#i hope this shit is eligible because it took so long to make

[sprucewolf-official]

some hand anatomy guides i made for my partner, but i figured anyone could really use them. they're not perfect as i did these with no references (occasionally looking at my own hand)

[joshslater]

Manhood Exchange

The premise is based on a story I read a while back and forgot to bookmark. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I was in a shopping mall when I got the notification on my phone. Out of habit I just tapped the icon and suddenly I got a large, erect cock filling the phone screen. I immediately became aware of where I was and had a few seconds of panic before reassuring myself that no one else saw it. I moved a few steps to somewhere less open, where no one could walk behind me, and had a look again.

It was beautiful. Massive and uncut, with the skin pulled back to expose the pink, gleaming head. Actually the entire cock glistened like he had made a few strokes with precum on his hand and then positioned himself with just the right lighting to make the veins pop a little extra. The truly remarkable part was however the overlay at the bottom of the screen. "$400, quick trade"

I'd been on the Manhood Exchange app long enough to know a cock like this is usually hundred times that price, if not more. Whatever impression you've got from watching porn, people are on a bell curve with cock sizes, and the ones on the higher end of the scale aren't selling. All the people who used to compensate with a big truck suddenly ended up in the same market, competing for the same cocks, and they make a hell of a lot more big trucks than big cocks. Oddly enough there was a market for really small cocks as well, not quite as high prices, but just as small supply. Normal people like me in the middle of the bell curve with no cash to buy and no cock to sell just had to make do.

It's not enough for a cock to just enter the market either, which itself is a thread to needle with the 18-35 eligible age span and clean health declaration. For you to find one it has to be bio-compatible for science reasons and roughly the same race for ethics reasons, though the latter is just a matter of money. Obviously I tapped the "Deal!" button in the app before I even checked out his profile. With that kind of cock everyone would know you either had a shit ton of money, or you could get it by selling. The profile didn't add much though. Just more good-looking images of him and his cock. A text message function as well, but was there really anything to talk about?

You'd think I'd be a bit more careful swapping cock with another man, especially since you can't swap again until all the cells have been replaced because of some quantum spin entanglement bullshit. Ten years with bad meat is a long wait, but I already knew he was a bio-match and healthy, so it was more Fear Of Missing Out. I had some shit I hope I could fence, so I took an instant online loan and had the whole deal closed before I'd passed Baskin Robbins on the way out. Both I and my normal size cock were excited.

Just ten minutes later the phone chimed again with a proposed time for the swap at 7:20 pm, almost three hours away. Though I didn't know anything about this less than an hour ago, any delay felt too long, like I hadn't realized how much I wanted this. What it would mean for my position in the crew. Every minute of waiting was a minute where something could derail everything. My phone could be stolen. The exchange could cancel it for some reason. I tapped "Accept" and headed home with the phone in a secure grip in my pocket.

The instructions after I had accepted were straightforward. Be seated with a naked crotch and open the app ten minutes before the scheduled time for exchange. I decided to be pantsless until then just to be safe, and I set three alarms on the phone. One at 6:50 to sit down, if I wasn't already sitting, one at 7:05 to be ready, and one at 7:09 to open the app. I sent a text to Shawn and told him I wouldn't be joining the crew until later, if at all. No details of why.

Then I just sat down in the comfy chair. Three hours to go. I was only wearing my hat, socks, and T-shirt. And my bling of course. The sweatpants and my trunks were in a pile on the floor, and the phone was charging next to me. My cock was pointing almost straight up.

I realized that it would only be my cock for another few hours or so, and I should say goodbye properly. Normally I would jerk off in the shower or in front of the computer, but since I was already perfectly seated and with an erect cock in front of me I just grabbed it and started to remember all the highlights we'd had. When my neighbor Jamar excited came over and wanted to show me something. He was a few years older, but still occasionally spent some time with me. He showed me into the bathroom, lowered his pants, and told me to do the same. Then he showed me that by pulling on his cock he could get it to "bend" in his words. I remembered waking up one early morning with my boxers wet and worried I'd peed my bed. To my surprise they were filled with slime, but just to be safe I put them under the bed to dry so my mother wouldn't know. I remembered that time I got an erection during a movie screening, and slowly wanked but desperately trying to avoid cumming or anyone else noticing what I did.

I remembered the first time I had sex, the first porn I jerked off to, the first time a date ended in sex, the first time I had sex in a car, the first time I jerked off to a porn video on my mobile. All while doing this I tried to go as slow as I could, like at the movie. Flashing before me were dates, partners, and porn stars, while the top of my cock had some frothy pre-cum. I was shocked when the alarm went off. How the fuck could time have moved that fast. I scrambled to get hold of an old T-shirt within reach, and pretty quickly came into it with a few pumps of cum. Not really the satisfying climax I had envisioned.

Suddenly time was moving slowly again, and I was stuck watching dried off, limp cock in front of me. I became self-conscious about how it looked, worried about if the seller would cancel the trade last minute seeing what a lousy deal it was for him. He'd seen my photos already though, but they were taken erect and with good lighting. What was the cancellation policy anyway? The next alarm went off. Why did I even set that one? I was getting nervous. What if it hurt? There was a lot of news about misteleportations some years ago, and this was way more complicated. I didn't even understand how it worked. I knew the basics of standard teleportation from school. Every particle is a probability wave that exists everywhere, but the probability of it actually being at a specific point is overwhelming. By manipulating the quantum state you can poke the probability so that it is more likely to be somewhere else. Just a change in probability, so it can move instantaneously anywhere in the universe, given enough math. Swapping body parts between people was way harder, so it was bound to have lots of issues that could happen.

The last alarm interrupted my train of thought. I kind of felt not ready. Rich people did this, so it should be safe to do I reasoned, and tapped the activation button on the phone.

"This will start a legally binding contract with Manhood Exchange Incorporated adjudicated in the state of Delaware. Please identify yourself." the phone voice said. I pressed the white circle on the screen with my identification finger, the middle one of course.

"Please sign that you are aware that concluding this transaction will replace your penis, testicles, prostate, and relevant connecting tissue, glands, and other structures with a third party as preliminary agreed." I pressed the circle again, wondering what would happen if I didn't. The $400 would certainly be gone.

"Please sign that you are aware that this is a one-time transfer option with Manhood Exchange Incorporated that cannot be reversed through quantum transplantation." I pressed the circle a third time.

"Please sign that you are aware that both set of testicles will be made infertile through this swap." I pressed the circle a fourth time, not so nervous I barely registered what I had signed. The screen of the phone changed to showing a live video from my selfie camera, showing me half-naked in my lounge chair. "Tap to connect" it said on the screen. I did.

The image quickly changed to show the man from the photos lying down in a white, far more upscale couch than I was sitting in. "Yo, man. You ready to do this?" he asked. His erect cock was just as big as it had looked on the photos, almost looking bigger as it was swaying with his breathing. The instructions on the screen said "Verify the other party is the selected exchange party and that he is seated with exposed crotch."

"Yeah, let's do it." I said, and tapped the Verified button on the screen. I could see from his motions that he did the same, and a timer started on the screen, counting down to 7:20. "So, will it fit in speedos?" I blurted out, still feeling nervous and with several minutes to kill. He chuckled. "Shorts are better for swimming, but you want some tight trunks to keep it in place when you're wearing normal clothes. I use compression shorts a lot."

"Well, you can use whatever with mine."

The last 40 seconds we just stared at the countdown in silence. The actual swap was instant, almost silent, though I wouldn't be able to describe the sound, and without any shimmers of light as you can sometimes see when teleporting. It felt like someone spilled warm water over my crotch, though that quickly went away, but it was replaced with the most amazing, intense horny hardon I've ever felt. It was like the cock was buzzing, craving attention. "Enjoy the wank" the other guy said. "What? Oh. Thanks!" I said and the video was closed from his side.

I grabbed the cock with my hand and instantly felt the difference in size. It was almost the size of my wrist. I just moved my hand up and a trickle of precum oozed out and trickled down over my fingers. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and continued where I had left off, thinking about the most recent porn videos, and in not too long I could feel the buildup of a climax, only this time I was unable to force it back. It just kept building and building, and I think I actually moaned out loud as the first rope of cum erupted. Then another one, and another one. Then I had to open my eyes to look at the mess, and it wasn't any small squirts of cum either. It looked almost comical how my T-shirt was completely soaked in cum, and I was still pumping out a few more ropes.

To my amazement the cock was still semi-erect. I got up and hurried to the bathroom and threw the cum-wet T-shirt. After a quick look at my sticky chest I decided to have a shower. I stripped out of the few remaining items I had on and proceeded to have another wank in the shower. This one lasted a bit longer and produced slightly less cum, but it was still a shocking amount.

I had barely dried and put on my underwear before the new cock started to firm up again. I grabbed the phone and sent a text to the seller in the app. "What the hell is happening with my cock? Were you always hard?"

The app sat silent for a few minutes until a response chimed. "It's called hyperspermia. It's a genetic condition, so not a disease in Manhood Exchange's definition. You'll learn to cope several hours between wanks. It was the precum that bothered me the most. Just drink a lot of water, always wear a condom, and compression shorts really help, as I said. Good luck!"

[oh-my-damn]

I originally posted this almost a year ago, in December 2023, and considering the arrest warrent now put out against Netanyahu, I feel the need to repost it.

I called this a YEAR ago. So did many other legal minds of the world. We've been calling this for a very long time, but no one has listened. No one took it seriously. How is it that we spend 8 years on an education only for people to discount it if some politicians with a subpar education tells them to do so????

Why?????

Please explain to me why people are discounting people who are actually eligible to speak on this matter, in favor of people who are not eligible in any sense of the word, other than the fact that they appear on television?? Or won an election by promoting propaganda???

------

Considering I just finished a course on International Law (I’m currently in Law School and finishing my bachelors in 2024) I just wanted to point out a few things

A lot of people have been trying to discount how what is currently happening in Palestine is “not considered a genocide” or how it is within “Israel’s right” to “fight back” against the “terrorist attack” by Palestine on October 7th by “any means necessary”

The entire sentence of what I just wrote is not able to be proven factual according to International Law.

And because I am that bitch, I will obviously list my legal sources at the end (however what we will be mainly dealing with today are the Geneva Conventions of 1949 and the Rome Statute of 1998, but it is important to note that Israel never signed or ratified the Rome Statue but did ratify the Geneva Conventions, however the Rome Statute is now considered common law which means that even if you do not officially ratify the law, it is still applicable in most cases because it is considered common)

Anyway, lets get into this shit that has not only made me angry but also depressed beyond belief ever since I started this course and realized what the world looks like.

First of all, what is happening currently in Palestine crosses a lot of International Laws in a lot of different ways. Anyone who has read the Geneva Convention and the Rome Statute knows that. In fact, the occupation of Palestine for the past 75 years has been considered a controversial topic and outright illegal by a lot of legal minds for the entire time it has been happening.

But the reason people might argue that it “doesn’t count as genocide” is because being able to classify something as “genocide” requires intent. And intentis extremely hard to prove. Even Hitler did his best to skate around his intent of the genocide he committed against the jewish population of the world during WWII. In fact, he was even more careful than some world leaders are today, and that was even before a law against genocide existed. The law was created because of his actions, after the fact, and yet he still had legal counsel telling him how careful he needed to word things.

This is important to keep in mind. Because no country, or world leader, will ever outrightly admit to committing genocide. At least not until they’ve been caught and proven guilty and are tried by the international court. That is usually when confessions truly happen, in hopes of pardon or a lesser sentence.

So we will never hear Netanyahu openly admit that what is happening is a genocide which makes genocide very hard to prove in the international court system, despite the fact that most people who study law, and most people who have even halfheartedly looked into the matter with no law degree, can see that what is happening is a genocide.

But what is happening right now is so important, regarding what’s going to happen to Israel in the future. There have already been a lot of discrepancies in their attack and the justification of it; most recently, it has been revealed that what Israel reported to have found after bombing the Al-Shifa hospital in Gaza was not actually true and was instead manufactured. Which means, if true, that Israel committed a war crime by bombing a hospital. They can, and should, be prosecuted and held accountable for that once investigations take place, since it would be a breach of both the Geneva Convention and the Rome Statute. But that will still happen after the fact.

Starvation of a people, however, is directly written into the Geneva Convention (also known as the Genocide Prevention) in Article 55. It says, as follows:

ART. 55. — To the fullest extent of the means available to it, the Occupying Power has the duty of ensuring the food and medical supplies of the population; it should, in particular, bring in the necessary foodstuffs, medical stores and other articles if the resources of the occupied territory are inadequate.

It is very clear to even the dumbest person that Palestine, and especially Gaza, is an occupied territory. They are occupied under Israel. Which means that Israel has a responsibility to ensure the civilians of Gaza get properly fed and proper nutrition during this occupation. Now, one might argue that Israel has actually been committing war crimes for much longer than since October 7th considering the citizens of Gaza never had proper access to clean water or food (I sure as hell would if I were to ever be called into a courtroom regarding this) but I digress.

What is happening right now, during these days, is extremely important in international law.

Unfortunately, the people of Gaza do not have much time left, and they certainly do not have enough time left for the UN to do a superficial investigation into the war crimes that Israel have committed for 2 months now (especially since the entire world has watched it happen, live)

I would dare to argue that the main issue now isn’t even Israel anymore. It is actually the US. The US holds so much power, not just in the world but especially in the UN, that it is actively blocking any chance for a ceasefire and any chance for the Palestinian people to not only receive justice, but survival.

And if there’s one thing I know about international law, it is that anyone who blocks the chance of survival for civilians is committing a war crime.

Which means that the US is currently committing war crimes on behalf of the state of Israel.

The problem is that the US is in control of most countries who are in the UN and also has veto power against anything brought up there. The system is corrupt and the US especially is aware of this (not its citizens, because most of what I’ve seen is shock and horror at the fact that the US was the only country to block the ceasefire and that they did not understand how that was possible) but it’s leaders.

Personally I used to root for Joe Biden because he seemed like a better alternative to Donald Trump. But after what I’ve seen lately, it seems that the US elections is a losing mans game. Joe Biden is openly a zionist, and Donald Trump is… Well, we all know what he is.

It is my hope that the US will one day be held responsible for the crimes they have committed in Palestine, but not only there; also the crimes committed in Iraq, Afghanistan, Japan; the list goes on.

But given how the system works, I fear it’ll never happen.

Sources:

Rome Statute:

www.icc-cpi.int

Geneva Conventions:

www.un.org

The States Parties to the Rome Statute | International Criminal Court

asp.icc-cpi.int

UNTC

treaties.un.org

[otakufaerie]

ARRANGED | Eren Yeager

HUSBAND!Eren is your new husband in an arranged marriage, previously the most eligible bachelor in Paradis. Everything was going good until he finds out you’ve lied to him.

—

Husband!eren x virgin/wife!reader

Warnings • fem!reader, black coded, nudity, age gap, nsfw, MDNI, dry humping, nipple play, pussy slapping, fingering, cunnilingus, spitting, praise kink, brat taming, pet names, overstim, hair pulling

Note! hiii— this is my first time writing on tumblr, I’ve been a Wattpad writer for a long time. I hope you guys really like this!

Minors DNI!

The drive back to your house was mostly your best friend yelling about the situation that just happened at the mall. Although you weren’t angry, you were more so embarrassed.

"I'll see you later okay?" You say giving her a tight hug and exiting the car. You noticed Eren’s everyday car in the driveway before making it inside. The sound of him faintly talking on the phone in the kitchen halted your thoughts. You slowly walked in and although you tried to be quiet, the heels gave you away.

His green eyes flickered towards you and he got off the phone. You were hoping the look on your face hadn’t given away your mood.

"How was shopping, Beauty?" He asks and you shrug, he looks towards your hands seeing them only holding only one of the purses he gifted.

"You didn't buy anything?" He questions making his way towards you around the counter. You shake your head no and shift your weight to the other foot. When he got in front of you, you only looked towards the center of his chest, his hand pushing up your chin to look towards him. He was so pretty up close.

You tense up feeling his hand travel around your waist to the center of your back. "What happened?" Eren whispers with concern in his eyes. "Nothing." You say looking up at him through my false lashes.

The last thing you wanted was to tell him some bitch lady racially profiled you at a high end store.

He nodded his head deciding not to force it out. He pulls you closer towards his front embracing you in a hug. And there it is. You could definitely feel him on your belly nudging the ring hanging there and he wasn't even hard.

You definitely weren’t used to this affection yet, you have only been married 2 weeks after all. You still couldn’t believe you agreed to this.

"I missed you." You could feel him leaning down kissing the top of your head. You removed your head from his chest and he loosened his arms to release you. You rest a hand on his black shirt feeling his muscles shift underneath. When you looked back up he leaned down further and rose his eyebrows. You nodded and his hands ran over your ass before hooking underneath your thighs.

Eren wasn't all that buff but he still had enough and lifted you with no effort. You figured this way was easier for him to kiss you without putting a strain in his neck since he was much taller than you.

When your lips connected he groaned turning to sit you on the counter. He deepened the kiss and your hands traveled up to his dark hair tugging on his, accidentally pulling it out of the hair tie. You let out a low moan when he sucked on your bottom lip.

"Shit." He whispered traveling down to kiss on your jaw and running his hand up your thigh. You pulled his lips back to yours and he pushed further into you and you could feel his hard on against the crotch of your jeans. This man was cursed.

The sound of his phone going off is what finally made you pull away from each other panting.

"I'm not finished." He says lowly, his hand gripping the back of your neck.

Fuck he was so hot.

Eren took his phone call and told you to wait upstairs for him. What did that mean? You don't know but here you were locked in the bathroom after a shower trying to pep talk yourself. You wouldn't lie and say you were holding onto your virginity because that isn’t the case but are you ready right now?

You dressed in a simple thin tank and no bra since it was night, also pulled on some simple little cotton shorts. You didn't usually wear underwear at night unless you were on your cycle. You pull your curls up and wrapped a scarf around your head so the large pony flowed out the top.

When you exit the bathroom Eren is already here and looking at TMZ while sitting at the edge of the bed. He was in shorts now and his shirt was discarded. Damn.

He looked really good without a shirt even without too much muscle. He had one single spider tattoo near his v-line. He hadn’t bothered to put his hair back up.

"Come here, beauty." The new name he'd given you was kind of cute and made you hot. You take slow steps towards him until directly in front of him so your knees nearly touched. He gently pulls you so you stand between his legs and then his hands snaked up the backs of your thighs and rested on the underside of your ass.

"Mmm I'm going fuck you so good— but that can wait, I wanna taste you." You press your thighs together and his hands continue to move up your sides and under your shirt feeling the skin of your waist. Then it happened so fast, he stood up and simultaneously lift you so he could turn and toss you onto soft bed. "You know you shouldn't lie to me, y/n." You breathe shakily.

He crawls toward you and pushes you down lightly, placing a wet kiss to your mouth. His hand caressed your right breast and his thumb rolled over your now pebbled nipple. Your hips unintentionally bucked up at the feeling and he chuckled at the act.

"Look at you, so needy." He says grabbing the underside of your knee and pushing it up towards your shoulder then doing the same to the other. He kisses on your neck softly and sucks a little making you shudder. He traveled down to your stomach licking and sucking making you tremble in nervousness. "Too bad I have to punish you." Alarms ring in your head but you couldn't bring myself to stop him as he nipped at your skin pulling the shirt up higher.

When your breasts were finally exposed his eyes darkened and he began to lick around one of nipples and then bringing it into his mouth. "Oh God." You dropped your head back onto the bed gripping the sheets at your sides. "God can't save you, love."

After continuously teasing and nipping at the skin of your breast he finally left them be and you figured the torture was over. Not.

Went down lower pulling you down to the edge of the bed so your ass nearly hung off and dropped to his knees in front of you. Your heart thumped hard.

"You okay?" He asks surprisingly and you nod quickly making him smile that stupid perfect smile.

He quickly hooked his fingers onto your shorts and pulled them off. You hadn't realized you were holding your breath. You quickly snap your legs shut. "Are you nervous pretty girl?" He asks and you nod slightly, "Am I the first person whose seen you like this?" He asks and you nod again looking down into his green eyes.

"Just relax, I'll stop if you want.." , "No." you say quickly and his large hands push your knees apart and back up towards your sides. "Mmm." He groans.

Your thighs separated showing him all of you, completely waxed, thick and wet. He twitched at the sight wanting to push your feet up to your ears and fuck you until your begging for mercy.

*Smack*

He gave a quick swat making your brown lips bounce and you let out a high pitched noise in shock. Your legs fall wider and he smirks to myself.

He pulls you a little closer and uses his thumb to separate one of your lips revealing your cute-tiny clit. It also revealed that you were fucking soaking.

"Shit, beauty." He brings his other thumb to tug on the opposite lip and spits directly on your clit making you jump. His thumb immediately rolled over your bud and you nearly snapped your legs closed again before relaxing. He picks up the pace and you moan sweetly. He’s looking into your eyes leaning up to kiss you and sends another smack to your clit. You sink your hips a little before bucking them up again as he pulled away.

"You like me abusing your pretty little clit hm?" He asks and you shake your head no making him send one a little harder and you let out a loud whine. "Still lying to me, I see." He continues doing it in a rhythm until your legs began to lightly shake and you began dripping.

"Fuck look at you, nearly cuming just from that."  He taunts you and you bite your lip to stop from moaning.

Eren couldn't control him any longer pressing his hands down on the back of your thighs and bringing his mouth to suck on your now sensitive clit and lick up your essence. "E-eren." You let out shakily and he could feel your hand grip his hair, devouring you all the way down to your asshole.

Fuck you tasted so good, he could come just from eating you and hearing your sweet moans. He looks up to see your mouth is slack with pleasure, when he comes back up to flick at your clit your eyes cross and you drop your head back, back arching prettily off the bed.

"That's it beauty, cum for me." He says entering a finger. "So beautiful, you sound so heavenly." He inserts another finger and his opposite hand flicks at your clit at a faster pace. "Shit Eren." You begin to shake again harder this time, moans and the sound of your squelching pussy the only sounds throughout the room.

"W-wait I think I n-need to pee." You whine out and he shakes his head. "Uh uh, relax just let it all go." He protests keeping the same pace. "Oh fu—." And there it was.

Your legs quivered and you let out a prolonged noise as you dribbled all over yourself. He didn't stop there and continued until you rode out the orgasm. He gives you one last swat causing you to flinch knowing how sensitive you were as your legs were still shaking.

"Now you wanna tell me what happened or we can do this until you're ready."

—

©Copyright 2023. All rights reserved. This fanfic may not be reproduced, displayed, modified or distributed without the express prior written permission of the copyright holder. For permission contact @la-musaa

[grapefruit-personified]

I have to be honest, I’m a RM supporter and as such I wanted the disqualification because of what happened with us. But the Federation is shit, it was the same issue when it happened to RM - the player was never personally informed and the club had checked that there was no issues with the players (at least that’s what they say, but I’m inclined to believe them) but then suddenly someone took notice and that was it. I believe the rules have to be enforced and that it doesn’t matter who breaks them, what the result is, etc. but it’s so poor from the Federation. It’s on the clubs to check it; but it seems like the Federation doesn’t properly inform anyone of what the situation with players is 🙄 I hope you don’t mind me chiming in as a RM supporter, I just think it’s an unfortunate situation. It’s undeniable how superior Barca was on the field against Osasuna, but the rules are the rules. Also as I’ve seen people mention it’s also true that the Federation aren’t their biggest fans so it does make it all that more suspicious.

You are more than welcome here I don't mind RM fans on my blog at all as long you can tolerate the Barca post hahaha.

What it sounds like is while yes, Barca should have played safe if not a hundred percent sure of her eligibility it also sounds like the federation has a terrible track record at properly documenting players' ineligibility status and communicating that but are we truly shocked. The fact that Barca would have been just fine without her is what leads me to believe that they thought she was fine to field because why do it otherwise.

But yes as you said rules are rules I fully support disqualification but I support Barca filing an appeal and if they win great for them but let's not be shocked if they don't. The federation gives very bad vibes, especially right now so it's just a matter of waiting and seeing what happens.

[jodilin65]

THURSDAY, MARCH 31, 2011 Nothing new to report. Just been entering sweeps like crazy and hoping for the best.

I’ve heard from Christine, Paula, Andy and Nane, but not Maliheh yet today.

The only new thing going on is that I received the progressive glasses we ordered before life had to shit on us once again. They’re better, but they’re not. I can’t use them for the computer. I have to tilt my head back to focus on just one small spot on my large monitor. But with my single-vision lenses, the entire screen’s in focus without having to move my head up, down, left and right. The progressives will be much better for reading fine things and going out. Before when we’d go out to stores I had to choose between reading glasses and my long-distance glasses. If I chose my long-distance glasses so I could see all around me and so people’s faces weren’t such a blur, then I’d have to have Tom read things for me. Life with shitty eyesight really makes life a bitch. You’d think you could just get one pair of glasses that’d take care of everything, but you can’t. It’s just not that simple.

It got hot in here yesterday (mid-80s) and it’s going to be hot again today. But then the cold and the rain will return. Winters may not be brutal here, but they’re long.

Jesse was buzzing around the land yesterday and being obnoxious, as usual. I’m sure he’ll be out working the land any minute now. I’m surprised he hasn’t yet. It’s either him or his dogs. He’s going out tonight, I’ll be up, and so I’m sure it’ll be the dogs this time around.

Tom might be getting a call for a possible job today. The good news is that it’d pay $15 an hour. The bad is that it’s only for a day. For the evening, actually.

Speaking of Jesse, he just came down to ask that we pay the rent to his sister for a while because he had to borrow money from her. Wow, so Mr. King of the Hill ain’t so rich after all, huh? We’re guessing he borrowed money for that little Honda he sometimes drives.

He also got some plywood from his shit pile to work on whatever it is he’s doing up there since he couldn’t have left the land after he left here. Not with the dogs running around loose. Those dogs must love having him around more often. Well, I’m sure that one or two nights over the next few nights they’re going to be disappointed.

I told him Tom got laid off and that we’re eligible for Unemployment through the rest of the year even though it won’t be much. I asked if he needed Tom’s help with anything, but he said he didn’t. Then again, if he had to borrow from Maryann, how could he afford to pay Tom for any work?

Sure enough, they don’t need Tom for that job, so we just learned. I know it’ll be months before he gets a job, assuming we can make it until then.

Jesse just left on the motorcycle. I’m surprised the dogs only barked for a few seconds, though they always were more into the early morning and nighttime barking.

For now, I’m just so overwhelmed with all there is to do. Do you know how long it took me just to do this entry? I’ve been working on it for hours because in between every single paragraph, there’s something I have to jump up and do. I’m sick of all the distractions and not having enough time to myself. I just hope it really will be only a few months this time around and not nearly two years. Everyone needs alone time no matter how well they may get along with those they live with. Yet I’m only “alone” when he’s asleep or out running errands without me.

I have to make sure I take time out for the rat, too. Rats aren’t like hamsters, gerbils or even guinea pigs. Their dog-like personalities and needs require a lot of attention and they need to be let out for an hour or so each day for exercise. He’s out right now. After trying to swipe my watermelon lip gloss he went to play in the other room.

Ok, this is it for now. Now it’s back to sweeping, cleaning, working, and maybe, just maybe we’ll still get my book submitted soon and the Beanie Babies listed on eBay.

Later…

We’re trying not to get our hopes up but Tom has an interview tomorrow in Sacramento. It’s through the first temp company he was with that got him his first job which was in Rocklin. It’s for a warehouse/assembly job here in town that would bring in just over 2K a month take home if he got it. It’s only for $11 an hour, but they do a lot of overtime and work swing shifts. California has that thing where each individual day you work overtime counts as overtime instead of once you get over 40 hours total for the week. He would work 4 12-hour days a week instead of 5 8-hour days.

But as hard as it is, we’re trying not to get our hopes up since it just seems too good to be true and just way too ideal for people like us who’ve spent so much time in life being cursed financially. They even said they were looking for someone “long-term” and he could start as soon as tomorrow working from 4pm to 4am. I don’t know if the company has insurance, but if they’re like most companies these days, then I guess they wouldn’t. Still, it seems too good to be true. To be out of work for only one week this time around? Just one week?! And do you know how many times we’ve wished he had at least one weekday off so we could do things when it was less crowded? Well, I don’t think anything would be so kind to us, and just a week after yanking the carpet out from under us, but it sure would end up being a blessing in disguise if he could get this job and we could skip having to apply for Unemployment and all that related drama. We’d still go to the dentist that had a sliding scale fee payment plan; the scale just wouldn’t slide much with a job like this, LOL.

It would be kind of funny if he actually started making more than Jesse, who always seemed to have so much more than us which he mostly took for granted. But yeah, I guess Jesse’s not doing so well these days, so I’m sure he’d be happy if Tom could get this job.

But not so happy to know it might up the threat of losing such good tenants once again, LOL.

LOL, now Best Buy wants to interview him.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 30, 2011 Ugh, yesterday it was 9:00 that Jesse started the bulldozer and today it’s 8:00. How many hours will we have to hear it today? And for how many more days? Of course God couldn’t have him doing this shit when I was on nights so I could get to sleep through it. And let me guess… the dogs are going to go crazy for one or two nights this weekend because I’ll be up, right? Right?

Yesterday Maliheh told me she had a dream an old friend won a lottery ticket and she did every time she dreamed this. She said she doesn’t know why, but all she sees is the color red for me. This alarmed me at first because all I could think of was blood. She said that wasn’t it, though, and said something about logos and ads. Hmm… interesting.

Tom did some research and found that the county does have this dental place that sees people based on a sliding scale fee. We were most surprised to learn that anyone who makes under 30K a year qualifies for section 8. There’s no way, though, that Jesse could get this place to qualify for it. We were just surprised the limit was that high. I would’ve thought that anything over 20K wouldn’t qualify. We’re also going to apply for food stamps since we’ll be there anyway applying for aid for the clinic. We can’t do this till Unemployment kicks in, though, and of course I’m not mentioning a word about this online. Not because I’m embarrassed (although it’s a little sad and frustrating), but because the sickos of this world could use one’s tough times against them if they were smart enough to know how to do so. Or to at least try.

Anyway, it’s frustrating, like I said, and sad that two people in their 40s and 50s who have worked as hard as we’ve worked and are willing to work are “living the Hispanic dream,” but not embarrassed because I’m not ashamed to accept what I can get for free in life if life’s determined to treat us like lazy Mexicans. If someone wants to give us $100 or so a month towards groceries, fine. It’ll be worth waiting in a room full of screaming little Mexies for 5 hours. I’ll just take my iPod.

Anyway, the idea is to get this county clinic which is here in Auburn to pull as many teeth as I can while still being able to eat. Once it gets down to where I have to get the rest pulled and the dentures put in, then I’ll have to go elsewhere, since this place certainly doesn’t do dentures.

Molly is a true nut. The more of her blog I read, the more obvious that becomes, along with her behavior. There were 7 views from the troll yesterday and 7 so far today. And her family thinks my site is blocked on her computer?

Her blog fesses to harassing others and myself and declares that that’s the day she’s “letting go” of her former friends (not that I was ever one of them), then just a few hours later she’s writing “letters” to Alison as if they’re still buddies, asking how she’s been, how many cats does she have these days, etc.

The 1st will be the big test since most sweeps expire on the last day of the month and the 1st. I’m entered for everything. I hope all this work will pay off like it used to! I’ve entered for everything and anything - clothes, food, electronics, furniture, guitars, trips, cash, vehicles and more. Even a 5K-35K dental makeover that if anyone could use, it’s me.

TUESDAY, MARCH 29, 2011 Another day of being God’s – or some other evil source – designated little poor-ass bum. Aren’t I so damn lucky to be one of the chosen ones? And another day of knowing that the phone won’t ring for an interview for Tom.

Ah, but I at least have returned to sweeping. Yeah, I’m going to give it a shot over the next few months – assuming we survive past May – and see if the influencer can beat the economy and stifle her foul moods well enough to turn back on the wins. Instead of a year for $30, we got a 3-month subscription for $12.50 which enables me to not only use what’s still the most convenient sweeps site there is, even if the people running it are assholes, but to get at the big prizes as well without being hassled along the way by ads.

We started from scratch so there would be no confusion as to what sites I had accounts at, and opened a dummy email account just for sweeping, and downloaded the latest version of Robo form. So I may not make much in the way of blog entries over the next week or so till I get caught up. There are over 8,000 sweeps. There are still too many restricted and do-this-do-that sweeps, so I’m trying to avoid the hard-work sweeps that require essays, videos and stuff like that, and just sticking to the more simple fill-and-submit forms even if it means the email account will get spammed to death, and it will. That’s why it’s always good to create a separate account for sweeping. Unfortunately, a lot of sweeps means I have to “like” the companies running them on Facebook, so my wall’s gonna be a mess. I’m also trying to stay away from little stuff like books, DVDs and CDs, though sometimes they’re runner-up prizes to the grand prize which is much bigger.

Anyway, I’m trying to stay focused on winning and the here and now, and not on how doomed we could end up being if nothing we do to try to better our lives is good enough. And that’s just the thing – nothing ever seems good enough. Weren’t we all supposed to get the so-called American dream if we just worked hard enough? Instead, we’re being forced to be which basically equates to welfare bums. Does God think we’re Mexican or something?

MONDAY, MARCH 28, 2011 Every now and then I check Molly’s blog just to get a good laugh, and what should I find but the confessions of a very disturbed troll who promises to stop bullying us.

