his face, his whole body heaving. What the hell just happened? He closed his eyes only to force them back open a second later, because all he could see were the tears on her beautiful, heartbroken face. How had it come to this? What was happening to their marriage?

"You dumbass."

He twisted around on his bed and found his colleague and one of his closest friends, Trinity Fatu, at the door of his hotel room, the expression on her pretty face like thunder. Her husband Jonny stood meekly behind her, looking rather fearful for his cousin. Joe could tell they'd caught part of their conversation, if he could call it that, but he was not in the mood for any lectures.

Clearly not getting that memo, Trinity crossed her arms and shook her head. "Let me guess why y'all fightin'. You've stopped paying attention to her," she said, her tone accusing. "Every time you call her it's only to ask about the twins. You barely ask how she's doing. You return home and it's the same rodeo all over again. Am I right?" Clucking her tongue, she leveled him with a glare very similar to the ones Sasha had been giving him for months.

"That is not true!" the Pensacola native retorted angrily. He didn't ignore Sasha, not at all. If anything, it was the other way around. At least it felt that way to him. "And frankly, ain't none of your business. This is between me and her."

"Like hell it is. Not when we can all see what's going on between y'all two," Trinity countered smoothly. "Did your little pea brain not learn anything from what happened with Andrea? Hey, I couldn't stand the bitch, but you pretty much told her back then that you were only keeping her around because she was carrying your child. Look how that turned out. You're about to replicate the exact same thing with Sasha. She had two babies...two...for you! She risked her body for you-"

"You think I don't know that?" Joe threw up his hands in exasperation, feeling ganged up on. "I've tried talking to her, Trin! But she don't wanna talk to me. I ask her about stuff and all she does is shut me down. I'm not a fuckin' mind reader so what do you want me to do?"

"Try harder," said Trinity, "You have to talk to her. Not at her, and not in a bored or aggressive tone either. Dude, she's going through a rough time. She thinks she's fat and she's feeling insecure about her body. You're gone for weeks on end and she has to deal with the children by herself. She feels alone and suffocated she wants support and reassurance from you. I understand that you got a lot on your plate too, but you've let it completely take over your life and pushed Sasha out in the process." Clasping her hands together, Trinity's eyes were imploring as she added, "Joe, I am begging you. Do not make the same mistake you made before. Sasha ain't just some random baby mama, she's your wife. Call her, do whatever the fuck you gotta do to fix this. Otherwise trust me when I say you're gonna have a problem with me as well."

She let the threat hang in the air, allowing her in-law to absorb it a little longer. Then, shooting him one last scolding glare, she marched out of the room, leaving the two cousins alone and swarmed in the palpable tension. Joe glared at Jonny, who looked about to speak. "Don't you start," he warned.

"She's right though," Jonny countered, shaking his head. "But damn man, I thought I told you not to mess up with Sasha when she's around," He stabbed a finger in the direction Trinity had stormed out from. "It affects me too." He shook his head and sighed heavily. "I'm willing to bet you right now, she's gonna go and and on about it all night and I won't get any damn sleep. Fix it, Uce. Please. You know she ain't playin'." Rolling his eyes dramatically with another shake of his head, he disappeared through the door after his wife as he braced himself for a long night ahead.

Blowing out a breath, Joe ran his hands through his hair. He had to admit, Trin was right. Though Sasha wasn't completely innocent, he knew he'd crossed a line with the things he said to her, and he needed to find a way to make it up to her. He could only hope and pray he was not too late.

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

Three days later, Joe returned home. He was welcomed by the sound of complete silence as he stepped through the doors of his lavish Tampa abode. Though it was only about eight p.m. the lights were already turned off, all the windows were closed and locked and the alarm system was on. There was no one downstairs in the living room or in the kitchen. It was rather strange for his household, and he wondered where everyone was.

Dragging his suitcases as quietly as possible upstairs, the first thing he did was to check on the twins. He strolled past the master bedroom and towards the nursery. Abandoning his luggage at the door, he gently pushed the door open and turned on the little lamp in the corner, which gave a soft, dim glow to the lilac-colored room that he really liked. However, he was surprised to find both cribs empty. Curious, he crossed through the connecting door and into the master bedroom, and a smile of relief tugged his lips at the sight that greeted him.