I don’t buy it for a minute. I’ve been victimized by this sick twist long enough to know her Marie-like patterns, and Alison’s known her for about 8 years. Their friendship ended 3 years ago, she told me, after she’d accepted Molly’s apology and taken her back in her life 6 times too many, realized she would never change, then cut her off completely. Or at least tried to. She ignores her whenever she gets the chance. But yeah, she’s just like Marie. She’ll behave for a while, then in a matter of days – or even hours as Alison put it – she’s back to her usual rude, paranoid and obsessive ways, expecting people to drop everything for her. This wasn’t the only blog entry where she admits to fucking with people online. It seems there are 5 others besides myself: Alison, Kim and Kathy, as well as a guy named Josh and another named Roman who may live in her town. I guess she had or still has a romantic interest in the guy that isn’t mutual.

I also know better than to get my hopes up of Tom actually getting this really good-sounding job he’d like to have here in town. He filled out an application online and plans to call the temp agency, but you know how it is for us. The odds of our luck turning around that fast are next to nil. It’ll be months before he gets a job, then they’ll lay him off again a few months after that.

Last night’s dreams didn’t have anything to do with money woes so much as they had to do with being in places I didn’t want to be – hotels, hospitals, etc.

Later…

Wow, that barely lasted a day. Yeah, Molly just viewed my blog. Then she went and did another blog entry saying she’s made some stupid mistakes, she’s sorry for the pain she’s caused, please forgive her, let’s be friends again…

SUNDAY, MARCH 27, 2011 Fell asleep yesterday around 1pm. Two hours later a strong smell woke me up and I ran out intending to blast Tom out for cooking overly smelly shit which he knows wakes me up along with practically everything else in the world.

Then it hit me that I was smelling propane and Tom wasn’t even home. I knew right away we ran out of propane and cursed the evil above for wielding yet another blow upon us, though we knew it was about to run out anyway since the gage was registering really low. Still, it’s just one more thing we don’t need to deal with. At least the weather is to be drying out and warming up so we should be able to return to not needing heat during the daytime and little to no heat at night as well. Tom went out and filled our two 5-gallon tanks and hooked one up. We agreed to wait till this morning before relighting the water tank because it was pouring like crazy and Tom just couldn’t get it lit. Really, fucking college kids and some of the welfare bums live better than this! Tom said he doesn’t feel like he’s “living like a bum” because he and his 4 siblings were poor growing up and even then they had it kind of good yet way worse than he has it here. While I’ll admit that I came from an affluent family and yeah, that does kind of spoil you when you grow up in a big beautiful 4-bedroom house with a big beautiful yard and all that fun stuff, I still have mixed emotions about this particular place. Not the town, but the old dumpy trailer we live in. It’s not as dumpy as the house we rented in Oregon. Two of the rooms actually look quite modern and Jesse replaced most of the old windows with new, dual-paned windows. So it’s not the tilted, falling-down wreck the Oregon house was. The whole time we were there I wondered if it would fall over. It’s gonna have to go within 10-20 years. That’s another thing I wondered; if the health and safety inspectors would come and tell the owner to tear it down. So at the same time, our living quarters could be worse – much worse – I still feel we deserve better at our ages and after the efforts we’ve put into getting ahead. If we were lazy, druggies, alkies or just didn’t care, that’d be one thing. But to try to get ahead and work really hard just to end up in an at least somewhat dumpy old trailer that’s only 500 square feet is a bit humiliating and infuriating to me. And I don’t care if others think I’m wrong for feeling the way I do. We’re prime examples of why I don’t get why so many foreigners flock to America. Ok, so some may want to get away from some of the crazy traditions some countries have, but still. Look at us. If we can’t get ahead, and we’re from here, why should they think they will?

This is the last month of heavy rain. We may get a little in April, but that should basically be it till the fall, should we still be alive by then. The rain is what keeps this from being a warm climate year-round.

Anyway, once I could finally fall back asleep after all kinds of self-destructive thoughts ran rampant through my mind that I had to resist the temptation to act on, I slept soundly. I don’t recall any dreams except for a strange dream I had right before the propane smell woke me up. Something about Tom and I trying to reach each other by phone in regards to something urgent.

I finished editing my book and made a ton of changes. Not just fixing errors but things to make it flow better. Tom feels the action was kind of slow in building up, but likes it otherwise. I agree that it starts off kind of slow. I didn’t realize this before. Sometimes taking a break from something, then going back to it lets you see it in a different light. Tom feels I had more errors than usual because I rushed through it too fast. Well, it’s true that I had a different kind of inspiration watching over than I had for my other stories, LOL. Anyway, Tom’s finishing up reading it and tomorrow I guess we’re gonna design the cover. As I told him, if it’s easier to keep it simple, let’s just do that. We have other more pressing issues right now than a story that will probably never sell.

The only thing that’s been better the last couple of days is my teeth since I upped the peroxide rinses, but that’s always been an on-and-off thing. Within a week or two they’ll be back to haunt me.

I miss some of my old problems. I really do. They were safer. This lack of security trip we’ve been on is a post-Arizona thing. I think I’d rather be depressed than fear for our safety or survival. I’d gladly go back to wanting the kid I once wanted – or at least thought I wanted – during the first few years of our marriage before my selfish side kicked in and I decided I’d rather spend money on myself than on diapers. I’d rather want to be the singer I could never be because while I had the voice and the looks, I didn’t have the connections. And in the end, I came to hate people more and more as well as traveling and didn’t have the will to basically be a slave to the business anyway.

My friends have been there for me and I really appreciate it. My favorite lady and I agree we hate it when people try to tell us how to think and feel. She has been there for me, accepted me as I am, and has always offered good advice. If we could tell someone what to think and feel, then we could simply tell ourselves what to think and feel at will, and then no one would ever feel stressed, scared, angry or sad. I still feel like I’ve known her forever and like we’re “together” even though we’re not. I think telling her how I truly feel about her has helped me in many ways.

My buddy in the east, who knows me better than I know her (yes, I know that sounds funny as hell but that’s because she started reading my journal over a year before we actually became friends) has also been there for me. She genuinely cares for me and I can almost feel those hugs and kisses she sends my way through cyberspace. It means a lot to me, too.

To answer some questions I’ve been getting about being psychic and a prankster – no, I don’t usually have vibes/dreams pertaining to others. I have had a few, but I probably won’t have bad dreams involving a friend should bad luck be heading their way. If I ever did, though, and they knew what was good for them, they would heed any warnings I may have.

In 1990 back in Springfield, MA, I called down below me to my neighbor telling him I “saw” him in a car accident. He just laughed. Especially since it was April Fool’s Day. But when he nearly got side-swiped an hour later he stopped laughing pretty fast. I learn more about people’s thoughts and feelings in my dreams than what’s actually going on with them.

I dreamt a fellow dancer in 1993 who had been nice to my face actually wished I’d go dance at another club (she hated gays). “I’m going to go dance elsewhere now, so now your wish has come true,” I told her when we were by ourselves one night in the dressing room and I was clearing out my locker.

“How’d you know?” she said, eyes bulging. “I swear I didn’t tell anyone.”

“No, but you told me in my dreams last night,” I said, assuring her it was ok and that no one was obligated to like me.

Another question I’ve been getting is if I feel guilty over the years I made prank calls. Yes and no, but mostly no. I feel bad for a few people I called, but in general, there’s no sense in regretting what we can’t go back and change as hard as it is at times. It was wrong, it was illegal, but I was young and hey, I did it, it’s over, and I’m not going to lie and say some of it wasn’t fun/funny. In fact, Andy reminding me of some of the funnier moments from our prankster days helps me get through these tough times. I need all the laughs I can get right now.

There was this quack shrink named Debbie I saw when I was 18. Even my dad knew it wasn’t “ok” to take handfuls of the tranquilizers I was abusing when I happened to have a rough day. I was reading some lyrics to a Stevie Nicks song when she answered the phone one night.

“Every time that you walk in the room, Debbie!” I said as she answered, plugging in her name at the end of the sentence.

Each time I called her back, the quicker she’d hang up, thus shortening the sentence each time.

“Every time that you walk in the room…”

“Every time that you walk in…”

“Every time that…”

“Every…”

What had me cracking up was Andy’s saying the other day, “Imagine if I called her right now and said that? That would truly traumatize her after all these years.”

Yeah, but the bitch is probably dead by now. She had to have been in her 50s in 1984, so she’s probably dead or close enough to it.

But no, I don’t feel guilty for the most part.

Honesty. It’s a scary thing, ain’t it?

Down to just 9 troll hits, so yes, we’re slowly dropping till she makes contact with me again somehow, somewhere. She just needs a new obsession, Tom said. I personally think she needs to be beaten over the head with her own computer. Alison said her mother’s a teacher and it’s spring break. Therefore, she’ll try to keep her busy and offline so she won’t cause trouble. Also, she’s got weak muscles, though she forgot the name of the condition she has. She could probably live on her own, but she can’t live a normal life. She can’t drive or run too well because of it. She’s also bipolar, though Aly thinks she’s got more issues than that.

SATURDAY, MARCH 26, 2011 I’ve taken some time to think about the asinine bullshit that’s been going on, and I’m just as pissed at myself as I am at the people that have been stalking, following, bullying and threatening me every chance they get. Why? Because I let them get to me like an idiot and basically control this blog. Well, no more! It’s MY blog and I have a right to say what I want in it. And that’s EXACTLY what I’m going to do from here on out. I’ll be damned if I’ll let anyone scare me into not saying this and not saying that simply because they don’t want to hear it. Or because they know they’ve made an ass of themselves and don’t want to look like even bigger fools than they already do.

I don’t have the right to say anything like “I’m gonna kill so and so,” or anything crazy like that, but I certainly have a right to state someone’s first name and why I may not like them. I don’t use last names. Unless you’re a close friend of mine, to what do I owe anyone the courtesy of basically allowing them to dictate what I can and cannot say here? If you haven’t done anything wrong, then why worry about what I may say about you? Unless you have a guilty conscience, that is.

If the people that have been harassing me would just leave me the hell alone then there’d be no reason to mention them ever again. I don’t want to harm anyone, I don’t want to fight, I just want to be left alone to exercise my right to freedom of speech in my own damn blog. That’s all.

Now that I have made myself clear as to the fact that I will no longer tolerate any more of this kind of kiddy bullshit, I’ll only continue to be harassed by these people if it is, in fact, the other way around and they actually like reading about themselves. And maybe that’s it. Many have suggested that they pull the shit they pull because they get off on negative attention. Well, I’ve still got my privacy settings beefed up to help cut down them getting their jollies with any negative attention they may crave. But if they give me a reason to write about them, then they should’ve thought about that beforehand if they really don’t like being mentioned, shouldn’t they have? I write this blog for ME. I don’t write on demand for this one or for that one but for ME. Any readers are merely an afterthought.

I’m fed up and just sick to death of all the complaints and people trying to get me to write about this or not write about that. I can’t seem to get it through people’s thick skulls no matter how many times I say it – you don’t like it, don’t tune in. Period. I’ll be damned if I’ll keep doing ‘friends only’ entries just because Jane Doe in Wyoming may not like that I said the German language is ugly, or because John Doe in Australia thinks I’m wrong for being bi. I’m not going to cut my non-members out anymore from being able to view my blog just because of these people’s precious little feelings. You know, all those little sensitive folks out there who are just so pissed off by my words that they just CAN’T stay the fuck away from this blog. Those poor, poor little eggshell-like feelings.

So unless the cops literally bust their way in here and physically keep me from ever going online, or unless you’re a friend, don’t even think of making any threats or demands. Don’t even think of it! You just remember whose blog this is instead.

Now that I’ve vented, I’m too tired to proofread this for errors after being up 19 hours. So if there are any, I guess you’ll just have to deal with that, too.

Later…

I have been trying to look at our current situation from all different angles and to analyze the hell out of all my dreams to try to get a sense of what dreams may be telling me what since it’s clear that many of my dreams do hold significant meaning if I know how to read them. Only problem is I’m getting too many mixed messages and vibes. “Vibes” I refer to as feelings I have when I’m awake.

Last night I had a cool dream where instead of decorating someone’s Facebook wall, you could actually decorate their homes using your computer. That’d be some jump in technology if we could do that! But I knew in the dream that if I decorated Nane’s place with a trail of hot pink paw prints like I did, she would know it was just me “dropping by” to say hello.

Also last night, I seemed to be bubbling with happy energy and looked out of my window into Andy’s – house? Apartment? – and saw his TV through our open windows. He was sitting sort of off to the side on a couch.

Two nights ago, though, I had scattered snippets of I don’t know what – something about it being 118º, seasonal depression in what seemed to be the month of September, and Jesse coming over here. Only “here” didn’t look like this place at all. It was much bigger and newer looking and appeared to be a real house.

All in all, I’d say these dreams have no real meaning. They didn’t leave me with any feelings of any kind afterward either. No nagging sense of doom, no nagging sense that it meant at least something or another.

But like I said, my vibes are mixed. I don’t see us being in NorCal till he retires, but my common sense reminds me of the hell we went through with our last two long-distance moves and how I don’t want to go through that again since I don’t ever expect to have enough money to ensure a smoother move. It also reminds me that other things I didn’t “see” happening have happened. So my not seeing us here that long is probably just wishful thinking, as were all the dreams I was having about moving and living in other places. He would have to get a permanent and great-paying job for us to get a bigger place anytime soon, and somehow I doubt anything up there would be so kind to us.

Tom says to try to see the positive side to my dreams, but it’s kind of hard to see anything positive in a riot closing in on you. I’m just going by our history and track record. When have our problems ever been short and sweet? How often do we get breaks in life? So trying to tell myself he could very well have a job, good-paying or not, before we have to go on Unemployment, is just ridiculous. When it rains on us it pours. And I know that if we can survive it will be months before he has another job. That’s just it, though; can we survive? We have 3 major hurdles to have to get over in order to make it through this. We have to hope the money doesn’t run out before the Unemployment checks kick in. We have to hope we can survive on that and what we make from the Turk. Then we have to hope to once again beat the clock and get a job before the checks stop. Then if we can do that, it’s off to wonder if we can survive the next crisis that’ll occur within a few months.

I also wonder about the 7-year cycle theory that some people believe in. I spent 7 years wandering aimlessly around New England, 7 years writing journals by hand before I went all-digital, and 7 years being victimized by the freeloaders in Phoenix.

If I really do get my teeth done this year it will have been 7 years since they first started bothering me. It has also been 7 years since the Let’s Tease Tom & Jodi with their Survival game started.

I’m still not sure what to think as far as this 7-year cycle goes, but these facts certainly are interesting. It’s still hard to keep the faith and hope that his being laid off turns into a blessing in disguise. One that just may present an opportunity to at least work closer to where there are retirement communities even though I honestly can’t see us ever owning a home again and am no longer sure I want that. I mean, of course I want that. But I’d rather not get something I’d only be destined to lose.

I would prefer a warmer climate than this, but this isn’t the worst climate to be in either. I’d stick around for the right reasons like a good, permanent job with benefits, but that seems just as unlikely to keep us here as we are to have enough money to get out of here.

Poor Aly. She seems just as cursed only physically. She has premonitions too, but is awake for hers. She just gets bad vibes and feelings of doom. She had a feeling something bad would happen last week too, and sure enough, she was in the hospital on oxygen yesterday which she emailed me from.

She’s still getting views from Molly and her sister in Brownsville and agrees that if that’s not Molly, then at least someone in that household is viewing our blogs. The sister wasn’t in yesterday, but Molly was, of course, and I’m getting regular hits from Washington, District of Columbia, US with all different IPs, mostly in Chicago or L.A. I think these are probably proxies, though, and they could be anywhere.

I haven’t gone and made public my older entries, but I will soon enough. Like I said, I’m no longer going to succumb to their threats and let them bully me around in my own blog.

Anyway, the views are dropping. Yesterday it was just 23 views that I got from her, but she didn’t start until 4:30 which makes me think she may be working. Yeah, leave it to this nut to have a job, who has the safety net of her mother’s house/money, while my husband and I have to suffer with no safety nets anywhere. She made 19 views in under 15 minutes, so I’m guessing she not only went to look for any new comments on old entries but was refreshing the page hoping for comments on the entry I had just posted.

Maliheh cracked me up yesterday, not that I still didn’t feel bad for her. She just sounded like me with the way she was going off in her message about birds waking her up that only had a few days left to live. I’m guessing that means she has a nest nearby with a noisy bunch in it. I joked about guarding her sleep with a bat that I would take to their heads.

I can’t say Nane doesn’t care anymore. We had a lovely chat and I got a kick out of how she said she was beginning to like my rat, and what the hell does LMAO mean, LOL. I forget that the Germans wouldn’t necessarily know our acronyms here.

I can’t figure out the rat’s game lately. Condensation sometimes drips off the door across from the bathroom, so I put a dishtowel in front of it. He keeps dragging it over to the main heater, which we’re not using and tries to stuff it underneath it.

FRIDAY, MARCH 25, 2011 I’m not the emotional basket case I was a couple of days ago, but I’m still stressing. Kind words and support from family and friends have helped, and based on our calculations, we might be able to make it between Unemployment and the Turk. I said might, though, and so we’re not 100% sure of anything.

I talked with my parents and exchanged messages with my sister and that helped a little despite our past differences. My folks offered to help contribute to getting my teeth taken care of, but I don’t think they get how broke we are right now. Even if they paid 95% of it, we can’t afford to spare a dime right now on anything that isn’t a necessity. And while my teeth hurt, it’s not life-threatening. We’re still going to look into our options, though. Just because the state cut dental from the free clinics, doesn’t mean the county might not still have something. Still, it’s really sweet of them. Even the hints they dropped about an inheritance. Yeah, this time around when she said “trust me,” I figured it out. But we need help now, and not that I want my parents to die or anything like that, but they should live another 5-10 years. And I don’t know that they’d be able to leave us that much by the time they go. Then again, I know better. We’ll be just as needy in 5-10 years as we are right now if we’re still alive.

I started to tell them that I swore I’d never ask for help because I knew I couldn’t go running to them every time things got tough and Dad said, “Jodi, you’re not asking for help. We’re offering it to you.”

Again, very sweet of them, but just what are we going to do after they’re gone and whatever they leave us is gone, too? Will we be dead by then? It’s sad to know that the only way to have a guaranteed roof over your head and food in your tummy for life is to commit a crime big enough to land you in prison for the rest of your life.

Tammy just said she was sorry, we deserve better, she’s there if I need her, and a house is just a house whereas a house is a home with the love and support Tom and I give each other. Oh, and she also asked if we thought about moving to a state with more opportunities. LOL, not even she gets how broke we are. Remember, losing our teeth may run in the family, but I’m the chosen underdog here, like it or not. No one else’s ears or wallets have been picked on like mine have. I’m the only family member this short, who can sing, who knows more than one language, and who’s been to jails and funny farms. I think my brother may’ve gotten arrested once or twice, but he’s never done time, and he was a better drummer than I ever was a guitarist/pianist. I doubt anyone else even believes in psychics nor would they dare have a pet rat or a couple of mannequins for decoration. Where I’m the designated weirdo, they’re oh-so normal.

But yeah, California was a mistake. “That’s how you learn, though,” said Tom. Maybe so, but it still would’ve been nice had we known that hot summer day in 2007 as we wound our way down, down, down through the Cascades from Timber Country to NorCali that we were sitting on the edge of the worst economic recession in the history of the United States.

I don’t know why I went crying to Tammy or my parents. I guess I just feel the need sometimes to run and cry on people’s shoulders when the shit hits the fan just like I want to run and tell everyone when something good happens – “I won the karaoke contest!” woo-hoo! “I won 9 grand!” woo-hoo!

As for friends, Andy, Maliheh, Christine, Mitch, Alison and Kim have shown they care with their words of encouragement, but Nane hasn’t. She ignores most of my messages, but at least she still sends smiles, flowers and little things like that every now and then.

Other than trying to shoo away all the self-destructive thoughts I’ve been having, I told my folks about the book and let them know there was at least some good going on.

“If it’s R-rated, I’ll read it,” said Dad.

“Uh, it may be kind of X-rated in a couple of scenes and I know you two would be mature enough to handle them, but it might not be your cup of tea,” I told them.

“How do you know?” asked Mom.

“Yeah, we could be a couple of prudes for all you know,” Dad said.

This actually made me laugh. They wouldn’t care that the lead characters were gay, and I’m sure they’d appreciate the writing and all that. It’s just that I don’t usually do the kind of suspense they prefer to read. My stories also have a romantic twist to them and they’re more into strictly suspense or mysteries as opposed to romantic suspense with or without a few steamy scenes of erotica in the midst.

I had to laugh when I thought – if only they knew just how much more interesting the story behind the story is. I’ll tell them about it someday when there are less pressing issues going on. Well, if we can ever get to that point. I can just see it, though, and me saying something like, “Remember once upon a naughty little time when I got in trouble back east for prank calls? Well, it happened to be a girl I had a crush on and I found her in cyberspace nearly two decades later, was a jerk for a while, then apologized, then wrote a little story with us as leads as a joke (with what I thought was a little inspiration from her at first that turned out to be a joker), knew she was reading along cuz my blog can see who visits it, but don’t worry, I didn’t kill either of us off so as not to jinx us. Then one day I finished that little story and we got to talking and she kind of likes my writing, and well, we’re damn good buddies now! She’s still good looking too, LOL.”

Yep. The story behind the story is definitely just as interesting. :)

Christine agrees it’s best not to call the cops and to stay off their radar. Oh, I’m keeping off the bacon radar, believe me. I just hope others will keep me off too, but the more time that passes without any online shit spilling over into the offline world, the more convinced I am that the trolls are full of shit. You see, there are 3 ways to learn about the law. The easy way is to go to school. The two hard ways are to either get framed or do stupid shit and get in trouble like I did 20 years ago. Well, I got 2 out of 3. If I weren’t stressed out right now I just may actually laugh at how ridiculous and naive they are. Nonetheless, I like the idea of confusing them as to what state I’m in (I did an entry saying we were heading to Reno) so I may not make any public entries for a few days. There were fewer views from the family today, but Molly’s still viewing me like crazy. Yesterday there were over 50 views from her, today we’re down to 46, so hopefully it’s a sign they’re getting bored with these asinine and childish games.

Wow, what an interesting God/psychic theory Christine has. She said: I’m sending all good energy your way. You know, I don’t believe in a God who is still involved with us. I think: there may or may not be a God. Who knows. Seems pretty clear to me that if there is, he is not involved with us anymore. On the other hand, I do believe there is another plane of existence, energy that surrounds us. This is what you are tapping into with your psychic abilities. It’s available to us all - most people can’t access it though. I do believe praying can affect things for the good, but not b/c God hears and answers, but b/c you are affecting the psychic plain. I’m sending good to you! Just hang on…

I still don’t know for sure what the hell I believe, but I like to hear different views on the matter. I tend to agree that a God - especially a good one - doesn’t exist when you think of what just happened in Japan. On the other hand, if I just won a million bucks I may feel otherwise and like I suddenly had a friend in the sky (or wherever that other plane is). Maliheh agrees; there’s not so much a God as there is one big energy force.

I definitely don’t believe in the saying, “If God brings you to it, He’ll get you through it.” If He brought the earthquake to Japan, then why didn’t He get the thousands of people through it that died? So I guess a negative/positive energy force would make more sense than a God who affects individual lives. Either way, I’m still very cursed in general no matter what’s doing the cursing.

I also definitely have become more and more psychic with age, but it’s not something I discuss with just anyone. As she said - most people can’t tap into it even though it’s there for everyone to tap into. Therefore most people would automatically assume I was full of shit and probably an excellent candidate for the local funny farm. Yet I remember those few years I “influenced” or “willed” myself to win thousands of dollars worth of cash and other goodies and how my moods and state of mind greatly affect whether good/bad things happen to me. Then the economy went bad, my mood soured, and my wins went down to virtually nothing.

What Tom and I were wondering is how and why I seemingly went from an influencer to a dream premonitioner. He said he can’t tell the difference, saying that the dreams could be “influencing” reality to play out the dreams. I just wish I didn’t have this thing. If it’s causing more bad than good in our lives, then what’s the point?

Just had the first period where I didn’t have to take anything for cramps. I don’t even need more than just liners these days and haven’t used tampons for a while. I hope I live long enough to experience the rest of menopause. Not the vertigo part, which I’ve already started, but I can’t wait to do away with the water retention and the sore boobies. And when it’s freezing out there – I say bring on those hot flashes!

THURSDAY, MARCH 24, 2011 I’m a little more focused than I was last night, so I guess I’ll pour out more of my anxieties, frustrations and anger.

I’m not as fearful as I could be and perhaps should be, but I know that if it does come down to us killing ourselves to spare ourselves from serious suffering, I’m gonna be shitting bricks then big time. I’m still afraid to die. I’m afraid of the actual dying process and of what may lie beyond. But I know I have to die someday anyway, and in many ways, 45 is a good age to go. It’s old enough to have lived enough, experienced enough and done enough. Especially since I was never tied down with kids. But it’s also young enough not to go through the shit you go through when you get old. If we do off ourselves it probably won’t be till the end of next month.

As I assured my closest friends, though, I’m not going to “choose” death. I’m going to choose not to let life as a street bum, should it ever come down to that, end up killing me that way. Why let ourselves suffer needlessly and in ways we don’t deserve? I would only “choose” to end my suffering much in the way a terminally ill patient sometimes chooses to end their lives like they allow for in Oregon and Washington and like they should allow for everywhere. Animals get better treatment at times than people.

I promised myself I would never let circumstances throw us on the streets, but as I also promised my friends, we wouldn’t do anything unless things really did get to the point of no return. We won’t end it if we get a flat tire, or if the pipes spring a leak, or if we accidentally burn something we’re cooking. But you bet we will if we’re ever forced to lose everything and hit the streets. I could never cut it on the streets at any age. I may be in pretty good shape and anyone can see that with my arm/shoulder muscles and my rippled abs and calves. I’ve still got quite a layer of fat on me, but I don’t like to sit on my ass for long. So it’s not about being too sick or too weak to handle it. It’s about us believing we deserve better than to be treated like scum and to have life reward our hopeless efforts to get ahead by making street bums out of us. I’m not emotionally strong enough to handle the streets and before I knew it that would affect my health. I have to wonder, though – just how many more times are we going to be teased and threatened with our survival? How many??? Gee, why doesn’t God just send us to starve off in Africa if He hates us that bad and thinks we deserve to live like that?

As far as what’s going on with Tom, well, we’re scrambling to save our asses, but if nothing up there helps us help ourselves then there’s nothing we can do about it. We’re both working the Turk to make at least $5 a day each. It’s looking like our Unemployment is only going to be $225 a week instead of $300. He says we can get by on that, and points out that gas alone was a couple hundred a week since he had a 45-minute drive each way.

The temp agency instructed him to update his résumé, and he’s also applying at places like Walmart, but it’s basically back to being where we were from November of 2008 till 6 months ago – knowing our survival basically comes down to a flip of a coin. We’re either going to beat the clock or we won’t. Beating the clock’s not so much the issue as the money will be.

It just burns me up to know that God, for no apparent reason whatsoever, has basically handed us down a life sentence of poverty with just a few short-lived breaks here and there. Why are we any less deserving of our dreams than anyone else???

Nane just posted a nice picture of a tropical spa on my wall. That’s something I’ll definitely never get to enjoy, but it sure was nice to see a picture of it anyway. So were Andy’s compliments on my writing. He said my last entry was so superbly written and really puts into words what many cannot express.

Poor Alison, though. She’s going through the same thing and appears to be as psychic as I am. I don’t know if she’s had any dreams, but she’s been having a bad feeling all week and says her feelings are usually right on. Well, they sure were before she was diagnosed with cancer.

Christine is sad now because she has an old cat that’s dying. I felt bad for pouring my troubles out on her, but she said it’s ok, it’s sad but not a tragedy.

I know for sure that the dream where I feared him being fired was a warning of him being laid off, but what about the riot dream? Was it a warning that death is closing in?

Maliheh lost power because they had tornadoes in her area, but she did check in which was sweet of her. What could I tell her, though? That we just wait for the phone to never ring while I go back to wishing I could have more alone time, and wondering if we’ll make it while we’re at it? That it’s a no-win situation anyway because if he does get a call for an interview it’ll probably be for nothing when they see how white and older he is, and that even if by some chance they hire him, God will only have him laid off again in a few months?

Molly and her family are continuing to harass me. Oh, but they’re kind enough to sprinkle in a few niceties along the way by complimenting my writing and saying not to give up on God, all I have to do is ask for help, no one wants to hurt me, etc. Here, I’ll just post the messages.

Anonymous writes: that was very mean of u to put her acutal name, if u wanted to tell her that u should have done it through email n kept it between the two of u. Instead u put it in public to make urself look like a victim. u have a good writing style and its a shame to use it for anything mean

Molly’s family writes: FYI. Molly has not been to your site recently; it was blocked on her computer months ago. Please stop blaming her for your unwanted visitors. Her recent posts were made by her attorney’s paralegal who is trying to educate you as you continue to butcher the law. And now it appears that someone claiming to be Molly has made a comment. The police are watching your site, but they would never harm you. You said that you were going to call them and you were given the names of the detectives who are handling your case. Why no call? They would like to speak to you about the day that you said that you were sending someone to our house to harm Molly. Really bad move on your part as were your recent comments on Molly’s site. Don’t put stuff like that on the internet with your name attached. It never goes away. Nice people don’t talk like that. No one means you any harm. Just quit writing about Molly. Stop sending the filthy remarks to her. Her family and friends will watch your site until you leave her out of your daily whining session. And the police will be watching you until they are satisfied that you are no longer a threat to our family. Her only reason for coming to your site in the first place was to be friends. We have consulted our attorney about every legal comment that we have made to make sure that it is correct. If you will consult an attorney, we will pay for it. It’s obvious that you don’t even know the difference between criminal and civil law. Either talk to an attorney or keep your ignorance to yourself. You are doing your followers a great disservice by giving them your own interpretation of the law. Some of your sycophants appear to be only semi-literate and they may believe you. On the bright side, quite a few members of the Texas Bar Association had a good, long laugh at your “I am totally forbidding you” comment. Let it be your mantra in life and keep the zingers coming. Don’t give up on God. He will help you if only you ask.

Ugh, nothing seems to scare these people off. It’s like they think they’re invincible. That’s the scariest thing about crazies; they just don’t get it. The family member, on the other hand, seems to be a little more with it. So why can’t she see that continued contact after I told Molly and her family not to do so makes them look anything but good?

I got views from all over Texas yesterday, a couple in Colorado, and one of the Texas views came in from Facebook. So they found my Facebook profile which I made totally private. They could still message me or try to add me as a friend, but they can’t see my connections there so they can start harassing them, too.

Now let’s take the last “comment” piece by piece. If it isn’t her that’s been viewing me 50 times a day then someone in that household is because it’s the same IP#.

Also, what kind of a paralegal would post such a thing and try to “educate” someone that way?

I never said I was going to call her local police, and the link to Molly’s site she gave me says nothing about sending someone over to her house.

If the police were really “watching” my blog the first thing they would do would be to tell them not to contact or comment on anything and to just let them handle it from there, and anyone with the Bar Association that could “get a good, long laugh” at my demanding her to leave me alone is not very professional at all.

Lastly, Molly didn’t come to my site just to be friends. She came to spite Alison and see if she could turn me against her.

Oh, and I don’t know the nut’s email addy either.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 23, 2011 I was right. Something bad did happen. Only it has nothing to do with Molly and I’m almost sorry it doesn’t. That would’ve been as simple as not going to court like I shouldn’t have 11 years ago. Over the last 6 months, I’ve been telling Tom to just enjoy the good times while they last because all good things come to an end for us. I reminded him just how much something up there hates us and loves to kick us back and tease us with our survival. Once the shit hit the fan in 2007 and then again the first time he got laid off here, I knew like never before – that’s how obvious it became - that we were meant to spend the bulk of our lives struggling in tiny old rentals no matter how hard we tried to get ahead.

For 2-3 days, I kept having bad dreams. I knew trouble was ahead. Tom said all was fine. But I knew it wasn’t. It’s not that he doesn’t believe I’m psychic. He knows I’m an influencer (or mostly used to be), and he knows I sometimes have dream premonitions. If life doesn’t play out exactly as the dream did, then it’s at least along the same lines. Although we have the Magic Jack phone and two cells, the message in the dream where he was unable to call into work was clear – trouble was on the horizon. I think Tom just has a hard time believing our future really is etched in stone and that there’s not a damn thing we can do about it. He was supposed to get up in a few hours, go to work, get hired on this summer, then I was to go to a dentist, then we would maybe get a bigger rental, then buy a house probably in the summer of 2012, but that’s just a dream. All one big dream destined never to come true, and like I said, I’m sure the bastard above will figure out a way to swipe our pension from us, but that’s ok. I don’t plan to live much longer at the rate we’re going and I don’t want a house anymore anyway since I know damn well we’d only lose it soon enough. So the bastard can keep His fucking house. How could I enjoy it without constantly worrying?

Instead, Tom got a call in the evening informing him that he was now laid off. And for the millionth time, just when we started to get ahead we’ve been kicked back and now it’s time for God to have fun beating us over the heads with money all over again. Or so He thinks. I absolutely REFUSE to succumb to a life of this same old cycle of bullshit. I absolutely REFUSE! Death seems a little sweeter to me each time this happens and I’m really starting to feel like the end is near. That’s ok. I’m ready to go if it is. I’m just glad I got to reunite with old friends first, especially Maliheh. She could’ve said, “Fuck it. Why forgive her? She’s on the other side of the country and we may never see each other, so fuck it.”

But she allowed me into her life and accepted me as I am.

The bastard above will do anything to hold us back no matter how much it hurts us and causes us to suffer. He is bound and determined to make sure Tom never gets a permanent position, we never have insurance, and we never buy a house. We must, must, must, be His designated little poor-ass bums and the family underdogs. Excuse me, but when did I ever raise my hand and say, “Me, me, me! Let me be the one to suffer. Just let everyone else have the nice cars, nice houses, security, and all things good. I’ll be the one to suffer and to have to do without.”

Well, I’m through struggling and being made a complete fool of by God himself, the fucking bastard! And I don’t care if He retaliates for my bashing Him. If He had such a problem with it then He shouldn’t have given me reason after reason to hate Him more and more each year.

What’s the point in getting ahead just to lose what we gain? I also realize that a permanent position may not necessarily be better than a temporary one. He would get paid holidays and have a slim chance of getting insured since there are still a few companies that offer insurance, but he’d still get laid off there too, within a year or two. I tell you we’re 100% permanently cursed!

I don’t know if I’m going to bother with my book, even though Tom said he wants to forge ahead with it after all the time we’ve put into it. It couldn’t save us so I don’t see what the big deal is anymore. Any excitement I once felt over that is all gone now.

As I told Maliheh and Christine, oddly enough, I’m not scared. Just pissed and a little depressed, but mostly pissed. I should be scared for our survival is on the line again, isn’t it? Perhaps I’m not scared because I no longer care if we survive, knowing our only choices in life are to live to struggle or to escape it all in death. All I know is that I’m not going to spend this summer like I spent last summer, wondering if we’ll beat the clock.

Later…

Both Andy and Maliheh offered words of encouragement and Nane “liked” my last comment on her wall. This is really sweet of them, but I still don’t think they get where I’m at in life. I mean, they do, because at least two of them that I know of have been there, but I don’t know that they get that sometimes we really do just know things. And I know our lives will never change no matter what, and when it does it won’t be for long. Our good spells are getting shorter and shorter each time.

I’m just glad they didn’t give me that things-could-be-worse line. Yeah, they could be. But things are bad enough and I know I can’t keep going on struggling, uninsured, and going round in round in circles forever, unable to break this never-ending cycle of bullshit. And that’s just the thing. I know I don’t have to take it anymore. I could off myself anytime I wanted to. I don’t know if the afterlife would be better or worse or even if there is one, but I know I don’t have to stay here.

I know there’s no way I could be wrong about what’s in store for us. I mean the general highlight of our lives – poverty and bad neighbors. Nobody loses two places, is born with a rare sleep disorder such as mine no matter how many people don’t get it or call me a liar who’s making excuses or lives like bums at our ages that’s meant to ever get ahead in life for more than 5 minutes. I know there really truly is something out there hell-bent on holding us back in life no matter how hard we struggle to get ahead. And if it’s not God, then I don’t know what it is. I just know that we’re going to be poor most of our lives if we stay alive just like I know I’m never gonna be tall or blond or have brown eyes. Some things, psychic or not, we just know in our hearts, minds and gut. I haven’t been wrong on this yet, so why would I start now? I wish to hell I could be wrong, but I’m not going to kid myself either and start telling myself what I don’t believe and what I know isn’t true. Things like, it’ll get better. Yeah, maybe it will after another 22 months of Unemployment, but for how long? Like I said, each good spell gets shorter, so will it be just 3 months next time? It’s frustrating to know something yet having no one else get it or believe it. They understand my feelings, but I don’t think they get – or want to get – that yeah, sometimes some of us really do have evil forces against us that we can never truly break free of. Perhaps it’s too scary for most people to swallow, but I know that something has hated me ever since birth. I’m 45 now so why should it stop?

They told Tom they never kept anyone on longer than 4 months if they didn’t intend to hire him. Well, that person either lied, didn’t know what the fuck they were saying, or Tom’s the first one they let go after 4 months.

First I was too numb to cry, then too angry. But now I can’t stop crying. Maliheh doesn’t think there is a God/evil thing but more like one big energy, and therefore I shouldn’t channel my anger at God. I say “God” because I don’t know what else to call it. Then again, does it really matter what it is that’s against us? It’s against us. Period. And it’s much, much more powerful than us.

I could wish upon myself all the deadly diseases in the world, but that’s just the thing – whatever this thing is that’s hell-bent on making our lives miserable isn’t going to give me some deadly disease or have some gang banger shoot me down or anything like that because it wants me to live to suffer. The only way out is to grow old – probably a hell of a lot older than most folks – or to end my life myself. Or maybe that’s what it wants. Is that the idea in this never-ending cycle of shit? Is it trying to slowly push me into killing myself? IDK, maybe I’d be better at looking out for others from the other side than I am at taking care of myself on this side.

I just know it’s no “test.” This is a hell of a risky test to put someone through that’s downright cruel, and so were several other “tests” in life. Besides, how many times can one fucking be tested?

Or maybe I need to go out and kick someone’s ass? More often than not, good things happen to bad people and bad things to good people. Maybe I’m just not “bad” enough to deserve good. Is that it?

Tom says we’re eligible for Unemployment through the end of the year and that no matter how much it shorts us, he’s grabbing a dental plan from the first job that gives it to him.

I love the holy hell outa my husband no matter how many women I may be attracted to, have crushes on, or even love, but he is just way too damn naively optimistic. He says there are tons more jobs to apply for than there were when he got his last job, but still, does he think I’m stupid? It’ll be months before he gets something new if we even make it that far, no matter how hard he busts his ass applying for things both on and offline. Secondly, most jobs don’t offer insurance anymore. Thirdly, how can he be sure our next round of Unemployment checks will even be enough to live on, even with the Turk? I also still doubt the economy will ever recover and not because this country’s broke, but because our lovely government won’t stop giving all our money away. It’s like they want to send this country to hell but help boost other countries. It’s twisted and totally backward just how fucked up and unfair this world is, but it’s just one more thing that makes the thought of death a little sweeter. But this isn’t just about the economy. It’s about whatever’s after us.

I don’t want the damn dental program anymore anyway, as I tried to tell Tom. I haven’t just put it off because I know that God doesn’t let me solve problems but just to replace them. Nor did I put it off because He obviously wants me to suffer and feels I deserve it, but because I knew it was just a matter of time before we needed the money for more important things.

All I know is that there’s only so far I can be pushed in life and only so many times, too.

Molly stayed up late, like till after midnight her time, apparently anxious for my next entry. As closely as she follows my blog, she would know my schedule rolls and that I usually come in a little later each day. And even later when the shit hits the fan.

There were over 50 views from her yesterday and yes, I’m sure it was her. She sat there clicking away at just about everything and anything. Like I said, I doubt her mother’s even aware of her behavior. Well, she’s the least of my fears right now but is still a creepy part of my life. And Alison’s. And Kim’s, even though she can’t see Kim’s blog. All 3 of us now have our tweets protected.

I asked Christine for her opinion on the matter after showing her the legal threats. She mostly believes they’re full of it and finds it hard to believe that all those people are really involved in something so silly at a time when the economy is so bad, but she agrees that anything is possible. After all, I was already legally railroaded once, thanks to our lovely God who allowed it to happen. If she’s been having me tailed, they’re using a proxy server, but Molly M is the least of my concerns right now as I said before.

If I do end up posting this it will be either private or friends only, and I will share these thoughts, beliefs and latest catastrophes by email with Andy, Maliheh, Mitch, Christine and Nane.

Why? Why am I psychic? What’s the point in having dream premonitions when you can’t change what you see coming anyway? All it does is give me an extra 72 hours or so of stress to have to deal with while I’m waiting for the shit to hit the fan.

Whatever’s going to happen is going to happen. One thing that is going to be up to me is whether I decide to stay on and struggle, or just get the fuck out of this world. Nobody’s going to take that one away from me. Nobody.

TUESDAY, MARCH 22, 2011 Had quite a shitty day yesterday between my teeth bothering me, the stress I’ve been under, and the nightmares I had almost every single minute I slept, which wasn’t very well at all.

I crashed around 11am and the first nightmare was about Tom’s supposed new job. He had to call in someplace in the mornings to know where to pick up the key to a building he was supposed to clean. One morning the phone broke and I was worried he might be fired.

Oh, it gets better. In the next dream, I woke up in what I thought was a jail cell. My ankles and wrists were bound. I sat up on the only bed in the cell and immediately thought I was there, thanks to guess who. A man sat at a table outside the cell staring at me.

“OMG!” I screamed. “I can’t believe I’m being victimized by my very own perp all over again! Had she just left me the hell alone like I asked her to months ago, none of this would’ve happened. But when you push, pick and provoke people long enough, sometimes they lash out at you. However, I did NOT threaten her with company!”

The guy asked me what I was talking about and I said, “Apparently someone threatened to send someone over to her house, probably anonymously, and she thinks it’s me. I promised myself 11 years ago that if anyone ever spited or harmed me or my family ever again, be it legally or not, I would make sure that whenever anyone asked them what their worst experience in life was, fucking with me would be the first thing to come to mind. And just as soon as I get outa here…”

Then the guy cuts me off with this hideously evil laughter and then it hit me that my being there had nothing at all to do with this person whatsoever. I also realized I wasn’t bound with handcuffs and shackles but with duct tape.

I studied the “lawyer” and noted how shabbily dressed he was.

The final realization was that I was in someone’s basement, not jail.

Then I’m in some building – a jail? A hospital? I’d guess a hospital of some kind by the looks of it. I realized I napped too long and it was just past dinnertime. I stepped out into the hall by what appeared to be a nurses’ station, a semi-large sitting room, and an elevator.

Voices in the distance suddenly grew louder and a woman spoke over a PA system saying something about being alerted to a public health threat. The voices grew louder and appeared to be either on another floor (I got the impression I was on an upper floor) or another part of the same floor. The voices, mostly male, weren’t excited or cheerful, but angry and fearful.

I looked at the elevator doors, realizing that if these people ever made it to where I was I might very well be killed. A part of me was curious to go down to the cafeteria where my dream self thought they might be and see what was going on, or to try to get out of the building but knew that might be too risky. Especially if the elevator stopped where all the screaming and shouting was taking place.

So I decided to stay put and try to hide somewhere, but there was nowhere to hide. The hospital-like bed couldn’t conceal me, and the closet was just a sunken part of the wall with very few things hanging from its rod.

I woke up in a sweat even though it was 65º in the bedroom and ran out to the living room. Tom had just gotten in. “I’m afraid something bad’s gonna happen!” I told him, and told him about the dreams.

“We have lots of phones, and we’re never going to live where there could be riots like that, so you’re just being paranoid. Everything is fine,” he told me.

So I went back to bed, unable to fall back asleep as tired as I was. Then finally, at around 5pm I started drifting off when this fierce pounding woke me right up. As in pig pounding. Pigs don’t “knock” when they go to people’s houses, they pound. And so even though it seemed a little late in the day since most pigs prefer to do the bulk of their dirty business early in the morning, that was my first thought; that it was the pigs come to punish me for what my own perp started and instigated all on her own.

I bolted out into the living room to keep Tom from opening the door when he told me it was thunder. If something wasn’t trying to taunt me, then I’m not short! It had been quick and repetitious just as if someone were actually pounding on the door!

Finally, I fell back into a wonderfully dreamless sleep till around 9:00. And still I wonder if these dreams are a sign of trouble to come. Even Alison said she had a feeling something bad was going to happen this week, though she doesn’t have a strong feeling it’s got to do with me.

Christine sent a lovely message. She viewed me for the first time from home that I know of over the weekend. She took a day off from work yesterday. I decided I know and trusted her enough to send her a copy of their legal threats to get her opinion on them.

As for that “independent observer” they said would start monitoring my blog, the only two U.S. views I got today came from my friends Aly and Kim. Then there were two in Malaysia and one in Indonesia. The Indonesian viewer and one of the Malaysian viewers came in on search terms for “fuck off.”

Molly herself only made one view in the late morning. Because it was just one I’m wondering if it was her mother. Molly never does anything just once.

Got a flower smile from Nane on Facebook, sent flowers back along with an email message yesterday and a couple of wall notes today, but never heard back from her. That’s just Nane for me, though. It’s like she wants to be friends but she doesn’t.

MONDAY, MARCH 21, 2011 Molly (or Mommy) just viewed my blog twice more. That’s the first time that I know of that they’ve viewed me in the middle of the night. I mentioned sometimes allowing for anonymous comments when I wasn’t asleep or away from the PC for a while. I wonder if they were hoping, by coming in at an odd time, to squeeze in a comment.

Maybe I should allow for anonymous comments again. Molly’s a pretty stupid person. Maybe she’ll leave comments and that way if she tries to hit me with any legal trouble I’ll have something that’ll make her look even worse and then the courts could see who the real perp is. I need to unblock her from tracking, too. Excluding her IP shows me how many times she was there, but not when she was there. Then again, that doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I get visits from her on the days she leaves comments, right? IDK, maybe I should open the doors for her and let her incriminate herself.

I wasn’t going to do another entry today, but I feel compelled to get some anxieties off my chest. Especially in case anything ever happens to me. Well, I guess I’ll cut to the chase and just spell it right out. Even when there’s no contact – absolutely no words received at all – I still feel like I have a virtual peeping tom shadowing me and it’s scaring me. Plain and simple, it’s scaring me. It used to annoy me and frustrate me and it still does, but now it’s getting me downright anxious and uncomfortable. The stress is starting to affect my sleep and mess with my stomach. Just the mere fact that this is someone who knows I don’t care for them and who’s supposed to not care for me is what makes it all the more chilling. And the longer it goes on the more scared I get. I hate to admit it, but yeah, these obsessive, repetitious peeks into my life really have me feeling stalked, followed, spied on and downright creeped out. One click would shut them out, but it would also shut out non-members who genuinely like me and what I have to say. Perhaps I should leave here and go someplace else. I’d still have a public blog my friends could follow, but until they found me there, I would at least have a little shelter from this person and a temporary escape.

I’m doing my part by staying away and watching my language at least when it comes to how I refer to this person. Well, I would really appreciate it from the bottom of my heart if they would do the same and just go away. After all, if we follow someone’s blog so closely, isn’t it supposed to be because we like them and what they have to say? Because they interest us? Yet I doubt I’m a person of interest in this person’s eyes or that they like anything about me.

I feel almost the same as I would if I walked by a window in my place to find them (or anyone else) peering in at me. They know I know they’re there. They know I don’t like it. They know I know they don’t like me. Yet they won’t go away.

It’s gotten to the point that I’m so afraid to accept friend invites anywhere and I literally mean anywhere. When I get one I have to stop and ask myself if they could possibly know I’m a member of that site, and if so, could it really be them sending the invite? And every time I hear a strange sound when I’m all alone in these woods my nerves start twanging.

They’re watching me. Always, always watching, gawking and possibly planning God only knows what. I can only hope and pray for my safety and that of my husband. That means hoping that this person gets sick of me and bored with watching, watching, and more watching. Really, I’m not that interesting. Not that interesting at all.

Andy had me cracking up the other day when we were remembering some phone pranks we used to pull 20 years ago. I remembered the first thing he said we used to do, but I forgot all about the “relative pranks.” The one I remembered is how we would use our 3-way calling to each dial a number at the same time and let the two suckers that answered be oh so confused, each insisting they didn’t call anyone.

Then we’d call people with the same last name, hoping they’d be related and get into a conversation about whatever. Sometimes they did, eventually forgetting to try to solve the “mystery” of how they came to be on the phone in the first place. One time we listened for about 10-15 minutes or so to a couple of sisters talking. But crab cake recipes simply didn’t interest us and neither did discussions of tennis, so eventually we gave up our silence.

“Let’s hang up on these folks,” I said.

“Who is that?!” said sister #1.

“I agree,” Andy said. “They’re boring.”

“I don’t know!” said sister #2.

“Who do you want to call next?” asked Andy.

“OMG, there’s someone on the line! You hear that, don’t you?” said sister #1.

“How ‘bout crossing the Drinkwines with the Drinkwaters?” I suggested.

“Yeah, I hear it, alright. What the hell’s going on?” said sister #2.

“Great idea,” said Andy, and so we hung up on them, thus causing them to hang up on each other as well.

ROTFL!

SATURDAY, MARCH 19, 2011 It’s been a typical weekend so far, busier than weekdays in some ways since that’s when I usually do most of our laundry.

I did a rough sketch to give Tom an idea of what I want for my book cover. I don’t want to go with anything too complex, but as Mitch said, I want something that stands out as a thumbnail. Having just a stand of evergreens may be too simple and boring, and I want something that represents both the suspense and the fact that the two lead characters are lesbians and not gays.

The people in back were back to shooting again earlier. They fired a few shots, and I highly doubt it was to scare off predators as opposed to remind people that they exist. I’m glad I was awake and I hope they don’t make a regular thing of this. I’d hate to live further out where shooting is allowed if they’re going to shoot this much where it’s not allowed.

I gained back almost half the weight I lost even if it’s mostly water. That’s ok. I’ve known for some time now that until they have a magic fix of some kind, I will always be heavy. As long as I’m healthy and can get around well enough, it won’t kill me to stay fat.

It’s been two nights in a row now that the fucking dogs drove me crazy enough to have to crank up the sound machines. They went crazy from around 7pm - 10pm. Tom saw helium balloons this morning at the end of the drive and wonders if he was throwing a party one of those nights. I don’t know and I don’t care. I just want him to keep his shit to himself, be it his dogs or anything else of his he’s got going on. I don’t want to hear it down here and to have to wait till he gets home to control his fucking dogs just to be able to watch a movie in peace!

On the bright side to being stuffed in this old little dump with barking that follows us everywhere we go be it in the city or the country, we’re doing ok financially and we’re enjoying pigging out as we usually do on weekends.

Last night’s moving dream made the least sense of all. Charlotte and Jim were showing us condos or rentals they owned in Florida. Only Jim’s dead and we’d never get anything that was attached to others.

Still no new threats from Molly. Or her mom, I should say, since both Alison and I agree that the threats were not only too well written to be from Molly, but they had a threatening/protective air about them that would come from a mother. I just wish Mrs. M could see past the fact that Molly’s her daughter and into the fact that she’s a real sicko who needs help. And to be banned from the internet.

She’s got me bookmarked now, so that’s how she came to my blog today.

One of the funniest things they said when making their legal threats was that an independent observer will start monitoring my blog on Monday. They will leave a trail, but the pigs and DA can view it invisibly and I’ll never know they’re there, LOL. Well, we’ll see if I get any new regulars, but like I said, I’m not going to sweat these assholes. You make trouble for people and they just may make trouble for you by mouthing off like I did for a while. But her saying anyone could see her address (I can’t delete it from her own site where I left it in the comment section) and go to their house and harm them is a joke because they could do the same thing after seeing it in the fucking phone book. Besides, if the cops have any sense at all they would ask why she didn’t just delete the address where she could have if she was that scared for her safety.

She then contradicted herself when she said their local attorney advised them to work it out on her own. Then why would this independent observer and the pigs and DA be getting involved and why would the two officers they named belonging to their local PD want to talk to me?

Another funny thing was that they were going to make copies of not only all my blogs but my photos as well. LOL, what have my photos got to do with anything? Regardless, I received a page-long list of the latest legal threats against me. They go on and on about Texas laws, mostly, but I’m not in Texas. If they were going to go after a blogger, the state the blogger lives in would be the one to go after them. So if anyone’s coming after me, it’s California, not Texas, though I still very much doubt it since almost everything we do online is traceable. And as Alison said, all any DA has to do is just trace Molly’s online trail and that’ll give them a damn good idea of just how well-behaved and sound of mine she is. I just wish she’d start making threats. That’s what’s keeping her from being a stalker in the eyes of the law. Then again, even those who do make threats get away with it all the time. But while those she bothers with unwanted contact see her as a stalker, the law won’t.

The thing that has me a little nervous is knowing that God has already allowed me to be victimized by people who have picked on me way more than I ever picked on them. But the courts in Arizona didn’t see the welfare bum’s true colors because A, they didn’t want to, and B, they left no kind of trail in the way that Molly has. In this case, all law enforcement has to do is look and see, if they want to, that Molly herself is no angel. Molly’s also white too, thank God, so she can’t cry racism.

The only other thing that has me a little nervous is all the legwork they put into their threats. Sound familiar? That’s quite a bit of typing and research they did, and I checked, just to see if they were making these so-called civil codes up, and they’re not.

They said their notice would be posted to all internet addresses I maintain, but I never got any such “notice” anywhere else other than on Thoughts and Formspring. Could this mean that she doesn’t know about My Diary after all? Or how to find me on Facebook? I didn’t allow for notes on LJ or OD before I marked those blogs private, and there have been no visitors lately on LJ. She hasn’t even gone to my old KB account because she hasn’t been there for like over a month.

They also go back and forth in implying that action will only be taken if I continue to “harass” her and implying that they already are preparing a case against me.

Going further down the list of their bullshit claims, there’s no way any detective would take the time to wait at anyone’s home over someone saying they were going to show up at their place just once. Not unless they called them out right around that time.

I asked Alison to familiarize me with the Molly clan and where they are so I can know who I may be dealing with. She said that Sarah P is from Savannah, GA. She is 20 and works as a freelance writer/blogger as Miss Virtual Reality. She was or maybe now is again a friend of Molly’s who generally doesn’t get involved in things but can be a brat if you mess with her.

Then there’s Jenny who she says is fucked up. Any “anonymous” comment I get (though I have disabled that for now) that relates to sex is sure to be from her. She has warped views on what is okay to say and what isn’t and she’s been known to do Molly’s dirty work. She lives in California.

Molly has two sisters, Sara and Erin, and the Brownsville, Texas hit I got could’ve been from one of them.

One of the things Molly likes to do is write “letters” to those she’s lost as lovers/friends. And so I got an idea for a letter of my own in my last blog entry. Here’s a copy of it:

I don’t usually do this, but I guess there’s a first time for at least most things. So here’s a “letter” of my own. Once the intended recipient has read it, it may or may not be deleted.

Dear Molly. :

I, Jodi, am hereby pleading with you one last time to please leave me alone. No, I am demanding that you leave me alone. I wish absolutely no harm to come to you and I hope you experience the very best in life. But you have said you wanted to work this out on your own and strike a truce, and the way to do that is for us to never again contact each other anywhere, at any time, on any site, or for any reason.

I may not be perfect but you have left an extensive electronic trail of things that aren’t very nice and that also indicates a rather obsessive personality that some people (including myself) find scary. But I don’t think you’re a bad person. I think you just need to learn to channel your anger a little better.

You have been making on-and-off contact to me since last June and I have told you on my sites to STOP making to me. If anything about “no contact” is confusing to you or you have any questions, then I suggest you consult with a lawyer and have them explain it to you. I have looked up cyberstalking laws in your state and you have not threatened me but clearly you have “annoyed” and “harassed” me. You are also clearly in violation of the parts of this law that includes surveillance (by following me on all the sites I frequent) and contact (by sending me unwanted messages or comments or having your mother or friends do so).

I used to automatically delete anything you’d send me as soon as I knew it was from you (though it clearly shows on most of the sites I use that I’ve blocked multiple accounts that you’ve set up). I tried to ignore you, but you wouldn’t let me and when you would it wasn’t for long. I currently have most of my sites private or protected to cut down avenues in which you could contact me. Should I ever choose to re-open these avenues so as to no longer block others with good intentions and then see you start contacting me again, I will save everything I receive from you. This entry is time-stamped and proof of my instructing you not to contact me by any means prior to any contact I may receive from you in the future. This means that you will not be able to legally claim that you didn’t know about my ordering you to cease contacting me. Especially since HitsLink documents all my visitors here.

If I am contacted again after today, I may or may not choose to file suit against you for stalking depending on the nature of your contact and the frequency of it. However, if I am not contacted again, then there’s nothing at all to worry about and no legal action will be taken.

Your address is a matter of public info that anyone could post anywhere. And anyone could look it up in the White Pages and go to your residence. But no one I know was ever ordered to visit you. I do not know anyone in your town.

I realize that your year hasn’t been off to a great start and that you recently lost someone you were very close to and loved very much. I can relate. I have lost loved ones as well and I understand how heartbreaking it can be. But it is no excuse or reason to take it out on others.

I will not call you mean names in my blog, but be advised that I cannot control what others might say when they leave comments either here or on other sites I use. Right or wrong I can think of nearly a dozen people who have badmouthed you in their blogs and on other sites, posted your full name, physical address and phone number, and have even gone so far as to wish or threaten you with bodily harm. Yet for some reason, it is me you have been fixated upon lately despite the fact that I have never broken any laws where you’re concerned, nor do I ever intend to. Remember Amber from the old KB? If you think back I’m sure you’ll remember the vicious stuff she would post about you in her journal and in the forums. Things I would never post about anyone no matter how much I disliked them.

As long as my blog is set to public I can’t stop you from looking in, but if anything in it ever bothers or offends you (and I would say this to anyone), then all you need to do is just stop reading it. No one is ever forced to read any of my stuff. Ever. But I’m not going to keep playing these immature and childish games either.

I am totally forbidding you to contact me by any means or methods including email, blog comments, messages, friend requests or anything else of a similar nature. Anything that comes from you that gets my attention is considered unwanted contact from you to me. Contacting someone at their sites that have asked you not to do so is considered stalking. The same goes for your mother and your friends. They are also forbidden to contact me and I will not contact them. I don’t care what you write about me in your own blog as you have a right to say what you want, but I will not contact you and you will not contact me. Period. This is my final appeal to you, so good luck in life, Molly, and goodbye.

Later…

Yesterday I left a comment on Sarah P’s blog anonymously asking if she’s still friends with Molly or if she’s been stalked by her too, and she figured out it was me. She not only viewed my blog but tried to add me on Twitter.

But how did she know it was me? Has Molly been filling her in on what’s been going on? Or does she have her own tracker? And how did she find me on Twitter? I don’t have my Twitter link on my blog right now because my tweets are protected.

Another strange thing is that the administrator in Oslo came into my blog supposedly from a message received from Adonis, according to my tracker. I asked Adonis if he sent the administrator a message with my blog link in it.

It occurred to me that Adonis could be a pig that’s been investigating me under a bogus profile, though I doubt it and am probably just being paranoid. I haven’t done anything more or less than most any other blogger has done at some point, in which case we’d all be in legal trouble if it could really get us there that easily.

I can’t wait to see what tomorrow’s visitor list brings. Remember, I’m supposed to be monitored by an independent observer and secretly by the pigs and DA, LOL.

There have been only 3 views from Molly and she didn’t make them till about an hour ago. Kind of late for her. I wonder if it was her mother. I’m pretty sure she lives with her.

I just hope they’re not plotting against me in any way. If she is, all I can do is decline to accept any invitations to appear in court and hope the failure-to-appear warrant expires in time. It’s just that you usually get arrested first in these cases and it costs hundreds of dollars to get out of jail. Then you get stuck with a bond person and you’re basically just like a minor with a parent all over again, unable to run. We don’t have the money to simply up and run from trouble, so let’s just hope nothing happens and that this time around it’s me God protects and not the person who started this shit and who may very well never end it either. But for all I know He could be paving the way for her to get at me. What a great way to have the warrant discovered for the freeloaders than to have me get in a dispute with someone who calls the pigs on me? I mean, that was just sooo seemingly set up to play out that way. It just seemed sooo meant to be and like the freeloaders were sooo meant to legally torment me. Yes, yes, I do blame a lot of it on God. Maybe more than the actual players themselves since HE LET IT HAPPEN. :( Isn’t He supposed to have more control than us humans?

Got a view from Columbus with a different IP and carrier. I wonder if it was Christine.

Besides finishing up the laundry, playing with the rat, overeating along with Tom, and working on my book, I’m sick of this weather! First, though, Tom’s now reading the book to get a better idea for the cover. He’s 25% through and I’m 87% through the proofreading. He said that while it’s very well written, the beginning’s a little slow and the characters talk too similarly. I’ll have to work on this a bit more, but I guess we’ll still launch the book for publication around the 1st.

Anyway, the weather’s been cold and wet and it seems like each winter we’re here is colder and longer. Yet people make all this fuss about global warming. Well, it’s not affecting this area.

Last night’s money dream was a bit unnerving. Tom was returning something that was broken. On the way out of this store, where I had wanted to purchase some lingerie when I recognized a Jane-like character working there that I’d seen around town a couple of times before and noticed she seemed to like me, his brother appeared and walked not with us but by us. Tom said we were going to be really broke and mentioned something about a lack of water. I practically burst into tears at the thought of yet another poor spell and just never being able to get ahead.

In reality, I’ve come to accept it and that some things are just fated to be no matter how much we try to change things. I know we’ll be back in the poorhouse sooner or later. Like I said before, my sleep disorder and the fact that we’re living in a bummy old trailer at our age is enough to tell me something right there. But it still pisses me off and stresses me out. What did we do to deserve a life of so much struggling?

Before it was either move or do my teeth. Now it’s either get propane or do my teeth. Sort of. We could either keep stalling my teeth and load up on propane. Or we could get started with x-rays and get at least a couple of teeth pulled, and just keep getting our little 5-gallon tank filled as needed. But that’s too expensive that way, and you know how it works for me; God doesn’t let me get problems solved. He only lets me get them replaced.

My teeth started acting up again, but I got them under control a little faster this time around. And last night was amazingly and wonderfully quiet. :)

Right now I’m just worried about Molly. If a month or so goes by without any pigs or subpoenas popping up, then I’ll breathe a little easier. Just because she doesn’t have my address doesn’t mean the courts can’t get it through our provider, and somehow I doubt that having service in Jesse’s name would save us.

NO! I won't think like that. I refuse to. I KNOW I did nothing illegal. If I had, I'd already be in trouble. I will not let the legal revenge of 11 years ago make me fearful and paranoid.

FRIDAY, MARCH 18, 2011 All’s quiet in Trollville so far today but lately, Mrs. M seems to prefer to threaten me on behalf of her sick daughter at night. Yeah, Alison and I both agree it’s probably Molly’s mother that’s been trying to scare me lately. It’s just too well-written to be directly from Molly.

I tried twice to get thoughts.com to deactivate my account, but that, along with other messages, has gone completely ignored. I know something’s wrong with them. I set my blog to private there, logged out, and looked to see if I could see it from the outside in, and sure enough, my blog was not private. So I dumped it all together.

I’m also determined, once I see the “reply” indicator lit up, not to read the M family’s latest round of taunts and bullying. That’s how she’s contacting me lately. She can’t get to me directly there, so she replies to her own entries which I stupidly left comments on a while back. I’m going to make a point of not checking it out not just because I refuse to succumb to their threats, but because the counter will indicate that someone – probably me – was there. It’s unlikely anyone else would view an older entry.

Got a view from Brownsville, Texas that appeared to do a search specifically for my blog, so it makes me wonder if there’s a connection.

I also got a view from Asia from her first known account, then one from that account the other day from North Carolina that I suspect might be proxies. These are accounts she never uses anymore as far as I know, so that’s why I think they’re connected to her but hiding under proxy.

I’m surprised Molly herself only viewed my blog 4 times. Oh, wait. Here goes more views again. I just got two views from her, so let me guess. Mommy’s gonna tell me any second now on Thoughts just how much trouble I could get in cuz she’s so concerned about me that she wants to help keep me out of trouble, right?

Ugh, there are 10 more views. What does she do? Sit there refreshing the page? Sick. Just sick. And these insane lunatics think they could possibly file suit against me and win?

No thought threats yet. I jump out of there as soon as I check the indicator, as I am still curious to see if they’re continuing to make their own selves look bad because even though I have it set to not show when I’m online, you can never trust that buggy site.

I know it may not work for long, but for now, my method of defense is going to be silence. Maybe, as Alison and Maliheh have said, if I don’t mention her she’ll get bored. I still think it’s about getting negative attention, not lawsuits.

It may be too late, but just in case she might’ve missed it, I pulled out the link to my old diary in the few entries it was mentioned since that’s where I intend to go if anything ever happens to my MyOpera blog.

I thought about setting past MyOpera posts to private, then said nah. It’d take a lot of work since I have around 370 entries, and that too, falls along the lines of letting her control me. Anytime I’m doing something on account of someone I don’t like or want anything to do with; that’s letting them control me. I let it happen with the freeloaders and so many other people that I swore I would never ever let it happen again. Not if I could help it, anyway.

I had hoped that changing my username would change the link to the blog itself, but nope. That much I would’ve been willing to do. I’d love to spite Molly out of being able to read my blog while still keeping it open to others cuz then all I would’ve had to do was give my friends the new link, but it doesn’t work that way.

Alison and Kim have come to my defense and have been a real online support. And Maliheh and Christine have been great sounding boards.

Maliheh’s blood clot in her neck isn’t enough to cause the blurriness in her eye, which is the good news. But the bad is that they’re back to square one with trying to figure out what is causing it.

It’s a real pisser, and just totally backward, to know that New England was in the 70s today and Maliheh was in the 80s while we were down in the low 40s. I think it’s already in the upper 30s and it’s barely past 6pm. It sucks!

I slept just 6 hours so I spent the first part of my day feeling a little tired and was also up a pound as well. I guess I didn’t sleep long enough to sleep it off, but oh well. Tomorrow’s the weekend. I eat like a pig then anyway.

Got some handy tips and pointers from Mitch on publishing my book. He also updated me on what’s going on with him and that’s pretty much it. Just keeping busy.

I’m going to be super busy all night and this weekend with laundry and working on my book. At least I got the housecleaning and the grocery list done. There’s still so much to do in preparation for launching my book for publication, and I should probably squeeze in a workout, too.

Later…

No contact tonight from Molly and company, and I wonder – is that a good thing or a bad thing? Are they quiet tonight because they’ve got something nasty planned that they don’t want me to know up front is coming? Or are they finally realizing that I’m not going to let them get to me?