Lying in their king-sized bed was Sasha, flanked on each side by their twins; Giselle on her left, Micah on her right, all three of them fast asleep. The volume of the television was turned down low, with Mickey Mouse Clubhouse showing on the flat screen. Both babies' heads were turned towards their mother while she lay on her back, an arm wound protectively around each of them. It was a beautiful, Kodak-worthy moment that could not be ignored. He whipped out his phone, quickly putting it on silent before immortalizing the image on his device. He moved to pick up the children, but then remembered that he had to wash his hands. Germs around the babies was a huge no-no. Sasha read him the Riot Act every time he forgot. He dashed into the toilet and back, then, ensuring not to wake any of them, he carefully extracted Giselle out of Sasha's arm and rested her little head on his broad shoulder. Wow, she was so big now. He stuck his hand inside her diaper to see if she needed to be changed and was glad to find out that she did not. He loved his children to death but changing diapers had to be his least favorite thing to do. He nuzzled the baby's soft dark hair and kissed her forehead, breathing in her fresh talcum-powdered scent. "Come on Princess, let's get you to bed," he whispered.

He walked back to the nursery and found the crib on the left side of the room, and carefully, he lowered his daughter inside, making sure she lay on her back. He pulled the baby blanket over the baby, and after ensuring she was safe and sound, he exited the room to retrieve his son.

As he reached for Micah, his heart lurched a little when he saw Sasha start to stir, and she absently ran her hand over the spot on the bed where Giselle had been sleeping beside her. "Gigi?" she breathed, her eyes cracking open.

At that moment, Joe felt his anxiety melt into a warm pool of pride. His wife may have been half-asleep but her children were always on her mind, always her top priority. There was never a time she didn't realize when one of her babies was no longer near her. Joe decided to ease her fears. "I got her. She's in her crib," he said.

"Joe?" She would have opened her eyes a little more but she was just so tired. His hulking frame looked familiar but she couldn't really tell because the comforting haze of sleep still surrounded her. For all she knew, he was still on the road and this was just another vivid dream she was having of him.

"Yeah, it's me." Beside Sasha, Joe could see their son start to squirm. "I got Mike too. Go back to sleep." He watched as she relaxed and shut her eyes, then he reached over her body to pick up Micah, gently resting him on his shoulder like he did with Giselle. "Hey buddy," he cooed, rubbing his tiny back as he left of the bedroom. He'd since learned that Gigi was the lighter sleeper of the twins, often waking up at the slightest sound, while Micah was the one that slept like a rock. Either way, the last thing Joe wanted was Sasha being woken up by the babies' cries when it was evident how tired she was.

It wasn't unusual to find Joe sitting in the nursery for hours, doing nothing but cuddling his children. He always tried to reacquaint himself with their environment as much as he could before he had to travel again. Pulling Sasha's nursing chair between the two cribs, Joe settled down and lowered the side of Giselle's crib facing him so he could touch her. He wedged his littlest finger through her tiny fist, and smiled when the baby subconsciously grabbed it and held on. Micah was tucked underneath his chin, and the Samoan lightly swayed back and forth in the chair, giving his son a kiss on top of his head, basking in the child's smell, his softness, his innocence.

"I've missed you both so much," he whispered.

He couldn't believe they were five months old already. He still remembered it like it was yesterday, the day when he and Sasha found out they were having twins. Etched in his memory were the wide-eyed, shocked expression on his wife's beautiful face and the sound of his own pulse hammering in his ears...

"I'm sorry, what?" Joe gaped at Dr. Sawyer like she had two heads, which at this point, was a rather appropriate expression. Because unless his hearing had become fucked up by all the beatings he'd endured in the ring, it sounded a lot to him like she'd just said that there were not one, but two babies inside his wife.

Mona laughed at his expression. "You heard me right." She pointed at the screen showing the ultrasound. "See? Over here is the head of the first baby and over here...is the second." She turned back to the couple and smiled. "Two heads means it's twins. So congratulations."

Emotions of every kind swelled inside Sasha, threatening to burst from her chest. "Twins," she murmured, shock and euphoria and fear flitting across her face all at once. Shaking her head at her husband, she said, "How did I forget that twins run in your damn family?"

Joe laughed, as did Mona. "Would you like to know what you're having?"

The couple looked at each other, and Sasha squeezed Joe's hand as they exchanged knowing smiles. They had discussed this over and over without coming to an agreement. Joe looked back at the OB-GYN. "Well, we already know we're having twins," he said. "The genders don't really matter to me. I can wait until they're born. I just want them to arrive healthy."

"You sure?" asked Dr. Sawyer, noting Sasha's skeptical expression. "Some couples decide on one thing and then change their minds quickly. If you want, we can wait until your next appointment to find out, or I can write it in an envelope for you. Many couples usually prefer that."

"An envelope will be fine," Sasha piped up. She knew her husband. There was a high chance he would be unavailable for the next appointment, and it wouldn't feel right if she found out on her own. Besides, even if she did, she couldn't keep it from him. The suspense would kill them both. Personally, she preferred to find out the sex of their babies together, and sooner rather than later.

Sooner came much quicker than later. Two days barely went by when both of them bit the bullet. Unable to hold out any longer, the couple rummaged through the kitchen drawer they'd buried the envelope in and tugged out the paper. They were on the floor for an hour after that, hugging each other while crying tears of joy. One baby was already a blessing, but having two, a boy and a girl for that matter, was an incredible miracle.

Despite being born premature, the twins were as healthy as ever. Micah Morgan Sika was the younger twin but he was slightly bigger than his sister – Sasha blamed it on his Samoan-inherited penchant for food – and looked exactly like Joe, from his wavy black hair to his tan skin and slanted charcoal-grey eyes. Giselle Maeva Josephina was the apple of her father's eye and already a little diva. She demanded his attention and he surrendered it to her without question. Like her brother she took most of Joe's gorgeous looks but her smile was a carbon copy of Sasha's. Their parents were overjoyed when they arrived, but honestly speaking, it was more because it meant her pregnancy was over. By no means had it been an easy eight months. If carrying one baby was tough, two had been a nightmare. Sasha struggled throughout, and even ended up needing a walking stick to move around during the latter stages of her term. It broke Joe's heart to see her in such pain and discomfort and it hurt him more that he couldn't be there with her all the time like a normal father-to-be. It was such a relief when the babies were delivered safely and Sasha turned out okay. It was by far the happiest moment of Joe's life and he did his best to be as hands-on as possible with the babies, looking after them when he returned home and bonding with them.

However, as his connection with his children strengthened, the one with his wife started to diminish. Neither had much time for the other as the twins became top priority. Soon the arguments started, and Sasha fought with him over the pettiest things like cleaning up the house and taking out the trash. He figured she was acting out because she couldn't return to work and was stuck at home while her body continued to heal. But she stopped wanting to go out with him, preferring to go to the gym than spend time with him. And then, to his chagrin, she began to spurn his advances when he wanted to make love, instead putting all her attention on the babies and losing weight. When he realized her fears over her body image had skyrocketed, he'd tried to be understanding, but Sasha did not seem to see that. To add to the turmoil at home, he was having a less-than-stellar period at work. The higher-ups in the WWE kept playing hot potato with their decision over whether to give him another title reign, and feeling frustrated and yanked around, he started to lash out at the people closest to him, most notably the woman he called his wife. And just like the woman he knew and loved, she lashed right back, making his life one big giant clusterfuck.

It was all very frustrating; his kids were growing up and he wasn't there to witness it. He was constantly arguing with their mother. It had reached a point where he internally timed how long their attempt at conversation would drag on for before it broke down and they were yelling at each other again. There were days he would come home and immediately wish he was back on the road so he wouldn't have to deal with her, and though he knew it was wrong, he couldn't help how he felt. It wasn't healthy at all, especially not when there were small children involved, and after replaying their last heated exchange over and over in his head and going over Trinity's advice, the Samoan decided it was time for the fighting to come to an end. It was all a huge mess over nothing. They could not carry on like this, and he vowed to resolve their issues on this trip home.

Kissing Micah's head one more time, Joe placed him in his crib and drew the covers over him. Once he checked that the baby monitors were on, he left the nursery and checked on his sleeping wife again. He noticed she was wearing a robe and her hair was tucked haphazardly underneath a satin hair cover, and he guessed that she was in bed when the twins drew her attention. Seeing it from her perspective, Joe felt bad for her. She hadn't got a break in over a year, and with T.K. off touring the independents and Mia being more and more occupied with school, Sasha was stuck with the babies with very little help. His parents occasionally stepped in, but it wasn't often as they themselves were getting on age-wise. No wonder she'd exploded like that. It was a lot to take on. He probably would have too if he'd been in her shoes.