I’m going to let her in tomorrow on my tracker and see where she goes. I’m just curious. I’m also curious where she comes from. She had been coming from Twitter, but now that my tweets are protected she can’t come from there anymore. Then again, I suppose she could, technically. You can go to my Twitter account. You just can’t see my tweets. But she will be checking for sure several times a day to see if I’ve removed the protection. Like I said, right after I reactivated Ask after having it deactivated for a while, she started harassing me.

Later…

Well, I decided to go for it and just went from 371 entries to 20 entries as far as outside appearances go. That ought to piss the bitch off, LOL. Oh, they’re still there. I just marked them private for now. It took quite a while but I think it’ll be worth it to annoy her so she can’t sit there going through page after page of my shit dozens of times a day. I figure the less of me she can access, the more she’ll hopefully get bored with me and go pick on someone else, though she didn’t try to contact me yesterday. This way I don’t go private and spite the good people out of my blog, but she doesn’t get to see as much of me. I thought it would be better than deleting the entries because that couldn’t be undone. This can. That’s one of the things I love about MyOpera. Each entry has its own security setting from public to friends only to private. So all that’s there is my last entry plus my 19-part bio. I can still see all the entries from my POV. But to outsiders, I now have 2 pages of posts and not 37 (I have it set to show 10 per page so it doesn’t slow down those with slow connections). I also made private or stripped my other blogs/journals down to just my bio since I don’t use them regularly anyway. The biggest thing she’ll miss, knowing her, are my now protected tweets. flashes an evil grin

THURSDAY, MARCH 17, 2011 Woke up to a nice message from my Ohio buddy which put a smile on my face (it’s nice being called “lovely girl” and told that she wishes I were there so she could give me a real hug. :), and another pound lost. So now I’m 134.4. I guess it’s a combination of my new vitamins making me sleep so much at times, working my ass off, working out, and dieting.

I don’t remember any of last night’s dreams. I just slept and slept like a log. At least I feel refreshed and my allergies aren’t going off on me.

Thoughts.com hasn’t deactivated my account yet, but there’s also been no more harassment from Molly over there either. She’ll start up again, though, if they don’t close the account. It’s just a matter of time.

Wish I had more to say, but I don’t, so I guess I’ll get all this hair brushed out. sighs Anyone else out there stupid enough to go years between haircuts? It’s a few inches above my ass when you pull the curl straight.

Then it’s back to editing my book. I doubt we’ll submit it for publication this weekend since there’s still so much to do, but we’ll see.

Later…

I am now to the point where I’m both in tears and going from annoyed to genuinely frightened of the woman who’s been stalking me. So as one last-ditch effort to thwart this person who has claimed she wanted a “truce” and wants to ignore each other, I’ve set all my blogs/diaries/journals to either private or friends only. This one will be set to friends only by the weekend. I’ve also protected my tweets and Formspring accounts. I’m sorry to those of you who are non-members who will no longer be able to follow me due to this person’s obsessive stalking, taunting, bullying and just driving me flat out of my mind with both stress and fear.

I have tried and tried to ignore this sick twist but she is still contacting me in any way she can. Her latest place of contact was on Formspring after she opened a new account there to threaten me about how much “trouble” I could be in and instructing me to read her journal on thoughts.com. I didn’t, though, nor do I ever again have any intentions of reading anything she writes anywhere. Instead, I just went in and set everything of mine to private there until Thoughts can shut it down.

I am genuinely scared for my life right now and shaking so badly that I can barely type this. How did it come to this? Why is this perfect stranger whom I’ve never met and never been friends with trying to make my life so miserable? I’m practically in tears now! She’s DRIVING ME CRAZY! No one else has ever kept following, spying and contacting me like this after I’ve told them a million times to leave me alone. No one! Isn’t this the kind of shit we’re supposed to get from obsessive ex-boyfriends? But this is a woman. One I don’t even know and never wanted to. I’m so scared right now I feel like I’m gonna throw up. Every time I hear movement outside, I jump to the ceiling!

People say don’t let her ruin my life and control me by going private/friends only, but she’s driving me utterly mad! What choice do I have???

Later…

You can disregard my last entry saying I’m setting my blog to friends only. I am not. I’ll be damned if I’ll let my stalker win by stressing me out and controlling me, thus spiting my followers who are non-members with no desire to ever join this site.

I’ve deactivated or made private those accounts I don’t use anymore or don’t use much, but this is MY blog and I’M in control of it. If someone doesn’t like what I may have to say about them, then they need to stop reading it. Period. As I say on my ‘about’ page, no one is forced to read my stuff. If you don’t like me or the things I may have to say about you, someone else, someplace or something, that’s fine. Just don’t read it and then you won’t be upset by it. I am NOT going to be responsible for anyone’s emotions and I am NOT going to succumb to any threats or bullying. Someone told me that my stalker said their family was at risk. If they are, it’s not because of me. I’m thousands of miles away. I also have no desire to harm, scare, embarrass, anger or stress anyone out. I only want the right to be left alone and NOT contacted by those I’ve TOLD NOT TO CONTACT ME A MILLION TIMES! What do they not understand about “no contact?” That’s all I want. Nothing more, nothing less. Just no contact.

Meanwhile, they have the same right as I do to write whatever they please in their own blog. They can write all kinds of nasty things about me, and true or not, it’s their right and I really don’t care. I don’t have to read it and no one can make me read it. They can also publish things that are already a matter of public information.

And so I will keep my blog public for those I care about and who care about me, and I will continue to block any contact made to me by those I’ve instructed not to contact me that create account after account in which to contact me from, without reading anything they may have to say to me, and I will not read their blog either. For whatever it’s worth, I did not read the legal threats I was told they made to me on thoughts.com. I heard some things about it, but that is all. I only went to thoughts.com long enough to set my account private until it can be deactivated since I don’t care to use it anyway. Blogging at too many places at once has proven to be a real pain.

I am permanently ridding my life of all things Molly and other things I shouldn’t be wasting my time even thinking about let alone worrying about. No amount of taunts, threats and bullying is going to get me to live the way others want me to live. So file your lawsuits and do whatever you want. You’ll never see me in a court of law no matter how many subpoenas you send me, and you’ll never get me to stop writing about what I want to write about in my own journal either.

That being said, I shall now officially close the Molly chapter of my life and move on to more important things. Including those who treat me with kindness and respect. I choose to surround myself with people I love and care about and who feel the same way about me in return. My husband, Maliheh, Andy, Christine, Adonis, Aly, Kim, Nane, Mitch, and Eileen are some of the people who rock my world. And I thank them for it. :)

Maliheh wasn’t happy with the idea of me making the blog or Formspring accounts friends only because she not only doesn’t want to join these sites, but she likes to look in every now and then and says that’d be letting her win if I let her control me like that, and she’s right.

I feel like such an idiot for letting her and her legal threats get to me and cause me to lose nearly a whole day’s worth of work – ugh!

On the other hand, maybe I should be a little worried. Hasn’t God allowed me to be victimized by my own perps before? And clearly, someone with more intelligence is helping her write these so-called legal threats, though I still don’t see where I’m guilty of libel anymore than any other blogger is.

The only mistake I made was first trying to reason with this nut, then cussing it out in hopes of scaring it off. But she’s saying I was going to send a friend to her house and that her family’s at risk. Not by me they aren’t. I’m thousands of miles away so obviously someone else is fucking with her or she’s just plain old delusional.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 16, 2011 I told Tammy the drama queen I accidentally deleted her message before I could read much of it, but remember something about Becky and masters and management, said congrats to her, I was busy and would get back to her some other time. Hopefully, she’ll get the hint – I’m not interested!

I would never do this, of course, but it sure is a funny thought as far as telling Tammy I made her into a character in my book to maybe trick her into buying a copy if it makes it to Amazon.

Nane sent me a hug and Maliheh said to keep on going with the story, she has a good feeling about it. Hope she’s right!

Christine said she hopes I feel better (after I bitched about my allergies on Facebook) and that she’ll send me a note tomorrow.

I deactivated my account on a few other sites after complaining that Molly kept harassing me no matter how hard I tried to block her and gave them all her profile links that I was aware of. It may take a while before they shut the accounts down, but I realize that despite whatever action others may be taking against her in hopes of getting her to leave them alone, nothing’s going to change unless I contact her local law enforcement agency. I think that being so distrustful of cops after what happened to me is part of why I’ve been stalling. But maybe if I have them go out and talk to her it will scare her off if only for a while. I’ve shut down most of the accounts I don’t need or use much anyway, but what else can I do to finally shake free of her? Dump every single account I’m registered at and reopen them in bogus names? I don’t think so! The last thing I care to do is sign up anywhere under false pretenses because then I wouldn’t be being myself. I don’t want to have to run and hide, but I can’t use these sites freely either and do things like post a link to my book if it makes it to Amazon. She’ll only contact me there, too. Damn the review thing! If only they didn’t have that!

I joined a site called Booksie and threw on some stuff I don’t intend to try to sell. They have a place there for you to post your link if you have a book for sale on Amazon. Hopefully, the crazy troll will never find it. I’m amazed at how many views I’ve gotten there. WAY more than my blog gets!

Last night’s dreams have me curious. They left me feeling excited and hopeful too, even though they shouldn’t have left me feeling anything but nervous. By themselves, they may not mean anything. But after adding up all the dreams I’ve been having of this nature lately, it makes me think change is in the air. I just hope it’s in a good way! Two of them were actually kind of disturbing as they appeared to be in apartments – ugh! One of them seemed like it was in a seedy neighborhood. I stepped out back of what appeared to be an upper-story apartment and saw that it was raining. In another one, I seemed to be in a ground-floor apartment. I was working on my PC when I sat back and looked up into the window of a second-floor apartment in a building that was just a few feet away and saw part of a ceiling fan.

The one that was most interesting was us on the road with the car jam-packed with our stuff. The weather was very hot. We stopped at what might’ve been a gas station or someplace to eat and I was worried about leaving the rat in the car too long due to the heat.

“Maybe it’s a sign that things are going to go so well that we’ll be leaving NorCal,” Tom said.

“But it made no sense,” I told him. “It was just the car. No trailer, no U-haul, no nothing. I would be willing to give up a lot of stuff to lighten the load, but not that much stuff.”

“That’s why I said that. Maybe it means we’ll be able to have our stuff shipped in advance to wherever we move to.”

Well, I still don’t think we’ll be able to move long-distance until he retires, and that’s only if we can afford it. Unless I win a lot of money sooner or the pension ends up being way more than we thought, I don’t see any way out of this area anytime soon. More than likely we’ll either get a bigger rental or buy a place here in a couple of years. I could stand to be here another decade if the job was worth it, but we still don’t even know if they’re going to hire him on or not.

Even if the pension were 50K, we couldn’t go straight to a house in a retirement community in a new location because they wouldn’t sell a house to anyone who hadn’t yet gone out and gotten a job even if they could afford to put down a hefty down payment. We would have to hole up in an apartment or a house in the mainstream until we could get into a retirement community because Florida simply doesn’t have rural areas in the way we do here. There’s no way I want my neighbors an arm’s reach away unless they were in a retirement community, and I don’t want them a wall away no matter where we were.

But like I said, if there are any surprises coming I don’t know about, bye-bye NorCali, hello tropical or desert.

My allergies have been acting up again. I slept the usual 8 hours, found I was the same weight, took a Benadryl, slept for a few more hours, then woke up at 135.0 pounds.

TUESDAY, MARCH 15, 2011 Signing in on another rainy day. This should be our last month of heavy rain, then we’ll get a little bit next month, then nothing till September or October.

I just fired up the dehumidifier. It has helped with the mold tremendously.

Christine gave me good advice and feedback as to how to handle a certain situation. I’m still not sure what to do so I’m biding my time for now. I just can never know one’s true intentions for sure, and the last thing I need is any drama in my life, so I’m treading cautiously. So I sent Tammy a brief message, congratulating Becky, letting her know I was busy, and never mentioning talking by phone. If we do we’re going to call from the cell phone so we can block the number. You can’t do that with Magic Jack phones.

Maliheh said that while she can only see out of one eye, she spent 15 minutes on my blog last night and said it was worth it because of all the funny jokes. We only swapped one message. Like I said, I’m not sure it’s really all about her eye or if I’ve got anything to do with it, but it’s ok either way as I don’t have time to swap tons of emails with her every day.

Nane also surprised me with a brief message on Facebook too, saying she met some guy a couple of weeks ago so that’s why she’s not around as much.

Paula has to go back to court on the 4th, the poor thing. Then again, it’s hard to feel sorry for someone who keeps taking up with the same old losers and NEVER seems to learn from past mistakes.

Andy and I still play around on Formspring, and he said he was sorry PDP rejected my book but reminded me that those errors can be fixed. The fake Kindle tells you how far you are through a book percentage-wise, so I’m doing 20% a day. Still wondering how the hell I missed so many typos and grammatical and punctuation errors.

Skipping my vitamins yesterday did seem to give me more energy and I slept a normal 8 hours. Still lost another half a pound in my sleep, though:) I took them today to see how they would make me feel and if they caused me to sleep 12 hours again. It’s both a good and a bad thing. I’m too busy to afford to be so sluggish, but if I sleep 12 hours I not only lose more weight, but that’s 4 fewer hours I have to deal with life, LOL.

Gotta go do some cleaning now before tackling the manuscript.

MONDAY, MARCH 14, 2011 sighs My day isn’t off to a great start. Molly’s back to contacting and viewing my blog like crazy, and there’s something else going on I’d rather not put in this particular blog.

Before I get to Molly, even though I probably shouldn’t do so here because that’s what she wants, I slept 12 hours 2 days in a row. What the hell is wrong with me??? Or am I just working too hard? Tom said it could be that my vitamins are making me tired so I’m taking a day off from them to see since it’s too soon to blame it on PMS. Love the weight loss that goes with sleeping forever, though. I’ve lost 4 pounds in a week!

We found some errors in my manuscript, and so did PDP, whom I heard from last night. screams and tears hair If I haven’t figured out how to write a book by now I never will! Chances are it’ll be rejected by Kindle, but I’m going to at least try.

I wish I could say I was in a better mood, but I’m not. I feel stuck in a rut in life right now, fearing Tom will never be able to get a permanent position anywhere as it’s just so hard to do these days with temps being the norm. I fear both being set back and being stuck, but I’d rather be stuck than kicked back yet again.

I had another “2-story” dream, but I don’t think we’re moving this year, so that’s why the countdown is gone.

Another thing that doesn’t help my mood is Molly. Yeah, she’s back to her usual shit. I keep trying and trying to block her on various sites, yet she keeps finding a way to get through all kinds of loopholes. She is a modern-day electronic Houdini at heart. The latest message is:

I don’t know you and obviously you don’t know me. I have never been arrested and never been in jail. I am basically a nice person and you may be too. I have never stalked you. The only reason that I have gone to your website is because I received a message saying that you had written something untrue and malicious about me. I followed the included link to go to your site only to read lies written by someone that I don’t even know. I don’t know where you get your information about me, but none of it is true. The current US Federal Anti-Cyber-Stalking law is found at 47 USC sec. 223 and if you read it you will see that you are the guilty party here because you are spreading lies about me. So how about a truce? You don’t go to my website and I won’t go to yours. With this message I am formally telling you to cease and desist from writing anything else about me. My parents consulted their attorney and it appears that you may be guilty of interstate libel as well. You have spread lies about me and defamed my character. Our attorney has saved a copy of every web page on which you have written about me. These pages have also been saved to the Google Commons Repository from which they can never be deleted and will be used as evidence should we decide to file suit. Peace.

First off, I highly doubt the real Molly wrote this, but rather her mother or a friend of hers instead. This is too well written to be the work of Molly.

Funny because I’ve been trying to strike that so-called “truce” with her ever since she started harassing me a year or two ago. I only wrote in my blog what others have told me about her, never claiming to be right or wrong for sure on any hearsay, thoughts, beliefs or opinions that I’ve expressed.

If you search my blog you will also find no mention of her last name. Isn’t it kind of hard to prove what Molly I’m supposedly libeling about without a last name? She’s not the only one in the country named Molly.

Next, and as I’ve said something like a million and one times before, if you don’t like what someone may write about pertaining to you or any other person or subject in their own blog, then DON’T read it! No one ever forced her or anyone else to read my blog.

But that’s not the issue. The issue is that I have asked her countless times to STOP contacting me. But she goes and she does it anyway, leaving an electronic trail that makes her look much, much guiltier of stalking than I ever could be of anything, not to mention her own pack of lies in which she’s written in her own journal. But I don’t give a shit what she says about me. I know what’s true and what’s not. If you have nothing to hide or fear, then why worry about what others say/think?

She asks for a truce, saying she won’t go to my website, but how are 64 views so far today “not going to my website?”

Lastly, there is no such thing as Google Commons Repository. I looked it up and all I found was a Google Repository that allows businesses to back up their data.

Meanwhile, I’m not the least bit interested in viewing her shit - true or not - or talking to her, and I’m certainly not afraid of any lawsuits. I have done nothing wrong and I know it.

This sick individual has taken from me many online joys I would ordinarily love to engage in very much, but can’t because I know she’ll use it as a means to harass me. I can’t enable my shoutbox on MyOpera, I can’t allow anonymous comments on my blog, and I can’t freely enjoy a lot of features because she won’t leave me the hell alone. It’s only a matter of time before she opens yet another account to come at me from that I’ll have to block. There is no escaping this lunatic!

Until the law cracks down on cyberbullies and stalkers like her and starts taking her computer away (since as she herself admits she can’t behave or stop abusing people online) each time she harasses someone, God only knows how many more years of her shit I’ll have to deal with.

And besides, if she’s truly not guilty of ever being arrested or jailed, then why does what people say bother her? She should know the truth, so isn’t that all that matters?

In even worse news than Molly’s shit, my sister “misses” me, hopes I’ll allow her to call me, has so much to tell me, and Becky graduated with a master’s in management, etc. So this has only gone and added to my stress. I’m not sure how to handle this one.

I posted on my Facebook wall that I accidentally deleted a message before I could read much of it, so that’ll hopefully give me a little more time to think about things. I just don’t know that she’s reading my profile page, though. She hasn’t been to my blog, nor did she mention anything about Kindle.

In my bio, I explain why I haven’t talked to my brother since 1997 (nor do I ever intend to) and have swapped just a few messages with my sister since 1999. But to give you a quick rundown – my sister was in an abusive marriage. He abused her and my sister’s oldest of 3 daughters because she was “the other guy’s” kid. I verbally let him have it on his machine. To my horror, shock and dismay, she stuck up for him and next thing I knew the cops were at my door. We had just moved from Phoenix to Maricopa and she claims he was the one that called the cops and she didn’t know where I lived. Even if that were true, she would’ve had to give him some starting point to look for me in order to get the cops to my door in the first place. I think she, they, or he called Tom’s relatives in PHX for the new address, not that the relatives would ever admit they gave it to anyone.

Maricopa was so rural that we had no mail service at the house. We had to get a PO Box. Well, there was a warrant out for my arrest at the time and neither of us knew it till the cops came out on account of Tammy and Bill, routinely ran my name, and came up with the failure to appear warrant.

As you may know, our lovely freeloading neighbors tormented us in PHX which was part of why we moved. Noise, vandalism – you name it they hit us with it at just 3’ away. To spite me since they hated whites, Jews and anyone that complained on them (Tom sent a letter of complaint to the city, though he’s not of Jewish descent), they had their cop friend, also black, that we didn’t know about, set me up for stalking of all things. He put a threatening, racially slurred letter into my hands at the pig station and asked if I’d seen it before, thus getting my prints on it. I don’t know if he typed it himself or if the old psycho neighbors received it from someone else they pissed off, but nonetheless, they made me look like a scary little racist, played the race card, and got my ass in jail for 6 months and then I had 2 years of probation afterward. So I lost a lot of freedom and thousands of dollars. The point – Tammy may not have known about these assholes and the warrant, but if she hadn’t turned on her own sister who was just trying to stick up for her and if she hadn’t gone out of her way to protect her and her daughter’s abuser, the warrant would’ve eventually expired and I wouldn’t have been legally victimized in a place and time when blacks are seen as gods.

Fast forward 9 years to the summer of 2009. She contacts me on Facebook with a simple “hope you’re well.” Wow, I thought to myself, she’s acting like nothing happened. She didn’t just spill wine on my favorite blouse, so I need to set her straight, let her know the impact her crazy actions had on me and my husband, and why I can’t possibly forgive her just because we shared the same womb.

She reacted to my rejection by bullying me online along with 2 of her daughters, one of whom was rude, the other flat-out crazy. They’re all in their 20s now, and while I know we all do stupid shit when we’re young and I understand they have their mother to thank for their behavior, it really put a lot of stress on me. MD has no message block of any kind at this time, so I would get a slew of threats and taunts from them and I felt completely powerless to do anything but be afraid she’d do something to us, like call the Unemployment office and claim Tom was really working so we’d end up starving and homeless while they investigated, or something sick and crazy like that. She’d already proven the extremes she could and would gladly go to in the heat of the moment.

And now she “misses” me and hopes I’ll allow her to call me. I feel so stuck between a rock and a hard place, almost like I’m forced to have this relationship with her I don’t want to have or else she’ll turn on me and do God knows what to us if I don’t, including possibly fucking us out of any inheritance money we may get. I just don’t know what to do! Tom insists we don’t need the inheritance, but I think we’ll always be able to say we could use extra money, even though I think my folks will live another 5-10 years.

I know there are worse problems in life to have than a sister who wants a relationship with you while you don’t. I honestly don’t understand it, though. We don’t look the same, we don’t act the same, we don’t have the same interests, and we live 3000 miles apart. What the hell does she want with me???

If I haven’t managed to do so after 11 years, then I know I will truly never be able to forgive her for the hell she helped inflict upon my husband and I. She just doesn’t get that I simply don’t give a damn about her or her brood. I don’t see them as a sister and nieces; I only see them as people I once knew long ago who caused me a world of trouble.

You can’t block your number on a Magic Jack phone, so if I do call her it will be from the cell phone.

I’m just afraid she’ll keep wanting more and more from me, though I have tried to tell her that the best way to avoid conflict is to keep the contact to a minimum.

Damn! Just damn! I want to be myself and handle her the way I handle most things – by being honest and letting her know I don’t care to associate with her, but if I do that it means possibly getting spited for it, not to mention my parents being dragged into it. I know her. It’s easy for her to say she’ll keep our shit from mom and dad when she’s not pissed, but another thing for her to say that when she is pissed.

I talked to Christine who enjoyed the ballet she attended yesterday, and would be happy to rub my back like she did in the dream I had. :) I was hoping she’d be compensated for Saturday which didn’t seem to be a very good day for her.

SUNDAY, MARCH 13, 2011 Tom’s got most of my book Kindle-ready, but there’s still some more converting to do. It ended up inserting paragraph indentations, and so I want to pull out the paragraph breaks I had in the original copy that also appears on the “fake” Kindle we viewed it on to see what it would look like.

Next, Tom’s creating hyperlinks to each chapter.

The copyrights are done, even though in the U.S. it isn’t necessary as whatever you publish is automatically considered copywritten. I just thought it looked more professional that way. It also doesn’t hurt to remind people just whose book it is. :) One can quote a line from my book in their blog, for example, but they can’t copy a whole chapter or anything like that.

Still gotta design the book cover and do the dedications and the synopsis, and I’m also going to give it a final read-through so that there are no breaks where there shouldn’t be or lack of breaks where there should be, and also to make sure there are no typos I may’ve missed.

I’m just glad that traditional publishers are becoming a thing of the past! They can only publish so many people and they really hold a lot of great writers back.

I’m now down a total of 3 pounds, but that’s mostly because I was so busy yesterday and then I slept forever.

We ordered progressive glasses for me which will be 3 grams lighter than the single-vision glasses I’m wearing now. I’m sure I’ll still hate wearing them, but I need to see!

I got kids’ yogurt because it’s tastier for fewer calories and it came with this tiny cardboard square with seeds in it that you soak for a few hours, then plant in an empty yogurt cup. I don’t know what the hell it is I’m planting, but I guess we’ll find out in 7-14 days.

SATURDAY, MARCH 12, 2011 “Are they gonna really sell all those beans?” I asked at Walmart this morning.

“Yup,” said Tom.

I stood back in the center of the aisle and surveyed the dozens, if not hundreds, of cans of beans. There was every type of bean imaginable – baked beans, black beans, garbanzo beans, kidney beans and more.

Wish I could sell books like Walmart can sell beans!

Tom and I just got back from spending over $200 really stocking up on stuff. Plus getting a couple of mice we really needed. The one for the laptop broke and his was acting up, so we got him a new boring-looking one and me a really pretty one with colorful flowers on it. It’s nice to be able to use a mouse again for the laptop. Using just the touchpad was a pain.

I also got a box of pink dye and a box of purple dye for two of my ballerina doll’s dresses that are really dingy looking as old as they are.

I got a gorgeous pair of earrings with clusters of clear gems that appear light pink in the center depending on how the light hits them. They’re quite dazzling. You’d never guess they were just $4.

For $3 I got a pair of claw clips with bold pink colored gems.

They had millions of necklaces, mostly beads, but nothing that really jumped out at me in any special way.

I got some apple-cinnamon diffuser sticks for the smelly closet, but since it was a 3-pack I put some in the kitchen and bathroom, too.

I got another designer imposter. This one’s called Capri Breeze. I’d never tried it before but I love its spicy yet feminine scent.

Yesterday I got my perfume oil samples and they left out one, so they said they’d include it in my next order.

As always, when we want a salesperson there’s no one to be found. But when we’re doing just fine on our own, tons of them jump out to offer their help, and they just have to do it while we’re talking to each other. They can’t politely wait until we’re done.

I’ve come to be so blind even with glasses, so Tom and I are going to order me progressives which I’m sure will be super uncomfortable, but at least I’ll be able to see.

I’m mighty sorry for those in Japan who suffered a great loss and even death in the earthquake and tsunami they had the other day, but once again there goes millions of our dollars to help them when we have millions in need right here, hungry and homeless on the street.

Swapped just one message with Christine yesterday because it was a really busy day for her. She said my message really brightened up her day and she was sick of the weather there. She woke up to a lot of snow. I told her if I were mean I’d laugh at her. :)

She and her mother are going to the ballet on Sunday and she loves seeing men AND women running around half-naked with such hot bodies.

Yeah, I figured there was a touch of bi in her. I knew that if she hadn’t actually been with a woman, she’d at least been attracted to one here and there. How could you stomach a journal like mine if you couldn’t relate to it at least somewhat?

She also said she probably got her flirtatious side from her mother, and I was telling her how I had to restrain myself from getting too flirty with Maliheh since the attraction wasn’t mutual.

For today she’ll be forced to be the mother she says she never wanted to be because – as she put it – she is too selfish to get into it. I can totally relate to how she feels when she said Legos and Dungeons & Dragons aren’t her things. Smelly diapers and hours of screaming aren’t my idea of a good time either, but these kids are a little older. She still hates having to jump up to supervise them or break up their squabbles when all she wants to do is relax.

FRIDAY, MARCH 11, 2011 Tom still hopes to get hired on where he works but isn’t so sure of anything anymore. Lately, they’ve had more people than there is work. I totally fear him being laid off and us right back in the same desperate situation we were in before for nearly two years. It’s only a matter of time before God beats us over the head with money again and teases me with my security and survival. Really, He hates us bad enough to do this to us, I’m sorry to say, despite how hard we’re working to get ahead. :( Tom’s been a temp now for 4 years. Has this country gotten so bad that it’s really become that hard to get a permanent position? It sure seems that way! These days there are more temps than there are permanents. It’s like it’s become the new norm to just be a temp.

The good news is that I’m down another pound, proving I can still lose weight as easily as I can gain it.

THURSDAY, MARCH 10, 2011 I got a lovely reply from Christine! She said finds my blog interesting, can relate to it, would love to chat, etc. She works as a grant manager at the university which means she helps professors get and then manage grant money for their projects. For many years she worked in market research and political polling.

I’m delighted but surprised she’d love to chat! At first I was a little worried that my contacting her would make her uncomfortable being sought out like that since I figured she must not have befriended me yet for a reason. So I’m glad to know she’s ok with it.

Yesterday I did quite a bit, but still wished I’d done more. Got chapter 11 done in my current book, one which I don’t plan to submit to Kindle in the future. But the thought of surprising Nane with it, especially since she’s not turning out to be a very good friend, is getting funnier by the moment. I don’t know that I ever will, though.

Mitch showed me a sample of what my book should look like on a Kindler, edited some dialogue for me, and gave me some suggestions and opinions. “Nadirah” and “Gifford” were described as seen through “Joni’s” eyes 11 pages into the story. He felt that was too late to be describing them since by page 3 he still couldn’t “see” them.

He also didn’t think it was appropriate for Giffy to call Nadirah “ma’am” before his playful, non-serious side had been established for the reader, and also the fact that they were friends.

So I tinkered around with the manuscript a little and decided to de-swear it a bit after deciding that 45 fucks and 45 shits (and fuck/shit variations) was a bit overkill for a 161-page story (it would be more or less than that on a Kindler depending on the settings). Some swears are appropriate to both the scene and the characters, but the unnecessary ones were edited down to just 17 fucks, 24 shits, and 6 assholes, LOL.

Day 1 of my diet has already dropped me a pound and a half, but I’m soooo hungry! A deer stood outside the kitchen window watching me eat breakfast yesterday morning, and Tom said there were 6 of them when he went out the other day.

Other than wishing I had straight, thin hair, it took until 2pm yesterday just to get up to 74º in here. June seems soooo far away. :(

Later…

I talked to Mitch this morning and he said he has no book sales yet. This isn’t going to stop me from trying to get my own book published, but it’s a bit discouraging because he’s a better writer than I am. It’d suck to get a book published that never sells. Like winning the car of your dreams and never being able to drive it. Well, I hope he gets sales soon enough because if he doesn’t I sure as shit never will. If I do, I wonder who my first sale will go to. Someone I know? A stranger? Whoever they are, I will forever worship the ground they walk on!

It’s a good thing I was going through the manuscript because I found quite a blooper. I hope there are no more of them that I missed! PDP (if I ever hear from them) will reject it for sure. PDP used to be punctual with returning messages and giving detailed manuscript feedback, but lately I’ve heard absolutely nothing from them. I’ve totally given up on them. I don’t think I would want to do business with anyone who couldn’t return my messages anyway. I still think I’ll have better luck with Kindle if they’ll ever accept me. If not then I guess I’ll just have to wait for the next best thing.

The only thing I don’t like about Kindle’s setup is that you can rate/comment on books. I’d hate to have someone who hates me leave a nasty comment. You know, sort of like I did on Tammy’s store when I thought she may be one of the ones fucking with me on Formspring? I don’t know if authors are able to delete anything nasty. Mitch said never to respond to any nasty comment that wasn’t meant in a constructive way, but yeah, this does happen at times out of spite/jealousy. I’ll just have to be careful who I mention having a book there, assuming it gets accepted. Tom thinks it will, though, and we’re both so glad that traditional publishers are getting to be a thing of the past. They hold so many good writers back because traditional publishers can only publish so many people. Still, it sucks to know that you don’t even have to read the books in order to leave a comment.

I’m surprised Molly only contacted me once and spent only two days viewing my blog. She must’ve been re-funny farmed because all’s been peaceful in Trollville.

Jesse just gunned the truck for a second and turned it off. Let me guess – he’s going to run and gun it for 10 minutes in about 10 minutes, right?

Now I just saw him come up the drive. WTF??? But he just left, didn’t he? And what happened with the little Honda? Well, if he’s going to get obnoxious I’ll turn the sound machine on.

Yesterday I statused that it really pisses me off when people agree to do me a favor, but then don’t. Then Adonis came in and asked, what favor? This provided me with the perfect excuse to say that someone said they’d read my book and never did. Unfortunately, Mitch and Alison thought I may be referring to them, but after I assured them I wasn’t, I got to laugh at not only the thought of Nane seeing it but how Adonis went in and “liked” my explanation of being pissed at procrastinators. I’m not stupid, though. I know Nane isn’t procrastinating. She never intended to read my book. Like I statused, though, all she had to do was just say “no.” Why is “no” so hard for some people?” They don’t want to hear the word no and they can’t say the word no either.

Swapped a couple more messages with Christine. I feel like we’re old buddies already, LOL. She was actually born in Japan cuz her dad was in the Air Force and it was her mom that was born in Canada. She took language classes in school for French, Italian, Spanish and Portuguese, but doesn’t remember much. She loves learning languages, wants to write a book, and considers me her role model for exercising (we’re even the same height). I wish I could be a better role model than I am! She and I both feel we don’t move enough. I said we’d have to be each other’s “sponsors” and encourage each other.

I think I’ll go work on the next chapter of my book, then do some exercising so I’m not a total liar in saying I’ll work out today when I wasn’t going to. She said, “If you can exercise, so can I!”

Someone in Denver was combing through the Maricopa parts of my bio. They no doubt linked in through someone else’s blog that had written of their own experiences in Estrella jail. They were in one of the big dorms.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 9, 2011 On and on went the dreams involving Christine last night. We mostly hung out at what appeared to be her place.

She did return to my blog again, and I find it rather odd that she didn’t check her email. If that’s her account on MyOpera, she didn’t come to mine from it, so who knows? She may not have a toolbar telling her when she’s got mail and she may not check very often. The visit was just after 5pm when I’d assume she was close to going home. So if she’s got a boyfriend and a couple of kids at home, she may not do much online after work. Even she said in one of her entries that she wishes she had the energy to do more, but all she wants to do is veg out on the couch when she’s home.

I forgot to write yesterday that two nights ago I did it again in my sleep. I somehow managed to pick up the little notebook I keep by the bed, never dropping the pen stuck in the spiral binder, and then I tore a few pages out and tossed them onto the floor before also somehow managing to put the notebook back exactly where I keep it.