Deciding to be of use while he was at home, he unpacked his bags and gathered his dirty laundry. Heading downstairs to the laundry room, he added a load of laundry to the washer, separating the babies' clothes and handwashing them himself. He then wiped down the kitchen, put on the dishwasher, and took out the trash. Afterwards he made his way to the den to tidy up Sasha's laptop and paperwork. He picked up the toys strewn around the living room and took them upstairs to deposit in the little toy box in the nursery. It was the least he could do. Sasha always kept the house in impeccable shape all by her lonesome and it was his responsibility to maintain that standard.

When he was satisfied with the state of the house, Joe returned to the master bedroom and climbed into bed next to his wife. Staring at her for a long, forlorn moment, he tentatively weaved his arm underneath her head, and his hand was halfway across the pillow when she moved. But instead of shifting away from him, her body relaxed and she snuggled into his embrace, all without ever opening her eyes. Expelling a huge sigh of relief, Joe wrapped his arm completely around her, then reached for the remote to catch up with his favorite TV shows. Sure, she was cuddling with him in her subconscious, but it was better than her being awake and hating him. This way he could pretend that things were still normal and all was well between them.

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

As another manic episode of How To Get Away With Murder flew by, the gentle movement of his fingers in her hair ceased when he felt her shift next to him. By now she was practically glued to his side, with her head tucked in the crook of his neck and her arm around his middle. He glanced down at her as her eyes finally opened, blinking slowly. She rolled away from him, rubbing her eyes, and a soft smile tugged at his lips at her adorable expression as consciousness slowly returned to her. He could see the proverbial lightbulb flash in her mind as she realized something was off. Fully awake now, she sat up and looked around the bed.

Joe instantly read her mind. "They're in the nursery, safe and sound," he told her, and he felt his heart grow when she slid down beside him again, resting her head on his shoulder as her attention turned to the TV.

"When on earth did you start watching this show?" she asked, causing him to chuckle and reply, "There was nothing else on TV and I wanted to find out what got you and Pam trippin' so much." He shook his head. "I get it now. Man, they crazy. Every single one of them." He smiled when Sasha laughed, the sound vibrating against his skin soothing him.

"Trust me, this episode is just the beginning," she said, her fingers idly stroking his pectorals. "How long have you been home?" she asked.

"About three hours, four tops. You three were out like a light."

It had been quite the crazy day for Sasha. The twins had cried all day for some reason, and she was forced to cancel all her plans for the day, including working from home. "Not gonna lie, it was a rough one today. They were super cranky. I think they knew their Daddy was coming home so they decided to give me a hard time," she quipped, not bothering to stifle the yawn that escaped her.

She looked so exhausted. Joe felt like shit. "I wish I'd been here to help."

"Don't worry about it," she replied, yawning again.

Joe stared at her, a million thoughts flitting through his mind. There was so much he wanted to say to her, so much he wanted to apologize for. But he didn't know if words could fully articulate how truly sorry he was for his part in the turbulence of their relationship. "I got you something," he said. Twisting his upper body towards his side of the bed, he reappeared with a long stemmed red rose wrapped in transparent paper.

Sasha raised an eyebrow. "There's hundreds of flowers in the garden outside, Joe," she informed him, the small smirk on her lips telling him not to take offence to her comment.

"I know. But that woulda been lazy of me."

Giggling at his statement, she took the flower and held it to her nose. "It's beautiful. Thanks," she murmured, sincerity shining in her eyes as she looked at him.

The air crackled with tension as Joe watched her intently. "I've been thinking...Can I take you out to dinner tomorrow night?"

Sasha lowered the rose, waiting for a beat or two. "Like a date?"

"Yeah, like a date." He could sense that she was trying to play it cool, but her anxiety was written on her face. "Don't worry. It'll be just you and me, alone and in a relaxed environment and we'll get all the privacy we want. I'd really like it if we sat down and talked and caught up with each other's lives. I think being stuck in this house all the time with only the babies for company hasn't been much fun for you."

Frankly, he was right on all fronts. Especially with the notion that they desperately needed to talk. Shifting to lie on her side, she nodded her head in agreement. "Okay. I'm fine with that. Where are we going though?"

His serious expression turned playful. "Sorry baby girl. You'll just have to wait and see."

Sasha grinned. "Ooh, a surprise, huh? What about the twins?"

"We can drop them off at my parents' place. Or Elgin's parents'. Or Mia will take care of them. She'll probably ask to be paid though," he chuckled, grinning when Sasha joined him.