“Are you playing a joke on me?” I asked Tom, but he insists he’s not and I do believe him. He’s not the kind that would do such a thing, and it would wake me up for sure. The question is why would I do such a thing? Tom said maybe I was dreaming of writing something down, but I don’t know what to think.

On YouTube, I saw one of my cousin Sharyn’s 8 appearances on Oprah. She was on for 5 minutes and I gotta admit it really makes me laugh to know this woman who married the same abusive man 4 times and has since been divorced (permanently?) is a marriage counselor of all things, LOL. Guess she’s not as with it as I’d have once given her credit for, but that’s ok. Those that are with it – or at least too with it – are incredibly boring!

From the neck down she looks great for her age of 61, though she was around 50 when she made her last appearance, and very fit. Her face is plain, her hair can’t be more than a half-inch long, and overall she looks like a dyke. She’s listed as “very liberal” on Facebook, but I don’t know if she’s ever been with a woman before or not. It wouldn’t surprise me if she has. She should be since just because guys have two heads doesn’t mean there are any brains in either one of them unless you’re Tom.

She spoke of unconditional love, and I’m totally all for that and believe in that so long as there’s no abuse involved. You may lose the lust over time because humans simply weren’t meant to be attracted physically to the same person all their lives and to one person only, even if we wish we could be. But while age and time may fizzle out the fireworks, I believe love can grow if you can get along. I love Tom way more than I did 15 years ago, even 10. And no amount of sexy ladies ever can and will change that.

I started following her on Twitter when she joined the other day, but she didn’t follow back, so I said fuck it and unfollowed her. She obviously doesn’t wish to keep in touch.

I knew the peace wouldn’t last forever, and sure enough, Jesse was bulldozing the ruts out of the drive that the rain made, and who knows what he’ll do today now that I’m mostly back on days and awake to have to listen to it till I crank up my music or something.

Andy called yesterday offering to send me some valium from a leftover prescription of his from when he was under a lot of stress to help ease my own stress when my teeth get to me, but no thanks. That was kind of him to offer, but I not only don’t want to get into anything I may like a little too much and get back into the same kind of pill addiction I had in the 80s but melatonin and Benadryl help relax me just the same.

My weight’s climbing again but that’s no surprise when you’re 45, you eat whenever you’re hungry, and you sit on your ass all day. So now it’s time to cut calories and get running.

TUESDAY, MARCH 8, 2011 Aw, no views from Christine yesterday, but I got a message from Maliheh. It’s funny cuz in regards to my telling her of my plans to try to publish a book on Kindle, she said, “I hate to tell you so, but I will anyway. I told you months ago about seeing if they’ll buy your stories, but am glad to hear you’re going to go for it. You deserve good.”

But she told me it was Kendall, not Kindle, LOL, so I looked up Kendall and found they only published educational material.

I was worried at first that being in the gay/lesbian genre meant my chances of sales might be lower, but then again, there’s less competition in that area. If you look up just romance, you’re gonna get millions of books as opposed to if you look up lesbian. So hopefully, since there are fewer books to choose from in the lesbo category, that means my book (if it ever makes it there) will have a better chance of being bought. I still don’t expect to make much money either way, but that’s not the point. Money’s nice, yes, but it’s important to be doing what I love to do.

I just re-read PDP’s email to me and they said to give them an extra month or two to give me a decision on Evil Amongst the Evergreens. That might not be till around May, though, so I might submit Forget It first, even if it’s half the size of Evil. I renamed Rainbow Dreams to Forget It because Rainbow Dreams may’ve been a pretty title, but it just wasn’t appropriate for a murder mystery where a woman suffers amnesia after witnessing a murder.

I’ll have to decide whether or not to submit Forget It, wait to see if they reject Evil, or just go ahead and assume they’ll reject Evil and just submit it since it’d probably make more money on Amazon than with PDP anyway. Better yet, if I’m not going to wait on PDP, I should submit No Escape. That one’s slightly bigger than Evil.

Then again maybe not. I just skimmed through No Escape and it screamed AMETURE! at me big time. So maybe I ought to just concentrate on fresh stuff only. No Escape was written in 2005 and I’ve learned a lot since then.

I’ve been so focused on writing that I’ve been neglecting my workouts. sighs As much as I hate numbers, my life is all about math - trying to add to our income, subtract from my weight, and divide my time. At least Tom and I don’t have to worry about multiplying.

Every now and then I still get messages complimenting my old journal and asking that I follow theirs, too. Yesterday, however, some sucker that saw my win list wanted to know if I’d be willing to share a certain DVD. Sorry, but I sold it years ago!

Later…

Now this is interesting. I realized I looked up the wrong name when trying to find Christine’s diary on MD – which I assumed she had – because I had been looking for Christina. Today I looked up the correct name and when I found one that said she was a year younger and mentioned professors who think they’re little Gods even though she’s just as smart, I put two and two together and sent her a message.

I also looked up her username and found that she just created a MyOpera account within the last week. It’s interesting because I mentioned having a dream in my blog (I didn’t really) and said: While I’m on the subject of cyber friends and silent followers, I sometimes dream of the things I’m thinking of as I fall asleep. I was thinking of how some fellow MyOpera users and I were making up “identities” for our more quiet observers we don’t know well and ended up dreaming of one of them. I do know this person’s name, so I will not mention it. They spotted me coming out of a store here in town, recognized me and came up and introduced themselves. I was stunned and asked how they knew I was The Girl in the Mirror with the MyOpera blog, and they said they’d seen pictures of me. I, however, didn’t recognize them because I’d never seen a picture of them before.

So we talked for a few minutes and then they told me they “felt so connected to me through my candid blog that they almost loved me.” I wasn’t sure if it was a joke I should laugh at or if I should just be flattered. I decided to do both. And so we ended up spending the day hanging out together, LOL.

I know it’s not cool to make up stuff, but lately I’ve been so drawn to this mystery woman and curious about her. I was hoping it would cause something to happen. Then today I said: I’m surprised no one’s asked me about the dream about the “silent follower.” Is it a man? A woman? What do they look like?

I’ll just say their appearance kept changing in the dream. One minute they were average height with dark hair and eyes and a little on the heavy side. The next they’re tall, slim and blond with light eyes.

Well, in reality the identity I gave her in my mind was mixed and obscure at first, but then for some reason, she settled on being a blond in my mind’s eye, even though blonds aren’t usually my thing. I may’ve come to be less picky with age, but still usually go for dark eyes and hair.

I only found one picture of her (on MyOpera), where I also messaged her, and wow! Just wow. She’s stunning for a 43-year-old, chubby, light-eyed blond girl with side-parted hair just below her shoulders. I’m impressed. Can’t tell what her height is. She’s sitting in an office chair, and judging by where the back of it is relative to herself, she may be on the short side, too. She’s not as good-looking as Nane, but she’s close. Real close. It’s amazing how much she looks like what I envisioned her to look like, especially in the face.

She set up her MyOpera account on the 2nd. There’s no blog yet and she doesn’t have the ‘about’ section set up yet either. No friends, no nothing.

I was sure to tell her that since she hasn’t befriended me, it must be for a reason. Therefore, if she wishes to remain a “silent observer,” she’s welcome to do so and I will respect her wishes.

Anyway, we sure do have a lot in common based on the 27 journal entries she wrote on MD from July 2009 - July 2010. She’s from Nova Scotia, Canada, speaks French, has lived in Chicago, has a 1-bedroom apartment, and I guess her job is mostly keeping records at the university, though she also mentioned training and something like that.

She has a boyfriend who has two preteen boys, but no kids of her own. She said a part of her will always be curious and regretful that she didn’t have a child, but she wants to do things like travel and write a book.

I don’t know what she writes, but her journal entries, although not the greatest of writing but not bad either, suggest she is smart, intuitive and has a lot of potential writing-wise.

She seems to be very aware of herself, her surroundings, those around her, and how she feels and what she wants in life. She feels fat, old and ugly at times, but knows she’s not bad for her age and can even be beautiful-ish when she’s thin. Well, she sure looks good to me. I also have one of my feelings that she may not be perfectly straight, but sort of like Nane who had a one-time encounter with a woman, liked it, but prefers men.

Anyway, I messaged her on both journal sites and requested to add her as a friend on MyOpera, so we’ll see if I hear back from her. I think I will, though I’m getting too tired to stay up much longer and wait for a reply. I don’t know how “close” we’ll become as friends, but it will be interesting, different and even nice to start a friendship with someone who already knows just about everything there is to know about me since I’m such an open book.

MONDAY, MARCH 7, 2011 After PDP laughs off Evil Amongst the Evergreens and I submit it to them I’m going to hope for the best, even though it will only be my 4th shot at publication and I know it usually takes dozens or even hundreds of tries. But I do intend to try! I really like how it’s not a vanity press so it doesn’t cost anything, and writers get 75% royalties, not 70% like I said before. Tom and I are going to begin the editing to get it Kindle-ready next weekend and hope to have it submitted by April Fool’s Day. You can file it under two genres. In my case, mystery/suspense and gay/lesbian will be my genres. Long shot or not, I’m going to give it my best!

Cousin Sharyn said on Facebook that she joined Twitter, so I followed her there.

God, let me succeed with my own books! I’m so sick of watching only others succeed, though I wouldn’t want as much success as Sharyn’s had even if I could keep a schedule because then I’d hardly ever have any free time.

The troll is back after a long stretch in either jail or the funny farm, and now she’s harassing me again. I warned Kim and Aly. What she does is she keeps creating new accounts after you’ve blocked her on old ones. She tried to tell me on thoughts.com of all places that it wasn’t her that’s been viewing my MyOpera blog dozens of times a day, though it’s not only the same town/state but the same IP. Some people are crazy enough to believe we’d fall for the most obvious of lies. Really, her saying it wasn’t her would be like telling me I’m not really petite! sighs This is a genuine loon and a bonafide stalker. And I’d still like to know how many more years it’s going to be before anything’s done about these kinds of sickos. And when are sites going to make IP blocks for their users and not just account blocks, since all they have to do to keep on harassing us is create account after account after account?

I have thought and I have thought of a fun April Fool’s joke to pull, but all Miss Creative can come up with are stunts that are scary, mean, rude and totally inappropriate, so I guess I won’t bother, LOL.

When Tom and I went to Mel’s Diner yesterday morning (I was glad we were the only customers, too), he got a kick out of how I could tell him that in 1995 he had a dream that he was telling someone he had a dream that he went to a kangaroo race, and each kangaroo was a solid, different color (I’ve been proofreading old journals).

I also came across Karson’s full name in my journal, the crazy chick Andy and I used to talk on the phone with and looked her up on Facebook. OMG, she is sooooo ugly! And she looks 50, not 39! Andy said she said people teased her all her life for the way she looks. Yeah, the poor thing looks homely, huge and old, that’s for sure. I said a quick hello, who I was, and dropped my blog link on her, but haven’t gotten any replies or blog views. She’s got a 14-year-old son, so I don’t expect she’d have much free time.

Mel’s Diner was great. They played songs from the 70s and the food was way better than Denny’s. They even have prime rib, unlike most other places, and it’s cheaper, too. I couldn’t get it at 7am, though, so while he got bacon and eggs, I got pork chops with scrambled eggs and hash browns with chopped green onions and it was excellent. :) Never have my own pork chops been that juicy.

I wonder if other countries serve such huge portions at their restaurants. The potatoes alone had to consist of 4 servings.

We don’t have a full-length mirror here, so I haven’t seen much of myself in a while, not that I’m complaining. Still, it was a pleasant surprise to walk by the mirror on my way out of the bathroom at the diner and see a non-fat person with still high boobies. Just wish I could improve my grade from C to A! I don’t know if it was really a mirror borrowed from a funhouse or if I’d just been hit with temporary insanity due to my fine mood, but it was nice to see that spending half my life dieting and exercising hasn’t been a complete waste after all. :)

Anyway, it was fun, but raining pretty hard. And why wouldn’t it? I’d just straightened my hair.

Andy sent me a YouTube video someone apparently shot with their cell phone at the Denny’s in Chicopee we used to work in 1989. I was only there a few months, but I’m soooooooo glad we weren’t working there last night! There was a black couple at one table and a white guy and two white chicks at another. I don’t know why, but the black guy gets up and starts punching the crap out of the white guy, then the black guy leaves and then the white guy leaves. Then the black chick assaults both the white chicks after a few minutes of screaming at each other. What’s even sicker is that no one did anything! The employees were going about their business as if nothing was going on, and the other customers, mostly in their 20s, were cheering the fight on. It was sick!

I’d have been tempted to smash the black chick over the head with a plate or something and try to knock her out had I been close enough, not just to get her to stop hurting the white chicks (even if they’re jerks too), but for the sake of any others the bitch might’ve attacked but had anyone thought to call the cops - and it doesn’t seem like they did - I’d have probably ended up being the one charged because I’m white, rather than pat on the back for stopping a fight that could’ve killed someone.

It’s a reminder of the sad statistics that say blacks make up for nearly 80% of the crime and yes, certain groups are more aggressive same as certain breeds of dogs, and it’s no “coincidence.” Yet they’ll go on wondering why no one likes them, even though that’s not true these days what with how everyone puts them on a pedestal. Still, that video was proof it’s their BEHAVIOR that’s the problem, not their color.

Not much else is going on. I’m just “being myself.” Aly posted that some woman laughed at her when she fell down the stairs in her apartment building. Others were like “Oh, that’s too bad.” But leave it to me to tell her to drag the bitch up top of the stairs, push her down and laugh back, LOL. grins wickedly

I neglected my poor little ratty yesterday with all I had going on, so I’ll let him out for about two hours today which I’m sure he’ll spend 1 hour and 45 minutes of it getting into trouble.

Finally heard from Maliheh. She loved the jokes on Formspring and said it gave her an out-loud laugh that she needed. I was so glad to hear from her but pissed I had to miss her. She sent the message right after I crashed. :( She’s still got eye trouble, but no diabetes, which is usually an overweight thing anyway.

I filled her in on Kindle, not knowing how much of my blog she read. She just said she could understand the tough dilemma we’re facing trying to decide to go for the teeth first or the move first.

I got a touch of Marie in me thinking Nane was sick of me or something, but there was no Facebook activity from her all weekend and even before that, so maybe she’s busy and not deliberately ignoring me.

I don’t know why but I can’t stop thinking of Christine lately (not Christina like I thought her name was till I checked her comment) and wondering about her. I said she’s probably an ugly dog to be following me so closely, and that may be so, but can she really be all that stupid? I’m guessing that if she’s around my age like she said, then she’s probably not a student at the university she usually views me from, but a staff member of some kind. Her message was well written too, so unless she’s just a janitor of some kind, she may be rather intelligent and some kind of teacher there.

I think Christine might be the one who occasionally views me from Dublin. Since starting to include jokes with my entries again, I’ve been getting views from there again, LOL.

SUNDAY, MARCH 6, 2011 Been up nearly 6 hours, but it’s only now that I can write since I’ve been busy doing the last of the laundry, dying my hair dark brown, and other odds and ends.

Thank God I’m so flexible. I can bend over to the point where my head is almost touching my knees, so I was able to hold the shower massager over my head and rinse the bulk of the dye out of it so as not to ruin the new shower curtain.

The more I hear about Mitch’s experience getting his book published through Amazon for Kindlers, the more my desire to become a published author of more than just super short stories and news articles is rekindled. Rekindled by Kindle. And so next weekend – since my schedule’s not quite on days right now – we’re going to begin investigating the steps. Our goal is to submit something by April 1st. This will depend on PD Publishing, though. The manuscript I’d like to submit to Kindle is currently waiting to be accepted or rejected by PDP. I’m not sure I’d feel comfortable submitting other manuscripts because I wrote them for fun, never intending to take any of them seriously or that anyone else would either. If this works out I’d still write for fun because writing is fun and what I love to do, and I’d still “be myself,” but I will need to write with an audience in mind as well at the same time I’m busy being myself if this makes any sense to those who aren’t into writing.

I’m too lazy to look it up, but sometime in either 2008 or 2009, a guy contacted me when I was writing daily at My Diary and said he was launching his own site for writers, thought my journal and stories were great and asked that I post some material to his site. I posted a story I wrote in 2007 and that’s when Mitch befriended me and left some comments regarding the story. At first I ignored him, reluctant to really get into any discussions with him. For all I knew he could’ve been some pervert. Well, if this pans out to be anything I’ll be all the more grateful I gave this great guy a chance. He’s been the perfect gentleman and very insightful. I feel I’ve learned a lot through him and he’s quite a mentor I really look up to. If I could pick 3 cyber friends to meet, he’d be one of them for sure along with Alison and Nane, but Nane makes the list mostly cuz she’s a hottie. :) As for those I haven’t actually become friends with but who have had the guts to follow this blog - if you’ve been following it for over a year and at least twice a week, I’d love to meet you too if you ever come to NorCali. Denny’s isn’t far from here.

Been really curious about my silent observers lately for some reason, especially that middle-aged lady from OSU. I figure she’s got to be one ugly dog to be following me as faithfully as she follows me, LOL.

The troll is back on MyOpera (Molly). Yeah, I knew it would be sooner or later. So both the shoutbox and the comments have been disabled.

The rent’s paid, the kitchen’s stocked, and we have money in savings. The sense of security is a wonderful feeling that I’ll never take for granted after the tough times we’ve had. I could be filthy rich for decades and I’d still appreciate those good times!

Waking up knowing I had treats to munch on, Kindle to look forward to, as well as a trip to a diner early this morning that Tom wants to try that’s like Denny’s, was a nice feeling. I’m really excited about trying to get something published on Kindle. Although I’m trying not to get my hopes up, it’d make a nice birthday present for Dad if I got something published around the 1st because April 5th is his 80th birthday. It’s both sad and strange thinking of my dad as an “old man.”

The rat jumped up on the couch yesterday, hopped onto Tom’s shoulder, grabbed a mouthful of his hair and pulled it really hard. It was hilarious!

He has 3 “kitchens” now that he’s set up around the place. First there’s his boot kitchen where he hides and stores his extra treats in Tom’s old work boots. Then there’s the track kitchen where he lines up goodies along the slider’s track. Now there’s the corner kitchen in the corner of the bedroom, LOL. One of his Fritos is still there.

SATURDAY, MARCH 5, 2011 “If you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.” Love this saying by Marilyn Monroe, even though I’ve never been a fan of hers. I totally agree too.

Woke up last night at 6pm and decided I was tired. It made sense since I’d been up 18 hours and only slept 6. So I went back to sleep after an hour or so and got back up at 9:00.

I called to thank my parents for the clothes yesterday and spoke with Dad while Mom was at the store. It was great talking to him, but a sad reminder that he isn’t quite like his “old self” anymore. I had to repeat myself a couple of times before he understood what I was saying. I see what Tom meant in suggesting I keep it simple and slow. shakes head sadly If there’s any good to senility running in my family it’s that someday people will actually be correct when they insist I’m out of my mind.

His voice sounded strained and old and he almost seemed like he was congested and having a hard time breathing. I asked, but he said they’re both ok.

I filled him in on our tough dilemma as far as choosing my teeth first and the move second, or the move first and the teeth second. He feels July isn’t that far off, so unless I have any emergencies to deal with in the meantime, he thinks I should try to wait it out and carry on with the move. That’s how I feel when I’m not in pain, and if I can remember to keep up with the peroxide and mouthwash rinses and lay off the popcorn, I should be ok.

I also filled him in on Tom’s job and how we’re still hopeful of him eventually being hired on, about the hours they cheated him out of and the hope of having the 401K. He said it’s important to have all the money we can have saved for retirement because you never know what the prices will be like by then, and this is so true.

I said I hated to be sneaky, but that I’ve been curious and worried ever since mom hinted that something was wrong there, but wouldn’t discuss it. All Dad said about that was that Mom wanted to move about 60 miles south where there are more people they know from up north and a bigger Jewish community. But because of their ages and the business, they’re grounded where they are.

This still doesn’t explain Ma’s statements like, “You just have to trust me,” “I’m sure you read,” and “I don’t want to discuss it” or “The end.”

I’m so happy for Mitch (Paul) because he just got his first book accepted for publication and distribution by Amazon on Kindle! He had sent me a copy of their contract and was saying something about how you get 70% of the royalties in most countries (a hell of a lot more than one could ever expect to get from the people I’m still waiting to hear back from about my last book), and will go over it with Tom. Tom would get more of what it’s saying than I would.

Although I know it shouldn’t, his recent success gives me a spark of hope. I know I’m not necessarily meant to be successful myself just because someone else is. Just because he’s meant to be a published (fully published) writer doesn’t mean Miss No Success Allowed is.

This winning the right to spew hatred for gays at military funerals makes me sick. Yeah, life ain’t all good for everyone. Funny how freedom of speech only exists if it’s to bash gays, but God help you if you bash blacks. I’m all for free speech, but there’s a time and a place for everything, not that their claims make a damn bit of sense when they say that God had them killed for being gay. Then why did He have straight soldiers killed? For being straight?

I’m amazed at how many people stumble upon my blog by doing searches on bullying and hacking Formspring accounts. I know bullying is all too common, but why do so many people want to hack Formspring accounts? It’s also kind of weird how many visits I get from schools, universities, medical centers and hospitals. I guess those looking up bullying from school are afraid of being bullied, while those doing it from the hospital have probably already been bullied and that’s why they’re there.

THURSDAY, MARCH 3, 2011 The damn cock returned last night at 9:30 to shut his dogs up, so between 2-3 hours, I had to keep the sound machines on to drown out the barking. Tonight’s been peaceful but since tomorrow night is Friday, I don’t expect any peace around here at all.

I got the box of clothes from my mom today and wow, she really sent a lot of stuff – pants, tops, shorts, dresses, etc. Most of it fits ok, but some pieces are too large. There are also a few pieces I don’t care for that I’ll either leave here for Jesse and Maryann or give to Goodwill. She doesn’t have to know that, though she did tell me to give away or Goodwill whatever I didn’t want. Long-sleeved sweaters of rough material are what I hate most. And the corduroy blazer – I don’t think so! Except for black and white, I’m not a fan of earth tones. If I were still a size 3 at 100 pounds I’d never fit into this stuff, LOL. But as a size 10-12, I can get my fat ass into most of it just fine.

The resistance bands I got to work my arms with really do a good job of firming and reshaping my arms.

Again I’m wondering just how into me Nane really is or if she even cares to read my book at all. I just don’t get why she wouldn’t say so if she didn’t have time or didn’t want to read it.

I “liked” her choice of Mah Jong games which has always been my favorite, then said that since it was March that meant it was time to ask if she’d read the book and what she thought of it. She replied with a quick comment about Mah Jong, then said we’d talk privately.

Yet she’s ignoring my messages. In one I asked if she’d viewed my blog and explained that I got a hit from Bayern. She didn’t answer, but I got another hit from there on a search, so maybe it wasn’t her unless she’s trying to throw me off. I doubt it, though. Or that she posted tons of music videos on her page to push our conversation down toward the bottom since she does post a lot of this kind of stuff, and well, I’m not Marie. Therefore I shouldn’t be acting so paranoid. It’s just a feeling I get, though, as far as her being more distant lately. Maybe the book scared her, LOL. Either way, she’s obviously not going to contact me on her own, so I think it’s time I just forget about her. I won’t unfriend her, though. Not unless she turns out to be an Arschloch (asshole) at which time I’ll send her the story she’s in. LOL, she would not like that at all. I don’t think she would anyway. Yeah, never piss off a writer. They may put you in a book and kill you. :)

On thoughts.com, people can like or dislike your entries. I got a kick out of how two people liked the idea of working with the dead, LOL.

I found a really neat new joke site that has some really hilarious jokes, so I’m including them in entries and sending them to Nane, Mitch, Tom, Andy and Eileen. Eileen loved them and said her daughter had a son yesterday. I’ve skipped Maliheh due to her eye problems. I still have no idea what’s going on with her either.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 2, 2011 How are you feeling now?

Slightly bored but expected to survive.

Would you say you’re satisfied with your life?

I just stubbed my toe and spilled my coffee. Now that’s what I call satisfaction.

Are you experiencing any distress right now?

A spider ran over my foot earlier when I was in the bathroom. That always calls for at least a little distress.

Are you the critical type?

You bet. :)

Are you the calm type?

LOL, get real!

These are just some of the same damn questions that appear on almost every single survey I take these days.

On the bright side, I’m having another painless day. So far anyway. When I’m in pain I want to deal with the dentist first, but when I’m not I want to move first and get out of here this summer as planned. I know it will be just as barky as this place is and maybe even worse, but this place is starting to feel like a prison to me even though it’s not a bad place. I’m just so sick of being cramped in here and I’m really, really missing living in a real house. I hate being so damn indecisive. It’s sad but true that pain is all I’ve ever known for most of my life and that I just wouldn’t be myself without it. Most days I hurt and that’s what I’ve become accustomed to even though it’s no fun. I also wonder if something up there feels I deserve to suffer for some reason, and if it does, getting my teeth taken care of won’t save me. I’ll just be given some new problem instead. I wish it were as easy to decide on as making the $60 scented oil sample purchase that I made earlier. It was actually an $80 order, but I had nearly $20 in credit for doing product reviews for them. So now I’ve got 125 perfume vials on the way!

The only uncool thing going on right now, aside from all the uncertainties in my life, is that Tom’s been pretty run down lately and seems to get congested after eating. I just wonder if it’s anything to worry about. I hope not because July’s a long way away if he needs to see a doctor, and there are still no guarantees we’ll even have insurance then.

Also, the dogs are going crazy tonight. Yeah, that little prick just doesn’t give a damn about anyone around here, not even his own renters. He doesn’t usually take off on Wednesday nights, but seeing how it’s been quite a circus up there for over an hour now, I’d say it’s going to be an all-night thing. I just hope it’s not an overnight thing. I really would like to turn off the sound machines at some point and just enjoy some peace and quiet.

Had another moving dream, but I didn’t see where we moved to. Is it just a reflection of my desire to move, or actual premonitions? I guess only time will tell.

TUESDAY, MARCH 1, 2011 Saw the Amanda Knox movie and wow. Just wow. I don’t know what to think anymore as far as Amanda’s guilt. I just know that what happened to Meredith was terrible! That much I do know. Along with the fact that the media’s big mouths and the sloppy police work didn’t help the case at all. Amanda’s behavior says she’s guilty, but the lack of evidence says she may be innocent. You just can’t always trust everything you see and hear in the media, in movies, or from the police. Since I myself was involved in a high-profile case about a decade ago, I know what a nightmare it can be. Like it or not, right or wrong, the media’s job is to “entertain” and not to present the truth. Especially if the truth isn’t fun or entertaining enough in most people’s eyes. Also, it is a sad fact that corruption is more common than many people may think within the police and the courts. I can’t believe they let this prosecutor - already convicted of abusing his power - prosecute the case. Then again I can. Unfortunately, the police, lawyers and judges are often treated like invincible gods.

The doctor who played around with her and teased her about having AIDS and then gave a list of past sexual partners and her diary to the press ought to be fired and stripped of his right to practice medicine.

There’s always the possibility that those involved in investigating and trying the case were anti-American, but we’ll probably never know if that’s the case because I don’t expect they’ll come out and say so. As with any group of people, some hate Americans, some don’t. I think we should all hate someone at some point in our lifetime because without hate it’s hard to really appreciate love, just like it’s hard to really appreciate the good times and the things we may ordinarily take for granted without some bad times mixed in. Would we really appreciate chocolate as much without liver and Brussels sprouts, or the smell of roses without the smell of shit and bleach?

Back to the movie. If there was no such thing as the media and if the cops, lawyers and judges had nothing to gain by convicting someone, and if such cases were kept private, then many more cases would be tried more fairly and accurately. But the press isn’t going to go away and the cops, lawyers and judges do gain in many ways by convicting those they help to convict. Sometimes it’s a power play thing and the sense of power goes to their heads and for them, it’s all about getting patted on the back while having their pictures taken for the newspaper. In other cases, it has to do with elections and climbing the so-called ladder within their departments.

I totally believe Amanda’s claims that the cops hit her. Not just because cops often love to get physical and threaten suspects into confessing, but because they indicted her parents for repeating what she told them. If you weren’t guilty you wouldn’t care what people said, right? But the fact that they’re indicting them makes me think they’re guilty and are doing it out of spite. I say that if you have nothing to hide, then why would you have reason to fear or react to what people may say?

I’m no expert on international law but it does seem odd that the interrogation was never taped, and why weren’t the suspects given lie-detector tests? Does such a thing even exist in Italy?

Such an ugly country, such a beautiful language. But it’s only ugly to me because I’m not a fan of old things. Still, it makes me wish Tom and I could take the trip I won there and that he shared my passion for languages even though I hate to travel. Italy really does have that romantic air to some of its tiny and quaint little villages that makes one imagine meeting a beautiful lover of the opposite sex (with me it’s the same sex) and having this fast-paced and adventurous affair with them till it gets as old as playing the same song over and over. Yes, a fun liaison with one of the Italian guards escorting Amanda at least makes for a nice story idea. Hey, just because I may be a little on the smart side doesn’t mean I have to be sane, does it?

Later…

Tom’s been employed with a good-paying job for half a year now yet our lives still suck. Because they wouldn’t credit him for those two hours he worked, we get screwed out of being paid for the next holiday (Memorial Day) which was going to be the first one he’d have gotten paid for. Ain’t God sweet with the way He looks out for us and makes sure we get what’s due us?

I told him I feared he may still be forever meant to be a temp and that we may not be insured until and if the universal health care kicks in, but he’s sure that no one’s been there a year and still a temp, and no one’s been kept there for half a year that they didn’t intend to hire on. I’m not sure this eases my mind, though. Not when we have an evil God of some kind that’s so damn destined to hold us back in life, kick us back when we do start to get ahead, and basically put all kinds of restraints and limitations on us. I feel like we’re going to be stuck here and in the same damn rut forever, but Tom pointed out that that’s how I felt when he was on Unemployment for so damn long. That’s the problem, though; change is so slow to occur in our lives. I never expected change every day or even every month, but why must things take so long to happen? Why is everything months or even years with us? The only real change that’s affected us both is his being laid off and then his being hired where he works. Just two things in the nearly 3 years we’ve lived in this dive.

He called around and got pricing ideas from various dentists, but I said, “Fuck it! Just fuck it. If I’m meant to live like a bum and to suffer in pain, then I’ll stay right here and suffer.”

Then he said that there was no reason we couldn’t do one or the other. If we don’t move we can deal with my teeth and if we don’t do my teeth we can move.

So now I’m stuck with the incredibly tough decision of having to decide which to do. I don’t want to be in pain anymore, we won’t be insured until at least July, but I don’t want to have to put off moving even though painkillers usually relieve the pain for a while. And I don’t want to stay cramped in what’s not a real house, even though I know it could be a lot noisier if we move and things could be worse.

I’m just so sick of not being able to have the simplest of things in life!

The good news is that we no longer have to live paycheck to paycheck and we’re finally ahead. Meaning, we don’t have to use any of the next paycheck towards rent or bills. Just food and some more scented oil samples. I get nearly $20 off my next order because of the credit I accumulated for doing reviews. Another good thing is that my teeth haven’t hurt yet so far today. But we’ll see how long that lasts, along with being ahead.

I just really feel like I’m stuck in a state of Never Land (notice there’s just one Never in this case), but moving onto the Land with two Nevers, today’s imaginary profession is being a forensic scientist. Yeah, that’d be a cool job. Ain’t it sad, though, that all these professions can only be in my imagination? But every dark side has its bright side. As soon as I get sick of each job, country or woman I mentally place myself with, I can click it all off in a heartbeat. :)

Last night I dreamt that Maliheh and I went to a deserted beach at night and went swimming. We were about 25’ from shore when two women showed up who were fighting. I called to Maliheh since the moonlight barely cast enough light to see around me. I spotted her as still as could be.

“Do you think she killed her?” I whispered, and she seemed worried enough to think that was about to or had just happened, so we floated silently about hoping no one would see us.

[neonlights92]

GRACE: Chapter I

Kim Namjoon lost himself when he lost his hand.  Things have not been the same for him since.  When Taehyung tells him it’s time for him to marry - he isn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of someone else having a front row seat to his struggle with himself.

That’s where you come in.  You’re a nurse, as well as a member of Bangtan, and Taehyung is never more sure about a match than he is with you and Namjoon.  Feeling like you’ve been chosen to help Namjoon on his journey back to finding who he is, you feel completely out of depth.

It’s only when you start to see the man underneath that you start to fall in love with Kim Namjoon.  And maybe after all, you might be his saving grace.

WARNINGS: Language, eventual sex and some violence

A/N:Namjoonie’s story! ENJOOOOY :D 

“Kim Taehyung wants to see you, Y/N.”

Your mother’s words dropped between the two of you, like lead.  Her eyes avoided your own - and you knew exactly what she actually meant.

Kim Taehyung has found you a husband.

Your chest tightened and you gripped the handle of your coffee mug for dear life.

Your eyes traveled over to your father, his face kind but stern.  This wasn’t up for debate.

“Okay.”  The word was quiet, “Do I - do you…” 

You took a deep breath and collected yourself.

“Who is he?”

The question hung in the air uncomfortably.

Your parents exchanged a look - the same look they’d exchanged your entire life when decisions were made for you and they were afraid you wouldn’t like it.

“I think we should let Taehyung tell you that.”  Your father’s voice was steady, “As Capo, it is his right.”

As capo.

You didn’t know Kim Taehyung very well at all.  Though the two of you were of a similar age - had grown up together in Bangtan - he had always been groomed for Capo.  You on the other hand, had been groomed like most other women in the mob: to believe that your most important duty in life was to carry on your family line.

You knew it was outdated.  And you hated it, though you’d never complain.

Life had taught you that complaints got you nowhere - and so you’d learnt to keep your head down and get on with it.

But that didn’t mean you’d never wanted more.  That you’d craved freedom and independence like no other.

And when your parents had allowed you to study nursing at university you really had thought maybe things were changing.  Until you’d realised that it had been a direct order from Taehyung’s father himself - the Capo at the time.

Bangtan needed their own nurse.  Someone who could take care of things quietly and efficiently.

Someone who could help those who were badly injured find some degree of normality.

And that’s what you did.

Still.  You loved your job - mob mandated or not.

“Okay.”  You whispered, feeling something like dread wash over you.

“His wife has invited you to dinner at theirs,” Your mother finally moved her gaze to connect with your own, “This evening.  Eight pm.”

You nodded, on autopilot.

This was what you’d done all your life, wasn’t it?

You listened to orders.  You never asked questions.  You never challenged Bangtan.

And if the Capo himself wanted to see you, then you knew it could only mean one thing.

He’d found you a husband.  And tonight, you would meet him too.

//

You stood outside Kim Taehyung’s mansion -- because that’s what it was, a mansion -- nervously fingering the hem of your blouse.

This was it.

You’d waited twenty-five years for this moment - the moment someone else decided who you would marry.

You’d always known it would be like this.  Your father was too powerful - he held too many cards too close to his chest - and Bangtan could never let someone like him choose his own daughter’s marriage.

He’d told you since you were a young girl to expect this.  An arranged betrothal.

And when you were little you thought it was sort of romantic.  Like some fairytale - a princess locked away in a tower and a knight who was destined to save her.

Except now you were older and it wasn’t all that romantic anymore.

It was stifling.

You knew your father had come to this agreement with Taehyung himself.  You hated that you lived in such a misogynistic world, but it was the way things had always been.

After a long moment and a deep, calming breath, you lifted your hand and knocked, once.

There was a beat and then the portal swung open.

And Kim Taehyung’s wife was smiling widely at you.  You forced your own lips up into a smile.

“Hi!  Y/N, was it?”

You curtsied a little feeling foolish straight after, “Yeah.  Hello Mrs Kim.”

“Ugh Mrs Kim is Taehyung’s mom,” She laughed, “You can call me ___.”

Her eyes were kind as she opened the door further and gestured you inside.

“Come in, please.  Dinner is almost ready and the boys are too.”

The boys.

Your heart skipped a beat.  For a moment you wondered if perhaps your father had somehow secured a marriage to the last available member of the Special Seven, Kim Namjoon.

But you shook your head.

Your father was important, of course… But surely not that important. 

Besides, from what you’d heard through the grapevine - since the accident that had caused Namjoon to lose most of his hand - he had pretty much become a hermit. The rumour mill was rife, of course, with people’s theories of what would become of Bangtan’s most eligible bachelor.

Could it be that Kim Taehyung wanted you to take up that mantle?

“I hope you like pasta,” ___ interrupted your thoughts and you looked up as stopped in front of a large dining room, “We hardly ever use this room anymore, but Taehyung thought it was appropriate for tonight.”

Your eyes widened at the opulence of the room you were stood in.  The chandelier that hung in the middle of the ceiling dripped with what you could only guess were the most expensive diamonds money could buy.  The long, mahogany table was ornate and rich - a dark colour that spoke of wealth and taste.

“It’s a little much,” ___ spoke up again and you turned to see her rolling her eyes, “But it was like this when we moved in.  Taehyung’s dad had a lot of money and apparently not a lot of subtlety.”

She laughed at the comment and you giggled too - relaxing a little as the tension eased from your shoulders slightly.  It seemed you’d found something of an ally in Taehyung’s wife and you were thankful for that, at least.

“I know we don’t really know each other,” She started carefully, a perfectly plucked brow pulling up slightly, “But I like to think of myself as a confidant of sorts… Especially when it comes to matters of the heart.”

You raised your own brow, “Matters of the heart?”

She bit her bottom lip and you noticed the pity in her eyes.

As she opened her mouth to answer you, somebody cleared their throat to your left and your head snapped round, finding yourself looking up into the formidable gaze of Kim Taehyung.

He was alone, you noticed immediately, and you tried to keep your expression neutral.

This was the game of Bangtan.  A game you’d grown up in.

A game you knew well.

“Taehyung,” You greeted, nodding gently, “Thank you for inviting me.  It is an honour.”

His handsome face was cold - barely responsive as he nodded back to you, “Y/N.  Welcome to our home.”

Our home.

The words warmed you.

It had been clear for a while now that Kim Taehyung’s only weakness was his wife.  He would burn the entire world down for her - and you’d been told of this time and time again.

They had started off as an arranged marriage - almost six years ago now - when Taehyung’s father and his wife’s father had worked so closely with one another they had promised their children’s hand in marriage in an act of loyalty.

But things had changed in the years since.

It was well established that Kim Taehyung loved only one thing more than he loved Bangtan - and that was his wife.

You tried to focus on that - on the fact that loveless marriages could turn into something else - as ___ nudged her husband playfully.

“Don’t be so formal,” She teased and you couldn’t believe you were witnessing this exchange, “Y/N is a friend.”

Taehyung actually rolled his eyes playfully and smiled down at his wife, “I’m still Capo, darling.”

She laughed as well and your chest tightened.  You wanted that.

The obvious love they had for one another - the way they seemed to be so comfortable with each other it was like they had found their home.

“Well dinner’s almost ready Taehyung so go and get cleaned up.” ____ said, slipping an arm through yours and leading you towards the ridiculous mahogany table, “Come sit over here, Y/N.”

You noticed for the first time that the table was set for four people.

Your heart pounded against your chest.

“Who is it?”

The question slipped out of you before you even had a chance to think it through.  ____ froze. She was slipping into the seat beside you when her eyes turned to your own.

“What?”

“The fourth person,” You whispered, darting your eyes behind you to make sure Taehyung wasn’t within earshot distance, “My future husband.  Who is it?”

____ looked genuinely distraught for a moment.

You clicked your tongue.

“I’m a member of the South Korea mafia, ____, I know how this shit works.”  You noticed your words were a little sharp and you tried to soften them with a weak smile, “Just tell me who it is.  Please.”

____ seemed torn.  Her eyes roved your face carefully and she sighed. 

“He’s a good guy.”  She told you carefully, “Really.   I’m not just saying that.”

Your heart dropped.  The look in her eyes - the trepidation….

“It’s Kim Namjoon, isn’t it?”

A throat cleared itself loudly from behind you.  You snapped your head to the side and watched as the man himself sauntered towards the two of you.

“You rang?”  The sarcasm dripped from his tone as he stuck out his prosthetic hand for you to shake.  You supposed he was expecting you to be disgusted - maybe to rebuke him - but you were made of stronger stuff than that.

You forced yourself to smile, “Hello Namjoon.  I’m Y/N.”

He narrowed his eyes as you shook his prosthetic.

“I know who you are,” He raised a dark brow, “The future Mrs Kim Namjoon.”

The words were like heavy bricks - weighing down on your shoulders.

You knew next to nothing about this man.  Despite what ____ had said about him being a good man all you saw was bitterness and anger in his eyes.

“You’re the nurse, aren’t you?” 

You nodded carefully and tried to calm your pulse. 

“Well now we know why Taehyung chose you for me.  The cripple.”

____ cleared her throat and stood up abruptly.  Her eyes were dark and angry and she shook her head at Namjoon.

“No.  You don’t get to do that to her.  Not when she had nothing to do with any of this.”  Her bottom lip trembled slightly, “Apologise.” Namjoon’s face was a perfect mask of nonchalance.  His eyes flicked between you and ____ and he shrugged.

“What for?”

____ squared her shoulders, “You know exactly what for, Kim Namjoon.”

“I think that’s enough now,” Taehyung entered the room sharply, standing between his wife and friend.  His gaze fell on you after a moment, “I see the two of you have met.”

You nodded wordlessly, wondering just what in the hell was going on.

Namjoon was seething apparently, as he sulked to the left of his friend, arms crossed and eyes dangerously black.   

“Was he not as welcoming as he’d promised he’d be?”

“This is ridiculous V, we both know that.  You’ve chosen her because she’s a nurse and because of this,” He stuck his fake hand in the air and you refused to look away.

Nobody else in the room reacted for a moment.

Taehyung took a deep, calming breath.

“That was part of it, yes.”  He said evenly, “Y/N is a trained nurse and therefore she can help you move forward with this.  But she’s also a good match.  Right age, right height… Her parents are wealthy and important like yours.  It is a good union.  I have told you this plenty of times Namjoon.”

“I will not marry her because of pity,” Namjoon spat the word out, “I’m not some fucking charity case-” 

“I don’t pity you.” The words flew out of you and when three sets of eyes turned to fall on you, you wondered if it was the right choice.  You chose to focus on Namjoon.

“What?”

“I don’t pity you,” You told him honestly, gesturing to his prosthetic, “What happened is awful, obviously.  And I may never know the full extent of it.  But I don’t pity you.  You are a man with an obstacle in life.  There are many men with obstacles in life.  That doesn’t make you worthy of  pity.”

Namjoon’s eyes searched your face for something - what you weren’t sure - and she sighed heavily.  He seemed so tired.  You noticed the bags under his eyes, the lines in his forehead.  He was young - just a little older than you - and yet it seemed he’d aged so much recently.

“So you want to marry me?  You want to marry a man who’s had to learn how to live - how to do normal every day things like eat with a knife and fork - all over again?”

You shrugged, “I want to do what’s best for Bangtan.  If Taehyung says that’s a marriage between the two of us, then so be it.”

A long moment passed between the two of you.

Namjoon seemed to be sizing you up, and you took the opportunity to do the same.

He wasn’t ugly.  Far from it.  Kim Namjoon was tall and handsome - and from what you’d  heard through the grapevine - he was also smart and kind.

People spoke about him of course - he was a member of the Special Seven - and what they said was normally very positive.

He wasn’t like other Bangtan men.

He was grounded.  He was softer.  A man who used brains instead of braun.

You had to admit, those traits were attractive to you.

Eventually, he spoke.

“Alright then.”  He nodded and gave you a strange look - somewhere between admiration and confusion, “I suppose that says it all.”

Namjoon turned to Taehyung and nodded.

“We’ll get married at the earliest convenience.” _____ gasped from behind you but you barely registered the sound.

It had all been well and good in theory… But now what?

Kim Namjoon stuck his hand out to yours - his real hand made of flesh and bones - and smiled sardonically.

“Welcome to the family, Mrs Kim Namjoon.” You smiled back.  Mrs Kim Namjoon.

You could do this.

//

Planning a wedding was easy when you weren’t trusted to do a single thing.

Kim Namjoon’s family had promised to take care of everything - and as a family higher up in the Bangtan hierarchy than your own - there had been no argument to be made.

This was the way things worked in your world, and you’d learned long ago just to accept it. 

You barely saw your husband in the ensuing months.  He dropped by once to meet your parents and officially ask for your hand in marriage, and once more since then to update you on the wedding arrangements.

But apart from that he was like a ghost - you even forgot sometimes that you were supposed to be marrying him. 

You rarely thought about the fact that by the end of this year you would be Mrs Kim Namjoon and despite the relatively long engagement - six months was a long time in the world of Bangtan - you were happy you had the time to get used to the idea of marriage.

It wasn’t until one evening when Kim Namjoon came calling for you that the reality of the situation truly sunk in.

You were leaving work - it had been a particularly difficult day so far, and absolutely nothing seemed to be going smoothly.  In fact everything today had felt like it was seconds away from falling apart and you felt like you too, were going to break down.

And as you made your way across the parking lot you found Kim Namjoon, leaning against your car.  How he knew which one was yours was beyond you - but you smiled at him questioningly when you were within earshot.

“Hi.” He smiled almost sheepishly, “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

He crossed his arms and squinted one eye shut as he stewed in your question for just a moment.  Then he sighed heavily.

“I’ve been an asshole.”

“Huh?” You raised a brow. 

Namjoon groaned and clicked his tongue, “Are you gonna make this difficult for me?”

“What? No!” You shook your head and shrugged, “I just don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The night I agreed to marry you I was a jerk.  And we’ve barely seen each other twice since we got engaged two months ago.”  He ran a hand through his hair, “I promised myself I wouldn’t be like that.  So I’m sorry.”

You cocked your head to the side, shocked at the show of vulnerability.  Namjoon was a Bangtan man - he should be cold and unforgiving - he should push away intimacy and hate the thought of opening himself up to anyone.

And yet here he was, apologising to you for something you’d assumed was just the way things were done when a marriage was arranged.

“Okay.”  You nodded slowly, “I forgive you.”

He smiled softly and you found yourself thinking he really did look handsome like that.

“I’d like us to be friends at least,” He shrugged, “If nothing else.”

You smiled back, “Friends sounds good to me.”

“Good.  Great.  Thank you,” He gestured to your car, “So can you give me a ride home?” You gave him a questioning look, “How did you get here?”

“My driver dropped me off,” He lifted his prosthetic hand, “I can’t really drive anymore.” 

There was a moment of almost awkward silence, but you refused to let something Namjoon couldn’t control, ruin the atmosphere.  He’d apologised to you - he was making something of an effort - and you owed it to him to do your part.

“I can help you with that,” You told him, pointing at his hand, “Getting used to it.  How long have you had it on for?”

“Half a year,” He looked away from you, “It’s still so uncomfortable.”

You took another step towards him and his eyes connected with yours.  

“I don’t care.”  You told him firmly, “I don’t care about the prosthetic.  I swear.  And I’m sorry it’s uncomfortable.  I’m sorry it happened to you.  But I’ll help you.  I will.  I promise.”

Namjoon’s eyes softened at your words and you were taken back by the way he was suddenly looking at you.

God.  He really was so handsome.

“Okay.”  He whispered, eyes darting across your face, “Yeah.  Thank you.  That would mean a lot.” The moment was suspended for another moment more, and you wondered if you might do something crazy like try and kiss him - before Namjoon cleared his throat and the spell was broken.

Jesus.

What was going on with you?

Your pulse was racing as you fumbled around your handbag for your keys and you told yourself the nerves were only because of the day you’d had.  It had nothing to do with the handsome man standing in front of you.

“You’re going to have to give me directions to your house,” You told Namjoon as the car unlocked and you both climbed in, “I’ve never had the privilege of visiting.” He snorted a laugh, “It’s a two minute drive from Taehyung’s.  If you drive that way I can guide you.”

“Sounds good.”

You buckled yourself in and tried to ignore the way your cheeks were flushing at the idea of you and Namjoon being in such a small space together, focusing instead on the feel of the steering wheel under your fingers, and trying as much as you could not to stare at him through the reflection of the mirrors.

That would be weird.

Weirder than you were suddenly being.

“How was work?” He asked you once you pulled the car out onto the main road. 

You groaned, “Awful.  Today was a bad one.  We have them sometimes but it really lowers your self esteem.  Some of my patients seemed like they couldn’t stand my face.”

Namjoon whistled lowly. 

“I can imagine that wouldn’t be a very comforting atmosphere to be in.”

“No, not very,” You shrugged and shot him a look, “But that’s the nature of my job.  Nurses are treated worse than doctors even though sometimes it feels like we do triple the work.”

Namjoon chuckled and you raised a brow, “What?”

“It’s  just…” Out of the corner of your eye you saw him shake his head, “It’s like that with us sometimes.  In Bangtan I mean.  Taehyung is treated with so much respect and reverence - and he deserves it.  Of course he does.  But the rest of us… We work our asses off.  And we barely get any recognition for it.”  He pulled a face, “So I guess I’m trying to say I know how you’re feeling.  Kind of.”

You let this information settle with you.

It made sense of course.

Bangtan was the biggest food chain of them all.  The Capo demanded respect.

And in the little interaction you’d had with him, you saw how intimidating Kim Taehyung could be.  Still.  You imagined that had to be annoying.

“Doesn’t it piss you off?” He scoffed, “Of course it does.  But that’s just Bangtan.  That’s the job.  We don’t do it for recognition anyway.  We do it because we love Bangtan.”

You smiled at that.

It was exactly how you felt about your job.

“Yeah.  I understand what you mean.  As much as it sucks that I don’t always get the praise I feel I deserve… I don’t do it for that.  I do it to help people.”

There was a heavy moment between you both.  Namjoon seemed to be taking in what you’ve said and you found yourself thinking that if it’s this easy to talk to him you might catch yourself falling for your own husband.

“That’s a lovely way to put it,” You felt rather than saw his smile, “My house is just on this curb.”

You slowed the car down and turned to your fiance, surprised when you saw him already smiling at you.

“Thank you.  For this.”  His eyes were gentle and shimmering almost and you once again had to force yourself not to flush, “It’s been…. Nice.” You grinned back, “Alright.  Don’t be a stranger.”

He laughed at that and shook his head.

“I won’t.” He gave you a warm look, “Goodbye Y/N.  I’ll call you soon.”

You nodded, “Okay.  Bye Namjoon.”

He smiled at you once more before climbing out of the car and waving goodbye at you. 

And as you drove away all you could think of was this:

Kim Namjoon might very well be the best thing that could have ever happened to you.

//

[spidernerdsblog]

Hey dear💟 how are you? Can I ask for some mob!tom smut?? Like he's smoking a cigar at a boring wedding when he meets a mob!reader and after talking a bit things just happen and he takes her home for fucking all night?

Oh and ends in fluff??

Hi nonnie! I'm fine hope you are well too. Here's your request hope you like this.

Pairing : Mob! Tom Holland x Mob! Reader

Warnings : 18+, SMUT, mature content, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

His Queen, Her King

Being the mob boss Tom had to be a part of various social gatherings, galas, parties etc but the most he dreaded were weddings. Especially when you're an eligible bachelor, people around you are constantly nagging you with the most evident question ‘when is your turn?’ There were several occasions where the leaders of other mobs had tried to set him up with their daughters to forge an alliance but he would turn them down every time because he never found them to be his match. He likes to be in control but that doesn’t mean he would settle for a mere puppet who would dress up pretty and do as told, he wanted someone powerful, fierce who would challenge his authority, a real queen to his vast empire.  

It was one of his childhood friends' wedding day so he couldn't say no. The hall was buzzing with people as he was seated with a couple of his friends at a table drinking and laughing loudly talking about their busy lives and their businesses. One hour to the wedding reception and Tom was already bored he lit up a cigar and took a long puff from it watching everyone silently. 

Just then you walk in through the doors in a long red silk dress hugging your body like a second skin with a thigh high slit paired with pointed stilettos making heads turn. Your hair styled into loose curls cascading down your shoulders complimenting your dewy makeup. Your wrists and ears sparkling with the most priceless authentic diamonds.  Apart from being the maid of honor you are the only woman in the mob business who owns the biggest diamond business in the country. 

People were obviously envious of your power though they never dare to say anything to your face but you have heard how people think you just got lucky with the business as the only daughter of your father, women have no place in the mob even to the extent of being slut shamed and being accused of sleeping with your rivals to run the business. You had simply shrugged it off and showed those people with a flourishing business and earning double profits than your father used to earn when he used to run the mob. You walk over to your best friend.

“Congratulations Jane, finally you’re a married woman now!” you give her a hug.

“Thanks Y/N it feels like a dream honestly” she chirps “but when are you…”

“Please you also don’t start” you both chuckled and continued gossiping.

“Man why are these receptions so dull and boring” Matt groaned “couldn’t they do it at a bar or strip club?”

“Yeah it would have been fun to watch your wife beat the shit out of you after you flirted with one of the strippers” Carl mocked to which everyone laughed out loud including Tom.

“Hey!!” Matt revolted in protest as all of them laughed again.

Your conversation was constantly getting disturbed with their constant brawls and loud laughter. Even the other guests had a frown on their face with the noise they were making.

“I apologize on behalf of my friends, they can sometimes be a little loud” Paul the groom said apologetically.

"It’s ok I know how to deal with guys like them. Let me handle it” You offer and stride your way to their table. 

“Sorry to crash the fun boys but some of us are actually here to attend the reception not to hear your meaningless chatter” you jibe forcing a smile as the men turn their attention towards you. Tom puts down his cigar blowing out the smoke as he takes a quick glance of you.

“I'm sorry love, are we offending you?” he remarks with a smolder and the men around him hollered. The corner of your lips quirk into a sly smirk as you step closer to him drawing a finger along his jawline.

“It will take a lot more than this baby face to offend me” you taunt him back with a grin amusing everyone including Tom at your comeback.

“Oooh damn!” the men hollered again while you turned your back and strutted off to join your friends again. Tom just sat there completely blown away by your boldness. He had heard about you but now that he saw you he understood that you weren’t just a beautiful face after all who just got lucky in the mob business you were a complete badass. The very image of you radiates power and triumph. 

His eyes seeked yours the whole time and then he found you finally all by yourself near the open bar drinking a glass of whisky. He approaches you as he clears his throat.

“Ahem, hey” you lift your eyes from the glass and then put it down on the counter smacking your lips.

“Here to apologise for being a jerk?” you quip.

“I thought we were even already” he remarks with a smug grin.

“Yeah maybe” you half shrug

“Tom Holland by the way” he reaches his hand out and you dismiss it by picking your glass again and taking a sip. 

“I know who you are, the boss of the most powerful mob in London” you say nonchalantly

“Keeping tabs I see” he smirks as he signals the bartender to hand him a drink as well.

“It’s a risky business Holland you gotta keep records about your potential rivals” you state blandly.

“Absolutely, couldn’t agree more” he takes a sip wincing at the strong taste of the drink. 

“So all alone? Bossman didn’t get any arm candy for the night?” you snicker.

“Only a queen fits beside a king like me darling and I haven’t found one yet , what about you?”

“Well I haven’t found my king either” you clink your glass to his as you both gulp down your drinks.

“You look ravishing in that dress I must say” he compliments with a suave in his voice.

“Thank you. You don’t look bad either” you flirt back as you bite the corner of your lip checking him dressed in an Armani suit the Rolex on his wrist glinting in the golden light of the chandeliers.  

“I really admire you. Honestly it’s really hard and dangerous to run a business when you’re a woman” there was a different kind of sparkle in his eyes which you recognize very well.

“What can I say I just love playing with danger” you shrug with sass in your voice. 

“You wanna get out of here? I’m sure nobody will miss us” he licks his lips eyes darkening with pure desire. 

“Well what are we waiting for?” you smirk with a mischievous glint in your eyes both of you coming to a silent agreement.

The whole ride to his mansion was a blur as soon as you were inside he had you pinned up against the door as his lips met yours hungrily. His lips tasted of burnt cigar and whisky.  He started leaving trails of kisses on your jaw and neck while his hand snaked down to your thighs through the slit of your dress unclasping the thigh holster from your leg as it dropped on the ground with a loud clatter. His hand moved further to your flimsy lace thong to feel your sex. 

“So wet already, love? I haven't even touched you properly” you can hear the smirk in his voice. His hand goes to unzip your dress as he leans in for a kiss but you stop him placing two fingers on his lips slowly tracing them. 

“Bedroom?” you ask breathing heavily.

“Upstairs left” he informs between shallow breaths.

You gave him a peck on his cheek and made your way up the stairs. Tom’s eyes never left you as he watched you slide the thin straps of your dress off your shoulders and dropping it off on the floor striding away in just your strapless bra and thong your heels clacking against the marble floor. Tom scoffed in amusement a toothy grin forming on his face . You were really something who was just driving him crazy.

The moment he walked in the bedroom he felt himself twitch inside his pants. There you were sitting in the middle at the edge of the bed slightly leaning on your palms with your legs crossed one above the other. You looked like a viscous siren slowly entrapping him with your charm and beauty. 

“Nice bedroom” You gently smoothed the silk sheets with your hand.

“Glad you liked it” he said smiling.

“Are you just gonna stand over there?” You unclipped your bra and lazily dropped it on the floor putting on a show for him as you lifted a hand pointing a finger motioning him to come closer. A low groan escaped from his mouth at the sight of your exposed breasts as he strolled towards you unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off his body drinking in your almost naked form with lustful eyes. You subconsciously licked your lips marveling his taut muscles. He tilted your chin up as you gazed in his brown eyes with parted lips.

“God you’re gonna be the death of me” he mumbles in a husky voice.

“That was the plan all the time, I can then take over your mob” you giggle playfully.

“You minx” he knelt down to capture your red tinted lips passionately tongues clashing against each other as you ran your fingers across his abdomen, nails scraping his skin. He gently pushes you down on the mattress as you shift back in the middle of the bed. He spreads your legs to accommodate himself as he crawls up to be at level to your face pressing a soft kiss to your swollen lips. Goosebumps covered your skin as you felt his bulge brushing on your thighs. You tilted your head to the side as he took the opportunity to suck marks on the nape of your neck. One hand squeezing your ass the other palming your breast as he placed butterfly kisses all over your skin.

“So pretty” he mumbles, pressing kisses between the valley of your breasts,you shuddered when he flicked his tongue over your sensitive bud.

“Oh” you gasped when he wrapped his mouth around your breast sucking the nipple between his teeth, kneading the other fingers pinching and tugging on it. After paying equal attention to the other one too before continuing his journey south. Your stomach flutters as his lips trail down your rib cage, navel the cold gold chain dangling down his neck feeling ticklish against your hot skin. He placed a soft kiss over your soaked panties and you felt that your body was set to fire as you gasped lightly chest heaving up and down. A smirk forms on his face as he moves to kiss your inner thighs ignoring the place where you needed him the most.

“Please” you let out a quiet whimper

“Please what darling?” he whispers with a husky voice. 

“Touch me” 

“I’m touching you love” he lightly chuckles, you whined in protest. “You gotta be more specific with your demands, love, what do you need?” he coos.

“I-I need you, your mouth” you breathed out. 

“See that wasn’t so hard” he practically rips off your thong and throws the shredded fabric away letting out a low growl at the sight of your glistening cunt. He hooked his arms to your thighs, the rings on his fingers felt cold against your skin. He licks a long stripe up your folds sending jolts of pleasure up your body making you squirm in his hold.

“So sweet” he mumbles against your heat. You let out a soft gasp, your hands threading into his soft brown curls as he swirled his tongue through your folds.

You cry out when his tongue flicks your swollen clit giving his hair a harsh tug he groans into your heat. He continued to suck on your clit between his lips pushing a thick digit inside you. Your body arched bucking your hips into his mouth he had to place a hand on your lower stomach to keep you in place. He then adds another finger pumping it in and out of you his teeth grazing your sensitive bud soothing it after with his tongue immediately. 

“Fuck!” You moaned feeling euphoric eyes fluttering shut as he devoured you. Your body tensed up when he added another finger to your heat, your one hand was pulling his hair painfully and the other squeezing your breast rolling your nipple between your fingers. He curled his fingers hitting your spot sending you over the edge.

“C’mon love, let it go want you to cum all over my fingers” he moaned into your heat the vibrations leading you to tumble down the edge as you came undone around his fingers. He helped you ride your high still sucking on your clit, your legs trembled as he lapped up all your juices. He pulled away after sometime his chin glistening with your arousal. 

He got rid of his dress pants along with his boxers and then crawled over to you. You gazed into his warm brown eyes still in your post orgasmic haze as you pulled him down to capture his lips with an urgent need. You tasted yourself on his lips as he deepened the kiss grinding his hips into yours. 

A soft gasp escaped your lips when you felt the tip of his member brushed against your entrance. He gripped his member giving it a few pumps before lining up against your core. You placed a hand flat on his stomach signalling him to stop. He knitted his brow in confusion when you flipped him over to be on top him sitting on the back of your knee straddling his waist. 

“I wanna ride you” you whisper in a sultry voice and his lips curl up to a smirk.

“Then go ahead, darling” he shuffles back a little resting himself comfortably against the headboard. You brought your hand to your mouth and gave it lick before grabbing his member using it for lubrication, slowly pumping his length and lining it up to your weeping core. Your breath hitched when you felt his tip slide through your entrance stretching your walls in a nice way. You slowly sank down on his length feeling so full of him. You stayed like that, your walls warm and snug squeezing him like a vice. Tom groaned when you clenched around him. 

“Oh god Y/N please move or I'm not gonna last for another minute” you leaned down to kiss him starting to move your hips slowly adjusting to his thick shaft.

“Shit” He hissed as you lifted yourself hand gripping on his thighs for leverage to go a little faster, the soft sound of your skin slapping against each other filled the room. Your stomach clenched as you paced up and down his cock, each time filling you up to the hilt. His hands held your hips, fingers digging in your skin groans rumbled in Tom’s throat as he clenched his jaw. He gazed at you with hooded eyes smitten by the way your back arches towards him and your tits bounce with every thrust.

You started to feel a little exhausted, a thin sheen of sweat lining your bodies as you slowed down your pace. Tom’s hands slid down to your ass, spreading your cheeks as he took control, thrusting up into you. You jolted forward moaning out loud, grasping on to his shoulders tightly for support. 

“Just because you're on the top don't think you're in control darling” he says cheekily you let out a light chuckle at his comment before whimpering when his cock hit your sweet spot.

He lifted his knees, planting the heels of his feet into the mattress for leverage as he began to fuck you roughly. He grunted, feeling your walls clench around his cock with every thrust of his hips. You leaned down to kiss him sloppily he reciprocates by slipping his tongue into your mouth swirling it inside your mouth. You moaned into the kiss as you felt a tight knot build inside your stomach.

“Tom” you moan breathlessly, eyes squeezing shut as your hands slide down his shoulder to his chest nails scratching his skin.

“Gonna cum again for me love?” Tom murmured against your lips as he spanked your ass lightly. You nodded your head vigorously starting to roll your hips desperately. He brought his thumb to your swollen clit and rubbed circles as the coil inside you snapped and you screamed out your orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks. Tom wasn’t too far either as he continued rutting his hips and soon he was spilling inside you.

“Fuck.” He moaned as his face screwed up in pleasure, his eyebrows furrowing as he emptied his seed into your tight pussy, not letting go of his grip on your body. You collapsed onto his chest panting both of you catching your breath, your walls still pulsating around his cock, deeply buried inside you. He caressed your back gently, your chest pressed to his, head resting over his heart as you listened to his steady heartbeat while your fingers fiddled with the chain around his neck. He took your hand and kissed on your knuckles gently brushing his thumb over them lovingly.

“I really like you” he finally spoke out

“What?” you frowned, still a bit dizzy.

“I think I have fallen in love with you Y/N” he confesses softly as you straighten yourself to look him in the eyes.

“Are you asking me out when you are literally balls deep inside me?” you snicker raising your eyebrows.

“I’m serious Y/N” he cradles your face with both of his hands “the moment I saw you I knew you are the one I have been waiting for all my life. A strong, independent and fearless woman who doesn’t need anyone, you are a hell of a queen, Y/N. I want this queen to be only mine, together we can rule the world love. I don’t want this to be a one night thing I want to make love to you every night, kiss every inch of your body and appreciate you, adore you” he rants

“The last part sounded a little creepy though” you chuckled “Well I do like you too my king let’s just take things slow and see where it goes maybe?”

“Sure my queen” he smiles as you kiss him softly.

................................................................................