"I'm sure we can negotiate something," she answered.

Joe smiled at his wife, watching her laugh, and decided to take advantage of the lightened mood before it slipped away for good. Gently stroking her hip, he said in a soft voice, "You probably don't believe me, but I've missed you. I...miss you," he corrected himself, locking eyes with her, his own swirling with apologies.

It was so difficult to stay mad at him. Even when she gave him the silent treatment to teach him a lesson it required all of her willpower because it was miserable not talking to him. Despite all the conflict they put each other through, she loved him to death. She always would. "I believe you," she answered, inching closer to him. "And I miss you too." And wanting to show him rather than just tell him, she tilted her head and gently placed her lips on his for a moment. Pulling slightly away, she watched his grey eyes, wide with surprise and hope and longing, and she gave her reassurance with a small smile. Emboldened, she leaned in and kissed him again, her lips parting wider for him. She moved, climbing slowly on top of his body, and she sensed his relief as he wound an arm around her, holding her tight to him while he massaged her scalp with his other fingers. This was so much better than arguing. Unfortunately they couldn't help themselves sometimes. They fought each other as intensely as they loved each other, probably always would, and both of them would have to come to terms with that fact and put up with it.

Trying his luck, Joe tugged off the robe Sasha was wearing, heartened when she made no protest. He pushed the clothing down her arms and pressed his lips to the exposed skin on her shoulder. Gently, he rolled her onto her back, delighted to feel her legs instantly slide up around his waist. Brushing heated, suckling kisses over her neck, his hands ventured upwards, closing over her naked breasts, which were larger and more sensitive now due to breastfeeding. Giving them a small squeeze each, her soft moan was encouraging, and he happily repeated the action. He bowed his head and licked her nipple, the faint taste of breastmilk coming away on his tongue. His name was a breathy moan on her lips, her hips lifting to grind against his crotch. Joe growled in reaction, tearing his mouth away from her chest to crash back against hers. They kissed desperately, and his hands continued massaging her breasts, his fingers tweaking and teasing her nipples. He was about turning his attention back to them when a small cry pierced the air out of nowhere.

"No," Sasha whined. Joe's forehead dropped onto her chest with frustration. "Fuck." The baby monitor had come alive and was indicating that one of their children was now awake and very upset.

Sasha exhaled heavily. This was one of the reasons she didn't bother with sex anymore. "That's your son," she informed Joe, patting his shoulder so he could move off of her.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"There's no frills with his crying," she explained, sitting up and tiredly drawing her robe back over herself. "Your daughter always whines first, always makes a dramatic entrance. With Micah it's short, sweet and to the point most of the time."

"You know them well." There was envy in his voice.

Sasha smiled tenderly and caressed his face. "You will too, baby. They recognize you now. That's a start." She started to get up but Joe stopped her. "I got him." He pulled himself up and kissed her lips. "Stay put. I'll be right back."

Getting off the bed, Joe crossed the room and towards the adjoining door, the baby's cries getting louder as he neared the nursery. Taking a second to look at Giselle's crib, he was relieved to see her slumber on despite Micah's noise. Reaching into the other crib, Joe picked up his wailing son and patted his back. "Hey little man. What's the matter?" he asked, walking out of the nursery. "You were right. It was him." He sat down on the bed, not taking his eyes off his boy as he began to quieten. "Gotta say nani, we got some good-looking kids," the Samoan remarked.

"Well, they got Samoan, Italian and Negro blood. They don't have a choice but to be good-looking." She carefully took their baby son. With her other hand she pulled her robe open and adjusted him in her arms, then guided her nipple into his mouth. Watching the baby suckle for a few moments, she then looked over at her husband, propped up on his elbow as he looked on with a soft, almost dreamy smile, and smirked. "Take a picture babe, it lasts longer."

His gaze zeroed in on her chest. "It's beautiful to watch."

"Or you just like that I whipped out my naked tits."

At last, his eyes flickered to hers, familiarly dark and suggestive. "Maybe."

Her face warmed instantly. "Pervert." But the smile on her face was wide and genuine, and the Samoan was glad to be the one to put it there. Glad that they were back to this, the playful banter between them. He shifted on the bed so he was facing Sasha properly, and he played with Micah's toes while he reveled in the sight of his wife feeding their son.

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

What's date night gonna be like? Hmmm. ;)

Let me know your thoughts with comments! And let me know if you want to ne tagged in the next chapter. Thanks guys!

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