[mythiccheroacademia]

Hey!! Could we please get more sugar daddy fics with a black reader ofc 😋 idk if you've done shoto already but that'd be nice or hawks and deku💕

A/N: “wrist on glitter, waist on thinner, imma show you how to bag a eight-figure nigga” 👅💋 I enjoyed this way too much

All characters are 18+

Warnings: it got a lil spicy so imma put the line 

Todoroki Shouto:

this mf has money to burn 

we all know todoroki came out the womb w cash from his hair to his ass 

he’s on some “yes, jeff bezos knows me” type shit so if you’re tryna end up with someone that’s gonna possibly buy you a house, he’s your guy 

he slid into your dms after you posted a pic with your skin moisturized and glistening under golden hour and your body had him wanting to run laps 

he had been plottin on you for a min but never got the motivation to do something about it until then

he’s a no strings attached type of sugar daddy

todoroki is a big name even outside of hero work and he’s well aware of all the people that have tried to use him. so instead of letting that happen, he’s decided to do things on his own terms 

when yall first started talking, he questioned you like this was managerial position at apple 💀 

best believe he ran an in-depth background check and made you sign an NDA 💀💀💀

he was a tough one

but you passed w flying colors and y’all settled on an arrangement

you have a weekly allowance that hits your bank account every saturday with some bonuses that he’ll give you depending on how the week goes

todoroki isnt needy nor is he one to be all up in your business 

it’s actually weird in an endearing kind of way? 

he only wants to have conversations with you 

i mean, dont get me wrong, he’s up for anything you are

todoroki would be a liar if he said he never ended some nights with a picture of you and a hand down his pants 

but that’s not what he’s mainly looking for 

you figure out very quickly that shouto just wants someone to talk to 

he’ll randomly hit up your phone and have a 30 min convo about something like the weather or hero politics, and then he’ll dip

next thing you know, you got $1000 in your cashapp

you kind of panicked bc like...wtf? 

your dumb ass messaged him: “did you mean to send $1000?”

sis, dont put a question mark where God put a period

him: “Yes.”

and that was the end of that

you dont question anymore

he’s not doting in any kind of way, and sometimes you lowkey think he forgets about you, but you still get your allowance 

doesn’t send a lot of gifts unless you explicitly state you want something

he doesnt text back a lot, but he tried to respond when he can

but i do see him liking it when you send him mundane things you do throughout your day, like pics of cookies you baked, or a cool plant you saw at home depot

and he enjoys the times you and him end up just trashing his father for nearly an hour. expect to find flowers, with some expensive ass coats or something at your door the next morning 

he really fucks w your laid back vibe 

sometimes he forgets you guys arent really supposed to be friends 

Takami Kiego (Hawks):

this is not hawks’ first time being a sugar daddy

he’s hot, rich, and one of the most eligible bachelor’s in japan with a life that prevents him from having anything too serious

so, long story short, he’s a veteran at this 

he used to be the type to reach out to instagram baddies but he had a couple bad run-ins and decided to stick with the official sites because it was a lot more secure on both ends 

the funny thing was, you set up your account a long time ago as a joke. though at one point, you did take it seriously, but you came in contact with a lot of super creepy men that sexualized you for your skin and ethnicity. 

you were tired of the “chocolate king/queen” and “amazonian god/dess” comments,so you took a break. you didnt have much activity since

so imagine youre surprise when the #2 hero hit your line talking about some 

“Hey~ I’ll get straight to the point. I think you’re beautiful and I’d like to talk with you about an arrangement” 

you thought this was a fake account, but after he chatting for a little and sending some pictures, you knew he was the real deal 

hawks is your standard tit-for-tat transaction sugar daddy

he’s the type to hit you up at night with a “how ya doing, dove? got any pics for me?”

he’s good about his respect ad won’t do anything out of line

it’s the bare minimum, be he doesnt fetishize you so that’s always nice 

however, he does make you call him daddy, sir, etc. whether it’s through text, call, or when y’all get together for...reasons

ngl his dicc game is fire

he might ghost you for a week or so but he’ll always come back with a nice check to make up for it 

just be careful about catching feelings bc he’s so fucking smooth. he makes you feel like you’ve got his heart, but dont fall for that shit

if you think you can “change him” or fuflfil whatever wattpad romance fantasy lives in your head, he is not your guy. you better get on w your life before you get your heart broken

he’s here to suck, fuck, send pics, do a little phone call here n there, send some money, and go 

if you’re not with all that, you might as well dip 

but if you’re cool with that, rest assured, you’re gonna be living your best mf life with this man in your wallet 

and good news, you might not be his only, but you are his favorite

there’s just something about you that’s got him giving you a few extra thousand than he normally does 

he doesnt take his sugar babies on proper dates bc he’s gotta stay away from media outlets, but he will invite you to his office for a “lunch break”

if you ever surprise him with a cute but sexy hawks cosplay, you won’t have to work for two whole weeks bc you cant walk  

overall, he’s a good sugar daddy. defintely good for your pockets and any other non-romantic desires you want fulfilled

Mirodirya Izuku:  

the way you two met and came to this arrangement was more or less an accident

the life of the number one pro-hero was lonely and stressful 

he’s tried to dip his toes in the water here and there, but it never worked out because not many people could deal with the fact that he’d always put hero work first

he was teetering on the edge of signing up for one of those sugar daddy/baby websites until he met you at some cafe he passed by 

it’s cliche really. you were his server and, honestly? he was hooked on day one 

he watched you intently as you pranced around in your cute uniform. he couldnt stop admiring your brown skin and eyes and how cute your hair was. you spoke with such enthusiasm and cheerfulness that he couldnt help but swoon. and it didn’t hurt that you were very easy on the eyes

he listened to you as you went on a spiel about how college was a fortune and how you stayed up last night for a project bc you had to pick up extra shifts

that’s when he made his decision

by the time the hero is out of the door, you collected the reciept and almost fainted when you realized he left you a $500 tip and his personal number 

“i enjoyed talking to you today and i hope we can continue that...here’s something small to help with your bills. and i hope this isnt too forward but you’re very beautiful. stay safe. deku.”

and what did you do that night?

you called his ass right back

you were nervous as hell bc you still couldnt believe this was real, but after talking on the phone with him for two hours, an arrangement was set

midoriya is the most gentlemen like sugar daddy out there 

you wake up to good morning texts and a few hundred in your bank account almost every two days 

he goes crazy over your insta posts. and if you wear something green? expect a bonus

takes you out shopping unprovoked 

izuku: “are you busy? i saw you were having a rough week and was wondering if you wanted to go to that new outlet mall downtown”

you: 🏃🏾‍♀️💨  

you most certainly had homework due that night but what tf you look like missing out on that offer? 

it’s after so many “dates” that deku realizes that he prefers hanging around you more than he should but he doesnt wanna ruin anything so he keeps that underwraps 

he’s the idiot that goes into this thinking he won’t fall in love

deku defintely has some dirty thoughts about you but he doesnt try to bring it up unless you do first

if you’re comfortable with anything nsfw, you gone see a whole different side to izuku

he’s a giver, giver, giver, but when he recieves, he just about loses it

send him “innocent” pics of yourself matched with a string of filthy texts and he’ll combust 

when you send him pics of yourself in deku-themed lingre, he deadass sends you a whole black card with your name on it as a thank you

you guys get very comfortable with each other very quickly

soon enough, DA’s start turning into y/n stayng over for a week 

you both realize this relatiosnhip runs a lot deeper than an arrangement when he accidentally let it slip that he told his mom about you 

he’s profusely apologizing but you shut him up with a kiss and tell him that you’ve kinda caught feelings yourself 

your next conversation works out well for the both of you 

[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.” 

[i-write-boop-spoops]

Steven Stone kissing headcanons

Thank you for the request anon, I was really hoping to get this one! Boopy Lore 101 is basically how much I simp for the rock husband, he’s beautiful and I love him. Naturally, this is super long because of this fact

Kinda like Sycamore’s one, there are references to more nsfw things without being full on explicit. You have been warned!

Enjoy!

The kind of kiss he likes to give

Steven is an amazing kisser

So suave, so passionate, yet so soft

Each one makes you feel like the most precious gem he’s ever laid eyes on

Other than your lips

Which he adores

He has a fondness for placing kisses on these parts of your body

Gentle kisses to the back of your hand

Much like a prince might bestow upon their beloved

Ones that make you feel like you’re in a fairytale

Steven’s basically royalty anyways, it suits him

Light kisses to your cheek!

Ones that make your skin blossom with heat

Whether he gives them to you when you’re out and about

Or in the privacy and intimacy of home

Chaste kisses to your thighs

Especially on the softer, tender flesh on the inner thigh

Ones that make you shiver just thinking about them

As I said before

He is a thigh man, through and through

So he loves giving you kisses there

The kind of kiss he likes to receive

Yall think Steven is a fiend for rocks?

You’re wrong

Well, actually you’re right but anyways

Because this man LIVES for kisses from you

Any kind really

But he has his favourites

Soft kisses to his temple

While he’s hunched over his desk

Examining rocks

Which makes his hobby even sweeter

Or doing paperwork

Which makes the tedious task a little easier to get through

Languid kisses along his jaw

As you paw at his chest

That’s the good shit right there

Makes him feel very sexy and desirable

Coincidentally, it makes him think you’re very sexy and desirable in return!

Funny how that works, right?

Cheek kisses! Nose kisses!

They’re just so cute and wholesome and fun!

And you always seem to strike when he least expects it

He just grins so wide

Patting your head/ruffling your hair in response

Maybe sneaking a smooch in return 👀

First kiss

He’d asked you to get coffee with him

You couldn’t refuse

Hoenn’s most eligible bachelor

A stunning male specimen

The silver haired dreamboat himself

Has asked you out for coffee

You were absolutely buzzing

Despite being unsure if it was a ‘date’ or not

Up to this point, you and Steven had a weird relationship

You were friends

Acquaintances, more so

But he seemed to be fond of you

He took the time to chat with you whenever you ran into each other

Maybe even flirt with you

Though you didn’t know if it was him just being his charismatic self, or actually trying to hit on you

Thankfully, you found out it was the latter

You met up, grabbed your orders and left to walk in a local park

It was quieter than you’d thought it would be

But you relished the time to just chat with him, one-on-one

Undisturbed, except for the occasional Lotad that would wander out of the nearby pond

The weather forecast said it would be cool, but dry and sunny

Evidently, it lied

Seemingly, out of nowhere, the heavens opened up and let loose

Steven grabbed your hand and ran

Leading you to the closest shelter

A great, big tree

Laughing all the while

When you were safely under its canopy

Followed by a Lotad, of course

Only the occasional droplet falling on you

You realised that not only were you practically huddled into him

But that you were still holding his hand

You felt yourself getting warm, flustered

He ran a hand through his damp hair

And blushed as he turned to look at you

Smiling fondly, eyes shining

He squeezed your hand, you squeezed back

You were surprised, hurt even when he lets go

Those feelings faded away however

As he gently cupped your cheeks in both hands

Brushing his left thumb along the divot beneath your eye

His touch was so soft, so caring

Bliss bubbled in your chest

He cleared his throat before speaking

“(Name)… I…”

Something forbade him to finish verbally

Instead he told you exactly how he felt

With a kiss

Tender yet passionate

You leaned in for more

He tasted like his coffee order

Slightly bitter, with lots of cream and a hint of sugary-sweetness

It made you feel both alive and energised

And languid and breathless at the same time

The sun split the clouds as he pulled away

Perhaps a divine sign that he had made the right decision

You shared a knowing smile

First make-out

You had invited Steven over for a nice home-cooked meal

He had confessed to you he wasn’t much of a chef

That he mostly ate out or got food delivered

You wanted to give him something cosy and quaint to eat

A simple family recipe, nothing fancy

He still loved it

Honestly, he was honoured that you would even offer to cook for him

After dinner, and some ice cream

He offered you a seat on his lap

You practically jumped onto it at the chance

And wrapped arms around his neck

He placed his on your hips

Initially, you just chatted for a bit

With him occasionally brushing your hair away from your face

Or rubbing circles into your back, waist and hips

And then you started to kiss

Gently, lightly at first

It deepened effortlessly as he gingerly cupped your face

You found yourself gripping his, no doubt expensive, shirt

His tongue easily made its way into your mouth

And explored yours

You softly whimpered into the kiss

He mewled, gorgeously, in return

When you finally parted

He pressed his forehead to yours, panting with you

A sparkling grin at his lips

You leaned into him, and he embraced you

In a nice, warm hug

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

They'd Bring You Back

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader 

Summary: You’re an unsub’s latest target, but your personality is way more than he bargained for. 

Warnings: Blood/descriptions of stabbing and cutting, typical CM drama, fluffy dad!hotch 

-

“And what about me?” You’d asked with a puffy lip, arms crossed, pouting as you sat on your father’s lap. He’d just laughed. 

“What about you?”

“If I got kidnapped.” He rolled his eyes.

“You’re so annoying, they would bring you back. And that-” He said as he stood up, taking you with him before setting you on the floor. “Is a promise.” 

Things had changed since you had that conversation. Drastically - back then you were only eight and your dad was a prosecutor for the DA. Your mom was alive. Your brother wasn’t even a thought in their minds at that point. And nobody could fathom what would happen when you were a little older. 

You went off the rails when your mother died. The trauma was enough that you ended up living with Rossi for a few months while your dad figured out how to juggle Jack and the job and all of your issues. That further fractured your relationship when you felt like he forgot about you. But since you moved back in with him, you had started to feel like things could be normal again. Like things could be good again. You were getting into a routine - Jack would stay with your aunt while your dad was on a case since he went to a school on the other side of town from yours, you would watch Rossi’s house while he was gone since you were old enough to stay by yourself, and you’d go pick up your dad when he got back from a case. 

They’d spent a week in Reno and really just wanted to get back to the house after mountains of paperwork. The holidays were coming up and your dad wanted to spend as much time with you as he possibly could, promising to take off some time to go on a day trip with you and Jack. You had made his favorite snack and walked out of Rossi’s front door, locking it and making sure it was locked, before going over to your car. 

You held the covered bowl of food in one hand, trying to get the right key in the other hand. You got as far as unlocking the car before you heard a shuffling noise behind you. You turned, seeing nothing alarming, but when you turned back there was an unfamiliar person in front of you. 

“Hotch, I think you need to accept that she was taken because...” Rossi started the next morning as they walked into the briefing room. The worst part of it was that they were being briefed on you. The police had determined that you’d been kidnapped, obviously, because there was no way in hell you’d start running away when things had just started to get better between you and your dad. 

“How could they have known?” Hotch asked. “How could this unsub have known it was my daughter walking out of your house?” Rossi shrugged, not quite having an answer, and the two sat down. 

“I’ve been thinking that the unsub must have been watching for a while. Long enough to know that she stays at Rossi’s when you’re both gone. They have to know who she is, Hotch. It doesn’t make sense for this to just be a random kidnapping,” Morgan said. 

“And if anyone can get through it, it’s her,” JJ offered. “She’s a strong-ass kid. She just needs to hold on until we can find her.” 

“Uh, guys?” Garcia walked in the room with a remote in hand, switching the large TV in the room over to what looked like a livestream. Of you. 

“Holy-” Morgan started. Hotch’s eyes widened in shock, and as if he couldn’t see he walked up to the screen. “It’s a snuff film.” 

You were tied up in a chair, a rope around your throat and your body so you were forced to sit up with your spine to the back of the chair. Your mascara was running down your face in silent tears.

“My dad’s going to find me!” You yelled to the unsub, looking around the room. They were watching the same camera that your dad was, but you didn’t know that. You didn’t know that you were the star of your very own snuff film. Suddenly the unsub’s voice came over the loud speaker in the dark, cold room. A cellar - you had to be in a basement or a cellar or something. You came to that conclusion at the same time as your father did, and you also came to the conclusion that he was watching you. This unsub was using you to get to your father, and somehow that pissed you off more than the idea of someone kidnapping you just for kicks. 

“He’s using her to get to me,” Hotch determined. “We need to find out how to contact this unsub. Get what he wants. Garcia, do everything you can to track them down. We need to figure out what he wants before he hurts her.” 

“My dad’s going to find me!” You yelled again. “I bet he’s already profiled how small your dick is!” 

“Okay, sweetheart, now’s not the time,” your dad mumbled as if he was speaking directly to you. He rubbed his pointer finger against a scar on his thumb, one you’d given him shortly after your mom died. 

“Although impotent might not actually be that bad of an observation,” Rossi suggested. You struggled against the hard ropes that were holding you down, only getting angrier and angrier at the unsub for not at least facing you. 

You finally huffed and looked at the camera in front of you, then around the room. You were definitely in a cellar or a basement of some kind - maybe even an old nuclear bunker or something. The walls were metal, but they looked home-made almost. The white paint was peeling off of said metal walls, revealing a rusty red color that looked like dried blood. Then you were there, in an antique-looking wooden chair. So it was probably an estate of some kind, you thought. Who else would just have this kind of shit sitting around unless they were older, and it had definitely been a younger guy that kidnapped you. You could only hope your dad made the same observation as he watched you on the other side of the camera. Because who else would that camera be for, right? 

“You know, your walls give off a lot of information about where I am!” You called throughout the room, looking at the green door. Just then, someone walked in. The same guy who kidnapped you, or at least the same body. But he was wearing a ski mask so you couldn’t identify him.

“Really?” The man asked. He actually seemed curious. 

“This chair is antique. So is this room. So you’re keeping me in some kind of family home or estate. I’d guess your grandma’s or your mom’s house because you don’t seem like the type of guy who would ever make it out. And because you’re leaving the mask on, you’re probably not going to kill me. Only people who plan to kill show their faces because they’re scared of being visually identified,” you rattled off. “And we were only in the car for about fifteen minutes, three minutes off of the highway, so there’s no way you took me too far. I take back the impotent thing, at least so far, because you haven’t tried to assault me yet. Anyone who was impotent or had that issue probably would have already.” The man stood there, his arms crossed over a black hoodie. You could vaguely see a shape within the hoodie pocket to know that it was a knife of some kind. 

“Good job, kid. Maybe you are your daddy’s kid. I’ve been watching you, you know.” You spit onto the floor out of pure disgust. How long had this creep been watching you? And how? 

“Yeah, and if you know who I am then you’re planning to ask for ransom money. Which, you should know, you’ll get. If the FBI won’t pay it, my dad will. But if you’re streaming this to him like I think you are, then you’re planning to do something to me until you get that money.”

“You are smart. I don’t have the letter ready yet, so I figured I’d come have a little fun.” The unsub noticed how calm you were and it kind of scared him a little bit - like who the fuck was calm in this kind of situation? He figured you would be scared, beg your dad to save you, but you were actually holding your own. Huh. 

Your dad noticed that, too, and his chest swelled with pride at the same time his stomach ached with fear for you. He kept asking himself why the unsub was sharing it, but he realized. He wanted your father to see what he was doing to you, he wanted your dad to see that everything that happened to you was a reflection of him. 

“He’s not a sexual sadist,” your dad said. “The motive isn’t sexual. At all.” 

“Good,” Morgan muttered. “But what do you think he wants, then?”

“He wants me to see my actions as a reflection of what happens to her,” he concluded. “He’s going to hurt her. Every time I give him something, it’s going to stop. And then he’s going to start again until I give him what he wants. I’m going to assume it’s money. She’s right about the location, at least from what I can see, so I would assume that money is the main motivation for this.” 

“Maybe bail money?” Rossi suggested. “It would make sense. If we put someone away, he would want to see them out. And bail would be a large amount of money.” 

“I’ll go tell Garcia to look for people we’ve put away who would be eligible for bail,” Reid said as he stood up. He shuffled away from the table toward Garcia’s office, leaving them to watch the live stream. 

“I’ll go make sure SWAT is ready when we have our guy,” Morgan said. “I’ll lead. You don’t need to go in there, Hotch, because for all we know he wants to actually hurt you as well as her.” 

“I’ll watch some of the initial footage back. See if we can figure anything about the location,” Prentiss volunteered. Everyone left the table except for your dad, Rossi, and JJ. Your dad had barely even paid attention, too busy looking at the screen as the unsub creeped around you. He had since drawn a knife, twirling it between leather-gloved fingers. 

“If you’re going to hurt me, there’s literally no reason to wait,” you pointed out to the unsub.

“You’re annoying. No wonder your dad doesn’t love you.” That hit a nerve in both you and your father, but you didn’t show it. You just sat up a little bit, adjusting your cold, frozen ass on the seat. 

“If you’re trying to turn him against me, it’s not going to work. I know he loves me, even in his own twisted way. So stop trying to make it seem like he doesn’t. Psychological torture isn’t going to work on someone who watched their mom die right in front of them.” Your dad’s heart fell thinking about all of the trauma you’d already been through, and how little of it you’d even discussed. After your mom died you just shut down to everyone, including the therapists who tried to help you get through it. You had just pretended like nothing was real and nothing was wrong. This, though? This was fucking real. And you couldn’t block it out no matter how badly you wanted to. 

Your father watched as the conversation shifted from just that to actual events that had happened, indicating just how long this guy had been watching. He talked about the fight you had three weeks ago about you accusing your dad of being too overprotective. Then he brought up a fight that was so bad that Jack literally ran down the street to get away from you two. And by then you were crying, begging your dad to just come get you and prove that he loved you. You had been effectively broken by the time the unsub left and he hadn’t even used the knife that he had. 

Your father watched absolutely helplessly as the man hurled abusive, and untrue, thoughts at your brain. He watched as the unsub untied you before leaving, allowing you to curl your legs up to your chest and cry on your own. You were doing so well a few minutes ago, so well that you thought maybe your dad might even be proud of you. But now? 

“Okay, I have a list of everyone eligible for bail that had anything to do with us. Cases we’ve consulted on, ones we’ve actually worked, all that jazz,” Garcia said over the phone speaker. 

“Can you cross reference that with men?” JJ asked.

“Honey, that takes one off the list of fifty,” Garcia answered. JJ sighed. 

“What about family issues? Garcia, check any cases that revolved around families. Where they were the target, the motivation, anything,” Rossi said. Everyone could hear Garcia typing, the sound fading out as everyone watched the screen to see what was going to happen next. Reid came back in the room carrying what could only be a ransom note. 

“It’s addressed to you, not the BAU,” Reid said as he handed it to your dad. He sighed, taking the letter, and sat down. 

Aaron Hotchner: 

You can see I have your daughter. You will deliver two installments of fifty thousand dollars. I will be live streaming to your organization as well as a chatroom. Until I receive funds, from this moment on, your daughter will be the star of her very own film. When you can acquire the funds, deliver them to the P.O. Box below. The installments must be in full, or I will not hesitate to kill her. The installments must be delivered over the course of twenty-four hours. For example, you may not deliver one hundred thousand dollars at once. Thank you for your cooperation. 

- X

“So he’s trying to get money in two different ways. On the chatroom and from you. This is serving more than one purpose,” Rossi said. He took the note. “Garcia, look and see if any of the bail amounts total one hundred thousand dollars. And look to see if any of them are cash only.” 

“Nothing. I’m sorry,” Garcia said after a moment of silence. 

“We’ll give them the first fifty thousand,” JJ determined. Everyone in the room turned to look at her as if she was crazy except for your dad. He was visibly shaken, eyes glued to the camera. 

“What?” Rossi asked. 

“We’ll give them the first fifty thousand as soon as we can get it. We can go ahead and trace the P.O. box, find any connections, and hopefully get our guy before it even gets delivered.”

“And if not?” Your dad asked. 

“If not, then we sincerely hope he’s bluffing about hurting her before he gets the second one. Twenty-four hours is a long time.”

Hotch turned back to the screen to see that you were sleeping until the unsub came into the room again. He slammed the door open, carrying a knife in his hand, and walked toward you. You jumped, but didn’t move. You had nowhere to go. You couldn’t leave, so you just sat there with nervous eyes. 

“I sent them the ransom note,” the unsub said casually. You swallowed. 

“Okay, and? We don’t have that kind of money, and federal funds aren’t going to be...” 

“I don’t care about federal funds. Someone better give me my fucking money. Isn’t it taxpayer dollars anyway?”

“You’re a fucking idiot.” 

“Oh, I’m so hurt,” the unsub said, “boo hoo. You’ll be the one crying before too long. Sit back in the chair.” You didn’t try to run as he tied you up. You didn’t cry. You didn’t say anything. You just looked at the camera, eyes pleading for someone to fucking do something. If you knew your dad as well as you thought, he’d already made the connections about where you were, hopefully why the guy needed money, and they were already going through the ransom note. 

But, no. Your dad was watching as the unsub started by lifting your chin with the silver knife. Then he brushed your hair behind your ears. And then, out of nowhere, he dug the knife into your skin and dragged it down your arm. 

“Dad, please,” you said, knowing fully well that he was watching. You didn’t want to seem like you couldn’t handle yourself, but you were getting scared that maybe this guy was actually going to kill you if he didn’t get what he wanted. 

“Your daddy’s due to give me some money in a few hours. I figured I’d let you bleed until then.” The unsub was casual as he wiped both sides of the knife on your jeans and then walked out of the room, leaving you tied up. 

Garcia tried to had into the livestream and say something, but it didn’t work - there was no way to get a message to you. Your dad just had to sit there and call the bank, telling them that he needed to withdraw everything from his savings. He felt helpless as he watched you cry and bleed. 

The P.O. box turned to nothing. The guy had paid in cash and given them a fake name. Garcia’s search came up with four possible matches. Then she looked at property records, and then it was time to give the profile of the unsub. Your dad’s eyes were glued to the screen in the conference room, not even listening to the profile that he would usually be concerned about. He just sat there and watched, hoping that you knew he wouldn’t leave your side even then. 

The bank came through and let him withdraw the money, but not before the unsub came back and cut another gash into the same arm. Your dad went to the P.O. box and peeled his eyes away from the screen long enough to deposit the money. They had cops waiting to see who collected it, but nobody did. Nobody even tried to get anything from those boxes. 

“You should get some rest,” Rossi said later that night. Your dad shook his head, refusing to leave the screen. “He got his money.”

“And he said he’s going to hurt her still,” your dad insisted. “I’m not leaving her, even if it’s just a screen.” Rossi sighed. The rest of the team agreed not to leave you, either, and they sat there for most of the night, watching as the unsub cut you like a piece of paper. 

You had told the unsub numerous times that your dad was coming to get you, and those words haunted the entire BAU as they watched you on the screen. They weren’t coming because they didn’t know where to go. And then the unsub talked you up again, mentioning that he knew you were quiet enough that you wouldn’t scream. 

“Garcia, check for neighborhoods. Widen the search again, maybe it’s not bail after all,” Morgan instructed. Garcia started typing again. 

“There’s a Joshua Robinson, he lives twenty minutes from Rossi’s house. It looks like his father was one of our unsubs who didn’t make it four years ago. And it looks like he’s over that amount of time in missing mortgage payments. I think this could be our guy,” she said. 

“I’ll get SWAT ready again,” Morgan said. He stood up and left the room. Everyone went their separate ways except for your dad, who sat there and watched as the unsub full on stabbed you. Fucking stabbed you - you actually screamed at him instead of starting to cry. You called him impotent. A bitch. You called him slimy. You called him everything in the book and it only aggravated him more. 

Morgan drove as fast as he ever had over to the house. They raided it and found nothing - no basement, no nothing. And then they found the reason why the guy was so behind on house payments. They owned the land next to the house, too. It was only a matter of time before they found the bunker and the unsub trying to get away. 

Garcia had stopped the stream as soon as she could and called EMT’s to the scene, knowing how hurt you were and how much blood you’d lost. But it was up to your dad to go down to the creepy bunker and get you. He sighed as he descended the stairs and opened the now familiar green door, seeing you, untied but still in the chair. You were so bloody that he barely even recognized you. 

“Dad?” You asked as he walked in. He nodded, kneeling in front of you. 

“You’re safe, sweetheart, come with me,” he said softly. He threw the ropes off of you and reached underneath you, picking you up and being careful not to hurt you any more than you were already hurt. He took you up to the surface, holding your hand as the EMT’s worked their magic on your arm to try and keep you from bleeding any more than you already were.

They figured out that the unsub had been living at his father’s property, so behind in mortgage payments that he needed almost a hundred thousand dollars to pay for that and for property upkeep so he could sell the place and get a fresh start after attempted murder and kidnapping. You were right about almost every observation you’d made, down to the chair, and when your father looked around the room after loading you into the ambulance he realized just how smart you actually were. And how he hadn’t been paying attention to it. 

The next few hours were a blur - they wouldn’t let your dad come with you for anything at the hospital so he just sat there, waiting, with the rest of the team. The unsub had done quite a bit of nerve damage to your arm, leaving you unable to feel any pain in it for what may be forever, but at least you still had your arm. Rossi bought you a guilt gift of a new phone, too, since you’d dropped yours on the concrete, and said he was adding extra extra security to his house if you ever wanted to go there again. 

“You were watching the whole time, weren’t you?” You finally said to your dad, shutting your new phone off and putting it in your lap. He was going through some folder before he turned to you, nodding. 

“I wouldn’t leave you if I was there. And I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”

“I’m sorry that anyone thinks I’m worth a hundred thousand dollars.” That made him laugh, if only a little bit. “You always said that they’d bring me back if I was kidnapped.”

“Because you were so annoying!” He laughed. “I think the guy almost did. He was getting pretty fed up with you.” Joking about it, it seemed, was the only way to not cry about it. At least in your family. 

“Yeah, I think telling him he had a small dick was a lot for him.” 

“I’m really proud of the way you handled that.”

“I had nowhere to go if I tried to run,” you shrugged. “You always taught me that if I’m in a bad situation, stay in it unless I have a way out. You said that’s how you always get through things. Because you don’t just walk out on them.” 

“You don’t feel like I walked out on you, do you? And you don’t think that’s why we are the way we are?” You looked down, thinking about it for a minute, before you shook your head. 

“No. But-” Your eyes lit up when Rossi walked Jack into the room. He was holding another guilt gift, too, and ran up to you. You picked up your brother and put him in your lap, making him laugh.

“What happened to your arm?” Jack asked, poking at a bandage. You tried not to wince, smiling instead. 

“Just a bad guy. But I worked the case,” you told him. He smiled.

“Just like Daddy?”

“Yeah,” your dad said with a smile as he walked over to the two of you. “Just like me.” 

A/N: Just some good ole classic Dad!Hotch for y’all... I hope you like it as much as I do!! 

[btsqualityy]

Assuage: Chapter 6

Yoongi x Reader

Genre: ABO (Alpha/Beta/Omega) dynamics, angst, fluff, smut, enemies to lovers

Warnings: None to note.

After word spread around the pack that Yoongi saved Chan, he noticed just the slightest difference in how the members of the pack treated him. They had always been nice to him, but it was as if everyone was going out of their way now.

Whereas people would see him around and say hello before continuing on their way, they now stopped and attempted to make conversation with him. When people stopped into the hardware shop, they always asked Yoongi how he liked working with Kibum and if he would design something special for them. There were even elders who offered to let him eat before them if he chose to eat in the dining hall (which he immediately said no to because he wasn’t about to touch that topic again with a 10 foot pole).

Yoongi wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of it, given the fact that people in his previous pack didn’t just talk to each other for the fun of it so he wasn’t used to the pleasantries. 

“Oh look, there’s our local celebrity now,” Taehyung smiled as Yoongi walked up the front steps to the dining hall, where Taehyung and Jin were waiting on him to join them for lunch. 

“Please go to hell,” Yoongi grumbled as he rolled his eyes. 

“I have to say Yoongi-yah, I’ve never seen the pack go this crazy over someone since, well ever,” Jin laughed. “You’ve been quite the hot topic with the unmated Omegas.”

“I don’t understand why,” Yoongi shrugged, leading the way into the dining hall with Taehyung and Jin following behind him. “I just did what was right.”

“Things like that go a long way in our pack, as you can see,” Jin chuckled. Seeing that the pups and elders were already eating, the three of them moved right to the buffet line, grabbing their plates and filling them up as much as they wanted. Once they were done, they didn’t even have a chance to take a scope of the room before Hyorin’s voice was calling out for them.

“Over here!” She shouted and the three of them made their way over to her table, where you were also sitting.

“Hey,” Yoongi greeted you both, and you gave him a soft smile.

“I see our newest eligible bachelor made time to eat with us,” Hyorin joked, making Yoongi roll his eyes.

“Not you too,” he groaned. 

“Listen, the pack hasn’t buzzed like this since Jimin presented as an Omega and had every unmated Alpha losing their damn mind,” Hyorin smiled. “Please, allow me this small enjoyment of seeing the Omegas around here lose their shit.”

“I’d rather they not,” Yoongi grimaced. “Oh, by the way, your crib is almost ready.”

“Aw, yay!” Hyorin grinned while clapping her hands together. 

“That was quick,” you noted. “It’s only been two weeks.”

“Well, I’m actually the one who designed it and I liked it so much, I wanted to get started on it right away,” Yoongi explained sheepishly.

“I’m sure it’s great Yoongi-yah,” Jin spoke up, taking his first break from eating since they had sat down. 

“Nothing but the best for the firstborn pup of the Pack Alpha and Omega,” Taehyung added with a smile. 

“Absolutely,” you nodded, which made Yoongi smile to himself as he began to eat his food. While all of them began to make small talk and talk about different things, Yoongi was surprised when he felt a sudden, soft tap on his shoulder. Turning his head to the right, he saw a woman standing there with a wide smile. 

“Hello,” she greeted him. “I’m Park Ji-hyo.”

“Min Yoongi,” he replied slowly.

“I know that we haven’t met before but I’m a seamstress,” she told him. “I help make clothing for the pack as well as doing small alterations, things like that. I also make the outfits for big occasions, like baby dedications and 100 day celebrations and mating ceremonies.”

“Well, you sound like an important part of the pack,” Yoongi said, not knowing what else to really say but he figured that that response was good enough because he could smell Ji-hyo’s scent (which smelt like Jasmine) sweeten just a little bit.

“Thank you Alpha,” she grinned. “I heard about what you did for little Chan, and I just wanted to say that it was really amazing of you to do. I mean, taking on a whole snake that was already ready to attack him!”

“It really was no big deal,” Yoongi shook his head. 

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” she nodded in agreement. “Not for a big, strong, Alpha like yourself.” Yoongi could hear snickering behind him and it took everything in him not to burst out laughing as well. 

“Well, I really came over here to offer you this,” Ji-hyo began, extending her hand to show Yoongi and sitting in her palm, was an earring. 

“It’s...very pretty,” Yoongi nodded. 

“I’m not sure if you’ve gotten other offers yet, but I’d like it if you’d consider me,” Ji-hyo explained. “I noticed that you wear earrings a lot so you could take mine and I could show you around pack territory sometime.” Yoongi was honestly at a loss for words, because it sounded very much like she was asking him to date her but he still wasn’t entirely sure how the whole “dating and mating” thing worked within this particular pack. 

Before he could even answer her though, a sudden rumble hit his ears. Turning back to face the table, Yoongi’s eyes widened when he realized that you were the one making the sound and it was a warning. 

“He’s not spoken for,” Ji-hyo spit as she looked at you.

“But you know good well that he’s probably not brushed up on the pack’s customs so you thought you’d slide in while he’s still unaware, right?” You shot back and Yoongi looked back at Ji-hyo, embarrassment now clear on her face.

“You already have every Alpha in this pack salivating over you, leave one for the rest of us,” Ji-hyo snapped.

“I’m not the reason that you can’t get an Alpha and if you took two seconds to look at yourself, then you’d realize that,” you smiled sarcastically.

“Alright,” Yoongi interrupted the two of you. “I’m flattered Ji-hyo, but I’m not really looking for anything serious right now.”

“Oh. Ok, that’s more than fine,” she nodded with a smile, but Yoongi could tell that it was fake by the way that her scent had kind of soured. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your meal.” She then quickly turned around and sped walked away, and Yoongi couldn’t help but to feel a little guilty at turning her down.

“Wow Y/N-ah, possessive aren’t we?” Jin teased you and Yoongi turned to look at you again, just in time to see you roll your eyes.

“I just don’t like seeing people being taken advantage of,” you shrugged. “She knows that he’s new to the pack.”

“Which is why she pounced,” Taehyung added. 

“I still don’t understand all of this though,” Yoongi admitted. “Why is everyone all over me now?”

“If we’re putting it simply, Betas and Omegas love Alphas that are protective,” Hyorin replied. “Especially Alphas that are protective over pups.”

“And you saving a pup’s life only showcased that you’re protective over pups,” Jin said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“But isn’t everyone protective over pups though?” Yoongi wondered.

“Look hyung, in this pack, we date to mate,” Taehyung laughed. “Of course, feelings are important too but no Omega or Beta is going to even date, let alone mate with, someone that they don’t think will be able to provide for them or be able to take care of their future family, which includes pups.”

“So you literally showed that you have what’s arguably the number one quality that people around here are looking for in a mate,” you finished. 

“What the fuck?” Yoongi uttered in disbelief. 

“Ha, we broke him guys,” Jin cackled while Yoongi was still frozen, trying to figure out what hell he had brought down upon himself.

...................................

After they all finished lunch, Yoongi said goodbye to Taehyung and Jin, watching afterwards as they walked away to go back to their jobs, Taehyung as Namjoon’s secretary and Jin in the hair salon. Yoongi continued to stand on the front steps though, enjoying the feeling of sunshine on his skin.

“I hope you don’t mind what I did in there,” a sudden voice spoke up, making Yoongi jump slightly and when he turned his head, it was only you standing there.

“Jeez, announce yourself next time,” Yoongi grumbled, making you giggle as you walked over to stand next to him. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Prime Alpha,” you chuckled. “I didn’t think I’d scare you.”

“Well, you thought wrong obviously,” he huffed. “But to answer your question, no I don’t mind. I actually kind of appreciate it.”

“No problem. Ji-hyo tends to move dirty when it comes to her trying to find a mate so I figured I’d save you from that,” you said. 

“In that case, i really appreciate it then,” he chuckled, making you smile lightly. “So, that’s how it works here then? Giving gifts?”

“Yep,” you nodded. “You give a gift as a sign of intention, which is also supposed to signify your seriousness in attempting to build a relationship with that person.”

“Hmm,” he hummed. “Does it happen to you a lot?”

“What?”

“Getting gifts,” he elaborated. “I heard what Ji-hyo said.”

“There’s a lot of attempts, but I very rarely ever take them,” you shook your head, a sly smirk coming onto your face afterwards. “Why, you jealous?”

“You wish,” Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Just curious.”

“Well, curiosity killed the wolf, you know,” you replied thoughtfully before taking off down the steps and walking away from the dining hall.

“Wait, that’s not how that works!” Yoongi called out after you and you turned around, holding your hands up and shrugging animatedly with a smile before turning around and continuing to walk away. 

Yoongi found himself laughing and smiling at your gesture, his Alpha having the strangest urge to follow you just so he could see your smile again.

.........................

Tag List: @jikook-enthusiasts​

[henrycavillobsessed]

Captivated

Henry x first person reader 

Words: 2377

Summary: You and Henry have a “friends with benefits” situation going on,  but you’ve caught feelings, and so has he. Everything comes to a head when you see photos of him out with another woman. 

CW: Angsty smut! Sex, male and female oral giving and receiving; female ejaculation. Bad language. Anger and slight violence (struggles).

Notes: Hope you all enjoy this smutty, angsty one! I really enjoyed writing it :)

Looking in the mirror, I smiled widely. Damn I look good, I thought to myself. It was Henry’s turn to visit my house, and I knew he’d love the new lingerie set I’d bought that day; a scarlet babydoll with matching lace panties. Pulling on a silk robe and stepping into a pair of black stilettos, I quickly checked my makeup and hair was still perfect and then I left my bedroom. In the kitchen, I pulled out a chilled bottle of white wine from the wine cooler and set it on the table with two glasses, and then lit the scented candles and dimmed the lights. Looking at the clock I saw that I still had half an hour until Henry arrived, so I took a seat on the table and turned on the TV that was mounted on the wall. The showbiz news was on, and funnily enough the newsreader was talking about Henry and his new movie. I smiled to myself. It always amazed me whenever I saw Henry on TV, or in a celebrity magazine, knowing that I was sleeping with him, and had been for the last six months. It had started off as a one-night stand after I met him in a club on a night out in London, and it soon turned to a regular “friends with benefits” situation. The secrecy was what made what was already hot sex even hotter, and we regularly met up, taking it in turns to go to each other’s places for the evening, always leaving in the early hours to avoid the paparazzi. It was a complete no-strings attached arrangement, with both of us knowing it would never go any further, although recently I had started to look forward to our evenings more and more. I suppose you could say I missed him when I wasn’t with him, which was dangerous territory to be in. I needed to keep a check on that. Shaking my head away from these thoughts, I reached for the wine and poured myself a glass, glancing up at the TV. 

“… and speaking about Henry Cavill, could there be a new lady in his life? Known as one of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors, Cavill was spotted today in Kensington enjoying a drink with an unknown, but incredibly pretty, brunette…”

A photo flashed up on the screen, and there he was. Sat at an outside table of a wine bar, holding a large glass of red, Henry’s head was thrown back in laughter. The woman next to him was also laughing, her hand resting on his forearm. They looked incredibly cosy. It was obvious they were on a date.

I felt like someone had literally grabbed my heart and was crushing it. My stomach plummeted, and I went icy cold. I gasped for breath, my hand flying to cover my mouth to try and stop the sob clawing its way up my throat from escaping. Tears sprung to my eyes, spilling over and streaking my mascara. Where was my phone? I grabbed it from the counter, opening Google. Typing his name in the search bar, I cried out as photos of them both popped up immediately, all with speculative captions asking who this mystery woman could be. I threw the phone across the room. My breathing was too fast. Grabbing the wine, I drank the whole glass in one. 

“What the fuck!” I whispered to myself. What was this reaction? I knew this would happen one day. He was Henry Cavill for fuck sake, I was lucky to have managed this far having a secret fling with him. Of course he’d end up with someone for real one day, probably an actress or a model, not a nobody like me. But if I knew what was coming, then why did it feel like my heart had been shattered? Why did it feel like I’d just lost him?

“Fuck!” I said again, louder this time. I poured myself some more wine, trying to get my bearings and control my breathing. As I was drinking the second glass of wine, slower than the first, I heard a key turn in the front door. Shit. I forgot he had a key. Usually he’d knock and I’d answer the door, giving him his first view of whatever lingerie I’d chosen for that night; he’d barely make it through the door before his mouth was on mine, his sexy muscular arms wrapped around me, a hand reaching down to

Jesus Christ, this was not the time to get horny over memories! What was I going to do? I stood up, wobbling slightly on my heels. I pulled them off, and turned to face the window so he wouldn’t see my tear-stained face when he entered the kitchen.

“Hi! I did knock but you didn’t answer, I hope you didn’t mind me using the key,” I heard him call as he walked down the hallway. 

I could smell his aftershave as he came into the room; he smelled absolutely delicious. I hastily wiped the black streaks from my face, using the dark window as mirror, and turned around to face him. 

“There you are!” Henry beamed, and then whistled. “Wow. You look breath-taking. But hey, um, before we, erm, begin, I need to talk to you about something…” 

Something inside me snapped, anger replacing the devastation I’d felt at seeing those photos. Who the fuck did he think he was? Did he honestly think that I’d still get on my back for him after he’d told me about his new woman?!

“Oh, I know what you’re going to say,” I said, my voice low. 

“You do?” Henry looked taken-aback. “But I-“

“I saw the photos, Henry.”

He stilled. I walked slowly towards him, seething. 

“How long has this been going on then, huh? Have you only come here to tell me because you knew I’d see the news today?”

I stopped in front of him, wishing I’d kept the heels on. He towered over me, his male scent overpowering my senses. 

“Listen, it’s not-“

“It’s not what I think it is? Ha, spare me,” I spat, my voice louder now. The anger was bubbling up to the surface; I couldn’t control it. “What have you come here tonight for, Henry? One last fuck before you move on with your brunette?” 

His face clouded over with anger of his own. He stepped closer to me. “Y/N, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

I laughed humourlessly. “Oh I think I do! That’s all I ever was to you, wasn’t I, a hole to fill- literally! – until you found someone better! Well, fuck you, okay! I’m a human being, with feelings! Didn’t you know I’d end up-“

My hand flew up to my mouth again, halting the words before I said something I’d regret. Henry frowned. 

“You’d end up what?” he asked. He walked towards me as I shook my head. 

He didn’t stop until he’d backed me up against the wall. 

“Nothing, just forget it-“

“I asked you a question.” His voice was dangerously quiet. 

“I said it was nothing!” I pushed against his chest, trying to get away from him. I’d have had more success pushing against a brick wall, but I didn’t stop. 

“Y/N!” he shouted, grabbing the tops of my arms.

“Get off me!”

“Not until you answer me!” 

I struggled against him, and he growled, the sound echoing in my sex which traitorously clenched in response. He was all male, and I was completely captivated by him.

“For fuck- I love you Henry, okay? I love you don’t you see that?” I angrily wiped the fresh tears from my face. Henry let go of me, finally, and stared at me, an indiscernible look in his eyes. 

And then his mouth was on mine, our lips crushing together. One of his hands grabbed the back of my head, and mine wound up behind his neck. His other arm was around me, holding me tight against him as we made out passionately. He growled again, and I could feel his erection straining against his jeans. He picked me up one handed and kicked the door behind him; we fell into the living room. He threw me down onto the sofa, and pulled off his t-shirt, his perfectly sculpted chest and abs coming into view. I was panting, and so fucking wet; my legs clenched together for some relief as he ripped off his shoes and scrambled to take off his jeans and boxers. He impressive cock sprung free as he stood there naked, eyeing me up like a lion does his prey. Then he bent down and threw open my robe, his breath hissing as he saw what I was wearing. He stretched his body out over mine, and kissed me again, hard, and then moved to my neck, biting down. I cried out, raking my nails down his back; I was sure I drew blood. He moved further down my body, taking one of my nipples in his mouth and rolling it around with his tongue. I arched up, the onslaught of pleasure taking over. I was desperate for him to touch me elsewhere, my pussy pulsing with need. After giving attention to my other breast, he moved down, looking me dead in the eyes as he tore the delicate lace panties off me with his teeth. And finally, his attention was on my clit, and I nearly came there and then just from the first lick of his tongue. He thrust two fingers into me, and fucked me with them as he ate me, and the first orgasm exploded around him, as I squirted hard, causing him to groan erotically; he licked my juices up, looking up and licking his lips when he was done. I sprung up, twisting him around and down so that he was sitting on the sofa and I took his dick in my mouth, sucking him feverently, licking up and down the velvety warmness, tasting the exquisite salty flavour of him. His threw his head back, a vein popping on his neck. He came quickly, and hard, the onslaught of ejaculate flooding my mouth. I swallowed it down quickly, wiping my mouth. Henry reached out and grabbed me, pulling me down towards him. I knew what he wanted. I mounted him, taking all of him in one, and then I was riding him, hard, his hands grabbing my hips, urging me to go faster, harder. We didn’t speak, our breath coming out in pants and gasps, both of us racing to climax. I screamed as I came again, ferociously, almost painfully, tightening around him, milking him as hot spurts of his cum pumped into me as he roared his release. 

As far as last fucks went, it was spectacular. Wait. Last fuck. The argument before came back to me, and I gasped, the pain in my chest returning. I got off of Henry quickly, grabbing my robe and covering myself up again. I could feel tears choking my throat and I did nothing to stop them. 

“Y/N, wait, I-“

“I didn’t need your pity, Cavill. That was a mistake.”

“For fuck sake, Y/N!” Henry cried, getting in and stepping into his boxers. “That wasn’t about pity!”

“Then what was it about?”

“I love you too! There, I said it! I fucking love you too, alright!” Henry thrust a hand through his curly hair, pacing around the room. I stood rooted to the stop, speechless.

“But… but what about that woman, your date?” I asked when my voice returned. 

“She wasn’t a date! She’s a new director, we met for a drink to talk about a potential project!”

Realisation began to dawn on me. “So when you said you needed to talk to me about something…”

“I wanted to tell you how I felt, how I truly felt about you! Because I saw the paparazzi at lunch, I knew that there would be photos, I knew you’d see them. And then I thought, if it had been the other way around, if you had been seen out with another man and I saw photos of that, I’d be consumed with jealousy. The mere thought of it made me rage.” He stopped pacing and turned to face me. 

“I know we have a “friends with benefits” thing going on, but it isn’t enough for me anymore. I love you. I want more. I need more.”

I looked at him incredulously; I can’t believe how wrong I’d gotten it. 

“You actually, really love me? Like I love you?” I asked, daring to hope.

“Yes!” Henry laughed. He picked me up, and spun you around. “I really love you!”

We both laughed together. It was like the beginning of the evening hadn’t even happened. When I thought I’d lost him…

“I thought I’d lost you,” I said, voicing my worries. “Not that I was yours to begin with, not really…”

“I think you’ve always been mine Y/N, and I’ve always been yours. I’ve been captivated with you from the moment I first saw you, first kissed you. I couldn’t even look at anyone else. It’s always been you.”

I started crying again, the whirlwind of emotions I’d felt since seeing that news report completely overwhelming me. Henry smiled indulgently, opening his arms. 

“Come here, baby.” 

I entered his embrace, taking in his scent of expensive aftershave and sex. Being in his arms felt so familiar, like I was always meant to be here. 

“What’s going to happen now?” I asked, looking up at him. “Am I going to be seen as the “new lady” in your life?”

He responded by gifting me with the most gentle, loving kiss. “Hell yeah, baby. Now I’ve got you, I’m not letting you go, and I want the whole world to know.”

He kissed me again, and we went upstairs to spend the night as we’d originally intended. But now our true feelings for each other were out in the open, it was like the first time all over again. Plus I didn’t feel like a nobody any more. I was Henry’s, and he was mine. And I couldn’t wait for the whole world to find out.

[fabricated-misslieness]

Yoru x male reader

Got this idea from a tiktok. btw I have no idea if blunt force can cause a split lip.

Pre-VALORANT Protocol and Kingdom creation, a short time after First Light. This entire thing is a lot of headcanons

Requested: No

Word Count: 2,305

Warnings: making out, cat cockblocking cause she wants food, sparring, split lip, blood, a bit of sadomasochism, bottom & masochist Yoru, sadistic reader, very very suggestive

16+

His lungs were begging for air, his knees were close to giving in, his skin felt like it was burning, his arms were sore. It was no matter of time before he was on the ground again, your foot on his chest. He was starting to like this point of view.

Though he doesn’t get to cherish it much longer because you’re off of him quickly.

“You don’t block properly.” You state, wiping the sweat off your face with the bottom of your shirt. Yoru, despite all his exhaustion, wolf whistles as he stares at your exposed skin. You ignore him, seeing as this one was on you, unlike all the previous ones. “No offense-only can win in my arena.”

“Manly Jackie?” He suggests. Manly Jackie was once a participant of your arena. As most champions with awful alliances, his reign did not last long.

“He was once a champion, yes, but he was beaten by somebody with good balance. Coerce had both good and offensive qualities. Jackie ate shit that match.” You chuckle at the memory.

Yoru shrugs, standing up. Pain sears on his skin when he gets back on his feet, but he ignores it. If he wants to be in your arena, he has to be ‘eligible’. And boy, did he not meet your conditions. “Another round.”

You had to give it to him, he had courage. After all, he’d asked the boss of an arena to train him by sparring. But the courage blinded him; either that, or he just pushed right through the pain.

That ‘First Light’ event had given him a lot more courage than he already had. He had gotten powers from it, and he figured they’d be useful in battle. 

You see, Yoru had a lot of connections. He was the guy on the block that always got into trouble, yet he always managed to weasel out of it thanks to his connections. Though most of the trouble was caused by his connections, because that meant that his connections; enemies were his enemies. He was stuck in a loop, getting beat up by his connections’ enemies, then saved by his connections.

That was why he came to you. He wanted to get skills in fighting, not only to avoid his own demise from his connections’ enemies, but also to gain money. Your champions got rewards, and he was running a little low on funds.

It had been a while since the First Light happened, which gave you the right amount of time to decide whether to invite these new ‘superpowered’ people into your arena. You’d decided on yes, but these new people had to meet the conditions that the normal fighters did, skill and muscle.

He had some muscle, along with potential, but you wouldn't admit that; a big ego isn't a good trait for a beginner to have, even though he already had one.

You raise an eyebrow, “Tenth time I knock you off your feet, yet you’re still getting back up. I can tell you’re tired, Yoru.” He loved it when you said his given name, although it was the only one he gave to you. “This time you might just last 5 minutes.” 

“I’m fine with lasting 5 minutes.” He winks.

“Sorta pathetic if you do,” You look him up and down and see him shrink under your gaze. “both ways.” Yoru smirks. He likes when you flirt back, though he can’t tell if you mean it. 

“Sure you don’t just want to sit down for a while?” You gesture to the couch at the back of the room.

“I’m sure.”

Your living room was more of a gym than anything. Being the boss meant you got a steady income; you had a big apartment. You had a couch, yes, but anything else that’s part of a lounging area was nonexistent. Although, the room didn’t look quite good, with the couch standing out amongst the gym equipment and the kitchen having barely enough working space.

When Yoru first saw it, he questioned it. As the boss, he expected you to have many visits from ‘business partners’ of sorts. He’d assumed you did them in your own home, rather than anywhere else, which is dumb on his end.

"I don't get many visits.” You’d replied, after clearing up the business meeting part.

"I highly doubt that. With the way you look, I figured you got plenty of feminine visitors." He might just have killed his chances with you.

"Feminine, perhaps." Feminine submissive men, that is. He didn't know that, and you didn't feel like coming out to an acquaintance of yours. "But not all that often. Besides, they don’t stay for long.”

You regretted entertaining his perverted head, since that had sparked many more pick up lines from him. At least you believed it did, you didn’t know if he would’ve otherwise.

Yoru barely manages to dodge your punch, though before he can recover, you take his momentary vulnerability to strike again. He doesn’t have the reflexes to react. The air is knocked out of his lungs, and he doubles over in pain, yet he doesn’t tap out. You expect him to, which is why you don’t punch him again, but it gives him a moment to get back at you.

He punches your stomach, but at this point he’s so weak and exhausted that it barely hurts. You’re not one to take pity though. Over the years, you’d learned that mercy did not make good business in an underground job.

This blow is hard, then again all of them are hard, though this one seemed to do something different.

That something is knocking him out.

When he regains consciousness, he's laying down on your couch. You're on the other side of the room, leaning against your kitchen counter and rewrapping your knuckles.

"How long was I out?" He asks immediately, only to find that his jaw aches when he speaks.

"A few minutes." You reply, you don’t look up at him, nor do you seem surprised that he’d woken up. “A bit uncommon, though you’re only a rookie. In a few months, you’ll eat that kind of blow like it was any other.”

"You have no technique, your punches are too obvious, your blocks are easy to break, and you don't know your limits." You list off his weaknesses. “Don’t let that ego of yours get to your head.” They felt more like insults than constructive criticism.

Yoru huffs in frustration, though mentally taking note of them. Thanks to his arrogance, he thought he’d be a natural. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked the boss after all. He licks his lips as he thinks, it’s only then that he finds his bottom one is split. "Hey, (y/n)?" You look at him, he points towards his lips. "A little help?"

You sigh but gesture him to come to you. You take note of how his walk is a little eager as he walks to sit on the stool next to you.

You take his chin in your hand to tilt it up and inspect his lip, though you have no problem with diagnosing the problem. "Split lip."

"You know, I heard that you need to apply pleasure to a bleeding lip to fix it." His tone suggests he's not going to do it himself, as well as something else you definitely catch yet you ignore. He most certainly wasn't saying it innocently, instead, it was quite flirtatious.

"And what are you suggesting?" You can't help but flirt back. He's handsome, which is part of his charm, but you can't say you didn't enjoy beating up his pretty little face earlier; and not in the 'putting someone cocky down' kinda way.

“Put some kinda pressure on my lips.” Yoru elaborates.

You can’t help but laugh a little, “Okay, let me just get a rag.” You move away from him, but Yoru tugs you back, putting a hand on the back of your neck. Before you can say anything else, he kisses you. He's impatient and it's clear, he couldn’t stand you playing around anymore.

The blood from his busted lip would be discouraging, if you weren't lowkey sadistic. On the other hand, Yoru feels pain with every move of your lips against his own. He seems to like it though. He's had his fair share of hook ups, but never had pain been a part of them. It was new and thrilling to feel a sting of both pain and pleasure.

You, with all the experience you have, bite his bottom lip to ask for permission to deepen the kiss, forgetting Yoru's situation. You pull back, fully expecting a whine and complaint, but you find a moan instead. You'd never expected to find a masochist to your sadist, least of all him, but you took the opportunity.

"You liked that?" You chuckle. “Pain?”

"Oh, shut up." Yoru groans. He doesn't like to be on the receiving end of teasing, which is an unlikely pair to his masochism. “But, yes.”

You laugh again, only to take his lips moments after. You're heated in lip lock when you decide you're tired of this position, leaning down is a little tiring. With seemingly no effort at all, you lift him up. Yoru wraps his legs around your waist instinctively, pulling back from your kiss with a gasp. "Hey!" He whines, only to be interrupted by a moan when your hands dig into his ass.

"Now where do you want to go?" You give him a flirtatious smile. "Bedroom, traditional but I can't blame you; couch, more comfortable for the both of us; or counter? High chance of getting bent over." Your words send a shiver down his spine. 

He liked this new, flirtatious you. Before, you were a mere connection which he’d gotten from running errands for you every now and then. They were mundane tasks, and as boss, you had to keep your intimidating, serious composure. Naturally, it made him want to crack you, see who you were when nobody was looking at you. Obviously, your personality was not flirting, although at least it wasn’t the aforementioned. Hopefully he’d find out more the next morning.

"Counter." Yoru mutters. He hopes to god that you don't make him repeat himself with the fake excuse that you hadn't heard him.

Thankfully, you don't, instead bringing him to sit on top of the counter. Your hands are no longer on his ass, something he disliked, but he can't really blame you for it. He starts kissing you again, hungry and yearning. His fingers tug at your hair restlessly, legs still around your waist pulling you closer to him.

He wants more, and you’ll gladly give it to him.

You bite his bottom lip again, making him open his mouth with a gasp. You take advantage of the moment, sliding your tongue in his mouth. Your hands slip under his shirt, caressing his skin absentmindedly. The rough feeling of your hand wrap contrasts against your soft yet calloused fingers, yet it felt good all the same. Yoru finds your touch leaving a burning feeling, suddenly finding himself hot and bothered.

He pulls back, much to your mutual dismay. Before you can ask, he takes off his shirt, clearing your confusion. “Oh.”

Yoru laughs, “Oh.” He mocks you.

You tsk, silencing him with your lips before he can tease you further. Yoru’s disappointed by the fact you don’t play with his chest anymore, seeing as he discarded of his shirt for that purpose. He takes your hands and slides them up his abdomen, leaving you to figure out the rest. He’s disappointed when you pull back just to laugh.

“That eager, huh?” Yoru, instead of avoiding your gaze like other people would, looks you head on with a look that says ‘so what?’. It makes you laugh again, “Alright, alright.”

You peck him on the lips, which confuses him a little, until you pepper kisses down to his neck. He groans as you do, hands trailing up to your hair and tugging your head further down. “Jeez.” You mutter, but continue anyway. Meanwhile, your hands trail up to his nipples and play with them. Once again, your hand wraps cause different textures and feelings.

You kiss and bite at his neck, leaving marks. Some of them are stained with blood, though that comes from kissing his cut lips.

Before you can continue doing anything else, though, you hear a meow. Both of you stop and  turn to look down, seeing your cat looking up at you two. Immediately, the mood dies down, because you can’t just make out in front of your floofy child.

Yoru unwraps his legs from your waist, allowing you to bend down and reach out to pet her. Instead of accepting the pets, she reaches out to swat you with her claws. Unfortunately, you don’t react quick enough, even with those reflexes of yours. You hiss, clutching your hand. Yoru laughs while you give him side eye with a huff, “It’s her dinner time.”

You move towards the cabinets, where you keep her food. He watches you as you prepare it from the counter. 

For a moment, you sit in silence, but he doesn’t like that. "If you can't make fun of me 5 seconds after making out with me, who even are you?"

You chuckle and comply. "You know, if you had chosen the bedroom, the cat wouldn't have bothered us." You think it over for a few seconds. "Well, she would've, but the sound of her slashing at my door would've been drowned out by the bed creaking."

Yoru flushes red, even though he’d actually asked you to tease him. “Then let’s go there afterwards.”

You shrug, “It depends on if you get me in the mood again.”

[abarbaricyalp]

@sambuckylibrary

SamBucky Halloween Prompt 1: Urban Legends

High School AU, spooky ghost stories and dead girl’s revenge

Rated G: mild cursing (AO3 link in the notes)

Haunt me, baby, one more time

“Legend says that every 17 years, the body of Lyla Ray comes back from the dead, looking for her next victim,” Sam whispered severely. Bucky’s attention was rapt on him, unblinking and fully engaged. “She preys on beautiful young men, the kind that killed her all those years ago. And she cuts their hearts out to eat it.”

“That’s a little on the nose,” Bucky breathed back, but his gaze didn’t waver. The bottom of Sam’s truck bed was starting to get uncomfortable, even with all the blankets he and Bucky had piled into it and Louisiana was hot on October 28th, so the blanket thrown over their heads--turning them into one lopsided ghost to anyone who happened to drive by and look--was getting unbearable.

“Do you want to go see where her body is?” Sam asked.

“I thought you couldn't bury people so close to the coast.”

“She’s buried,” Sam assured. “So far down underground so that maybe she won’t dig her way out.”

Bucky shivered involuntarily and Sam grinned. “How long ago was her last supposed appearance?” he asked.

“A year after we were born.”

Bucky let out a breath of realization. “I see. So she’s supposed to come back tonight,” he said.

“Exactly. If we hurry, we can see her come up.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted the full Louisiana experience while you were stuck down here?”

“Did I say stuck?” Bucky asked, reaching over to cup Sam’s cheek before pulling him into a slow kiss. “I’m sure I didn’t mean stuck.”

Sam grinned against his mouth, a little thankful for the blanket over them since they were parked just off the road. Then again, Halloween always made him feel invincible, so he probably would’ve let Bucky kiss him with or without the blanket.

He let Bucky distract him up until Bucky tried to lay him out over the blankets--later, definitely later--at which point he pushed him back. “Come on, you have to come with me,” he said, pulling on Bucky’s hands.

Bucky sighed like it was the last thing he wanted to do. Maybe it was. Bucky was the biggest skeptic Sam had ever met. Most kids new to the state were wide eyed and excited about the hundred billion ghost stories that permeated every street and building. Not Bucky Barnes though. He couldn’t be tasked to believe in any story about any monster or ghost or legend. Nothing phased him. Not any of the ghost tours Sam had dragged him to, not the haunted houses that had crept up in the weeks leading to Halloween, not the voodoo or tarot shops that always sent a thrill of excitement down Sam’s spine. Bucky just didn’t buy any of it, which made him even more enchanting to Sam’s stupid heart. Opposites attract and all that.

Bucky stood up, knocking the blanket away, and hauled Sam with him before climbing over the edge of the truck and waiting for Sam to do the same. By design, they were already pretty near the cemetery and it was getting dark, so Sam let his fingers graze over the back of Bucky’s hand until Bucky tangled them together.

“Y’know,” Sam said after a few steps, “you’re just like a Layla Ray victim.”

“Am I?” Bucky amused. “How do you reckon?”

“Oh come on. You’re a total pretty boy. Total heartbreaker.”

“Samuel Thomas, have I broken your heart?” Bucky asked in mock affront.

The thought of this thing between them maybe not being permanent broke Sam’s heart every damn day, actually. And Bucky being adamant about going back to New York for college was devastating too. “Not me. But I know you got a string behind you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and knocked their hands against Sam’s thigh softly. “You’re terrible to me. You’re like her victims. You’re breakin’ my heart right now as we speak. And with eyes like that? A mouth like that? Total pretty boy too.”

Sam laughed and leaned into Bucky’s side. “Now you’re just flattering.”

“Nah, it’s true. I’ve heard the girls at school talk about you. All of Sarah’s friends are obsessed with you. Becca thinks you’re the cutest.”

“They’re freshmen. They hardly have taste yet. Sarah’s friends are just happy I pay attention to them in the hallways.”

“Well, Sarah’s friends like you a lot more than Becca’s friends have ever liked me,” Bucky said. “Which has to count for something.”

“Nah, ‘cause you’re an asshole. I totally get where those girls are coming from.”

Bucky glanced down the street before hauling Sam into a kiss that sent Sam’s head spinning through the dark night. “You think assholes can kiss like that, Wilson?”

Sam still couldn’t think but he nodded anyway because being contrary to Bucky was second nature.

Bucky snorted and let go of Sam’s waist. “Then I’m an asshole who likes you a whole lot. Even if you’re, like, super mean to me all the time.”

“You like it,” Sam said and hurried to catch back up to Bucky. “Here, it’s just up ahead.”

“Yeah, I might’ve missed the gate,” Bucky agreed sarcastically.

“We can be a little extravagant,” Sam said, looking up at the metal monstrosity, a remnant of the past, holding all the secrets of the past too. “Gotta keep the ghosts inside, y’know.”

“From what I hear, you’re not very good at that part.”

Maybe not. “Layla Ray isn’t a ghost, she’s a Revenant.”

“She’s a bear?” Bucky asked, just to be obtuse.

“You’re such an asshole,” Sam repeated and pulled him into the cemetery. “She’s buried towards the back, ‘cause she’s so old, y’know. And so that maybe she’ll be confused while she’s trying to get out.”

“Wait a second, this girl has been eating hearts for centuries now and she’s been buried underground for most of the time this cemetery’s been around to keep her buried, but actually it’s not working since she’s been wandering around?”

“That’s not the point,” Sam said, waving his hand in the air. “The point is the story.”

“I get the story. I’m just saying, stick to a reason why she’s buried instead of cremated or something.”

“She’s buried because that’s how the story works.”

“You know, she ought to come after you, usin’ her name and tragic end to scare new kids at your school.”

“We used to come out here all the time when we were kids,” Sam said. “The worst trouble I ever got in was when I brought Sarah with me once and dragged a stick down her arm while she was looking at the gravestone.”

Bucky snorted. “And I’m the asshole.”

“I’ve been waiting for seventeen years for this. Just let me have this one night.”

“If this is a once in seventeen years event, why ain’t no one else out here?” Bucky asked.

“I dunno, guess you grow out of it,” Sam said with a shrug. “Or maybe no one wants to risk being the guy who gets his heart eaten.”

“Right. Or you just made this up to get me out here all alone. Maybe you’re actually the ghost.”

“Am I that unbelievable?” Sam teased. He leaned up and stole another kiss before weaving Bucky to the back of the cemetery. He made sure to avoid walking over any plots that happened to be in the ground, though there weren’t many. Finally, nearer to the back fence, they came to a stop in front of a gravestone that read Layla George Ray 1796-1813 Beloved Daughter.

“I hate looking at tombstones for people our age,” Bucky said, reaching out to run his fingers over the lettering of Layla’s name.

“That’s almost touching, Barnes,” Sam said.

Bucky crouched down to run his hand over the even, cut grass that adorned the top of the grave. “No fresh dirt. Guess your revenant isn’t so hungry tonight,” he said, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “Even with two eligible guys standing around.”

Suddenly a woman’s scream pierced through the night and Bucky sprawled back on his ass, scrambling away without ever being able to get his feet under him.

Sam wrapped an arm around his shoulders when they finally collided and then sank down himself, cackling so hard he could barely breathe.

“Oh my God, Barnes,” he gasped. “Your face!”

“Sam!” Bucky cried. “Didn’t you fucking hear that? What was that?”

Sam fell onto his back, clutching at his ribs, knees bent up to his chest. It didn’t help retain any air, but it happened anyway. “Jesus, look at you,” he wheezed and buried his face in his own arm. “You really thought--” He wheezed some more and real tears slipped out from his eyes.

“What?” Bucky asked, still panting, still ready to bolt, but now more confused than terrified. “What are you talking about?”

Sam uncurled himself and held out his phone. The scream pierced through the air again and cut off abruptly when Sam silenced it. “You thought-- You really thought a dead girl was coming out of her grave to eat your heart.”

“You’re a fucking bastard,” Bucky snapped, finally catching up to what Sam had done. He sat back heavily on the ground and Sam broke out in new laughter.

“Your face, Barnes! You were so fucking scared.”

“I thought someone was dying, Wilson.”

“You thought someone was coming back from the dead,” Sam corrected.

“I hate you. I hope you do get haunted.”

“You can’t hope for what you don’t believe in,” Sam pointed out.

“I can hope for what you believe in. And I hope all sorts of creepy shit haunts your ass for years. I hope you don’t sleep for ages.”

“Oh come on,” Sam said with a smug smirk. “You don’t mean that. You love cuddling with me when you think I’m asleep.”

Bucky glared balefully at him. “Cuddling with you when you’re awake is just as fine by me.”

“Besides, if I get haunted, that ghostie’s gonna be all up in your business too,” he pointed out. Finally, he pushed himself to his feet and offered his hand down to Bucky. “Come on, baby. I’ll make it up to you.”

Bucky followed the long line of his arm up to Sam’s face before reaching for his hand and standing as well. “That a promise, Wilson?”

“Well, those blankets weren’t just for story time, y’know.”

“I like the sound of that. Keep on talking.” Bucky closed his fingers around Sam’s and Sam took it as the reconciliation it was. Together, they started for the front gate again.

Behind them, others talked too.